#yoongi x oc
Text
STEAM | myg ft. jjk
pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)
genre: smut
word count: 9.2k
summary: one video call awakens your neediness for two cocks.
playlist: steam / pinterest board: steam
warnings: female masturbation, mentions of shower sex, praise kink, toying with the idea of polyamory, a hint of voyeurism, oc rly goes through it and faces mental battles, fear, intoxication, punishment, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, choking, cum eating, manhandling, degradation, provocation, mutual masturbation, rough & raw sex, brief oral sex (f. receiving), pet names
note: IT'S FINALLY HEREEEEEE SKFDSFLSFJ, okay so—let me introduce to you a new yoongi series featuring JUNGKOOK oh my god. i am SO EXCITED about this and i wanna apologize for my insane ideas in advance... i'm so sorry, guys. nevertheless, i hope you like this as much as i do, i literally went mad writing this and i smoked so many cigarettes i lost count. please, let me kNOW UR FAVORITE PARTS CUZ I HAVE SO MANY AND I WANNA TALK ABOUT THEM. oh fuck, guys. ENJOY READING SDKFJSD. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
side note: btw, the playlist i made is literally perfect and depicts the fic wonderfully. you can listen while you read! <3
The scent of mangoes finds its way up your nostrils, heating your senses through its balmy touch as you rub the body butter over the damp skin of your arms. Fingers graze along your décolletage, tucking in the fragrance for your boyfriend to breathe in when he comes home. He’s out for the night—said something about his friend finishing his military service, so the whole group was going out to celebrate it. Yoongi was so frantic in his excitement, hastily putting on the first outfit that sparked his eye. Didn’t even touch his hair, only sprayed a mist of his sandalwood and tangerine-tinged perfume. Grabbed his phone, keys, wallet. Barely kissed you goodbye before he fled out of the door.
He didn’t even ask you if you wanted to come along.
You didn’t mind, though—you’re only in the early stages of your relationship. It hasn’t even been half a year since you’ve started dating. And you figure he deserves a night out with his closest friends because you’ve been attached to the hip since the beginning. Funnily enough, you no longer live at your own place. Somehow, you’ve settled in Yoongi’s apartment, never setting foot outside, save for your walks, grocery shopping, the few dates with your friends and work. There wasn’t any conversation about it; you just mostly spend your free time with your boyfriend.
And all you do is fuck, eat and watch movies.
The last time Yoongi took you out was during the first two months you’d been getting to know him. The realization of how long it’s been sends a trail of chills down your arms and you rub it away.
But because you’ve been spending all your time together, you’re glad to have a moment to yourself—glad to be able to take a long hot shower, to do your hair and skincare. Perhaps, you’ll even have time to do your nails and that energizes you, propels you to spread the body butter further down the rest of your body. It is your rose garden, these night times reserved for your hot showers. The place you go to—your hideaway from the pressure and nerves of life that the steam loosens and soothes, especially when you let your sultry playlist echo through the mightiness of Yoongi’s bathroom, your favorite singer’s voice reaching your veins like the growing stems of those roses; pretty, pink and so feminine. Yes, Yoongi’s therapy sessions and thick length might have been a great help, the best in fact, but there’s something about letting yourself be burned off of all that’s been weighing you down and watching it trickle down the drain that is just so satisfying.
It was all that you were once used to. That is, until you met Yoongi.
Showers with him are something else.
Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right there at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did along with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.
That has become your new version of hot long showers.
And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.
You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.
That is why you enjoy your exceptional alone shower all the more—you haven’t had it in so long. Only this time, it’s quite different.
You feel him everywhere.
You feel him in the drift of your hand down your tummy because you recollect the way he likes to pepper kisses there on his way to eat you out. You feel him when you round your palms across your backside because you know he particularly likes to leave traces of saliva when he presses open-mouthed kisses there. His love for you circulates in your bloodstream, mingling with the little love you have for yourself, making it bigger, turning it into a turbulent rush of liquid. You sense it tapping beneath your skin, asking for more of your body just like Yoongi does, always begging, begging for more—for more skin to kiss and lick, for more sensitive parts of you to find and nibble on.
Your hands sense the ghost of him even when your fingers slip past your mound and realize that the film of your memories dampened your cunt. You hear the words of praise he’d utter into your ear at the discovery and you sigh at your tender touch.
That’s a good girl. Messy for me.
The rotund case of your body butter remains opened, forgotten. You suddenly have better things to do—like give your body the self-care, the self-love it deserves.
It’s a part of the solo girl's night.
A mewl comes out of your mouth at the first round of circles on your clit. Furrowing your brows at the pleasure, you prop your free hand on the edge of the bathroom counter, riding the pads of your fingers. And then, just like Yoongi taught you, you take your digits away, edging yourself, taking them elsewhere. You cry out at the contact of your wet fingertips on your stiff nipple and you pinch the nub, a spasm of delight coursing through your sensitiveness.
You imagine Yoongi standing behind you. Not touching you, merely guiding you, telling you when to stop, when to pick up the pace—when to fill your hole. Watching you in the mirror, hands in his pockets, having a perfect view of your slick-caked folds, of your clit swollen and asking for his tongue. Determined to make you lose your mind by teasing you, letting you only slap your pussy once you’re close. Your essence drips out of you at that thought, making a mess on the floor and you plug it in with your finger, fucking yourself steadily, inflamed by how slippery your heat is, how easy it is to slip the digit inside. Hot flashes close over your body, pearls of perspiration kissing the crook of your neck. You fuck yourself faster and—
A sudden ring of your phone jolts you. And the picture of your boyfriend, half dressed, with the early morning sunlight leaking over the scars and tattoo on his shoulder, crammed inside your screen, greets you.
You pant hard, your finger still inside of you. Delirious.
He must be on his way home. You don’t even know what time it is.
Leaning forward, you hide your breasts behind your forearm and you swipe your finger to accept his video call.
Blurry Yoongi. The night sky, starlit and alive, behind him. A shoal of silhouettes, some lanky and some buff, all short-haired and all as woozy-lidded as you. The picture smooths into a crystal clear view and there you see your boyfriend, the nocturnal breeze brushing his ebony hair back. Not just him, however, but another male craning his neck to regard you fully.
His eyes flicking from your neck to the smallest of your exposed décolletage, a smirk blossoming on his face like your imaginary roses.
Yoongi slaps his phone face down. You withdraw your finger from your heat, a cacophony of giggles, whiny cries and the exclamations of his name emitting out of your mouth.
He is not, in fact, on his way home.
It is a warning, his low and strict call of your name back and, heeding it, you take your phone into your hands, so he’s only able to see your deeply flushed face. Device back in his hand, he’s not looking at you at all. As a matter of fact, he’s shooting daggers fueled with deadly nightshade at his friend, grumbling something that you can’t quite make out amidst the chaos and bustle of the outing. The shoal of the rest of his friends and strangers disappear out of the perspective, as if threatened by the cold energy.
You wish you knew what he’s saying to him. Even your pussy aches to hear it. The principle of him scolding his friend for looking at you at your most private moment scorches you and you’re red, flattered and majestically horny.
Yoongi turns his head to see if you’re well-behaved and you beam at him, the pulse on your clit intensifying, forcing you to say, “come home, Yoongi.”
He chuckles, aware of the reason behind your words, pretends he isn’t. “What were you doing, baby?”
The growth of your grin doesn’t falter. You show him the sheen of your wet finger in the ivory bathroom light, the glint, the stickiness as you push your index finger to your middle and pull away, your arousal on full, filthy display.
He curses under his breath. Doesn’t give a fuck that his friend sits beside him and adjusts in his seat. Bites his lip briefly. “Stick it in your mouth for me.”
Doesn’t say the words that so very often follow after in that sentence. Taste yourself.
Why he doesn’t step aside to take this video call eludes you, but something about you being watched by two pairs of eyes excites you. Enough for you to do as he says. Perhaps it’s due to the fact you don’t know the male sitting beside him and Yoongi is letting him keep his sight glued to the screen.
Two sharp inhales of breath. Not one of yours. Yoongi readies his hook to feignedly lash out at his friend and you press your thighs together to alleviate yourself of the unbearable feeling between your legs. Confidence, a bad, bad version of confidence suffuses you whole, turning you into a person gone mad by lust. You swirl your tongue around your digit, the tanginess of your taste causing your eyes to narrow, the principle of driving not just one, but two men mad just the same intoxicates you, as if you were there among them, drinking.
A pair of round eyes peek at the corner of the screen. Soft, naive, so terribly innocent. A dash of sobriety washes over you, owed to those brownish effervescent orbs, a sprinkle shame pooling low in your core. A reality check. You sense some kind of stability of that reality beneath those eyelashes of his, the stability that whispers—is this the right thing to do?
It’s not rough, it’s not stern, it’s not Yoongi coded—it’s anything but. Gentleness is what you detect, free of any prejudice.
You sigh. Millions of thoughts about how you could toy with them pass through your mind, but you decide against them, the stability a pillar that blends into your spine, helping it unbend. You can’t do this; you can’t do this to Yoongi and you need to keep your dignity intact in some way, despite the fact that every fiber of your body compels you to do the opposite. You distract yourself by screwing the lid of your body butter back on.
“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, causing you to whisk your eyes to the screen in perhaps disbelief, shame or your still pending arousal—you’re not sure. How can you be a good girl when you let another man see something so lewd? How can your boyfriend validate something like that? “One more beer and I’ll be home. Wait for me on the bed. As you are.”
Naked.
Heat rushes to your cheeks, to the surface of every part of your skin, dragging away small ounces of shame. You curse, mentally, running a hand down your face. Yoongi downs his drink without taking his gaze off of you, watching your reaction, adds once he swallows, “and don’t touch yourself.”
And with that, he hangs up.
The harsh comprehension of what the fuck just happened envelops you in a confining embrace, the precipitately increasing weight of shame now a burden on your shoulders that you just can’t shake off, even when you slink your arms through sleeves of your silky robe and welcome in the summer breeze coming to caress your face on the balcony—even when you burst your lighter to a flame and light up your cigarette, inhaling the smoke that you hoped would rid you of its such uncomfortable hold around you.
You licked your cum clean under the gape of a guy you don’t know in front of your boyfriend.
His friend heard the order. Don’t touch yourself. Yoongi didn’t whisper it. Didn’t camouflage his words in any way. Uttered them straight and bare, allowing his friend to hear them, despite the fact he almost fought him then and there for sneaking one glance at your moderately naked form.
Question marks hover in your mind and the pulse on your clit cries, seemingly knowing the answer.
Did Yoongi like it as much as you did, the aspect of having an audience?
The wetness in your heat dribbles out, staining your thighs. You squeeze them together, the drag of your cigarette hard and long, expecting to feel your nerves burn off. You gain no such thing—no relief, no lifting of the burden, just constricting tangles in your tummy, zippy spasms of butterflies going mad, mad, mad.
Perhaps Yoongi didn’t like it at first until he perceived the auspicious debauched look on your face. Saw the way you didn’t hesitate to oblige him when he told you to stick your finger in your mouth. And perhaps the fact that you didn’t express any signal of discomfort was the key to unfastening the leash on his possessiveness over you.
What have you done? What have you so selfishly and disgustingly done?
You hang your head in your hands, the white smoke intertwining with the burden on your shoulders and pressing down harder on you.
That’s why he let his friend hear the command. Don’t touch yourself. He saw the way you indulged in it, and that awakened his liking for it.
Yoongi lied when he said he’d have one more beer.
By the time you hear the thunder of his voice, all the roses in your garden have wilted, leaving faded, withered petals in its wake—leaving a path of your internal battle all around the apartment for Yoongi to follow. You’ve paced, your bare feet stepping on them. Tried to untangle yourself from the incarceration of your mind by chain-smoking, but to no avail. The only change that took place in your body was the decline of your shame, for you couldn’t help but imagine what could have happened, had you let free rein to your desire—had those round eyes never looked at you with such purity. You figured there wasn’t anything bad about letting your imagination be colored like that, and so you sat on your boyfriend’s couch, cigarette switched to a coconut-flavored vape, and dreamed.
You dreamed about those two men being of service to you, right here on the same couch, where they would lay you down and make you squirt over and over again, betting between each other who could make you come the fastest, counting down your orgasms until the number was a mere blur to you.
The throb on your clit heightened to heavenly levels and when you emerged from your dream, you found yourself being able to breathe—your momentary disappearance tricking your shame into leaving. It was difficult for you not to touch yourself and you opted to adhere to Yoongi’s wish, not risking to feel worse than you already had.
The war ended, undeterred by the fact you never expected it to.
Loud swear words roar in Korean. You rise to your feet to open the front door for Yoongi and you discover that he’s not alone at all.
The same pair of round eyes, the cause of all the ruckus you just departed from, meet yours, hauling you back there with a force. Your mouth falls agape and before you can react any further, Yoongi stumbles into you. You almost topple over, realizing you didn’t care to steal a glance at the state of him, but the male grabs a hold of Yoongi’s jacket and pulls him back. You wish you had tumbled over and the floor had opened up and swallowed you whole. It would have been less embarrassing than to be stuck in this situation. You want to run, you want to scream—
“He’s drunk out of his own mind,” the male says, his voice deep like the warm wind before a tumultuous storm, fitting just right with the thunder of Yoongi’s intonation, his gaze wandering over the entirety of your shock-stricken face, taking it in; giving you the same attention that fucked you up hours ago. Yoongi begins to mumble something you can’t momentarily focus on, his hands grasping your waist, lips latching onto your neck. No, you cannot for the life of you focus because the man steals you all over again and you hate how easy it is for him to do that, when you’re far from being available. “Don’t ask what made him drink this much.”
Did Yoongi get drunk because he let his friend in on your most intimate moment?
Humiliated, turned on and angry altogether, a concoction that simply worsens everything, you draw back from your boyfriend. You want to beat at his chest with your fists just to have some sort of relief from blaming him—because if you blame yourself, only doom consumes you. Why did he call you? Or, essentially, why didn’t he step away to take that damned video call?
“Thanks for walking him home,” you say eventually, your voice smooth, despite the violence of your feelings, despite wanting to say something else entirely. Your first words to him and, wholeheartedly—despite it all, you hope they aren’t last, even if that possibly makes you a despicable person.
Yoongi’s friend nods. Chews his bottom lip and lowers his gaze to the ground for a split second. You wonder if he feels the need to remove himself from this uncomfortable situation as much as you do because you can’t read anything in that paleness of his countenance. Not a hint of any emotion whatsoever, just blandness of expression, slightly dimmed by the few thick strands of black hair that have fallen from his disheveled, pushed back mullet. As if they did fight after all, perhaps on the way home, or wrestled if Yoongi was being difficult.
You don’t realize you and the male are just staring at each other until Yoongi places his hand on your cheek, brushing back a wisp of your tresses. Only then do your eyes flick to Yoongi’s and you finally notice him, the gloss in his hooded irises searching and searching for you, the rosy blush on his cheeks, dry parted mouth and the dart of his tongue as he wets it, softening the flecks that have been created there.
This is it. If you are focused on him, all things are made right—all things that have been stained get purified and dreams get turned into dust. This is the man you’ve fallen for, who puts you before himself and has done so every day since the moment he made you his. You can’t let anyone else get in the way of the home that your relationship has become, you can’t let your feelings flee—
“For the record,” Yoongi’s friend starts, hand massaging circles on the nape of his neck, the leather of his jacket tight around his arm. Your heart jumps and beats against your chest ferociously. “I didn’t see anything, if that helps you sleep better tonight.”
It’s such a fat lie and you’re about to shake your head, but then he looks at you with such sincere regret that, ultimately, you choose to believe him. Just to keep your peace of mind unscarred.
Yoongi tightens his hold around your waist, which grounds you, and a small part of you begins to bloom in healing, disseminating little by little across your whole body.
A healer with big, round eyes. A good man.
With a swing, Yoongi closes the door but you don’t hear the click. No, the light spills in from the hallway. Your hands reach for the doorknob but Yoongi blocks them and wraps them around his waist while swaying on his feet. He traces the shell of your ear with his lips, his alcohol-reeking breath wafting over you, and softly, you whine his name. Shuffling beyond the door, feet never entirely moving—the male is still standing outside and he hears as Yoongi hums at your call, as the sound grows into a groan at the feeling of being alone with you at last, at the feeling of all that makes you feminine under his hands. He hears your gasp as Yoongi pushes your chest flush to his body, kisses you harshly and cups your bare pussy. Hears the smack of your mouths, the pop once he withdraws, the squelch of your wetness. Hears as Yoongi murmurs, “you been horny, baby? Wet for me, hm?”
It’s those words that make him shut the door for you.
You made Yoongi drink a lot of water.
And while he downed the glasses, you ordered him Thai food from his phone, which he now devours. You had wanted to change out of your flimsy robe into your plush pajamas, but Yoongi stopped you with a tight grip on your shoulder and with the nastiest puppy eyes he could manage, considering his plastered state, he begged you not to. Informed you that he wanted to fuck you in your little robe and you told him that if he wanted that, he needed to get sober.
He’s your boyfriend and you trust him, but you don’t feel comfortable having sex with him while he’s wasted and you’re not. It’s a dangerous territory you don’t ever want to cross.
So, now he eats as quietly as a mouse, feeding you every other bite with his chopsticks, meanwhile you’re jittering your leg with your arms crossed across your chest, mind full of the male who walked him home. Of the way he pulled you under and resurfaced with you soon after. Of the calm peace you feel all over the perimeter of your mind that peculiarly stresses you out. Of what would happen if you voiced your little dream to Yoongi, especially.
Was it out of the question or would he consider it?
Your leg jitters harder.
You want to tell him, badly. Seeing his friend in real life changed fucking everything. If you hadn’t, you would’ve forgotten about it in the days to come. Yoongi would’ve fucked it out of you in most probability. But those eyes… those eyes got under your skin.
“Stop fidgeting,” Yoongi scolds with his mouth full of food, no hint of slurring. The hot meal and hydration worked a miracle. “You’re making me nervous.”
He picks up two cut pieces of chicken with his chopsticks and stuffs your mouth, adding a few pieces of vegetables as you’re chewing. Watches you swallow it, noticing how your eyes are focused on nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Tucking his utensils under his palm, he places his hand on your thigh, halting your restless motion.
You still won’t look at him. Too lost in the overthinking maze, debating whether you should speak or remain quiet about your desire. A strong part of you fears his reaction and the other half is horrified at the possibility of being turned down—
Yoongi takes his hand away. Props it on his cheek.
“I can see your pussy from here,” he says, licking his lips. “You’ve shaved?”
You breathe a soft laugh, turning your head to face him, covering yourself with the small fabric. Dark, but tender eyes, void of any glossiness, awake and stirred—amused. Cheeks awash with color. Lips puffy, a dark tinge of red coating them. A sturdy fist on his cheek, the milky jawline underneath. That messy hair, the slicked-back look ruined by the constant rake of his fingers through them, now falling to the side from the middle. That slender body, clad in the night from head to toe—legs outstretched under the table. So fine, so delicious. A beautiful strong man—all yours. Why do you want another one?
You slide your leg across his thighs and Yoongi slouches in his seat, discarding his chopsticks.
“I shaved everything,” you respond, cocking your brow at him—a sly invitation for him to feel its smoothness.
And he does. Runs his hand up and down your skin. Goes as far as lifting your other leg onto his lap, cradling them both, thumb caressing your calf. The movement causes your robe to expose you again and, cursing the fabric, you go to cover yourself, but Yoongi stops you.
“Don’t bother,” he mutters. “I wanna look at it.”
You raise your brows altogether, looking up at him. “You wanna look at her?”
Yoongi smirks. That dangerous tug of one corner of his mouth to the side. Your death, your undoing, the root of your submission to him. “I want to have her at my disposal.”
You gulp and Yoongi catches it, chuckling. Drifts his hand down your calf, to your heel, to the middle of your foot up to your toes. He plays with your pinky. You note the fact he changed the pronoun after you did.
Your arousal returns at full speed.
“Did that make you wet?” Low, low is his voice—you feel it prodding at your core, thrumming vehemently.
You blossom like your roses, thoughts put to the side.
“I’ve been wet this entire time,” you say, zeroing in your gaze on the flick of dimness that whirls past his eyes. “For hours.”
He makes a sound of pitiful nature. “Poor baby.” Furrows his brows and juts his bottom lip out, making you weak. Lets his hand roam on your thigh. “So you listened? You didn’t touch yourself?”
You merely nod your head quickly. You were too distressed to give your body the pleasure it sought. Too busy flaring your lungs with the burn of smoke. And you respected his wish enough to keep your hands to yourself.
Yoongi coos. “Good girl.”
A flashback—your lips wrapping around your slick-coated finger, Yoongi praising you and… another pair of eyes watching. Chills spread across your arms, your stomach flipping. Thankfully, your shame is kept at bay. It relieves you.
“Can I feel how wet you are?”
A sweet, devious smile. “If you can manage to get to her.”
You press your thighs tightly together. Yoongi looks at you as if you’ve greatly offended him and alas, he turns your chair so you face him head-on. Forces your thighs apart without any strain at all—and there you feel it, the embarrassment of fucking with him, once your pussy is at complete disposal to him just like he wanted.
“If your pussy wasn’t so pretty, I’d make you regret your words,” he purrs, eyes fixed on your drenched flesh, hands pushing your thighs back until your knees are at level with your shoulders, folds parting with the movement, revealing more of you. Yoongi wets his mouth with his tongue.
He thumbs your gleaming lips back and forth, collecting your essence, mesmerized by them. Looks at you intently.
“It wouldn’t hurt to say sorry, though,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Would it?”
You grin at him. “Sorry, Yoongi.”
He rubs your swollen clit in slow circles, still with his bedewed thumb, still with his eyes on you. You choke out a moan at the delight permeating through your being. “That’s not the proper way to apologize, now is it?”
You lean your pelvis into his touch, a natural body reaction unfolding. He disapproves. You scrunch your face. “What should I say?”
Yoongi tuts. “I’m barely touching you and you already forgot your manners?”
The only answer you emit is an uncouth whine.
He shakes his head, putting pressure into his circles for a mere beat of time before he slaps your pussy curtly. A vivid spasm of pleasure fills you and you moan. “Needy girl. Don’t I take care of this pussy enough? What’s this behavior?”
Another whine. A roll of your body, asking for more of his touch. “Spank her again.”
A cock of his brow. Harsh, stern, evil. His hand remains propped on his thigh, shoulders hunched. “I didn’t hear you say please. You wanna be bad? You want me to make you cry?”
You know just how much he’s capable of doing that. You shake your head ‘no’. You want gentleness, the kind you saw in his friend’s eyes—
You flutter your own shut to get rid of that thought. Take a deep breath.
“Spank my pussy again, please.”
Yoongi massages the apex of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt, squeezing the flesh every once in a while.
“Apologize first.”
“You didn’t tell me how.”
He clicks his tongue and pinches your folds and your clit between his fingers. You cry out, and then Yoongi gets up to his feet, leaning over you, propping his hand on the back of your chair. He begins to swiftly spank your pussy over and over again. You just jump at every contact, moaning, eyes flicked to his, never breaking apart. Taking it, taking it so well that Yoongi kisses you nastily, licking into your mouth. Then, he grunts. Fingers flat against your clit, he moves them from side to side. Roses, a myriad of them, flood your form with their freshness and dewiness, with their beauty and delectation and you shudder, you scream, you arch your back off of the backrest—
“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Yoongi. I’m such a bad girl that I deserve every spank and I’ll take it until it hurts.”
Flabbergasted and horny beyond measure, your mouth falls agape. Your brain turns into mush, the pleasure paralyzing you, your sounds now loud and obscene, the roses in you flitting, growing and murmuring. Yoongi adds more pressure to your clit and your eyes sink back into your head, his darkness wafting over to you, seeping into your skin—now completely yours.
You repeat after him—word for word. With a simper on your face that causes him to scowl at you, as if you dared to toy with your punishment he bestowed upon you. But then, a tongue prods the inside of his cheek and he laughs, taking a hold of his dominant role and making sure you know. He spanks your clit twice in a row, hands lifting to fondle your nipples.
“Good,” he praises. “You like that, don’t you? Spanks on your pussy?”
You don’t like that softness. Like the personified thunder he is, it is the calm before the storm. It unnerves you, the expectation of what might come next and your disliking of it. Nonetheless, you brim with the craving to have his fingers inside of you. Your hole clenches at that and Yoongi notices, hissing under his breath. The language of the darkness rises on your tongue and you figure that if you let loose, you’ll get your wish fulfilled.
“Yeah, it feels so good—” He pinches your nipples between his knuckles and you mewl, your lashes shaking at the impact, another set of wetness coating your folds. “Please, fuck me with your fi—”
You don’t even get to finish your sentence. Yoongi plunges his middle finger into your heat, cursing at your tightness, at how slippery you are and at the delight of being filled at last, you knit your brows. With his other finger, he traces the outline of your puckered mouth, his breathing hard and ragged.
“I’ll do anything for that pout of yours, fuck, no matter if you deserve it or not,” he utters, slipping the digit inside. Instinctively, you suck on it and only then does Yoongi begin to pump you slowly. “You just need a little roughness to be good, don’t you?”
Dumbly, you nod, swirling your tongue around him, but a faint, silenced part of you begs for the gentleness that you know hides somewhere deep inside his chest, never once unfurled during such intimate times.
You pay it no matter, too fucked out to think.
When he adds a second finger into your heat, he does the same thing with his other hand. Two fingers in your cunt, two fingers in your mouth. And he fucks you with both until you gag and a light flashes in his eyes—then, he withdraws all together, leaning against the table, his bedewed fingers coming to rest at his hardened length in his pants.
Roses, opening. Roses, sighing.
You breathe heavily, needing to finish, needing to have him in your mouth—
“You liked being the center of attention today?” he husks, surveying your whole body, bent in half.
There it is—the storm. Just what you expected. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. And it is fear, what you feel, even when you refuse to admit it. Stiff, tempered fear that pervades each and every vein on your body, regarding being possibly degraded, being made feel dirty—regarding, even, tasting the dark wine of his wrath.
Such a stark, sudden change.
You don’t want this. You don’t want any of it.
Abruptly, an internal question comes and pokes you in the middle of your forehead.
Will you succumb to it or will you, with the wildly fresh darkness within you, fight against it?
You take a deep breath, and in with the air also follows, with the little rationality you have amidst the sensuality of your lecherous appetite, the decision to take a hold of it all. To take charge. Just like he did.
You shall prioritize yourself. Your feelings, your desires—your roses.
Your choice envelops your fear in bubble wrap. It doesn’t dissipate. And as much as it pains you, you take a mental note of that.
“I did,” you spit out, angered by the fact you’re afraid of your boyfriend, and so you stand your ground. “It made me so fucking needy and I want more.”
The relief that hits you almost causes you to weep and you lower your legs to the ground. Not wanting him to see the film of tears clouding your eyes, you avoid his gaze. Yoongi crosses his arms across his chest and clicks his tongue at you, disapproving.
“Keep your legs where they belong.”
“No.”
A lift of his brow. He crouches down to your level and cradles your face in his hand, forcing you to look at him. And there he sees, under the waterfall of your hair, your emotions at his disposal. Yoongi studies you, frowns at you and you want to sob, you want to go home. Shame slithers towards your spine like a ghost, and although it keeps a distance, you feel its presence prickling your back. You cover your cleavage.
“Why are you crying?” Yoongi asks, a silky murmur, eyes flicking between yours. His fingers don’t caress your skin; they merely hold you firmly, making dents in the skin.
You don’t trust that voice, dismayed by what might lie under.
“Why did you do that to me?” you ask in return, and it’s a blue fire shooting out, engulfing the room in stifling heat. You catch a glimpse of its sparks in the dimness of his eyes, of how he’s momentarily stricken by it before it folds beneath the shadows.
“You want to get fucked by someone else?”
A question for a question.
You swallow down the lump in your throat, caused by your frustration.
Your devotion to him didn’t let you go as far as to imagine being fucked by his friend while Yoongi watched, but the brief flash of it in your mind is enough incentive for the heat to spill into you, mingling with the darkness, turning you candescent, traveling through you until it finds your core—and there, it stays. There, it finds home.
The pulse on your clit returns, filling you with abrupt energy.
There’s something about him coming up with it that makes you unhinged, but you’re so utterly sick of the instability of your feelings. You need it to stop.
“And what if I do?” you retort. “What will you do?”
Truthfulness, at last.
Yoongi takes in a sharp inhale of breath, and that is the only reaction you receive from him. Nothing else on his face flickers; no wrath, no sliver of jealousy, not one thing. You stare at an empty canvas, ready for you to paint on. And you simply decide that you want to start.
You push his hand away from your face. Stand up to your feet. But the hardened look he gives you inclines you to sit back down.
You fight against it.
Untangling the knot on your robe, you let him see your bare femininity. The perkiness of your breasts, the long dip of your stomach that he likes to pepper kisses on. Yes, you’re aiming for his weakness.
And you decide to repeat history.
You reach your hand down, lower and lower while he stares you down, and you collect your glimmering essence. Sinking your finger into your mouth, you make a show of rolling your eyes back and moaning faintly, softly. Your other hand, in the meantime, unbuttons his pants.
The breath Yoongi inhaled hitches in his throat.
“Is this not evidence enough?” you purr, dragging down his zipper. “How else am I supposed to show you?”
You pull his manhood out as you suck on your finger, all while maintaining eye contact. You don’t touch him beyond that. In fact, you withdraw your hand altogether.
And then, you collect your essence again.
This time, you smear it across his bottom lip. Yoongi lets you. Your heart thuds, threatening to jump out of your chest.
“Your actions during the video call told me everything,” you whisper, catching the sliver of wooziness scattering along his narrowed eyes. “And I think you liked it more than me—the thought of sharing me. You can’t hide it. Not when I saw it.”
Yoongi growls. Then, he surprises you.
He parts his lips for you.
And the contact of the pad of your finger with his wet tongue coaxes a string of your dewiness to drip down the side of your thigh. You moan for him. Relieved, fucked up, woozy just the same. Finally, finally, finally.
You’re in charge. And it feels divine.
His length twitches against the fabric of his T-shirt. Long, hard, drooling. Such a delight for you—and so you continue.
“I also think it made you hard. Not just because you called me when I was touching myself, but because your friend was right there beside you,” you purr, your voice a seductive sound of silk—leading him to wrap his lips around your digit. You moan for him, showing him how much you like that. “Isn’t that right, baby?” Your walls clench at the pet name, solely due to the fact that these soft terms of endearment have always been addressed to you, never the other way around. It thrills you. “I’d always be devoted to you, even if he fucked me. I’d look at you the entire time. If that’s what you want. I had a different idea, but yours is just—” you pause, and again you make a show of sighing and rolling your eyes back, “better.”
A straight hit to his core. A glee for you.
But you don’t realize how much you fucked up until Yoongi grips your waist and the hold hurts enough that you wince.
And then—then he manhandles you.
Lifting you and laying you down on the table, Yoongi spreads your legs. Watches you drip, watches as the satiny fabric follows the movement of your limbs and reveals you in all your entirety. He pulls you closer to him with a sharp tug until you collide with the tops of his thighs. Bends over you. Hovers his lips above yours. You expect him to kiss you—he even angles his head and rubs the side of his nose against yours—but he never does.
He only leaves you waiting. Leaves you submitted to your empty expectations, taking charge, taking his control back from you. You shiver in anticipation, reaching for him, however he pins your hands down on either side of you. An angel in a rose garden.
Yoongi chuckles, darkly, his teeth glinting in the yellow light. You fight against his hold, hips rolling against the underside of his length, beckoning him to do something, anything. You merely manage to prolong the thunder of his laughter.
“One cock isn’t enough for her, so baby wants two,” he spits. That smirk, the crinkles around his eyes—he’s enjoying this. The hint of degradation doesn’t reflect what’s swarming inside of him, doesn’t reflect the face of pleasure coursing down his body. You smile and he scoffs. “I have enough friends for you to choose from in case you want more. I think you’d be stellar at taking three cocks. Four, even, huh? Would you have enough then? One in your tight little virgin ass, two in your cunt, one down your throat?”
You gulp, frozen, eyes widening.
Yoongi bites his shiny lips, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. Kisses you once. Begins to rock his hips, his length sliding across your wet fleshiness. The moan that escapes your throat trembles with each delicious motion.
“You watch too much porn, honey,” he coos, giving you tiny kisses on the mouth. “I’d kill anyone who would come near this pussy. And I’d kill Jungkook, too, if he so much as glanced at her.”
So that’s his name. You mewl, knitting your brows. That’s his pretty name. The entirety of your form shivers at the discovery, at the pleasure given to your throbbing clit.
Yoongi pulls back, setting your hands free.
You prop your elbows on the table, pouting. Yoongi grasps his length, spreads his arousal and begins to jerk himself off.
“You’re not fucking Jungkook. You’re mine.” He groans, squeezing his tip; your hole clenches. “Rub your clit.”
Like him, you spread your arousal on your seashell, the arousal long caused by his presence and now the mention of his name—the reason behind your frustration and his, the reason why you’re spread on the dining table, why your boyfriend is hard. You rub your clit from side to side, amused.
“No,” Yoongi disapproves, knowing you do the motion when you want to prolong the build-up. “Circles. Make yourself come.”
You change direction, obeying him. A sly grin blossoms on your lips, dark eyes looking up into his, permeating them, permeating into his soul. You pick up the pace, moaning into your expression of elation.
“Jungkook is such a pretty name,” you provoke and you heighten your sounds in volume and intensity just to piss him off, just to have your way.
A grunt escapes him, matching your pace. He wraps his fingers around your throat and squeezes. You hum.
“A pretty name to moan in my opinion.” A layer of sweat coats your body. Yoongi grasps your jawline firmly and your satisfied laughter inches you closer to your orgasm. You feel the hot flashes, roses surrounding you—its tender petals grazing your feverish skin. You give in, watching Yoongi do the same, his mouth in a tight line, hissing and sizzling, an open fire, an open fire you want to be radiated by, burned whole by. “Just imagine him here, watching us. Oh my god, imagine him knowing he’s the reason why you and I are doing this.”
Yoongi has had enough.
He pushes you down harshly. Fills your hole to the hilt without letting you adjust, observing himself disappearing inside of you and begins to pound you into the table. The sound of skin slapping, the hard and quick strokes, the ravaged grunts he lets out, the fast change—it all takes your breath away, so much that you can’t, in fact, breathe. He grabs your face and makes you look at him. The dead of the night captured in his features, you absorb it, whining like the brat you are onto his mouth, mingling into your noises your approval, your yes’.
Swallowing it, he kisses you, keeping his eyes open. “He could never fuck you like this.”
You laugh. He swallows that, too, moaning. “What if he could?”
He taps you on the cheek, a warning, giving you an exceptionally hard stroke that causes you to scream. He pauses. Does it again. Over and over—and your screams echo across the room, your own soul slipping out of your body. Petals flutter against you and you’re done for, hanging off the edge. You’re close, so terribly close. Your eyesight blurs and Yoongi pulls out entirely and rams into you. Again and again, abusing your cervix.
You moan his name, gone—entirely gone.
“Yes, moan my name like that. Just mine,” he mutters. “Who’s fucking you this good? Who’s gonna make you come?”
He rams into you more rapidly than before. Your senses leave you until all that you know is Yoongi. His name, his scent, the wholeness of the night encompassing him.
“You, Yoongi, you. Fuck, I—”
Yoongi laughs maniacally. “Yes, that’s right. That’s my good girl.”
He rolls his hips, slowing down the coming of your orgasm, owning you. Lets your senses come back to you momentarily. You swallow, your throat dry and you blink, dazed still. Yoongi kisses you, giving you all that he took from you.
“Who’s only capable of fucking you like this, honey, hm?” he asks, his voice tender and sing-song. “My pretty honey, so fucked out. So out of it.”
You whine and you don’t control what comes out of you, your body answering for you. “You, Yoongi. You’re fucking me so—so good. I can’t—fuck. You’re the only one.”
He smiles down at you fondly, kissing your nose, then your lips, parting your mouth and swirling his tongue around yours briefly. Then he withdraws, begins to fuck you again, slowly, reaching to the side for something.
Once you see his phone in his hand, your heart stops. And when he puts the device to his ear, your throat dries up even more. You suddenly become aware of the silence all around, especially in your chest. You can’t breathe, you can’t blink—
Yoongi jackhammers into you, purposefully luring your loud noises out of you. “My girlfriend wants to fuck you.”
You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut, the suddenness, the quickness of pleasure you haven’t yet felt piercing you. Fuck hot flashes and petals, you feel a heavy urge of your orgasm closing down on you.
“She’s so desperate for you, even when I’m fucking the life out of her.”
You flutter your eyes open to see Yoongi surveying you. You scrunch your face—so close, so fucking close—and then he puts the phone to your ear. Breathing, hard, ragged breathing fills all of your senses and you come.
It’s an explosion. Roses bursting, their dew soaking you and Yoongi whole and you exit. You exit out of this situation, this world, this universe while your soul remains here with them. Vibrancy, colors so beautiful and sensations so vivid, ardent and fierce. You don’t know what it is you’re feeling or where you are. That is, until Yoongi’s voice yanks you back to planet Earth, back into this world, this situation—back to them.
“In fact, she just came for you. Squirted.”
You sob. Overstimulated, rhapsodic, but effulgent. Yes, you emit light and glow. You can see it in Yoongi’s softened eyes.
“Think about it. No pressure. Just know she won’t shut up about you. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. I think it’s only right you fuck it out of her.”
With that, he hangs up.
You brim with so many emotions that it numbs you. Happy tears flow out of your tear ducts—and happily, endearingly, Yoongi chortles. You don’t even feel humiliation or shame. On the contrary, you’re ready to come again.
Yoongi kisses you and the sounds he slips into your mouth divulge how happy he is about this, how pleased he is with himself.
You pout, burning your eyesight into his. He begins to rut into you.
“What, you’re not even gonna thank me?” he says, grinning, as if he wasn’t fucking you at all, as if you two were still sitting at the dinner table, conversing.
You stammer, head empty, silencing yourself and trying again. “What—what made you change your mind?”
Yoongi places open-mouthed, wet kisses along the bone of your jaw, and there he seals his answer. “I made up my mind the moment you admitted you wanted to be fucked by him, but you wouldn’t shut up about him. I wanted to hear you babble for me. About me. I just had to mess you up to get to that point.”
You mewl, running your hands through his sweat-slicked hair. Like a cat, he perks up to your touch, lifting his head, angling it. He kisses you, deeply. Kisses your relief.
“Where are your manners, hm?” he whispers onto your mouth, giving you hard strokes that erase your vocabulary. You want to make him come and so you push against his thrusts, but to no avail. The intensity won’t allow you.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you murmur, cradling his face, pecking him, giving him the softest eyes you could muster so you can show him how much it means to you.
He approves of your effort on bettering your manners and to reward you, he lifts you up and fucks you in the air. Your breasts bounce against the material of his T-shirt, stimulating you and he alters between jackhammering into you and sliding you up and down on his length. Your pussy squelches around his girth, tightening and Yoongi—
Yoongi loses his mind.
And it’s him who begins to babble when you snap your hips down on him in circles.
“Just like that, honey, oh fuck. So good, so good for me.”
He takes it until his sounds grow in volume and you focus so much on his pleasure that you forget about yours.
But you don’t let him take charge.
“Let me fuck you, please, Yoongi. I wanna make you come.”
Just like you, he’s out of it and because of that, because you asked so nicely, he lets you.
His chest heaves, staccatos of his choked out breaths sail through the room and you can see it on his face that he’s close. Brows furrowed, bottom lip bleeding due to the way he bites hard on it, the way his mouth pops open and his eyes flutter closed.
You hold onto his neck with your dear life.
“Look at me,” you demand and swirl your hips in slow circles around his tip. “I want you to look at me when you come.”
You’re so stunned that he allows you to be in charge, even more when he truly does open his eyes and pierces his gaze into yours.
“I need to pull out,” he breathes, but you shake your head, snapping your hips down on him harshly.
“No, I want your cum in me. And I want it to be inside of me when Jungkook fucks me.”
Yoongi grunts and this is it for him. His cock twitches in you, over and over again and then you feel it—the hot, thick ropes of his cum stuffing you full. You’re so mesmerized by the feeling, by the blissfulness evident on his face, by the smoothness between his brows at last that you can’t even milk him dry. You’re frozen, stupefied by his beauty, by his personal rapture and you want to feel it in unity with him. You kiss him.
It’s him who fucks him cum into you, burying it deep, moaning into your lip lock.
It’s him who lays you down to your original position and briefly, feebly licks the sheen on your spread lips before devouring your clit.
It’s him who gives you the fastest orgasm of your life.
And it’s him who tells you—in the shower—the story of how he almost beat up Jungkook black and blue once he heard him say how pretty you are.
And it’s you who checks up on him.
“You sure you’re okay with this?”
You’re stroking his hair in the bed, the duvet heavy and warm around your body and his, the night overflowing into morning—Yoongi, too.
He’s falling asleep, but still conscious, still here with you, purring.
“I wouldn’t be waking him up in the middle of the night if I wasn’t,” he whispers, opening his eyes to look at you, to see you enveloped in the extra blanket of the dawn’s rosy light—glowing, throwing the sun off of its throne. “Poor guy just got out of the military and you’ve already rocked his world.”
You smile, fondly, thumb caressing his temple. Yoongi hums in appreciation.
“I’m happy for him he’s getting pussy—one that’s mine. Before he enlisted, he spent all his time painting and getting drunk alone,” he pauses in a thought, blinking at the light. “You still want this?”
You nod, settling into his chest. Yoongi pulls you closer, tucking the duvet into the lines of your form, bringing in comfort and sleepiness.
“I’ll make sure you have the time of your life. I’ll be here the whole time, taking care of you,” he promises against your hair and you squeeze him.
“He hasn’t said yes, though. He could turn me down.”
“I’ve seen the way he looked at you. You have nothing to fear. He’ll come to you like a puppy.”
Yoongi sinks the promise onto the plane of your forehead and holds you as you drift to sleep. Happy, relieved, steamed off of all the negative things you went through. It evaporates into the dawn—far, far away from you.
© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.
BACK to masterlist / READ part two
#yoongi x oc#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#yoongi smut#bts smut#bts imagine#yoongi imagine#min yoongi#bts scenarios#yoongi scenarios#yoongi fluff#btscreatorscorner#kpop smut#yoongi one shot#jungkook smut#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jeon jungkook#jungkook imagine
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BTS | MYG | FIC RECS
This list is probably one of the longer ones cause sheesh... I'm a sucker for cats 😭 I hope you'll enjoy the fics as much as I have and don't forget to tell the authors how much you've liked their work!!
Have some spices 😌...
Three Tangerines, @kithtaehyung (smut, brother's best friend, implied age gap au)
Illicit Favours, @yoongiofmine (Fluff, tiny angst, smut, non idol au. Friends to Lovers)
Oh, Darling!, @yoongiofmine (Series, fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, university au)
Predator, @liveyun (gangster au, smut)
Apricity, @liveyun (arranged marriage au, strangers to lovers)
Petals, @yoonia (parenthood au, fluff)
The devil wears Valentino, @orchidyoonkook (One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Age Gap, Slice of Life, Angst, Smut, Fluff)
Sugar, @zehakoo (strangers to lovers, neighbours au, fluff, smut)
Peaches in bed, @borathae (Smut, married life!AU, domestic!AU)
Yoongi's Lullaby, @jiminrings (unrequited love friends to lovers soulmate au)
Snow Blanket, @yoonieper (friends to lovers, fluff, smut)
A Wager of Lords and Love, @hisunshiine (regency era au, arranged marriage au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst)
By The Time I've Figured Out What It's Worth, @ugh-yoongi (est. relationship, marriage au, angst, smut, fluff)
Bad Things, @yoonia (Brothel!au, Street Fighter!Yoongi, Escort!reader)
Close Call, @xjoonchildx (smut, mafia AU)
The Little Things, @kth1 (Smut, 21+, Slice of Life, One Shot)
Sweet Morning, @7ndipity (slightly suggestive, implied smut, implied drinking, swearing)
Shy, @7ndipity (smut, unprotected sex, soft dom-ish Yoongi)
Hello Soulmate, @bluemari23 (soulmate au, soulmarks, fluff)
Celestial Ruin, @remedyx (Fantasy, Angst, Smut, Corruption)
Carnal Desires, @explicit-tae (smut, stripper reader, mafia/gangster yoongi, grinding, finger sucking)
Moonlit Throne, @hobidreams (smut, angst, fluff)
Desolate, @angelicyoongie (angst, fluff, eventual smut)
The Perks of Being a Househusband, @sunnebeam (marriage au, crack, domesticity, yoongi in his stay-at-home hubs era)
Give It To Me, @ki-yomii (smut, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), praise kink, dom!yoongi, established relationship, pet names)
#yoongi x reader#yoongi x oc#yoongi x you#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x oc#min yoongi x y/n#min yoongi series#min yoongi smut#yoongi scenarios#yoongi imagine#yoongi fluff
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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
#yoongi#min yoongi#suga#min suga#agust d#bts yoongi#bts min yoongi#bts min suga#yoongi x oc#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#min yoongi x oc#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi x y/n#min yoongi x you#min yoongi fluff#min yoongi smut#min yoongi angst#min yoongi fic#yoongi smut#yoongi fluff#yoongi au#bts fanfic#bts fic#yoongi scenarios#bts imagine#yoongi imagine#bts smut#bts x fem!reader
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slipping through my fingers [prologue] (myg)
pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst, fluff, smut
summary: you've always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it's time your luck ran out.
word count: 1.4k
warnings: none, you're all good > : )
The soft whirring sound of the radiator echoed through your cozy apartment.
It’s homey and comforting to hear the constant hum in the background. Sometimes, you’d leave the window open for the cold air to enter your space just so you had an excuse to use your radiator.
Still, you ought to get that fixed up before your ex-boyfriend lectures you about getting a new one already.
It was one of those days when time seemed to have slowed down. As you folded your daughter’s fresh laundry, you went over your tasks for the day.
You were in no hurry because for once, you had everything together.
The living room bathed in the sun’s golden hue.
Your daughter sat on her favourite spongy floor mat, completely absorbed in creating her new art piece. Her fingers were covered in pink, purple and white paint.
Momentarily pausing, you take note of what type of paint she used.
Acrylic.
You sigh. That would be a pain to clean off.
After putting away the laundered clothes, you remind your daughter to get into the bath.
You stood in front of her with your hand on your hips, “Nao, do you want mommy to run you a warm bath or would you rather shower?”
She simply hums.
“Mommy needs to shower too. You better get in there…” You walk away after adding, “Before I do.”
At that, Naomi instantaneously stops and rushes into the bath.
Naomi was a lot like you. She hated using wet bathrooms, as do you. But motherhood had changed you. Now, you’d do just about anything for your daughter.
As if you just remembered, you yelp, “Hold on! Let me clean the paint off of you first.”
You didn’t want your pristine white bathroom tiles to stain.
After bathing and dressing your daughter in a sage green cotton dress that you stitched yourself, you decide to let her watch TV even though it isn’t time for that just yet.
“Is daddy coming to get me today?” Naomi’s enthusiastic voice stopped you. It’s a bittersweet moment for you. On one hand, you’re happy that your daughter’s happy, on the other, you’re reminded that Yoongi and you aren’t together anymore.
“Of course, he is. It’s Friday!” You match her tone. She perks up and resumes watching the Barbie movie you put on for her.
Naomi would be distracted for a good thirty minutes now.
That does not leave you a lot of time for your ‘everything’ shower, but you were aiming high either way.
While in the shower, you let your thoughts wander to Yoongi.
He suggested you have dinner together because he had a few things to discuss with you.
You don’t think too much of it. It’s probably something about his upcoming business trip. You’ve got everything covered either way.
Your breakup was… inevitable. It wasn’t mutual at first, but you knew it’s where you were headed to.
After five years of dating, while simultaneously parenting Naomi, you wanted to get married. Yoongi didn’t.
You yearned for the validation and commitment of marriage, while Yoongi held steadfast to his belief against it. He refused to confine himself to a traditional marriage.
When you opened up to him about your insecurities about him leaving you for someone else, he grappled to reassure and console you. It worked for about a month.
Your differences, once manageable, had now grown into impossible divides, creating a rift that stretched beyond mere disagreement.
Self-doubt and a lack of validation destroyed your relationship.
The water had almost run cold by the time you finished your shower routine.
You pick out a sage green dress for yourself, similar to Naomi’s, just longer.
In no hurry, you moisturize and blow-dry your hair.
Even though you’re broken up, you still try to dress up for him. You don’t know why.
Apart from some lingering stares, there hasn’t been any sign of a reconciliation since you broke up. Yet, you always try to look good for him.
Although, that’s just who you are. You’d dress up for anyone. But, it’s still different with Yoongi. You especially enjoy his compliments.
The doorbell rang, forcing you to hurry and spritz on the first perfume bottle you touch.
“Don’t open the door! You don’t know who it is!” You warn Naomi, but to no avail.
He’s early today.
Naomi races you to the door, “It’s daddy!” You let her win. You rush to tidy up the living room as you walk to the door.
“You’re so early!” Your daughter clings to his leg. Yoongi laughs and drags his foot in.
“How are my girls feeling?” He smirks at you. “A little troubled now that you’re here.” You bicker.
Yoongi vocalizes a groan, “Why’s mommy so mean to daddy?” He directs it to Naomi.
You smile and wait by the coat hanger stand to receive his jacket.
The apartment feels a little livelier every time he stops by.
“Why are you here so soon? I haven’t even begun cooking yet.” You walk into your kitchen to quickly gather ingredients to prepare a fresh pasta dough.
“No reason.” Yoongi cleared his throat, “Let me help you cook.” You gladly accept his help.
You assign both Nao and Yoongi to make the sauce and the salad.
Soon, your kitchen was filled with the clatter of pots and pans and laughter.
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
After dinner, Naomi spends time watching TV and working on her masterpiece.
In the serene quiet of your kitchen, the clinking of dishes echoed softly as you and Yoongi worked in unison, a familiar rhythm of cleaning up after a shared meal.
The warmth of the evening meal lingered; the comforting ambiance contrasted with the weight of the impending conversation.
Yoongi sighed for the fifth time that evening before you finally asked him, “What is it you wanted to talk about? Is everything okay?”
As you wiped a bowl dry, you stole a glance at Yoongi, noticing the hint of unease in his demeanour. Your heart fluttered with a sense of foreboding, sensing something amiss.
Yoongi paused for a moment; his hands still submerged in soapy water. "I... I have something I need to tell you."
You laughed uneasily, “I know. Spit it out already. You’re worrying me.”
The air around you felt heavier.
You set down the dishcloth, turning to face him, a sense of apprehension settling in.
Yoongi stared back into your eyes.
"I... I'm getting engaged," Yoongi finally uttered, his words hanging heavily in the air.
WHAT?
The world seemed to pause for a moment as you tried to process his words.
Your chest tightened, emotions swirling within you—a mix of surprise, disbelief, and an (un)expected pang of sorrow.
You searched his eyes for reassurance, for any sign of hesitation or doubt.
"Engaged?" Your voice was barely a whisper.
You’re hoping he misspoke. Maybe he’s getting engraved or encased or embraced.
Yoongi nodded, his expression a blend of remorse and an unspoken plea for understanding. "It's been on my mind for a while."
“Has it, now?” You scoffed.
WOW, really?
You didn’t even know he was seeing someone like that.
Even though you’re broken up, you feel cheated on in some way.
“I don’t know what to say.” You deadpan.
Your conversation was interrupted by the distant sound of Naomi's laughter, a stark reminder of the delicate balance you maintained for your daughter's sake.
"I wanted you to know first," Yoongi added softly, his eyes a mosaic of regret and an unspoken apology. One that you don’t want to acknowledge or accept.
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you look down at your floral dishcloth.
You have a lot of questions but you don’t really want answers to all of them.
Yoongi feels ashamed of himself. But he knew he’d have to have this conversation with you someday. The sooner the better. He thoroughly beat himself up for this too.
You excused yourself promptly, “I’ll check on Nao.” Yoongi simply nodded.
Alone in the quiet of the short hallway that connects the kitchen to your living room, you leaned against the wall. A mix of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself against the ache in your chest.
₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ in my dreams by red velvet ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡
note: this is a self-indulgent drabble series i'm writing, nothing is planned and i'll just write as i go
i hope u guys enjoy it!
find the series masterlist here.
#fic: slipping through my fingers#yoongi x reader#yoongi fic#yoongi smut#yoongi x oc#yoongi fanfic#bts angst#bts x reader#yoongi x you#min yoongi x reader#suga x reader#suga fic#suga angst#min yoongi smut#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x oc#dilf yoongi
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schemin’ | myg (m) MASTERLIST
➥ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader
➥ SUMMARY: Your dream comes true when world renowned music producer and CEO of D-Town Records, Agust D, discovers you in the underground rap scene and wants to sign you to his label. It all goes well for a few months and you can’t believe you’re actually living your dream. However, things start to shift when Agust D offers to do something for you and you can’t stop thinking about it for weeks to come. Your boyfriend doesn’t like it one bit.
➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ slow-burn
➥ CATEGORY: series
➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, infidelity, boss/employee, sexual tension (a lot of it), slowburn, ethically questionable, strong language, (kinda) fake!romance, y/n inner dialogue, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, cocky!yoongi, reader is v impulsive and v dumb at times, dark themes, mentions of misogyny, gonna add more later, minors DNI
➥ TOTAL WORDCOUNT: 70.2k
➥ STATUS: completed
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©dollfaceksj // edited by me
song: legacy of new boyz – schemin’
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♢ ✄…
➸ cross-posted to ao3.
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forest bride — myg
FOREST BRIDE | Min Yoongi | Oneshot | Requested by Anon
Original Request: hii i would like to request an arranged marriage au that turned out as a healthy relationship, unlike where oc came from y'know family full of mistreatment and favoritism. any member is fine! thank u!
Plot: The business transaction of a marriage between two previous warring clans takes an unexpected turn.
Pairing: Yoongi x OC (Name: Kiku)
Genre: Historical Inspired | Arranged Marriage
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 8.9k
Warnings: emotionally distanced family dynamics, emotional abuse and bullying from family members, minor character death (mentioned), angst, explicit sexual content (unprotected, gentle).
Author's Note: This was soo much fun to do! I hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this <3
Kiku was a quiet daughter amongst children of four in the Moon Clan. She was in the middle of the line of birth, often keeping to herself while her father doted on her brothers and her mother babied Hanaka, her sister. Kaito, the oldest son of their family, was the only person who ever paid attention Kiku.
He taught her how to play the Koto when they were younger. The soft plucking of strings were the only sounds she made in her household. Her mother, Keiko complimented the sound with the assumption that it was Hanaka. When Kaito explained that it was Kiku, their mother pointed the lack of precision at the ends of each verse.
Kiku felt safe and comforted under the wing of Kaito.
But fate had other plans.
Kaito grew sick after a hunting wound turned gangrenous and the winter only worsened his condition. When he passed, Kiku felt the searing and back-breaking weight of her family's scrutiny.
Suddenly she was no longer Kaito's companion. She was a mouth they didn't want to feed.
On the fresh cusp of spring, her parents unceremoniously announced her arrangement to marry the chief of the Onyx clan. Their rival.
"Kaito said they were dangerous," Kiku said as she knelt on the ground of their main living area. Her parents stared down at her while Hanaka and their younger brother Haruki sat on the cushioned mat.
"Kaito isn't here. Don't name him when we haven't finished mourning, stupid girl," Keiko spoke through gritted teeth.
"You will marry Chief Min Yoongi and give this family an important alliance," Daiki said with a finality to his tone.
The Onyx Clan was notorious for raiding other clans, enslaving their high-born families and treating any foreign spouses like dirt. Preventing them from causing any problems in the Moon Clan was to keep them at bay with something that they didn't think was a risk.
Keiko would never send Hanaka to a place like that. Perhaps Kiku was prepared specifically for this very alliance, forcing themselves not to love her so they could make a difficult decision. Perhaps that was just her own heart trying to find a glimpse of love in a place that had none for her since the beginning.
Kiku lowered her head in a solemn acceptance, her dress still black and her heart still raw from mourning the only family member who loved her. "I will do as you wish."
-
The wedding flourished during a misty, cold morning just at the skirts of dawn where purple kissed the edges of the mountains. Kiku wore a white dress of pretty silk, embroidered in both ivory and crimson thread as if the cloth bled. A white veil laid over her head giving the world around her more of a misty vision.
They held the wedding in the central border between the Moon and Onyx Clan. There was a gentle plain where it was decorated with flowers, divided with wood and a tea set prepared on a small wooden table. Her father walked her over to the table.
Kiku forced herself not to look at her groom just yet. Instead staring at the teapot in front of them, spouting a plume of steam with the faint hint of jasmine and honey in her nose. Tea ceremonies during weddings were a common tradition amongst both clans. Thankfully, it was a tea that Kiku enjoyed but the symbol of it dawned on her like a heavy weight on her back.
Sharing tea with a man outside her family was a sign that she was now connected to him. Bonded to him. A man that Kiku hadn't even looked at yet. So she gained some bravery within herself and stared up.
Min Yoongi wasn't a large man but he was taller than her. In this vulnerable state, he looked like a looming statue. It wasn't necessarily his stature but his presence that created weight. His black eyes pierced deeply into her as if peeling off layers of every protective sense she had of herself.
A deep scar ran down his eye, making it a little greyer than the left eye. His lips were pursed and a little pink while his pitch black hair was long to the nape. Short hair was often a sign of a deadly warrior. Someone who killed many without mercy and had little honour. At least that was what her parents told her.
The esteemed monk stepped to the front of the altar and began to recite ancient chants of a bonding ritual. Kiku tried to focus on the words but she couldn't stop keeping Yoongi's gaze. His eyes softened just then when she wasn't loosening her gaze either. As if he was waiting for her to look at him.
For a brief moment, Kiku noticed something gentle behind that demeanour. Or perhaps it was yet again her mind tricking her into feeling something positive when her world was turning upside down and she couldn't do anything about it. Yoongi glanced briefly over to the monk as they stepped to the table.
He waved his hands as he spoke his chants before gesturing to a young boy.
It was the father's duty to pour the tea. So Daiki poured it with a solemn face, almost bored. The waft of jasmine and honey coated her nose, giving her some comfort.
The groom shared his tea with the bride first. Yoongi's hands were veined heavily as if he were training in the dark hours of the morning before coming here. He reached out carefully, slow enough so Kiku didn't feel shocked. He pulled at the fabric and revealed her face, the cold morning breeze kissing her heated up skin.
Yoongi picked the tea cup, softly placing the brim of the cup to her lips.
Kiku kept her eyes on him right until she felt the warm honey touch of the tea on her tongue. She slowly pressed her lips together as he pulled the cup away. Just as Yoongi's cup clinked down, she picked up her own cup.
Yoongi lowered his head a little, making it easy to her to gently tip the cup. He took a sip, his throat bobbed up and down before she placed it back on the table.
The ceremony had been sealed. Even as Kiku foolishly tried to look back and say goodbye to her family, her mother was already fixing Hanaka's hair and her father continued speaking to Haruki. Niether of them gave any indication that they wished for a goodbye so Kiku turned back without a word.
Yoongi held her hand, just barely brushing at first to ensure Kiku would respond.
Kiku curled her fingers around his, allowing him to fully intertwine together before making way to the horses.
Yoongi clasped her waist, pushing her up to sit on the horse. Then he sat behind her, grabbing the reins as the scent of rain wafted in Kiku's nose.
The air turned wet to the touch and she noticed the darkened splotches on the tree bark of a soft drizzle slowly turning to gentle rain.
"Are you sure you don't want to speak to them?" Yoongi uttered his first question as her husband and Kiku wasn't sure how to respond or feel.
Kiku glanced briefly at her family, seeing Haruki rubbing his brow in boredom while her mother was still having a conversation with Hanaka, touching her chin. Still none of them tried to look her away. "It's alright."
Yoongi didn't order the horse to move for a few minutes before a small hum vibrated through his chest, tingling her back. "Very well," he said. He made a clicking noise and the horse began to gallop at a steady pace.
The forest that was considered Moon Clan's territory was an identical stream of teal leaved trees and small wildflowers, clustered amongst light brown mushrooms and wet lands. Kiku enjoyed walking through them purely because it was peace outside of her household.
However, Onyx Clan's territory harboured something so different that it almost felt magical. There were still those collections of teal leaved trees that wafted a sweet scent. Other than that, she saw patches of yellow and pink flowers, flat mushrooms that blushed at the edges and pretty deep green vines that wrapped around dark tree bark.
The sun began peeking a sharp light at the edge of the mountains, making the distant rivers look like melted gold.
The Onyx Clan itself was a beautiful village, with calmly sleeping cows and horses in their stables. Night food stalls open for business as families were out to eat chilli noodles and honeycomb candy. Moon Clan was so used to clean diets and fresh fish that the deep, spiced notes of the stalls overwhelmed Kiku, reminding her even more than she wasn't in her old household anymore.
People of the Onyx Clan gave way when they noticed Yoongi riding into the village. Their faces filled with smiles and excited whispers as they noticed her white dress. A little girl waved shyly at her.
Kiku hesitated but waved back with a faint smile.
As they arrived to the main cluster of houses for the high-born Min family, Kiku saw a group of people waiting for them.
Yoongi jumped off the house with a thud before gently holding onto Kiku again and helping her onto the ground as well. A small set of stairs led up to the cluster of houses.
When they reached, the older woman in centre gave a kind smile. By the way she was dressed in a beautiful silk kimono and the way Yoongi bowed low when seeing her, Kiku knew she was the matriarch of the family. Seeing so much kindness after her grief was something Kiku hadn't prepared herself to expect. So for a moment, she felt lost and unable to respond. She managed to give a wide enough smile.
"Bloody hell, Yoongi, you scared the shit out of her," a young woman from the side chuckled. Not in mockery but just jovial nature.
"Yun," the older woman reprimanded with a serious expression. "Manners." She turned back to Kiku with a smile. "Sorry, my dear, I understand you're in a new place. And our clans haven't had the best relationship but you are family now." She reached out and touched her hand.
Kiku could've been moved to tears at a warm mother's touch but she kept herself strong.
"My name is Hwayoung," she said. "These are my daughters Nari and Yun. I have a son named Yeong but he's away on a trip and will return tomorrow."
Kiku nodded. "It's lovely to meet you."
Hwayoung's flickered to Yoongi. "Let's have dinner and then you both can go rest."
After their dinner concluded and Kiku's belly was warm, they convened back to their bed chambers.
Kiku was given night dresses and also new clothes for the next few days. Especially since her family didn't give her any dress to take except for one.
For a while, the room was left empty with just Kiku watching the fire flicker before skimming through the books laid upon the mantle. It was mostly war and history stories along with some manuals on mastering the sword. Kiku wished she had some books on the Koto to play and fill her days that didn't have to do with having Yoongi's children. But she wasn't sure.
Hwayoung and Yoongi's sisters seemed nice enough but there was no way of telling whether it was a momentary ruse. After all, they couldn't be rude to her in front of everyone. Although a part of Kiku wanted to believe that their kind faces were genuine.
The door then clicked open. Yoongi walked through, wearing a relaxed black silk shirt and his hair tousled as if he had just taken a bath. He closed the door behind him, expression taken aback for a moment as if he hadn't expected someone in his bed chambers before softening.
"Do you have everything you need?" Yoongi asked.
"Yes, thank you." Kiku walked forward to him as he sat at the edge of the bed. She didn't say anything yet but Yoongi's throat bobbed up and down.
Stammering, he said. "We can just sleep."
Kiku blinked curiously. Of all the things she expected, this wasn't one of them. It was relieving that he was kind but to completely let her adjust to the new place was not on the list of expectation. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure," Yoongi said, keeping his eyes on her. "It's been a long day. We should both rest."
Kiku intertwined her fingers together and nodded, feeling a strange warmth in her chest. "Alright. Good night."
-
In the morning, Kiku awoke to an empty space in her bed. When one of the maidservants entered to serve her, she explained that Yoongi went out to train early in the morning just before breakfast to keep him awake.
Kiku hoped she didn't look scared to deter him into performing any marital duties. Perhaps throughout the day, she could try to comfort him. She knew what she was getting into.
After taking a warm bath with the maidservant being surprisingly gentle and kind, Kiku was called into breakfast by Hwayoung.
The Min family gathered under a gazebo structure made from black wood. It was round and the food laid out smelled like home in a place that hadn't been her home for a full day yet. Baked fish, soups, rice, fruits for sweetness. It was a spread for something that usually rushed in her family. Or at least Kiku would have to eat quickly.
Kiku sat down next to Yoongi while Yun and Nari continued on their conversation. Yoongi's brother, Yeong came in from his trip and he looked a softer compared to his older brother and smiled often. Usually making jokes with his mother.
Yoongi ate fish and seemed to prefer the soups over rice.
While the others were deep in their conversation, Kiku leaned in slightly. "How was training?" she asked.
Yoongi looked up, again a little shocked but quickly softened. "It was good."
"Yoongi gets quite sore after his training, Kiku," Yun said with a small smirk. "Maybe later in the afternoon, you should give him a massage. Lord knows he needs a good one."
Yoongi glared for a moment but Kiku found it endearing.
"Yun," Hwayoung reprimanded but with a playful air this time rather than the disciplinary one of last night. "Kiku should not be forced to do anything she doesn't want to."
Kiku stammered. "I'm alright with it. I used to give shoulder massages to my brother all the time."
Yoongi cleared his throat. "It's really alright." He nodded.
Kiku smiled politely, lowering her head.
"Perhaps Kiku should come spend the day with us since brother insists on being boring," Yun said.
"I am new here," Kiku said.
"A tour then," Nari said.
Hwayoung perked up. "You can take her down to the markets and get some silks or jewellery. There's lots of music playing there too."
Kiku blinked curiously. "Would there be any Koto players?"
"You like the Koto?" Hwayoung asked.
"My brother taught me how to play." Kiku's heart clenched at the mention of him again. It had been so lovely to be in a place like this. How nice would it have been if their family all spoke so easily to one another.
"That's sweet. How is your brother now?"
"He's passed away," Kiku said.
"I'm sorry, my dear." Hwayoung's eyes turned sad. Both of empathy for her but something else. "I lost my husband a while ago as well. I understand it can feel empty." The table turned quiet for a few moments to remember their father
"Thank you." Kiku's words were simple but Hwayoung didn't fully realise just how much comforting words directed at her. Like a warm, tight hug that she could cry into.
-
Kiku spent her time walking around with Yun and Nari as they explained all the ins and outs of the clan's main village. They had three smaller towns that used the same supplies and answered to Yoongi as Chief but this was the clan that Yoongi's ancestors had built and it was beautiful.
Nari took her to the bookshop and silk store. Kiku bought herself a pretty purple silk dress while also getting books on poetry that she used to enjoy listening to. A poetess would visit their clan when they were younger and Kaito would work in the shadow puppet shows to re-enact them.
It was one of the few things Kiku was allowed to watch with the family while helping Kaito work with the puppets.
Then they went to the food stalls. Kiku ate spicy dumpling noodles with mushrooms foraged from the forest. Apparently they helped with childbearing as the old woman stated, clearly knowing that it was going to be her who bears the next Chief. Kiku hadn't quite let that sink in but even when she did think about it, it wasn't a horrible thought.
Kiku, Yun and Nari then made their way to the training grounds once their bellies were full and their cheeks hurt from laughing. Kiku hadn't laughed or smiled like this since Kaito made jokes to cheer her up. While they did bicker, Yun and Nari seemed like they were close and loving to one another.
Kiku wondered if Hanaka and her would have ever been like that if their mother didn't get involved so much.
At the centre of the training grounds, Kiku saw Yoongi training with his younger brother Yeong. He spoke instructions for Yeong to follow, keeping one hand behind his back as if to hinder himself from making any strong moves. Yeong kept his hands tight on the hilt of the sword, swinging right against Yoongi's parries as the clang of steel whistled in the air.
Kiku found herself seeing the concentrated scrunch of his dark brows, sharp jawline a little clenched as he parried another attack. His black hair was tied back with chunks of it falling over the frame of his face. "He does this every morning."
Yun hummed. "You like what you see?"
Kiku cleared her throat. "It's nice he's teaching his brother."
"Yeong should focus on his studies too but he keeps running to brother for more training," Nari said. "Yoongi never refuses. He likes training for no reason."
"Ever since father died, brother trains constantly. There's no war but he always says there might be danger," Yun said. "Even with your alliance, he's still weary." Nari quickly nudged her arm and for the first time, Yun felt a little uncomfortable.
Kiku pursed her lips together. She wondered if Yoongi was suspicious that her father would run an attack on them regardless of their alliance. While Kiku was a small risk to lose in the family, her father still may break the deal. She had little trust in her father and wouldn't be surprised if he wishes to prove some kind of point.
As she shifted in and out of her thoughts, Kiku saw Yoongi turn to notice them watching. Notice her watching. Kiku tried to look down at the wrapped silk dress in her arms, hoping it wouldn't look too suspicious. Yoongi turned to tell Yeong to take a break before making his way over to Kiku.
"Looks like your husband wishes to speak to you." Yun smirked, returning to her demeanour as if nothing happened. She pushed Nari towards Yeong to speak to him instead.
Yoongi raised his brow as his sisters rushed away. Beads of sweat had formed on his hairline as he met Kiku's gaze. "They didn't bother you too much?"
Kiku was shocked by what sounded like a genuine question. "No. They were lovely. They showed me around the main town."
"I can see that," Yoongi said before giving his sword away to a servant. "Come with me."
Kiku nodded and followed him out of the training grounds.
They moved from the training grounds back into the cluster of houses where the Min family resided. Yoongi escorted her to their personal house and Kiku wondered whether Yoongi wanted to pursue their marital duties now that he was given time.
It was strange but Kiku's heart pounded not quite out of fear or worry. It was simply curiosity and perhaps even a little excitement. Everything Yoongi had done so far was give her comfort.
As they entered the main house, a beautiful polished Koto stood in the living area.
Kiku's breath caught in her throat as she looked at the Koto which had beautiful ivory finishes and a soft chair to sit on while playing. "Is this for me?" she asked in a low tone.
"You said you used to play Koto. I figured you'd like to play in your free time," Yoongi said. "Your parents didn't pack much for your trip." He shrugged.
Kiku's lips parted as she reached out and touched the Koto. Memories of playing with her brother and learning every note with him burst in her like sweetness. Tears formed a thin gloss on her eyes, as she took a deep breath.
"Is it alright?" Yoongi asked.
"It's perfect," Kiku said. She turned and smiled. "Thank you. You didn't need to do that."
"It was nothing," Yoongi said. "It's your home now too."
Kiku nodded as her heart swelled.
"Also if my mother starts giving you too many lessons, I can get you a secret room."
Kiku let out a small chuckle. "It's okay. I'd like a lesson."
Yoongi pressed his lips together, a hint of a soft smile forming on his features which only made Kiku's heart warm.
-
Kiku's time in the Onyx Clan was far more pleasant and loving than she ever expected. Before she even realised, four months had passed. Kiku spent days with Yun and Nari, had meals with Hwayoung and then spent a quiet night with Yoongi. It was still innocent between the two of them but she enjoyed those quiet moments sharing things about their day. Yoongi still didn't speak on any personal things and Kiku didn't want to pry on how he got the scar on his eye or about his father's death. But it was still nice.
Kiku nearly forgot that she had another life prior to these few months. It was only when her younger brother, Haruki came to visit the clan. Discomfort returned to her chest, aching and making her twitch. She barely spoke to Haruki and every time they had a conversation, it was malicious. Haruki found joy in insulting her and demanding her to do things as a way to mimic their father.
Kiku reminded herself that she wasn't in that place anymore. This was her home too. She wore her new purple silk dress and pinned her hair up while the servants prepared a tea set on the floor table.
Haruki entered the private house as escorted by the servants. A childish grimace on his face as always but his chest puffed to look like father.
Kiku kept sited at the table.
Haruki stood over her for a few moments as if waiting for her to stand. "You wouldn't bother to see your brother at the border."
"You've come at a busy hour," Kiku said. Truthfully, she wanted to be in the warm comfort of her home to breathe easy and hide her shaking fingers. "What did you need?"
Haruki scoffed and sat down, tapping the side of the teacup. "Father's dead."
Kiku had little love for her father but she still sit in a moment of silence, unable to know what do with the news. "What happened?"
"We need more supplies," Haruki said, ignoring her question.
It was courtesy anyway so she didn't ask again. "The Moon clan has spare granaries for those occasions."
"We have an alliance." Haruki eyed her up and down. "I'd expect you to tend to it since you're clearly not tending to any children."
"What happened to the granaries, Haruki?" Kiku asked, emphasising his name.
Haruki pursed her lips, keeping his eyes on her gaze and waiting for her to look down. When she didn't, Haruki's face twitched. "We'd been using it."
"For what?"
"That's none of your concern," Haruki said.
"So not emergencies then," Kiku said.
"You can't speak to me that way." Haruki chuckled bitterly.
"I'm the Lady of this territory and your older sister, I can speak to you in whatever tone is necessary." Kiku narrowed her gaze. "What happened?"
Haruki tightened his jaw like a stubborn child. "We'd been taking from it for the banquets. Father and mother celebrated a lot because you were gone."
"And after brother's death," Kiku said.
"Don't talk about brother."
"He was my brother too. More a brother than you ever were."
Poison laced in his voice. "Kaito spent time with you because he felt bad for you. You were this pathetic thing crouching around everywhere. The only time people said anything nice about you was in order to fuck you. Don't pretend you were someone special to him or Yoongi." Haruki gestured to the door. "He's not even willing to put a baby in you." He chuckled.
"I don't appreciate being spoken for, Chief Min," Yoongi's deep voice shook through the room.
Haruki turned his head, expression turning sour.
Yoongi walked into the house, shadows forming harsh lines on his face as something dark flashes across his expression. For a moment, he looked like the exact nightmarish image of what the Moon clan thought of the Min family. Even barefooted steps added a heavy echo in the air that it sent chills down her own spine despite the fact she knew this demeanour wasn't for her intimidation. "You can have your supplies at the border."
Haruki deflated as if letting out a sigh of relief. "I should've gone to you first then, Chief. It seems I expected too much of my silly sister." He gave a triumphant smile to her.
"Of course, she made the mistake of thinking you were far too competent." Yoongi intertwined his fingers together, veined and hardened from training.
Haruki's expression turned again, cheeks reddening. "Excuse me?"
"Don't worry, I won't make that mistake." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Perhaps we'll have a charity basket at the border."
Haruki stood to his feet quickly, shaking and trembling like a little boy. "You go too far."
"Do I? Because it seems as if you've come here asking for more than the agreed alliance and proceeding to disrespect my wife," Yoongi said. "The way I see it, giving you a charity basket is more mercy than you deserve currently. I suggest you take it quietly."
Haruki had all the inflated confidence their parents bloated into him from childhood. If he was even the slightest bit stupider, he would speak and in a brief second of that stupidity, he almost did. But then he glared at Kiku. "You'd let him talk to your family like that?"
Anger spread through her chest. Now he wanted to be family, when it benefited him. "If only you were true family then perhaps not."
Haruki grimaced, giving a softer glare to Yoongi before turning on his heel and stomping out of the house.
Kiku let out a deep, shaky breath as her spine began to ache from the tension. She closed her eyes and tried to catch her calm again, taking the scent of wood and warmth in her comfortable home. She heard Yoongi moving until she heard his hum right at her ear.
"Quite the unpleasant family you have," Yoongi mused.
Kiku couldn't help but let out a small, saddened chuckle. "Kaito was the only good one."
Yoongi turned and sat down next to her, shoulders pressed.
The heaviness gave Kiku a wave of comfort like the way his breath hit the back of his neck when they slept.
"If he comes again, I'll ask the guards to delegate him to me or my mother," Yoongi said. "There's no need for you to speak to them if you don't want to."
"You won't be burdened by them?" Kiku asked, turning her head and finding his face incredibly close.
"No one should speak like that to you especially not in our own house." Yoongi waved his hand.
Kiku smiled as her heart burst into little butterflies, creating a lump in her throat. She leaned in and pressed a small kiss on his cheek.
Yoongi turned his head just as Kiku was pulling away, their noses brushed against each other. Dark eyes pierced into her, keeping her still in her position even though her body ached for how close they were. Yoongi kissed her lips, shyly at first to help her adjust to the action.
The tantalizing warmth that passed through Kiku pushed her to lean into the kiss, cupping his cheek. Yoongi's hands held onto her lower back pulling her close until she was pressed flush against his chest.
His lips were hot against hers, keeping his grip on her firm but so soft and gentle. Yoongi only broke the kiss for a moment as Kiku caught a deep breath before pressing her lips again. She gripped onto the fabric of his shirt until Yoongi pulled her enough for her to straddle him completely.
Yoongi held her face in his hand, pausing their kiss again to move his lips down to her neck and jawline. Every ache that she felt from her encounter with Haruki melted away at his touch. He pulled at the pins of her hair, letting it fall down the trail of her back. His fingers traced the length of her spine, making her shiver. Tongue grazed over the soft spot on her neck as her hips began to sway against his own.
Yoongi let out a small groan, lifting his head up. His chest heaved in desperation, gripping onto her hair and keeping their foreheads pressed together.
Kiku reached in again but Yoongi kept her in place.
"Are you sure?" Yoongi asked in a rasped voice that made her tremble.
Kiku nodded. "I'm sure." She reached in and kissed him again, deeper and pleading to ensure he knew this was what she wanted.
But a knock on the door startled them.
Yoongi let out a small, frustrated sigh. "What is it?" he asked.
Kiku got off his lap slowly with a clear of her throat, trying to fix her hair as the door opened to a servant.
"Sorry, sire. Your mother needs your audience for something." The servant kept their head bowed as if already knowing the position he could've caught them in.
Yoongi turned and gave Kiku a soft look.
Kiku gave a reassuring smile, patting his arm before he got to his feet and walked away. Leaving her heart pounding manically.
-
Another week passed since their kiss. Yoongi wasn't distant necessarily but it did feel like nothing changed. Kiku wondered perhaps he didn't enjoy it. He was the Chief and had many choices of his own. Kiku was an alliance marriage. Any affection that they developed may have just been a spur of the moment as they lived under the same roof. Despite all the explanations she's made in her head, it still twinged something in Kiku. With the kindness received from Yoongis family, she imagined that something would be wrong. She traded a kinder family for a husband that didn't quite enjoy her affection. She'd take it though.
This morning, the family sat around the table for breakfast. Yoongi gave her a glance here and there but it was still distant. Kiku tried to smile back but he immediately looked away.
"So Kiku has been immensely calm these past few days," Yun said, a smirk playing on her lips. "Ma says it's often a sign of...something on the way." Her eyes flickered down to gesture to her stomach.
Kiku's cheeks burned, stammering. "No, it's not that." She shook her head. "I had my bleeding." She couldn't quite hide the slight disappointment in her tone. Kiku never thought about children especially with the experiences she had with her own family. But something about the silence from Yoongi made grasp at unnecessary desires of children or anything to melt off the ice between them.
Yun hummed, pouting. "That's a shame, I wanted nieces and nephews." She poked at her food, the light breeze making strands of her dark hair dance.
"Don't pressure them," Nari said, her tone serious. "They need to be relaxed when they do it."
"Girls, quiet." Hwayoung narrowed her gaze, letting out a defeated sigh. "Don't listen to them." She smiled. "These things take time."
Yoongi stayed silent and Kiku herself couldn't find anything to say but give a reassuring smile. Even though she worried Yoongi won't come near her a second time.
-
Kiku played her Koto in the afternoon while Yoongi was out supervising the patrol. Usually it would take him till evening to come back. But today he came in early, stomping and breathing out with frustration. A strange sight from someone who was so calm. Raven black hair glistened from sweat, patches of dust latched onto his skin and his jaw terribly tightened as if it might make break his teeth.
Strangely enough, it was relieving to see some emotion in Yoongi after all the distance. Kiku stood from the Koto. "What's wrong?" She asked gently.
"Your damn brother," he seethed. "His men attacked one of my scouts." Yoongi poured water into a goblet and chugged it.
Kiku's heart dropped. "What?"
"Apparently they'd been disturbing the peace. But they didn't plan for me to come." His scar looked deeper and darker when he was angry. "Mother was weary about them for a while but I didn't think they'd stoop to petty little violence."
Kiku lowered her head, almost in shame. Even though she felt more connected to Yoongi's family, her name and identity was still attached to the people she grew up with. It was embarrassing seeing others witness the pettiness that she endured her whole life. The same pettiness that Kaito hated. "I'm sorry," she said.
Yoongi stilled for a moment, dark brows furrowed as he turned to Kiku. "Why're you apologizing?"
Kiku stammered. "It's my family. They're like this, our parents made you all seem like monsters and Haruki would do anything to make himself feel like father would be proud." She shook her head.
"Well, that's their mistake, not yours." Yoongi spoke under her breath but Kiku clung to every word and kept it close to her chest.
She reached out and touched his arm. "Is there anything I can do?"
Yoongi stared at her deeply and so long that Kiku felt like layers of her soul were being peeled. Then he broke the gaze and tried to walk back to their bedroom. "No, it's okay."
Kiku's stomach clenched as once again, the ice began to form. But this time she wasn't going relent quietly. "Yoongi, you don't have to protect my feelings. If this is too much of a burden to you then I can leave."
Yoongi stopped, looking over his shoulder to her. The expression on his face, harsh. "What?"
Kiku dug her nails into her palms to give herself some form of strength. "I can handle my family, I've lived with them my whole life. But...I don't want you to be married to someone you don't truly want."
Yoongi's throat bobbed up and down. "Is that what you think?"
"I don't know," she spoke honestly. "I just know that you became distant after what happened and I—I'm unsure."
Yoongi fully turned his body around, stepping closer. "If you're unsure, then you talk to me."
"I can't speak my wishes so easily." Kiku's voice lowered as he moved closer until she could catch wafts of the forest from him. "It's not something I'm used to."
Yoongi's expression softened. He rubbed in between his brows. "I'm a little too used to my family just saying what they think." He looked up to her. "I'm sorry. I should've checked on you."
Kiki's stomach felt warm. staying silent for a moment just to ensure what she heard was right. Then she spoke in a small voice. "It's okay."
Yoongi took her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together turning her world into a burst of stars. "I will not make you go back to that place again." He muttered. "I want you here."
"You want me here?" She asked again, just to hear him say it so it could echo inside her whenever darker voices grew too loud.
"Right here. With me." Yoongi tightened his hold. "Will you do that?"
Kiku nodded, a burning behind her eyes. "I will, I promise." She smiled, touching his chest to make herself feel grounded again.
"We still need to deal with your stupid brother," Yoongi said. "He's quickly turning into a pest than an ally."
Kiku could spend years imagining Haruki as this invincible monster, similar to when they were children. But this was real now. Haruki wasn't Kaito. He was stupid and petty even when he tried to hurt her. There were a million ways to get rid of people like that. "I might have an idea."
-
As Kiku requested, Yoongi organized a meeting at the border between Onyx and Moon territory. A canopy was erected with a floor table where they all sat together. The edge of dawn painted the mountains and tree in a burnished gold and the scent of morning dew was the only comfort in Kiku's pool of anxiety.
She was prepared for this meeting and the decisions entailed but rarely had she spoken up to Haruki before. When Kiku tried, her mother or father would reprimand and punish her.
Even as Haruki walked to the canopy, she felt a prickle of being scolded in a few minutes. But she had push it down. She wasn't Haruki's sister here, she was a Lady of the Onyx Clan. The Chief's wife.
"This pompous meeting surely isn't about the little scuffle between scouts," Haruki said. "It's a bit of harmless fun."
Yoongi stayed silent.
"You brought your wife here too," Haruki looked Kiku up and down, making sure that he used a moniker disconnected to him.
"In regards to your previous demands, we're suggesting some changes in the alliance." Yoongi kept a calm tone even though Kiku saw the tightened grip of his hands.
Haruki chuckled. "If you don't want her anymore, just kick her out." He waved his hand. "One of your servants can have her."
Yoongi narrowed his gaze but kept his neutral expression. "As you commented on our child before, we had an idea on how to strength the bond between clans."
"And how is that?" he asked.
"Since you require our food supplies which we give to you out of kindness, we have a compromise," Yoongi said. "In exchange for our food, any child born from my wife will take the Chiefs title of the Moon clan."
Haruki's brows furrowed as his chest heaved. His glare turned to Kiku. "You put him up to this, didn't you, you bitch?"
"It was a joint decision," Kiku said, maintaining her calm demeanour. She was used to his insults. She wouldn't let it hurt her again.
"I won't agree to this, it's stupid." Haruki winced.
"Very well," Yoongi said. "Then I suggest you get your defences ready."
"What?"
"Your father must've told you how the Onyx Clan works." Yoongi began to muse and there was something... oddly satisfying about the tone. "My wolves haven't been out for a feed in a while."
"You'd attack your ally?" Haruki asked.
"Attacking my scout and disrespecting the Chiefs wife constitutes that you are breaking every rule in the alliance," Yoongi said and Haruki stayed quiet. "Giving you an alternate compromise is a mercy. I suggest you consider it. My soldiers won't care if you're a spoiled Chief who can't carry a sword properly."
Haruki grimaced, chin quivering in frustration. He looked over at Kiku, as if trying to get ready for another insult but he knew it was too late. Kiku was no longer the target to point insults at. One wrong move and Haruki loses his head along with the Moon Clan. This way they can keep their lives. Haruki was stupid but he was still too scared to die. "Fine. I accept your terms."
Yoongi hummed. "Thank you." He stood up and held onto Kiku's hand, helping her to her feet.
"What would've Kaito said about you turning your back on family?" Haruki asked, cutting into her in a place that ached like a thousand knives.
Kiku paused in place, gripping onto Yoongi's hand like her life depended on it as her heart panged in pain. Haruki knew nothing about what Kaito was like. It took her every strength and hope in her body not to throw scalding tea in his face for even insinuating that Kiku would do something to disappoint Kaito. Because Kaito wasn't like that. Kaito understood and listened. Haruki was a fool. Kiku straightened her posture, turned and looked Haruki straight in the eye. "Kaito wouldn't have caused a food shortage in the clan."
Haruki scoffed, pursing his lips together.
"Kaito did his duty, as I am. From where I'm looking, I'm not the one who made father die from disappointment." Kiku felt like a dam burst inside her as she let the words flow but seeing the Haruki's sour and pouty expression made it all worth it.
-
Kiku was able to breathe easy when they returned to their tent for the night. She walked over to her vanity and her maid immediately began taking pins out of her hair. She watched from the mirror as Yoongi unlatched his sword sheathe of his waist and began to pour himself a drink. The dark furrow of his brows prominent. Kiku raised a hand and smiled at the maid. "A moment, please."
The maid bowed and did as she asked, stepping out of the tent to give them privacy. Kiku took out the rest of the pins so her hair was fully open and relaxed. A dull throb formed on her scalp. She stood and made her way to Yoongi as he leaned forward on the table.
"He can be a lot to tolerate," Kiku said.
Yoongi took in a deep breath to calm himself down. "The way he talks to you, it's like you're complete strangers. Enemies, even."
Kiku swallowed the small lump in her throat. It was always normal to her, seeing the way family treated the one they didn't want with the exception of Kaito. But Yoongi valued family with his life. She could only imagine the kind of shock thrumming through him. "You have a good family. Some don't." She touched his arm. "But sometimes you find a better one."
Yoongi turned his head, his once sharp eyes now softened and sad. "If I've ever made you feel—"
"Not once." Kiku knew it like the breath she took. Yoongi and his family had been nothing but comforting and kind. She reached and pressed her forehead against his. It was almost involuntary but feeling him lean into it was the only answer she needed to keep still.
Yoongi turned his body slowly, letting their chest flush against one another before he leaned and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. His warm hand cupped her cheek softly like she was precious. He pulled away only to press kisses on her cheek and jawline, taking her into an embrace. He buried his face into the crook of her neck where the scent of jasmines wafted in his nose.
Kiku could fall asleep in this embrace. Her body and mind and every bruise in her heart soothed from the loving touch. She traced her fingers across the strands of his hair as if lulling the both of them to dreams. It was difficult to admit it in the past few months with the new changes and confusion. But today for the first time, she could surely say it.
Kiku felt loved.
-
The meeting had left Kiku and Yoongi tired for the evening. They rested their heads, nestled close as they tried to sleep. Tried was an effort Kiku persisted on as the hours went by. It wasn't quite a terrible night of troubling thoughts but an eagerness. She opened her eyes to see Yoongi with his eyes calmly closed, his lips a little puckered.
Kiku took a moment to watch him, reaching out a little to touch his cheek. He stirred slightly at her touch, but his eyes remained closed, his breathing steady and rhythmic. She pulled away with a defeated sigh, not wanting to wake him up. So she turned around and tried to drift off to sleep again.
It was only a few minutes later then she felt Yoongi shift, moving closer until his chest was pressed right against her back. His arm laid over her body, embracing her from behind. Kiku felt a wave of warmth and comfort wash over her as Yoongi tightened his hold.
"Can't sleep?" Yoongi asked.
Kiku hummed. "A little. It's okay, go back to sleep."
"I can be awake," Yoongis voice rasped as his face buried into the crook of her neck again. He began pressing kissing down the length of her shoulder. "Do you want me to be awake?"
Kiku smiled to herself, swaying her hips against him. "A little."
Yoongi chuckled lightly, the vibrations made her quiver in delight. He made Kiku lay on her back, climbing on top of her and sneaking between her legs. "Are you sure?" He whispered.
Kiku nodded. "I'm sure." She smiled against his lips before pressing a kiss on his bottom lip.
Yoongi kissed down the length of her neck, unravelling his night clothes and pushing up Kikus soft dress. He entered her gently, her snug walls hugging his tip before he kept pushing.
Kiku gripped onto his clothing as the sensation made her tremble under him. She swayed her hips with his movements, encouraging him to move faster. The ache was slight but the tingle of pleasure sent her into a slight dizziness. She wrapped her legs around his waist.
Yoongi brushed his fingers across her hairline, full of affection as he moved deeper inside her. He pressed sweet kisses at the corner of her lips.
Kiku smiled feverishly as the pleasure sent heat through her body, radiating like steam and intoxication.
Yoongi made sure he was slow, not just to be careful but to draw out this intimacy for as long as he could. The feeling of embrace brought back every slight desire he had in the past few months to hold or touch her. "Feel good?"
Kiku nodded, letting out a slight whimper as he continued to move at that tantalizing pace. "Good." She traced her thumb across his cheek. Strands of his hair falling over his face, curtaining over hers. Her core became slick with arousal, creating light squelch sounds as he thrusted into her with a new desperation.
His release clouded him, flooding him with an unbearable warmth until he grind himself into her. He muffled his moan against her neck.
Kiku felt his lower belly press on her sensitive spot, making her clench around him, pushing him further into his climax.
Yoongi lifted himself up, foreheads layered with sweat as they pressed against each other.
Kiku took his lips into a kiss, surging him to thrust into a steady pattern that made her lose breath. She gripped onto the side of his neck as moans broke through any form of whisper.
Yoongi quickened his pace following the pattern of her moans and the rolling of his own release. Then the sweet burst into a ricochet of pleasure and heat.
Kiku smiled, breathless as she relished in the warmth filling her. As Yoongi kept moving, he snuck his head in between her legs, targeting her sensitive spot and pushing her to the edge. Kiku's brows furrowed, aching to reach her own climax as she was full of him. Her breathing turned to quickened whimpers as she squirmed under his touch. Her back arched, head thrown back giving Yoongi the chance to kiss her neck and jawline.
Her climax bloomed, the heat of it shaking her limbs and forcing her legs to shut around him. Yoongi kissed her forehead, still rubbing on that spot until she twitched against it.
Kiku whimpered, pushing his hand away. A small laugh left his lips fuelling her with more delight. It was the most wonderful feeling she had to be embraced like this so warmly and the bliss of pleasure melting her body until she was meshed with the bed itself.
"You feel sleepier now?" Yoongi watched her with his own half-lidded, blissed eyes.
Kiku smiled as her breathing turned slow and calm. "Mhm." She traced her fingers down his cheek. "I think I've officially become your wife."
"Oh?" Yoongi's brow raised. "You weren't before?"
Kiku chuckled, slapping his chest playfully. "I mean we don't have anything to hide anymore."
Yoongi caged her in with his arms, making her feel safe and secure. "No, we don't."
Kiku blinked slowly, her finger moved gently to his scar. "Like this?"
Yoongi's expression softened into a mix of ruminating vulnerability and an old sadness that had been repeatedly reminisced. He lay down next to her, shoulders pressed flush. "My father and I go on small trips every now and then. He used to do it with every child, just to. . .talk, connect with nature and spend time." He waved his hand. "It was strange for Chiefs to do it but he said it was because he never got to speak to his own father. So, he wanted to make sure we weren't. . .without one." He let out a long breath.
"He sounds like a good father," Kiku said.
"He was." Yoongi's dark eyes melted and glossed from emotion. "One day though, bandits were prowling in the place my father and I camped. They attacked us. I got this from one of the bandits." He pointed to the scar. "Before my father told me to run while he fended them off. I called my mother and some guards to help but we were too late."
Kiku shifted and rubbed his chest. "Is that why you train so much?"
Yoongi nodded. "I want to make sure Yeong and the girls know how to defend themselves or others should the need arise." He took a deep breath, playing with Kiku's hair. "But I had a good family. We took care of each other, just like we'll take care of you."
Kiku smiled, resting her chin on his chest. "I'll take care of you all too. I still owe you a massage."
"You gave me a pretty good one a minute ago." Yoongi smirked.
Kiku chuckled. "A proper massage."
-
Kiku and Yoongi returned to the main houses early in the morning as the soft gold of dawn painted the forest. Hwayoung had lunch prepared with the rest of the family to welcome them home. Fresh steamed fish with tofu, rice porridge and some fresh fruits newly picked from the farms. Kiku ate happily, her appetite had grown in the months she was with this family but it made her all the more energetic and vibrant along with her excitement from the past night's events.
Something the family noticed more than Kiku realised.
Yun, in particular, stared the two of them a little too closely with a smirk. "So how was the trip, brother?" She asked in a sing-song voice.
Yoongi's eyes flickered up as he paused mid-bite. "As most political talks go with a spoiled brat of a Chief. He gave into the deal quickly," he spoke in a slightly formal tone.
Kiku quietly sipped on the last drops of her tea before he gently poured her another cup. She gave him a shy smile.
"I haven't heard much about the prospects of the Chiefs of the Moon clan but the younger son is usually unprepared," Hwayoung said thankfully to distract from what Yun actually wanted to ask.
Yeong stammered just as he took a bite of his food, looking at Hwayoung with a pout. "What'd I do?"
Hwayoung raised her hand. "I mean, generally. Not you."
Yoongi let out a small chuckle under his breath. "She means you."
Yeong sighed, pointing at him with his chopsticks. "I've beaten you in sword training before, I'll do it again."
"Did you do anything else in the trip?" Yun asked, with a wide grin, leaning forward in excitement. "You were both alone for the night. And Kiku's been. . .glowing."
Kiku's cheeks burned, clearing her throat. "I—I don't—"
"You need to stop obsessing over your brother's marriage, sweetheart, it's getting strange." Hwayoung patted the back of Yun's hand.
"It's only because you don't let me get married." Yun leaned back on her chair, folding her arms over her chest.
"Mother's protecting the men of the clan," Nari said, raising a brow.
Yun slapped Nari's arm as Yeong snorted.
"See how they bully me?" Yun asked Kiku.
Kiku chuckled, biting down her bottom lip and glancing at Yoongi. Often when she had terrible encounters with Haruki, she would get scolded by her family and live with the suffocating feeling of frustration in her chest.
Today was the first time, Kiku could cling to the happy moments and forget about Haruki or any of this harsh words. Her family threw her to the Onyx clan like a bait at the end of a fishing line but in their hatred for her, Kiku found love for her own.
masterlist
#yoongi#bts fanfic#bts fanfiction#bts imagines#bts smut#bts angst#bts fluff#yoongi fanfic#yoongi imagines#yoongi fanfiction#bts arranged marriage au#bts x oc#yoongi x oc
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sugar | myg
pairings » ceo!yoongi x f. reader
genre » strangers to lovers, neighbours au, fluff, smut
summary » desperately in need of sugar to make coffee in order to ease down your headache, you find yourself knocking on a strangers door who happens to be your best friend’s friend and the finest man you’ve ever encountered.
warnings » drinking, swearing, kissing, pool party, cold yoongi, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, foreplay, blowjob, fingering, dirty talk, making out, some nipple play, begging, praise kink, orgasm control, hair grabbing, penetration, teasing, just yoongi being hot
word count » 11k
a/n » some italics part indicate past dialogues and some indicate personal thoughts.
You had just finished placing the last few boxes in your new apartment with the help of your friend, Hoseok.
“Thank you so much Hobi! I don't think I could've done this without you.” You said, smiling at him.
“Are you crazy Y/N? Don't thank me, what are friends for?” He retorted, being offended by the fact that you thought he wouldn’t have helped you, whether you asked him to or not.
“No it’s just that you’ve been busy and I didn't want to bother you. I'd feel horrible knowing you can’t rest the one day you’re free just because of me.” You explained, feeling a bit guilty.
“Hey, it’s all cool. I'm glad you finally found yourself an apartment though, it's nice here.” He replied, looking around the place as you can see how satisfied he was with the amount of sunlight approaching the room.
“Indeed it is.” You nodded, agreeing with him.
It finally feels like home, your home.
“Better treat me to a nice dinner later missy.” He joked making you chuckle.
“Of course mister. After I set up the apartment properly that is.” You joked back.
“Do you need help with setting anything up? You know I can always jus—“
You sighed before walking up to him and intertwining your hands with his.
”Hobi, I'm fine. I want to do this all on my own now. I really appreciate your help though, you’ve been nothing but a hardworking and supportive best friend. Thank you so much for always being there for me, I love you.” You blurted out.
“Now, should I take that as you officially confessing your love for me Y/N?” He smirked.
You rolled your eyes, “As friends Hoseok, but seriously, thank you so much for everything.”
“Of course, anytime, I’m just a call away you know.” He said, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a hug.
You hummed, instantly giving into his warm body with your head resting on his chest. Both of you stayed like that for a couple of minutes until the sudden ringing of a phone made you two pull apart. Hoseok fetched his phone out from the back pocket of his jeans and widened his eyes looking at the caller ID.
“Shit! I need to go Y/N. Sorry, I forgot I had to meet mom today.”
“It's fine Hobi, thanks once again and tell your mom I said ‘hi’.” You replied, leading him to the door.
“Will do.” He asserted, opening the door to walk out.
“By the way my friend lives in that apartment. If you need anything you can ask him, I'll let him know about you.” He said, pointing at a door across the hallway to which you nodded.
“Alright thanks Hobi, bye!” You beamed.
“Bye Y/N,” and with that he left. You went back inside, closed the door and leaned your back on it. You admired your apartment space and tried to figure out where to start setting up from.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
After 10 long hours, you finally sat down on the sofa you had just finished arranging.
“My head hurts now.” You whined.
Knowing exactly what you need to ease it down, you made your way towards the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee. However, you realized that your plan of getting groceries today didn’t work out and you didn’t have any sugar left in the house.
A sudden thought of calling Hoseok to bring you some came to your mind but you quickly dismissed it knowing it’s 10pm. You didn’t want to bother him anymore. That's when your mind clicked, recalling Hoseok's words before he left.
His friend.
For a good 7 minutes, you debated on whether you should knock and ask for some sugar or not before finally concluding your decision. You definitely need a cup of coffee or your headache will get even worse and you know you won’t move a single inch to finish setting up the left bit of the apartment.
“Fuck it!” You mumbled and quickly slid a purple hoodie over your tank top before leaving your apartment.
Standing in front of a door similar to yours, you took a deep breath before knocking on it. You don’t even know why you’re so nervous, he’s Hoseok's friend and your neighbor. Neighbours help each other right?
Not getting any response back the first time, you knocked again. Still not getting any response, you decided to leave but the door suddenly opened. You stood there in shock, seeing such a handsome man standing by the door. He was wearing an oversized white shirt over black track pants with a white towel wrapped around his neck. It looked like he just came out of the shower and was trying to dry his wet locks.
“Yes?” He questioned in a deep voice, staring straight into your soul.
“Umm hey, I don’t know if he told you yet but I’m Hoseok's friend that moved in. I ran out of sugar and I needed it this instant, so is it okay if I can borrow some? I’ll make sure to give you bac—“
Thud.
What the fuck. Did he just slam the door on your face? What does he think of himself? Of course you just had to encounter another person with good looks but a shitty personality. You never knew Hobi had such a rude friend. You scoffed and started walking back to your apartment but suddenly heard the door behind you click open again.
“Where are you going?”
You immediately turn around only to spot Hoseok's friend standing, peeking out his door.
“I thought yo—“ before you could complete your sentence you saw him walking towards you.
“Take the whole pack, I'm not wasting time taking out only a bit.” He stated, handing over a whole 2kg bag of sugar.
“Oh I don’t need that mu—“
“Just take it. Pay me a quarter back later.” He retorted, pushing it further to you as you took it.
Guess he’s not that bad, just a man with a cold personality.
“Uh okay, thanks—“ before you could even ask for his name or say anything, he was already walking back to his place. You watched him stop in-front of his doorway and reach his hand out to twist the door knob, before briefly glancing at you.
“It’s nice finally meeting you Y/N, I'm Yoongi.”
Thud.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
It's been two days since you moved in and had that encounter with Yoongi. You remember ranting to Hoseok about it yesterday which only led him to erupt into laughter.
“He’s just like that Y/N, at least he gave you some sugar. He was probably tired from work so don't think too much. Yoongi doesn’t talk much but he’s nice.”
Although he has good looks you wish to never face him again, but here you are. Hoseok’s words ringing in your head as you once again find yourself standing in front of his door. Before you could even knock, the door opened itself revealing Yoongi. You can see that he was also in the same shock as you. I mean why wouldn’t he be? He definitely wouldn’t have expected you out of everyone to be standing by his doorway, first thing on a Monday morning.
“Good morning! I just wanted to return your pack of sugar and pay for it, here’s the money.” You said, extending the quarter and the pack of sugar to him.
“Oh, thanks.”
Your eyes then finally travelled down to his outfit. He was wearing a black blazer with a white shirt underneath, neatly tucked into his black dress pants as one of his hands carried a pair of shades. You looked back up and noticed how his hair was neatly parted through the middle.
Fuck he looks hot.
One thing about Hoseok, that man has some really good looking fucking friends. You’ve met three of them before Yoongi. If you may recall, the three being Jimin, Namjoon and Seokjin. You don’t think you have ever seen a friend group consisting of such good looking people, to be honest. He hasn’t introduced you to the other two yet but you’re sure they’re probably hella fine as well.
“Do you need anything else?” You didn’t realize that you had been staring at him so his voice slightly made you flinch.
“Huh? Uh no sorry i’ll take my leave now, thank you once again.” You smiled to which he nodded, and you left.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
“Mom you didn’t have to, you know?” You said to your mom as the two of you were in the elevator, going up to your apartment.
“Don’t be ridiculous Y/N. My daughter bought her own apartment with her own money for the first time and you think I wouldn’t come visit?” She retorted.
“I don’t mean it like that, it’s a 2 hour drive away and dad is sick.“
“Your dad is fine now and just recently started going back to work, don’t worry too much.” She assured, as the both of you had walked out the elevator and made it in front of your apartment door.
“Alright, I'm sure he didn’t come since he would be busy catching up with work so I’ll go meet him at the company sometime this week.” You said, opening the door with your keys.
“Of course, he’ll be so happy to see you.” She beamed.
When the two of you stepped foot inside, your mom began scanning the whole place. Going through the whole apartment, she kept the same look until the two of you had sat down on the sofa.
“Oh my god Y/N, it’s beautiful, I love it!” She exclaimed, making you chuckle.
“I’m glad you liked it, I worked hard on arranging everything nicely with the help of Yoora of course.”
“It looks wonderful! I'm so proud of you and speaking of Yoora, how is she and Hoseok?” Your mom asked, holding your hands.
“Yoora and Hoseok are both fine, just busy these days. They sent their greetings to you though,” you replied.
“Make sure to send my greetings back, tell them that I miss them and am very thankful that you have friends like them.”
“That would definitely boost their ego but will do,” you said, making the two of you laugh.
You spent almost 4 hours talking to your mom and even facetimed Hoseok and Yoora in the middle. The two complained about how busy they were with work while you were lucky enough to have 2 weeks off. The three of you have been best friends since you were 5 so all your parents loved the three of you like their own children. Your mom and the two had the time of their life talking to each other after so long. It was almost around 8pm when you heard knocking on your door. Who would it be at this time? You wondered.
“You had someone coming over?” Your mom asked.
“No but I think the parcel I ordered came in. Let me go check,” you answered as she nodded.
You got up and walked towards the door. Once you opened it, you were greeted by the sight of a huge brown box and a man dressed in a simple black hoodie and jeans. His hair was fluffy too. Very boyfriend material of him but he wasn’t a delivery man—
“Yoongi?”
“Uh hey, you actually had this box outside your door this afternoon and you weren’t home so I took it to my place in case someone takes it.” He nervously explained.
Cute.
“Oh my god, thank you so much!” You exclaimed.
“It’s a bit heavy, let me help you carry it inside.” He insisted, seeing you struggling to get the box in.
“Oh thanks, I'm so sorry you had to carry it to your place.” You apologized thinking of how he might’ve struggled to carry your huge and heavy parcel to his apartment. Hoseok was right, he is nice.
“Right here is fine Yoongi, thank you once again,” you said, finally placing the box down.
“It’s fin-“
“Oh my, who might this young man be?” You heard your mom ask.
Oh shit, you completely forgot she was here.
“He’s just my neighbour, don’t assume anything mom.” You declared before she could say anything more.
“You know you don’t have to hide anything from me right?” She smiled as you saw how Yoongi's eyes widened, understanding what she meant.
“Mom. I’m not hiding anything, he lives across the hallway we met just a couple days ago.”
“Well then invite this handsome neighbour of yours for dinner at least.”
“Mom!” You whined showing her exactly how embarrassed and mad you are.
“It’s nice to meet you ma'am and thank you for your invite but I’m afraid I can’t accept it as I have other plans and need to leave sorry.”
That was so formal, he sounded so nice.
“Oh I see, such a respectful man. Please come next time when you’re free, I'm sure Y/N can cook you some delicious food.”
“Uh of course ma'am, have a goodnight, I’ll take my leave now.” Yoongi stated before locking eyes with you and walking out the door.
As soon as you heard the door shut, you immediately locked it and rushed towards your mom to rant about what just happened and how embarrassing it was.
“We should go eat Y/N,” your mom said, having enough of you rambling on and on.
You sighed, “you’re right. I'm very hungry, let's go eat!”
You were now walking back to your apartment after dropping off your mom by the car your dad had sent for her to go back from. She left a little while after having dinner and made sure to convince you to befriend Yoongi and possibly start dating him.
There’s no way you would. You two don’t even know each other and he’s too rude sometimes.
Speaking of Yoongi, you need to apologize to him about your mom. You know there’s no way you’d face him after the embarrassing situation that occurred so you texted him instead. Surprisingly he texted back in just a few minutes.
[y/n] 9:38pm: Hey, this is y/n
[y/n] 9:39pm: I just wanted to apologize for how my mom reacted. I’m so sorry, she’s just like that, I hope you understand and forget whatever happened.
[yoongi] 9:43pm: it’s okay, I already forgot
[yoongi] 9:43pm: but how did you get my number?
[y/n] 9:43pm: from hoseok
[yoongi] 9:45pm: alright, well I gtg
[y/n] 9:46pm: oh ok bye goodnight
[yoongi] 9:46pm: gn
dry texter but whatever, now that that’s cleared, you can peacefully sleep.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
“Yoora, I’m on my way to meet dad right now, I’ll call you later okay.” You said, eyes focused on the road ahead of you.
“You better call though, I have some important news to share.”
“Okay okay don’t worry, I will. I need to know your tea anyways.”
You heard her chuckle, “trust me you would love it.”
“On second thoughts, tell me now.” You retorted, getting excited about the ‘important news’ she wanted to share.
“Nope, call me later bye!”
“Yoora no!” You yelled but she hung up already.
You wondered what happened in the span of 3 days that got her so excited. The last time you talked was when your mom was here. She was completely fine and normal so something big definitely happened. Thinking about Yoora and her important news, you didn’t even realize that you already reached your dad's company.
Parking the car and walking inside the tall glass building, you were greeted by the two beautiful receptionists who immediately recognized you as the chairman’s daughter.
“Hey, is dad free?” You asked the receptionist at the front desk.
“He’s in his office Miss Y/N, but I’ll call him and let him know you’re here.” She responded.
“Uh no! I actually wanted to surprise him so there is no need to inform him. I’ll just go.” You protested.
“Alright but he has someone over right now.”
“It's okay, I'll just wait outside his office till he’s done.” You said.
“As you wish Miss Y/N.” She respectfully bowed.
You returned it and walked towards your dad's office being all excited to meet him and ready to scold him for getting sick. Once you reached the hallway to your dad’s office, you were surprised to see a familiar figure and someone you thought you would never meet here of all places.
“Yoongi? What are you doing here?” You questioned as you walked up to him.
“Y/N?” He raised a brow turning towards you.
“You two know each other?” Your dad beamed in.
“Dad!” You exclaimed and jumped into his arms.
“Hey sweetheart, how are you?” He asked.
“I'm all good, how are you now?”
“Much better, especially now that you're here.” He replied, ruffling your hair as the two of you chuckled.
“Anyways back to my question, you two know each other?” Your dad asked once again.
“We’re neighbours.” Yoongi and you retorted at the same time.
“Dad, how do you know him and why are you here Yoongi?” You questioned both of them.
“He’s the CEO of Min Productions, we just finalized a deal and collaboration.” Your dad proudly announced.
You were beyond shocked. Yoongi, Min Yoongi, your neighbour, Hoseok's friend, he is the CEO of one of the biggest companies in all of South Korea.
“I was going to tell you about him to help with your work but good thing you came. Maybe we can just discuss all that right now. If that’s fine with you and Yoongi of course.” Your dad said, eyeing the two of you.
“Sure, I don’t have any other schedule for today.” Yoongi confirmed.
“Perfect! How about you Y/N?” Your dad asked.
“Oh yea sure.” You replied, still baffled about the new information you had just learned about Yoongi.
With that, the three of you went inside your dad's office and discussed a few deals, details and designs you could all work on. Your dad had two companies and you were working in the other smaller one. The companies were known for their great interior house designing. Yoongi's company being the biggest and most famous one in that field.
“I want to do something big this time.” Your dad heaved out. He was sitting on the couch beside you and in front of Yoongi, deep in thought about what he can do.
“What do you mean by that dad?” You muddled.
“Maybe a showcase-like exhibition.” Yoongi remarked, ignoring your confused state.
“Perfect! That’s a great idea, we'll do that.” Your dad happily exclaimed.
“Wait, so we’ll hold an exhibition with our new designs? Like how Ikea has those fake displays?” You asked, amazed by the idea.
“Something exactly like that.” Yoongi confirmed.
“Oh my god, you’re so smart. I’m sure this will benefit all our companies ” You exclaimed jolting up from your seat, making both Yoongi and your dad look up at you surprised.
“Uh sorry I just got a bit excited.” You murmured and sat back down making your dad chuckle.
“Yoongi, do you have any set date for the exhibition in mind?” Your dad asked, looking back at him.
“How about 4 months from now? Our company is low on furniture stock right now so it’ll take about a month to get them and 2-3 months to set all the designs.” Yoongi replied.
“Hmm, I think that’s great. Within the month you guys get furniture we can make the presentations with selected designs and a location to display the exhibition.” You suggested.
“Yea sure, we can have another meeting to discuss that later.” Yoongi said to which you and your dad both nodded.
A few minutes later your dad’s words were interrupted by a spam of text messages on your phone.
“Sorry Dad, I'm just gonna check to see if everything is fine.” You said, pulling out your phone to which he nodded and continued talking to Yoongi.
[yoora] 2:13pm: are you done yet???
[yoora] 2:13pm: please tell me you are
[yoora] 2:14pm: it’s been almost 4 hours
[yoora] 2:14pm: I still need to share my news
[yoora] 2:14pm: it’s important.
[yoora] 2:15pm: pleaseee Y/N!!
[yoora] 2:15pm: reply or i’ll never tell you.
[y/n] 2:16pm: jeez woman you need to stop spamming!
[yoora] 2:16pm: fucking finally!!!
[y/n] 2:16pm: and fyi, it’s only been 3 hours
[yoora] 2:16pm: same thing
[y/n] 2:17pm: anyways, i’m almost done here so tell me where to meet you
[yoora] 2:17pm: my place.
[y/n] 2:17pm: alright, see you soon
[yoora] 2:17pm: okayy see you soon!!
“Dad I actually have to leave right now.” You announced, closing your phone screen.
“So suddenly? Is everything okay?” He asked, face frowning with concern. Yoongi was staring at you as well.
“Yes dad everything is fine. I just need to go drop by at Yoora’s place.” You responded.
“Oh I see, take care and send my greetings her way.” He said standing up.
“Will do, I’ll leave now and please take care of yourself.” You said, hugging your dad. Your eyes then landed on Yoongi.
“Uh it’s an honour to be working with you Mr. Min.” You said professionally, extending your hand towards him.
You heard him chuckle, showing off his gummy smile before responding to your handshake. “Just call me Yoongi.”
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
“You have a what!” You yelled, choking on the water you were gulping down.
“I have a boyfriend.” Yoora stuttered out, playing with her fingers.
“Oh my god Yoora, this is huge!” You exclaimed, putting aside the glass of water and holding her hands.
“I know, he’s actually coming over in a few minutes.” She said, making you widen your eyes.
“Why did you call me then! Do I know him? What’s his name? How long have you been dating?” You bombarded her with questions.
“Y/N calm down, I wanted to tell you before anyone and I don’t think you know him but you’ve definitely heard of him. He’s actually one of Hoseok's friends.” Yoora said, making you frown.
“Really? Who?” You questioned.
Before she could even reply, the doorbell rang.
“I think that’s him.”
You watched as Yoora walked over to the door, opened it and got crushed by a muscular figure hugging her.
“Hi babe, I missed you.” You heard a deep male voice, followed by a chuckle and a “I missed you too.” from Yoora. You smiled at that as you were beyond happy for your best friend.
As the couple walked in, you stood up from the couch and finally saw the man's face. Hoseok's friend huh? Once again very good looking.
“Hey you must be Y/N. I’m Jungkook, Jeon Jungkook, It’s nice finally meeting you.” He introduced himself, extending his hand towards you.
“So you’re the man that stole my best friend's heart and my other best friend's car. It’s nice finally meeting you too, Jungkook.” You joked whilst shaking his hand.
“I— let’s not talk about the car incident. Hoseok still hates me for that.” He nervously laughed, making both you and Yoora chuckle.
“Anyways how and since when have you two been dating?” You asked curiously.
“Uh we’d been talking for 7 months after the party we met in and started dating 3 months ago.” Jungkook said, making you squint your eyes at Yoora. She told you about meeting this hot guy at the one party you couldn’t attend, but never told you that they had been talking afterwards.
“I’m sorry, I know I should have told you sooner but we wanted to be sure about our relationship before telling anyone and don’t be mad, you’re still the first one to know anyways.” Yoora apologetically retorted and you immediately softened your eyes.
“It’s fine, I’m so happy for you both. Jungkook please keep her happy and never break her heart or I swear I’ll kill you.” You threatened him.
“I swear I won’t, I love her too much.” He confessed looking at Yoora. You saw the love he had for her in his eyes and how flustered Yoora got.
He’s definitely the one for her.
“Well I guess I’ll leave you two be, don’t want to to be a third wheel.” You laughed.
“No no please don’t. I know you’re free today and we haven’t been hanging out a lot lately. Jungkook doesn't mind, I already told him.” She pleaded. Your eyes wandered off to Jungkook for confirmation and he nodded with a smile.
“Are you sure?” You asked, still having second thoughts.
“We’re sure, we can watch a movie if you’d like.” Jungkook suggested.
You sighed and smiled. “Alright, sounds good.”
Yoora squealed and stood up, “I’ll go get the popcorn and some drinks ready!”
“Why don’t you two catch up and choose a movie while I go get that hm?” Jungkook insisted, leaving a peck on Yoora’s forehead before heading towards the kitchen.
As soon as he left, you immediately hugged Yoora.
“Oh my god! He’s so sweet and good looking, literally your type.” You quietly exclaimed.
“I know right! I’m so glad I didn't ditch that party Hobi took me too that day. The guys there and Hoseok's friends were so nice and hot. You would’ve found yourself a man as well.” She excitedly whispered back.
You quietly chuckled, “I admit Hoseok’s friends are really nice and hot but you know why I couldn’t come.”
“Right, speaking of that, I forgot to ask how it went with your dad. How’s he feeling now?”
“Much better, he’s been taking all his medications on time and started working again. Dad also sent his greetings your way.” You smiled.
“That’s great! Make sure to send my greetings back to him,” She replied, making you nod.
“Of course! Well, let's choose a movie now.” You said, grabbing the remote from the table.
“Marvel!” The two of you exclaimed.
“Spider-man!” You jumped up, causing you both to laugh out loud.
“I heard Marvel and Spider-man, I’m so ready to watch.” Jungkook beamed, coming out of the kitchen with popcorn, drinks and other snacks in his arms.
“Jungkook, you're a Marvel and Spider-man fan too!” You excitedly asked.
“No shit Sherlock, who isn’t?” He cockily responded, making the three of you laugh.
“Okay, okay, let’s watch!”
You didn’t even realize when the three of you finished watching 3 movies before ordering a take out and leaving her place. It was really fun and Jungkook was an amazing guy. You’re so happy for Yoora.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
“Y/N please come to the party!” Yoora whined over the phone while you were cooking yourself some pasta for dinner.
“But—“
“No buts, you’re coming and that's final.” She stated.
“I’m not sure about it though.” You sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Oh come on, Jimin literally called and personally invited you.”
“I know but we’re not so close.”
“So what? Me, Jungkook and Hoseok, we’re all going to be there as well.” She retorted, trying to convince you for the past 15 minutes now.
“Fine, but I don’t have a—“
“Don't even worry about that. I have a sexy black one piece you could wear. Just decide on a suitable dress or some shorts and a nice top to go along with it.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She knows you too well.
“Don’t thank me, you know our rule.” She said, trying to sound mad.
“Right my bad.” You chuckled.
“Oh Jungkooks here! I'll call you tomorrow and drop off the one piece.” She exclaimed.
“Yeah sure.” You replied.
“Perfect! I’ll see you tomorrow then, bye.”
“Yeah see you, bye.” With that, the two of you ended the call.
Jimin had called you three days ago, inviting you to his house for a pool party which was being held on Saturday. You weren’t sure if you’d go since you’d only met each other once and weren’t too close. However, now that Yoora had successfully ended up convincing you to attend the party, you realized it wasn’t such a bad idea. You could spend some time with Hoseok, Yoora and some other friends.
It had also been a little over a month since you had started working on the exhibition with Yoongi. As promised, you did all the research on possible locations and compiled various interior designs to use for display. You’d definitely be using this pool party as a way to unravel and celebrate the successful presentation you gave a few days prior. You’d been quite nervous as you didn’t want to disappoint your father or Yoongi. Despite your nerves, you decided to go ahead with it. Turned out that you had done remarkably well, impressing Yoongi as a turnout.
Today was Thursday, meaning you’d only have a day to prepare yourself. Most of tomorrow will be gone as you know you’ll find yourself drowning in work. The party is in the evening of Saturday so you’ll get everything ready the morning prior.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
You stood by the edge of your bed, staring at the pile of mess you just made. You were frustrated and confused as to what to wear to the party later in the evening.
Not wanting to spoil your whole mood, you decided to facetime Yoora and let her decide. As you were about to call her, something clicked in your mind.
You totally forgot.
You knew it’d be rude to call her in the middle of this so you decided to break it down to two outfits. You took pictures wearing both and just sent her the pics.
[y/n] 12:18pm: Yoora I know you're having lunch with Jungkook and his parents but when you have time please choose which one I should wear.
*insert image*
*insert image*
After you quickly sent the text, you ran to the kitchen to grab some food to eat. You were really excited about the pool party. The one piece Yoora gave was indeed sexy and fits your body perfectly. You sure were going to have fun tonight.
As soon as you sat on the sofa with a bag of doritos, you received a notification. You smiled and clicked on it knowing it’ll just be Yoora but—
What the fuck!?
[yoongi] 12:23pm: Y/N? this is Yoongi, I think you’ve got the wrong person.
[y/n] 12:24pm: oh my god! I'm so sorry I think I misread yours and Yoora’s name.
[yoongi] 12:24pm: Oh it’s fine
Your heart was beating so fast right now. You accidentally sent two pictures of yourself to Yoongi. It took you about a good six minutes to calm down but as soon as you were okay, you received another notification
[yoongi] 12:32pm: If you're open to receive another opinion though, I'd say the second one.
You blinked your eyes and kept staring at the text. Not gonna lie, that did something to your heart. You felt butterflies in your stomach.
[y/n] 12:35pm: oh alright thanks
[yoongi] 12:37pm: np:)
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
[hobi] 5:56pm: hey I’m downstairs
[y/n] 5:56pm: give me two mins i’ll be down
[hobi] 5:56pm: okay I’m waiting
You quickly fix your hair, put on your wedges and give yourself a quick glance in the mirror before leaving your apartment.
You are going to go to Jimin's party with Hoseok today. It’s been a while since you last met him considering his sudden trip to Chicago for two weeks.
Stepping out of the apartment entrance, you saw Hoseok leaning against his silver BMW. He didn’t notice you as his eyes were too focused on his phone.
“Hobi!” You beam, running up to him.
“Hey Y/N!” He beams back, trapping you into a bear hug.
“You look nice.” He compliments, eyeing your blue jean shorts and black off shoulder crop top which show off your belly piercing and sharp collarbones.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” You retort, eyeing his white shorts and blue striped shirt.
“I never look bad.” He states whilst adjusting the shades resting on his head, making you roll your eyes.
“Anyways, how was Chicago?” You ask.
“It was amazing! I met a girl there actually.” He answers, making your eyes widen.
“Oh my god what!” You exclaim, causing him to let out a chuckle at your reaction.
“I’ll tell you on the way, get in the car first or we’ll be late.” He remarks, already walking towards the driver seat.
“Oh yea let’s go.” You say, opening the car door and settling yourself in.
Once he starts driving, your curiosity grows bigger.
“So?” You start, staring at his side profile.
“So what?” He asks, taking a quick glance at you before staring back at the road. You know he knows exactly what you’re referring to.
“Jung Hoseok.” His name comes sternly out your mouth.
“Fine fine, her name is Aera. She's actually Korean and is currently studying at a law school in Chicago. She still has a year to go and then she’ll come back.”
“Stop, that's so cool. So you’ll wait till she comes back?” You curiously ask.
“Yeah we both seem to like each other and we’ve been talking ever since I got back.” He shyly replies.
“Hobi, that’s great! Omg I'm so happy for you.” You squeal as he thanks you before turning on some music.
“To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I’d be available to pick you up tonight so I was going to tell Yoongi to bring you along with him.”
“Wait. Yoongi’s coming?” You ask, horror evident in your eyes.
“Of course we’re all friends, he’s Jimin's friend too, did you forget?” He laughs, eyes still focused on the road.
Great, just great. Now you have to face him after accidentally sending him your pics. Can this get any worse and embarrassing? You know you had to face him on Monday for work but within 5-6 hour after the incident…
After about 15 minutes, you see Hoseok pulling up at a parking lot with a huge mansion behind it.
Jimin lives here what the fuck!
“This isn’t Jimin's house, it's his family farm house.” Hobi confirms, as if he read your mind.
“Oh I see, it’s really pretty.” You mumble.
“It is. Now quit staring at it and let’s go in, I'll finally introduce you to Taehyung as well,” he says, making you nod. You follow him to the door and watch him ring the bell. When the door opens, the two of you are greeted by Jimin himself.
“Hoseok! Hey bro.” Jimin pulls Hoseok into a hug before turning towards you.
“Y/N hey! Glad you made it, it's been a while huh?” He exclaims, reaching in for a hug which you gladly accept.
“It sure has, thank you for inviting Jimin.” You beam a smile at him.
“Of course anytime, we’re friends now.” He smiles in return.
“But she’s my best friend.” Hoseok speaks in between, making you playfully hit his shoulder.
“Yeah yeah anyways, come in and make yourself at home.” Jimin says, guiding the two of you inside.
As soon as you step in, you are hit by the smell of alcohol as the song Uptown Funk by Bruno Mars blasts loudly through the speakers. Of course the first thing you notice is the beautiful interior of the house, you were amazed by it. Then you notice people scattered all around the house.
Jimin takes it upon himself to lead you and Hoseok to the backyard even though Hobi seemed to know the way. Once you reach, you see many more bodies dancing around, drinking, smoking, making out and playing in the pool.
“The bar is right there, you can get whatever you want. Please enjoy and don’t hesitate to ask for anything else, I'll be around.” Jimin says, pointing at the bar where people were sitting and bartenders were serving drinks.
Jimin definitely seems rich. I mean, his family owns Park Motels after all.
“Yeah, till everyone actually gets here at least. We all know you’d be hooking up with someone soon Jimin.” Hoseok snickers whilst you press your lips together to try to hold in your laugh.
“Shut up! Don’t embarrass me like that. Geez don’t listen to him Y/N.” Jimin replies.
“It’s totally fine Jimin, it’s your party of course you’ll enjoy.” You assure.
“See! Y/N is so kind, not judging me unlike someone else here,” he says, glaring at Hoseok to which he responds by rolling his eyes.
“Hey Jimin!” the three of you look back to see Namjoon, Seokjin, Jungkook, Yoora and this other man you don’t think you’ve ever met walking towards you.
Maybe he’s Taehyung?
“Hey guys!” Jimin and Hoseok beam as Yoora comes and hugs you.
“Y/N! It’s so good to see you again.“ Seokjin politely says as Namjoon agrees and passes his dimple smile towards you.
“Likewise. How are you guys?” You ask.
“Perfectly fine. How about you?” The two say in return.
“I’m fine too.” You smile and wave at Jungkook who waves back.
“Oh and I believe you two haven’t met. Y/N this is Taehyung and Taehyung this is Y/N.” Jimin adds, pointing towards the man you’d assume was Taehyung indeed.
“Hey, I’ve heard a lot about you Y/N,” his deep ocean-like voice speaks as he motions his hand forward to you. You blink your eyes and immediately shake his hand.
He looks so dreamy and handsome.
“I could say the same Taehyung, nice to meet you.”
Soon enough, the 6 boys are chatting amongst themselves and you quietly start whispering to Yoora beside you, “How the hell are his friends so good looking?”
“I don’t know. Well let’s see, Namjoon and Seokjin have a girlfriend while me and Jungkook are together so Jim—“
“Really!” You exclaim louder than you thought, once knowing two of them have girlfriends. This makes the 6 men snap their heads towards you and Yoora.
“Any problem girls? You okay Y/N?” Namjoon asks.
“Uh yeah actually, me and Y/N are going to head to the pool now, is that fine?” Yoora asks, hooking her arm under yours.
“Of course have fun! The changing room is right there.” Jimin says, pointing to a door beside the glass window leading into the house.
“Got it thanks!” Yoora beams before holding your hand and dragging the two of you towards the change room. Of course after making sure she gives Jungkook a quick peck on his lips and cheek.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
You can feel the gazes being thrown at you. You’re not even complaining because damn right you look sexy and amazing tonight. Yoora told you a thousand times before the two of you stepped out of the changing room seconds ago.
Making your way towards the pool, you already see Hoseok and his friends in there, shirtless. You look away spotting Jimin making out with a girl in a hot pink bikini only to find Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook talking to one another in the corner while Namjoon and Seokjin were each talking to a girl. Maybe it’s their girlfriends.
When you get into the pool, Hoseok, Taehyung and Jungkook swim towards you and Yoora, making sure to splash some water your way on purpose. As a reflex, the two of you bring your hands forward to block the water and look to the side.
“My girls are looking sexy.” Hoseok beams, snaking his arms around your bare waists. The two of you don’t mind knowing it’s just Hoseok and the three of you are very much comfortable with each other. I mean, you’ve practically known each other for twenty years now.
“Don’t we always.” You two retort as Hobi gives you both the ‘as if, I've seen you at your worst’ look.
“Anyways, we are going to start beach volleyball in the pool, wanna join?” Taehyung asks in between.
“We’d love to!” The two of you exclaim and so everyone gathers up to play.
After two long hours of playing around and having fun in the pool, You and Yoora decide to come out and dry yourselves up. You received a few drinks in the pool but the two of you needed to sit down to talk whilst enjoying another nice drink.
The two of you dry yourselves up in the change room before running towards the bar stools. You make sure to wear shorts over your one piece before you do though.
“One Margarita for me!” Yoora exclaims before turning to you, telepathically asking what you’d like.
“I’d like the same,” you respond, making the bartender nod and leave to get your drinks ready.
They served it in just seconds, wow.
“So how was lunch with Jungkook's parents?” You start, clinking your glass with hers.
“Oh my god I was literally nervous for no reason, they were like the sweetest people ever,” she coos.
“Really, that’s amazing! Still can’t get over how gorgeous you look tonight by the way. I bet Jungkook won’t be able to keep his hands to himself, not that he was in the pool anyways.” You tease your best friend who showed up in a yellow and purple two piece, paired with an off the shoulder, floral white dress to go over it.
As if on cue, Jungkoook makes his way over to the two of you and stands beside Yoora.
“Hey Y/N! Can I steal her from you for a bit?” He asks whilst licking his lips.
“Of course, take her for as long as you want. Have fun you two.” You sheepishly grin, glancing between the two and notice Yoora glaring at you while Jungkook stands there with a smirk plastered on his face.
“Oh we will, thanks.” Jungkook replies, eyeing your best friend before snaking a hand around her waist and taking her inside.
As soon as Yoora and Jungkook leave, you order another drink and patiently sit there while staring at the crowd. Half of them are in the pool and the other half are dancing.
“Mind if I join you?” Your eyes widen as you immediately jerk your head up to see Yoongi staring down at you.
“Uh no not at all,” you respond, fidgeting with the glass of red wine the bartender had just served to you.
“Great. A single malt scotch whiskey please,” he orders, taking a seat on the stool beside you which was previously occupied by Yoora.
For a moment you both sit there in silence while taking sips of your drinks. From the corner of your eyes, you feel Yoongi's eye on you so you slowly move your head to take a glance at him.
“Do you have something to say?” You ask, trying your best not to stutter knowing you are under his sharp gaze.
“Yes well, we have a meeting on Thursday, just a reminder.” He states to which you quietly nod.
“Right. Thanks for remin—“
“Y/N! Yoongi! Come on, don't sit around, let’s go dance.” Hoseok excitedly exclaims as he wraps his arms around the both of you before dragging you two to the dance floor.
Hoseok twirls you around before showing off some moves of his own. Taehyung being the gentleman he is, greets you before grasping your hand to sway you around a few times. You laugh and find yourself dancing along to the music. Such a nice and fun guy.
Yoongi stands there watching the three of you, well mostly you. Unknowingly he feels his heart racing. It was something about your exposed legs, collarbones, the belly piercing and wet hair. You look beautiful under the neon lights flashing over your face, swaying your hips perfectly to match the rhythm.
Soon enough, many more bodies start to join, making the space become tighter. Yoongi then realizes that your body was now pressed against his. Your hands are resting on his shoulder in need of support while his hands just stay by his side, not daring to touch you.
The two of you find yourselves lost in an intense eye lock. The loud music blasting in the background, starts fading away as Yoongi finds it harder to resist himself.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Yoongi growls, not taking his eyes off you as you don’t either.
“Like what?” You mumble, enough for him to hear. You make sure to squeeze his shoulders and biceps before slowly trailing one of your hands down to his chest. You don’t know where you got this sudden confidence from but you’re going to blame the alcohol for it.
“Fuck you’re gonna regret this,” he mumbles back, lightly flicking his tounge over his lips which you find super hot. You feel intoxicated with the tone of his voice, his strong breezy cologne and his not so minty but alcohol scented breath.
Your bodies are pressed against each other yet his hands are still not touching you. It was driving you crazy. He was driving you crazy.
You didn’t want to but you find yourself breaking the intense eye contact before moving your eyes down to his wet plump lips. You take your index finger and slowly trace it down his Adam's apple which you watch go up and down, indicating how hard he gulped from your movement.
“Y/N.” he warns. His voice, low and stern.
You look back up to meet his eyes, only to see them glued onto your lips. You were so desperate to have them pressed against his pink wet ones that you didn’t care about anything else at this point. In a swift moment, you grab his collar, pull him closer to you and smash your lips onto his.
Your eyes shut close as you feel Yoongi's lips perfectly mould into yours as if they’re only made for you. They were warm and soft just like how you’d imagine.
That’s where you finally feel one of his arms wrap around your waist and the other around your back with his hand tangled up in your damp hair. You secure your arms around his neck and slowly guide your fingers up to play with his long fluffy hair.
When you feel his hands move down to your hips giving it a little squeeze, you almost yelp and immediately pull out from the kiss.
Fuck you just kissed Yoongi.
He slowly caresses your cheeks and lightly brushes his thumb over your lips.
“You wanna take this upstairs,” he whispers, making you nervous. You may have planned on getting laid tonight but certainly not by Yoongi.
Yoongi feels your uneasiness and sighs. “Only if you’re okay with it. I’m not going to force you Y/N. We can forget whatever happened if you think this was a mist—“
“No!” You exclaim.
“I…I just…fuck. Okay fine let’s go!” You stutter and whine, being all frustrated with yourself. You know you’re overthinking but this might only be a one night thing and nothing else.
Right?
“Y/N once again I’m not—“
“Yoongi, I want you,” you cut him off, looking him in the eyes. You see them go dark with the same lustful gaze he held before the kiss. He clutches your hand and walks the two of you past the sweaty bodies to get in the house. From the corner of your eyes, you spot Taehyung and Hoseok happily dancing amongst the crowd.
They didn’t see the kiss, thank god.
Once Yoongi’s free hand slides open the glass door to enter the house, he leads you up the stairs as you mindlessly follow behind. He comes to a halt in front of the furthest door from the stairs and opens it, gesturing for you to step in.
Once you do, you feel his grip on your hand go loose as he leaves it to lock the door with his broad back facing you. When he turns around, he pauses and stares at your figure for a brief second before moving closer. He snakes his arm around your waist and quickly yanks you towards him so that both of your hands are pressed against his chest.
“You’ve been driving me insane all night Y/N,” he whispers, giving your hips a light squeeze.
“Could say the same Mr. Min,” you tease, knowing damn well how much he hates it when you call him that.
“Fuck Y/N, you sure you want this?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Yes.” You breathe out.
“Are you clean baby?” He asks while opening the drawer beside you with one hand, possibly searching for a condom.
“Yes and I'm on pills so no need to look for a condom.” You assure, deeply staring into his dark orbs before locking lips with him again.
This time it was more rough and rushed. Both your tongues fighting for dominance and teeth clashing, leading into a messy make out session. His hands roam all over your body as yours begins to unbutton his black shirt and slide it off his built arms.
You yelp when he lifts you up and gently places you on the bed, hovering over you. Your hands make their way from touching his bare upper half to the back of his neck as you both continue to salivate each other’s lips.
“Yoongi please,” you whine, pulling out of the steamy kiss.
“Please what? I need words princess.” He speaks in a husky tone, making you even more weak and wet than you already were.
“Please touch me. Please fuck me, I need you in me.” You beg, receiving a quick low chuckle from him.
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you senseless hm?” He says, slowly caressing your thighs.
“Yes please.” You plead.
“Tell me exactly what you need then.” He demands.
“Need your dick in me fuck Yoongi just—mmph.” Your whining gets cut off by his lips that smash onto yours once again whilst his cold veiny hands begin to trace all your curves.
“Can I?” He pants, playing with the hem of your shorts. You nod and he immediately slides them off, throwing them somewhere on the ground.
He goes down to your thighs and spreads them apart, leaving wet kisses around the inner part before eyeing your clothed area. You were still in your one piece.
Yoongi hovers back up to lean over your face, gently holds your head and lifts your upper half off the bed so that you’re smug in arms. He unties the knots on the back of your one piece before sliding the straps off from both sides and completing discarding it from your body. Yoongi eyes your naked figure from head to toe and bites his lips before leaning down to your neck.
“I always knew you’d be beautiful in and out.” He whispers, biting your earlobe before leaving a trail of wet butterfly kisses from your neck, down to your pussy. You shudder at the feeling.
“So fucking wet for me aren’t you princess?”
“Hmm only for you, now take this off,” you mumble, pointing at his pants as you can already see how hard he is. Yoongi immediately obeys and takes it off along with his boxers, letting his hardened cock spring free. You almost gasp seeing his length, he was huge.
“Like what you see baby?” He smirks.
Fuck you want him. You want him so bad!
“Yoongi go on alread—shit!” You whimper, feeling his cold fingers rubbing circles over your clit.
“Need to stretch you out first.” He says, inserting two long fingers inside you.
“Yoongi oh my god.” You cry out in pleasure, pulling him closer.
“You like that baby?” He asks, groaning when you clench tightly around his digits.
“Yes Yoon— '' You moan out as he quickens his pace, fucking his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. When you feel your orgasm approaching, you squeeze his arm.
“Fuck im so close,” you hiss as he hums in response before pulling his fingers completely out of you.
“Yoongi why’d you pull out!” You whine, feeling the sudden emptiness of his fingers in you while you were close to finishing.
“Cause I want you to cum all over my cock.” He responds, palming his member and stroking it before positioning it to your entrance.
He looks at your naked frame beneath him to ask for consent, to which you eagerly nod. When he enters your wet heat, the two of you let out a deep groan and whimper.
“Shit! You’re still so fucking tight baby. Should’ve eaten you out too,” he groans, feeling the burn as every inch of him stretches your walls to their limit.
“Fuck Yoongi, just move already.” You plead, extremely aroused by the dirty words he was throwing at you.
He is quick to oblige and nods before thrusting into you slowly. Once he catches his pace, you become a moaning mess under him. His name being the only thing coming out of your mouth while you grip his hair and sheets tightly. Yoongi loved it, loved feeling you squirm and be a mess under him, loved the sound of both your skins slapping filling the room while you chant his name over and over again. It was like music to his ears.
“You feel so fucking good baby.” He groans, using one of his hands to play with your hardened nipple before latching his mouth on, to suck it.
“Fuck Yoon you’re so good, shit right there.” You moan, rolling your eyes back while gripping Yoongi’s hair tighter as you feel him hit your g-spot. You only earn yourself a low groan from him.
“Shit shit shit so close Yoon fuck!” Yoongi hates to admit it but the way you were calling him ‘Yoon’ was making him go crazy.
“Fuck, you’re gonna cream my cock princess yea?” He asks gritting his teeth, nearly pulling out all the way before slamming back into you again.
“Yes! Please go faster!” You shriek, bucking your hips forward to feel him more.
“Faster? shit you’re making me go crazy Y/N.” Something about the way he said your name along with the amount of pleasure he was giving you almost made you dizzy.
“Gonna cum Yoongi!” You screech, shutting your eyes tight as you feel the familiar knot in your stomach again.
“Will cum all over my cock like the good girl you are?” He emphasizes each word with controlled thrusts.
“Yoongi yes fuck, please just— cant hold it.” you cry out.
“Cum for me then.” He murmurs, leaving a sloppy kiss near your jawline before pulling out of you to let you cream his cock. You wince and cry out at the feeling as your orgasm washes over you.
Yoongi surprises you when he gives your slit a nice long lick. “Just wanted to taste you,” he beams, plopping his sweaty figure beside you.
“You didn’t cum,” you remark, sitting up as your chest still heaves up and down.
“It's fine.” He mutters, still lying down as beads of sweat drip down his chest and forehead.
“No it’s not, you’ve been working so hard for the exhibition, I think you deserve a treat Mr. Min.” You retort, looking down at him and giving his veiny cock a nice deep stroke.
“Fuck, I told you not to call me that but you’re right, I do deserve a treat. Think you can give me a head?” He jerks up, brushing his hand through his hair.
“I’d love to, Mr. Min.” You respond, your tongue reaching down to lick his pink tip, precum already leaking from it with your own cum smeared over as well.
“Don’t fucking tease baby.” He grunts. You dip your head down and take him in your mouth, moaning at the sensation as Yoongi tries to fight back a moan himself. You swirl your tongue around a bit before bobbing your head up and down to suck him off and take as much of him as you can. Only Yoongi knows how pretty you look right now and he’d do anything to see you like this for the rest of his life.
“Fuck you’re taking me so well princess.” He hisses, gripping your hair and moving it out your face so that it wouldn’t be in your way. It only makes you suck him harder.
He groans and throws his head back, “Not gonna last long fuck.”
After giving him a few more sucks, you feel his dick twitch in your mouth. You knew he’d cum anytime soon so you already prepared yourself.
“Shit, gonna cum.” He curses before shooting his hot cum straight down your throat. When you pull out, you start coughing and your eyes were glistening with tears.
“Shit sorry, are you okay?” Yoongi apologizes, worriedly reaching down to cup your face.
“I’m good, just tired.” You tell him with an amused smile.
“Let’s get you cleaned okay.” He says, pecking your forehead and lifting you off him to lay you down on the bed.
Was this the same man a few minutes ago?
You watch Yoongi wear his boxers and go into the bathroom to bring a damp towel in order to clean you up. Once he is done, he gives you his black button up to wear and tucks you in bed before slipping under the sheets, right beside you.
“Yoongi if we sleep here, I'll need to tell Hoseok not to wait for me.” You mutter, instantly realizing and moving closer to Yoongi's body so that you are facing him.
“I’ll text him, don't worry, just sleep okay.” He replies, cuddling you while playing with your hair.
“Don’t tell him that we—“
“No way I would, I'll never hear the end of it.” He adds, to which you both let out a chuckle.
“Thank you for tonight, goodnight Yoongi.” You wish him, eyes closed as you’re already half asleep in his embrace.
Yoongi smiles and mutters back, “night princess,” before falling into deep slumber himself.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
It’s been 3 months since that night. Neither you nor Yoongi had the time to talk about that certain topic or anything else other than work. Things had been really hectic and busy with the exhibition being just around the corner. In fact, It was going to be held tomorrow so you were really nervous yet excited at the same time.
You were seated on your kitchen counter stool, skimming through some details on the designs you will be presenting tomorrow, when you hear a sudden knock on the door. You sigh and walk over to open it, only to find Yoongi standing there.
“Hey Yoon—“
“We need to talk.” He says in a serious tone, making you worried. You let him in and close the door behind you.
“Is the display fine? Should I change anything? All the designs are okay right? Did something happe—?'' Before you could say anything more, he cuts you off.
“I can’t anymore.” He mumbles, staring at the floor.
“Cant what Yoongi? Are you okay?” You worriedly ask him, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.
“Fuck I just— I think I’m in love with you.” He confesses, looking up at you. You were too stunned to speak at the moment. The two of you stand there in silence for a few seconds, if only he knew how fast your heart was racing right now.
“You’re what?” You question him, making sure whatever you just heard was right.
“I’m in love with you. I know we haven’t gotten the chance to talk much after that night but I can’t stop thinking about you. I was actually attracted to you from the beginning and I slowly started liking you as a friend and a colleague but that night, I just knew I liked you more than that. So can we like…you know, will you be my girlfriend?” He nervously confesses.
“Is Mr. Min nervous?” You tease him, flashing him an amused smile.
“Y/N. I'm serious.” He almost whines. Seeing such a side of Yoongi apart from his cold demeanour that he has when working makes you so happy and giddy.
“Well, I’d love to be your girlfriend.“ You giggle in response as he stands there in shock.
“Yoongi,” you call out. He hums in return, eyes boring into yours.
“Just kiss me already goddamn it.” You whine, tugging on his shirt collar so that you could press your lips against his.
When your lips meet one another, It starts off as a slow passionate kiss which gradually turns into a rather hungrier one. Yoongi being Yoongi, squeezes your ass and tumbles you both over onto your couch so that he is hovering over you.
“How about you pay me back for borrowing some sugar that day, by letting me taste your sweet little cunt.”
“Oh my g— Yoongi!” You widen your eyes and lightly slap his arm. How did he go from being a stuttering mess to being so confident?
“Oh come on, I know you’d love it.” Yoongi mumbles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I would but I love you more.” You giggle pecking his cheeks.
“Not more than how much I love you though,” he retorts, pecking your lips and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.
“Tomorrow is a big day.” You whisper, hooking your arms around his nape.
“I know, but you did amazing. You worked so hard on this and I loved all the designs and presentations you gave.” He replies, gently holding your hand and rubbing circles over your knuckles.
“You’re just saying that because you like me.” You retort, making him lean up to face you.
“This is part of the reason why I actually started liking you baby, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”
“I should be the one saying how proud I am of you. You worked even harder on this than me. You even skipped meals and went home at like 2 am,” you respond, brushing your fingers through his scalp.
“Oh, were you observing me princess?” He asks you in a teasing manner.
“Hmm couldn’t stop staring at my handsome and hot neighbour. No wait, I mean boss, or is it colleague? Or should I say boyfriend.” You reply, not even denying it.
“Whichever you like,” he chuckles in response before getting off of you and lifting you up in bridal style.
“Yoon what are you do—“
“Getting you to bed. We need to get some good sleep to survive tomorrow.” He states, walking to your bedroom and placing you on the bed.
“Nice room.” He compliments whilst looking around. He’s an interior designer himself, of course he’d say something about it.
“Thank you, wanna stay over?” You ask, reaching to the side to turn off the lights from your bedside table.
“Would love to.” He responds, sliding under the sheets beside you. You switch off the lights, embrace yourselves in each other’s arm and fall into deep slumber.
≫∘❀♡❀∘≪
The next day, your morning was occupied with last minute touch ups needed to be done for the designs. You kept wondering how your boyfriend was putting up with everything. When the two of you were having breakfast, he informed you that his parents were going to drop by as well. The news had made you even more nervous than you already were. I mean, the two of you just started dating yesterday and you were already going to meet his parents.
Anyways, the overall day went by really fast and fairly well. The exhibition went smoothly and a lot of people showed up including your parents, Hoseok, Yoora, their parents and Hoseok’s friends. When you met Yoongi's parents, they were really nice and looked so happy to meet you. When you told your parents, they weren’t even surprised, especially your mom.
“I knew you two would have something going on, the moment I saw him at your place that day.” These were the exact words your mom had uttered to you with Yoongi by your side.
Hoseok, Yoora and the others were very surprised. Jungkook and Jimin obviously couldn’t keep their mouths shut and exposed Yoongi by telling you how he kept asking them for some girl's advice.
“Never knew you’d be into Yoongi but at least we can go on double dates now.” Yoora had whispered to you.
“Can’t believe that even when you and Yoongi would talk to me everyday, I couldn’t figure it out.” Hoseok had beamed.
You are currently in Yoongi’s black Palisade, on your way back home from the restaurant Yoongi's father had made a reservation for. It was a fun day and nice dinner with both your families and friends. Both your parents got along very well.
You were staring out the window, recalling all the events of today when you suddenly feel Yoongi’s cold hand on your thigh.
“You know my offer from yesterday still stands.” He says, making you frown.
“What are you talking about?” You question him.
“Don’t act so innocent baby, you know what I’m talking about.” Once he states that, you knew exactly what he was referring to.
“Yoon, I already paid you back.” You reply, deciding to tease him and stretch out the conversation a bit.
“Hm, but that wasn’t enough.” He retorts.
“What do you mean I gave ba—“
“You made me fall for you. Never knew I'd fall for the girl that showed up at my apartment late at night to borrow some sugar. You stole my heart so make up for that.” He claims, looking at you when the traffic lights turn red. Your eyes immediately soften.
“I love you so much.” You confess, leaning in for a quick kiss before the lights turn green again.
“I love you too.” He responds, kissing you back before you pull out and properly sit back on your seat.
“Also, I’d like to accept your offer Mr. Min.” You assert, intertwining your fingers with his as his hand was still resting on your thigh.
“Oh my love, I hope you know you’re in for a long night then.” He smirks, squeezing your hand and taking a glance at you. You look away being all flustered so he wouldn’t notice you turning red.
#bts x reader#bts imagines#bts smut#yoongi x reader#bts suga#min yoongi#bts yoongi#strangers to lovers#min yoongi x reader#yoongi imagine#yoongi smut#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fluff#yoongi#suga#yoongi x oc#yoongi one shot#bts one shot#neighbours au#ceo!yoongi
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the road not taken | myg (teaser)
—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress oc
—rating: +18
—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)
—warnings/tags: angst, fluff, eventual smut, angst, sexual tension? lmao, slow burn, flashbacks, ANGST!!
—words: 403
—RELEASE DATE: 24/09 here
a/note: I'M BACK!!! And with a new project!! This is just a teaser but with this I want to open a new taglist, if you want to be on it please let me know!!
Yoongi, your brother’s best friend, was painfully always there in your life, you didn’t know how the mess that was your brother was able to have such a good friend, they knew each other even before you were born, when they were only four and met each other at basketball practice. Yoongi was always like your brother’s conscience, the voice of reason, the calm one, the designated driver ever since he was sixteen, the smart one, the boy every mother wanted as their son. Yoongi was the boy who helped you with your math homework when you were eleven, he was the boy who defended you when your brother made fun of you, the boy who gave you his joystick so you would stop crying when you found out your brother was making you play with the one that didn’t work. He was sweet and kind with everybody, you wished you knew that when you were twelve so you could save yourself the eternal heartache that came along with being in love with a man who only saw you as your brother’s little sister.
Yoongi was always mature, always wiser, always older. And you were always immature, always stubborn, always younger. Just a brat who couldn’t stand the fact that he was the only one you wanted, but the only one you couldn’t have.
Maybe forgetting about him when he went away to college was the best thing that happened to you, you pretended he didn’t exist during the school year and made yourself believe you got over it, that your heart didn’t jump every time you called your brother and you heard his voice in the background, that you didn’t read every birthday message he sent you since you were sixteen until you memorized them, that you didn’t compare every guy to him and that you weren’t annoyed when you realized that none of them was half as intelligent as him. You were obligated to pretend you weren’t condemned to look for his face in every crowd ever since you were a teenager. All that mental effort was wasted away when you came back home for the holidays and saw him sitting on your couch again.
You repeated the cycle every year as you pretended that your heart wasn’t tired of it, like seeing him that morning in your kitchen didn’t make your heart drop like you were twelve years old again.
#yoongi x reader#bts au#min yoongi x reader#bts fanfic#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fanfiction#yoongi x oc#min yoongi x oc#fic: the road not taken#bts x reader#bts fic#bts smut
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Learn to Love Again (m) | myg
Summary: People always leave. They become beautiful stars shining bright in the night sky. When life hands you lemons, you’ve been told to make lemonade, but that is hard when your soul and heart is breaking apart. When you rescue a tiny cat and meet a handsome stranger in the cafe, you finally feel yourself healing – but when they too leave, how are you going to learn to love again?
Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, mainly called pet names so no ‘Y/N’).
AU + genres: Hybrid!au (shapeshifter!yoongi), strangers to lovers, slice of life, heavy angst, a lot of sadness and grief (I’m sorry!), dark vibes, smut and fluff and some humor sprinkled in there too.
Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.
Word count: 19,4K
Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
Warnings (general) + triggers: Heavy angst, extreme heavy sadness and grief, death of minor characters, mention of previous character death (parents and siblings), mentions of su*cide, mention of m*rder, su*cidal thoughts. Mention of past car accident. Mention of past domestic abuse. Mirrors 👀👀
Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please stay safe!), choking, oral (female receiving), nipple and breasts play, one-time use of a degrading word (otherwise petname), hair pulling – I guess it’s pretty vanilla with a slight sprinkle of spice 🤭
Author’s note (1): I know it sounds hella sad (and it is), but it is also very sweet and heartwarming too 💜 I wanted to venture into the darker stuff again, and embrace all the feelings and sadness that I felt a few weeks ago (I’m fine, well I’m getting through it at least).
If you are triggered by any of the warnings, I suggest that you skip this. It’s not that explicit though, but the heavy subjects are still there and they feature in it a lot.
Also, the quote “people always leave” features a lot in this and I only now realize why I find it so familiar – it’s a famous quote from Peyton Sawyer from One Tree Hill.
Author's note (2): It’s only partly edited, so I’m so sorry about any mistakes or weird wordings (English is also not my mother language). When I read it again, I felt sad and like the whole thing is crap (why do I also feel like this adgadfjkhs), BUT, I still like it, it’s a piece of my heart in there… I can’t just let it sit in my docs to collect dust. So – I’ll just post it early and never look at the thing again (expect for the cover, because damn I’m so happy with how that turned out 🥹).
Taglist: @keshiadeija @viankiss @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad
If you prefer to read on AO3 you can also find it there 🙂
The heavens are weeping again, unleashing a torrential downpour that drums heavy on the windows. Just like the heavy beating of your heart and the tears that just won’t stop falling down your cheeks.
For days now, the world has languished in this disquiet, a foreboding atmosphere that has draped itself over every moment, casting a shadow even before the haunting ring of the call that echoed through the silence.
A searing, heart-wrenching call that etched itself into the fabric of your existence, standing out as one of the most agonizing moments life has ever dared to deliver.
Caught off guard by the unexpected twist of fate, it blindsided you, sending shockwaves through your core and leaving you utterly rattled, as if the very ground beneath your feet had shifted without warning.
Your conviction in her well-being crumbled as swiftly as a sandcastle against the tide.
In your last encounter, she radiated joy—her infectious happiness casting a brilliant glow over her words as she spoke about her new job, her blossoming romance, and her boundless love for life.
A tear, heavy with the weight of the contrast between then and now, traces a lonely path down your cheek.
The echo of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, and the unbridled excitement that made her hands tremble with anticipation haunted your memories.
It's a heart-wrenching juxtaposition between the happiness she projected and the sorrow now etched into the fabric of your own emotions.
She wasn't just a friend; she was your confidante, a steadfast companion through the labyrinth of years and experiences. Your best friend.
In the tapestry of your friendship, she emerged as the resplendent thread, the one who consistently outshone the rest.
Even on her darkest days, she radiated a brilliance that surpassed the ordinary, a celestial glow that left an indelible mark on your heart. To you, she wasn't just a friend; she was a luminous star, a breathtaking celestial entity whose untimely descent felt like a cosmic supernova, casting a blinding light that left everyone in its wake awestruck and forever changed.
Like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the day she chose to end her own life blindsided everyone.
The abruptness of her decision, the finality of calling it quits, left a haunting question echoing in the hollow chambers of your soul—why?
The puzzle remains unsolved, the enigma of her despair a perplexing maze you can't navigate. Outwardly, her life seemed like a canvas painted in hues of contentment, yet the invisible struggles eluded comprehension.
Despite the deep conversations that usually wove through the tapestry of your friendship, the darkness she harbored never surfaced in her words. Her choice to shroud her pain in silence remains an unfathomable mystery, a tragic paradox that still elicits a profound sense of bewilderment.
The haunting ‘what if’ lingers, an elusive specter of regret—what if she had shared her struggles with you?
The possibility that your words could have been a lifeline is an uncharted sea of sorrow. The uncertainty, the unfulfilled potential for intervention, claws at your conscience like a relentless tempest.
In the wake of this unanswered plea for connection, tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop bearing the weight of unspoken conversations. The dampness on your collarbone, where your shirt clings uncomfortably, is a tangible reminder of the storm within.
A mere few days have crawled by since that fateful call, the kind that alters the very fabric of reality.
The echo of your friend's voice reverberates through your memory—a seismic revelation that shattered your world. As the words unfolded, you crumpled to the floor, the phone nearly slipping from your trembling grasp.
A gasp caught in your throat, a palpable surge of emotion crashing over you like a tidal wave.
In that harrowing moment, your heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating with the weight of sorrow and anger. The air itself seemed to constrict, tainted with the bitter aftertaste of an impending storm. The onslaught of emotions clawed at your chest, a tumultuous dance between sadness and anger, each one vying for dominance in the chaotic symphony of your soul.
Powerlessness wraps around you like a suffocating shroud, the absence of your brightest star leaving a void that seems insurmountable.
In this moment of staggering loss, the future unfolds as a vast expanse of uncertainty. How do you navigate a world without the radiant glow she once brought to your existence?
Yet, as the weight of grief presses down, a resilient ember flickers within. Acknowledging the inexorable march of time, you realize that her memory, like a cherished constellation, will be a guiding light in the night sky of your life.
In the tapestry of your emotions, she, alongside your parents, becomes one of the celestial beacons you look up to during moments of sorrow or when life's burdens become too overwhelming.
You step out onto the balcony, enveloped by the velvety embrace of the dark blue sky.
The resplendent moon takes center stage, surrounded by a constellation of bright companions that twinkle in the vast expanse of the night. The beauty of the cosmos is a bittersweet solace, a celestial dance that captivates your gaze.
The night sky has always held a captivating allure for you, but in the wake of the profound loss of your parents, it transcends mere beauty.
It becomes a sanctuary, a cosmic tapestry where memories linger among the stars. Each celestial beacon now carries the weight of cherished moments, transforming the night into a sacred canvas where the brilliance of your loved ones continues to shine, casting a radiant glow that lingers in the quiet moments of contemplation.
The subtle hum of your phone reverberates in your hand, a clandestine messenger that disrupts the tranquility of your thoughts, setting loose a cascade of emotions.
The screen lights up with a message from a friend, its arrival like a seismic tremor in the landscape of your contemplations, shaking loose the delicate balance you've tried so desperately to maintain.
Yuna [20.31]: Iseul’s funeral is on Saturday. We’re all going. U coming?🌹
Dread settles in the pit of your stomach like a heavy anchor – the thought of attending the funeral feels like navigating a tempest of emotions you're not sure you're prepared to weather.
The prospect of confronting tears, raw emotion, and the grieving presence of her family looms before you, casting a shadow over the already somber occasion.
Yet, duty intertwines with reluctance; you were her best friend, after all.
The expectation to pay your respects becomes an unspoken mandate, tugging at the seams of your resolve despite the storm of discomfort that brews within.
Tears have become an unwelcome torrent on your phone, transforming the smooth surface into a slippery terrain that complicates every attempt to type.
The screen blurs beneath a watery veil, mirroring the tumultuous cascade in your own eyes. Distraction clings to each droplet, making it not only challenging to navigate the phone but also to see through the emotional downpour that clouds your vision.
But against the deluge of sorrow and the weight of grief, you summon the strength for a brief reply, a fragile lifeline tossed into the turbulent sea of emotions.
You [20.46]: Yes🌹
With a heavy sigh, you gently lay your phone face-down on the nightstand, as if shielding the illuminated screen from the weight of the world you've just momentarily set aside.
How do you navigate this desolate landscape that life has become?
The void feels more palpable now, a haunting echo of emptiness that had lingered even before.
It's as if the very essence of existence has been drained away, leaving you grappling with the profound question: What is the point when the world around you continues to crumble, and people around you just keep dying?
At Iseul's funeral, you navigated the somber scene alongside your friend group, bracing for the emotional maelstrom that awaited.
The atmosphere unfolded exactly as you had anticipated — a tableau of tears, grief-stricken family members, and the embrace of mournful hugs. Conversations echoed with memories of Iseul's radiant spirit, each word a bittersweet tribute to the bright and bubbly soul that once graced your lives.
Amidst the collective sorrow, the air hung heavy with the weight of loss, weaving a tapestry of emotions that spoke to the indelible impact Iseul had left behind.
It was agonizing, bidding farewell in the harsh reality of acceptance. The harsh truth of life unveiled itself – an unrelenting cycle of departures.
Yet, amidst the crushing finality, you find solace in the enduring promise that even though everyone leaves, the stars above will forever bear witness to her presence, a cosmic constellation of memories that will continue to illuminate the canvas of your nights.
Work persists in its mundane rhythm, the monotony punctuated only by the forced smiles you offer customers as you brew their coffee or recommend delectable treats in the cafe.
For you, work has forever remained a sterile landscape, devoid of passion or purpose. The unfulfilled yearning for a meaningful career tugs at the edges of your consciousness, a persistent ache exacerbated by life's unrelenting cruelty—your unfinished degree in astrophysics stands as a testament to dreams deferred. Maybe you’ll go back to school – you don’t know.
Your thoughts are abruptly shattered by a brash intrusion, a man’s voice slicing through the ambient noise with an unwarranted familiarity. “Hi, pretty,” he drawls, snapping your attention to the present, “can I get a black coffee, a muffin, and your number, please?”
The audacious request hangs in the air, leaving a charged pause that crackles with a blend of amusement and annoyance.
You stifle a silent scoff, a careful veil to conceal the simmering irritation within, though the indignation is palpable.
This flirtatious interlude is far from novel—far from the first time someone has attempted to weave charm into the fabric of your workday. Yet, a discomforting truth lingers beneath your composed exterior: you disdain these unwarranted advances, a sentiment you've carried with you each time such encounters stain the ordinary canvas of your work.
Forcing a smile that feels more like a fragile mask, you locate a muffin, navigating the familiar routine with practiced efficiency.
As you approach the coffee machine to craft the requested brew, you gather both items and, with a subtle sigh, slide them across the counter.
Your words, delivered with a polite cadence, carry a hint of firmness as you say, “Here you go. Apologies, but my number isn't on the menu.”
Turning men down has become a skill honed through the crucible of experience, a necessity etched into the fabric of your being, especially after the wreckage of your last relationship.
It wasn't just a breakup; it was a tempest that left you bruised, not only on the surface but also in the recesses of your soul.
To declare a dread of relationships, despite the quiet longing that flickers deep within, would be an understatement—the mere thought evokes the echoes of a tumultuous past, a cautionary tale etched in both physical and emotional hues of black and blue.
Despite the man's disapproving frown, he begrudgingly parts with his payment, snatching his coffee and muffin.
As he vacates the space, you extend a tight-lipped greeting to the next customer, the forced smile a delicate masquerade concealing the intricacies of emotion churning beneath the surface.
Day after day unfolds in this relentless routine, a relentless loop where, despite the suffocating weight of depression, you muster the strength to haul yourself into work.
The struggle is an unspoken battle, fought in the silent recesses of your soul, and each morning becomes a victory against the persistent darkness that threatens to engulf your spirit.
You maintain a lifeline to your friends, weaving a narrative of your somber mood and emotional tumult, acutely aware of the significance of vocalizing your feelings rather than succumbing to the perilous grip of silent suffering.
Recent conversations with your friends have taken an unexpected turn, steering into the realm of your dating life or, more accurately, its conspicuous absence.
Their fervent advocacy for you to reenter the world of romance echoes in your ears, their well-intentioned pleas urging you to cross paths with someone great and amazing.
However, you find yourself standing at the crossroads of uncertainty, unsure if you're ready to navigate the labyrinth of love once more.
Despite your reservations, you indulge them, allowing their words to wash over you like a waterfall of unsolicited advice, all the while steadfast in your understanding that a man is not a prerequisite for happiness or the completeness of your life—you've long recognized your ability to stand firm and flourish on your own terms.
An entire season has unfurled its tapestry, and while the vast void persists within the caverns of your heart, there's a subtle transformation underway. Amidst the lingering shadows, a sliver of the sun's warm rays threads its way through, gently illuminating the emptiness.
The caress of warm weather and sunlight manages to coax a faint lift in your mood, a subtle thawing of the emotional frost.
Yet, amidst the burgeoning warmth, there's a yearning for the crispness of cold, the kind that invites the comfort of wool sweaters and socks, beckoning a desire to cocoon on the couch and lose yourself in the embrace of solitude.
After withstanding the relentless onslaught of your friends' persistent prodding into the realm of your love life, you've yielded to the chorus of their well-meaning badgering. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you've made the bold decision to reenter the intricate dance of the dating game.
The prospect of discovering 'the one' remains shrouded in uncertainty, a delicate balance between the promise of profound connection and the potential peril of heartache from those who might not treat you right.
However, the ambiguity of the journey doesn't deter your resolve. To remain passive is to forfeit the chance at something extraordinary.
The echoes of Iseul and the silent encouragement from your departed parents reverberate, urging you to embrace life with all its intricate hues. Their unwritten wish for your happiness becomes the compass guiding your path, compelling you to take the plunge and give it your all.
You yearn for a life where the pursuit of happiness isn't punctuated by the haunting inevitability of departures and loss. You grasp the harsh truth that people leaving or departing through death is an inescapable facet of existence, a relentless current in the river of life.
Yet, the recurring tide of sorrow that washes over you each time someone departs feels burdensome, a weight that anchors your spirit. It would be a cherished reprieve if the ebb and flow of life's transitions didn't carry with it a relentless undertow that threatens to drag you down each time.
Your dating escapades have unfolded like a series of misadventures, each rendezvous more perplexing than the last.
One suitor wielded an aggressive tone that eclipsed any potential connection, while another was so absorbed in self-interest that your voice seemed but an echo in the conversation. Then there was the one who sought solace in your company to mend a broken heart, an unwitting participant in their quest for emotional repair.
With every disappointing encounter, your hopes wane like the dying embers of a once-bright flame. Yet, undeterred, you persist in the pursuit of connection, a resilient soul navigating the unpredictable seas of dating with unwavering determination.
Amidst the tumultuous sea of advice from your friends, the suggestion of a night out clubbing emerges as a potential remedy to jumpstart your dating life—a one-night stand, a shortcut to reclaiming agency over your love life.
However, the proposition fails to align with the essence of who you are. The neon-lit allure of the club scene doesn't resonate with your soul, and the idea of a fleeting encounter doesn't hold the promise you seek.
Nonetheless, you find yourself engulfed in a pulsating sea of sound, the music in the club roaring, the bass reverberating through the floor and into your bones.
The atmosphere is a maelstrom of heat and sweat, a suffocating embrace that intensifies your regret for being there.
Yuna, exuding an air of confidence, takes charge and orders a round of drinks for the group. Meanwhile, Nari's eyes scan the lively chaos of the club, a vigilant matchmaker on a mission to uncover potential matches for you.
Her finger extends with a pointed certainty toward a mysterious figure—a dark-haired man sporting a sleeveless shirt, the canvas of his arm adorned with an intricate tattoo sleeve. His dark eyes, scanning the crowded expanse of the club, carry an enigmatic intensity, hinting at a captivating allure that goes beyond the surface.
Your laughter carries a blend of amusement and skepticism as you dismissively remark, “Nah, he's giving off major fuckboy vibes.”
Amidst the cacophony of pounding music in the club, Nari practically shouts in your face, her words punctuating the beat as she insists, “Maybe that's exactly what you need!”
The intensity of her proclamation, a fervent plea for spontaneity, reverberates in the air, a challenge thrown into the whirlwind of the night's possibilities.
You shake your head, a firm yet polite rejection lingering on your lips, “No, thank you.”
Just as the tension subsides, Yuna appears with a tray of drinks, a timely distraction. Gratefully, you accept your drink, savoring the sweet and sour concoction that dances across your palate, momentarily providing respite from the charged atmosphere of the club.
The night unfolds in a rhythm of measured indulgence—a few drinks to chase a gentle buzz, steering clear of the edge of intoxication. Your gaze scans the crowd in search of potential matches, but amidst the pulsating lights and swirling music, none captures the elusive spark that ignites a genuine interest.
As the night deepens and the rhythm of the club starts to fade, you bid farewell to your friends, the weight of the evening settling in your bones.
Stepping out into the nocturnal air, you're greeted by the relentless cascade of rain, a torrential downpour that catches you off guard. Damn it, you realize, a surge of annoyance coursing through you, you didn't bring an umbrella.
Embracing a sudden burst of defiance, you make a split-second decision, a resolute ‘fuck it’ echoing in your mind.
Stepping onto the sidewalk without the shelter of an umbrella, you surrender to the unrelenting rain. In mere moments, your hair clings to your skin, and your clothes succumb to the downpour.
As you navigate the labyrinth of alleys and pass by numerous apartments, a peculiar low noise infiltrates the ambient hum of the rain. What is that sound?
It's a subtle yet persistent calling that arrests your movements, compelling you to strain your senses in an attempt to decipher its origin.
It's not just your slightly tipsy mind, is it, playing tricks on you?
The cadence of the noise feels like a desperate plea, an ethereal call for help that beckons you into a mysterious dance between reality and the unknown.
Undeterred by the absence of street lamps, you navigate a shadowy alleyway nestled between looming apartment complexes. The darkness cloaks the path ahead, but you press on, an intrepid explorer drawn to the mystery that lies beyond the veil of obscurity.
As you draw nearer, the enigmatic noise crescendos in intensity, a haunting melody that pierces the quiet of the alley.
Your steps quicken, and with each stride, the source becomes clearer. Could it be emanating from the depths of the dumpster?
A sense of déjà vu wraps around you, as if this eerie scene has been lifted from a cinematic reel. The dilemma tugs at your curiosity, tempting you to peer into the abyss of the dumpster, a choice that hangs in the balance.
Yet, before you make a decision, a glimmer of relief washes over you.
Nestled snugly beside the dumpster, a small ball of fur captivates your attention, its presence a stark contrast to the ominous shadows.
A silhouette emerges from the darkness, and as you inch closer, the mystery unfolds into a shivering, meowing figure—a black cat.
The frailness of the tiny creature tugs at your heartstrings, and you find yourself hunching down, extending a tentative invitation with soft calls, coaxing the small, ebony bundle to bridge the gap between its vulnerability and your outstretched hand.
The black cat fixes its gaze upon you, eyes mirroring a blend of uncertainty and wariness, as if it's attempting to decipher the intentions behind your outstretched hand.
The black cat stirs from its initial hesitation, uttering plaintive meows that seem to echo its distress. As it rises, the stark reality becomes evident—malnourished and shrouded in fear, it moves tentatively towards you. Each step seems to echo a history of abandonment and struggle. With aching slowness, the feline inches closer, navigating the wet ground with trepidation.
Softly, you beckon the malnourished feline closer, the words “Come here, you poor thing” carrying an invitation laced with compassion.
As the tiny creature inches nearer, its pitch-black eyes become an intense focal point, a gaze that transcends the physical realm, peering into the depths of your soul. In that poignant exchange, a silent pact forms—an unspoken promise of comfort and understanding between two beings, each seeking solace in the other's company.
As the fragile black cat draws near, an echo from your past resurfaces—the cautionary words of your mother reverberating in your mind. ‘Black cats bring omen and death,’ her voice, etched in childhood memories, had warned.
Yet, confronted with the stark vulnerability of this shivering, lost creature in the cold summer rain, you find your resolve tested.
Against the weight of your mother's superstitions, compassion prevails, and you make a conscious decision to offer refuge. You haven’t got anything else to lose, but yourself.
The cat's purrs resonate in the quiet alley, a melodic response to the tentative connection forming between you. Meows become a symphony of trust as it finally caresses your hand, a delicate dance of vulnerability.
With a newfound intimacy, it leans into your touch, climbing up your arm to find refuge in your lap. Despite your jacket's damp embrace, you pull the shivering creature closer, enfolding it tightly against your chest.
“I’ll take you home and get you some food.”
Rising from the damp alley, you cradle the tiny black cat in your arms, an intimate embrace that transcends the physicality of the moment. As you navigate the journey home, each step becomes a testament to the newfound connection—its fragile heartbeat resonating against your chest.
As you finally reach the sanctuary of your home, both you and the shivering cat are thoroughly drenched from the relentless rain.
With a twist of the key, you unlock the door to your small apartment, ushering in a breath of warmth that contrasts sharply with the damp chill outside.
In a choreography of relief, you kick off your sodden shoes, the cat nestled at your feet. Unburdened by the weight of the rain-soaked coat, you hang it on the rack, a visual symbol of the transition from the stormy world outside to the comforting refuge within the four walls of your home.
“I'll find you a towel and dry you off,” you promise to the cat, your words a tender reassurance before your feet. With a sense of urgency, you hasten to the bathroom, a quest for a towel becoming a mission to provide comfort to your newfound companion.
As you return, traces of wet footprints mark the path from the entryway to your living room, leading to the sight of the cat perched regally on your couch.
The unexpected image elicits a sense of awe within you, a silent marvel at the fortuitous encounter that has unfolded. With the fluffy towel in hand, you join the tiny creature on the couch.
With gentle strokes, you tenderly dry the cat with the fluffy towel, the rhythmic purrs and meows resonating like a melody of gratitude.
In this intimate act of care, a bond forms between you and the feline, its response a testament to the shared understanding that has quietly blossomed.
The dampness of the storm may linger outside, but within the confines of your home, a warmth permeates, forged through the simple yet profound act of offering comfort to a fragile soul.
Persistently, the cat continues its chorus of meows, its nearly obsidian eyes fixed on you with an intensity that transcends mere feline curiosity. In the silent exchange, a profound question lingers in the air—what does it want?
The gaze carries an almost pleading quality, an unspoken plea that invites you to unravel the mysteries hidden within those enigmatic eyes, and in doing so, embark on a journey of connection and understanding with this small, mysterious soul.
A revelation flickers in your mind like a sudden burst of light—food!
The realization washes over you, and a spark of understanding illuminates the unspoken hunger behind those pleading eyes. “You're starving, ain't ya?” you murmur, the words a bridge between the two of you, an acknowledgment of shared needs and the beginning of a silent commitment to provide not just shelter but sustenance to this small, hungry soul.
In a hurried dance between care and necessity, you dart into the kitchen, swinging open the fridge door to unleash a blast of cold air.
The realization that your wet clothes might lead to an impending cold nudges at you, urging a brief pause for self-care. As you contemplate changing into dry attire, the cat, now a nimble companion, weaves around your feet, a symphony of meows echoing its anticipation of the impending feast.
As your gaze sweeps across the contents of the fridge, a flurry of questions dance in your mind—what do cats like?
In a moment of culinary improvisation, you spot the remnants of yesterday's fish. A hopeful assumption takes hold—cats like fish, right?
Without a second thought, you snatch the container, crack it open, and ceremoniously place it on the floor.
The cat descends upon the fish with a voracity that borders on desperation, consuming it in a whirlwind of seconds.
You observe in silent fascination as the cat devours the fish with an almost primal fervor, each bite a testament to the depth of its hunger.
As the cat lifts its gaze, those dark, fond eyes fixate on you, a silent expression of gratitude that transcends words, forging a connection that lingers in the air like the sweet aftertaste of an unexpected bond.
You retrieve a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the floor. The cat, having satisfied its hunger, wastes no time. It immediately dips its tongue into the water, each lap a testament to the thirst that had accompanied its hunger.
In the quiet aftermath of the cat's meal, you find yourself engaged in a one-sided conversation. While it laps up the water, you speak to it with a hint of longing, as if expecting the feline to reveal its name with a mere glance. “I don't know what your name is…” you muse aloud, your words hanging in the air like a silent plea for connection.
In the exchange, a profound yearning takes root—a desire not just to care for this creature but to unravel the mystery that shrouds it, beginning with the revelation of a name.
Hmm... A whimsical idea takes shape in your mind, and with a voice full of hope, you share your musings with the feline companion. “I don't know, maybe I'll give you one!” you exclaim, the words tinged with the excitement of a newfound connection.
Testing the waters, you propose a couple of names with a hopeful lilt in your voice. “Shadow?” you venture, eyes fixated on the cat, seeking any flicker of recognition.
Yet, met with a stoic demeanor, you playfully offer another option, “Licorice?”
A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but the cat remains unfazed, engrossed in its culinary pursuits.
Embracing a sudden surge of inspiration, you think of a name that dances on the edges of whimsy and mischief. “You look like a 'Loki,' like a God of Mischief!” The words tumble out with a playful chuckle, a nod to the elusive charm that shrouds the feline.
To your surprise, the cat interrupts its feast, casting what seems like a dumbfounded expression your way.
A moment of shared acknowledgment hangs in the air before the cat resumes its meal, leaving you to wonder if, in that fleeting pause, you've glimpsed the spark of recognition in its enigmatic eyes.
An impromptu burst of enthusiasm seizes you, and with an abrupt yell, you christen the cat in a moment of whimsy. “Kitten!”
The exclamation is so sudden that it startles the cat, prompting a small leap in surprise. “That's your name. You're so small, like a little kitten,” you playfully jest, mimicking the affectionate cooing one might give to a baby.
In the imaginary realm where cats understand human whims, you half-expect a hypothetical eye-roll, as if the creature were a miniature human indulging in the theatrics of a quirky naming ceremony.
In the wake of your spontaneous naming ceremony, Kitten darts away, a streak of fur and energy leaving you in its playful wake. A fleeting attempt to follow its swift movements reveals the futility of keeping pace with this agile companion.
An earnest plea escapes your lips, “No, don't run away, Kitten!” A plea that halts not far from your bedroom, where a sudden idea takes root. “We're going to bed, and you can even sleep in my bed.” The promise hangs in the air, an invitation that sparks the cat's curiosity.
Without hesitation, Kitten races back to you, weaving through your legs and darting into the bedroom. It watches itself in the mirror in front of your bed, before it in a graceful leap, lands on the bed, transforming this impromptu offer into a shared moment of warmth and companionship.
A soft chuckle escapes you as Kitten, with a graceful twirl, transforms into a snug, fluffy black ball. It settles onto the bed, a picture of contentment and trust, the rhythmic rise and fall of its breathing echoing in the room.
In the sanctuary of your bathroom, the day's residue fades away as you delicately remove stained makeup and indulge in your nightly skincare rituals.
With a sense of quiet reverence, you return to the bedroom, mindful not to disrupt Kitten's serene repose. Nestled in bed, you prop yourself up, the rhythmic routine a prelude to the tranquility that envelops the room.
As you surrender to the embrace of sleep, the ethereal presence of the black cat becomes a silent companion in the journey between waking and dreams, a guardian of the night's secrets.
In the intimate company of Kitten, you find solace in the honesty of your own reflection. “He wasn't really for me, Kitten. I don't know why I keep going on these dates. They amount to nothing.” A sigh punctuates your admission, a subtle echo of the unspoken search for connection that seems elusive in the realm of human encounters.
As you delve into a shared meal with your newfound family member – Kitten, you stuff your face with delicious food in an attempt to keep your minds off your failing romantic life.
Kitten responds to your words with a series of gentle meows, a seemingly agreeable chorus that resonates in the room.
Over the past few days, he has transformed into an impeccable listener, absorbing the tapestry of your thoughts with silent grace.
In the quiet moments of your soliloquies, a yearning surfaces—a desire for more than a feline confidant, for words that echo back with advice and wisdom.
Yet, despite this unfulfilled wish, Kitten's silent companionship remains a source of profound comfort, his presence weaving seamlessly into the fabric of your daily life, a testament to the unexpected connections that emerge in the quiet interludes of solitude.
Consistent as the rhythm of a heartbeat, Kitten is there, a patient sentinel awaiting your return from the hustle of the day.
His presence becomes a cherished routine, an embodiment of comfort that transcends the mundanity of the everyday.
As you settle in front of the television, Kitten gracefully claims his place in your lap, his form snuggling into the contours of your warmth.
The scene unfolds like a silent ballet, a dance between two beings finding solace in the quietude of shared moments—a testament to the profound bond that has blossomed in the intimate spaces of your daily life.
On a day marked by what you'd deem a successful date, you decide to bring the guy home to your apartment.
Kitten welcomes you with joyous meows, but the moment his obsidian eyes lock onto the man, a palpable shift occurs.
The cat's once-hospitable demeanor morphs into a display of territorial assertion—he hisses, claws unsheathed, a guardian of the sacred space that has become both haven and sanctuary.
Unfazed by Kitten's display of discontent, the man follows you into the bedroom, a trail of unresolved tension lingering in the air. However, as you attempt to navigate the fragile balance between human relationships and the silent protests of your feline confidant, Kitten stalks in with palpable anger.
Kitten's claws assert their protest on the man's pants, a silent plea echoing through the room. “I'm so sorry about my cat. He's not usually like this,” you hastily apologize, attempting to navigate the tumultuous intersection of human connection and feline territoriality.
In the midst of the uneasy dance, the guy gently guides you down onto the bed, a kiss bridging the gap between words left unsaid and the uncharted landscapes of desire.
In an unforeseen twist, Kitten catapults onto the bed, launching a surprise attack on the poor man's back with unbridled ferocity.
The room erupts with a sudden commotion as the guy yells in pain, Kitten swiftly retreating to the shelter of your startled embrace.
Frustration and pain tinge the man's voice as he vehemently declares, “Fuck this. This isn't worth it! Your cat is a fucking psycho!”
The words hang in the air, a bitter testament to the unexpected turbulence that has unraveled in the wake of Kitten's feline intervention.
With an angry storm, the man storms out of your bedroom and through the front door, leaving behind a charged atmosphere and the unresolved echoes of a connection unraveling at the seams.
As the storm of emotions settles, Kitten finds solace in your lap, a contented purr resonating through the room—a feline sovereign basking in the aftermath of his territorial triumph.
Meanwhile, you remain seated, mouth agape, an image of stunned disbelief etched across your face.
You address Kitten with a scolding tone, attempting to impart a sense of reprimand into the air. “You can't do that, Kitten!” you assert, a firmness in your voice attempting to breach the language barrier between human and feline.
Amidst the aftermath, a hesitant chuckle escapes your lips, a soft attempt to diffuse the tension that lingers in the air. “Also, you're gonna leave me single forever if you do that,” you jest, the words bearing the weight of both humor and a subtle unease.
In the ambiguous space between laughter and contemplation, you grapple with the conflicting emotions stirred by Kitten's unexpected display of protectiveness—a complex blend of gratitude, amusement, and the uncharted territories of understanding the intricate dynamics of companionship with a creature whose language transcends the boundaries of words.
A solitary figure with raven-black hair occupies a corner table in the cafe, his presence shrouded in an air of quiet mystery that tugs at the edges of your memory.
Intrigued, you've stolen glances at him, an unspoken connection sparking curiosity within you.
The man, seemingly lost in a world of words and sketches within the pages of his journal, emanates a strange familiarity that dances on the fringes of your consciousness.
As he sips on his coffee, a poignant picture of solitude and anticipation, you can't help but wonder about the untold story woven into the fabric of his contemplative gaze. Perhaps he's a poet awaiting inspiration, or maybe, like you, he's caught in the delicate dance of anticipation, waiting for someone who may never arrive.
His long, pitch-black hair cascades in soft curls, framing a face adorned with dark, expressive eyes. The fair and creamy complexion of his skin, paired with lips tinged with the aftermath of fervent bites, adds an air of mystery to his features. His hands, adorned with prominent veins, move with purpose across the pages of his journal, translating the thoughts within his mind into tangible strokes. Clad in a black leather biker jacket and ripped jeans, he emanates a ‘bad boy’ allure that might not align with your usual preferences, yet there's an undeniable handsomeness that transcends the surface. As you observe, the truth unfolds—looks can be deceiving, you know.
As the hands of the clock inch towards the conclusion of your shift, you notice the enigmatic man with the pitch-black hair has vanished, leaving only the echo of his presence lingering in the now vacant corner.
The air is charged with the unspoken allure of an encounter that slipped through the fingers of time.
Packing up your belongings, you carry the weight of curiosity with you as you embark on the journey home, where the enigmatic enigma of Kitten awaits.
Kitten, sensing your return, greets you with a symphony of affectionate meows. Your hand instinctively reaches out, weaving a tapestry of gentle pats and strokes, an unspoken language shared between human and feline. With a contented sigh escaping your lips, you murmur, “Happy to be home.”
In the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, you find yourself recounting the day's enigmatic encounter to Kitten, the words lingering in the air like a shared secret between kindred spirits. “I saw the loneliest guy today, Kitten. It felt like he was waiting for someone, but destiny stood him up.”
As the words escape your lips, Kitten's attentive gaze reflects an unspoken understanding, a silent pact shared between you and your feline confidant.
Your fingers delicately dance behind Kitten's ears, a gesture that elicits a symphony of contented purrs, resonating within the confines of your quiet haven.
The next day unfolds like a familiar scene, the cafe's atmosphere steeped in the aroma of coffee and the rustle of pages turning.
Once again, the mysterious black-haired man graces the corner with his presence, accompanied by a steaming cup of coffee and the enigmatic dance of his pen across the pages of his journal.
Your curiosity, a flame flickering in the recesses of your thoughts, draws you to the edge of decision — to approach and unravel the mysteries that cloak him. Yet, an invisible barrier holds you back, a silent pact with yourself not to disturb the solitary poet whose verses remain unread.
The elusive man, shrouded in the mystery of unread words, remains a realm unexplored, as each coffee order becomes a bridge guarded by your coworker.
As the day unfolds, the mysterious man persists in his corner, a captivating enigma that draws your attention like a moth to a flame.
The rhythmic ballet of your daily routine continues, an intricate dance of serving customers while stealing glances in his direction.
In the quiet recesses of your mind, a burning question simmers – who could possibly stand up this captivating soul, adorned with the allure of dark hair and an air of mystery that commands the room?
After days of observing the silent saga of the man and his solitude, a week of unbroken routine, your empathy swells like a rising tide.
A magnetic force compels you to bridge the distance, and against the backdrop of the cafe's ambient hum, your feet, as if guided by an invisible hand, carry you to the table where he patiently awaits an absent companion.
With a mix of curiosity and compassion, you settle into the chair opposite him, breaking the invisible barrier that held you apart.
As your presence disrupts the solitude he had grown accustomed to, his intense gaze, reminiscent of a predatory feline, lifts from the pages of his journal to meet your own. The sharpness in his eyes feels like a calculated assessment, causing a subtle tremor to course through you. You gulp.
“Hi,” you start, the uncertainty palpable in your voice. Attempting to mask your nervousness, your fingers run through your hair, a feeble defense against the anxious tide.
“I’ve noticed you here alone for the past few days, and I just—” Your words stumble, caught in the rush, but before you can continue, he interjects with a voice sharp as a blade, his eyes piercing through you like he can unravel your deepest secrets.
“Are you stalking me?” The question hangs in the air, and his gaze feels like an X-ray, laying bare your darkest thoughts. Your body seizes, frozen in the penetrating gaze that seems to pry into the very recesses of your soul.
Why does his voice carry a hint of familiarity, resonating through the air like an echo from another time?
His very presence, too, feels like a distant memory, even though you're certain you hadn't laid eyes on him before he entered the cafe a week ago.
A subtle smirk plays on his lips, a realization dawning on you that he's asked a question. As you attempt to gather your thoughts, you find yourself choking on air, grappling to string together a coherent response.
“I'm kidding. I know you work here,” he chuckles, and you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Your shoulders ease, and in an instant, you respond with a soft smile, a subtle connection forming in that shared moment of relief.
“Are you waiting for someone?” you inquire, and a smile graces his face, revealing gleaming white teeth and pink gums. He looks cute. Dangerously so.
“Nah. She just arrived.” Your eyes light up. Finally, his date has shown up! You start to rise from your chair, eager to make space for his companion. He looks up at you, a curious expression on his face, and asks, “What are you doing?”
“Making room for your date?” you quip, utterly dumbfounded.
“Date?” he asks with a raised brow. You nod, adding, “The one you’ve been waiting for.”
“But I’m already looking at her.” Your mouth hangs wide open; did you just hear him right? Is this a pickup line? And why on earth is it working?
You chuckle nervously, the sound a stark contrast to his calm and cool demeanor.
You ease back into your chair, and the conversation flows so naturally that you feel like you've known him for years.
Upon returning home, you excitedly share the details of your day with Kitten, recounting the encounter with the handsome man with his curly hair and piercing eyes. While you stroke Kitten and he purrs contentedly, you express your perplexity about the strange sense of familiarity the man emanated, despite being certain you've never met him before.
Kitten twirls and purrs in your lap, savoring the gentle strokes as you recline on your couch.
“I can't help but wonder if he'll be there again tomorrow,” you muse, your voice a soft melody to the room, accompanied by Kitten's content purrs.
He returned to the cafe the next day, and the next and the next turned into weeks.
He dedicates every moment to his secluded corner, and during your breaks you find solace in the cadence of your conversations. His name, Yoongi, resonates with the soulful poems that he breathes life into with his well-worn guitar. You’ve never heard him play or sing, but you look forward to the day you might.
His question pierces through the hum of the café, abruptly pulling you from your reverie as you delicately nibble on your muffin. “Are you heading home for the summer break?” he inquires, the unexpected interruption leaving a sweet and curious taste lingering on your lips.
As his question hangs in the air, you lock eyes with him, realizing he might not grasp the gravity of his inquiry.
There's a momentary sag in your shoulders, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lies beneath. Gathering the strength to respond, you share a piece of your past, “No. My parents died when I was young.”
Regret casts a shadow over his striking features in an instant, and you witness a profound apology escaping from his lips.
“I'm holding up okay. It's a tale from a while back. A car accident took my parents, leaving just my little sister and me as survivors,” you share, a poignant sadness threading through your words, your eyes misting with the memories.
He tenderly offers words of comfort, a soothing balm for your weary soul, and you allow him to lift the heaviness that clings to your spirit.
You beam at him, grateful for the warmth that radiates from his kind soul, a presence you've grown to cherish over the past few months. “And you, any exciting plans for the summer?”
“I might have to go home to my parents for a bit, but I’m not sure yet,” he shares, absentmindedly running his fingers through his soft black locks, a gesture that makes you yearn for the touch of your own hand in that sea of darkness.
“I'm telling you, bitch!” Nari slaps Yuna's thigh, a bit too enthusiastically, causing her to flinch in pain, as Nari adds with a sly grin, “She's head over heels in loooove.”
You roll your eyes at both of them, their playful banter fading into background noise as you savor the drink that Yuna ordered for you.
You've navigated downtown, finding refuge in a cozy establishment where the ambient tunes, board games, and drinks create the perfect backdrop for reconnecting with your friends.
“I swear, I'm not head over heels or anything,” you insist, batting away their teasing with a playful smirk, all the while sipping on the drink that Yuna ordered for you.
“He’s just nice,” you add with a soft smile.
“You sure do talk about him a lot,” Yuna adds in a chuckle as she rubs her thigh.
“Well, he's an interesting person, and the conversations just flow,” you reply with a grin, downplaying the significance, but your friends exchange knowing glances that hint at their suspicions.
Nari takes a sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Speaking of crushes, your little companion, what's his name again? Kitten?”
You passionately defend Kitten, your eyes sparkling with affection. “Don't bring Kitten into this! I adore him,” you gush, wearing your love for the little furball as a badge of honor.
Nari shares her romantic wisdom, her words dripping with affection. “Cats are fine companions, but you should find a man who can bring you warmth and happiness,” she says, her eyes practically turning into hearts if this were a cartoon. You can't help but chuckle at her earnest advice.
Yuna playfully nudges your shoulder and suggests, “You should totally ask out this Yoongi guy. I mean, come on, you practically light up every time you talk about him.”
You pause, a moment of uncertainty hanging in the air. “Maybe,” you finally reply, your words carrying the weight of contemplation.
Nari's enthusiasm rings in your ears, a bit too loud in the cozy ambiance. “You don't have anything to lose, only more to gain!” she almost shouts, her excitement reaching its peak. Her words, fueled by a touch of intoxication, linger in the air, leaving you to ponder as you consider whether it's time to call it a night.
“Okay. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”
As you step into your apartment, Kitten greets you with an extra dose of affection, weaving himself between your legs and trailing you with heightened attention. Tonight, he appears more attuned to your every move, purring and twirling around your legs with an endearing neediness. Settling down, you can't resist his charms and find yourself seated, offering gentle strokes to his fur-covered frame.
As you wrap up your nightly routine and slip into your comfortable pajamas, you turn to Kitten with a question that has become a familiar part of your routine.
“I'm heading to bed, Kitten. You joining?” Kitten promptly leaps onto the bed, taking his customary place by your side.
However, tonight, there's a lingering sense of affection in his actions. He showers you with gentle licks, a gesture that brings a smile to your face. As sleep gradually claims you, your dreams are adorned with vivid images of obsidian eyes and a dark, star-studded sky.
As you awaken from a restful sleep, the absence of Kitten by your side strikes you like a sudden jolt.
Your initial response is to sit up, calling out for him, yet there's only silence in return.
The quietness, once comforting, now carries an eerie weight as you realize the profound impact Kitten has had on your daily life.
The room feels emptier, and a sense of unease settles in, disrupting the peace you've grown accustomed to.
A wave of melancholy washes over you, creating a heavy ache in your chest as you scan the familiar corners of your apartment, desperately searching for any sign of Kitten.
The unanswered questions pile up in your mind, a torrent of worries threatening to drown you. Did he, too, decide to leave, slipping away like others from your life?
The uncertainty gnaws at you, pushing you to venture into the quiet streets, hoping against hope to uncover the fate of your feline companion. Each step is a mix of trepidation and determination, a journey into the unknown to retrieve the missing piece of your daily existence.
A sense of desperation tightens its grip as you scour every nook and cranny, but Kitten remains elusive, leaving you with the bitter taste of vanishing hope.
The echoes of your unanswered calls hang in the air, blending with the growing unease that clings to you like a shadow. The once familiar spaces now feel like a maze, and you can't shake the sinking feeling that your luck is slipping away, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. The haunting question persists: where could he be, and what could have taken him from your side?
With a mixture of determination and trepidation, your feet instinctively carry you back to the cafe.
The familiar chime announces your arrival, drawing the attention of your coworker, who casts a puzzled look your way. The early hour has caught them off guard, their raised eyebrow mirroring the questions that dance in your own mind.
As you scan the cozy confines of the cafe, a subtle panic begins to creep through your veins. The absence of Yoongi creates an uneasy knot in your stomach, but you reassure yourself, clinging to the hope that he might stroll in later, as he often does.
The hours drag on, each passing moment heightening the anticipation. As the door chimes with every newcomer, a flicker of hope dances in your chest, only to be extinguished when it's not Yoongi.
The day becomes a symphony of disappointment, and the subtle hope you clung to begins to dissipate, slipping through your fingers like elusive grains of sand. The cafe, once a haven of warmth and comfort, now feels eerily empty without the presence of his familiar silhouette.
As your shift draws to a close, a heavy sadness settles over you like a thick fog. The absence of Yoongi, who always brought a touch of warmth to the cafe, leaves an emptiness that echoes through the familiar surroundings. The unanswered questions linger in your mind, and a nagging worry creeps in — what could have kept him away?
The air is charged with uncertainty, and you can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him.
A sudden realization hits you like a wave, as you recall Yoongi mentioning the possibility of traveling to his parents for the summer break.
The initial sting of disappointment transforms into a pang of concern. Questions swirl in your mind like a tempest – did he leave without saying goodbye? Why didn't he share his plans with you?
The uncertainty gnaws at your thoughts, and you grapple with the unknown, desperately seeking solace in the memories of your time together.
A disquieting sensation twists in your stomach, an ominous premonition casting a shadow over your thoughts. The unease tightens its grip, leaving you with an unsettling sense that something may have befallen Yoongi.
Your mind races through various scenarios, each more distressing than the last, as you grapple with the haunting uncertainty that looms over his absence.
Regret echoes through your thoughts like a haunting refrain. The absence of contact details with Yoongi leaves you grappling with the repercussions of a missed opportunity, a seemingly insignificant detail now carrying the weight of your uncertainty.
A sense of loss and yearning wraps around you, intensifying the void created by the absence of a farewell. The realization dawns that in the midst of budding connection, you failed to secure a bridge to traverse the distance that now separates you.
Each step on the journey home feels like a weighted march, the heaviness of unspoken goodbyes sinking into your bones.
Sorrow, like a relentless tide, floods your heart, consuming it with an ache that echoes through each footfall. Familiar pangs of longing claw at your chest, constricting breaths into fleeting gasps.
It's as if the very air you breathe carries the weight of an unfinished story, leaving you to navigate the foggy terrain of uncertainty, the poignant residue of an incomplete connection lingering in the spaces between each step.
A tempest of thoughts unleashes in your mind, a whirlwind of self-doubt and abandonment. The notion that he, too, might have slipped away like others before him wraps around your heart, squeezing it in an unforgiving grip. The ache is palpable, resonating through every fiber of your being. It's an anguish that cuts deep, a symphony of hurt orchestrated by the haunting possibility that echoes in the chambers of your wounded heart.
In the intricate tapestry of your time knowing him, he wasn't just a passing figure; he had etched himself into the mosaic of your life, becoming a fragment that held the essence of friendship.
You step into the sanctuary of your apartment, liberating your feet from the constraints of shoes, and collapse onto the couch, surrendering to its plush contours that cradle you in a cocoon of solace.
In the midst of trying to regain control of your racing breaths, a subtle vibration resonates from your pocket, drawing your attention like a lifeline. Retrieving your phone, you cast an intrigued glance at the illuminated screen, revealing an incoming call from Yuna.
With bated breath, you answer the call, the familiar cadence of Yuna's voice instantly arresting your senses.
An unexpected wave of emotions surges through you, freezing you in the moment as her words weave a narrative you weren't prepared for.
The weight of her words hangs heavy in the air, a heartbreaking tremor in her voice as she struggles to regain composure.
“Babe,” she utters, the tearful plea slicing through the silence like a dagger.
You can feel the gravity of the situation intensify as she reveals, “It's Nari,” the name echoing with a sense of foreboding that pierces through the air, leaving you breathless.
Dread hangs thick in the air as you muster the courage to ask, your voice trembling with fear and concern. “What about Nari?”
The words escape your lips, each syllable a hesitant step into the unknown, and as you sit up on your couch, a sense of urgency grips you, rendering you more alert than ever before.
The weight of Yuna's words crashes over you like an unrelenting wave, drowning your senses.
“She's gone,” Yuna sobs, her cries echoing in your ears.
A sudden chill grips your entire body, and the world around you blurs as your vision turns white.
Tears well up, threatening to spill over, and an indescribable ache settles in the core of your being. It feels as if the ground beneath you has shifted, leaving you suspended in a surreal and devastating moment.
Your voice quivers as you manage to break through the numbness, the question escaping your lips like a fragile whisper.
“How?” you repeat, the word catching in the tightness of your throat. Tears cascade down your cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of an ocean, a torrential release of the overwhelming emotions within you.
Your friend's voice wavers with sorrow as she delivers the painful revelation. “Apparently, she was sick and didn’t tell anybody…”
Each word, heavy with the burden of the unspoken, echoes in the emptiness of your apartment.
The truth, a bitter pill to swallow, lingers in the air, and you find it hard to comprehend the reality of the situation.
The walls of your sanctuary, once comforting, now press in on you, transforming your home into a claustrophobic cage of grief. The world outside seems to blur, and all that remains is the weight of disbelief settling on your shoulders.
The longing to share your grief with Yoongi intensifies, yet the barrier of not having his contact details becomes a painful obstacle. Your emotions, already tumultuous, now surge like a tempest within.
Frustration and sorrow intermingle, a chaotic dance that you try to contain.
As the weight of the news presses down on you, your nails unconsciously dig into your skin, seeking an outlet for the overwhelming emotions that threaten to consume you. The physical pain becomes a tangible manifestation of the emotional turmoil churning within.
The abruptness of Nari's illness and passing hits you like an unforeseen storm, leaving you grappling with disbelief.
Memories of her last moments flash vividly, and you question the cruel twist of fate that snatched away someone seemingly healthy. The sounds of inconsolable sobbing echo in your ears, and only then do you realize that the mournful cries tearing through the air belong to you.
“Are you alright?” Yuna asks you in sobs.
The weight of grief presses down on you, suffocating and relentless.
As the tears stream down your face, each one carries a piece of the pain that now resides within you.
“No,” you whisper, the word a feeble attempt to encapsulate the magnitude of your despair.
Your body curls inwards, seeking solace in the fetal position, as if you could fold away the anguish.
The phone lies beside you, a lifeline to Yuna's distant sobs, but it offers little comfort compared to the absent warmth of Kitten, whose presence could once bring solace to even the darkest moments.
The weight of Yuna's words hangs heavy in the air, a shroud of truth that you're forced to confront. “Babe, she had cancer and didn't want us to know… She wanted to live a happy life until the end,”
Yuna sobs again, and though her intent is to offer solace, the revelation feels like a cascade of heavy stones on your already burdened heart. The bitter sweetness of her desire for a joyful life juxtaposed with the pain of her silent struggle adds another layer to the grief, leaving you to grapple with the complexities of Nari's hidden battles.
“Yuna…,” you cry, the anguish in your voice echoing the profound pain that seems to squeeze the very life out of your heart.
“Why does everyone leave?”
The question hangs in the air, more rhetorical than expectant, as if you're not seeking an answer from Yuna but grappling with the cruel patterns of departure that life has woven into the fabric of your existence.
Each departure, like a thread pulled from the tapestry of your world, leaves an unraveled piece that never quite knits itself back together.
“I–, I don’t know,” she stammers through her tears, the weight of the unknown echoing in her voice, mirroring the uncertainty that now shrouds both of your lives.
“Promise we’ll be there for each other,” you declare, the weight of the words hanging in the air. It's a poignant plea, an acknowledgment of life's unpredictable twists. You understand that you can't ask for an eternity, but in this moment, you're determined to hold onto each other as tightly as time allows.
“Count on it,” she vows, her response flowing effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between you two.
Despite the tightening in your throat, a glimmer of happiness sparks within you at the assurance she just gave.
Why must life be so fucking cruel, robbing you of everyone you hold dear?
An overwhelming urge to reconnect with your sister washes over you, a deep yearning fueled by the ache of prolonged silence between you.
“I want to call my sister,” you manage to say through your sobs, a desperate plea lacing your words. “Will you be alright, Yuna?” you ask, your concern breaking through the waves of grief that surround you both.
“Yeah. I mean, I'm fucking sad, but go ahead and call her. Can I come to your place tomorrow?” Yuna's voice carries a subtle plea, a shared understanding that neither of you wants to be alone in the midst of sorrow.
“Yeah, I'd love that,” you respond, your voice carrying the weight of grief and the faint glimmer of gratitude for the companionship that awaits tomorrow. As you attempt to dry your tears with a throw blanket on the couch, the room feels emptier than ever, and the ache in your heart persists.
“See you tomorrow,” she says before the call ends.
The hollowness in the room deepens, and you draw in a shaky breath, your gaze fixed on your phone. The background image captures a moment frozen in time, featuring you, Nari, and Yuna.
God, the ache of missing her intensifies, and you can't shake the heaviness in your chest.
You tighten your grip on the phone, each tear that escapes your eyes a silent testament to the pain in your heart. Determination wells up as you locate your sister's number, fingers tracing the familiar digits, ready to bridge the gap that time and distance have carved between you.
The rhythmic ringing echoes through the emptiness of your apartment, each tone a reminder of the solitude that now envelops you.
Anxiety gnaws at the edges of your thoughts as you anticipate the warmth of your sister's voice, a comfort you desperately need. Yet, the unanswered calls amplify the distance that separates you. With a heavy heart, you decide against leaving a message, the weight of unspoken words settling as you slump back onto the couch.
The sudden vibration of your phone startles you, and as you glance at the screen, the sight of your sister's name sparks a mixture of relief and anticipation. With a soft sniffle, you muster the strength to answer, “Hey, sis,” your voice laced with a blend of vulnerability and longing, reaching out across the digital expanse to bridge the emotional gap that separates you.
A chill courses through your body, rendering you motionless, as a deep, resonant voice resonates through the phone, catching you off guard.
“Hey,” his voice echoes through the phone, sending a shiver down your spine.
Your trembling hand clutches the device, and you find yourself holding your breath, caught in the sudden intensity of the moment.
“I'm Detective Kim,” he introduces himself, his voice echoing through the line. It carries a calm demeanor, yet beneath its surface, you detect a subtle undertone of sadness, adding a mysterious depth to his words.
This can't be good, you murmur to yourself, the words barely escaping your lips as a chill courses through your veins, turning your blood to ice once again.
“Are you Jiho's sister?” The detective's voice remains steady and calm, but beneath the surface, you sense an undercurrent of gravity and anticipation.
“Yes,” you reply, your voice catching in a sob as you struggle to contain your tears. The ominous feeling intensifies, and you can't shake the sinking realization that a detective is the one answering your sister's phone.
The air becomes heavy with uncertainty and fear.
“I'm deeply sorry to be the bearer of this news,” he begins with a sympathetic tone.
You inhale sharply, bracing yourself for the impact of the words that follow.
“Your sister has passed away.”
The world seems to shatter around you as the weight of his message settles in, leaving you breathless and heartbroken.
In that devastating moment, it feels as if the very foundation of your existence crumbles.
Your body and soul plummet through a void, each passing second an agonizing countdown to the inevitable impact that will shatter you into a million irreparable pieces.
The weight of grief bears down on you, and you're suspended in a free fall of despair.
You become acutely aware of your breath, or the lack thereof, as if the air itself has turned into a suffocating force, triggering a torrent of violent inhalations, each one a desperate attempt to grasp onto a reality that has just slipped through your fingers.
A heavy silence envelops the room as the detective imparts the devastating truth, each word landing with the weight of a sledgehammer on your fragile emotions. “She was killed,” he utters, the somber notes in his tone resonating like a funeral dirge, casting a pall over the already dim reality of your world.
A suffocating wave of panic crashes over you, rendering your extremities numb and your breath caught in the grip of invisible hands.
The room seems to close in as the detective's voice on the phone becomes a distant echo, his words lost in the disorienting whirlwind of your own mental tempest. It's a struggle to comprehend the standard condolences and procedures he details, as if reality itself is slipping through your trembling fingers.
Fucking hell. Is this hell?
In the wake of your parents' departure, you believed you had tasted the bitterest sorrow, yet today eclipses that agony without a shadow of a doubt.
You cast your phone aside on the couch, retreating to your bedroom, collapsing onto the bed. The anguish within erupts into violent sobs, an unrelenting torrent of tears flooding from your eyes, your entire frame convulsing with the weight of your grief.
You bury your face into the softness of the pillow, muffling the guttural scream that tears from your lungs.
The sound, a primal release of anguish, reverberates within the confines of your room. Screw the neighbors; right now, the universe needs to bear witness to the rawness of your pain.
What the fuck is up with this world? Everyone around you dies! Everyone leaves!
You can’t take it anymore.
As you surrender to the torrents of grief, you hope that tears might offer solace, a fleeting relief that could pave the way for much-needed sleep. Yet, despite your desperate attempts, the embrace of slumber eludes you, leaving you trapped in the clutches of your sorrow-soaked thoughts.
In an impulsive surge, you opt for a nocturnal stroll. Snatching your jacket, you step into the silent night, the residue of dried tears blending seamlessly with the ones that refuse to cease.
The moon above, a silent witness to the turmoil within, as your footsteps echo the rhythm of a heart weighed down by grief.
As you traverse the familiar streets of town, a magnetic pull guiding you to a cherished park, your sanctuary. Swiftly, you arrive and gingerly settle your weary frame onto a weathered bench, the cool night air offering a gentle caress to your battered soul.
As your gaze ascends to the enchanting tapestry of the night, a celestial dance of stars unfolds above. Tonight, the cosmic expanse seems to cradle the spirits of your sister and Nari, their luminous presence illuminating the vast darkness, a celestial reunion among the constellations.
As your tears persist, you fix your eyes upon the star-lit canvas above. Each gleaming star appears like a radiant jewel, casting an ethereal glow across the night. The beauty is undeniable, yet a poignant sadness lingers in your heart.
Compelled by an unspoken yearning, you embark on the solemn task of counting the stars, each one a celestial tribute to the cherished souls who now adorn the heavens.
The question echoes in your mind: Why?
Why do they blaze with such brilliance, akin to a dying star igniting in a final, magnificent burst before consuming everything in its cosmic embrace?
Your heart pounds violently against your ribcage, each beat echoing through your chest, and the air feels elusive, slipping away as if you're caught in a suffocating grip.
Life reveals its cruel nature, leaving you to grapple with the relentless question: Why does everyone leave? Why does the world around you crumble, stealing away those you hold dear?
An emptiness envelopes you, a void so profound it swallows every ounce of light. Darkness creeps in, and an irresistible urge emerges, coaxing you to surrender to its consuming embrace.
Perhaps it's time to release your grip on reality and join the celestial dance of those who have departed before you?
As the tears flow, perhaps this haunting void within will dissipate, bringing an end to the relentless ache that permeates every fiber of your being.
As the weight of loneliness bears down on you, an insidious desire to surrender, to slip into an eternal slumber, creeps through your shattered heart. The yearning for an endless sleep, where the fractured pieces of your soul find solace, consumes you. It's as if the very essence of your being is crumbling into irreparable fragments.
The fragments of your soul lie scattered, and the daunting question echoes in the hollow chambers of your despair—can you summon the strength to mend them once more, to piece together the shattered remnants of your being?
In the depths of your despair, a resolute realization surfaces — a quiet but unwavering knowing that, despite the relentless cruelty, you're not ready to surrender to the void. Life, as brutal as it may be, still holds threads of resilience within its intricate tapestry, and you find an ember of strength glowing amidst the shadows.
You divert your gaze downward, focusing on your hands nestled in your lap, choosing the tangible reality of your own existence over the distant allure of the star-studded night.
You harbor too many aspirations to surrender to despair. Your desires paint a vivid canvas of dreams: to find solace in the embrace of a kind-hearted partner, secure a fulfilling career, and relish the simple joys that life offers. Nari's silent battle with illness inspires you to embrace life with the same gusto, celebrating its moments without the need for validation.
In the midst of your fragmented existence, amidst the shattering pain, you crave it all. Yearning for the entirety of life's tapestry, even when it feels like it's unraveling.
Despite life's cruelty, there's an undeniable allure in its intricate beauty, compelling you to seek solace and embrace the stunning contradictions that define your life.
Amidst the tear-stained path, your resolve solidifies.
The decision made, you tread back to your apartment, the silent witness to your inner turmoil. Each step echoes with the weight of your emotions, a symphony of sorrow playing in the background.
The sanctuary of your home beckons, promising the respite that only sleep, albeit restless, can bring. Sleep, like a long-lost friend, embraces you swiftly this time. Grateful for the solace it brings, you sink into its comforting arms, the reprieve from the turmoil of the day unfolding like a gentle lullaby.
The chime of the doorbell resonates through your apartment, and you're roused from the depths of sleep. Yuna, true to her word, stands on the other side, a beacon of support in your time of need.
Embraced in a tight hug, tears stream down both your faces, the shared weight of grief transforming the silent embrace into a powerful testament of mutual understanding and shared sorrow.
Seated on the couch, you engage in a heartfelt conversation about the unpredictable journey of life—its highs and lows.
As a comforting silence settles between you, you reach for the remote and, with a flicker of distraction, decide on a mindless show. Wrapped in the embrace of shared grief, you find solace in the soft glow of the television, its images casting a gentle veil over your weary souls.
That night, Yuna stays over, a comforting presence that feels like a blessing in the midst of your overwhelming grief.
In the vulnerable hours of the night, you pour your heart out to Yuna.
Tears flow freely as you share the ache of losing your sister, the void left by Kitten's absence, and the fear that Yoongi might be gone forever. In the solace of shared sorrow, you find a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows.
In the tender embrace of Yuna, you find solace. Her comforting presence is a lifeline in the storm of grief, holding you close as tears cascade. Though she's often your pillar of strength, tonight you yearn to reciprocate, to be the support she's always been for you. It's a quiet understanding, an unspoken pact between friends navigating the unpredictable currents of life.
In the quiet depths of the night, as you share your pain with Yuna, a flicker of determination ignites within you. You yearn not just for solace but to become the architect of your own joy. The realization dawns that your happiness lies in the unwritten chapters of your own journey, waiting to be explored and embraced. It's a moment of self-discovery, a commitment to forge your path to happiness, independent and resilient.
With the dawn of a new day, you decide to embark on a journey of self-discovery.
Despite the weight of sorrow lingering in your chest, you resolve to savor life in all its transient splendor—embracing its beauty, acknowledging its ugliness, and reveling in every nuanced shade in between.
Each moment becomes a canvas, and you are determined to paint it with the vibrant strokes of resilience and newfound appreciation.
With unwavering determination, you approached your boss at the café, advocating for a shift in your work hours. The goal? To rekindle the pursuit of knowledge, to step back into the world of academia and reignite the spark of astrophysics that had once fueled your passion.
As the prospect of returning to school looms on the horizon, you recognize that the journey ahead is both a challenge and an opportunity—a chance to sculpt a future that you can genuinely be proud of, with each completed course marking a triumph over self-doubt and a step closer to the constellations of your dreams.
In the wake of that poignant night where two cherished souls departed, a few months have quietly slipped away.
In a tender gesture of support, Yuna encourages you to embrace the prospect of love once more. Unlike before, hesitation has no place in your heart this time.
With newfound courage, you step into the realm of dating, a journey tinged with both vulnerability and hope, as you navigate through the tapestry of emotions woven by the threads of the past and the promises of the future.
Life, a relentless journey, doesn't yield to simplicity, yet within its intricate folds, a subtle transformation occurs. It doesn't unravel swiftly, but with each passing day, it stitches together a mosaic of improvement, a gradual emergence from the shadows into the dappled light of a better tomorrow.
With each sunrise, a symphony of healing orchestrates within you, crescendoing into a melody that resonates louder, and you find solace in the fact that every dawn gifts you a version of yourself stronger and more resilient than the preceding day.
As winter unfurls its icy embrace, you find solace in the familiar touch of your cherished wool coat, the cozy sanctuary of fluffy sweaters enveloping you like a hug from a dear friend, and the softness of warm socks cradling your every step.
With a steaming cup of tea in hand, you dive into your studies, the brisk air outside contrasting with the warmth that courses through your veins.
Embarking on the journey to reclaim an unfinished chapter of your life, returning to the hallowed halls of academia, you revel in the triumphant echoes of resilience as you strive to complete the narrative you once set in motion.
As you tread homeward, the city draped in the melancholy hues of twilight, a fleeting silhouette dashes through the alleys, a phantom of darkness.
For the briefest moment, memories of Kitten's playful escapades dance in your mind, a bittersweet symphony of nostalgia.
A sigh, heavy with the weight of longing, escapes your lips, yet you trudge forward, navigating the shadows toward the warmth of your home.
In the intimate glow of your kitchen, you conjure a culinary masterpiece, a symphony of flavors orchestrated only for yourself. The sizzle of ingredients harmonizes with the rhythmic beat of your heart, a ritual of self-love that has become your refuge.
Many a time, you've crafted these delectable creations, some shared in the company of fleeting dates whose presence, like autumn leaves, brushed briefly against the canvas of your life, but leaving no lasting imprint on your heart.
Midway through the mundane task of stowing away dishes, a subtle and mysterious hum reverberates through your abode, originating from the vicinity of your door.
The air is suddenly filled with a familiar, distant melody—a soft and rhythmic meowing that sends a jolt of excitement through you.
Abandoning your chores, you rush to the door, fingers fumbling with the lock, and there, in all his glory, stands Kitten!
In a flurry of warmth and relief, you scoop up the cold, shivering Kitten into your embrace, quickly closing the door behind him. His meows echo gratitude, and a tender lick against your cheek seals the unspoken bond that time and distance failed to break.
In a million moments, you never fathomed seeing him again. Now, as he rests in your arms, elation courses through you like a celestial symphony, leaving you over the moon with sheer happiness.
His return is a testament to a bond beyond time, a friendship that defies the measure of days. It's not about the duration of his absence; it's about the joyous truth that he returned to you, stitching the fragments of your heart back together.
You rush to your cabinet, your heart pounding with both relief and excitement. Grabbing a can of cat food, you swiftly prepare a feast for Kitten, watching as he eagerly devours the meal, his hunger echoing the void his absence left in your life.
As you stroke Kitten's fur, you can't help but ponder on the mysteries that shroud his disappearance. His body, while not emaciated, carries the silent tales of his adventures.
You yearn to unravel the chapters of his feline escapades, wishing you could converse with him, share the unspoken hardships, and assure him that he's found a forever home in the warmth of your embrace.
In a breathless whisper, you confess, “I've missed you so much,” the weight of your longing carried in the tenderness of your voice.
A solitary tear, a testament to the emotions flooding your heart, escapes and dances down your cheek, mirroring the joy of a reunion long yearned for.
As the echoes of your affectionate words linger in the air, Kitten responds with a gentle purr, a harmonious melody that intertwines seamlessly with the sound of him relishing the meal.
Amidst the soft cadence of Kitten's purring, you find solace in the familiar presence of your feline companion. With a sigh, you decide to share the intricacies of the tumultuous journey you've undertaken since his absence. “So much has unfolded, Kitten,” you whisper, your voice a gentle reassurance, “a lot of shit, but also a lot of good.”
As Kitten finishes his meal, he responds with a symphony of content purrs, gracefully padding over to where you crouch. With a playful nudge against your legs, he seems to convey a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of warmth and connection between old friends.
In the span of a few days, the void that Kitten's absence left has been filled with the comforting rhythm of his presence. You've poured out your heart to him, recounting the events and emotions that unfolded during his time away, as if catching him up on the chapters of your life.
Kitten, with his attentive eyes and soothing purrs, seems to understand more than most, providing a silent anchor in the storm of your experiences.
As you sink into the soft embrace of your couch, a contented smile plays on your lips. With Kitten nestled beside you, you share a profound realization that has taken root in your heart: ‘I live, so I love.’ The words hang in the air, a testament to the resilience you've found in the face of life's unpredictable twists. The TV hums with background noise, but in that moment, the simple joy of companionship fills the room.
In the quiet solitude of your apartment, you confide in Kitten, the loyal companion who has witnessed both your joys and sorrows. “I don't think he's coming back,” you murmur, a tinge of sadness lingering in your voice. As if attuned to your emotions, Kitten responds with a gentle meow, a feline reassurance that transcends words.
In the rhythmic cadence of your words, a sense of vulnerability emerges. “I know, I know. I don't need a man in my life. I get that,” you confess, your voice carrying the weight of self-awareness.
The clinking of utensils against pots and pans provides a subtle percussion to your thoughts as you continue, “But Yoongi was special, you know? Like he just got me... and I just wish for him to be happy doing whatever he's doing.” The aroma of dinner fills the air, mingling with the unspoken sentiments swirling in the room.
As you delicately feed Kitten some steamed broccoli, the notion of reuniting with Yoongi lingers in the air. “If he comes back, you should meet him – I'll introduce you!” The words spill from your lips, carrying a hopeful melody.
As you reminisce about Yoongi, a fond smile plays on your lips. “He's such a wonderful person. And handsome? Oh, his hands,” you begin, tracing the air with your fingers as if you can feel the texture of his presence. Memories flood back, each detail etched in your mind like a cherished photograph. “Long fingers, veiny hands,” you murmur, the words infused with a hint of admiration that even surprises you. The love for this man reverberates in your voice, a quiet confession to the depths of your feelings.
Kitten's melodic meow serenades the room as he gracefully weaves between your feet, his tail coiling affectionately around your calves like a comforting embrace.
“If you meet him, please don’t claw his back out like you did with that other guy. Yoongi is nice.”
With a heavy heart, you confide in Kitten, the weight of your worry evident in the rhythmic tapping of the spatula against the sizzling vegetables. “It's been nearly half a year, and I can't shake the feeling that something might have happened to him,” you murmur, the crackling sounds of the kitchen offering a somber backdrop to your uncertainty.
As the warmth of the meal envelops you and Kitten, you sit together, a silent companionship settling over the room. The simplicity of this moment strikes you, and a quiet realization unfolds – you love your life just as it is.
In the shared silence, you feel a sense of wholeness, a testimony to the goodness found in life's simplicity. Though your heart may still ache at times, you've come to accept that, too, as a part of the beautiful complexity that makes life what it is.
You're keenly aware that time is the remedy for healing, a gentle but persistent force that gradually eases the ache until one day, the pain will be a distant echo of what it once was.
Your weary limbs protest against the demands of a full-time class schedule and cafe shifts, revealing the hidden challenges of your daily grind. Fatigue clings to you like a shadow, and an involuntary yawn escapes.
With a wearied sigh, you address Kitten, your loyal companion in fatigue. “Ah, Kitten, today's been a battle. I'm going to bed early today,” you murmur, dragging your exhausted body to the bathroom in a nightly ritual.
Upon returning to your sanctuary, you find Kitten, already nestled in his customary spot, a comforting presence in the silent embrace of the night.
Sinking beneath the cozy duvet, you surrender to its tender embrace, the fabric cocooning you in a haven of softness. With a gentle pat, you acknowledge Kitten, “Thank you for being here,” you murmur before succumbing to the enchantment of dreamland.
As consciousness tiptoes back into your awareness, the remnants of dreams linger like elusive whispers in your mind. Gently awakening, you open your eyes to find the absence of Kitten.
Your eyes widen in astonishment, and your body tenses as you absorb the scene unfolding before you—a man, peacefully lost in the realm of dreams.
Your gaze follows the cascade of long, slightly curly, obsidian hair that drapes over his shoulders, tracing the contours of his creamy white skin. The play of morning light reveals a well-defined back, drawing your eyes down the elegant curve of his spine until they come to rest on a small, soft, plum-like ass. The realization hits you like a bolt— he's completely naked!
Why is your heart orchestrating a rapid symphony, each beat echoing in your ears like a thunderous drumroll? And what in the world is a naked stranger doing sprawled across your sheets as though he belongs there?
He slumbers in serene oblivion, emitting soft, melodic sighs that weave through the air, his chest gracefully ascending and descending in rhythmic dance with each tranquil breath.
Wait.
He seems familiar.
A gasp escapes your lips as you take a closer look, and the realization hits you like a bolt of lightning – it's Yoongi!
Shock and disbelief intertwine in your chest as you stare at his peaceful slumber.
Confusion and a hint of panic surge through you as your mind races with questions.
Why is Yoongi in your bed, and why on earth is he naked?
How did Yoongi end up here, and where is Kitten?
A myriad of questions spins through your mind, a turbulent storm of curiosity. As you ponder the mysteries, you belatedly notice Yoongi stirring, gracefully shifting to lie on his back.
Your face burns with embarrassment as the realization dawns that he's still completely naked. Heat rises to your cheeks when his half-erect dick brushes against his stomach, prompting you to instinctively shield your eyes, flustered by the unexpected sight.
You wrestle with the dilemma of whether to disturb his serene slumber or let him continue resting peacefully. The soft innocence in his sleeping form makes the decision more challenging, and you lean towards allowing him to bask in the tranquility of his dreams undisturbed.
Gently, you drape the comforting warmth of your duvet over him, a shield against the chill of the room. With nimble movements, you extract yourself from the bed, careful not to disturb the delicate balance of his slumber.
Confusion seizes your thoughts as you grapple with the surreal scenario—Yoongi peacefully nestled in your bed. You wrack your brain, questioning every sober memory, desperately trying to unearth the missing pieces that would explain his presence.
You step into the kitchen, a fleeting sense of unease prickling at your skin as you scan the room for Kitten, but he remains elusive, leaving a trace of uncertainty in the air.
A twinge of melancholy washes over you as Kitten remains elusive, but you console yourself with the hope that he might return, his absence merely a temporary void in your otherwise comforting routine.
You embark on the simple yet intimate act of preparing two steaming cups of coffee—one for yourself and one for the unexpected visitor who occupies your bed.
You seize a handful of aromatic coffee beans from a vintage jar, letting the rich fragrance envelop you as you crush them under the steady hum of your machine. With precision, you measure out the perfect amount, combining it with hot water, allowing the concoction to brew into a comforting elixir.
While the coffee brews, your mind races with bewildering thoughts about Yoongi's unexpected presence in your bed. Puzzlement clouds your senses as you contemplate every conceivable scenario.
Did he let himself in? Was there some mysterious way he could have gained access?
With a touch of anxiety, you even venture to your front door, checking for any signs of unauthorized entry, only to find it securely locked, shrouded in an eerie silence.
You're grappling with the perplexing mystery of Yoongi's appearance in your bed, as if he materialized out of thin air, defying all logic and reason, leaving you spellbound by the inexplicable magic that seems to have woven its way into your ordinary reality.
In the quiet chaos of your thoughts, Yoongi's presence offers more questions than answers, an enigmatic puzzle that seems to defy the ordinary. The absence of Kitten only adds another layer of mystery to the unfolding scene.
As the coffee machine dings, disrupting the contemplative silence, you're left grappling with the surreal conundrum before you, seeking clarity in the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
With the warmth of freshly brewed coffee in your hands, you reenter the bedroom to discover Yoongi, now alert, draped in your duvet, a captivating silhouette in the soft morning light.
Your greeting falters as you nervously stammer, “H–, Hi,” setting the two mugs of coffee on your nightstand. Yoongi's gaze, sharp and feline-like, traces your every move, creating a palpable tension in the air.
An unfamiliar nervousness grips you in his presence, an unusual sensation considering your usual ease around him. Perhaps it's the fact that he's naked, his gaze akin to a predator eyeing down its prey, intensifying the air with an unspoken tension.
“Hey,” finally breaking the silence, he greets you with a low grumble, scratching his head and letting out a lazy yawn.
His body exudes a captivating blend of softness and defined muscles, a captivating sight that—
His voice, laced with a teasing smirk, breaks the tension. “Can't stop staring at my dick, huh?”
Your throat tightens as you realize you've been caught in the act, silently observing him. Panic sets in – does he think you're a freak now? Fantastic.
You let out a nervous chuckle, deliberately shifting your gaze away from the obvious bulge in the duvet around his lap. “What are you doing here, Yoongi? And why are you naked?” you inquire, genuinely puzzled.
He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but feel a tinge of unease. “You haven't figured it out yet?” he teases, his words hanging in the air, leaving you in suspense.
You must resemble a walking question mark, because his chuckles only intensify. It's as if he finds your confusion amusing, and you're left standing there, desperate for answers in the midst of his enigmatic laughter.
In a soft tone laced with a smirk, he utters, “Kitten.”
Your gaze fixates on him, bewildered. Kitten? Is he referring to your cat?
Your jaw drops as he gracefully emerges from the bed, the duvet cascading off his frame. In his unabashed nudity, he strides toward you.
He inches closer, the proximity almost causing your lips to collide. A surge of warmth courses through you when he delicately tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I’m a shapeshifter,” his revelation hangs in the air, the weight of it palpable, and as he locks eyes with you, searching for any flicker of discomfort, the truth settles. Before you can process it fully, he leans in, capturing your lips with an irresistible surge of passion.
His lips, soft and inviting, embark on a slow yet passionate dance, as if reuniting with a long-lost lover. Responding eagerly, you part your lips, allowing the kiss to deepen, and in that electrifying moment, your entire body succumbs to a sensation akin to melting butter.
You yield to his touch, molding your body to his as you sense the undeniable hardness of his arousal intimately pressing against your core.
Fuck.
In the midst of the heated moment, you draw back slightly to meet his gaze, the question hanging in the air, “So... you're Kitten?”
He offers no verbal response, just a low, affirmative hum, before plunging back into another intoxicating kiss.
You surrender to the sensation, feeling the firm grip of his hands on your waist as they journey upward beneath the fabric of your well-worn shirt.
His touch ignites a trail of sensations, tracing a path across your body, sending electric shivers as he lifts your shirt, gently grazing against the contours of your breasts.
Under the intensity of his gaze, your body responds, a flush of heat spreading through you, your nipples hardening in response. He emits a low, satisfied hum, as if relishing the effect he has on you.
Effortlessly, he works to level the playing field, swiftly undressing you as if in a race against time. With a purposeful tug, he eases your shorts down, a silent declaration of his desire.
Bare before him, clad only in a simple black panty adorned with delicate pink hearts, you can't shake the vulnerability coursing through you. A sudden urge to conceal yourself washes over, a reaction to the raw exposure in this intimate moment.
“Don't shy away, you're stunning,” Yoongi murmurs, his firm grip on your hips drawing you closer to his naked body. The undeniable heat of his arousal presses against your core, a tangible reminder of the desire smoldering between you.
Gratitude escapes your lips in a hushed tone, your cheeks tinged with a warm blush.
“Now, let’s get these off you, yeah?” with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he hooks his fingers inside the fabric of your panties, teasingly tugging them down. He pauses, seeking your consent, before sensually sliding them all the way down your legs.
As he slides your panties down, a sudden awareness of your arousal hits you, intensified by the cool rush of air against your heated core.
As they fall to the floor, Yoongi swiftly snatches up your panties, bringing them to his face to inhale the intoxicating essence of your arousal, his eyes darkening with desire.
Why does that look so utterly sinful, setting off a delicious rush of arousal coursing through your veins, leaving you breathless in its wake?
As the intoxicating scent of you envelops him, he murmurs, “Damn, you smell good,” his eyes dilating with an unmistakable hunger.
“I wonder if you taste as good as you smell.”
In the raw vulnerability of your shared nakedness, he guides your body back to the bed, gently laying you down, his presence a magnetic force, hovering above you.
He immerses himself in the expanse of your neck, a symphony of sensations unfolding – a delicate ballet of tender kisses, followed by the electrifying nip of his teeth grazing the juncture between your neck and shoulder.
You moan in unabashed pleasure, your hands instinctively seeking refuge on his chiseled pectorals, anchoring yourself amidst the rising waves of bliss.
Yoongi's gaze shifts to the mirror positioned strategically in front of your bed. “I've been meaning to ask,” he smirks, locking eyes with you, “why do you have a mirror in front of your bed?”
You squirm beneath him, breath catching.”'It's part of my wardrobe panels,” you admit, your voice a fragile melody.
He chuckles, a low and enticing sound, his smirk dancing on his lips. “I don't think that's why the whole panel is mirrors,” he says, sitting up slightly. His finger traces a slow, teasing path from your collarbones to your breasts, sending shivers of anticipation racing through your body.
He leans in, his breath sending a shiver down your spine, and in a deep, low voice, he murmurs into your ear, “You're a dirty one, aren't you?”
His degrading words make your breath hitch instantly, and you involuntarily clench your thighs together. As you shake your head in disagreement, he just smirks, unconvinced.
His chuckle resonates in the room as he asks, “Do you enjoy watching yourself in the mirrors?” Sitting up, he moves to the foot of the bed, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.
He gracefully steps out of the bed, casting a predatory gaze as he hovers over you, an aura of irresistible allure surrounding him.
With unwavering determination, he declares, “You're going to watch yourself in the mirror as I fuck your pussy with my tongue.” In a single, fluid motion, he seizes both of your thighs, pulling you to the foot of the bed, sending a thrilling jolt through your senses.
Despite the heat coursing through your entire being, a light chuckle escapes your lips. However, the mirth dissipates as you lock eyes with the intensity in Yoongi's dark gaze.
“Sit up,” his command echoes through the room, and as he gracefully lowers himself between your legs, a thrilling anticipation courses through the air.
From your elevated position, you admire the tousled chaos of his hair, a disheveled masterpiece that only enhances his captivating allure. His eyes gleam with a mischievous spark, a silent promise of the intensity that is about to unfold.
You seize his cheeks with urgency, your voice dripping with desire, a fervent plea escaping your lips, “Fuck. Yoongi, please eat me out.”
He moistens his lips with a teasing chuckle, descending eagerly towards your already soaked center.
He expertly widens the gap between your legs, creating a perfect haven for himself before delving into your pussy with fervent devotion.
With a tantalizing finesse, he starts with a subtle stroke of his tongue along your folds, gradually ascending to the apex of your clit, eliciting a fervent moan that echoes in the room.
As waves of pleasure cascade through you, your fingers instinctively entwine in his tousled locks, gently pulling as he skillfully devotes his attention to the exquisite dance of his tongue and lips on your pulsating core.
Gasping for breath, your anticipation mounts, every nerve tingling with pleasure, as Yoongi's rhythmic strokes across your intimate folds propel you toward a climax, your toes curling in ecstasy.
Pausing momentarily, he murmurs in appreciation, “You taste even better than you smell, Kitten,” his words sending a shiver down your spine.
You're on the verge of asking him about the nickname ‘Kitten,’ but his tongue explores your folds, leaving you breathless and unable to form words.
Your question dissolves in the heat of the moment, the building climax taking center stage as you lose yourself in the pursuit of pleasure.
Lost in the waves of ecstasy, you can't resist the urge to surrender, closing your eyes as Yoongi works his magic with undeniable expertise.
“No, no, no. Look at yourself in the mirror, Kitten.”
“Why do—” before you can finish your question, it fades away on your tongue as Yoongi plunges back into pleasuring your core with a renewed intensity, leaving your thoughts swallowed by the whirlwind of sensations.
As you glance at the mirror, you catch a glimpse of your own blissful expression, framed by Yoongi's tousled black hair nestled between your thighs. The sight is nothing short of breathtaking, a sight of pleasure that leaves you utterly captivated.
The provocative scene unfolding in the mirror intensifies your arousal, your breath hitching in tandem with the escalating desire pulsating through your veins.
“Yoongi, I’m—” your plea catches in your throat as Yoongi skillfully responds, his hand finding your pulsating clit, heightening the pleasure while he continues to ravish you with his insatiable tongue.
His fingers dance in rhythmic circles over your throbbing clit, coaxing the tension from your core. As the knot unravels, a wave of blissful release washes over you, leaving you breathless and trembling in its wake.
Ecstasy courses through your veins, your toes curling, muscles tightening, and in that moment, an unexpected surge of pleasure hits you like a sneeze that never comes. You release a symphony of moans, surrendering to the intense climax that Yoongi skillfully orchestrates with his talented tongue.
He continues to suck, savoring every drop of your essence, an insatiable thirst in his eyes matching the fervor of the intimate dance between your bodies.
As the intensity peaks, you gently tap his shoulder, signaling him to withdraw. He complies with a sensual slurp, leaving you breathless and tingling with the echoes of pleasure.
A mischievous grin stretches across his face as he licks his lips, “You're incredible, Kitten.”
You arch an eyebrow, curiosity coloring your tone, “Why do you keep calling me ‘Kitten’? You’re Kitten.”
He erupts in laughter, a symphony that resonates through the room, his chest rising and falling with the melody of mirth, and in that moment, he's a captivating masterpiece.
“Do I really look like a Kitten to you?” he inquires, a playful glint in his eyes as he gently nudges you back onto the bed.
Your words stumble as you search for a response, “Not really,” you admit, offering him a small yet tender smile.
“But you look cute and sweet, like a good Kitten,” he murmurs, his hands exploring the curves of your breasts.
A low moan escapes your lips as he teases your nipples with a playful twist, igniting a fresh surge of desire that pools in the growing heat between your thighs.
As you ache for the feel of his throbbing length, you attempt to grab hold of him, but like a fleeting mirage, he skillfully eludes your touch, leaving you yearning for the intimate connection that inches away with each evasive movement.
“Nah. I just want to fuck you silly,” he rasps, eyes tracing every bead of sweat on your flushed skin, reveling in the primal rhythm of your hurried breaths.
“If you want to, that is?” he teases, his voice a sultry whisper, as he takes control, guiding himself between your legs with a confident hand that promises a morning full of pleasure.
As you feel the weight of his gaze, you gulp, wondering how, in that heated moment, he could question what you crave. It's undeniable – you want him, and the intensity of your desire hangs in the air between you, palpable and unspoken.
Your breath catches as you respond, the words tumbling from your lips in a heated rush, “Fuck, yes, Yoongi. I want you inside me, now,” the urgency in your voice betraying the intensity of your desire.
A low, rumbling chuckle escapes him, the sound sending a shiver down your spine as he replies, “Please” with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“‘Please’ what?”
“Say ‘please’.”
You huff, incredulous at his audacity. The desire in his eyes is undeniable, and he seems to enjoy the game. Part of you rebels, tempted to be a brat just to irk him, but the need for his touch overrides any resistance. You crave his intimacy, aching for his dick despite the defiance lingering in the air.
“Fuck this,” you grumble, frustration evident in your voice. In that fleeting moment, you catch a glimpse of Yoongi pulling back, as if reconsidering his stance.
“Please! Don’t leave,” you plead desperately, your sincerity laid bare. The smirk on his face deepens, as if savoring the intensity of your plea.
“Please fuck me, Yoongi.”
His satisfaction evident, he rewards you with a swift kiss before aligning himself with your eager entrance, anticipation humming in the air.
Your arousal has reached a point where there's no discomfort, just a perfect fit as he slides into you, your wetness welcoming and enveloping him seamlessly.
He hisses as he eases into your warm, tight walls, and you can feel him doing his best to restrain himself.
You release a breathy huff as he fully penetrates, his balls gently meeting the warmth of your folds.
He lets out a guttural groan as he steadies himself, withdrawing only to plunge back in with an intensity that sends shivers through your body.
In this intimate position, with him above you, every nuance of his pleasure is on full display—the way his nose scrunches in delight, his soft lips occasionally nibbling the bottom one in sheer ecstasy.
Between each thrust, he can't help but express his amazement, his voice low and husky, “Damn. You're so tight.”
You know. It’s been awhile.
As he moves within you with an increased rhythm, his hands find your breasts, skillfully massaging them in sync with his fervent thrusts, creating a symphony of pleasure that courses through your entire body.
Ecstasy courses through you, and in the midst of your fervent pleasure, you can't help but release a breathless exclamation, “Fuck, Yoongi!”
Every skillful thrust seems to find its mark, synchronized with the enticing dance of his fingers on your hardened nipples. Pleasure envelops you, clouding your thoughts in a haze of ecstasy.
Your pleasure intensifies as Yoongi skillfully pinches your nipples, eliciting a symphony of moans that harmonize with the rhythmic dance of his passionate thrusts.
Sensations ripple through you, and the desire to reciprocate Yoongi's pleasure builds within you. You yearn to give him the same ecstasy he's generously bestowed upon you.
Amidst the rhythmic cadence of Yoongi's thrusts, a bold request escapes your lips. Your gaze, laced with desire, meets his, and with a subtle plea in your eyes, you softly murmur, “Yoongi—, I want to ride you. Please.”
With a devilish grin, Yoongi withdraws from your embrace, reclining on the bed, his eyes ablaze with anticipation.
His voice, laced with desire, sends shivers down your spine as he commands, “Then you're gonna watch in the mirrors as you fuck yourself on my dick,” reclining with his head angled towards the mirrors.
Mounting him, you position yourself strategically, both of you reflected in the mirror—a tantalizing image of entangled limbs, the intensity of the moment etched in your heaving, sweat-glistened bodies.
Grasping his throbbing dick, he hisses in anticipation as you deftly align your eager entrance with his cock.
With a fluid motion, you descend onto his rigid cock, your velvet walls enveloping him in a tight, intoxicating embrace.
From below, Yoongi savors the view, his gaze lingering on the contours of your face, as if committing every detail to memory.
You guide the rhythm, your hands finding stability on his sculpted chest, setting the pace as you ride him with a mix of determination and desire.
Your movements cascade, a slow dance that gradually builds momentum, each rise and fall carrying a symphony of pleasure and anticipation.
As you gaze upon your reflection, the flush of arousal paints your cheeks, your disheveled hair framing your face like an unruly halo, and your breasts dance in perfect harmony with the rhythm of your passionate movements.
The person in the mirror seems like a stranger, a sensual revelation you never knew existed within you. The mirrors, always present but never before utilized for sex, now reflect a version of yourself that’s both thrilling and new.
Heat courses through your veins, an intoxicating blend of arousal and empowerment, as you observe your own uninhibited reflection. With newfound vigor, you escalate the rhythm, riding Yoongi more vigorously. His appreciative groans and tender gaze mirror the intensity of the moment.
Unbridled desire takes over as your hands instinctively find their way to Yoongi's neck. Without a conscious thought, your fingers glide over the warmth of his skin, gently encircling his throat.
An electrifying jolt courses through you as you sense Yoongi's involuntary twitch within you, and you catch the ragged rhythm of his breath.
Panic courses through you, and you hastily retract your hands, realizing with a shock that you had unintentionally exerted pressure on Yoongi's throat. “Oh my God! I'm so sorry!” you blurt out, your apology a mix of concern and embarrassment.
“It's fine, Kitten. I like it,” he reassures you with a devilish grin, seizing your hands and guiding them back around his neck, his eyes sparking with a hint of mischief.
You shoot him a concerned glance, pausing your movements to ensure he's okay. Once he reassures you with a nod, signaling his approval, you dive back into the rhythm you had before.
With a newfound boldness, you tighten your grip around his throat, drawing out another satisfying twitch from him. His reaction sends a surge of pleasure through you as he hits that sweet spot, causing a kaleidoscope of sensations that make you see stars.
Your unrestrained moans fill the room, a symphony of desire that intertwines with the rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding. The sight of Yoongi unraveling beneath your touch fuels a primal arousal, and you revel in the raw passion that courses through every fiber of your being.
“Fuck!” you pant.
“I’m gonna come,” you confess, the words escaping on a ragged breath, as you impale yourself on his dick. You’re body trembling as you hold the moment, savoring the anticipation before the inevitable plunge into ecstasy.
With a tender touch, you withdraw your hands from his throat, leaning down to kiss him. Your lips meet his in a dance of passion, tracing a path from his mouth to the very spots your fingers had claimed on his neck moments ago.
His low, guttural groan harmonizes with the rhythm as you ascend, reclaiming your perch on him. The dance begins anew, your body moving with purpose, riding the waves of pleasure set in motion by each calculated bounce on his throbbing length.
Yoongi's hands eagerly envelop your breasts, his fingers dancing with the rhythm of your fervent movements. With each descent onto him, you feel a surge of pleasure building, the shared pursuit of ecstasy driving you both towards the brink of blissful release.
His fingers deftly find your sensitive nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The sensation is so intense that a fractured, high-pitched man escapes your lips, your back arching involuntarily in the exquisite dance of pleasure and pain.
As your walls instinctively clench around his pulsating dick, you witness the pleasure etched across his face, a delightful scrunching of his features that mirrors the ecstasy coursing through both of you.
“Yoongi, I’m com—,” you gasp, a desperate plea laced in your voice. Your words are unnecessary; the vice-like grip of your walls and the erratic cadence of your breath already convey the impending release that hangs thick in the air.
“Come all over my dick,” he smirks through a groan, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Watch yourself fall apart in the mirror.”
How can this man ignite such an intense flame within you? The knot in your stomach tightens once more, and as you surrender to it, a primal, drawn-out moan escapes your lips, echoing the depths of your desire.
With unyielding eyes, you lock onto your own reflection in the mirror as ecstasy courses through you, marking the moment you climax on his d*ck. Your rhythmic bouncing falters, but Yoongi, sensing your need, seizes your hips and propels the pace, driving you deeper into the intoxicating whirlwind of pleasure.
Your mouth hangs open, breaths rapid and erratic, akin to the aftermath of a sprint, while every inch of your body throbs with the residual heat of a fervent blaze.
“So beautiful—FUCK!” he moans, powering into you with an astonishing velocity, sending shivers down your spine.
His hold on your hips tightens, your hands finding refuge on his sculpted chest for support. Your body teeters on the edge of weightlessness and grounding, as if you'd unravel if Yoongi's firm grasp on your hips faltered.
Despite the fatigue washing over you, a surge of determination courses through your veins. Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you entwine your fingers around his neck once more. You sense the impending release in Yoongi's every movement, and you're determined to be the catalyst that propels him over the edge.
The moment your grip tightens around his throat, a powerful surge reverberates through his dick within you, sending intoxicating waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It's an electrifying sensation, making every touch between you more intense and satisfying.
With an intense squeeze, you lock eyes with Yoongi, a plea in your gaze. “Fill me up, Yoongi.”
In a primal release, he surrenders to the moment, thrusting into you with an erratic rhythm, coating your walls with the warmth of his climax.
“Ahh,” he pants, the rush of air filling his lungs as you release your grip on his neck, both of you engulfed in the aftermath of shared release.
You watch him in amazement as his fervent thrusts subside, and he eases into the embrace of your bed, a portrait of passion painted across his beautiful face.
As he gradually softens within you, you take the initiative to lift yourself off him, both of your essences clinging to your skin, a residue of your shared passion that you welcome without reservation.
As you recline beside him, a soft chuckle escapes your lips, a shared breathlessness enveloping both of you. The air in the room is charged with the echo of passion, leaving a tangible energy that binds your entangled forms together.
Breathless and sporting a satisfied grin, he turns to you, his eyes filled with a post-passion glow. “Fuck that was incredible,”' he murmurs, capturing the shared intensity of the moment in the curve of his smile.
An undeniable contentment colors your voice as you respond, “Yeah,” savoring the echoes of pleasure that linger in the air.
Suddenly, a spark of realization ignites within you, propelling you to move with swift purpose. You crawl back on top of him, a burst of energy that startles him, like a surprise in the midst of shared afterglow.
“Why did you leave me?” you inquire, a tinge of accusation laced with the bitter notes in your voice. “Without a word or a farewell. Why did you disappear without a trace?”
His eyes widen momentarily before giving way to an expression of anguish and sadness. A tug at your heart intensifies, as his face alone tells a story you fear can't be good.
He begins with a heavy admission, meeting your eyes with earnest sincerity, “My brother died.”
Your words stumble out in a rush, “Oh, God! I'm so sorry!” The unexpected revelation leaves you fumbling for the right response.
His words flow, carrying a weight of anger and grief, “It's alright. ButI felt so much anger and grief, you know?” he explains, “so much so that I couldn't shapeshift and was stuck in my cat form.”
You exhale a soft ‘aha’ at his words, and the realization washes over you— he was grappling with his own demons, just as you were.
“When I'm consumed by intense emotions, I lose control of my ability to shapeshift, and, and—” You witness a tearful welling in his eyes, prompting you to gently cup his cheeks, reassuring him that it's okay.
“I just wanted to be alone and I didn’t want to burden you…” A few tears spill from his eyes, and you tenderly catch them with your gentle fingers.
You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, finding solace in the curve of his neck, where his soft minty scent envelops you like a comforting embrace.
“I am so fucking sorry you had to endure that. I understand, truly. But you would never be a burden to me,” you express, gazing into his eyes with a tenderness that echoes your sincerity.
“I want to be there for you,” you declare, your own tears mirroring the empathy in your eyes.
“Ah, shit. I didn’t mean to cry. But, you know, I understand,” you say, your words accompanied by a wry smile as tears trickle down your face and onto Yoongi’s cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Kitten. I know. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
He seizes your cheeks, tugging you into a tender and unhurried kiss. Time loses its grip, and you're oblivious to the remnants of his seed mingling with your essence, creating a slippery trail between your pussy and his still-slick pelvis.
Lost in the rhythm of your kisses with Yoongi, you surrender to the moment, where every touch feels like a missing puzzle piece seamlessly falling into place.
The two cups of coffee are long forgotten.
Authors note (3): Thank you so very much if you have made it this far 😭 I know this story is a lot – I’ve been dealing with a lot of different stuff for many years, and some of it just got to be too much a few weeks ago, and this story popped into my head. It was therapeutic to write. I don’t know if people will like it or not, but in the end, that’s not what it’s about. It will just exist here.
If you struggle with any of these subjects or emotions, you’re always welcome in my inbox – I’m not a trained psychologist or anything, though! But sometimes it is better to voice your feelings, than struggling in silence. Everybody’s welcome 🫂
I hope you’re doing well. Thank you for you 💜
#yoongi x reader#myg x reader#min yoongi fanfic#yoongi smut#bts fic#bts x reader#bangtan x reader#bangtan smut#yoongi fic#yoongi scenarios#min yoongi#yoongi#min yoongi smut#yoongi x you#bts yoongi#yoongi fluff#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fanfiction#min yoongi x reader#yoongi x oc#myg fic#myg smut#myg angst#myg#myg x you#bts fanfiction#bts x reader smut#bts x you#bts smut#bts fanfic
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public occurrences. // myg.
pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader
summary: It's been almost a year since Vegas. As one would expect, life hasn't gotten any easier. If anything it's gotten even more chaotic. The world knows who you are now... There aren't anymore secrets to hide.
words: 6k
warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS. use of cuss words, they talk of anxiety, some mental health situations, talks about a miscarriage, talks about Jin and other members leaving. other than that- not much else. If I missed anything PLEASE let me know.
a/n: CAN'T BELIEVE ANOTHER VEGAS IS HERE. Enjoy my loves. Thank you for all the love and support always. <3 It's just a short little drabble of one specific moment of time, but I thought it was pretty important.
~ the end of february 2023 ~
A dull pain begins to erupt where you’ve had your jaw clenched for the last twenty minutes. A soreness in your jaw you’re not quite sure will ever be able to go away. For the past few months it’s found itself in this compromised position.
Your entire body is made of steel, your joints creaking as you attempt to pull yourself together amidst the panic ensuing within your nervous system. Limbs heavy to the point you aren’t sure whether or not you’ll be able to exit the vehicle.
Breathe in, breathe out. The words repeat.
Breath in, breathe out. It made you want to sing Hobi’s song. Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhaaale. But there was no time for fun. Not when you were about to walk outside in front of cameras for the first time in eight years.
The morning was spent in a blur, the attempts to perfect your hair and makeup happening at an hour too early, much like how you rolled out of bed. An hour too early. You were awake before your daughter even had the chance to stir.
Anxiety had been simmering beneath your skin for weeks. You could barely eat, the nausea would rip through you violently. Again, for the past few months that’s how life has been, nausea, anxiety, melancholy thoughts and dreams, however this event seemed to be adding twice as much. These past few days you’ve probably accumulated a total of nine hours of sleep. You had more shuteye the week after your daughter's birth.
There seemed to be a butterfly effect from the events in Vegas. The incident that caused countless meetings and endless discussions because the company just couldn’t handle anymore media control or protection. You should never have trusted that girl.
BigHit took their time, the company drug out the announcement as long as they could so it would surpass Jin’s deployment and your goddamn wedding. Now, with it being the end of February, Yoongi’s been traveling absolutely everywhere for basketball games, photoshoots, and he’s announced a tour… It was about to happen. For the very first time in eight years you were officially about to be on camera, branded by flashes, posted online permanently, forever going to be seen and known as Min Yoongi’s wife.
Next to you, Yoongi grips your knee tight, in hopes to settle your worries. Glancing down to his knobby hand you sigh and suck in a deep breath.
“We’ll be fine,” he said softly. Meeting his comforting gaze, you attempt to smile, one that makes him laugh. “I promise. Remember everything we talked about?”
You do. Of course you do. It’s been playing on repeat for one hundred and sixty eight hours.
That’s how many hours are in a week. You had to google that.
When this entire plan was set in place you requested a play by play, a step by step tutorial- a rehearsal even! You were walking out into the public eye with your child for the first time. People knew who you were now.
There were going to be cameras, and fans, and paparazzi, and loud noises, and people rushing you, and standards to follow. It was all too much, it all seemed to be entirely too much. You were going to have a toddler on your hip, one who could barely stand to be in a room full of people her father worked with let alone god knows how many strangers at an airport.
“What happens first?” Yoongi asked, reaching for one of your hands to tangle his fingers with yours. He could feel your panic. “Tell me the first thing we’re going to do.”
Gulping, you respond, “Park.” Looking up at his short hair that you’re livid with- his long hair was dreamy, and sexy, and you could pull it- you receive another laugh. He hadn’t expected you to be so literal.
“Good, we’ll park,” he praised. “And then what?” Tipping his chin down his eyes widened a bit, becoming all the more endearing.
“Then, Branson and his team get out,” you said, feeling a bit better looking into his eyes. Yoongi gives you a soft smile, dragging his thumb over the back of your hand.
“Has Branson ever let you down?”
“Never,” you whispered. Almost nine incident free years with the man, after Yoongi, you depended on.
Your husband leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Exactly,” he said. “What happens next?”
Going through the last three simple steps, everything seemed ready to go to plan. Once Branson was ready, you were going to take your daughter out of her carseat, exit the car, and follow the men inside. You would be the one to carry your daughter, just in case. People were unpredictable in these situations, and Yoongi agreed that if something were to happen to him here, you should be the one to carry her inside. As much as that little comment terrified you to hear him say, he was right.
Simple as pie. You hoped.
In a perfect world that’s how it would happen, and you want nothing more than for this to go smoothly.
People knew your name. Everyone has found out that it’s been years. The company was prepared for mass destruction, and so were you and Yoongi. A first public appearance, this is where it would all go to shit. There isn’t much chaos people can fully ensue over the internet.
As for your friends, the two of you personally asked them to stay out of it and at the drop of a hat they agreed. The five boys and Sunny shook on it. No one would say a word publicly, no one would do any interviews, no tweets, no Instagram posts, no stories pushed, no Weverse comments. Silence. Radio silence.
Jin has most definitely heard what has happened, and the next time you and Yoongi get to see him, there will be tea to spill. Your heart aches whenever you think about him, especially for Yoongi. He’s had to go through this madness and so much more without his best friend.
The week after he left was complete and utter hell for your family. And not just because of Jin.
Pushing aside all thoughts of having to redo the motions with Hobi very soon, you come to realize that steps one and two of the plan have already commenced.
The black SUV was parked in front of the airport, and Branson and his team were setting themselves up. Through the dark tinted windows there are crowds upon crowds of people, masses of them so large one would think the entire band was here. It reminded you of a concert, they were all waiting in groups with their phones out, pointing them at the vehicles that you and your team were in.
Slapping your hand on top of Yoongi's, you grip it tight, digging your nails into his palm. He places his other right on top of yours.
“I can’t do it,” you mumbled, whipping your head to shoot him a terrified look.
Yoongi smiles, though your fear threatens to crack him. If this wasn’t ordered by the company he’d whisk you away to safety, getting inside the airport without a soul knowing. He’s broken these rules before, going against what his company wants for your sake, it’s been eight years of you coming first, you topping all things that have to do with his job.
Now that the gig was up, now that people knew who you were and knew that it’s been forever, he feels as though he owes it to his fans to do a three minute appearance. As much as he was deeply in love with you, he loved his fans almost as much. He wanted to show you off, he wanted the world to see who’s been keeping him sane all this time, who’s been the source of his happiness for years.
“Yanno, the last time you told me that you seemed to handle everything just fine,” he said, glancing at your sleeping daughter beside you. Blowing a gust of air through your lips, you roll your eyes.
“I didn’t have to do any work, D, they cut her out of me,” you grilled back, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t-” your words are cut off by a sudden short breath. “I feel like I can’t breathe,” escapes you in a whisper.
Branson taps his fist on the window a couple of times gently, signaling that he was ready for the three of you to come out. The murmurs from the crowds can be heard, leaking through the cracks in the doors, swarming around you constricting your chest.
Yoongi slips an arm around your back, holding you against him tight. Burying your face into his chest, he rests his chin on top of your head and takes a deep breath. You can feel his beating heart steady between his lungs. This was just another day for him. He’s had ten years to grow used to this.
“I was afraid this was going to happen,” he said softly. Peeking up at him, you frown.
“What?” you question, lowering your brows. He nods a couple of times, giving you a small smile.
“I was afraid this was going to happen, because I knew this was going to happen,” he said.
“Me freaking out, right?” you sighed, your tone completely breathless. A soft hum leaves his chest as he ponders what you’ve said, then he shakes his head. “What?” you question again with more vigor.
“Well,” he huffs a gentle laugh, “I figured something along the lines of that would happen, but only ‘cause of her,” he nods to your daughter, “Not because you’re scared of going out there. You’re only worried for her. If it were seven years ago you think you’d feel this way?”
Shaking your head to answer him, the electricity coursing through your veins seems to subside.
“Exactly,” he smirked. “Before her you were dancing in the streets before my shows, you were talking to people, my fans! You were prancing around stadiums and concerts like it was nothing.”
“I loved doing that,” you smiled.
“Fuck yeah, you loved doing that,” he said, giving you the smallest shake. “And, you know what? It’s not just you going out there as my wife, right? They know what you’ve done for us, they know what you’ve made for us.”
Your smile starts to grow. He was right. The fans, the people, they loved your work. The music videos, the art, the TinyTan, the creative concepts, the photoshoots, all of it. They finally knew that it was you. The ghost creator had been unveiled.
“You probably have fans of your own,” Yoongi said matter of factly. “I guarantee you all these people are here for you, not me.” Frowning humorously, you make him laugh.
“Doubt that,” you said flatly.
“Alright, half and half,” he winked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can do this, you can do this. We’re doing it together, like we do everything. We’ll get through this together. We always do. Just think, next time we see Jin we have to tell him all about this, he’ll never believe it.”
Averting your eyes from his, your mind is suffocated by the many, many things you’re going to have to tell Jin when you’re with him again, which you’re hoping is soon. So much has happened, so much has changed, and it’d only been about three months.
“Yeah,” you whispered, flickering your eyes up to Yoongi who’s flashing you a curious look. “He probably still thinks I’m pregnant.”
A flash of discomfort wrecks his expression for all of two seconds as he glances away from you with a breath. Swallowing hard, he relaxes his face and looks back at you, his lips pressed together tight.
“He, uh,” he began in a whisper, “He... knows.” Before you have a chance to say anything, the subtle shock on your face telling him plenty, he cuts you off. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to tell him, it’s Jin, that’s my best friend, he’s the only one I could even say the words to.”
Sitting up a bit, you reach a hand up to cup his cheek, dragging your thumb over his smooth skin. “D, it’s okay,” you reassured him, bobbing your head. His lips form a pout, one that gets you to giggle. “I promise, it’s okay.”
There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you, feelings swirling around the empty air as you both choose what to do or say next. Yoongi leans into you, kissing your forehead once more before placing his own there.
“You’re so incredible,” he said, watching you flutter your eyes shut. “The strongest woman I know, the most talented woman I know. On top of having such a beautiful, creative mind, you’re a fucking fantastic mother.” Yoongi pauses, taking a deep breath, as do you. “He was lucky to have you for as long as he did.”
A lump lodges in your throat. Scrunching your face, you shake your head, rubbing your forehead to his.
“Don’t make me cry,” you said, voice wavering with uncertainty.
“Cry?” a tiny voice speaks up from your right, a yawn of the same intensity coming out of her straight after. Popping your eyes open you share a small smile with your husband, and just as you’re about to turn to your little one, Yoongi slips a hand beneath your chin, holding you in place.
“Hey,” his voice is soothing. “I love you.” Your heart flutters.
“I love you, too,” you whispered, accepting the quick kiss he gives you.
Turning to the carseat that has secured a permanent spot in this car, you smile at your daughter who has her head turned toward you and her father. Her sleepy eyes entice a happy hum from you.
“You were supposed to sleep through this,” you said sarcastically sweet. Yoongi chuckles, unbuckling from his seat. The clang of the metal on the door makes your heart skip a beat.
“No,” your daughter said. “No sleep. All done.” Her voice is tiny, and slightly broken, and not hitting all of the right sounds, but her speech has only been improving. The two of you speak to her like she’s a human being, saving the baby voices for when she’s feeling silly, which can attest to her strong vocabulary and understanding of conversation.
You’re beginning to think she is a genius like her father.
“Mama, up,” she cooed, reaching out her arms that were finally starting to get a little chubby. Her cheeks had caught up to her as well, they were finally perfectly pinchable.
Freeing her from the car seats restraints, your daughter aids you in her escape, launching herself forward and up into your arms with a shout.
“Oh!” she giggles once her arms are around your neck and her face is buried in your hair.
“Oh!” you and Yoongi copy her, to which she responds with another shout.
Her attentive eyes point out the window when she sits herself up, tapping on your shoulder a couple of times with her palm. Lifting a hand, she tries to point at the crowds of people.
“Where?” she asked curiously, looking to either of her parents for an answer. Her voice turned you into a complete puddle, the sound coming out as ‘Wheh?’, the middle syllable is even more pronounced when she questions the two of you again.
Yoongi brings a hand to her forehead, brushing away a few dark hairs that fell into her eyes. The girl hated bows, you stopped trying.
“We’re at the airport,” he told her, and she listened with all of her might. “We’re going on a plane, isn’t that fun? You like flying.” Her eyes blink a few times, taking her time to process the words.
Sighing aloud, dramatically of course, she glances out the window and mumbles a jumble of sounds. Following her gaze, you gulp.
Eager eyes of bystanders attempted to shatter the glass of the tinted windows.
“Mama,” your daughter said, looking at you. “Go, Mama,” she bounced once. “Go,” she bounced twice. You knew the moment you stepped out into the noise and the flashing lights that she would have a meltdown, but you admired her desire to get out of the car. Yoongi was right, she loved flying, it was her second favorite thing right now. Securely at number one was Jungkook, for a year and seven months. That spot was unattainable for anyone else.
“Shall we?” Yoongi offered, watching you fiercely, letting you take the lead. He waited patiently for your answer, heaving a sigh of relief when you finally gave him a tentative nod of your head.
“Dada, go,” your daughter babbled. “Mama, go. Dada, go. Mama, go.”
Sharing a laugh with Yoongi, you take a long deep breath and tighten your grip around her back, holding her in front of your chest. Smiling at you, your baby touched a hand to your cheek.
“I love you,” you whispered to her. She leans her head toward you and puts her nose on yours.
“Ah-luh-oo,” she tried her best to repeat. Stealing a kiss from her, you let Yoongi press a thousand to her cheek to make her giggle, and then it’s time.
Everything seems to move in slow motion, your vision tunneling as your husband opens the car door. Pulling a mask over his face, he sends you a reassuring wink before he rounds the vehicle.
Screams erupt from every corner of the space, and shouting from the team can already be heard. Strict shouting, like things were getting crazy already. Your daughter’s eyes are wide as she looks out the windows and up at you. Her curiosity has been swapped for a little bit of fear.
You couldn’t let her see you panic.
Sliding off of the leather seat and onto the concrete of the airport lot, you pull a mask over your own face and instantly slip a hand to the back of your baby's head. Her legs were wrapped around your torso, and the moment you stepped outside her arms clung around your neck for safety. You already had a suspicion that you weren’t going to have to actively try to hide her face, she would want to do that herself.
Your bags were already taken care of, there wasn’t anything else you needed to grab from the car other than your child and yourself. Everything else would be taken care of for you.
With another deep, dramatic breath, you hold your daughter close, allowing her to bury her face into your neck, and you circle the car like Yoongi had. Upon rounding the back, cameras that were already flashing began to flash faster, quicker. Wide eyed and stunned by the greeting of screams, you barely have time to process anything before Branson grabs your arm.
It’s a gentle tug, one to help keep you on track. He pulls you close to him, staying one step ahead of you as you wait for a couple of seconds in front of the car. Glancing amongst the crowd, it’s mainly full of paparazzi and probably some journalists. Behind the tall men and their cameras you can see the fans, the ones holding up their phones and jumping up and down trying to catch a glimpse at the commotion.
Airport security guards held some people back, though no one seemed to be trying to push through excessively, which was your main fear.
“Another minute here,” Branson said to you, leaning into your ear. “They need photos, then we go.” Nodding, you peek down at your girl who was content clinging to her mother and hiding from the chaos. A sound of admiration rips through the crowd as you stroke her back, one that surprises you.
Up ahead, close to the doors, Yoongi was walking backward slowly, watching you. His fans twisted their heads side to side, from him, to you, and back again. To spice things up a bit, he gives you a wave, and everyone goes nuts.
You can’t help but laugh at him, eyes crinkling at the sides. For some reason you had thought he’d treat you differently when you were outside, but aside from following the rules, he was still your husband. He points to the baby on your chest and questions you with a thumbs up. Another giant ‘Awh!’ rolls through the chattering crowd.
Sending a thumbs up back, the fans laugh, and cheer. Then, your heart plummets to your stomach.
From somewhere within the crowd your name is shouted. And then again. Before you knew it, the entire crowd wanted your attention. Overwhelmed, feeling utterly insane, your eyes well up with tears. You're unable to make out anything else they’re saying though, there were too many people talking at once, and to you, that was a good thing.
God forbid anybody had anything bad to say. You’ve heard it before, but you don’t need to live it in real time.
“Holy shit,” you mumbled. Branson leans into you again, questioning what you’ve said. Turning to him, you smile and repeat, “Holy shit!”
“You’re okay?” he asked, gently putting a hand over your shoulder blade.
“I- I think so?” you said to him, raising your voice over the crowd that was only getting louder. Glancing down to your daughter who’s little fists were attempting to rip holes in your sweater, you send a look to Yoongi, and he stops walking all together. Bundled up in the safety of her mothers arms wasn’t enough for the baby, she needed to be out of this situation immediately. “Branson we have to go.”
“I don’t have the signal yet, we need Yoongi inside before we move forward,” he said. Frowning, you knew the man was just doing his job, but a cry from your daughter flipped a switch within you.
“We need to go,” you insisted, shooting him a glare. Cradling the back of her head, you press your masked lips to her hair and take a deep breath, hoping she’d feel as much of your love as possible.
“Go! Get him inside,” Branson spoke into the tiny walkie he carried on his chest, gesturing toward the door with persistence.
The crowd, now roaring, and growing larger, began to push. The barriers that were blocked by guards were spilling over the edge.
Branson placed a hand to the top of your shoulder and held onto you tight. Grabbing the little speaker, he spoke clearer. “We need to move forward, and we cannot do that if you cannot get him indoors.”
Up ahead your husband was watching you with a heated gaze. His attention didn’t deter from you once. His heart twisted when you cradled your daughter, when he saw Branson begin to get defensive. The hand that was placed protectively on your shoulder could make him scream, and the team behind him, calling after him to get him to step inside the airport made his thoughts fuzzy.
What the hell was he doing? Why would he ever allow the two of you, the most important people in his life, why would he allow you to do it alone? This was the very first time you’ve done this, and he’s realized now that he’s made the biggest mistake.
Forgetting everything he was told, everything he’s learned, Yoongi bounds toward you, using the fast paced walk that his fans clown him for. They absolutely lose their minds, the people around you.
Wide eyed and shocked, you’d never think he’d break the rules on this one, you sigh in relief when he reaches your side. An arm wraps around your shoulder, Yoongi closing you in front of his chest.
“What are you doing?” you asked, giving your head a small shake.
Your husband smiles, reaching up to pull his mask off of his face, removing yours as well.
“Not letting you do it alone,” he said to you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. As you could’ve guessed, the collective lost their minds.
“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you smiled up at him, laughing as he dramatically rolled his eyes.
“You two are always worth it,” he said. “Now, c’mon,” he stepped aside to hold you behind your back, keeping you tucked beneath his arm. Using his other hand he rubbed the baby’s back and gave her cheek a quick kiss, happy to find that once he joined you two she had calmed down. “Let’s go see Kookie.”
Her head shot right up with enormous dark eyes full of stars. “Koo-hee?!”
“Koo-hee!” Both you and Yoongi copy her tiny voice, making her giggle with the silly smiles you flash at her.
The world around you seemed to melt away the second you were in your husband's arms, like all of a sudden you had the strength to handle anything the world would have thrown at you. His grip around your body as he walked with you into the airport was enough to silence the crowd, and power your legs to get through the doors without an incident.
A mere twenty minutes later, the three of you were seated on the plane, your daughter snoozing soundly on her fathers chest while you scrolled through your phone, curious to see what the internet has had to say of your appearance already. Resting his head on your shoulder, Yoongi followed along, making a sweet comment at every single photo of you.
“Oh, that one is the best,” he said quietly, your Twitter scroll stopping on a picture of the three of you before you walked off. The big, genuine, happy smiles you and Yoongi wore were priceless as you grinned at your baby girl, one whose face didn’t make it into any photos- thank the good Lord that somebody believes in. “You should post that one.”
Giving him a sideways glance, you huff a gentle laugh. “To my Instagram? It’s just gone public, you want me to blow it up even more?”
Yoongi tips his chin up, flashing you pouty puppy dog eyes. “I just want them all to know you’re mine. Both of you. I want everyone to know I’m yours, and I always have been.” You gave his forehead a kiss.
“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll post it. Her face isn’t in any of these, so I can post as many as I want.”
Settling comfortably on your shoulder once again, Yoongi gave you caption advice for the post- an emoji that seemingly had nothing to do with the photo… But, you used it anyway. The angel emoji, with a halo and little wings.
“That one’s perfect,” he whispered, tapping on it for you.
“If you say so,” you smiled. Yoongi sat up a bit, carefully to not disturb his sleeping daughter. “You always pick the random ones.”
“Every single one I use means something,” Yoongi gazed at you fiercely. “That little guy,” he pointed to the angel, “That makes four of us.”
Your lips parted in surprise, unsure of what to say. That week in December devastated you both. Your stomach flips while you watch him study your face. The whirlwind life you live hasn’t given either of you proper time to process, or grieve.
“Baby,” he whispered, closing the space between you to touch his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to post it if you don’t want to.”
Sucking in a deep breath, your eyes welling with tears, you furrow your brows. “What did I do wrong,” escaped you in an exasperated gust of air. Yoongi shifted, wrapping an arm around your back.
“No,” he said, putting on his strong facade. “We don’t do that, we’ve talked about this. You know there wasn’t anything you did wrong. There wasn’t anything I did wrong. You heard the doctor say it, baby, multiple times. You gave him the perfect home, you’re healthy.” Yoongi paused to gauge where you were, praying that you were listening to him.
You respond after a few seconds, bobbing your head. Taking a deep breath, Yoongi swallows down the lump in his throat.
“It just wasn’t his time,” he whispered. “He wasn’t ready.”
“Yeah,” you whispered fast. Yoongi’s thumb found your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen.
“And, you remember the last time we were there, they said we could try again whenever we were ready,” he said. The end of last month you had a check-up with your doctor, just to make sure things were back to normal, and that your body was holding up alright. Your second pregnancy was a surprise, much like the first, you and Yoongi haven’t seemed to learn your lesson. However, losing your son before you had even gotten the chance to hold him in your arms put a lot of things into perspective for the two of you.
There were routine check-ups, you were eating better- both of you! This second child was something that you and your husband both wanted, and though each of your emotions have been through the wringer… You would be willing to try again when you felt like you could handle it.
“I want to,” you whispered. Yoongi smiled, but you could see his own worries within it. “I know, I feel the same way.”
“Together,” he cuts off the nervousness quickly. “We’ll do it together.”
“Uh, we kinda have to,” you giggled, making him laugh.
“I can’t wait,” he sing-songed through clenched teeth with a grin, stealing a kiss from you. Yoongi backs away from you to check on your sleeping daughter who hasn’t made a peep. He was surprised she had let her eyes shut while she was beside the window, normally she’d be gazing out at the clouds passing by.
Picking your phone up off of your lap, you smile at the angel emoji and click post, letting the notifications flood in like wildfire. This was all brand new. You were allowed to make your Instagram public about a week ago, and since then you’ve reached four million followers, while you used to have forty-six. Silencing the notifications from the app, every photo you’ve ever posted amassed an incredible amount of likes. Your feed was a feast, and the public was hungry.
Four million followers and counting. The number was only going to get bigger.
Watching the photo gain twenty thousand likes whenever you refreshed the page, you nudged Yoongi’s shoulder to show him what was happening, and when he turned his head to look, an unknown number you’ve never seen before popped onto your screen, calling you.
“What the…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes.
Yoongi snatched the phone from your hand and quickly snapped a photo of the screen with his own, then he silenced yours and went into it, blocking the number who tried to reach you. He called Branson over and showed him the photo, letting the head of security take his phone with him.
“Trace this, or, do something. Tell me who's number this is,” his voice is stern, on alert.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you said, laying your head down on his shoulder. “People get scam calls all the time.”
“Not us,” he said, tone flat.
Not even ten minutes passed before Branson came back, kneeling on the row of chairs in front of your family. He placed his elbows on the head rests and took a deep breath, darting his eyes back and forth from Yoongi to yours.
“Well?” Yoongi asked. Branson handed him his phone and frowned.
“Uh,” he stumbled over a few words, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. “We, um… The phone number belongs to your mother.” His voice is hushed, quiet, like he was afraid to tell you, when in actuality he was afraid to tell Yoongi. Touchy subject. Especially now.
There had been a restraining order set in place since the day after your daughter's first birthday. Yoongi held the meetings and took care of everything, all you had to do was sign.
Neither one of your parents were allowed to contact you, speak to you or your daughter, or try to see you in person. They were not allowed to mail anything to you, send anyone to see you in place of themselves, nor were they allowed to be in touch with anyone close to you. Sunny included. You had to make a list.
Expecting him to jump out of his seat, you stretch a hand over his lap and grab his other hand, the one on your daughter's back. Sitting up, you turn toward him ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his expression. It had not faltered. He was stone faced, and you were sick to your stomach.
“Sue her,” he said. Turning to you, he sighed. “We’re changing your number again.”
“D, come on, it’s not like-”
“I don’t care,” he said, peering down to admire his daughter. “She clearly hasn’t gotten the message that you don’t want anything to do with her.” He pointed his focus back to Branson. “Fight it. Do what you can.”
“Got it,” the guard said, and whisked himself away.
It’s quiet for a moment before Yoongi said, “Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not defending her,” you said, and he raised a brow, giving you a funny look. “It’s just… Super annoying to give everyone a new phone number for the third time.” Both your lips turn up into a smile. “Sue the bitch, I don’t care, D.” Yoongi laughs. “Just don’t make me change my number again, I beg of you.”
“Alright,” he said. “No new number. BUT!” His raised volume made your daughter stir. “One more thing happens, you’re changing it.” The little one lifted her head, blinking a few times before she grinned at her father.
“Fine,” you whispered, not that he was paying attention anymore anyway. Your daughter took his full focus, and all of his kisses.
It seemed silly to just now realize that today was something of a confirmation of the last eight years. Living your life, being a secret to millions of others, while you and the people you cared most about knew, was nice, and secure, and peaceful. But, now… Now that everyone knew, the peace grew. It swallowed you whole, engulfing you and your family with stability and ease.
No more accidental reveals. No more false stories. No more rumors the company had to shut down. No more hiding.
You were absolutely free, and for now, that was everything.
thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece!
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#yoongi#bangtan#dad!bts#dad suga#dad bts#dad yoongi#baby daddy#yoongi fic#yoongi smut#yoongi x reader#yoongi x y/n#yoongi x you#yoongi x oc#bts x you#bts fanfic#bts#bts x reader#min yoongi fic#min yoongi imagine#vegas#yellow#vegas series mini#vegas baby#dad!bts x reader#suga bts#suga imagine#suga x you#min suga#suga fic#agust d
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A CELEBRATION OF 1K FOLLOWERS — WIP 𐙚 steam | myg
pairing: bf!yoongi x f. reader
about: showers with yoongi
word count: 0.383
note: to celebrate this beautiful number, i'm giving you all, my babies, the wip of the current fic i'm writing. apologies for it being so short, but i don't have much written and i couldn't not post anything for you on this special day. THANK YOU to all my followers, to all my kind and lovely readers who stumbled upon my blog and decided to stick around. I LOVE YOU ALL. you deserve way more than this silly little excerpt. i hope you like it. let's meet on sunday for the full thing (jungkook lingo). ᡣ𐭩
warnings: raw shower sex, yoongi talks you through it, oral sex (f. receiving), squirting, falling asleep in yoongi's arms :(
𐙚
Showers with him are something else.
Something you never thought you could ever have the blessing to encounter. Showers with Yoongi are intense, so out of pocket that you find yourself thinking about them fondly whenever you’re alone with your thoughts. There, beneath the downpour of the warm water, he lets you see the other side of his ever unyielding stern façade. While holding you, he would make you laugh, then make you moan and break that sound with each hard plunge of his cock. Hair slicked back, smirk adorning that delicious wet mouth, causing him to look like a Mafioso bent on absolutely ruining you. He would tell you the most insane story he heard from his friend, then talk you through the build-up of your orgasm while continuing to the point of that story—seamlessly waving through, never losing tempo. “Then, he went up to his hyung to ask him about what he did—yes, just like that, honey, take it. I know you’re almost there, just listen.” You would come all over his cock, sprinkling him with your essence, right at the end of his story and like a hungry man, he’d get on his knees and eat you up, muttering how good you are and how well you did with each swipe of his tongue. Your lungs would heave due to the overstimulation, your legs would tremble, unable to stand and he’d gather you into his arms, fold you like a paper into the crooks of his body and let his thick duvet drape over you. He’d fall asleep first, breathing in the scent of your shampoo, snoring softly behind you while spooning you, never letting go of his deathly grip around you. And while you would breathe in the haze of lilac sprayed on his pillows, you’d become aware of the drowsy rhythm of his heartbeat, the lift and fall of his chest against your back, the snug heat of his body and it would lull you to sleep.
That is your new version of hot long showers.
And if it isn’t this, then it’s Yoongi letting you quickly wash yourself before he’d steal you away, dragging you into this bed, only to carry you back there an hour later.
You speculate he has a serious, adorable case of attachment issues.
𐙚
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#lunas dark wips#yoongi x oc#yoongi x reader#yoongi x you#yoongi smut#bts smut#bts imagine#yoongi imagine#min yoongi#bts scenarios#yoongi scenarios#yoongi fluff#btscreatorscorner#kpop smut#yoongi one shot
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Sharing The Moment | MYG
Pair: Yoongi x reader
Summary: You and your son went to D-Day 3 to support Yoongi. Your son stole the show after appearing on stage and ARMY was absolutely… swooned.
Genre: fluff, established relationship, parents au, married au
WC: 1169
Before the both of you stepped into the stadium, you could feel the ground vibrating from all the fan’s anticipation. The arena felt alive before the real show even started. It was the last day of Yoongi’s D-Day tour in Seoul and all the fans were there early. Whether is it giving out fanmade gifts, food, or drinks, they - Is that a tangerine in her hand? And is that a whole bag of it?!
The atmosphere was electric but for you, today was something even more special. You were not only here as a fan but also as Yoongi’s family. While ARMY’s certainly had eagle eyes, they have yet to catch on that you weren’t the only surprise that day. Your son, Min Ji-Hye, a carbon copy of his dad, was the source of the surprise. His little body was buzzing with energy.
Since young, Ji-Hye has looked up to his father’s music and absolutely idolizes him. Every time Yoongi works from home or comes home with new music, Ji-Hye would demand listening to it even if it is the rawest version. Of course, Yoongi tries to keep the cursing to a minimum whenever Ji-Hye is around.
The both of you found your seats in the middle catalogs which the staff has reserved especially for the both of you. Ensuring that Ji-Hye wouldn’t fall off his bumper seat, you started to set the area for the both of you so that you wouldn’t miss a single second to find some water. You were so engrossed in ensuring that your son had everything he needed that you didn’t realise Jin and Hobi were standing right next to you.
You jumped when you felt a light tap on your shoulder, immediately turning around with large eyes, hoping that you wouldn’t cause trouble for your husband if you got mobbed or something during his concert. But you found two laughing figures and calmed down once you heard Jin’s signature laugh.
“Yah, don’t scare me like that!” You chided.
“It was you who weren’t paying attention! We were here the whole time!”
You were about to shoot back another snarky remark when - “Seoul, ARE YOU READY?”
Cheers from all directions engulfed you as fireworks lit up the stage. Yoongi came blasting from the backstage and no matter how many times you have been to BTS concerts, you never get tired of seeing them perform. The raw passion in their movements and voices always ensures that the audience has one of the best concerts.
You turned over to see Ji-Hye at the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the stage. You had dressed him in Yoongi’s stage outfit, complete with a cap that looked a few sizes too big (it was taken from Yoongi’s closet). With his cat-like eyes and gummy smile, he was essentially Yoongi 2.0.
Watching your son sing and jump to the lyrics of his father, your lips curled upwards in a loving smile. While he didn’t quite understand the depth and innuendos of the songs, he was enjoying himself and you knew how much this concert meant to him. With the news of Yoongi’s enlistment, you knew that your time together would be cut short for two years.
You had told him that telling ARMY a day after the concert wasn’t going to be the best decision but management pulled through so it was scheduled as it is. So both of you continued to enjoy the concert with the new addition of Uncle Namjoon.
As the music filled the stadium, Yoongi delivered an electrifying performance, pouring his heart and soul into every lyric. His presence on stage was magnetic and the fans were completely enthralled. You thought that you could hold back the tears as he broke down in front of all his fans but the tears streamed down your cheeks, staining them in a salty caress.
Amidst the sea of fans, Ji-Hye suddenly squirmed and wriggled his way past the people in front of him. Running down the steps, you tried to catch him when Namjoon suddenly grabbed your wrist. “He’s safe, don’t worry. There are guards everywhere.”
But you couldn’t help but worry. What if he got lost? What if fans start to swarm around him and he can’t make it to Yoongi or any of the guards in time? Your heart skipped a beat as you saw his little figure making his way up the stage. There was a collective gasp from the fans nearby as they realised what was happening.
The surrounding security personnel recognised him and allowed him to approach the stage, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t fall down the large steps. Yoongi had just finished a ‘Life Goes On’ and was taking a moment to catch his breath when he saw little feet running up towards him. His eyes widened and broke out into a huge grin when he saw him, squatting down to his level and spreading his arms. The fans, realising that he was Yoongi’s son, started to cheer even louder.
The moment Ji-Hye crashed into Yoongi, every ounce of fear that Ji-Hye would be afraid of the cheers washed away in that instance. Yoongi scooped him up, hugging him tightly as your son laughed into the microphone, causing another wave of cheers to vibrate the stadium. It was a moment of pure, unscripted love between a father and his son. You stared at the two most important people in your life on stage, celebrating as if they were the only ones in the world.
The fans were absolutely swooning - taking in this whole scene with hearty eyes and red faces - their hearts melted by the sheer adorableness of the scene. They watched as Ji-Hye whispered something into Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi’s eyes sparkled with amusement and affection.
Yoongi turned to the fans, holding Ji-Hye high above his head like the scene from Lion King. “This is my son, Min Ji-Hye.” He announced proudly. “He’s a little ARMY like all of you.”
The fans erupted into cheers, shouting their love for both Yoongi and his son. Ji-Hye waved at the crowd, his gummy smile wide, grinning from ear to ear. Your heart felt so big that it was going to explode.
As the concert continued, Yoongi held Ji-Hye in his arms, dancing with him on stage during a couple of songs. It was a moment of pure joy and it was clear that this concert had become something extraordinary - not just for the fans but for Yoongi and your family.
After the concert, Yoongi was still beaming with light as he continued to hold Ji-Hye in his arms. “You know, you stole the show today.” He chuckled to his son.
Ji-Hye looked up at his father, eyes shining with admiration. “Daddy!” He swung his little legs. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”
Yoongi’s heart swelled with love. “You can be anything you want. Just remember to always be yourself.”
#btsfanfiction#bts#btsff#fluff#love#femalereader#music#yoongi#minyoongi#alternate universe#establish realtionship au#au#idol au#yoongi x reader#yoongi x oc#Yoongi x you#yoongi imagine#yoongi love#yoongi scenarios#yoongi fanfic#yoongi fluff#married au#parents au
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yoongi’s interlude: dal segno (m) (3tan) | myg
title: yoongi’s interlude: dal segno
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season
rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst, fluff, implied smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: dal segno—used as a direction in music to return to the sign that marks the beginning of a repeat.
note: it is here! a little later than planned but hey, let’s go!! thank y’all for waiting and thank you for being so supportive throughout this whole process. let this be a little gift from me before 3tan9 drops, which will be an even bigger present when it’s done<33
note 2: if you haven’t read the three tangerines series yet, read that first (specifically basketball, stay, sidewalk talk, friends, and dalo.) this will be easier to read after that!
warnings: multiple time switches due to flashbacks, cursing, yoongi pov, tense situations, penetrative sex, implied sex, minor scuffle, mentions of blood, threats, punches, angst, yoongi has a lot going on in his mind :((, jimin is a real one, actually everyone in here is<3
drop date: september 23rd, 10:50pm est
word count: 9.7k
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Another breath.
Another day.
Filled with the same plaguing thoughts as the last.
Hustler [19:58]: You’re welcome !
Hustler [19:58]: I wish I could’ve stayed…
As Yoongi stares at your texts, he automatically knows that you leaving was the much better option. There were too many eyes looking at too many things.
Not that he would tell you tha—
A hard thump catches his attention, and he lifts eyes to watch the game play out in front of him. How the same guys from before are now paying attention to the players instead of the sidelines.
And as much as he loved seeing you in that fit, he knew from the jump that a lot of other people would, too. Especially in a setting like this one where the only other things to stare at are sweaty dudes just like him.
A few more drops slide from his forehead.
Lowering his gaze back down to his screen, he blinks at the blank message box, wondering what he could possibly respond with and thinking he probably shouldn’t at all.
Honestly, he’s surprised you sent that last text. He figured you would’ve left it at the first one, or not responded at all.
On the other hand, he’s kinda shocked that he sent you something in the first place, too. A little messed up considering your brother is steps away.
But, caught up in the moment and finally being able to see you, he must’ve just reacted. Must’ve just wanted to keep teasing you, especially after seeing your adorable reaction to his hair.
You like it.
Why is that enough to stroke his ego—
“Yoong, you comin’?”
His thoughts dissipate as he lifts his bright, drenched head. “You done?”
“Yeah, we’re on again.”
“K.” Fuck, he’s out of shape. Pocketing his phone, Yoongi moves to stand, ready to play and anticipating the soreness already. “Yeah, I’m in.”
Yoongi knew that they were good.
But he didn’t expect them to run the court for this long.
After the fourth win since his joining, all of them collapse onto the sideline next to awaiting bags and backpacks, a heap of heavy breathing and heat.
“Why are we… still winning,” your brother pants, head hanging between crossed arms on his knees.
“Is that a question,” Jimin responds, breathy but not as faint. At least he’s fully in shape from all the goddamn running he does. “We’re just better.”
“Can we… Can we be worse for a little bit?”
Yoongi’s shoulders move as huffs into the water you gave him, but it’s Park that scoffs,
“Me? Worse? Never.”
“Bullshit,” he responds, and tired, mirthy hisses shoot out when he realizes that your brother said it with him.
Soon, the old days come flooding back. When it came to basketball, it would always be Jimin that shouldered all the penalties. Everyone knew they could never be the loser if he was playing, no matter what stupid game it was.
But he had gotten better since then. Loads better. With a passing thought, Yoongi thinks all the teasing is exactly what made him decent in the first place.
The man himself has to be reminiscing, too, because he simply grins while raking back light brown strands. “At least I’m good and in shape. You need me now.”
They can’t deny that. Intramurals can get tough, especially if they end up playing more than one game in a day.
“Y’all ready?”
All three of them look toward the court, noticing the same dudes from before standing in a group.
Huh.
They’ve won that much that they’re facing the same people a third time?
Damn.
Maybe he is still pretty fit. Or just prideful. Yoongi thinks he can go for a lot longer if it means winning until they leave.
After he stands and brushes his shorts, an inward laugh follows his last thought.
Because he ends up agreeing with you, after all. He kinda wishes you could’ve stayed now, too.
…Yeah.
It’s definitely pride.
The next game is different from the others.
A lot different.
Yoongi doesn’t know exactly what happened before this, but the guys seem more on edge this time. More upset.
And he loves it.
He doesn’t know if it’s because his team had been talking shit every game before that, or if these dudes can’t take losing well, but he starts getting confronted out of nowhere.
When the ball gets in Yoongi’s hands, someone pushes against his back with a taunt,
“Think you’re hot shit?”
Uhh. He knows he is. But that’s besides the point.
The point is that this guy doesn’t know what he just got himself into, and Yoongi figures that he should let him know.
Backing up, he dribbles low before spinning and making his way to the basket, scoring without a word.
As the guy’s teammates criticize his shitty defense, Yoongi simply looks at him while backpedaling to the other side of the court. And when he’s glared at, all he offers is a shrug.
Oh, he’s pissed already?
Too easy.
As the game continues, Yoongi observes that he’s the only one getting roughed up. A jab to the ribs here, a hard foul on a layup that has him laughing more than anything.
Goddamn, this dude is legitimately mad. Did he do something to him? If he did, he honestly doesn’t remember.
After Yoongi scores on him again, things start getting even more physical. During a shot, the guy purposely knocks into him, lying by saying he was the one that got hit when the ball misses. “Foul.”
Childish. Yoongi huffs a knowing laugh while Jimin instantly questions,
“What? How?”
“He ran into me.”
Ah, it makes sense now.
This dude’s only targeting him because he’s pissed he isn’t good. Isn’t better. Time and time again, it’s always the same people compensating for low skill.
“That’s not what I saw.”
“You calling me a liar?”
Whatever. It won’t help at all. His team’s gonna lose for the third time anyway. Signaling to Jimin, Yoongi waves the ridiculous call off,
“Fuck it, let him have it. Check up.”
Right after he concedes, there’s rougher and rougher play with each possession. But Yoongi doesn’t let it phase him as he keeps fighting his way to the basket, only choosing to be rough when the same guy guards him.
Because he’s completely fine being just as petty.
Suddenly, something is muttered that has Yoongi’s attention. Because it’s so laughable that he can’t leave it alone. “What’d you say?”
An answer doesn’t come until they stay put, both of them with hands resting on their knees while multiple sneakers scrape up the other side of the court.
“I saw that earlier. That’s your girl?”
Oh.
He’s one of the guys that were eyeing you?
Yeah, he’s getting ignored. Otherwise things’ll get real fucking funny real quick.
As the teams continue to fight over rebounds without them, the man tries to get under his sweaty skin again,
“You know what? I figured it out. You want her but you keep missing, huh. She left with someone else. You let that happen?”
Has this dude ever been told he sucks at shit talk?
Yoongi simply wipes sweat from his forehead with his tank, realizing with a tiny scowl that his top is now useless with how soaked it is.
As everyone makes their way back after a score, he thinks he can just brush this guy off now, deeming him not worthy of any more of his time.
Until a switch is flipped.
“Can’t be around that bitch forever. Might just see how tight that cunt is mysel—”
Yoongi has the guy’s collar before his mind can even process, shoving him back against the nearest chainlinks with force and erupting clangs.
“Whoa, whoa!”
“Hey, chill out!”
“The fuck is going on?”
In an instant, your brother and Jimin flank him, and Yoongi knows that they’re already assessing how things’ll go down if shit goes south.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Or the tenth.
Yoongi can feel heatwaves from the tense half-circle around him, but as long as everyone’s waiting on a signal, he knows he can speak freely.
So he does.
“Why don’t you say that one more time.”
“What’d he say, Yoong.”
Silence.
Mm. Nothing, huh. All that talk and suddenly he doesn’t have shit to say?
Yoongi tilts his head, knuckles tight and twisted in wet cotton. “Go on.”
“I don’t have to listen to you, man.”
His eyebrows raise with his mouth, grinning out of pure disbelief and something more.
He can take heat.
But when it comes to you?
Yeah, no one’s getting away with that shit.
“What’s wrong? You shy?” A fake, pointed laugh flies out of Yoongi’s throat before his expression completely drops, and his tone plunges into the ground,
“Hurry the fuck up.”
“It’s not even that serious—”
He shoves a slick forearm into the man’s collarbone, feeling the sharp contact as the guy reacts with a slight grunt. “Then say it.”
Yoongi feels it. All of it. All the stress that’s been building from the past couple weeks comes gushing out, from the studio clusterfuck to potentially ruined plans with you.
Now he has to deal with this?
What bad fucking luck for this dumbass.
After he’s greeted with more silence, irritation makes him jut his forearm forward.
“Fine,” the guy finally hacks out, grabbing Yoongi’s arm with sweaty hands. “Get off me.”
Obliging, he pushes off with force before he hears wheezes that sound laced with amusement.
“Little bitch. This is why I’ll have that pussy by next we—”
An abrupt crack echoes out as your brother comes in with a swing, and Yoongi calmly backs up before the dude is snagged with two hands.
Fuck, he didn’t expect a punch. Especially one to the face.
Maybe your brother is as stressed out as he’s been saying.
But, as Yoongi looks around, he notices something worked. At least, the hit must’ve been loud enough to make everyone think twice.
Because while the group moves a step forward, no one rushes in completely. Which makes things a lot easier because he came to play basketball—not pick fights like the faraway days. He’s way too old for this shit now.
Right.
As if he didn’t start this in the first place.
Why the hell was that his reaction, anyway? Yeah, he’s stressed, but he’s been able to keep his cool ever since work got hectic. He was even able to stay relatively calm—albeit alert—when these guys were watching you.
But now? Now, even while the guy sports a split lip, Yoongi wants him worse off. Preferably crumpled in half and kissing concrete.
Why he feels this strongly is something he’ll have to evaluate later. Even though he already knows it can’t spell out anything good.
While the guy sputters out a curse, bloody spit drips from his mouth as your brother gets in close.
“If I ever. Ever catch you around her. I’m coming with more than a swing. You understand?”
And Yoongi cocks a strong brow when the guy has the balls to say “Fuck you.”
But your brother isn’t deterred. “Cus we’re letting you off easy. And I’m telling you now that next time? Will be a lot different.”
“What…” A moist swallow. “Whatever, man.”
“Try me. See what happens.” Your brother shoves the man further into the fence before backing away, giving him room to retreat.
And the guy takes the out, nodding for his whole group to follow suit.
Yoongi hopes they can feel his glare. When he flicks his eyes to Jimin, he notices that he’s just as resolute and clench-jawed, fingers still balled into fists and eyes burning dark.
Fuck, everyone got lucky.
As the guys vacate the court and witnesses go back to minding their business, Yoongi can feel himself breathe again. Checking on your brother, he can tell that the man’s laser focused, remembering each face with rapid, stunning memory.
And they’re almost gone.
But not without the dude boring holes and dark vows into their eyes one last time.
When his glare pauses on your brother, he wipes bloody drool from his mouth before threatening,
“I’ll find out where you live, motherfucker.”
Shit.
That’s never a good sign.
You live in the same house.
…Fuck.
He shouldn’t have let anything get to him. Now he might’ve made things worse for you.
All he wants to do is fucking hit something.
But while everyone is turned away, he instead diffuses dense anger out from his hands, balling them into fists and slowing the flex outwards. Again. And again.
“Think he’s bluffing?”
Jimin watches them file through the gate. “Maybe. But you never know.”
“Yeah,” Yoongi agrees as he rubs his sore forearm. “Can’t be too careful. Guys like him snap eventually.”
“Annoying as hell.”
“And they took the fucking ball.”
Your brother spins around with frustration. “What the fuck? Fuck, my hand hurts.”
“They weren’t shit,” Jimin sighs as his friend shakes hurt fingers. “I don’t think the swing was necessary.”
“It just came out. But you’re probably right.”
“He’s definitely right.”
“I hate to ask y’all. But when I’m gone—”
“Yeah,” Yoongi interrupts, already planning on doing whatever it takes. He feels shitty and responsible enough as is. “We will.”
“Thanks. Just this once. This should be the last trip for awhile.”
“Shouldn’t we tell her?”
Before Yoongi can cut in, he’s overshadowed,
“No. We should be okay.”
Which makes him purse his lips in thought.
He shares a glance with Jimin, but they end up agreeing in the end.
“K.”
Yoongi lightly squeezes his eyes before letting them open, facing a side of his bed he hasn’t touched lately.
Again, regret wakes him up too early.
His blinds still lie useless with no sunlight to block, only darkness persevering beyond the confines of his bedroom. Everywhere else, the world is quiet. Static.
If only his mind was the same.
Breathing in, he tries not to think. Tries hard not to think about everything that was, and everything that can’t be.
Fuck.
This isn’t like him.
He moves forward. He accepts. He leaves the past behind—mostly.
But ever since the week that made him face a myriad of emotions he wasn’t prepared for, he’s been stuck in a loop. Stuck living through all that went down from the beginning.
Every morning. Every afternoon. And every night.
It’s not always the same sequence, though. Sometimes it starts with the basketball game; sometimes it starts before then, when he purposefully lied about not having a pump in his car.
But other times, his mind drops him right into the first phone call you missed.
The one he made after the longest workday he’s ever had in his life.
Hustler: Outgoing Call
Yoongi hates the reason why he’s calling. Because he knows you’re not gonna like it.
But he wasn’t gonna break it to you through texts.
If you were someone else, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. The text would’ve just been sent and he would’ve moved on.
Yoongi didn’t wanna do that to you.
It could be because of the lingering guilt from basketball, but even if that didn’t happen and he couldn’t see you, he still would’ve given you the courtesy of a call. The least he can do is give bad news through the phone.
Hmm. It’s still ringing.
Don’t you usually answer right away?
Fuck, you aren’t picking up.
When it goes to voicemail, Yoongi feels a drop of dread ping into his stomach.
Forget whatever news he was gonna tell you. He decides right then that he needs to go check on you.
Swerving to head over to your neighborhood instead of his complex, he runs long fingers through his hair.
He knows it’s a further drive, and he knows he’s ten seconds from passing the fuck out.
But after whatever happened yesterday, he just needs to know if you’re safe. Whether he was the reason for your situation or not fuck.
Adrenaline. Guilt. Both make for a dangerous combination behind the wheel when his destination isn’t close.
Should he try you again?
Should he call Jimin?
Fuck, why didn’t he text you something more specific earlier? Yeah, he was busy, but that shouldn’t have taken precedence. He seriously needs to learn how to deal with work stress because it’s making him fall short in multiple areas.
Several minutes pass, and he tries his hardest to fill the loud silence with other thoughts. Like how he needs to learn quick to make up for losses at the studio. Or how he’s gonna be working overtime for weeks no matter what.
Hustler: Incoming Call
His eyes dart straight to his phone, and he answers immediately. “Hey.”
“I am so sorry! Fuck, I fell asleep.”
Good.
You’re okay.
There’s nothing to be sorry about at all.
But now, all the adrenaline in his system is draining at a blistering pace, leaving room for pure exhaustion to come back with a vengeance.
“S’okay.”
Fuck, he’s even more tired than before.
“How… How was your day?”
Yoongi rubs his face.
As much as he wants to stay on the line, if he keeps talking to you, he won’t be able to hide how exhausted and frustrated he really is. You have a way of disarming people that scares him, at least based on that conversation in the kitchen on New Years. And the phone call after he took your brother home.
There’s no telling what he’ll say if you make him comfortable again.
So he opts for a single sentence,
“It was fine.”
Shit, even that sounded rough.
Fine is pushing it, too. Maybe even too far off base. But he doesn’t wanna burden you with any of the shit he’s going through, especially if you wouldn’t know half of what he’s talking about.
“At least your day is done! Tomorrow will be fun, right?”
A long exhale.
Now for the news: he can’t see you tomorrow, either. The studio is so overwhelmed that he may not even see daylight multiple days of the week.
He sums everything up in a sentence.
“Same shit tomorrow, too.”
And he hates himself for it.
He pulls up on your road right after, scanning the area for any strange cars.
Hmm. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything looks familiar so far, which is ideal.
“Oh. I see.”
He definitely wishes he had other options, but he’d much rather give it to you straight instead of offering false hope. If he could find a way to figure things out, he’d tell you. There’s just nothing his fatigued mind can think of right now.
He’ll make it up to you eventually. Whenever that may be.
Rolling up and parking, he looks around one more time before settling into his seat, realizing that he hadn’t responded out loud yet.
“Sorry.”
“No, no! It’s okay. Things happen.”
It’s admirable how you’re trying to mask it. But there’s no way you can hide how you feel right now.
Fuck, just one thing after another that he can’t get right.
Is this karma for the stupid decisions he made? Not only has he put you in potential danger, but he’s also being held from seeing you entirely?
Either way, he deserves the second one. Because he already knows he doesn’t deserve you in the first place.
Yoongi forces out a sigh before eyeing your front window.
He knows you’re home, judging by the silhouette shrouded by the blinds and curtains.
So he should go.
Go back home, shower, skip dinner, go to sleep…
“It’s okay, Yoongi. If you’re busy—”
Fuck it.
“I’m not busy right now.”
Getting out, he shuts his door before waking right up to your front porch. Knowing that he really shouldn’t be doing anything other than sleeping.
“Oh. Okay.”
The weekend ahead is long. There’s way too much to do. If they don’t get their shit together, there’s no way they’re making this deadline.
But your voice on the line is so fucking small.
It makes sense. He knows you want to see him, and he wants to see you, too. Against everything telling him this shouldn’t have been more than that summer afternoon—or anything at all—he still wants it. And you have no idea how much.
He shouldn’t be doing this.
He knows you’re safe, and that should be enough.
…
It’s not.
“Open the door, doll.”
Yoongi forces himself into a sitting position, squinting at his nightstand and grabbing his phone after a few tries.
His screen lights up with notifications, but if it doesn’t have anything to do with work then he can’t be bothered by it.
Scroll. Scroll.
Scroll.
Nothing.
And he doesn’t see your nickname, either. So he tosses it back and rubs his eyes.
Hustler.
He remembers when he changed your name to that in his phone, and he wonders if you’ll ever get to see that for yourself.
Would you be shocked? Would you tell him to change it back? Even if you did, there’s no way he would.
It’s too perfect.
And it’s much easier to deal with than any other name he wants to change it to.
Besides, he definitely called you that long before he found out you were hustling him in multiple ways. Seems like you’re just that person to him, tripping him up with underhanded business practices, or smiles that have his heart skipping.
It was nice to bring up old times while you walked around his complex. He knew it would shock you to know that he still remembers your little food stands, which made the whole reveal that much sweeter. Your reaction was absolutely priceless, just like the rest of the night.
At least, before you started getting inside your own head again.
“Hey… We can go back inside if you’re worried someone’ll see us.”
What?
Yoongi pauses as he looks at you, hating how you look so goddamn guilty just being outside. “Huh?”
“You keep looking around.”
Oh. Well, he is, but not because of what you think.
You shouldn’t ever need to worry about what he’s been shouldered with.
Yoongi walks toward you, wanting to wipe the sadness out of your eyes and the uncertainty from your lips.
The night has been calm as hell for him—other than checking over his shoulder like always. Even though he didn’t necessarily want to go outside, there was no way he was gonna let you go by yourself.
But he hasn’t felt this content in a minute. Simply talking to you and hearing you speak without hesitation relaxes him, and he thinks it’s because he’s already familiar with your company.
Yeah, he got around. And yeah, he only saw you as his friend’s sister. But you popped up so often that it became routine to see your face, a subtle constant in his life no matter how great or shitty it was going.
There just hadn’t been a way to hang out with you like this before now.
Which is a shame. Because he has to admit that you’re fun as hell to talk to.
When you left for university, he really did mean it when he sent you off with an offer. But it truly was pure in intentions at the time.
It was when you came back to visit that he may have been thinking of other things. And when you were quicker to correct him with any newfound knowledge did he start having some not so acceptable thoughts.
Where was the girl that switched up make believe prices on him? Who was this person that looked like she had matured and lived and been through some of the same bullshit that he did?
He didn’t know. And not knowing didn’t sit quite well with him.
But you somehow showed up on his doorstep after a whole year of him hating who he was. And whatever you did somehow repaired that broken record, allowing him to escape that headspace and do shit again.
Your voice is so tiny when you whisper, “I just thought…”
“Just a habit, doll,” he assures, hoping that you trust him even though he doesn’t deserve it. “It’s not you.”
Just this once.
Let him be the only one that worries.
“Okay.”
His jaw clenches.
Whoever you were with before? They didn’t deserve you. Not a single one of them deserved to chisel away at your confidence until you had to come to someone like him to fix it.
And truthfully, he doesn’t deserve those eyes looking at him like that, either. Like he holds all the answers when he really only comes with problems.
Like how he put you in this position in the first place, whether that dude was bluffing or not. Not only do you not know about what happened at basketball, but now you think he’s paranoid about being seen with you.
Fucking hell.
He brings a hand up to lightly touch your chin, and he focuses hard on the way you react. Innocent. Pure. One of his many, many favorites.
If someone sees him? With the woman so engrossed in cooking and music that she didn’t even realize she was being watched earlier? The same person that dumped cold fucking water on his tired head and blazed a trail of puddles throughout his apartment?
It’s minutes later, when you’re admiring the night sky with the same wonderment he holds in his, that he realizes that he could be fine with that.
More than fine with that.
If only circumstances were different.
Falling back onto his pillow, Yoongi stares at his ceiling, remembering the kiss that sprouted from simply not giving a fuck for two seconds.
If you remember anything about that weekend, he hopes it’s that moment. That lone pocket of time is one that he’ll always remember.
Because it scared the shit out of him.
He knew that he shouldn’t have done it. He knew that.
But he found himself not caring in the slightest, not being able to resist how breathtaking moonlight looked in your eyes. You were magnetizing. You were magic.
You kissed him back.
Did you know that would affect him days after? Did you know you planted something in his chest with your bare hands? Something that began to hurt when he realized he couldn’t do this with you forever?
When you held his hoodie…
It was crystal clear that things were more complicated than he planned for, including the need to protect you reaching levels that he still won’t fully acknowledge.
That strong urge caused him to do things he never thought he’d do again.
When he pulls up to your house, he notices you covertly checking the street, halfway amused and halfway very much not.
Of course you’re paranoid about being seen with him, being driven home in his car. But he wanted to be sure you got home. And, more pressingly, he wanted to give you something before you went inside.
Because he knew he could let you stay over the weekend. But it’s definitely pushing it if he flat out suggested staying for the week.
Is this going too far? Probably. But he’ll be damned if something happened to you when he wasn’t careful. If something happened because of something he did.
When you’re about to open your door, he decides. “Listen.”
Shit, you tensed hard.
“Hmm?”
Yoongi feels his heart lurch. You look like anything he’s gonna say will shatter you into pieces.
This is his reputation, after all. Something he just has to live and deal with.
So he does.
Because he’s about to give you something that he knows you’re gonna react to. Even though he feels awkward about it himself, he’s gotta be chill because that’ll be the only way he’ll get through this conversation.
“This is just for the week, got it?”
“What is?”
Fuck, why is this so hard? It’s a key. An object used to open another one.
Just hand it over. There’s no other real way to do this.
Reaching into a pocket that seemed quite heavy the whole drive over, he grabs his spare and holds it over the console.
And he watches as you stare for what seems like hours.
“Yoongi, what the fuck?”
Fuck, why is his heart racing? This is supposed to be for your safety, but… The situation finally hits him.
He hasn’t given anyone a key to his place in a long time, just like he hasn’t let anyone stay. It almost has him just as caught up as you look.
Relax. This is just whatever, not some grand gesture that he’ll think about before going to sleep in a bed without you in it.
Sure.
“I don’t know how the next few days are gonna go, but. Use it whenever.”
“I don’t…”
“It’s just a key, doll. Don’t overthink it.”
He knows you’re gonna. But you don’t need to.
Don’t overthink anything with him.
“I”—you nod, softly taking the spare and holding it tight—“Okay.”
All you’re doing is sitting there, looking at the key like you’ve never seen one before…
And all he wants to do is turn the car around.
Goddamn, he’s gotten more than soft. Surely, he can deflect whatever the hell he’s feeling somehow.
But what does he say? What can he focus on? What can he make you focus on?
Well. Better things. Things that are attainable, things that have nothing to do with him.
“Find something that makes you happy.”
“Huh?”
Yoongi sets a forearm on his steering wheel, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to feel so fucking shy. “A job. Or whatever. It’ll make a difference.”
You nod. “You’re right.”
“I’m always right.” He turns back to regard you, eyes dropping to his spare when he realizes your stare is too much to handle. “Just text me if you end up using it.”
Your voice is back to dropping a few sizes when you whisper, “I will. Good night, Yoongi.”
While you exit his car and leave, he thinks about many things, and they all have to do with you.
Because over the last couple days alone, he’s discovered how amazing you really are.
And with each thing he learns, the more concerned he gets. About the way you’ve been treated, about anything happening to you, and about how he’s starting to feel.
When you’re halfway to your door, Yoongi breaks his gaze to look down the street.
Even with all the shit you’ve been through, it hasn’t made your heart any darker.
You didn’t need to seek him out when you needed reassurance. You didn’t need to be so considerate that you’d go the extra ten miles for him. You didn’t need to tell him that he could talk to you about things, without even really knowing him.
And you certainly did not need to figure out where he’s ticklish, but that’s a whole different issue.
But despite striking out so often, you’re still out there. Just as kind and considerate as you ever were, even to someone like him.
He turns to see you digging through your bag. Probably to find your keys.
Maybe that’s why he feels this deep, strong impulse to protect you now—and not just from what he caused.
Nah. It’s more than that. He wants you safe from everything, even yourself.
Because you’ve only settled. And you deserve a lot more than what you’ve gotten handed so far.
Maybe he needs to show you that.
When you unlock your place and step inside, he thinks it’s cool to drive off. But it isn’t until you turn back and see him that he actually leaves.
Wondering how the hell he’s gonna get through this week without getting himself into more trouble than he already is.
There’s a vibration at his side, and it takes Yoongi a second to realize that he’s being called.
Right now?
Who the hell…
Reaching to grab his phone, he squints to see who the fuck could be calling.
Work call?
Shit.
Groaning, he closes his eyes before answering with a groggy, “Sup.”
Jungkook sounds just as croaky and tired as he does.
“Hey. Think you can come in early today.”
“What’s early.”
“Now.”
Now? How is Kook even awake? This is usually when they head out or crash on their couches. “It’s five.”
“You were awake enough to answer.”
“Mm.” Yoongi breathes into the line. “True.”
“They’re already here. I just got up from a nap, but. Yeah. We need you.”
“Yeah, I can.”
“K.”
Yoongi drops his phone as soon as the call ends, dumping his head into the crook of his elbow.
And just like always, the memories continue, picking up at the time he made you worry for a whole damn night.
Hustler: Incoming Call
Fuck, he needs to answer you.
Excusing himself from the studio, he brushes off the manicured nails reaching for his sleeves.
Goddamn. He can’t believe Jungkook brought chicks in when they’re this close to a deadline. The guy swears they’re just his friends, but that’s definitely not the vibe Yoongi feels.
The whole thing is enough to piss him off, frankly, but it’s not a battle he’s decided to pick just yet. Not when he can just ignore them.
Kook’s voice follows him to the door, “Where you going!”
“Taking a call.”
“Tell them you’re busy!”
“Won’t take long,” Yoongi mumbles before leaving, wanting to add that there’s other people that need to be told that instead.
Hustler: Outgoing Call
As soon as you answer, he doesn’t hesitate, “You okay?”
“Much better. But you’re busy so I can wait.”
At least you’re okay. But didn’t you have something to smooth over with your friends? Did you end up doing that? “You sure?”
“Ah, yeah. I’ll just be in bed.”
“Yours or mine?”
…Why the hell did he just ask that?
That can’t be good for him. The two of you aren’t even close to dating, or have anything other than a couple hookups. Or whatever they are. He doesn’t exactly know.
But the words came out so naturally that he’s wondering where he stands.
Is this why he isn’t even entertaining those girls? Because his mind’s already made up that he’s seeing you?
“Oh.”
He hears the hesitance in your voice. You sound as shocked as he feels.
“I’m at home.”
Mm.
Maybe it’s because he would feel better if you were back at his place. Now that he knows you’re home alone, there’s something in him that wants you just a bit closer.
But how does he get you over there with the least amount of suspicion possible? How the fuck does he finesse this?
Well, there is one way.
He can always get you upset with him.
“You threw away that key, huh.”
“No!”
“Liar.”
“I have your key! I just.. I dunno. Using it when you’re not there is weird. Still feels like I’m intruding.”
He laughs, understanding how you would think that. There’s a reason he hasn’t given his key to anyone in awhile. Privacy is his biggest priority.
And yet… After he gave you his spare, he had no regrets. All the awkwardness he felt before went away in an instant.
But he’s not done with you yet. “Then give it up.”
“What?”
“Gimme the key back. I’ll come get it tonight.”
Because he’s gonna see you either way, whether you come over to his place or not.
It’s just way too fun to hear you flounder. If only you were here in person, too.
“…Damn you, Yoongi.”
More amusement flies out of his throat before he goads, “What?”
“You’re so… Ugh! Fine. I’ll keep it.”
“It’s all up to you.”
“Yeah? Then I’m going over there just to lock you out.”
There you go.
Laughing, he feels his chest beat quick, so fucking amused when you come at him like that. Like you don’t give a shit who he is. It does things to him that he’ll never quite admit out loud. “God, I love it when you’re—”
“Yoong! Hurry up, man!”
“Yoongi!”
“Yoongi! Come back!”
Ah, fuck. He said he wasn’t gonna take long, but it seems like he loses track of time when talking to you.
Covering his receiver, he shouts down the hall, “Yeah, one sec!”
Hopefully what he did is enough to convince you to go to his place. At the end of the day, he really does want you safe. Hard to think you would be when some fucker decided to threaten you and your brother. “Hey, I gotta go. But I’ll be back tonight.”
“Okay…”
“Am I gonna see you?”
It takes awhile for you to answer, and he hates how timid you sound.
“Do you want to?”
More than anything. “Course I do.”
Another few seconds pass until you answer again, but Yoongi will wait as long as he needs to.
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“Thank fuck.”
He hears a tiny puff of laughter before you tut,
“Such a guy. But don’t leave until you’re done!”
Of course you want him to focus. You’ve been nothing but supportive this entire time, and he can’t thank you enough for that. “K.”
“I believe in you. You’ll finish.”
You’re cute. But that’s a big fucking stretch.
There’s still a lot that they have to do, and getting all of that done in a single night would be a miracle.
Who knows with you, though. You could be his saving grace, or a good luck charm.
“I dunno about that, but.. Thanks, doll.”
And when they do end up finishing after hours later, he celebrates with all the guys before driving home.
With the strongest urge to kiss his good luck charm stupid.
Yoongi grabs his glasses from his nightstand, putting them on after raking back his hair.
One breath.
Then two.
Get up.
Setting his feet on the ground, he lugs himself upward, hating how the cocoon he left feels more inviting than ever.
Well, not as inviting as when you—
Buzzes on his nightstand make him pause.
Is Kook calling again? Does he get to sleep in after all?
Leaning, Yoongi checks his screen.
Oh. Of course.
Sighing, he answers with a sleep-bogged tone, “Huh.”
“You actually answered! Morning, sunshine.”
“What do you want.”
“Ouch? Rude.”
Jimin laughs, too fucking awake as always.
“You heard about the game this week, yeah?”
“No?”
Shit, he’s already forgotten about intramurals. After what went down, he completely forgot about the league entirely.
A memory about the last game does come back to him, though. One involving the very person saying something on the line.
Someone he still needs to thank for a lot of things that week.
Yoongi walks into the gym they’re slotted to play in, still high as hell off the kiss you gave him before you left.
He’s gonna get you back for that one. You can’t be better than him at his own game.
In the center of the court, a bin of mesh jerseys sits, so he grabs one before approaching a familiar face. “Hey.”
“Ah, I see you lost the orange!”
He slips on the jersey while pointing out through a smile, “Said I was gonna.”
“Did you dye it this morning or did she?”
Huh?
Yoongi looks at him before grabbing a ball from the floor. The hell does he mean by that? Lips faltering, he answers, “I did.”
It’s Jimin’s turn to grin while they make their way to their designated basket. “You should’ve let her do it. Since she was there when I called.”
“Okay, fess up,” Yoongi tuts, stopping his dribble. “What’re you getting at.”
“Damn, relax,” his friend soothes through a smirk. “I didn’t say you did anything. I just knew she was there.”
“You know this week is—”
“I know.” Jimin suddenly drops all sense of amusement, his voice switching on a dime. “I freaked the fuck out two nights ago. I’m giving you shit because you didn’t tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“That she was with you!” He snatches the ball before dribbling in place. “Her friends called Taehyung flipping out that she wasn’t at the house—”
Oh, shit. That explains all the shit you woke up to.
“—and Tae couldn’t get ahold of her, you didn’t answer my calls—”
“I’m—”
“—it was a lot. But… Tae and I ended up driving over to your place. We didn’t leave until we found her car.”
Eyebrows shoot into Yoongi’s now-dark bangs. “Shit. You did all that?”
Jimin stops the ball before pinning it to his hip. Sighing, he looks at the ground before turning to regard him, tense silence filling the space before he admits,
“I did what I thought you would do.”
Shit.
He’s not wrong.
“Thanks.”
“Thanks?” He gets socked in the arm. “Apologize first! Fucking heart almost stopped three times that night.”
Yoongi’s already nodding at the ground. “You’re right. Sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jimin huffs out, giving the ball back with a sigh. “Just tell me something.”
“What.”
A tiny, knowing chuckle slips between them as they watch the rest of their team warm-up. “You know what I’m asking.”
“I could ask you the same about Ta—”
“Ah, the game’s about to start!” Jimin spins around, giving all the answers needed. “Gotta warm up, you know?”
And after his friend retreats, Yoongi stares at nothing with a cheek prod.
Damn.
He didn’t realize everyone was so worried. You told him about your friends—shockingly—but he didn’t know about Jimin and Tae.
Hearing how everything went down? Knowing what threats were made and learning that you weren’t at home or answering your phone?
Fuck, he would’ve lost his goddamn mind.
Shaking dark thoughts from his head—and a handful of other scary ones—he forces himself to focus, warming up harder than he’s ever done before.
Blinking, Yoongi realizes he got so distracted that he totally missed what was said. “Sorry, I zoned the fuck out. What did you say?”
“Oh, we have a bye week. No game.”
He rubs his face before finally heading to his bathroom, wondering why the hell he’s being called at dawn for this. “Okay.”
“I was thinking we could do something instead.”
Ah.
A yawn selfishly pushes out first before he can ask, “Like what.”
“I dunno. Dinner? Shiv wants to go out again and Tae may be down for once.”
Yoongi bumps into the doorframe of his bathroom, letting out a sleepy grunt before rubbing his shoulder. “Out where?”
“Ask your girlfriend where she wants to go.”
Oh, he’s gonna do nothing but deny that. And ignore the squeeze of his chest. “She’s not my girlfriend, idiot.”
“Deny it all you want. Even Shiv noticed something was up with you at Solaria.”
Oh, yeah. That’s the place they went to last night. All he could really remember was how fucking good you looked.
Honestly, he could’ve been anywhere and you’re all he would’ve seen.
…Shit. Maybe Jimin’s teasing has some merit.
Yoongi hasn’t been this down bad in a minute.
But the more hope he allows himself, the worse he ends up feeling. So whenever any comes along, it’s promptly squashed.
“It’s nothing, Chim.”
“Bullshit.”
Jimin’s silent, which makes Yoongi strain his ears to listen more intently.
“It’s something if it makes you this annoying.”
Yoongi puffs into his receiver, his smile enough to stretch his cheeks. “Now you’re just wrong.”
“So she’s not your girlfriend, and you aren’t seeing her?”
“Huh?”
“Dude. She’s clearly into you. And you’re telling me all you’re doing is playing around?”
“Your point?”
A sigh.
“I guess my question is… And I don’t normally pry this hard, but I care about both of you, so…”
Yoongi waits.
“What are you gonna do once you stop?”
Fuck, how many people has he dodged tonight?
Even now, as he gently lifts an arm off of his, he’s wondering if everyone just decided to show up to Dalo just to see him.
“Awhh, Yoongi, you’re no fun.”
“Correct.”
Another unsuccessful pout.
He keeps trying to look into the crowd, hoping to still see you despite the sea of bodies.
But again, someone else approaches with a bounce in their step. “Yoongi! Baby!”
He doesn’t reciprocate the hug, instead looking at Jimin for assistance while extricating himself. “Uhmm…”
“What’s wrong? Remember me?”
He should feel bad for this lie, but he doesn’t. “I don’t, sorry.”
“Oh.” The obvious follow-up flows right out as he tries to scan the crowd, “I can help you remember…”
Calmly taking fingers off of his dress shirt, Yoongi doesn’t acknowledge the comment as Jimin slips in,
“I don’t think we’ve met, gorgeous. Why don’t you forget him for a sec?”
The girl doesn’t even think twice as she moves away with him, and Yoongi can breathe again.
Goddamn. He hopes you didn’t see any of this. Even if you already know this haunting part of his lifestyle, it’s another thing for you to watch it in motion.
It’s almost enough to make him sick of the whole thing entirely. What the fuck does that mean? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to think about it right now.
All he wants to think about is what he sees in front of him: you, like he’s never seen you before.
Fuck, what he would give to have you dance on him like that.
Truthfully, he’d probably tug you away and pin you against the nearest wall. Or take you straight to the bathrooms, whichever was closest.
Confidence suits you better than anything he can picture you in, and when you turn to look right at him, he has to prod the inside of his cheek to not shy away from your eyes.
What the fuck are you doing to him?
If you came up to him right now?
He’d give you anything you wanted.
All you’d have to do is say it.
Yoongi holds the phone to his ear, unmoving because of the cold of morning—certainly not because of what he was just asked.
Fuck, he doesn’t have an answer.
Jimin sighs on the line, not offering anything else until he finally says,
“Sorry.”
“It’s all good,” Yoongi replies. “I get it.”
“I just—”
“I know.”
“Do you really? Or are you just ignoring it?”
Fuck.
Yoongi’s silent once again, knowing that Jimin isn’t gonna let this go until he decides to himself.
“I meant I’m sorry for bringing it up now. But I’m not sorry for saying it.”
“Mm.”
“You’re happy, dude.”
Well. That’s definitely not where he thought he’d go with this. “Huh?”
“Admit it. I saw you at the party. You are.”
He’s not ready for this conversation. Not when he’s still fucking shaken from what you said to him before he left your room.
That’s the memory he tries to keep at arm’s length the longest.
Hardening his resolve, he brushes off his friend, feeling like a total ass. “I got work, Chim.”
“Seriously?”
“Why else do you think I’m up.”
“To talk to her? I don’t know.”
“Park.”
“What?”
“I can’t fucking do this right now.”
“You can’t fucking—the fuck is up with you? Where’s the Yoongi that almost pulled my arm off at Dalo?”
Yoongi clenches his jaw.
“I’ve never seen you like that. Ever.”
His heart’s starting to slow. His tongue won’t move. Everything is starting to come back again, and he can’t do anything to stop it.
At his side, Jimin offers a flirty goodbye before sliding next to him.
As both of them lean on the bar, Yoongi takes a sip of his drink. “Thanks for that.”
“No sweat. She was hot.” Jimin takes a sip from his glass, as well. “I know you’re just watching out tonight, but. I might call her if you’re cool with it.”
Isn’t he with Taehyung now? The guy even went to their game.
He’s never seen any of Jimin’s hookups anywhere other than places like this and late-night diners.
Leaning over, he points out, “I don’t think I’m the one you need to ask.”
Jimin scoffs before looking away, taking another sip. “We still don’t know what it is.”
“He came to the game.”
Jimin looks back at the crowd before the ghost of a smile appears on his face. “Gotta admit that I didn’t expect that.” He puts his drink down behind Yoongi’s back. “Good thing she did, too. I’ve never seen you play that hard.”
Yoongi smirks. “I dunno what you’re talking abou—”
“Oh, fuck!”
“Shit.”
“Stay he—”
“Fuck tha—”
“Call Tae and stay the fuck back here!”
Yoongi’s forcefully shoved into the bar, heart racing right out of his chest and speeding after Jimin barreling through the crowd.
Fuck!
There’s no way. No fucking way. All week, they were fine.
How the fuck did that dude know you were here?
Everything is swirling in his vision as his limbs freeze.
Jimin’s got it. He has to he has to. What is he supposed to do? What does he— Oh. Taehyung.
Hands shaking, Yoongi fishes out his phone before—
“I’ll call security.”
Yoongi swivels to see the bartender holding up a walkie, and he shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“You sure, honey?”
He doesn’t respond as he finds Taehyung in his contacts, ringing him up and hoping to everything that he picks the fuck up.
“Okay. But just in case, there’s a small hallway to the right, next to our kitchen. You should be okay there.”
Yoongi eyes the girl again before looking towards where she said—
“Hello?”
“Get over here. Dalo.”
“Shit, okay. What’s going on?”
He can hear scrambling on the line. “Just hurry.”
“Fuck, okay, I’m coming. I’ll be there.”
Hanging up, Yoongi darts his eyes through the crowd, no air existing in his lungs.
One second.
Too many seconds.
Fuck it, he’s going in, too—
He sees you.
You’re with Jimin, sheltered under a leather sleeve as you’re moved through the crowd.
And fuck, you look so shaken. But you’re there. You’re safe.
Letting himself breathe again, he turns to say a quick thanks to the bartender before facing forward again.
“Of course, honey.”
He can’t stare at anyone but you.
“And take your girl home.”
Fuck, he got distracted again. He can already feel Jimin getting ready to pop off as he walks to his closet.
But his friend sounds outright done as he scoffs through the speaker,
“You know what? Fine. Go to work or whatever. But we aren’t finished.”
Thank fuck.
“O—”
The line is cut off before Yoongi can finish two syllables, and he lets his arm drop like a weight.
Jimin can try all he wants. But he’s not gonna say anything.
His girl?
Girlfriend?
No chance.
Yeah, he does wanna call you just to hear your voice. And sure, he does wanna tell you that you shouldn’t worry about your interview today at all.
But that doesn’t mean you’re actually his.
If anything, that says something about him.
Pulling a shirt over his head, Yoongi grabs a chain from his dresser before making his way out of his room. It’s gonna be another long ass day, so he bustles around the kitchen for coffee and something to hold him over later.
What would you do if you were here?
Probably tell him to go back to sleep so you can do all this for him.
Because that’s just who you are.
Yoongi remains still as he waits for the brewing sounds to stop, eyes unblinking and aimed at the dining table he’s come to not hate anymore.
Once a space that saw many destructive arguments and silent, unfinished meals, your appearance started giving it new life. New energy. Energy that he can physically feel as he passes it on the way to his room.
You have no idea how much you’ve changed his life. Whether you’re his or not, that fact remains the same.
He gets up when he needs to, he applies himself, he actually cares about what he does and doesn’t let the slightest inconvenience turn him off.
All because of you.
Fuck, you’re just…
Heart clenching, Yoongi rests both hands on his counter, overwhelmed by the war inside himself that rages on. Conflicts of multiple interests present themselves every second, pulling him in direction after direction until he’s completely and utterly lost.
Jimin means well.
But Yoongi can’t think about doing this again.
Not after what he went through last time.
Besides. It isn’t just about how you feel, or how he feels. His best friend has no fucking clue, and there’s no easy way to break all this to him if it comes down to it. If there came a time where he’d have to fess up.
He would not take a single sentence of that well.
And Yoongi wouldn’t blame him in the slightest.
But even if you weren’t off-limits, even if things were different, he still doesn’t think he could take that step. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because it would be best for you in the long run.
And he knows how ridiculous that is, because how could he think that but still want what he wants? How can he say this shit but think about taking you out and showing you off like you deserve?
How can he keep allowing himself to say that you’re his when you shouldn’t be?
It makes no fucking sense. But he can’t help but think the worst. Every single time.
Besides. You haven’t said a single thing about wanting to be with him.
He’s asked you multiple times what you wanted, when he knew that you knew what he meant.
And nothing.
But it’s fine. It’s better that way. Maybe you’ll grow tired of him or move on like you should.
What happened before is enough to ground him. As long as he’s reminded of the past, he can’t fuck up the future.
There’s a reason he keeps that guitar where it is.
It’s the first thing he sees when he walks into his place—a constant reminder of how things are supposed to be.
His shoulders bunch as he leans on the counter, remembering how stupid it was to try playing for you. That was the most powerless he’s ever felt in years.
But he did it anyway. Because it used to be a source of comfort for him, and you looked so fucking defeated that he wanted to do anything to make you okay again.
The coffee has long since been done brewing.
But Yoongi’s only thinking about the end of that night. The night that started this internal war in the first place. The night that will haunt him for the rest of his life.
He already knows you’re beautiful, but you’re indescribable when you come.
Maybe it’s because you feel so strongly in general, in all aspects of life. It’s only natural that you would exude pure emotion at your most vulnerable moment, disarming even the frostiest, darkest hearts just like his own.
But also. Maybe it’s because of the way you say his name. Because he can’t help but live in that moment hours after every time it happens, wishing that there was a future out there that included that situation every day of his life.
With your eyes closed, you can’t see how he watches you.
And it’s better that way.
You keep saying his name, and other things that are thawing his insides, but he finally breaks when you whisper a thank you.
Lips at your temple, he vows,
“That won’t happen again, love.”
You somehow reply, but your words are jumbled and slurred. And it takes Yoongi a few solid minutes to get you to your bathroom and dress you into a shirt he had to find.
When he guides you back to your bed, he decides to join you until he knows you’re asleep, eyes charting your face and ingraining it into his memory.
No one’s doing that shit to you again.
No fucking chance.
Resignation slips over his eyes as he feels awash with something that terrifies him. He tells himself to get up and keep watch until your brother comes, but he knows distancing himself right now is also pretty fucking important.
He’s way too weak to fight how he feels about you.
How he’s truly felt about you for awhile now.
Just as he’s about to move, he feels the tiniest resistance, wondering how you gained enough strength to hold his arm while you slept.
Still so adorab—
“Wish you were there, Yoongi.”
He freezes.
“I was so scared.”
Yoongi hits his counter with a fist, face burning anger into granite before he drops his head.
All that fucking time. All those fucking nights.
Only to have you just out of reach and almost…
Fuck.
He did this to you. He should’ve been there.
As someone that would rather be reminded of the past instead of dwell in it, he sure as hell feels like he’s stuck there. Hoping and praying and wishing that you’re safe and reliving that span of seconds where he thought that you weren’t going to be.
He should’ve fucking been there.
This is exactly why he can’t be with you. This is exactly why he wants you to be his.
Fuck, he’s gonna be sick.
Maybe work is exactly what he needs right now.
Exhaling from his nose, he shuts tired eyes, wondering how the hell he can’t do anything right. Pissed off that he can’t do everything that he wants to do.
Frustrated that he’s gonna keep seeing you despite knowing that he has to let you go.
He gathers his things with stiff fingers before heading out the door, looking for the cat he wants you to meet before walking to his car.
Another breath.
Another day.
Filled with the same fucking thoughts as the last.
-
-
-
tbc.<3
-
A/N: well. there you have it🥺 i know we always see reader’s mind spirals and their vast array of overthinking patterns. but.. i wanted to showcase yoongi’s because i honestly think his is incredibly worse :(( there’s a lot we didn’t know about him and i know y’all have been wanting his POVs! i separated this from 3tan9 because i thought it would’ve been way too much to read on top of everything going on in there LOL
A/N 2: as always, thank you so much for all of the support. whether you’re new, or an OG, i truly appreciate you being here and going on this journey with me and the 3tan crew. if you could let me know what you liked or thought about this, whether through a reblog, comment, or message, i would be so grateful!
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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!
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#oh gosh i'm nervous af but i hope you enjoy<33#bts#bts fanfic#bts imagines#bts reactions#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#yoongi smut#yoongi x oc#bts fanfiction#bangtanbathhouse#bangtanarmynet#btshoneyhive#*latest#ryenwrites#*ryenfictalk#yoongi#3tanDS
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slipping through my fingers (myg) {series masterlist}
pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!!, fluff, smut
summary: you've always thought you had it way too easy. all of a sudden, your life seems to be taking a few unexpected turns. it's time your luck ran out.
[prologue]
1. will i ever see you again?
2. and the hits just keep coming 1.0.
3. the calm before the storm.
4. and the hits just keep coming 2.0.
5. a one time thing.
6. ...tba.
#fic: slipping through my fingers#yoongi x reader#min yoongi smut#yoongi fanfic#yoongi smut#yoongi fic#suga smut#suga fic#suga x reader#suga angst#min yoongi x oc#min yoongi x reader#yoongi x oc#yoongi angst#yoongi fluff#dilf yoongi#yoongi dilf au
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wait i have a question , does cal yoongi have a daddy kink??? 😮💨😮💨
i’m glad u asked 😴
and remember: if you’re not getting tagged despite signing up to the taglist, it’s because in your settings the ‘allow search engines to find me’ option is disabled which makes me unable to tag you.
can’t afford love | myg (m) #7
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is this even a good idea?
well..
either way
you want this
and you’re ovulating!
it’s not your fault you’re this horny!!
even just his presence is making you want to pounce him
and now with you bent over the table
surrounded by dirty dishes
his groin pressed straight into your ass
you can’t think straight
he’s right
you can still have fun and enjoy as you’re trying for a baby
you’re snapped out of your thoughts when your robe is hiked up to your waist and your entire lower body is naked and exposed
you feel
extremely insecure
doing this in a not-so-dark room
but at least you’re bent over and he can’t see much anyways
his hands knead your hips and asscheeks under his palms, your breath becoming ragged
he runs a finger up your slit, a sudden grunt leaving his lips at the touch makes you glance over your shoulder
“now this,” he starts, “is what i’m talking about.” he brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks your slick off. “maybe i should be a bit rougher on you since you’ve always liked that a lot more.”
you angrily grunt. you turn your head again, pressing your cheek against the surface of the table. “shut up.”
the loud crack of your ass getting slapped rings in your ears and the heat spreads through your skin
“always got something to say, huh?”
hmmm
you do
you literally do
but…
“you like it, though,” you remark, trying to stifle a smirk
“hm,” he hums as he massages your asscheeks. “i do, don’t i?”
there’s a certain tone in his voice that you can’t quite put your finger on
you glance at him again and he’s staring straight at you. “i suppose i never liked the easy way,” he says and you’re not even really sure what he means by that
is he talking about you?
how you’ve just
never been an easy person?
…
well in all seriousness
you weren’t
and you will never be
you’re of the opinion that things should be earned
you say as you’re preparing ready to get rawdogged by your exhusband
he runs a hand up your spine which causes you to shiver
pathetic.
“i still love looking at you from this position, you know,” he starts and the ruffling of him pulling his sweats down doesn’t go unnoticed by you
“yeah? why’s that?”
“feel like i can do whatever i want to you and you’ll let me cause you enjoy it too.”
what the hell….
he’s SICK
“what does that even mea–”
SMACK.
“ow!” you screech but somewhere it sounds like a moan. a screechy moan if you will.
“see?” he chuckles and reaches for your wrists to pin them into your lower back with one hand whilst he tugs his boxers down with his free hand. “you like it. i also know it’s your favorite position and don’t tell me it’s not because we both know it is.”
you merely huff in response. “so? it’s yours too.”
he hums quietly.
“no, it’s not.” his free hand wraps around his shaft and he uses it to tease your wet slit
you close your eyes to concentrate and prepare but you can’t help but wonder what he’s on about..
“i fucked you from behind often because i knew you liked it. i like it too but it’s not my favorite.”
huh???
you were so sure it was
just because it was usually your go-to position whenever you had sex with each other
and you know he absolutely loves your ass and hips so you’re not sure where this is coming from now
you quietly ask, “then what is?”
he stays quiet for a few moments
“missionary.” he starts pushing into you which makes your mind go blank
you can’t even bring yourself to ask why but he lets you know nonetheless
“watching your face when you’re getting fucked is my favorite thing in the world.” he bottoms out, pelvis pushed straight into your asscheeks
your face?
he loves watching your face?
“the way your brows furrow and the way your mouth falls open. the way you struggle to keep your eyes open but do it to hold onto eye contact. it makes you look dizzy.” he simply chuckles and then slowly starts thrusting into you. “drives me fucking insane.”
…
why would he say this now
he used to say he just loved fucking you
no matter how he could have you he’d have you like that
why is he going into detail now??
he knows all the things you like
is it genuinely bc he just wanted to do all of your favorite things?
you do remember how much he loved kissing you in missionary
and you loved it just as much
especially when he did as he came inside. it genuinely made you think that giving birth to a whole sports team was worth it in that moment
(until the post nut clarity hit of course)
he keeps thrusting, dick rubbing your walls so fucking good that it makes your knees buckle
but he’s so close to your body and he’s still pinning your wrists against your lower back which causes you to stay pinned to the table whether your legs give out or not
“wha… what else do you like?” you manage to get out without sounding overly sexual
“hm,” he hums as he rubs your asscheek with his other hand. “i was never big on the daddy thing but hearing you on the phone earlier–”
“i am not calling you daddy.”
he laughs in response at how quickly you declined
“i don’t know, babe. you’re making a mess on the floor. i think you like that idea, if anything.”
fuck
you don’t know whether he’s lying or not
and with your hands restrained
hips caged in between his own and the edge of the table
you grunt in response
not much else you can do
and in the corner of your eyes you can see him licking at his thumb before bringing it to your asshole
rubbing the rim
you mewl quietly. he rubs all over your puckered hole, something he knows you used to enjoy
“fuck,” you mumble as his thrust pick up in pace, hips slamming into your asscheeks and recoiling against his skin
“i need to look at your face when you cum,” he whispers as he begins to slow down until he fully pulls out
he pulls you off the table by your biceps and turns you around in one swift motion, pushing you back onto the table and instantly spreading your thighs for him
you barely have the time to register what’s happening when he grabs ahold of his shaft and guides it back into your pussy
he slides in so effortlessly, proving your arousal
and if that wasn’t enough proof, the loud squelching sounds should be
he starts thrusting into you again, eyes staring down at you with such intensity that it makes you feel like you’re being stared down by a starved lion
he holds your thighs apart with his hands, hooked under the back of your knees as he snaps his hips into you
you can’t help but moan as you stare back, mouth falling open and brows furrowing together
exactly the way he likes it
he knows you do that once he speeds up and slams his hips into yours like he’s got something to prove to you
“rub that clit for me, y/n.”
FUCKKKKK
you could cum simply from hearing him say that
you mewl as you reach between your bodies and allow your hand to make it’s way down to your clit, the stickiness instantly coating your fingers as you start rubbing yourself
“how does it feel?” he asks, hairs sticking to his forehead because of the sweat that started forming there
you let out a sob that you hope is enough of an answer about how fucking good you’re feeling right now
unfortunately he shakes his head
“use your words, sugar.”
fuck fuckfuckfurkcudkcud
sugar
sugar.
it used to be his go-to nickname for you
:))
..
:(
and him saying it right now is both orgasm-inducing
yet bittersweet
it almost makes you stumble over your words
said you looked cold on the outside yet tasted and smelled so damn sweet
and he liked the irony
because your personality was the opposite of sweet
you suppose he was right.
“feels… feels so good,” you sniff, bringing your fingers up to your mouth, licking your own arousal off it whilst keeping eye contact with him
his eyes momentarily drop to your lips as he watched you wet your fingers with your saliva before you dive back to rub at your clit
he nods as he makes eye contact with you again
but his eyes are starting to occasionally drop down to your lips
and it’s getting harder and harder not to kiss him
maybe just once–
“cum on my dick, dizzy.”
oh
😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂
you don’t need much more
a few more circular motions on your clit and the consistent pounding of his hips, tip of his dick kissing your cervix repeatedly has you coming undone
your body shakes as your hands come up to squeeze at his biceps and chest, incoherent words and sentences falling from your lips in cries and ragged breaths
he simply nods as he watches you. “i know, i know.”
your entire body shakes, pussy repeatedly clenching around his shaft which you know is pushing him to the edge as well
“fuck,” he whispers, one hand coming up to gently tug your robe off your shoulder, exposing your breast to him
kneads it
rolls your nipple in between his fingers
does it again after wetting the tips of his thumb and index finger
you sniff again, tears rolling down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure he’s giving you
you haven’t had an orgasm whilst getting fucked in so long
you’d almost forgotten how fucking insane it is
mindboggling
insanity-inducing
“fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he whispers as his hips start snapping into yours at a quicker pace, indicating he’s getting close too
you simply continue to watch him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster, bottom lip trapped between your teeth
fuck. FUCK
it’s not even healthy how badly you want him to cum inside
pump you full
mark his territory
remind you who you still belong to
what are you saying? snap out of it!
“i’m gonna,” he pauses, “cum.”
your hands dip down the back of his shoulders, one up the back of his neck and you do it to pull him closer
your eyes drop down to his lips before you say, “put that baby in me.”
you say it with such a tone in your voice and a look in your eyes that makes yoongi almost feral
his thrusting only gets rougher yet sloppier, inconsistent
until he completely unloads inside of you
with a few more thrusts, he comes to a halt, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath
and now
when everything is more clear
you almost want to scream at the top of your lungs
you know you should’ve never broken those rules
you know you wouldn’t be able to resists for much longer
why are you bummed that it’s already over for this weekend and probably until you’re ovulating again?
…
???
or maybe not even until then? it couldve already happened.
exactly what you wanted
a baby.
pregnancy.
it could have happened already.
🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴
and it’s precisely why
you almost
asked him
to pull out.
to be continued.
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l'amour de ma vie — myg
L'AMOUR DE MA VIE | Love of my Life | Requested by anon.
Plot: Insecurities pile up in Yoongi's marriage after months of distance and neglect.
Pairing: Pianist!Yoongi x Ballet Teacher!OC (Name: Kiku)
Genre: Music & Ballet | Marriage on the Rocks
Type: One-shot
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 4.6k+
Warnings: marital insecurities, unintentional neglect, jealousy, mentions of divorce, mild mentions of injury from ballet, explicit sexual content (rough sex, unprotected sex, squirting).
Author’s Note: new one-shot, friends! i really hope you enjoy this one, I loved writing it! be sure to let me know what you think!
REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Send your ideas in by August 1st before it closes!
Yoongi was a serious man. Kiku knew this well in the years she knew him. Their marriage didn’t flourish like fresh romances with many kisses and open affection but quiet trust helped their relationship stand strong.
When the doors closed, Yoongi often made up for his silence with soft kisses on her skin, calloused finger pads running down her neck and sneaking in between her core until she soaked the sheets.
However, things changed as the concerts began to pile up. When they were touring together as equal performers, Yoongi was active in ensuring that she heard compliments whispered in her ear. That he stared her way when she was on stage and she would sneak a look back whenever able.
Now Kiku wasn’t an equal performer and Yoongi’s attention on her was. . .low. Though Kiku understood why. It was concert season. Of course. That’s the only reason.
Of course, Yoongi was active and his face brightened like stars when he performed but lost the light in his eyes when he looked at her. It was exhaustion. It must’ve been. He would tell her if something was wrong.
Tonight was the same as the previous nights for. . .how long had it been? Two months, maybe three. Yoongi thrilled the audience with his performance, fingers dancing over the ivory keys like they were an extension of his own digits. Like the music was the air he breathed, exuding out of him. Kiku found it deliciously mesmerizing.
The audience roared with applause as the performance ended.
Yoongi bowed to the crowd, roses thrown his way before he walked backstage. Sweat slick on his forehead, pearling at the jawline. His grin disappeared immediately when he reached here. Kiku felt the weight of the lost smile but she leaned in and kissed his cheek anyway to congratulate him.
Yoongi barely leaned into it and rushed to change his clothes.
It was just exhaustion. Just exhaustion. Nothing more.
***
Today turned for the better. At least Kiku hoped as Yoongi received his first free day away from practices or concerts so he can enjoy the Italian sights for a while. The day was beautiful indeed, sun blazing gold amongst the sandstone buildings and flowers beds at the cafes burst in vibrant colour.
Kiku even wore her favourite silk corset dress with a thin cardigan over top for the spring breeze. Her black waves reached down to the small of her back and her enthusiasm thrumming to excitement. She felt as if she was waiting for a first date.
Yoongi finally entered the living room, wearing a white shirt and trousers.
“Did you want to go out to a café today?” Kiku asked, her voice kept soft and sweet. “It’s a beautiful day.”
Yoongi barely looked her way. “I have a small meeting with the producer. He wants some changes to the later performances,” he said. His tone was rushed and serious. As always. Everytime he began thinking of work, that was his tone.
Kiku knew this and she told herself this the moment her heart started squeezing unbearably. “When will you be back? Maybe we can go later.”
“I’m not sure. You can go by yourself and enjoy,” Yoongi said before rushing out without waiting for a response.
Breathing through the aches in her chest, Kiku did pick herself up and enjoy Italy. It was concert season. It was concert season. Everything will be back to normal once they’re home. It’ll be fine.
***
France was the next destination. This time, Kiku was invited to a ballet studio in Paris to teach some classes and have a studio room of her own to practice if she needed. It kept her distracted. Italy emptied Kiku and even the plane ride to France was Yoongi discussing things with his producer, Minho while she sat alone in her corner.
The dance studio brought her full of life again, the golden vines consuming the marble building like a living organism. The varnished wood floors, silk shoes and flowing dresses that returned Kiku to past days. To. . .happier days, she thought with a pain inside her.
Kiku and Yoongi fell in love during a different France tour years ago. Kiku was a prima ballerina in her early twenties. Lovely and enchanting, they called her. Yoongi played all her songs for her, watching her every move as if catering to her own movements and not the choreography itself. There was an intimacy behind that cohesion, that connection that not even six years of marriage managed to create. Perhaps that was a bad thought to have. To romanticise the first year of love as opposed to the commitment they were in now.
She should be happier now. She was happy. Happy, yes.
Was Yoongi happy? Was he happy that he watched her perform? Was it okay that Kiku was no longer that prima ballerina? She was no longer quite as lovely or enchanting.
Kiku danced every now and then but after an injury, her doctor encouraged her not to do performances like she used to. Otherwise it may lead to permanent damage. Yoongi supported her through her strained muscles, helping her through her exercises and reassuring her. But perhaps Yoongi didn’t plan on needing to take care of her. Perhaps the thought of her never being that ballerina again dawned on him and he grew distant.
No, it was silly. Silly to think it so. They were happy. Happy. Happy.
***
Kiku made her way to the stadium where Yoongi had his practice and performance later in the night. She brought fresh food from a nearby café with a small spring in her step. Sweet notes of the piano echoed in her ears. Even the tonality and energy of the notes made her know that it was Yoongi. It gave her both this nostalgia and fresh nuance of something new, like a first kiss or a sneaky touch on the back of her hand.
Kiku smiled at the people backstage, placing the food on the table.
“This’ll be good for the newer performances,” she heard Minho say as they looked out to the stage.
Kiku followed their gaze and saw the new addition. The reason why Minho wanted to have so many meetings. A young ballerina was on the stage, dancing freely to the notes played by Yoongi.
Her grin was bright and energetic, understanding completely the importance of her performance carried out. Lovely and enchanting.
Kiku knew it was normal for pianists to do this. To have different performances showcase creativity and enthusiasm. But the sight of it felt like stones crushing her slowly. It was normal for this to happen, she told herself. Yet Kiku felt it deep in her heart, deep in her gut, this unbearable pain when the reality sank in.
Kiku didn’t belong to his world anymore.
She was a wife who tried to be part of his world but not in his world.
Perhaps Yoongi knew this and stayed silent to protect her feelings. He never liked confrontation. Or it just didn’t matter and he would get rid of her after the tour.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” Minho asked. “Back to his roots?”
Kiku attempted a smile as she always did. Attempting a smile. Maintaining an energy to make sure everyone else felt good. To make sure Yoongi felt good, without burden.
“I’m feeling a bit unwell,” Kiku said. “I’ll be going home.”
“Don’t you want to wait until he finishes?” Minho asked, confused. Kiku never left once she got to Yoongi’s practice, not even when she was sick.
How silly she was. Constantly leering at the edges of a place she didn’t belong to anymore. Trying to squeeze into a place in Yoongi’s heart that was probably getting smaller and smaller. He had no time for her. Kiku couldn’t force him.
Oh, the thought of it burned her eyes. Her stomach felt like it was singed.
Frustration pricked at her. “I’ll talk to him when he gets home.” She lied. He’ll be fine without me.
***
Yoongi adored having more performances linked to his piano pieces. While he enjoyed having his solo acts, it was nice to be in the background for a moment and allow for his music to be interconnected with dance or a story. The exhaustion and boredom that begun to linger in the past performances rejuvenated back into a sense of excitement. At least the final shows of the tour were something of energy and new light.
The ballerina bowed elegantly after the practice performance. Yoongi returned backstage with his heart pumping through his ribcages at asking Kiku whether she liked the new addition. She had grown a bit quiet towards the end of the Italy leg. Perhaps seeing some of her own art showcased on stage would bring her spirits up.
Except Kiku wasn’t there.
“Did Kiku not come yet?” Yoongi asked before gulping a bottle of water.
Minho, his producer, shrugged. “She said she felt unwell. But you have food.” He gestured to the apricot pastry, sandwich and coffee on the table.
Yoongi was used to having Kiku sit there with him as he ate or eat with him. Having the chair next to him empty felt cold and unwelcoming. She must’ve been really sick. “I can go early to check on her.”
Minho hummed. “I mean you can but it’d be safe to do another practice run.”
Yoongi stared at the empty chair for a while. Maybe she was asleep and he would only be disturbing. Besides, he had a few shows left. Might as well get it all out of the way.
***
Night already fell into a deep dark abyss by the time Yoongi was done with practice. He wanted to come back home in the afternoon but he got distracted at work. It was a habit of his, long rotting inside him yet hard to rip away. Moonlight painted their hotel room in a pale silver before Yoongi turned the light on for a splash of warm apricot light against the crème couches and opulent lamps.
“Kiku?” Yoongi asked.
There was no response for longer than Yoongi was comfortable.
But then Kiku walked through the bedroom door, wearing a soft cotton lace nightdress with her hair, a little messy from a nap. Her eyes were soft and glossed, her cheeks sweet and a little puffed. Kiku didn’t move from her spot, looking at him carefully.
A small part of Yoongi’s body had gotten prepared for her to walk to him and kiss him on the cheek. A more selfish part of him expected her to wait for him because she always did, even when she was sniffling from sickness. “You weren’t feeling well?”
Kiku stared at him, as if confused by Yoongi’s concern like it was foreign to her. Yoongi hadn’t seen that look on her face and something about it hurt her. “I’m feeling better,” she said softly.
“Is it your legs?” Yoongi asked, a little more careful this time.
Kiku still looked at him like that. Like Yoongi hadn’t spoken to her of such intimacy in a long time.
Well. . .he didn’t, did he? When was the last time Yoongi asked her if she ate well? Or slept well? Or even how she was? Yoongi tried his best to remember. He must’ve had asked her how she was this morning. Or kissed her. But he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember the last time he had any conversation with her.
“I’m alright, Yoongi,” Kiku said. “Get some rest, it’s okay.”
Yoongi wanted to argue that he could give her a massage or help her get better but Kiku already walked back into the room. Without a smile or a kiss. The air grew cold again and Yoongi worried that his habits may have touched a nerve too delicate for his own good.
***
“An extension?” Yoongi had a single finger tapping softly on a D note, not pressing it for sound but thinking as Minho announced that he wanted to have a few more weeks of shows. “The tour has already gone on for months. We all need rest.”
Minho hummed, waving his hand. “You can rest later. This’ll be good for your career.”
It would be. Especially with ballet studios from France wishing to administer their own ballerinas into the mix, it would be so good for his career. But a shadow loomed over him. Kiku’s distance wasn’t going unnoticed by Yoongi. She hadn’t been to any of his practices since that day and it had been a week already.
Kiku wasn’t sick anymore. Something else was wrong.
“Kiku and I’s anniversary is in two weeks. I don’t want to be busy in a concert during that time, we’ve never worked on anniversaries.” Yoongi shook his head. He remembered how she worked around her training schedules to ensure that their anniversary was always free. Something was already wrong and for Yoongi to break a tradition along with it was stupid.
“Well, Kiku can come along with you.” Minho smiled. “She can even train the ballerinas herself, she’s a qualified teacher. Spend your anniversary in Paris.”
Yoongi could try to get a free day during the tour again. He had a free day in Italy, which he used to have a work meeting. Maybe this time, they could explore France. “Alright, I’ll talk to her.”
***
Kiku was at a ballet studio, Yoongi was told. Not by Kiku but the hotel receptionist who was asked to send a message if Yoongi tried to look for her. Kiku always texted him directly if she wanted to communicate something but they’ve resorted to this now, he supposed. Yoongi made his way to the ballet studio, the smell of wood and perfume wafting in the air as he walked up the stairs to the top level practice area.
Kiku was there, wearing a flowy white skirt, transparent, crème with a black top. Her hair was open as she always kept it when practicing dances on her own. Even after the injury, her every move was precise, the pointe of her toes like an ethereal being and her form like a swan.
Yoongi remembered watching her all day. He had become so used to her presence, close to him like his own extension. After all this distance, he was once again the humble pianist watching a prima ballerina conjuring magic with her dance.
Dark, pretty eyes flickered to him then and Kiku stopped, her expression neutral again.
Yoongi tried to push down the squeeze in his chest. He wanted her to smile at him again, to rush to him and kiss him. But she stood there, distant and unmoving. “I—Minho wants to extend the tour.” He wanted to make a more personal introduction but the room turned cold so quickly, he couldn’t muster the right tender words.
Kiku stared at him, a twitch in her eye. So she was uncomfortable. “It’s alright. It’s good for your career.”
Now she was keeping her feelings hidden from him.
Hurt turned to a flash of frustration. “You weren’t at the practice.”
“I figured you didn’t need me hovering over you all the time,” Kiku said plainly.
“You’re my wife, I want you there.”
“Well, you haven’t exactly been doing a good job at showing it.”
Ah. His bad habit. Still rotting inside him and now it was rotting at the seams of his marriage. Kiku’s neutral expression flashed with truth now, making Yoongi wish she was hiding it again. It wasn’t anger. Not really. It was deep hurt and helplessness. “Kiku.” His voice was meek. It made him feel stupider that he realized it immediately yet too late.
The hurt solidified behind Kiku’s expression.
“I wasn’t doing it on purpose, I was—”
“Busy, I know. Believe me, it was the only word I’ve hinged on to. . .gain strength.” Kiku let out a long sigh, soft and weary and slow.
Yoongi knew it was to hide her voice shaking as her eyes turned glossier. He hated it. Hated that he was the reason. Hated that he didn’t even know it because he never felt he had to. Kiku always had herself put together, always a sturdy foundation. So much so that Yoongi grew too lax. Too careless. And now it was coming back to haunt him in the flesh.
“You can continue the tour without me,” Kiku said.
“No.”
“It’s stupid to cancel the tour on my accord. You’ve come this far.” She shook her head.
“I am not leaving you.” Yoongi’s voice raised a little, desperate and pleading. “Kiku. I wanted you to be with me, spend our anniversary in France.”
“I don’t want to be in France.” Kiku’s throat bobbed up and down. “It reminds me too much of what I’m not anymore. Of what I can’t be.”
“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked.
“I’m not the wonderful ballerina I used to be,” Kiku whispered. “People look straight through me and it never bothered me but now. . .you do too.”
Yoongi’s heart dropped. “Kiku, I never. . .I don’t care if you’re a ballerina or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“It doesn’t matter to you because you can always put a new one on stage.” Her voice cracked then, unable to hold herself together. “I can’t find some other person who will think I’m worth keeping.”
“I’m keeping you,” Yoongi argued. “I know I’ve been wrong to distance myself from you but that will never change the fact that you’re mine. And I’m yours. All of it, always.”
Kiku stayed silent, finally letting out a shaky sigh. It was that slightest glimpse of vulnerability that gave Yoongi hope. The wall wasn’t cement, it was a curtain still, giving him to room to walk closer so he could catch the faint waft of a tea and jasmine in her aura.
Yoongi held onto her fingers gently at first. He waited for her to slowly curl and clasp back, giving him another chance to walk even closer. His hand reached up her arm, cupping her cheeks and kissed her. A fire roared inside him, feeling her warm kiss back again. It had been too long. Feeling the soft strands of her hair through his fingers, the taste of her and her warmth pressed against him soared through him with sweetness.
Yoongi leaned Kiku against the barre, lifting her enough to rest against her back against the mirror. Yoongi kissed her neck, suckled on the softest part of her skin and bit into it. The slight ache on her skin awakened her nerves.
Kiku ran her fingers through his hair, tugged at the scalp to ground her to reality. That this wasn’t a dream but her own beloved husband, tasting her skin after so long. Her hips desperately rubbed against the bulge forming on his pants, the weight of her body already pressing down against the barre but she didn’t care.
Kiku snuck her hand in between them, rubbing his hardened bulge before unbuttoning his pants. Her fingers wrapped gently around his thick member, twitching against the soft skin of her palm. Her index traced up the angry vein, teasing the slick tip until he let out a moan against her collarbone.
Yoongi lifted to look at her. Kiku smiled and sucked his arousal off her index, keeping her dark lust-blown eyes fixed on him. Yoongi gripped onto her jaw, pushing her cheeks in until her lips protruded. He kissed her again, harder this time as he reached under her skirt and ripped her thin panties, the delicate cloth soaked in her own arousal.
Kiku laughed, drunk with lust as she grabbed onto Yoongis length and aimed it at her sodden cunt. Time showed in the way Kiku felt so snug. She let out a small shaky whimper as if Yoongi entered her for the first time. Kiku gripped onto the barre as Yoongi gently pushed through the tightness, letting her adjust to him again.
Kiku grazed her nails against the fabric of his shirt, yanking off the buttons so her fingertips could trace his skin. She let out a pleased sigh as his entire length sunk inside her, his body flush against hers until they were one.
“I love you,” Yoongi whispered.
Kiku let out a small whimper, forehead pressed against his as tears burned in her eyes. Both an overwhelming flash of love and pleasure soared through her deliciously. “I love you too.”
As the declaration left her sweet lips, Yoongi began to thrust into her. Slow at first, ensuring that she felt the tip of him at her cervix and every ridge inside her remembered him sliding out. She dripped with arousal, making the wooden barre glisten. Yoongis hips moved faster, pistoning in a pattern that maddened Kiku.
Yoongi pulled at the sleeves of her top, sneaking it down until her nipples popped from their covering. The cold air of the ballet studio made them erect. Yoongi leaned and wrapped his lips around one of them, lapping his tongue on the tip until he felt her clench around his cock.
Kiku threw her head back against the mirror before kissing his temple. Yoongi was patient in his attention, moving to her right nipple and giving it the same love. Such affection. His pace quickened as her pleasure began to swell to its limit.
Yoongi gripped onto the back of her thighs, locking her against the wall and pounding into her. Without mercy and with the most delicious desperation that forced a string of moans out of Kiku. Never had she felt so free to let out all the noises she wanted.
His thrusts got harsher, her wet cunt slammed over and over again until even the barre began to squeak under the pressure. Then he paused suddenly with a pant. Kiku let out a choked scream as Yoongi buried himself deep, shaping himself inside her and carrying her off the barre. Kiku spewed another whimper, muffled against his shirt.
Yoongi let out an excited breath as he placed her shaking feet on the floor. Turned Kiku around and had her face her flushed, tear-stained and pleased expression in the mirror. Her hair had turned dishevelled, the front strand matted to her forehead. Yoongi gently placed his fingers over her neck, nose buried in her hair, the lovely scent of jasmine and her sweet arousal suffusing the air. “You’re mine. My love.” He whispered.
Kiku smiled, swaying her hips before he started pushing himself in again. This time much easier, wet and welcoming. “I’m yours.” She caressed his sweat slick cheek. “Yours. All yours.”
Yoongi hummed, thrusting into her again. Deep and hard. Each thrust felt like a shake through her whole body, making the memory of him linger until she dreamt about it days later. “Am I yours?”
Kiku let out a soft chuckle. “You’re mine.” Another rough thrust had her nearly sobbing as it hit her sensitive spot. He still knew where it was.
Yoongi panted, using her noise to thrust in that same position. Kiku bent over against the barre with a whimper, her knees nearly buckling but still wanting more. “Does it feel good, baby?”
Kiku stammered a response as he fucked into her again, her lower belly felt full, ready to roll over the edge. Yoongi pistoned into her ensuring that the same spot touched again and again. “Feels good, baby, don’t stop.” She cried out.
Yoongi groaned, leaning in and sneaking one of his hands between her legs. His calloused fingers rubbed her clit as his own orgasm rushed to the edge. “I’m gonna cum.”
Kiku let out a trembling breath, gripping on his forearm as her lower belly. Begging to release. “Cum inside me.” She turned her head and kissed his cheek. Then the coil sprung. Spurts of sweet nectar had her whimpering, a light choked scream as a light gush splashed on the floor.
Yoongi panted as his orgasm burst into madness, thick and warm as it filled Kiku’s womb. Messy and beautiful. Their thighs slick with the most wonderful arousal as he held his love in his hands, most of her weight rested on his grip as she trembled through her high. “Fuck, I missed you.”
Kiku chuckled, the tingles of ecstasy flooding through her like a blind bliss. “I missed you too,” she whispered, touching his cheek again. “Don’t be away from me.”
“Never. Never again.” And Yoongi held to that promise just as he held her. He would never let this go again.
***
Minho never hid his disappointments when it came to him. Except Yoongi wasn’t quite the same as all his other rookie musicians, who would fall back in line once they saw the displeased purse of his lips. “It would’ve been good for your career. Your wife should understand that much, she’s done the same with her career.’
“Kiku made her career without sacrificing time in our marriage,” Yoongi said. “I should be held to that same standard.”
Minho hummed, raising his hands in defense. “I mean if that’s what you want.”
“You did want to go to Greece for another tour so if that’s in the cards.” Yoongi already expected the sudden brightness in Minho’s face. He didn’t like disappointment but he did like something to do. Perhaps preparing for a future tour in Greece would allow for Yoongi to spend more time with Kiku.
Minho clapped his hands. “Greece and a few more dates in Japan as well. Kiku’s home country, that could make her happy.” He waved his hands, smiling to himself as if he wasn’t just ready to have a tantrum a few minutes ago. “Enjoy your anniversary.”
Yoongi smiled, feeling a wave of relief that he was appeased. No more tour dates anytime soon. Which meant he could go home when the sun was high in the sky and he had comfort waiting for him at home.
***
They took a plane back to their apartment in Korea the next day. The familiar dark wood, ferns and home-grown lettuce were well-tended to by their friends while they were gone. Kiku recognized the smell was different after a few months. Sadness pricked at her but it was bittersweet, not all bad. She was home again.
Kiku and Yoongi made dinner together to revive the smell of home. Warm rice soup, spinach salad, fresh steamed rice and spiced mapo tofu to fill their bellies.
“I’m thinking of opening a ballet studio,” Kiku said.
Yoongi’s brows raised mid-chew. “You want to teach?”
Kiku nodded with a smile. “I still want to dance and the doctor said just not to do performances. So teaching.”
“If you want a part-time piano player, I’m free.” Yoongi grinned.
“Without an interview?” Kiku frowned playfully. “My ballet studio would have more standards than that.”
“I mean I am sleeping with the owner, you could pull a few strings.” Yoongi shrugged.
Kiku’s lips parted in slight shock. “That’s highly inappropriate. You would have to show me your talents.”
As they put away the dishes for their lunch, Yoongi walked over to the grand piano perched on the space between the kitchen and living room. He reached out to his work bag and pulled out a few pieces of paper with hand-written music notes.
Yoongi played with the ease of breathing as he always did, except this music was the softest it had ever sounded. Delicate and sweet. Even the way his fingers moved on the keys were floating like a swan. A ballerina.
Kiku padded over to the piano, stood behind him and leaned her chin against his shoulder. She peered over the title and saw L’amour de me Vie. Love of my Life. Her heart burst with joy as she rested against the crook of his neck. “Who’s it about?”
Yoongi laughed, playing softer. “Depends, do I get the job?”
Kiku smiled and kissed his cheek. “Fine. You’re hired.”
“Then it’s you,” Yoongi said, smirking. It will always be you.
masterlist
#yoongi#suga#bts fanfic#bts smut#bts angst#bts fanfiction#yoongi fanfic#yoongi angst#yoongi smut#marriage au#pianist au#yoongi fic#yoongi x oc
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