Savs Recs - Tumblr Posts

HUSH | MYG - TWO

pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?)

premise: in which you work for your brothers band by day and accidentally anonymously sext his bandmate on the regular by night! whoops !!

wc: 10k

for more details, pls see the master list (x)

note from holly: if you've read hush over on wattpad, then you've already seen this! sorry!! but this is everything that was on wattpad--the next upload will be 100% fresh hehe

warnings: alcohol, foul language, creepy men in bars, sexting (minimal!! very brief!), yoongi is both an asshole and a good guy, oc and yoongi are dumb!! and argumentative!! we learn a teeny tiny bit more lore for the night that never was!!

the app (x) | the band (x) | part one (x)

minors dni!!!

GOLDEN CLOSET STUDIO Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"Back again so soon?" Jungkook grins when you traipse into his studio the next morning. 

Slumping down onto the sofa with a groan, you get comfortable like it's a second home to you. Only just gone midday, you're exhausted. You'll tell anyone who asks that you went out for a morning run, but you'll be lying through your teeth.

See, what made you tired may have given flushed cheeks, but sadly no cardio was involved. Just some pixels. Words. Another goddamn video call of a bedroom you know so damn well but have never stepped foot within. From his belly button down, you'd recognise your Damocles boys in a heartbeat. Wonder if you'd be able to tell if you saw him in the wild, fully clothed. 

You doubt it.

No, what's made you so tired isn't the things that get you up in the morning, but rather the things that keep you up all night.

Or just 'thing'.

A singular.

You're not sure you want to classify him as a person, because currently he's just pixels on a screen - but the images those pixels so often make? The dirty words that form in negative spaces just for you to see?

Yeah. You think that he's too good to be true. Can't be a real man.

"Meeting," you mumble into the cushion of the chair. "You know how many logistics are involved in taking you guys on tour? It's mad."

"Logistics?" He snorts, knowing your job has nothing to do with that side of the business.

"I'm shadowing," you reply. "Jinyu sweet-talked someone she knows in that department. Following one of the planners around for the week."

"Really tryna work your way up, huh?" Jungkook asks, before quietly musing, "Hope Jinyu'll sweet-talk me some time."

He's not wrong. About working your way up, that is. Jinyu will never sweet-talk him.

Big Hit is a great stepping stone - an industry outlier, built from the ground up - but you don't want to be in your brother's shadow for too long. 

You fear it'll look like you're complacent; as if you want an easy life that you don't have to work hard for. Get some experience, get a good reference, and get out; that's the plan. Maybe work somewhere overseas, away from the confines of your family name.

You don't entertain Jungkook's musings, instead opting to shuffle a little further into his sofa. It's leather and still smells brand new - not because it is, but because Jungkook is meticulous in his cleaning regimes. Will probably wipe it down after you leave. Is perhaps the neatest rockstar you've ever known - not that you know all that many. 

And that's exactly your issue; even if you want to get out of Seokjin's shadow, you've no idea where to turn to. Bright light saturates everything else. Here, you're hidden. Safe. Comfortable.

Well, comfortable except for one particular thorn in your side.

"Get your song sorted with Yoongi last night?" You ask, genuinely curious about it. You're also incredibly nosey, and Yoongi is a dick. What you'd like to hear is that he's annoyed and frustrated, because that's how he makes you feel. 

It's selfish to think that way. The album cycle is well and truly underway, and the boys are cramming every spare moment into perfecting it. You aren't too aware of the process, you just know that Yoongi speaks to you even less now that the stress is mounting.

They're made for the stage. Would spend all day every day performing, if it was sustainable. Don't enjoy the downtime - but you think it's because the slowness of it all interferes with their live fast, die young bullshit.

Jungkook shakes his head. "It's missing something. Can't figure out what. We're gonna leave it until after the Europe dates. Hopefully will have found some inspiration over there."

You accept his answer without a response. Know that any advice you could give would be redundant. You don't know the first thing about music production, and think it would be a waste of energy to float ideas for a song you've not even heard.

"Think Yoongi needs to rest," Jungkook muses a little mindlessly. "Was here till stupid o'clock last night."

You mumble a response, and Jungkook takes it as an indication to continue.

"Last email he sent was at like, what? Three in the morning? How his brain could've still been working, I've no idea."

"He's a night owl," you hum, as if it's a new discovery. "Works better that way. It's like you work best after a good sleep. He works best a little sleep-deprived."

"Yeah but how?!"

"I dunno. Brain science. Ask Yoongi. He probably knows. Psychology n shit."

Jungkook just rolls his eyes. He won't be asking Yoongi.

Just like he also won't be asking Yoongi if he wants to join you all for drinks later that evening. 

That job? Yeah, that's up to you.

Neither you, Jimin, nor Jungkook wanna ask Yoongi, mainly because you all know he'll just say 'no.' What's the point?

A fierce battle of rock-paper-scissors had been fought earlier that evening, and you'd been the poor sod declared as the loser.

Already half a bottle down, they're drinking in Jungkook's studio (even if Hoseok strictly forbode it the last time they got legless at work (as if his orders have ever stopped them from doing anything they wanted)) when you finally meet them again. 

They're getting a headstart on the evening's festivities.

It's nothing special. Just a chance for them all to hang out properly after the Seoul shows.

They rarely ever 'hang out', 'cause work often feels like that anyway. It's only when they take a break that they realise how much they enjoy each other's company. A few days rest from one another is always welcome - but exceed three days, and they start to get withdrawal symptoms.

"Ready to go?" You ask, but are met with curt shakes of their heads.

Jimin passes you the bottle of beer he's been nursing on. As you take a swig, he reminds you, "You've not asked Yoongi yet."

Lips pressed to the rim of the bottle, you roll your eyes. Have half a mind to backwash in retaliation, but you don't fancy bickering this early on in the night.

Shaking your head, you swallow down the froth. "He'll say no."

"Buuuuut," Jungkook sings, as if he thinks he can serenade you into asking Yoongi. "What if he says yes?"

"Well, one of you can ask!" You whine. Yoongi's studio is the last place you want to go to - especially after the messages he sent you last night, warning you about your relationship with Jungkook. "Give him your doe eyes, Kook. It'll work."

A game of rock, paper, scissors is legally binding, though. Jungkook tells you so. Says if you don't go and ask Yoongi, he'll be forced to take you to court.

"I've got Big Hit lawyers," he reminds you.

"Is this a threat?!"

"Yep. Now go ask Yoongi!"

You argue a little longer. Jimin takes two shots during that time. Jungkook interpretive dances whenever you make a compelling statement as to why you shouldn't be the one asking. You frown whenever he does the robot.

And so, mainly to get away from any more of Jungkook's bizarre hip-gyrations, you traipse down to the end of the corridor, where Yoongi's so-called Genius Lab resides.

The wait at his door is awkward. You question yourself, what you'll say, how you should stand. First impressions are everything, and if he's greeted with shitty energy, he'll give it back in return. You know him well enough to know this for a fact.

After a lifetime of waiting (27 seconds, to be exact), there's a mechanical whir of the lock coming undone.

"Hey," you offer a smile as you're greeted with his typical face of thunder. "Been sent to retrieve you. We're going out tonight. All of us."

He knows the plans. Is in the group chat. Ignored the messages for a reason.

His stare is a little frosty but not unkind. Just uninterested. "Can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both?"

You might be deluding yourself, but you think he smiles slightly when he says that.

"Ah, but you can and you will go to the ball, Cinders," you joke, giving him a small curtsy. "All work no play makes Yoongi a dull boy."

You're joking, but you believe it. He's been miserable the last few months. Keeps himself hauled up in his studio when they're not on the road, and avoids social interaction like the plague. It maddens you. How is he gonna write songs about life and the importance of living one, if he won't let himself do the same?

He's hard to read as he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Shakes his head, then opens his door a little wider. Encourages you into his space.

A candle burns on his desk, faintly vanilla in its scent, making it feel far cosier than actually is. The room is sullen; dark greys and little else. In fact, it surprises you he's gone for such a pretty cream candle. LED lights that are hidden in the walls glow a deep blue, and it's no wonder he's so miserable. There's no passion in his little pit. No life. Just him, some screens, and the whir of computer fans.

"Will you give something a listen?" He asks, quite clearly seeing you as a last resort - but when you hit rock bottom, the only direction you can go in is up. He knows you're not musical, not like Jin, but perhaps he needs the ear of a consumer, not a creator. "Been wracking my brain trying to think of what this needs. Have listened to it so many times that nothing sounds right anymore. I just- Could you?" He pauses. Looks quite uncomfortable when he adds, "Please?"

You assume the file up on the central screen is the song he's been working on with Jungkook, so you oblige. Kick your shoes off and leave them by the mat. It's been a while since you've been given the luxury of access to the Genius Lab. You used to know the code.

Things with Yoongi used to be different, though.

Not much has changed within his four dark walls since then. He's gained a new painted canvas in the corner of the room, stacked behind the existing ones. It's deep navy blue. Sort of like him, you think. The blue continues. Illuminates his work area. No wonder he never sleeps. The mood lighting is cold. Alert. Is bound to fuck with his brain.

There are more speakers than you can fathom, and switchboards you can't even begin to understand. The programs that Yoongi's running on his computers are familiar, though. You've seen them enough times to get a rough idea of the composition. Can see tabs labelled for Jin's vocals.

Yoongi turns his chair as the door clicks shut, automatic lock whirring into place. There was a time when that sound would have excited you. Not for any lewd, scandalous reason - just for the fact there used to be a time, many moons ago, when you thought Min Yoongi was the hottest man to have ever graced the earth.

And can you blame yourself?

His midnight hair gracefully frames his face, perfectly waved, dark eyes stark against his pale complexion. His skin is dewy, cheeks a little puffy from his lack of sleep and the fact all he has in his system is an iced americano and blue Powerade - yet still, his features are sharp. A white shirt hangs off his broad shoulders, dainty bracelets sitting on his pretty wrists.

Every bit the heartthrob, he's only gotten better with age - but you've grown up, too. Are wiser now. Understand that devastatingly handsome men will always inevitably devastate you, too.

It's for that reason Min Yoongi doesn't bother you in the same ways that he used to. That, and the night that never was.

As you said, devastatingly handsome men will only ever devastate you, too. He's proven that point already.

He points to his chair. "Sit."

The way he's so demanding with his tone annoys you. You shake your head. Choose to stand. "It's cool. Just play the song."

You don't mean to be so sharp. So curt. You're just thinking about how unbearable he's been recently - especially last night. He'd left you on read. Obviously wasn't happy with your response, not that you care.

"Please don't be difficult," he says softly. "Just sit so you can listen properly."

Why your stature could possibly impact your ears and their ability to listen, you'll never know - but you don't argue. As much as Yoongi's contempt for you these days annoys you, you don't want to make it any worse than it already is.

The leather of his chair is warm from his perch. Kind of nice how despite his cool demeanour, he's always a little toasty. He brings the heat of Daegu with him wherever he goes.

"I'm all ears," you tell him, and watch as he presses down on the play button.

"It's not the full song," he says over the melody of an upbeat track. "You'll know the bit I mean though. It's like, not bad, but-"

"Yoongi, shush," you smile, making sure you catch his eye as you do so. Don't want him to think you're snapping. You just wanna hear the sections he's uncertain about in context with the rest of the song.

Quiet as the track begins to echo out, there's an uncharacteristically quaint piano faintly guiding the track. You know he plays, but it's rare for it to be a focal part of the songs he creates.

You understand immediately which section Yoongi's having trouble with - not because it sounds bad, just because the drop before the final chorus doesn't hit quite right. It builds and builds but the arrival at the final chorus is underwhelming.

"Rewind it a bit," you say, wanting to hear it again. Confirm that it's the right part.

Yoongi does as you ask, leaning over you slightly, and says, "Somethings off, right?"

Nodding, you listen for a third time. "Take away the guitar," you say.

He does. It's better, but still not right.

"Maybe you've overcomplicated it?" you muse, thinking that he needs to strip it back entirely, but not wanting to offend him.

"Hmm," he hums. "You think?"

He mutes a few more layers on the track. Plays it again. It's getting there.

"Better, right?" you ask.

He nods as he stands up straight, listening to it over again. Frowns. "Still not quite there."

"I think it might benefit from some distance," you suggest. "Come out with us tonight. Get your mind off this track. Might even get some inspiration."

Shaking his head, he watches as you stand and head towards the door. He's not been out with you since the night that never was. Doesn't enjoy the prospect of risking it all after a couple of drinks inevitably turns into a couple of bottles again - of which he knows it will. If you and Jimin are together, it will be messy. Just how it goes. Throw Jungkook and Tae into the mix? Disaster waiting to happen.

"Look," you sigh. "I know it's not really your thing - but the rest of the boys are game. They all want you there. Just think about it, okay?"

He purses his lips together. Smiles, and turns to face his computer screen once more. "Thanks for your help."

And just like that, you're dismissed. Considering the way he'd messaged you about Jungkook the day before, it went pretty well, you think. Try not to dwell on the fact he couldn't be less interested even if he tried.

It's funny, 'cause as Yoongi stews in his chair, rocking ever so gently, he sighs. Shakes his head. Grumbles to himself quietly: "'they all want you there'... but do you want me there?"

The boys aren't so disappointed when you return with no Yoongi behind you. They all knew what his answer would be, and only sent you so they didn't have to deal with his rejection.

"Took your time," Jimin notes.

You shrug. Deadpan. "Yeah, sorry, got distracted. Too busy shagging him."

"Really?!"

"No, of course not," you laugh, as if it's the funniest suggestion in the world. You sort of think it is. "Nah, he just wouldn't be convinced."

And so it comes as a surprise to everyone when Yoongi shows up at Jimin's place a couple of hours later with a bottle of whisky in hand.

"Shut the fuck up," is all he says as he walks into an absolute commotion, practically everyone in the room elated by his decision to join in. He hides his smile poorly, occasionally letting his teeth show despite his protests.

From the sofa, you catch his eye. Nod. He bunches up his face a little. Nods back - but is quickly distracted by Jimin holding up a clear shot glass filled with fuck knows what. You, too, find yourself distracted by chatter with the rest of the boys and a couple of the girls from the artist liaison team.

In the corner of the room, your phone is plugged into a charger. It's been there since you arrived. You've no need to check it - but you can never leave it too long.

You smile, butterflies kissing your tummy and making their way through your body when you eventually check it.

D4m0cl3s: got a work thing tonight, so probably won't be able to message much gonna be thinkin' about u tho don't miss me too much, clemmie x

The smile is hard to hide. You blame it on the alcohol.

Kind of like how Yoongi smiles half an hour later when he checks his own phone.

Cl3m3ntin3: been a busy bee today, sorry :( all work, no play? :( it'll make you dull, damocles boy x

But then he watches you as you laugh with Jungkook about something trivial. Reads over his messages again. Shakes his head.

Remembers you trying to convince him to join for the evening. How you'd called him Cinders. Told him that all work and no play made him dull.

His heart thuds in his chest. He swallows harshly. Pours a whisky. Swallows that, too.

Breathes a sigh of relief as he taps through a message - 'it's a play thing for work. promise i'll behave x' - and watches your phone after it's marked as 'delivered' in his chat feed.

Your phone is screen-up on the kitchen counter, just within his line of vision. It doesn't light up. Doesn't vibrate. Receives no message.

"Thank fuck," he mumbles, the sinking feeling in his chest lifting as he grabs a fresh whisky.

He quickly walks away from the scene of a crime that never was. Sort of like the night that never was. Is so pleased, in fact, that he's happy to sit beside you on the sofa as Jungkook sets up a drinking game with Jin.

Silly, really, how a few drinks seem to make him forget the concept of 'do not disturb' mode.

"Hey," you smile and he comes to sit down. "Glad you made it."

"Me too," he nods, lips thin, chin dimpling as a shy smile graces his face. He's a little whisky tipsy. Doesn't feel the need to keep such a strict distance from you, now.

"To a good night," you raise your glass to him, and he reciprocates. Clinks them together.

"To a good night."

STAIRWAY BAR Itaewon-ro, Yongsan-Gu

♪ // You First (Re: Remi Wolf)- Paramore

"You're never gonna be this young and this hot again," Jimin slurs after a few too many lemon drops. It's his third time making this point, because it's the third time you've shooed away a guy trying to make a move on you.

They've all been perfectly fine. Nice enough guys, you're sure, but you aren't interested in random hookups. The night really isn't about that. All you want to do is let your hair down with the boys you've known for most of your life.

As Jimin whines about the fact no one is ready to move onto a club yet, bored of the bar, part of you considers the novel idea that one of the men in your rejection pile could have been your Damocles boy. A funny thing to think about, really. He did say he was busy tonight. Said it was for work, but everyone knows how rowdy work dinners can get after the boss leaves.

He could be here. Could have his tail between his legs. Could be looking at you right now, without a clue.

The reality of that wouldn't please you, for it would mean he's out there searching for other women.

While he'd be well within his right to, you selfishly find that that you don't want him to. In fact, all you wanna do is send him a message. Let him know you're thinking of him. That you wish you were at home right now, alone in your sheets with nothing but an internet connection and that damn app to keep you company.

You're with friends, though. Can't open the app without fear of endless ridicule - and not to mention the fact your brother is with you. Not worth it.

As you come to join them, a fresh drink in your hand, you're easily distracted. Are brought back to reality by your favourite people. Neon lights on the ceiling, and relics of time spent in the bar pinned to the walls. Photobooth pictures, foreign currency. Life is embedded into the seams of this place, and it's reassuring, in a way. Makes your dependency on your Damocles boy a lot less intense. You can forget him. Live life. Neglect to check your phone.

"Objection!" Jungkook chimes, following you and Jimin to the corner booth of the bar where the rest of your friends sit. "Older women are, like, so hot. So damn hot. Damn." And then he's thinking to himself. Brows furrowed, pouty lips whistling out a hearty sigh as he shakes his head. Thinks about Jinyu. A couple of the older women at the record company. About Jimin's mother. Laughs. Nods. "Yeah, older women are where it's at."

Both of you look at him with an air of confusion, and yet neither of you question it.

"What did I miss?" Jin beams when he rejoins you, as a member of the bar staff follows him with a bottle of Ciroc resting in an ice bucket. Another staff member will soon bring you cans of drink to use as mixers, but you know damn well these boys will be shotting it down straight.

The bottle won't be on the house, but you know Jin will have charged it back to the company. Will get a bollocking from Hoseok the next time he's in the office. Doesn't care, cause he knows the band makes the record company more money than anyone else on the roster at the moment. The way he sees it, it's their money anyway.

"Jungkook's just declared his love for older ladies," Taehyung deadpans from the sofa opposite yours. "Nothing new."

"Better older than younger," Jin asserts, playfully pushing against your forehead as he walks past you and back to his seat.

As much as you're your own person, you're still his little sister, and the rest of his unruly group of friends will do well to remember that.

Jungkook snorts. Throws a smirk in your direction. "I can make exceptions."

"And I can get away with murder, Kook," Jin assures him - and he's probably right. As much as they like to play into the rock and roll lifestyle, they've got power. Fame. Something that hides them just as much as it projects them. "Don't even think about it."

There's laughter and chatter amongst everyone at such a declaration, but you can't help but wonder if a certain pair of eyes glanced your way upon hearing that.

It's not like Yoongi doesn't know Jin harbours such feelings. Told you the exact same thing, once: that Jin'd murder Jungkook if anything ever happened between the pair of you.

But you also remember what came next.

Even if it's never been spoken about since, you know that remembers, too. The way he refused to reply to your last text is testament to it.

See, he's been avoiding you since long before you got your little job with the company. Would turn down plans if you were in attendance. Declined invites to dinner, and bailed on drinks. Once you started working in such close proximity, it was harder to keep his distance, and so he built up walls.

They're steep, and they're topped with barbed wire. Impenetrable, or so it would seem.

Climbing has never been a strong point of yours, and scaling walls doesn't feel like a pastime you'd enjoy very much, so Yoongi's safe distance from you is kept. He's feline, in that way; how he'll stalk up trees and sit in amongst the branches, peering down at you. Out of reach, holding all the cards.

Flicking your eyes across to him, you find him embroiled in conversation with Namjoon. He's laughing, which admittedly does make you smile. It's been so long since you've been afforded the luxury of witnessing such a thing.

But you're torn from your thoughts by a sudden, sharp tug on your wrist, and don't even realise Jimin is dragging you out of your seat until you're already stumbling behind him. With a shrill yelp and soft giggle, you let him pull you to the stairs that lead up from the basement bar to the earthly realm above.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, as if you have any choice in the matter. He's got a death grip on you. You're coming along whether you like it or not. "The rest of them are being boring. I wanna dance."

"Maybe I was enjoying being boring!" You argue just for the sake of it, tapping at your pockets to make sure you've still got your phone with you. Not for any particular reason. Just to be safe. Totally not because you fear losing your only contact with your virtual lover. Nothing like that at all.

"Tough," Jimin asserts, not caring where you both end up just as long as there is a dancefloor and a dark corner.

It isn't for any sinister reason, but just because he isn't looking to be the life and soul of the party. His face isn't recognised in the same way that the other boys are, but it doesn't matter. He attracts attention regardless. Goes with the territory of having a face like his. Irresistible to men and women alike. You're yet to meet anyone who doesn't think he's the most beautiful man alive - though Jin certainly does take issue with such a title being awarded to anyone else but him.

But just like Jin, there's a magnetism about Jimin. Moths to a flame, the rest of the boys follow suit and head up towards the street. The entire area code is a cluster of bars and hole-in-the-wall food joints. It's made for this time of the night, when the clouds are shielding the eyes of the moon from all sorts of sin, just a few stray stars guiding the way.

Light pollution bleeds upwards and out. Even if you know the stars are there, you can't see them - and it's not like you get the chance to check either way, for Jimin's already pulling you down the stairs to another basement bar.

This one is larger - two stories. Quieter on the first floor, it's the second level where he wants to be.

A planner in both professional and personal life, even though he seems erratic and all out of order, Jimin has everything under control. Knows the managers of most (if not all) of the bars on this street. Called a favour in this afternoon for one of the downstairs booths, just adjacent to the dancefloor, to be roped off & reserved. Knew that some of the boys would, in his mind, be 'boring', but still wanted everyone together. It's the best of both worlds. He can dance, and they can talk, or whatever they wanna do.

♪ // Desert Eagle - Silica Gel

Min Yoongi doesn't dance. He drinks. He observes. He watches the debauchery unfold from a safe distance, much like he does with you. Sometimes - not always - he thinks. Ponders. Wonders if maybe he's wasting his time by not indulging in the same way other people do. If he's missing out. Considers perhaps his friends are right to revel in such mindless frivolities.

He doesn't debate his choices often, but as he gets comfortable in this new place, he can't help it. Thinks word must have gotten out about their planned attendance, 'cause he notices far more eyes on them than normal. Far more women vying for their attention. Men, too. Whether it be sex or status, their intrigue is always fuelled by something.

The rest of the boys revel in it.

Yoongi doesn't care for it - but there's a reputation to uphold. A brand image that being spotted in clubs and getting up to no good only helps. Seals them as the real deal. Gets them out of the bracket of 'posers' or manufactured, not that it really fuckin' matters.

There are two girls to each of them. Supply and demand. There aren't enough of The Scouts to go around, but people will share. Will take all they can get. Sharp eyeliner, pretty hair, the girls all have their wits about them, and it's potentially the worst part of it all - they're making the conscious, informed choice to lower themselves to a standard well beneath their worth.

The club stinks of sticky liquor and smoke, but beneath the veil they're all wearing the same perfume. Whatever's currently being marketed as 'irresistible' to men. Was vanilla a few years ago. Yoongi is certain it's something muskier now, but isn't sure what. Makes no difference to him.

There's only one perfume he knows he really likes, and has trained himself to despise it by association.

It's a shame that he hasn't trained himself to stop looking in your direction whenever he thinks of you. Is part of the reason he doesn't like drinking around you. Makes such stupid mistakes. His malevolent mask fails to hide him. The facade slips.

Tongue resting in the corner of his mouth, he doesn't realise he's staring. Eyes dark as they watch you with Jimin, Yoongi wonders if you've always had that tattoo just above your elbow. It's small, and dainty. Hard to make out from where he is, but when your arms are in the air, he's fixated on it. Thinks it must be new.

But then your arms drop to rest on Jimin's shoulders, and he's reminded of what you look like when you're all hot and bothered. Reminded of that night. The one that never was. Haunted by the rivulet of sweat that had trickled down your skin in a sauna that neither of you had any business being inside; just you and him in a silent descent into sin, and the smirk on your lips as his eyes had followed the droplet down your body.

His attention is yanked from you when an ice cube lands in his lap. Glacing across to the direction it came from as he pushes it to the floor, Yoongi scowls at Jungkook. "The fuck was that for?"

"Remember the rules," Jungkook smirks. "Look, but don't touch."

"Wasn't fuckin' looking," Yoongi sneers, completely ignorant of the women vying for his attention. "Was just thinking Jimin needs to to sober up. Man's a state. And unlike you, I wouldn't touch her if humanity depended on it."

"I'm a man of the people," Jungkook teases. "If repopulating the earth was my duty, I'd do it. Can't believe you wouldn't."

"She's got where she is today through sheer nepotism and audacity alone," Yoongi counters. "Doesn't have the kinda genes you'd wanna repopulate the earth with."

"Foul," Taehyung laughs. He's the only one of the boys without women hanging off him. Is stern and authoritative in his rejection of their advances; not yet married but wears a ring around his finger to let them know he's deadly serious. Landed himself in hot water a few months back after photos of him talking to a girl outside a bar - no matter how innocently - circulated online. A bad angle and misrepresentation of events had almost decimated the one thing he cares about more than the band: his relationship. Refuses to ever let it happen again. "Absolutely foul, Yoongi. You know you don't mean that."

"He just needs to get laid," Jungkook chimes in. "Has been celibate for so long he's forgotten how good sex is. Used to be a time he'd fuck anything willing with a pulse-"

It's not untrue. He was reckless in his youth - but aren't we all?

"Yeah, and then I grew up, Kook," Yoongi says with little to no emotion, getting to his feet. Taps his pocket to check for his phone, and then taps the other for his wallet. All there. "Should try it."

When Yoongi looks back up to the crowd, you're gone. He rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. Is almost mentally berating you, as if you've done something wrong - but you haven't, and he damn well knows it.

Perhaps that's the most frustrating part of it all: everything falls back on him. The awkwardness. The cold shoulders. The night that never was. If he would have just made more sensible choices back then, things could be easier now.

It's not that things are hard, as such - just that they aren't how they used to be. Rose-tinted glasses, and all that.

Over by the bar, there's a haze around you: clouded judgement, misted intentions.

The smallest things put a smile on your face, thanks to the alcohol in your veins. Could be the song that's already been played three times coming on yet again. Could be witnessing some random guy get pied by every single girl he approaches. Could be the way your vodka orange takes like juice. Anything and everything feels light. Airy. Breezy.

"What's so funny?" Some guy asks, leaning in a little closer to you - and just like that, your mood is soured. You're not here to make friends, but rather spend time with your pre-existing ones, and judging by the look on his face, he's hoping for a little more than friendship.

"Oh, nothing," you smile politely, crossing your arms over your chest as you angle your body away from his. Hope that he'll get the message.

He does. Just doesn't like it very much.

"No need to be a bitch," he sneers under his breath just loud enough for you to hear.

Normally, you'd leave it. Let him have his little tantrum. Be a big baby.

But you were in such a good mood, and you're annoyed that he's ruined it.

Wanna ruin his, too.

Snapping back to face him, you're about to launch into a tirade, but you come face-to-face with a chest that looks far too good in a simple T-shirt and find yourself faltering, instead.

Yoongi looks down at you, eyes dark, scowl ever-present. Says nothing. Just nods. You think he's asking if you're okay - so you nod back. Won't get into a debate over the fact you were perfectly fine, and have no issue asserting your boundaries with strangers.

Shoulders broad, the guy who had been bothering you is entirely eclipsed by Yoongi.

Glancing across to the bar staff, Yoongi nods. "Hibiki." Glances down at you. Checks the colour of your glass. It's obscured by the bar lights, but he knows it isn't dark enough to be coke, and remembers your order from before things got complicated. Figures some things haven't changed. Looks back towards the server. "Vodka Orange." Passes over his card. Says nothing to you. Just keeps his eyes on yours.

There's a subtle blush dusting his cheeks. The heat, you think. It's unnoticeable for the most part, but sometimes the lights hit him just right, and you're reminded of how warm he can be. How inviting.

He's always been impressive. Taller in sheer presence than he is in stature. Even back in high school, his nature was domineering. Respected. Lips gently parted, you're unable to move. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. It's heavy. Thick. Suffocating. You're deaf to the bass of the music that thumps through your body. Ignorant of the people moving around you.

But then Yoongi's being offered his card back, and Jimin bounds on into you like a lost puppy finally finding its owner.

"For me?!" Jimin exclaims as the drinks are slid across the bar, passing the vodka orange to you and picking up Yoongi's whisky for himself.

Shaking yourself from the shackles of Yoongi's stare, you look down. Realign your mind. Glance back over and nod a silent thank you - but then you turn and leave the drink by the bar. Head for the bathrooms. Refuse to look back, so utterly perplexed by what on earth just happened.

In a frank, factual recount of the events, Yoongi just stood beside you and ordered a drink.

In your hysterical, deluded mind, Yoongi just stood beside you and opened the skies; let a flood of water torrent down. Drowned everyone in the process save for you - except you're the one gasping now as you stare yourself out in the bathroom mirror.

Phone still on don't disturb, you pull it from your pocket and check just in case he's thinking of you.

Not Yoongi, no. You push him out of your mind. Think of your Damocles boy. He's the one you wished had joined you at the bar. The one you've been yearning for all night.

And sure enough, he has been thinking of you, too.

D4m0cl3s: there are some weirdos out and about tonight, clem keep yourself safe for me, okay?

It's strange, how guilt needlessly creeps in so silently that you don't even realise it's there until an invisible hand is over your mouth. You're suffocating again, or so it would seem. Drowning, maybe. Perhaps Yoongi wasn't saving you at all; he was dragging you down instead.

You wish you were at home. Wish you weren't so drunk. Wish you could think straight. Wish your balance was a little better - but it's not, and as you try and think of a response that goes beyond 'i miss you' or a 'you should be here', you stumble a little. Lose your footing. Grab onto the sink to stop yourself from falling over entirely, only to send your phone crashing to the floor.

"Fuck," you curse, scrambling down to get it, only to be greeted with a fracture splintering right over the top of your front camera. Pulling up the app, it's very quickly clear that the camera absolutely ruined - but for the most part, your screen is okay. "Fuck."

You think it's a sign: go home.

Even if you're drunk, and you're in the business to make some bad decisions, you know that your Damocles boy is right. There are some weirdos about tonight, and as fucked up as it all seems, 'safe' feels a lot like a message thread with a man you've never met.

Instead of replying to him, you open up your thread with Jimin. Let him know you're going home. Make your way up the stairs and out of the bar without looking back. It's rare for you to cry when you drink, but it kind of feels like you will now, and for no good reason. Just had a little too much, that's all.

The light around fades from the invasive red of the club into the murky blue hues of the streets.

And yet, there's a lovely little red flag waiting by the top of the stairs, unaware of your decision to head home, too.

"You leaving already?" You chirp in surprise upon realising who it is.

The sound of your voice, and the fact it's addressing him, seems to take Yoongi by surprise when he turns to face you.

"I, uh," he pauses. Looks down. Seems to be a little flustered. You wonder what's going inside that head of his, but when his eyes meet yours again, you decide you're better off not knowing. "Can't be home too late. I'm sorta seeing someone. Gotta get back for them."

"Oh," you say quietly.

I'm seeing someone.

"Yeah."

It's not like it matters, it's just that you never expected to hear him say those words. He's married to his music. Always has been. Spends his nights in the studio, not sleeping next to someone else.

Or perhaps he doesn't anymore. Just goes to show how little you know of his life these days.

"That's nice," you chirp, swallowing down your surprise. "Yeah. That's really nice, actually. I'm pleased for you."

In a way, it makes sense. Perhaps his strangeness lately has been less to do with you and more to do with himself and the fact he genuinely doesn't care about the past anymore. Thoughts of the night that never was are genuinely reserved for your brain, and your brain alone. Have no place in his. His warning about Jungkook was due to lessons learned by him.

"And you?" He asks, noticing the slight discomfort in your tone. He wouldn't normally entertain such frivolous conversations with you, but he's only human. Alcohol still gets him a little loose-lipped, too. "What's new in your love life?"

You laugh, now. Good fuckin' question. Genuinely don't know how to describe your Damocles boy, or if you even want to.

"Nothing new."

"No?"

"No," you smile in such a way that Yoongi knows you're not telling the whole truth - but who is he to pry?

"Well," he says, then coughs to clear his throat. Look out to the street ahead of you both. It's full of drunk revellers, and you're certain at least half of them will have The Scouts in their playlists. Yoongi's position in the band means he's never front and centre, so no one notices him like this. If they do, they're being incredibly discreet about it. "I'm sure you'll meet someone soon."

"Maybe," you shrug, knocking your shoulder against his arm. "Be easier if you didn't stand in front of every guy who shows an interest in me."

"It was one guy," he laughs, knowing not to take you too seriously. "And you know he was a creep. Was just standing in for your brother."

"Yeah," you nod, not caring to counter him, or to remind him how fucked up it is to refer to himself like that. Folding your arms over your chest, you're regretting the lack of a coat. Had left it back at pre-drinks, because a little bit of liquor and you suddenly think you're a child of the sun. "You're right. Thanks for that."

"No worries," Yoongi shrugs. Is about to offer you his jacket, when a taxi rolls up. "This yours?"

"Yeah," you nod, recognising the number plate from the taxi you'd ordered via an app when you'd been in the bathroom. "Want a lift?"

He shakes his head. "Gotta head to the studio first."

"Yoongi, you're drunk," you laugh. "What did I tell you about all work?"

"Yeah, yeah, dull boy," he laughs too - but it's not you he's thinking of as he recites it. It's the girl he's heading home for that enters his mind, and how she'd said something similar. Shaking his head, he's confused at how easily thoughts of her intertwine with how easy it can be to joke with you. Puts it down to the alcohol. His head's a mess. "Inspiration doesn't wait. Let Jimin or someone know when you're home."

"Get in the cab," you insist at his need to be difficult. "I'll route it past the studio. Inspiration doesn't wait," you imitate a little childishly, which does get him smiling. "Better to get to it quickly, no?"

He looks around. Looks a little uncomfortable. You don't take it personally. He looks like this a lot of the time around you. Even before it all got weird.

Eventually, he sighs. Relents.

"Route it to yours," he says. "I'll carry on to the studio."

"Studio is closer," you tell him, knocking your head to the side, pulling open the door. "C'mon. The driver will leave if you don't hurry up."

"And Jin'll kill me if you get stolen," he reminds you, as if that would be likely to happen. Even if the taxi driver was a creep, there are cameras everywhere in places like this. You're as safe as can be. "You first. Non-negotiable."

"You're a tough bargainer," you hum with narrowed eyes. He is at least here, and not walking in the cold. Would have to cross the river to get to the studio, and the thought of any of them drunkenly walking along it alone scares you. "Fine. But you better not get stolen, either. Twitter would have a meltdown- no, Twitter would kill me if you get stolen."

"Shut up," he laughs. Knows The Scouts have a fanbase that could scare even political leaders into submission, if they really wanted to. "They don't even know who you are."

But Yoongi is forgetting who your brother is. Forgetting that there's a good reason why Jungkook has 'look but don't touch' etched into his brain. Forgetting that there are Twitter accounts dedicated to posting updates from your socials, just for a glimpse of The Scouts.

And as you let silence simmer into the taxi, not caring to keep up a conversation, you're none the wiser that those exact fan accounts are currently screaming into the void.

The Yoongi-dedicated update accounts, too.

In fact, the entire app is on fire - and it's not gonna be an easy one to put out.

03:31AM

D4m0cl3s: you still out, clem?

Cl3m3ntin3: why? miss me?

D4m0cl3s: never

Cl3m3ntin3: hmmm well in that case, yes i am x

D4m0cl3s: i think you're lying you answered far too quickly

Cl3m3ntin3: i think you should just admit that you miss me and u just caught me at a good time :/

D4m0cl3s: but i don't? and ur nose must be soooooo big pinocchio

Cl3m3ntin3: yeah you do you've missed me sooooo much tonight, havent you? bet you've been all mopey just thinking about me aaaaaaall night me & my proportionally sized nose x

D4m0cl3s: dunno what you mean

Cl3m3ntin3: well, are you home?

D4m0cl3s: almost

Cl3m3ntin3: not even home yet and already texting me... but you don't miss me? you're lucky you've got such a nice cock i wouldn't let your lies slide so easily if you didn't

D4m0cl3s: so you're only with me for my cock?

Cl3m3ntin3: i'm not with you

D4m0cl3s: ouch noted

Cl3m3ntin3: you're the one who refuses to have me, remember?

D4m0cl3s: you know it's not like that, clem

Cl3m3ntin3: i know, babe i'm just fucking with you figuratively (sadly) i'm with friends though - i'll let you know when i'm alone, alright?

D4m0cl3s: don't worry about me enjoy your night trouble message me in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: if this is a ploy to make me message you first, it wont work

D4m0cl3s: finei 'll message you

Cl3m3ntin3: keen

D4m0cl3s: you love it

Cl3m3ntin3: suuuure i do

D4m0cl3s: stay safe, babe drink water before bed

Cl3m3ntin3: you wanna drink some clementine juice before bed?

D4m0cl3s: i dont think they make clementine juice and no you know the rules sleep off the alcohol first then send me pictures of that gorgeous cunt in the morning, yeah?

Cl3m3ntin3: and what will i get in return?

D4m0cl3s: the video i've just taken of myself stroking my big hard cock just for you

Cl3m3ntin3: fuck send it now? pls x

D4m0cl3s: keen and no x

Cl3m3ntin3: c'monnnn :(

D4m0cl3s: in the morning, baby just know that i'm a little drunk but so fuckin' hard

Cl3m3ntin3: no whiskey dick? i'm impressed

D4m0cl3s: i'm thinking about you nothing will ever stop me from getting hard when im thinking about you

Cl3m3ntin3: watcha thinkin about? gimmie specifics x i wanna touch myself

D4m0cl3s: that pretty cunt of yours how fuckin' wet you get god i wanna fuck you nice and slow NO FUCK STOP TEMPTING ME YOU SIREN

Cl3m3ntin3: 🙁

D4m0cl3s: in the morning

Cl3m3ntin3: you promise?

D4m0cl3s: i promise, baby go spend time with your friends message me if you need anything

Cl3m3ntin3: your dick?

D4m0cl3s: anything other than that you'll get it in the morning, clemmie promise x

D4m0cl3s is offline

GENIUS LAB Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu

"All good?" Yoongi hums as the door to his studio clicks shut. 

He'd left the door on the latch so you could get back in when you went to the bathroom. Could have just given you the code, but he didn't want you to think he'd be making a habit of this. It's a limited-time offer. Not one that can be redeemed whenever you like. It's now, and now only.

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, pulling on the back of the spare desk chair Yoongi had rolled up beside his. You don't look at him, just at the screens as you tell a little white lie. "Just let Jimin know I was okay."

Yoongi grunts some sort of agreement, but doesn't vocalise a response as such.

It's not like a complete subversion of the truth. A text has been sent to your group chat. The one with just Jungkook and Jimin. No one else needs to know your business, as far as you're concerned.

It's just that a few more texts have been sent to your Damocles boy—but that's none of Yoongi's business. You're sure he wouldn't care to know.

You're also sure he's regretting the request for help bestowed upon you on the ride back. He'd mentioned the song he was going to work on, and you'd offered to lend an ear again. 

It's not an unheard-of thing. There are a couple of tracks on the last album that have been tweaked as a result of your ear, including their biggest single. You're not listed in the credits, but you never asked to be. Was just helping out a friend—even if said friend then decided to become an asshole when they started making a name for themselves.

You're tipsy, and so is Yoongi. It's easier to forget how fraught things have become when you're like this. You wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't had a few too many drinks. 

You also probably wouldn't be trending all over twitter, but you're still blissfully unaware of this.

"Same track as before, right?" You ask, kicking your shoes off to get a little more comfortable on the chair.

Again, words fail Yoongi. You're forced to decipher his small noises, 'cause it's all he tends to offer you. It's not like it's a uniquely you issue—the boys have learned to speak in Yoongi-code, too. 

"Okay, play it from the start," you tell him. "Show me what we're working with."

There's a cautious nature to the way Yoongi works. So preoccupied with creating perfection, he hates letting people hear his work before it's reached his self-imposed arbitrary standards. There's only a very small circle who gets the privilege of seeing how his brain works.

Despite his ever-present disdain for you, it seems like you're one of the lucky few. He'll never acknowledge this. Never admit that he favours your opinions, because he genuinely doesn't think he does.

You're frank with him. Will tell him how it is. Don't sugarcoat it. Aren't seeking his approval, so don't care to lick his ass just to keep him happy—not that he ever wants you to lick his ass. Could think of nothing worse. Not because he isn't into it, but because the thought of being with you repulses him in a way he can't quite describe. Even thinking about it makes him shudder.

But maybe that's the issue. Maybe the shudder is indicative of something else entirely.

"Yoongi?" You ask, drawing him from his thoughts. The song has finished, but he doesn't even really recall listening to it at all.

"Hm?" He hums. "Sorry, what were you saying?"

"The lyrics," you say. "What's the song about? 'Cause at the moment, musically, it sounds like a heartbreak song and love song all at the same time, and I think that's what's confusing about it. It can't decide what it wants to be."

Yoongi frowns.

"It's not really either," he supposes.

In the dim lighting of his studio, Yoongi is at his very best. Focused, he's shrewd in his astute calculations. Can put together different sounds and construct melodies you wouldn't even be able to dream of. For all of his issues, there is one undeniable truth: the man is a musical genius.

It's why this is all so perplexing to him. He hates not knowing how to make things right. This is his job. It's what he excels at—and yet he's failing.

"Well, what's it about?" You softly ask, turning to look at him. "Do you have the lyrics?"

Guard clearly up, the way Yoongi looks at you is puzzling. Whatever he's written isn't something that he wants to share.

"What?" you laugh, trying to not make a big deal of things. You know how quickly he closes up, and can already sense it happening. "You told me you're seeing someone, remember? God forbid you accidentally expose the fact you're a human being with real feelings."

You half think he might smile.

He doesn't.

Instead, he reaches across his desk for a small black notebook. A little weathered, it's clearly seen a lot of thoughts in the past. The leather of the cover is tarnished, and there's a faded sticker from some instrument brand wrapping around the spine.

"Just don't ask any fuckin' questions," he grumbles.

Rolling your eyes, you gladly accept the book. Tuck your thumb between the pages where a natural divide occurs. It's testament to how long Yoongi has spent agonising over the same words.

His handwriting never changes much. Always messy. Always hard to decipher.

Or at least, it's hard for other people. You've never found it to be too taxing.

What's curious this time are the little doodles on the page. Blossoms and small fruits.

"Cherries?" You ask, chirping with a little curiosity. It's hard to work out exactly what they are, but cherries seem like the most likely thing.

Yoongi just grunts.

Getting anything from him is like getting blood from a stone.

"How the fuck do you have a functioning relationship?" You mutter, casting your eyes back down to his words. The way he refuses to converse with you is infuriating.

"I said no questions," he curtly reminds you.

The way you roll your eyes this time is far less kind. Tossing the book back down on the desk, you reach for your shoes and get to your feet without a word.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," you tell him, as your hand reaches for the door handle. "You asked me for help, Yoongi—but I can't do jack shit if you won't let me."

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask for critique on my relationship, did I?" He snaps back. Feels his skin get all hot. Clammy. Relationship. That's not how he'd define what he's got going on. He doesn't know why he did call it that. Doesn't know why he didn't just ignore you, when you're clearly trying to wind him up.

"You're impossible," you tell him, patience thin. The alcohol made it easier to be friendly with him, but it also makes it easier to fight, too.

"And you're unbearable!"

"Me?!" You say with such offense it almost surprises Yoongi. Turning around to fully face him, you let go of the the door handle. Let it whisper shut, the lock softly clicking into place. You're willingly trapped in the confines of his studio. Could just leave. Instead, you choose to fight. "Oh, you have some fucking nerve—"

"I thought you were going?" He cuts you off, responding to your change in position by getting to his feet too. He's not one for confrontation, but there's something about you that just gets under his skin. Makes him wanna fight right back. "So why don't you just fuckin' go?"

"I am," you assure him. You should have known that this would end in disaster. "But maybe if you channelled some of this pent-up frustration into your music, maybe you'd actually get somewhere."

"I don't need you telling me how to do my job," he sneers. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm doing perfectly fine without your unsolicited advice."

Unbelievable. Was he not the one who asked for your help? Repeatedly?

"Holy shit," you scornfully laugh. "Listen to yourself, you deluded prick! You asked—"

"Yeah, well if you didn't insist on sticking your big fuckin' Pinnochio nose into everything—"

"My big nose?! Oh, you are such an asshole."

"You're no fuckin' daisy, either," he snaps. Doesn't even really know why he's being so rude. Just knows he doesn't want to back down. Doesn't wanna let you win. "Just do us all a favour and quit before the tour. No one wants you there."

It's never been a secret that Yoongi harbours contempt for the way in which you got your jobs, but you know damn well that you've proven your worth. If it was anyone else saying these words, you'd probably be offended.

Instead, you just shake your head. Laugh. Walk a little closer just to piss him off. Encroach upon his personal space.

"Tell me, Yoongi," you say quietly, picking off a little dust from his shirt just to see how he reacts. To your surprise, he lets you. Just looks down at you. Watches to see what you'll do next. Eyes flicking up to his, the air between you is frightfully thin. "If I quit, how would you explain it to Jin? Hmm? Would you tell him the way you speak to me?"

"I've got nothing to hide," Yoongi replies just as quietly. There's an intimacy to be found somewhere hidden between your mutual disdain and heated anger. The kind of coldness that can only come from someone you once knew to be warm. "He knows you're a piece of work."

This does make you laugh. "Nothing to hide, huh?"

"Nothing," he says. His jaw is tense, and his eyes are even more so. "Nothing happened that night."

"Yoongi, I didn't even mention that night," you remind him with a smirk, pleased at your ability to get under his skin. 

That night has lingered with you both: the scent of damp cedar wood and the sensation of sweltering heat against your clammy skin. It's not the kind of thing you forget, even if you never speak of it. Not with Jimin, not with Jungkook, and especially not with Yoongi.

"Just get out of my studio," he growls, eyes centred on yours. He's unwavering in the way that he stares you out; unashamed and uncompromising.

"Gladly," you say as you pull away from him.

You're not gonna beg him to be cordial with you. This atmosphere is a product of his own creation, and as miserable as it is, he's gonna have to be the one to fix it. Both as stubborn as one another, you know damn well it's gonna stay like for a while.

The door slams shut. No amount of soundproofing can obscure the way Yoongi curses into the void left by you.

But right on time, as you reach the door that leads out onto the street, your phone vibrates in your pocket. It's a little longer than the vibration of your other apps, so you know exactly what it is. Who it is. Solace is found in the form of notifications from him. Satisfaction, too.

D4m0cl3s: fuck it i need you, now, clem

D4m0cl3s added new media to the chat!

end of part two

Before I Leave You (Pt.70)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The one where the pack goes on a group bender. 

Tags: Fluff, only a little hurt mostly just comfort, scenting, bathing, drinking, drunk characters, recovery from past abused, nightmares, trans! tae, dress up, girl on girl fluff, omegaspace, themes of forgiveness, vomiting, eating disorder mention but everything's good, Brief implied sexual content, Talks of mental disorders, murder,

W/c: 12.6k

Note: The part where it links to a playlist on youtube may be a little distracting if you do not like to read with loud music on! feel free to skip it and then go back to listen to it <3 although it is not the first song in the playlist- hot to go by chappell roan is the unofficial official song of the chapter <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The pack spends the next three days getting drunk off their asses and trying their hardest to forget the last 3 weeks. Everything since you and Hobi found that body at the beach all those weeks ago.

There are no police officers at the door, no red and blue lights that cloud the air, or tense words spat between you. No plans devilish or delightful. Sometimes there are thin bands of sunlight that slip through the blinds and that's a big event. Other times- the big kitchen light shines brighter than any sun. Daytime and nighttime blend and blur together until you’re not sure what day it is or how many days it’s been since all of you became free.

Freedom. It feels like a dirty word.

Young, drunk, and honest, the days blend together. Drinking away the last few weeks might not be the best move, neither the healthiest nor the most productive decision to drink yourselves dizzy until it doesn’t matter that there’s a person buried in your basement, that Jin shot Jimin, or that you almost left them. The truth of love is clean compared to what you might do, what you have done- for the people you love.

For once no one judges, no one cuts you off after one or three or five drinks because it's too much for a pup like you. No one even stops Jungkook from getting giggly from champagne and drinking more than his seizures would normally allow. You deserve it, a few nights of fun, a few nights to live like the 20-somethings that you all are without the weight of trying to survive and secrets weighing you down.

It’s okay, if Jungkook has a seizure that will be the least of your worries.

The hours blend and blur. Jin submits his resignation paperwork for the FBI and has a quick video call with the director, the rest of the pack tries to be quiet but fails several times (once when namjoon pops a bottle of champagne and hits himself in the face with a flying cork, and again when he and Yoongi clink their glasses and predictably break them on accident sending champagne all over the floor. it's not the first glass that breaks that night but it is the first one that makes Jin laugh.)

You and Jungkook lay sprawl across his lap, just out of sight and giggling every few minutes. nuzzling under Jin's shirt to scent his sensitive stomach. Your fingers play with Jungkook's on Jin's hips, and you teeth listlessly at the soft skin just above his belly button, just so that you don't speak or let out an embarassingly needy whine. His hands and long fingers card through your hair and shushing your laughter just barely. Jin doesn't have the heart to tell anyone not to laugh, especially after the last few days no- Jin will drink down every bit of it.

The glass of very good and expensive wine in his hands just out of view of the camera lens, also gets drunk down, and very quick. Yoongi pauses to refill it once Jin's done, he drinks the second glass slower.

Hobi and Namjoon fill out their paperwork for emergency rut leave. Jimin doesn’t have to, already on emergency medical leave and cleared for his bodyguard job till the end of the month when spring will turn the ground lucid and heavy sweet. The winter won't be long now, although the cold pushes at the window and makes Yoongi put the thermostat up high just so that you can all lounge around in your pajamas and fuzzy socks.

Heat and rut leave, even though no one's in a rut or heat. You don't mind lying and abusing the system just this once. You just can’t think about leaving the house just yet. You need a few days to settle all of your instincts and remember that being alive- that surviving is a good thing. That surviving and being together is even better.

It feels like a good thing. It feels like this is the first deep breath you’ve taken in a long long while. Since long before Yoongi maybe- if you’re being honest.

You know you must be irritating your neighbors with the music- but it’s worth it when you get to sit on the counter and watch Yoongi and Hobi bicker over the playlist. Which song is better, which one has the better backtrack, the better lyrics, and the better vibe.

A big black block speaker sits on the kitchen island bumping and although Hoseok and Yoongi might be fighting, they're leaning further into each other with every over-exaggerated scoff like a pair of magnets. it might be midnight, it might be 4am, but no ones sleeping yet. you know too well what waits you when you close your eyes. The nightmares that will plauge all of you, so you keep them open.

It's kinda fun to watch them flirt, It's kinda your favorite thing to watch actually. sitting there on the counter sipping at your drink.

You stay close to Hobi just incase. He hasn't showed any sort of evidence of falling apart from seeing moonbyul yet, but you're ready and waiting if he needs you.

The long socks you wear have trouble staying up to your mid-thigh, thick and cozy, and falling down around your knee as you sit on the countertop, feet dangling and swinging as you look between Hobi and Yoongi. Jimin toys with them, pulling up and pulling down. Happy with the sensation of it. He's equally as entertained by the way that Yoongi and Hobi fight, half joking- half really not.

After the kind of fights you've had recently, you'll take it.

“Fuck you and your love for fucking tambourines- this song is not that good-” Your feet swish and Hobi bens in to peck your forehead and sneak a sip of your drink. You like them sweet and Jin's made each one extra sugary for you.

You don't know where Jin got the mini paper umbrellas from- but Hoseok has a red one tucked behind his ear and a green one in his drink, the same as your yellow one. They litter the kitchen counter along with the juiced rinds of lemons and limes and other mixers that the pack is chasing with their alcohol.

"Oh! Try it Tae, this is like- so you and so so pink" Tae tries your drink too, bending down to sip at it counter level and you watch Jimin swallow hard and fidget. he's so enthralled with the sight of her bending over and sucking that he misses her sneaky hand creeping around to his backside, pinching so hard he jumps.

Hoseok laughs and then does the same to Yoongi. "Oh my god what the fuck-" He's indignant, but Hoseok tugs him back to his side by his belt buckle.

Tae's eyes are nearly comically wide, she asks you what you're drinking, hand on your knee, fiddling with the ribbon on your socks. “I’ve never had a Miami vice before.”

Jimin’s growl is a near thing, a near purr, makes you giggle and tip into him, happy. “I’ll make you one babygirl.”

"Wait!" Tae snags Jimin around the waist before he sinks off to get her one, and even you can see the blush on his cheeks. It's a good sign, Jimin is recovering well from all the blood he lost.

"Help me sit on the counter first?"

Jimin had in fact, heaved you up there when you'd asked to sit, not that you couldn't get up there on your own- but the alpha’s like to do little things like that for you. Tae can definitely do it herself too but Jimin stoops to grip under her thighs, eye contact with her never ceasing, and almost drops her when she takes the chance to kiss him fully on the mouth and you giggle again.

Yoongi glances over at you, at the sound, and your giggle cuts off. cheeks the mirror of Jimin's.

The discomfort passes like it was never there, like he didn't look for the sound, like he's not keenly aware of just how many steps it would take to cross the room and kiss you firmly on the mouth. Yoongi's thinking all sorts of silly things like that.

It's not silly, it's not silly at all- Yoongi is just not quite sure how angry he is.

Yoongi’s all puffed up, swaying but somehow holding onto his whiskey. The counter digs into his hip where he leans and flips his hair like he doesn't know that Hobi's watching. Like Hobi's not biting his lip and staring. It's easier to look at Hobi than it is to look at you- easier to want Hobi than it is to want you right now. Easier to bicker and flirt than to actually initiate anything.

(Yoongi never did like sex or love when he's drunk, he's only ever loved love sober, drinking makes him- stumbly- less articulate than he likes, more rambly. Like his body and his mind are at two seperate tempo's and they won't mix).

“Like you’re any better with your fucking cowbell fixation. It does not add that much to a track."

“Hey! I am a millennial thank you very much, that was like such a meme when I was in high school- like people had shirts with that on it” 

their bickering is funny and it’s so much nicer than almost drowning, than fighting. Jimin’s stitches are still tender but you burrow into the front of his chest, hiding your face from view. Peeking over his shoulder to watch Yoongi and Hobi. 

Your mate tips his head, spits it almost vicious and slurry, “And I bet you had one of those fucking shirts, You and your fucking memes, just because a song has cowbell in it doesn't make it a good song-” 

Hoseok grins, teeth sharp looking and smelling so heady and rich that you tip your neck to the side, presenting your scent gland for Jimin and Tae to burrow into, between the two of them in a alpha sandwich. 

"You thinking about my shirt hyung? It's made of boyfriend material you know." 

Jin laughs from the couch in approval and tae groans but Yoongi's hand tangles with the front of Hoseok's shirt, black, generic. Pulling him closer so harshly that hoseok genuinely looks startled for a second. "I am thinking about your shirt- how it would look on my fucking floor." 

Jungkook swishes around his Miami vice from the couch, calling over to your little cuddle puddle, "Does anyone know what they're talking about?" 

Jin pipes up, almost undistinguishable from where he's pressed between Joonie and the couch cushion. "Are they angry at each other or trying to fuck?"

"Both?" 

"Both." 

You sigh at the same moment Tae nearly swoons, "Let them be."

"It's sort of hot to watch them argue," you agree.

“You and your fucking memes” Yoongi spits again, half a laugh, so in love that he purses his lips to keep from saying it and ruining the (admittedly fake) argument.

He pushes hoseok up agains the center island, lips colliding with his so sloppy and yet with so much love behind them that you see Hobi's knees go weak a little, watch your mates lips work in the way you are only too familiar with blushing and still peeking. As Hoseok's red hair mizes with Yoongi's black and Hoseok kisses back with just as much tension, finally snapping. Yoongi's hands on his hips. Kissing just to kiss. Pulling apart with a laugh because,

"Did you just fucking bite me?"

"And i'll do it again if you don't admit that my song is better than yours." They go back to kissing, and no one pays them heed.

Jimin’s scent swells sweeter and Tae touches the top of your head, long fingers threading through and long nails scratching gently behind your ears. 

"Feeling small pup?" She asks, all quiet and fond with it. Prepared to wisk you away upstairs or into the library room if you need a second of quiet, a second of less stimulation so settle you. you're a little quiet, a little less verbal- something she's come to expect from you in omegaspace.

You shake your head, words escaping you, eyes stuck on her fluffy sweater, the kind of mohair that leaves a pretty white halo, her shorts are more bloomers, ruffled at the hem and dove colored, the same color as your socks. Coordinating. Tae dressed you and she wanted couples outfits. Your hands fix on her sweater sleeves and you pet them once, twice, still shaking your head. 

"You sure?" Tae's lips quirk and you know that she doesn't believe you in the slightest. You press a kiss to her lips, slow soft, near reverent with how gentle you are with it. Her pupils dilate, and Jimin's' growl rumbles all the way to your fingertips.  

"M'okay, just a little sleepy but not like- sleepy sleepy yet." it is nearing 3 in the morning. Jimin's arms tighten around you protective and a little possessive, Tae's eyes go from your face to his. Apparently, she's learned a thing or two from Yoongi and Hobi because her tone is dripping with false displeasure.

“Stealing my pup from me Minnie?” She taunts, and you shiver at the sound of her voice, low, the most normal it’s sounded in days. You’d almost forgotten what it sounded like when Tae teased.

Jimin seems to have forgotten too, because he doesn't seem to understand that she's teasing, bullying you, nearly pushing you further into her with how quick he seeks to hand you over.  “Never.” He says softly, quietly. Like every syllable she says is treasured. It is. 

“Hey!” Jin flops over the edge of the couch. Jungkook and Namjoon near his feet. All but kissing up his thighs. Namjoon says something low and Jungkook giggles, almost tossing himself into the pack alpha’s shoulder. “Hey! If anyone is anyone’s pup, they’re- hic- mine!” 

Jin only manages to be serious for a second before he flinches, laughing and hiccuping again as Namjoon’s fingers dig into the meat of his heal. A carefully orchestrated reminder as the pack omega squirms and shrieks at the ticklish feeling. Swaying and almost toppling from the couch. You don’t think you’ve seen Jin look so young, act so young- in weeks. He ends up on the floor with Jungkook on top of him, blowing raspberries against his neck with a loud rippling noise. 

Your hands are healing slowly and Hobi’s bruises around his neck are beginning to yellow. The bruises on the back of Tae’s head have faded from painful to touch tender. You touch her there, oh so gently. Touching her hair as she touches yours, leaning into each other and giggling, touching, loving gently. Jimin watches blinking owlishly. Fingers flexing on the countertop.

Other wounds have faded that way too. Yoongi scoffs and turns to you. They've been lost in their own little world. Yoongi has his long hair in a top knot, his white teeshirt is so long it almost hides his shorts below. If basketball shorts could be coquettish- Yoongi would pull it off. The loose pieces of his hair fluff softly over his forehead as he huffs. 

“Okay. You can be the tiebreaker- which one’s better? This one or the song I showed earlier?”

Both of them look at you expectantly- watching and waiting, Tae curls a lock of your hair around her finger syrupy slow as you pause for a second. You turn to Yoongi already apologetic, “Okay- but Russian house music is like- kinda really really cool-” 

Your mate groans and all but smacks his head on the counter. “Oh come on!” Hoseok pumps his fist and almost hip-checks Yoongi across the kitchen. Your mate pouts, crossing his arms.

“Come on- epic high is a classic.” 

“Admit it hyung- she likes my playlist better than yours.”

At least Yoongi is sort of talking to you again. Sort of getting over it minute by minute. It’s hard. Namjoon watches you from where he's sprawled on the couch, holding a near-empty bottle of champagne by the neck while Jungkook and Jin wrestle on the floor, sort of making out, sort of scenting each other as they go. Jimin requests a song that Tae would like- and then Yoongi and Hoseok lean over Yoongi's phone to make her the perfect playlist. Happy to have something new and mundane to bicker over.

(Happy Pink Pup Time ▷ Play playlist?)

Morning is just cresting over the rooftops and the music is just turned down when Namjoon gets up from the couch, slowly, dizzy. You're perched on the counter in your pj's watching Jimin and Jungkook chase each other around the room. The need to scent and wrestle and get all your restless energy out near palpable.

Hoseok and Jungkook have a tiny paper drink umbrella tucked behind their ears, the same one that Jin stuck in your drinks so that you can keep track of whose drink is whose. He and Jungkook gang up on Jimin to stick one into his hair, the tiny little baby bun that Tae tied to match Yoongi.

You giggle as Jungkook gives up and just loops his arms around Jimin's neck, no technique to it and all body weight dragging the three of them to the floor. Sprawled next to the library room door, now open. Tae’s makeup collection spread out on the green shaggy carpet like the fallen petals of some red flowering tree. Nothing hidden in the room anymore, the lock will go unused forever. 

It changes from wrestling to tickling and then the three of them are getting up and surrounding Yoongi, a paper umbrella in their fingers, he takes it all with a huff and a surprisingly whiney, “guys.” 

You still when Namjoon walks over, the same way you'd still if a wild animal were approaching. He doesn't settle close, just stands next to you and pours himself the last melted bit of the drink in the blender. Pink and yellow swirling delicately. He makes a noise in his throat and looks at you like he hasn’t barely said a word to anyone in the whole last 24 hours, hasn’t barely said a word to you since you got off the phone with him and Moonbyul left the house. 

You sip at your drink, lips pursed around the straw and when you're done, Namjoon takes it from you and puts it on the counter. You think at first that he might be cutting you off but then he stares at the gauze around your hands.

"I should probably check these." You nod obedient, wordless, unsure what to say, you let him take your hands. 

Fingers prodding at the red skin, delicate but knitting itself together slowly. “How much do they hurt?” He asks. Eyes downturned, looking at them, not you. 

“Probably a two,” you rate, almost without thinking. His eyelashes still cling together from salt. Face glossy. You want to wash his face, blot across his cheeks gently the way that Jin does after you've been crying (something that you admittedly do a lot- the pack's resident crybaby). 

Namjoon sighs heavily, "So should I consider that a four or-" 

"No, this time I'm being honest." Namjoon stills, "It doesn't hurt when I touch stuff unless I'm not careful." Being honest about your hurts and pains has never been easy for you. But Namjoon has shown you time and time again that he's willing to take your hurts and fix them. You have no reason not to tell him the truth. 

Namjoon grips your palm, turning it over his hands again and again, looking down at your love line lifeline all tangled there before leveling you with a look that is neither angry nor resigned.

He holds your hand, “Do you notice?” He asks. You swallow, eyes itchy. 

“Notice what?” His finger presses to the center of your palm, the hollow there. 

“Still dry,” He says. 

You think of the mice. Of drowning. You don't pull your hand from  Namjoon's grasp, but you know he wouldn't Let you anyway. 

You think about the mice. Of dying. Of trying to stay dry despite the things that try to swallow you whole. Water is not gentle, water is hungry. The rain pitters against the dark glass and melts the snow outside. But you and Namjoon and the rest of the pack are dry and warm and safe in here. 

Your breath hitches, but you close your fingers around his hand and nod. Your heels hook around the back of his knees, pulling him closer to you. “Still dry.” You agree. 

Namjoon closes his eyes and breaks the tension and this distance between you. Letting you pull him between your thighs properly where you sit on the kitchen counter. Wrapping his arms around your shoulders to tug you to his chest, and breathing deep in the hollow of your throat. 

He pulls back just as abruptly. Hands resting on the counter on either side of your thighs. All up in your space and sour-smelling. It takes great effort for you not to turn away and keep his piercing eye contact. 

“Don’t do something like that again. Ever.” His jaw rolls and his scent spikes angry. But it's all temporary as you nose under his jaw to soothe him. Namjoon has every right to be angry with you for leaving, the same way Yoongi does. 

“Never. Promise.” You hold out your pinky and you mean it. 

Namjoon looks at you for a second, staring you down, waiting for you to look away. But then after a pregnant second, he loops his pinky through. 

~-~

Eventually, you get drunk enough to play dress up with Tae’s collection of designer clothes. You wake up sleepy and pupish, Namjoon and Jungkook guide you to the dressing room before youre really awake.

"Sorry to wake you, Tae just needed-" you make a sleepy soft noise, nuzzling into Namjoon's throat when they hand him off to you.

Instead of getting pulled into pajamas you get Tae and the dressing room, almost her whole collection of dresses taken out of their careful organization. piles and piles of clothes on the floor, and a silk scarf keeps her hair back from her face.

Gold eye patches on her under eyes that slide off when Jin tries to drag her in for a morning scent mark to soothe her. Tae's anxious, you can smell it on the air, distracting and sharp, you squirm and Namjoon sets you on the floor. "Sorry pup, Tae's just-"

Tae's cheeks were wet, frustrated holding a slip in her hands. sniffling softly. She'd looks at you a little guilty, looking down at you in the middle of her tornado and nearly burst into tears,

"I don't have anything to wear."

Hugging Tae is always so easy, easier when she needs your comfort. you're sleepy, but this is something you'd know how to do even in your sleep- loving her properly has always been so easy. Jimin stands silent and fidgety in between the hollow of her closet obviously having handed her dress after dress to try and soothe her.

"Jimin, give me that dress and that Crinolin."

"The blue one?"

"The one thats purple and pink, stat." You know better than to think this is just Tae having nothing to wear, this is dysphoria, the way it clings to her shoulders, makes her turn away from the mirrors. You straighten up and turn to your pack in the door each of them standing at attention.

"Namjoon, go downstairs and bring me up the case that's under Tae's makeup vanity, not next to it, the one under it. It's got her favorites." You turn to Hobi, "find Noodle, she needs a cat in her lap asap."

Tae sniffles, wiping her cheeks, grimacing but then admitting, "a cat would help."

They scatter. "What should I do?" Yoongi asks, rubbing the back of his neck with his hands.

You pause, hover. But Yoongi waits, willing to be ordered around. "you could make us a drink?"

Of course, you don't need to be drunk to play dress up on a good day, it's just that Tae needed a bit of liquid courage after Moonbyul's words, you expect that they've gotten under her skin a little more than she's let on. But if that's under her skin, you're happy to help her put something more fitting over it.

Skirts of tulle and beaded flowers and stars that glitter brighter than the whole sky. Fancy tambour embroidery that must be worth its weight in gold. Pulled gently, mother-of-pearl buttons get stuck in your hair. Expensive draping and diamond collars stitched high against scented throats. Velvet bows and metal boning are hidden by the softest silk.

It's fun to be a girl sometimes, most of the time. Especially when your alphas ask for you to twirl for them.   Which is how Namjoon ends up breaking the lamp by your couch by tripping over the floor-length bright pink dress that Tae’s put you in. fluffy tiers of it, bright and flamingo pink. Tae's feeling alot better now, after you'd done her makeup and let her swatch colors of lipstick up and down your arms. Let her choose your outfit and change you a dozen times to find the right dress for you.

You'd done the same with her, you'd put her in the red dress and blushed, and immediately asked her to change. And had pointedly not looked at the delicate daisy print bralette she wore under it, the white and yellow flowers that did everything for her skin.

You remember when that bralet was just hidden in her makeup room. Remember when she'd never worn it, too risky, too much of a confession to the nature of her soul underneath. When it had stayed just there- hidden in the library room, ready to be savored. Now- the yellow on the straps wears off white instead of lemony and you pull them up her shoulders, a kiss to the spot where it sits on her shoulders.

Hoseok sits on the edge of the couch- because all of them had tried and failed to fit on the pink tufted bench upstairs in the dressing room almost breaking it so you had to relocate back to the first floor. Hoseok buries his face in your hip, disappearing into the pink glittery fabric. Laughing and smiling up at you. "You should wear this all the time, you look like a fucking peony,"

"That would be like so impractical." Hobi's cheeks are dotted with kiss prints, "if you want to put makeup on me you better kiss it on" he'd teased, getting drunk quicker than the rest. his cheeks have several small kiss prints four from Tae and five from you.

All of you bear her touch, either by kisses on your cheeks, pink and mauve, or by the glitter that tae's demanded you all wear. You’ve giggled and dotted it across their cheeks to match. Tae has a lot of glitter to go through in her makeup collection, more than she ever logically will in her lifetime or even before they expire. It's okay to use them now.

She sits with Jin, the pack omega's arms full of swatches the same way yours were all those months ago, as Tae explains the merits of each and Jin chooses which glitter he wants on his cheeks. The reflects in this one that's green, not purple- or the pink one with extra little heart glittery bits- her favorite. Jin listens on an astute student, Jimin close at his hip, absorbing her words like they're gospel.

They are gospel. After spending the last few days debating survival strategies- debating glitters is so much better.

Jin lets Tae put his on (white, with extra chunky stars) while you put some on Namjoon's cheeks (champagne colored, almost translucent with how it blends into his skin) and Jimin’s fingers draw idle circles over Tae's back. Between the velvet ribbons that crisscross and tie her corset.

Tae's corset is a deep plumb, but the color of her silk dress fades to pink around her waist and then gauzy white on the floor. Her red toenails are only visible when she sways, "Minnie i'm ticklish there." Jimin just growls in response. Half a pur and half a plea.

Are the others thinking about it like you are? Thinking about Tae in a big white dress, a veil across her face? Are they thinking about how lovely she looks in white? Or how much they'd like to see her in a white dress for them? Just like you are?

Namjoon leans close, between your thighs too. All of them- all of your packmates sit in a line across the couch, ready to be glittered and made up because Tae had requested it. Doing all of their makeup. They'd been so willing, so loving about it. They'd even washed their faces and you'd gotten to clean the salt from Namjoon's cheeks just like you'd wanted. But now-

Now the 4th finger on your hand hums sensitive, Tae has glitter across her knuckles. You haven't thought about your wedding ring since you took it off, and haven't thought about marriage at all. Jimin well- Jimin will be Tae's mate- same way you're Yoongi's. But Tae's ring finger is empty, she doesn't wear a lot of jewelry but-

You don't think about your wedding alot, not at all really. Such a brief little bit of time that started easily the worst time in your life, but you remember the feeling of the dress, tight on your hips- how you couldn't move a full step without help.

Hoseok burrows into the fluff at your hip, really- it must have taken a mile or two of tulle to make a skirt so poofy. It sort of feels like you're wearing a cloud. With Tae's ribcage size and your chest- most of her dresses fit you comfortably. This one is probably the closest, and Tae chose it for you.

Tae chose it for you.

You sneak furtive glances over at Tae while you do Namjoon's makeup. Not much, just a bit of eyeliner and mascara for his sparse lashes. He looks up at you from the couch, eyeliner on one eye, almost masculine in the way it makes his eyes look sharper and dragon like. Concealer for the bags under his eyes.

"Your scent went a little sour then sweet, what were you thinking about?" You continue to put it on him, pat pat pat- quiet for a moment where you choose your words.

"I was thinking about my wedding dress."

Hoseok quiets where he's still burrowing into your hip, maybe more a little alpha-puppyish than you've seen him. You don't blame him, the stress of yesterday has you needing a bit of omegaspace yourself. Your back and shoulders all tense in the way that only ever relaxes when you're brought low and sweet by their care.

But not now- not tonight- maybe tomorrow you'll indulge in omegaspace. Tonight, none of you will sleep or be sensitive just in case something bad happens. Just in case Moonbyul's promises were too good to be true. It might be a good night (verging on morning) but none of you trust the quiet. The rain still pittering on outside. Creaking under the doors with cold damp fingers.

Namjoon's fingers dig warm into the spot under your thighs, the squishy bit of skin between your knees and your mid-thigh. Under the dress but firm, keeping you there in the moment and not sinking back through your memories. 

Hobi's eyes are shiny when they look up at you, pinching a bit of the pink tulle between his thumb and forefinger. "What was getting married like? What did you wear for your wedding dress?" Was it everything you dreamed of or could you want that dream again. Who would you want that with, could it be me?

(Hoseok won't have to wonder for long, although he will be disappointed, just a little)

"It was so- so not me- I'd much rather have worn something like this." The dress might be a monstrous concoction of tulle but it's still so cute- so much more- you than anything Geumjae ever put you in.

"Getting married was kinda a blur, alot of people, a lot of talking but- I have pictures of me in it somewhere, do you want to see?" Namjoon nuzzles into your waist, your sternum, and nearly your chest, but you let him. He answers in a purr before Hobi has a chance too. 

"No, I don't need to see, you look lovelier in this, I'm sure."

"I never thought a bit of whiskey would draw compliments out of you alpha," You tease, it's a bit of a change from how firm with you he was yesterday but you're not going to look gift horses in the mouth. Namjoon just shakes his head, rubbing his cheeks across your bodice more thoroughly, almost clumsy in his scenting.  

"I clearly haven't been doing my job if you think you need to get me drunk to compliment you- I'll happily do it again when we all get sober."

"Like that will ever happen again," Jin snorts, then ducks away from Namjoon's /////' We really shouldn't have that kind of mentality look. They can avoid their pack alpha and pack omega responsibilities and sensibilities for a few moments more. a few days more. 

Tae had decided you'd wear this, had picked it out from where it had hung towards the side and she'd even said please. Even if the skirt is so long that you nearly trip over it every time you take a step you'll wear it all night if that's what she wants. Walking is what heels and alphas are for anyway.

You don't look at Hoseok and Namjoon, you just look at Tae, thinking of your wedding. 'I'm gonna marry her one day.' You think.  

The whole pack bursts into laughter, and you realize that you've spoken out loud the same second that you trip, hands jerking to catch yourself on Namjoon's shoulders, regardless of the container of glitter that you hold in your hands. 

When you look Yoongi has more glitter covering him than a stripper would at Mardi Gras. More than they put on Edward Cullen in Twilight. Their laughter redoubles, and when Yoongi breathes out in a huff, his breath sparkles. 

"Jesus fucking Christ."  

Your cheeks are brighter than your skirt while Jin tries to clean off his thighs swatting the glitter onto the floor but everyone's laughing too hard to properly help. Yoongi repays their laughter by shaking his hair out over them much to their dismay.

Jungkook is hiccupping with how hard he's giggling, and you're all drunk and in love, and just- there is no harm in it, even as Yoongi sighs and Hobi teases, "You're like fucking Tinkerbell hyung." 

Tae doesn't do anything about your confession, doesn't do anything but laugh and tip her hip into yours, it's so much squishier, so much curvier than it once was. The hormones that have been doing her job in making her soft and supple. Curves that you can't help but feel a little bit later when she pushes you into the side of the couch, your dress and her dress mixing their colors.

"So, you wanna marry me huh?" She's so much taller than you, especially in the Versace pumps she put on. So tall and willowy it has you stammering. 

"Yeah," you say, a little breathless looking up at her. Gulping as she leans, pinning you there. "If Jimin will let me." 

Jimin hasn't seemed to notice that you're having any sort of conversation that should involve him at all, hasn't registered your words at all, too busy staring at Tae with an expression that can only be described as lovestruck, maybe utterly devoted. Your sentiment and want to marry her- hasn't struck him as strange at all. You guess you'll have to ask Yoongi first but when you turn, his cheeks are as pink as your dress. 

Jin lunges forward, miming the neck of a champagne bottle as a microphone, doing a silly voice. "Anything to report? any comment Yoongi- knowing that your mate wants to marry someone thats not you?" 

Yoongi huffs and it casts a new puff of glitter into the air, "she can marry whoever she wants. She's my mate but- if she wants to yeah-" His shoulders shiver, "we'll not anyone- obviously she's limited to the people in this room but-" 

Jin is giggling and so are you, rolling your eyes, "Obviously- not like I'd wanna marry anyone else than you guys-" Hoseok looks away and then back at you but it's a missed moment. Jimin tugs on the laces of Tae's corset and her slight intake of breath has you looking back up at her. 

“Did you have to do it so tight?” He asks, eyes on you. 

“That’s kinda the point of a corset alpha.”

And then- Hobi slaps the couch. A loud sound but a look says he's not angry, he's running his fingers through some of the glitters there, a little pile, uncovering the faint stain below. 

It's a blood splatter. Faded from where Jin poured a whole bottle of hydrogen peroxide over it, but it's faintly there still. Soaked through the fibers and the foam below probably. Maybe all the way to the base and the springs. 

They washed it as much as they could, but they still couldn't get it out all the way. The couch, like a few other things in the house like the curtains- will have to be dealt with and disposed of one day. It is a kind of evidence. There's probably enough DNA to pull from it to be worrisome. 

“Can we like- burn this fucking thing already?”

He’s progressed past normal drunk to not quite able to stand on his own, might fall over, drunk. The glass in his hand sloshing with every movement as he leans over the edge of the couch. Hobi’s already got some on his cheeks, bright yellow gold that crests the highpoint of his cheekbones and the inner corner of his eyes. It looks like sparks a bit- especially with his red hair. 

Jin grimaces, “It was like totally soaked with blood. I did the best I could." 

"No one's blaming you hyung-" 

"Yeah you did like such a good job. It's just- still kinda covered." Namjoon's always trying to ease Jin's discomfort, encourage him, and that's still true even drunk.

“It's probably still got Namjoon’s cum in it from his last rut too.” Half the pack cringes and scolds Jungkook, but he's recalcitrant. "What? It's probably got your cum on it too- we kinda ruined it before the whole murder thing just saying." 

Jungkook hasn’t been drunk in years, he has the lowest tolerance among the eight of you. He bounces giggly, jumping from packmate to packmate, looping his arms around your shoulders and leaning so much of his body weight that you almost topple over, just giggling. Yoongi huffs, a little endeared and a little worried that Jungkook will actually make you fall over.

Jungkook does this to you alot. He likes to overpower you sometimes- not that the hierarchy still needs settling Jungkook just likes to hassle you.

“Hey!” Namjoon chirps from the floor as Jin carefully sweeps up some of the glitter and a few shards from the lamp that Namjoon broke. He’s too drunk to be properly scandalized. 

Yoongi sits back against the cushions, drink in his hands swirling. Ice clinking. “Yeah, let’s burn it.”

And burn it you do. The alphas try to lift it all together and almost fall over themselves, barely moving it even an inch before Yoongi decides to cut it up with his power tools and carry it out piece by piece. It makes a fucking mess in the Living Room before you lug it out to the squishy backyard.

Piles of stuffing litter the living room floor like dust bunnies and noodle swats at them, playing.

Yoongi's got the kerosene and you've got the match and the whole thing goes up in seconds, much to Hoseok and Jungkook's whooping delight. Jin's bundled in a blanket, but even he grins at the flames and the bad memories that burn away with it.

Hobi almost throws his car keys into the fire too but doesn’t. Whooping and waving his arms as the flames climb higher and higher. Yoongi squirts more of the lighter fluid until Namjoon says "That's enough" because a trip to the burn unit isn't what any of you want tonight.

The eight of you stand around it and watch it burn and then when you go back upstairs, Seokjin drags the mattress from your old bedroom into the big room- just like you did during Namjoon’s rut. Jungkook’s reallocating all of the pack's nesting materials to make a fort on the ground floor. Yoongi gets up on a chair to measure out where the studs should be so that he can use nails to secure a sheet to the ceiling like a big circus tent.

“It’s a fort hyung! It doesn’t need to be structurally supportive.”

Yoongi just pecks at Jungkook's head from where he stands on one of the pack's dining room chairs, "Not gonna let the world fall down on top of you bunny."

Tae asks Hobi to play bubblegum pop and they’re just so happy to see her smiling and acting anything like herself that they acquiesce to even her most ridiculous requests.

Hoseok turns the music up loud and you all fucking dance. You and Tae twirl and bounce, your big long skirts heavy and all big. Stained with a bit of mud at the bottom of the backyard. Namjoon makes both of you twirl and snag around your waists as you spin past.

You and Tae hop up and down, screaming along to the lyrics so loud that when it quiets- your voices are rough and raw. Chests a bit lighter with each screamed lyric, something awful working its way out of you with every laugh, something necessary in it as you grip each other's arms and yell out your frustrations against the speaker.

And by then Jungkook asks to wear a dress too- and then you’re really all having fun.

Yoongi is wearing a pair of Tae’s fuzzy knee socks and is dancing slowly with Noodle who chirps in his arms- apparently recognizing that your mate is too soft and squishy at the edges to be worth the hissing. Hair mused from some very involved kissing that you know Hobi dragged him away for.

Noodle keeps his claws sheathed for now as Yoongi dances although he does look vaguely annoyed. Like he doesn’t want to enjoy Yoongi’s touch but does. Watching you and Tae show Jungkook how to walk in high heels with beady yellow eyes. Jungkook gets it quick, quicker than you did.

Tae just nips at his cheek, a little bitey and a lot drunk. Jin and Yoongi have run out of frozen fruit so the drinks are a little stiffer. You’ll probably run out of alcohol by morning.

Someone will offer to drive to the nearest liquor store which will immediately be met by shaken heads and refusals, just this once- you can have alcohol and food delivered. Leaving the house right now still feels too scary. Too nerve-wracking.

Why would you ever leave when you have everything you could ever need, everyone you’ll ever love right here in this room? Wearing glitter and dresses and matching pajamas worn at the edges from love and cuddles.

Namjoon is wearing your bottoms. The very first courting present he ever got you, pink with red hearts. They're a bit tight in the ass and more capris, but they fit him either way. You watch as Namjoon’s fingers toy underneath Seokjin’s hem, splaying and petting a little higher. High enough to show a bruise that you didn’t know existed that lies against Jin’s ribcage.

For now, you’re all safe, and Tae tugs Jungkook upstairs in the direction of your dressing room. “Come on kookie I’ve got the perfect thing.” You know she's not tired of playing dress up with just you- she's just happy to have another canvas.

Tae has 7 other canvases actually, once Jungkook gets in on the dress-up, Jimin follows like the puppy alpha he is, and then Hobi and your mate, Jin, and Namjoon because they want to know what you're shrieking about upstairs. And come up to find Yoongi sprawled out on the floor, a fluffy something stuck over his head kinda making him look like a lampshade.

"It's not my fault your waist is like- super tiny. My head's just big."

And that’s how everyone gets in on it. Dresses and fancy shirts, bedazzled belts strung low over Hobi’s hip, and a silk scarf tied around Namjoon’s neck in a big bow. Jin ends up in a silky shirt that actually makes your heart stop, a glittery broach at the collar that Jimin toys with and Jin lets him touch to his heart's content. Dancing and dancing and falling onto the nest that you’re all building so so sloppy. Earning your first real laugh you’ve let out in days.

“Joonie? Can you please- I’ve waited forever to get my ears pierced and you’re like a surgeon- and you just look it up on YouTube and do it,”

You slip on someone's spilled drink almost tumbling into Hobi who goes to snatch your waist but misses. Giddy and giggly, “I can do it! I pierced mine once in elementary school but they healed over!”

“I don’t know if drunk piercings are the best idea.” Jin says, at the same moment that Jungkook chirps, “I’ll do my belly button if you hold ice to it."

Namjoon is the one who ends up doing it, with his gloves and antiseptic and numbing cream. You check to make sure Tae’s are symmetrical and then Jimin’s because of course he wants to be matching with her, then Jungkook and Jin, because they can be giggly and ridiculous too.   They’ve got high-quality surgical steal and fancy earrings upstairs that Jimin bought Tae during his mad dash to get her all the girl things after she came out (you're still honestly going through all of it). You give Tae the hoops because you know they won’t tug and pull on her hair and Jimin these little studs with a star on them.

Namjoon does it with a kiss on her cheek and a tiny gauze pad with barely a drop of blood on it folded and thrown away. “Good baby girl, was I gentle enough?” he was, he always is gentle enough.

By the end of the night, you’ve got a secondary piercing, and Tae’s already dreaming about getting more. One at a time Namjoon says, the edge of a pack alpha command in his voice. 

~-~

You wake with a pounding headache and to mimosas and a mountain of pancakes that Hobi practically forces down your throat to keep off the worst of the hangover. Until you feel like you might be sick and the pack piles in around where you sit in the bathroom to keep you company through your nausea. A bit more panicky and serious and sober than you have been. 

They stroke your back and pile the big blue blanket around you to keep off the shivers. But you don’t vomit somehow, drinking the electrolyte drink that Yoongi practically shoves down your throat. Quieter now that he’s sober but still unable to watch you suffer. Hand on your chin making you drink. You fall asleep soon after that again, overly full.

You sleep for 12 hours, and wake to the sound of retching, but it's just Yoongi- in a similar position as you are. Apparently he Jin and Namjoon stayed up while the rest of the pack went back to bed and decided to play drinking games that have turned into a bad decision. he'll need a shower before long.

He's not the only one whose in a bad way. Hobi wakes from the nest room staring at the ceiling listless. Still wearing the fancy designer clothes that Tae put him in under one of his hoodies. and you know without having to ask that he's thinking about her, about Moonbyul. 

But getting over this is going to be a work in progress. Everyone is good one moment and then bad the next, only to be good in an hour, laughing like you were never crying. 

Hobi doesn’t want to move, staring blankly at the ceiling Noodle purring against his hip and kneading him, putting holes in his pants. He can’t move from the nest fort in the living room, half open like a clamshell curled away from the entryway. Can't move until Jungkook gets you and you come close and he finally tears his eyes from the ceiling to look at you. You don't have to say a word to him you just guide him into a sitting position and let him rest his face against the crook of your neck. 

You help him take off his sweatshirt and when he nods that he's  ready, guide him up to the upstairs bathroom where tae is already showering off the scent of fire and glitter. You helped her take off her corset just the same, tugging at the ribbon until it fell loose because Jimin complained that he didn't know how to take it off without hurting the dress.

You strip all of them- Hobi and Yoongi and tae, and get them side by side in the bathtub. A firm layer of foam on the top from Jungkook's favorite purple bubble bath, and have a go at grooming them with Jin and Jungkook. Every inch of your alphas is inspected and tested with teeth and purrs. Hoseok closes his eyes to listen to the sound of them, just after Jungkook man handles the rest of the pack into the deep tub that Yoongi installed for this specific purpose.

Jin's purr is deep, yours is musical almost, and Jungkook's is really similar to noodles. He feels a hand on his cheek and knows without opening his eyes that it's yours rubbing away the wetness there. 

"Not crying cuz I'm sad just-"  he doesn't have to explain, doesn't have to do anything but close his eyes and let you make it better. If hurts could come out in the wash- you'd be able to get them out. You of all people know how hard it is for him to feel clean, the grubbiness of bad memories and old hurts that stains his bones.

And yet, you still wash him.

You rub a cloth over his shoulders, the tense part of his neck, his spine all gentle. Again and again until he starts to squirm- nothing about the touch, nothing about the grooming selfish. You ask him if he's done and he says not yet so you keep going until the waters gone cold and everyone else has gotten out of the tub.

Namjoon forces about a gallon of water down yoongi's throat, but the worst of the vomiting seems to be over. yoongi sleeps too- out of sync.

Love feels so tight in his chest that Hoseok can't open his eyes. He falls asleep there until Jin starts to tug at him, and when he opens them, he finds that you're in one of Tae's slip dresses- the kind that she likes to sleep in, translucent and soap sudsy at the hem where you got wet washing him.

His voice is croaky but he asks, "Have you eaten?" The answer, of course, is no. But he remedies it easily for you once he's dressed and scented sweet. An eye for an eye, a hurt for a hurt, and a heart for a heart. 

You order a new couch somewhere on the third day, blue this time instead of grey- to match the tile backsplash in the kitchen. With fabric that’s comfier this time and actually designed to be turned into a nesting nook when you need it. 

Yoongi puts it together sober and then takes it apart just to put it back together again- claiming that one of the legs is squeaky and the middle edge isn't flush. He's feeling better, less hungover and less angry. Happy to have something for his hands to do.

He still doesn’t talk to you more than a few words but he does ask “Hold the flashlight for me?” While Tae is upstairs putting away her torn-apart dressing room with Hobi and Jungkook. 

And you do help your mate- standing in your matching pj’s with clean hair and clean minds for the first time in days. Thoughts unclouded by terror or anger or alcohol. 

You hold his phone while he tamps down on the leg screws. the sound of the others laughing upstairs, both of you quietly accept for the clink click of the socket wrench. You hold the flashlight, hold it even when Yoongi drops his hands, not looking at you, squatting. It's quiet, Noodle sleeps in a puddle of mid-afternoon sunlight by the front door but it's morning for you- all of you slept till noon. 

“I need a moment okay just- give me a second, give me a few days.” You gulp and look at him. But it's as much as Jin has said to you too. As much as any of them have warned. “Give him time pup, he’ll come around.”

“Let me know when you want the next screw.” He turns around, still kneeling before you, hand on your ankle. Circling it slowly and simply. Petting over the ball of your bone and your Achilles tendon. Looking up at you and not saying a thing until you speak.

“You know I’m sorry for it right? That I regret it right?”

“Yeah,” he says, lips downturned “I know. Wish it hurt less that way.”

“If there was something I could do- something that would make it better- you’d tell me right?”

Yoongi pauses, his lips part for a split second and then go closed, and this time his cheeks go pink. But he sounds stronger when he says,

“Yeah, I’d tell you.”

~-~

But it does hurt less this way. All of your secrets and all your shortcomings are out in the open. Day drinking is either a fantastic idea or a terrible one depending on how you look at it. Because for the first time ever you all talk about it instead of keeping it bottled up.

The eight of you are piled into the kitchen, a second food order sits on the fringes in brown paper bags that Hobi doodles on idly with a sharpie, drawing bunnies and noodle and diamond rings and flowers- endless daisies. and then moves to doodling on Yoongi's jeans. Five days in and still completely unwilling to leave the house- still too scary, too many unknowns that linger just outside your door.

The 7 of them sit stretched between the cabinets while you bounce around above them mindful of not tripping on their sprawled legs, cooking up your tiramisu because Hobi had bragged about it and now they all want a taste.

You spin and turn, ducking and dodging needy hands. Jimin leans forward to sneak a quick peck against your knee when you’re mixing some of the egg whites. Jin gets up eventually to help, disliking the way that you teeter too pupish without a reassuring touch and your favorite baking companion at your elbow. Jin ties his apron around your neck and says. “Tell me what to do” Cooking with him is the most normal thing you’ve done in months. You have enough energy for it once.

“You’re making like a double batch, right?” You’re drinking less, all a little less intoxicated, you’d woken up this morning with a headache that faded and now you don’t want to drink anymore, done for the week and maybe the month. Maybe your whole lifetime after almost vomiting- was that yesterday? Or the day before?

“Hyung when I tell you you’re gonna wanna have the whole tray it’s like- so fucking good-”

“You talk a big game Hobi.” Jungkook looks like he wants to be a part of Hobi's big game. Scent swelling sultry and sweet.

There has been surprisingly less sex than you thought there would be although you know that Tae dragged Jimin upstairs late last night for a bit of privacy. It’s nothing like Namjoon’s rut. Without the alcohol, the pack is getting touchier. It’s strange- you almost would have expected them to want more while drinking but it didn’t happen that way.

Now Namjoon’s hand skims your hip whenever you walk past. Stepping over his thick thighs, squishy where they're pulled together to give Yoongi enough room. His hand comes up to toy with the edge of your shirt, A casual yet claiming touch that you pay no mind. Pinching the chub there and murmuring a quiet "fuck."

You raise your eyebrow at him, a bit self-conscious but still willing to let him do what he wants, "having fun Joonie?" You taunt. He leans forward, nose nudging under your shirt, dragging his teeth over the small swell of your stomach in reply. It's nothing new (well you being a bit chubbier is- but you're learning to live with it).

the mood is light until Jin asks you how you did it, how you killed the don and his beta. 

Your recipe book is open in front of him- and that has to be part of the reason why it comes to him. It’s not a secret anymore. Yoongi doesn’t look bothered as the pack quiets down and you tell them everything.

How Moonbyul convinced you to help her do it, how you actually killed them, how she disposed of the evidence. All of it. Jungkook's fingers come up to skim over the scars on your back and you catch his hand gently, taking it away from them because you don't want him to touch them now. 

It's the first time you've addressed the elephant in the room in 5 days and it feels- 

It feels good to talk about it. To get it off your chest. 

You've always told yourself that you had to kill them, it was either them or you, and they were bad people anyway. Who knows how many innocents had fallen under their hands- certainly more than have fallen under Moonbyuls. 

You did what you had to do to survive and there was no way out. But part of you has always wondered if that was true. 

The pack makes you feel like it is the truth. That killing to survive was all you could do. 

But it’s Hobi who bends forward along with Jin, “hang on hang on- fucking cupcakes? You poisoned the head of the fucking mafia using fucking cupcakes?” 

You blush, and Namjoon drags his finger through some of the whipped cream you’ve already made for the tiramisu. You gave him the bowl after you were done with it and he lifts it up to lick at the bottom, practically putting his face in the metal bowl. Jungkook licks the spoon and Tae tries not to watch his lips pucker. He fidgets, Thigh-shimming where he squirms tucked into Hobi's side. 

Jin's hand on his chin guides the alpha to look up, checking to make sure that he's alright. You don't have to wonder why because last night- Hoseok woke up from nightmares again. 

It was just like your nightmares. One moment you'd been nuzzling into him in sleep, and the next moment his hands had been shaking pushing you off of him. Smelling angry- his caramel scent going burnt and off the more he woke, you'd stayed up with him and piled blankets into the bathtub until he'd fallen back asleep again. Yoongi waited on the fringes with water until Hoseok had fallen asleep fitful- but asleep. 

He'd woken up without an appetite, but when you'd asked him he'd said the only thing he might be able to eat was your tiramisu, so here you are. Nightmares are easy to deal with, Hoseok's nightmares are something you can handle. 

“I bet they were fucking delicious.” 

“Thank you Joonie, they were.” 

Jin and Jimin are staring at you open-mouthed. But there are more questions- clarifications that everyone needs to ask. It feels good to finally talk about this freely. 

“Wait wait wait let me get this straight- Jin’s been working for the FBI for how many years?” 

“Only 6” Jin says at the same time Yoongi says, “6 and ½” and they shoot each other looks before Jin nods, and agrees. Eyes still on Yoongi. Jin and Yoongi are looking at each other with more love than is necessary. And Yoongi answers everyone’s unsure glances.

“I knew from the beginning and it didn’t matter.” Jimin bristles like it should certainly matter but Yoongi squeezes his good shoulder. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Yoongi furrows his eyes, looking at Jimin's shoulder, and asks Namjoon if Jimin's stitches are ready to come out. 

They are, so Namjoon gets his medical bad and Jimin takes off his shirt. A pair of forceps and medical scissors in his hands as he snips through Jimin’s stitches and carefully pulls them out one by one, wearing sterile rubber gloves but pausing to let Jin feed him more spoonfuls of whipped cream. 

“Yeah,” Jin says, contemplating. “It doesn’t matter. They were so like bureaucratic anyway." 

"You're not gonna miss it?" Jungkook asks, and Jin shakes his head.

"It's not worth it, I'll find something else to do, I've got like a stellar recommendation from them anyway." 

It’s not just that secret that you talk through; you also talk through jimin and yours. nothing hidden anymore. No reason to hide it.

“Of course, I recognized you Minnie- I met you before I met anyone else- Before I even met you Yoongi.” Now that- Yoongi really doesn’t understand. But Jimin is already explaining before he has a chance to ask. And by the end of it- Yoongi wants to drive hoseok's car into the wall, trembling with how angry he is at past you for being so stupid.

“A fucking bar? You met Jimin at a fucking bar and you didn’t even try and hide the fact that you wanted to kill my brother?”

“Well I wanted to hire an assassin and he was there so-“ 

“Of course, she was gonna hire an assassin hyung, her ex-husband was like a total dick- like even more of a dick than Moonbutt or whatever her name is.”

“Moonbitch Kookie.” 

You skim your fingers through Hobi’s hair, checking to see if he’s alright and he nods, catching your hand and pressing a fleeting kiss there. You need your hands to bake but Hoseok holds onto them a moment longer than is necessary.

“God that's so dumb” Jin slaps Namjoon's arm and he realizes what he just said, his shoulders curling in, “wait you are not dumb and I am just stressed because I’ve never made ladyfingers before- please don’t think I actually meant that-” 

Namjoon rolls his eyes, he’s well aquatinted to how punchy Jin can get when he's tired. That’s nothing new. Jungkook spills across Yoongi’s thighs in mock misery, but he doesn’t react beyond skimming a hand up Jungkook’s back, first over his tee shirt and then under it. 

Yoongi turns to you, where you hold a piping bag filled with creamy batter, taking even deep breaths as you pipe out the first few ladyfingers, showing Jin how to do it without getting bubbles in most of them. “You knew didn’t you?” He’s not accusatory. Just surprised. “That it was dangerous, you knew you could die and you did it anyway.”

You nod without pause, “I’d done more dangerous things by then, It was only a matter of time before someone figured out I’d killed the don and I wanted to make sure I got to see him die before they got to me.” 

Yoongi takes a sip of his glass, angry at you for making poor decisions back before he even knew you. Angry even though his anger has nowhere to go that's good. 

“You have to be more careful.” 

“All of us have to be more careful,” Hobi replies he doesn’t like the reproach in Yoongi’s voice. Doesn’t like the way he’s been talking to you. But all the anger and all the pain is healing (it's all just love with nowhere to go. All you have to do is give it time.)

The wounds on your hands are closing slowly- healed enough already that it doesn’t hurt when you hand over the piping bag to give Jin a chance to try. You've done the first 12 ladyfingers and he does the next two dozen to get the hang of it. When Tae asks, you show her how to pipe out a little heart, and then JK wants to make a dick-shaped one and you let him. He gets more of the batter on his sleeve, but you made extra just in case something like this happened. 

Jungkook sits up abruptly, wide bunny eyes dark and glassy upturned at you, glancing between you and Jimin, “What did- what does killing feel like?”

“Oh my god Jk you can’t just ask that.” 

“No, he can ask I just-“ Jimin swallows, and puts his hand down. He's holding a piece of gauze where Namjoon puts the small cut pieces of the suture. Tinged pink from a little bit of blood. His chest shines in the half-light, the little bit of antiseptic glimmering around the freshly pulled stitches on his shoulder catching the light. Jimin’s face twists in pain, but you know it’s not his incision that’s bothering him. Namjoon's gentle as he pulls the last one.

“I don’t want you to think less of me.” 

Everyone’s silent, no one rushes to reassure him, because the truth is that you don’t know. You put your hand over his squeezing- the best that you can offer. Jungkook pushes on, undeterred, “Tell us about the first time.”

“The first time was an accident- it was- before you guys just before Tae went to school- right when she started and I wasn’t thinking. Someone rushed at one of my private clients and I just-“ Jimin's eyes go dark and he picks at one of the stures until Namjoon pushes his hands away.

"You did what you were hired to do," Namjoon asks, and Jimin nods. You and Jin finish the tiramisu and Yoongi reaches out a hand to help you sit with the two big trays of it, portioning them out onto the plates.

"I protected them at a cost." Jimin stares down at his plate, the perfect square on it. and you nudge it until he eats it.   “That music executive” Tae blurts, eyes shining, connecting the dots “you were really quiet after you came back but then you got buys, I just thought-” She goes quiet when you feed her the first bite, letting out a surprised but appreciative hum, distracted by how good it tastes, "This is really good."   Yoongi huffs, rueful in his understanding. “All they really need is one kill on you and they’ve got you for good.” But that's all in the past now, Jimin is never going to have to kill someone again, even if he did get paid for it.

He lifts a fork to his mouth, pulling back after a second and furrowing his eyebrows. licking the cream from his lips slowly, eyes narrowing.

"Okay now I'm really angry, how have you never made this for me?"

"You never asked Yoongi."

"We'll I'm asking now, I can't believe you kept this from me for so long. Can you make it on my birthday?" You blush, bright red, and Jungkook leans over to press his nose into your flushed cheek.

Jimin answers Jungkook's question after a few bites. “It didn’t bother me, after a while it didn’t bother me at all" Jimin turns to Jin, eyes shining with unshed tears, "hyung, does that make me crazy? Does that make me a psychopath?”

Jin swallows softly around his bite of tiramisu, it really is quite good, top 5- if not top 3 on his list of favorite desserts you've made. “I’m not sure. There is an assessment as a part of the DSM-5. I could test you if you want. Although I’m not sure I could be totally impartial.”

Jimin looks winded, desperate from the line of hope that Jin dangles in front of him, a chance at salvation. Jimin has always wanted to know- in that same twisted way he’s always wondered if he and Tae were going to go to the same place when they died- if he was honest to god crazy. Jimin’s always wanted to know what makes him so different than other people. always looked for a reason and now jin might give him one.

“What do you mean by impartial?”

Jin sets down his fork. “Jimin, do you think any of us wouldn’t do what we had to do to survive I mean- Tae and Y/n killed someone over there 6 days ago. Do you think that makes them psychopaths? Do you think that makes them damned?”

Jimin’s chest heaves and he can’t answer Jin, But after a second, Jimin asks again, “You’ll assess me then?” Tae's fingers rub mindless patterns over the back of Jimin’s hand, her knuckles are still bruised.

“The next day we’re both alone in the house.” He grimaces, “It’s the least I could do after shooting you.”

Jimin whines, mood lightening. “Come on, you know I don’t take it personally.”

At the end of the day, the fact that Jimin’s a killer hurts less than you might think, although their pack has their own questions about it, Tae too, although her questions are limited, Jimin answers each of them truthfully and honestly. He'd never think of lying to her about this, not anymore, not again.

When it comes down to it there is a lot you’re willing to justify when it comes to the people you love and the people you choose. You’re all killers and liars and secret keepers. No true sinner and no true saint between the eight of you. It’s a good thing that you have more than enough love to go around.

Enough for a lifetime you think. You’ll have to wait and see.

“You realize everything you’ve said is insane right” Namjoon’s not angry, just tired and full as he sprawls out. Uncaring of everything that’s been said, unthreatened. “Like- actual mafia movie insane right? Are your names even your real name?”

Yoongi can’t keep in his snort. “Of course? What kind of question is that?”

You give them a look, “Actually…” The uproar is immediate, and everyone shouts their indignance and disbelief. All but roaring in shock, your laugh rings high and loud.

“Kidding! Just trying to lighten the mood!” Jin playfully drags you over his lap, swatting your ass playfully in punishment. Your laughing only gets louder. He leaves a coco-colored hand print on your white shorts.

Tae’s in more of a joking mood now, “am I allowed to use this for my next storyline?”

“Yes” and “Definitely not!” are mutual cries.

Maybe you don’t need to know everything about the person you love. Maybe love is just understanding someone’s secrets and loving them anyway. Maybe the biggest lie that Namjoon can tell himself- to preserve their family that they’ve forged through fire and fucking blood is that Jimin only ever had to kill when he needed to. He parts his thighs after he throws away his gloves- not even bloody, and Jimin slides in between them relieved.

His back resting against Namjoon’s chest, a happy growl grumble slipping out as he tests his hands, and Namjoon tests how far Jimin’s fingers can bend. “Pt starts tomorrow” Namjoon intones, a warning in his voice. Jimin nods, perfectly obedient.

“The rest of our lives start tomorrow too.” No one disagrees.

Jungkook is giggly and sits between Yoongi’s thighs, whipped cream on his cheek, they’ve already finished the first tray of tiramisu that you’d made and are making a serious dent in the second one. Cooking for them fills you with that same warm feeling as it always does. Cooking is a love language. food too. Your stomach is full of it.

“Hang on hang on- let me get this straight-“ Jungkook ticks them off one by one on his fingers. “Jin’s an FBI agent. Jimin’s an assassin. And you almost were one too?”

You roll your eyes, but nod anyway. It's truth enough- it's pretty obvious to you that's what Moonbyul and Hyejin had to slated for (privately Jimin wonders what your moniker might have been. Would you have been the flower to his snake? The dove to Hyejin's bumblebee?)

Jungkook points his finger at Hoseok next to you, the two of you share a fork and a plate smudged with chocolate and whipped cream. Namjoon has completely given up on portioning out his onto a plate and goes at the tray with Jin, a fork between the two of them.

“Hobi’s exes are the current head of a fucking crime family- and Yoongi’s like the heir to some fucked up advice column throne thing- that I still don't quite understand but- Has everyone been keeping something from each other this whole damn time?”

“Does mine even count? It’s not like I knew my ex was like- a fucking mafioso or whatever-”

“I mean- I kept the secret that I was a girl for like- my whole fucking life so I feel like everyone else gets a pass.”

Jimin combs a hand through Tae’s hair, looking down at her and rubbing away a smudge of tiramisu with his thumb. And you hit Namjoon’s knees with your socked feet. Your socks have strawberries on them and a hole at the toe. “You definitely get a pass baby girl.”

“What about you Joonie? Any secrets up your sleeve?”

Your pack alpha shrugs. Eyebrow's furrowing as he thinks hard about it. “I think the only secret I’ve ever kept from you guys was throwing out the lease that one time-“

“Oh my god I completely forgot about that-”   “Yeah, Jin hyung was so so mad. Almost as mad as Yoongi is.”

Your mate spills his plate with you quick he leans over to pinch Hobi’s scent gland. “Hey, I’m working on it!” 

His last bite slips off his plate and plops onto the ground. Noodle darts forward, trying to get to it before you snatch him back. Unfortunately, no one thinks to do the same with Jungkook.

The hardwood floors have seen worse things in recent days than some whipped cream and everyone lets out belated 'No!' and Gross Jk' as Jungkook leans over to lick it up. You laugh as Hobi snatches Yoongi’s plate and holds it over his head, almost dropping it on himself with how Yoongi lunges. And Jin holds his plate of tiramisu out of reach of their roughhousing.

You rest your head on Tae’s shoulder and watch your pack bicker and then shoot it out for the last slice of tiramisu. Yoongi wins and licks the tray clean, getting a tiny spot of cream on his nose that Jin kisses off. She laces your hand with hers.

Both of you have lipstick swatches from yesterday still on the back of your palms, the faint imprint of the colors of your kisses that her fingers trace idly, gently. The memory there for now but not for long.   “What about you Kookie? Any secrets tucked up against your sleeve?”

Jungkook presses a finger to his lips, almost coquettish with how wide his eyes go. “What hyung? Me?”   Yoongi leans into his space, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Yeah, seems like everyone’s got a secret but you.”   “Hyung, you know if I’ve got a secret- it’s one I’ll never tell.”

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

~-~

Notes:

Trying my hardest <3 I'm admittedly having a tough time right now, this chapter felt very nice to write because it's all about the beginning of the packs happy ending <3

i personally think they should have all fucked on the floor in tae's dresses, but thats just my personal thoughts about it all. this is one of the few times that i have pictures in my head of the dresses that tae and the m/c wear but i cannot find pictures online that match for the life of me!!!

The moonbitch moment made it into the chapter- idk who it was that commented that but 😂 i lowkey loved it so it made it in <3

What i've been trying to get at with most of the yoongi/m/c healing arc in this chapter is that they both need to be fully actualized and fully realized players in their relationship. yoongi does not and has not told her his wants and needs very often in the story- and that changes after this chapter- because in the moment they're putting together the sofa he realizes 'oh i actually can tell her what i need' it's important to note that the mc has healed to this point like- earlier in the story she might have taken any request from yoongi as criticism.

idk if anyone saw where i was talking about the eventual like 50 year end for the story like- where i think they all end up. but knowing that tae, hobi, and the m/c are the last packmates left alive into their 80's makes the conversation about the m/c marrying tae and not hobi all the more like...ah, sad maybe? i originally planned for tae and the m/c to be the last alive but maybe it should be the m/c and hobi- do you think they'd get married after tae died?

i love that tae and the m/c fit the tall and short lesbian niche that i am so so into like- i know i went on a bit about them but they are very in love and their love story has been some of my favorite in this book. i felt like this chapter needed a bit of glitter.

idk if i mentioned tae having her ears pierced before- but just pretend that i haven't!

i added the part with the m/c washing hobi at the last minute but let me tell you that part did almost make me cry so...

i ended up having to cut the after part of this chapter, but i kinda like it better that way because then yoongi doesn't forgive her right away. idk, that was the main part i wanted to work on for this chapter so its kinda good that i get to wait a little bit.

i've been...admitedly, dangerously depressed for the last two weeks, and i think working on this chapter made me realize that working on bily, writing stuff, is legitimately the only time i am happy and one of like 3 things that makes me feel okay, i hope it makes you feel okay too <3

Until next time!

pls my daddy kink and size kink are going CRAZY RN this chapter is making my brain go brrr in the best way omg

Before I Leave You (Pt.72)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: you get punished alongside hobi for your indiscretions in public.

Tags: mention of getting arrested, tense situations, implied non-consentual nudity, light angst, d/s, Dom! jin, Breif Daddy! jinnie, Dom! Namjoon, Dom! Jimin, Sub! m/c, Sub! Hobi, Group sex, gangbang, humiliation kink, praise kink, puppy space! hobi, omegaspace! m/c, crawling, Collars, fingering, edging, orgasam denial, orgasam control, overstimulation, painplay, brief cock and ball torture (hobi gets his cock flicked a few times really its very tame), shoe riding, Exhibitionism, Squirting, wrestle-fucking, cum marking, cum swapping, marking kink, mc gets treated like a little cumdump but she's very happy about it, size kink, pussy spanking, breeding benches. Shibari, ropes, dacryphilia, breeding kink, oral! f receiving, hole checks, biting, slight implied sub drop but it's nothing serious.

W/c: 16.8k+

A/n: you know what... this is excessive, i'm not even going to pretend that it's NOT excessive. no smut needs to be this long but! oh well!!

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

“When I saw the car, I thought that they might have been some of those Gang kids from downstate. Obviously, I’m glad to be proven wrong.”

Namjoon has his arms crossed on the front porch, eyes flashing disapprovingly between you and Hobi standing with hunched shoulders and rancid scents between the two officers. Large and threatening, their black uniforms and neat little badges glint in the porch's light. Their guns at their side in their holsters that stay there (thankfully) their handcuffs that glisten like the silver sliver of the moon that hangs above the trees.

Namjoon crosses his arms and stares them down. “They’re usually very well behaved, I truly don’t know what’s gotten into them.”

The deference in Namjoon's voice is forced, but the disappointment isn't.

Don’t they have something better to do than this? Even traffic stops. Jin must be thinking. Hovering behind Namjoon’s shoulder in his striped robe, a sight that you don’t like- because no one besides the pack should get to see Jin in all of his fluffy cheeked and matching pajama glory. It’s not the 18th century and it’s not improper for an omega to be seen in their nesting clothes anymore- but still, the instinct to dart across the porch and hide him sort of from view is not a distant desire.

Hoseok’s hands hover, not reaching out to grab yours, because he's not sure that he's allowed. After being yanked out of the confines of his Lamborghini the hour before. He's right to be hesitant about touching you.

The last hour or so of your life has been a scary one, watching Hobi get yanked out of the car- a taser- not a gun- drawn in his direction. Freezing where you sat, unclothed. A strange man looking down at you- thanking your lucky stars that you'd had enough time to pull your underwear on at least- that you'd still been wearing your sweatshirt. Not entirely nude just partially.

"At least let her get dressed." He'd snapped, guarding their line of sight from him to you. Every instinct in him absolutely turned feral. He's still a little shifty, a little too close to growling and getting you in even more trouble than you already are.

namjoon's eyes are dark but assured. if anyone could talk his way out of a ticket for public indecency- it would be Namjoon. You’re a little non-plussed, less shy than Hobi though you would be about being seen in a state of semi-undress by two strange alphas and Hoseok doesn’t like that. That you’d been silent, that you hadn’t hidden behind him the same way Jin’s doing.

He doesn't know where the Lambo will end up but Hoseok doesn't care, doesn't care at all. It will probably be sent to an impound lot or maybe put up for auction. But a look at Jin's face says that he won't let any of this slide. Jin knows the law. Folds his arms carefully over his chest.

“Our pups are well behaved, thank you for returning them to us.”

A pretty omega is a special kind of good luck- a thing you’d always like to have in your corner if you can help it. The officers are disarmed by your pretty pack omega, Jin does not bat his eyelashes at them but it’s almost like he is because the alpha's scent next to you swells prideful in the tepid night air- like apples, but artificial not like candy but cough syrup.

You almost want to scoff, as if.

Hoseok wants to gnash his teeth. How dare he- projecting his scent here- in front of the den of all places. It's so rude. Hobi is surprised that no one has said anything.

Namjoon's jaw rolls, and you can tell that he wants too.

Alphas after a knotting are a volatile thing. The sound of Hoseok gnashing his teeth joins the white noise of having other people close, of being here. Between two men with guns. You don't like it, your instincts chaffing, screaming in your ear to get away- to get safe, to go to the nest upstairs, even if you would never risk taking the scent of strangers into your most intimate place.

Namjoon’s eyes flash, first to your face and then to the officers. And you know that he knows that you're on the edge of it, that you're one bad word away from bursting into tears. Every bone of his body is ramrod straight, Namjoon is holding himself back.

Not as hard as Hobi is, he’s shaking like a leaf next to you.

The other police officer (the one who has his scent mostly under control and looks younger than you) gulps. Uncomfortable with the level of pungent pheromones that Namjoon is putting out right now. Namjoon's pack alpha scent is stinky and unabated, with stiff liquor and angry sour coffee (you’d rather smell him than the sour apple scent).

All you want to do is close the two feet between the two of you and sink behind him but instead, you’re forced to stay here. A wide- unfamiliar hand on your shoulder keeps you in place.

The fact that the police officers are bold enough to touch you right now tells you everything you need to know about the danger of the situation; touching another alpha's omega is already sort of rude. Touching another omega who's just been knotted in front of two of their alphas and their pack omega? You're surprised Namjoon didn't come out the door swinging.  

You're pretty sure you can feel Hobi's cum dripping out of your hole, you have to stand carefully to keep it from leaking out. You squirm uncomfortably. Hoping that no one can smell it.

The silence between the alphas hovers threateningly, and you see Namjoon's nostrils flare.

“Listen- we could easily book them both for public indecency, but it’s not the summer yet, and we understand you have a lot of packmates, Mr. erm-“

“Kim Namjoon, Doctor Kim Namjoon.”

It helps that Namjoon’s still in his suit. Three pieces and dark blue that flatters his skin tone and an early tan that he has because Jungkook had dragged him out for a run on the last warm day you had. He's the picture of perfect tailoring and everything that a pack alpha should be.

He had a meeting with the board of directors today- you remember watching him get ready this morning, coiffing his hair back away from his face. Making sure he looked presentable.

Namjoon had his resignation meeting today- and broke the news to the hospital board that he was looking to retire. Maybe not forever- but at least for the foreseeable future. Maybe…until after the pack had pups even.

He's been talking about more and more recently, even though it's not really up to him. Even though it's not really up to you either- given how your heats have stalled. Jin is the only omega who is willing to entertain those conversations that happen in the late night honey light often when the two of them are brought low and sweet and so in love it takes your breath away a little.

The way the two of them look when it's just them, cuddled on the couch or the dining room table or in the bathroom elbow to elbow. And Namjoon's hands will skim Jin's stomach almost in worry, in warming. Like Namjoon's hopes are too big not to pretend already. Playing with each other's hands and whispering sweet nothings and sweeter promises.

"Do you think they'd have your eyes?" "I don't care, but I hope they have your dimples."

Namjoon will ask to mate Jin any day now, the second any danger fades. You know it as surely as you know that you and Hoseok are going to get matching tattoos the next free day you have to.

But the danger has not faded at all tonight, no, the danger is here on either side of you and Hobi. On your porch. On your front doorstep. sweat bleeds down the back of your neck. You think of the body that's no longer downstairs, and the spackled-over holes in the plaster.

You wish you knew how his meeting went. If it went poorly or not- there is nothing in his expression that gives it away, not the Glasses on the edge of his nose, barely shielding the officers from his glower or his suit still buttoned.

The officers take Namjoon’s glare to heart, probably thinking that namjoon's angry at both you and Hobi and not from the general disdain Namjoon has for police officers.

“When we found out that they were registered to a pack we figured- you understand, of course. We prefer to leave things like this up to pack alphas. We understand the delicacy of these abnormal family structures.”

Namjoon looks at you and tips his chin down slightly, imperceptibly.

You dart across the distance, folding yourself against his shoulder. But Namjoon doesn’t leave you there, pushing you gently behind his shoulder and into Jin's waiting arms. You cling to Jin’s front, side by side with Hobi too who followed Namjoon's wordless command.

He glances back at the officers and starts to growl. Namjoon’s sharp voice cuts off the sound. Louder- to block it out. “Thank you for returning them to me. I’ll handle it. Have a good night.”

Namjoon has a hand on the back of your and Hobi's neck, threatening a scruff if you don't behave, guiding you into the house. And you know that touch sets the police down and satisfied.

A pack alpha like that- I'd rather take a night in a cell you hear them whisper as they turn, heavy booths thudding down the steps. Hoseok pauses, a louder- deeper growl sparking to life in his chest like rolling thunder. How dare they- how dare they judge Namjoon-

Seokjin's arm tightens around Hobi’s waist cutting off the sound.

Jimin is there in the doorway as Namjoon and Jin muscle you through. Staying hidden. Probably because Namjoon and Jin doubted that he could be civil during a time like this. He’s jumping up and down on the balls of his feet, wound up by the presence of the police. The officers flash their lights once and only once as they pull away from your house. Jimin watches as he pulls down the blinds.

The floorboards creek under your feet as you sway. There are only two lights lit on the ground floor. The lamp by the couch and the one by the coffee pot. Both yellow, both honey. And it sends the 5 of you into dulcet chiaroscuro. Namjoon's face is all shadows and honey as his lip lifts in a snarl and he scrubs a hand over his cheeks. trying to get a handle on his instincts before he lashes out.

Your heart thumps hard in your chest as you watch him and he watches you.

You clear your throat, and your voice comes out tight, hissing. "Where's Tae and Yoongi and Jungkookie?" You ask him, anxiety bleeding down the back of your neck. No one answers your question. No one has any reaction and it’s like you haven’t spoken at all.

Namjoon is a man on a mission, pulls you into the center of the room and unzips your sweatshirt and strips it off of you efficiently. Checking for marks on your arms, your throat, the nape of your neck- looking. But he finds no evidence of hurt or impropriety. Not even a fucking hickey.

He drops to his knees to check your stomach- some alpha part of him that can’t avoid the temptation- itching and fighting to get out as he lifts the hem of your shirt. Hands circle your hips, checking for bruises, checking your knees, your hips, and your calves. Checking for anything.

He looks up at you from the floor, hands gripping the back of your knees.

“Did they touch you pup?”

Hobi shifts uneasily from foot to foot. "I was watching her the whole time-"

“No. Alpha-”

Jimin’s eyes flash in the darkness, “thought you were going to punch them hyung.” But even though he teases, Jimin’s scent is still sour, everyone’s is.

“Would have,” Namjoon grits out. It takes a special sort of devotion to make a gentle man violent. But you’ve never been gladder for Namjoon’s gentleness as you are now.

It rushes over you- everything that’s happened; Watching Hobi get yanked from the car by his shoulder and pushed up against the side of the car. Having to pull on your pants in the dark parking lot with a flashlight on you and some man behind it. Watched. Hunted.

A knot builds in your chest, and you don’t cry- you won’t cry but-

Jin’s hands brush your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your shoulders. “You’re gonna be alright pup- it’s alright-“

Your lower lips quivers. “Ask me my color.”

Namjoon is still on his knees below you and jolts at hearing your words. Jaw rolling as he looks up at you and chews through them. Both Jimin and Hobi's faces jerk in your direction, eyes wide. Nervous. jin's eyelashes just flutter, a purr building in his chest. soothing your fried and anxious scent.

“Ask me Jin- please-” Your voice cracks, wobbles.

Jin’s tentative, and behind him you see Jimin's gaze anxiously darting between the pack alpha and omega.

But you're trembling there, so unmoored, and all you want is someone to tell you how to feel, what to do, what to say, and how to sit. Everything. You want someone to decide what you need for you, to make your choices for you.

Jin eyes you, flickering down to your heaving chest as he pets gently over your collarbones with the back of his hand. Shushing you while he thinks. Is this what you’re asking for- what you need? Do you really need a scene from them right now? Do you really want to submit after something like that?

Yes, in any way you’ll let me. I just need to stop thinking about what just happened. I don’t want to. Please don’t make me tell you. Don’t make me relive it. I just want to forget. Can you make me stop thinking? Can you fuck it out of me?

Jin's thumb hovers on your lower lip, like he needs to feel as well as hear you say it. “What’s your color pup?”

“Green” your voice breaks, and Jin pauses. he looks at you for a singular long moment and then down at Namjoon.

Namjoon’s hands run down the front of your thighs once more to your knees and then back up again before he pops back up onto his feet. Towering over you and turning your hands over and over again in his. The marks that crisscross your palms look pink and threatening. But Namjoon knows that they haven’t bothered you in weeks.

Namjoon moves from you to Hobi, going not for his hands but to the hem of his shirt. Stripping it off of him, Hobi puts his arms up for him, obedient. His hair fluffy when he comes out the other side.

Namjoon presses the shirt to his nose and although it’s dry from your slick and squirt now- you blush, aware of what he must be able to scent on it. Of what Namjoon must be able to scent on both of you. The evidence of your indiscretion and the misery that followed

The pack alpha’s coffee scent spikes wildly, thick and musky- dizzying, making you teeter to the point where Jimin rests a hand on your elbow to steady you.

Hobi's arms rise with goosebumps as Namjoon palms him blatantly between his legs. Feeling for his cock, feeling for a still inflated knot. finding it sweet and heavy and lonely between his thighs. Hobi’s lower lash line is wet but his whole body jerks into Namjoon's hand as he gasps. But he stays mostly still at Namjoon's inspection.

“Green,” he says before Namjoon even has to open his mouth.

"Such a good pup, saying it before he's even asked. how eager, how needy." Jin praises, still petting over your collarbones, eyeing your throat with a keen light in his eyes that you haven't seen in months. Namjoon seems to have the same idea. Stares hobi down before jerking his head and looking at Jimin, standing at the ready, eager to be of use.

"Go get their collars. Please Minnie." It's the only time Namjoon will ask so nicely for something tonight. Hobi lets out a belated whine that cuts off at Namjoon's look, "settle." Namjoons shoulders straighten and he's still holding Hobi's cock, staring into his eyes until Hobi bears his throat with another noise, a pupish whine.

You don't know if you've ever heard Hobi sound like that. You wonder if you sound like that- when you're under Namjoon's thumb. There is nothing in his face left of the boy who teased you until you were shaking a few short hours ago. But somehow you still can't tear your eyes away from them.

Maybe Hobi needs this just as much as you do, which is why he's letting it happen.

Namjoon is so big compared to Hobi, at least a head taller and so much wider. He's such a big alpha. Hobi knows it too- He grits his teeth. Bares them at the pack alpha in challenge. An invitation if you’ve ever seen one, Namjoon just scoffs at the show of aggression.

"If you do not settle puppy, Alpha will make you and you will not like it."

Hoseok just growls again, louder.

They stand off like that, Namjoon’s jaw rolls and You stand there, mindful not to move, as Jin shuts the blinds and Namjoon lets go of Hobi roughly and then takes off his dark blue suit jacket, folding it gently over the back of the couch. Every movement is smooth and measured. He might be the angriest you've ever seen him, but Namjoon is still taking pains not to spook you.

Namjoon moves in your direction and Hobi growls. A real growl this time a warning.

Namjoon just looks at him and grins, bearing his teeth, a little feral. "Alright- if that's how you want to play it pup then so be it. You need to remember who you belong to- who you both belong to."

Namjoon undoes his cufflinks, letting them fall to the floor with a metallic pop. His eyes are dark and hot on you. "To answer your question pup- a certain photo made Jungkook too riled up to wait. They're taking care of him upstairs. He wanted to make sure the nest was warm for you- said you’d need it with how angry we were."

You swallow, silent for a moment- turning to Jimin, reappearing in the doorway, "you didn't-"

Jimin shakes his head, blonde hair flopping eyes dark. He's got both your collars in his hands. They look a bit more delicate than you remember. Hoseok's red and yours pink. "Wanted to make sure you were both alright."

You swallow and turn back to Namjoon. It's a real struggle not to burst into tears. "Tae asked me to wait up with you, to help-" he cuts himself off with a look at namjoons face.

you swallow through a thick lump in your throat.

As the pack's subs- it's harder for them to let you and Hobi play on your own without worrying and checking. On a good day this would have resulted in something similar, less rough- but something similar. And today has not been a good day- not by a long shot.

It’s no secret that both of you need a guiding hand. A guiding hand that you both haven't gotten or had in the last few months but one that you’ve needed. Submissive and packmate neglect isn't something that Namjoon takes lightly.

Namjoon’s hand directs your chin up so that you have to look him in the eyes.

“Riling us up is all fun and good- but I do trust you to be safe pup- not only with yourselves- but with us too.” You can hardly keep Namjoon’s gaze with the disappointment evident in his voice, the shame in your chest simmering. Not because he’s wrong and you don’t deserve this scolding, but because you know he’s very very right.  

His voice rises in pitch, his anger sparking from flares to a controlled burn. “involving the police when things have finally calmed down- to do something that stupid out of your need for some teenage rebellion. Do you know what might happen? What might happen to all of us if someone finds out-"

Namjoon doesn’t raise his voice, never. Not in anger and not in anguish but he gets close now. Voice rising both in pitch and tone. Cutting himself off before he truly shouts at you.

He strokes down your cheek lovingly, gently after he gets a handle on his tone.

“I know you are not dumb; I know you’re not stupid- but maybe I’ve been underestimating the amount of guidance you both need.” Namjoon pets your cheek with a finger, gentle. a little incredulous, like he seriously can't believe it, like he doesn't know- "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Hobi and I- we were just- we just wanted to have fun-"

"You could have done it in the fucking house-" Namjoon bites out.

"No, no I couldn't have." You are stubborn for once, unflinching. It's times like this that you’re always the most honest. When you’re so brought down that you have no choice but to be.

Your voice rises, even though you don’t want it to.

"This place is so stuffy with guilt these days that I can't even breathe Namjoon, I can't breathe without wondering who is mad at me and for what- Yoongi-" You slip, looking down and away, looking at Hobi who looks like he might cry too. "I can't- I can't come to you with this because you're still angry at me- I know you're still angry at me-"

Namjoon is too stricken to speak, too stricken to do much more than clutch at you.

"Asking for a punishment is easier, asking for a punishment is easier because at least I know you won't give me something that you don't want-"

You know better than most that respecting people's boundaries means you won't always get what you need. And to have Namjoon disregard that when you know that he values boundaries as much as you do-

You won't be like them. Like Moonbyul or Geumjae or any past lovers that might have traipsed over boundaries and justified it by calling it a need. You won't have Namjoon disregard that either. To call what you and Hobi did a mistake and a 'should have' when it's so much more than that.

It's Hobi who speaks, imploringly "Alpha."

Namjoon turns to Hobi, “You are one of my alpha’s," he turns back to you "My omega, you are mine.” Namjoon’s voice goes honey-soft when he says it, and a flush rises high on Hobi’s cheeks.

“My anger is not something I want to matter as much as your needs. I want you to feel that I love you- always. And this is how I show it, if you felt you couldn't come to me just because-" Namjoon's voice is thick with emotion and he closes his eyes, stealing himself Namjoon's teeth dig into his lower lip, glancing back at Hobi.

"I expect you to know when to stop and when keep going. If you do not understand the line between agency and safety, the line between my anger and my love for you, I will need to show you again.”

There is red leather in Jin's hands, shiny in the darkness. He’s got yours as well- small and pink and delicate looking next to Hobi’s classic collar. You’ve almost forgotten what it’s looked like- it’s been so long since the pack has used it on you. Jin does not move to fasten it around Hobi’s neck yet. Just perches on the arm of the couch.

“Color?” He asks again, because he can’t not double-check after an outburst like that. Your bell tinkles in his hands as he turns it over. You almost flinch at the sound of it, almost.

Hobi’s a little breathless, chest heaving, instincts clearly running wild. “Green”

it takes you a second longer. They wait, Jimin strokes a hand down your back, gently. “Green.” It’s small and it’s soft, but you give it. You’d say no if you didn’t want it.

Your body is shaking- you feel so unmoored, so unsettled. Namjoon is angry at you and it doesn't matter. He says it doesn't and you should believe him. Still- you’re willing to do anything to get him close, to be forgiven.

"What do you need?" namjoon asks you it without pre-amble, without expectation.

"I don't want to think anymore, I don't want to be afraid, can you" you hesitate, "Can you fuck it out of me?"

Namjoon spends another second watching you, waiting. But then he plunges on ahead. Letting the full weight of his scent ripple out, heavenly and thick. Intoxicating. 

"Kneel. Now. Both of you."

Your legs go weak and you plummet without your say-so. Jimin is close at your elbow, catching you as soon as you fall, guiding you softly to the floor so you don’t hurt your knees. Huffing a quiet laugh. Your face remains upturned in Namjoon's direction. Unable to look away.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jin stride over to you and Hobi. where you kneel side by side. His usually comforting omega pheromones are rancid. He cups your cheeks, turning you away from Namjoon to look at him.

He dangles the collar in front of you teasingly.

"You both have to earn your collars today- Both of you- on the couch" You aim to get up on your feed but Jin keeps you down with a soft hand on the top of your head.  "No, you'll crawl."

humiliation makes your breath hitch, but you you jerk forward, shuffling across the floor until Jin stops you yet again with a quiet laugh. "Not yet puppy, wait- stay-"

You can't possibly know that crawling is something that the others often make Hobi do in puppy space. He is no stranger to this. But you do recognize the wild glassiness as something else other than subspace when you look over at him tentatively, hoping that he's not looking at you, hoping that he's following their commands just like you are. It's substantially less embarrassing with him by your side.

Huh, you like this. You like kneeling with Hobi, it makes you feel fuzzy, it makes you feel safe- in a way that subbing alone or subbing with just Jungkook hadn't- maybe.

Maybe it's because Hobi is an alpha. 

"Stay." Jin commands, a hand up, and you feel like your whole body is on fire as the three of them, Jin, Namjoon, and Jimin, go to sit on the couch, taking their time while you both kneel. A loud keening noise punctures the quiet as you watch them walk away from you, and it takes you a breath to realize it came from your own throat.

“Stay, good puppies.”

The bubble in your throat bursts and you let out a held breath. Shaky.

Namjoon's thighs splay to show his generous hardness tenting in his slacks, Jin sits daintier, one leg crossed over the other and his robe re-tucked. Jimin shifts uneasily, hands on his knees, eyes darting from you to Namjoon who stares you down.

You watch delicately, as Jin laces his hand with Namjoon's, smoothing the other up and down Jimin's thigh. The other alpha's hardness isn't so obvious. But the scent of Jinnie's slick joins your own looping through the air like the scent of fresh baked goods on a hot summer's day. Sweet and enticing.

All you have to do is not move until Hobi does.

You keen again, and it goes unacknowledged again. Hobi's knuckles brush against the floor hard as he shifts his weight. The pack alpha and pack omega hold their breath.

"Okay, now."

Hoseok goes quicker than you do, you're a little slow, a little sluggish, a little dumb under the weight of whatever Namjoon's pheromones are doing to you. Your cheeks feel like they're on fire and your gaze is downturned as you crawl to them. The humiliation of it bleeding down your chest and back as you fail to meet their gaze as you go. Stopping only when you're in between Namjoon and Jin's feet. Hobi's thigh pressed against yours.

You watch as Jin fastens the red collar around Hobi's neck. The gold metal dog bone-shaped charm on the end rests against the hollow of his throat is so pretty. When he looks up at Jin, there is nothing but utter devotion in his eyes, it's so beautiful it makes you a little breathless.

As you watch the words on the charm catch the light, 'good boy' it reads.

"Good girl." Your gaze is drawn back to Namjoon and you feel your own collar fastened around the back of your neck. Jimin’s hands making quick work of the buckle. Not the pack alpha, although he does tug at the bell at the front, making it jingle. Removing it after a second.

Too much excess noise- maybe for those upstairs. Namjoon has no idea if they’ve finished yet but it’s late enough for them to be asleep.

Jin tugs at your collar, one hand looped through yours, the other Hobi’s. Hobi goes where Jin pulls him, as easy as breathing. You’re a little more stumbly, setting a hand on his knee to stop yourself from face-planting into it (you wouldn’t have hit it hard, you’re just very wobbly right now).

Jin lets you catch your breath (you’re panting a little too heavy already and they haven’t even begun) before pulling you cheek-to-cheek with Hobi. Jin does it for seemingly no reason, pulling you this way and that just to see if you'll follow until you're cheek to cheek with him. Until you can feel more than see hobi's grin.

It feels a bit like an owner showing their pet what they did wrong. A little humiliating where it not for the way Hobi squeezes your hip reassuringly. Jin's fingers toy with the back of your collar before threading through your hair, the other in Hobi's, scratching his scalp hard. Hobi tips his head back into the touch.

Your eyelashes flutter- head pets do feel really really good-

Jin's long fingers go tight in your hair, and he starts to tug you back to Hobi again. "Give her a kiss puppy, as a thank you for asking for a scene so sweetly. Show her how good puppies give kisses."

Your eyelashes flutter, and you barely catch the deep red flush on Hobi's cheeks- that matches the collar around his throat- before he follows Jin's command.

It's different than the kisses you shared in the car- so much more involved. Hobi's jaw works and his tongue- the way he laps into your mouth- licks blindly and sloppy, is messy- but it's good- the tip of your tongue teases his sharp canines and he tastes musky and satisfied, the fear and anger edging away bit by bit.

He bites your lower lip, smarting. Painful enough that you gasp and lean further into him. You like it when he bites, maybe a little too much- the shock- the zinging pain of being marked, the ache that stays there and lets you know you'll wear his bruises later.

Jin pulls him back with a savage jerk. "No biting, bad puppy." but Hoseok is grinning, eyes a little hazy, and you know you must be his mirror, reaching, reaching to touch.

Jin laughs softly as he shakes you slightly once for good measure, keeping you at arm's length from the very alpha that earned you this punishment. Shaking you gently. Before he lets you go, letting you sag against Namjoon's thigh and into his hands, the pack alpha shushes you, murmurs out a ‘good pup’ that makes you feel like you’re melting, scratching gently down your shoulders, between the straps of your tank top.

Jin’s eyes are flinty in the darkness. Dom space has never looked quite so brutal, quite so beautiful either. Jin sets his elbows on his knees and stares down at you until you whimper and look away. Hiding your face in Namjoon’s thigh.

"Minnie, take the pups out of their clothes. Just her pants, I think the pup needs a little cover." You gulp.

He's right, goosebumps form up and down your arms. You're not sure how Jimin gets you out of them- picking you up by the loops in your pants and draping you filthy and quick over Namjoon's thigh (an impressive feat of strength) yanking them off with a laugh as you kick your legs a little- just so that Jin can grab them to keep them still, just so that Hobi can put his teeth against your thigh to make you stay.

 "No puppy- bad- i said no biting." Your panties are just as wet and filthy with cum and slick as they were in the car nearly an hour ago. Your cunt flutters around nothing at a bit of rough treatment. Forcing more of the mess out. Seeping. Turning the fabric dark with a mix of slick and cum and squirt.

Jimin pries them apart to point it out to namjoon and jin and your hand goes tight on the pack alphas waist. glad that they can't see your face as they praise you. How you whimper and grow teary eyed a the humiliation of being put on display.

"Wow Hobi- how many times did you even make her cum?"

"Yeah she's like- totally ruined." They snap the band meanly- but they leave them on. Someone spankings you just once, brief, gentle- you hardly feel the sting. Before they place you gently back on the floor- this time properly between Namjoon's legs.

But it’s not really rough- it’s delicate. The way that Namjoon and Jin tug at your collar. The dark cushion that Namjoon sets down for your knees. Hobi doesn’t get a cushion and it takes you a second to figure out why.

He won’t be kneeling for long.

You might like it a little too much, having them manhandle you. Keeping you there on the floor below them- below the hum of conversation, not excluded but not expected to participate. Reassuringly just at the edge of their touch. Namjoon's fingers stay tucked into your collar, just at your scent gland, rubbing into it reassuringly.

Jimin is a good alpha and disrobes Hobi with just as much fussing.

Letting the other alpha growl and fight back until Jimin has to put real effort into pining Hobi to the floor. Ripping off his boxers with a clean jerk and a loud tearing sound. Laughing all the while- clearly enjoying himself as Hobi’s growls become needy whines and the knee between his leg grinds down.

His cock flicks and jerks as Jimin holds him there. His nose is pressed to the ground until he stops fighting back. Arms and shoulders flexing with definition. Determination flagging.

-Omegas watching have to show omega- have to show- but- but Minnie's too strong- it feels too good to let him set his teeth on Hobi's neck. To go limp at the attention. Jiminie is just- he's-

Hobi is spinning, dazed. Too dazed to notice your staring, the fresh pulse of slick in the air as you watch him. Peaking over Namjoon's thigh nervously to watch the scuffle. It feels too good to submit. To let go of the rioting animal thing in his chest and just give in.

You'd be nervous if Jimin's touch didn't go soft, didn't go sweet as he pets up and down Hobi's cheek. "There you go puppy- just needed to know alpha's here, right?"

Hobi trembles as he leans into Jimin's hands. He's still shaking when Jimin puts him gently back in between Jin's parted thighs.

It's only with Hobi completely bare that Jimin settles back against the couch. legs parted wide, cock so obviously hard between his legs tenting his black pajama pants. It's hard to miss it.

Hard and aching. You wonder if it hurts to be so turned on- to poke out like that.

You blink, first looking from Hobi, where he sits more docile and even more dazed looking than before to Namjoon above you, watching with a satisfied glint in his eyes. And you realize he was poised to step in if Jimin failed to settle him. He let Jimin take the job of settling. Let him- because he likes it.

Namjoon catches you watching, stroking down your neck in question. "I didn't realize the wrestling was like- a sex thing," You mutter, soft.

"It's not always," Jimin says, at the same time Jin snorts and says "Of course it was a sex thing." 

Hobi’s a little dazed, not responding to your words and it takes a glance for you to realize that oh- he’s somewhere else. His eyes are wide and upturned, glassy as he looks at Jin. He looks at Jin the same way that Jimin looks at Tae when she’s not looking. Utter devotion and more.

Hobi's good. He keeps his hands between his parted thighs at Jin’s feet. Not touching his cock, hard and arching up towards his stomach. All but shaking his ass to mime a wagging tail (you wonder if he's got one somewhere in the boxes in the other room). When Jin touches his cheek, Hobi whines and laps at his fingers.

“Good puppy” Namjoon croons from above you, eyes sharp on Hobi, glancing at you when he catches you watching. “Such a good example”  

After a second. You put your own hands between your parted thighs and push up on them. Mimicking his posture and arching your spine. looking back up at Namjoon for approval.

"Good pup, just like that."

Jin continues to pet Hobi, up and down the side of his face, scratching the top of his head. And Hobi continues to push into his hands. Eyes fluttering closed. The touches indulgent and certainly a reward.

Jin’s supposed to be angry; he’s supposed to be punishing you- but sue him- Seokjin has missed his puppy, his good boy. He’s going to take every opportunity for some much-needed daddy/dog time.

"Now, do you want to tell me what made you fuck like a mutt during a rut in a car where anyone could see you? Or do I have to spank it out of you?"

"We just- I- we went to the store and-"

Hobi whines loudly cutting you off, Jimin is massaging at his scent gland, leaning low to teethe at it while Jin pets through his hair. Hands skimming down, over his chest and then the skinny almost abs that Hobi's always had.

You know that Jin has his hands on his cock when Hobi seizes up. Eyes fluttering in relief. Lips parting, tongue pressing between his lips but not lolling out quite yet.

He pumps Hobi hard, once, twice. And Namjoon lets you watch. Peeking over his thigh, chin perched there, stroking down your cheek. He lets you watch Hobi jerk when Jin takes a hand off of him. Letting out a half gasp and half whimper.

The pack omega changes his mind, looking down at the bit of pre-cum on his fingers. Almost purring. Purring because even after having you twice, Hobi is still weak for his pack omega.

You squirm, rubbing your legs together, and Namjoon tuts, nudging your thighs apart with one of his shiny leather dress shoes. "No pup."

"Actually, I don't think we should spank them, I think that would be too much of a treat." Jimin taunts.

"I agree," Jin says, petting through Hobi’s hair, tugging it this way and that roughly.

Jin notices your confused expression, and he tips your chin up to his. "If you're going to fuck and tease like a mutt without thought then we're going to treat you like one puppy. Only good pups get treats."

Hoseok whines, so far down that he can't verbally respond, you stutter, trying to form words. More cognizant but still stumbling, struggling to meet Namjoon's eyes when you look up at him.

It's easier to stare elsewhere, not over at Jimin, who has one hand between his own legs and the other loosely wrapped around Jin's waist, chin resting on the omega's shoulder, fingers toying with the closure of his robe and the smooth planes of his chest revealed by the plunging neckline. That delicate clavicle that you are only too accustomed to- that you are only too hungry for in omegaspace.

It might take one last push to get you there. But Namjoon and Jin have always been fans of getting you down gently. Not plummeting.

“Tell Alpha,” Namjoon asks, directing your gaze back to him. Your cheeks cradled in both of his wide palms. You’re dimly aware of Seokjin ushering Hobi up onto the couch, but you stay right where you are.

Namjoon’s legs part wider, and you rest your cheek on his thigh, looking up at him. Even though he’s glowering down at you, you’ve never felt safer- here at the pack alpha's feet, within the careful circle of his long legs. Really- your alphas are all a force of nature, all so big and tall and strong. The kind of strength that makes you want to bear your throat and let them do with you what they want. 

Those cops out there didn’t stand a chance. If this was the olden days, Namjoon wouldn’t have hesitated to get violent on your behalf.

He smells so good- you can feel and taste it on your teeth.

"No no no- no biting. Pup-" Namjoon catches you, his voice shifting from angry to exasperated. You don't know how you didn't realize that you'd subconsciously started to go and bite his thigh. Stopped at the last second by his hands, your teeth skimming the smooth silk taper.

It's not your fault, Namjoon is very nibbleable.

Jimin laughs, and even Namjoon can't resist cracking a smile- "just let her have a nibble Namjoon-"

“Tell Alpha what you did in the car.” Hobi whines loudly, and you know that words are hard for him. That it’s hard for him to talk when his mind is scrambled like this.

“Hoseok-“

“Puppy” Namjoon corrects.

“Puppy he- we just-“ You stutter, lost for words, and Namjoon waits for a breath longer before he leans forward. Reaching wordlessly between your legs. Your panties are still on, clinging to the dampness there. Namjoon sets his fingers over you and doesn't move them. You whine. He has to reach so far down that he's practically nose-to-nose with you.

“Do you want me to tell you what I think happened pup?”

You nod, your nose brushes his cheek, and he pets softly between your legs. You’re so sensitive that you can’t help but gasp a little. “I think you let the puppy put his little cock and knot in this sweet hole right here. I think you let him mount you where anyone could see. I think he gave it to you good and sweet because you’re both normally very good and very sweet and I think it made him very very happy to tease alpha like this.”

You know that Hoseok isn't really small- at least not by alpha standards. But compared to Namjoon, to the length that's all but vulgar in the way it's swelled in his slacks, the thin silk that clings to it- compared to that- Hoseok is quite small. 

You shake your head, and Namjoon raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Did it happen differently? Did you make him beg for your cute little hole?”

“You- you said that he gave it- but he didn’t-“ Namjoon raises an eyebrow, stroking gently down the side of your face. “I was on top.”

Namjoon looks so fast at Hobi perched in Jin's lap he thinks it might as well have given him whiplash. Jimin’s hand in Hobi’s hair pulls tight, tilting his neck back so that Jin can nuzzle mindlessly into his scent gland. All while his hands drift up and down Hobi's hips, avoiding the one hot and hard place between his thighs, although Hoseok's cock twitches every time Jin's hands wander even the least bit close.

Everyone is quiet for a moment.

And then Jin flicks Hobi's cock, gently. But Hobi still jerks near violent. Like an alpha possessed. Unable to control the way his body contorts. His gasp loud, pained, but his cock doesn't flag at all- if anything- it only looks like he grows harder.

Jin does it again just to watch him sqirm and flinch. "Bratty little pup- making her do all the work. I thought my good little puppy alpha knew how to be a good packmate, or do you need another lesson? does alpha need to show you how to knot?"

Your hips twitch and the motion isn't missed, Namjoon looks back at you finally- “Oh? Do you want to show Alpha how you rode the puppy’s cock?” You stutter- confused at what he means, until Namjoon keeps his hand on your shoulder and tips up the edge of his dress shoe and taps the inside of your thigh.

"Go on pup, show me how you rode him. You haven't earned a real cock yet so you'll have to make due."

At this angle, you can grip his knee to your chest, can hug Namjoon's calf, and pull yourself up on your knees the same way you did in the car. You short circuit- and you don’t know how to continue until Namjoon pulls you closer by your shoulders, half bent over, so that your front sits against his leg, hot and thick and powerful.

Only then does he sit back and reach for the button of his slacks, popping it open. “Go on pup, you were so eager to show us earlier- don't get shy on me now"

You start, moving your hips in simple little circles at first. Shy. looking up at him for approval that you're doing it right. Namjoon tugs at your collar, guiding you until you find your rhythm with a deep pleased growl.

It feels strange to do it, especially with all of them watching you. As you set your pussy over Namjoon's shoe and start to move. It's good- even if it's humiliating, all of this talk and manhandling has left you sticky and sensitive.

“Wait,” Jin says, reaching down, craning to get his hand between your thighs, slipping under your panties and pulling back with wet glistening fingers.

It's not only slick but a bit of Hobi's cum too. Jin tuts, spreading his fingers. Showing Namjoon and Jimin the translucent and cloudy in places threads that connect the wetness on his fingers. You shudder as you watch Jimin lick his lips, and feel Namjoon vibrate with a growl.

"Don't even try it Minnie-"

Jimin pouts, plush lips catching the light, "Wasn't going to-"

Hoseok just growls. Namjoon taps your chin and you go back to getting off on his thigh, trying to hide your little gasps every time you get the drag right. You don't pay attention to the alphas, you just look at Jin and his fingers- watching and waiting to see what he'll do with them.

Jin continues on like he doesn't have 3 alphas bickering over his slick-coated fingers. "I don't think you'll have any more cum left for me puppy, might have to milk it out of you." Jin nearly purrs as he looks over to where you're currently making a mess of Namjoon's shoes, all wet and slick. Rubbing your cunt all over him without a care in the world.

"What a needy little omega I've got- taking all of it and leaving none for Jinnie."

"Didn't mean to didn't-" Namjoon's fingers pinch your cheeks until your words go muffled. All mean and almost laughing at you for it. You might cry with how wound up you felt.

"No fibbing my little pup- we both know you probably loved it when puppy made you wet and messy. You both had to show us."

Hobi's whimpers and squirming starts up again a new. You let out a soft whimper as Hobi strains and Jimin holds him, both his hands held behind his back, on his knees still so that Jin can have unrestricted access to his cock. He's squirmier than you. Teeth bared, still fighting.

Jin’s hand must feel very very good because no sooner is the pack omega putting his slick hand to Hobi’s cock than is he squirming harder than ever. Fighting to get closer, fighting for more.

Jin’s hands move up and down Hobi’s cock, as he eyes his gnashing teeth. Taking none of it- not the growls or the snarls or the whimpers to heart, just leaning his cheek on his clean hand while his other goes up and down over Hobi's cock. Your slick makes the glide smooth and easy as he fucks up and down slowly, stopping occasionally to rub under the head until Hoseok is panting until his hips can’t up and-

Jin takes his hands off with a flick of his wrist, almost animated, and Hobi jerks violently as his orgasm slips away.

You whine too, and Namjoon makes a questioning hum in his voice. 'Wanna see puppy get all messy, wanna see him make Jinnie hands all messy too- Jinnie has pretty hands don't you think so alpha? Pretty pretty Jinnie Jinnie- pretty."

Namjoon laughs, and lovingly strokes down your cheek. You blink away the words, babbling when you're unaware that you are is one of the cutest ways that your omega space presents. Namjoon doesn't think he'll ever tire of how honest you get when you start to go into omegaspace. The way your thoughts just come out all at once.

The tips of Jin's ears are red, and Jimin nuzzles into them. Jin's hand goes extra extra mean on Hobi the drag tight and wet and so good it makes him want to cry when Jin takes his hands away again. Namjoon eggs you on.

"There's my pretty little pup. I know you want to see our beautiful pack omega- but punishments are punishments for a reason pup. You both have to earn it." Jin flushes at Namjoon calling him beautiful but you almost don’t catch it, too busy rubbing one out on Namjoon's shoe and nodding. Agreeing with what Alpha says because your alpha is very very smart and very very trustworthy.

Your chest is tight, and you're breathing heavy until Namjoon guides you to rest your cheek against his thigh oh so close to his cock. to where his hand moves. Your breath goes easy and sweet, soothed. A tight knot in your chest all but unraveled. Your rhythmic movements as you grind against his pant leg and shoe background noise to your frizzled mind. Namjoon's got you- you don't need to think about whether or not it's time to cum because he will tell you when you can.

Just like Jinnie's doing with Hobi right now. 

Jin stares at his pinking-up cock with that disapproving lilt to his eyes, all mean in the way that makes parts of you all melty. He waits for Hoseok's panting to go gentle before he starts up again. Just as slow and just as meticulously.

He goes like that, edging Hobi, bringing him just there, just a little more but always stops when Hobi’s tummy twitches and he grits his teeth. Jin can read his tells well- the wide panic in his face of an orgasm that comes on too strong, too fast, too quick.

Hobi's cock goes pink and then red after a few minutes. His taught muscles hard and shaking with the strength of his denied pleasure. Jin edges him again and Hobi's cock twitches, knot trying but failing to inflate on its own. Arms straining against Jimin's hold. Still fighting.

Jin won't let him cum until he gives up and goes pliant.

"No Hobi- a few more pup- and then you'll be forgiven." Hoseok is a good sub, you never would have known it, but he doesn't squirm after the first few- surrendering himself to Jin's touch and Jimin's quiet hold. You keep moving your hips under Namjoon's quiet guidance, your cheek resting on his thigh to watch, his own hand moving against his cock. Hard peeking out from the waistband of his slacks. Watching as Hobi gets more and more desperate.

It’s pretty- the way he jerks and moves- like the pleasure has a mind of his own. Sweat drips down his midline, and Jimin's fingers keep Hoseok restrained. Although you sense that's more just so Hobi feels him.

“Don’t cum without alpha’s say so puppy.”

Namjoon's thigh is warm under your cheek, “Yes alpha.”

His hands are in your hair, gentle. Holding you close and keeping you pressed against his thigh. “Are you close pup?”

“A little,” you admit. You're not really- but it does feel good enough that you know you could cum, if they left you to this for a few more minutes- if Namjoon praised you a little bit. You're hungry for it.

Namjoon growls, satisfied. “Go slower then, lean back so I can see. Show alpha how good you are."

You lean back on your hands and Namjoon watches, grinning. The flush on your cheeks is something he touches, something he pinches, while he works his cock and you ride. Namjoon eats up your small sighs and quiet hiccups of pleasure.

“Such pretty pups I have, such pretty little pups,” he croons, almost more to himself than to you. After watching a little He pulls you back to rest closer, more firmly between your thighs. “Just stay here and watch Jinnie take Hobi apart, will only take a few more minutes pup- can you keep from cumming until then?”

“Yes alpha, won’t cum, promise.”

“Good pup.”

Hobi’s trembling gets harder and harder with every edge. He must be nearing half a dozen by now. It gets even worse when Jimin snakes his hands around to the front and starts toying with his chest. It must be an alpha thing, because you're pretty sure he wouldn't have the same reaction if you tried it. Jimin flicks Hobi's small nipples, and his cock twitches, dripping fresh pre-cum that Jin rubs into his skin. So wet and slick it makes a sound.

He gives him a breather, but isn't much of a breather at all when his touch treads down, examining all of Hobi- every inch. Beyond a neatly trimmed touch of hair that you know must be Jin's handy work- he keeps all the alphas very well groomed- Tae and Namjoon shave- but Hobi and jimin keep themselves just nicely trimmed. Pretty.

"Did you leave any for your pack omega Hobi, or did you give it all to her little cunt? Did it feel good? Pup is so warm and wet all the time- I bet she made a mess first."

You whimper, and Namjoon hooks a thumb into your mouth to press the pad of his finger against your tongue, just keeping his fingers there. And you part your lips wider. His own fist still moving up and down around the head of his cock. So wide that even Namjoon’s big hands can hardly go around it.

You wonder if the slide is too dry- you could make it wet for him, the same way you did with Hobi. You suck, soothing the wild want in your chest.

Hobi's mouth finally cooperates, finally sorts through the mess of good puppy, good boy, have to be a good boy, as he jerks away from what surely would have been a painfully needed orgasm.

"Yes! I did, I just-" Jin flicks the head of Hobi’s cock again and he flinches so hard that Jimin has to scruff him, turning his body limp, and he gives a wet sob, there is no remnant of the alpha that teased you until you were shaking earlier. But if anything- it's just as alluring. You can't look away, can't decide what to look at, Namjoon's big cock just in front of your face- or Hobi’s tearful jerking as Jin denies him an orgasm once again.

("Can you do that to me eventually?" You'll ask eventually, tomorrow maybe. In the nest, soft, pressed to Jin's chest, the safest place in the universe for pups that are still coming up, still feeling the after-effects of all of all this submission. hazy and trusting and boneless at your edges. "What? Edge you? You want to try it?" and Jin will giggle, and nip at your nose playfully. "Careful what you ask for honey.")   He cries, but you know that it’s not your job to worry about that right now. “Want alpha.” You say, hugging Namjoon’s leg to your chest like a lifeline. You’re not sure you could stand if you wanted to. The pleasure is secondary to the submission like this.

“Want alpha to make puppy full- want knot here" you touch your stomach, and every alpha in the room growls. "please alpha, knot-“ you babble, but break off the second Namjoon turns his disapproving stare back to you.

“No pup. Not tonight.”

You whine but Namjoon doesn’t do anything but continue to work his cock hard and fast. You open your mouth, eyes fluttering closed, and Namjoon’s thumb presses on your lower lip, sort of in warning, sort of in fascination.

For once you actually wouldn't mind sucking him off, not if it was like this. With you safely under Namjoon’s thumb. Before- blowjobs had been a source of anxiety and trauma for you. But right now- you are so neglected, so riled up and so far down in subspace that you want things you wouldn't ordinarily. Maybe if you're good alpha will-

Namjoon knows this, and stops you before you can bully your way between his legs. "No pup." You whine petulantly and Namjoon soothes away the tears at the corner of your eyes. "Don't act like I’m being mean, it wouldn't fit pup, your mouth is too small for me."

"But- but- Pup could try-"

Jimin’s tone is dark and when you look at him, he's glaring. "Alpha said no pup. I thought you wanted to be a good little pup."

Jin clicks his tongue, "Your size kink is showing."

They're chagrined but not really, Namjoon lifts up the heel of his shoe, far enough that the toe hits your clothed pussy again and you chirp, clinging to his thigh. "Don't-" you cut yourself off, distracted by the way that Namjoon's fisting his cock, Namjoon might be fucking massive- but it's also pretty and veiny, proportional. Pink at the tip and dewy. You’d stopped grinding. Too distracted. Too small-minded.

"If you stop grinding pup I stop touching, you don't want to deny both of your alphas their pleasure, do you? Don't you want to be good."

You do want to be good and you're plummeting. Your brain starts to hinge on Namjoon's every word, alpha pheromones thick and sweet in your throat as you nod and continue to grind against Namjoon's smooth leather shoe. You can't say it's not a good feeling.

Although your hole is already pink and oversensitive from Hobi’s knotting earlier. Your clit had remained neglected then- but not anymore. You drag it wet and twitchy, presses against the wet fabric that clings, over the leather and it does feel good, it does feel sweet.

You continue to grind one out as Namjoon works a hand up and down his cock. Faster now. He's long enough that if he directs it towards you, you can open your mouth and let him tap the head against your tongue.

He does do that, once, twice, and then again for good measure. Namjoon's hand moves faster and faster.

You know he’s done for when you flick your eyes from his cock, and then back up to his face. loling out your tongue. You want it- you want to taste that you make your alpha happy.

When Namjoon cums, it's all over your face and chest, the thin white tank top will easily be stained in places, ruined probably (a shame- since you're pretty sure it's one of Tae's. Your mommy alpha just might take you over her lap for ruining it) It drips down your collar bones and over the top of your chest in thick hot ropes. Namjoon always cums so much. You close your eyes but Namjoon is careful. Aiming most of it at your neck and scent gland. A bit of it gets in your mouth, lips parted, and Namjoon tastes salty and potent.

(Something, something deep in your body clicks finished at that, something that is neither instinct nor biology.)

Namjoon works his cock through his orgasm, fisting his knot that only swells part of the way without an omega around it clamped warm and tight. But still looks cute and puffy at the base of his cock when he lets go with a wince.  Letting you nuzzle into it and press a little kiss there. After a few seconds with him breathing heavy and your hips stilling, he tugs you up onto the couch. Guiding you to sit with your legs apart, giving your sensitive and sticky hole a bit of a break.

Namjoon wraps his arms around you and holds you for a second. Still breathing heavy. Giving you a little squeeze. Behind you- Hobi lets out a broken whimper. He’s too tired to jerk anymore. Cock going from red to almost purple with the strength of his denied orgasms.

Jin stops for a second. Holding Hobi close too- Jimin hooks his chin over Hobi’s shoulder to look down at his angry-looking cock.

Namjoon sits you on his lap and parts your thighs for the others to see the mess you've made of your panties. Skimming the tips of his fingers up to your twitching clit. Guiding your underwear off. You know better than to try and close your thighs. Sagging openly back against his chest and letting him put you on display, without worrying, without thinking. Staring up at him with what you know must be a dazed expression. Namjoon is such a pretty alpha, all of your alphas are so pretty. Jiminie too-

You blink, and when you look, Jimin's cheeks are pink, so pink and flustered that he buries his face in the nape of Hobi's neck. And you know once again you've spoken without realizing you have.

Namjoon's eyes flicker down to his cum on your chest and he wipes it away with a groan, “I’m sorry pup. Alpha should have been more careful about not making you messy.” Jin hums, eyes flashing from you to Hobi and you get the sense that he and Namjoon are communicating without words. Jimin shifts restlessly behind Hobi, holding him less firmly- but he's boneless now, tamed, and stays prostate as Jin shuffles over to you.

There is a towel- from where you don't know- maybe Jimin got it preemptively when he went and retrieve your collars. But it's rough against your cheek as Jin diligently cleans you of the pack alpha's cum- not your chest- but at least your face.

"My poor little puppy, made messy from two alphas already tonight," you pout, nodding up at him. Your hands tangle in the front of his robe, pulling at it petulantly.

"M'empty," you say, a little petulantly, and you are, the hollow ache is there, and you have three perfectly good alphas to fill you. "Want cum, pup's been good? Good puppy?"

Jinnie pecks your nose, "best puppy. My poor little pup, you did so well for Joonie- I think you've earned a little knot," Hobi shuffles forward, perking up, ready for his reward but Jimin jerks him back by his collar again and you've never seen him look so crestfallen.

Behind him, Jimin squirms and you sense it coming when Jin turns to kiss Hobi’s forehead and detangles himself from Jimin. Hobi needs to settle and Jimin-

Jimin needs a reward. For being so good, for keeping Hobi still for the pack omega.

You can feel the alpha's eyes on your pink cunt, a little wet and slick from where you rode Namjoon's shoe still splayed over his leg, on display. Jin beckons you over to them and you push yourself up onto your hands and knees, no longer unsure as you crawl over to the pack omega. You know your chest still has cum on it, that you're still wrecked, you don’t mind it.

Alpha, your instincts hum, I smell like alpha.

Behind Hobi, Jimin watches you with beady eyes, murmuring out a soft "fuck."

“Puppy was so rude earlier, making our little omega do all the work- I feel like I've neglected his education- I’ve neglected to show you puppy how a real alpha breeds an omega.” Jin keeps a hand on Hobi’s collar to keep him from getting to you but he tries anyway.

“Pup,” you look back at him, hands between your legs, back arched, waiting perfectly for his instruction.

“Present for us, let Jiminie see your little hole.”

You know how to make presenting pretty, guided by instinct and the desire to see your pack omega fulfilled as you start to turn and situate yourself on your hands and knees. But as you turn you stop- Namjoon's already moving.

He moves across the room, pulls the ottoman out from where it's tucked sort of by the coffee table, moving it over just in front of them.

It's not a breeding bench, it's really not but- but it could be.

Anxiety bleeds down your chest. You've never used a breeding bench, you've seen them before of course but you've never-

"Don't know- don't know how- Alpha- what are you-"

Namjoon holds out his hand to help you stand. "Alpha will show you pup," You get on your feet, teetering, clutching at the edge of your shirt with an anxious thrum to your bones, but Namjoon- Namjoon's so good as he guides you.

You squirm, unsure, unsure because Jin and Jimin and Hobi are all looking at you and you're anxious about doing it wrong. You get onto the ottoman on your knees but resist it as Namjoon pushes you. You have no chance- you know you could never overpower Namjoon but the resistance makes him pause.

He wraps his arms around your middle, completely disregarding the mess of his cum still on your chest, smearing it without care as he holds you. Pecking your cheek, your lips, your mouth that parts in a needy whine.

"In the olden days, back when people used to use breeding benches to settle fussy omega's like you- they had straps and buckels to keep you presented. To keep you in place. Do you want something like that pup? Do you need it?"

You whine and nod, and Namjoon jerks his chin again, not at you but at Jimin.

You kneel there, partially hidden by the pack alpha, content to be held for a second. While Jimin goes to the other room.

The silk in Jimin's hands reminds you of some of Tae's ribbon, pink too- just like your collar, but braided and strong- it matches the color of your collar and you wonder when they got it. "Yoongi's better at this than I am." Jimin says as he starts to tie your ankles, splaying them apart on either corner of the ottoman. As Namjoon latches a leash to your collar.

You surrender yourself completely to their tugging, the loops that Jimin puts around your ankles, and the way that Namjoon splays your legs wider and then pulls the ropes tight- showing him how to do it, looping them around the legs of the ottoman.

Namjoon leaves your hands free, but it almost doesn't matter with how short the leash is, you can't even lift your chin up off the fabric. It takes them maybe 30 seconds to properly restrain you, and when you try to lift your head, to stop arching your spine- you find you can't move more beyond a little squirming.

Oh- oh. You like this, you like not being able to move, not being able to fight and squirm. It's like a collar only full body, it's like a collar only better.

"There we go- that's a good pup, that feels better right? All settled now?" You whimper, eyes rolling, you like this- you like being restrained.

Namjoon's fingers are long, long enough that he can pry your hole open and show Hobi just how pink and messy your hole is, a bit of cum- the last little bit probably- given how much you've already spilled. Slipping out and down to the nudge of your clit.

Namjoon presses it back inside, and you keen, no longer empty. It's momentary because Namjoon doesn't finger you for long, just checks, just checks that you're open enough to take Jimin's knot. Hot and clenching around his fingers. Worked up already you know you won't take much. You whine loud and petulantly- you know Namjoon already said he wouldn't knot you tonight and he'd surely have to prep you more but-

Utter bliss falls over you at the tightness of your restraints. Jinnie and Namjoon are such good pack alpha and pack omega, surely they know what's best, surely they know what you should do with the sweet pinking sensitivity between your legs.

It’s not up to you what happens right now or which alpha fucks and breeds you. It's so easy to let your head down and let go. To feel the bounds of your own control in the restraints. Embarrassed deep down but in the moment unable to do anything but obey obey obey.

Jin's command comes like a crack of thunder. "Alpha, mount."

Hobi jerks at the command, almost falling with how quick he tries and fails to get up from the couch, he gets another flick to his cock at that- and the attention leaves him near howling. Blinking away tears at the corner of his eyes.

"Not you mutt," Jin croons, affectionate even if the words are demeaning. He jerks his chin.

"Minnie, show the puppy how it's done, show him how my alpha's are supposed to breed their omega's and not the other way around."

Jimin shifts, sliding to the edge of the couch, tentative but eager. But Minnie- minnies got a knot, you know it's chubby and that it feels good.

Namjoon eggs him on, "Show him Minnie- show him how a proper alpha gives an omega their knot, I know I've taught you and Tae well."

The implications of that make your head spin, did namjoon show them? Did he set Jin or Kookie up on a bench like this and show them one after another how to fuck properly? How to make the drag sweet and with finesse? Your head spins at the idea of it.

But too soon for your fantasy is Jimin bullying his way between your thighs, Namjoon's hands guiding his hips to put it in. "There you go minnie, just like that, isn't she so warm inside? isn't the fit tight or did Hobi take that from you-"

"Still Tight- wet" Jimin pants out as your eyelashes flutter open in relief, making eye contact with Hobi, bearing his teeth, feral, and you realize Jin is having to put real effort into holding him back.

His growl is all the warning you get as Jimin sheathes everything he's got inside of you. Not so long but thick enough that it has you gasping, unable to breathe, eyes wide and body taught. Hands gripping the edge of the ottoman for something to hold onto.

Your reaction doesn't stop Jimin, and he sets about a diligent pace immediately. Setting an even rhythm, pulling out almost all the way every time he fucks in, pulling soft whines from you. It's slow- but every trust is firm and deep, grinding in, pulling you by your hips back onto his cock, hands fisting in your tanktop. all but using you to get off with how he forces you back and forth on it making you feel inch.

You have no control over the pase like this. The room drowns in the sound of your fucking, Jimin's groans, hobi's snarls. His alpha chaffed at another having what's his. You're so full and wet that it's overwhelming, and you cry out gently as Jimin fucks you harder, faster.

"That's a good alpha, just like that" Jin praises, and jimin's pace stutters and then goes firmer, more brutal. more eager to show off just how good he can fuck.

Before long he's chasing his own end, both of you so riled up that it doesn't take long. Jimin's good at concentrating even though you know he's close. The delicate pleasure between the two of you simmers until there is nowhere else for it to go and you close your eyes.

Jin murmurs something, and their hands are on you- guiding the towel underneath your tied-apart legs as Jimin pants. "hyung- hyung-" fingers digging into your sides.

"Please- please alpha- wanna- wanna cum, want- knot" You babble, but Jimin is a good alpha and gives you exactly what you ask for.

You open your eyes looking at jin and namjoon, waiting for permission, so close you might not be able to hold off if they don't give you permission to cum.

you watch as jin wraps a firm hand around hobi's knot, holding onto it hard- hard enough that he wouldn't be able to pup a knot at all. you don't realize it serves a purpose until he turns his eyes back on you.

"Puppies, cum."

The three of you jerk, flinching from it. Hobi's whine is so heartbreakingly disappointed that it would surely put you into distress if you weren't preoccupied with cumming yourself. You wonder if Hobi would have cum from just a command alone if Jin didn't have his hand hard around his knot.

Jimin’s knot is just as chubby and thick as the last time it stretched you out, you cum when he plugs you up, so gentle and like breathing- so good that you hardly twitch or tremble. It doesn't feel uncontrolled or too intense. It's just warm and right as you sigh and fall completely boneless at last. Jimin grinds it deep and then lets it rest there.

You feel like youre hearing jin and namjoon talk through water as you flutter down, "Did she squirt?" Jin asks, and Namjoon's close, by your side.

"No, I don't think so."

Jin hums, disatisfied.

You sniffle but Jimin's so polite with it, keeping his knot inside of you as he kisses down your spine, plastered to your back and teething at your neck, licking, soothing.

You spend the next few minutes in bliss waiting for it to go down, letting him pet up and down your sides, getting kisses to your ankles as Namjoon unties you. Jin pets up and down your warm cheeks- soothing your hiccuping breaths at being so full. hobi laps at your scent gland, teething at it soothingly.

You get picked up, still on Jimin’s knot, settled back down onto the couch next to Hobi so that he can plant slobbery kisses all up and down the nape of your neck, scruffing you a little (or at least trying too- it doesn’t really stick). Jimin isn't threatened by hobi's presence, they nudge noses and kiss too- just as involved. You're genuinly a little surprised that Jimin lets hobi muscle his way so close and nose under your chin.

But then you stiffen, tensing as Hobi's cock nudges where you're already stretched around Jiminie's knot. You pull back, a bit panicked. Jimin growls in warning.

"Can't fit- can't-" but Jin is already there- stopping Hobi's over-eager puppy space imaginations. (Taking two knots at once isn't something you think you can do- maybe…maybe after taking Namjoon's knot you could- you won't muse on that until later).

"Soon alpha, just be patient" Jin croons, petting up and over Hobi's stomach. Even that makes his cock twitch. Another edge and Hobi will cum. You know he will- Jin is saving it for the right moment.

His knot goes down eventually, and when he slips out, Jin is there. You decide that you love breeding benches, and you want one- a real one so that alphas can just tie you up just like that and leave you there for whenever they want you, so safe and at their mercy. You like it lots and lots.

Jimin has his face tucked into your throat when you come too. And Namjoon grins, a little feral at the idea of it, "Be careful what you ask for pup."

Jin is the one who guides you carefully off Jimin's knot once it's gone down. back into the same position you were in before, displayed in Namjoon's lap, your cunt pinker and more sensitive than before.

Jimin is sated and a little quiet after knotting. It's not going non-verbal- but no one encourages Jimin to speak as you're transferred from his lap to Namjoon's, Jin kisses Jimin's cheek and then yours, eyes darting down to look at your pussy and examining Jimin's handiwork.

“Clench down for me sweet thing, keep alpha's cum all safe in your little cunt- you can't waste it- he gave it to you so sweetly.”

“Trying- can’t-” You can feel it slip out, your entrance so stretched out from two knottings. It makes you panicky in a way that it surely wouldn’t if you weren’t in omegaspace. Can't lose it, alphas have to breed puppies, alphas can't-

Namjoon groans and rubs a hand over his face. And you know you've spoken without meaning too. Jin makes a tsking noise in his throat. And then something slenderer is there at your entrance. And Jin guides Jimin’s spent back into your hole, plugs it up, and keeps them safe there with three of his long nobbed fingers, rubbing up against something spongy that makes your toes go numb with pleasure, feeding it back into your sloppy cunt.

You grab his wrist, stopping him, "Can't, too much-" but it's the wrong move.

Jin does not take his hand out, he doesn't even stop rubbing up at your g-spot, rubbing slow circles inside of you. Fucked open by two knots tonight, you're so sweet and open on his fingers.

"But I thought you wanted to cum puppy? You begged for it earlier, why stop after just one?"

"Sensitive- too much-"

Jin bristles, and he only fingers you harder, pressing Jimin's cum further inside, fingers brushing that soft squishy place inside of you that opens only during your heats- the place so deep inside you that only Namjoon can penetrate. The place that makes you keen to be touched like that, your chirp high and needy.

"I am the one that decides when you've had too much, I am the one who decides when you can't anymore, or did you forget that puppy?" you sob and shake your head and let Jin keep going. Three fingers slipping in, stretching you wider.

"If you really want me to stop then say it, say it and I will." You sob but bite your lips and shake your head. And Namjoon actually laughs behind you. "See? Daddy knows best pup,"

Jimin turns back to life at that, groaning, leaning his head back against the couch. "Jin, I swear to god i'll get hard again if you make her call you daddy."

Namjoon huffs behind you and you cry and cry and tremble as Jin keeps working his fingers into you. Namjoon pecks the back of your neck. "too late minnie,"

When he wrenches his fingers out, a little bit of squirt comes with it, darkening the edge of his robe. He does it again and you let out a few more droplets and you start crying in earnest. If he touched your clit right now you don't know what would happen.

Jin doesn't, although the threat of it is there. He grins down at you, where you cry in Namjoon's lap. Hobi lets out a concerned whine and shuffles close.

"Say thank you puppy. Say 'Thank you Daddy for being right even though I thought I couldn't handle it.'"

"Thank you, Daddy" You sob out, sniffling, Jin grins and kisses your cheek after you finish repeating it back to him.

It gives him a sick pleasure, to edge one sub and overstimulate another at the same time. You sob and Hobi leans over to lick at the tears on your face, letting out a comforting grumble. He laps lower, where the pack alpha came earlier. He can surely taste it and he probably likes it.

There's still a bit of Namjoon's cum on your chest, turning your nipples glossy where the tanktop has been pulled low, stretched out by Jimin's tugging when he fucked you back on his cock.

Jin's eyes light up wickedly. Eyes darting to your cunt, still messy with Jimin's cum, slipping out despite his efforts because your pussy simply got knotted too wide.

Jin starts to guide Hobi toward you. His cock still bobbing, pressing instantly up his hard knot close to popping. He trembles where he sits on his knees, hands planted on the couch watching you with beady almost animal eyes. Hair falling over his eyebrows. Lips pulled back around a snarl.

You wonder if this is what Hobi's like during a rut.

"Good puppies clean up alpha's messes." Hobi whines and tries to pull back, but he's never been able to beat Jimin in a fight, and now is no different. Especially when the other alpha tugs on his collar and grinds his own hard cock onto the cleft of Hobi’s ass. Jin hooks his fingers into Hobi's collar and guides him closer to where you squirm in Namjoon's lap. The pack alpha laughs meanly.

"What? Getting shy now? You were so eager to show us earlier- won't you give us a demonstration?" 

Jin tugs Hobi’s collar when he doesn’t immediately obey. Jin's hair is fluffed up at the side, maybe where Hobi scented him a little rough and clumsy. You know what it's like to need Jin's scent to keep you steady.

"Here's your choice Hobi, you can either clean up Namjoon's cum off of our pup's face and Jiminie's cum from her cunt and I’ll let you cum in the pup's cute little hole. Or you can stop now and go to sleep without cumming and Jinnie will fuck you in the morning." 

Hobi growls, as if the idea of the pack omega fucking him and not the other way around is too much for his instincts to handle. He shimmies forward, eyes dark, so far down in puppy space or alpha space or whatever you want to call it that his instincts are right there right at the forefront.

but hobi is practically wagging his tail, bright eyed and eager, "calm down puppy, you'll do it without knotting her- but jinnie will let you cum,"

Hobi's so excited he doesn't even whine, letting out a happy little sound- it's not really a bark but-

You're blushing so hard that you can't stop the headrush, “Isn’t it a little gross?"

It’s Jimin who answers, shaking his head and grinning “Not at all, it’s like-” Jimin breaks off for a second, touching gently down Hobi’s spine. “Tae would have better words for it but- it feels like our instincts swallow each other- when we take you down together it's like- alpha bonding."

Jin swats at his arm, “only you would turn cumswapping into something romantic.”

“Hyung” he whines.

Hobi can do little more than growl in response and jerk against Jimin’s touch, it's a good thing Jin has Hobi held tight. Otherwise, you have no doubt he'd take you right here right now.

You whimper, and Namjoon rubs a soothing hand down your side, pulling up the hem of your shirt so that Hobi can see your tummy so that he can set a possessive hand over it. "Don't you want to put your cock right here pup? Come on- be good for alpha, come get your treat."

You close your eyes,

Hoseok’s tongue is warm and wet, laving, lapping easily over your face, down your chest, gentle at first warm puffs of air, up and down cleaning you efficiently of the pack alpha's cum.

But then the bite comes, the pain sharp but needed to ground you, as you gasp and move away- only to be held still by Namjoon. He left marks- two circles just over your breast, another dark mark on your collarbone.

"Gentle puppy, you can nibble but be gentle" Hobi continues like that, lapping and nibbling and biting, leaving marks on your chest, your stomach, the tops of your thighs up and down the inside of them. Namjoon hooks an elbow under your knee as Jin holds Hobi to your hole by his collar.

"Don't cum pup, even when he licks your clit, you're not allowed too until I say so." Your hair bounces when you nod, close to crying again.

Hobi leaves his teeth marks on either side of your thighs, biting hard enough that you know they'll be bruises tomorrow. You tremble, and it hits you with a zing as Hobi sets his tongue flat over your clit. "Can't- gonna-"

"You'll hold off pup." Jin's tone is that of no-nonsense. Hobi licks you again messy, lost to the taste, and you jerk harder. Pussy clenching.

"Can't" you stress. Sobbing again in desperation as Hobi cleans you. Pressing sloppy kisses over your hole, lapping inside to clean you of Jimin's cum. Laving his tongue up and over your clit searching for more of your taste.

You tremble and somehow manage to keep off, probably because Jin only lets Hobi get one or two good licks in before he's tugging him up onto his knees, guiding his cock close for his reward.

"Remember no knots, but you can cum puppy," you sob through the sensitivity as hobi breaches your tender entrance, Namjoon petting up and down your stomach to soothe you.

Hoseok doesn't last, doesn't even last long enough to get in you fully before he's cumming. All Jin has to do is praise him a little more and stroke his knot once and then again and he’s soaking your entrance with ropes of thinner cum. Hobi jerks through it, abs trembling and head hung low with a loud whine. Jimin holds around his waist loosely to keep him from plugging you up with his knot.

It's so- it's so messy without that. When he pulls back, his cum slips out almost immediately. Dripping down to your other hole- all over you.

Someone kisses the wetness at your lower lash line. Eyes closed. You're not sure who it is. Maybe it doesn't matter. 

"My Messy puppies." Jin croons, stroking a loving hand down your cheek. You open your eyes.

Jimin laughs and leans over apparently not one to be outdone as Jin whispers sweet nothings into Hobi's ears. Jimin is just as emboldened, He shimmies onto the floor, grinning all the while.

The sight of Jimin between your legs smiling, his hands tilting your hips up forcing your legs wider- tips you over an unseen edge. You're already trembling as he leans forward to lap at your cum soaked clit, pressing his tongue flat there to repay Hobi's favor of cleaning it out of you.

Jimin giggles as he pulls back, and leans in to give it a little kiss.

Alpha's are so filthy.

Your orgasm washes over you, unseen, unbidden, you really couldn't tell them where it came from- but your legs are shaking and your hole clenches wildly- you squirt all over Jimin's face, spilling even more of Hoseok's cum and-

"M'sorry 'm sorry- didn't mean to alpha- was just-"

You cry freely, so worked up, needing catharsis and settling. Jin coos, cupping your cheek. And Namjoon lets out a soothing growl as he scents across the top of your head. Holding you hard as you cry and cry and cry.

Hobi just watches, a little dead to the world and swirling down from his orgasm to be of much help. Held tightly by Jin, Resting his cheek against your shoulder and nosing into your scent gland. Jin’s arm around his waist keeps him supine.

"Oh pup, it's okay, all is forgiven."

You keep crying shaking your head, "Baby pup was bad- Minnie kissed and- and puppy- bad-"

But your tears just down stop, you're not really making sense but Jin shushes you anyway. Hobi tilts his head, whining loudly. Apparently non-verbal this far down in puppy space but not willing to let his omega go unsoothed.

Namjoon's cool hands on your face bully away most of your tears. "It's alright- it's okay-" You're overwhelmed from cumming basically untouched. Overwhelmed by being disobedient. Jin just told you- just told you not to cum and you did anyway.

"Was bad- was bad, daddy told me not to cum and I- couldn't- couldn't help it" You're crying plummeting into an unhappy place that Jin and the others surely don't want you to be in.

Jin takes your face in his hands. "Okay okay- how about this?" You hinge on every word. Nodding eagerly for any solution. So far down that only their words make sense. Not the tightness in your chest. The want- the need to be good.

Jin’s voice is a low purr. “Joonie is gonna give your pussy 10 good spanks, and then after that alpha will kiss it better and you’re forgiven. If you cum during that you're allowed, and after- the scene is done. You're forgiven. And there will be no more punishment or cumming.”

You nod and relax back into Namjoon's hold, the pack alpha picks you by your knees,draping them on either side of his thigh. keeping them wide. Letting your breathing calm down, Hobi ducks low to nuzzle at your shoulder, nipping, teething more gently this time almost ticklish making you giggle.

"Is this what you meant when you asked us to fuck it out of you?"

You nod weakly, Hobi continues to nibble at your jaw until Jin pulls him back.

You do need a spanking; your alphas are so smart- they know exactly what you need. You need more of a punishment. Maybe a defined moment where everything goes from bad to good. A solid transition from bad pup to good pup and not the back and forth that you've been doing for the last...2 hours?

Has it really been that long? have you really been fucking them for that long?

"Are you ready pup?" You nod against his throat, sort of sleepy.

Namjoon sits up straight and sets you up so that he can look down at you while he restrains you in much the same way that Jimin restrained Hobi. Hobi- who sprawls out on the couch now, all tension in his body gone, nuzzling sleepily into Jin's thighs, between his legs a bit. Maybe this is also a treat for Jimin- for being good- for helping settle the two of you.

You're too busy watching to catch the first discend of Namjoon's palm, You yelp and shoot a couple of feet into the air, but your cunt throbs hard. Warm and wet, the loud slap echoes in the house. And you try to close your legs.

Namjoon keeps them apart, his big hands dimpling in the chub of your thighs. He only lets go when you stop fighting him. Jin smiles, setting his chin on his elbow to watch. Hobi's hand sneaks under his robe. Pawing at the pack omega.

Namjoo taps between your legs again and you jerk from the loud sound. It's gentle but the tingle comes first, the pleasure second. "Two" he purrs in your ear. Growing more confident as your scent swells sweeter. Jimin and Jin recline to watch, the pack omega crossing one leg over Jimin's and curling to his side before reaching down a hand to scratch at Hobi's stomach. Hobi's tongue lolls out.

Namjoon hits your clit fully on the third tap and you shoot almost a foot into the air with how sensitive you are, crying freely. It's good- so good, the sudden shock of contact, the hurtling feeling of his soothing touches as he strokes up and down your stomach.

"More." You ask, and your doms laugh at you as you squirm. "Please alpha."

You cum on the ninth spank, twitching and crying and squirting all over Namjoon's thigh while he croons and praises you through it. It’s not as much as you usually squirt, a pitiful amount really, just a dribble. You try to close your legs again but they don't let you, Jin and Jimin hold them open one a piece. Namjoon's teeth nibble at the nape of your neck, and your eyes roll back.

Namjoon slaps your cunt just once more, spanking the last little bit of squirt out of you through your wet sobs. The pleasure is so intense you think you might black out for a second.

When you come too, you’re crying and Jin is at your front holding your face in both his hands, shushing your sobs.

"Good pup, good babygirl- did so well us, for me. What a good pup we have giving us all of it.”

“M’ sorry m-’” you’re shaking, trembling sort of violently, you need- you need them close; you need all of them so close you can’t breathe around the need for it.

Jin bares his teeth, “Good pup, come to daddy, I’ve got you my sweet little thing, I’ve got you. That was a big one, wasn’t it?” Jin's got you sandwiched between him and Namjoon, pressing you so firmly between the two of them that you can feel it in your ribs. You nod, still crying.

“Too big? Too intense? Oh, my poor little pup with her big cummies. Joonie is so mean making you make a mess like that and turning your cute little cunt all pink, here let me see, come sit with Jinnie and I’ll make him kiss it better.”

You sniffle, still coming down. You get manhandled into position for some much-needed aftercare.

Aftercare is a bit of a blur. You doze and Your oversensitive and spanked hot cunt gets draped over Jin’s thigh. And a liberal amount of soothing touches get dispensed up and down your back, your face, rubbing away your tears with an errant tongue, a cool wet cloth. A soft kiss from each of your alphas (Hobi’s does get a little slobbery). You sniffle and surrender yourself to their fussing gladly.

You hardly stir when Namjoon presses a gentle kiss to your pussy, too feather-light to garner much of a reaction beyond a hiss of sensitivity on your part. Your knotted entrance flutters. Puffy and pink and too enflamed to cum again, at your limit.

Hobi's collar stays on- but yours gets taken off, a cool cloth rubbed up and down your neck and the rest of your skin. Cleaning you efficiently and truly this time. You'll need a long bath- but you'll probably sleep through it.

The next time you're lucid Jin gets you a small tin of cookies and guides Hobi to kneel on the floor again. Sit and stay- like a good boy. He snaps up each of them and happily licks at your fingers, sloppy, in puppy space, as you feed him his good pup treats (that are really just cookies) you giggle, high, cute. still in omegaspace and oh so softminded. hair mused, cheeks round and pink as you watch hobi.

"What do you say pup?" Jinnie guides.

You giggle again, "Good puppy?" Hoseok's hips sway, miming as if his tail was wagging.

"Show us your tummy Hobi- play dead, good boy. What a good boy."

After that, you're guided to lay down on Namjoon, right next to Hobi. Both of you need your pack alpha right now as you sniffle and press closer. Pressing your nose to the hollow of his throat, the inches of honey chest revealed by his unbuttoned shirt. Trying to get more of him as Hobi rubs his whole face against Namjoon’s stomach. Namjoon smells soothing and musky, the exact opposite of how he smelled when you walked through the door.

And before long, you need a hole check.

You’ve begun to doze between Namjoon and Hobi when A cool touch is dispensed over your inflamed lips and twitching clit that Jin only barely pulls at meanly until you whine desperately. But it's just him. Just the pack omega inspecting you and making sure you're all right, that you're all clean. Checking your hole for any evidence of too much hurt.

Jimin bullies his way behind you, hand sneaking under your thigh, "Here hyung, I’ll hold her up so you can give her some cream."

"What a good alpha Minnie, thank you." Hiccupping out your protests as you remain between your three alphas, pliant, at their mercy. The three alphas piled around you and Jin working to groom you clean and satisfactory. All of you smell warm and safe and happy.

“How did the meeting go?” Hobi's voice is crackly from disuse, from all that growling. Jin stills, and you sense that some sort of conversation is happening over your head. You’re too tired to figure it out- Content to doze.

“They weren’t happy,” Namjoon says. Your pack omega hums, soothing, and someone combs through your hair, you nudge Namjoon’s fingers with your nose and he keeps talking. “I really really wanted to quit outright but then they asked me what was the minimum amount of work I’d stay on for even just for the short term and-”

Namjoon pauses, sighs, starts again.

“I’ll go in 2 days a week, offer a second opinion on cases remotely when I can, I know it’s not what we hoped for but it’s still a lot better than almost 6 days a week.”

You wrap your arms around Namjoon’s waist and go back to sleep. already dreaming about how how good it's going to be to have your alpha here all the time- every day with you and Tae Tae and Jinnie and-

You doze going in and out of sleep falling back off again just as quickly as you came up. You sense you're missing time, falling in and out of sleep too quick.

One moment he's not there and then the next he is.

Yoongi.

You know he must have been there for longer, must have been there for closer to a few minutes than a few seconds. All you can do is hold onto his sleeve, it must be a dream- because in real life Yoongi is still mad at you and wouldn't let you cling to his front like this. You keep your eyes closed, keep your nose buried in his throat. You don't want to wake up.

You can feel his words against your front as he carries you upstairs, "Which bubble bath? Bubblegum or unscented?"

"Unscented please baby, I can do it if-" whoever's talking breaks off.

"It's okay, I've got her. It's not like she's going to let go of my shirt anytime soon anyways, but maybe- the bath?"

Namjoon is close, a hand on your back, offering his strength incase Yoongi needs help carrying you. "I've got it."

Yoongi says something, and your pace changes, he bobs a little as he carries you up the stairs.

You can't stay awake no matter your best efforts as you're carried up and up and up. Namjoon and Yoongi and everyone close. Everyone is there on the fringes of your awareness. The sound of sloppy slow kisses and running water lulls you to sleep peacefully. For a second you think you feel something against your hairline. You think you hear a murmur. But it's probably just a dream.

A really good dream.

(Probably)

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog! Every bit of encouragement helps me write the next chapter!

Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Series Masterlist ~ Donate ~ Twitter

~-~

Notes:

Weird take but i actually love the near even split in the first few lines of the chapter where hobi and the m/c are kinda like- going back and forth between each of their perspective. like i think it gives a very nice contrast of what they're both going through. this background came about while i was editing because i felt lik the chapter was missing stuff without it.

i think this chapter started to touch on a very real fear alot of people have when they come out of abusive relationships- that they will somehow end up emulating their abusive partners because they once rationalized their behavior as normal- the m/c gets this and is trying to change her behavior- or at least not act a certain way. she does not want to manipulate them into not being angry at her.

"walk him like a dog"- jin probably.

i do not think that the m/c falls into puppy space along with hobi, like it's just omegaspace, but i do think that it's cute that she tries so hard to be like him.

in my mind the pack have realized by now that the m/c is very very good at riding cock- like not to brag or anything but i bet she's a pro- they've gossiped and talked about it and gushed about it to each other enough times that when namjoon and jimin and jin hear that she rode hobi they are /very/ jealous- because they do not ask her to do it often simply because she does not like being on top enough. And her pleasure >>> their pleasure.

For some reason this chapter had a higher than average score on grammarly for correctness? but i feel like some of the language in it is just a little jerky? It is what it is but idk why i grammarly's score never makes sense. I usually aim for mid 80's, but this was in the small 90's. I rely on it alot because of my dyslexia.

Namjoon- asking questions, m/c- but what if i bit you instead????

Don't tease me about my size kink or i'll cry, i know i use the word little too much but listen!!! i love it!!! too much! i wish i could get fucked by a 6'7' alpha with a coke bottle cock and thrown around like a little treat. most of my kinks are not about the actual kink but more about the trust and protectivness aspect of it. i just love the idea of fucking someone who is just so physically in control but gentle anyway that i don't have to think about it.

my main issue with this chapter is that honestly? no smutt needs to be this long like what the fuck-

honestly i think that the m/c goes into a bit of a subdrop there after she cums untouched or just from having her clit kissed by minnie, but everyone else remedies it. i also think that it shows how good of a dom jin is- that he's so easily able to pivot once she starts to go into subdrop.

Are you guys tired from reading all that? i know i'm tired? honestly that felt like three seperat chapters- gangbangs are so hard to write i swear to god i need such a break after that

the words cummies stayed in the final draft mostly because i am just a weak little bunny and i wanted to include it- you can't get that mad at me because it's only there once.

Interlude | MYG | One

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: Welcome to Yoongi’s interlude. Check out the general warnings in the series masterlist if you haven't yet. 

 WC: 2.3K

[Membership]

| Series Masterlist | Next →

Min Yoongi was in a slump.

A bumpy, annoying, creative slump. It happened to every artist at some point in their careers, he was sure. Namjoon had gone through it about two years ago. Hoseok did, too, at some point before Jack In The Box took shape. Yoongi’s turn was about to catch up to him, no matter how much ARMY said he was a genius and all that.

Yoongi just didn't want his creative block to happen now. 

With his impending military enlistment just around the corner, his time frame was very limited. The window he had to put out his first official solo album was slim as it was, and he just didn't seem to have any inspiration lately. 

His lyrics were good, yes, but they didn't resonate with him lately, it seemed. And if Yoongi couldn’t relate to them, how could he expect anybody else to? 

After so many years of writing lyrics for others, and writing for BTS, had he lost who he was as an artist? Had he lost his identity? Did he become too soft for Agust D? Were Suga and Yoongi even separate entities at this point? 

Yoongi was facing his very own interlude. A time of pause. The space between two acts. He could appreciate the poetics behind it, however aggravating it might be. 

Sitting slumped in his desk, staring at the song he was trying to work on, absolutely wasn’t helping. He needed to stretch his legs, look at something else that wasn’t his carefully picked decor for Genius Lab 2.0. And he needed a drink. 

Maybe it was too early for the drink he actually wanted, but coffee would have to do. 

Yoongi picked up his outer jacket, thick enough to keep him warm on this January afternoon, and fixed his beanie low on his head. He reached for the crumpled face mask inside the pocket of the jacket and tugged it on his ears, leaving it down on his chin until he had to leave the building. 

The pandemic was well on its way of being over, but wearing a mask to cover their faces was always a common occurrence when it came to idols, especially when they had to do mundane things and didn’t want to draw too much attention towards themselves. 

And going across the street from HYBE, to the coffee shop Yoongi and other idols from the company were known to appear in, was too risky for him not to cover at least half of his face. 

It was definitely weird to leave his studio and walk the hallway to the elevator, where both sides of it were packed with art pieces that belonged to Namjoon, and walk by the studios that belonged to his members to find them empty. Now that everyone was doing their own thing, it was rare whenever they were together in the same place. 

Yoongi was definitely one to enjoy his quiet time, the silence and the opportunity to be his own self after almost thirteen years of being in a group. He had been the first one to get excited about moving out of the dorm and officially move into his own apartment. 

He just didn’t count on how lonely it would be. 

Yoongi never thought he'd miss Seokjin’s yells as he played video games at odd hours, or Taehyung’s pouting as he asked Yoongi to cook him something, or the needy moments of Jimin when the younger man invaded his personal space just because. 

It was definitely a bittersweet feeling that, most days, sat heavy on his chest. Like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. 

Once the elevator arrived, Yoongi pulled out his phone from his pocket to place his coffee order online; a perk from this particular shop, so he could pay for everything on the app and his drink would already be made and waiting for him to pick it up. 

As the lift moved down, with the robotic voice telling him the time and weather, his stomach panged in disappointment as a warning message popped up as he opened the app:

⚠️Dear customers, we are closed until February 1st. We are currently under construction to better serve you! We are sorry for the inconvenience and hope to see you soon. 

The warning was less than ideal as now he was craving the coffee fix. Begrudgingly, Yoongi stared at the digital panel on the wall of the elevator, with the numbers and information about what each floor of the building held. 

4F Makeup & Wardrobe 

5F Dance Studios 

6F Music Studios 

7F Storage

8F Staff Lounge 

9F to 16F Office 

17F HYBE Coffee Lounge 

Yoongi had never been to the newly inaugurated coffee shop that HYBE installed on the seventeenth floor, but he heard from one of the TXT dongsaengs that the coffee was decent and the baked goods were tasty. He didn’t know what to expect from it, not really sure the music company had enough expertise to open their own café, but he might as well give it a try. 

The whole floor was really empty as he left the elevator on the seventeenth floor, quiet even, which he appreciated. Yoongi might be feeling lonely most of the time, but that’s because he missed his members, not people, as the deeply rooted introvert that he was. The natural lighting coming from the big floor-to-ceiling walls surrounding the space was welcoming and warm, not at all representing the snow covering the streets so many floors below. 

Light wood table and chair sets were spread around, lounge areas with sofas and armchairs all in the same dark gray color that made up most of HYBE’s architecture. Right at the back, was a square coffee stand that wasn’t big at all, taking away the industrial or mainstream aesthetic he was expecting to find. 

In the middle of it, stood only one person. A girl, maybe a couple years younger than him, not by much. It shocked Yoongi that someone so young and, frankly, so pretty, would have been hired by HYBE to work in their building. As much as the rumors circulating around the internet weren’t exactly true –like the myth that women had to be married and of a certain age to work there– this girl wasn’t exactly the type Yoongi was used to seeing around in the company. 

You weren’t the obvious kind of pretty, not like the idols he was accustomed to interacting with. You didn’t have any makeup on, no designer clothes. But the more he watched you –like a creep–, he noticed little things that made you stand out. Like the smartwatch on your right wrist; gray band with doodles done with a sharpie. Or the peach earrings on your ears that reminded him of the jelly candy type Jungkook was always munching on after a particularly draining dieting period. 

You were wearing the ‘we believe in music’ HYBE uniform shirt that was complimentary for the artists and staff, jeans, and had your hair up in a neat bun at the top of your head. Your gaze was cast down as you wrote something down onto a notebook, so you only noticed Yoongi once he was quite near. 

“Hi.” he greeted, albeit a little awkward as your big, almost round eyes stared up at him. Not in recognition, not as if you were a fan, but as if you weren’t expecting a customer to show up. And, with how quiet and empty the rest of the floor was, he didn’t blame you. “One iced americano to go, please.” 

You answered him with a smile and a small nod, typing his order out on the register. The price for it showed up on the little screen facing him and Yoongi pulled out his credit card from his wallet to tap against it and the small beep let him know it went through. 

“Oh, wait–” he hushed, the face mask slipping from his chin to cover his lips with the movement. “Can you make it a decaf?” 

You offered him a new smile before turning your back to him and Yoongi wasn’t sure if he should sit down and wait or just stand there and strike up a conversation to make things less awkward. 

He was never really good at the aimless chat, but he could do it to save his life in case you turned around to ask him something. Like ‘the weather is quite chilly today, huh?’ or ‘do you think the snow will hold up?’.

But Yoongi was an observer. He liked to think of himself as someone who noticed things others didn't. So it was only natural for him to watch you make his coffee. If anything, he was making sure you got it right.

He liked the way your hair moved as you shifted around inside your little box, as it was precariously tied up by a blue scrunchie, the way your slender fingers pressed the buttons on the espresso machine, or how you were delicate in the way you put the grounded coffee beans into the powder bowl, neatly pressing it until smooth. 

Yoongi must be staring so much that you turned around to look at him over your shoulder. Your eyes were very expressive, he came to find out, avoiding your curious gaze as he looked down at the display of baked goods behind the glass counter. 

The man doubted that any of the cakes, pastries, cookies and small sandwiches were really made inside the barely-a-coffee-shop-coffee-stand, as he couldn’t see much more than a tiny oven to heat up the food before serving, but they really did look good. 

His gaze was brought back to you only when you placed the plastic cup with the coffee in front of Yoongi, with a plastic straw still on the wrapping laid on top of it. 

“Thanks.” 

Yoongi bowed his head to you as he teared through the wrapping on the straw and poked it into the lid, pulling his mask down to take the first refreshing sip as he turned around to leave. But as soon as the drink reached his tongue, he stopped. 

This was full caffeine, not the decaf he asked for. You've gotten his order wrong, but how hard could that be? There were only two of you there, so if this is how you worked on slower times, Yoongi would most definitely not come back during the rush hour. 

“Hey, uh, I don't think this is decaf.” he didn’t want to seem rude as he turned back to you, but you could probably tell his tone was annoyed. 

Your eyes widened slightly and your gloss covered lips formed a cute 'o' that almost made him say thanks again and just keep the wrong coffee. 

But then you held up your right hand, pointer finger and thumb connecting to form a circle, touching your forehead, then bringing your hand down to a chopping motion over the back of your left hand.

Sorry. 

You were using sign language. 

And you didn't give Yoongi time to react, gently prying the coffee from his hands to make another one. 

Well, Yoongi felt like an ass. Looking at you now, and the fact that you didn’t utter a single word or make a single sound after his arrival, or the way you didn't even flinch at the noises the espresso machine was making, should tell him what your problem was.

Not that deafness or mutism were problems! Obviously you didn't let it stop you from functioning like a normal person! You had a job. You were out and about– because you were a normal person. Obviously!

Get a grip, Yoongi, he internally cursed himself.   

The idol couldn't remember when another person made him this flustered, ever. His cheeks were warm and probably as pink as cotton candy. No one had ever knocked down his walls like this. But then again, you didn't knock down his walls, Yoongi bumped into them and, like a stack of cards, they came tumbling down in the midst of his embarrassment. 

You were way done with the new coffee by the time Yoongi began to control his awkwardness, debating if he should apologize to you. He didn’t remember much of sign language, really, but he did know the basics. 

One of his aunts on his mother’s side was born deaf, so all his life he had contact with the woman, and he grew up to learn how to communicate with her. But being away from home for so long, living in Seoul since he was only seventeen made him more than a little rusty. 

Yoongi kind of remembered how to say ‘thank you’, but you weren’t looking at him as you handed him the new coffee. You picked up a post-it note and the pen you were using to write on your notebook, and you scribbled down a note: 

‘I’m really sorry. Masks make it hard to read lips. But I’ll remember it for next time! :)’ 

Having learned his lesson, Yoongi pulled his face mask off all the way and shoved it in his pocket before saying: “It’s okay, really. No big deal. Thank you for the, uh– new coffee.” 

At least the fact that you couldn’t hear made it so you didn’t catch the wavering of his voice, or the slight awkwardness he couldn’t completely send away. He didn’t think you could ever hear the fast thumping of his heart even if you could, but it was an extra safety net that he relied on. 

You gave him a thumbs up in return and a soft smile, one that was too sweet for this world. Too sweet for him to handle. 

Yoongi’s encounter with you stayed in his head even after he was back in his studio, the americano almost over, the ice rattling inside the coffee cup each time he took a sip. 

He couldn’t really explain the clenching in his chest as he thought of you, or the fact that you kept coming back to the forefront of his mind as he tried to get back to work. Yoongi didn’t think he pitied you, but he couldn’t help but think of how sad life must be, without music to fill it. Yoongi couldn’t live without music, he’d rather stop existing. 

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7 @syukookie @kam9404 @suker4angst @rumidd2 @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii @granataepfelchen @notsevenwithyou @tessakleine @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen

End of the World (m) | myg

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise?  → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy. → Tropes: strangers to lovers + forced proximity & only one bed (because I love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 21.3k 🫣 → Warnings + triggers: nuclear war (bombings), fire, death (people are dying so and some minor side characters die), blood and wounds (also features a lot), period blood, ptsd behavior and reactions, hunger (no access to food), anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, guns and knifes, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, exposure to radiation. Minor character deaths. The ending is open and bittersweet. The story is just really grim and angsty and sad (but also comforting) 🤷 → Warnings (explicit: smut): oral (f and m receiving), nipple play/sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talk, pleasing kink, protected sex (it might be the end of the world, but fret not Yoongi’s got condoms!), clit play, cockwarming, kissing, a small scene of public sex (they are outside on a hill, np people around). → Author’s note(1): So I have mixed feelings about it and the smut got less detailed than what I usually write (because I’m getting a bit tired of smut honestly, so sorry if it sucks), and I’m scared of what you’ll think of it— but here it is! I felt a lot of pressure with it, so I had my husband beta-ing it 😂 Which gave us a lot of laughs! I hope you enjoy it ⭐ → Read on AO3? [link]

A deep, ominous rumbling reverberates through the silence, a sinister caress against your ears. 

Eyes shut tight, your breaths are slow and steady, an island of peace in a sea of unrest. But the tranquility shatters as the rumbling intensifies, transforming into a relentless quake that grips your bed. You jolt awake, eyes opening just in time to be seared by a blinding white flash, burning into your vision with a harsh, unforgiving light.

Your ears ring with an unforgiving high pitched sound that makes it feel like your ears are bleeding.

You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut once more, but the world doesn’t let you escape. 

A cacophony of rumbling, shaking, and distant, panicked screams erupts around you. 

When you dare to open your eyes again, your bedroom has transformed into a nightmarish landscape— no longer a safe, enclosed space, but exposed to the elements. The dark sky looms overhead, thick with acrid smoke. Everything is engulfed in an oppressive, inky gloom that seems so dark, dark, dark.

You curl into yourself on the bed, eyes wide as you take in the scene around you. It’s like a nightmarish tableau image from a dystopian survival movie: the once serene sky is now obliterated, suffocated by a churning ocean of thick, acrid smoke. Flames roar hungrily around you, casting an eerie, flickering light on the chaos. The air is thick with the sound of terrified screams and the relentless boom of destruction. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding furiously, as if it might burst from your chest at any moment.

The rumbling returns, more ominous this time, and you look up to see a fighter jet slicing through the smoke-choked sky. It releases a payload, and your heart clenches in dread. A deafening explosion follows as the bomb strikes, setting your ears ablaze again, and obliterating buildings and scarring the landscape. The screams of the people around you become a haunting symphony of terror. It feels like you’re trapped in an unending nightmare, each second more horrifying than the last.

You pinch yourself hard—so hard it breaks the skin, and a thin trail of blood trickles down. But the pain barely registers. You squeeze your eyes shut, then open them again, desperate to end the nightmare before you. This has to be a trick of the mind, an illusion, right? 

But the horrifying reality remains unchanged, pressing in on you from all sides.

No. It’s not a trick of the mind. 

The stark, horrifying reality sets in as your throat tightens and your body thrums with fear. This is real. This is happening—to you, to your friends—fuck. Your roommates. 

Panic seizes you as you leap off the bed, the house now a fragmented ruin, its sections strewn outside in the chaos. Heart pounding, you scramble through the wreckage, desperately searching for your friends amid the devastation.

Please, let them be okay—you can’t face this alone. 

You’re not prepared for this. 

You can’t do this. 

When the government warned about preparing for a potential war or a nuclear disaster, you thought it was a grim joke. You never believed it would actually happen—never believed it would happen to you. But now, the cold, harsh reality is crashing down around you, and the fear is suffocating.

Tears blur your vision, making it hard to see. The acrid air burns your lungs, and each breath is a struggle. The ringing in your head makes you dizzy. You cough violently, but you press on, driven by a desperate need to find your two roommates. You have to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.

A sound of coughing reaches your ears, and a wave of relief washes over you. You spot some of Hana’s belongings scattered on the ground, charred at the edges. The acrid smell of burnt fabric stings your nose. There, sprawled halfway on her bed, is Hana—coughing, crying, her eyes barely open, a picture of despair amid the wreckage.

“Hana?” you croak, your voice sounding strangled and unfamiliar, as if someone else is speaking. The dissonance sends your heart pounding even harder in your chest, the fear and urgency nearly overwhelming you.

She coughs again, crimson droplets falling from her lips, staining the ground beneath her. The sight of her blood on the ground sends a wave of dread through you. Rushing to her side, you assess her quickly; her complexion is pallid, drained of life. Each shallow breath she takes seems an agonizing struggle, as if the very act of breathing is draining her strength.

She struggles to speak, but you gently shake your head, tears streaming down your face. Deep down you know she won’t survive this. Your throat tightens painfully, a lump forming as you grasp the harsh reality. She’s not just a friend; she’s your best friend. Your hands tremble as you reach out, brushing away her tears, feeling the warmth of her blood on your fingertips. You don’t care about the stains. All you want is to offer her comfort, to reassure her even as your own doubts and tears blur your vision. 

How could any of this ever be okay?

How is this your reality?

She leans into your trembling hand, her eyelids fluttering closed as she takes her final breath. A wave of anguish washes over your face, and you collapse beside her, your forehead touching hers. The weight of grief presses down on you, a suffocating blend of fear, helplessness, and nausea.

The distant screams jolt you back to the present, your chest tight with anguish for your best friend. With a heavy heart, you tear yourself away, knowing there’s another roommate who needs your help—Yuri.

Tears sting your eyes as you navigate cautiously through the debris. Your gaze fixates on a pair of shoes—whether they belong to you or Hana doesn’t matter now. Snatching them up, you slide them onto your bare, blistered feet, grateful for any protection from the searing ground and jagged remnants of the house strewn about.

You locate Yuri swiftly amidst the chaos; her bewildered expression a fleeting moment of relief. Your heart leaps at the sight of her alive. Ignoring the acrid smoke that burns your lungs, you pull her into a tight embrace with both of you coughing violently in the toxic air.

“What happened?” Yuri’s voice rasps through fits of coughing. Her wide eyes reflecting fear and confusion, her pallid face etched with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” you cry out desperately, clinging to Yuri as if your life depends on it, unwilling to let go for fear she might vanish into the chaos. Your grip tightens, desperate to shield her from the crumbling world around you.

Then, in the distance, alarms pierce the air with a relentless wail. A chill races down your spine, and as you meet Yuri’s gaze, an unspoken understanding passes between you—this is no accident. War has come.

You never thought this day would come, always dismissing warnings from politicians as distant, improbable threats. But now, as reality crashes down around you, you realize you should have listened. You should have prepared for the worst, braced for the impossible. Panic grips you as you face the stark truth: there’s no escaping it now. What the hell are you supposed to do?

The distant drone of planes echoes through the sky once more, and a chill of dread courses through your trembling body. You never imagined you’d fear the sound of airplanes, but in these shifting times, everything has become a harbinger of uncertainty.

The cityscape around you lies in ruins with buildings shattered and strewn like broken toys. The urgency grips you as you realize the only option left: escape the city. 

Now.

“Yuri, we need to move,” you declare urgently, your eyes wide with dread—for the uncertain future, for your very survival. You curse under your breath, trying to quell the rising panic threatening to consume you.

Yuri’s eyes remain wide, almost vacant, as if she struggles to comprehend the shattered reality that surrounds you both—a new world, unfathomable and bleak.

You snap Yuri out of her stupor, dragging her along as you navigate through the shattered bathroom. The toilet lies in ruins on the ground, shards of the shower surround you like jagged teeth. Despite the chaos, you spot the first aid kit amidst the debris, knowing it will be crucial in this harsh new reality.

Yuri’s voice trembles as she blurts out, “We need to take those pills. In the pouch. I got them just in case. They’re potassium iodide pills and will protect your thyroid if there’s radioactive iodine in the bomb.” You hesitate for a moment, then nod in grim understanding. Snatching the pouch from its battered position, you fumble with it until you locate the pills. Each of you swallows one with a gulp, the bitter taste clinging to your tongue like a grim reminder of the world outside. With a heavy sigh, you tuck the pouch back into the depleted first aid kit.

“We need to find bags and gather anything useful,” you mutter. Your mind races in overdrive as you calculate what essentials are necessary for survival in this new reality.

Amidst the cacophony of screams and the encroaching flames, you and Yuri spring into action, scouring the wreckage for backpacks. They will be easier to carry when every ounce counts. Your hands shake as you rummage through the debris, grabbing water bottles, clothing, and anything else salvageable. Panic sets in, your heart pounding, realizing you need food too, right?

You trudge toward the kitchen, but it’s a wasteland—shattered glass, twisted metal, and the acrid smell of burnt remnants fill the air. Nothing remains salvageable, not even a scrap of food.

Panic surges through you. 

No food? 

How will you survive? 

The reality hits hard: you’ll need to scavenge for food while fleeing the city. The wreckage around you is overwhelming, casting doubt on finding anything edible. How long can a person endure without food? The question gnaws at your mind, amplifying your fear and uncertainty.

Deflated, you sigh, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Survival seems impossible, but you force a hopeful smile as you reunite with Yuri, masking your despair. The world around you is shrouded in darkness and gloom, every step a reminder of the bleakness ahead.

Screams echo all around you, a relentless assault on your senses. You try to block them out, but it’s impossible—the anguished cries of the wounded, the desperate calls for loved ones, the raw agony and fear permeate the air. 

It’s unbearable; a living nightmare.

You ache to grieve for your friend, but there’s no time to stand still, no time to mourn what’s lost. With a heavy heart, you force yourself not to look back at Hana’s lifeless form. Grabbing Yuri’s hand, you push ahead, driven by a single, desperate resolve: to escape this hellish city. And fast.

Your body shivers despite the fires warming the air slightly. It’s still cold in the middle of September. You glance down at yourself, taking in your attire—a satin nightgown, its lacy seams stained with blood. But you can’t afford to care, nor do you have time to change. Your sole focus is to escape this hellscape, to put as much distance as possible between you and the burning city before worrying about anything else.

You pull Yuri away from the remnants of your house, each step deliberate as you navigate the treacherous debris. The ground is a minefield of twisted metal and shattered glass, and you can’t afford an injury. 

Your heart races and your body shivers uncontrollably, but you force yourself to push forward. The streets are a nightmarish landscape of charred bodies, gutted buildings, and smoldering wreckage. The air is thick with the sounds of anguished cries and desperate shouts. Shattered windows, jagged glass, and twisted metal litter your path as flames roar high into the darkened sky.

You can’t fathom how quickly everything spiraled into chaos. In mere seconds, then minutes, the world you knew disintegrated into a living nightmare. 

Your legs feel like lead, your mind foggy and exhausted. The cold, smoke-laden air clings to your lungs, but you force yourself to press on. Yuri’s hand in yours is the only anchor in this hellish new reality, a faint source of calm amid the chaos.

Thankfully, you live on the outskirts of the city. 

Normally, you’d discern it was nighttime just by looking at the sky, but now, the sky is pitch black and choked with smoke. You avert your gaze from the devastated city and look toward what seems like a serene, calm direction. Is it an illusion, a cruel trick of your mind? 

Desperation tugs at you, urging you toward this perceived sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaos.

Yuri coughs harshly behind you, and you spin around, dread tightening your chest as she spits up blood. You try to reassure yourself, though deep down, you know it’s futile.

“I don’t want to die,” Yuri pants between coughs, her voice strained with fear. You grip her hand tighter, desperate to offer reassurance in a world where safety is a fleeting illusion.

“You’re not going to die,” you assert, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a feeble attempt to dispel the pervasive fear. “We’ll find a safe place, find some food, and make it through— everything will be fine.” You try to infuse conviction into your voice, but the hollowness echoes back at you, revealing the truth you dare not acknowledge.

But maybe if you keep telling yourself that everything is fine enough times, reality will bend to your desperate wishes?

You’ve been walking for what feels like an eternity, your sense of time warped by the perpetual darkness above. There’s no sky to gauge the hour anymore— gone as the stars that once were.

Your feet ache, battered and throbbing with exhaustion, begging for respite. The need for rest weighs heavily on you, but the city’s relentless grip refuses to release you. The daunting truth forces a weary sigh from your lips.

Yuri trembles, tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks, and you can’t shake the thought that she might be falling ill. Dread gnaws at you—what if it’s something fatal?

Your legs refuse to carry you any further, and staying exposed on the desolate road is a dangerous gamble. You’ve sensed shadows trailing your every move—what do they seek? Your clothes, the rations you don’t have, your very survival kit? You dare not linger to discover their intentions, yet exhaustion demands a pause. You must rest, even as paranoia grips your weary mind, hoping for a brief refuge to steady your faltering steps.

Adrenaline surges, urging you to hasten your steps, desperate to lose the shadowy figures trailing behind. The cityscape thins as you approach its outskirts. The dwindling buildings offer fewer places to conceal yourselves. Despite the fewer options, you’re determined to evade capture. With a sharp turn, you pull a breathless Yuri around the corner, heart pounding in sync with the echoing footsteps behind you.

You slip into a ravaged boutique, its shattered door gaping wide for easy entry. The dim interior reveals racks of torn clothing and broken mannequins strewn across the floor. You guide Yuri deeper inside, settling her on the dusty tiles. Her pallid face stands out starkly in the oppressive darkness, a chilling reminder of the perilous world outside. The thought of losing another friend tonight claws at your gut, urging you to find safety and respite in this decaying sanctuary.

“How are you holding up?” you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension. Despite your fear of the response, you must know.

She trembles, her voice quivering. “I’m not doing well,” she admits. Her eyes wide with unspoken dread. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Of course you will,” you choke out, your voice cracking with emotion, unable to confront the specter of death. The memory of Hana’s bloodied face flashes vividly in your mind, tears tracing the path down your grimy cheeks. Why must this nightmare persist?

“You’re a lousy liar, you know?” she quips weakly, a grim chuckle escaping her lips as she coughs up blood, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. She studies the red stains on her palm with resignation, exhaling heavily.

You furrow your brow. Deep down, you know your attempts at optimism are feeble at best. In your friend group, you’ve always been the pragmatic realist, but now, you’ll play the role of hopeful optimist if it means coaxing a smile from Yuri’s pale face. You bite back any further words, aware that Yuri can read you like a book, predictable as always.

You slump onto the frigid tile floor of the store, grateful for a brief respite from the relentless march. The cold seeps through your clothes, a bitter reminder of the world outside, but your weary feet finally find a moment’s reprieve.

You’re uncertain how much time Yuri has left, but you’re determined to muster every ounce of strength to lead both of you to safety, far from the chaos—this inferno of a city, this relentless war that has begun.

How long will this last?

The shuffle of broken glass on the tile sends a shiver down your spine, sharpening your senses. Someone approaches, and you’re defenseless. Panic grips you—this is bad. Very bad.

Footsteps echo ominously, a chilling reminder of imminent danger. Yuri’s gaze meets yours, wide with fear and tears threatening to spill. The certainty settles in—this is how you die.

A looming silhouette emerges—a figure cloaked in darkness; their presence ominous and foreboding. Dread creeps up your spine as you realize the danger before you.

You scramble backward, but the shelves halt your retreat, trapping you in a corner with no escape. Panic surges as time slips away—your feet ache, and Yuri’s condition weighs heavily. The man advances, his silence more menacing than any threat, his cold, unyielding gaze fixed upon you.

Uncertain of the stranger’s intentions—murder or something worse? Your heart races, adrenaline surges through your veins as he moves closer. In a split-second decision, survival instincts take over. You lunge, sinking your teeth into his arm, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Like a desperate animal, you bite down harder, unrelenting until he screams in agony and collapses to the ground, clutching his injured limb.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits, struggling to rise despite the pain.

You hiss through clenched teeth, rising to your feet, closing the distance to charge at him, a wild glint in your eyes. “Try me again, and I’ll bite your fucking dick off.” The threat hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the burning cityscape beyond. Your blood simmers with adrenaline, a primal urge overshadowing your usual self-control. You’re not yourself anymore, but one thing is clear; you’re more than willing to follow through.

He flinches, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and satisfaction courses through you. Your grin widens as he scrambles backward toward the shattered entrance, then finally turns and bolts, disappearing into the smoke-laden darkness.

You exhale sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath. Returning to Yuri, still hunched over on the floor, clutching her stomach, you kneel beside her, heart pounding in dread as you examine her stomach.

Carefully prying her hand away, the sticky warmth confirms your fear— blood, seeping from her abdomen. Swiftly lifting her nightshirt, you reveal a small yet troubling wound. Fumbling through your backpack, your hands find the first aid kit amidst the chaos, extracting antiseptic to cleanse the injury. With trembling hands, you cover it with gauze and secure it with tape, knowing it’s a temporary fix— but this will have to do for now.

“I think debris hit me when the first bomb struck,” she explains, her breath ragged and filled with pain.

“It’s okay. It’s not that bad,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Who were you kidding anyway?

You settle beside her, allowing her head to rest on your shoulder. “Let’s rest. You sleep, and I’ll keep watch,” you murmur, scanning the shadows with wary eyes.

Her head nestles against your shoulder and neck. “But you need rest too,” she whispers. Her voice is barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos echoing through the shattered cityscape.

“I’ll sleep later. Don’t worry about it; just go to sleep,” you command, the edge in your voice betraying the fear and exhaustion gnawing at you. You didn’t mean to sound so stern, but the cold reality of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. You wish someone could offer you the same reassurance— tell you this is all just a bad dream. Soon you’ll wake up and everything will be as it was.

Or for someone to tell you this is all just a movie, and you’re just an actress playing your part in some bizarre doomsday flick. But deep down, you know you’re no actress, this is no movie— sadly, this is real life, and you’re just a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dead-end job.

Guess you don’t have that job at the café anymore. There’s probably no café left standing. The place likely went up in flames like much else in the city.

You listen to Yuri’s breathing, its slow cadence a brief respite from the cacophony outside—planes droning, people fleeing, and the distant echoes of screams. In just a few hours, these sounds have become the new normal, yet each one still sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep vigil through the restless hours as you had assured Yuri. Time blurs in the suffocating darkness, making it impossible to discern whether it’s night or day. Hours seem to stretch like endless tendrils of despair. With dawn or dusk lost to the smoke-filled horizon, you gently rouse Yuri, steeling yourself to resume your desperate quest for safety.

Yuri’s voice, usually vibrant and full of life, now emerges as a subdued whisper. “So it wasn’t just a nightmare…” Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with the grim realization that this dystopian nightmare has become your bleak reality.

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, your voice echoing in the desolate store. “We have to keep moving. Get out of the city.” Your limbs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the night’s horrors. Yawning, you rise and gently pull Yuri to her feet. Before venturing out, you take a sip of water from your dwindling supply, feeling hunger gnaw at your stomach. Food is a distant luxury now, replaced by the urgency of survival.

Stepping out of the store, you survey the aftermath; where once vibrant flames danced, now only smoldering ruins remain. The landscape is awash in gray and ash falling like snow, towering skyscrapers reduced to skeletal frames or gaping maws of destruction. Smoke billows thick and acrid, clawing at your throat with every breath, forcing a cough to escape. This city, once teeming with life, now lies desolate and unrecognizable—a shattered testament to a world irreparably changed. This was your home, but now it’s a forsaken wasteland, a haunting reminder of the relentless march of destruction closing in around you.

If you manage to escape this city, this will probably never be your home again.

Pressing onward, you drag a weary, ghostly-pale Yuri in tow. Each step feels like a battle against the weight of the world collapsing around you, but you refuse to relent. The streets stretch out before you, barren and haunting, a maze of debris and ominous shadows. You move cautiously, every sound magnified in the eerie silence of the ruined cityscape, knowing that survival hinges on reaching safety, no matter how small the steps.

You walk and walk. The road stretches endlessly into the horizon, an unrelenting path of despair. Gradually, the landscape shifts from the shattered remnants of the city to the bleak desolation of nature, though nothing remains green. Everything is gray and charred, the outskirts bombed into an unrecognizable wasteland. Each step is a journey through the aftermath of destruction, a grim testament to the world that once was.

Body heavy and feet blistered, you can barely drag yourself forward, and Yuri is faring even worse. You decide to stop, the weight of exhaustion forcing your hand. The world around you is silent save for the distant echoes of disaster. You find a small, secluded spot to relieve yourself, then reach into your backpacks for the precious water bottles. The liquid is a lifeline in this scorched, desolate landscape.

“I think I’m dying,” Yuri pants as she collapses onto a stone, her face ghostly pale, lips tinged with blue, eyes glassy and distant. The sight sends a cold lump forming in your throat, a suffocating denial choking you because you can’t accept this as reality. It has to be just a stupid fucking nightmare.

You glance at your arm where you pinched yourself yesterday. The tiny scar is a mocking reminder of your futile hope. You barely register the pain; all you want is for this nightmare to end, for the world to return to a semblance of normalcy.

“You’re not dying,” you insist, voice trembling as you crouch down to meet her gaze. But her eyes are distant, unfocused, as if she’s already slipping away. A tear escapes down your cheek, cutting through the grime of this hellish reality.

“Stop lying, bitch,” she hisses, her voice a fragile blend of defiance and despair. She rolls her eyes in mock anger, the gesture marred by the blood she spits up, staining the ground like a cruel reminder of reality.

“I can’t walk anymore, and my stomach hurts so bad,” she pants, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face as she clutches her wound. Blood seeps through her shirt, a grim testament to her worsening state. You glance up at the sky, a bleak, gray expanse that offers no solace. Clenching your fist, you rage silently at the faceless enemies responsible for this devastation. It’s not just your friends; it’s the entire city, maybe the whole country. Fear gnaws at you as you realize you have no idea of the world’s state. Is it just your country? The entire world? You curse yourself for not packing a radio to stay informed.

You’re wondering if there would be any information on your phone, but you don’t want to use it, because you don’t have anything to charge it with. You want to save it for extreme emergencies. 

“We’re finally out of the city,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with hope. “Maybe we can make it to another house down the road that can help us.” The words feel hollow, and you both know the truth: Yuri isn’t going to make it that far. Her labored breathing and the pallor of her skin betray the grim reality.

She coughs up more blood, almost choking. “We both know the next house is in the next city, over a hundred kilometers away,” she rasps, each word a painful reminder of the hopelessness stretching before you.

You lower your gaze to the grimy, ash-covered road. She’s right, of course. It’s likely far more than a few hundred kilometers, and the trek ahead promises to be an endless, harrowing journey through desolation.

Ashes swirl in the air like snow, a haunting reminder of your ravaged city. For a fleeting moment, you glance back, taking in the sight of crumbling buildings, smoldering remnants, and the acrid stench of smoke that clings to your senses. The scene turns your stomach, and you double over beside Yuri, bile rising in your throat, the bitter taste lingering like a grim testament to the city’s devastation.

“I’m freezing… Will you stay with me? Wrap your arms around me?” she pleads, her voice trembling with cold and fear, tears welling in her eyes, mirrored in yours. You nod silently, your heart heavy with the weight of what’s to come. She collapses onto the ground, and you join her, enveloping her frail, shivering form in your arms, seeking warmth amidst the chilling winds that whisper of desolation and despair.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to get to safety, okay?” she stutters, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with yours. Your heart breaks because you don’t want this reality. You can’t bear to lose another friend, but you’re helpless. You’re no doctor, and Yuri’s injuries are beyond your ability to heal. It’s a cruel truth that gnaws at your soul. Anger surges through you, directed at whoever orchestrated this devastation upon your friends, your city, your homeland. This world has become a cold and merciless place.

You’ve always been an ugly crier, and this is no different, but neither of you cares as tears stream uncontrollably down your faces. “I’ll try my best,” you manage to choke out, the words catching in your throat amidst the despair.

“When I’m gone…,” she begins, and a chill runs through your body at her words, “will you drag my body over to those bushes?” Her voice is strained, barely above a whisper, as if even speaking about her own death is too much to bear.

Even though your voice is hoarse, your wailing echoes through the desolate landscape, a mournful cry that seems to merge with the howling wind. You nod silently, tears streaming down your face, blurring the bleak surroundings into a haunting blur of despair and loss.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she lays her head down on your shoulder. Her breaths are faint and fleeting, each one a fragile thread in the unraveling tapestry of her life. You hold your breath, feeling the weight of each passing moment as her heartbeat dwindles, a painful echo of the world falling silent around you.

Your fists clench involuntarily, a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding before you: sitting beside your dying friend in this bleak, shattered world. This isn’t how life was supposed to be—witnessing the unraveling of everything you hold dear. You never signed up for this torment, this heart-wrenching despair that consumes you. 

Why? 

The question lingers like a haunting echo in the desolation.

Yuri’s breathing slows to a crawl, each breath a strained whisper of life. You turn your gaze to her face, her eyelids fluttering faintly—she’s clinging to existence. The agony etched on her features is unbearable, and a chilling realization settles in: maybe death is a mercy in this ravaged world. Her suffering is too much to endure, and part of you wishes she could escape it. It’s a cruel acceptance, knowing that letting go might be the kindest act left, even though you really don’t want her to go.

The silence closes in like a shroud, burnt leaves swirling in the air, whipped by the relentless wind. It’s eerie, the smoke and ash embracing everything. Your hand seeks Yuri’s, fingers tracing to her wrists, and there, you check for her pulse—absent, lost amidst the desolation.

You scream and cry, heedless of any who might hear amidst the desolate landscape. This world, so callous and unforgiving, engulfs you. Tears cascade down like a torrent, emotions unchecked. You gasp for air in the acrid, ashen atmosphere, your body trembling uncontrollably.

She’s gone. Another friend, lost to this merciless world.

You sit there, by the side of the road, time slipping through your fingers like sand in a storm. Hours pass, maybe more, the world reduced to desolation around you. A lone figure passed by earlier, casting a glance your way, but the urgency of survival drove him on, leaving you and your dead friend to the merciless elements. The city’s ruins loom in the distance behind you, a reminder of the chaos that has consumed everything.

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there. 

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat is parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step. 

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat. 

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September? 

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

The roses have withered, frost seeping into your bones. The birds no longer sing at dawn, and the grass by the roadside shrivels to brown. In the encroaching darkness, the cries of the forsaken echo—abandoned by fate and by man.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by bombs, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling like lead, gritty with exhaustion. Your vision swims, a blur of muted colors and shadowy shapes. You blink, trying to bring the world into focus. Through the haze, you make out a figure sitting on a chair not far from you. Panic grips your chest. 

Fuck. 

Where are you?

Your pulse quickens, and you jolt into a sitting position with a startled gasp, blinking as your vision finally clears; you find yourself in a bed, surrounded by bandages and the sterile scent of antiseptic. You’re in someone’s house—a man’s house, and he's seated across from you, watching intently.

He sports long, unkempt black hair that curls at the ends, paired with a ragged shirt jacket, torn jeans, and a plain black tee. His knees jitter nervously, as if he can’t find solace or calm in this chaotic world.

He sits clutching the rifle that had greeted your face before you blacked out. A cold shiver courses through you, fear gripping your heart at the thought of imminent danger. But if he intended to harm you, wouldn’t he have done it already?

He clears his throat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, harsh and demanding. His eyebrow arches in suspicion as he growls, “Who are you?”

His steely demeanor makes your throat tighten, but you swallow your fear and force out the words. “I’m Y/N. I live in the city. Well… I lived there, before…” Your voice trails off as the weight of your new reality presses down on you. Nervously, you bite your lip, eyes darting around the room. You’re in a bedroom—king-size bed, you assume. High open shelves are stocked with toilet paper, dry food, canned goods, plastic water bottles, multiple first aid kits, and warm blankets. The sight of these supplies leaves you gaping. “Are you a prepper?” you ask, disbelief tinged with a sliver of hope.

He scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice, clearly unimpressed by your assumption. “I’m not a prepper,” he snaps, eyes narrowing as he tightens his grip on the rifle. “Now, tell me what you’re doing here, unless you want me to shoot you.”

You gulp, your throat dry and tight— the cold steel of his rifle isn’t just for show. His steely eyes tell you he’s a man who will follow through on his threats. You need to speak quickly, clearly. “I’m fleeing from the city,” you sputter in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “My home is destroyed. I haven’t eaten in god knows how long, I’m thirsty, and I just want a place to rest and stay away from the war.” Your breath catches, lightheaded from the effort.

His eyebrows arch in surprise, the hard edge in his voice softening to a wary curiosity. “Have you been walking since the first bomb hit?” he asks, the malice momentarily replaced by a flicker of genuine intrigue.

You nod, exhaustion settling deep in your bones despite your unconscious respite. Time feels warped and meaningless. “How long have I been out?” you ask, the reality of your situation hitting harder as you notice you’re still in your tattered nightgown, a haunting reminder that it couldn’t have been long.

“Only an hour,” he replies, his voice a rough whisper. “I cleaned some of your scrapes and wounds.” He gestures to your arms and legs, now meticulously bandaged, the clean white stark against your dirt-streaked skin. The care feels almost alien in this ravaged world.

“Thank you,” you manage, offering a small, weary smile. The words feel foreign on your tongue. Despite the rifle and his guarded demeanor, you feel a sliver of tension ease in this fragile sanctuary.

“So you haven’t eaten anything in three weeks?” he suddenly shouts, disbelief cutting through his gruff exterior. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you feel exposed, vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, making you squirm.

“Three weeks? That can’t be right... Maybe a week,” you mutter, your voice small as you fidget with the duvet covering your legs. You glance down at the bloodstained sheets, wondering why he placed you in the bed with your filthy clothes. But then again, in this shattered world, stained sheets are the least of your worries.

“It’s been almost three weeks since the bombings started,” he says, placing the rifle beside his chair. “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry about pointing my rifle at you—it’s just...there’ve been people trying to raid my supplies.” He scratches his head, a nervous gesture that contrasts with the cold, hard edge of survival in his voice.

A sudden knock on the door startles both of you. You shiver on the bed, wide-eyed and afraid. Yoongi’s expression hardens as he swiftly picks up his rifle, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Friends of yours?” he asks, his voice low and tense.

Your eyes dart down to your trembling hands as a tear escapes, tracing a path down your grime-streaked face. “No,” you whisper, voice cracking, “Don’t have any more of those left.”

He notices the sadness in your eyes but remains silent, rising to his feet and heading toward the front door. You follow, a compulsion driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. As you move from the bedroom through a narrow hallway, you glimpse an open living room and kitchen space before reaching the door. Yoongi raises his rifle, mirroring the moment you first encountered him. 

Before he can react, the door bursts open, slamming into him and causing him to stumble back. A wild-eyed man, covered in dirt and smeared with blood, lunges inside. His crazed gaze locks onto you as he charges forward, a feral desperation in his movements.

“Give me food or I’ll kill you!” he shouts, launching himself at your exhausted body. You hit the floor with a heavy thud, groaning in pain, but adrenaline kicks in, sharpening your senses. As you claw at his skin, the man, wild-eyed and desperate, seems beyond reason, driven by hunger and survival—much like yourself. 

But you need to get him off you. 

Your heart pounds in your chest as you use your legs to kick him in the groin. He hisses in pain, and you seize the moment, tumbling him over. His back hits the floor with a sickening thud. You straddle him, screaming and hissing, your hands instinctively finding his throat. You press down, your vision narrowing to the singular focus of survival, fueled by desperation and fear in a world gone mad.

He fights you for control, his nails digging into your sides, tearing your nightgown. In a violent twist, he’s on top of you again, pinning you to the floor. You struggle against his weight, every muscle screaming, the cold, hard surface pressing into your spine. The room spins around you, and the desperation in his eyes mirrors your own.

But then, he’s yanked off you, dragged by his hair, Yoongi’s grip unyielding. The intruder’s wild eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment before Yoongi raises his rifle. A deafening bang is sent through the room, and the man’s body crumples. Blood splatters everywhere, painting the floor in a macabre pattern. The scent of gunpowder mixes with the iron tang of blood, and the room falls into an eerie silence, save for the ringing in your ears.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating silence. Your heart hammers against your ribs, each beat threatening to choke you. Nausea churns in your gut as the reality of what just happened slams into you. Who the fuck is this guy? He just killed a man! Disbelief crashes over you, and fear grips your chest like a vise. The room spins, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps as you teeter on the edge of hyperventilation, panic surging through your veins like ice.

You gasp for air, eyes wide with terror, as Yoongi throws the rifle to the floor. The stranger’s body lies motionless in a spreading pool of blood, a stark reminder of the brutality that surrounds you. Shivering uncontrollably, you try to crawl away from Yoongi and the corpse, each movement a struggle against your own paralyzing fear. Tears blur your vision as you sob, feeling like you’ve just traded one nightmare for another, the weight of this dystopian hell pressing down on you from all sides.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, his voice low and soothing. “Relax, everything is okay,” he reassures, his hands extended in a calming gesture, fingers splayed to show he means no harm. Despite his gentle demeanor, you retreat further, wary and unsure if his kindness is a facade. The air is thick with tension, echoing the uncertainty of this dystopian world where trust is a luxury long lost.

“Okay? You just shot a man!” Your frantic scream echoes off the walls, each word laced with fear and disbelief as you feel the cold concrete pressing against your back. Panic rises, clawing at your throat. There’s nowhere left to go; you’re trapped, cornered in this unforgiving world.

“Yeah, he was going to kill us and steal my food.” his voice steady, as if justifying his actions were routine in this harsh reality.

You stare at him in disbelief, your gasping intensifying. “So that means he deserves to die?” The accusation hangs heavy in the air, tears streaming down your cheeks in rapid succession. Dizziness swirls through you, fingers tingling with adrenaline and fear.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soothing yet unsettling as he moves closer.

You refuse to ease up. You want him gone, and you want this goddamn nightmare to end. You yearn for normalcy, for everything to revert to how it was before. You don’t belong here with this Yoongi, a stranger turned killer. How the hell are you going to escape this mess?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice steady yet tinged with an edge of authority. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now.”

His reassurances fall flat against the pounding of your heart. You struggle to process his words; your mind feels clouded, suffocated. Each breath is a battle, your chest constricting with a pain so intense, it threatens to overwhelm you.

“Please, calm down. You’re having a panic attack and you have to breathe calmly,” he urges, crouching before you. Your eyes widen with fear, anticipating harm from this stranger. Yet, as his warm hand gently rests on your shoulder, its reassuring weight steadies your erratic breaths. Tears still streaming, you gasp for air, but gradually, your breathing steadies, the tension in your chest easing with each controlled inhale.

“That’s good. Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assures, his gaze piercing into yours to convey sincerity. You nod hesitantly. Despite the fact that he’s taken a life, his actions in tending to your wounds suggest he harbors no ill intent toward you. Surely, he wouldn’t go through all that trouble if his intentions were sinister, would he?

“I can’t believe you killed a man, just like that…” you mutter in disbelief, your voice tinged with horror. 

“Would you rather he killed us?” he asks bluntly, a shrug punctuating his matter-of-fact tone.

“No,” you reply, the certainty in your voice belying the tumult of emotions inside you.

“Look. It was either him or us. I’d rather live. This is just how life is now, I guess,” he says solemnly, rising to his feet and striding past the lifeless body toward the kitchen. He returns with biscuits and a water bottle. “Here, eat some crackers and drink some water. You have to start slow if you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he advises gently, handing you the items. Your fingers brush against his as you take them.

“You can take a shower; it’s in the bedroom. While you do that, I’ll get rid of the body.”

You nod, fingers trembling as you pry open the crackers and take a hesitant bite. They taste dry and unfamiliar, like they’ve been preserved for years. Your stomach churns in protest, unaccustomed to solid food after weeks of deprivation. Sipping water, you set both items down beside you. 

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, offering him a small, grateful smile, relief flooding through you as your heart finally settles into a steady rhythm.

“No problem. You can grab some of my clothes in the bathroom. That poor nightgown isn’t doing much to cover you,” he says with a slight chuckle. You glance down and realize half of your right breast is exposed, your hands instinctively flying to shield it from view.

You’re embarrassed, cheeks burning, and you scramble up from the floor, not saying a word because the humiliation is overwhelming. Your breast has been exposed all this time, likely since the scuffle with the man, and Yoongi didn’t mention it until now? You rush back to the bedroom, pushing away thoughts of Yoongi seeing you half-naked and what he might do with the body in his living room.

In the bedroom, you easily locate the in-suite bathroom at the end; it boasts a large bathtub, a sleek shower, a toilet, and a spacious sink, all in matte black with subtle white accents, strikingly minimalistic. Approaching the bathtub, you turn on the water, feeling its warmth soothe your battered hand. It’s a strange sensation, one you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity, and a rush of anticipation flutters in your chest at the prospect of a proper shower. As the tub fills, you shed your clothes, discarding the nightgown into the garbage—it’s beyond salvaging. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, what meets your eyes is a stranger, not the person you once were but a mere shell. Your skin is streaked with grime, your face swollen, especially beneath your eyes, and your hair wild and unruly.

Finally, the tub fills to the brim, and you shut off the stream, testing the temperature with your hand—it’s perfect, pleasantly hot, promising a thorough cleanse. Eagerly, you step into the water, noting the array of shower bottles within reach. You grab one, twisting off the cap to release a refreshing minty scent that envelops you. The shampoo and conditioner bear the same invigorating fragrance. Yoongi must have a thing for mint, you think to yourself with a faint smile, grateful for this small comfort after enduring the trials of the past three weeks. 

The notion that so much time has passed feels surreal, almost impossible to grasp.

You let the warm water envelop and soothe your weary body, a brief respite from the horrors that haunt you—before the bombings, before this relentless war. The shower gel lathers as you wash away the grime, shampooing your hair with a sense of renewal. For a fleeting moment, the sensation of cleansing almost allows you to forget the devastation that brought you here. 

But guilt grips you tightly, a suffocating embrace. You feel the weight of being alive when your friends are gone, their lives snuffed out mercilessly. The simple joy of a bath, forever denied to them, brings tears to your eyes, mingling with the water surrounding you. 

You can’t stand to stay in the tub any longer, despite not feeling physically clean. Quiet sobs escape your lips as you stand, chest tight with sorrow for what has been taken from you, and for what you can never reclaim.

Hastily, you snatch a gray towel, wrapping it around your shivering frame as tears trace silent paths down your cheeks in the mirror’s reflection. The ache for your lost friends deepens with each droplet that falls. Drying off with hurried strokes, the plush towel offers some comfort against your skin. You manage to towel-dry your hair as best as you can, seeking normalcy in the routine.

Then, a glimmer catches your eye—a toothbrush. The realization hits hard: you haven’t brushed your teeth in three weeks. Your gaze darts around the bathroom, finding only one brush. Is it gross to use someone else’s? Disgusting, maybe? You search the cabinets in vain for a spare, but finding none, you convince yourself it’s okay. You’ll sanitize it thoroughly, make it right. With meticulous care, you rinse the toothbrush under the stream, scrubbing it clean before applying toothpaste. 

The brush feels foreign in your mouth, yet it scrubs away the layers of neglect, refreshing your senses in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

When you finish, you step out into the bedroom, scanning Yoongi’s dresser for any clothing that might fit. Not expecting to find undergarments, you ponder going without or resorting to his if necessary. Pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, you cover your legs before grabbing a black t-shirt and slipping it over your head. Spotting a pair of cozy socks nearby, you hastily put them on and make your way into the living room, the unfamiliar garments a stark reminder of the upheaval your life has become.

You step into the living room, confronted by an unsettling contrast of cleanliness and calm amidst the recent violence. It’s as if the room has been meticulously scrubbed of any trace of the fatal encounter that unfolded mere moments ago. You can’t help but question whether Yoongi is unnervingly efficient at erasing the aftermath of death or if you’ve lost track of time while in the bath, leaving you to wonder what else might have transpired in your absence.

You spot a door tucked away in the dimly lit living room, its handle cold to the touch. Slowly, you push it open, and a shiver snakes down your spine at the grim sight that greets you. “Are those... bodies?” you choke out, a mix of revulsion and horror tightening your throat as you gaze upon the macabre pile in the corner of the yard. Yoongi turns around, his expression unreadable, having added the latest stranger to what appears to be a makeshift graveyard of those he’s encountered before you.

“Yeah?” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

“How many people have you killed?” you demand, hands on your hips, trying to steady your nerves.

He pauses, the silence stretching between you, each moment heightening the weight of his answer. “Five,” he finally admits, his voice carrying the weight of each life taken in this unforgiving world.

“Five?! That’s a lot— five too many,” you spit out in disbelief, the weight of his confession sinking into your bones. You can’t stand to dwell on it any longer. Death surrounds you like a shroud, and you’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. Turning away, you hear Yoongi’s footsteps approach from behind, each step a reminder of the grim reality you now face.

“Like I told you before, it was me or them. I was only defending myself and my home,” he shrugs nonchalantly, pushing the door open as you follow him into the living room. He settles onto the couch, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the pristine room that belies the violence it has witnessed.

“Did you have a nice shower? You smell nice,” he smiles warmly, pulling a blanket over his legs.

You gape at him—how can he be so calm? He just killed a man, and now he acts like it’s no big deal, no remorse, no hint of the violence that just transpired.

“I smell like you, and yes, your tub is very nice. Your clothes too. Thank you,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, keeping a deliberate distance between you. After what you’ve witnessed, it feels safer that way.

“You really held your own back there, with the guy. It was kinda hot,” he says, his tone as casual as discussing the weather or deciding what to eat.

Your mouth hangs open. Is this guy serious? 

“Something’s seriously wrong with you if you find that hot. Please don’t tell me you’re aroused or something. I’m not touching you or helping you with your boner—I barely know you,” you say, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest.

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the room, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. You gaze at him, stunned by the unexpected display of humor. 

“I’m not aroused and if I did have a boner, I could take care of it myself, don’t you worry. I just respect women who can fend for themselves,” he says with a smile, settling deeper into the worn cushions of the couch.

“Well, I know self-defense. My dad drilled it into me as a kid and teenager. Have you seen how messed up the world is? Even before this war or whatever it is, men were always preying on women or men, lurking in shadows, stalking, abducting them—doing who knows what. I had to learn to protect myself,” you explain, watching him nod in understanding, his eyes reflecting a grim acknowledgment of the world’s harsh realities.

“That’s good. Oh, I forgot to mention, I left your backpack next to the couch—by the way, you look good in my clothes,” he grins, rising from the couch and moving over to the kitchen.

“Want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers we can reheat,” he mumbles from the kitchen. You nod silently, your mind elsewhere as you walk over to your backpack. You hardly remember what kind of stuff you grabbed from home—hopefully clothes, maybe some underwear would be nice. Digging through it, you find only two pairs of leggings, three shirts, and a bra. Well, it seems like unlucky is just your color.

Doesn’t matter, you can go without panties. It might be a problem when your period comes, but that’s a worry for another day.

You hear a beep from the kitchen and join Yoongi there. Whatever he’s reheated is ready, and you take a seat at the round table positioned between the kitchen and the living room. Yoongi retrieves cold water from the fridge.

“So, you’re not a prepper, but you’ve stockpiled enough to survive indefinitely. Why?” you inquire between cautious bites, mindful of not agitating your stomach.

“Didn’t you listen to the government? They told us to prepare for anything, just in case. And I prefer to be ready. Call me a prepper if you want,” he shrugs, spearing his food with his fork.

“I noticed all your shampoo in the bathroom. What else have you stocked up on?” you ask, genuinely curious. You hadn’t prepared for any of this, refusing to believe something like a war could happen in your country.

“I’ve got spare clothes, solar-powered batteries, extra fuel for the truck, a backup generator for power outages, and even a well in the backyard in case the water supply is cut,” he lists with a chuckle. But your eyes widen almost to the point of popping out of their sockets; you’ve never encountered anyone so thoroughly prepared.

“What’s your deal then? You live out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere?” you choke out as you take a sip of your water.

“Yeah, I don’t like people,” he says with another shrug, and you almost spit out your water. Oh god, he’s probably one of those eccentric types.

“Let me rephrase that; I just prefer my own company,” he explains, his voice steady but with a hint of guardedness.

“Well, what am I doing here then?” you chuckle with a smile, though you feel some insecurities seep into your blood.

“You wouldn’t last another day out there. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy company. Maybe we can help each other out, stay alive together?” he shrugs again, and you begin to wonder if he can do anything else but shrug.

“Like make life more bearable together?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. Just keep each other company. It is pretty lonely out here,” he sighs, carrying his plate back to the sink to clean and put in the dishwasher.

“We can do that,” you say, yawning and stretching your body, feeling the tiredness wash over you. You wish for a good night’s sleep, something you haven’t had in weeks.

“Sleepy?” he chuckles, flashing a pearly set of teeth and pink gums.

“Yeah. Honestly, I haven’t had proper sleep since the bombings,” you yawn again as Yoongi takes your plate and cleans it too.

“Then maybe we should go to bed?” he suggests, clearing the table.

“Yeah, if you can just show me to the guest room, that would be nice,” you yawn again, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you down.

Yoongi burst into laughter again, his voice echoing through the desolate walls. “Guest room? Y/N, there’s only one bedroom. You’re bunking with me unless you prefer the icy embrace of the couch.”

Your eyes widen, reluctance shadowing your thoughts as the idea of sleeping in the cold chills you. Yet, the notion of sharing a bed with him unsettles you; he remains a stranger, and despite his seemingly gentle demeanor, your instincts keep you on edge. You sigh, resigned to the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you. “Sharing a bed will have to do,” you mutter, your voice tinged with apprehension and weariness.

You both walk together to his bedroom, the air thick with a strange tension that makes your heart pound erratically in your chest. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed with a man without any sexual connotation, yet there’s an odd intimacy in this moment that unsettles you. You forego any further preparation, having already showered and brushed your teeth — though you remember something. 

“I used your toothbrush earlier, I hope that’s okay,” you mention tentatively, eyeing the bed, its sheets faintly stained with your blood. They definitely need changing. “Do you have clean sheets?” you ask, turning towards the bathroom where Yoongi directs you to the cabinet with fresh linens and mentions he has a spare toothbrush.

You strip the stained sheets off and swiftly tuck in fresh ones, craving the comfort of a proper sleep. The thought of lying in clean bedding is a rare luxury now. There’s just one duvet, though, and you wonder if sharing it will be a challenge. Shedding the sweatpants, you opt for the black shirt, its length offering modesty. As you settle into the bed, pulling the covers snugly up to your chin, you relish the cocoon of warmth, a brief respite from the harsh reality outside.

Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, his chest bare and marked by scars on his shoulder, wearing plain black boxers. You gulp involuntarily. Damn it, you shouldn’t be ogling him like that, but your cheeks burn nonetheless.

He slides into bed beside you but maintains a respectful distance under the covers, leaving a gap that allows a chilling draft to sneak beneath the duvet, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice devoid of the usual teasing tone that has marked the day. Instead, it carries a hint of genuine concern, almost comforting.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden,” you sigh, shifting to feel the warmth against your front, trying to ignore the chill creeping up your back.

“We can huddle closer for warmth,” he suggests, and you ponder it briefly, realizing it might help you sleep better anyway.

“Okay,” you agree, and moments later, Yoongi edges nearer, his chest pressing against your back. Instantly, his warmth envelops you, quelling the shivers that had plagued you.

You drift into sleep soon after. Yoongi maintains his distance, his chest against your back serving as a reassuring anchor, his hands remaining still as he promised. Finally, the respite from constant danger allows you to embrace a much-needed slumber.

You’re drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your chest, breaths coming fast and shallow as you gasp, “Don’t leave me, Yuri! Please, Hana, don’t go. Please don’t die!” You twist and turn, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed by fear and sorrow. Your eyes refuse to open, exhaustion and dizziness enveloping you, yet vivid images flash before your mind’s eye, forcing a scream from your throat.

A pair of strong hands grips your arms, shaking you gently, and you register a voice calling out urgently, “Y/N, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. 

Right, you’re in Yoongi’s bed.

A stranger you met only hours ago. 

Despite his reassurances, your body refuses to comply, shaking uncontrollably as the remnants of the nightmare cling to your senses.

“Can I hold you? Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” he suggests softly. Even though you can’t muster the strength to open your eyes, his voice anchors you. 

“Please,” you sob, and he turns you gently, your back against his chest, enveloping you in his arms. His soothing shushes echo, reminiscent of comforting a restless child—surprisingly effective. 

Gradually, your racing heart steadies, the tremors subside, and your breathing finds a steady rhythm.

You open your eyes to darkness enveloping the room. “I watched my friends die. Their faces haunt me almost every night,” you sob, burying yourself deeper into his embrace. Forget the fact that he’s practically a stranger; his comforting presence and the safety of his arms offer solace you’ve longed for. After endless days of running, hyper-aware and on edge, it feels strangely liberating to allow yourself this moment of vulnerability. You’re still strong, but right now, in his arms, it’s okay to seek refuge.

You feel his hand on your head, gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay. It will get better with time,” he reassures you.

Sniffling, you surrender to exhaustion, finding solace in his arms once more. Despite your initial reservations and the day’s unsettling events, you feel an unexpected sense of safety with him. Weariness overtakes your caution, and you drift into a deep sleep, cradled by Yoongi’s reassuring presence throughout the night.

When you wake, a sticky, uncomfortable wetness between your thighs jolts you into full consciousness. You sit up and glance at Yoongi, still asleep beside you, his long hair tousled and face serene, lips slightly parted with steady breaths. Dread fills your gut as you peel back the covers. The sight of blood staining the white sheets freezes your breath, a scream clawing its way out of your throat, piercing the quiet of the room.

Yoongi bolts upright, momentarily disoriented, his eyes darting around the room for danger. His gaze falls on the crimson-stained sheets and your trembling form. Panic flashes across his face as he instinctively reaches for you. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and raspy with sleep, cutting through the air like a blade.

You force yourself to calm down, the panic subsiding as you realize the source of the blood. “No, it’s just my period,” you pant, trying to steady your breath and racing heart. It hits you with a mix of relief and embarrassment—over a month since your last one, but the sight of the stained sheets fills you with shame.

Yoongi’s tension eases, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh,” he says, understanding dawning in his eyes. There’s no danger, just the harsh reality of life. He gives you a comforting look, a rare softness in his hardened gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you ramble, sliding off the bed, mortified by the mess. “I didn’t wear underwear because my panties were ruined, and I didn’t want to trouble you for your boxers. I don’t even have pads or tampons.” Your words tumble out in a rush, the embarrassment amplifying every second.

Yoongi sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Relax, it’s okay,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “You can take some of my boxers. I’m not stocked up on pads or tampons, but you can just use cloth that we wash.” 

If you weren’t in a slight panic, maybe you’d notice how good he looks with bed hair and his bare torso, but instead, you rush out to the bathroom, still blushing from the unexpected intimacy and the rawness of the situation.

Yoongi joins you, a pair of his boxers in hand, as you futilely try to dry yourself with toilet paper. It’s no use.

“You should take a bath and wash off the blood,” he says, placing the boxers on the countertop. “I’ll take care of the bed.”

You nod, desperate to rid yourself of the blood, and without a second thought, you grab the edges of the black t-shirt you borrowed and pull it over your head, not caring that Yoongi is still there, probably watching you. His presence feels oddly comforting in this grim reality. 

“Nice ass,” he smirks as you step into the shower. You can’t believe he finds you attractive in this state—blood running down your thighs. How can you really look appealing like that? 

He’s either weird or into some strange shit.

You don’t reply, just shut the curtain fast, turning the showerhead on and letting the warm water caress your skin. The blood washes away, swirling down the drain as you clean yourself thoroughly. Damn, you really hate your period. Stepping out of the shower, you grab a towel and dry off. You spot some ripped cloth Yoongi left for you to use as makeshift pads. 

Yoongi is incredibly kind, you realize, and it brings a rare smile to your lips. You dress with the makeshift pads stuck in his boxers and then walk out, covering your breasts, not wanting to wear the shirt you slept in. The warmth of the shower lingers, but the cold reality of the dystopian world waits just outside the bathroom door.

In the bedroom, Yoongi has replaced the bloodstained sheets with black ones, blending seamlessly with the oppressive gloom outside. As he turns to meet your gaze, you can’t help but blush, standing there before him semi-naked. 

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow again?” you ask, your voice shaky with unsaid emotion and a confusing undercurrent of attraction.

He nods and rummages through his dresser, pulling out another black tee. You can’t help but wonder if black clothing is the only thing he owns, as if he’s trying to match the bleakness of the world.

“Thank you. I’ll just find my bra in my backpack,” you quip, the words sounding hollow as you step out next to the bed and search through your belongings.

“You don’t have to wear one, you know. You’re free to do whatever. If you’re more comfortable without one, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his voice gentle yet firm. His words halt your movements. He’s right. You don’t really want to wear a bra; you’d only wear it because it’s the ‘proper’ thing to do. But he doesn’t seem to care about such trivialities, and comfort sounds far more appealing in this bleak reality. 

You stop searching for the item and simply pull on the shirt he’s given you, the fabric soft against your skin. 

As Yoongi gets ready with a shower and fresh clothes, you wander into the kitchen, your stomach growling. The dull ache in your abdomen also reminds you of your period, and you curse under your breath. Pain meds would be nice, but you have no idea where Yoongi keeps them. The thought of asking him feels like a small admission of vulnerability, something you’re not entirely comfortable with yet. But the pain is relentless, and in this world, there’s no room for stubborn pride.

Yoongi emerges from the bedroom, catching sight of you clutching your stomach. “Do you need painkillers?” he asks, his tone a mix of concern and practicality. He gestures to a cabinet. You nod, biting your lower lip as you move to find the pills, swallowing them with some water.

In the kitchen, you both work in a synchronized silence, preparing a simple meal. The quiet between you isn’t awkward; it’s a welcome respite from the chaos outside. As you eat, the distant sound of bombs punctuates the air, a grim reminder of the world beyond these walls.

Afterwards, you settle on the couch, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Yoongi sits beside you, the proximity offering a strange comfort. The silence stretches, filled with the unspoken understanding that, for now, survival is enough. The faint echoes of destruction fade into the background as you allow yourself a rare moment of peace, nestled in the fleeting safety of Yoongi’s makeshift sanctuary.

“Do you think we’re safe here?” you ask, turning to face Yoongi abruptly.

“For now, I think so,” he replies calmly, his gaze fixed on the flickering light from a nearby candle. The distant cacophony of destruction outside barely registers with him.

“You have a radio, right? Have you heard what’s going on?” Your curiosity is tinged with desperation. Three weeks of aimless wandering have left you clueless about the extent of the chaos—whether it’s confined to your city, your country, or if fleeing abroad could offer safety.

“Yeah, I do. It started with our country and the neighboring countries that were bombed, but now it’s escalated into a full-blown nuclear world war,” Yoongi answers, his voice tinged with resignation. “They say this might be the end of the world as we know it.”

Your throat tightens. 

The end of the world. 

Fuck. 

It’s a phrase that carries weight beyond comprehension. You fall silent, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Yoongi notices your unease and his hand gently encircles yours, a silent gesture of reassurance amidst the chaos engulfing the world outside.

“I understand you’re scared, and it’s okay. I’m scared too,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the dimness, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of something indiscernible. His honesty offers a rare comfort amidst the uncertainty that permeates every corner of your existence. “But there’s not much we can do about it, except try to stay alive. Frankly, I’m happy you’re here. At least we have each other in this shitty world.”

His sincerity touches you in a way that words struggle to express. Despite the looming dread, his presence brings a semblance of solace. “I guess you’re right,” you muse softly, a fleeting smile gracing your lips. The mere thought of not facing this bleak reality alone lifts your spirits more than you’d expected. “I’m also happy to not be alone anymore.”

“Come here,” he invites, arms open, a silent gesture that beckons you to his side. Initially hesitant, you meet his gaze with a questioning stare before relenting, offering a gentle smile as you scoot closer. His arms envelop you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as you rest your head against his shoulder.

In this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you allow yourself the luxury of comfort. It doesn’t diminish your strength or resilience; it’s simply a reprieve, a respite from the relentless struggle for survival. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, its reassuring cadence grounding you amidst your racing thoughts, reminding you that in this fractured world, even fleeting moments of solace are worth cherishing.

You’ve been grumpy for days—blame it on your period, though Yoongi has tirelessly tried to ease both your pain and your sullen mood. He’s taught you the art of baking sourdough bread, introduced you to new games, and even guided you through painting sessions, all while the world around you crumbles bit by bit. Each night, he holds you close, his warmth soothing both your body and your restless thoughts. If you denied feeling a spark between you, you’d be lying. It’s an unspoken tension that has simmered since you first met, and you’re certain he feels it too, though neither of you acknowledges it or acts upon it.

The reason for your inaction eludes you—is it fear of rejection, uncertainty about what this attraction truly means amidst the chaos, or simply the desperate need for companionship in a desolate world? You wrestle with these thoughts, wondering if your feelings are genuine or born out of circumstance. Perhaps that’s why you’ve held back, because deep down, you want to desire him for who he is, not just because he’s the only person around, and certainly not solely out of physical need.

You realize you’re nearing the end of your period because since yesterday, every little thing Yoongi does seems incredibly arousing. Folding laundry becomes a sensual act as you watch the muscles in his arms move, his focused demeanor igniting a fire within you. Even mundane actions like drinking water capture your attention, the movement of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple now irresistible to you. It’s clear you’ve got it bad, and you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Yet amidst this chaotic world, you’ve come to a profound realization: it’s not merely Yoongi’s availability that attracts you, but the essence of who he is.

“Do you want to get drunk?” he asks abruptly, pulling your attention away from your swirling thoughts after dinner. Both of you sit motionless, avoiding the cleanup that beckons. You blink at him, incredulous, but the idea holds a strange allure. The prospect of drowning the world’s chaos in alcohol for a fleeting moment seems oddly appealing.

“Yeah. What do you have?” you inquire, leaning forward across the table, eager to hear his answer.

“Only the hard stuff,” he replies with a smile, rising to clear both your plates.

You nearly choke on his words, a momentary blur conjured by your horny mind. The double meaning triggers a rush of both embarrassment and arousal, betraying your thoughts once again.

You assist in tidying up, your heart pounding inexplicably loud in your ears. There’s a nervous energy tingling through you, a strange excitement, as you settle onto the couch. Yoongi locates two mugs and heads to a well-stocked cabinet filled with an array of hard liquors. The sight leaves you momentarily impressed — the man is prepared for anything.

Returning with a bottle of whiskey, he notices your slight frown, likely recalling your distaste for its taste. Yet, any strong spirit would elicit a similar reaction from you. He sets down the bottle, retreats to the kitchen for ice, then returns to pour the amber liquid into your mugs.

“Thank you,” you quip, raising the mug to your lips and taking a cautious sip, grimacing at the harsh taste, eliciting a chuckle from Yoongi. He sips his whisky casually, as if it’s a ritual he’s performed countless times before — which, given his ease, might very well be the case. The amber liquid seems to suit him, and you strive to mimic his nonchalance, the flavor gradually becoming more palatable with each swallow. Eventually, a subtle warmth spreads through your body, a faint buzz that hints at relaxation in this tumultuous world.

He pours more whiskey into your mugs, and you drink, feeling the world blur around you, but Yoongi remains sharply focused in your gaze. His laughter cuts through the haze, accompanied by glimpses of his pearly white teeth and endearing pink gums, as he shares stories of his friends and their reckless escapades.

“Then Jungkook would leave the poor girl hanging,” he chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that brings a smile to your face and colors your cheeks. 

“But that’s so bad,” you manage to reply between sips. Despite being thoroughly drunk by now, you relish Yoongi’s company and the friendship you now share. His presence makes the chaotic world feel momentarily lighter. You’re grateful he’s as intoxicated as you are, though you suspect he handles his liquor with more finesse.

Your eyelids flutter, cheeks warm as your gaze lingers on Yoongi, captivated by his sweetness and kindness amidst the dystopian chaos.

“What?” he chuckles softly, catching your prolonged stare.

“Your lips look really soft…” The words slip out, your filter completely gone, the confession hanging between you like an unspoken truth.

“Kiss me and find out,” he challenges, a glint of mischief in his eyes. His gaze, deep and compelling, draws you closer until your noses almost touch. With eyes closed, you lean in, meeting his lips in a gentle press. The warmth of his skin against yours, the taste of whiskey on his breath, sparks an unexpected thrill. Your hands find his, fingers intertwining, and a soft moan escapes your lips, lost in the softness and warmth of his kiss.

Your mind swirls, a dizzying mix of alcohol and the intoxicating scent of Yoongi enveloping you. You feel intoxicated by his presence, as if he’s a drug you never want to quit. Kissing him feels like an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside, a brief reprieve where everything is right.

But as you reluctantly pull back for a breath, both of you panting, his eyes are filled with desire and a knowing smirk. Without hesitation, he leans in again, kissing you fiercely. His urgency overwhelms you as he presses you down onto the couch, your hand instinctively gripping his neck, desire pooling in your stomach. You ache for him, craving more than just his touch.

He pulls away with a grunt, his voice rough with desire. “I really want to fuck you. But I want to do it sober.”

You groan softly, the heat of the moment tempered by the clarity of his words. Alcohol fuels your desire now, but you yearn for a clear-headed connection. You nod in agreement, and he pulls you up from the couch, his touch firm and purposeful.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other in bed in other ways,” he adds suggestively, leading you toward his bedroom. You follow eagerly, a wide smile spreading across your face, anticipation tingling in your veins.

In the bed, little else happens beyond kissing, the alcohol still clouding your senses. You manage to undress each other and slip under the covers; your bodies drawn together by an irresistible pull, seeking solace and warmth. More kisses follow, each one infused with a sense of fleeting bliss and exhaustion. Eventually, Yoongi spoons you as he always does, enveloping you in a cocoon of affection that feels more profound than anything you’ve experienced before. It’s a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of the world crumbling outside.

When you wake, the throbbing pain in your head pulls you back to reality. You groan softly, slowly coming to, feeling Yoongi shifting beside you. His arms are still wrapped around you, in a comforting embrace.

His voice, thick with sleep, breaks the morning silence. “Morning. Do you have a headache too?” 

You chuckle softly, nodding as you nuzzle your back into him, his warm, nearly bare body—save for his boxers—shielding his erection. “Yeah,” you groan, feeling the fatigue lingering, yet also acutely aware of Yoongi’s touch, his fingertips gently tracing over your bare skin.

“Want to take a shower together? Might help with the headache,” he suggests, his voice still husky with sleep. You nod, both of you slipping out of bed and padding into the bathroom together.

There, you shed your minimal clothing—a shirt of Yoongi’s for you, his boxers for him. It’s the first time you’re both seeing each other naked, a realization that hangs heavy in the air. For a moment, you simply gaze at each other, skin tingling with anticipation and desire, yet neither of you utter a word. You silently drink in each other’s presence, wondering if he finds you as appealing as you find him. The way he licks his lips with hunger suggests he does. You study his body: soft yet lean, pale skin a testament to a life spent indoors, away from the harsh realities of this broken world.

His dick appears soft, yet it pulses with undeniable arousal, sending warmth through your skin and stirring a primal desire between your legs. His appearance is captivating, his dark brown pubic hair adding to his allure, compelling you to join him in the shower.

He turns on the water, and as it sprays over both of you, a shared chuckle breaks the tension. “Do you want me to wash you?” he asks, his voice low and thick with need. You nod, craving the touch of his hands on your body.

Yoongi finds some minty soap, lathering it in his hands before placing them on your skin. Instantly, you relax, feeling like putty in his strong hands. His touch is soft yet firm as he moves from your neck down your back, to your ass, and then along your thighs and legs. His hands travel back up to your neck, then, standing behind you, they move to your front. He slowly caresses your breasts, teasing your nipples into stiff peaks, and continues down your stomach, past your crotch, and along the front of your legs. The intimacy and the warmth of his touch make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Shivers cascade down your spine, heat flaring not from the water, but from Yoongi’s touch. Your breathing quickens with each passing moment, his low and raspy grunts filling your ears.

Your knees grow weak, and a blissful moan of his name escapes your lips as your head falls back to rest against his collarbone. “Do you like it, babe?” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive rumble that sends electric tingles down your spine and a rush of arousal pooling between your legs.

Your body quivers, and you bite your lower lip in a futile attempt to contain your desire. Finally, you relent, panting, “Yes.”

His pet name for you sends your mind spinning with thoughts of him, intensifying your longing. You gather your courage and turn to face him, your eyes hooded with desire. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze sweeping over your soapy, naked form with clear appreciation. His hands continue their journey, gliding over your skin, teasing and igniting every nerve. 

“I want to wash you too,” you pant with a chuckle, grabbing the soap and lathering it in your hands. You place your fingers on his warm, sturdy chest, gliding over his pectorals and teasing his nipples, drawing a soft, whiny chuckle from him. Your hands travel down his stomach, deliberately bypassing his half erect cock, moving instead to his legs and down to his feet. Then, you make your way back up, sliding your hands over his back, down his shoulder blades, to his firm, round bum, which you squeeze with playful delight, before caressing down his thighs. 

You’re now sitting, face to face with his erection, and you can’t help but stare. To you, cocks have always just been cocks, but his looks almost like a work of art. It grows longer with arousal, and you stutter at the thought that he isn’t even fully hard yet. He already looks so long and girthy, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

You glance up at him, his eyes dark as obsidian, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you. Your hands move to his dick, now free of soap. He releases a needy groan as you wrap your fingers around him, beginning to stroke gently.

He keens at your touch, his back pressing against the shower wall, panting as the warm water sprays over you both. The only sounds are his grunts and the rhythmic patter of water, so you keep going, pleasuring him with your hand, feeling the intoxicating power of his reaction to you.

“Fucking hell, seeing you like that on your knees… you’re making me weak,” he pants, his black hair plastered to his head, his face flushed with a deep blush.

You smile, relishing the effect you have on him, and it spurs you to stroke him faster. In a surprising move, you wrap your mouth around his cock. He grunts in pleasure, relishing the sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him.

You breathe through your nose, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands find purchase in your wet hair, fingers gripping as his body trembles with each movement of your lips and tongue.

He pants and grunts your name, the sound echoing in the steamy shower, until he gently pulls you off. “It’s really good. But I don’t want to come yet.” His voice is ragged, filled with both desire and restraint.

You rise to your feet with a smile, capturing his lips in a deep, fervent kiss, moaning softly into his mouth. Your hands snake around his frame, pressing your body tightly against his. His cock presses against you, igniting a wildfire of need within you. Pulling back, you gaze into his eyes, the intensity of your desire mirrored in his dark, lust-filled gaze.

“Let me finish washing you up, and then we can continue this in bed,” he suggests with a teasing smile. You nod, shivering as his hands glide over your body, washing away the soap with gentle, deliberate touches.

Just as you’re about to step out of the shower, he grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks. “I haven’t washed your hair yet,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

Your stomach does a somersault, a horde of butterflies threatening to escape. No one has ever done this for you. No one. He steals your breath away with how soft and caring he is, while he still maintains his roughness. 

You walk back to him, and he’s already ready with shampoo in his hand, lathering the liquid on your scalp. You moan in delight at its minty scent filling your nose, feeling and loving the drag of his fingers on your scalp, giving you a thorough clean. Then he washes the soap away and does the same with the conditioner focusing on the ends of your hair. When he’s done, you turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him. 

It’s wild to think that at first you were put off by his strong behavior—though he did point a rifle at your head, and killed a man in front of you—but this, this is truly something special you could never have imagined. Never had you thought you’d fall for this rugged, rough, but also very sweet and soft man.

You don’t say anything, but gesture for him to let you wash his hair too. You find the shampoo and gently give him a scalp massage, pulling moans of your name from his lips. You squirt a bit of conditioner into your hands and lather the ends of his hair. He closes his eyes while you work, and, damn, he looks so handsome, so serene like this.

You give him a chaste kiss. “I’m done.”

He chuckles, and you each do a final rinse, making sure no soapy residue is left. Then you both step out of the shower and grab towels to dry off. Playfulness bubbles between you, even though you’re both aroused, the tension almost tangible in the steamy bathroom.

“Do you have a condom? I’m not on the pill anymore, and I didn’t make it to my appointment to get an IUD inserted,” you ask, already debating whether you want to risk it. With no birth control, you run the risk of getting pregnant, and you don’t really want that, but you also really want to fuck him.

“I have condoms,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a large box.

“Holy shit, 500 condoms! What are you going to do with those?” you ask, flabbergasted and laughing at the absurdity. You’ve never seen a man with so many condoms. You wonder if he has a lot of sex or what his deal is. Did he plan this?

“Before you ask, because I can already see those wheels inside your brain spinning, it was a good deal, and it was a long time ago, but they’re not expired yet,” he chuckles, the sound low and deep, shrugging slightly as he scratches his still wet hair.

You laugh, taking the box from his hands and walking naked into his bedroom. The absurdity of the situation doesn’t dampen your desire; if anything, it heightens it, making the moment feel even more surreal and intense. The world outside might be falling apart, but in this room, you both find a strange and intoxicating solace.

“Do you fuck a lot of women, Yoongi?” you ask teasingly, holding the box in your grasp.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year, so no,” he chuckles, though his tone darkens slightly.

“So what are you going to do with all these then?” you ask, grabbing a foil packet and watching as a few more tumble out.

“Hopefully fuck you many times,” he teases with a grunt, standing before you at the edge of the bed. “Would you like that? Fuck like rabbits until the world falls apart?”

Your heart races at his words, the raw intensity of his desire matching your own. 

For a moment, you had completely forgotten the state of the world, but with him, it hardly matters. “Fuck yeah. Take me on the bed, then fuck me in the shower, the kitchen, the couch, the floor—I don’t care, just get inside me,” you rasp, sitting down on the bed.

He pushes you down, and you giggle as he hovers over you. You shimmy further up the bed, and now he’s eye level with your exposed pussy. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze dark and hungry. “Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice a sultry whisper.

You giggle, spreading your legs wider to make space for him. “Yes, please,” you breathe, your voice catching. You don’t care how needy you sound; the anticipation electrifies your skin, your body already trembling with desire.

One of his hands grips your thigh, and you let out an airy moan as he squeezes, drawing closer. “You look so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry promise. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

The world outside fades away, replaced by the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his breath on your skin. As he leans in, your senses ignite, every nerve ending alight with a mixture of need and surrender.

He takes a moment to savor your pulsating pussy, still damp from the shower, small water droplets glistening on your skin. With both hands, he gently parts your folds, groaning at the sight of your exposed hole. With eager anticipation, he dives down, his lips latching directly onto your sensitive clit, making you grab the sheets in pure ecstasy. His tongue traces a path to oblivion, and for that moment, you’re consumed by him, and him alone.

His tongue is a perfect blend of warmth, softness, and roughness, unforgiving in the way it laps and sucks at your clit, sure to bring you maximum pleasure in a short amount of time. It’s insane how skilled he is with his mouth, and you arch into his expert touch, your fingers tangling in his long black locks instead of the sheets. The world outside is forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his tongue and the undeniable connection between you.

“Yoongi... it’s so good,” you moan, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. “Fingers, please.”

You can feel him smirk against your folds, his mouth never leaving your clit as a finger teases your entrance. Slowly, he slides the first digit inside you, and you let out a needy moan, relishing the small stretch as he works you open.

“Like this?” he asks, momentarily pulling away to flash you a teasing grin, fully aware of the power he holds over you and how much he’s affecting you with his skilled tongue and probing finger. The anticipation and his relentless teasing send waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You bite your lip and nod, your body trembling as he begins to finger you with increasing vigor. It doesn’t take long before he adds a second finger, the slight stretch sending jolts of pleasure through your core. Your fingers clench in his hair, your legs closing around his head as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, tugging at his hair, the desperation in your voice driving him to suck harder on your clit and thrust his fingers faster. The intense rhythm of his movements sends you spiraling, each stroke and flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

Sucking noises fill the room, amplifying your sense of being utterly consumed by bliss. Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you gasp and moan his name, the sound raw and desperate. The coil inside you finally snaps, and you clench around his fingers, your release surging through you like a tidal wave.

“Yoongi…,” you moan, your body vibrating with intense pleasure, tingles cascading over your skin. Your clit throbs with oversensitivity under the relentless ministrations of his tongue. He pulls away, smirking at you with lips glistening with your essence, the early morning sun filtering through the curtains and catching on the wet sheen.

In your bliss, you barely register that it’s the first time you’ve seen sunlight in weeks. The world outside may be changing, but in this moment, nothing else matters but Yoongi and the ecstasy he’s brought you.

"You taste so good. Are you ready for my cock, babe?" he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, savoring your essence.

“Yes, please, fuck me now. I want you and your dick,” you pant, your voice laced with need. You’ve been waiting for this moment for days, finally free from your period. Not that it would have stopped you, but you’ve stained the poor guy’s sheets enough already.

Yoongi moves closer, tearing open the foil packet and pulling out a condom. He puts it on with practiced ease, then pushes your legs further apart, kneeling in front of you. He spits on his cock, teasing it with his hand, and the sight sends a shiver down your spine. He’s finally going to enter you, filling you completely, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and filled with desire. You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands squeezes your thigh, and you feel the head of his cock teasing your waiting entrance.

No one has ever called you beautiful before, and you’re momentarily speechless. Instead, you give him a shy smile, your face heating with a blush.

Slowly, he begins to enter you, and you moan at the delicious stretch as he pushes in deeper. Yoongi grunts, “Shit. You’re so tight!” The comment makes you chuckle, inadvertently tightening your walls around him.

“Fuck. Don’t do that yet. I’m seriously gonna come any minute if you clench like that.” You stop laughing, trying to steady yourself, focusing on relaxing your inner muscles to give him space.

Finally, he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you. “Damn. You’re really squeezing my dick. I’d forgotten what this feels like,” he gasps, his voice filled with pleasure and awe.

“Hopefully it’s good?” you ask breathlessly, your arms reaching to hold your thighs and press them down to your stomach, giving him even deeper access.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he groans, smiling as he begins to pull out only to thrust back inside you, eliciting a moan of pure pleasure from your lips.

“You too, Yoongi, you’re amazing,” you murmur, biting your lip, reveling in the sensation of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy with each powerful movement.

He leans down, your legs falling to the side, and captures your lips in a heated kiss while continuing to thrust into you. Your tongues dance together, and you taste yourself on his lips. He groans into your mouth, the sound driving your lust higher, and you teasingly bite his lip. 

He kisses you again, then pulls away to trail kisses down your throat, over your collarbones. The intimacy of the moment strikes you, making you realize how deeply connected you feel with him. You’re consumed by this, by whatever it is that you and Yoongi have right now, and it feels overwhelmingly perfect.

His lips trace a path down to your breasts, latching onto a nipple and teasing it stiff with expert flicks of his tongue. He sucks hard while his other hand finds your other nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingers. You writhe beneath him, moaning uncontrollably as waves of pleasure surge through you. Your hands lie flat beside you, completely surrendered to his touch.

“Fuck—Yoongi! Do you… do you want me to ride you?” you gasp, your voice choked with pleasure.

“You want to?” he asks, his mouth leaving your breast to meet your gaze, eyes dark with desire.

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” you chuckle breathlessly, pushing him away gently. He gives you his hand, helping you up from the bed. He lies down, his cock hard and glistening with your juices, ready for you. You crawl over to him and straddle him with vigor, your stomach burning with lust. Grabbing his cock, you guide it to your entrance and then slowly sink down, letting him fill you completely. 

“Ah, fuck. It’s so good!” you moan, your body shuddering with pleasure as you begin to ride him, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

When you look down, his eyes shine with awe and raw arousal, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to set a steady pace. 

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he rasps, your name escaping his lips in a passionate grunt.

“I always look good,” you chuckle, feeling bold and safe in his arms, reveling in the rare self-praise.

“Shit. Confidence looks sexy on you,” he moans, his hands sliding from your hips up to your breasts, fondling them with a firm, appreciative touch.

You smile back, your thighs working overtime to bounce on him, hands braced against his chest. You lean down to kiss him, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Yoongi, I’m close again. Are you close too?”

He grunts, his cock twitching inside you, a clear sign of his impending release. “Yeah, I’m close. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.”

“Will you please touch my clit?” you ask, your eyes hooded with lust. His fingers land on your clit, working circles, sending electric pulses through your still-sensitive nerves. 

“Shit,” you moan, followed by his name, as your body clenches and you release fluid around his cock, stopping your movements and panting for air.

“You did so good. Let me take over now, ‘kay?” he asks, biting his lip. You nod, feeling blissfully tired. His hands travel back to your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust up into you. His pace is fast and hard, hitting your already sensitive g-spot, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he comes into the condom, filling it with his warm release. You scream his name and shake, slumping down onto his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, gently nudging your cheek, feeling the tears there and brushing them away.

Out of breath, you manage to say, “Yeah. I think I came again.”

He chuckles, stroking your hair as he hugs you close. You linger in the moment, savoring the intimacy—him still inside you, albeit softening. It’s blissful. The safety he provides, his minty scent, the warmth of his embrace. You feel cherished and secure in his arms, wishing you could stay like this forever.

“Damn. I feel so tired now, but at least I don’t have a headache anymore,” you chuckle, your head resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart gradually syncing with yours.

“Me too,” he laughs, the sound resonating through his chest, filling you with warmth.

“Maybe we should just stay like this until you get hard again, and we can go for another round,” you suggest, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his warm skin.

“You’d like that, huh?” he teases, his hands threading through your hair.

“Yeah,” you affirm, feeling overwhelmed by his presence yet craving more of it.

Safe to say, you remain nestled together, igniting another round and many more throughout the day. You’re amazed at Yoongi’s stamina, though he did mention something about his balls aching, so as night falls, you settle into a comfortable embrace in bed. 

In the days that follow, you fuck on every imaginable surface, putting those 500 condoms to good use.

One day, the sun that had graced your windows for weeks disappears, replaced by an eerie gray sky again. The familiar sound of something flying in the air makes you shiver and crouch down in fear. 

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, his face etched with concern. The fear in your eyes tells him something’s terribly wrong.

“Bombs,” you mutter. As the words leave your lips, the first explosion shatters the ground nearby. You scream, terror coursing through you. Not this again. You thought you’d grown used to it, the bombings having become sporadic and distant. But now, they’re hitting too close to home.

Yoongi rushes to the window and peers outside, his expression tense. “It’s close. We can’t stay here. We need to leave,” he says, urgency lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen in fear and panic. “What do you mean? Leave?”

“Yeah. It’s not safe to stay here anymore. We can take the truck, try and stay alive. It’s better than staying here and dying,” he says, already moving about, pulling out pre-packed bags.

“You have ‘to go’ bags ready?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yeah. I didn’t think I’d have time to pack anything in a rush,” he explains, four bags already laying at your feet. “There’s food, water, clothes, and a medical kit,” he says, then walks up to you, looking you in the eyes. “It’s going to be alright, okay? You’re safe with me.”

You gulp and nod, the sound of another explosion reverberates through the walls, shaking the ground beneath you, fear propelling you into action. Grabbing two of the bags, you follow Yoongi outside to the truck.

The world outside looks bleak. Thick clouds of smoke and ash cover the horizon, turning everything gray. Trees are falling, and in the distance, buildings blaze with fire. The scene mirrors the devastation of your hometown—bombed, ruined, and left you with nowhere to go. Now, you wonder, where will you go?

Your ears ring, and your head spins. Your breaths come quick and shallow as the acrid smell of fire, death, and destruction fills the air. You’re tired of it, longing for the world you once knew. But that world is gone, replaced by this new reality of chaos. 

You follow him to the truck, glancing at Yoongi. Despite everything, you find solace in his presence. This new life may be filled with death and destruction, but with Yoongi by your side, you know you have a fighting chance.

“Hurry. We need to grab more supplies from the shed,” Yoongi urges, pulling you along after you’ve tossed the bags into the truck.

Inside the shed, Yoongi opens a large box, revealing an arsenal of firearms stashed from top to bottom. Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You have more than just one rifle?”

He chuckles, the sound tense against the backdrop of imminent danger. His movements are swift and precise. “Yeah. Like you guessed, I was prepared for this.”

You gulp, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You’ve never met anyone like Yoongi—someone so prepared for the worst, for the end of the world. Someone ready to fight for his life, and now, for yours too. 

He hands you something, and when you look down, you realize it’s a knife, sheathed in worn leather. “Why are you giving me this?”

“To defend yourself. You said you could handle yourself, so use this,” he replies, his shoulders shrugging as he stuffs a variety of guns into a backpack, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as if it’s just another day in the office.

“Yeah— with my bare hands. I’ve never used a knife before, let alone a gun,” you stammer, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The world has become so twisted that now you need to carry a weapon just to stay alive.

“I don’t care. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if something happens, you need to be able to protect yourself,” he says, his voice firm but his eyes soft. He hands you a leather harness, and you look at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Put this on, so you can holster a gun and the knife,” he says, motioning for you to turn around as he helps you secure the leather harness.

“You make it sound like it’s zombies out there,” you gulp, the gravity of the situation hitting you hard. Everything is escalating again, and you know you need to leave—fast.

“Babe, it might as well be zombies. It’s either them or us.”

You freeze for a moment—those words, ‘them or us’ send a chill down your spine. Even though it makes you feel sick, you know he’s right. If you want to survive, you might have to make some very uncomfortable decisions. You clench your hands, fastening the leather harness around your shoulder, then holster the knife and the small gun Yoongi has given you. You pray you never have to use it, but if it comes down to it, you know it will always be you and Yoongi before anyone else.

Yoongi hurriedly grabs more supplies from the box, stuffing them into his backpack and securing them to the belt he now wears. You notice an additional knife, a smaller multi-tool, flashlights, batteries, and finally, he hauls canisters of fuel into the truck’s bed.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he urges, darting around the vehicle. You yank open the passenger door, heart pounding, and jump in. Yoongi climbs in, turns the key in the ignition, and the truck roars to life.

As Yoongi reverses out of the driveway, a low-flying plane thunders overhead. You glance out the window just in time to see a bomb drop. The next moment, your ears ring painfully as your home for the past months disintegrates in a fiery explosion. Plywood, drywall, banisters, and concrete fly through the air, and you scream, tears streaming down your face.

Yoongi remains unfazed, his focus unbroken as he speeds down the main road, leaving the obliterated remains of the house behind.

From the window, you watch in horror as the house disintegrates, consumed by smoldering flames. The structure collapses, reduced to rubble in seconds. Gulping, you feel your body tense and your mind race, barely processing the close call.

“Try to take deep breaths,” Yoongi advises, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Placing a trembling hand on your chest, you focus on its rise and fall—proof that you’re still alive. Everything will be fine once you escape this nightmare, you tell yourself. Everything will be fine. But no amount of positive thinking can mask the grim and harsh reality. Tears blur your vision as you cry, the enormity of your new world crashing down around you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his hand landing on yours, grounding you. It always does. You’ve only known Yoongi for a few months—maybe half a year—but time has become a strange, elastic concept since the bombings started. Despite the short duration, you’ve grown dependent on him, on the safety he provides. The thought of losing him, like you lost your friends, terrifies you.

“I just hope we make it out,” you choke out between sobs, your fists clenching and unclenching. You know you need to calm down; fear won’t help you now. But the prickling sensation of dread crawling under your skin feels all too real, a constant reminder of the uncertain future and the precariousness of your life.

His grip tightens, offering a small but significant comfort. “We will,” he assures you, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I promise.”

The landscape outside the truck is almost unrecognizable. The once lush green trees and bushes are now gone, replaced by gray ashes and fire. Everything is barren, dying. 

Bombs continue to drop around you, each explosion sending a shiver down your spine. A lump forms in your throat, but you’re thankful for the truck’s metal shell that muffles the sounds of chaos. You don’t have to hear the people dying, unlike back in the city where the screams still haunt your nightmares.

The road is bumpy, marred by craters and debris, a cruel reminder of the unrelenting reality of your new life. Each jolt and rattle of the truck underscores the harshness of this world, a stark contrast to the life you once knew.

“If anybody comes up to us, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?” Yoongi’s voice is stern, his grip on the steering wheel like a vice. You gulp and turn your head towards him. “What?” you ask in disbelief. You don’t want to shoot anyone. Your hand finds the gun holstered in your harness. You really don’t want to.

“You don’t know what people want. They might want to kill you. Just shoot them in the leg so they can’t walk,” he explains, his focus sharp on navigating the wreckage of the desolate road. The once-bustling streets are eerily empty, a haunting silence hanging in the air.

You think about his words for a moment, trying to rationalize. Shooting someone in the leg isn’t as bad as killing them, right? It’s a compromise you can live with, or so you hope.

“I really hate this,” you groan, your tears subsiding. Your heart still races, but you force yourself to focus on Yoongi, his voice, and the urgency of getting the hell out of this town. The reality of your situation presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, but you know you have to keep moving forward.

“Where are we going?” you ask, changing the subject. You don’t want to think about killing someone, or shooting them. Better think about something else.

“One of my friends’ places, maybe we can stay there,” Yoongi says, his voice thick with emotion. You can tell he’s worried about his friend—wondering if they’re okay or not.

“Jungkook. Remember I told you about him?” he asks, a fleeting smile crossing his lips. It’s a melancholy smile, tinged with fear and uncertainty.

You nod, gripping the door handle as the terrain grows rougher. The world outside the window is unrecognizable, a desolate wasteland of gray ash and smoldering fires. The once lush and vibrant landscape is now barren, dying, the remnants of civilization crumbling away.

Time blurs as you drive, the hours indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, you spot the outlines of houses on the horizon, but they are no longer standing. They’re crumbled and reduced to rubble, much like Yoongi’s home. The sight tightens your throat with dread, an eerie premonition of what might await you at Jungkook’s place. Your heart breaks for Yoongi, for the fragile hope he clings to in this devastated world.

Yoongi stops the car in front of the destroyed house and jumps out of the truck. His face is unreadable, but you catch glimpses of sadness and anger as he clenches his fists and frowns, taking in the wreckage.

You get out too and join him, your throat and heart tightening at the sight. You scan the ruins for any sign of his friend but find no one. You’re unsure if that’s a good thing or not. “Maybe he made it out?” you suggest, your voice meek and filled with sadness as memories of losing your own friends flood back, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Maybe,” Yoongi responds blankly. You reach out and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his, offering the support and comfort he’s given you so many times before.

“It’s going to be okay,” you reassure him, slowly beginning to believe your own words. With Yoongi by your side, you feel like you might actually have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into you. The ashy air caresses your cheek as you both turn back to the truck. 

You get in and drive off, the road ahead uncertain, but the bond between you stronger than ever. You’re in search of a place to stay, a place to escape this relentless dystopia, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope.

It feels like you’ve been driving forever, the sky a perpetual twilight, offering no clue to the hour. You push through, finally finding a piece of nature that remains green, untouched by the devastation. Yoongi stops the car and begins unloading the bags, including some you hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve got a tent too?” you ask in disbelief. By now, you shouldn’t be surprised by his preparedness, but each new revelation still catches you off guard.

“Yeah. We can also sleep in the truck though,” he replies, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.

“The tent is fine. But do you think we can keep warm?” you wonder aloud, unsure of how cold the night might get. You can’t even recall what month it is—April, May? The days and weeks blur together in this endless struggle.

“Yeah, we’ll just huddle together,” he assures you. His confidence is comforting, and you believe him. He sets up the tent with practiced ease, pulling out a thin mattress. After a small meal, exhaustion overtakes both of you, and you head into the tent. Yoongi wraps his arms around you, his body warmth making you feel safe and secure.

Despite your weariness, you struggle to fall asleep, feeling restless. Sensing this, Yoongi soothes you with his hands, leading to you making love, feeling the spark between you, so vital in this broken world, helps you finally drift off to sleep, your bodies intertwined, finding solace and unity in each other amidst the chaos.

In the morning, you think, the air is thick with smoke, small rays of sunlight filtering through the dense clouds above. You stretch and yawn, watching as Yoongi builds a fire, the two of you eating a small meal to regain some energy. The warmth of the fire and his presence beside you offer a fleeting comfort in the bleakness of the world. As you kiss, savoring each other’s company, the air feels warmer than you expected, a small reprieve in the otherwise harsh landscape.

As you sit there, a sense of unease washes over you. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and you lift your head from Yoongi’s shoulder, scanning the area for any signs of danger. The rustling in the nearby bushes makes your heart race, but you see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, pulling you tighter against him.

“I just feel like we’re being watched…,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if afraid the very air might betray you.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made the fire,” he replies, his voice tense. “It gives away our position.” He drags his feet through the dirt, smothering the fire with soil and stones.

“Just to be safe, I think we should move,” he suggests, standing up and pulling you with him. His grip on your hand is firm, reassuring.

You nod, the weight of the situation sinking in. Better to be cautious than caught off guard. The world around you is hostile, every shadow a potential threat. Together, you gather your things and move on, seeking safety in an uncertain future.

Then you get back on the road. You’ve traveled so far out that you have no idea where you are, but you hope you’ve left behind whatever presence you felt before. You turn to Yoongi, smiling at him, feeling a glimmer of safety and happiness despite the bleakness of your life. He’s your light, keeping you hopeful in this desolate world.

Suddenly, a harsh sound pierces the air, followed by a deafening explosion. The earth shatters next to the truck, sending it spiraling into the air. You scream, clutching onto anything you can, as the vehicle flips and lands on its roof. Your seatbelt catches you, holding you in place as the world turns upside down. The ringing in your ears is unbearable, distorting your voice as you try to speak. “Yoongi—are you okay?” you manage to choke out.

He grunts, “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” you pant, feeling the blood rush to your head. The urgency to escape floods your senses. 

Yoongi frees himself from his seatbelt and falls to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain. Despite the agony, he pushes through, helping you free yourself and dragging you out of the wreckage. Both of you are alive, miraculously. The injuries seem minimal—Yoongi’s knuckles are bleeding, but that’s about it. You look around at the desolate landscape, the truck lying on its roof, shattered glass everywhere, and you realize just how close you came to losing everything. But as long as you’re together, you have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Fucking hell, my head is spinning,” Yoongi grunts, wincing in pain.

You suggest grabbing the bags from the wrecked truck, finding some painkillers for both of you, and treating his bruises. He nods, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. “We should ditch the truck and move on by foot,” he says, standing up and looking toward a large hill on the horizon. “Maybe we can make it up there?”

“Good idea,” you agree. You grab the bags, your weapons, and, hand in hand, you begin navigating the rough terrain. The landscape is a mix of green patches and dying vegetation, the minimal sunlight choking out what little life remains. Without photosynthesis, you wonder how anything will survive.

You walk until exhaustion sets in, reminding you of the long trek you made before meeting Yoongi. Weary, you decide to make camp, forgoing a fire pit this time. Setting up the tent, you collapse into sleep, the days and nights blending together under the perpetual gray sky.

One morning, after what feels like endless walking, you attempt to scale the hill. It looms vast and imposing, perhaps more of a mountain than a hill. As you drag your tired bodies up the elevated trail, Yoongi breaks the silence. “Do you also feel like we’re being followed?”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. You’ve felt the presence since yesterday, a constant shadow lurking at the edges of your perception. But what can you do until it reveals itself?

“Keep your hand close to your gun and knife, okay?” Yoongi instructs, his voice tense. He remains on guard, eyes darting around as you continue your climb. You don’t have the energy to chase shadows, especially when survival depends on reaching the top of this mountain hill. The weight of the unknown presses down on you, every step a reminder of the perilous world you now inhabit.

The air grows thinner and colder as you ascend, prompting you to make camp again. You eat and attempt to sleep, though you’re always alert, wary of whatever or whoever is following you. Despite the tension, you manage a light sleep. 

In the morning, you stretch your body and gently kiss Yoongi awake, then strap on your leather harness and weapons. As you step out of the tent to grab something to eat, your blood runs cold. A man is rummaging through your supplies, his eyes wild with hunger. He turns, and your gaze locks with his. 

Panic grips you.

Yoongi emerges from the tent, instantly assessing the situation. His hand flies to the gun in his jeans pocket, drawing it with practiced speed as he steps beside you. The man looks between you and Yoongi, unafraid. He’s a mess, dirtied by war and bombs, eyes red and feral. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s even human.

“Touch her and die,” Yoongi warns, his voice cold and venomous. 

The man charges at you, and for a moment, you freeze, memories of a similar encounter at Yoongi’s house flooding your mind. But this time, your instincts kick in. Your hand finds the gun, you draw it, and aim at the stranger’s leg. Heart pounding, you clench your teeth, close your eyes, and pull the trigger. 

A scream rips through the air.

Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the gun from your trembling hands. The stranger falls to the ground, clutching his thigh as blood oozes from the wound. You pant furiously—you did that. You hurt someone. The realization makes you feel sick.

“You just defended yourself. It’s okay,” Yoongi reassures, patting soothing circles on your back. 

You nod, trying to believe him. You didn’t kill the stranger; you defended yourself. It’s a grim comfort in this bleak reality, but it’s something.

“What should we do about him?” you ask, still panting, your body tingling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

“Just leave him,” Yoongi replies with a shrug, quickly gathering your things and dismantling the camp. The stranger’s screams of pain echo through the air, but Yoongi shows no mercy, just cold pragmatism. You’re grateful he doesn’t kill the man outright, though you know he will likely die anyway.

You move on, leaving the wounded stranger behind to fend for himself. Deciding against climbing all the way up the mountain to avoid the bitter cold, you continue your journey. Time becomes a blur of setting up and breaking camp, bombs still scattering the ground around you, but you keep pushing forward, driven by the hope of escaping this nightmare.

Eventually, you find a small hill overlooking the sea. The view is hauntingly beautiful—a stark contrast to the desolation around you. “Do you think we could swim to safety?” you ask, staring at the sparkling blue water, a surreal contrast to the barren landscape.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “I think we’d die of exhaustion and drown before making it to another country or island.”

“We’re probably gonna die of radiation anyway now,” you spit, setting your bags down on the ashy ground. The sea, still blue and inviting, feels like a cruel joke.

“Yeah, we might feel some radiation effects in a few years, if we’re alive by then,” Yoongi says, putting his bags down too.

You both sit in silence, the weight of your predicament settling in. The world as you knew it is gone, replaced by a harsh, unrelenting reality. But for now, you have each other, and that fragile connection gives you the strength to carry on.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, surrounded by a world that has fallen apart, crumbled into something unrecognizable, gray, and dead. But he’s alive, and so are you. You’ve made it this far, and it makes your heart pound. Your lips crash into his—hungry for his touch, for the feeling of being alive, for safety.

The kiss ignites into a frenzy of lustful touches as you strip, indifferent to the fact that you’re outside—there’s no one else around anyway. You kiss him deeply, touching him like it’s the last time. The world is ending, and your desperation fuels your desire. You grip his hard cock, your mouth finding him, sucking, kissing, pleasing until he stops you with a growl, saying he wants to be inside you. You want that too. Laying down on the ground, you welcome him into your warm walls like you’ve done many times before. He knows how to please you, his touches and kisses driving you wild. 

You want this moment to last forever, but you’re acutely aware of the uncertainty of your future. You don’t know if you’ll be alive tomorrow, next week, or next month or even in a year. But you know Yoongi, and he grounds you. 

With him, it’s okay if the world is ending—as long as you have him.

Bombs continue to fall in the distance, and tears escape your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of your probable fate. But at least you have Yoongi by your side. Your breaths mingle, your hands lace together, and he kisses your neck, making love to you like it’s the last time. 

Time on this earth feels borrowed. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kisses, feeling breathless and alive despite the encroaching darkness.

→ Author’s note(2): hi! Since I posted the teaser I’ve been really stressed, lol. Because I felt so pressured by your expectations, so I really hope that this has turned out well 🥹 I love that so many people are interested in the story, so I just hope I did it justice! Please let me know? Again, this is based on my very real fears, but mingled with fiction. I tried my best to make an open ending, so you’re free to interpret it as you please (this is very intentional because of something I might explain later, lol). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it. I had my husband beta-ing it, and he fixed at lot of my poor gramma, got flustered by the smut and said it was too descriptive, and it said this wasn’t as detailed as I usually write smut 🤣 Anyway, he said he wanted more ‘survival’ with oc and Yoongi— and I completely agree. But I don’t have any more words, and I’m honestly afraid to make it too much into ‘The Last of Us’ or something else I watched (seeing as I’m not really familiar with writing apocalyptic stories, lol). But I hope it was still okay, at least 🥹

What did you think?? 💜

→ Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts @lovelgirl22 @gimeow @sweeetas @viankiss @goldietigers294 @this-most-assuredly-counts @futuristicenemychaos @funnygirls-things @ysljoon @livingformintyoongi @as-hs-blog @urmomluvsrose @yasmineixyjay @purpleheartsandarock1 @alextgef @coree730 @wobblewobble822 @coldcoffee2121 @zzoguri

The Consequences of Fucking Up

“Your break up was messy and painful. All you want to do is to forget about him. His friends, who ever since you ended it with Yoongi see you as their bullying target, make sure that the memory of him stays fresh in your mind however, haunting you day by fucking day. While Yoongi makes it seem as if he gives no fuck about your situation. Until one night he is in front of your door. Drunk and fucking regretful.”

♥️ Requested by anonie ♥️

Pairing: Gangster!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: Exes!AU, Messy Break-Up!AU, Crime!AU, Cop!AU, Hurt and Comfort, Angst, Smut, a lil bit of Fluff

Wordcount: 15.9k

Warnings: lowkey they're bad for each other, but also somehow so right?, OC is such a people hater, I feel like she has mental health issues which are never addressed tbfh, she is quite the pessimist, unhealthy consumption of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes & weed (listen. i hate smoking and stand by that but it sadly fits their characters), Yoongi is kinda apathetic and cold, or is he??, IS HE???, implied violence and murder, corrupt cops & lawyers, policeman!Jungkook makes an appearance and he stole my heart tbfh :(, he is so cute that i almost sobbed, drugdealer!Hoseok makes an appearance too, there is also detective!Namjoon and smuggler!Taehyung because I love this vibe :); abuse of power, fuck Yoongi just fuck he is so ngngn, slightly protective & possessive!Yoongi, intoxicated sex, desperate!Yoongi, no foreplay, but she is not uncomfortable, choking (m.receiving), rough desperate sex, position change from sex against a sofa to missionary on said sofa, a lil bit of strength kink hihi, he cums too soon, dirty talk, tears :'), he is actually so emotional during the sex, the ending is so cheesy and cute <3, Spoiler: he is willing to change!! and he is a cutie actually, jsjsjsj sorry but i love yoongi a lot :(

Disclaimer: This is purely fiction and isn't like my usual stories. It does not portray how the boys actually are and it is not how I see them. This is a work of fiction with no correlation to real life. The type of relationships depicted in this story are far from how I normally portray my relationships and I do not advertise for such relationhips or staying in such relationships. This story is supposed to be twisted and dark & so are the relationships in it, as well as the characters. You have been warned. If you decide to continue reading, then it is out of your own free will.

a/n: now that the disclaimer is out of the way i can officially bark because woof woof fuckkcc anonie thank you so much for this idea. i had the worst and best time writing this story like nfnfnf her mental state was definitely very difficult to write, but their tension just got to me. i made the ending as cute and fluffy as possible just as you wanted hihi <3 also i love villian characters who would set the whole world on fire just to prove their dedication :) i hope this is what you imagined, because i kinda made it longer and with more plot than i planned to at first sjjsjs i couldn't be stopped jsjsj ALSO this is giving me the perfect opportunity to finally write a Kook request I got years ago ohoho

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

Three months prior

“So you’re breaking up with me?” he asks, gawking at you with widened eyes. He looks more surprised than he does hurt. Probably because it hasn’t actually sunk in yet.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He laughs because he never takes anything seriously.

“Yes. I am.”

“Too bad, I won’t act like it.”

“Yeah, you will.”

He laughs, “you’ve had better jokes, but I still admire the commitment.”

“You see. That’s the problem with you. Everything’s a fucking joke to you.”

He is smiling. It reaches his eyes.

“Your job, your men. Me. Everything’s a fucking joke to you. If you would have taken Sukuna’s thread seriously, Soojin would still be alive. If you didn’t fucking insult Miss Mei, you wouldn’t have lost twenty thousand in drugs and you wouldn’t have to fucking kiss asses like a beggar.”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

“If you would have put any kind of effort into me, I wouldn’t be leaving now. You take everything as a joke, while in reality you are the biggest joke here.”

His smile falls. You stood up and that actually scared him. 

“Wait baby, wait. Princess, we can talk about this”, he argues, closing the distance with his arms stretched open. “I’ll fix the issue with Miss Mei, I promise.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m done talking. Soojin died because of your recklessness.” 

Yoongi touches your hands. He holds them, clutches them. You have never felt such a touch from him before. As if he actually loved you. 

“What can I do? Tell me and I’ll do it”, he offers, caressing your knuckles. 

This is what you craved for months. Affection. Attention. You were always a passing thought to him. Something to fuck and possess. Something low maintenance like all his other shit. His current touch almost makes you want to stay because for the briefest moment, your breaking heart wants to believe that he finally changed. 

But you know better. He doesn’t take you seriously and if you stay, you will one day end up like Soojin. Metaphorically or not, you will end up dead because of him. 

“There is nothing you can do. Sorry.”

You slip out of his touch.

“Baby”, Yoongi follows you with panicked eyes, trying to touch you again.

“Goodbye, Min Yoongi.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

You close the door and run, finally letting the tears escape. 

You love him.

You always have and perhaps always will. 

You don’t want to leave, but know that staying will kill you. 

One week passes. You spent it holed up in your small, shitty apartment, crying your heart out. Yoongi was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you and you miss him. You hate that you miss him. Because he was way worse than he was good. 

He was never abusive. He was a violent man to anyone but you. You, he always touched with utmost care. At you, he never screamed. But he was still not good. He was cold and apathetic at times, then terribly affectionate at others, only to become cold again. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

You wouldn’t have left your apartment today if your fridge hadn’t been empty. It wasn’t always empty, but sadly enough, groceries don’t magically appear. Not even for an outlaw such as yourself.

The city is busy. The smell of street food, smog and body odor poisons the air. The weather is hot these days and people started sweating more. You can’t stand people. You pull the mask tighter around your nose, hoping to shield the stench this way. 

You greet the clerk when you enter the shop, lowering your mask. It smells of grocery store in here. Fresh bread, produce and clean floors. It’s a welcome change to the rancid outside.

You spent fourty minutes in the shop and pay with cash. You never pay with card because it can be traced. Someone like you can’t risk being found. 

“See you”, you say your goodbyes and leave the store. You plan on coming back in three weeks. You can’t stand being outside often.

The door just about closed behind you and then someone jumps you. Three people to be more exact. Two hold your arms while one rips the bags out of your hands. 

“Let go! Hey, you fuckers!” you fight them off instantly, surprised at how easily it is to do. Way too easy. They let go of you as quickly as they grabbed you. At first you think that nothing happened, until you notice your grocery bags in one of the guys’ hands. They stole your stuff!

“You motherfuckers! Get back here! They’re mine!” 

They run away, flipping you off over their shoulders.

You sprint after them, but before you reach them, they jump onto a tuk tuk and drive off, finally showing you their faces. Those were some of Yoongi’s underlings.

“What the fuck?” You stumble back in disbelief. “Did they fucking steal my food? What the fuck’s happening?” 

It takes you a while before you finally come to the conclusion that you have to buy everything they stole a second time. And you do. And nobody jumps you. And you go home, make yourself shitty dinner and drink a bottle of soju all by yourself. It isn’t a good night. It’s a shit night. But then. All your nights have been shit for years.

You met Yoongi four years ago. It correlates with when your shit nights began. Okay, you are being unfair. The first two years with him were paradise and your nights were wonderful. You were an aspiring lawyer, while he was in the midst of getting a promotion to superintendent.  You supported each other’s dreams, motivated each other and celebrated when your goals were achieved. Then the truth spilled out. The man you knew to love turned out to be a lie. Why you never left, you do not know. He gave you the chance to leave, but you didn’t. You made yourself low maintenance to him and your nights became shit. He pretended to be a proper policeman by day while you pretended to be a proper lawyer and at night he became what he hunted by day while you tried to hide whatever evidence about him flooded into the offices. You hated it at first, then loved it, then lost your job because of it and became dependent on him and started to hate it again. Well, at least working for him. You liked everything else. Having to work in the system and seeing how corrupt even the most eligible politicians or CEOs truly are, made you realise that perhaps stealing from them isn’t as bad as it first sounded. You liked being on the dark side of the law because the bright side was just as twisted. You just simply started to hate that it means being close to Yoongi.

It took Soojin’s death to finally make you realise that staying with him will end in your death as well. And so you finally left.

You will start a new life, make up a new identity, move to a different country and forget about him. Maybe. Who knows. You haven’t decided yet.

A letter comes five days after the grocery store incident. It is stuffed into an unsealed envelope and clearly delivered by the person who wrote it. You open it, feeling shit instantly. Whoever wrote this letter is calling you the most hurtful of names, telling you personal stuff which truly hurts. You throw it away and go back inside, opening a bottle of soju. It wasn’t Yoongi’s handwriting, but somehow you still think that it is connected to him. You try not to let it get to you, but you still end up rotting away in your bed for the rest of the week only leaving it to piss, shit and eat. 

The next week your packages are missing. You never get them back. The culprit is never found. You curse the sky, knowing that it was fruitless. Yet again, you think that it was connected to him. To Yoongi, the man you wanted to forget, but who keeps haunting you day by day.

The city at night is a dangerous place. If you don’t know where to walk, you could find yourself in a rather messy situation. Especially as a woman. You are glad that most women are clever enough to stay at home once darkness greets the streets. Most women don’t know how to defend themselves though. Properly and without the law in mind. You killed before. Once. It was self defence. Yoongi took care of the body, you never found out what happened to it. He stayed with you the night it happened, even let you cry in his arms. He was gone the next day and never spoke of it again.

You clutch the big knife tightly in your bag, scanning the streets constantly. It isn’t far anymore until you are home. Hopefully the heavy rain clouds stay dry until you get there. You aren’t in the mood to get wet. Not tonight. You would have never left if you hadn’t ran out of fucking cigarettes. The kiosk was closed, so the journey was useless. Thunder announces that the clouds aren’t your friends. Mere seconds later, it starts pouring.

“Fucking shit, I hate this city.”

Rain in this city is always dirty and never really cold. You take it as a bad sign. Rain shouldn’t be warm. Not always, not constantly. Something’s wrong with this city. Something is rotting slowly until one day it will consume everything in its wake. You hope to have left before it can wake up.

The way home is too long for the amount of dirty rain it pours. You find refuge under a shop sign. There are no rooftops or canopies in sight and the only thing close to a safe place was the stupid restaurant sign. Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in bright red letters. The place is stuffed with people and the smell of beef broth mixes with the dirty scent of rain. You grind your teeth. What a shitty situation you find yourself in. You prefer being outside though. You know that once inside, the restaurant would be hot and stink of digested booze and body odor. You take getting wet over breathing in people’s air.

Except that you don’t really stay wet for long. The distinct sound of rain hitting an umbrella meets your ears. You look up. Black. You look to the side at the person holding it. Yoongi. Your stomach twists, your heart skips a beat. He is wearing a suit tonight. Black with a black tie. His hair is slicked back. He used makeup to  conceal the scar running all the way from his forehead over his eye and down half his cheek. This is his work outfit. His police chief outfit. Yes. He is a chief these days.

Your instincts tell you to leave without saying anything, but it’s been six weeks since the breakup and you still love him. You hate that you do, but can’t stop staring at his face. He has his brows raised in a nonchalant way as he inspects the heavy rain. He doesn’t grant you eye contact, but holds the umbrella in a way which lets you know that he came out here after seeing you. His left shoulder is getting wet, while you stay dry completely.

“What are you doing here?” you hear yourself ask him.

“Work dinner. I have to pay ‘cause I’m the boss and all that shit. They’re eating like greedy pigs”, he scoffs, “fucking assholes.”

“I see.”

“You?” 

“Buying smokes.”

He finally looks at you, studying from head to toe.

“The kiosk was closed”, you answer his question about your cigarettes’ whereabouts before he can ask it.

“I thought you quit.”

“Some things happened which made me start again.”

“Mhm”, he hums and takes out a packet of cigarettes from the inside of his suit jacket. He lights himself one and puts the packet away again, leaving you to stare at the smoke he blows out through his nose.

He isn’t actually serious, is he? It is like he is mocking you. It is already bad enough that he sends his stupid goons to terrorise you, now he is mocking you as well? You hate that you still love him.

You stay like this for a while. You staring at him while he holds the umbrella for you and smokes. You don’t know why you stay. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much.

Yoongi takes a long drag of the cigarette and exhales the smoke in an almost sigh-like breath. He lifts the cigarette, holding it closer to you.

“What?” you sound disbelieved, scandalised even.

He doesn’t say anything. He just shows you the cigarette as his eyes follow the endless rain. You hate that you love him. You hate it so much. But you still take the cigarette and put your lips right where he had his’ moments before. But you still smoke it as if it was the most normal thing to do. Because it once was. You and he shared many smokes in the past. It was once the most sensual, erotic thing to do between you and him. Barely clothed, intoxicated minds and high on the other, you often shared a joint as you got each other off. Fuck, it was always so fucking orgasmic to be with him that way.

“Wanna grab a bite?” he offers, pointing at the restaurant behind him, “one more mouth to feed isn’t gonna ruin me.”

You are hungry. You haven’t had a proper meal in weeks. Instant ramen, frozen food and snacks is all your body has to run on. You have no energy to cook and with how shitty you eat, it is a vicious cycle. Shitty food gives little energy, you already have low energy. The motivation to properly cook grows lower and lower each day. You dread the day you have only enough energy left to open a package of chips and eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

“I’m not hungry.”

He glances at you. He knows that you are lying. Your eyes have greyed in starvation. He almost rips the cigarette out of your fingers and smokes it angrily, huffing out the smoke. 

“I’m offering”, he hisses.

“And I’m declining. I can take care of myself”, you throw back and rip the cigarette from his grasp to smoke it angrily. 

You may be starving, but you will be damned if you make yourself dependent on him again. You left him to finally prove to yourself that you can take care of yourself. You don’t need his help. Not anymore. 

You take another deep drag, then hand the cigarette to him. He smokes it, glaring at you. You know that your stubbornness angers him.

“Tell your men to stop pestering me”, you say into the tense silence. 

He looks over his shoulder at his police team. They are too drunk and caught in conversation to pay their boss any mind.

“They’re inside”, he says.

“You know I don’t mean them. Tell your other men to stop annoying me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes. You do.” It is your turn to smoke. “It all started when they stole my groceries, but it’s been getting childish. My packages keep getting stolen, my internet cuts off, I find letters in my mail. Letters saying awful things about me. It’s getting ridiculous. Tell your men to stop terrorising me.”

“Stolen packages?” He takes the cigarette from you, brushing his fingers against yours as he does. The touch feels like the sweetest poison on your skin. “This doesn’t sound like my problem to solve. Go to the police.”

“Are you serious?” 

He inhales, exhales the smoke into your face. You should be disgusted by it, but almost huff it in like an addict. Yoongi watches your lids lower and your chest raise in a greedy breath, finding it hard not to stare at your lips as he hands you the cigarette. You smoke it. His eyes are still on your lips, glued to the shape of them as his throat runs dry.

“Very serious”, he rasps.

“You are the police”, you throw back in disbelief, exhaling the smoke into his face that way.

“Mhm yeah, I guess I am.” He takes the cigarette, smoking it with half lidded eyes. He exhales, handing you the cigarette. “When are you going to come home again?” he asks, looking back at the rain.

You almost choke on the smoke, exhaling it in a cough. Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eyes.

“Your farce is getting ridiculous”, he says coldly.

“My farce?”

This break up wasn’t the first break up you and he went through. You left many times before, always thinking that you were finally strong enough to forget him only to come crawling back again. You don’t blame him for doubting that this time will be different, but you still can’t stop yourself from getting angry.

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“I did. Go to the police. I have nothing to do with it.”

You drop the half-finished cigarette. It dies in the puddle on the ground.

“I was smoking this”, he says dryly, “besides, don’t litter.”

“Pick it up yourself if you care so much about these dirty ass streets”, you spit and turn to leave. You take getting wet over being with him any longer.

Yoongi watches you leave, shakes his head in disbelief and bends down to pick up the cigarette. He won’t run after you because you will come crawling back eventually. You always do.

“Sir?” 

He turns his head. One of his officers. He is young and with sparkles of big dreams in his eyes. Yoongi pities him. This city is going to chew him up until there is nothing left of him. He had the same dreams once and knows what the viper nest, which is the justice system, is going to do to him. 

“What do you want?” he asks him dryly, rolling the wet cigarette between his fingers.

“Who did you talk to right now?”

“Just someone important to me.”

“Shouldn’t we escort her home? It’s raining and there could be criminals on the streets. It’s too dangerous for a woman to be alone.”

“She’ll get home safely.”

“Are you sure, Sir? I stayed sober for cases like these. I could get the car right away.”

“You’re sober?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“But it’s a work dinner. You’ve been off work for hours.”

The young officer salutes, “I know, Sir but a policeman shouldn’t slack, Sir.”

Yoongi feels deep pity for the young man. He is so motivated, so proper and full of good spirit. Waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him.

He pats him on the shoulder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon”, he says and swerves past him to get back inside. 

The young officer follows him with pride glimmering in his innocent eyes. Yes, waking up is going to hurt like a bitch for him. 

Yoongi wasn’t always living two lives. He was like his young officer once. Full of dreams and motivation. He dreamed of using his powers to do good, to help those who needed it most and then he woke up. He watched politicians and men in power ruin, rape and kill the powerless without ever getting punished for it. He felt helpless. If even someone in his position can’t change the world, then who will? His criminal work was honourable once. He slipped evidence money under the table to hand out to the powerless, he let proof disappear for people doing crimes out of desperation. One time he was supposed to put a starving mother behind bars because she stole diapers for her babies. Yoongi couldn’t do it and so he disobeyed the law for these kinds of people.

But then his criminal work became less about the powerless and more about him. Making money the illegal way was easy and it is fucking addicting. Especially when he could make sure that evidence about him never reached the higher ups. Yoongi fucking loved the sudden power he possessed and he was too blinded by it to see that he became exactly what drove him to criminality in the first place.

Yoongi tells his officer to check up on your place that night. The young officer rings the doorbell like he was told to do.

You open it, swaying from intoxication as you do. The stench of digested booze wafts off you. But you somehow seem to sober up when you see the police badges on his shirt.

“You’ve got the wrong person”, you tell him, trying to morph your face into an expression of sobriety.

“Don’t worry, Miss. I came here to check on you.”

“Check on me?”

“Yes, Miss.” He salutes you. “I have orders from my captain to make sure that you arrived home safely and that you received this”, he says with an innocent smile on his lips, presenting a plastic bag to you. 

Authentic Asian Beef Noodles, it reads in red letters and inside, three big takeout containers of food are waiting to be eaten. 

Everything clicks into place. This is one of Yoongi’s employees. Another young, hopeful spirit which will be crushed in the system. You pity the young officer. You had the same innocent sparkle in your eyes once.

Hesitantly, you accept the takeout food.

“Thanks”, you mumble.

“Any time, Miss.” He studies you for a moment. “Are you…are you okay, Miss?”

You bite back tears. His empathy is going to kill him one day. But it feels so good to receive. You haven’t been asked this question in so long.

You shake your head. He straightens up in worry. 

“Should I call help for you, Miss?”

You know what he indicates.

“Thank you, no. I’m just going through some shit. Sorry, I’m being sappy tonight.”

“You don’t have to go through it alone, Miss.”

“I know. I’m just… I’m seriously alright, I won’t do anything stupid. You don’t have to worry, officer.” 

“Yes, well I still see it as my duty to stay because you seem sad to me”, he says and tries to go inside your apartment. He still has a lot to learn. You know from his eyes that he has no bad intentions and that he truly wants to help, but you know how the city will treat such deeds. One day he will try to help the wrong person and end up with attempted sexual assault charges. And it will fucking destroy him because people like him only see the good in the world and can’t imagine that others would want to hurt people.

You stop him with a guiding hand on his chest.

“That isn’t necessary, really. My packages keep getting stolen and I guess it’s been annoying me.”

He pulls out a pen paper instantly, stepping closer to you without noticing, “your packages? Have you seen anyone suspicious? How many packages have gone missing? When did it start?”

“No, I… Thank you for your concern and the food, but I will get through the night safely.”

He steps back, cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

“Forgive me, I don’t know why I did that. My captain said that you were important to him and that I should make sure that you are well, so I wanted to do a good job at it.” He bows at you deeply. “Please forgive me, Miss.” 

“He said that?” you whisper.

He nods his head, “yes, Miss.”

“Oh. Uhm. ” You clear your throat. “Thank you, I, uhm, tell him that I’m good.” 

“I will, Miss. Here, my card. You can always call me when you need something” he hesitates, “or when you just need someone to talk to.” 

“Thank you. This is so kind.”

“You are never alone, Miss.”

“Thank you”, you say, bowing at him. He is so kind. God, you want to grab him and tell him to run before it’s too late.

He bows as well, “good night, Miss.”

“Good night.”

You watch him leave. He gives you one last look out of the police car and a kind wave, then drives off. 

You close the door with a curse. This just sobered you up. The young policeman’s kindness just sobered you up. You check his name on the card he handed you. Jeon Jungkook. Why someone like him? He never should have found his way into this field of work. 

You look at the takeout food next, feeling your stomach twist. You are important to Yoongi. Holy fuck.

It’s been eight weeks since you left him. You don’t feel better. The cigarette you shared was two weeks ago and yet you still feel as if it was sticking to your lungs. Each time you breathe out, you swear you can taste him. It almost suffocates you and keeps you from relaxing. So you leave your depressing place for a walk to the kiosk. You read somewhere that walks are good for one’s mental health. You can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are loud and fucking stink.

The vendor must be fucking with you. The day is bright, but the kiosk is closed again. You bang your fist against the closed door, cursing loudly. You want your fucking smokes is that too much to ask? This city is fucking shit.

You’ll just call someone who will always help. You saved him as Jay. His real name is Hoseok. You don’t say his real name in public. He doesn’t say yours. Yoongi sometimes called him his best friend, but what is such a title out of the mouth of the most apathetic man you know? You were his girlfriend too and look at where this has gotten you, living as an outlaw in the shit and dirt of this city.

Like always, Hoseok lets the phone ring four times then he picks up.

“Flames are hot”, he says.

“And the arsonist works hard”, you answer him.

“Hyacinth, it’s good to hear your voice”, there is finally a smile in his voice now that you answered the code correctly.

“The same goes for you, Jay.”

“What’s up? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“Nothing much. I’m out of smokes.”

“The corner in twenty?”

“Yeah.”

You and he end the call at the same time. Twenty minutes later you meet. He wears black overalls and smudged eyeliner. He says it keeps the char easier to hide. Like always, he greets you with a quick hug.

“What do you got?” you ask him.

“Whatever you want.” He opens his bag. “I’ve got cigarettes, but something stronger too”, he says, scurrying around the contents of the bag with his fingers. He always has burn marks on them, but somehow they are never dirty.

“What do fifty bucks buy?”

“For you? Two packs of cigarettes and two joints. That’s a steal.”

“Fuck dude, you’re getting expensive.”

“Yeah well, a man’s gotta eat.”

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

You and he exchange goods. He makes small talk.

“But why are you here with me? Did Suga run out of goods?”

Suga is Yoongi’s codename in public. The sound of it almost brings bile into your throat. You did such a good job in forgetting him and now the memory of him is as fresh as a new day. At least you like to pretend that you are doing a good job at forgetting him. Your heart knows better though.

“We, uhm…”

Hoseok exhales sharply, “again?”

You nod your head.

“When?”

“More than two months ago.”

“Damn, that’s long.”

“Yeah, I’m serious about it.”

He cocks his brow up.

“I am”, you insist just a little snappishly.

“Alright”, he closes his bag, “I gotta go now.”

“Already?”

He looks around nervously. Almost as if he didn’t want to be seen with you.

“Yup. Use the stuff wisely, I won’t have new stuff for a while.”

“Seriously?”

He nods his head and salutes you nonchalantly.

“See you around.”

“See…you?”

He turns his back to you and walks off quickly, soon disappearing into the busy crowd. Is this your fate? Even the people closest to you avoid you now that you aren’t Yoongi’s anymore? Were you truly only worth something as his little thing? You ball your hands into fists, bending the joints this way. You have to leave this fucking place. There is actually nothing holding you here anymore.

That night the phone terror starts. Numbers keep calling you over and over and over again. You pick up the first time, only to have to listen to the most hurtful things another human has ever said to you. The voice wasn’t Yoongi’s, but you still blame him. Now that you aren’t his thing anymore, you became free food to whoever had been waiting to make your life a living hell. You turn off your phone after an hour and go to sleep with the help of Hoseok’s joints.

The doorbell wakes you the next morning. You consider not answering because it’s probably just one of his goons wanting to terrorise you. But whoever is ringing the doorbell is stubborn, forcing you out of your bedroom. You look through the door cam first.

That young officer. He is in full uniform.

You open the door hesitantly.

“Good morning”, he greets you with a wave and a smile.

“Good morning”, you murmur. Your mouth is as dry as a fucking desert. You are also so hungry that you could throw up in his face right now.

“How are you feeling, Miss?”

“Good.”

“That’s good to hear.” He says and shows you a package which he kept hidden behind his back all this time. He smiles brightly and proudly. “Tada!”

“What’s that?”

“I caught the package thief, Miss.”

“Are you serious?” you gasp and your eyes instinctively drift to the car you have noticed parked outside your unit for days. The door is opened and someone is sitting in the backseat. He looked cuffed to the seat. You glance at the young officer and the shiteating, proud grin he is sporting. He has been watching you? Did Yoongi tell him to?

“Wait. You’re actually serious.”

“Very serious. For you, Miss”, he says and shoves the package into your face.

“Uhm, uh. Thanks”, you accept it, putting it under your arm. “Have you been watching me?”

“Did you notice the car? Sorry, I thought that I was better hidden. I’m still new to all of this. But I caught the thief, heh.” He points at himself with his thumbs. “That’s my first real arrest.”

He manages to drag an honest smile to your lips. He is kind of adorable in a way.

“That’s cool. Thank you for taking care of it. Now I’ve got nothing to worry about anymore.”

He grins and nods his head, studying your features afterwards. He opens his mouth.

“Jeon are you there? Over”, his walkie talkie interrupts whatever he wanted to ask you. He takes it off his chest harness.

“I’m here, Kim Sir. Over.”

“Come to the precinct. We need reinforcements. Over.”

“Coming right away, Sir. I caught a thief right now, Sir. Over.”

A pause where the higher officer is definitely baffled by his confession.

“Good job, Jeon. Over.”

The young officer giggles before he speaks again, doing so as seriously as possible.

“Thank you, Kim Sir. I am taking the criminal to the precinct. Over.”

“Understood. Over.”

He puts the walkie talkie back on its harness and gives you a sorry smile.

“That was my boss. My other boss, not your friend who is the boss of this boss. Anyways. I have to go now, duty calls. Are you going to be okay, Miss?”

“I am. Thank you for your kindness.”

“Anytime, Miss. Uhm, have a good day”, he says and leaves with a wave of his hand. He waves again as he drives off. You retort it, staring at his car until it disappears behind a corner. You sigh deeply. He is so nice. Why someone like him? Why does this life always find people like him?

It’s been ten weeks since you left him. You read somewhere that walks are good for your mental health. You still can’t agree. Walks force you to be outside where people are still loud and still fucking stink. But it’s better than staying in your apartment. You’ve got new neighbours since Monday. They keep fucking like actual animals. They fucked when you left your place tonight. You were this close to kicking their door in and slaughtering them like pigs. You opted for a walk in the end.

You walk for a while then sit down by an empty bench next to the river. It is quiet. Nobody is really here. At least nobody important. A couple, how disgusting. A late night jogger, clearly a man. A homeless person, who uses another bench as their bed. You hate looking at homeless people because you feel helpless seeing them. You stopped being on the bright side of the law because of people like them. You thought that maybe if you stole from the corrupt men in power often enough, you would be able to help the ones who truly needed it. But you never managed to actually achieve anything. The homelessness in the city grows, while the pockets of the politicians become fatter and fatter in wealth. You fucking hate this city. It is rotten to the core.

“Look who we have here. If that isn’t our pretty little Hyacinth.”

You aren’t quick enough to get up to leave and then you already have two men throwing their arms over your shoulders while a third is grabbing the back of your head from behind. You try to reach for your knife but can’t. Their grip on you is too good.

“What are you doing here all alone?”

Their voices are familiar and one look at them confirms your suspicions. It’s them. The same three underlings who stole your groceries months ago.

“Leave me alone”, you tell them.

“Why should we? You are all alone. If the boss knew we’re leaving you alone, he’d grow angry.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Now, now don’t be like that. You’re just a girl and there are many dangerous men out there.”

You look to your side. One of them is licking their lips like a hungry animal.

“Yeah? And you’re being fucking inappropriate. Leave me alone”, you spit, shaking off their arms.

They let you. Just as they let you stand up and take your bag.

“Goodnight”, you tell them and leave. Quickly. You walk a good hundred feet until you finally dare to look over your shoulder only to realise in horror that they are following you. Quickly.

You can defend yourself. You know how to kill, but you also know when you are outnumbered. And three bigger men against a woman is sadly never going to end well for the woman. You hate this city and you hate this life. You know that their words were nothing but provocation. They know you aren’t with Yoongi anymore, that you aren’t under his protection anymore and that in some weird way, you sullied his honour. You also know how people who bring dishonour to the gangs of this city are punished. The men are murdered and the women, well, they are murdered too but not before being sullied themselves. You hate this city and you hate this life. This life which is going to fucking end for you soon.

You dare to look over your shoulder one more time. They are so close that you can see the hunger in their eyes. No. Nononononono. It can’t end like this. You were supposed to leave this city, start a new life, forget about Yoongi. You are not going to die here in this dirty, shitty park far away from your dream.

Thump.

You bounce back from the impact, letting out a blood curling scream. It was instinct. Just as it is instinct of the person you ran into to grasp you by your arms and pull you closer again.

“Let me go! Help! Help me!”

“Quiet”, the person hisses and shakes you. This voice sounded different. Familiar in an almost intimate way.

You dare to shift your eyes to them.

Yoongi.

“I, I, I”, you stutter, feeling delirious in both fear and shock. You grab his shirt, twisting it to get closer to him. The act is intimate and out-of-place but you are too frightened to think clearly. 

Yoongi brushes over the state of your glassy eyes to look over your shoulder. There are three men suddenly scurrying away, using the darkness to hide. He managed to get their faces.

He looks back at you. Your eyes meet. A little bit of clarity returns to you. What are you doing? Your fingers soften around his shirt. 

“I don’t…”

“Come on, we’re going home”, he say sternly and puts an arm around your waist, dragging you with him like this.

You follow him all the way to his car. You even let him sit you down on the passenger seat and you even stay seated when he rounds the car to get to the driver side. You think that you are in shock because you don’t protest when he starts the car, nor when he drives off. You simply stare outside with your knees turned to him because your body acts against your consciousness. The city passes you by in flashes of neon colours. His car smells like his cologne and leather. He has no music playing. 

Yoongi glances at your face. You have your head against the window, squeezing your hands between your thighs. The neon lights illuminate your features each time he passes by another light source. He can see that you are trying not to shake.

He takes a deep breath, shifting his eyes to the road. He has to grip the steering wheel, otherwise his hands would shake in anger.

“Should we get dinner?”

His voice rips you from whatever trance you were in. You sit up straight, looking at him. He is gripping the steering wheel to the point his knuckles pale. His long hair is hanging into his face tonight. A turquoise varsity jacket adorns him. His scar wasn’t hidden behind concealer. He wasn’t working his day job today. What was he doing at the park? Why was he there?

“Take me home”, you order him.

“I am.”

“No. Home. Not your place.”

“My place is your home”, he gets out through gritted teeth.

“No, it isn’t. Not anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Did you see what they were doing to me?”

“No.”

You are lost for words for a moment. The tears come afterwards.

“Stop the car.”

Yoongi looks at you because your voice was shaking. He holds his breath at the sight of your tears.

“What?” he makes sure.

“Stop. The. Car. Now.”

He laughs and shakes his head.

You pull the knife out on him. He swerves to the side on instinct, fixing the mistake so vigorously, you and he shake in the small space. You don’t let it affect you, holding the knife against his skin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses.

“Stop the fucking car or I’ll kill us both”, you spit, holding the knife against his throat.

“Fuck”, he growls and hits the steering wheel. The car rolls to a stop.

“Get out”, you threaten.

“I am. Fuck.”

He follows your orders because you have his life at blade’s end. He still slams the door closed. You leave the car instantly.

“What the fuck were you thinking? You could have killed us both” he tries to scold you, but you silence him.

“I’m talking now”, you roar.

Yoongi closes his mouth because he has never heard you like this before.

“You are such an asshole! Each day I regret the moment I met you! You are the worst thing that ever happened to me!”

Yoongi gulps. 

“I had a life before you. I had dreams and ambitions and, and goals and…a chance. I could have had a good life. I was supposed to use my degree to help people but you ruined everything for me.”

He rounds the car in big steps, coming so close to you that you smell his breath. It smells like chewing gum. 

“You could have achieved something? What exactly did you achieve as a lawyer? Mhm, what did you achieve? This city is fucked.”

“Yes, because you fucked it!” you hit his chest. He doesn’t budge, but also doesn’t stop you. “You fucked it and you fucked me and I hate you for it!”

“Don’t blame me for your decisions. I gave you a chance to leave me back then. You were the one who stayed.”

You inch closer until your lips are almost touching. Yoongi exhales shakily, placing his hand on your hip. 

“And I will regret this decision till the day I die”, you whisper, breaking the closeness.

You slip out of his hold. He follows you in a small stumble and a trembling gasp. 

“I never want to see you again. Are we clear?” you hiss at him.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, you don’t want this”, he hisses back at you.

“You’re wrong, I don’t want you. I thought I still did, but I don’t. You don’t care about me, it’s finally so fucking obvious to me. You don’t fucking care.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“They are terrorising me, Yoongi!” You finally scream. “I wake up to people ringing my doorbell in the middle of the night, I have to keep my phone turned off because the phone calls don’t stop. I keep getting my stuff stolen and, and I thought I was going to be raped tonight! They are terrorising me and you called it not your problem!”

“No, you-”

“I’ve been living in constant fear, our friends don’t even look at me anymore, I haven’t eaten in days and I can’t-”, you stop yourself. He doesn’t even deserve your anger anymore. “-you know what? Fuck this and fuck you. I’m leaving.”

You turn your back to him and leave. 

He says your name and takes your hand. He pulls, tries to turn you to him. But you rip yourself free again.

“Don’t go”, he says.

You don’t listen.

“I’m ordering you to stay”, he sounds desperate, yelling your name, “I am ordering you!” 

He can yell as much as he wants to. You don’t listen to him anymore. The subway station isn’t far. You will make an exception and take it tonight. Even if you hate it. It stinks. Just like the rest of this shitty city.

You are going to leave. Once you are home, you are going to start packing and then you are going to leave. You will call V. You don’t know his real name, but he can change your identity as quickly as others change their socks. You will call V and tell him to have your passport ready the day after tomorrow. You will pay him with the money you have under your pillow and then leave for somewhere clean. Maybe somewhere with lots of mountains. You always heard that the air at these places is breathable.

You call V the same night. He tells you that two days is too short and to wait another week. So you wait. Your bags have been packed. You live out of them in your own place. You don’t leave it. You are scared. With how little Yoongi cared about your situation, you doubt that he told his men to stop. You are scared that if you left again, they would finally go through with what they couldn’t finish back then.

The doorbell rings during a rainy, dark night. You flinch awake to the point where you feel sick to the stomach. The lights are turned on instantly eventhough you know not to do that in such a situation. You can’t think clearly. You just want this to be over. All of it.

You run to the front door because you suddenly feared that it was unlocked. It isn’t, but you can watch someone push an envelope under your door. The shadow blocking the light outside leaves the moment the letter is inside your apartment.

You don’t want to open it at first, staring at it as if someone had planted a bomb in your apartment. Fuck it, if that is how you die then so be it, you think in the end and bend down to pick it up. It feels different in your fingers. Sophisticated. Intimate. The envelope is glued closed as if someone licked the glue stripe and the faint smell of well-known cologne lingers on the paper. You open it with shaky fingers.

A letter. It is heavy and folded once. You open it, gasping when three photographs fall out of it and onto the ground. You don’t know what is on them because they landed on their face side. So you read the letter first.

“It has always been mine as well.”

Written in black ink and a familiar handwriting. This is Yoongi’s writing.

With even shakier hands, you pick up the pictures. You feel sick for a moment, gawking at the cruel pictures with your hand thrown over your mouth. The three men who terrorised you. Their mutilated corpses look back at you. He tortured them to death.

You rip the door open, stumbling onto the balcony. You look down at what tripped you. Two bags of your favourite takeout food and a six pack of water. Both clearly fresh. So it was him. Yoongi must be here somewhere. You look into the distance. The night is loud and blurry in a thunderstorm. The streets are empty. The ghost of your past is gone again. You squint your eyes. A person.

“Yoongi!” you call out, unable to realise that you are smiling and waving your hand.

The person moves. Oh. It was just the shadow of a tree. For just a moment you had hoped that the dark shape was him waiting for you. It was just a tree…and you were happy that if could have been Yoongi. The realisation hurts.

“Fuck”, you press out, going back inside. The lump in your throat makes it hard to breathe. You stumble back to bed, halting for a moment when you pass your suitcases.

It has always been mine as well. His words repeat themselves in your head. All this time, you thought that he didn’t care. All this time, you thought that your terror left him cold. Your eyes drift over the empty takeout boxes from the noodle place. You still haven’t cleaned them up. He made sure that you were properly fed for days back then. A glance at the new stuff he got tonight. He is still making sure that you are. Your eyes drift over the package next. He made sure that they stopped getting stolen. You look at the pictures in your hands. He made sure that they would never hurt you again. All this time, you were so blinded by your own anger that you missed how he had always looked out for you. You missed his way of showing you that you were important to him.

It has always been his problem as well.

Something inside you breaks and you scream. You don’t know what you scream for, but you scream. It hurts so much. It hurts so much because you will still leave. He will hurt you again if you stay. All his efforts healed your heart and it hurts so much because you will still leave. You were meant to stay broken hearted. Leaving would have been so easy this way. Now it hurts like a bitch. But you can’t sway. You have to leave this place. It will chew up what little is left of you until you truly cease to exist.

V comes to your place the next day. He rings your doorbell. It wakes you from the uncomfortable sofa you fell asleep on last night. You groan as you sit up and you barely want to open your eyes as you stumble to the door.

You open it without checking the camera first.

“Took you long en- you?”

Jungkook, the young officer, greets you with a smile.

“I swear I’m not stalking you.”

You have a headache today, so it is difficult not to snap at him. He is also not the person you wanted in front of your door today.

“I’m starting to doubt that.”

He laughs, “it’s not that. I talked to my boss. Your friend, the boss of the other boss. Sorry, anyways. I need you to come to the precinct with me.”

“What? Why?”

“Okay so, this is actually so cool and I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but you’re my boss’ friend so I guess it’s okay”, he begins with sparkling eyes, “turns out that the package thief is actually a serial thief and you aren’t the first one he stole from. Isn’t that cool? It’s like in those movies. Those cool cop movies.”

“Really? He stole from more people?” You highly doubt that.

“Yeah”, he laughs as he answers you, nodding his head excitedly, “now we’re calling in everyone who he stole from so we can take their statements. My boss says that we can’t keep the thief locked up for long otherwise.”

You know that this wasn’t really how the law works. After all, you were once a lawyer who was fucking good at her job. Is Yoongi trying to drag you back to him? First he tries to change your mind by killing your bullies and now he is trying to do the final blow by abusing his power as police chief? You check the time. Couldn’t the young officer have come later? You could have had your passport already and be far, far away from this place.

“Can I just give it to you here?” you ask him.

“Mhm”, he tilts his head to the side, “no, I don’t think that it works like this. I’m sorry, Miss. The captain said that it’s important that all the victims come into the precinct.”

You have to give Yoongi that. He is real clever about it. That means however that you can’t escape this situation. Any more resistance from you would make you suspicious.

You give up with a sigh. “Can I just change into something different?”

“Of course, Miss.”

The young officer lets you sit in the passenger seat. He is so new at all of this. With such naivety he tells you his entire life story. That he was from the countryside and that his dream has always been to be a policeman in the city. That he studied hard for years and that he completed his enlistment with honour just so he could be a proper officer. He sounds so proud of himself that each second with him makes you hate his presence more and more. He is so fucking stupid and it angers you. Why would he throw away his life like that? Why someone like him?

You are led to one of the precinct’s interrogation rooms and are told to wait there. The table is decked with different foods.

“What’s all that?” you ask Jungkook.

“Breakfast, Miss.”

“Did your captain tell you to do that?”

“He said that wanted to make sure you get your breakfast because we called you in so early. The captain really cares for the citizens.”

You stifle a scoff. Sure he does.

“Mhm, I see.”

“Either way, it won’t take long”, the young officer bids his goodbyes and leaves you in the interrogation room.

His words were a lie. You wait and wait and wait, but nothing happens. There are no clocks in this godforsaken room, but you still know that it has to be hours. You didn’t want to eat the breakfast at first, glaring at the two-way mirror because in your mind, Yoongi was behind it, watching you and making sure that you ate. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction at first, but had to in the end. The body begins working against one’s will when it is starving and the breakfast looked way too good. You eat all of it, then glare at the mirror again. You are still left alone and more time passes. It is as if they are trying to wear you down, as if you were the criminal in this situation. Granted, you are a criminal, but only Yoongi knows that and right now you are a poor civilian having done nothing wrong. You know that it’s Yoongi’s doing. That he somehow wants to terrorise you.

So when the door finally opens and he walks into the room, you almost throw the empty bowl at his head.

“Forgive the wait, Miss but something came up”, he says nonchalantly, flicking through some papers.

His second in command Kim Namjoon and the young officer Jeon Jungkook are behind him, which is why he is putting up this act. You grind your teeth.

“I already started to wonder if I’m in danger here”, you say way too sweetly.

“That depends on how you are going to answer our questions”, he says and sits down on the chair in front of you.

Jungkook stays by the door while Kim Namjoon stands a little to your side.

You look around yourself. He is trying to intimidate you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I thought that I’m here to give my statement because of my stolen packages.”

Yoongi glances up from the papers. This is the first time your eyes meet after your fight and he killed your bullies. If only the others in this room would know how much blood he has on his hands and to which length he is willing to go to protect you. There were times where you would have dragged him over the table and kissed him senseless, but not anymore. You are stronger than your urges, even if it hurts your heart. You can’t give in again. If you do, he will take you for granted again. You won’t be happy with him. You finally have to fucking understand that.

“You’re right. You are here because of that”, he says dryly.

“Good. It started on May sixteen. I came home at around seven ten and noticed that my packages were missing. Two were stolen back then, but in total he stole eight packages”, you say and proceed to tell him the exact dates with the time as well as what was stolen.  

“You seem to know how such hearings work”, he says after he wrote down what you said.

“I had a few hours to practice what I was going to say”, you say with a poisonous smile.

One Yoongi retorts with just as much poison and a deep hum.

“Apologies again.”

“Don’t worry, I know how hard the police works at keeping this honourable city safe.”

He tongues his cheek. You give him a victorious smirk. This cut. Good. He takes a deep breath and releases it through his nose, reaching into his suit pocket to pull out a cigarette. He gets as far as to put it to his lips and then Kim Namjoon already speaks up.

“Captain. Smoking is prohibited in this building.”

“Fuck”, Yoongi presses out and takes the cigarette between two fingers to tap it against the table instead.

“Smoking is bad for you either way”, you say.

He tongues his cheek again. You know that he wants to curse at you right now, but can’t. He has to put up a friendly act.

“I know, can’t shake the habit”, he says and studies your face, “so what now?”

“Sir?” Kim Namjoon is rightfully confused. Yoongi slipped up.

“I don’t know, I was never in such a place before. Do you still need to take my information?” you act oblivious.

“We already have everything.”

“Great. Then I can go?” you ask, fluttering your lashes innocently.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Sir?” “What? Why?”

Yoongi shifts in his chair until he manspreads like an idiot. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“What are you going to do now?” he asks you.

“Uhm…is this still part of my hearing?” you ask, glancing at Kim Namjoon.

“No of course not, Miss. Please, follow me.”

“Sit. Down.”

The room is silent for a moment. You glare at Yoongi while Namjoon and Jungkook gawk in complete confusion. Their captain acts out of character. There is no reason to keep the innocent lady here any longer. This isn’t like him at all. He has been fidgeting all day, barely drank his coffee, went for far too many smoke breaks and now this. The officers have no explanation for their captain’s sudden behaviour.

“What is the reason for this?” you ask him.

“Just safety precautions. We wouldn’t want our honest citizen to get into danger”, he says coldly, “now answer my question. What are your plans now, Miss?”

“I will go home.”

“Where is that home?”

“Sir, I don’t know if that is necessary.”

“Shut up, Kim.”

Namjoon gulps, exchanging a confused look with Jeon Jungkook. This is really not like their captain.

Yoongi straightens up and leans forward so he is closer to you.

“Where is that home, Miss?”

You lower your eyes in anger.

“I don’t know yet, I’m planning to leave this city.”

“What?” his voice shook as he spoke. His fingers close and break the cigarette that way. His eyes almost bore holes into yours from how deeply he stares into them.

“This city’s become too depressing for me. I plan on leaving it for good.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. There is nothing holding me here anymore.”

“Yes, there is.”

“No, there really isn’t. I will leave.”

Bang!

You flinched back. Namjoon and Jungkook tense up as well.

Yoongi slammed his hand on the table, jumping to his feet.

“No the fuck you won’t!” he yells.

“Sir? What are you doing?!”

“Excuse me? It’s my right as an honest citizen to move”, you act oblivious as well.

“Keep her here”, he talks to Jungkook, pointing at him, “lock her up and keep her here.”

“Under what pretence, Sir?” the young officer asks with widened eyes.

“I, I, I don’t know. Refusal to, to, to cooperate or some shit like that”, Yoongi never stutters and he never paces, but he is currently doing both of those things.

“Sir…is…this legal?” Jungkook asks shyly.

Yoongi is by Jungkook’s side within a few steps, grabbing him by the collar.

“Do as you are told, Jeon! Unless you want to lose this job!” Yoongi growls, making Jungkook whimper with fear.

“Captain Min, you are stepping out of place”, Kim Namjoon speaks up, dragging him away from Jungkook, “and get off this poor officer’s neck. He is just doing his job.”

Yoongi whips around, now targeting his anger at Namjoon.

“If he was doing his fucking job, he would lock her up”, he hisses, pointing at you.

“I need you to step out for a moment, Captain”, Namjoon says and gestures Jungkook to open the door. The young officer obeys, holding it open as Namjoon shoves a protesting Yoongi out of the room. He closes the door again, muting the vivid fighting Yoongi was doing with Namjoon outside.

He meets your eyes, smiling awkwardly.

“Please forgive the Captain, Miss. He is very concerned about his citizens’ safety.” He is a terrible liar, but you don’t blame him. If you were in his situation, you would have no idea how to explain such a situation to a supposed innocent citizen either.

“Don’t worry. I, I’m just wondering if maybe I can finally leave? I’m sorry, this just really scared me and I just want to lie down at home now”, you act shaken up, looking at the young officer with pleading eyes. 

“Of course, Miss. Our honest apologies again, Miss. Please follow me”, he says and leads you out of the room.

Yoongi and Namjoon are still arguing, but stop when they see you come out. You lock eyes with Yoongi for the briefest of moments. 

He closes the distance and grabs your wrist, dragging you with him with such vigour that nobody truly gets time to act. Not even you know what was happening to you until you find yourself in his office with the door slammed shut. 

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not the one asking this question right now!”

“Yoongi, lower your voice. This isn’t the place for screams.”

He steps closer to you, pointing at your face in warning.

“I have every fucking right to scream right now and you know that”, he presses out through gritted teeth.

“Why? Because I finally don’t need you anymore?”

“You can’t move. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“I’m-”

‘I'm not done”, he interrupts you, “I killed them for you. I did it. Just for you. Because your safety matters to me. I care.” He hits his own chest. “I showed you that I care and you’re gonna leave?”

You hate that you love him, but not for the usual reasons. You hate it because it hurts. You are going to leave despite not wanting to. You love him, perhaps you always will but you are also going to leave. 

You nod your head.

Yoongi exhales shakily, taking a stumbling step back. He stares at you as if you were the ghost whose haunting hurts him the most. He huffs out air, rubs his hand over his mouth, then runs it through his hair and down the side of his neck.

“I’ll kill the thief”, he says in the end.

“What?” 

“I'll make it seem like suicide. He’ll look like a pisser who couldn’t take prison and killed himself.”

“Are you out of your mind? He’s just a thief.”

“Well, what more do you need?!” he screams

“Nothing! I don’t need anything from you!”

“Why not? I can give you whatever you want!”

“Look at you. Now that you finally realised, I’m actually serious about the breakup, you wanna act like you care.”

“I care”, his voice broke, but you are both too angry to acknowledge it, “i-i-if I knew that you- I just-” He breathes in, breathes out, rubs his mouth, then his neck. “It can’t end like this. It can’t.”

“It can. I’m done begging you for everything.”

Yoongi steps closer.

“I can-”

“Sir? What is the meaning of this?” 

Kim Namjoon and Jeon Jungkook are in the office. The rest of the precinct gawks at you and Yoongi through the doorway. The latter lifts his hands and steps back. His fingers are shaking. 

“The captain just voiced his worries for my move. Don’t worry about it, Kim Sir”, you lie and turn to leave, “may I finally leave?”

Namjoon tells Jungkook to handle it with a nod of his head. The young officer points at the open door.

“Please after you, Miss.”

Yoongi says your name. 

You look at him over your shoulder, despite knowing you shouldn’t. He takes a step closer, lifting his brows in pleading. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. You ball your hands to fists and turn your back to him.

Yoongi tries your name again, hoping for another look. One which doesn’t come. 

“Come back”, he tries, but gets stopped by Namjoon.

You can hear them talk as you leave.

“What the fuck’s your issue, man? You’ve been weird all day and now you’re screaming at citizens?”

“Watch your tone.”

“Hyung, I’m not here as your colleague right now. I’m here as your friend.”

“She’s gonna leave, she can’t…”

Jungkook leads you away from the office before you can hear Yoongi’s full answer. 

“Are you crying, Miss??”

“Hm? Oh that, don’t mind them. It’s just…” Your heart is broken and you want to run back to Yoongi. “...forgive me, I’m just a little shaken from everything.”

“I’m sorry, Miss. The captain isn’t normally like this.”

“It’s alright. I know how Yoongi can be sometimes.”

“Yoongi?” Jungkook asks, glancing at the captain’s office. He wonders what kind of friends you and he are. Maybe Those kind of friends? Is that why you are important to the captain? 

“I mean…sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I just wish to go home now.”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Oh god, I don’t even have money for a bus ticket with me”, you murmur to yourself, looking for your wallet. This is all a scheme to get Jungkook to drive you home again. You are worried that if he didn’t, Yoongi would somehow get to you before you could reach the station.

“Don’t worry about it, Miss. As a policeman, it is my duty to make sure that you get home safely.”

“Really? I wouldn’t want to waste your time.”

“Of course, Miss.”

And so he takes you home and you hate yourself because of it. So it began. You were the first person who used his kindness to her advantage. You were the drop beginning the inevitable filling of the tank until one day it will swap over. And once that happens, it is almost impossible to stop the leak. Fuck, you are just as terrible as everyone else in this city.

But the young officer is oblivious to what you just did, driving you home with a kind smile on his face. He even walks you to your door and stays as you unlock it. Your neighbours are fucking again. He glances at their door, then awkwardly at you.

“Yeah, I’ve got new neighbours. You can’t go over there and flash your badge and tell them to shut up, can you?”

“Of course I can, Miss. Just one mom-”

“No stop, I was joking”, you stop him, studying him with exhausted eyes. You are so sorry. You are so fucking sorry.

“Ah, okay. Please forgive me, I always take everything way too seriously”, he says, scratching his own neck shyly. He furrows his brows. “What’s the matter, Miss?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Miss.”

“Run.”

“What?”

“Run back to your hometown. Run and never look back.”

“Excuse me?” he laughs in confusion, furrowing his brows harder.

“You’re a good person, Jeon Jungkook. This city will fucking ruin you.”

“I…uh…” He laughs nervously. “I don’t seem to follow, Miss. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to get it, just listen to me. Please.”

“O…kay? I uhm…”

“Thank you for driving me home. I’ll think of you sometimes in my new home.”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I am. You don’t need to worry about me anymore. Just promise me to run.”

“I promise?”

“Good. Be happy, Jeon Jungkook.”

“Miss, I-”

You close the door on him and lock it. You don’t expect him to knock or ring the bell. He is too proper to annoy you this way. You check the camera. He stares at the closed door for a few moments longer, looking confused. He lifts his hand to knock, hesitates and turns his back to the door instead, leaving down the steps to drive off. You know that you confused him, but you had to. Please let it be enough to save him.

V arrives later that day. He is stressed and clearly in a hurry.

“What’s wrong? You look like you need to be somewhere or like you need to shit. Do you need to shit?”

“What? No”, he sounds out of breath as well as annoyed, “I’m risking my ass being here. I’ve got your stuff. It’s the only thing except mine that I managed to save. Give me the money, quick.”

“Save?” you probe, giving him the money.

He stuffs it into his boxers hastily, looking over his shoulder again.

“My place got raided by cops. I was at the market getting food, then came back to five cop cars in front of my place. I barely escaped. If I didn’t always carry my stuff with me, I’d have been fucked.”

“What?!”

“Sorry, Hyacinth. Gotta leave the city for a while. I wish you all the best.”

“V, what the fuck?”

“Here’s to never seeing each other again, aye?” he jokes, laughing nervously. It’s a good thing he said. Never seeing each other again meant that you and he managed to escape safely.

“Wait. Where will you go?”

“I can’t tell you. You know I can’t.”

“Yeah, just…be careful.”

“You too.”

He leaves and you know that he will be successful. If there is one person who won’t ever be found it is V. 

You are in a trance for the rest of the day. Yoongi raided V’s place. He went as far as to betray his own people just to make sure that you wouldn’t leave. Carrying your new passport feels like a trophy, as much as it feels like a curse. Leaving this city won’t be as easy anymore now that he knows. You are so fucking stupid for telling him, but you didn’t want to miss out on his reaction when he found out. The small moment of satisfaction seems skippable now that you know how far he is willing to go to keep you close. And because V came as late as he did, your means of escape don’t drive anymore either. You have to wait for the earliest bus if you wanted to or not. Fuck, you did this to yourself. You stupid fucking woman. Look at you. You have this big, honourable degree and still manage to get yourself into shitty situations over and over again.

You go to sleep with a gun under your pillow. You won’t risk anything.

You don’t get a lot of sleep and then a noise wakes you. You heard it as clear as day. Someone unlocked your front door. He sent men to get you. Now he’s gone too far. You jump out of bed and grab your loaded gun, tiptoeing to a spot from where you could observe the apartment. You have to be strategic about it. First count the men, then calculate the fastest way to shoot them, then act. The door closes and locks again. Clever bastards, they want to make sure that you don’t flee. Oh, you are going to have a blast killing them. One last little thing to leave Yoongi before you abandon him.

The automatic lights turn on. Got you, assholes.

The first enters your vision.

“Hm?”

Yoongi. Clearly drunk, he is dragging his feet over the floor, using the wall as support. No one else follows him. So he came here alone. 

Overtaken by anger, you jump out of hiding and at him.

Yoongi collides with the wall, feeling the cold nuzzle of the gun press against his chin. He drops the keys and flowers he was carrying, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Careful, it’s just me”, he lulls.

“Get the fuck out of my house”, you spit, carrying murder in your eyes. 

“I can’t believe you’re still hiding your keys under the flower pot. Don’t make me so worried, anyone could enter.”

“I’m gonna count to three and if you haven’t disappeared by then, I’ll shoot.”

“Can we talk?”

“One.”

“I know I fucked up. I can’t stop thinking about you. Please, can we try again?”

“Two.”

“I promise I changed. You were right, I was a joke. But I wanna do better now.”

“Three.” “I’m sorry!”

Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut. His death never comes. He peels his eyes open again.

You are staring, panting heavily. Tears are in your eyes.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers.

This is the first time he is the one to say these words first. It feels so good, but you can’t give in again. You made up your mind to leave…didn’t you? You study the state of him. He is heavily intoxicated. He looks the way and reeks of it.

“You’re drunk.” 

He nods his head, furrowing his brows. He touches your elbows, caressing them softly. Such touch you only get when he is drunk.

“I drank because of you. What you said today. I just…don’t move away, please”, he begs, eyes filling with tears.

“So now you care? I wasn’t important to you when I was with you and now that I’m leaving, I’m suddenly important?”

“You’ve always been important.”

“No, I haven’t. You took me for granted.”

“I did and I’m sorry. I never should have taken you for granted. I’ll do better now, please just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“If I give you a chance again, you’ll just abuse it and hurt me.”

“No, I won’t. Please, I just.” He cups your face, running his thumbs under your eyes as gently as possible. “We were right once. We were so good together. We were a team and, and we had dreams and we made each other happy. I want this back, I wanna try to get this back again please.”

“I just want to be happy, Yoongi”, you press out.

“I’ll make you happy, baby. Please, I-I’ll make you happy again.”

“No, you’re drunk and talking fucking shit.”

“I’ll leave this city if you want me to.”

You falter. He would give up what he built just for you?

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would. For you I would. I’d set this whole city on fire and leave with you as it burns to fucking ashes behind us, please.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Please”, he whispers and drops his forehead against yours, “please, I want to make you happy again.”

You hate that you love him. You hate that he made you addicted to him. This is so awfully him. He gives you enough affection that you get addicted to it then takes it away again. And once he feeds it to you again, you drink it up like an alcoholic. It is always the same. 

“No, you won’t. You’re drunk.”

“Please.”

“Leave my place.”

He presses himself off the wall and grabs the nuzzle of the gun, guiding it right between his brows.

“You have to kill me if you want me gone.”

You gulp. He forces your finger to the trigger. Your airways close up.

“Kill me. Fucking kill me. I can’t live without you anyways.”

You could end it. You’ve got everything. Your suitcases, your papers, the keys of his car he drunkenly drove like an asshole. You’ve got everything you need to escape this place. You could end it, finally make sure that you have no temptation to return. You could end him and your addiction with it. He’s got your finger on the trigger, it needs just one flex and it would be over. But you never wanted him dead. No matter how much you wished for him to be gone, you never wanted him dead. Because in some fucked up way, all you really wanted was for him to put more effort into you.

“No”, you whimper, shaking your head. 

He rips the gun from your fingers and drops it on your dresser. 

“I don’t want to kill you”, you press out, sobbing softly. 

He cradles your face, wiping your tears. 

“I know”, he gets out, nodding his head, “I know you don’t, princess. I know.”

“Yoongi”, you squeak out, twisting his shirt. 

“I’m here, princess. I’m here.”

He pulls you closer until his kiss is just one breath away, feeding on the shaky breath you let ghost against his lips. His drunken eyes gaze at your mouth, his heart is racing in his chest.

“Push me away”, he tells you.

“I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

“Yoongi”, you whimper, finally touching his chest instead of his shirt. 

He moans and pulls you into a kiss. A deep, hungry kiss. 

You pull at his hair to get him off of you as much as you pull him closer, fighting for air. You hate that you love…do you really? Do you really fucking hate it? Do you really hate it when his kiss makes you feel alive again? You spent months feeling out of breath and now it’s gone. You can breathe again. At least metaphorically, physically he’s got you very close to passing out. You push at him to get distance. Air. He lets you breathe, but not escape. He pushes you to your sofa until your legs collide with the back of it. Your shaky breaths intermingle, your shared moans follow. His right hand slides to your ass, his knee lifts to your middle. 

You gasp, grinding down on him. You can’t protest because he kisses you so deeply it feels as if he wanted to consume your soul. He kisses and gropes, kisses and gropes until air is sparse. He gasps.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m fucked”, he gets out and pulls your head back so he could drag his tongue up your throat. 

It should disgust you, but it doesn’t. You moan, running your nails down his chest and arching your back. He lifts his head, looking at you with drunken, crazed obsession. His fingers just can’t stay still on your body. It is as if he wanted to touch everywhere at all times. The attention makes you short of breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

You touch his cheek. He leans into your palm, closing his eyes when you trace his scar. You were with him when he got it. It was during a fight. He fought with his fists, his opponent chose the cowardly way and pulled a knife on him. He was lucky that he didn’t lose his eyesight. He hated it at first, but you made him feel handsome. You always looked out for him that way.

“Do you…do you think I’m handsome?” he asks. Such questions you only get when he’s drunk. 

“I do.”

His breath trembles as it leaves him. He drops his hand from your hips to take out his cock. He touches himself, gazing at you as if he needed the view of you to stay hard. And he does. He needs you. You are the only person who can turn him on.

You look at what his hand is doing, gulping heavily. He sighs, gazing at your face. You are as mesmerised by him as you were when everything was still good between you and him. His cock still has the same effect on you.

“Princess?” he tilts your head back up to meet your eyes, using only two fingers under your chin for it. 

You meet his eyes, heart racing unbearably.

“Yes?” One little lift of his brows and you give him the answer he craved. 

You part your legs, tilting your hips closer to him. You nod your head vigorously, gazing at his cock again.

He doesn’t bother to pull his pants down all the way, neither does he care about taking off your panties. He pushes them to the side and stuffs you full of him, gripping the edge of the couch and your right thigh as deep moans leave him. Your right leg is lifted like this, supported by him.

You gasp, tensing up. Your toes curl instantly, your fingers clutch his lower arms. His cock stretches you out and stuffs your walls. It’s not uncomfortable, but it is definitely intense. You gasp again, looking at him with widened eyes.

“I know baby, I know”, he breathes and bottoms out. “It’s been too long. Fuck.” 

He moves, chasing your warmth in drunk, sloppy thrusts. You writhe and gasp repeatedly, scratching the back of his neck. You want to hate that you love him. He should feel like an intruder. You should want to kick and scream for help. But you don’t want to. You feel whole again. No preparation, but he doesn’t hurt. His kiss and touch was enough. Your addiction to him runs so deep that his cock is pure heroin to you.

“Yoongi”, you get out, grabbing his throat. Your thumbs are on his Adam’s apple, threatening to press down.

He smiles, “I love you”, he gasps out and drops his head against yours. His long hair tickles your face, his drunken breath swirls over your skin. He gulps and moans under your fingers, pumping into you with no signs of slowing down. You start losing strength in your calf, standing like this is exhausting, but if you were being honest, you don’t want it to stop. 

“I hate you.”

“Fucking kill me then”, he rasps.

You close your fingers slightly.

“Harder. This isn’t gonna do it.”

“You first.”

“Fuck, baby”, he gets out and lifts you so he could round the sofa with you. He pins you down into the pillows, ripping the panties off of you and kicking his pants off. He pushes into you before you can truly realise what was happening, feeding you all of him until he can’t give any more. He twists the pillow next to your head as he takes on a punishing rhythm. His dark hair hangs into his face, his teeth are bared as he huffs like an angry animal.

“Yoon-”

“I know, baby I know. You already told me, baby. I know”, he whispers, wiping your cheek, “take me, I know you can. You’re my baby, you’re made for me.”

His praise is like medicine to you. This is all you needed. To know that he is still obsessed with you and that you still affect him. 

You close your legs around his hips, keeping him with you this way. You need him to always stay like this. He moans your name, slipping his fingers from your cheek to hold the pillow instead. You told him that you hated him, but your body betrays you. Your eyes betray you. You keep him close, gaze at him as if he was your everything. Yoongi’s head is turning. Not only from the alcohol, but also from being with you again. And from knowing that you still loved him.

Because he loves you so much. He hates himself for taking you for granted. He never should have. You are his everything. The fucking reason why he does all of this. The last three months were torture for him. He started smoking again, drank too much, slept too little, worked too many hours. And if he didn't distract himself with work, he tried thinking up ways of showing you that he was still there for you. He ordered his officers to look out for you, sent food deliveries to your place, parked in front of your place somewhere hidden to watch you smoke on the staircase. He also followed you sometimes after you confessed to him that some of his goons were terrorising you. And each time he followed you, he wished for you to notice him just so he could get a chance at talking to you again. But you never did and Yoongi thought that you will come back again soon. Then you told him that you would move and Yoongi finally broke. He was truly losing you. Three months of hell, of lonely nights and heartbreak and he was truly losing you. 

“I missed you”, he gets out, painting his name against your favourite spots. The eagerness with which you clasp him results in your hips to lift off the pillow, allowing your clit to grind against him each time he bottoms out. The necklaces he is wearing are tangling over your face. They were too long once, but Yoongi cut them to the perfect length so they wouldn't hit your face when you are underneath him. That was six months ago. During a time you thought he didn’t care anymore. You feel so stupid now. His way of showing you that he cared was always there. He was always looking out for you. You were just too blind to see. 

You gasp and whimper, mewl and keen, looking up at him with teary eyes and your fingers closing around nothing. You can’t tell him that you missed him too because you are too overwhelmed. 

“Did you miss me too?” but Yoongi is drunk tonight and when he is drunk he is needy for your affection. 

You nod your head. 

“Say it.”

“I missed you”, you get out, following it up with a sob. 

“Baby, I love you”, he croaks, wiping your tears before dropping his forehead against yours, “I love you, baby, I love you. Don’t leave me again, please.”

“You’re so drunk.”

“Yeah, drunk ‘cause of you. Thought I’ll lose you. Baby, I can’t lose you”, he croaks and shows you his honesty with passionate rolls of his hips. Somehow he goes even deeper than before, he hits your favourite spots even better. 

You arch your back and scream his name, throwing your head back as best as possible. This is electric. Holy shit, he makes you feel good. Your face scrunches up against your will, your feet shake on his back. 

Yoongi admires you with a pounding head and racing heart, repeating what he did before over and over and over again. You react in mewls and moans and screams and he can’t get enough of it. He wants for you to lose your fucking voice because you couldn’t stop screaming for him. Because if you sound like this for him, he makes you happy. It has been too long since you actually screamed this way, so Yoongi is especially affected by tonight.

He laces his fingers with yours – again, he is drunk – and squeezes them needily. He thinks that he is crying too. He watches pearls of something drip onto your face sometimes. His eyes also burn. He doesn’t want it to stop. He is willing to carry his emotions on his sleeve if it meant you were happy again.

“Is this what you needed? Does this finally make you fucking happy?” he gets out, chasing the ecstasy as much as he helps you with your own pleasure trip.

You squeeze his hands back, making him moan your name.

“Ye-yes.”

“Argh”, he growls, trying so much harder to fuck you right. It feels so good. He has to tell you. He stayed silent way too often in the past. You want his efforts and he wants to give them to you. “You feel so good.”

The first confession was hard because he isn’t used to sharing his feelings. It was hard, but it was also ecstatic because your sounds of pleasure became louder and you tightened around him, squeezing his hands happily. 

“You feel so good. You feel so fucking good. You feel so good, princess. You feel…so good”, he can’t stop now that he started, telling you over and over and over again how you make him feel. Good. So good. He feels so good when he is with you. “You are so good. Princess, fuck. I have to..I, I have to- ah!” 

You open your eyes in time with Yoongi collapsing on top of you. He whimpers into the crook of your neck, shaking almost pathetically.

There are two things you always believed to be true about Yoongi. First: When he fucks, his moans are always deep, raspy and growly. Second: He has perfect control over his orgasms. 

Both of these things are getting proven wrong to you right here and now as he whimpers and shakes and paints your walls with his unexpected orgasm. You want to blame the alcohol on it and maybe the months of abstinence, perhaps even the fear of losing you paired with the relief of having you again. Holy fuck, he actually loves you doesn’t he?

“I love you”,  he sobs, hugging you close. 

“Yoongi ah”, he breaks you with his confession and the tenderness with which he holds you. You swear that you can taste colours for a moment. You haven’t felt honestly good in your own skin in months. This right here is what feeling good is. This is it. 

You don’t know who comes down first. You think it is Yoongi, but even if he does, he doesn’t pull out. He lets you shake and throb and clench around him until your moment of peak pleasure is over as well. He holds you silently afterwards, catching his breath in the crook of your neck. He missed your scent like nothing else. Truly, it leaves him so drugged out that he actually finds himself drooling as he smiles like a giddy boy. 

You calm down with his weight atop your chest, his length still inside you and his hair between your fingers. It is still a little stiff and crusty from the variety of hair products he keeps in it during his day job. To think that mere hours ago, you were screaming at each other in his office. It feels so far away to you now. Like a memory of an unbelievable life.

You don’t hate that you love him. You really don’t. 

“How.” He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.”

“Are you sore? Does anything hurt?”

“No, but I’m leaking.”

“Fuck”, he laughs into your shoulder, nibbling on it gently, “sorry, I just…am drunk and missed you.”

“You were pathetic doing that.”

He laughs harder. You and he have a peculiar sense of humour. He knows that you meant it fondly. You laugh as well. He lifts his head at the sound of it, cupping your cheek. 

“If it means you’re laughing, I can live with being pathetic.”

Your heart flutters.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Booze. Way too much booze.”

You laugh again. His eyes soften, he caresses your face. 

“Definitely too much booze, yeah”, you agree.

“Mhm, fuck.” He cuddles into your shoulder again. “I’m sleeping here.”

“And you think I’d let you?”

He nods his head.

“Fuck, you’re the worst.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not.”

You wake up alone the next morning. It hurts. So nothing changed. He got what he wanted, made you addicted again only to leave. Like he always did. And you are left feeling dirty and used and fucking awful. 

You probably would have stayed in bed to cry the entire day if a very worrying noise hadn’t come from outside your door. Someone’s in your kitchen. You roll out of bed and leave the room. You don’t need weapons today. You are angry enough that you will probably be able to beat whoever is dumb enough to break in. 

You cross the corner and stop, lowering your fists.

Yoongi. 

He took a shower and tied all of his wet hair into a messy bun. He is shirtless, wearing a towel around his hips. Music is playing from his phone while on the stove, breakfast is sizzling. 

“You?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, face lighting up instantly. 

“Good morning, beautiful”, he says, closing the distance to take you into a hug. “Did you sleep well?”

You don’t answer him, you push at his chest so you could look at him. You can’t believe that he is still here and that he is making you breakfast.

“What’s the matter?” he asks. 

“Why the fuck are you still here?”

He furrows his brows, “why not?”

“I, I don’t know. I just, just. I thought that…huh? You didn’t leave?”

He frowns in regret for a moment, before leaning in to kiss your cheek. He gives your left buttock an almost playful squeeze afterwards, stepping back to return to the cooking.

“I’m making your favourite. I also cleaned. Your place was a shithole, honestly.”

Still flabbergasted beyond relief, you look around your small apartment. He didn’t just clean up the garbage and tidy, he fully wiped the place down. You check the clock next. It’s way past one at noon. You slept for more than twelve hours. Damn. You never even realised how much sleep these last three months took from you until you finally fell asleep in his arms again and actually stayed asleep. You feel refreshed and not uncomfortable in your own skin. 

Last, you look at Yoongi. He is humming to the music, switching between stirring the eggs in the pan and chopping up some pork belly. 

At first you don’t want to accept that this is actually happening to you, but then the desire to be close to him gets too grande to bear. You almost run to him, colliding with his back in a passionate hug. 

He stumbles and grunts, following it up with a fond chuckle and his big hands rubbing your lower arms. 

“Please don’t make me regret this again. Please.”

He turns in your arms, caressing your waist. He shakes his head, looking at you in ways he hasn’t looked at you in ages. As if he honestly loved you. 

“Can you promise me?”

“I promise you, baby”, he says in a soft voice and locks pinkies with you. 

The gesture is so cute and honest, that you have to stifle a giggle. Your heart hasn’t fluttered like this in ages.

“I have an idea. How about I’ll take next week off and we’re leaving this city for a while? Maybe the mountains? You’d like the air there”, he suggests. 

“Are you serious? Do you actually mean that?”

He nods his head. You and he began swaying to the music, looking at nothing else but the other. 

“But first I gotta sort out the mess I made when I busted V’s place”, he says.

“Yeah true.” You slap his chest. “Fuck you for that. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I know. I acted irrationally, I admit. But I’m gonna fix this. You know how easily I can make stuff disappear. He’ll be able to return again in a week or so.”

“I hope you’ll fix this, you idiot you.”

“Mhm, I will and then I’m taking you on a long vacation”, he says, kissing your forehead before hugging you against his chest.

You close your eyes, melting into his chest. 

“And when we’re there, I’m gonna make you breakfast and make you cum and make you smile. Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah”, you snicker.

He smells like your shower gel today, but you don’t mind. He hasn’t shown such an actual desire to change in months and it feels so good to receive. You love that you love him. You really do. 

“I love you, Yoongi”, you whisper, feeling him squeeze you for just a moment as your confession overwhelms him. 

“I love you too, princess”, he tells you and he is sober for it because he swore to himself that he won’t need alcohol anymore to be able to show you his affection. 

He is willing to better himself, he truly is and a week later, you and he are in his car on your way to a long vacation in the mountains.

Interlude | MYG | Three

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: In this chapter we get a little into what happened to Yn (when it comes to her deafness), so be warned some of the medical terms and explanations might have been simplified for the sake of fiction. Having that said, ‘sudden sensorineural hearing loss’ is a very real thing and not many people know about it. Youtube has great resources and vlogs/channels from people that have this condition and it can be a great way to learn more about it, if you’re interested in a more indepth and real life look at it. 

A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!  

 WC: 3.2K

[Membership]

← Previous | Series Masterlist | Next →

For the following weeks, Yoongi kept coming back to the coffee shop religiously. He couldn’t make it there every day, nor did he want his intentions to be that obvious. But he was interested in getting to know you; a fact he very much took a while to admit to himself. 

He thought you were pretty, nice and sweet. Always receiving him with smiles and sparing a couple of minutes to talk to him, ask him how he was doing. And, more often than not, he wanted to tell you about his frustrations with his work, how much he missed his members and how he was nervous about his future. He never went in too deep, not wanting you to think he was using you as a therapist, but you were always interested in whatever he had to say.

Yoongi didn’t understand why, but it was easy to open up to you. As ironic as it might be, you listened to him. In any capacity that you were able to. And he also listened to you. He knew by now that you lived with your older sister and your niece, and it made Yoongi a little more at ease to know you weren’t alone at home. 

Not that he thought he had to worry about you at all, from the interactions he had with you, he could tell you were perfectly capable of doing anything on your own, but you still chose to help out your sister when raising her eight year old daughter. 

You were yet to exchange phone numbers, as Yoongi wasn’t sure if you thought of him as a friend at this point, or just a lonely guy that came over for a few minutes of chat at a time. 

How pathetic must he seem to you if that was the case?

His sign language was progressing, too, as practicing it with you so often made old muscle memory come back to him –and the KSL videos he’d been watching instead of working were a lot of extra help–. 

Just a couple of days ago, you had told him your lunch break hours and he took it as an invitation to come over during that time, finding you sitting on a two seat table near the glass walls. He didn’t make it there at the exact time, not wanting to bother you as you were eating your meal, but with time to spare just in case. 

“Hello!” you were greeting him with a wave of your hand as he approached, pointing to the chair in front of you before he could even ask if it would be okay to sit with you. “No coffee today?” 

“Nah, I like it better when you make it.” he shrugged, taking a seat. 

Like usual, his harmless, innocent flirting went right over your head. You couldn’t hear the slight drop on his tone, the sly tilt of his words, so you threatened to get up as you asked: “Do you want me to make you something?” 

“No, no, it’s alright–” he shook his hands to get you to settle back down. “I just had lunch, so it’s better not to upset my stomach anyway.” 

“Okay, then.” you settled back down, pushing the plate with cake pop pieces towards him. “Try these. It’s a new recipe.”

You really liked baking, Yoongi came to discover quite soon. You kept offering him new treats with his coffee orders; from different flavored cookies to brownies and cupcakes. You told him once that what you’d really like to do with your life was to be a baker and open your own little bakery, but didn’t have the money to do so, nor the expertise. So you settled with baking goods for fun and bringing them over to sell at the coffee shop. 

Yoongi learned to tell the difference between your baking and the regular stuff sold, as yours were usually on a small glass display in the corner, as you didn’t want to bring too much attention to them in case one of your managers didn’t like you taking money that wouldn’t reach them. 

The man took a small cake ball covered in chocolate and popped into his mouth, chewing slowly and frowning as his taste buds were attacked in the most delicious way. 

“Good?” you asked him expectantly. 

Yoongi nodded and touched his lips with the pads of the fingers of his right hand, bringing it down so the back of it touched the palm of his left, signing ‘good’ instead of risking flashing you with his chocolate covered teeth. 

“Yay!” you celebrated cutely, which made him chuckle. Your little movement made your earrings rattle, catching his attention as he noticed today you were sporting dangly ocean blue lollipops. 

“I like your earrings today.” he told you with signs of the words that he knew, pointing to his own ears. 

“Thanks! I have to find use for these things.” you signed with a little grimace, turning your head this way and that to make the earrings jiggle. 

He hoped you wouldn’t be offended as he allowed himself to ask something that had been on his mind for a while: “What happened?” 

“To my ears?” you checked, moving a little on your seat and Yoongi didn’t know if it made you uncomfortable. He nodded, so you continued: “Took you long enough to ask, huh?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was a sore spot.” 

“Well, long story short.” you sighed, which was a tiny sound that he held onto dearly. “When I was sixteen I fell in love with a boy. And the only way for us to be together was if I left my father’s home, so the sea witch offered to give me legs in exchange for–” 

“Aish.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and his body fell back against his chair. He had been so focused on all of your signs, as you moved quite fast, that it took him a long time to understand what you were doing. “Okay, don’t tell me.” 

He could try to get annoyed at your little joke, but you laughed. A real fucking giggle that was full of sound and the sweetest fucking thing he ever heard. Something Yoongi could sell his left kidney to hear more of. 

“Sorry.” you smiled. “I really was sixteen when I lost my hearing, but it wasn’t something fantastic. It was just gone one day.” you told him, making a poof sign with your hands. “The doctors were never able to really give us a reason or explain why it happened. It’s called sudden sensorineural hearing loss and it happens just like that.” you snapped your fingers, signing a little slower so he’d understand everything. “It’s rare, but it happens. It’s even more rare to happen to both of your ears, but I guess I’m just that lucky.” 

“I’m sorry.” he said before thinking better of it. The last thing he wanted was to have you thinking he felt sorry for you. 

“I can speak, if you’re wondering.” you told him, and it surprised him quite a lot. “I just choose not to. It makes me uncomfortable, so I don’t.” 

Yoongi nodded, because he could understand that. It must be quite weird to speak without hearing your own voice, not being able to control how you sounded, or the volume of it. 

Not wanting the conversation to turn sour, in case talking about it really did make you uncomfortable, he said: “So guess it didn’t work with that guy, huh? At least you got to keep the legs.” 

“Guess not.” you dramatically sighed, putting a hand over your heart as you laughed quietly. Not quite the giggly sound, but close enough. 

“That’s good for me, then.” Yoongi signed back. 

And there was no way this particular flirting passed by you, with the way your eyes twitched and you avoided looking at him for a second too long. Yoongi liked to make you flustered, he decided with a small smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. At the sight of it, you moved your eyes from him once more, trying to hold back a shy little smile. 

“I saw you on TV yesterday!” you told him with a newfound excitement, as if you just remembered it. “My niece knows who you are, apparently. She was watching you and some other guys do flying yoga?” 

“Do you still not know who I am?” he challenged and you bit your lips and scrunched your nose.. “I thought you would have Naver-searched me by now.”

“I know you’re in a k-pop group!” you pointed out with a shrug. “I’m not really that into music nowadays, you know? Given that I can’t hear shit.” 

You were laughing, so Yoongi knew it was okay to do so too. He liked that you could curse in sign language, something his aunt had taught him behind his mother’s back when he was little. Yoongi also guessed that, by doing quick math in his head, you had lost your hearing before, or just soon after Bangtan debuted, which meant you never actually heard his music. 

It brought him an uncomfortable feeling in his chest, one he wasn’t ready to dissect just yet. 

“Do you remember it? What it was like listening to music?” 

“I used to play the piano.” you told Yoongi with the saddest eyes he had seen on you ever since he met you, and he didn’t like it. “I dream about it sometimes, that I’m playing it again. But I can’t remember what it sounds like. I don’t remember what birds sound like either. Or running water.” 

“Oh.” 

Yoongi didn’t want to say sorry again, not if it would make you really feel as though he felt sorry for you. It broke his heart just a little more to know you enjoyed something so much, to the point of dreaming about it, and you couldn’t enjoy it anymore. The piano was his first love, so Yoongi could relate to it on many levels. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and not be able to play it anymore. 

“Hyuuuung!” 

A very familiar voice made Yoongi freeze for a few seconds, as if being caught while doing something he shouldn’t. It was a purely unreasonable reaction, and as Hoseok approached the table he tried to relax. You remained unbothered until the new person stood beside your shared table. 

“Hello!” Hoseok said to you, offering his hand for you to shake and at that moment Yoongi realized he had never touched you. And here his best friend was, doing it so casually. “Sorry, do I interrupt?” 

You smiled at Hobi, shaking his hand back and bowing your head. Then, you looked at Yoongi with a couple lines between your brows, as if unsure what to do. 

“This is my member Hoseok.” Yoongi explained to you using sign language, which made his friend raise his eyebrows and widen his eyes. He told Hobi your name and asked his friend: “What are you doing here?” 

“Well, I was in the building and someone spoke so highly of a certain cookie that I had to come over and look for them.” Hoseok told Yoongi with a blinding smile, his eyes held a certain kind of mirth that told him the younger man was making connections inside his brain. 

“You told him about my cookies?” you grinned, surprised, but obviously happy about it, which made Yoongi smile begrudgingly and nod in return. Hoseok let out a small scoff, but at least you couldn’t hear it. “Tell him I can bake him some!” 

“She said they are out of it today–” 

You grunted. Huffed, really. Yet another one of the cute sounds you made that Yoongi stored in his brain, just so the memory could sneak up on him and make him grin like a damn fool later, when he was alone in his apartment and dissecting your interactions over and over in his head. 

“That’s not what you said, is it, darling?” Hoseok asked you with a tilted head and easy smile. 

You shook your head, not really immune to the pet name, bottom lip pushing out in a pout that made Yoongi’s stomach do a thing. Good lord, he needed to get his shit together fast. 

“She said she’d bake you some cookies, too.” Yoongi relented, rolling his eyes as he said it. “Shall we go? Do you have work to do?” 

“Nop, no work–” 

“Oh, work! Shit, I’ll be late–” your eyes widened and you got up from your chair, picking up the empty plate that once held your lunch, and then the second plate with the cake pops, offering to both Yoongi and his friend the last two chocolate balls. 

“Thank you so much.” Hobi smiled and picked up both of them, shoving one into his mouth.  

You bowed to him, and sent Yoongi a small wave goodbye, and rushed to the coffee stand, where Miss Naru was already running around. Yoongi expected Hoseok to sit down at the spot you once occupied, or to walk to the stand and order himself something just to make Yoongi squirm with whatever he could say to you. 

But at least his best friend had the decency to wait until they were both inside Genius Lab, shoes left by the door and locked inside the soundproof walls, before he asked: 

“So?” Hoseok probed, making himself at home on Yoongi’s couch. 

“Hm?”

“Is that why you keep going to the coffee shop in the building?” the younger man finally asked what he meant. 

Yoongi could say he was only going there because his favorite coffee shop was under construction, but he had already gotten an email that it had been reopened just last week. Yoongi could also say that he was only going for the convenience, or for the coffee, or the treats. But Hoseok knew him too well. 

“‘That’ what?” Yoongi asked as if he had no idea what Hoseok was talking about, choosing to sit on his ergonomic desk chair. 

“Don’t play dumb with me, hyung, you know what I’m talking about.” Hoseok rolled his eyes and sat more comfortably, rolling his neck and stretching his legs. “But hey, I’m just happy you’re getting out of the studio. Seeing people. You know we worry about you–”

“We? Why would you worry?” Yoongi scoffed, eyes squinted. 

“You know how you get too in your head sometimes.” Hoseok’s shoulders raised and dropped. “And we know you’re lonely, you don’t have that many friends outside of us.”

“Are you trying to make me feel bad?” Yoongi surprised himself with the urge he felt to gesticulate as he spoke, ever since you became his most constant form of interaction over the past few weeks. 

“Never, you know I love you.” his best friend assured him. “Which is why I’m happy for you. Whatever’s going on with that girl–”

“Nothing is going on.” Yoongi said, letting his defensiveness down as it was the truth. 

Hoseok was quiet for a little while, but Yoongi wasn’t naive enough to think this conversation was over. Far from it. 

Yoongi rolled his chair towards the digital piano at the side of his studio, not really turning it on, not really playing anything. Placing his fingers on top of the keys was enough to bring him great comfort. 

Then, in what he could only describe as an act of masochism, Yoongi pressed on a key; hearing only the dull sound of nothing. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as he thought of you and how confusing and hurtful it must have been for you to have gone through what you went through when you were so young. 

“You were using sign language with her.” Hoseok started again, and Yoongi only nodded. “I don’t think I could ever date someone like that.”

“Wow, could you be any more of an ass?” Yoongi’s turn was so sharp that his chair squeaked. “She’s just like any other person, there’s no need to be fucking rude.”

Instead of being offended at his snapping, Hoseok smiled. The kind of smile that told Yoongi his best friend knew exactly what buttons to push to get the reaction he wanted. And for Yoongi to have gotten so defensive over a simple comment, he walked right into Hoseok’s trap. 

“I just meant that not being able to share my music with my significant other wouldn’t be easy.” Hoseok explained softly, he didn’t mean to offend anybody. “But I’m sure she’s lovely, hyung.”

“She really is.” Yoongi chided. “But it’s not like that.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi’s eyes were down as he rested backwards against his chair, reclining it a little more. 

In response, Hoseok shrugged: “Why is it not like that? I can tell you get along.” he pointed out carefully. “I’m not saying you need to have a relationship with her, but she’s cute. When was the last time you went out with someone?”

“Literally never, you know the scandal that would come out of it if gossip sites caught us going out with anybody.” it was an excuse and Yoongi knew that, Hoseok knew that. 

“You’re literally the only one of us who doesn’t go out.” Hoseok laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Did you know Joonah is seeing that girl from that neon band?”

“Soyoon?” Yoongi raised an eyebrow as that was news for him.

“Yeah. She’s kinda edgy, I didn’t think she’d be his type.” Hoseok mused and Yoongi nodded. “Your girl is your type, though.”

With yet another scoff, Yoongi asked: “Amuse me, what exactly is my type?” 

“Cute, a little naive and innocent. I know you like a nice smile, someone easy going.” the younger man didn’t waste a second before he started listing and so far he had been right. Annoyingly so. But then– “You like the type that would rarely work in the first place, since you’ll have to enlist soon after a fucking world tour, plus she’s an employee and I’m sure dating an idol from the same company would go against a few rules.” 

“Well, fuck then.” Yoongi had to laugh, but none of that was funny. It hurt because Yoongi could see some truth behind his best friend’s words. 

“You know I’m right.” Hoseok ignored him. “You go after the difficult cases, so when it eventually fails, you can beat yourself up but hey, at least you tried, and now you have an excuse to become the little recluse that you are. You’re great at self sabotaging, hyung.”

“I’m sorry, are you sure you’re not trying to make me feel bad?”

“I’m just telling you what I think.” the man smiled in what was an attempt to soften the blow. “I want you to be happy, hyung. Whatever that looks like. If it’s giving this girl a chance, cool. If it’s not, that’s also cool.”

“I appreciate that–”

“I know how hard it’s been for you to write lyrics and focus on your solo album, I went through the same thing. But the good thing about this break is that we’re allowed to do what we want. We’re allowed to live our lives for the first time ever.” Hoseok continued, and Yoongi wished it was that simple. “Joonah keeps traveling all over, JK has been drinking and doing karaoke at all hours of the night. Taehyungie is doing his modeling shit. I don’t want you to stay inside this studio forever and regret having wasted this chance when you no longer have it.”

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7 @syukookie @kam9404 @suker4angst @rumidd2 @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii @granataepfelchen @notsevenwithyou @tessakleine @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen @dreamamubarak @dazzlingjade @kiki-zb @m00njinnie @lerasi @justandloyal2961 @astro-doll-the-star @may-the-dreadwolf-take-me @mafiulaputaama

@iiitsmaria @just-a-small-shadow @perpetuapenandpaper @bearr02 @smdlc @justafreaksstuff @pumpernickelll @amaroho @minijagiya @take2withasprouts

Before I Leave You (Pt.73)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: You are everything to Yoongi, the yoke in his egg, the daffodils on the sidewalk, the sunshine in the morning. Everything. He just had to remember it. 

Tags: Nightmares, angst, hurt/comfort, mention of food issues but they're only talked about in terms of the m/c getting better.

W/c: 10.0k

A/n: the irony of this chapter is that it's going to come out during the wedding of the two people who live in the house that inspired bily, the last time i was there there where sprouts growing in every windowsill and a fluffy throw on every couch so <3 everything will be alright wont it? the house is filled with love in this universe as well as the bily one <3

Previous part- Masterlist - First part

Downstairs, you and Hobi are shrouded in a particular kind of fuzzy warmth. The kind that only comes from knowing you do not have to be in control anymore. That there is no hidden consequence waiting for you. no shoe to drop. no monster under your bed.

The downstairs is shrouded in that kind of quiet and comfort that comes with warm evenings and supple hands that have nothing to do but loving and set about diligently at that task. Like cold breezes in summer, icing and chocolate, and sunshine on raspberries warming their sugar.

But the upstairs nest room is not so peaceful.

Tae’s post-coitus talks are legendary at this point, as Yoongi sits on the edge of the nest, not looking at her because to look at Tae is to encourage more truth to fall from her lips. He busies himself with tucking jungkook in. Sprawled asleep. And tries not to listen to the truth that Yoongi neither wants nor believes he needs.

Right now his brain is fuzzy and prone to believing her.

There are small things all around the nest, pieces of the pack and remnants and evidence of the time the three of them spent here hours ago taking Jungkook apart and putting him back together again. Fucking then sleeping then waking up to fuck again. The arousal burns low at present, sated for now.

A discarded shirt of Jungkook’s sits tangled in a pair of handcuffs because he’d gotten too squirmy for Tae's liking, a silk scarf of Tae’s because he’d gotten mouthy too. A notepad and a bit of paper. Lines scrawled out because Tae’s post-knot clarity always gives her a few good poems, a few good lines.

Yoongi doesn't have to read them to know they're about you. Almost everything Tae writes has You and Jimin in it. The others are there too every now and then- but if Tae had to say it Yoongi knows you and Jimin are her muses.

It takes Tae a few months to digest her feelings into something palatable. Yoongi didn’t need to ask what time period it was written about as he read over her shoulder, pressing kisses to her lips between the lines. Trying not to be a distraction but wanting to be a distraction worthy of Tae’s attention.

This poem that he'd watched her scrawl out, pen to her lips between stanzas. It has the first few months of your relationship all over it.

I know I over-feed the cat, but I can’t help it. If you could eat the love I have for you what would it taste like? Would it be mangoes- Sticky, yellow, sweet. Eat Till the threads of it get stuck Between your teeth. Would it leave you full and sleepy- like bread and pasta? Rigatoni, Penne, pastina stars The candy toothache of my heart Swells thick and gummy. Eat up. I must admit I grow addicted to the brown sugar of your being. Would my love stain the edge of your smile? Like strawberries? Blueberries? Black? I must admit I am afraid of food metaphors When it comes to you. Because just like with food, I fear if I don’t give you enough You’ll go starving, Out of some sense Of beauty and responsibility. Could you love me enough, Would you love me enough if I’m good? Salt, fat, acid, heat. What is owed at our table- A full meal or half? Desert or just a snack? Just tea please, I’m not hungry. I already ate. I know I overfeed the cat, but I can’t help it- I can’t help it at all. If you would eat the love I have for you, Would you still want to be so skinny? Love is warm bellies and not hollow throats. Love cares not for second portions, Only 8 courses Love is a bowl of soup It warms from the inside out. I know I overfeed the cat.

Noodle purrs nearby, the subject of the conversation earlier today that no doubt inspired Tae. Heaped between a pillow and a rolled-up blanket looking overstuffed- like one of your stuffed animals that litter the nest up here and the one downstairs. Jin had gotten a little overzealous on the jellycat website during christmas time.

He's gotten rather chubby, his middle more round than just fluffy. His pudgy tomcat face is charming, eyes blinking slowly as he watches Yoongi toil with his emotions.

"We should put him on a diet" You'd lamented, still feeding him treats, in the kitchen this afternoon. Yellow light slipped through the windows and lunch plates piled high in the sink. A carton of coffee-caramel ice cream and mango sorbet gathering condensation nearby. On your knees before his bowl. Because if you all got after-lunch ice cream treats then he should get some too.

"Don't you dare, he's perfect this way." Tae had replied, scandalized, and made the point of giving Noodle an extra scoop of food and you an extra spoonful of sweet frozen milk.

Yoongi knows that your comment had stayed on Tae's mind just like he knows that it's not just Noodle you were talking about. How many times has he seen you pull down the edge of your shirt over the past few weeks? Or reach for Hobi's baggier sweatshirts? Or sho them all out the door when you shower intent on doing it alone.

The pack loves group showers, there will probably be one on the way tonight from the sound of it. Yoongi doesn't doubt that the pack will leave you messy and sated. A little too sleepy too. Someone will have to help.

His fingers drum quietly on the bed. Nervous. Waiting. A little annoyed- but Yoongi's not sure where it comes from.

A loud slap from downstairs punctuates the quiet. Yoongi just barely flinches. And Yoongi wonders if you'd let them see you naked tonight or if you'd been too nervous for it. Or if Seokjin and Namjoon will make everything, your anxieties and your fears and your feelings of inadequacy, feel small.

They'll make you feel small too. Omegaspace is all but a guarantee tonight.

But he's not allowed downstairs to double-check that you're alright. (He is, he's just not sure you even want him downstairs- which is another thing entirely. Would his presence make you more nervous? More likely to go into appeasement mode because you think that's what he wants?)

Tae has a habit of reminding him when he's being a shithead.

Now Yoongi wishes for Tae’s attention to be elsewhere. On a poem. On Jungkook. On anything. Yoongi has gotten very good at lying to himself over the past few weeks. But somewhere across the lines I’m still angry at her, turned into I should still be angry. He’s not quite sure when that changed. But he knows he's holding onto his anger, that it's growing slippery, but that he's not ready for it to go away.

Yoongi will do anything to keep you, to make you stay. And that’s part of the problem. He's scared of his own capacity for forgiveness. What you might take if he gives you another chance. He's scared that you'll go and take all of him with you.

He's scared- sure, but he's not really angry anymore.

He's just tired- tired of feeling so much, tired of feeling things so intensely. Tired of worrying, of keeping you at arm’s length and wondering if I let you back in now have you learned not to do this again? Or will you just say you’ll change?

Yoongi will always love you- will always be your mate. But he doesn’t want to be sitting and waiting all the time wondering if you’re thinking about leaving again.

You’ve already tried to do that twice; the third time would be the charm.

Jungkook slumbers belly down in the nest, his soft huffs of breath coming frequently and at a steady pace. He’s quite a vision with his rippling back muscles and splayed thighs. With Hickeys on his skin from Yoongi's own mouth where the skin goes soft and dark. Knees apart to limit the soreness he must be feeling from the knot. Covered at the waist but only just so with a thin sheet. The tops of his thighs shiny with cooling slick. Yoongi’s eyes hover on Jungkook as he looks back.

Tae's voice keeps it hush, mindful of Jungkook's sleep schedule but not of the fragileness of Yoongi's heart.

"If you worry you suffer twice. Her leaving and you not forgiving her- isn't the result the same?"

Jungkook's sleeping form will offer him no savior from Tae’s words, he’d say the same thing- they all would. "Do you really want the distance she's been trying to give you Yoongi? Because I really don't think you do"

You've been fucking miserable these last few weeks. Is what she doesn't say but wants too. Yoongi knows it. Can taste the unfinished business on the air in the form of Tae's wilting rose and cinnamon scent. The heady horny edge to it wareing away.

It’s quiet downstairs but it hadn’t always been; between your pleas and Hobi’s growls and then your cries that had made Yoongi gnash his teeth. Sobbing echos that made Yoongi flinch. Distant cries of “m’ sorry m-" and Jin’s joining croon of “good pup, come to daddy, I’ve got you my sweet little thing, I’ve got you.”

But it’s quieting down now. Yoongi can only just hear a little bit of the hushed voices when he strains his ears. He can’t hear you at all when Tae’s talking.

Jungkook stays asleep, completely lost to the world, He needed two cocks to settle, Jungkook always sleeps for a long time after scenes, even simple cute ones like this. You’re the same. Yoongi knows you’re the same. That you usually doze after cumming, so sleepy- like your body gives up under the force of too much pleasure. And that even awake you’re pliant and drowsy. (He loves it when you get that way).

You’ll never have to worry about insomnia the way that Tae and Yoongi do. If it ever gets too bad, the pack will only ever fuck you to bed.

Which is why Yoongi’s restless, why he can’t sleep. Because you’re downstairs and not upstairs with him. He can pretend that's not why he's awake, but the truth remains. Eviscerated by Tae's pouting lips.

He heard you crying earlier. Coupled with Hobi’s yelps and Namjoon’s low croon. It was hard- harder than Yoongi expected, to resist the urge to go down to you. Grating, the mental equivalent of nails on a chalkboard to tune out the sounds of his mate in distress.

It's not distress, he knows that- logically Yoongi knows that the pack would never do anything you didn't consent to.

And still…

"That's not it Tae, that's not it at all." Yoongi denies, but the lie is blatant even to his own lips.

Yoongi is harder to settle than Jungkook. Tae knows this. Folded against the nest, her silky lavender dress pulled back on after fucking Jungkook, small breasts pillowing, hickeys dotting the top of them both faded and not. Some of them are from Jungkook- fresh and pink- but a few might be from you a few days prior.

She snorts, "isn't it? You're both just doing what you think will give you the least amount of pain- instead of actually confronting each other about this. Do you know what I think hyung?”

Just about every packmate has a newfound obsession with Tae’s chest. The tender swelling sensitivity just there. Tae hasn’t gone up a cup size in a few months, she’s a B at best- but the pack still praises her for it. Still takes every opportunity to make her blush and show her their appreciation.

But still- sometimes Yoongi catches her in the mornings, putting on her lingerie that she wears under her clothes almost every days-tugging at the gaping in the front. She bought stuff a cup size up at the beginning- so did Namjoon and Jin and Jimin, endless pretty sets from for love and lemons and Victoria’s Secret that sit unworn.

Because they don’t fit- might not ever fit. Unless Tae does something drastic like surgery. Yoongi's surprised she hasn't asked for it yet.

Yoongi sighs, frustrated, “What Tae, what do you want to say?”

Tae flips over on her tummy, hair a little messy, grinning looking a bit like Noodle as she strokes gently down Yoongi’s jaw. He’s not wearing a shirt he just tugged on pajama pants so the scratch of her long nails down his skin makes goosebumps erupt all over his bare arms.

“I think punishing yourself isn’t a way to rewrite history. Punishing yourself isn’t going to make what happened go away. At this point- I think you’re keeping yourself away from her to prove a point- but the points already been proven.”

“That’s not it,” Yoongi says again. Like repeating it will make it true. Tae raises an eyebrow at him, swishing her legs, her white painted toenails flashing in the half-darkness.

“Don’t you want to make her see that it was a bad decision, isn’t that what you’re doing? Punishing her for going and punishing yourself for not being there when she made the choice to go?”

As if on cue Yoongi can hear it from the ground floor, the sound of your babbling giggles- you in omegaspace surely, a softly crooned “Good puppy, give him another treat, he’s earned it.” From Jin. Yoongi knows you’re cute and sweet and sensitive in your headspace downstairs, the idea of seeing you- touching you- without the burden of all this- is so tempting Yoongi’s hands hurt.

Yoongi’s hands tighten around Jungkook's elbow, his anchor, preventing him from going downstairs. When Yoongi turns back to look at Tae, her eyebrows are pulled together and she’s looking down at Jungkookie. He has a single hand tangled in the hem of her nightdress, fist closed, chubby and cute.

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi is always in the habit of asking that. It’s worth asking- so that you don’t have to wonder.

“You remind me of myself before I came out. Denying yourself love just because you want to be right- doesn’t make you right, it just makes you less loved.” Her eyes flick from Jungkook up to Yoongi.

Yoongi's hands are cold, the goosebumps on his arms are still there.

Yoongi is not human without your love. How many afternoons has Tae seen him staring off into space? How many more meals will Yoongi push around the food on his plate? How many mornings will his hair go unbrushed because Yoongi simply doesn't have the energy to brush it? Tae and the others make up for it a good deal, but at the end of the day, none of them are the person who Yoongi bonded his soul too.

Tae knows what sadness looks like, what depression looks like and she's learned a lot from you. She won't let this be more than a little blip in Yoongi's year.

Your love is one of the things that makes Yoongi feel human. Without you to love, and feeling like he shouldn't, Yoongi's a little unmoored, a little without purpose.

Tae detangles Jungkook’s fist from her dress gently, replacing his grip with a nearby item- another one of her dresses that the omega had so diligently woven into the outer rim of the nest. He curls around it protectively, purring gently. She covers him with a different thicker blanket to simulate her warmth. Then she sits up on her knees and starts to shuffle to the edge of the nest.

“Come on,”

“But Jungkook-”

“He’ll be fine for a second hyung.”

Tae hasn’t yet conditioned herself out of using that phrase, hyung. And Yoongi might remind her if it didn’t sound so sweet coming from her mouth. More of a pet name than anything else. Yoongi doesn’t mind. She can still call him hyung if she wants. They’ve had conversations about it before.

Tae stops, and turns back. The language thing- is one of her current fixations at the moment. “It’s not- just because that slips out doesn’t mean I’m not still a girl."

“I know baby. I’d never think that unless you told me- not that you’ve got to- not that-“

“No, I know. Thank you hyung.” Tae's teeth worry away at her lower lip.

“You can use Oppa too you know. If that feels nicer, or you can go back and forth and use both.”

“I know, I don’t know why I don’t like it as much, hyung makes me feel like you’ll always look after me.” Yoongi grabs Tae’s hands, tangled in the sheets, silken, pink.

“You know I always will.”

Tae uses that hand to her advantage. Pulling him up and out of the nest. Tae leads him down the dark stairs, her quiet giggles softening Yoongi’s anxiety, but when he gets down there, you're there.

You're small in Namjoon's lap, resting your cheek against the hollow of his throat. The pack alpha's shirt is completely unbuttoned now and you’ve hidden your face in his honey skin, rubbing your face all in it, cheeks pink and slowly purring. Guarding your eyes from the big light in the kitchen- where Jimin is getting Hobi a glass of water. Pants pulled on just barely, still hanging low. The scar on his shoulder pink and catching the light- just barely healing. Big on the back side and small on the front.

Yoongi just barely hears namjoons low and sweet growls, his sweet nothings. The way he cradles you gently but so fiercely to his chest Yoongi knows it's all instinct.

"I'm never gonna let anything happen to you- never again- I've got you pup, I've got you. "

The shirt you wear is big and dark, he knows already that it's his- probably pilfered from downstairs to comfort you. Yoongi's not really sure why that makes his throat close up. Even around all of them, even after all of that. It's still his scent you ask for. The one that cloaks you and covers you in the wake of this.

It hurts a little bit more than it should that Namjoon freezes when he sees Yoongi standing on the steps. Freezes, arms tightening just a little around you as you continue to nuzzle into the pack alpha's throat, Dozing and lost in the haze of aftercare.

His arms relax when Namjoon sees it's just the two of them, and tae floats over, dress swishing. "Oh alpha- did you make her all small and soft for me?"

Namjoons teeth look extra sharp as he beholds tae, as she strokes down his throat. To have another alpha touch him there should feel threatening, but Namjoon just feels satisfied. "Of course I did babygirl."

Hobi is more awake than you but so much further down in puppy space than Yoongi expected. The collar jingles faintly against his throat where he rolls his tongue lolling out. Belly up on the carpet and clearly enjoying Jin’s nails scrapping and petting and scratching over his tummy. Never too tired for more belly rubs, especially with a full stomach full of good pup treats (they're just dog bone-shaped chocolate chip cookies, a special all-organic kind that Jin buys from Etsy explicitly for this).

He’s shy- Hobi hasn’t had the time to indulge in puppy space in months, but now he tucks his face under Jin’s shirt and squirms. Happy to be on the receiving end of the pack Omega’s undivided attention. “Good puppy- what a good boy-“ Jin croons, eyes glassy and dark, biting his lip as he watches Hobi squirm and his tongue lol. Panting animatedly.

He’s needed this too- the sound of his praises fall so easy and natural from his pouted lips. And Hobi stills, ears pink when he looks to Yoongi and Tae in the doorway. Lucid for a breath. Tae’s arms are looped around Yoongi’s hips. Keeping him from slinking off, keeping him from feeling like he’s not wanted.

The pack alpha pears at them over the back of the couch. His arms slowly relax around you, nostrils flaring at the scents coming from both of them but mostly Yoongi. Namjoon looks, and glares, but he can smell it. How upset he really is, the undercurrent to his scent. Yoongi smells like chocolate and worry.

He tips his chin down, a clear command to come here.

“Yoongi wanted to make sure she was alright.” Tae supplies, Yoongi tries to deny it but Namjoon already knows. Namjoon’s grumble growl is warm and inviting as Tae guides Yoongi to sit. Your arms are loose around Namjoon’s neck. He’s quiet, but his eyes are shiny with alpha space, measuring every one of their movements like the pack alpha might measure threats. Guarding the pup in his arms very diligently.

“She’s tired, fell right off.” jimin says, coming over to stand above the four of you and watch as tae guides yoongi's hand out, to touch your back, to pet up and down gently. Jimin runs his hand over your wet cheek, picking a hair out from between your lips.

“Poor little pup” and Yoongi feels breathless but Namjoon and Tae make room for him to sit close. yoongi doesn't need to be guided to sit close to you, almost sideways in something like a hug. You sag just a little more into him, like you’re relaxed by Yoongi’s presence alone. Letting out soft huffs of breath against Namjoon's chest, tiny purrs start up anew, louder, deeper. Your spine curls at an uncomfortable angle like you can decide between Namjoon's chest and Yoongi's hands.

And then Tae takes both of your wrists, detangling them from Namjoon’s neck, the same moment that Namjoon starts to lift your hips.

Yoongi can’t even say anything, can’t even protest as they put you in his lap. You suction to his front like a starfish sinking deeper into dreamland and going more boneless by the breath. Yoongi starts to say something- nothing more than hollow protests.

But it feels so good to have you hear, settled over his lap. So good his breath hitches.

Your hands tangle in the front of his shirt, holding on tight- like you think he might go even in your sleep. Yoongi knows you feel that he’s here- although you might not remember it tomorrow. Maybe that's for the better.

he hesitates for a second, and then pulls you flush against him, hard.

Tae settles behind him and namjoon behind you. His big hands forcing the collar of his shirt to the side so the pack alpha can lean around you and nuzzle into the hollow of his throat. He barely has enough energy in him to open his mouth.

How lucky you and him are to have 6 people to watch over you like this. To make sure that you wake up safe, that you get everything you need before you drift off. Yoongi doesn’t have to do it on his own anymore. He hasn’t had to in months but that still doesn’t lose its novelty. Yoongi wonders if he’ll ever take it for granted.

Yoongi breathes deep and even.

“Thanks, Tae.”

“Of course, honey. Remember for next time- alpha knows best.” Yoongi’s cheek rests against the top of your head, and your breath tickles his neck.

“I know we’ve got to go upstairs, but can we stay like this for a second?”   “Of course, honey.” Her fingers stroke through his hair, and Yoongi closes his eyes and tucks his face into the top of your head. One cuddle can't hurt. He can go back to being angry with you in the morning.

“You’ll stay like that until Alpha says you can get up.”

Tae’s giggle is sweet, Yoongi’s eyes are already closed, “Joonie-“

He can hear Namjoon's bashfulness in his voice, the kind of shyness that warms yoongi up from the inside out and reminds him that they're all still learning. “Sorry, I’m still- it’s still-”

“I know alpha.”

I know I know I know.

~-~

(Yoongi, a few days later)

(In the end, forgiveness is not something that is inevitable)

Yoongi doesn’t know that it’s a dream while it’s happening.

One moment he is entirely unaware, resting, asleep, at peace. And the next the nightmare climbs up the edge of his vision. Clinging to the darkness- dissolving like mist only in reverse. Like smoke sucked through a straw. Like burning- carving from the outside in, hungry and without purpose. Burning burning burning.

One moment nothing and the next there is so much red.

The first thing Yoongi knows is that he can smell something burning, he looks up and he’s in the living room of your house, no furniture yet. The inside is so white but not perfect- he can vaguely place the memory.

This is the way the house looked just after they finished re-plastering; Yoongi files the memory and finds its from months and months ago- during another spring. The floors are all fucked from the mess that the plasterers had left. White splotches here and there. Everything covered in ghostly white sheets, a drop cloth under Yoongi's knees that slowly bleeds red.

It's about a month before the pack came home maybe. The last month it was ever you and Yoongi and not You and Yoongi and everyone else.

Yoongi watches as the Flames lick at the white walls. There is something in his hands but he can't look down yet. Something- his brain doesn't want to look at it- it's easier to look at the flames. The fire is yellow and slow to hunger. Creeping almost lazily, like it has nothing but time to burn. He can do little more than watch, not too scared, just confused, as all of the hours and minutes of his hard work are eaten up by heat.

The fire comes from everywhere and nowhere- leaking silently up the walls, turning the plaster slowly from gold to brown, then black before it crumbles away into ashes. Slowly chewing away at the walls, and the windows. The doorknob rattles and somewhere close by Noodle yowls and scratches at something.

The next thing Yoongi knows is that you’re very very still. You’re not moving at all. Not even a little bit- those pupish twitches of your fingers or the wiggle of your nose when you scent his displeasure. Nothing. None of it.

Yoongi is holding you, you are so small, so fragile in his arms. Lighter than you are in reality as he shakes you and tries to get you to wake up. You smile in your sleep a lot, but you aren’t smiling now. The mating mark is blackened against your throat, a thin trail of black and red that rims your lips, bleeding down the corner of your mouth. Inky dark one second, bright crimson the next as a bit of blood drips down the side of your face. 

There is so much blood. It's wet and it's cold despite the fire.

He calls your name, and you don't answer. Yoongi's own voice sounds muffled, Warbled. He keeps talking. Unsure what he's saying. He shouts and screams. But his voice never gets louder, you never wake up. He yells as loud as he can and you still don’t wake up.

It comes all at once, just like the fire.

There is blood on your throat too, so much it can't just be from your mouth. Bright and ruby, slipping down your collar bones and the hallow of your chest. Welling out from somewhere- somewhere that Yoongi can't see. Where are you hurt? Where is it coming from? Yoongi can't find the cause of the bleeding.

There is blood on your arms- trailing to the hallow of your elbow, between your legs, soaking through the white of his shirt, heavy and sticky and warm. Yoongi feels like he's suffocating. Yoongi searches for the source of the bleeding, fingers ruddy, soaking into his palms and his knuckles. Frantic as he tugs the hem of your shirt soaked through. The shorts at your hips- all red.

There is so much of it, so much of it that it pools around the two of you on the floor, slow and lazily, almost taunting Yoongi- just like the flames. Yoongi can do little more but watch you bleed out and hold you through it. Hold you as you die. Watch the red swallow you until there's nothing left of you. Just blood-soaked clothing. His breath hitches, suddenly painful in his lungs and his voice comes all at once. So loud it hurts him.  

“Namjoon- please- someone help me- someone-”

Yoongi wakes in the nest completely alone. Jerking up so fast that it makes him dizzy. He's too warm. Hot and balmy. Sweat soaks the front of his shirt.

He pushes himself up in the empty nest on shaking hands. Blinking, looking around at the folded blankets, the pillows at the rim of the nook, the absence of any other living soul here.

(that's not entirely true, Noodle is perched on a nearby pillow purring loudly. That's as much comfort as he can possibly offer as he's sworn to hate his arch-nemesis for eternity. Even though Yoongi sort of gives the best chin rubs- although Noodle would never confess it and will take the secret to his grave).

The high ceilings are dark and hollow, the whole room drenched in that half twilight of closed drapes. Empty even though Yoongi looks- searching for his packmates, searching for anything to make his chest feel not so tight.

Noodle purrs loudly and blinks slow.

The Christmas lights have been turned off- probably to help him sleep. The light streaming through the cracks in the curtains is dissonant. But the room is quiet and cluttered- Hobi’s monstera looks freshly misted in the corner, and humidity clings to the windows and skylight up high.

Yoongi pulls himself up and heaves out a shaky breath. Chest tight. You- he needs to find you. Find you and make sure- make sure you're not- Yoongi lets out a shaky breath. A dream, that's all it was. Just a dream. But part of him can't believe it. What if it wasn't?

It’s still hard to tell. The panic won’t leave his lungs. At the front of his nose is the scent of burning things- and that is very very real.

It looks like the omega’s piled the blankets around him, a smaller ring of fluffy blankets to keep the last slumbering packmate safe from outside eyes. But with so many blankets- Yoongi has overheated. He's sweaty and sticky and gross feeling. He should probably shower before he goes downstairs, probably, but-

He needs to make sure you're alright, right now- before he falls apart. Noodle mewls lightly and pulls himself over to Yoongi, pushing up against his trembling fingers, licking at them until Yoongi scratches his chin.

It takes him a second, staring down at his sweat-soaked shirt- to distinguish that it is not blood, blinking and mistaking the light behind his eyes for red.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything and doesn’t call out for anyone. Can’t do anything but detangle himself from the mess of blankets and Noodle and follow the smell of burning things down down down the stairs. Feeling like a ghost with a bad taste in his mouth. A vague pressure behind his eyes and a numbness in his arms and hands from lying on them for so long. His blood circulates slowly and sluggishly.

You are standing on a kitchen stool when he skitters to a stop on bare feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Yoongi has to blink a few times to make sure he's not dreaming, that the walls are the same light pink color they always were. Not brick red but not creamy plaster white- off color like the flush at your cheeks.

The sweater you wear is Hobi's- extra big especially at the wrists, pulling down all the way to your elbow as you reach up to stop the beeping from the smoke alarm with a wave of a newspaper. Nose wrinkled at the smell of smoke. You don't have the crusties at your eyes and your skin is glossy. Seokjin probably did your skincare routine for you as the pack omega is prone to do with so much extra time for fussing these days.

There is no one else in the house but you. The top layer of the air in the kitchen is cloudy with smoke. Yoongi watches you and scrubs a hand over his face. You do not turn and look at Yoongi in the doorway, although you know it’s him just because you can sense when your mate comes close, either scenting him on the air or through the dull pulse of the mating park.

Your sense of smell has been getting a little bit better recently. Yoongi knows better than to chalk it up to your weight gain but your health checkup earlier this week had been a lot more promising than the one before. Yoongi had gone to the appointment with you, and you’d perked up almost immediately when you realized he wasn’t going to give you the distant silent treatment again, all but skipping into the exam room.

He’d even let you hold his hand while they took your blood. He’s never had the heart to leave you scared. Never. Not even when he's angry at you.

Your hormones are leveling out, although there are no signs of you going into heat yet. Another 3 months of no change and you've promised Namjoon to at least talk about hormone therapies.

Tae had reassured you that it wasn't so bad with a kiss on your forehead and a hand at your hip. Covering the place where you, like Tae, might one day receive the weekly injections by Namjoon's hands.

It’s daunting. The idea of sitting through the same kind of treatment that Tae gets; the clink of the glass bottles on the counter, the pearly sound of glass hitting tile. The cold swipe of a swab and the press of a needle.

Namjoon’s always gentle.

You'd be inclined to just leave it alone- but your doctor had been very insistent, something about possible fertility issues if you want to have pups one day.  It’s hard to get pregnant outside of a heat, nearly impossible. This isn't an issue that can be just pushed under the rug if pups are something you want to have with the pack someday.

Namjoon and Tae had perked up a little when the idea of pups had been broached. But Yoongi had remained at the fringes of the room- silent. Yoongi thinks about your scent changing the same way Tae's did- how it went from cinnamon and pepper to cinnamon and roses.

He'd never tell her because Yoongi would never want to make Tae feel self-conscious about her own much-needed changes, but he doesn't like the idea of your scent changing the same way.

Deep down Yoongi wonders if you’d want to have pups if it wasn’t what the pack wanted. He’s not sure he’d be able to handle it, a little bundle of you and him and the whole big fucking world with all its wicked people. Yoongi knows peace now but still doesn't trust it. Wouldn't trust it especially if it was just him and you and a little life- so unprotected and vulnerable.

Yoongi doesn’t like feeling this way; vulnerable.

He breathes in a deep breath of your scent, warm and sweet and slightly smooth, not frazzled or scared sour (the way he first knew your scent to be, back before he even knew that you smelled like cake and not rain). You smell completely unaffected, unworried, and unharmed. You don't smell at all like you would have in Yoongi's dream. You don't smell like you're dying.

So why is his heart still beating out of his chest?

He crosses the kitchen in a few shakey strides, just as you start to speak. “Hobi made pancakes but Jin and him started making out and they like totally forgot about them! So they’re out getting breakfast sandwiches, I didn’t wanna wake you so I just got you-”

Your voice cuts off abruptly as Yoongi lines his face up with your spine and plants his nose there, breathing in your scent once, then again shaky. Nuzzling into your lower back. Arms around your waist, gripping your hips.

You make a little noise, questioning, looking down at him with a mixture of shock and concern. and you should be shocked and concerned- it's been nearly a month since your mate hugged you- let alone clutched you to his chest like this. It’s roughly the same sound that Noodle makes when you wake him up with pets.

He holds around your waist as you stand on the ladder, three feet up. His hands tangle with the fabric at your hips. he blinks looking down and away, at the floor.

“Yoongi!? What’s wrong?”

Dimly, he's aware that he’s supposed to be angry at you. He flushes, the blood hot and pink at his cheeks. You’re not supposed to be speaking really- at least not about things that matter and to be fair- Yoongi cannot speak right now. Burying his face in your back until the feeling of your blood on his hands is a distant memory. Feeling the warmth of your skin until the idea of you cold and still no longer bothers him.

Not a memory- a dream. Not a memory. He has to remind himself a second time. Remind himself enough that by the time he doesn't belive it the space to answer your question comes and goes.

Your eyebrows lower and you set a hand on his head, threading routinely into his hair- long, shaggy and dark. And he pushes further into your skin and into your touch the same way plants press into sunlight.

Yoongi is so tired of being angry, he's so tired of being scared. Your hand touches his cheek and his eyes flutter. Lips parting. Namjoon cuddled him just last night- but Yoongi will always be touch starved just for you.

Your breath hitches, "Oh Yoongi."

his arms tighten around you, like he's worried you're going to slip through his arms like smoke. "Bad dream?" You ask, it's a state that you are only too familiar with as he hums non-committal. you turn around halfway so that you can put your hands on his shoulders and touch him. Yoongi almost wants to keen at the contact, almost wants to tell you he likes it too much- which would be embarrassing. He nods against your back.

He missed this, missed this A lot. He missed you. Yoongi's eyes are itchy.

This is the first time he’s held you since you almost left, besides that moment in the car when you were both so angry and so broken it hardly mattered. Yoongi swallows, and he still can’t speak when he tries. Hiding his face in your spine, your hip when you turn, back hugging you because even on a ladder he is still mostly taller than you. Shaking faintly, still shaking off the fucking dream.

His voice is croaky, not all there when his voice box finally cooperates. “Can you get off?"

You get down from the stepstool instantly. His hands tangle in the side of your shirt to steady you. Unwilling to go more than a few inches from you. You're always so wobbly in the mornings before you've eaten and Yoongi is ever mindful.

The sweater you wear has a small doodled bunch of flowers on the front, a botanical print. Yoongi thinks he remembers if vaguely- from a trip Hobi and Namjoon took to the botanical garden a few years ago. It's got holes in the arms like Hobi has snagged it one too many times on rose bushes. Yoongi threads his fingers through them and holds on.

You stare up at him from the floor like you’re waiting for his instruction. Eyes wide and glassy and pretty and alive.

Yoongi stills, breath hitching- at the sight of a bit of red on your lips.

It's off to the side, on your bottom lip almost hidden by where your smile sits. Yoongi's face crumples a little at the sight of it.

Yoongi reaches up with shaking hands to touch it, wiping it away. You follow his hand. He looks down at the smudge on his finger. The little bit of red.

“Oh! That was from Tae she-" You break off when he pulls you back to him, crushing you to his chest. And you surely can’t know what’s going wrong or what Yoongi’s just dreamed but you let him man handle you regardless.

He's sort of glad that no one else is home, that it's just you and him here for a few moments. The quiet of the house is all encompassing- beyond the sound of wind sneaking under the windowsills and the pitter-patter of the drizzle outside. Noodle meows dolefully from the stairs, coming to see why Yoongi had abandoned him so abruptly (the nerve of him.)

Yoongi rests his full weight on you, crushing you to his chest. You push his hair back away from his face, and Yoongi keeps his eyes closed like that will keep the feeling here for longer. Like he's worried if he opens his eyes the nightmare will be here again.

Your hands, his face, small fingers that push at the wetness that he doesn’t name dripping under his eyes. His breath comes out in short little gasps.

There is rain outside, pattering against the window. It’s been raining a lot over the last few days. Soaking the soil in the pre-spring cold. It won't be long now and everything will be green again. Hobi will plant the window boxes, and you'll be able to put the ferns out. You and Tae will start wearing your matching dresses all the time and it will become Yoongi's job to cut the watermelon because he's the only one in the house trusted besides Jin with the big knives. He'll cut up orange slices and peaches and strawberries too. Everything for his loves and their hungry mouths and hungry hearts.

Soon but not yet. Spring and summer are just around the corner but they're not here yet and yoongi is painfully aware of that.

You don’t ask him why he’s crying; you don’t look him in the eyes when he opens them, just continue your careful petting through his hair, eyes flickering up, then down and away. The twist of your lips is guilty.

You are not bleeding; you are alive and Yoongi cannot stand it. The weight of memories he didn’t live weighs on him, still memories. He breathes out a shaky breath. And double-checks his fingers are absent of blood after he rubs over your throat. Checking.

You pull at him, hands on his shoulders. “Come on-“

You pull him through the quiet halls, and into the room at the very back of the house. Noodle follows too with a jingle of his purple bell collar.

The windows here are cracked to let in the chilly spring air- pushing out the last mustyness of winder and bringing with it the smell of rain. The nesting nook is dark and cozy-tempting; but full of stuffed animals and extra nesting pillows that you scoop out of the interior and put on the floor with such care. Lining them up against the outside of the nook. All to make room for him.

Yoongi holds onto the hem of your sweater, rubbing a fist against his eye. Like a clingy child. But he has to let you go when you turn. he can feel the pout on his face and you reach up to smooth it out. You only pause for a second, briefly, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Yoongi shakes his head, still wordless, unable to make his mouth cooperate. You don’t say anything, you don’t do anything but pull him into the warm dark quiet of the nesting nook.

Yoongi hasn’t spent so much time with you in here, but it’s surprisingly well-ventilated, the woven fabric sides of it dark but breathable. There’s not a lot of room but you make it work. Scooting back and pulling him down and down and down.

You pull him to rest against your chest, between your legs. Your hips splayed to let him curl up and nuzzle into you- in something like a full-body hug. Yoongi is too tired and too shaky to protest. He can’t even say he doesn’t want to but you check anyway- your movements slow as you get him situated.

Your heartbeat thuds quick against his fingertips. Yoongi wants to tell you that you don’t need to be scared, you don’t need to be afraid of overstepping. But can’t make his mouth cooperate.

His arms loosely circle around your waist, and then harder to crush you against him. At this position, you have full reign to run your fingers through his hair, over his shoulders, and down and up again. He knows he smells sweaty and probably rancid. But he nuzzles into your skin at the low neckline of the sweater. He puts his ear against your heart. Thud thud thud. Slowing down and evening out. You're right here and just under him, safe, and his eyelids are so heavy.

“Is this better? Do you need to go back to sleep?” Yoongi nods and doesn’t need to say another word.

Sleep rises up frightfully quick to meet him. He's not at all convinced that he hasn't dreamed it all. Finding you, coming here, and curling up. A dream within a dream. A good one in exchange for the nightmare earlier.

But this time he doesn’t dream at all, and even if he does, it’s only the sound of your heartbeat- thud thud thud. His own heartbeat thins out, and the tenseness in his shoulders relaxes.

Yoongi wakes up because a tomato has just fallen on his face.

You’re trying to be quiet, but Hoseok understandably laughs from where he’s holding out a half-unwrapped breakfast sandwich into the nesting nook for you to take a bite. Yoongi can vaguely place the words just whispered over his head. 'You guys eat without us, I don't want to wake him' 'Okay, but have a bite first- you know they're better when they're warm' 

Your laughter shakes against his cheek, your jaw clicks as you chew, and when he picks himself up, the tomato slides down his face, syrup slow. Until it flops against your throat. You and Hobi devolve into louder giggles and Yoongi can't stop the laugh that comes from his chest too.

The ruse is up, and you're all laughing. “Oh my god Hobi you promised to be quiet,”

Hoseok's one knee depresses the side of the nesting nook as he leans. Grinning down at Yoongi. Long fingers splayed around his ribs, making Yoongi shiver. The alpha pulls at his hips, and Yoongi feels a bit like a chew toy but in the best way, to be between the two of you laughing. “Come on Yoon- we’ve got you one too-“

Yoongi lets you both puppet him into the other room. Stumbling between the two of you. Until Hobi ducks low and nuzzles, and Yoongi just resorts to watching the two of you.

The way your hand goes from holding Yoongi's to touching Hobi's palm, then back to his like a bumblebee darting between flowers. A small smile works its way onto Yoongi's face. Even more when you pinch Hobi's ass and Hobi acts appropriately scandalized. Only you could get in on his and Jungkook's near-perpetual ass-touching competition.

(Yoongi's smile grows wider without him even realizing it).

There is a spread on the dining room, three heavy brown paper bags not just of breakfast sandwiches wrapped in checkered paper but biscuits in syrupy gravy, french toast sticks with honey yellow syrup, and a whole tray of tater tots that Jin pops into his mouth with a satisfying crunch. Half of the pack is still in their pajamas; it can't be later than 11.

Namjoon and Jimin are noticeably absent from the table- at work. But Hobi, Jin, and Tae are setting up the plates. Jungkook's already showered from his morning run- his hair all locky and tangled.

Tae looks a vision in a pair of flared yoga pants and Yoongi just blinks at her thighs, not realizing he’s staring until Hobi pinches his thigh for it. You laugh too and pull out the chair next to him with a squeak while Hobi hands out sandwiches and Jungkook cuts them into perfect triangles.

Yoongi blinks down at his plate, and he’s got a quarter of everyone’s sandwich on his, easily more than he can eat but still- You trade, cutting thirds and halves to try them all. Yoongi stares at them and feels fresh wetness on his lash line. Tae notices him staring, and she’s got sesame seeds stuck in what's left of her lipstick when she smiles.

“We didn’t know what you liked- so we got you two.”

And oh, Yoongi can’t breathe. The love in his chest bullies away the oxygen. How lucky he is to have people that get him two sandwiches instead of one, how lucky he is to have a house full of laughter and warm bellies and-

Hobi gets him a cup of coffee, Jin nurses his, thick-rimmed glasses and warm cheeks chubby as he looks across the table at Yoongi like he knows. He leans across the table to tangle their hands while he flips through his phone. Leaving the beta to his overfull heart.

“Tae- your nail appointment isn’t until 1- would you like Jinnie to curl your hair for you?”

“Can we try a new style this time? Space buns?” Tae asks so so sweetly- already wearing lipgloss even though she must have barely left the house. The smile never falters, just spreads wider when he stares at the glossy pink.

Jin hums, happy, "Of course."

"I love you guys" Yoongi whines. looking at Jin because he can't look at you. Telling everyone- because he can't tell just you. And really it's the truth. Jin blinks and looks up at him. A smile spreading on his chubby cheeks.

"Aw- someone's sappy." Hobi teases. "For the record, love you too"

"for the record; He just woke up" You peck the back of Yoongi's neck and shivers erupt all over his body. you lean behind him to swat at Hobi's shoulder. "Give him a break." The sound of chairs scraping hides Yoongi's whine and his blush.

"For the record, Love you too bun,"

Tae snorts, eyebrows knitting together as Jungkook sits on her lap instead of the chair right next to him. "Weird, but I like it" she pauses, "for the record."

Yoongi rolls his eyes, "oh my god stop-"

"For the record; Hobi started it."

"You guys call me bunny and bun all the time- I should be able to use it too!" Jungkook smirks, pausing for dramatic effect. "for the record."

Yoongi groans and you giggle. "Okay I'm done," Yoongi's smiling anyway

You sit, a little clumsy, and your coffee spills a little onto the dark wood table. Jin wipes it up with a tut, eyes still on the schedule. “There’s nothing else much for today just Tae’s appointment. Anyone else want to do anything?”

“Wanna cook together tonight?” You ask, Yoongi pulls your chair over to rest against his properly, he can still pull you over with little effort but it’s getting harder each day.

It’s a good sort of hard. You have half of a sandwich on your plate a quarter of Tae’s and another small corner in your hand half gone already. Yoongi should start working out with Jungkook- so that he’s as strong as you need him to be.

You look at him, and then down at your nearly pressing thighs, “wanted you to be closer to me.” He says, and then cringes, Hobi laughs at him and hits his plate with a metal clink. You just hum and turn back to your breakfast. Yoongi can see the smile in the curve of your cheek, can see it in full when he turns your face to wipe away the sesame seeds stuck to your mouth too.

"Yeah, what do you want to make Jin?"

You talk it through. You and Yoongi and Jin- easily launching into what you'll make, what you'll bake and barter for another night of full bellies and a full house of love. and although it involves a trip to a grocery store, it's easily set into motion.

Hobi asks you if you’ll walk with him to work today, he has to go in a few minutes and it’s not that far of a walk. 10 minutes. Half a mile.

But you say you’ll go only if Yoongi does too and he’s agreeing before he even realizes it. But as far as mornings go, walking Hobi to work and getting to walk home with you isn’t the worst way things could go. Not by far. Neither is the way that you tug his jacked tighter against his throat in the doorway of the flower shop. The roses in the windowsill all yellow.

“I’m really not all that cold.”

“Still, I always want you to be warm”

"I like taking walks after breakfast," you say after another few minutes of walking. Light. Calm. The cold air encourages more pink from your cheeks. The sun streaming through the leafless branches now that the storm has pulled off.

"We can do it tomorrow if you want." Whatever you want.

Maybe you’ll even hold hands (you will, Yoongi will reach for your hand first, and you’ll walk in quiet that isn’t so quiet all turn to you pointing to someone’s porch and the flowers they’ve already put out in their pots. Bright pansies, splotches of color among the springtime drudgery, and the million shades of grey and taupe.

“Do you think we can plant flowers soon?” Yoongi will say maybe, but Hobi will bring a flat of pansies home before either of you can text and ask.

But that will be later. For now, Yoongi just looks at you next to him on the dining room table, thumb rubbing up and down your thigh, forgetting to chew as he looks at you. Forgetting to take a bite of the sandwich slowly falling apart in his hands. The cheese and the egg sliding out. Both yellow, both yummy, both needed. 

Yoongi looks at you until Tae reaches over to pinch his thigh and he jumps. The egg in his sandwich slips out, hitting his plate with a slap.

Yoongi smiles, (really, the love is spreading like wildfire, slipping in through the windows like beams of sunlight, moving easily and unabated, like light through air).

“Eat your breakfast hyung- it’s getting cold.” She chirps.

Yoongi gladly complies, hungrier than he's been in years.

(In the end, forgiveness is not something that is inevitable. Forgiveness is something that you want to give, you have to want it with that person and they have to want it too. You have to give.

Yoongi will give and give and give.)

~-~

It happens on one of those evenings:

The nesting room is silent with the sound of sleeping packmates. The long curtains piled on the floor and two sets of bunny slippers sit unattended by the nest entrance because Jungkookie’s toes get cold sometimes and you like to match. His blue and yours pink. The Christmas lights up above are dimmed to a soft moonlit glow, lighting the bodies of your sleeping pack; gentle and heaped like sweet pavlova.

The door at the top of the stairs is open. There’s nothing to keep out tonight; no darkness or bad dreams. Nothing to fight off besides the vague feeling of childlike adventure that you gladly welcome inside. Not the sound of Noodle zooming around downstairs or the creeks of the house that’s almost finished.

Almost, it’s getting there. Yoongi has been working hard.

You and Hobi turn restless tonight. The only ones truly awake. Not with unease or with nightmares- too real and long gone. It’s not the memories of people with silver hair and dishonest smiles that keep you awake. Those villains are for dragons vanquished or papers in ashes that will never rise again to taunt you with their secrets.

There is no tower that you’re trapped in, at least not physically. Even mentally too. Any mental foes or sickness left in the confines of your head can wait until a later date.

Maybe it’s because of the full moon, the pearl bubble of your soul that matches and turns and keeps you awake, restless beneath the pink light. Maybe it’s because you both napped earlier with Yoongi in the nesting pod.

You’ve been doing that a lot more frequently over the last few days, taking little moments with Yoongi; spending breakfast in bed, cooking together most nights, sitting next to him always. Even small dates. Not even fancy ones but silly little outings that make you feel younger than you are.

Trips to his old coffee shop where he met Jin. His and Hobi's old record store, and Hobi's flower shop. Sometimes you leave separately and meet there to make it feel more like a date date. And Yoongi pretends he's surprised by the color of lipstick that Tae chose and you admire the ruffle of his tousled hair (he fussed with it for a few minutes in his car).

You'd never had a chance to date properly the first time.

It makes your relationship feel newer than it is. It makes you feel like you're making an effort instead of just having fun with your mate. It makes you feel like the drips of yellow paint on your sleeve- that had gotten there during the little sip and paint that you did last Thursday.

You'd gotten so giggly on cheap wine that you had to call Namjoon to pick you both up. You’d gotten handsy in the backseat and filled the car with the scent of arousal strong enough that Namjoon’s knuckles had gone white on the steering wheel. Barely a brain cell to scrape together to concentrate on driving.

Or the next day when you’d gotten dolled up just to go to different bakeries and sample cakes, eating them in the car with the windows rolled all the way down and the heat blasting. “This ones so good, have a bite.”

The two of you might be foodies actually, you might have found a shared hobby with it- testing pastries and food. You like the little things like fancy chocolates and fancy teas. It’s going to be your thing- the sweets. You can tell.

But for now, Yoongi sleeps peacefully not far from you as you look over at Hobi, eyes open in the darkness, face upturned, chest rising and falling just a bit too quick for him to be totally asleep. The windows are open and the night air is cool. You can press as close to the others as you want and you won't get too hot. You'd taken full advantage of this hours ago, snug tight under Namjoon's arm. His soft snore a special sort of lullaby.

You haven’t felt this calm in years. It doesn't make you choke up because you've felt this way before and you're getting used to it. The springtime air smells like rain, like the ocean already although you know it sits miles and miles away.

It might be another false spring- but the pack takes what it can get.

The nest is still quiet when you turn to Hobi and find his eyes open and bright in the darkness. Namjoon’s phone on the shelf reads 5:04 am. It's early enough to go back to bed but instead, you scoot over to Hobi when you see he’s awake, gently setting yourself first over Namjoon’s chest and then sliding down his other side to get to him.

Quieting Hobi’s sleepy giggles with an equally sleepy kiss pressed unhurried to his lips. His hands come up loosely to circle your waist, tired, sleepy. Your lips stay pressed for a breath too long. And Hobi shivers at the feeling of your warm skin pressed to his cold cheek.  

It’s still dark outside, not even the faintest breath of the sunrise cresting the trees. You lie there on your stomach, looking at him and stroking a hand down his cheek in the darkness. You just watch him until he turns at you. A bright mischievousness in his eyes. A bad idea or a very good one depending on how you look at it- cresting his mind.

“You know if we leave right now, we can probably get to the beach before sunrise.”

Bad ideas are made better when chased with dreams, it’s only been a month since everything went down, and maybe two since this got normal between the two of you. The kissing, the looks, the touching. That’s different, but it's still just you and Hobi.

He's still your best friend.

The softness runs a little deeper now. He'll always understand you a little better, a little more than the others. Although you'll give them a few years to try and catch up. Hoseok's love is a little softer, like a sunrise instead of a sunset. With no bursts of color just dark blue one minute and light blue the next, baby blue to blush tones to that weird yellow green of the sunlight.

You smile into the next kiss, eyes opening wider now, and you know you won't easily go back to sleep. “Yeah? Want to go?”

His kiss already tastes like saltwater. “Yeah, come on.”

Getting out of the nest without rousing your packmates proves to be too much of a challenge. (And really you think Yoongi would have a heart attack if you tried to leave without at least telling him where you've gone. He might have forgiven you, but you know better than to poke at his wounds.)

Namjoon groans while Yoongi blinks away the darkness behind his eyes, a big hand closing around your wrists, stopping you when Hobi’s already off the bed. “Pups? Where are you-”

“Just to the beach Joonie,” Hobi ducks to press a kiss to Namjoon’s forehead the same moment you kiss Yoongi’s lips, puckering in sleep and making a soft sweet noise. Your mate smells so good- rolling waves of sweet chocolate- so good that it has you not wanting to leave at all. You linger, kissing Yoongi again when the temptation becomes too much.

He opens his eyes and grins at you. "Want company?"

“You don't have to, we’ll be careful! Promise.”

"Where you going?"

He blinks back his sleepiness but no sooner have you explained what you're doing than are Yoongi's arms going around your waist to pull you in. Sitting up too at the same time. Careful to keep his voice low to not wake the others.

“Let me come with,” Hobi is already grinning, hair sticking up in the back after he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. Namjoon shimmies to the end of the nest apparently coming too- only to knock into Seokjin because Namjoon is always sort of clumsy in the mornings and he always gets a bit tangled in the blankets you roll up to construct the edge of the nest.

Jin’s plush lips pout, eyes squinting in the darkness, “Guys? What’s-”

Then Jin trips over Jimin's legs and the alpha shoots up straight, jostling both Tae and Jungkook (folded under either arm) and everyone is awake and sharing plans.

You tug on warmer clothes because Jin fusses; fuzzy socks, and thick cable knit sweaters. Jin doesn’t bother to put his contacts in, black-rimmed glasses balancing on his nose. A thick scarf that he won’t really need teasing at his rosy cheeks.

together you guide a soft and sleepy Jk down the stairs. Scrubbing at his eyes all puppy cute while you’re morning zoomy. Barely pausing to kick off your bunny slippers. Jimin gets down to tie Tae’s laces so she doesn’t have to bend over so early in the morning.

By the time you get down to the ground floor of the house, the light is already turning the sky a lighter shade of blue. And Hoseok is pushing everyone out the door, sometimes physically, with cries of “Quick! Before we miss it!”

For once, you don’t take two cars. This time you pile all in Hobi’s red car (thankfully gotten back from the police with all but minimal scratches and a hefty fine that Namjoon had reluctantly paid). You sit on each other's laps, ducking your head whenever you see oncoming cars in case they might be cops. (You haven't learned your lesson quite yet, but there is time- you don't have to grow up quite yet).

Tae sits on Jimin’s lap. Hands wrapped around her middle, talking softly over the color of her nails (yellow with chrome, making them look almost buttery). Jungkook sits on Namjoon's lap (the alpha tucks his face into Jungkook’s hair, a little long, a little shaggy, intent on going back to sleep.) And you sit in the middle seat on Yoongi's (playing with your mate's hands, turning them over and over again in yours, until he squeezes them lacing them through.)

The pack omega gets princess treatment on account of having the longest legs. Feet Crossed daintily on the dashboard where it not for his thick slides. Hobi drives and fucks with the playlist. But he doesn't need one. Leaves it alone for once in favor of listening.

Yoongi laughs and you ask him why he is. "Don't take this the wrong way but your ass is so boney, my leg is going numb."

"See! I told you you should come with me to pilates!"

"I'm no princess-"

"No- that's me." Jin snorts from the front seat.

"Joonie that tickles."

It’s only a 15-minute drive on the windy backroads, not so unsafe. Not so necessary that you’ll think about taking two cars and separating your little bundle of love into two places. Headlights crest the hills of shrub roses and shrub oak trees, leggy and just beginning to leaf out.

How is it nearly spring already? When did winter pass? Yoongi’s arms never release your waist, he keeps you like that, close and safe until you skitter into the parking lot.

Jin leaves his red scarf in the car. It sits there in the backseat, a heap of red thread whining over and over again, giving warmth that’s no longer needed. A string of fate organized and neat.

The parking lot at the beach is empty at this time of year and at this time of day. There is no snow piled up in heaps, only remnants in the forms of shallow silver pools and puddles that you traipse through with little regard to the state of your socks. The ocean air is warm, unseasonably so. You’re a mess of tangled limbs and pajamas. Laughs and- “oh my god I have to pee-”

Yoongi loses one of his slides on the way out and Jungkook steals it from the pavement. Running off with it and leaving him to hobble on one foot, only to bring it back after a second. And you let Yoongi place his hand on your shoulder for balance while he slides his sock back into it. Worried about getting his socks wet. His hair ruffled and eyes crusty but the sun-

The sun is bright and hot against your cheeks, wind whipping picking up your hair as it crests the horizon. You run out to the edge of the ocean, your legs fighting to keep up with Jungkook who's faster than you now that he's fully awake.

Water soaks pajama hems and you tread a little too close to the shore. It's low tide and the sea is far out. Sea spoils dot the wet sand, joining the reflection of the sky up above and the stars winking out one by one as the sky lightens slow.

You’re the first one to lift your hands, to shout and run as fast as you can (which isn’t very fast at all, so it’s a good thing they give you a head start) but the others follow without much preamble. Giggling and rushing to get to the sea in time.

It’s warm- the wind coming off the sea is warm and damp and lovely. Spring is here, happiness is here- and it might never be going away again. Not if you can help it and not if you hold onto it. You have seven other people to help you hold on tight and never let go.

No matter how hard it gets- you’ll hold onto it. You promise. (Promise me okay?)

Jungkook catches up to you first in the warm sunny sand. He picks you up and twirls you round and round. Shaking you a little, the same way that Noodle might shake a toy. You giggle, high and melodic.

You only see it for a second, spinning round and round- but the rest of them Seokjin, Namjoon, Hoseok, Tae, Jimin, Yoongi- they all stop where they’re running and watch. You’re dizzy when Jungkook stops, his grin pressed to your shoulder, arms hard under your shoulders. Clinging to him still- not putting you down because you’re dizzy and he’s still lifting you up.

“Jungkook- oh my god put me down- I’m heavy Koo- ” You’re a little panicked, a little startled, but laughing all the while.

“Not really. I can still carry you.” He tosses you up and catches you- shrieking even though you don’t really leave his hands. Clinging to him, scared of the weightlessness before he sets you down where you teeter, unsteady, dizzy but still laughing.

Your hands stay around his shoulders, on your tippy toes, and he raises his eyebrow at you.

The others catch up and Jimin leans down to squeeze around your middle. Salt air tickles your forehead.“You’re like hardly a work out-“

Yoongi’s teeth worry away at his lower lip, “guys-“

Jimin shows you it’s not a big deal by heaving you up and over his shoulder. leaving you shrieking again.

“Minnie no!”

"Minnie yes"

Jungkook and Jimin take off and Hobi and Yoongi chase them down, you feel a bit like a chew toy but in the best way, in the way that makes your stomach light and crinkly from the giggles and laughter. You end up with your knees in the sand and Jungkook against your stomach. Hobi behind you, hands fighting Jungkook's. wrestling over you until none of you have anymore energy for it. All of you are covered in sand but you're laughing so hard you taste salt.

You end up sitting there, at the edge of the storm line, where the sand goes hard and crusty at your feet but light and fluffy by your hands. You watch the rest of the sunrise like that. The good part. The best part when the colors bleed across the blue horizon line all yellow and gold.

Namjoon holds out a hand for Jin to get down, a bit more dignified than your sprawling mess of pups. And the pack omega leans sideways against Yoongi’s shoulder. Complaining squeakily about the state of his knees.

You settle against the sand. The eight of you curled close to keep out the last bit of cold. Eyes burning as you watch the sunrise and can't tear your eyes away. Until the sky turns that unmatched shade of blue, the kind that is never quite replicated by nature. Not in roses or daisies or in the color of people’s eyes. Everything blue blue blue.

Your sweatshirt is one of Yoongi's, the same color. Tae’s nails are that purple-blue too as she holds Jimin’s hand in the sand. The same color as the tiny piece of sea glass that Hobi pulls from between his legs because he somehow always finds sea glass. The best at finding lost things.

His hand slides around your middle, pulling you to rest firmly against the hollow of his chest. And his other raises to show you the little fleck of sea glass. Balanced on his index finger.

"It's a lucky find," you say. Hoseok hums behind you. Agreeing. Warm.

Later, you look over at him in the bagel shop (because if you’re going to have an early morning outing then it might as well come with breakfast and coffee.) You sit together with Hobi, Waiting for your sandwiches and your lattes.

Namjoon, Yoongi, and Jin sit at one table and bicker over the merits of avocado toast. While Tae, Jimin, and Jungkook take over the other playing some game that involves flicking a quarter over each of their sides and playing footsie under the table too.

Although Namjoon and Jimin will get frustrated and tug all of the red and white metal tables together before long- No one has the mind for it yet. All of you are still sleepy and pupish and young in a way that you haven't been, haven't felt in such a long time.

Growing up can wait for a day more, growing up can always always wait.

(You haven't thought about it at all today- what Geumjae did to you. You haven’t thought about the hurts in your past at all today and you won’t, the day will pass and it won’t weigh on you, you won’t even notice. That’s the way healing goes- you hardly notice)

(Later there will be food and you won’t think about eating it at all. Hoseok will make your sandwich up just the way you like it and you won't even have to ask for it. You'll eat the same way you love, messy like children but with so much hope in it.)

At the bagel shop, You’ll reach over and wipe your thumb across his lips to get some cream cheese off and it will be the first breakfast of many you’ll spend with him. How lovely is it- to get to spend mornings with the people you love? How lovely it is to lose track of the days and hours and kisses. To not count first kisses anymore and only count more.

You and Hobi are quiet where you sit at the metal tables, it’s not an uncomfortable silence, unbroken by ego or arrogance or anything of the sort. He looks over and smiles at you.

And because he asks, “What are you thinking about?” You give him an honest answer.

“Being at the beach like that,” Your hands play with the piece of blue sea glass he got you, your pockets are full of them because you spent a few minutes once the sun was up walking until the others called you back. Hand in hand, stopping only to pick up more.

“With the sunrise and the sunlight all around us, It kinda felt like the world was giving me a really big hug, do you think that’s stupid?”

(Neither you nor Hobi is thinking about what was done to you. Not even a little bit, not even at all. I hope you never think about it either. I hope you get to have days where you don't remember. Where you forget what it was like to need to be strong. May the prey animal part of you that lingers in your body and remembers be turned soft and docile with age. May you forget what it's like to be hunted and afraid. I hope you forget him. The man who hurt you. I hope you forget what he looks like and the sound of his voice. I hope you forget it all.)

“I don’t think that’s stupid at all.”

He pulls his chair over to your side of the table and puts his chair right next to yours so that your thighs can touch. Even though it’s a public place and even though it’s probably not appropriate. He pecks your shoulder and squeezes around your waist extra tight, grinning. It’s an awkward sideways hug but he pulls you as close as he can until it forces a giggle from your stomach. His palms press flat against your stomach and his thumb rubs up and down. Slowly.  

“In case you want one more, what’s another hug after all?”

~-~

Notes:

It's a sweet sort of irony, that this chapter is going to be posted when the people who live in the bily house are getting married <3 like what are the odds of that.

i think that this chapter is the real like- spot between the chapter chapters of bily and the epilogue! i think you can kind of feel it in the way that the chapter ends.

it's so like me to accidentally talk about tae's boobs for a few paragraphs i can't help it her tiddies are just so special to me. like 10/10, i saw a picture of dita von tess and just so you know...in my mind after tae gets a boob job- which she will- this is just me forshadowing it- thats the kinda tiddies she gets <3 cute lemon shaped ones!

the line about tae liking hyung more than oppa to use for the other members of the pack- is just kinda edgeing on an idea i've had for a while about my own gender thoughts- and thats that you can take what you like and what you don't like from each gender and make it what you want regardless of how you identify.

it's easy to forget that yoongi is also traumatized too you know? he needs so much hugs in this,

it always hits me how stylistically different i write the characters in bily- like this chapter i feel like i really got to develop yoongi's internal voice like- he's a very even cut of internal monologue, action, and sensation. different than the m/c who tends to be sensation first and then action, and jimin who is all bland sensation, and tae who has a very very strong internal monologue.

In many ways this chapter feels so like- stylistically light- like i think this entire series i've been trying to capture the feelings of found family- and you know-= this one gets alot of it right.

i’m literally going to burst into flames from how cute this fic is!!! yoongi is so caring for oc and oc is just a cutie patootie 🥹💓

Interlude | MYG | Four

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: The angst is angsting and the slow burn is burning. 

A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!  

 WC: 4.4K

[Membership]

← Previous | Series Masterlist | Next →

Your Tuesday had been a little bit hectic as the whole day was filled with customers coming in and out, ordering coffee and pastries from the selection you had spread. So much so that Miss Naru had asked Mina, the nice girl who worked the morning shift, to stay a couple more hours to help the two of you. 

Not only was it Valentine’s day, which meant all of the heart-shaped biscuits you baked sold like water, there was apparently a big announcement coming out, from one of HYBE’s most popular idols. Mina practically squealed as she got the notification on her phone, voice traveling so high pitched that it reached your bones. 

This Agust D guy was apparently going on tour in a few months, with dates in America and other places in Asia, and Mina was mumbling something about having to sign up for earlier access to tickets with some kind of membership from the military. 

You had next to no idea of what she was talking about, much more interested in watching the communal tip jar getting filled up as patrons were in a good mood while celebrating the holiday. 

There were so many happy girls with flowers under their arms, boys with small bear plushies, and even a CEO seemed to be ordering a gift basket for his wife, and another one for his mistress. At least that's what Miss Naru mouthed to you as she was scandalized upon hearing the man place the orders on his phone. 

You always loved Valentine’s day, having the fondest memories of your father buying you and Yeji a chocolate box for you to share. You had never celebrated it with a significant other, given the fact you never actually had a boyfriend, but you liked the decorations and the pastel colors and the heart-shaped things. 

One might say it was a purely capitalist holiday created to make single people feel lonely and to have couples spending money, but you never cared much about that. 

The weather, however, didn’t seem to agree with the mood you were in, as heavy clouds covered the sky and snow had been falling nonstop outside. It was so bad that it started to get dark around four thirty in the afternoon and schools were closing early. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind closing up by yourself, dear?” Miss Naru checked in with you once more. You shook your head to assure her it was fine and she continued: “If you see no one else is coming in, feel free to go home earlier, too, okay? Get home safe!”

You held your hand up, with your pinky and thumb stretched while your three middle fingers were down and against your palm, shaking your hand from side to side to say ‘you too’. 

Miss Naru had to go pick up her grandson from school, which is why she was leaving early and you were closing the coffee shop on your own for the first time. You were a little nervous about taking the bus home in case the snowstorm really hit, but your supervisor was entrusting you with the responsibility. 

You had already checked that your sister was also able to leave work early to pick up Ari and both of them were already on the way home, so that worked as a silver lining. 

Mina had been gone for a few hours at this point, so it was only you on the empty floor. The glass walls used to bring you a lot of comfort as you enjoyed looking at the blue skies on sunny days, but the darkness surrounding you made you feel uneasy. 

You started wiping the counters and the coffee machines, getting ready to close up in case no one else showed up and you could go home early. All of the chairs and tables were already set in their original position and–

The heavy thumping under your hands as you wiped the counter made you jump and look behind you, where an annoyed man in a suit was hitting the wood top to get your attention. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and the embarrassment at the pit of your stomach as you walked back to the till, an apologetic smile as you bowed. You were already grabbing for your phone to pull up the speech-to-text feature as you didn’t want to risk upsetting the customer even more. 

“Fucking finally, if you’re this slow while there’s no one else around I don’t want to know what happens when there’s actually people waiting.” you read on the screen of your phone, heart rate picking up uncomfortably in your chest as your palms ran clammy. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Your eyes found the man’s flushed face as you bit the inside of your bottom lip. It felt like you just swallowed a cotton ball, hands trembling as you had to look at his dried lips to read what he was saying. 

But it was the movement behind the man that really had your stomach turning with nausea, as the last person you wanted to see right now was just walking between the nearest tables. 

At any other time you’d be happy to see Yoongi, excited even. Your heart did skip a beat each time you saw his kind eyes and smile full of gums, but not right now. Right now, as this businessman was being rude to you, clearly yelling at your lack of response, you were so anxious that you didn’t know what to do. 

It felt like your chest was being squeezed tight, mouth opening and closing as not a single sound came out. You could tell the man had repeated his order a couple of times already and you were yet to type anything. 

You weren't the best at dealing with stressful situations, being put on the spot made you freeze and it hurt you all the more that Yoongi was seeing you like this. What would he think of you? 

Your brain immediately went into overthinking mode, coming up with every worst-case scenario it possibly could. Would Yoongi turn around and pretend he never came here in the first place? Would he stop coming altogether after watching this scene unfold? Would he laugh at your face, calling you weird? 

“Hello?!" the man snapped his fingers in front of your face. "What’s your problem? Are you deaf of something?" 

You really wished you hadn't looked at the man in time to see him saying that as tears pricked at your eyes. 

"What the fuck is your problem?" Yoongi was walking fast, putting himself in between you and the angry man. 

His back was to you, so you couldn’t really read his lips and see what the two of them were saying, but you did look at your phone, reading the jumbled mess of words being typed out automatically as the app picked up on words and phrases. 

Who the fuck are you

Doesn’t matter who the fuck I am the stand is obviously closed and you’re being a jerk to the worker 

Well she should have said something then not just stand there looking pathetic

I’m going to need you to take a step back and leave

Or what

You don’t want to find out

You locked your phone as you didn’t want to read that conversation anymore. You hated that Yoongi had to get involved, you had no idea who this man was and if he could get in trouble for defending you. Would you get in trouble? Could that guy get you fired? 

You really liked working here, you liked Mina and you likes Miss Naru and the pay was good, and it was a safer space then being out there–

A touch on your arm made you flinch, but before Yoongi could pull back and go too far, you reached for his arm in pure instinct, holding onto his wrist. When you looked up, the man was walking away, stomping his foot like a scolded child. A flash of adrenaline coursed through you like a shock wave and your knees faltered, but Yoongi’s hold on your arm was grounding and warm. 

“You okay?” signing with one hand was tricky, but you knew what he meant. 

You nodded your head. 

This guy wasn’t the first rude person you ever encountered and he wouldn’t be the last. There was no way for him to guess your condition, you didn’t have any physical tellings, and you didn’t wear the damn pin that said you had a hearing disability that you were given when you started working here. 

It felt separating more than inclusive, so you opted to not wear it, but maybe you should start. 

So you didn’t blame the guy for his outburst, nor his mean words, really. But it didn’t mean you weren’t hurt, it didn’t mean you weren’t scared, it didn’t mean you weren’t reminded of a bad time in your life where those kinds of encounters escalated. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that and get involved.” you told Yoongi as you let go of his wrist, albeit reluctantly, to be able to sign. “Do you know that man? Are you, like… In trouble now?” 

“Don’t worry, that guy was just a visitor. If anything, I could get him in trouble. I have enough power to make sure he never steps foot into the building again.” Yoongi told you as his lips moved and his hands made the perfect gestures, which caused a small smile to bloom on your lips. “What?” 

“That’s the longest you ever signed.” you pointed out as that giddy feeling started making its way back and your breathing slowly leveled. “And you got everything right.” 

“Are you proud?” the man smiled in that gorgeous way of his, pink lips pulling on the corner with a little smirk. 

“Very.” your smile was a little more genuine as you let out a heavy exhale, emptying your lungs and pulling more air in. “Can I get you anything? We’re not actually closed.”  

“No, I didn’t come here for coffee, I came here for you.” 

Did Yoongi have any idea what he did to you? You really hoped not, you weren’t quite ready to face your own crush on the man just yet. But it was impossible not to feel something for him when he kept coming back to see you day after day, sometimes he didn’t even order a drink! 

More often than not, Yoongi had been showing up during your lunch breaks and that’s when you really got to talk. You were slowly getting to know each other and Yoongi’s company was one you could easily get used to. In fact, you missed it whenever he didn’t show up. 

You kept wondering if he’d ever ask for your number. And if he didn’t, would it be okay for you to do so? 

You pointed to yourself with eyebrows slightly lifted and he nodded. 

“It’s about to snow a lot and I wasn’t sure you had a safe way to get home?” Yoongi explained, scratching the back of his head as he fiddled with the black beanie covering his hair; some of it still escaped underneath. 

“I’ll just take the bus.” you signed and waved the air, not wanting to worry him too much. “I think I’ll just close it off for the night, I don’t think anybody else is coming.” 

“Okay, yeah.” Yoongi nodded, but before you could say goodbye to him, he continued: “Will you let me drive you home?”

Your eyebrows moved as the offering surprised you a lot. You spent a lot of time over the past few weeks watching Yoongi, having to look at his face in order to properly communicate with him, read his lips and his expression to learn how to tell what he was feeling. You weren’t an expert on his social cues by any means, but you did pick up on the nervous movement of his almond eyes, how his bottom lip was a little more red than pink, as if he had been nibbling on it. 

Yoongi was nervous. As if offering you something so simple took great courage. 

And being in a car with Yoongi for a little while definitely beats taking the cramped bus and walking the few blocks to reach your home in the snow. So you said yes. 

The man was patient as he watched you finish closing up the shop and even helped you lock everything up. He stayed at the lounge area as you quickly made it into the staff locker room behind a PERSONNEL ONLY door where you changed your apron for your winter coat and picked your purse. 

You washed your face, re-applied a little spritz of your perfume and added your favorite clear gloss to your lips; hoping Yoongi wouldn’t think you were trying too hard. He was just giving you a ride because he was a decent human being and you had somewhat of a friendship going on, so maybe he just didn’t want you to die after slipping on fresh snow. 

Still, looking a little more put together and a little less I’m-just-out-of-an-eight-hour-shift couldn’t hurt anybody. 

When you met Yoongi again, he was just locking his phone and getting up as he signed: 

“I left my notebook in my studio. Do you mind if we stop there so I can pick it up?” 

“I’m allowed in your studio?!” you asked, too excitedly, making him smile. 

“Do you want to visit my studio?” his question was amused and you were already nodding. 

“You see my workspace all the time, it’s only fair I get to see yours.” 

Yoongi was chuckling and you couldn’t hear what it sounded like, but if you had to guess, you’d say it must sound smooth as chocolate, but with a raspiness to it that would absolutely melt you into a puddle. 

The man guided the way to the elevator, down to the sixth floor and through a dark hallway with warm lights that lit up with movement. The deeper you walked, the more art pieces you saw at every corner. All of the studios you walked by were seemingly deserted and Yoongi stopped in front of the one called ‘Genius Lab 2.0’. 

A mat of a cat flipping people off was right at the front of the door, where Yoongi left his shoes. You did the same, slipping out of your snickers, before following him inside. As he turned the lights on to bathe the space in warm lighting with neon at the edges, you took off your winter coat as the small room was clearly already too hot. 

The first thing you noticed –it was kinda hard not to– was the big rug covering almost the whole floor, with bold letters spelling ‘KEEP OFF’, which wasn’t the most welcoming, so you just stood by the entrance awkwardly until Yoongi called you deeper. 

The second thing you noticed was how the two of you were from completely different worlds. Right at the back of the room was a table filled with computer screens and speakers of different sizes, a black guitar was stuck to the wall and two electronic pianos were next to the opposite wall. All instruments and devices that would be more than useless to you. 

Yoongi was looking at you expectantly, nibbling on his bottom lip, and with how passionate you already knew he was about his work, you could only guess he was very proud of his set up. Even though you didn’t know what half of the things inside this studio were for, you did feel lucky to even be standing there, in his space. 

For the first time in your weirdly blossoming friendship, you were seeing more of Yoongi. He invited you into his safe space, where he spent the most hours of his day. And you could see little parts of him everywhere, alongside the new details you had yet to find out. 

The little hair bands on top of his desk were something you were used to seeing around his wrist. His black notebook and pen were also familiar, as more often than not, Yoongi would bring them up to the café and just sit quietly in a corner while you worked, scribbling down ideas and what you assumed could become lyrics for songs. 

But the autographed basketball was new. As was the light up plaque with the word SUGA. 

“This is very impressive.” you told him with a smile, draping your coat on the arm of the light colored couch so you could use your hands. “What’s SUGA?” 

“Suga is my stage name.” Yoongi told you sheepishly. 

“Because you’re sweet?” you had to hold your ground in the somewhat flirty line, you couldn’t exactly look away from him when you needed to read his answer, but your cheeks were warm and your heart skipped a beat. 

Yoongi laughed then, head tilting to the side as he watched you back. “Because I used to play as a shooting guard back in high school.” 

“Oh.” you sighed, warmth spreading down your neck for your little mistake and, mostly, for the way Yoongi’s tongue poked between his lips. “Do you still play?” 

“For fun, yeah. We have a hoop in our dance practice room.” he told you with a nod. “I can take you to see it sometime, too. I think Jiminie is the one using it the most these days.” 

“Park Jimin?” you spelled the name using the alphabet of sign language and Yoongi made a funny face with furrowed brows. 

“You know Jimin, but you don’t know me?” he asked, arms crossed to his chest, and you felt tiny. 

“My niece likes him a lot.” you explained sheepishly. “She has a few of those yellow dog plushies?” 

“Does she happen to have one that looks like a cookie?” Yoongi wanted to know and you had no idea if it was supposed to mean something else. 

“Not really… She has a blue koala and a pink bunny?” 

You shrugged and Yoongi laughed harder; you really didn’t understand what was so funny, but neither of you stayed on that subject for long. Yoongi took a seat on the wide bench next to his keyboard, looking at the instrument behind it, then back at you. 

“Come sit?” the man invited you, turning with his legs and facing the keys. 

“I haven’t touched one in over ten years.” you told him with a little sigh after you sat down on the bench with him. 

Yoongi was so close that you could feel his warmth as your thighs were pressed together so you could both fit on the small bench, his perfume was kissing your nose and you wished to commit it to memory. 

“Do you want to?” he turned to you slightly so you could read his moving lips. 

“No, no, I don’t remember anything–” you shook your head and waved your hands.

“You don’t have to do anything.” 

You watched as Yoongi turned the keyboard on, heart squeezing a little in your chest as you didn’t know what Yoongi was doing. If he made you play, you wouldn’t know what to do. You were starting to feel a little anxious, suddenly being put on the spot like this. Yoongi must have noticed your uneasiness as he bit his bottom lip. 

“The first song I learned to play was the Happy Birthday song.” he spoke quietly, carefully. “I don’t think I’d ever forget how to play it.” 

“It was the first I learned, too.” your hands rested on your lap after you were done speaking, fingers locking together as if it took you great strength to not reach for the keys yourself. 

“Want me to play it for you?” 

The way Yoongi asked wasn’t belittling, he wasn’t offering to do you a favor. He was genuinely wondering if watching him play would be something you were interested in. So you nodded, and your heart wasn’t heavy at the prospects of watching someone else do something you once loved. 

And watching Yoongi play the piano was an experience. 

Half of the time you spent with him, you were staring at either his hands or his lips, but you had never seen his fingers work like this. They were pale and long, a little thin and knobby, but that was surprisingly attractive to you. His nails were trimmed and clean, which was more than you could say for most of the patrons you handed coffee to all day. 

You could tell he was skilled, Yoongi most likely knew how to play a lot more advanced songs than Happy Birthday. But he still played slow, repeating it a couple more times to make sure you knew which notes he was playing at each press. 

And you could hear it. 

Not with your ears, those you only used for wearing funky earrings nowadays. But you remembered what each note and what each key was supposed to sound like, so as Yoongi pressed down on them, you heard it in your mind. 

Gently, you placed a hand on the keyboard, near the edge, and felt the vibrations of the notes, matching the rhythm you were following in your head. As Yoongi played the song once more, you followed his fingers attentively and pressed the two last notes of it yourself. 

You had no way of knowing if you were on key, if you were too rushed or too slow, but the way Yoongi was smiling at you, with pride and gentle happiness etched onto his beautiful face, you chose to believe you got it right. 

“Help me?” he offered, removing one of his hands from the white keys of the electronic keyboard. “You can do the second part.” 

“Not sure if I can–” the thought of actually playing more than two notes, when all you had to guide you were the vibrations under your fingertips and Yoongi’s lead was more than a little overwhelming. 

“Just try. For me?” 

At that moment you realized that you’d try anything if Yoongi asked you to. Despite the nagging voices in your head telling you he would make fun of you if you got it wrong, you nodded and positioned your fingers on top of the keys. 

Yoongi gently moved your fingers into the right position and teeny tiny waves of electricity prickled your skin where he touched you. You wondered if he could feel it too. 

He counted you off with the tap of his foot on the floor, enough for you to feel it under your socked feet and started playing the first half of the simple song. Yoongi was looking at you and at the little nod of his head that you caught at the corner of your eye, you played your half of it. 

You didn’t make it all the way to the end as you could tell you got something wrong along the way, so you cringed and stopped. Yoongi wasn’t judging you, however, only started again with that softness you knew you could expect from him. 

He did it two more times and on the third you got it right. 

You knew it was right because Yoongi absolutely beamed, pink gums fully out above a row of perfectly white teeth. You felt yourself giggling, proud of yourself for getting it right, happy for giving it a try and more than a little giddy about the man’s reactions and support. 

“Very good job.” Yoongi signed and turned the keyboard off. “Next time we can do Beethoven’s fifth symphony.” 

That had you laughing out loud, an actual laugh that you felt on your stomach and that raked through your body. It came out so naturally that you didn’t even have time to stop it, face flushing instantly. But Yoongi was laughing along, so it was okay. 

Everything was always okay with Yoongi. 

The buzzing on your right wrist and the flashing of the screen made you jump as you weren’t expecting it. You took a look at it and then faced both sides as you searched for your bag, too flushed to remember you left it on the couch. 

“Sorry, that’s my sister.” you explained to Yoongi as he watched you amusedly. “My watch buzzes when I get a notification, so I know to check my phone.”

“That’s smart.” 

You turned away from him to get up from the bench and reach for your bag, rummaging through it to fetch your phone. Your battery was almost over, you noticed with a frown, and you had a few texts from Yeji asking where you were. 

“Is everything okay?” Yoongi checked, standing up.

“Yeah, she’s just wondering where I am.” you explained with a nibble to the inside of your cheek. “I forgot to let her know you’re giving me a ride instead of me taking the bus, so I guess she worried I’m a little late.” 

“I kept you too long, huh?” he didn’t really look sorry as he continued: “I hope I wasn’t in the way of any valentine’s day plans?”

Ignoring your own heating cheeks, you finished typing a reply to your sister and answered: “No plans. Well, not besides baking with my niece but we did that last night.” at the mention of the baking, you remembered: “Oh, I have something for you.”

“For me?”

You sat on the couch so you could balance your purse on your lap, feeling around for the small plastic bag. The heart shaped cookie covered in pink frosting and sprinkles had survived quite well as you pulled it out. It was individually wrapped and had a small bow keeping it tied. 

“Uh, I made it to sell at the shop, but I saved you one.” you told him, stretching your arm to hand him the cookie. 

“Thank you, it looks really cute.” Yoongi accepted the treat with both hands, a smile and half a bow. 

“You can give it to your girlfriend for valentine’s day.” 

Were you fishing to find out if Yoongi had a girlfriend? Absolutely. Did he know that’s what you were doing? Most likely. He still had that little side smirk as he eased your worries:  

“I’m single, so. I’ll be eating this myself, thank you very much.” he smiled, picking up the notebook he came back for. “Shall we get you home?” 

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7 @syukookie @kam9404 @suker4angst @rumidd2 @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii @granataepfelchen @notsevenwithyou @tessakleine @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen @dreamamubarak @dazzlingjade @kiki-zb @m00njinnie @lerasi @justandloyal2961 @astro-doll-the-star @may-the-dreadwolf-take-me @mafiulaputaama

@postmodernlux @thevelvetseries @mafersame @osakis-gf @iiitsmaria @just-a-small-shadow @perpetuapenandpaper @bearr02 @smdlc

@justafreaksstuff @pumpernickelll @amaroho @minijagiya @take2withasprouts @agustsblog

Interlude | MYG | Five

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: Slow burn? Don’t know her…………………  

A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!  

 WC: 10K (I KNOW)

 [Membership]

← Previous | Series Masterlist | Next →

For the last few days Yoongi had been busy preparing for his solo tour, so he didn’t really have the time to pop in to see you. It had just been announced last week and it felt like so much still needed to be done! Yoongi was about to start rehearsing as the setlist had already been decided on, but there were little details that were still giving him a hard time. 

Mainly technical stuff that the idol himself didn’t have any control over but, being the perfectionist that he was, Yoongi wanted to be involved in the whole process. It was definitely a different kind of experience, as he was about to be on the road on his own, without his members to support him; without Jungkook to share fried chicken and beer, without Namjoon’s lead to make sure he was where he needed to be, when he needed to be, without Seokjin making sure he was eating every meal. At least Jimin promised to visit him and come out to support him during a concert or two, but it wouldn’t be the same. 

And the more the days passed without contact with you, the more Yoongi realized he was already used to your presence. He found himself craving your tiny giggles when you couldn’t hold back, the pout that formed on your lips easily, and just your overall sweetness that never ceased to amaze him. 

For someone who had obviously been through so much, you didn’t let the world harden you, you didn’t let what happened to you dim your light or turn you into a bitter person. 

Yoongi missed you. And he had no way of contacting you. 

That’s when he realized just how much easier communicating with you would be if he had your phone number. That way, he could check in on you even during his busiest schedules, maybe even when he had to go away to America for the first dates of the D-DAY tour. 

Yoongi was a man on a mission as he walked out of the elevator on the seventeenth floor, hands in the pockets of his pants as he tried to keep his cool. He was a little nervous, as he wasn’t really used to asking people for their phone numbers. Usually pretty girls and brave guys would slip him their numbers; although Yoongi couldn’t remember the last time he actually saved any of them. 

Because Hoseok was right, and he didn’t really do the dating thing as the rest of their members did. It was rare for someone to catch his attention for long enough to become more than a one night stand. And that’s not what Yoongi was after when it came to you. 

Surely the thought of having you for one night was enough to awaken feelings that he absolutely did not want to focus on right before actually seeing you, but… 

Would you make more of the little sounds you sometimes let escape? Yoongi was yet to hear your speaking voice, never one to force you to do things you were clearly uncomfortable with, but could you get so lost in bed that you’d allow him to hear you?

Should he just stop avoiding the inevitable and ask you out while asking for your number? Would you even say yes? It’s not like he had a lot of time to spare, with the tour coming up– 

“Taehyung?” Yoongi was calling for his band member as he found the younger boy leaning over the counter as you stood behind it. 

Yoongi knew the dongsaeng like the back of his hand, he could read Taehyung’s posture as he was standing sideways, with one of his arms resting on top of the counter and he was talking slowly and smoothly about anything Yoongi wasn’t particularly interested in knowing. 

You were staring at the man’s lips, obviously reading what he was saying, but the sight of you obviously flustered and round eyes glistening left a bad taste in Yoongi’s mouth. 

“Aww, hyung, we were just talking about you.” Taehyung turned slightly upon hearing Yoongi’s call, the lazy smile on his lips just one more proof he was up to no good. 

“You were?” Yoongi approached carefully, with one eyebrow raised. Suspicion clear in his posture. 

The coffee shop was mostly empty, with only a few patrons sitting around, all with their own drinks and food already, which explained why you were so free to stand around and give attention to Taehyung. 

“Hi!” you signed to Yoongi as you noticed his arrival and your smile never faltered. 

“Hey.” he smiled in return, but it was a little dry. You were nibbling on your bottom lip as Yoongi turned to Taehyung. “What are you doing here?” 

The moment Taehyung turned his back to you, Yoongi knew you weren’t supposed to hear his next words: “You really thought you could keep this little secret all to yourself, hyung?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I know you’ve been coming up here often, hyung, but I didn’t think the coffee would be that good. So I decided to try it for myself.” Taehyung was grinning, making Yoongi roll his eyes. “Then I come to find out that the coffee is not the reason you keep visiting, is it?” 

“Did Hoseok put you up to this?” Yoongi scoffed lightly. 

Taehyung fake gasped and started to giggle, as a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. Behind him, you were patiently waiting to be included in the conversation and Yoongi felt more than a little bad about ignoring you. Your eyes kept flitting down and around the shop as you tried to offer the two of them some privacy. 

“So he told me you’re into the new coffee shop staff, yeah, I’m sorry, I got curious!” Taehyung shrugged and Yoongi shook his head. “She’s pretty, hyung.” 

“Don’t talk about her as if she’s not there, that’s rude.” Yoongi pointed out. Just because you couldn’t hear it, didn’t mean he should do that. 

“Oh, right, sorry.” before Yoongi could do anything about it, Taehyung turned around and told you: “You’re very pretty. Yoongi hyung thinks so too.”

You let out a tiny gasp, eyes widening as you grew shy and looked at Yoongi as if asking for help. 

The thing about Taehyung… He was shameless most of the time, so out of the box that it was hard to predict what he would do next, what he would say. What the younger man told you wasn’t a lie by any means, but Yoongi didn’t expect to be put on the spot like this. 

“Thank you.” you signed while moving your lips so Taehyung would understand you too. “I think he’s pretty, too.” 

The last part was delivered only through signing, so Yoongi was the one meant to understand it. It caused his heart to flutter in his chest, as it wasn’t always that you flirted with him. 

Taehyung was pouting as he asked: “What did she say?!” 

“She said you should get going.” Yoongi deadpanned, which Tae didn’t buy, but shook his shoulders anyway. 

“Alright, fine, if you want to be alone with her you could just say so.” the younger man rolled his eyes and turned to you again. “It was nice meeting you! I’ll be back when Mr. grumps isn’t around.” 

“Bye bye.” you giggled, which was a sound Yoongi wanted to keep only for himself. 

Taehyung finally took his leave and Yoongi watched him go. When he was far away enough, you tapped on his shoulder to get his attention back. 

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” you told him, but not in a nagging way. The lines between your brow showed you were concerned, if anything. “Is everything okay?”

“Been busy.” he said with a little wave, not wanting you to worry. “I have to go in a minute, actually.” 

“Okay.” you nodded in understanding, but had that little pout he was starting to love pulling on his heartstrings. 

“Can I have your number?” Yoongi asked, feeling the pink dust cover the apples of his own damn cheeks. 

“Of course.” you nodded, opening your palm for him to give you his device. 

Yoongi pulled it from his pocket and opened the contacts app, handing it to you for you to type out your information. Once you were done, you gave it back to him; having saved your number with the coffee and cookie emoji, which made him laugh. Yoongi texted you a cat emoji in response, just so you’d have his number, too.

About two hours later, you texted him first, but Yoongi didn’t have time to open it until later that night, after he was already home, sharing the couch with Holly after a busy day of meetings and when he could finally relax. 

“If you don’t keep your eyes closed, I’m going to poke you in it with the brush!” Yeji huffed, making you close your eyes again immediately. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t see what you’re saying with my eyes closed–” you whined, but stayed quiet. 

Well, quiet as you could, given the very exciting fact that you were about to go on a date with a very handsome, very sweet, and very interesting man. 

You were almost done with getting ready when Yeji –and the miniature version of her– barged into your room, demanding to do your makeup. You had full capability of making yourself look presentable on your own, but denying a bit of girly time with your sister and your niece wasn’t something you would ever do. 

You could sense Ari rolling on your bed behind you, probably singing whatever made-up song about you going on a date with a b-o-y that she could come up with, as your sister gently tapped on your shoulder to let you know it was okay to open your eyes again. 

“Here you go.” she said as she handed you the small mirror from your vanity. 

“If I look like a clown–” 

You could tell your sister was complaining and spilling child-appropriate curse words, but you ignored her in order to look at the final result in the hand mirror. You didn’t look anything short of beautiful. 

Yeji kept a light, natural look, with some pink accents on your cheeks to make you look a little healthier and flushed, your eyelids had a little bit of a shimmer and the mascara made your eyes pop more, and your lips had a bit of cherry lip-tint on them. Nothing too over the top, but definitely more than what Yoongi was used to seeing you with. 

You were pretty sure it would be the first time he saw you with your hair down as well, as you were made to have it up and away at all times while you were working at the cafe. 

When you looked at your older sister again, she was smiling, proud of her work, and you thanked her through heartfelt gestures. 

“Now, your clothes–” she started, pointing to what you were wearing. 

“What’s wrong with it?” you groaned, standing up to look at yourself in the lengthy mirror next to your bed. 

“It’s winter and you’re wearing a skirt!” Yeji pointed out through the reflection of the mirror, but you waved her off. 

“It hasn’t been snowing in almost a week now. I’m also wearing tights, they’ll keep me warm.” you argued. “Plus, I’m trying to look cute here.” 

You chose to wear a black suede skirt that ended a little above the middle of your thigh, with thick tights underneath to keep the wind off your legs. Your top was a light gray, long sleeved sweater that felt soft to the touch. 

When your wrist buzzed, you looked around for your phone yet again, never one to remember where you left it in the first place. Ari, who was still rolling around in your bed, found it first. 

“Ohh, is it your boyfriend?” the little girl teased you as she waved your phone around instead of handing it to you. 

“Give it!!” you were laughing as you chased her, grabbing for the device before she could jump out of your bed and run into her bedroom. You unlocked your phone to read the text message letting you know Yoongi was waiting outside. “He’s here, I’m going to freak out–” 

“Hey, you’ll be fine.” Yeji assured you. “He’s right on time, which I can admire, and you already know this guy. I know you like him–”

“I like him so much.” you groaned, making her laugh. 

“Yes, but if he turns out to be an asshole, just text me and we’ll come pick you up.” 

“Eomma said a bad word!” Ari was gasping next to you. 

“No, no. I signed a bad word.” her mother corrected. “If no one else can understand it, it’s okay.” 

You were laughing at your sister and her unconventional parenting as you put on your trench coat that matched your skirt. Yeji gave you your purse and sprayed some of your favorite perfume on you, making you sneeze a couple times. 

Both girls followed you downstairs, but lucky for you –and Yoongi, really–, they stayed inside as you put your boots on and walked out to meet your date. 

Yoongi was leaning against the passenger door of his car, wearing black pants, a black hoodie and a black long coat. The only pop of color was from his shoes, which were half white. You rarely saw the man in clothes with color, really, but he just looked so good all the time that you most definitely couldn’t complain. His hair was long, and looked soft, as if he just washed and dried it before coming over, parted in the middle after running his hands through it enough times. 

“Hi!” you were skipping your way towards him, watching his resting face split into a smile. 

“Hey–” 

You barely let him say anything before you stood next to him and kissed his cheek. His hand rested on the low of your back for a few seconds, as if trying to keep you close, but let it drop a moment later. His cheeks were pink and it had nothing to do with the tint on your lips. 

"There's someone I want you to meet." he told you and you almost panicked for a second, wondering if you got it all wrong and he brought someone else along for this date. 

"Oh?" 

But then Yoongi was pressing a button on the remote control of his car and the window of the backseat on your side moved down. A mess of fluffy brown curls popped up and the squeal to leave your lips was very much real. 

"You brought Holly?" you signed excitedly, having seen pictures of the poodle before. 

"He wanted to meet you." Yoongi shrugged and you reached your hand carefully so you could pat the small dog on his furry head. "Cute." 

"Should we go?" he asked after a small touch to your shoulder to get your attention. "I'd like for us to get there before it gets too cold." 

"Yeah, of course." 

You were beaming as you agreed and before opening the door of the passenger’s side, Yoongi took his own leap of faith and kissed your forehead softly. His cheeks were even darker than when you kissed him first and you felt so giddy inside you couldn't hold back a giggle. 

Yoongi closed the window at the back before circling the car to get in and sit next to you. As you pulled your seatbelt on, you turned around to see the dog sitting quietly, but watching you curiously. 

Holly had a blue sweater on to keep him warm and his leash was connected to his own seatbelt for safety. 

"Excited?" Yoongi asked once you sat back and looked at him. 

"Very. And curious. Where are we going?" 

"You'll see. It's nothing special, though, so don't get your expectations too high…" he warned, albeit sheepishly. 

You were out with Yoongi, which meant it was already special. This man that had absolutely no reason to try and become your friend, this man who never treated you with anything but respect. The recipient of your quietly harbored crush.

As Yoongi drove away next to you, it was hard to keep a conversation going as he had to keep his eyes on the road and hands on the wheel, but you could still watch him drive, which was the perfect excuse for you to stare at his perfect profile and his hands as he gripped the wheel, drumming a little with his thumbs against it.

You didn't think the radio was on, had no way of knowing, really, but you didn’t think you could feel any vibrations in the car, apart from the regular traffic and the thrumming of your heart. 

"Do you drive?" he asked as you stopped at a red light. 

"Yeah. We don't have a car anymore, so I don't, but I do have a license." you told him with a nod and a small smile. 

You liked that Yoongi never assumed you couldn't do something just because of your disability. And you could actually drive quite well, even with your limitations. You were always very aware of your surroundings, which made you a great driver; despite some beliefs that deaf people couldn't drive. 

It obviously meant you couldn't hear the traffic or honks from other cars, but you never needed it to be able to drive safely. 

Every now and then you’d look back at Holly or give him the back of your hand so he could sniff it and get acquainted with you and he would bark and you’d smile. When you turned back around, Yoongi had a small smile playing on his lips every time. 

It was when Yoongi parked the car in front of a short building with glass walls that you arched an eyebrow and stared at him. 

“Did you really bring me to a coffee shop on our first date?” you wanted to laugh at the irony of it all and Yoongi obviously realized it too as he chuckled. 

“This is just a small stop. There’s a park nearby I like.” he explained and you would have stared at his lips even if he signed his words. “Are you up for a stroll and some hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, but–” you were nodding when a tiny hint of concern made you a little nervous. “Won’t people see you? See us?”

“The park is near my place, it’s a closed off community, so it’s safe.” Yoongi explained and you knew you should trust that he wouldn’t do something that could get either of you in trouble. “Will you stay here with Holly?”

“Of course!”

Yoongi picked up his wallet and phone from the console in between the two of you and left you alone with his dog. When you looked at the back seat, you could see Holly struggling with his seatbelt, trying to reach the opposite window to see where his owner was going. 

“Oh no, puppy, be careful–” at the sound of your voice, Holly –you assumed– barked and whined. “Aigoo, wait.” 

You unlocked your own seatbelt so you could move between the two front seats and reach for the clasp keeping Holly stuck in place. Once the puppy was freed, he ran from one side to the other of the back seat, jumping on his hind legs to try and find his owner. 

Yoongi was nowhere to be seen, so Holly did the next best thing and leaped to the front seat, choosing your lap as a resting spot. You were a little frozen, as you didn’t know this dog, weren’t sure he was the biting kind or not. But if he was anything like his father, you guessed he was just a sweet boy. 

“Hi, puppy.” you cooed, using what you assumed was a whiny-baby-voice. Holly seemed to like it as his brown, curly head turned comedically to the side as he looked at your face. “You’re really cute, you know that?” 

You were scratching at Holly’s fluffy head as the door opposite yours opened and a very flushed Min Yoongi sat behind the wheel. 

“Hey– Oh. Did he escape?” Yoongi’s hands were full with two huge to-go cups, which he placed in the cup-holders where his wallet and phone were before. You held Holly in your arms and pouted, shaking your head. “You let him go?” he asked and you nodded, pout very much still on your lips. “Okay, should I put him back?” you shook your head again and Holly licked your cheek, making you giggle. “Okay, just make sure to hold him tight, alright?” 

You nodded and Yoongi laughed and you never wished to be able to listen to a laugh more in your life. Maybe when Ari was a toddler, but both came really close. You tried not to let the squeeze in your heart bring you down too much, hoping Yoongi wouldn’t notice you getting upset. You really didn’t want him to think he was doing anything wrong. 

Because he wasn’t. So far this date was going great.

Yoongi drove the two of you a few streets away from the coffee shop, going a little slower to make sure the hot chocolates in the console wouldn’t spill and so that nothing would happen with his dog on your lap. The winding roads led to a gated community and your date parked the car at a tiny park. 

It wasn’t exactly a park, really, more of a square in between three short buildings that made up Yoongi’s apartment complex. Everything was well kept, the grass was alive and thriving despite it being the middle of winter. A small playground for kids was empty, but full of fun activities. From the cars you could see parked at the outdoor garages, only people with a lot of money must live here, as you couldn’t see a single car you could name; meaning they were all the expensive brand ones. 

“Can you bring him?” Yoongi asked you before picking up your drinks again. 

“Sure!”

You took off your seatbelt once again and held Holly in your arms so you could both hop off from the car. The puppy squirmed a little, wanting to be put down, but you only let go when Yoongi told you it was okay to do so. There weren’t many places for Holly to escape to anyway and the dog seemed to know his way around as he rushed straight to the park. 

Yoongi gave you one of the to-go cups and placed his hand on your back so he could guide you to a wooden bench near a grassy patch where Holly was already waiting. You wondered if he could tell the deep blush dusting your cheeks wasn’t from the cold. 

Once you were both seated, you brought the drink to your lips, careful about the steam as you pulled up the small tab on the plastic lid before blowing on it to take a sip. The drink was sweet, but not sickly so, and it had a hint of cinnamon that made you think of christmas. 

“Good?” Yoongi signed as he watched you drink. 

“Really good!” you replied with a smile and a frown, making Yoongi grin in return. 

You both sipped your drinks in silence for a little while, but it wasn’t awkward between you. It was a little hard for you to communicate when one of your hands was constantly holding something and Yoongi kept bringing the drink to his lips, but you didn’t feel the need to fill the empty space between the two of you with meaningless conversation. 

When Yoongi spoke again, you knew it was because he was interested in knowing more. 

“Is your family from Seoul?” he asked, placing the cup on the bench between you. 

“Yeah, I’ve been here all my life.” you told him after one last sip of the hot choco. 

“No way.” his eyebrows raised, pretty eyes growing big. “You never went anywhere else?”

“Nope. Just a once city kind of girl.” you shook your head, once again feeling as though you and Yoongi were from different worlds altogether. “Must be weird for you to think that, bet you’ve traveled the whole world, huh?”

“Eh, I haven’t been everywhere.” he shrugged, but you didn’t believe it for a second. 

“There’s no need to downplay it. It’s not like I never wanted to go anywhere.” you assured him as you reached out to squeeze his wrist. A touch that was fleeting because you needed your hand to continue: “I had big dreams, I guess. Wanted to live by the beach.”

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I guess life had other plans for me?” you mused, flicking the dangling earring on your ear to get your point across. “I know I could still move away, even after losing my hearing, but I don’t think my parents would have taken it so well.”

“Are they protective?” Yoongi asked with his cup halfway to his mouth and you could see it in his eyes as he realized he shouldn’t cover his lips. 

“You can say that.” you offered him a little tight lipped shrug. “I know I’m independent, to a degree, and there’s nothing I can’t do. But they worry.” 

“Yeah, I get it.” he nodded and licked his lips. You wondered if they tasted like hot chocolate, or maybe cherries. “I mean it’s easy to feel protective of you.”

Your heart did a little thing inside your chest and you looked down, feeling your cheeks heat up because 1- you were just thinking about the taste of his lips; and 2 - Yoongi just backhandedly said he felt protective of you. 

Not as if he thought you should be protected, he’d given you enough signs that he would never belittle you or doubt your capabilities to function normally. But because he cared about you. 

“I guess my parents kinda blame themselves?” you opened up. 

“Why? You said the doctors couldn't explain why it happened to you, right?” you could tell Yoongi was being careful with his questions, but you didn’t mind them. Not from him. “So there couldn't be a way for your parents to prevent it from happening”

“There really wasn't. But I guess they feel guilty for not doing more to revert it?”

“Oh? Is there a way to reverse it?” Yoongi asked and it broke your heart how hopeful he looked. 

“Not really. Not at this point, at least.” you shook your head, looking ahead to where Holly was seemingly barking to a flying bird. “Back when we were looking for second and third opinions, most doctors told us that the only thing that could help me were hearing aids, which didn't work by the way, or minor surgeries to maybe get 5% of my hearing back–”

“That's something–” there it was, the hope again. 

“It had a 2% chance of it working.” you lamented.

“Oh.”

“We were referred to this really good doctor in China that had this new technology at the time, and the chances were a little better. But my parents didn't have the money to take me to China to see the doctor, much less to pay for this advanced surgery, so.” you signed slowly, to make sure Yoongi got everything. And he always did. “I mean, I get it. I never held it against them, but I think they feel guilty about it.”

“Yeah my parents are still guilty they couldn't buy me a new pair of sneakers before a basketball competition. I can't imagine how yours must feel.”

Yoongi never thought he’d be fretting over a dinner so much, but with how many times you baked things –for him specifically or not–, he wanted to do something nice for you in return. Part of him wanted to impress you, going as far as pestering his Eomma for the sundaeguk recipe she’d serve in her old restaurant back in Daegu. 

When you offered Yoongi to help out, he said no. He wanted to be the one to do it for you, not for you to have any trouble. But he didn’t think you’d take it as a cue to stay out of his way, out of the kitchen. When Yoongi wanted you to be in his space. 

He wanted to breathe you in and to talk to you, to take a spoon full of soup and blow on it to cool it down before bringing it to your lips for a taste. But it was fine, Yoongi tried to convince himself. You still had dinner. And hopefully some time after that too, lest you ask him to drive you home too early. 

You were in the living room playing with Holly, Yoongi could hear the familiar pitter-patter of his dog running on the floor and the squeak of his favorite toy. The soup was simmering away and Yoongi needed to let it reduce a little more before the finishing touches, so he walked to the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room.

That’s when he completely froze. 

That’s when he heard you. 

“You’re so damn cute, aren’t you? Come on, bring it back! Good boy!” 

You had your back to Yoongi, which was a good thing as it stopped you from seeing his wide eyes welling up with tears, his own reaction catching him off guard. Yoongi knew you could talk, you told him as much once before, but you chose not to. The man knew it made you uncomfortable and he respected that. 

But to actually hear your voice, after so many weeks of basking in your adorable giggles and the little noises you couldn’t hold back, it left him starstruck. You sounded so fucking sweet, with a melodic tilt to your tone, even if some of your words were a little slurred at the end. 

His heart was seizing in his chest as Yoongi wanted to march up to you and tell you how cute and sweet you were, ask you to say his name, just once. But he couldn’t. Not without admitting he heard you without meaning to and Yoongi really didn’t want to make you uncomfortable about it. 

Yoongi was nothing if not patient. 

Before you could catch Yoongi doing –hearing, rather– something he definitely shouldn’t, he slipped back into his kitchen to finish up dinner. The background of his daily life alone at his apartment was usually a playlist from his favorite artists or D-DAY so he could nit-pick and hate his own work, but not today. 

Today the background of his cooking was Holly’s excited barks and your cute giggles as his pup did something funny. He could get used to this, Yoongi realized. How easy it would be to have you in his space like this, him cooking for you after a long day, both of you sitting at the mostly unused table to share the meal. 

Dinner with you was a quiet one, Yoongi came to find out, but he really liked that. 

While your hands were busy and you couldn't sign, and his mouth was busy chewing so you couldn’t read his lips –nor did he want you staring at his mouth right now, as it would be nothing short of unattractive–. Yoogi appreciated the silence every now and then, the comfort that came with not having to fill the space with empty words and awkward conversation. 

Every now and then you’d make little comments like ‘the soup is delicious and warm’ and Yoongi would say little things like ‘it’s my mother’s recipe’ and ‘I like cooking, but didn’t do much of it in the dorm. 

After the meal, the two of you shared his kitchen sink as you refused to let Yoongi clean up everything on his own. Even if you still didn’t have a full on conversation as both of your hands were soapy and holding dishes and pans, your arms were brushing and sometimes you’d bump his hip with yours to get his attention. 

It felt domestic, something Yoongi never had before, and he found himself craving more of it. 

“What time must you be home?” Yoongi asked you after the dishes were done and a little bit of tension installed itself stubbornly. 

“I don’t have a curfew.” you told him with a tiny laugh. “But if you’re tired or busy tomorrow, I can–”

Yoongi raised his hand to wave the air, stopping you before you could think he didn’t want this date to continue. “No, no. I was just wondering if you’d like to watch a movie?”

“Of course.” you nodded with a smile, seemingly relieved about the invitation. 

Yoongi led you out of the kitchen and back to the living room, where Holly was already waiting while taking a nap on his fluffy bed in the corner. He could laugh at how tired the puppy was after playing with you for at least half an hour. Holly still raised his head to make sure the two of you weren’t going too far, but didn’t move to join you on the couch as you both sat down. 

Before even reaching for the remote control to turn the television on, Yoongi turned his body slightly to face yours, knees bumping into yours. 

“I’m sorry this date doesn’t feel much like a date.” he signed, scrunching his nose and scratching the back of his shoulder. 

“What do you mean?” your head cocked to the side, much like Holly’s did when he was confused, making Yoongi want to smile. 

“Doing what I do and being who I am doesn’t allow me much privacy to go out.” he explained, watching your eyes light up in understanding. “Ideally I would like to have taken you to watch a proper movie, have dinner somewhere nice, take a walk along the river. But this is the best I can offer you right now.”

“You can never go anywhere?” you asked him through swift and delicate movements that Yoongi was proud to say he picked up quite quickly. 

“I can, but it involves a lot of planning, security guards and NDAs.” Yoongi told you, trying not to let the guilt he was feeling transpire too much. “So it can feel a little impersonal, which is not what I wanted for our first date.”

“Well, I’m having a good time. Open spaces or crowded places make me a little nervous anyway.” you assured him, reaching to squeeze his hand before continuing: “And if it makes you feel any better, my last proper date was so many years ago that I don’t even remember how it went, so this is already much better.” 

“How do you know it’s much better if you don’t remember it?” Yoongi asked with a grin, gently placing his hand on your knee. Not too high on your leg to come out as disrespectful, but a firm touch nonetheless. 

“Because this one is a date with you.” you told him as your cheeks turned a little more rosy, eyes staring at his lips as you waited for his answer. 

Yoongi chuckled before saying: “Look at you flirting with me.”

“I flirt with you all the time!” you looked almost offended. 

“No you don’t!” Yoongi scoffed, resting his free arm at the back of the couch, almost caging you in, the hand on your knee rising just a little more. 

“Yeah I do! I’m just so terrible at it that you don’t even notice.” you huffed a sound that pulled on Yoongi’s heartstrings as if you were playing him like a guitar chord. 

“I noticed now.”

You nodded, but your lips formed a cute pout as you rested your back against the backrest of the couch, practically tucking yourself into Yoongi’s side. “Yeah, and you didn’t do anything about it.”

Yoongi’s smile was soft and a little crooked as the hand that was resting on your leg reached for your chin, to gently make you look at him. His lips moved slowly, tongue swiping between them as he asked: “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Nothing, if you don’t want to.” you answered him as your pout never wavered. 

“I want to kiss you.” Yoongi admitted as his own stomach did a nervous flip. He loved the way your eyes widened and flitted to his for a second. “Is that okay?”

You nodded. Just a tiny movement of your head as the pout disappeared from your lips. Yoongi leaned in slowly, so you’d be free to stop him if you didn’t want this. You held your breath in anticipation, eyes closing, giving Yoongi the chance to look at you from this close, freely. His hand moved from your chin to the back of your neck, which made you let go of the breath you’ve been holding, gasping softly. It was only then that Yoongi pressed his mouth against yours. 

Your hands rested on his chest, gently pulling on the black hoodie he had on. If to ground yourself or make sure he wouldn’t pull away, Yoongi was unsure about, but he took it anyway. He moved his lips slowly, dragging them against yours, silently asking you to follow his lead. 

And you did, pressing your mouth against his a little more firmly, mirroring his movements with a need that was enough to make Yoongi’s brain a little foggy. Your lips were so soft, tasting faintly of tangerines and he needed to have more of it, so Yoongi took a leap of faith and swiped his tongue against the seams of your lips. 

You responded to it with a little whine that was so sweet Yoongi was at risk of getting too excited for a first kiss. He chose to focus on slipping his tongue into your mouth when you gave him passage, feeling your jaw move as your lips parted wider, allowing him to deepen the kiss. 

Yoongi tipped his head slightly to the side, fingers dragging on the nape of your neck to get you to relax further into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you pulled him closer, slowly but surely, until your chests were pressed together. Your tongues swiped and flicked each other and Yoongi only pulled away when his cheeks were hot and his lungs were burning. 

His lips pulled away from yours, but not before taking your bottom one into his mouth, dragging it between his teeth before letting go. 

“Yoongi…” you sighed. 

And Yoongi’s chest filled up again, with that incredulous feeling that was too big to fit inside him, mind going numb and nerve ends being lit on fire because you said his name. You said his name. Not a whisper, not with signs, you said it in a tiny voice that sounded more like a whimper, a plea. 

And he’d give you whatever the fuck you asked him for. 

“You sound so sweet, baby.” Yoongi praised as you read his lips, eyes widening as you realized you let him hear you. 

“Yeah?” you spoke again and Yoongi thought about the process of making homemade bread. 

Because if he focused too much on how pliant, sweet and gone you sounded, his pants would feel a little tighter than they already were. 

“I like that.” you spoke again, softly, quietly, but a little more confident as his reactions were clearly positive. 

“Like what, hm?” Yoongi asked you as the back of his finger dragged across your cheek. 

Your eyes fluttered at his caresses, and then you told him: “I like… When you call me that. Baby.” 

Yoongi might develop a heart condition after today, surely all of this skipping beats and racing like a strong horse towards the finishing line shouldn’t be normal. 

“Come here, baby.” 

His hand slipped to the back of your neck again, tangling gently in your hair, dragging you back into another kiss that you willingly gave him. Yoongi sat back, resting against the cushion behind him, and you followed along. Yoongi’s free hand rested on your waist, squeezing, pulling, guiding. 

You didn’t need a lot of coaxing to understand what he meant, throwing a leg over his to sit on his lap, one knee on each side of his hips. Yoongi was in heaven as your chest pressed against his and you moaned into his lips as his tongue swirled around yours. 

Both of his hands were roaming all over your body; your sides, your hips, your thighs, resting flat on your back to keep you pressed to him. 

Yoongi pulled away from your lips when his lungs were burning and he needed air, head falling backwards and resting against the back of the couch. His eyes were heavy and half lidded, unable to close all the way because that would mean losing sight of you. 

And you just looked so fucking pretty, with glossy eyes, red and swollen lips and a perpetual blush on your cheeks. 

But you weren’t done with him, it seemed, as you leaned further to touch his neck with your lips. Yoongi moaned out a groan, sure you could feel the vibrations of it under your palms as they rested against his chest. It made you kiss his neck harder, warm tongue drawing patterns against his skin and Yoongi’s cock was twitching like crazy inside his pants. If you moved just a little closer, you’d feel it against the inside of your thigh. 

But of course something had to interrupt your making out. 

You kept kissing Yoongi’s neck, unbothered by the ringing of a phone echoing in the living room. The idol knew it wasn’t his phone, so it could only be yours. Yoongi placed his hand on the base of your neck to catch your attention, but it made you sigh heavily and your hips twitched on top of his.

….oh. 

Unfortunately that was an information he had to save for later as he needed to tell you about your ringing phone. Yoongi tapped your thigh twice and that’s when you finally pulled away from his sore neck to look at him with bleary eyes and a pout. 

“Your phone was ringing.” he told you, against his own will. 

“Shit.” you cursed under your breath and it made him smile to hear you curse like that. 

You scrambled off his lap, almost slipping on the floor because of your tights that covered your legs all the way to your feet. Yoongi chuckled, but his cheeks burned crimson as he looked down at this lap and noticed how visible his erection was, gently plucking a smaller cushion and placing it on top of his crotch. 

When he looked at you again, Yoongi noticed you typing furiously on your phone. 

“I’m not wearing my smartwatch, so I didn’t see my sister texted me.” you signed once you sat beside him on the couch. 

“Is everything okay?” he wanted to know. 

“She’s just worried.” you explained with a nod, looking out the window on the opposite wall. “It’s storming outside, so she’s worried about me getting home.” 

“Storming–”

Yoongi stood up to walk to the opposite wall, his movement making Holly leave his bed to sniff his feet as he asked for pets. The weather outside had completely flipped, dark clouds making the night sky appear grimson and threatening. The road was covered in white, heavy snowfall reflecting on the lampposts. It wasn’t surprising that your sister would be so worried about you, as there was no way he could drive you home in a weather like this. 

“Looks like you’re stuck here a while longer.” Yoongi turned to you with a little grimace. “Did you tell your sister you’re safe?” 

You nodded: “Told her we’re at your place. She said ‘how convenient’.” 

“Yeah, I promise I didn’t plan for this.” Yoongi chuckled, scratching the tip of his nose. “Not making the best impression on her, am I?” 

“I don’t think you planned a storm, Yoongi.” you laughed, which eased his worries. “We can just wait for it to pass, then I’ll call a ride–”

“That’s not gonna happen.” the man shook his head, walking closer to you. He touched the side of your face, loving the way your head leaned into it. “I’m not letting you walk out of here in that weather.” 

“So I’m just sleeping over?” you challenged and Yoongi raised an eyebrow. 

“Pretty much.” he shrugged and your cheeks darkened. “If you’re comfortable with that, of course. I have a spare bedroom, so you wouldn’t be sleeping over… with me.” 

“I’m okay with that.” you signed, turning slightly to leave a tiny kiss against his palm. “Just know I’m not usually the type to sleep over on the first date.” 

Yoongi laughed at your squinting eyes and poked your nose –not really sure why– and said: “I didn’t think you were.” 

“Are you?” you asked, scrunching your nose.

Yoongi hesitated, looking anywhere but your face. You let out a dramatic gasp, making him shake his head and reply:

“In my defense, I was never really able to do second dates. I was lucky if I could do the first.”

“What about now?” you asked and smoothed the collar of his hoodie.  “Can you do a second date now?”

“That depends.” he sighed, hand sliding down your arm to hold your hand. “Come sit? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

As Yoongi led you to the couch and sat down next to you, Hoseok’s words rang in his brain. You’re great at self sabotaging, as his best friend had so eloquently put it. And here he was, about to do exactly that. About to give you a reason why you should walk away from him, why you shouldn’t give him a chance. 

“I don’t know if you already know this, but I’m going away soon.” he started, as there was no beating around it. 

“Oh? Where are you going?” you asked him through innocent eyes and a tiny, barely-there, pout.

“I’m going on tour for a while. Starting in America.” Yoongi was watching you carefully, terribly scared of hurting you, expecting the hurt to come for him. 

“That’s exciting. Are you happy about it?” you told him instead, smile so sweet that it completely broke his expectations. 

“I am, yeah. Nervous, but happy.”

“I can imagine.” you let out a little noise that should have sounded like a small whistle and Yoongi wasn’t sure you meant it. “When do you leave?”

“In a couple of months.”

“Really soon, huh?” 

“Yeah…” his side pressed against the back of the couch as he ran a hand through his hair. “Are you upset?”

“Me?” you pointed to your chest. When he nodded, you continued as if it was the most obvious thing: “I mean, we can still text when you’re away, right?”

“We can, of course.”

“Then why would I be upset? I’m happy for you.” you reached out for his hand to squeeze, letting it go when you carried on: “Unless… Unless this is you telling we can’t do this? Which I understand… You’ll have too much to worry about, and you should probably enjoy your tour, and the people you meet. But why did you ask me out? Are you hoping for this to be a one time thing?”

“Meeting new people is not something on my mind right now.” he assured you, taking your hand again to run his thumb over the back of it. “I asked you out because I like you, and I haven’t done something for myself for a while.”

“I like you too, Yoongi.” 

“I don’t want to toy with you, so I thought I should be upfront about this. I do really like you, and I wouldn't like to wonder what it would have been like if I never gave it a shot.” his honesty surprised even himself, but your soft smile never faltered. 

“We can just see where this goes. There's no need to think that further ahead... There’s no pressure. We can do whatever you want.”

Yoongi couldn’t promise you much. All he could do was try; try to keep this going, try to be kind to himself and take this chance. Yoongi wanted to keep you, he wanted you by his side, for as long as he could have you. 

He had never felt like this before, he never liked someone so fast. Maybe it was because this was the first time in at least ten years he could actually stop and take things as they came. Yoongi wasn’t constantly traveling with Bangtan, he didn’t have eighteen hours straight of practice and schedules. He had the opportunity to get to know you, to let you get to know him, too. 

Or maybe he would fall for you regardless. 

Your phone was showing it was 3am and you couldn’t sleep. You should have seen it coming, Yeji definitely did. Sleeping in strange places wasn’t as easy for you as it might be to the next person, but you really thought you’d be okay. 

You were comfortable around Yoongi, you felt welcomed in his home. Surely you were only sleeping over because of the sudden storm, but the man wasn’t bothered by you having to stay. 

He went through all the trouble of changing the sheets from the bed in his guest bedroom and gave you some of his clothes for you to wear; a large black shirt and sweatpants –which you had removed since they were too long and kept getting stuck in the sheets and bothering you as you twisted and turned–. 

Yoongi also told you that you could use his kitchen for anything you wanted, and maybe getting a glass of water in the middle of the night might be better than staring at your phone, counting the minutes until sunrise. 

It was definitely weird to be walking alone through someone else’s home, when you had absolutely no way of telling if you were being noisy, if the floorboards creaked, hoping to all that it's holy that you wouldn’t step in any of Holly’s squeaky toys. Yoongi’s apartment was huge, especially for just one person and his dog, but the decor and the furniture were exactly what you’d expect from an idol. 

Yoongi had paintings and prints on his walls, collector pieces here and there, a lot of black and white. But his home looked lived in; a black guitar in a corner, headphones by the couch, a small stack of polaroid pictures on a corner desk. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d have someone staying here once he left for tour, to look after Holly, or if he’d send his dog to live in Daegu with his parents. 

After drinking half a glass of water and hoping you weren’t being too noisy as you washed it in the sink, you walked to the windows in the living room, slightly parting the curtains that Yoongi kept closed at night for privacy reasons. The storm had definitely passed, but the roads were still blocked with snow and just by looking outside you felt a little cold. 

You couldn’t be staring out the window for more than five minutes when you felt a hand on your back, in the middle of your spine. Touch so gentle that it didn’t even make you jump, followed by a sweet kiss on your shoulder. Suddenly the cold was completely gone and the tightness on your chest alleviated a smidge. 

Through the lights coming from the lamp posts outside, you could see Yoongi’s silhouette and his movements as he signed:

“You're awake. Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, everything is fine.” you assured him, turning slightly to look at his sleepy face and messy hair as it stood in odd angles. 

“Is the bed... not nice?” it made you smile how the just-out-of-bed state made him a little less fluent in sign language, but he was still trying. Yoongi was always trying. 

“The bed is very nice, just.... I feel vulnerable when I'm sleeping.” you explained slowly, watching his face to make sure he understood. “It's nothing personal, really. Since I can't hear, I can't fall asleep that easily in strange places.”

“Oh, yeah, I get that.” Yoongi nodded, his hand returning to rub your back, heat spreading where he touched. 

“At home I have a device that I keep under my pillow that will buzz me awake if something happens. And emergency lights.” you told him, not really expecting him to know about the gadgets that made your life a little easier. 

“I didn't even think of that... I’m sorry.” the man’s bottom lip jutted out and you wanted to kiss it. 

Things were pretty heated when you were making out on his couch, before your sister’s worried texts interrupted you. But then the talk you had afterwards, when he told you about going on tour, put the two of you in a damp mood, meaning you hadn’t kissed again after that. 

So you didn’t really know where you stood with him, you didn’t know what would have happened if the storm hadn’t hit and Yoongi was able to drive you home. You guessed you were waiting for tomorrow to find out if he would promise to text you, if he’d come see you at your work, even if he’d kiss you goodbye at the front porch of your house. 

“Don't be, please, I wanted to try.” you signed and rested a hand on his chest. 

“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked, but you shook your head. 

“It's three am. I'm not even sure your car can get on the road like this.”

“Would it help if... you slept on my bed? That way you know I'll wake you up if anything happens?” Yoongi offered quietly and you read his lips. “I'll be your emergency light.”

“Poetic.” you giggled, despite your soaring heart. 

“Gimme a break, I'm half asleep.” Yoongi chuckled and you loved to feel the vibrations of his body, making you imagine what his laugh sounded like each time you felt it. 

“I'd like to try, if you're okay with that.” 

Yoongi assured you that he was okay with you sleeping in the same bed as him by threading his fingers through yours and gently pulling you with him to his bedroom. He had shown you his space when he gave you a tiny tour of the place earlier in the day, so you didn’t look around much this time. 

He turned the light on and fixed his pillows so that they sat in two piles on each half of the bed instead of one in the middle, fluffing them up and untucking the duvet a little wider so you’d both have space to slip under it. 

“You can take this side, so it’s closer to the door?” Yoongi offered and you didn’t even have to tell him that it would make you more comfortable to do so. You nodded, so he continued: “Do you want me to leave the light on?” 

“No, it’s okay.” 

Would you feel more at ease with some form of light? Yes. But Yoongi didn’t have any lamps or night lights in his bedroom and you doubted he could really sleep with the strong lights from the ceiling. You knew he had rehearsals for his tour the next day, with a dance practice in between, so you didn’t want to make him even more tired just because you had particularities about you. 

Yoongi nodded and waited for you to climb on his bed and lay down on his pillow, pulling the sheet higher over you to make sure you were warm. He didn’t close the door all the way when he walked closer to it to flicker the lights off. It took you a few moments for your eyes to get used to the new darkness, but when they did, you noticed Yoongi fiddling with the curtains on the other side of the room. 

He pulled and pushed until a gentle beam of light was crossing the bedroom, in a direct path to the door. This way it wasn’t too bright to keep any of you from falling asleep, but it was still enough to let you see the front of the room and a pathway leading directly to the door; just in case you needed it. 

The quiet and gentle care, the worry and attention to detail made a small lump form on your throat as you felt the bed dip on your left side. Yoongi settled next to you and you could feel the added warmth coming from his body under the shared covers. 

“Yoongi?” you called into the darkness. 

You knew you had spoken his name before, you let him hear a couple words from you during the day. It had taken a great effort then, to allow Yoongi into a part of you that only your sister and your niece were privy to. But each time you did, Yoongi never made fun of you, never laughed, never looked at you as if you were weird; or divergent at all. 

So you basked in the solitude of this dark room to get a little bit of courage.

To show you he was listening, Yoongi searched for your hand and brought it to his chest, dragging his fingers over the back of your hand in soft circles.  

“Thank you. For today. For letting me stay here.” you told him in what you hoped was a quiet tone, not wanting to disturb his silence too much. “And thank you for never making me feel like I'm different. It means a lot.” 

You could tell Yoongi was humming in acknowledgment from the vibrations of his chest under your palm. And since you took your chances anyway, you might as well:

“Also. You’re a really good kisser.” 

The rocking of his chest felt harder now, arms and shoulders shaking with the force of his laugh. At least the darkness kept your own smile and blushing cheeks a secret. Yoongi flipped your hand the other way around, so that your palm was facing up. His finger dragged slowly against it, with small caresses that did little to tame your beating heart. 

It took a few tries, but you realized what he was doing. Yoongi was writing letters on your palm. 

B. A. B. Y. 

It had you sighing and turning around to lay on your side, facing him. Yoongi let go of your hand to do the same and the soft light coming from the window behind him was enough to let you see the outlines of his face and of his curves. You didn’t need any more than that when his hand touched the side of your face, thumb tracing the space between your eyebrows, the slope of your nose, your cupid’s bow, finishing its path on your bottom lip. 

You parted your mouth to kiss the calloused pad of his thumb, flicking the tip of your tongue over it. Yoongi’s warm breath felt heavy on your cheek, making you look up and realize his face was inches away from yours. Yoongi took his thumb away and replaced it with his lips. 

The kiss started gentle, slow and innocent, growing bolder as you wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled yourself closer to him. Yoongi’s mouth moved against yours, making you follow along as your closed eyes fluttered and you sighed into him. His tongue was the followup, licking its way into your pliant mouth as you melted into his arms. 

Yoongi added depth into the kiss with flicks of his tongue as his free hand slipped to your waist to pull you flush against him and you were suddenly aware of the fact that you weren’t wearing his pants and the shirt he let you borrow was probably dangerously high on your hips. 

Instead of taking advantage of it, Yoongi smoothed the fabric to cover your bottom half, lips parting from yours to kiss your forehead instead. That’s when you knew nothing else was happening tonight. 

But at least when he laid back down against the mattress, letting you settle with your head on his chest, you weren’t nervous anymore. You weren’t doubting that his feelings for you were the same you had for him, and you knew that this kiss wouldn't be a one time thing. 

That night you slept better than you had in a very long time. 

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7 @syukookie @kam9404 @suker4angst @rumidd2 @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii @granataepfelchen @notsevenwithyou @tessakleine @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen @dreamamubarak @dazzlingjade @kiki-zb @m00njinnie @lerasi @justandloyal2961 @astro-doll-the-star @may-the-dreadwolf-take-me @mafiulaputaama

@postmodernlux @thevelvetseries @mafersame @osakis-gf @iiitsmaria @just-a-small-shadow @perpetuapenandpaper @bearr02 @smdlc @justafreaksstuff @pumpernickelll @amaroho @minijagiya @take2withasprouts @agustsblog @ktownshizzle @dansphil @llallaaa @yasuraokaa @beetyp0 @yusalterego @jwnghyuns @yoongixmile @jimingirl95 @melhtmi @lllucere @yasuraokaa

A SURPRISE CHAPTER!!! thank u sm ryen 🧎🏾‍♀️🧎🏾‍♀️ I MISSED MY BABIES SM <3 3tan yoongi will always have me kick my feet and giggle BUT IN THIS CHAPTER HE ESPECIALLY DID! you always bless us with ur masterpieces thank you ryen 🫶🏾

bet wrong (3tan717) | myg

drabble: bet wrong pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 | one  rating/genre: pg (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: after seeing how comfortable yoongi is in his place with your brother and their friends, it’s hard for you to leave… but it’s also hard for you to stay. note: apologies for all the late postings! but kim yeji’s aura was so strong it made me write about her so here we are hahaha. it's not really edited cus i just wrote this up and posted so apologies for any mistakes! note 2: this is in a pocket universe in the three tangerines series, so if you haven’t read the series yet, these characters would make more sense if you did hehe. even though this is very heavily influenced by the olympics, i’m keeping it as easy to read as i can. you can imagine them watching any of the events happening lol warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, angst, olympics talk, yoongi fights back??, the Yearning is Strong, reader is a tease, shiv is back!, brother and jimin are dorks, but so is everyone else, yoongi on the phone, he's so down bad y'all i wanna cry :(( drop date: august 1st, 2024, 7:17pm est word count: 2.3k (just like the first drabble omg?)

—

—

“Hey, you made it!”

“Oh, shit, look who’s here!”

After a quick greeting to everyone in Yoongi’s living room, you slip off your shoes with a distracted, “I can’t stay long but, I’m here!”

Even though the handsome devil next to you shoots a look, it’s your brother that speaks up, “Wait, why?”

“I’m meeting my friends in a bit.” You hand a still-quiet Yoongi some snacks you brought for everyone, asking a question with a very obvious answer, “Where should I put these?”

He blinks before forcing out, “Over here.”

“K.”

Sounds of conversation and sports games spring about. Jimin’s clearly in some sort of squabble with your brother and Shiv is fanning the flames. There’s a couple guys you recognize but don’t really know talking on the opposite side of the coffee table, but they’re all watching the Olympics and giving their own comments. 

Hopefully it’s noisy enough to shroud your dizzying thoughts. Because Yoongi looks damn good in his casual fit and his hair speaks volumes. 

What you would give to run your fingers through those waves. Following him through his bustling apartment is already giving you the shivers, so what would a sudden touch feel like? A burst of fire?

“I’ll take those,” he instructs, taking the bags from you and pulling everything out with crinkles. When he sees a certain bag, his blinks make you giggle.

It’s a specific chip he likes, recently divulged during a long night of learning things about one another—like favorite foods, and how fast or slow he likes you riding. 

So of course you threw it in your basket before heading over. 

Commentators make conversation on the television as you shrug, “Don’t ask me, I dunno how those got in there.”

God, that smile always makes you melt. And he proceeds to turn you into mush as he shows gratitude under his breath,

“Thanks, doll.”

“Seriously, I think they just handed me those,” you joke, trying your best to not do any of the million and three things you want to. “Said I was cute or something.”

His laugh is immediate. But it’s shoved away by cheers and yells, and both of you pop out of the kitchen to see what happened on the tv.

Something big must have went down because even Yoongi reacts, scaring you with a delayed reaction,

“Holy shit, what happened? Sorry,” he immediately apologizes at your flinch, putting a daring but comforting hand on your lower back before making his way to the group.

Did he really just…

He is lucky your brother didn’t see from the other side of the couch. 

That was the boldest Yoongi’s ever been and he’s quite literally kissed you in your kitchen. 

“Yeji got silver.”

“What? Wait, run it back!”

“I thought she'd take it!"

Chill out. Relax, relax, relax. Everyone else is clearly entranced by whatever happened and no one is even looking at you. Relax.

But damn, that touch meant a lot more than an apology. 

Seems like the one vocally surprised at the replay wants to do a million and three things, too. 

On your emotional decrescendo, you scuttle back to grab a plastic cup. No use in trying to join them anyway. All you can do for now is get a drink in a kitchen you’re not supposed to know your way around.

Being in his place while your brother is too is quite the experience. 

However. 

This is absolutely the ideal situation you should be in. You would be the one showing up at Yoongi’s at the invitation of your brother, and it would be a small party where you blend right into the background with minimal interaction. 

But of course, the feelings of distance and guilt creep onto your feet, rooting you in place and forcing you to watch from afar. 

They’re all checking their phones and pointing at each other—accusingly? Excitedly?—before switching between different games on the tv and yelling at each other. 

And while you adore them for being such lovable geeks about this, your eyes cannot stop pinning Yoongi with longing. He’s so radiant doing the most normal things, and his eyes have that sparkle they get when he’s comfortable and at home. 

He’s perfect.

Your heart’s warm.

And the cup in your hand never touches your mouth.

—

—

After you take a seat at his dining table—yet another thing you should not know anything about—you cycle between watching them interact and scrolling on your apps. 

At first, you thought you were safe. Staying in the back and letting them have their own time together is good enough for you, especially since you were invited by your brother to stop by.

Really, you were just a courier for food they wanted. 

But it was on the way. And it’s a chance to see someone you’ve been missing.

So of course you faked reluctance to come.

The plan was to do exactly this. Hang back until you had to leave, maybe have a bite or two, and try hard not to yearn for Yoongi too long.

Failed step three.

But also now step one, because Shiv decides to twist around to yell, “Hey! Come join us!” 

“I’m good over here,” you reply, smiling when he gives you a look. 

“Suit yourself!” 

One of the guys you recognize but don’t really know gets off the couch to head into the kitchen, asking a question as he opens the fridge.

Wait, he’s asking you something? You?

You leave your chair so you can hear him better, and when he repeats his question you respond.

“Want a drink?”

“Oh, uhh. Sure.”

“Pick your poison. Yoongi doesn’t have much but it’s all strong.”

He’s pretty cute. But then again, all your brother’s friends seem to end up this way. “Water’s fine,” you say with a light smile. “I have to be somewhere else in a minute.”

“Leaving so soon?” He grabs a cup to fill with your choice before handing it over. Leaning against the same counter Yoongi has smushed you against many times, the man takes a sip of his beer. “You just got here.”

“I was told to bring food.”

“Ah, come on. You can stay a bit.”

Uh huh.

Bold choice to be flirting with the company present today.

But you know what to do. Swerve. “What even happened back there? You guys scared the shit outta me.”

From the creases of his eyes, your plan works. “Oh, Yeji? She was supposed to win gold.”

“Feel like she won anyway.”

You both snap your heads over to the kitchen threshold, and your stomach could win a floor routine with the amount of flips it completes. “How come?” You decide to ask, throwing both guys for a loop.

It’s Yoongi that responds first, “She’s trending from a video back in May.”

“Oh, shit, really?” 

“Fucking boss. But yeah, none of us got that one right,” his friend responds, which leaves you intrigued. 

“Got it right?”

“Mmhmm. We picked her for gold.” Glancing over at Yoongi now crossing between to get to his fridge, he claps his back. “Even this guy bet wrong and he’s usually right.”

“Bet with my heart,” your secret drones as he cracks open a bottle. 

“We all did, bro.”

Fucking hell, that move was hotter than it should’ve been.

But now you’re kinda invested in what they’re all doing, so you ask how the whole thing works.

Which leads you to sitting in the living room with everyone three whole minutes later.

“So all of these are events, and I pick what I think happens?”

“Yup!”

“Good luck.”

“Choose quick, the next games start soon.”

Everyone’s eyes are on your paper as you look at the options, with some laughs and comments as you circle your choices.

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

“Hey, hey, no help.”

You glance at your brother and Yoongi before laughing, “I have no idea what I’m doing but this is fun.”

Their amusement is noticeable.

“If you get any of those right, I’ll be surprised,” your sibling teases, earning a laugh from Yoongi and a counterpoint from Jimin,

“Dark horse?”

“Nah, no chance.”

Park’s shoulders raise as he smirks. “It's all luck, you never know..”

Huffing, you pretend to have confidence for days, just happy that you get to be involved and not hang back like the initial plan. “Yeah, I have masterclass intuition, don’t you know?” 

Reactions pop and fizz around you.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Master class, huh..”

“We have a hustler here!”

Your eyes drift to Yoongi’s at Shiv's comment, and you both share a quick, mirth-filled, intimate stare.

This really is a lot more fun already. 

Your phone buzzing is the one thing that interrupts, and you immediately feel relieved and saddened by the fact that you have to go.

Finishing up, you hand your brother your picks before standing, heading to the door and saying that you have to leave. 

“Wait, already?”

“Tell them you’re busy!”

“I kinda want to,” you admit, feeling a little shy at all the eyes on you. “But we’re watching a movie and tickets are stupid expensive now.”

Yoongi’s already next to you as he waits to let you out. “You okay to drive?”

“Me? Oh, yeah, I just had water.”

“K.”

Why does he have to be so considerate right now? Now you just wanna stay here instead of sit through whatever movie your friends picked!

“Be careful,” your brother comments from the living room, and you wave goodbye.

“I will. Y’all have fun!”

“Okay!”

Facing Yoongi, you wanna do so many things. Hug him, hold him, kiss the shit out of him for his exuding presence in the kitchen earlier. 

“Thanks for the food.”

But you obviously can’t.

So you settle for giving him a smile. “Thanks for letting me come over,” you decide to say. “Have fun tonight.”

You get a small lift of his lips in return. “You, too.”

“Yeah.. I’ll try.”

Hearing sounds from outside as you walk to your car, you feel the loneliest imaginable. 

But alas.

It’s still not your place to stay.

—

—

Much, much later, you check your phone after the movie ends and you’re all walking out. While the girls are busy discussing the movie and Taehyung's checking his phone, you're greeted with two very surprising keystrokes.

Yoongi [9:30pm]: :( 

He texted that so long ago. Did something happen?

You [10:34pm]: you ok?

All of you talk for just a little longer. When you finally get into your car, you wave goodbye at everyone before looking at your device again, wondering what the heck warranted this rogue of a text.

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Yeah

Yoongi [10:40pm]: Just miss you

Well, fuck.

Heart clenching, your fingers skirt across the screen.

You [10:45pm]: i miss you too.. i didn’t wanna leave😭

Yoongi [10:45pm]: You did though😔

There are plenty of people in the lot. Many people walking past as you wait in your car. 

And all you can do is stare at your screen. 

Is… Is he drunk?

Yoongi [10:46pm]: So now you have to make it up to me :) 

That catches you so off-guard you scoff at your screen through a smile. 

You [10:46pm]: don’t be a loser!! 

Yoongi [10:46pm]: I’m your loser 

Cheeks hurting from your shy as hell grin, you bite your lip to keep your screams from alerting people in the nearby theatre. 

How dare this man be this bold when your brother is over there! 

If he’s gonna keep this shocking behavior up, who are you to not play into it? You fucking miss him and imagining being there and being yourselves—your true selves—makes your chest clench. 

You [10:46pm]: not today you weren’t :\

And now you have to make the drive to a house that no one's occupying.

This is so hard. So, so hard. 

But you have to keep going until that one day comes. If it ever does. The day you can do whatever you want with the man you’d fight the universe for? No one will know how to react, and frankly you don’t give a shit about that.

And then you wonder.

Does Yoongi feel the same?

Yoongi [10:48pm]: They're still here

Yoongi [10:48pm]: You down to come back?

Oh.

You are.

Yes, yes, yes you are.

Grateful eyes shut, forehead hitting your steering wheel and heart hurting but still burning lovingly.

There’s no fighting how desperately you want to see him. Especially after seeing him so happy earlier today. Of course you’re going to go. You’d cross mountains even if that meant you’d only get to see him from afar. 

Because—and this you know for sure—he would do the same. 

...But that doesn't mean you won't prank him just a little bit.

You [10:49pm]: don't bet on it w ur heart again💕

Buzzing with excitement, you start your car and pull out of the lot, calling your brother and letting him know you’re coming back.

“K! You gonna bring food again?”

Normally, you would say fuck no and hang up. But you’re so elated you get to go back, and imagining Yoongi's shock makes you laugh. “Yeah, yeah, what do y’all want?” 

“Wait, really? Hey! What do we want for dinner—”

“Wait!” You interject, something pinging into your mind and igniting your curiosity. “How are my picks doing?” 

There’s a scuffle on the line, and you can hear your brother complain, Jimin laugh, and a very, very familiar voice answer from your brother’s phone. 

Because Yoongi’s voice drones so beautifully through the speaker, and you can’t stop your cackling when he responds, 

“Turns out Jimin was right.” 

“Damn, I'm the best,” you boast, earning a loud laugh from him and welcoming the way your cheeks hurt with open arms. “Show me that video you were talking about when I get there?”

This is safe to say. It's all you really can say.

There's a little bit of silence before he answers how he can, too.

“Yeah, I will.” 

Mm. Maybe Yoongi does feel the same.

“Nice," you whisper. Lips curved up in hope, you keep your voice neutral, “See you soon!” 

Again, he responds how he's supposed to. And right after, you both hang up exactly as expected.

For now.

“See you soon.” 

—

—

—

fin. :)

-

how did the second 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe | three tangerines

a/n: love you love you love you. that's really all i can say. but also, here's the video of kim yeji being an absolute badass in may and i cannot stop thinking about her GAHHHHHH and now the guy from turkey?? hello?? this year is so fun and interesting istg!!

oh my god oh my god oh my god pls this was so cute and the end!!! my god yoongi is so hot how do i even cope this was such a good chapter 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Interlude | MYG | Six

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: Happy birthday, Yoongi! SMUT. (In case you forgot this Yoongi; or this, or this)

A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!  

 WC: 5.3k

 [Membership]

← Previous | Series Masterlist | Next →

Time is a fickle thing. 

For the first time in the last decade, Yoongi felt like he had so much of it in his hands. For the first time, he didn’t have schedules everyday, beside the many hours of rehearsing for his tour that he could easily manage and move around to fit his needs; but it was nothing compared to Bangtan promo schedules. 

It also meant he could spend more time with you. 

For the past two weeks, you saw each other every day. Granted, he already saw you a lot before then, coming up to the coffee shop with the excuse of getting a drink and a treat. 

You didn’t go on a second date yet, but Yoongi always insisted on driving you home after work, keeping you in his car for a few minutes at a time so he could kiss you in the back seat; until your sister almost gave him a heart attack by knocking on the tinted window of the car as she caught the two of you in the act. 

Now Yoongi dragged you into his studio for kisses and some alone time before dropping you off. 

The two of you hadn’t really given a name to what you had yet, but Yoongi knew you weren’t just hooking up either. At least that’s not how he saw it, and from the shy way you introduced him to your sister and little Ari, Yoongi knew it wasn’t just a fling to you either. 

Yoongi also hadn’t quite introduced you to his members just yet, but he did tell Hoseok he followed his advice, and he warned Taehyung to behave and not to bother you again. Both instances led them into their group chat with warnings of ‘hyung finally has a new girl in his life’, followed up by ‘I knew he was looking happier and in a better mood lately’. Both which Yoongi ignored and only replied to with his usual thumbs up emoji. 

For a change, Yoongi was typing a lengthy email on his computer, part of a back and forth conversation he was having with the recipient, instead of beating himself up for whatever song he had that was perfectly fine, but that he wanted to be too hard on himself for no apparent reason. So distracted with reading his words on the screen over and over again to make sure they were right –english wasn’t his strongest suit, and it’s not like he could ask Namjoon for help with this–, that he didn’t expect a message coming through to tear his attention from it.  

Yoongi saved the email as a draft, it’s not like the man he was corresponding with would be awake at this hour anyways, and got up from his chair as he put his phone back into his pocket. He was more than a little disappointed that he had completely missed your lunch break, as it was the one time during the day where you could just hang out and eat together. 

Not only that, but you had texted him this morning saying you had something for him, so Yoongi didn’t want you to think he didn’t care about it enough to make it to the coffee shop in time. 

The elevator ride from the 6th floor to the 17th floor was so familiar at this point that Yoongi barely felt the elevator move. He found you sitting at the usual table you shared during your lunch breaks, a little tucked into the side to stay away from curious eyes, and next to the glass walls as you always raved about how much you loved the views from being this high up. 

Your pretty face split into a beautiful smile as you saw Yoongi approach, steps a little quicker to reach you at once. You were halfway through a sign, which Yoongi kindly ignored in order to place a hand on the table and the other on the back of your chair so he could lean in and smack his lips against yours. 

You gasped softly, red face as you looked from one side to the next to make sure nobody watched it. 

It wasn’t always that you dabbed on PDA, but sometimes Yoongi just couldn’t resist. 

Yoongi had also already assured you that HYBE’s rules didn’t stop him and you from seeing each other or dating. While staff members and idols were forbidden from starting a relationship –with the best interest of everyone and the workplace in mind–, you weren’t a staff member, and you didn’t work with BTS. 

“Hi, baby.” he said as he licked his lips and sat across from you, whatever complaint you had went out the window as you loved that term of endearment he had for you. “So your lunch was good?”

“Yeah.” you nodded, deep breath making your chest move dramatically. “Dessert was better.” 

“Always good to hear that.” Yoongi chuckled, eyeing the white cardboard box between the two of you. “What’s that?” 

“For you.” you spoke softly, pushing the box closer to him. 

Over the last couple of weeks, you were becoming more and more confident about talking to him. It was rare when you spoke full phrases like that night you shared his bed, and even rarer for you to use your voice when you were out and about like this, and not just the two of you. 

It wouldn’t take a genius to guess what it was inside the box and Yoongi confirmed his suspicions as he pulled the lid of the box open to see the cake covered in neat white fondant and black details; flowers, cat faces and the words ‘happy Yoongi day’ in the middle. 

“I told you not to get me anything for my birthday.” he told you, instantly regretting as he realized how ungrateful he sounded. 

But when he looked at you, scared he might have upset you, you were laughing with a shake of your head and the roll of your eyes. “You told me not to get you a gift.” you pointed out. “Not a cake.” 

“You’re a smart ass, aren’t you?” Yoongi mused, head slightly tilted sideways as he watched you smile mischievously. 

“Besides, it’s not your birthday until tomorrow.” you shrugged. “Consider it your birthday-eve-cake, if that will make you feel better.”

“It does, thank you, I love it.” he smiled, wondering if you’d scold him too much if he swiped a finger on the fondant to taste it. 

“It’s orange flavor, by the way. Since my lemon one wasn’t a hit.” 

“I still liked that one, let me live it down!” Yoongi chuckled. You might be the second person to make him laugh the most; just behind Hoseok. “Jungkookie said it was the best cake he ever had.”

“Really?” your whole face lit up at that. 

“Mhm. And he almost got sick when he tried a lemon donut a few years ago, so that’s saying something.” he nodded as he closed the lid of his cake. 

“Maybe I’ll bake him a whole lemon cake then.” you signed, proud smile lifting the side of your lips. “Since at least some of you appreciate real cooking.”

“I’m sure he’ll never leave you alone if you do that.”

“Good.” you grinned, but it fell short as you looked over his shoulder, then to the smart watch on your wrist. “Kay, I gotta go.”

“Already?” Yoongi full on pouted as he watched you get up, taking your wrist as you walked to his side. 

“Yeah, serves you right for getting here late.” you spoke softly, but he still heard you. 

“Sorry, I really got distracted.” Yoongi offered you an apologetic smile, but he knew you didn’t mean the nagging. 

“I’m kidding.” you smiled as Yoongi kissed the inner part of your wrist and when he let go, you carried on: “But hey. Do you have any birthday-eve plans? We could go get something to eat?”

“Ah, I’d like that, baby, but I’m not leaving the building before midnight. I’m going live a little later, to celebrate my birthday with ARMY.” he explained, knowing you’d understand. “I’m sorry, that means I can’t drive you home tonight either.”

You let out a tiny scoff, assuring him: “Oh, please, I am okay with taking the bus, I keep telling you that.” 

“I can pick you up tomorrow to make up for it–”

“Goodbye.” 

You leaned down so quickly to press your lips against his that Yoongi barely had time to react, smiling like a damn fool as he watched you skip the few meters it took you to reach the coffee stand, where Miss Naru was already waiting for you so she could take her own lunch break. 

“Everyone, it’s a bit late. It’s twelve thirty.” Yoongi was saying as he got back to his chair after placing his guitar back onto its little hanger on the wall. “Thank you for all the birthday wishes. I hope you have a comfortable night. Goodnight! Bye.” 

Yoongi had a smile on his face as he turned the live stream off, dropping back against his chair as tiredness took over his body. His fingertips were burning nicely from playing the guitar for ARMY, his limbs felt sore from the three hour tour practice he had in the early evening. It was almost 1am and he was still at HYBE’s building, which was something that rarely even happened anymore these days.

His phone was blowing up with text messages from Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung, who he knew for a fact had watched the live, and Hoseok would no doubt be calling him any time now. But it was the soft knock on his door that had him standing up to see which of his members decided to pay him a visit. 

As soon as the door unlocked, Yoongi pushed it open and his heart skipped a beat in his chest as he saw you standing there. Like he was a schoolboy with a crush. Not like he just turned thirty years old half an hour ago. 

“Happy birthday!” you chirped happily with the cutest signs. 

“Baby, what are you still doing here?” Yoongi was all smiles as he let you walk into his studio after you took your shoes off at the door. 

“I was watching your live.” you explained, letting him take your coat and bag to place both of them in the spare chair by the couch. You had a scrunch to your nose as you said: “You should really ask the Weverse people to add closed captions.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry, they should really get on with that.” 

Yoongi would make sure to write a complaint for the company. He knew international fans suffered with the lack of translations and subtitles that weren’t added until hours later, and he was ashamed to realize he never even thought about the fact that they lacked inclusive content. 

“Thirty looks good on you, though.” you made sure to tell him before busying your hands by touching his chest, dragging your palms up to rest by his neck. “You look handsome.” 

“You just saw me this afternoon, wasn’t I handsome then?” Yoongi teased, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull your body closer to his. 

“You were.” you admitted, light fingers tracing patterns on the back of his neck, making it really hard for Yoongi not to close his eyes. “But I was mad at you for missing lunch.” 

“Were you, now?” his lips were raised in a corner as he cocked his head, looking down on you as you avoided his eyes. 

“Yeah.” you lied. “Maybe you should make it up to me.”

Yoongi chuckled, a sound you couldn’t hear, but you lit up each time you felt it nonetheless. With his free hand, Yoongi raised your chin for you to look a little higher and he could ghost his lips over yours. He didn’t kiss you for a while, merely dragging his lips softly against yours. 

But then you grew impatient, like he knew you would, telling him so by the gentle squeeze to the back of his neck, pleading with him to continue. And Yoongi was never one to deny you, pressing his mouth to yours a little harder, making you gasp. 

As soon as your lips parted, his tongue slipped past your lips to lick at yours, deepening the kiss instantly, pushing his tongue this way and that to make you melt against his arms. Yoongi kissed you slowly, teasingly, moving his lips and commanding his tongue in ways he knew drove you crazy. 

Too soon for his own liking, you pulled away from him with a heavy breath and bleary eyes. 

“Something wrong?” Yoongi checked, out of breath as well, as he noticed you seemed a little tense out of the blue. 

You shook your head, taking a step back, and Yoongi was about to panic when you signed: “I have something for you. For your birthday.”  

“Okay.” 

Yoongi’s first instinct was to say you didn’t have to get him anything, but scared he might sound ungrateful yet again, he let you give him whatever you wanted. But instead of getting something from your bag or pockets, you sheepishly walked to the set of electric keyboards on the side of the studio. 

“Can… Uhm. Can you turn it on, please?” you asked, full of nerves and unsure. 

“Of course.” 

The rapper rushed to turn the keyboard on, pressing a couple keys to make sure it was in the basic setting. Yoongi didn’t know what you were planning, and it made him a little nervous, too. 

When you sat down on the small bench he kept hidden underneath it, you patted the spot next to you for him to join you. Sitting next to you, thighs pressed together as his hand rested on the low of your back, felt intimate, quiet and so familiar. Not much time had passed ever since you first stepped into this space, but it still felt as if a lot had changed between the two of you. 

You now talked everyday, even on the weekends and on your days off. You also kissed every time you saw each other, which was something Yoongi was easily getting used to. Now when thinking about getting on the road in a couple of months, the excitement about seeing his fans came accompanied by the impending hurt of having to leave you behind and how much Yoongi could already tell he was going to miss you. 

But the two of you had a non-verbal agreement, where you both decided on your own that you wouldn’t talk about the uncertainty of your future together, lest you miss out on your present. 

And, right now, Yoongi really liked the way his present looked. 

You in his space, bodies pressed together as your gentle fingers were positioned on the keys of his instrument and you started to play. 

Wait– 

Yoongi’s breath was knocked out of him as he watched your fingers move slowly, carefully, almost hesitantly. But the notes were there, music was filling his studio and somehow it sounded better than anything he had ever played before. 

Even if your version of the happy birthday song was a little choppy. Yoongi could tell your fingers started to tremble slightly as you got to the last bits of the song, he couldn’t imagine how nervous you might be. He didn’t want to take your focus away, so he found that running his hand up and down your back was encouragement enough for you to finish playing for him. 

“So… Happy birthday, Yoongi.” you said as your hands finally rested on your lap and the only thing Yoongi could hear was his heavy breath and your quick one. 

You weren’t looking at him, so Yoongi hooked two fingers on your chin to get you to do that. Your eyes widened a little as you finally did, your thumb swiping under his right eye being the only thing that told him he was tearing up. 

“That bad?” you joked through a whisper as Yoongi took your hand and kissed the inside of your wrist, shaking his head. 

“That might be the best gift I got for my birthday.” Yoongi chuckled, watching your eyes stare at his lips. 

You lit up and said: “Well, it’s only been your birthday for one hour–” 

Yoongi never thought he’d interrupt you. Not when he knew how privileged he was with the fact you allowed him to listen to you. But your lips were too soft and too red from all the biting you did while playing, and he knew exactly what they tasted like. 

It was impossible to resist dragging you into a kiss with the press of his lips against yours. You pulled back just for a second, surprised by his action, but dove in a moment later, both hands on Yoongi’s shoulders. Your mouths moved together, the sound of your lips smacking and your tiny sighs as his tongue licked yours were the perfect recipe for Yoongi to get carried away. 

He only pulled away from your lips as his lungs started to burn, but even then he didn’t go far. Yoongi could see your eyes flutter and lips part as he kissed your cheek and your jaw, making his way to your neck. You tilted your head to the side to give him more space to cover, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as you melted in his arms. 

Yoongi softly kissed at your skin, with gentle pecks and the nudging of his nose, until your breath got cut off and he knew he found the spot. That’s when Yoongi let his tongue slip between his lips to press against the sensitive skin just under your ear, the edges of the small toast-shaped earring you were wearing scraped his cheek. 

His teeth dragged over your skin and Yoongi bit down, more than he normally would. The man was mindful of never marking your skin, but it was his birthday after all, so he allowed himself to suck on the skin he was latched on, eyes rolling back as you moaned right into his ear, squirming slightly on the seat. 

“Yoongi–” you whined, the hands on his shoulders pushing him off of you. He was about to apologize when you said: “Couch? Please?”

Wordlessly, and with a lick between his lips, Yoongi got up from the piano bench and held your hand to drag you the few feet to his gray couch. Instead of letting him sit down first so you’d take his lap like you normally would, you gave his hand a little squeeze and moved first. 

You were giggling as you had to push away the huge cat shaped balloon and purple hearts onto the floor to open up space for the two of you. 

Yoongi’s heart skipped a beat as you laid down on the cushions, head resting on the arm of the couch and you sheepishly and shyly parted your legs for him. It was just enough for his hips to fit in between them, but Yoongi’s mind went straight down the path of inappropriate thoughts. 

You also didn’t have any reason to look this cute as you whined and gave him grabby hands as he was taking too long. 

“So impatient.” he chuckled, joining you on the couch a second later, body between your legs as he pushed your knees apart a little more, just because he could. “Won’t even let me admire how pretty you are.” 

“I’ll let you kiss me instead?” you signed, pink cheeks and pretty eyes. 

Yoongi took your hands and pinned them above your head, more than a little satisfied that you kept them there even after he let go of your wrists to lean down above you. 

You had changed from your uniform and into regular clothes, he noticed, a soft, blue sweater instead of the usual we believe in music HYBE shirt. A tiny pang of guilt struck Yoongi’s stomach, as he wondered if you brought this change of clothes in hopes you could go out together to celebrate his birthday eve with you. 

Before he could get too deep into his own head, you whined softly, a sound he never tired of hearing. Yoongi leaned down to kiss your lips and you granted him easy entrance, parting your mouth to lick his tongue in lazy strokes. 

When your legs closed around his hips, pulling him impossibly close to you, Yoongi wondered if you could feel his hardness pressing against your core through your combined many layers of clothing. 

The soft way you gasped and tentatively pushed your hips upwards, in an attempt to feel more of him, made Yoongi believe that you did. It made him moan into your neck, mouth against your skin, so that you could feel how much you affected him. 

One of his forearms was holding him up above you, to not crush you with his weight, and the other hand was moving up and down your side, resting just on your ribs. 

It wasn’t enough for you, Yoongi grinned at your little pout. Your hands finally moved down from where he placed them in order to reach for his own hand. 

Yoongi’s breath left his lungs all at once as you took his hand and placed it on your chest, smaller hand on top of his to flex your fingers over his, squeezing your breast. His eyes were on your face, studying you, reading your every twitch. 

You were obviously into it, moaning softly as Yoongi squeezed your tit all on his own, little whimpers coming out of your red-bitten lips as he circled the fine traces of your nipple over your sweater. 

"Baby." he called, even if he knew you couldn't hear, you were so close together that you felt the vibrations and looked to his face, which is what he wanted. "Can I give you something?" 

"It's your birthday." your voice came out ragged a slightly louder than you intended, making you cringe slightly and continue a little quieter: "Shouldn't I be the one to give you something?" 

"You did. You played the song, and you baked me a cake." Yoongi spoke slowly, making sure you read his every word. "Let me show you how much I loved them both?" 

You nodded with the softest okay and Yoongi smiled, starting to move down your body. You began to tremble, eyes droopy as you stared at him. 

"Anyone ever eat you out before?" he wanted to know, unprepared for the pang of jealousy he felt as you nodded. 

"I didn't like it." you continued, as Yoongi reached your hips. He was almost all the way off the couch, so you scooted a little upwards to give him space to lay down somewhat more comfortably. 

"Did they make you cum?" he asked again, and this time you shook your head. "Can I?" 

“Please.” 

Yoongi thought you might get shy on him, hide behind your hands or avoid looking at him. Instead, your hips rocked upwards once in invitation and despite your very red cheeks, you were looking straight at him. It made him grin, how you clearly wanted him as much as he wanted you. 

Slowly, with his eyes trained on you, Yoongi pushed your sweater a little higher, so he could kiss your lower stomach as his fingers popped your button open, then pulled your zipper down. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked through a dry mouth as he was the one getting a little nervous. 

“Yes, just–” you sighed and Yoongi stopped, in case you were having second thoughts. You spoke through barely a whisper: “If I’m too loud, you can tap my leg twice and I’ll shut up.” 

“Baby, be as loud as you want.” Yoongi told you as he stood on his knees to reach your lips with his. Making sure you were looking at his mouth, he said: “The studio is soundproof. And I want to fucking hear you. Okay?” 

You nodded, holding his neck to press your lips together. Yoongi kissed you slowly as his hands hooked on the band of your jeans, pulling them down your legs until he couldn’t kiss you anymore and had to move a little to take it off the rest of the way. He fumbled with the material a bit, almost slapping himself in the face with a pant leg. 

Yoongi was used to having more control than this, face and neck flushing with embarrassment, but your giggle was so cute that he didn’t mind it. Looking at you on his couch, bottom half covered only by a piece of underwear that matched the blue of your sweater, Yoongi felt himself throbbing inside his pants. 

But he didn’t want to make this about him, just because it was his birthday. Although, tasting you and making you feel good with his mouth was for you as much as it was for him. 

As his fingers hooked on the elastic band of your underwear and Yoongi pulled it off your legs, your thighs shut and you squirmed. He could tell you didn’t want to stop, your soft moans were telling enough, but this was the shy reaction he was waiting for all this time. Your bottom lip was worried between your teeth and your cheeks were as red as his feelings for you. 

“Let me see you, baby.” he signed and rested his hands on your knees, but didn’t apply any pressure. “Will you open your legs for me?” 

“Yoongi–” you moaned, but stopped forcing your legs together. 

Slowly, the man pried them apart, kissing the inside of your knee, dragging his lips lower and lower, eyes stuck on yours. Your skin was warm, soft and smooth underneath his lips. The creaking of his couch was loud as he laid on his stomach, eyes finally leaving yours to look at your pussy. 

You were as perfect as he thought you were, soft and shiny lips, coated in your arousal. Your smell was divine and Yoongi couldn’t wait another second to have you on his lips. His tongue slipped out of his mouth as he licked a stripe between your folds, making you moan so sweetly his own hips rubbed himself against his couch at their own accord. 

Yoongi explored your pussy with slow drags and licks of his tongue, swallowing your arousal, coating his tongue and lips with nothing but you. His eyes were closed for a minute as he moved his mouth all over you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue, pushing it in to lick around your tightness. 

Your back arched and you whined, making the idol’s eyes snap open to find you watching him. Your lowered lids, parted mouth and heaving chest encouraged him to lick you a little faster, suck you a little harder. Both of his hands held onto the crook of your thighs, bringing his face impossibly close to your cunt. The flat of his tongue swiped up and down, up and down, and when he finally reached your clit, your hand reached for his hair. 

The squeeze of your fingers on his strands made his scalp tingle and burn, a low groan tearing from his throat. You moaned at the vibrations, only getting louder when his tongue swirled around your swollen bundle of nerves. 

“Ohmygod, Yoongi!” you cried in shameless pleasure, making him really fucking proud that you were being this vocal with him. 

His hands were squeezing your flesh as his mouth wrapped around your clit, slowly pinching it between his lips to learn what you liked, what got you going. It was when he sucked the little nub into his mouth that your hold on his hair tightened and your hips rocked upwards. 

“Oh, shit, sorry–” you apologized, but Yoongi didn’t let up. 

If anything, he used his hands on your thighs to coax you into moving your hips again, rubbing your pussy on his face, allowing you to use his mouth and tongue to make yourself feel good. Yoongi’s eyes were stuck on you, never wavering eye contact, even when it was too heated for you to hold your end of it. 

He was reading the little signs you were giving him, the choked up moans when his tongue pushed inside your hole, the twitch on your eyebrows as he went too fast, how you seemed to relax when he licked you slowly. Yoongi wanted to know what made your toes curl, what drove you crazy. 

He couldn’t think of a better way to go into his thirties than to have his face shoved between your legs. 

“I’m gonna cum, Yoongi, please–” you begged and Yoongi’s hips were slowly thrusting against the couch, searching for any pressure, any relief he could get. 

Yoongi’s mouth was too busy to tell you to let go, that it was okay for you to cum on his tongue, so had to squeeze your ass a little harder, eyes still burning into yours as he focused his efforts and his tongue on your clit, in that same pace and pattern that seemed to drive you crazy. 

You were chanting yes after yes, thighs shaking and the hold on his hair becoming impossibly tight. A harsher flick of his tongue on your clit tipped you over the edge, the whimper that left your lips going straight to his cock. As you twitched and trembled underneath him, squirming as he licked you through your orgasm, Yoongi couldn’t hold himself back either. 

He moaned against your pussy, brows furrowing as the taste of you, your sounds and your own orgasm making him spill into his underwear as if he was a teenager. He couldn’t believe the first orgasm of his thirties were like this, the mess quickly becoming uncomfortable and sticky, but he didn’t care. 

Not when your hand slipped from his hair and you breathed hard and quick, lower stomach still contracting as your legs fell apart, wide and relaxed. 

“Too much–” you complained, so Yoongi moved his kisses from your pussy to your thigh. 

You let him kiss you there, let him bite the soft flesh, whining at the sting, but moaning when he soothed the blossoming mark with his tongue. 

“Can I have a kiss?” you whined again, needy and soft. 

You already had his heart, what was one more kiss? 

With wobbly knees and arms, Yoongi climbed up your body again, nose bumping yours as he nodded. You didn’t kiss him right away, choosing to look at him instead. He felt flustered under your soft gaze, the hearts in your eyes matching his perfectly. You looked at his lips, licking your own, using your thumb to swipe at his chin and collect some of his spit and your release. 

You pushed the finger into his mouth, gently rolling it on his tongue to spread your slick, replacing the digit with your mouth as you finally kissed him. Yoongi was getting hard again, from that action alone. It was your turn to lick around his mouth, lips latching onto his tongue as you sucked it into your mouth with lazy slurps and tiny moans. 

You had a pretty glint in your eyes as you pulled back with a sigh. 

“I taste good.” you meekly said. 

“Yeah?” he chuckled, leaving down again to kiss your lips in small pecks. Pulling back so you could see it, he said: “I agree.” 

“Can I… Taste you?” you sounded so shy and sweet and innocent, it broke Yoongi’s heart to deny you. 

“Not tonight, baby.” Yoongi kissed your pout when it came, heart clenching as he watched you frown and avoid his eyes, as if second guessing yourself. With a gentle hand, he cradled your face and searched for your eyes. “Hey. Another time, okay? I promise. I have to get you home now, or your sister’s gonna kill me.” 

“Oh, right.” 

You gasped, looking at the watch on your wrist that likely had a few text messages from your sister already. It was a good excuse and Yoongi was proud of himself for thinking about it. Otherwise he might have to tell you he got so fucking horny when eating you out that be busted inside his pants. 

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7 @syukookie @kam9404 @suker4angst @rumidd2 @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii @granataepfelchen @notsevenwithyou @tessakleine @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen @dreamamubarak @dazzlingjade @kiki-zb @m00njinnie @lerasi @justandloyal2961 @astro-doll-the-star @may-the-dreadwolf-take-me @mafiulaputaama

@postmodernlux @thevelvetseries @mafersame @osakis-gf @iiitsmaria @just-a-small-shadow @perpetuapenandpaper  

sooo this is gonna be my new obsession for the next 100 years!!! RYEN YOU ALWAYS MANAGE TO OUT DO YOURSELF THIS WAS SO GOOD AND THE 3TAN REFERENCE IM GOING TO SCREAM INTO MY PILLOW! i can’t wait for more this was just *chefs kiss* ryen i just love you and your gorgeous brain

minted (explicit) | myg

title: minted (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , suspense , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: this series may not be for everyone, language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, tension, slow burn, choking, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, slight e2l, fight sequences, multiple future explicit scenes, yoongi deserves his own warning, chains but who is ever ever shocked, graphic depictions of violence drop date: august 5th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.4k aiyaaa✌ mood playlist: here

—

—

Ever since you could remember, gang activity in your town has run unchecked. 

Anything goes. Rough fights out of nowhere, car chases busting streets, or even random delinquents snatching food on the run, dust kicking up onto stock they left behind. 

And out of all the districts, yours is begrudgingly the second worst. 

Why? You still aren’t completely sure. But you do know that the darkest is reserved for the underbelly that only slithers in rumors. A place in which you will never find yourself. 

But you do wonder what must happen there to warrant the winning title because each day here is a battle to keep yourself afloat. 

All you do is sell fruit. Why are you fighting for your life every week? Why can’t you exchange goods for money in peace? If you could compare it to the movies you grew up watching on an outdated television, it’s a grungy reflection of the wild west.

But through all the shit you’ve chosen to endure, at least one person is always kind enough to buy his wares and go.

And today is no different.

You still don’t know his name. But you yearn to. Because his hair is the color of magic and rebellion, and his tattoos really set off that bright mop of locks. 

If those lethal, piercing eyes weren’t enough.

When he lifts three long digits, it takes all your strength to nod and get his purchase together. This is the part that never changes, either.

Just like always. One, three, or five fingers for tangerines. Never two, never four, and never any other fruits. 

It’s charming, in a way. As if he’s more particular than most about what he wants—a trait elusive to many.

Like clockwork, you would hand his order over in thin plastic, and he would walk away to hitch a ride on a passing cart. Just like he does right now with a lazy gait, white tee billowing from his jeans. 

Another day. Another exchange.

In the wavy heat of summer, you sigh. Wondering if anything is ever going to change, and if you would ever get to know more about your most frequent, most mysterious patron.

After a while, you do try talking to him. 

Those looks of confusion slowly turn into little hums or grunts, then into single words that keep you going for days. Even though you rarely hear it, his voice is just as attractive as he is. 

One day, you offer him a plantain, handing it over and telling him it’s on the house. 

“Thanks,” he says amongst the clinks and conversations of the street, pocketing the food away. 

When he does, you see a flash of black metal, and you already know what he’s carrying. You’re used to seeing all sorts of those around nowadays. In this district, you’d be shocked if he didn’t have an arsenal on his person while traveling through.

Besides. Even you have a couple collecting dust in your own flat, handed down by extended family but never used.

“If you ever need anything other than tangerines,” you start with a point to his pants, “Please buy those instead.” 

He’s unmoving. Blinks are all you get so you have no choice but to explain,

“I’m so tired of eating them with everything.” 

When he huffs in amusement, your heart flutters thrice. There’s no reason for a sheen of sweat and sticky mint locks to be so deadly. 

“Then eat something else,” is all the stranger advises before walking off. 

Well.

Even though you don’t have much of a choice, the guy does have a point. You wouldn’t be shocked in the slightest if his aim’s just as straightforward as his wit.

Once one exchange lasts longer than a sentence, the two of you start little conversations during his visits. Which prove more fatal than normal since he’d rest his tattoos on the top shelf of your cart. 

From what you can make out, there are creatures stretching in beautiful teal and vivid orange, and even striking white on his other arm. They ripple so well with his veins, a canvas that sways and hypnotizes with every drum of his fingers. 

You know what they symbolize, though it’s unique to have all of them together. 

Taboo, even. 

But you can’t hold back your admiration because of the sheer beauty. What would they feel like if you just… 

“You always stare this long?”

Shit. “Oh, sorry. I just… I rarely see anyone’s ink up close.”

To your dismay, he takes his arm back. “I don’t have a lot of time today, princess.”

“Right, sorry. Hold on,” you respond, cringing hard at blurting two apologies in a ten second span. 

Meanwhile, your way too handsome regular cocks a brow, clearly comfortable making you squirm as you hand over his bag. 

Effortless. In your chaotic life, It’s almost intoxicating feeling someone this resolute in their whole demeanor. If only you could be so commanding and assured one day. 

But here you stand instead, pretending to count fruit you one hundred percent know the stock of already. “Your art is really nice, by the way,” you admit to your inventory. “All the high-powers. I like what you picked.”

“Didn’t choose these.”

Ah. Way to assume things. 

Raising your head, you make to apologize a third time.

But he’s already retreating with his tangerines, hand stuffed in a pocket and beautiful waves a little less vibrant than you recall. 

“What.” 

“I worry sometimes.” 

His gaze lifts. “About me?” 

“Yeah.” 

You don’t know why you choose to say that of all things. But it’s honest. You always wonder about him and think about the weapon in his jeans. Does he use it? Does he ever need to? 

Maybe you should pick up a hobby or two.

Fingers resting dangerously close, he asks with a tilt of his head, “What would you do, doll? If something happened to someone like me.” 

Someone like him? What does that mean? 

Great. Now you have even more to wonder about, as if he knew that was your exact predicament.

You stare, roaming along his arms before meeting his eyes—almost. “Find someone else to buy my tangerines.” 

Huffing, his brows tick up with his mouth. “I respect that.” His attention doesn’t leave your face as he slowly takes his purchase. “See ya.” 

“Bye,” you whisper back, watching him go. More thoughts and concerns bouncing around your mind in the sticky heat of midday. 

These little nicknames he’s using also aren’t helping your issue in the slightest. 

It starts when you hear shouting from a block down.

“Here they come!”

“Bunch of idiots this time.”

“What do you mean this time?”

Rough raiders this early? They should know it’s almost time for Dragon’s sweep. Bold.

After you hear the telltale yells, clanks, and bangs, your section of the street braces for impact. 

And it swoops in like a whirlwind, ruffians tearing through, pillaging and stealing and swiping goods into thick woven baskets. 

Baskets? The usual suspects always carry leather bags. You assume because of their sturdiness and inconspicuous nature, but what do you really know.

Here it goes again. 

As your fruit is taken right from your cart, you sink to your toes, mourning the regular loss of your menu.

No use fighting. Like every other time, you all let it happen because there’s no point in trying to protect anything that isn’t valuable. Perishables and small homemade goods aren’t worth getting gutted over. Truly, the worst losses you suffer are when—

Your cart shifts violently before thieves topple it over, cracking one of your wheels and splitting the wooden boards in three places.

Springing to your feet, you douse the perpetrators in anger, “What the hell!”

“Oh, this was yours?” Someone chides while his cronies run past. “Thanks for the oranges, love!”

“They’re tangerines!” you correct at his retreating back, kicking your cart before yelping at your bad decision. “Damn it…”

Back to your knees you go. Head drooping, arms encircling, and disappointment pooling around like a shadow.

More shouts and feet in the road rampage through. Then it gets quieter. And quieter. 

Then it’s done.

After silence swells in the wake of chaos, groans start making their way down the street. 

“What’d they get from you this time,” you ask your neighbor, a charming old man selling anything from bowls to wide, round frying pans. 

Looking over his little wreckage, he blinks hard. “They got my woks. Nothing as bad as yours. You okay?” 

Walking over to help clean his mess up first, you bend down with a sigh, “I’ll be alright. But it still sucks.. My poor tangerines..” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Not much to do about it now,” you resign, all your energy taken from you, too. 

A little bit of time passes as you complete your usual round of help, though this raid was worse than others. As they all give their thanks, you keep thinking about how to make the whole situation better. Moreso for them than you because you’ve always been one of the least vulnerable ones on the block.

“You should find another place to sell, dear.” 

In disagreement, you slip into a saddened smile. “I can’t leave you guys,” you explain to the lady you’re holding pails for. “Who will help clean everything up?” 

“Don’t underestimate your elders now.” 

“Fair,” you respond through a chuckle, handing her one of the metal buckets. “If only better protection was an option around here.”

“You know the rules,” another shop owner drones through lingering spices, “Dragon won’t protect us if it isn’t in their own interests.” 

Unfortunately, he’s right. Every single raid that hasn’t coincided with a gang sweep goes overlooked. Even the city police don't bother coming down your street anymore, which is another issue in itself.

If only Tiger or Crane had been the high-powers in place instead. 

At least they seem to be more fair.

After you finish helping, you finally venture back to your own cart, realizing that the trek is a lot further than you thought. 

Did you really walk so far this time? The damage was dealt for much more than a block at this point. 

Not like you need to sprint back, though. What’s left to steal? Everything you got swept into those woven containers.

Still so odd…

But not as odd as the sight that greets you on your return. 

Because instead of seeing your wreckage of a cart tilted and abysmal, it’s upright and being mended.

By none other than your favorite set of hands.  

What the hell? What’s he doing here? You quite literally have nothing to give so there’s no reason for him to spare a second at your broken stand. 

Fast-walking, you hastily try to halt his help, “Oh, shit, you don’t have to—” 

“Course I don’t.” 

That shuts you up. In your split second of silence, you note with agony that his hair is messily tied in a minted bun. Are his sleeves bunched at his biceps, too? Great. What were you even telling him again? 

Ah, yes. You were telling this mystery of a man that he doesn’t have to literally put your stand back together. “Seriously, I got it.” 

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“But it’s my cart, I don’t need your—”

With one look over his shoulder, your mouth snaps shut. And suddenly can’t move to argue again. 

What the hell is up with today? 

Forget all that. What’s he doing? At least you’re familiar with all the shop owners and vendors on your block, though you can’t say you wouldn’t do the same thing for someone you don’t know. But this guy has always been so standoffish and barely approachable. So how is he lending both hands to help you right now? 

Whatever. If he’s gonna be as stubborn as this heat, you can be, too. 

Scanning the area for scattered tools, you find a sun-warmed hammer and get to work, fixing one end of the cart while he works on the other. When you feel his gaze on your working shoulder, it takes massive strength to ignore him—even if you wanna know what his issue is and why he smells really, really good this afternoon.

Looks like you need more nails for this board to fit. When your eyes find a couple on the ground, you clinch a second piece between your teeth while hammering in the first. 

Sounds stop at your side, but you wait until you pluck the metal nail from your mouth and stamp it in to look over.

Oh. He’s eyeing the hammer. Not you. Obviously. 

You wordlessly hand it over, arm slicked with exertion. Because after the day you’ve had, you don’t feel like everything needs a spoken sentence attached. 

It takes the guy a bit to take it from you, but when he does, he holds your stare. “Thanks.” 

You simply nod, eyes sticking to him as he works on the tattier side wait it looks almost new. Better than it has in a very long time. Did he really get that much done in the time you were gone? There’s been great care taken during his repair if that’s the case.  

Hmm. You finally learn something about your favorite customer. Maybe he’s just been a mechanic or carpenter this whole time? 

Contemplative, you get up on sore legs to walk to your cooler—something thankfully missed by the rough raiders. Digging through the clinkage, you retrieve a local beer you recently procured from the restaurant across the street. 

It’s not much. Absolute bottom shelf. But it’s all you got other than a few pieces of oni-coin, so he’s gonna have to deal with it.

When you offer the glass, your regular eyes it for a moment. More than enough time for you to get a good look at his striking floral top.

Well. Mechanic and carpenter are out of the question because that one piece of clothing looks more expensive than your entire apartment building.

Who even is this guy? Now you feel destitute handing him something so cheap.

Just when you think he’s gonna refuse, he takes the beer and smoothly shucks it open, suddenly making you wonder how a bracelet can do that and why it was so attractive.

God. You need to walk straight to the nearest inlet stream and dunk your head right in.

“Thank you,” you whisper, gulping at his full swigs. “You really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“Got some time to kill,” he shrugs. Standing, the man takes another sip, peering along the street with sunlit eyes. With the bottle near his mouth, he murmurs, “You really need to set up somewhere else, doll. This street’s turning into a hot spot.” 

Squinting up at the long lines of clothes and curtains floating in the breeze, you sigh at the building nearest. “I live close,” you sulk. “And this is the easiest place to get to.” 

Those are excuses. Just tell him the real reason you won’t venture out and plop yourself somewhere more profitable. Well, maybe not all of the reasons, but the main one. 

Leaning back on your cart, you stare at the loose dirt, swiping some with your shoes. “Maybe I’m just used to it at this point.” 

He won’t respond. Or he’ll respond in his own way, which is mostly silence. 

But a bright strand falls over his face before he hums, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

Many people have warned you at this point. It’s basically your stubborn and spiteful nature that’s making you stay in the first place. Why would you move when you chose to be here? Why leave a place you actively choose to call home? 

Fighting spirit quelled, you nod right to your stand as you count what’s salvageable. “I know, but I like it here.” When he lifts an unbelieving brow, you look away. “It’s true. But trust me, if there was a way to just make it all stop, I’d take it.” 

He takes another swig, both of you looking into the street and watching things slowly get back to normal pace. Adults and kids alike are back to wandering around, buying what’s left and offering condolences. 

“I’m not fixing another cart,” your patron turned repairman grunts, motioning to your wheel as he steps back. “So don’t fuck this one up.” 

Huh? It wasn’t your fault! All the accidents and chaos that blow through aren’t something you can control oh he’s grinning. Why is he grinning? Why do you feel hot all over? 

His teeth shine in daylight. “I’m messing with you.” 

Ah. 

This version of him is not good for you at all.

When he starts to walk away, you blurt out a quick, “Wait!” 

Shit! Why did you do that? What are you possibly supposed to say right now? All you wanted was to see him a little longer… And while staring at his backside would be more than enough, you kinda wanted to actually talk. 

What do you do? He stopped; he’s waiting. 

And he looks impatient as hell. 

Snapping into action, you round your cart and trot over, offering your name as if you didn’t just give up where you lived. 

Then—without thinking—you ask for his with the most curious, innocent, “What’s yours?” 

Silence has never been so booming.

In the dusty swirls of your street, you wait with a back that’s getting sweatier and colder with each passing second. 

Was that not okay to ask? Did you fuck up with a single question? 

Perfect. You just blew your one good thing about being out here. Wincing, you crush your words so hard you think your teeth will break into dust, drifting off into the very breeze wafting his striking locks. 

After a condescending puff, he only smirks.

Then he takes one step. And another. And another.

The air around you melts, weighing on your shoulders while lighting them aflame all at once. It’s a feeling you can’t describe to anyone else, because they would just need to stand next to this man to believe it. 

Checking to see if the street is clear, your best customer leans over. Slowly. Purposefully. “Yoongi,” he offers with a voice so handsome you’ll think about it for days. “But don’t fucking tell anyone.” 

Oh. 

Why did… you kinda like that? 

Blinking, you swallow. “I won’t.” 

This is when he’s supposed to just leave. He’d walk away, bag swinging with his strides. But ever keeping you on your sore toes, the man just chuckles low before rasping out the most devilish sentence in existence, 

“Always took you for a good girl.”

Then he backs away, turning on his heel and leaving you a statue in the street.

Yoongi. 

For a hardened soul, his name is so… 

Tender. 

For the next sixty days, you don’t get ransacked once. 

But there’s also been no sight of Yoongi. 

As the weeks trudge by, you can’t decide which outcome is worse.

The skies are magnificent today. But obviously at a molten price.

“Thank you for trying,” you say to a lovely wares owner before venturing back out into simmering streets. Exhaling, you wipe sweat from your brow, squinting before choosing to walk left or right. 

Left seems promising. 

You’ve been searching for hours now, perusing through shops, checking out vendors both nice and catty. But after a whole day’s search, you still haven’t found what you’re looking for. 

It’s nothing urgent or pressing. But you would at least like to be prepared. 

Since your initial mission is a bust, hopefully your next one makes up for it before you melt right into gravel and dirt.

Find a meal.

Walking along the busy roads, you pass a few options and keep them in mind, making sure to greet a fellow tangerine cart vendor with a smile. Hopefully they do well today.

A couple steps further, a giant cooler catches your eye. Seafood of all types lie inside along cubes of ice, and you weigh the pros and cons of smelling like fish just to have a cool head.

But before you can make any choices, the smell of spices and hearty soup softly pull your feet inside the restaurant nearby. 

What’s here? Noodles? You’re always down for that. Apparently even in scorching weather.

After ordering, you take your seat at a random middle table in a chair facing the entrance. 

Always facing the entrance.

Damn. You really need to accomplish what you set out to do. But sunset is fast approaching these days, and you aren’t anywhere close to home. All you have time for now is eating and heading out. 

The service here is quick, at least. You’re already thanking the owner for sliding a bowl in front of your sweaty form. 

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down. 

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back by now, freshly showered and curling up on a worn down bed. 

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months. 

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching sliced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth. 

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the… 

Ambiance. 

Wait. 

Dragons. A lot of them. 

You can’t pull your eyes away from the crew walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun in their eyes and donning their telltale, striking teal. 

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that truly has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass. 

…Yoongi? 

His jacket. The colors.

He’s in Dragon?

Suddenly his hair makes terrifying sense.

As his guys stalk through, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do with this harrowing information. There are so many thoughts overlapping each other that they all amalgamate into one huge batch of sludge. 

Aren’t you smack dab in Crane territory? There’ve been white suits peppering the streets everywhere. 

So what the hell is Dragon doing here?

From the slight confusion pinching his forehead, you know Yoongi didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers. 

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past. 

All of them waste no time tearing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending with gritty paint and smoke. 

And just like that, your reunion is over. 

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company. 

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often? 

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time. 

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here? 

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side. 

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase. 

Shit shit shit this is so stupid. This is probably the worst decision you’re gonna make in your life.

But your gut is churning thinking about Yoongi. Even a seasoned swordsman needs expertise to wield mere chopsticks and win. 

Fuck, if you succeeded in your search today, you probably could’ve been a little more useful. 

Swiping your own set of red from a nearby cup, you hightail it up, slowing as you round a corner and immediately hear multiple clangs and scuffles beyond the last turn.

Stop. You can go back. You can still turn around and go home.

An inhale.

Your feet propel you up and into a dark hall. As you slowly slide along the wall, your gut churns and churns. At a bang, you crouch with a skipped beat of your heart.

This is really, really dumb. But you can’t stop yourself and you have no clue why.

Nothing happens around you. So you keep going. With each careful slide of your foot, you get closer and closer to the noise.

Approaching the corner, you very slowly stick your head out for a peek.

And it’s pure commotion. Pure chaos. Holy shit, what is going on? 

Fuck, there’s already a body lying limp on the floor meters away—

Your chopsticks. You wanna hurl.

But a man flies out of a room ahead before he grips and wrestles with another, and you reel yourself back to avoid being seen by either one.

Where is Yoongi? Is he okay? Did he leave already?

You give one more peek, scanning the long raucous corridor as swift as you can to see any sign of.. Mint.

He’s still here. How’s he just walking so nonchalant as his crew fucks shit up? Crap, he just went into a room and out of sight. 

“Where’d they go?”

“Upstairs!”

Fuck, that was in the restaurant! Get up get up you have no choice but to hide now. 

With pounding steps, you rush forward and book it, entering a large room to dive behind some steel shelving and large, woven baskets right as more Dragons come in behind with fists clenched.

Breathe. Steady. Calm the fuck down.

The grunts rush to the hallway to join the fray, and you wait in the now pungent solitude of your room. With only a still body to accompany you. 

What do you do? What even can you do? 

Just as nerves grip your stomach like a vice, Yoongi strides into the open area, heading right for the exit and not even sparing his kill a glance. 

Go. Go now. Why can’t you move? Why aren’t your hands letting go of your cold confinement? It smells like death and blood and you need to leave with the only person you know—or don’t—so why can’t your feet just fucking—

Someone else slithers into the room. A man in brown with a knife. A knife, a knife, a knife he’s getting faster and Yoongi doesn’t hear him the guy is too quiet fuck! “Yoongi!” 

It all happens before your brain can paint the bloody picture. Shooting out from your hiding spot, you race towards the assassin, slamming into their lanky build just in time.  

Both of you topple to the ground, your target roaring in pain and twisting like hell to fight back fuck you didn’t get him how you needed to he’s got you—

Pain erupts in your hip as you’re grabbed, the room spinning as you’re thrown to the side and your ear hitting concrete right before chopsticks ping down. Thinking quick, you knee the guy as hard as you can, scrambling to finish the job because if you don’t, you’re gone gone gone.

“Bitch!” Your opponent clutches your shirt right as you reach for the nearest red pair, seizing your throat right as you grip and swing them around to stab the other side of his neck with a yell.

Luckiest timing of your life. 

“Hng!” Fuck, he’s still holding down hard and choking, choking, squeezing. “Fuck you!” 

Fight back. Keep the weapon inside he’s too strong finish him finish him. 

Darkness. Ink drops in water. Your vision taints as your grip loosens, and you can only hope that Yoongi got away safe. He had to. At least you… Were able to do… 

This one thing… 

…

Oxygen and life rush back into your lungs, color burning through your esophagus as you gasp for sweet sweet air. Right as you come to, all you witness is the heavy heel of a boot twisting the forearm latched onto you. 

And when the shoe leaves your vision. Lifeless eyes stare back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck that was close. Oh god. You actually did it. Oh fuck. 

Coughing, you rush up as you get tugged and pulled right against chains and embroidery, your ears ringing with a gravelly command and glass breaking in the nearby corridor,

“Don’t say my fuckin’ name so loud.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Yoongi roughly lets you go before pinning you with pure anger. Not to say thank you. Not to tell you any words of gratitude at all. The only other thing he finds the need to say is simply, 

“You shouldn’t be up here.” 

What the fuck. You just murdered someone for him and this is all you get? Eyes welling, you feel your body slick and sticky with crimson when you turn, coughing and spitting out regret before you wheeze, wheeze, wheeze, “That’s—that’s all you have to say?” 

Dread swirls around your stomach like poison.

But the sternness from before completely vanishes as Yoongi lifts your chin. His eyes scan your throat and chest, and you rip your head away from his touch because he is not excused just yet. 

“It’s not mine,” you snap, knowing exactly what he’s looking for and what you must look like to him. Dirty. Gross. Certainly a far image from the girl selling tangerines.

But your face is gently held again, and somehow this softer turn carries more strength to swivel you forward. 

Why is Yoongi still looking? Now he’s holding your gaze as if he’s never seen you before. What’s that about? You’re still the same, the same, the same.

…Are you?

More crashes and shots are heard down the hall, and Yoongi snaps his head up in an instant. 

God, you smell. You reek. Your nose is tainted and your hands even more so. There’s no way he’s gonna have anything to do with you now. 

But you get the shock of the century when the man commands you to come along. “Let’s go.” 

Absolutely not. This is all you got in you for a lifetime. “What? No, no, no. No way, I’m going home.”

“And they’ll follow you the whole way back.” 

“I—I didn’t mean to—” 

Shots ring out before grunts barrel out into the short hallway. All of them piling out from crevasses and hidden passages. 

You give one more look at the two men now crumpled on the ground, bile rising up and threatening to spill. 

“Tough shit, princess. You did, now live with it.” 

Live with it. How poetic. 

You were protecting him. You did what you had to do. But you have blood on your hands again and now Yoongi will see you as something else besides a fucking street vendor. 

“Are you coming or not?”

You’re gonna puke your guts out.

With a stilted cry, you bend to snatch your weapons up yet again—gagging at the squelches and much deeper red—before following Yoongi’s long steps. 

Your hands. They’re shaking so bad you can’t even pocket the chopsticks properly. But you finally get them down, crushing your palms and squeezing just to stop them from rattling. 

When you wait behind Yoongi checking the corner, you turn around to make sure you aren’t being followed. And seeing the hallway still a moving mass of broken glass and hard swings, you think you’re safe. 

The stairs feel so different on the way down. Is that because you feel completely changed? There’s no coming back from this. Another side of you died right alongside those two people upstairs. 

No time to think about that. You have to follow his lead. And he’s slowing down why is he slowing down? 

Oh. Normal. Be normal to not garner suspicion. You have to do the same. 

Wait. You can’t go down there with a shirt full of stained evidence! Grabbing him and pulling back, you whisper, “Yoongi—”

His growl is so fierce your head spins, “What the fuck did I say about my n—”

“My clothes,” you panic. “I can’t.” 

Yoongi gives you a quick look before gripping the duffle strap. Brows lowered, he grits out while dumping it, “Lose the shirt.” 

“What?” 

“Do it.” 

“Where’d he go?”

“It’s gone!”

Your heads snap up before you lock eyes. And he doesn’t need to say anything to show you what he’s thinking behind those minted bangs.

As you hastily strip, your brain works in weird ways. Instead of processing how you very much need to hurry the fuck up, you lament the bra of choice today. And how sweaty you look. Because of course those are your thoughts of choice right now. 

Something’s dumped on you before your shirt hits the ground, and you think about its warmth before you realize exactly what’s on your shoulders. “You sure?” 

He’s already heading down. Oh god. You’re really putting this on shit shit shit. 

You’re quick to slip into the material before checking for your chopsticks, rushing down the rest of the stairs to meet him. Nerves firing on all cylinders, you follow Yoongi out of the restaurant with a single, disturbing thought. 

This is going too well. 

But you’re passing tables, you’re walking by the fish display, don’t fucking sob you’re out in the street now. 

Relax. You’re walking. His white tee is flawless and people have no clue you left a bloody shirt on a stairwell. Don’t fucking cry.

But suddenly.

Shouting erupts behind you both, just as a cop car rolls past the restaurant only to get surrounded. 

And with one look back, your brain freezes. Right before Yoongi sounds a little too delighted to say something so foreboding,

“Looks like you’re in it now.”

Adrenaline spikes as you burst into motion. Hot summer air stings your lungs as legs propel you forward, with nothing in sight except for your partner in high crime. 

Yoongi’s right. 

You’re in it now. 

And just like the delinquents that you despise, the two of you both kick up dust on the run. 

You’re really doing this. 

Holy shit, you’re really doing this and there’s no waking up, no jolting awake, no pinching yourself to know that it’s all a dream. The only thing pinching is your sides, fresh stings of karma with each heavy footstep through crowded streets, buildings, levels, wherever the fuck you go. 

At least Yoongi is commanding as he leads you through the city—clearly from a heap of experience. Though rattled, you follow him with more adrenaline than questions. Because running is all you know. Run, run, run, escaping is your only objective and you cannot let up even once.

Your feet pelt down a staircase before you leap onto a disposal bin, impact denting as you follow Yoongi’s long strides across the colorful tops. Shouts and metal pings echo behind you as your chasers catch up, and you grit your teeth so hard they rattle as you jump to alley ground. “Fuck!”

Searing, searing pain rushes through your legs as you twist and wind through busy corridors, squeezing into the gaps Yoongi finds as he barrels in front. 

“Get back here!” 

“You fuckers!”

Who’s following you? Are they even Crane? You don’t see a shred of white on their clothes at all so are they working for some random guy Yoongi stole from?

When you watch him turn at the shouting, all thoughts vanish as your gut churns. 

He’s grinning.

You just killed someone for him. And he probably has more blood on his hands than you can imagine. 

And he’s… enjoying this? 

You feel sick, mind blazing with a million red warning signs. How could you ever have had feelings for h—

You bounce off a passerby as you run, grunting at the sudden pain in your shoulder when another person rams into your back and topples you over, dirt scraping into your palms and knees. 

Shit shit shit it’s so dusty on the ground and all you see are traveling shoes where are you? Where is he did he leave did he even see you fall? It’s too condensed here there’s no way he’s not taking the next chance to disappear.

Forget all of that, they’re coming. The chasers are coming and you see them see you down get up get up get up what the fuck get up now.

Ripping out a groan, you rush to your feet as soon as someone swoops in, bashing someone right behind you with someone’s crate of fruit. 

Yoongi? He waited for you?

“Go!” 

Both of you hightail it with you now in the lead, and your eyes buzz as you slip through holes in the crowd. Left, left, right, around, left again, between. 

An intersection ahead. Yes. Lose everyone in the vehicle traffic or hitch a ride with a stranger. Fascinating how the survival tactics that spawn from your block develop in real time on the run.

Almost there, almost there, almost there—fuck! 

Whiffing in front of your nose, a metal weapon smacks the ground at your toes. 

Flailing, you dodge the next swing, ducking before you see a black duffle smack your assailant in the face. 

Keep going. Finish him and get away. As Yoongi shifts left, you lunge forward, sending a swift punch to the guy’s ribs that hurt like hell goddamn oh fuck someone brought a knife!

“Yoongi!” Just as the surrounding civilians yell and clear out, you rush toward his aid before you’re tackled, air whooshing out of your lungs as your back pummels into gravel. Fuck fuck fuck this masked woman also has a dagger. A thick one. Don’t let her win don’t let her win hold on for dear fucking life. 

Did you think you’d find yourself in a grudge match to keep metal from sinking into your chest today? No. Ever? Also no. 

Your arms are shaking. Shots ring out. Sweat is your enemy. The street is in uproar. Where’s Yoongi did he hear you? Fuck, the metal tip is pricking you now this is— 

Mercifully, your attacker yelps as something slams into her side, dark brown clothes crumpling before you’re hoisted upward and dragged back into the crowd. 

“Let me go or I’ll kick your ass—”

“You good?” 

Oh, it’s Yoongi. Again. Okay. Eyes swirling, you lock onto the gun held flush in his other hand before you nod. “I—I think so—”

“Then keep up.” 

Winding between people, you’re only focused on getting away. But when you catch glimpses of him, he’s back to his glint. He’s exhilarated.

If only you were both doing anything else. If only you weren’t so queasy and guilty and loathing of your own self.

Right as you finally burst into bustling traffic, Yoongi boldly stops a taxi at its hood, motioning you to follow him inside. 

Shocked but head reeling, you open the door closest to your sweaty legs and slide in. 

And before you can even greet the shouting driver, Yoongi pulls you to his side and rushes something out in your ear, 

“Kiss me.” 

“I said get out!” 

“What?” 

“Come here.” 

You’ve kissed before. Not many times, but enough to know that this man knows what the fuck he’s doing because you feel like your soul just abandoned you to exist in this car forever. You don’t know why this is happening or where this came from, but his lips feel as soft as his name and as deadly as the gun he’s pulling on your driver—

“Han Station,” he drawls, halting time and space. “Or your papers are burned by morning.” 

Oh. 

You were just… Oh. 

Lips puffed and head swirling, you sit frozen in your spot, marinating in the realization that the best kiss of your life was a mere distraction. And as you watch Yoongi keep his aim straight, you assume he probably didn’t even think much of it, either. 

“…I thought you looked familiar,” the driver slowly grits, hands gripping his wheel before he shakes his head. “You’re a little far from home.”

You think that’s all he’s gonna say. But his eyes are sharp in the rear view mirror, knowing a gun is pointed straight at his dome. “Aren’t you.”

What is he getting at you need to leave fast—

“Agust.” 

…Huh? 

Agust? 

This is the first time you feel a heartbeat against your arm, and you hold a breath as Yoongi tightens his fingers on the gun. 

When he doesn’t reply, the car fills to the brim with tension, and you feel crushed by its liquid weight. 

Don’t you have to go? Aren’t you in a chase? Are you getting a little too hot?

When you go to slide to your own side of the car for some space, the hand around your shoulder squeezes. 

And you’re more confused, exhausted, and thrown off than ever. 

“Han Station,” is all Yoongi—Agust?—repeats, voice ice. “Now.”

To which the taxi driver stares, standing his ground until he breaks eye contact first to obey. 

“Fuckin’ Dragons and their useless whores.”

Oh, fuck that. 

Before you can lunge forward to outright strangle the man, Yoongi does something that has your eyes magnifying into saucers and hands shooting up to your mouth.

He fires the gun straight at the man’s thigh, yelps leaving both the driver's throat and yours holy fuck! 

“You bastard—”

“You’ll live. Drive.”

“Fucking—fuck!”

The car shifts through traffic, swerving left and right and cutting off slower vehicles. When force smushes you closer into Yoongi’s side, you can’t help but notice how fit he is, and how calm he’s being despite the whole chase. Despite that spike in adrenaline. Despite blowing a hole in a stranger’s leg for six words.

He also feels really, really good against your side, but you can’t let that matter anytime soon. There’s absolutely no way you can let this dangerous man in, especially after this entire nightmare of a day. 

So you swallow, trying to compartmentalize because you’ll reach insanity if you don’t.

Does anyone out there know you took a life minutes ago? Or hours ago? You just kissed a criminal five and a half minutes ago. Would they care about that, too?

The window is suddenly much more interesting than any of your wandering, slingshot thoughts. 

Wait. It’s very pretty in this area, and you finally can tell some semblance of where you are. Because you only know of one part of the city that looks like this, and it’s deep in Crane territory. 

Did you both really make it this far? 

Carefully tended to, it’s a lot greener on the sidewalks, and more open on the roads. And it’s on one of these roads that you finally notice the sunset, gold accents shining on sleek street signs and the tops of buildings that seem much more at rest than you do. 

Rest. Sleep. Home. 

With the luck you’re having, it would be a miracle and a half to reach even one of the three. 

Did you get followed? You don’t know how much longer you can run, so you really fucking hope not. 

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers, voice scratching your ear in the worst and best ways. “When we get out, move your ass.” 

When you watch the wary, heavy breathing driver in his rear view mirror, you bite out, “I know how to get out of a car, thanks.” 

“Just listen to me.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?” 

“No.” 

That came out quicker than you could stop it. But Yoongi only lets silence come between you before he squeezes your shoulder. When he speaks, you can hear how carved out his smirk is without even seeing it, 

“Good girl.”

And you spoke the truth. It wouldn’t have come out so fast if it weren’t. But you know to at least follow his advice here because he’s kept you alive thus far. He didn’t need to drag you out and protect you the whole way, so it’s not like he would steer you wrong here. Right? 

Right? 

“Here,” Yoongi orders before the car slows to a stop. 

That wasn’t so bad. You can get out normally now so why did Yoongi say—

Right as your foot hits ground, the taxi peels out, forcing you to throw yourself out of the side before the rest of your body leaves with it. 

Fucking hell that hurt what the fuck was that for? 

Dirt and dust coats your tongue before you do anything to spit it out. Saliva rushes from your glands as you cough and hack, all while feeling every muscle group in your body begging to not stand up. 

But you feel rough, commanding hands on your arms. “You good?”

“Yeah—”

“Then get up. Get up.”

Straining and wincing like hell, you follow Yoongi’s lead yet again. Because you hear cars rolling up with bad intentions and that means you have to sprint again. 

What the fuck did Yoongi steal? And how the hell are these guys still on your tail? Their resources have got to be as good as Crane’s and yet, they don’t feel the same at all. 

You’re hobbling, but you’re going. You’re rushing. You’re going to get through this alive. 

Instead of heading into the underground, you find yourself ascending a flight of steps. Rumbles and rattles hit your ears as you realize exactly what kind of station this is—one you haven’t seen anywhere in your district. 

Han Station is a floating railway? 

Holy shit, where are you?

Yoongi skids around a corner before you plant hard to stop yourself, only to see him clash with someone before something connects right with your stomach, and you crumple before you feel a solid hit to your head. 

Oh.

The world spins and moves as you hear vibrations, slowed sounds that could be shouts. Gunshots? Or maybe songs? You don’t truly know but your head is aching—

Your arm rushes up to block something before your body follows, and you scream before gripping whatever you can and flipping a whole body forward. 

Reality crashes back into your ears as you snap out of your head. 

You haven’t had to do that maneuver in forever. Was muscle memory more than enough?

“Come on!”

Go. Go, follow him, both of you need to get to the rail shit it’s leaving!

The blaring reverberates through the air, pinging off metal and wheels screeching on the track lines as you bolt for the open doors.

Mid-stride, Yoongi swings to look at the people barreling up the stairs. “One more time: do you trust me?”

“No!”

“Good”—his hands grip your waist—“Jump!”

Head empty, you leap onto the railcar right as it starts to pick up speed, and you watch in horror as Yoongi empties his clip behind him until he can’t anymore. 

“Yoo—” Fuck, what was his name? He seems to not prefer the one you call him and that has to be for good reason. What was it?

You’re leaving. He’s gritting his teeth while hitting the bottom of his gun but he needs to get up! What was his fucking name! 

“Agust!” 

Yoongi finally whips his head around, dashing to the end of the train and straining to carry the duffle. 

He needs to launch it or leave it behind. There’s no way he’s not being weighed down so hard. “Here!” you yell, knowing that look is only reserved for people he doesn’t want to trust. It’s normal. But it still stings. “Hurry up!”

After one more second, he swings it around and flings, leaping onto the side handrail after you get blasted by the bag holy fuck that hurt. 

He was running with this the whole time? No wonder his shoulders are so cut this is heavy.

Straining, you peek out into the wind, seeing Yoongi holding on and scooting along thin steprails towards your awaiting hands.

Shit, this is dangerous. Buildings and the city below fly by, and a parallel train whooshes and roars past as you finally tug him inside with shaky wheezes.

Just like that.

You made it out.

What the fuck. You did it. No one else was able to get onto the train. You’re safe for now. 

Finally, finally, finally able to breathe. 

But goddamn, you both stand out like blood on a blank page.

As you struggle to fully stand, you notice everyone else on the train—well-kept, carrying themselves in sleek linens and lush outfits, hair done beautifully and to perfection. 

Which makes it unsurprising that plenty of them regard the pair of you with suspicion and morbid curiosity. While intrigue covers the one with an unfairly handsome face, zings of jealousy and judgment fire your way. 

You feel so out of place. You are so out of place. But that doesn’t give anyone the right to look at you like filth. The words from the taxi driver pierce your brain again, and you feel rage and pain bubble up to your tongue,

“Anyone got something they wanna sa—”

But Yoongi does something that has your brain chemistry altering because he casually bends a knee in front of you while holding the top rail, forcing you back into the side of the train car and only seeing his jewelry. 

When your eyes snap to his, he regards you before peering outside. “Stop,” he mutters. “You're causing a scene.”

“Me?” Oh, he has some nerve. “What did I do, you’re the one—”

“Quiet.”

Ridiculous. Huffing, you let disagreement tug your lips while joining him in watching the world go by. 

Realizing with a pang that you are probably never getting back home. You’re never gonna see your favorite neighbor with his woks and caterpillar eyebrows. All the produce you were planning to sell will only succumb to mold and time. 

Your tangerines… 

When a tear falls, it glints in your reflection before quickly being swiped away. 

No. Don’t do any of that here where people can see—where he can see. No one will know what the hell you just went through today. Be normal, strong, normal. 

The ride lasts a little longer, with people coming and going during each stop. When there are seats open, neither you nor Yoongi move to take them. The two of you stay glued where you stand.

Silent, together, and covered in hidden blood.

The next stop seems to be in a quieter sector of the city. All around you are buildings you’ve never seen before stretching miles into the sky, and the streets are so neatly paved you’re convinced they’re fake. 

“This is us,” Yoongi whispers, hand guiding your hip to move toward the doors.

Skin scorching under his touch, you can only nod.

Where are you now? Where are you getting off? 

You both exit the train with a few others, and you watch with heightened curiosity as they carry satchels and wear shoes that look horribly uncomfortable. As you move down the steps, you keep craning your neck to take everything in, and more questions fill your head than answers. 

But the truth remains even as you and Yoongi stop in front of your destination.

You cannot run anymore. Even if more of whoever those guys were showed up, you may just choose to sit down instead of take another stride. Besides, your body is still running a thousand steps even though you haven’t moved since getting on the train anyway. After today, the chase may never stop.

“We’ll stay here.” 

We? Stay? 

“Here? This place is…” You keep peering up and up, the top of the building so high your neck hurts. It’s so foreign and magical your only adjective is a quiet, “Nice.” 

At your side, Yoongi seems annoyed when he asks, “Expect something different?” 

“Yeah, like… I dunno, a secret lair or something.” 

Air whooshes from his nostrils, but there’s a stark absence of a smile. Looking up at the building, too, he explains something that you’ve never heard of before,

“We’re in a grey zone. No one will follow us here.” 

Right. Because that somehow makes sense to regular civilians like you. Because you are one, are one, are one. “Allegedly,” you scoff, not knowing what to believe anymore.  

Yoongi pauses before heading up, and his agreement makes you look. “Allegedly.” 

Mm. 

After taking the tiny steps to the entrance, you wonder what he must be thinking bringing your haphazard look in tow. 

Because he could’ve left you behind at any point in time. But he didn’t. What does that mean? Why is he keeping you alive and at his side?

While you’re taking in the opulent and vast lobby, Yoongi guides you toward the front desk, shifting the duffle on his shoulder. 

This place is gorgeous. Nothing like you’ve ever seen. How were they able to install a waterfall in a building? What kind of money does this so-called grey zone have? 

Yoongi nods toward the concierge, who quickly nods back and scurries away and into a room.

If you weren’t so tired, you could probably make something of that exchange. But you are very much exhausted so frankly, you don’t give a shit right now. 

Although. You do give a shit about the fingers suddenly interlacing with your own. As your hand is held, you shoot your best client a look so potent he stares back. “What now,” you snip, question low and dripping with distrust. 

Unfazed, Yoongi slowly pulls you into his side, a steady hand coming up to wrap around your tired hips. So nonchalant, so lax, so confusing as he murmurs,

“Just wanted to.”

Your heart trips into the next beat.

On sore legs, you wait until the concierge comes back with a key, eyes swiping over you as if they finally noticed your existence. Which seems to perplex them as they hand over the metal device.

And Yoongi just takes it, not a word said before he directs you across the lobby to what look like elevators.

Even these look fancy as fuck. Wherever you are and whatever this place is, you feel even more out of place than on that judgy train. 

A hotel worker bows before he motions to the opening doors. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs to the ground, seemingly expecting the same non-response given to the front desk. “Would you like the usual, Mister—” 

“No,” Yoongi clips him off. “Not this time.” 

“Understood.” 

Brows pinched, you’re starting to get a weird feeling. 

How does everyone know Yoongi so well here? He said this was a grey zone, which you’d think would be akin to a neutral or non-threatening one. So why does it feel like he’s got this area on lock? Who exactly are you getting into an elevator with? 

…Who exactly did you save? 

Yoongi was right when he said you’re in it now. But faced with more questions surrounding him than anything or anyone else, you’re starting to wonder what pit of hell you dropped yourself into. 

Especially after catching the look of utter panic from the serviceman. 

Right before sliding doors shut the world out. 

—

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: thank you all for being so patient as i work through this! it was originally supposed to be a oneshot, but i like, need characters to get to know and learn about one another before heading into spice lmao. I NEED PLOT OK. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF SMUT I PROMISE DSHFKDSF we just gotta get through the slow burn first >:)) a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist (coming soon!)

Interlude | MYG | Seven

Pair: Idol!Yoongi x Deaf!reader

Summary: All Yoongi wanted was to use the last few months before enlisting to work on his solo projects, prepare for his tour. When the silence left around him as his members started to go one by one got too loud, he needed to find something else to fill in the void. But Yoongi would never have guessed that it would come in the form of you… Someone he would never expect to fall in love with.

Chapter warnings: Sweetness with angst. I am so sorry.  

A/N: Phrases in italic during the dialogs mean the character is using sign language!  

 WC: 6.7

 [Membership]

← Previous | Series Masterlist | Next →

Kim Namjoon has seen better days. 

Scratch that. He’s seen better weeks. 

His first official solo album, Indigo, was out for several months at this point, he finished his promotion schedule for it, everything had gone well and as expected, so he could finally relax and enjoy life. Pick the fruits of a job well done and all that. 

If only his overworked and overthinking brain allowed him to do just that. 

Knowing he would have to enlist by the end of the year, Namjoon knew his creativity would have to be put into the back seat for at least eighteen months. Almost two years that he’d have to stay away from his fans, unable to record his thoughts or put ideas out into paper or spill them on a mic; all of which had the power to drive him absolutely insane.

Which is why he wanted to make another album as a gift for ARMY, to be released once he was already gone to do his service for his country. Namjoon could appreciate the poetics behind it. But he just couldn’t, for the life of him, choose what songs he wanted to add to it. 

What message was he trying to put out into the world? 

What did he want to be remembered by while doing his military leave? 

Those were worries big enough to keep him from sleeping well at night. Or at all. And not sleeping well, meant he woke up late and couldn’t ride his bike for work, or he’d be late for the zoom meeting he had with some producer friends from America. So Namjoon was forced to call one of HYBE’s driver to come pick him up at his Hanam the Hill apartment. 

“Wait, I’m com– hold the door, please!” the idol was rushing to the elevators, carelessly shoving his arm in the tiny space between the closing automatic doors of the elevator. 

Your eyes were a bit wide and you jumped a little as Namjoon walked in, likely not having heard him ask you to hold the door. The Bangtan leader could recognize you right away, from the couple pictures his members had sent to the group chat with the caption “saw Yoongi hyung’s girl today”. 

The HYBE staff badge you carried around your neck confirmed your name, and the fact the only button pressed on the elevator panel was the one for the studio floors, he could guess you were going to meet the hyung right now. 

 “Good morning.” Namjoon smiled under his face mask, as you stepped to the side so you could both fit inside the elevator. “You’re hyung’s girlfriend, right?” 

He was met with silence as the elevator started its journey up. Maybe you were shy. The two of you hadn’t been properly introduced to each other yet, as far as Namjoon knew, only Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook had met you. 

Namjoon was happy for Yoongi, for finding someone he clearly really liked. But he wasn’t one to pry on his friends’ private affairs and when the hyung felt comfortable enough to introduce the two of you, he would. 

Or he could do it himself, now that destiny had put you in the same place. 

“I’m Namjoon. It’s nice to finally meet you.” he tried again, hands behind his back as he tried to appear harmless and friendly. “Hyung tells us a lot about you.” 

The buzzing on the watch on your wrist let you know you had text messages coming in. It was hidden by the sleeve of your coat and that hand was busy holding a small cupcake box, which you were bringing to Yoongi. Using your free hand, you tapped the pocket of your jeans, breathing a sigh of relief as you managed to pull it out with one hand and unlock it. 

Movement on your left side made you lift your eyes from your phone. The man in the elevator with you was pulling off the mask that was covering his face, so you worried he might want to talk to you, or greet you. 

And you were half right as you saw his lips start to move, but you found nothing but hostility in the man’s eyes as he regarded you. 

"So, you're just normally rude or you got a problem with me?” Namjoon, one of Yoongi’s members, you could recognize him now, was asking you with a scowl. 

Your mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out, the anger behind his eyes making your guts twist uncomfortably as your heart dropped to your stomach. Namjoon was a great deal taller than you, full of muscles, too, and the tensing of his jaw made you feel little in the worst way. 

He was intimidating to say the very least. 

Namjoon must’ve been talking to you, when you obviously couldn’t hear him, not noticing it while he had the face mask on. 

To make matters worse, both your hands were busy with your phone and the cake box, so you couldn’t even sign anything. You didn’t even know if Namjoon could understand sign language in the first place, and you were so frozen your lips didn’t even move to mutter an apology. 

“You’re not gonna last with hyung if this is how you treat his brothers.” Namjoon continued as the elevator finally stopped moving. “Get your act together.” 

Your teeth bit down on the inside of your lip to hold back the water that threatened to fall from your eyes. Namjoon stalked out of the elevator with stomps so heavy you could feel the vibration under your feet. You were left without a reaction for so long that the elevator doors closed once more and you just stared at your blurry reflection in them. 

You didn’t want to cry, whatever just happened was a misunderstanding, you weren’t trying to be rude! This was far from the first time someone talked to you without you noticing, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it wasn’t the kind of first impression you wished to leave on Kim Namjoon of all people. 

He was your boyfriend’s close friend, the leader of their group, it was obvious Yoongi looked up to him. The fear of disappointing Yoongi left a bad taste in your mouth, paired with the shock and sadness of the encounter, it was a little hard to breathe.

There was no way you would leave the elevator now, you didn't want to risk running into an angry Namjoon again. Pushing your phone into your coat pocket, you pushed the button to the seventeenth floor, feeling it buzz into life as it took you to a place you felt a little more comfortable, a little more safe. 

The coffee shop was deserted, it was that early, so you had plenty of time to just sit at a table before even moving to store your coat and bag in the staff locker room. 

After ten minutes of staring mindlessly at the cupcake box on top of the table and ignoring the buzzing of your phone, you felt a familiar hand at your back; gentle enough that it would never startle you. 

Looking up from your daze, you saw Yoongi’s sleepy, round face offering you a soft smile with squinty eyes. He was wearing a yellow hoodie and light wash jeans, hair soft and a little pressed on the side, as if he’d been laying on it recently. It was more color than you ever saw him wearing and you really liked that.

"Hi." he signed, making you take in a heavy breath. His sweet smile never faltered as he said: "I thought you were coming to the studio. Got kinda hungry waiting for my breakfast." 

"Oh, sorry–" you reached for the box, offering it to him. 

Yoongi took the box and placed it back on the table, touching your face with a warm hand to lift your chin. "Can I have a kiss?" 

You were still staring at his lips as you answered his question with a nod, closing your eyes as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. 

You couldn’t help the beating of your heart at the touch, or the million thoughts running through your mind. 

Yoongi was gentle, caring and good. He never treated anyone unfairly, didn't raise his voice. Not that you could hear it, but you could read it in his actions, in his calm personality with small bursts of energy. You’ve never met someone like him; patient, understanding, encouraging. He didn’t treat you as if you were any different than him, and for a man that worked with music that was saying a lot. 

You've read his lyrics before, and that angry person he talked about in his songs didn't feel like the man that you lo– 

Oh. 

Your eyes filled with water again, way too fast for you to stop it this time. The realization of how deeply rooted and strong your feelings were for this man made your heart seize in your chest. 

The day you met Yoongi, you had an encounter very much like the one with Namjoon. He was wearing a face mask, so you didn't hear his order, didn't get it right. But Yoongi was mortified when you explained, when you apologized, doing the same and going above and beyond to make sure you were alright and that it wasn’t your only impression of him.

Yoongi kept coming back, made an effort, and surprised you in so many ways. He became your friend, your lover, your boyfriend. 

You're not gonna last with hyung, if this is how you treat his brothers. 

Namjoon’s words stretched like a threat that scared you. You didn't want to lose Yoongi. Not for this, not for things you couldn't help. 

Yoongi parted from you and when your eyes fluttered open, you found his concern in lines between his dark brows. 

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, drying your cheek with the sleeve of his hoodie. Yoongi crouched down in front of you, but you just shook your head. "Hey. Tell me, please?" 

You let out a shuddering breath, harshly wiping at your eyes to stop the waterworks, a little annoyed at yourself for breaking down over this. But Yoongi was patient, so he pulled a chair closer to yours so he could sit down and wait until you gathered your thoughts and your words. Slightly stressed, you looked around and, seeing no one else at the coffee shop, you spoke:

“Did you tell your members about me?” 

You couldn’t hear yourself back, but by the way Yoongi had to slightly move his head so his ear picked up your words better, you knew you were being too quiet. You noticed him do it before, the little reactions he had whenever you spoke were enough for you to know if you should speak up or lower yourself down; and you didn’t even know if he noticed, but he was always gentle, never wincing or making you feel uncomfortable. 

“Of course I told them, you’ve met some of them–” Yoongi spoke through slow signing, a frown on his pretty face showed you how confused he was. 

“Did you tell them I’m deaf?” you reformulated your question and his confusion deepened. 

“I didn’t think it was something I had to point out.” Yoongi told you and you nodded weakly. Your gaze was falling to his chest, to the strings of his hoodie, so he took your face in both hands and had you look at his face. “Why?” 

“I met Namjoon-ssi today.” you started, letting out a little laugh in an attempt to make it sound okay. “He… Didn’t know.”

“Did you tell him?” your boyfriend’s face morphed into concern. You could tell his brain was starting to put two and two together, confirming it as he asked: “What happened?”

You didn’t want to complain about your boyfriend’s best friend to your boyfriend, but Yoongi wouldn’t let this go, so you played it cool: “He was wearing a mask, so I didn’t know he was speaking to me.”

Your shrug did nothing to calm him down, a short breath leaving his lips and letting you smell the mint in his breath from being so close. “Was he mean to you? Like that guy at the coffee shop?” 

“He didn’t know.” you insisted. 

Yoongi pulled away from you in order to rest his back against his chair, running a hand through his hair. His beautiful face was stoic, pretty pink lips slightly pulled to one side. He obviously didn’t like what he was hearing. 

“What did he say, baby?” he wanted to know, but you could tell he was getting angry and you weren’t about to make it worse. 

“It’s not important.” you shook your head, reaching for one of his hands. “Can you tell him I’m sorry?” 

“You’re so– Baby, no. If he was rude to you, he should be the one to apologize.” Yoongi insisted, so you offered him a small smile. 

“It was just a misunderstanding.” you choked up, wiping your eyes and deciding you were done tearing up. 

“He made you cry.” 

A fact that was very much breaking Yoongi’s heart. He had only seen you cry a few times during your relationship, mostly after watching videos of kittens and puppies on his phone, while laying on his chest. But today you were clearly hurting, and to know his best friend was the one to cause it, made Yoongi feel guilty by default. 

“I made myself cry by thinking silly thoughts.” you signed, shaking your head. The movement made your earrings wobble; tiny orange slices.

“If it made you cry, it's not silly.” he corrected, cradling your cheek, drying the last tear streak with his thumb.

“Just... please tell him.” you whispered. “And then maybe when you properly introduce us in the future we can both laugh about it.”

This was going nowhere, Yoongi realized. You weren’t accepting of the fact that it was okay for you to be upset, that Namjoon was the one to hurt you; he should be the one to feel bad about this, not you. No matter how close the two of them were. 

Hell, even if his parents were rude to you, you’d still be in the right. 

Your small bubble popped as Yoongi heard footsteps and light conversation coming down the hall, likely HYBE workers coming over for their daily morning fix. Upon inspecting the direction of his gaze, you noticed the two girls entering the space. It was enough for you to push the small cupcake box toward Yoongi and sign:

“Okay, I gotta go get ready to open up.” you stood up to gather the rest of your things, but suddenly stopped and started again: “Oh, I almost forgot. Unnie is taking Ari to an after-school kid party. So, you can come over and I'll cook you dinner. If you're not busy.”

“Never too busy for you, baby.” he assured you with a smile, appreciating your attempt to do the same. 

Yoongi might be in jail by the time he is done with Namjoon but you didn’t need to know that. 

He watched you walk away and get lost inside the little STAFF ONLY area, where you’d change into your work clothes for the day. Only then Yoongi up and made his way out. Yoongi thought his disappointment might have dwindled by the time he reached the 6th floor again, making a left instead of going straight into his studio, but his blood was heated and his brain was in a whirlwind. 

How could Namjoon be so clueless, going about his day, working out as if nothing was out of the ordinary when Yoongi knew whatever just happened between the two of you would replay in your mind for the rest of the day? Maybe even longer?

The gym was empty this morning, as it was most of the time nowadays, save for Namjoon. The taller man was running on the treadmill, barefoot, as if he wasn’t already a safety hazard for himself and others. The hyped up workout playlist was loud enough to muffle Yoongi’s steps and it would have been a lot more satisfying to pull the plug of a stereo from the socket, but nowadays everything was bluetooth and cordless. 

Yoongi clicked on the touch screen panel controlling the music, cutting it off at once. Namjoon’s out of tune voice was all he heard for a few seconds until his friend managed to stop himself from tripping on his own feet and emergency stopping the machine. 

“What the fuck did you tell her?” Yoongi stepped deeper into the gym and Namjoon’s confusion would have been funny if he wasn’t so irritated. 

“What–” the younger man stumbled as he stepped out of the treadmill. 

“My girlfriend. You made her upset and I want to know why.” he insisted, eyes squinting as Namjoon let out the mix between a laugh and a scoff. The little cupcake box Yoongi was holding was placed safely onto one of the many workout benches laying around. 

“I can't believe she went crying to you.” Namjoon shook his head, both hands on his hips as he fought to get his breath under control. “You really knew how to pick them better in the past, hyung.”

“Okay, shut the fuck up before you say something you'll regret.” Yoongi warned with a scoff of his own. 

Part of Yoongi knew Namjoon was under a lot of stress lately; granted, it was stress he put on himself by wanting to create more music before enlisting. Not only that, but Yoongi knew that a hookup-went-wrong kind of situation was going on between the dongsaeng and Soyoon, which put him on edge at the best of times. Made him snappy and most likely unintentionally bothered by other people’s happy relationships. 

“I’m sorry, hyung, I'm not trying to jab at you, just... okay, you wanna know what happened? Fine.” Namjoon reached for the small white towel resting on top of his workout bag next to the treadmill, using it to dab his sweat away, only then continuing: “I was trying to talk to her, you know, being nice for your sake, but she blatantly ignored me.”

Yoongi’s arms were crossed to his chest, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he waited for Namjoon to finish making a fool of himself. 

“Like, she properly ignored me, didn't care for my existence, just got on her phone and whatever.” Namjoon waved his hands in the air, as if someone ignoring him was a great offense. If he only knew. 

“She didn't hear you talking to her.” Yoongi spoke calmly, but his tone was slightly patronizing. 

“That’s her excuse?” Namjoon chuckled, throwing the towel on top of his bag again and walking to the weight rack. “We were in an elevator, hyung, we couldn't have been any closer, but if you still wanna defend her, go off, I guess.”

“Are you done being an asshole?” Yoongi followed after the man, not letting him off easy. His next words tasted bitter in his mouth, he never thought he’d need to say it like that, but: “She's deaf.”

“Yeah, right–” the other man let out a tiny laugh, but his shoulders tensed when he looked back at Yoongi and the punchline to a joke didn’t come. His face completely paled, which brought Yoongi a sense of satisfaction. “Wait, what? For real, though?”

“So yeah, she really couldn't fucking hear you.” Yoongi pressed, his own stomach churning uncomfortably. “But guess what, she can read lips, and she can read expressions, so she knows you said something rude to her and I wanna know what it was.”

“Shit shit shit, I... okay, I really was an ass, oh no.” Namjoon was clearly starting to panic a little, pressing his temples and walking from one side to the other. Then he stopped and faced the older man: “Hyung, why didn't you tell us?!”

“Because! I didn't think you of all people would act like this! Everyone else that met her was nice about it.” Yoongi all but accused, moving his arms and shoulders to let out some of his pent up energy.

“I feel terrible–”

“Tell me what the fuck did you say.” Yoongi gritted. If he wanted to soothe you and make sure he could turn the situation around, he needed to know what he was dealing with. 

“I- I don't remember word by word, but, shit–” Namjoon groaned in frustration. “Something about the relationship not lasting, and I'm so sorry–”

“Well, for someone with such a high IQ you're really dumb.”

“I know, I know–” the younger man was running his hands on his face, as if it was about to make it any better. When he finally came to terms with his mistakes, he asked: “Is she too upset?”

“The fuck do you think? You made her fucking cry and I’m not okay with that.” 

“No, no, I’m not okay with that either I– I'm just so fucking stressed, I was late this morning and Soyoon–” he started talking and interrupting himself, jumping from thought and afterthought. “No, it doesn't even matter, there’s no excuse, I’m so sorry hyung!”

“You should be, but don’t apologize to me, you need to apologize to her.” now that Yoongi knew what was going on, and he made sure Namjoon regretted his actions, his adrenaline was oozing out of him, the tiredness from his own sleepless night was catching up to him. Yoongi sat down on the bench closest to him, taking the cupcake box and holding it carefully between his hands. 

“Yeah, of course, I’ll go there right now–” 

“No, you're not. You're not getting near her today because she's already shaken up, so you're going to wait and I'll make sure she's okay before I let you see her again.” Yoongi stated matter of factly, there was no arguing about this. 

And Namjoon knew it, too, despite opening his mouth as if he had more things to say. Giving up on it for the time being, Namjoon sat down on the weight bench in front of Yoongi’s, but his eyes stayed on the hyung. 

Yoongi hated to feel so powerless, he hated that he couldn’t just take you from the coffee shop and hide you inside his studio until he made sure you were okay. He could only hope you’d be distracted enough up there, maybe share a laugh or two with your manager and the annoying girl from the morning shift. 

“You really like this girl, don't you?” Namjoon broke the silence that had installed itself between the two of them, but Yoongi’s eyes stayed in the cupcake box he was holding up. 

You had drawn little hearts on the corners of the lid with a blue gel pen, one of them a little smudged, another one a little wonky. But his own heart was three sizes bigger just looking at them. 

With a small nod, he said:

“I don't just like her, Joon-ah. I think she’s it for me.” 

“Oh, wow, that serious, huh?” when Yoongi lifted his head to look at his friend, he found a smile on his face that made Yoongi’s cheeks heat up. 

The two of them had grown up together, shared first loves and heartbreaks more times than they could count. With their busy lives and full schedules, Namjoon and Yoongi ended up growing apart, no longer the one the other went to for advice when it came to life stuff. But they both still wanted the other to be happy, still planned on settling down in the future and living near each other; keeping both families close. 

“I’ll fix it with her, I promise.” Namjoon made sure to let him know. “I’ll fix it with you, too. If there’s anything you need–”

“Actually,” Yoongi sat up a little straighter, resting the cupcake on his side to take his phone from his pocket. “I have a phone call with a guy from America in an hour and I could really use your help translating.” 

“Sure, yeah, of course.” Namjoon agreed in a heartbeat. “Why didn’t you ask our official translator, though?” 

“This… It’s personal business.” 

You couldn’t really explain the kind of peaceful quietude you were feeling in your house tonight, with only you and Yoongi inside. The place was always silent for you, of course, but even then it was busy. 

You’d always feel Ari’s running and playing on the vibrations on the floor and walls, you’d always see her moving from one room to the next, likely to drag you into her bedroom to play or color with her. Your sister was always talking to you, wanting to know about your day, tell you about hers. 

Those were moments you’d always appreciate, you loved both your sister and your niece to death. But sometimes you just wanted to exist for a little while, to not have to be interesting enough to hold Ari’s interest, or talkative enough so that Yeji wouldn’t worry. 

But you always had your down moments, days where things got too much, when you were too in your head. And today was definitely one of those days. Sitting quietly and sharing a meal with your boyfriend, who was much like you in that sense, was more than enough for you. Just being in Yoongi’s presence, exchanging little smiles of understanding was all you needed. 

You guessed he talked to Namjoon about the exchange in the elevator, imagining that was the reason why he himself was a little quiet, too, lost in his own little head for most of the dinner. You really hoped they didn’t have a fight because of you. 

You were just finishing up loading the dishwasher after eating dinner when you read through the speech to text app on your phone what Yoongi was saying: 

“Ari looks a lot like you.” 

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, a photo album in front of him as he went through the pages filled with polaroids. It was more of a scrapbook you had put together last year, when you were unemployed and with too much time in your hands, but a hobby you wanted to pick up again at some point. 

“You should have seen her as a baby.” you smiled to yourself, closing the machine and walking to him. Yoongi allowed you to flip a couple pages to find the one you were looking for; filled with photos of you holding a three month old. “Yeji used to joke she looked more like me than her.” 

“Hmm. Didn't think seeing you holding a tiny baby would make me want one.” Yoongi was letting out a little laugh, cheeks pink as he smiled enough for them to become two cute dumplings. 

You had to laugh at his admission, rubbing his shoulders with one of your hands as the other gently lifted his chin so you could lean down and press your lips together. You didn’t let Yoongi pull away either, nibbling on his bottom lip until he sighed against your mouth, letting his tongue poke between his lips to properly kiss you. 

You let him every time, following the movements of his mouth, your own breath growing heavy and lazy. 

“Not helping, baby.” he must sound raspy and low as you pulled away, reading the words forming on his lips. 

“Sorry.” you giggled, sitting on the chair next to his so you could both look at the photo album. “I don’t even know if I ever want to have a baby.”

“Why not?” he wanted to know and a baby-talk wasn’t something you thought you’d be discussing tonight, but if you were serious about each other, then at least you should know if you wanted the same things in your future. 

And, god, did you want Yoongi to be serious about you. 

It was still a sore topic for you, filled with uncertainties, but if you could be honest about anything with someone, that person was Yoongi. 

“Well. I know I can do anything, just as much as the next person. But being in my condition does have its challenges and I'm not stupid enough to ignore it or think it would be any easier.” you started, brave enough to use your voice and so many words all at once, knowing you only ever spoke this freely with either Yeji or Ari. “Did you know mothers can tell how their baby is feeling based on their cries? If they're hungry or sleepy, or in pain. I wouldn’t know that. My baby could be crying in their crib and I wouldn't even know.” 

“You have your ways…” Yoongi tried softly. He could tell this was an anxiety driven topic and he could understand your fears.  “Your gadgets?” 

“I know, but they can fail. My speech to text app freezes, or the alarm lights run out of batteries.” you shrugged. “I know it's a long shot, but those thoughts really worry me.” 

“I'm sorry, baby.” Yoongi reached out for you, running a hand soothingly up and down your arm. “I guess those are other things I never really thought about.”

“I’m glad you never had to, don’t apologize.” you smiled to assure him you were fine, adding with a small chuckle: “Sorry, this took a turn.”

“No, no, I like it when you talk to me.” he signed. “You show me different perspectives of things that wouldn’t really have crossed my mind before.” 

You didn’t think you were in a position to truly educate anybody on the subjects that you had to learn yourself, things you had to live with. But Yoongi was appreciative of everything new you pointed out to him, accepting of the things that made you different, willing to change the way he did things in his daily life to accommodate you. 

And you loved him for it. 

“What about you? Do you want to have kids?” you asked, despite the nervousness his answer might bring you. 

“I have one.”

“Huh–”

“I even have a baby book for Holly.” Yoongi proudly stated, making you laugh. “I'll show you when you come over next time.”

“Sounds good.” 

Yoongi looked through the rest of the photo album, smiling and laughing and listening to you talk about the stories behind those pictures. You promised to find your camera and buy film for it, so the two of you could take photos together and you’d make a whole page just for him. 

It was getting a little late, but neither of you was ready for the night to end just yet, so you asked your boyfriend if he wanted to stay a little longer and watch a movie, which he promptly said yes to. His expression when you pulled him away from the living room and up the stairs was so comical, you wished you had your camera on you already. 

“Are you sure that’s okay?” Yoongi asked with a squeeze to your hand, making sure you were looking at him. 

“Baby, I’m not a child.” you giggled, dragging him into your room. “I’m allowed to have boys over, you know?” 

“Have you?” he asked, but you clearly missed it, so he repeated: “Have you ever had boys over?”

“Well, no.” you scrunched your nose, a little embarrassed. “But I could have.”

Yoongi was shaking his shoulders as he laughed, which you always thought was endearing as hell. Despite his initial worries, Yoongi wasn’t shy when stepping into your space, looking around and taking a seat on the bed. He looked cute and perfectly cuddle-worthy, but you could tell there was something holding him back. 

Something was bothering him, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. Partially for fear of it being related to Namjoon, but also because it could just be work related stress that didn’t concern you. To give him time to decide if he was ready to talk about it or not, you went around your room to pick up your laptop and turn it on on top of your dresser. You didn’t have a TV in your bedroom, but your computer would have to do. 

When you turned around to ask what kind of movie he was in the mood for, he offered you a hand and asked:

“Hey, so, uhm. Before we start the movie, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Is that okay?”

“Of course, you can tell me anything.” you told him in what you knew was a quiet voice. 

“I know.” he smiled softly as you sat in front of him. 

You got this, Yoongi thought to himself. Just go with what we rehearsed. 

No amount of internal pep talk would hype Yoongi up enough for what he wanted to talk to you about. He knew it would be a delicate subject at best, but if everything went as he played it out in his head, things would be okay. 

“You’re starting to worry me.” you signed once Yoongi started taking too long. The lines between your brows were deep and Yoongi wanted them to go away. “Is it serious?”

“Yes, but it’s not bad.” he assured you as best as he could. “You know how I’m leaving soon, right?”

“Yeah, I know you’re going on tour.” you nodded, nibbling on your bottom lip. “When do you have to leave?”

“In a month, give or take?”

“Ahh. I’m gonna miss you.” you admitted, making Yoongi’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

“Maybe… Maybe you don’t have to?”  

“Okay, I’ll just rewire my brain into liking you a little less.” you joked, clearly not understanding where he was going with it. 

“That’s not what I mean, silly.” the man took a deep breath and said it at once: “What I wanted to talk to you about is that I want you to come with me.”

You blinked slowly, brows moving as your brain worked around his words. Your cheeks and neck looked a little flushed and Yoongi considered it as a good sign. At least you didn’t reject him right away. 

“You want me to go on tour with you?” you spoke calmly, maybe too quietly and unsure. 

“Not the whole tour… I’m spending two months in America.” he explained, even if he wanted to say ‘yes, the whole tour’. “The other trips around Asia will be a little faster, so I can either fly you out every now and then or come back to see you.”

“You’re crazy, Yoongi!” you were shaking your head, but he could tell you were just trying to be realistic. Your excited little giggle was what he was holding onto. “I can’t just leave my work like that, I haven’t been working for HYBE for long enough to have vacation time either–”

“I know, but I’ve thought of that, too.” he assured you, stomach dropping as he knew he was reaching the point of no return. “Having you there with me is not the only thing. There’s more.”

“Go on.”

“I… I found a doctor. In America.” he spoke, looking for your every reaction, every little twitch. “Someone who has worked on cases like yours before.”

“Cases like mine?” you cringed. Maybe not his best choice of words, but it was all out there now. Nowhere to run. 

“Mhm. Sudden sensorineural hearing loss.” he was proud of himself for signing those big words correctly, but you… Were not quite impressed. If anything, you looked stoic, no longer smiling. It was making Yoongi’s hands sweat. “I’ve been talking to him, sending emails back and forth and he called me earlier today.”

“How long have you been talking to him?” your lips remained shut, hand movements lethargic. 

“A month? Maybe a little more?” Yoongi’s nerves were amplified by the minute, not liking the fact you were so quiet. “Today he told me that he believes he can operate on you.”

“What–” that had you reacting. 

“The chances are good too, really good, he’s supposed to be the best one in the US.” he told you in hopes you’d understand how great this opportunity was, how it could be the chance you didn’t get in the past. “And he can see you as soon as we get there, he’s in Chicago and–”

“Why are you trying to fix me?” was your reply as you interrupted him, making him choke on his own words. 

“Huh?”

“Why have you been talking to a doctor behind my back? I didn’t ask you to do that.” your voice was oscillating like it did when you got too nervous and it was making Yoongi’s anxiety rise. 

“No, I know, I’m not trying to–”

“Am I not good enough for you?” you scooted back and away from him as Yoongi tried to reach for you.

“Baby, what are you talking about?” dread started to course through Yoongi as every single one of your reactions was not what he was expecting. It felt like you were building a wall around yourself and shutting him out. 

“I don’t need you to look for miracles for me, and I don’t need your charity.” as if you were too tired to be sitting down you got up and Yoongi feared you might run away from him. But then you turned back around and twisted the knife: “Is that why you didn’t tell Namjoon that I’m deaf? Because you’re ashamed of me? Or were you hoping to fix that before you had to tell your members?”

“Baby, come on, you got it all wrong.” Yoongi insisted, listening to the way his own voice started shaking. “You know I’m nothing but accepting of you, have I not shown it to you?” 

“Clearly not all that accepting if you’re contacting doctors, hoping for a cure that doesn’t exist.” you were hurt, Yoongi understood that. But you shouldn’t be, that’s not what he was doing, not why he contacted the doctor in the first place.

“How do you know it doesn’t exist?” he was trying to reason. “I would never try to change you, I’m just trying to help you because I–”

“That’s exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to change me!” your voice grew high pitched and your signing didn’t really follow your words as you spoke too fast. It was clearly very frustrating for you too.  “I don’t know if it’s because you pity me, or because you’re ashamed of me, but I don’t need that.” 

“Baby, calm down–”

“I’m perfectly capable just the way I am, and I don’t need things to change.” you said as you hugged yourself, trembling body and shaky hands. There were tears in your eyes and Yoongi’s heart was breaking all over again. 

Out of all the times she could have showed up, your sister chose now as the perfect moment to come home. 

Yoongi didn’t hear her get in, but he heard the heavy rushing up the stairs, likely after listening to your agitated state. He half picked up on the hushed ‘Ari, stay in the living room’ before seeing the disheveled woman appearing at your door, concerned: 

“What’s going on in here–” 

“I’ve been doing just fine before you showed up and I’ll be just as well after you’re gone too.” you continued, not yet noticing your sister. 

Ignoring Yeji altogether, Yoongi still tried to get to you. “Stop that, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yes you are.” you decided. “You’re going home, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Baby–”

Putting herself between you and Yoongi, Yeji took a protective stance and raised a hand to stop the man in his tracks. “Okay, I don’t know what’s happening, but you need to leave.”

“Just go, Yoongi, please.” you sounded small and broken, and Yoongi felt powerless.

“No, not until you let me–” he tried again, only to be interrupted. 

“You heard her, dude, it’s time for you to leave.” Yeji was still smaller than him, just a little taller than you, and completely menacing with the way she was glaring at Yoongi. 

He didn’t want to leave you like this, thinking he was trying to change you, believing he thought you were anything less than perfect. But you were also upset, it had been a long day as it was and Yeji wouldn’t let him go near you anyway. 

Yoongi had no choice but to go. 

@coldcoffee2121 @jajabro @lunalunar-blog @scoupsjin @rieserafim @ldysmfrst @kaitieskidmore97 @kimvante2013 @ch3rrycolv @lemonadecandy51 @ot72025 @lovemepie67 @welcometomyworld13 @mymagicshop13 @twilghtkoo @jjkluver7   @kam9404 @suker4angst   @ollyoxenfrees @svnbangtansworld @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @hanu-bear @roseidol @purplebeebs @sexytholland @cuntessaiii   @notsevenwithyou   @elliott-calls @ysljoon @secretreadergreen @dreamamubarak @dazzlingjade @kiki-zb @m00njinnie @lerasi @justandloyal2961 @astro-doll-the-star @may-the-dreadwolf-take-me @mafiulaputaama

@postmodernlux @thevelvetseries @mafersame @osakis-gf @iiitsmaria  

@perpetuapenandpaper @bearr02 @smdlc @minijagiya @ktownshizzle @dansphil

freaky friday | myg (m)

title: freaky friday pairing: min yoongi x f!reader genre/rating: smut, horror, f*ckbuddies, friday the 13th au; 18+ summary: they were right to be afraid. wc: 2.6k warnings: m*rder, mild description of d*ad bodies, blood, weapon play, outdoor s*x, mentions alcohol, slight power play dynamics, ch*king, multiple org*sms, squirting, overstimulation, dirty talk, a bit of dark humor, i think that's all...will update later. can be triggering so please proceed with caution. release date: september 13th, 2024

note: hi! i'm back lol. had some downtime so I whipped this up. slightly edited but this was just a quick drabble i wrote. mask credit.

September 13th, 2024

Snap.

You stop in your tracks so another twig doesn’t crack beneath your feet. The forest becomes eerily quiet as you await your fate. After seconds of standing somewhere within the forest surrounding Camp Crystal Lake, you unclench your fists and cautiously tiptoe to the nearest tree. 

Relief washes over you but doesn’t erase the fear pumping through your veins. You’re not safe until you reach the lake so there’s no time to celebrate a victory this small. 

“Clap!”

Fuck.

You hear one of the seekers call out in the distance, and abiding by the rules, you clap your hands once to pinpoint your location. The caller is far from your area, but that doesn’t mean another isn’t nearby.

You brace yourself as you hear the sticks being crushed by someone’s footsteps behind the tree that shields you and you brace yourself for the jump scare that comes with being discovered.

Holding your breath, you close your eyes and wait—but the moment never arrives. Sighing, you turn slowly to scope out your surroundings.

The moon provides enough light to see what’s in front of you, but the night is gloomy and does an excellent job of concealing you in the darkness. 

Camp Crystal Lake has always been a popular summer camp location. You and your friends have run through these woods more times than you can count. Now as counselors, you still haven’t grown up entirely.

This place brings out the kid in you, but like quite a few attractions, it comes with a dark history.

The story of the boy who drowned in the lake has always been the camp’s employees' favorite spooky bedtime story. It’s a way to get the kids to bed early so that the adults can have some fun. Although it’s just a scary story, you can’t help but feel like there’s some truth to it. 

You can never really shake the feeling of being watched, but you won’t let your paranoia ruin your last night of fun. Camp ends tomorrow, and then it’s back to long nights of studying for you. Hopefully, you can snag a victory this time around and have some bragging rights for next time.

After looking in every direction twice, you take the first step. Looking around you again, you don’t see or hear any sign of movement. So, you make a run for it.

You don’t think you’ve ever run so fast. You cover over half the distance within a minute. You nearly slip and burst your ass when the ground becomes steeper.

“Better slow down,” you tell yourself.

You wouldn’t want to slide right into the lake. You’d be covered in mud by the time you climb out. 

Before you continue, you look around to make sure you haven’t been spotted, and this time—you aren’t so lucky.

“Oh, shit.”

Your heart drops when you see the figure standing no more than 15 to 20 feet away from you. You’re frozen because you know you’ve been caught, but what you can’t determine is by who.

After they’ve moved closer, you can make out the white mask and clothing. 

It’s Yoongi.

None of you know him too well. This is his first summer working here. You’ve heard stories about him but to you, he’s just a guy trying to make some extra cash. You don’t think he knows any more about this place than the rest of you. The kids have already given him every scary name they could think of, and that’s mainly because he doesn’t talk much and sticks to himself. It took you weeks to get him out of his shell, and he’s been fucking your brains out ever since.

“You still have that on?”

Like you, Yoongi pulled the short straw and they made him wear a hockey mask to scare the kids. You thought he went to bed after his little show, but maybe he couldn’t resist the opportunity to fuck with everyone.

He doesn’t reply or answer the question. Instead, he continues to make his way towards you. 

“Yoongi?”

Still, nothing comes out of his mouth and worry starts to build in your gut. You almost make a run for the campgrounds, but then he decides to speak up.

“Damn, you look scared.”

If you had a rock, you’d probably throw it at him. “Why would you do that?”

Yoongi laughs and lifts the mask. His skin seems to glow underneath the moonlight, fueling your attraction. His hair is pushed away from his face, giving you a full few of his forehead and slit eyebrows.

“I was about to kill you, but I changed my mind,” he shrugs.

Your mouth falls open.

“You would not!”

You smack his chest as he snakes a hand around your waist. The other clutches his prop—a machete he probably got from Party City.

“Maybe I won’t,” he replies. “It depends, really.”

“On?”

Another shrug of his shoulders serves as a response, an indicator that your question is probably one you already know the answer to. However, he still doesn’t hesitate to enlighten you.

“Are you going to be good for me?”

Your skin feels on fire as his lips move against your cheek. He invades your senses with the smell of s’mores and liquor mixed with his familiar scent of shampoo, detergent, and nature. His body is warm, his heart beating rapidly from his adrenaline. Yours is racing just as swiftly, anticipating another heated encounter with the mysterious stranger who knows your body better than anyone.

“I can try.”

Yoongi guides you closer to a nearby tree, gently pushing you against the bark. He pulls down his mask before he speaks again.

“I sure hope you can.”

His blade touches your thigh and you let out a small gasp because of how cold it is. It feels real. It looks real.

“Wouldn’t want to make me mad tonight, love.”

“Why not? You’re gonna use that?” you ask him, now entirely aware of how huge the prop really is.

Yoongi pauses and tilts his head. “Sounds like you want me to.”

You can’t deny how intrigued you are by the object. You’ve experimented with all kinds of toys, but this would be a new one for you. However, another opportunity like this won’t come often—if at all.

“And what if someone sees us?” 

“What if they’re already watching?” he counters.

Even Yoongi notices your reaction despite it being dark. Your hands clutch the bark, hoping your knees don’t buckle or give out. 

As Yoongi moves the machete further up your leg, you know he wants to know where the skin stops—when will he reach the fabric of your shorts? However, you just threw on some shoes and ran outside when you got the text. He’ll never find what he’s looking for.

Realizing at that moment, he lifts your oversized shirt slightly to confirm his suspicions. 

“Should have known.”

You give him a little smirk, letting him know it was intentional. You never know when a quickie will present itself around here. You have to be prepared at all times.

“You should have,” you repeat. “Wanna see the back?”

Yoongi nods and lowers his weapon so you can turn away from him. When you’re facing the tree, you lift your shirt, knowing he’s expecting you to stop at the waist. Instead, you remove the item entirely and drop it beside you, leaving you standing there in nothing but your panties.

Yoongi whistles and you scold him playfully. “Shh! What if someone heard that?”

“Trust me. No one did,” he promises.

Once again, he’s all over you. His arms around you, his lips kissing your neck and shoulders, his body shielding you from the breeze in the air. You’re drunk from his touch within seconds, and the way he speaks in your ear only intensifies the throbbing between your thighs.

“Don’t worry about them. I need you.”

No, he needs to be in you.

You can feel his boner getting harder the longer you stand there naked before him. You would tease him, make him chase you for it, but who knows how long before the others come looking for you?

“Well, it’s right here. Just take it,” you reply.

Yoongi doesn’t waste a second. He tears off your underwear, causing you to cover your mouth to capture your startled shriek. You would have just taken them off if he just asked, but you have to admit the manhandling is kind of hot. You’d put on seven layers of clothes just to watch him rip them off you.

The sound of his belt buckle and zipper lets you know what’s to come. You feel the thick tip of his dick touch your ass when he steps behind you, and just from the small contact, you know he’s standing at attention.

You spread your legs for him and he slides his cock between your thighs. Both of you exhale, already relieving some of the tension. Your wetness is already pooling at your entrance so he slowly slips inside of you in one motion. 

“Fuck me.”

He’s momentarily caught off guard by your eagerness but recovers quickly and fulfills your request.

“Can’t wait, huh?”

Yoongi begins to thrust his hips, causing a skin-slapping noise to resonate through the woods. You can only hope no one hears the obscene sounds coming from the two of you. You try your best to suppress your cries of pleasure but Yoongi doesn’t hold back as he moans in your ear.

“This pussy’s so good,” he mumbles against your flesh. His hand wraps around your throat and he begins to squeeze, making your head spin. “I’m going to miss this.”

“Not me?”

Your voice comes out rough and shaky. You can barely finish your sentence because the words are getting trapped in the back of your throat. Yoongi chuckles sending vibrations straight to your core, the sensation leaves you trembling.

“Enjoy the moment, baby.”

He knows you’re joking. You barely know each other. This is fun, but that’s all it is. You know you’ll probably never see him again.

“Oh, I am.”

You can feel yourself getting hotter. Each snap of Yoongi’s hips takes you closer to the edge. Drool and tears roll down your face but you don’t bother wiping them away. You barely know they’re there.

“You like getting fucked in the wood? Butt ass naked, hm?” he growls. “Such a little freak?”

“Fuck, Yoongi.”

He laughs.

“No shame at all, baby. You’re really enjoying yourself, huh?”

You try to nod but you realize that you can’t so you croak the best response you can give in your position. “I am. It’s good.”

“I know.”

As he fucks you from behind, you almost forget about what he’s holding in his right hand. It doesn’t cross your mind until the blade touches your skin. He drags it across your skin, leaving goosebumps all over your body. Only one question comes to mind.

“Is that real?” you ask through your labored panting.

Yoongi pauses and brings the machete to your throat. 

“Move and you’ll find out.”

Your eyes widen as your soul threatens to leap out of you. Excitement mixed with fear and curiosity makes you let out the moans you so desperately tried to conceal. You can feel the sharp edge threaten to break through your fresh as Yoongi begins to fuck you again. You aren’t sure how much you have left in you, but you know it’s not much.

“I feel you clenching,” he reveals. “You’re just as fucked up as me.”

He’s no longer controlling himself. He goes deeper and deeper with each stroke, touching your cervix and making your back arch. Your head tilts back, resting on his shoulder for support. Your nails dig into the bark as you stare at the moon, mind racing with a flood of disgusting thoughts and possibilities. 

You wonder if someone’s watching, or recording you. If the blade will leave a mark, making you remember this encounter forever. Everything just hits you like a whirlwind. You barely have time to warn Yoongi.

“I—I’m cumming!”

The leaves and dirt become damp with your juices squirting all over the ground beneath you. Yoongi has to drop the machete to keep you on your two feet. He fills your ears with the filthiest things, intensifying your orgasm. You have no idea how long you’ve been cumming all over his dick, but Yoongi’s only a few thrust away from reaching his peak.

“This pussy’s so good. Give me another one,” he demands, fucking you harder.

“Wait a minute!”

You try to bargain for a month to recover from your last orgasm but Yoongi’s ready to blow his load. He grabs your hips and drills into your sensitive cunt with only one thing in mind. All you can do is hold on and hope he doesn’t have to carry you back to camp.

“Fuck!”

He curses loudly into the night when another wave of pleasure causes your walls to squeeze around him. This time he has no choice but to pull out and release his seed all over your ass. He moans and groans as the ropes of cum paint your skin. Soon, the only noises you hear are the crickets and both of you breathing heavily.

“Where is everyone?” 

You can’t help but notice how besides the two of you no other voices can be heard. The game of hide and seek doesn’t even seem to be going on anymore. 

It’s dead silence all around you.

“Probably dead,” Yoongi answers.

You roll your eyes and grab your shirt, shaking off the dirt before putting it on. You turn to Yoongi who’s adjusting his pants. His mask lies on the ground beside his machete, and you can’t help but notice the red stains splattered all over the white object.

“You really went all out, huh?”

You point towards the items and he laughs. “Yeah, you can say that.”

Both of you stand there for a minute before you decide to head back to camp. You assume everyone forgot about you so technically you have a victory.

“I’m gonna head back but this was really fun.”

Yoongi nods. “Tell your bunkmates I said hi, yeah?”

“Uh, sure. Okay.”

Everyone calls Yoongi a little weird, but you like that about him. You talk about all kinds of things that others would find strange. However, you don’t ever recall him speaking with the people you share a bunk with. They don’t even work with your group.

The walk back isn’t a long one, and on your way to your cabin, you take a peek at the kids. Some are actually sound asleep while the others are pretending to be. You smile thinking about how you and your friends did the same thing as kids.

You leave them to continue doing whatever it is they were doing, giving them a last taste of summer before the return home and school begins.

For some reason, the counselor quarters are unusually dark tonight and you struggle getting in the door. You don’t turn on the light, noticing that there’s someone slumped over the couch asleep. They look hammered so you leave the be. In your room, you notice that your bunkmates are all asleep. You tiptoe so you don’t wake them, but slip on something wet as you make your way to your bed.

“Shit, what the fuck?! I’m sorry guys.”

You carefully get up, covered in some sort of thick goo. You struggle for several minutes to find the light switch and when you do, nothing but horror awaits.

Blood.

The entire room covered in it. You try to shake everyone, trying to wake them up from the sick prank. However, the longer you examine the state of their limp bodies, the realization finally dawns on you.

“He wasn’t joking.”

WHISPERED SECRETS Masterlist

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

INTERLUDE: The Flashbacks

Chapter Eight

Chapte Nine: The Epilogue

i binged this in less than 12 hrs i’m obsessed and i cant wait to see what you write in the future for these three i was hooked from the first chapter!!!

getting sick of this noise, m | myg, jjk

misfit toys au continuation of intro >> don’t play >> this game >> those graves

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader

summary: You won, Min Yoongi. Isn't this what you wanted? You ran away from it all and now lose yourself in the forbidden passion of your stepsister's body day and night. Closer to her than ever. Careful now. The monsters that hide in the dark could tear you apart.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; warning! graphic sexual abuse of a minor — please do not read further if you are not comfortable; reader is the victim, mentions of hard drug use; shitty wealthy parents that abuse their adult children in the name of filial piety narcissism; toxic relationships; angst; stepsiblings; intense smut (fem reader, D/s (sub!JK), restraints, forced orgasm, cum eating, f and m-receiving oral, semi-public m-masturbation, edging, cock-and-ball torture (self + received), hair-pulling, nipple play, cumming on reader's face + chest, anal shower sex, choking, fingering, blindfold usage, heavy bruising / scratching, spit kink); non-idol!AU - orange-haired!Yoongi x savage, bad bitch!reader, ft obsessive, security guard!Jeon Jungkook; shifts between Yoongi’s, yours, and JK’s POV

--

Once again, be warned. This chapter details abuse of a minor, notably sexual as well as physical and mental. Reader is the victim. Although she is aware of how such abuse has warped her psyche, it is apparent that she uses dissociation as a coping mechanism from the worst of it. It is still awful. You are responsible for what you choose to consume. Please do not proceed unless you are in the headspace for monsters that do, sadly, exist in real life.

I do not condone this behavior. For storytelling purposes only.

--

He sat down on that black leather couch.

Spread his legs for his own comfort. His jacket was tossed to the side, out of the way. The living room was dark. All blinds drawn. Breathe out. He pushed his hair back, getting it out of the way. He set an arm on the back of the couch and raised his head. His skin prickled, warning him.

An icy itch slithered down his spine.

Min Yoongi looked up.

His stepsister smiled, a vicious image, and then she let her black lace dress slip down her body to step out of it.

He knew there was wrong in this world and Yoongi knew he was part of it. There was better than him. There was worse than him. Hell, his closest family was the epitome of the worst. He was definitely one of the wrong ones, by blood and by the path he had chosen to take. He had always been a runner, an escape artist, a bad son. He didn’t give a shit. The definition of insanity was doing something over and over again expecting a different result. Why continue being frustrated with something he couldn’t change? Why continue being berated and beaten repeatedly for not copying his father’s obscene behavior?

Why not do one better and take the one his father wanted most, over and over again?

Yoongi lifted two fingers ad curled them inward, beckoning his stepsister to him.

-

-

Life was about getting there.

This was true from the very beginning. You did what you had to do to keep living. It did not matter how you felt about it, and you did what you had to do so often that you forgot to feel something about it. Run. Hide. Cry. Be humiliated. These actions became second nature. The more you did them, the more detached you became. And so you did what you needed to do and felt nothing, just to retrieve your mother’s unconscious body back from whatever she had put herself though. That was the game. She counted on your part in the game. You fulfilled it. She rewarded with trinkets, a little treat, or something equally meaningless that meant everything to an impressionable child. Back then, it was easy. It was easy not to know better. It was easy to be a deceitful heart when nothing was wrong. Like your mother said, nothing could be wrong when you were born to play.

It had to become a game for it to be bearable.

You played the game.

What your mother didn’t count on was you becoming a slut to gain your own freedom. After teaching you to trust no one, she really thought she could make you dependent on the fragile bond of mother and daughter. After all, it was you and dear mother against the world, right? She never thought you would have the guts to make your own terms. Never thought you too could manipulate the people around you.

She wasn’t sober enough half of the time to stop you either.

The world around you was so, so fucked up and dear mother was the one to throw you to the wolves.

At some point, you had your revelation.

The first one was a son of some old guy.

Definitely older than you. Definitely should not be touching you. Didn’t want to either because he was repulsed by pussy. He did what he had to do so his dad wouldn’t know. You happened to be the easiest target in his line of vision. He had cornered you to do the deed, but was too terrified and too limp to do anything. You had been prepared to fight, steak knife behind your back, but the man ended up breaking down and crying. A first. Saying all kinds of things that you didn’t really understand, such as I can’t do this anymore and I have to and I’m sorry, they can’t know, who knows what, and you were looking down at him wondering how someone could have so much money and not be entirely selfish.

“Why don’t you?”

It was like a light bulb turned on in that vacant little brain.

Tear-stained face of a cowering naked creature under your narrow, barely-clothed body. He was bigger than you but, in this moment, he was small in the grandeur of your delicate, adamant defiance. You held up the knife, observing the way the low light gleamed off the blade, knowing you would have used it without hesitation. There was no fear in the desire for survival. You had tilted your head.

And you had felt it.

Power.

“W… W-What?”

You had smiled.

“You can keep a secret, right? Let’s make a secret.”

Your mother had no idea at the time that you were the one to provide the leverage she needed to leave that marriage. She just thought she had gotten lucky stumbling on her stepson in the middle of a gay orgy. Alimony and a quiet split as long as the shameful truth wasn’t revealed to the public. It had taken some time, but not as much as you had originally thought. You had simply copied what she did – created an addiction. Eventually, the addict went out of control. So what if you had to sleep with a few people? So what if you had created a cultish circle of rich kids fucking each other to get the curiosity started? It got you out of the house, away from hungrier eyes always straying from your mother.

Dumb bitch.

“It’s not so bad.”

A couple of men later. This one had been younger than your mother. Cutting lines of white right in front of you. Your mother was passed out. You weren’t worried. She wasn’t that pale. The man had offered you some but oddly accepted your declining. He did not accept you leaving his lap and his half-hard dick though. He snorted a narrow strip of few centimeters and sniffed hard.

“I bet you think all this sucks, doncha?” His satoori and drug habit had corroded his voice. His other hand was on your thigh. He squeezed. “But it isn’t so bad. I see you. You’re different. You’re not all here. And I bet you think people like me are dumb as rocks.” He tapped the side of his head, his pupils expanding like black holes. “But I ain’t dumb. I know your mother is here for money. That’s fine. I like dumb bitches who like getting face-fucked and think they’re making money by playing nice. She’d be making a lot more if she actually became a hooker. But you. I see it in your eyes.”

You had shrugged.

“Heh. I knew it. I knew you weren’t just a dumb little girl. Tell you what. I like you.”

You had stared at him. He offered you an obscene amount of money to suck his dick. But not only money. A safe box at the bank with your own key. It would take years for you to legally have your own assets. It was pointless to give you money that your mother still had access to. He promised to keep the key and give it to you when you came of age.

“I don’t trust you.”

He had grinned.

It was manic.

“Okay. Then you choose how I get off.”

You had frowned. You would always remember his face. Inviting. Sickly. Unfocused and ravenous like a hyena. His pupils had looked as if they were swallowing his irises. Ironically, his dark hair had been bleached, but the strands were turning a sickly orange due to poor upkeep. He would have been handsome if it wasn’t for the drug habit.

You also remembered how impressed you were at how he had played his game.

Then put your palm on his still-hard dick, leaning your weight on it. Gripped hard, as hard as your smaller hand could, crushing his balls into the seat, watching his features contort in pain.

And glee.

“You’re a liar,” you had said slowly, confirming it by digging your blunt nails inward. “You don’t like dumb bitches.”

He had been telling the truth about giving up a whole lot of money for what only you could give.

-

Jeon Jungkook was a security guard for a gentlemen’s club.

He also had a particular obsession with his boss. Not the old Master. Fuck no. The young Master, her daughter. And, although he doubted the feeling was mutual, they now shared a secret. It had to be intentional. She would do no such thing without purpose. Whether that purpose was in his best interest remained to be seen, but Jungkook didn’t really care. The world was fucked anyway. Might as well do some fucked-up things.

He was at work when he received the notification that the young Master was at her condo.

This was not uncommon. There was no need for the Masters to be here to constantly oversee operations. That was why they had managers and supervisors, after all. As for why Jungkook received the notification, well, he had begun to pay the security at that particular building a bit of money to let him know who was going in and out of that particular condo.

Not to do anything.

He just wanted to know.

A few nights ago, she had blindfolded him in the basement. Handcuffed him to a metal bar, naked, and done all sorts of things to him with ice, vibrators, and her pointed manicure. He still had scabbed lines over his back from where she had broken skin. His favorite part had been when she orgasmed while sandwiching the wand vibrator between his balls and her pussy. Holding his cock out of the way, of course. He could feel her cum seeping onto his inner thighs and her hot breath on his chest as she did it. He especially liked it when she scooped up her cum and shoved her slick fingers into his mouth and almost made him choke. Jungkook hadn’t liked it when she stimulated him with a vibrating silicone sleeve rather than her hand. He had begged to at least cum on the stone floor. She only let him if he spit in her hand first and then she used that as lube to jack him off to completion. He wished she had made him lick it up, but the basement floor wasn’t exactly clean.

She did, however, let him get on his knees and clean up her pussy.

Jungkook had an obsession.

He wanted to know who came in and out of the condo. He and the young Master shared a secret. He was a security guard. Hers. He wanted to protect. The best way to protect was to have information. The more information, the better. Spending a bit of money was not going to prevent him from protecting.

On his break, he was in his car when he checked his phone.

The people who had entered the condo were the young Master and her stepbrother.

This was no cause for alarm, but it did greatly piss Jungkook off.

Not for any good reason, he knew. He was in no place to think he was entitled to anything. Nor did he have any delusion about what his relationship was with the young Master. She had the body. She had the money. She could do whatever she wanted as long as she still cared enough to keep their secret. But Jungkook was still mad, because Min Yoongi was an asshole who couldn’t even see who was on his side.

He was also pissed because this information didn’t curb his hunger.

Jungkook sat back in his car and ran his fingers over his erection throbbing in his work pants. His left hand followed the side of his pants, to the slim pocket that held the black switchblade with the engraved tiger motif. It took some effort to unzip his pants. Even more to lower his boxer briefs. His hard cock sprang out, suddenly exposed in the cool air. He stared straight ahead, keeping his breath steady. Glanced at his rearview mirror to make sure his expression didn’t change. No one was coming to the employee parking lot anyway, but there were still cameras. He doubted any of them had the correct angle to see inside his car, but he also didn’t care. He ran the fingertips of his right hand over the head, smearing the pre-cum. Shivered, but otherwise didn’t let the pleasure show. He traced the hard lines of the tiger and stroked himself all over, his swollen cock throbbing uncomfortably, almost unbearable.

Remembered the way his Master touched him and made him sore.

Perfect.

Jungkook knew what the young Master was doing with her stepbrother.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But, still, sometimes he would miss the feeling she gave him. He kept his left hand on the knife she had given him and gripped his balls, squeezing hard. Delicious pain shot up his core. He kept his eyes open, staring straight ahead, aware of the movement around him, imagining her torturing him as he tortured himself, right in the open. Smacked his cock so hard that it hit his pant leg, the slap resounding in the confides of his car. He had to bite his tongue to avoid letting the illicit ecstasy show on his face. He did it again, louder, harder, squeezing his balls again right after to prolong the suffering, and none of it showed on his face even as his lower half vibrated with craving. He wanted her to tell him to stop. He wanted her to punish him. The edges of the switchblade cut into his palm as he hooked thumb and forefinger around the base of his cock and tightened.

The throb of pleasure was so powerful that his hips threatened to rise.

He used all of his willpower to prevent himself from doing so and instead smacked his abused cock once more, his toes curling inside his shoes to maintain the tension of staying upright and appearing unemotional so no one would even suspect how desperately and deeply he wanted to be tied up and used by his Master.

He needed it.

Needed it.

He loved having this secret with the young Master.

He carefully corrected himself. Zipped up his pants and, in doing so, noticed the faint white stains along the inner thighs of his pant legs. He let it be and returned to work. He received a few interesting looks from the working girls but Jungkook only thought about one person. Only one. He finished his shift with his underwear soaked in his pre-cum. The first thing he did when he left work was check his phone.

No new notifications.

He went straight home.

-

The last thing Min Yoongi knew was the right words to say.

It was one thing to be sure of something and another to hear the outward, sickening proof of it. It was one thing to know his own father was despicable and deplorable, but another to hear his own stepmother saying, what is the big deal? The shameful anger flared within him once more as he remembered. The suggestion itself, vile. The way it was presented even more so. But the anger came from somewhere else. From nights of tangled hands and skin-to-skin. From his teeth sunk into flesh, from his hands around her throat, from his cock buried deep inside his stepsister’s pussy. His. His, because she wanted him, because she willingly toyed with his emotions and pushed all his buttons and coiled around him like a viper, her saliva a venomous aphrodisiac. And the shame, well. The shame didn’t come from the wrongness.

No.

“Strip.”

The shame came from jealousy.

Jealousy from her reaching back so confidently and unhooking her bra, so casual and unbothered by his spiteful order. Her shoulders dipped, left, right, the straps smoothly sliding off as she held the lace cups. Too practiced to be accidental. Too graceful to be a novice and Yoongi was ashamed, ashamed for the way he watched her every move, ashamed at himself for how deeply it affected him, ashamed not at his cock twitching but at his chest tightening, his heart racing, the tremble in his own breath.

She slowly let the bra fall into her hands and tossed it aside, letting him look at the shapely curves and stiff nipples.

He had none of that.

And Yoongi was angry, so angry at his own father for trying to take her from him even though he had no right and no claim over this woman, but all the same, she is mine, mine, and you are a shitty father and took away any hope I had in this life so it is about time I take something for you too.

An eye for an eye.

She paused a few steps away. Hooked her finger over the sides of her black lace panties and bent forward, sliding them down, down. Her breasts fully exposed and, as she stood up, her pussy as well, the low light catching a hint of glistening slick. The blinds were all drawn, but it was still daylight outside, allowing the seeping bright cracks to light up the living room.

He breathed in and was greeted with the potent scent of sex.

One hand on his bare knee. Then the other. Yoongi was still wearing his charcoal, paint-stained jeans. The large rips in the knees allowed for the skin-to-skin contact. He didn’t say anything as she lowered herself to her knees. Didn’t dare breathe under that serpentine gaze. He was still wearing his designer t-shirt and made no move to take it off.

She smiled, her pink tongue tracing the edge of her smirk.

His cock throbbed, stretching out his boxer briefs.

Yoongi cocked his chin and stuck his tongue in his cheek.

Then he shot out his hand and grabbed her by the throat, pressing his fingertips inward. Dragged her neck towards him, growling in his chest, his pulse quickening at the sound of her gasp, his blood racing at the feeling of her hands sliding up his thighs, the now-familiar, ravenous desire coiling as her body slid up against his legs.

“How many times you get on your knees for a man?” he hissed, low and violent.

Her chuckle was so dark that he almost let go.

“Very kind of you to think of them as men, brother.”

Her fingers were at his zipper, yanking hard to pull it taut so she could unbutton his jeans. As if she had done this hundreds of times. He hated them all. He hated them and he had no idea who they were but he hated them all.

Yoongi narrowed his eyes, letting his seething anger command him.

“I’m not your brother.”

He threw her back, unzipping his pants and shoving them down, underwear and all. His cock snapped out, bouncing slightly from the force and its stiffness. He didn’t bother to give any warning. Simply seized her shoulders and pushed her down, shuddering from seeing her slide down so readily, and he thrust into her already open mouth.

Fitted his palms to the back of her head, pushing her hair out of the way, and began to fuck her face.

Soft lips, rubbing tongue, tight throat. He didn’t care. Deep, rolling his hips, not moving too quickly on purpose so he could last. So he could feel his girth stretch out her muscles, so he could savor the wet constriction, so he could stare into her eyes gazing back at him from below and tell himself I don’t care, clenching his jaw to avoid moaning, I don’t care, the harsh pleasure eating up his thighs and sliding up his spine, I don’t care, sucking in a stinging inhale as her tongue teased him, stimulating the thin skin under the head, burning heat searing the back of his neck.

She stared into his eyes.

Somehow, Yoongi felt as if she was seeing all of him. But that was impossible.

His shoulder blades pressed against the back of the sofa and he smacked his hips into her lips over and over again, one hand on the back of her head and the other bunching up his shirt, his labored breathing meshing with the lewd sound of her sucking him off, his legs shaking badly, threatening to collapse from the sinful delight tearing at to every nerve of his body.

He kept going.

Her hands spread over the couch, steadying herself as he built the pace, her naked body under him.

Her tongue flicked over his balls.

Mine.

He bit back his groan and snapped his head back, gasping as he felt his core lurch, the high shooting though him like an erotic bullet ricocheting through his ribcage. Hips driving forward, shoving her head down, tightness in his chest as he pumped his release into her throat in thick uncontrolled streams. His lips parting. Her name leaking out in a weak snarl.

He should have said something.

Yoongi wouldn’t know what to say but this, this happening between his legs right now, this was not what a good person would have done. Not that he had any grasp of what the concept of good could be. He just knew it wasn’t this.

The pulse rippled through him and he shivered, tightening his grip on her hair.

Pulled her mouth from his cock.

She leaned back, following his hold, and opened her mouth, displaying a wet pool of saliva and milky cum trickling down to a black hole, her pink tongue flattening out so he could see everything. He watched her swallow. He watched her savor his taste without guilt.

His dripping cock jerked, still hard.

“Play with your tits.”

He kept his left hand twisted into her hair and wrapped his right around his wet length, forcefully pushing himself to the edge as she squeezed her breasts. Pinching her hard nipples, pulling at them, unapologetically sighing in lustful satisfaction, flicking them. Large, swollen, stiff. His eyes shifted to her face. She watched him through lashes. The corner of her lips curved upward, amused. He cocked an eyebrow. Slid his ass forward to the edge of the leather sofa, gripping himself tighter, faster, using the base of his palm to shove down the crown of her head so she was forced to crouch.

She didn’t seem surprised.

He curled his fist downward, pulling on her hair hard enough to be painful.

Her head whipped back, plush lips parting, smokey gasp escaping.

Yoongi stared into her eyes.

They reflected his face, glassy and dark.

“I… I fucking hate you.”

Those dark eyes glittered with glee.

He came on her face.

Her eyes instantly snapped closed as he raised his hips and shot a streak of white over her cheek and onto her open lips. Thrust into his hand a few more times, hissing at the sensitivity, dribbling more down her neck, over her collarbone, and finally shoving the hot, pulsing head against the top of her breasts, pressing into the softness and growling, feeling flare after flare of feral pleasure. Her hands came up and cupped her breasts, pushing them together. He shoved his softening cock into the crevice, smearing his orgasm into her skin, the heavy, strong scent mixing with the honey still wafting up from below.

His entire body shuddered.

He unclenched his fingers from her hair and wiped his cum on her cheek into her mouth, shoving two fingers into the hot wet warmth. He pushed them in and out. His exhale shivered as her lips closed around them and she sucked, sensual and wrong, sucked all the way up to his knuckles as he lightly thrusted into the pocket of her breasts that she was pressing together.

Yoongi didn’t say anything.

He couldn’t.

He leaned down and replaced his fingers with his mouth, kissing his stepsister roughly, his own cum sticking to his face and tongue.

-

Back then, lying was so normal that the concept of truth became foreign.

“You look so pretty when you cry with my cock in your mouth, babygirl.”

You didn’t even have to think about it anymore while it was happening. You just did what you needed to do. You already knew the timing. Intoxicated and pissed from that younger guy turning her down, your mother would come home early, storming into the master bedroom without knocking. The entire scene laid out. No mistaking the situation. Instant incrimination. Immediately screaming her head off, hitting her current flavor-of-the-month boyfriend with her clutch, yelling about how it was over, and that argument would drag on with your body lying face-first into the carpet, your mascara tears soaking into the white shag, and the ache of your wrists tied behind your back with a men’s tie.

Inside, you would be laughing.

Your mother would then force yet another man to pay her a lot of money to keep her mouth shut. She always played her cards right. She always knew too much. She knew what kind of men to target. She knew what truths to say to render them speechless and so deep in the fog that they simply did whatever she asked. These men stood no chance in the wake of her manipulation. It was a talent, really. She would look at you and you would look back. Not saying anything. Slap you too, perhaps, if she had thought she could get more money out of the rich fucker. She probably assumed you were jealous or suspected that you wanted her spotlight, maybe.

Didn’t matter.

Because the night before that younger man that had turned down your mother at the bar, he had paid you even more money to be in your lap dressed in a lacy nightie with his own wrists tied behind his back, violently riding your large strap-on while you pulled on the leash around his neck, and you had whispered behind his back.

Low and dark.

“You gonna cum for your daddy, babygirl?”

Your mother really was a dumb, dumb bitch.

She made sure you were stuck in a world where everyone shot everybody. And so you did, although you only had one true target. Slowly, delicately, precisely. Needle by needle. Man by man. Old, young, in between. Sick fantasies and voracious greed in the shadows. Each conquest without remorse, creating a cyclic lifestyle your mother became so used to that it became an unbreakable habit. An addictive drug with soaring highs and explosive lows. You could have used a gun. Of course. How easy it could have been to ruin the life of the one who gave birth to you by exposing time after time she had exploited your youth for her own gain. But that would have been too quick of an end. Too merciful.

She didn’t deserve that.

Did your mother know? Probably. Did she want to stop it? Of course not. A constant flow of hush money and a revolving door of rich dick, oh, how could she refuse? The luxurious benefits were too fruitful to resist. And when she got bored, she could make your life insufferable until you pulled out that get-out-jail-free card. Most of the time, though, you simply sensed when she was over it and ended things to move on to the next best thing.

Searching.

Hunting.

You just had to be patient.

And then Min Yoongi came along.

Everything falling into place.

Bored, frustrated, agitated with having to play this part for so long and wanting to use you again to get her out of it. A small snag. If your mother was the one to ask for the divorce, she would get nothing. Prenuptial agreements were a bitch. He was disgusting person, but unfortunately not an idiot. And Papa wasn’t giving up yet. After years and years of relying on someone else to do the dirty work, and then being silently refused by that same someone, well, who was going to help her now? Still, she tried to manipulate you.

Your mother was too much of a narcissist to see that you had already surpassed her.

In addition, at this point, she had too much pride to change tactics now. It was a matter of principle. A matter of exercising her power over you, vain was it was. The perception of control. She thought she had won all the battles but she had already lost this war. No. No, she would not allow it. It didn’t matter if it was becoming clearer and clearer each day that she was stuck in a cage. So, your mother did what she always did. Drink. Seek out the high in others. Run. And, at the end of it all, kicking and screaming, getting dragged back to be Papa’s good, obedient wife.

Heh.

Revenge was delicious.

-

His fingers wrapped around her left wrist, around the chain bracelet with the black glass beads.

He was already inside.

His right hand was around her neck, pulling her head back to force her spine to arch as he shoved his hips forward a little more, making them both hiss. Him from the tightness. Her from the fullness. It must have hurt, but Min Yoongi was fucking his stepsister and he didn’t have time to care about things like that.

“Your ass is much tighter than your pussy,” he growled into ear, pushing back her wet hair.

The raining showerhead thundered down. Warm droplets splashing against burning skin. She had both palms against the vertical, smooth white tiles, using the leverage to push her body back into him, squeezing his length. He didn’t care. The grimace rippled down his body, his core tightening, his hard cock twitching. Not moving yet. He would be damned if he moved right now. Kept his grip on her wrist and neck, feeling pulse after pulse race through his blood, his erratic breath against her ear, not looking up from the curve of her tense neck.

Yoongi just stood there in the opulent shower, his fully erect cock buried into his stepsister’s tight asshole, clenching his pelvic muscles to make it throb inside her.

It was wrong. It was demeaning. He hadn’t even asked. She had left him on the couch and walked past him, still painted with his cum, and said nothing as she entered the bedroom. A few seconds later, he had heard the running water. Yoongi had sat there, pants still undone, dying in the weight of this watery silence, feeling both the sting of pain and blind anger. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, and the lies he told himself were second nature at this part, something so lived-in that they became real, even as Yoongi flung himself off the leather sofa and yanked his clothes off, throwing them on the floor. All the way to the bathroom, laying false claim on this condo, seeing himself in the mirror for a second before entering the shower.

His gelled, orange-dyed hair in disarray and his lost expression.

His dark eyes misty.

It must have been a trick of a light, a result of the steaming air, that his vision blurred unexpectedly.

Without another thought, Yoongi had opened the glass door of the shower and let himself in, pushing her body against the tiles and not letting her see his face because even he didn’t want to look at it now.

She moaned under him, not moving away.

I hate you.

He let go of her left wrist and reached down, sliding his fingers between her open legs and tracing the slick, wet lips of her pussy.

“Must be awful for you to have this hole empty.”

A wicked, dark snicker flowed out from her open lips, more telling than any words.

His chest to her back. His hand around her neck, tightening, and he pressed his rough fingertips to her swollen clit, relishing in the depraved satisfaction of her hips shivering, bucking back against him in response. He pressed down, sliding back and forth. Slow, with pressure, and moving his own hips. Drawing back, almost, her tight ring of muscle clutching around the base of the head. He hoped it tortured her. He hoped it felt good to be denied, hoped she felt the empty ache as he rutted the engorged tip of his cock in and out, in and out, then he shoved his cock back in, all the way.

The pleasure flared, burning all of his nerves and making his legs scream in tension.

He hoped she could feel the hurt, because Yoongi could.

Choked her harder and began to fuck her ass.

Close, his breath into her wet hair. Water streaming down his shoulders. Thrusting up and with effort, slow at first, but forceful, suffocating his arousal with the depth. He bit his lip, hard, letting the pain eat through the pleasure. So tight around his hard length, so soft along the sensitive, throbbing head, sucking him in, her thin moans echoing throughout the bathroom along with the slapping of hips to ass. Her body shaking under him. He let go of her neck suddenly, gripping her hip instead, driving his fingertips into her folds and rubbing tight circles, flicking his blunt fingernail over the packed nerves.

She hissed, her shoulders caving in, and growled his name, the tendons of her hands popping out.

“Fuck, Yoongi!”

There was an abrupt convulsion around his buried cock and passionate electricity radiated all over his inner thighs, up his stomach, to his throat, turning him viciously breathless, her orgasm slick on his fingers, and his hand on her hip gripped tighter, pausing to feel the aftershocks.

He hoped he left bruises.

On her body and in her memory.

So tight, uncontrolled now, chasing the wicked pleasure. He thrust in, again and again, loud and lewd and wet, her back arched, lower torso nearly parallel to the ground, and Yoongi sank his hold into her lush hips, dragging her to him and his unforgiving cock, his vision blurring, his hair sticking to his face, fuzzy smears of dark orange eclipsed with droplets clinging to his lashes, and he closed his eyes, pretending there was nothing but this, nothing but tightness and pleasure and her cries for him, wanton and unsatiated. The water tumbled, down, down, splashing over the tiles. He was drowning, drowning in lust, and the water drowned out his sudden hungry moan.

Smack!

She gasped sharply, on the edge of pain.

He groaned, violent and possessed, spilling into that soft clenching hole, and he could feel every jerk, every shiver, every twitch that shot a little more. Could feel even the way the choked head of his cock was being squished up against his own cum, the delicate rubbing sending a fresh wave of piercing pins and needles tearing through him.

Couldn’t breathe.

Staggered back, slipping out, and it was obscene. His orgasm wasn’t as much, of course, but even in the hazy falling water he could see his own cum dribble out of her ass and stick to the curve, clinging there for a violating millisecond before being washed away, dragged down the drain along with his sins.

Yoongi panted, the back of his throat feeling as if an animal had clawed at it.

He looked up.

Her head was turned, hair flat against her cheeks, one eye seeing him, and the fingertips of her right hand toyed with the chain bracelet with the black beads. There were red marks on her left wrist, underneath the jewelry. The edge of her lips raised in gratification.

The water fell down, down.

He didn’t say anything.

Reached forward and smeared what was left along her hole, then remained tight-lipped as he shoved his finger in, sucking back a breath. She gasped, but it was faint and not a whimper. It was lustful and carnal satisfaction. He pushed in and out. In and out. Still tight, still gripping him, pulsing around his finger, learned behavior, and Yoongi wanted to scream.

Mostly because he knew this practiced response was most likely not from instances like this, but much crueler, hateful moments.

He placed his palm along her jaw and turned her face more to face him. Leaned in without another word, sliding his tongue into her open mouth and slowly thrusting his finger into her ass. All the way to his knuckle, slow and deliberate. Gentle pleasure. The water rained down, down. It washed away all sins. He pulled his finger out. Turned his back to her, taking the soap.

Couldn’t look.

Yoongi told himself he didn’t care. Cleaned off his hand. Covered himself in the soap, rubbing the sweet lather into his skin while staring at the white tiles. Told himself there was nothing to say. Told himself the tingling left on his skin was just from the physicality of it all and nothing else. Nothing else.

He stiffened as he felt her hard nipples ghost his skin.

“I’ll wash your back.”

He tightened his jaw.

“Brother.”

Her full breasts pressed against his back. Her hands on his shoulders, caressing them. All over, body to body, slippery, fragrant. He bit back his sound, killing it. His chest vibrated, the snarl inside fighting him. Snapped his head around, knocking her hand away, his wet hair over his eyes.

Couldn’t quite catch her expression from behind the dripping curtain of red-orange.

“Stop calling me brother.”

He didn’t care.

Didn’t care.

He was no different from anyone else who touched her. Yoongi reached out, closing his grip around her shoulder. Pulled her to him, their bodies colliding, his heavy breath on her face.

Avoided her eyes.

“We are alone. Stop pretending,” he mumbled, leaning down to those lips, bruising them with kisses to avoid any more slip-ups.

-

You awoke to silence.

Turned your head and Min Yoongi was staring at you in the semi-darkness. Shirtless. Arms crossed, looking down, with the duvet pooled around his lower waist. His dyed, dark orange hair hung down, slightly frizzy and unkempt. Not styled. Air-dried from the shower. His pale skin seemed even paler than usual, the pallor reflecting the grim expression on his face. Narrowed, guarded dark eyes. Frigid tension between his lips.

A slow breath weaved through the tightness in your chest that was slowly dissipating due to now being conscious and in control.

You could feel your nakedness under the duvet.

The curtains were barely open, allowing a strip of moonlight and city light to illuminate the dark bedroom. You gazed back at Yoongi but said nothing. He must have witnessed. You inhaled again. A slow, measured breath. Held it. Exhaled. It was almost unnoticeable, barring the fact that your stepbrother was staring right at you.

“You had a nightmare.”

His lips barely moved. Each word came out deliberately and impassively, trying to avoid the true intention behind such words, and, in doing so, revealing everything. You almost expected the low edge of irritation. You could tell he regretted not adding it.

You almost lied.

Almost.

“I always dream,” you whispered back with no emotion, desensitized.

Complete and utter stillness.

A single shift and tilt of his head, not accepting your response. You looked up at him from the pillow, the images flashing in your head, but they quickly disintegrated, leaving only the crawling sensation of distorted parasitic desires forced upon you at one point in time. You ignored it. They always came in dreams because they couldn’t reach you without the shackles of sleep.

“You mean you always have nightmares,” Yoongi corrected you.

Inhale. Inhale. Exhale.

You had no reply to the truth.

Maybe it was the surrealness of the dead of night. Maybe it was the unholiness of what happened in your bed with your stepbrother earlier. Maybe it was the used condoms on the floor and the torn wrappers all over the nightstand. Maybe it was the scent of sex and sin weighing heavily in the air. As close as possible and yet so far away. His dark brown eyes flickered to the empty easel on the other side of the bedroom. Then back to your form coiled in the sheets, serpentine, and yet in a rare moment of calm. Hunger satiated, at least for now.

Yoongi asked you a question with no notable inflection. Perhaps it was the low volume of his voice, raspy and dreamlike.

“Am I ever part of your nightmares?”

You almost twisted the truth.

“You are related to one of many monsters I have encountered,” you breathed, staring into the shadows of his eyes.

Loathing flared within in at the mention.

Your stepbrother looked away.

“I know.”

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see any more.

“There are always monsters,” you whispered to the surrealness of the night.

Yoongi said nothing.

He had never seen you sleep before. Even on so-called family vacations, you had never shared a room with him. More often than not there would be a mix-up and you would end up having a sleepless night in the same hotel room as your stepfather and mother. That or running off with a local to finally get some sleep. It was safer to be in a stranger’s home than in a hotel room with those two. That was the truth. Those vacations were only for show anyway; there was no meaning to them other than a chance at coercion. You knew Yoongi knew that.

He hadn’t known about your nightmares though.

You had grown so used to them that you had forgotten. A strange slip-up for you. No, you concluded, not a slip-up. You didn’t have them every night. Just most nights. You knew there could have been a chance the moment you closed your eyes while in bed with him. You hadn’t planned for him to know, but this was not a mistake. Making plans was for novices. Plans never succeed. Capitalizing on the moment and turning it into an opportunity at the right time, why, that was what constituted a villain.

And, sometimes, one had to become a villain to survive.

You waited.

Min Yoongi didn’t move for a long, long time. He stayed where he was, not laying back down and not adjusting. You would feel and hear his actions if he did. He did not. There was nothing but his calm, nearly inaudible breath and soon it became a lulling rhythm, swaying your consciousness between reality, nightmares, or total blackness.

You hoped it would be total blackness this time.

Deep, deep down, for yet another countless night in a row, you wished for the total blackness to become eternal despite knowing full well that you would never be that lucky. That was the funny thing about wishes.

Even the most unworthy cling to them.

On the cusp of falling asleep, you felt the weight on the bed shift. Yoongi left.

-

A few blocks away, Jeon Jungkook stood shirtless in his bathroom and locked eyes with his own reflection.

The hot sweat along his shoulders was drying. He savored the way his heart raced in his chest, thud-thud-thud, matching the click-click-clicking of the images flickering through his mind. He closed his eyes and he could almost feel it again, once again, the crawling sensation of forced desire, her slick tongue sliding over his collarbone and then her spit hitting the back of his throat, his mouth open and already primed to receive. In his dreams, there was no blindfold.

In his dreams, Jungkook could see her face.

In his dreams, he could relish in the power thriving in those downcast eyes, watch her nails sink into his stomach as he whimpered, witness her delicious body roll as her slippery pussy rubbed against his hard length trapped in an uncomfortable and unbearable position, the dark purple head leaking against his lower belly. The young Master would not give him what he wanted and Jungkook would cry. He would beg.

And he would hate and love hearing the denial.

Jungkook breathed in slow, recalling the dream and committing it to memory.

Inhale.

The ache within him grew and grew.

Inhale.

He knew exactly where she lived. The building. The number on the door. He even knew how to bypass the security. He had memorized their schedules and gathered enough damning information. It was always good to have ammunition, after all. The young Master had taught him that.

Exhale.

Then again, she was most likely fucking her stepbrother right now.

His eyes snapped open and Jungkook growled at his reflection, tension creeping all over his body.

It took him a moment to calm down. There was nothing he could do about it. He breathed out again, his shoulders falling. His reflection observed him as closely as he did. His black hair fallen over his forehead, tangled from sleep. Eyes sharp, brows furrowed. His hands gripped the edge of the sink. He could see how wound up he was by how white his knuckles were. He let go. She shared a secret with him. He had to trust in that. He was confident in that secret.

He had to be.

He worked for her. He was of service. He took that very seriously, regardless of what an outsider might think, because he had chosen to be a man of loyalty. Jungkook knew where his loyalties lie, and he was not a man who could be swayed by irrefutable truths because he could always recall that look in her eyes. That poisoned guilt, that vacancy, the look of a child begging for someone to help, and he had made a silent promise that even she didn’t know about.

To those eyes.

To her.

In a world there everyone backstabbed everyone else, Jungkook had chosen to be the knife to be wielded by one who still believed she had no one by her side. Of course, it was stupid. Of course, she was not faultless. Of course, everything was all wrong.

But they shared a secret.

He turned his head, not quite facing the mirror, but instead in the direction of the location of her condominium, and spoke to the air, to the dead of night, across the distance of many heads in between reality and dreams. She could not hear him but that did not make his declaration invalid.

“I will protect you.”

And perhaps his loyalties would eventually turn the young Master against him. He hated that that could be true, but such was life. And maybe he definitely couldn’t save anyone, but he would die trying. Did she not deserve such loyalty? Even the most unworthy didn’t deserve to be abandoned.

After all, there was always some awful truth to villainous behavior.

He missed her.

He wished he could hold her, someday. He wished for that to be possible, even if it was the slimmest of chances. He hoped she had understood him back then, hoped he had conveyed how serious he was every time they interacted. I like it with you. It’s different. That was right. She said so herself. And so, Jungkook promised to play with game with her, no matter what it looked like, no matter how much he wanted to punch that self-centered Min Yoongi right in his stupid pretty face, no matter how much he hurt because his hurt meant her happiness and eventually she would come back to him.

Of course.

Jungkook bit his lower lip, inhaling slowly.

Right?

Held it.

“Come back to me,” he whispered to the surrealness of the night and he knew damn well she couldn’t hear him.

-

Min Yoongi sat on the couch in the living room of his stepsister’s condo with only his underwear on after his business with the bathroom. He had gone to the kitchen to wash his hands because he could not stare at his own reflection in the mirror.

He inhaled a shaky breath.

The proper thing to do would be to go back to the bedroom. Well, proper was the wrong word considering he was sleeping with his own stepsister. Perhaps the better word for it was… ethical. Fuck, even halfway decent. He couldn’t get the image of her distress out of his head. Waking up suddenly to her hands clutching the pillow, her knuckles white, her breathing rapid and labored. At first, he thought his brain had made up the sounds. Nonsensical muted cries. Pained noises trapped in her throat. Her entire body tense, on the verge of thrashing but not. Rigid.

Couldn’t.

Paralyzed in fear.

Yoongi tried to gulp down more air. Shuddering. Swallowing. Feeling like it wasn’t enough, falling forward and running his hands through his hair, his elbows on his knees.

He had never seen her afraid. Truly and utterly terrified, and it only appeared because she had been asleep. The moment he hesitantly touched her shoulder, she startled awake, instantly vigilant. The transformation had been seamless, and then she was herself. Calm, collected, calculated. Only now did Yoongi realize it was a caricature. A front so practiced that it had become second nature. Not intentionally but out of necessity. It frightened him, because now Yoongi had confirmation that his father was just another in the long line of self-centered assholes that attempted to take advantage of her and he was no better.

He was no better.

He shakily exhaled, torn and in tatters.

There are always monsters.

Of course, there were always monsters and Yoongi was one of them.

He wanted to run. Throw on all his clothes and run to his studio, locking himself in there and not coming out until he couldn’t stand being alone anymore. He wanted to scream and drown himself in alcohol. He wanted to pick a fight with some hapless stranger and feel powerful. Even if just for a second. Anything. Anything but this. An awful crawling sensation travelled all over his bare back. He shivered even though it had no physical basis. He wasn’t stupid. Yoongi had seen the way men looked at her – as if she was a thing to be used. He had convinced himself not to care. Why care? She didn’t. He had vowed himself not to get involved like that but now he was sitting in her living room wanting to tear his skin off thinking about the probable shit she had been though in her childhood and having the horrifying realization that the truth was probably beyond his imagination. Attempted to take advantage of her? He was lying to himself again.

He wanted to go home.

Except he knew damn well he never had a home.

Yoongi had lived his life in the shadow of a greater man, or so he was led to believe. Even if this didn’t turn out to be true, he could not undo the paradoxical thinking of overwhelming self-importance and the constant struggle of trying to reach an unattainable goal. He was never enough for his father. Eventually he just stopped trying to be. Every achievement was met with the accusation, a need to be more. More ambitious, more strategic, more intelligent. It was impossible. He had long stopped giving a fuck, or so he thought.

And yet.

Like her nightmares, his own personal hell came back to haunt him all the time.

He dug his fingernails into his scalp, on the cusp of screaming.

The only reason he didn’t was because he didn’t want to wake her. Or perhaps it was because he didn’t want her to know. There was nothing he could do. He could do nothing. He never could, according to his father. Lacked resolve, or at least that was what Yoongi had been told over and over. You are a disgrace. There was at least solace in knowing that he wasn’t his father, right? He didn’t know. Was that even true, considering all of this? I always dream. She was so used to them that nightmares were simply considered regular dreams to her. How fucked was that? Shit, her entire life was a goddamn nightmare and she didn’t even know. Or maybe she did, and had adapted accordingly, something he could never do, something Yoongi could never admit to himself, at least not unless it was times like this, trapped in the surreal depths of the dead of night.

He tried to breathe but it seemed impossible.

He knew deep down that he was worthless, but even the worthless had desires. And he wasn’t stupid either. She was using him. He was using her. She wanted him for her reasons and he wanted her to get back at his father. Shit. She was afraid and she showed no one, not even herself, dealing with it in her sleep. Didn’t trust him. Why the fuck would she? He was her stepbrother, they were having an incestuous affair, and not once did she rely on him.

But he did.

Yoongi shuddered.

That was true.

He relied on her to want him so he could feel better about himself.

I am so fucking vile.

She didn’t even make him feel guilty about it. There are always monsters. She could have. She could have emotionally manipulated him, she could have said something to get a rise out of him, but all she did was tell him the truth of how desensitized she was to malignance. She had options. He did not expect to be so shaken by the one she chose. His fingernails dug into his scalp some more, causing stinging pain. Yoongi dared not look up because he knew her paintings were hanging on the walls around him. Multiple canvases painted black all over with thin lines of dark blood-red drawn onto the murk like arteries. He had found them unsettling and rightfully so. Underneath them were secrets. “I love you, so I act this way.” “You should accept love. It’s not that easy to be loved in this world.” “You can keep a secret, right?” “Let’s make a secret.” Scrawled underneath and then covered with heavy layers of paint, almost certainly hundreds of secrets, and the awful crawling sensation travelled up and down his spine like hot acid.

He didn’t want to know.

Yoongi knew that he should go back to the bedroom if he was even halfway decent of a man.

But he was terrified.

He could not be like her.

He couldn’t deal with it.

He had to make a decision. He forced himself to take a breath. Then another. He forced himself to stand, to exhale, to walk. What was not supposed to be ingrained in memory already was. All he had to do was follow the trail of discarded clothes. Vile. He stepped between darkness and light, but the faint glow was artificial, bleeding into the windows from the city below, and Yoongi knew he could not be like his stepsister but he wanted to believe that he could. He wanted to believe he could play the game. He did not want to believe he was just another discarded misfit toy. Couldn’t. And so he chose not to believe the irrefutable truth, turning the corner to see her eyes closed. Her lustrous hair draped over her pillow. Her facial expression not in distress but, instead, nothing. A mind trapped in total blackness.

Dreamlessness.

Yoongi had never been so grateful to see nothing.

He stepped to her side of the bed.

In some ways, she resembled a child, or at least the peacefulness of one in slumber. His hand lifted. Each strand of her hair, the curve of her cheek, the line of her closed eyes. From moonlight to memory, although at the time he didn’t know it yet. He reached out. His fingertips hovered above the crown of her head and Yoongi realized, with a tightness in his chest, that he would be perhaps the first and the only person to do this for her.

His palm touched the top her head.

His stepsister remained fast asleep. Yoongi stayed like that for a moment. He knew damn well that she would never feel the sensation of someone patting her on the head but he did it anyway.

-

You left before your stepbrother woke up.

To be more precise, you didn’t confirm or deny if he was faking his deep breathing. You simply accepted it as truth. Dressed in your closet, picked up your purse, and stepped out of the apartment, heading for your car. Not looking back. Purchased a light breakfast, spending some solitary time in the hotel restaurant. Headed to your appointment with Valentino, where you absentmindedly picked a few pieces for work, thinking about the word nightmare.

Dreams.

You called them dreams. Yoongi had called them nightmares. The correct word was memories. Ones that you did not acknowledge. The times you were the prey before you became the predator. The times you were weak before you were strong. The first time you felt power was the first time. Not all those other times where you hid and prayed not be found before the drugs or drunkenness set in. Not those other times you were approached, despising it not because of learned morality, but because the touching placed you in the same category as your mother, something you loathed more than the wrongness. Misery was something unnecessary and meaningless. Pain was something you could acclimate to. Death was something you could aspire to. But being known as your mother’s spitting image was a fate worse than death.

You had a nightmare.

You made your luxury purchases. You window-shopped at a few other spots, all while questioning your humanness that you had thought you had lost long ago. You could sense the judgement in the eyes of the other patrons. The employees were sincere because you were holding your black card, but not a single one dared to ask you about your personal life. It was not about whether you seemed stuck-up in your long structured black wool cape, nor the subtle sensuality of your fitted, slinky black dress with the high slit, studded Valentino black pumps, and small black handbag.

There was just something not quite right about your presence.

You slipped into this persona when you didn’t want to be bothered. Natural, but perhaps not. The eyes felt louder than usual today. You had dreams. Everybody had dreams. You had a nightmare. You had heard the word before, and yet the way he said it. You placed your shopping bags in your car and drove away with no destination in mind. Flashes of memory. Whiskey and a hand on your wrist. You waited for the light to turn green and ventured forward. Nights in private rooms in bars you were too young for. You stopped at a nice restaurant in a high-rise, sitting at by the window with a nice view, slicing into your steak in silence as you pondered how it would feel to throw your body against the glass and plunge into free-fall, wondering if you would have the life-flashing-before-your-eyes-moment, if you would recall all the countless hands and the whispered placations and being awake for all of it, so much so that you caged those memories into dreams.

You patted your lips with the cloth napkin before paying the check.

A man said something to you as you were leaving and you looked at him with such hollowness that he took a step back, visibly shaken. You forgot about it. You shopped for a little longer, purchasing another pair of nice, wickedly tall heels. There was one final errand to complete before heading home to fuck your stepbrother. You took your time.

-

Days passed.

And then, elation.

Jeon Jungkook stood in front of the door of salvation. He raised a hand to the heavy wood. Held his breath. Savored the sensation of his need crawling up from his insides, rearing its ugly head and shaking his heart to a rapid, telltale pulse. He knocked.

“Come in.”

His breath hitched at the familiar voice.

He opened the heavy door of the office on the highest floor of the gentleman’s club and the young Master looked up from the other side of the desk. Hair swept back in a graceful updo with a few tasteful strands framing her face. The dark silver blouse clung to her curves. Silk. The fountain pen in her hand paused.

Her eyes roamed all over him.

He almost collapsed in desperation.

She said nothing. She did not stand up from behind the dark-stained cherry wood. He stepped in cautiously, placing his body on the other side of the door. It was a large office of black floral wallpaper, large black filing cabinets, and chairs positioned along the walls. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk were bulletproof glass. One-way view. This was one of the areas that had no cameras. Even the bathrooms had cameras positioned outside the stalls to catch any nefarious acts. He knew all of this. The chandelier diffused cold-blooded white light in reflected fragments all over the room.

The look in her eyes pinned him to his spot.

His spine tingled as an n icy itch slithered down to his groin.

“Lock the door behind you,” the young Master commanded him.

He did as he was told, with every cell in his body vibrating for the pain. Turned around. Like a snake, she had already risen, gliding around the desk. Her hips were tucked into a skin-tight pleather pencil skirt. The wicked high heels were silent against the vintage Persian rug. She was probably standing on over a hundred million won. She stopped in front of her desk.

Unfastened the button of her left sleeve.

Casually looked down to smoothly fold it back to her elbow. Jungkook remained rooted, not crossing the distance without an order despite his growing erection already fighting against his pants. Golden light glistened along her periphery, highlighting every line. Hell turned heavenly. She completed the left sleeve and paused, raising her right hand to waist height.

Tilted her head back and beckoned him with two fingers.

“Come forward.”

With each step his own heart beat against the confines of his ribcage. With each step Jungkook knew his arousal was becoming more and more obvious. He deliberately kept his hands by his sides, not hiding anything, and her eyes flickered down as she folded her right sleeve back. There was a ripple of knowing across her features. He stopped at a respectful distance. They were alone. The door was locked. This room was soundproof. He was in the middle of his shift when he was called up, which never happened unless one had committed a grave mistake. He knew this, and yet he was still inappropriately, obscenely, violently turned on. She finished rolling up her sleeve to the elbow and reached back to an object that was behind her, tucked by the computer monitor in between papers.

A black leather blindfold.

She tilted her head. He was taller than her, but that meant nothing. She ticked the blindfold in her hand, wordlessly telling him to come closer. He did so, his face frozen, on the cusp of falling apart. He was in his full uniform. Cap and all. It was as if none of that mattered. He tried to search for some kind of emotion on her face but she remained impassive.

“On your knees.”

He obeyed so quickly that they both heard the heavy sound of his weight hitting the floor under the carpet. She did not even smile. She stared down at him. He looked up at her. He wanted to say he needed it. He wanted to say do anything to me, anything you want, please do it now, and yet all she did was hold the blindfold in one hand with her ass against the edge of her desk, gazing down at Jungkook’s spread knees and trembling body.

He was so hungry for it that he was shaking.

Her eyes stopped at the obvious bulge in his pants and she declared in a noncommittal tone, “I am going to hurt you. Right now.” His breath froze in his throat. “On my dime, I’m going to hurt you. And then you will go back to work, hurting, and you will not let a single person know.”

No explanation about what happened the past couple days. Jungkook knew she had left her apartment and always gone back. He also knew her stepbrother had not left with her during those outings. That meant when she went back, she was most likely fucking him. Jungkook knew that. But she came back here. Here, to the gentleman’s club she owned. Where he worked. She came back, and probably not for him. And yet.

Yet he was on his knees right now because she forced him to.

She owned him.

That was all he ever wanted.

“Yes, Master.”

Her line of vision raised. She stepped forward, and placed her right shoe on his thigh. He gasped, feeling the pressure in the toe of her heel and then the tip of the stiletto. His cap was removed from his head and delicately placed on the desk. Her face lowered. For a single, hovering second, they were eye-to-eye.

“Close your eyes, Jungkook,” she whispered against his lips.

He did and she slipped the blindfold over his eyes before buckling it tightly in place.

-

You straightened.

Looked down at him.

You had never done this before. Not in the middle of the day, in this office that used to be your mother’s. These walls had seen a lot of fucking, you knew. Your mother used to be notorious for it. This place was tainted. Festering with immoral intent. You removed your shoe from his leg. Heard Jungkook’s small gasp of relief whisper past his quivering lips. You previously used the basement because it was the place where horrible acts were meant to be committed, the place your mother refused to go because it was beneath her to do such nasty things. You had turned the basement into your safe space. This office was her space. Her space to use her sexuality as her power, and therefore you had only used it to conduct official business. Until now.

You placed your shoe on top of his pant-covered erection and put pressure on it.

He whimpered, locking his knees and taking it.

You violated your mother’s space with Jungkook’s pure, ravenous need to service you.

“Have you been wanting me?” you asked, placing a hand on the edge of the desk so you could rub back and forth while stepping on his cock.

“Y… ah, y-yes…”

“Craving me?”

“Yes… oh, f-fuck…”

You shoved the tip of your stiletto in between the dip of his thigh connecting to his crotch, digging into that soft part without remorse.

“Touching yourself thinking only of me?”

His voice shook but his resolve did not.

“Only you.”

Jungkook made no move to hide or conceal himself. You removed the pressure and stepped around him, admiring the angles on his body. His hands were fists, knuckles pressed into the carpet. The clip of the tiger switchblade was visible from the side pocket of his uniform pants. You stopped behind him. Laced your fingers into his short black hair and yanked, hard, making him gasp to the ceiling. You leaned down, breathing out just above his open mouth. He inhaled greedily, his broad shoulders vibrating with need. You stared straight down his chest, to his exposed crotch, and whispered into the black hole of his throat, “Take your cock out and show me.”

He whined as his hands left the carpet. Centimeter by agonizing centimeter. His belt unbuckled, flopping to the side. Time slowed down despite his haste to undo his pants, nearly ripping the zipper, but you did not relieve him of your grip, staring straight down as he pushed down his pants. Pushed down his black boxer briefs, and then pulled out his stiff, leaking length. The head was dark red and glistening. He moved his right hand closer to the base of the shaft. You pulled on his hair, making his lower lip brush against your chin as he moaned, immediately backing off.

“Your balls too. Out.”

He reached again, but only to scoop his balls out, leaving his genitals fully exposed to the air.

You breathed in, savoring his unique scent.

His hard cock twitched, bobbing.

You let go of his hair.

Backed up, saying nothing. Stayed silent, admiring everything about him. He could certainly hear the movement of your skirt, but he remained head back, his hands hovering by his hips, and you sank to your knees between his.

And slapped his cock.

His head snapped to the side and he cried out.

“Louder,” you ordered, and slapped him again.

His screams radiated throughout the office.

You gripped his balls and squeezed, listening to the effect of your assault ravage his lungs. His torso writhed. You released and dug your nails inward, making his shoulders flinch strongly. You smacked the shaft again, watching it bounce from side to side from your force. His deep voice cracked. You wrapped your hand around him and his cock was hot, pulsating, needy. Again and again, you slapped his cock, reaching up with your free hand to unbutton his shirt.

One.

By.

One.

His naked chest was exposed in a deep v-line. You reached in and dragged your nails down as you ghosted your palm around his sore, abused cock, delicately rubbing the length against your skin as you tore him up. Jungkook couldn’t help himself. He reached up and unfastened the rest of the buttons, pushing his shirt past his shoulders and exposing more of his body to your nails. His nipples were already hard. You pinched one and made him yelp. The result was instant, rippling throughout his body, even making his cock jolt against your hand, smearing pre-cum onto your wrist.

You collected saliva on the edges of your teeth.

Leaned in and placed the flat of your tongue onto his shivering collarbone, leaking spit down his pecs.

“O-Oh my god…”

Closer.

You kept a hold onto his cock until your skirt was pressed up in between his thighs, and then let go. There was an audible, visceral smack of his thick length hitting the pleather against your thighs. He moaned deeply. You grabbed him by the hair and pulled, relishing in his groan of discomfort, and pressed up against his aching body, thrusting your tongue forcefully into his mouth.

You made sure the blindfold was in place.

His hips bucked, desperate for friction, and you kissed him roughly, demandingly, uncaring to his plight and him grinding his balls into the hem of your skirt. Your other hand slid down the nape of his neck, scratching up his back too as you tongue-fucked him. Your lipstick smeared all over his lips, a blue-scarlet dark as blood.

You pulled back, wiping the back of your hand over your back and seeing red.

Then you wrapped your hands around his throat and closed in on his blood supply.

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook gasped, whined, and reached for his abused cock, slowly stroking the length as you toyed with his blood flow. Tighter. Letting him have a breath before pressing on the sides of his neck once again, and from your shoulder blades the prickling began, a nebulous want surfacing as you choked him and watched him stumble towards orgasm. Closer. The pad of his thumb grazed over the dripping opening of the head and his entire body flinched, writhing, his Adam’s apple straining against the underside of your thumb.

You released him and dove down.

Almost burned your knees from your speed. It required an almost uncomfortable folding of your body, but none of that mattered as you descended, closer and closer, your tongue cupping the tip and sliding down. Immediately, Jungkook removed his hand, letting out a string of nonsensical moans that only intensified as your teeth closed in around the shaft. Deliberate, pulsing pressure. His cock throbbed in response, relishing in the attention as his familiar heavy scent penetrated your throat.

Possessiveness laced int your veins as you tasted him.

You forced your head down and took him all the way to the base. One hand on his thigh and the other locked around his balls. You pulled. You squeezed. You raked your nails over that soft, supple skin, and sucked him off in deep, expansive thrusts, filling your mouth over and over again. Until your muscles strained. Until your body shook with tension. Until he was half-crying, half-groaning to the ceiling, vibrating in your mouth. He came. You swallowed. And kept going. His body twisted and he begged to be let go and you ignored him, coaxing his softening cock to swell again. Despite your knees protesting, you kept going until you could tell he was about to orgasm again, and you pulled back.

Silent.

Wrapped your hand around his jerking, spit-covered cock, and pumped him hard. Intense. He was falling apart, shaking his head from side-to-side, and thrust his hips into your hand. You did not stop him. He came again, and cum began to pool, so you pressed his length back and let him continue, the hot milky streak streaming down your fingers. It was clearly uncomfortable.

He did not complain.

You closed the distance as his head lolled back, whispering to his face as you casually wiped your wet hand onto his shuddering chest.

“Something for you to keep close to your heart as you work for me.”

With the same hand you gripped him by the hair, stilling him, tasting his erratic breath, and you found yourself entranced. Strands of black stuck to his forehead and against the leather blindfold. His cheeks flushed pink with effort, hollowing slightly with each heavy pant. His lips swollen and covered in red lipstick. His tan skin gleaming with sweat. The muscles of his neck and chest tensed, reddened from your scratches, and he was.

Was…?

You opened your mouth, but all you could think was how beautiful and perfect he looked just like this.

You released him and caught his jaw with your palms, pulling him towards you.

“I am your only one. Don’t you dare desire anyone but me,” you hissed, and then kissed him deeply, suffocating any response he had.

-

“Open this fucking door!”

He didn’t bother using his knuckles. Min Yoongi used the heel of his palm, slamming it against the heavy wood door. The zippers of his leather jacket flapped with weighty clinks. The security guard behind him bristled. They hadn’t wanted to let him in. He hadn’t cared. He growled under his breath and narrowed his eyes, glaring over his shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

Despite his professionalism, the guard let some of his distaste show in his face. It quickly disappeared, but Yoongi flung his arm anyway, making him take a step back.

“I told you to fuck off,” he snapped. “Let me talk to my sister alone, prick.”

There was some hesitation, and then the guard stepped away with his line of vision travelling upwards. Yoongi’s eyes followed, seeing the round lens of a small camera perched high above. He snorted. Instead of bowing to him as one would to the other guests, the guard simply kept his eyes on him as he backed up, as if Yoongi was a delinquent off the street and not a filthy rich grown man. Asshole. He quickly turned back around, his messy dark orange hair swinging by his eyes. He didn’t care about that. Under the leather jacket, he wore a white t-shirt with a monochrome graffiti print and torn slate-blue jeans. A suitcase of his stuff had appeared after the first night. He hadn’t questioned it. It was obvious his stepsister had brought it somehow. He kicked the door with his black boot in frustration and was disappointed that he hadn’t left a dent.

It opened.

There was a faint click and the heavy wood swung open so fast that Yoongi stumbled back, surprised at the abruptness, and then the stern glare of his stepsister was directed right at him.

An icy itch skittered down his spine, prickling at his vertebrae.

She was backlit from the back wall of windows. The sun was lowering, turning her outline a ghostly orange. The sleeves of her gunmetal silk blouse were folded back to her elbows. Her sharp eyes glanced past him, presumably to the retreating back of the security guard. Her tight pleather pencil skirt caught the light, accentuating her hips. But what Yoongi noticed was her face. Her smokey eye makeup was intact.

Her lips, although flushed dark mauve, were bare.

Her hair was swept up, but there was something off about it. As if the intentionally messy strands framing her face were not intentional after all.

“Hello, brother.”

Her voice was crisp. Almost icy. His brows furrowed. She smiled at him, with the same hospitality as a snake would greet a rat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Yoongi hissed.

She did not invite him into the office. He could see the grand room behind her. Dark wallpapered walls, large solid wood desk, high backed black leather chair. Locked cabinets along the walls. He didn’t know what they were for and he didn’t care.

Her eyebrow raised. “Working. I assume you’re familiar with the concept.”

He scowled. "Why do you even bother working? Your mother put you up to this?"

A hostility darkened over her features so quickly that he involuntarily flinched, preparing for her to strike him. But it was gone as soon as he saw it, causing him to question if it was ever there at all. She answered him with a small, soulless smile.

"People depend on me for their livelihood."

He snorted in disbelief.

His stepsister’s gaze sharpened.

"I am immoral, not unjust," she coldly stated, dropping the façade.

Before Yoongi could say anything more, he noticed the looming darkness falling into her shadow. Recognition burned through him like hot fire.

“You,” he spat, locking eyes with those black-brown ones looking down at him from under the black cap. He knew that face. From the hotel room back then. Sharp jaw, broad chest, younger than him, and the disapproving look of seeing something he would rather not. “You bastard. The fuck you doing here?”

A flutter of satisfaction gleamed from those shaded eyes.

“He works for me.”

For some reason, intense anger flared through his ribs, seeping into the depths. Oh, he heard what she said. Yoongi glanced from his stepsister to the security guard. She regarded him with head held high. Unfazed. The guard stood behind her, but there was a possessiveness in his stance. Hands behind his back. Yoongi slowly looked back to her.

Inhaled.

A whiff of her sharp, decadent perfume.

And sex.

Yoongi curled his hands into fists.

He had spent days in her condo. Sleeping away the daylight and rising at night. Tangling his fingers into her hair, pulling her down to his level, his blunt nails carving half-moons into her skin. Constantly seeing the black paintings on the walls while knowing what was behind them. Somewhere between dying and living, feeling like shit when he was alone and losing himself in aching bliss of her tightness. And now this. This. Right in front of his face. The rage seared tension into his muscles, the bites and bruises on his skin still tingling with soreness, and the corner of the guard’s lips raised, so slightly that maybe Yoongi was imagining it, but nonetheless the snarl in his chest bubbled upwards.

His hand shot out and grabbed her shoulder, yanking hard to push her aside as he raised his other fist to the face of the man behind her.

She let go of the door and caught his hand in the air, stopping him.

He put his shoulder into it but his stepsister dug her stiletto heel into the hardwood floor and shoved back against him, knocking him out of the momentum. Yoongi whipped his head to her, so fast that his hair lashed him in the cheekbone.

Her lips pursed. “You hit him; he sues me for workplace violence.” She moved slightly more in front of the guard, blocking Yoongi’s path. “Don’t make trouble.”

He stared at her.

And suddenly it hit him all at once. All those times his father not only directly beat him down, but every snide remark that chipped away at his wholeness. Every adult in his life seeing him as a hopeless problem, polite enough to not piss off his father but otherwise ignoring his existence, feeding his inner worthlessness with every avoided eye contact, every step back, every look the other way. And then, her. Her, flitting just out of his father’s grip. Her, sending those sneaking glimpses his way and making him uncomfortable with the attention. Her, whispering against his lips, hot and alluring, so stop yourself, her, coiling around him in the dark, soft skin, lush hips, wicked tongue all around him, her, his stepsister he now knew that was tortured by nightmares from a past that would kill most people. And now Yoongi in front of her, her pointed stare slicing through him as she stood in front of this other man, both of them reeking of sex, and the only one inherently wrong was himself.

The sun was sinking fast. Night bled into the red-orange sky, turning it purple and bruised.

Don’t make trouble.

She might as well have driven a hot knife in between his ribs, right into his beating heart, and twisted it.

Yoongi took a step back, his expression frozen into indifference.

Something changed in her face.

But he didn’t spare any time to figure it out. Yoongi simply turned, and did what he did best. It was how it always was, in the end. It was what it always was. Pointless. Pointless to fight against everything his father said he was. Not aiming high enough. Never good enough. A disgrace. He could not outrun his fate, but Yoongi did what he did best and he ran, ran down the hall, down all those stairs, out of the building, onto the streets, into the bleeding sunset with a sinking void in his chest and blurred wetness stinging at the edges of his vision.

He ran.

He had asked before if she was fucking that security guard. She said that she was. At the time, he hadn’t thought he cared. He didn’t. It was futile to give a shit. She was a whore. He always said she was a whore. It would be easier if she was a whore. But he saw the way she stood in front of that man, even if she didn’t notice. He saw the way that guard stoically stayed in her shadow, protecting something he couldn’t.

Never could.

Min Yoongi ran and ran and ran until his legs collapsed.

--

masterpost

dilemma

being single and broke on valentine's day is not what you expected - especially when your dealer is waiting for his payment. @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63

word count: 4.063

warning: drug dealer yoongi, oral (m receiving), kissing, smut, praising, weed smoking, unprotected sex, dirty talking, cumshot,

valentine's day masterlist

“Suga…” you murmur to the phone pressed to your ear. The sound of the shower is loud in the background as you wait for the water to turn hot. 

“Y/N.” the voice on the other side murmurs, voice deep and a little raspy. “You know you don’t have to call me that. I’ve known you for years now.”

You touch the water and hum. “I know. I like saying it, though.” you respond to the man on the other side. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you from anything. It is Valentine’s Day afterall.”

You hear a chuckle on the other side. “Nothing at all. I was just dozing off when you called.”

You lick your lips. You texted first, asking if he had your usual - nothing but an eighth of weed to hold you off. When he didn’t respond, you called.

You knew Yoongi way back from your High School years that then rolled into college and even now, as you worked at your big girl job. His product was good, affordable and he always threw deals for clientele such as yourself - loyal, as he calls them. There’s been times in which Yoongi would add extra to the bag he sold you just because.

“That’s sad. Figured a guy like you had someone to spend the day with him." The shower water is now hot. “I guess we’re both lonely on this holiday.”

You hear a grunt come from Yoongi. “I guess we are.” There’s silence for a moment from the both of you. “What do you suggest we do about that then?”

You lick your lips, your heart pumping at his sudden choice of words.

Another reason why you liked Yoongi - he always flirted back, no matter how subtle. You ponder if he was like this with all his clientele - but you understood that with you, he was. It never went past light flirting and lingering eyes, but it’s fun to engage with, nonetheless. 

“How about I drop off your usual and then we can smoke together?” Yoongi questions, a coolness in his voice. “I have a new strain you can try.”

“A new strain?” you open the shower door and get inside. The water hits your back and you lowly moan at the nice sensation of it. “That would be nice, Yoongi. How long do you think you’d be?”

“Not long. Are you in a rush?”

“No. I’m just showering.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment and you lick your lips in anticipation. 

“Getting pretty for our smoke session, I see. How nice.” there’s shuffling in the background as you laugh at his response. “I’ll be there in around 20.”

“See you.”

You scrubbed your skin furiously as if it was covered in the most dirt and grime ever. Your showers lasted longer than 10 minutes - especially when it was an everything shower. How you managed to do everything in 10 minutes was beyond you, but you managed. You still had to get out and make yourself look good without appearing as if you were trying too hard.

You tilt your head in the mirror, mind wandering. 

What if Yoongi was just a natural flirt? You were probably thinking far too into the flirtings - here you stood in front of a mirror pondering on what lingerie to wear for a man that sold you weed. Could you get any more pathetic than that?

Then again, what exactly did you have to lose?

You sigh. Your dignity was one - and so was good weed for the low if Yoongi decided to deny you.

“Fuck it.” you shrug away your nerves, deciding that even if Yoongi denied you, that wouldn’t stop you from at least attempting.

You knew Yoongi likes black - it’s all you ever truly see him in. You decided on a lacy black one you only ever wore once - for pictures - and covered it with a long t-shirt that stops at your thighs. 

Your phone sounds and you exhale a breath. You place the phone upon your ear and murmur a soft hello. “YN…” you feel the goosebumps of hearing your name come from Yoongi’s lips. “...I’m outside.”

“Coming.” you sing-song. 

It’s evening in February and that meant it was a bit chilly out, but you’d choose to ignore the piercing feeling of the cold breeze against your legs.

Yoongi’s car matched him, you thought. It was a black sedan with the darkest tint of windows you’ve ever seen. It stands out in the driveway of your way - your own car wasn’t as new as his nor was the surrounding ones belonging to your neighbors. 

The car is still on, but Yoongi assures that the lights aren’t. You got into his car swiftly, admiring how clean it was and how him it felt.

“You look nice.” Yoongi comments, flickering on the light.

“In a big ass t-shirt?” you snort, but even your heart is pounding from the compliment. If he thought you looked nice now, you wondered just how he’d like your lingerie.

Yoongi chuckles. “Yeah.” he nods. “You smell nice, too.”

You bite your lip, glancing at Yoongi's way. 

“This is a nice car.” you had to change the subject. Yoongi was such a smooth talker and everything he said had a tone of seriousness to it. It was hard not to be tongue tied around him. “You can’t get all your money just selling weed.”

Yoongi knits his brows. “Sounds like you’re fishing for information.” he murmurs. 

“Just an observation.”

Yoongi grasps a small rectangular box. He opens it, revealing pre-rolled blunts wrapped in paper. “You’re correct. It isn’t all I sell.” he says. “But, Y/N…ignorance is bliss.” Yoongi lights one of the blunts and hands it to you. “Ladies first.”

You gently grab the blunt, trying to ignore the way Yoongi’s eyes watch you. You feel nervous underneath his intense stare, contemplating how you would make your move upon him.

Yoongi licks his lips, eyes trailing down to your exposed legs. They appeared soft and smooth and he wanted to test the theory, but he held himself back.

Yoongi blinks when your hand comes into his line of vision. Yoongi shakes his head. “You can keep that one. I’ll light another.” he says, opening the box once more and grabbing yet another blunt.

You giggle. “That seems excessive.” But you take Yoongi’s word for it and continue to smoke as Yoongi lights his own. “Isn’t there a rule for using your own supply?”

Yoongi chuckles, taking a drag of his blunt. “My supply would be fine, trust me.”

“I feel bad though.” you murmur, glancing out the window. It’s hard to see with the tint and you just thought that was perfect. “I made you come all the way here for nothing.”

Yoongi is intrigued. He watches as you slowly turn towards him, body facing his way now in the large seat. He wants to tear his eyes away from the way the oversized shirt rises up your thigh, but it takes him a whole ten seconds to do so - and yes, he did count. 

“How so?” Yoongi swallows, finally lifting his eyes to reach yours. He continues to smoke as he awaits your response. 

“I don’t have any money.” your blunt was smaller than his now as you take a few puffs before continuing. “I should have told you once I realized. You know, bills, rent and all.”

Your throat feels dry. Yoongi slowly nods his head before releasing a laugh. 

“That’s fine. You don’t have to pay me.” Yoongi shrugs his shoulders. “You’ve been a loyal customer for years.”

Your eyes watch Yoongi inhale the smoke and exhale it through his nose. Your legs clench, finishing the blunt that has grown small.

“That would be taking advantage of you. I don’t want to do that.” you shake your head. 

“I consider you a friend of mine, Y/N.” You feel the jolt in your heart that tells you that your plan was going to fail. “You’re the only one that I would give such luxuries to.”

The jolt is back, but this time your plan was back in action. “Oh?” you ask, opening the window and flickering the small bud out of it. “I consider you a friend of mine, as well. But still…”

Yoongi blinks, tilting his head. 

“...I don’t just want to leave without offering you something.”

Yoongi’s unsure if he’s completely understanding what you’re speaking but he doesn’t have a moment to digest, either. You’re fast and swift, swinging your leg around and sitting completely onto his lap. Yoongi gasps when he feels you directly on him, the oversize shirt riding up your thighs once more.

There’s an open water bottle in the cup holder and Yoongi is quick to drop the rest of his blunt inside of it, not caring if he has wasted the rest entirely because you were in his lap. Yoongi is hesitant to touch you - he wants to feel the softness of your thighs. But he allows himself to slowly, telling himself that if you didn’t want him to, you wouldn’t be in his lap now. 

“You don’t have to offer me anything.” Yoongi murmurs, leaning back into his seat and looking up at you. 

Yoongi’s hands are big and they feel nice on you. You’d recall often staring at them whenever you and he were together - usually when he was bagging your weed. 

“I want to.” your hands send electric shocks through him when he feels them onto his neck. “You’ve been good to me after all these years. Always giving me deals, supplying more than what I ask for.”

Yoongi grunts when he feels you begin to grind against him and he is but a man, and within seconds he’s painfully (and embarrassingly) hard. 

“You even used to listen to my drunk ramblings when I’d call for weed.”

Yoongi snorts. “They were entertaining.” he admits, recalling the time you’d call him in all hours of the night back during your college days, ask for your usual, then completely change the topic of conversation. He never told you to shut up like you would have in his position.

Your hands slide down from his neck to his chest. You then grip the hem of your shirt and begin to lift. Yoongi watches in a trance, eyes slightly widening. In his eyes, you move in slow motion, taking off the oversize shirt.

Yoongi feels a lump in his throat and he tries his hardest to swallow it. His eyes are fixed on you - the black lingerie you wore that hugs you perfectly. It leaves little to the imagination, a lacy material covering your skin. He can see the outlines of your nipples - aroused and hardened for him.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Yoongi manages to swallow, eyes glancing up to look at you. You’re smirking down at him, satisfied that he was tongue tied. 

“You knew you were going to come out here and do this to me.” Yoongi presse you firmly against him, hands roaming up your sides. “That’s why you smell so good and your skin is so soft.”

Yoongi doesn’t intend to hold anything back now - not as you sit in his lap and allow him to touch you freely. He leans into your neck and inhales the sweet scent of your natural aroma mixed with perfume, a scent he’s sure he smelled before. He doesn’t want to think too much into it (or admit that he has smelled you when he’s given you your usual because he wasn’t a creep).

“Guilty.” you mumble, lowering yourself so you’re a few inches from his face. 

Yoongi places his lips against yours, moaning into the kiss. It catches you by surprise for a moment, but then you melt into him. His hands roam your body, palms feeling what skin you have exposed.

Your teeth sink into Yoongi’s bottom lip, lightly tugging it. Your palms slide into the back of his neck just as Yoongi’s begin to cup your ass.

“You want to do this here?” questions Yoongi, a dark look in his eyes. He isn’t opposed to it, however, the way he wants to have you would be quite difficult in his car.

“We can go inside.” you murmur, lips kissing down his jawline. 

Licking his lips, Yoongi nods. “You know you don’t have to do this if you think you need to pay me.” he has to be sure that it’s something you truly want to do - ignoring that you did come out here in lingerie and willingly sat in his lap after he stated you didn’t have to pay him.

“Maybe I just want to fuck you.” was your response and now, Yoongi is sure that tonight you’d get exactly what you were asking for.

The next is a blur. You managed to put your shirt back on while Yoongi gathered his own belongings and getting out the car. He keeps his hands on you as he follows you back inside your home and once the door is closed, you’re on him once more.

There had to be an attraction prior to this - between the both of you. You’d notice oftentimes that Yoongi’s eyes would wander when he thought you weren’t looking, and he also noticed how you’d become so giddy or flushed when he was around. This was bound to happen sooner or later - but never Yoongi leading it. 

So you had to.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask Yoongi, possibly far too late. “I’m not on any birth control.”

Yoongi nods his head, glad that he left condoms in his wallet with him.

“I’m clean.” Yoongi mentions, a dust of crimson on his cheeks. 

You smile. “So am I.”

You then fall to your knees, lifting the oversize shirt over your head. You then place them on the belt of his jeans, eyes glancing up at him.

Goosebumps run through Yoongi’s skin at what you’re trying to do and he’s quick to help you. He loosens his belt and you do the rest.

Yoongi’s already hard from seeing you on your knees and the thought of what's about to come next. He watches with his mouth agape as you take his cock out of his underwear, licking your lips.

It’s a rush going through you right now and for an odd reason, you feel yourself clenching around nothing just at the sight of Yoongi above you - and the thought of pleasuring him. 

“Shit…” Yoongi murmurs to himself, swallowing once his mouth becomes dry. You’re pumping his cock gently, eyes admiring at how pretty it looked. He was cleanly trimmed, cock erect and twitching in your hands.

You place a kiss on the tip of Yoongi’s cock before your tongue dips out and licks a single stripe upon it as if it was a lollipop. You can hear Yoongi’s breath hitching, and it’s what motivates you to continue.

Your tongue twirls around the tip, sucking it completely into your mouth. Your eyes glance up at the man, satisfied when his eyelids are closed and he’s beginning to pant.

Yoongi tries his hardest to remain upright, but then he feels your mouth more. So wet and warm and inviting - you take him into your mouth fully, continuing to suck as if your life depended on it. Yoongi leans against your front door, the back of his head pressed against it.

Deeper and deeper, you take Yoongi in your mouth. You rarely found your own pleasure when it came to pleasuring men - but this is different.Yoongi is hot, you’d admit, and even hotter when he’s moaning and panting because of you. You find yourself cleaning your own legs for any friction.

Managing to open his eyes, Yoongi looks down at you. Your cheeks are sucked in due to all the sucking you’re doing and wet slurping could be heard. Yoongi groans again because, damn - “You’re so pretty.” he grumbles, embarrassed because he didn’t mean to say it aloud and sound so damn whipped.

Your heart jolts at Yoongi’s compliment and it only causes you to suck harder, your jaw beginning to hurt but you refuse to stop because Yoongi (your weed dealer at that) called you pretty.

Yoongi pushes himself out of you - he’s unsure how he managed. His hand grasps your chin as he pants out a pathetic, “I don’t want to cum yet.”

There’s a string of saliva connecting your lips to Yoongi’s cock and it breaks when you slide your tongue over your lips.

“Okay.” you nod at Yoongi. “Maybe next time.”

Yoongi swallows and for a moment closes his eyes. You were a vixen - someone sent by the universe to fuck up his life. And most important, he was willing for you to do so.

“Y-yeah.” Yoongi mentally screams at himself for stuttering. “Next time.” He was known for his cool demeanor, a complete nonchalant person. You were breaking down walls he was certain wouldn’t bulge. 

You grin, small and cute, and nod back at him. “Next time you can return the favor, too.” you suggest. “Now I just want to ride you.”

Yoongi shudders. He’s certain now. The universe sent you indeed. It sent you to humble him, telling him that there was someone out there who could break down the walls he placed.

Your bedroom is far while the living room is a few feet away. You lift to your feet, waving at Yoongi to follow you. He does, awkwardly, lifting his pants just so they aren’t dragging across the ground.

You push Yoongi onto your couch, enjoying the sight of the man. “Condom?” you knit your brows.

“Right.” Yoongi mumbles, cheeks tinted red. He goes through his pockets and gets out his wallet. The condom falls out smoothly, a small, square black package.

You watch as Yoongi places the condom onto his cock and soon, you’re hovering above him. 

“Crotchless.” you giggle to Yoongi, who appears confused when you don’t remove the lingerie.

Yoongi gulps, nodding his head. You don’t allow him a chance to process, you’re already centering yourself and slowly engulfing him fully. 

Yoongi shudders at your warmth, even through the condom, of your pussy. He bites his lip, hands immediately on your hips as you begin to rise and fall. You’re so beautiful, his hands slide up your sides and then cup your breasts. With the lingerie you’re wearing, your breasts are seconds from falling out and he decides to speed up the process. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Yoongi muffles himself between your breasts, large hands squeezing them. He kisses them, his tongue poking out to lick a nipple.

“Me, too.” you huff, your nails digging into the shirt of his shoulders. You imagined far too many times what Yoongi’s cock looked like and what it would look like inside of you.

Yoongi begins to thrust with you, his left holding the flesh of your ass. His tongue continues to twirl on your nipple in utter boyish bliss. He ponders while fucking you what you’d feel like raw - he imagines how tight you’d be around him, how wet and even warmer than you are now

“Shit…you’re so tight.” Yoongi kisses up your neck. “All for me.”

There’s a change in Yoongi’s tone of voice, no longer a stutter or a tint of uneasiness. You feel it in the way he begins to thrust harder, no longer allowing you to take control. So this was the Yoongi you knew (now know sexually) - cool, nonchalant and dominant.

With each thrust Yoongi hits a sweet spot and you moan with pleasure. His eyes continue to watch you contort with different emotions at what he’s doing. “You’re moaning like you’re in love, baby.”

You suck in a breath at the pet name. Fuck Yoongi, seriously, because you probably did look that way. But it wasn’t your fault - you don’t get fucked this good often and when you do well…

“You haven’t stopped moaning either.” you retort, somehow managing to find your words. You wrap your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, your lips close to his ears. “Almost like you’re in love.”

Yoongi feels it - your tongue. It swipes at his ear teasingly and that’s all he needed to flip you onto your back, hitting the couch rapidly. He throws your legs over his shoulders and lifts his shirt a bit so he can continue to fuck into you. The position allows him to go even deeper, hitting that spot so sweet that you’re wailing.

“So wet. Wish I could feel you.” Yoongi says more to himself than you. There’s a creamy wetness wrapped around the condom, your pussy leaking with pleasure. 

You begin to pant, eyes snapping shut. You were beginning to think that maybe you were becoming dick drunk, because your next words surprise you just as it does him. “If you can pull out, you can take off the condom. Cum on me, too.”

“Shit, baby, really?” Yoongi halts his thrusts. Did he hear you correctly? “You can’t be that high.” he jokes.

“Fuck you.” you hiss low. “Just take it off and fuck me, Yoongi.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Yoongi does as he’s told, quickly getting up to undress his bottom half. He removes the condom and looks around.

“Just throw it-”

“I’m not throwing it on the ground.” Yoongi raises a brow. “I’m not a caveman.” He was far too respectful and sanitary for that,even if it was just for a moment.

You huff and nod, pointing behind you to the direction of the bathroom. 

Yoongi dashes down the hall, discards the condom, and rushes back. He kisses your cheek quickly, centering himself back at your whole.

Yoongi winces, then shudders.

You felt better than he’d imagined - warm, wet and still tight. He’s slow at first, trying to collect himself. Your legs are over his shoulder again, and he reaches inside of you deeper and deeper. 

“You look in love.” you joke, mocking him. Yoongi hasn’t looked away from your pussy since he started. 

“Maybe I am.” Yoongi’s nails dig into your thighs, his thrusts picking up the pace. The sweet sounds of your moans mixed with the wet sounds of your pussy hit his ears. “You’re clenching around me so tight.” his eyes flicker to you, and he smirks. “Like you want me to cum in you.”

Yoongi pounds inside of you, each thrust aggressively deep. You don’t mean to say it - but Yoongi was playing a dangerous game as if you weren’t already high and horny.

“Maybe I do.”

Yoongi grumbles something inaudible. Indeed you were sent from the universe - he’s read about nymphs and you’re beginning to fit the description. 

“You do, huh?” Yoongi opens your legs and marvels at the sight of your pussy, his cock being milked with your essence lovingly. His thumbs place itself onto your clit and he rubs. “You’re just talking. Good weed and dick would do that to you.”

Cocky Yoongi is back and damn was it hot.

You opened your eyes to see Yoongi in the act. 

A mistake.

Yoongi’s looks completely feral, eyes dark with lust. His hair sticks to his forehead and his mouth is slightly agape, panting to himself. His eyes are fixed to your pussy and you decided to see just what he saw.

You were cumming now - Yoongi circling your clit just as rough as he was fucking you. His cock fits perfectly inside of you and watching the way he fucks you just sends you completely over the edge. 

“There you go, baby.” chuckles Yoongl raspily, witnessing you cum for him. “You look pretty cumming on my cock.”

A few more sloppy thrusts and Yoongi’s certain he’s near. He bites his lip, pulling out of you abruptly. His cum spills on your clit, warm and slippery.

You huff, shaking your head. “You managed to pull out.” you murmur.

Yoongi falls back against the couch to catch your breath. “Almost didn’t.” he admits with a laugh. “You hungry?”

You nod your lazily, the side effects of the weed coming to you. 

“I can get us something to eat.” Yoongi offers. “Free of charge. You don’t have to fuck me-”

You kick Yoongi, a rush of hot embarrassment running through you, but all the man does is laugh, gummy smile on full display.

The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino  

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word. 

Intimate. That would be a better choice. 

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering. 

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony. 

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy. 

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts. 

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go. 

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between. 

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company. 

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight. 

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off. 

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges. 

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter. 

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot. 

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are. 

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back. 

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses. 

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up. 

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.” 

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty. 

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is. 

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck. 

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself. 

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.” 

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night. 

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung! 

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing. 

You just lost all your tips for the night. 

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it. 

Fuck. 

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet. 

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know. 

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’ 

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it. 

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass. 

No one serves him but you. 

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you. 

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year. 

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath. 

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.  

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,”  he responded. 

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased. 

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you. 

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it. 

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink. 

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself. 

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.” 

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.” 

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’” 

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.” 

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation. 

No one calls the Devil by his first name. 

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to. 

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives. 

No one except you. 

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is. 

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I’m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that. 

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in. 

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night. 

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker… 

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up. 

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath. 

The King of Hell. 

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end. 

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon. 

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging. 

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers. 

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully. 

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity. 

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive. 

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again. 

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well. 

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while. 

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was. 

And maybe he is. 

But not to you. 

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow. 

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him. 

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world. 

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you. 

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find. 

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos. 

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside. 

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor. 

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding. 

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system. 

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth. 

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing. 

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer. 

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.” 

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target. 

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own. 

Yoongi. 

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself. 

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real. 

And he looks like sin incarnate. 

Fitting. 

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you. 

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on. 

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved. 

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you. 

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises. 

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night. 

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse. 

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him. 

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”  

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate. 

“Yes.” 

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body. 

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.” 

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now. 

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening. 

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you. 

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant. 

Beautiful. 

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says. 

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you. 

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers. 

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you. 

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring. 

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear. 

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait— 

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse. 

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?” 

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly. 

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’. 

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him. 

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides. 

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it. 

You’ve decided. 

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power. 

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years. 

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back. 

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club. 

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait. 

And apparently neither does Yoongi. 

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate. 

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil. 

You trust Yoongi. 

“That's a good girl.” 

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft. 

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people? 

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on. 

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get. 

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight. 

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent. 

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea. 

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh. 

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off. 

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?” 

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs. 

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you. 

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.” 

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him. 

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge. 

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look. 

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded. 

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter. 

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip. 

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue. 

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.” 

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?” 

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get. 

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it. 

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt. 

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines. 

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before. 

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip. 

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him. 

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it. 

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it. 

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.” 

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures. 

You’re the most powerful person here. 

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible. 

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know. 

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact. 

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets. 

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace. 

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them. 

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you. 

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else. 

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal. 

Perfect in every single way. 

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too. 

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back. 

Not yet. 

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling. 

Ever.  

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more. 

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence. 

There was only you. 

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows. 

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming. 

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance. 

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white. 

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need. 

It’s yours. 

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze. 

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented. 

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?” 

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?” 

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before. 

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say. 

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.” 

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.” 

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him. 

You just know it. 

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless. 

You never expected anything like that. 

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years. 

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better. 

Because of you.  

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that. 

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly. 

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell. 

He was yours now. 

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.  

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

Collateral

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Taehyung x Jungkook, Seokjin x Hoseok, Jungkook x Reader. (in POV chapters: Jimin x Seokjin x Hoseok, Members x Non-BTS Members)

🗡️ word count: work in progress (currently 354.3k!!! damnnn!!!)

🗡️ warnings: mafia au, strangers to lovers, complicated relationships graphic violence, minor character death, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ | panic attacks and ptsd, abuse (of power, drugs, people, etc.), treating humans as objects, use of “whore” & “slut”, brothel & strip club environment, gambling & casino environment, past abuse alluded to (physical and sexual), past drug use, use of drugs (weed, cocaine, heroin, ecstasy, pills), mutual pining, explicit & intense sexual content (all main characters including reader mc can be assumed to be bi/pan; everyone switches but typically mc bottoms/subs; masturbation; oral, vaginal & anal sex; multiple orgasms & overstimulation; threesomes; voyeurism & exhibitionism; squirting; daddy kink; noona kink; light sub/dom; restraints; begging & teasing; praising; light slapping & spanking; breath play; dubcon in member pov - not with mc), murder, use of weapons (switchblades, kunai knives, guns, poison, molotov cocktail); graphic depictions of torture (breaking bones, removing fingers, threatening at gunpoint); blood tending to wounds; car chase & collision; more warnings to be added!

🗡️ co-starring: shin ryujin of itzy, christian yu (drp ian), members of balming tiger, members of mamamoo, kim hyungseo (bibi), members of stray kids, members of monsta x, members of ateez, members of big bang 🗡️ notes: welcome to my mafic fic! this story starts out kinda cheeky and lighthearted, but it gets very dark. do not take the warnings lightly! also, although i am using real city names (Seoul, Busan, etc.) i am only doing this to paint a geographical picture. none of these depictions are true to any real city and no research on them is being done. i do not want any negative descriptions of neighborhoods to be of real places because i have never been to Seoul or Busan (or any city listed), nor do i have a connection to these places, and that is not a fair thing for me to do. every place i describe is completely made up and if it resembles a real place, that is coincidence. assume all characters are in their mid-late 20s regardless of their real world ages.

🗡️ also note: although i try to keep out as much physical description as i can for the main character, i am a short and curvy person, and a lot of this is short and curvy person coded because that is an experience i enjoy writing for. if you are tall or thin and this bothers you, sorry lol. ♡ mc’s hair length, color, and texture are not described outside of being sometimes pinned or braided away from the face. 🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin 🗡️ posted may 2022 to present | read on ao3​ 🗡️ check out the playlist

🗡️ character asks - always open! contain spoilers!

🗡️ take the uquiz: which collateral character are you?

INDEX

1: I know exactly who you are | 5.4k words

2: Be a good little wolf | 7.4k words

3: I plan to make you mine if you will let me | 7.8k words

4: You will learn | 9.2 words

5: What are you afraid of? | 10.6 words

6: Beg for me | 9.3k words

7: I have questions | 8.8k words

8: Punishments that come to those who betray us | 9k words

9: Museum, ice cream, narcotics shakedown date | 11.5k words

10: We know everything, dove | 12k words

POV: Jeongguk | 8.5k words

POV: Jimin | 9.7k words

11: Something you will have in abundance | 13.7k words

12: Loose lips sink ships | 11.6k words

POV: Seokjin | 7.2k

13: Merely offering to share what is mine | 10.9k words

POV: Hoseok | 6.8k

14: Darling, breathe | 17.9k words

POV: Taehyung | 10.9k words

15: The end of an era | 16.4k words

16: Sometimes important decisions — ones that we know we have to make — still hurt like hell | 9.2k words

17: Making someone cry is a side-effect of being in love, I’m afraid | 15.6k words

18: You, me, and our men | 17.1k words

19: The only lifestyle I have ever known | 18.6k words

20: Trapped in Limbo | 22.8k words

POV: Namjoon | 7.3k words

21: It’s now or never | 19.4k words

22: I just need a chance to breathe | 15.9k words

POV: Yoongi | 8.1k words

23: This life of death and destruction | 13.6k words

24: Misery in your arms, but misery without you

25: This was not part of the bargain

26: Don’t go insane

27: In an instant, the world has stopped spinning

28: When the nightmare ends, what kind of hell awaits us?

29: The only way out of this lifestyle is death

30: Meet me under the aurora borealis

*chapter titles may slightly change as the writing happens.

Collateral is copyright 2022 - 2024 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations or reposts allowed!

tag list info under the cut:

Keep reading