clari

20

[luvismenu]

gamer-boyfriend!jungkook pt.3 , mini smau mlist

pairing: silly bf x silly gf // game talk? // random texts

[luvismenu]

love uuuu 🩷

[prodagustd]

the road not taken 09 | myg

part nine: tired

Summary: Halloween comes just in time to haunt Yoongi with the ghosts of his past.

<part eight

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff. drugs and alcohol use, wicked spoilers? I’m sorry!!

—words: 12.7k

—a/note: not me desappearing the whole weekend lmaoo i'm sorry!! but i felt like i was rushing things and i panicked!! so i took (more than enough) time to finish this!! i tried to not disappear again!!! happy late halloween i guess. thank you for waiting always 💗

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

You squinted when, all of the sudden, a bright white spotlight hit you straight in the face. 

“Jungkook,” You said as you stood in the middle of the stage of The Alley, covering your eyes, “something tells me you’re not great with the lights.” 

“Well, you’re not wrong.” He laughed from somewhere backstage. “You know, my skills are very limited. I play the drums, a little bit of guitar. I cook pretty decently, too. At least that’s what the ladies tell me. I’m not very specialized in this, though.” 

A second later, the entire place was bathed in red. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Great. That’s exactly what we needed,” you muttered—loud enough for him to hear.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said with a grin. “Everything would be a lot easier if Yoongi were here. He actually knows how to work the console.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Right, Yoongi. That was the name you’d been hearing all week. Yoongi this, Yoongi that. “Yoongi knows this better than I do,” or “Yoongi knows where that thing is, he’ll tell you,” and yes, “You should probably ask Yoongi to help you with that.” At this point, you’d stopped wasting your time wondering why the hell he suddenly knew everything about The Alley better than anyone. Minnie had told you several times, though the answer wasn’t quite convincing: he was the lawyer; he had to.

That was the answer that lay on the surface, and it made sense. Especially with the party preparations, he knew which things you could get away with and which ones could get you in trouble. What you didn’t understand was why he needed to be around all. the. damn. time. 

Didn’t he have a job already?

You knew this wasn’t the only explanation, because there was no reason for Yoongi to know where the costumes from the play were stored, or the names of the students in Jungkook’s drumming classes. He was deeply involved; it went far beyond that. You just knew, but you couldn’t prove it yet.

You crossed your arms over your chest, letting the name fade in the air. “But Minnie told me you were the one who could get away with anything, aren’t you?” you told him “And you’re in charge of the console the night of the party.”

He hummed, smiling, almost too proud of himself. “And trust me, she’s right. I just need a hand and then I’m ready to go.” 

You walked over towards him, pausing when you were next to him. “Is he coming today, anyway?” You asked softly, trying not to sound too curious as your eyes fixed on the lighting board. 

“He better.” Jungkook snorted. “There’s a ton of stuff to do before the party.” 

“Don’t remind me.” You sighed. “I’m putting him to clean the floors if he’s late.” 

Jungkook let out a laugh, shaking his head as you watched him fiddling with the board, clearly guessing his way through it. 

A beat of silence passed until he finally spoke again.

“So… You and Yoongi, huh?” You heard him talk under his breath. He found your eyes, slightly raising his eyebrows with curiosity. 

“Me and Yoongi?” You repeat, titling your head. You caught something in his eyes, but you ignored it. 

“You two have known each other since you were kids, right?” he asked. 

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, lips pressing together.

“Yeah... maybe even before that,” you said, careful not to slide into memory lane. “He was already there when I was born.”

Jungkook gave a low whistle. “That’s a long time,” he murmured. “So... do you actually get along, or was that scene the other day in class just an everyday thing?”

You couldn’t help but smile, even though the memory made you cringe. You had hoped everyone would’ve forgotten about it by now, but it was clearly engraved in their minds. You could tell by the look Harriet gave you when Yoongi suddenly burst into the room and you had to keep your mouth shut, or when Yoongi approached to ask you something, all of a sudden, the kids exchanged knowing looks, like there was some kind of inside joke, like both of you were the inside joke.

No one went so far as to ask you about it, though—except Jungkook, who was trying a little too hard to sound nonchalant.

“So…” he continued, “you’ve always been close?”

 “Well, depends what you mean by close” You gave a small shrug. “He’s my brother’s best friend, I guess we were friends by default.”

“Funny, though.” He commented “You two argue like you know each other way better than just by default.”

You exchanged a brief glance with Jungkook, but it felt like you stood there for a solid five minutes.

You narrowed your eyes. What was he trying to say?

“That’s because he's annoying.” You tried to brush it off, walking back to the center of the stage as you checked the notebook in your hands. The list of things to do before the party was still very long, and even more than half of them needed the help of Yoongi, who still hadn’t shown up. “And he’s late.” 

It wasn’t until you saw Minnie last week, sick on her bed, surrounded by used tissues as she tried to hold back another sneeze, when you had to tell her she should step back from preparations for the halloween party. 

It was clear for everyone in the building that this wasn’t just another halloween party, the moment Minnie stepped foot on the place, people drowned her with questions: when did the second DJ set start? Were strobe lights allowed in the main hall? If we set a bar in the backyard, would we need a different permit? 

And yes, she had answers for everything. She was determined to do the most in record time. Ever since the last Alley meeting a few weeks ago, when Yoongi cautiously mentioned that if the fundraiser went well, they might just reach the emergency repair goal before the next council deadline, Minnie had clung to the idea like it was a lifeline, even if Yoongi had only framed it as a possibility. That, of course, until her body began to take its tool and left her sick on her bed. 

“You just need to rest,” you assured her, setting her third cup of tea for the day on the nightstand. It was cold outside, but not enough to leave Minnie this sick. You both knew it was something else.

“I can’t rest. I need to finish planning the party,” she insisted, scrolling on her phone and frantically texting everyone in her contact list to make sure everything was going according to plan.

You sighed and sat at the foot of her bed. “Who’s in line after you?” you asked, searching for a solution in your head.

“No one.” She scoffed and took a sip from the cup.

You shot her a look, silently begging her to make an effort.

Minnie shook her head. “Okay, maybe Sid, probably, but he’s out of town, so yeah, no one. I’m single-handedly keeping that place from falling apart.”

“There’s got to be someone,” you murmured, biting your nails without even noticing. “What about Jungkook? He knows his way around, I’ve seen it.”

“God, no,” she whined, rolling her eyes. “I mean, he does, he really does, but he’s not up to date on all the infrastructure issues. I need to be there for that.”

“But your body is literally asking you to stay in bed right now.”

Minnie sank into the pillows, looking like she was about to cry. “But I only trust myself.”

You shook your head with a short laugh. “You can’t only trust yourself, Minnie. C’mon, there’s really no one who knows all that stuff as well as you do?”

She opened her eyes wide and nodded. “Oh, there is.” She grabbed another tissue to wipe her nose. “Not sure you’re gonna like who it is.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. Of course it was Yoongi. “You’re not serious.”

“He’s our lawyer, he has to know everything. It’s his job.”

You didn’t argue with that, it was just facts. 

“But he can’t plan the party.” You assumed, and you were correct. The idea of Yoongi planning a Halloween party—or any kind of party—seemed almost too funny to picture.

“No, he couldn’t,” Minnie confirmed.

But you still weren’t out of ideas.

“What if you pair Yoongi and Jungkook?” you suggested. “Jungkook knows the place, Yoongi knows the legal stuff, they could make a good team.”

For the first time all day, you saw a smile cross Minnie’s face, though it was paired with a deep frown.

“I love Jungkook, sweetheart,” she said, voice fond. “But what gave you the impression that he knows a thing about organization?”

You laughed under your breath, knowing she was right. Jungkook wasn’t the right person to plan the party, he barely knew how to work the stage lights, but he was the last rational option you had left.

The room fell silent for a second.

Then again… there was the irrational option. 

And for a moment, you tried to stop it. You tried with all your will. But when you looked at your friend in bed, already on the edge of falling apart, the feeling only grew deeper. Before you could stop it, whatever bullshit you were thinking came out of your mouth almost too easily. Almost like you wanted it.

“What about me?” You suggested, locking eyes with her. 

Minnie blinked. Her brown eyes looking at you like you just stopped earth with your hands. 

She let out a choked laugh, full of disbelief.  “Are you kidding, or…?”

“I’m serious.” You said before you could regret it. “But only if you think I could pull it off, I mean, it’s such a big-”

“Fuck off.” She interrupted you, hopping off the pillows to kneel beside you. “Of course you could. Hell, better than me, I bet.”

You laughed, feeling your heart melt inside your chest. “I don’t think anyone can do it better than you.” 

“You can.” She said, putting her hands together as if she were begging. “It’s just a party, you can do it.”

“It’s not just a party…” You reminded her with a glance. 

She pursed her lips, nodding. “Okay, it is an important party.” She admitted. “But you’re the only one I’d trust with it. You and…” You could almost see the thought crossing her mind, making her suddenly stop talking. “You and Yoongi.” 

“Me and Yoongi are on a truce, remember?” You said, making emphasis on the word truce like it was some kind of joke. And it was, it made Minnie laugh every time you reminded her of it.

“So, are you telling me both of you could work on this as a team without breaking this truce of yours?”

To be honest, you weren’t quite sure. The whole truce thing worked fine when you only had to exchange a few words and stay in different rooms without actually seeing each other. You hadn’t tested it to its full limit yet—but you were willing to try. For your friend’s health, yes, but also for that buzzing feeling in your chest whenever you thought about the Halloween party.

“Of course.” You promised. “I’m a professional.”

And at the time, a week ago, you had meant it. 

You weren’t surprised to see Yoongi at The Alley anymore. You were used to it by now, even if at first it felt like you caught a glimpse of a ghost standing down the hallway when the lights were turned off. Now you were almost familiar with the ghost, but that didn’t mean you wanted him floating around in every corner of every room. 

You looked down to your notebook with the list of things you needed to do today. It turned out, Yoongi was needed for every single thing.

There, standing in the middle of the stage under the red lights, you saw him entering through the doors, his eyes locking with yours immediately.

All at once, the lights turned green. 

“Do you think the kids would like this?” Jungkook asked from backstage. “They’ve been asking me to play hyper pop.” 

Yoongi walked down the aisle in a straight line, stopping at the bottom of the stairs with his hands shoved into his pockets. Today, he wasn’t wearing his usual white shirt; instead, he had on a blue flannel over a simple black t-shirt, a black cap pulled low over his head.

“Jungkook, if a green neon light hit me right in the face at a club, I’d probably die on the spot,” He said, his eyes still holding your gaze. 

You snorted. “You, at the club?” You said. “Isn’t that past your bedtime?” 

“Good morning to you, too.” He climbed up the stairs towards you, leaving his backpack on the stage floor. 

“Good morning.” You forced a smile, trying to remember the fact that he was working for free and not that he was late. “Are you a lawyer today or an electrician?” 

“I can be whatever you want.” The corners of his mouth tugged upwards into a smirk, teasing. You guessed he was in a good mood today. 

“Great, I want you to be the guy who knows how to work the lights.” You pointed towards Jungkook, who looked relieved that Yoongi was finally here. 

Yoongi waved at him from his place, then looked back at you. “What do you mean by bedtime, by the way?” He leaned towards you, frowning. “I’ve been to clubs.” 

You blinked, a laugh already tugging at your lips. “For sure. Ten years ago, maybe. Besides, this is not a club.”

“Still counts, doesn’t it?”

“We’re testing the lights for the costume contest,” you shot back, shaking your head. “I think that’s very far from being a club.”

“Tsk. Right, that thing…” He clicked his tongue, crossing his arms above his chest. “So are you presenting the contest, huh?”

“Yeah, that’ll be my job.”

He nodded a few times, tapping one foot against the wooden floor. “And are you… wearing a costume?”

You turned to him, searching for some kind of encrypted message in his eyes, but there was none. It seemed to be just him, trying to make small talk. 

“Huh… yeah. Minnie said it’s mandatory.” You bit your bottom lip, playing with your fingers. “Are you…?

“I don’t know yet.” He said “But she also told me it was mandatory, and that she would kick me out if I don’t.” 

You smiled, picturing that in your mind. “That would be funny.” The room turned red again, making you close your eyes and sigh. “Can you help him?” 

“On it.” He nodded. “What color?”

“Whatever you want,” you said, watching him walk right past you. “Something that won’t make the costumes hard to see.”

Yoongi leaned over the lighting board, patting Jungkook’s back in greeting. In a matter of seconds, the reflectors turned pink, blue, and white, making you glance down at your hands and clothes to check if they were visible enough under the new lighting.

You looked up to them. “Do I look alright?”

Jungkook and Yoongi looked up from the board at the sound of your voice, finding you standing at the center of the stage.

Yoongi’s eyes fell on you, noticing how the pink lights caught in your eyes and glimmered on your dark clothes, as if the colors themselves were shining straight from you. Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat, gulping. 

You looked at your hands, smiling, and said something to them, but Yoongi couldn’t seem to hear anything. You looked pretty, he thought involuntarily.  You were wearing a black long sleeve shirt and a black mini skirt, paired with bright red tights and ballerina flats. Your long hair cascaded across your back, slightly curly at the ends, your eyes were wide and shiny under the lights. He could see your lips moving from across the room, but the sound was just a buzz in his ears, almost like the only thing he was able to do was take in the picture of you under the pink lights. 

A subtle frown made an appearance in your face. Yoongi quickly realized that you were expecting some kind of answer. He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but his gaze still found its way towards the pink halo that was drowning you. 

“Huh…?” Jungkook shook his head, looking as mesmerized as Yoongi. 

“Do I look alright?” You repeat, this time loud enough to make them hear you. “What are you looking at? Does it look bad?”

“No, no you look perfect!”

“That’s not- No, you look fine.”

Their voices clashed with each other, making it impossible for you to hear the words clearly. Your frown got deeper. He suddenly remembered where he was. 

“Okay…” you said, narrowing your eyes “Are you sure the costumes will look good?”

This time, Yoongi felt confident enough to answer. “Yeah, they will be visible.” 

“Right...” You ignored their reactions, letting your eyes fall on your notebook again. “Okay, I left a few instructions there for Jungkook. When you’re finished, meet me in the back.” 

Yoongi observed your body turn around almost like a dance move, swirling and making your skirt flow as you headed to the stairs to leave the scene. He could hear his heart beat on his throat, and for a second, he swore he could hear Jungkook’s heart too. 

He snapped out of the trance, looking at the younger man next to him following you with his big black eyes. Slightly annoyed, Yoongi snapped his fingers several times, bringing Jungkook out of his daydream. “Okay. Back to work, kid.”

Yoongi spent almost thirty minutes trying to teach Jungkook how to work the lights properly in the way he remembered Sid teaching him. Since he handled the permits and compliance with regulations, he made sure to learn the basics of things like this, especially if he was going to be present during future inspections or emergencies. At first there was no need for him to learn all that stuff, there were people who had spent years at The Alley and knew the place like the palm of their hands, but as the place grew more short-staffed and they couldn’t afford to call in help every time something broke, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to become familiar with a thing or two.

Jungkook and him worked together trying to follow the instructions you left, and when he was sure he got everything right, he went looking for you, following your vanilla scent backstage.

It had been a week since you took full charge of the party preparations, a week since he began working alongside you as Minnie requested. It was fine, he swore it was, but as he looked ahead and realized he still had another week before Halloween, he started to feel the collar of his shirt a bit tight.

Namjoon hung around last week and looked at him with a mocking smirk plastered on his face. He passed by and muttered shit in a low voice just to annoy him, saying he seemed to be handling it well, but Yoongi just rolled his eyes, because he was, at least for a bit. 

At first, Yoongi guessed it was the truce he so foolishly proposed, or the fact that you were too focused to give a damn about him, but the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that the reason why you were letting him so close was because you were happy. You had a smile on your face, you seemed excited, there was a glint in your face that he hadn’t seen in a while. Perhaps that was why you quickly got immersed in this weird dynamic where you pretended nothing ever happened, you had no time for that.

He stood beside you when you needed him, as you held the notebook in your hands and checked your bucket list for the party. He held his breath as he observed your black painted nails, the ring of your fingers, the way you wrote notes in angry red every time you didn’t like how something turned out, or when you loved it, there was no in between. He followed you around like a puppy, waiting for you to find him useful, waiting for you to get tired of him and tell him to piss the fuck off. 

You didn’t.

Yet.

It was like some strange force had taken over him since the night he saw you back home. He’d wished someone had warned him that you were going to be there, that way, he could have put his thoughts in order before seeing you again. But no one did, and when he walked into the room, he felt his heart drop to his stomach, for a moment his gaze blurred. Now his mind was all over the place.

You looked so different, yet the same. 

Your hair was shorter, it was still long but cut in this stylish way just like a movie star. You had lost your baby face, you wore bags under your eyes and a faint smile. You looked older, grown. It was a version of you that he didn’t get to meet, a version of you he missed out. 

Your voice was the same but you talked about different things, your eyes were the same but they didn’t look at him anymore. For a brief moment, Yoongi made peace with the fact that now you were a stranger, and still, he tried to meet your gaze all evening. 

You were so far away even if you were just right across the table. And he was fine with it, he had been fine with it for years. He had numbed the feeling, silenced it, buried it in someone’s backyard. He believed both of your paths were clear, that it was written somewhere, sealed in the sky and meant to happen just like this, and he stood by it for so long. 

He stood by it when he found you in the backyard of your house after you went out for some air. He stood by it when he saw you at The Alley, when you were teaching the kids in the middle of the stage, and when he picked you up from Minnie’s apartment to have dinner with his mom, watching you come down the stairs as the wind made your hair flow. But when you set foot in his house after four years and sat at the table next to Nari, he felt that familiar feeling in his stomach return. Only God knew how bad it was, and how bad it could get. 

Since then, Yoongi observed you like you were on a big screen, like he was far away and you were just a projection of his mind, just like you’ve been since you left. Were you on the stage, helping the kids with the script Harriet wrote and spinning around like a ballerina as you tried to help a girl to get a scene right. 

He watched your hair flow around in red tights as if you were the main character in a technicolor film, like you were inside the screen and could not notice the way he pay attention to your every move, to the way you moved and the way you talked, the way your legs moved around and danced and kneeled in the floor as you observed the play, the way you laughed and smiled like he hadn’t seen in so long. 

He didn’t have any right to watch you like that, not after breaking your heart like he did. He didn’t have the right to be around you, to look into your eyes, to even talk to you. He was well aware that he should be kept far away from you, as far as possible, but still, he physically couldn’t

“Are you gonna stand there staring or are you gonna help me?”

Suddenly, all his thoughts faded. 

You were still turned around, with two big boxes stacked on top of each other in your hands.

Yoongi cleared his throat when you spinned around, facing him. He was quick to run to you, taking the boxes off your hands and brushing his fingers with your hands in the process. You thanked him, grabbing two other boxes and walking towards the exit without a second glance. Yoongi figured you had to decorate the theater today, for which he was not needed at all, but since he was free today he figured he could help.

You set the boxes on one of the seats, opening the first one to reveal a bunch of Halloween decorations. The place was already decorated, of course, it has been since the beginning of October, but you explained to him that you needed to go ‘all in’ for the party. It needed to be professional level Halloween decorations, those were your words. 

“Is Namjoon coming today?” You asked him, pulling a bag of fake spiders out of the box. 

He inhaled sharply. 

“Why?” The word came out of his mouth before he could think twice. 

You raised your head to look at him, but he pretended not to notice, leaving the boxes on another seat. He didn’t mean to sound abrupt, but he did anyway. 

“He helped me with some cobwebs the other day.” You explained, resuming what you were doing. “Since he’s so tall and all.” 

Yoongi searched for a hint of amusement in your face, but he found none. Were you really this good at teasing him?

Why was he falling for it?

Standing there, frozen in his place, he must’ve looked like a complete idiot, he was sure. What was he supposed to answer?

Right, the truth. Even if he didn’t like it. 

“He’s coming later this afternoon.” He said, and he could’ve stopped the sentence right there, but no. He had to say something else. “But I can help with the cobwebs.”

You turned your whole body to face him, putting a hand on your hip as you thought about it. Something he couldn’t describe flashed in your eyes for the shortest of seconds. He could have sworn he saw the ghost of a smirk in your face. 

“Mmm, I don’t know.” You said softly. “We might need the stairs.” 

He bitterly scoffed. Right, you were teasing him. 

Not like before, that was probably impossible. You threw a snarky comment at him and then immediately drew an invisible line. Like it was already part of you to do so, but you had decided to stop it.  

Like the other night last week, when he found you in Minnie’s office with a frown on your face as you tried to figure out Photoshop. You were supposed to finish the final flyer for the party when he walked in, ready to say goodbye before finishing his day. 

“What are you doing?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

You were hunched over, with glasses on as you squinted at the computer, too focused to be annoyed at his presence. When you explained your situation, he dragged a chair next to you as he attempted to help you. 

Yoongi didn’t know why. The truth was that he had no idea how to work Photoshop either, his presence there wasn’t useful at all. But he acted faster than he could think, as he had been doing lately, leaning in closer than necessary to look at the screen.

“This is a clear sign that you’re getting old.” He murmured next to you, grabbing the mouse and clicking some stuff to try to get the font right. Needless to say, he wasn’t doing much better than you. 

“If I’m getting old, then what are you?” You murmured, crossing your arms above your chest and leaning back on the chair.

“You know you’re gonna be thirty soon, right?” He teased, still pretending he knew what he was doing. 

You laughed despite yourself. “I’ve got a few good years before that happens. I’m practically a teenager.” 

“You certainly act like one sometimes.” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching, his gaze flicking to yours for just a beat too long before he looked back at the screen.

You held an accusing finger towards him. “Watch it.”

He laughed under his breath. It was too dangerous, but every interaction, every word, every shared glance made him feel like he was floating on a cotton candy cloud. It was sweet and sticky and left him wanting more, but it faded too quickly on his tongue.

Then again, you always felt that way, so close but so far away. Always slipping through his fingers.  

When he looked at you, he saw your glasses slipping down the bridge of your nose and your hair messy, probably from how many times your hands had run through it. He had to stop himself from asking if you wanted him to walk you home. He had been stopping himself from doing many things lately. 

Just two days ago, he was reviewing The Alley’s permit documents and you were decorating the office as if it was as important as the party preparations. He felt his whole body temperature rising as if he had a fever. 

“Okay, so the fire exits are all marked, the lights are compliant… but the emergency ladder by the stage still hasn’t been inspected,” He murmured, crossing his arms above his chest. 

Yoongi heard you getting closer, but he only felt you when you peeked over his shoulders, eyes narrowing at the papers that were spread around like a battlefield. “That’s bad, I assume.” You said in a low voice, your breath close to his ear.

“Depends,” He said, feeling your shoulder brush with him as you stood beside him “If it’s not done by the council inspection, they could fine us, or worse.”

You leaned beside him, “You mean they could shut us down over a ladder?”

He nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time something small turned into a disaster.”

“Perfect,” you said dryly, reaching for the pen in his hand without asking, your fingers brushing his.

His fingers twitched, his brain short-circuiting for half a second at the warmth of your touch. He didn’t mean to notice, didn’t mean to hold his breath, but he did.

“And what does ‘wiring compliance’ mean? Is that the lights, or the fog machine that almost killed Jungkook last week?”

Yoongi huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Both. But mostly the fog machine.”

You let out a small groan. “You make it sound like this place is held together by tape.”

“Well…” he tried to joke, making you nudge his arm with your elbow.

You turned to him then, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. His eyes followed the movement before he could stop himself, your soft jaw, the curve of your neck, the faint glint of a thin gold chain just under your black t-shirt.

He was spiraling. His thoughts were faster than him, louder than him. 

He closed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingertips. God, he had to focus. He couldn’t be acting like this around you, he couldn’t be acting like this ever.

“Yoongi…?” You titled your head, voice soft. “Are you okay?” 

No, he was not. 

His name rolling off your tongue with so much ease made his stomach churn. He could feel his face growing hot, his thoughts were all over the place. 

“Yeah, I just…” He sighed, “It’s just a headache.” 

This wasn’t normal behavior, no. This was psychosis. 

Or not. Perhaps he just needed to sleep. Or perhaps he needed to be kept away from you, just like he had been for the last four years. Perhaps he needed to go back to the life he’d been living — a life without you — where he came home from his boring job to his boring apartment, crawled into his too-big bed, and watched some boring show until he fell asleep, only to have a boring dream. Even his dreams were boring; it was like he didn’t allow himself to dream fully anymore. Maybe he never did. 

And he was tired. He had been for quite a while. He felt his heart beating a little quieter with each passing day as he tried to ignore it. 

But this life, the one he built with so much precision, was predictable. There were no surprises, no miscalculations, it was normal. He had his mom, he had Simon, he had Namjoon, he had Summer. 

Right, Summer. 

Summer, Summer, Summer. 

Summer, who deserved someone who didn’t stare at other girls for way too long, or someone who didn’t think of someone else every waking second. Someone who didn’t doubt every choice they’ve ever made when they crossed looks with another girl.

The worst part was that Yoongi knew you weren’t just another girl. You were the girl with horns on her head, looking at him with angel eyes — the only one who had ever driven a stake through his chest. The only one he ever loved. 

He wondered if Summer could feel it that day at the coffee shop. If she could sense it in the air, if she could hear his heart beating when he saw you across the room. It wasn’t right, none of it felt right.

Yoongi knew he was out of line, there was no need for anyone to remind him (Namjoon had already done it multiple times). But he insisted on it, tried to convince himself that was the life he chose, he was not going to regret it now. 

It was too late. 

There was a moment in time where a dangerous thought sneaked inside his mind every night. He would trade all of it if he could have you. That was exactly why he needed to leave you behind, even if it hurt in his bones, he had to let it go. He needed to. Even if he didn’t want to.

A few hours later, he tried to remind himself of it, but the universe thought otherwise. 

“How’s your brother, by the way?” Yoongi heard the low voice of his so-called friend asking.“I haven’t seen him in a while.”

 Kim Namjoon, or as Yoongi renamed him in his head, the traitor. Namjoon was the friend all the girls were always curious about. Yoongi had lost count how many times people had asked him if his friend was single, he had this charm that drove girls crazy. Yoongi never felt threatened about it, not until he decided to tease him with it every time you were in the room.

Yoongi observed you giving him a bright smile, climbing on the stairs and hanging up yet another cobweb beside him as he hung a big green sign on the wall. “He’s fine, working a lot as always.” You answered, clearly delighted at the sight of Namjoon’s skills. 

“He’s not coming to the party, I assume.” Namjoon laughed, showing off his dimples. 

“Oh, no. He’s too cool for that.” You laughed along with him, making Yoongi feel like someone just punched him in the stomach. “He bought a few tickets for the raffle, though. But I doubt he would be interested in any of the prices.”

“C’mon, wouldn’t he be interested in a tarot reading session?” His friend joked, and Yoongi would’ve laughed if it didn’t feel like he was flirting with you. He was already thinking the exact way he was going to punch Namjoon when he found him alone. 

You chuckled “He would roll his eyes at that.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” Yoongi said from the stairs, intruding in the conversation. 

The room went quiet for a moment. If it weren’t for the sixth Justin Bieber song playing in the background (Jungkook was testing the DJ set), it would’ve been completely silent.

One of the things that scared Yoongi the most about you, was the fact that you weren’t afraid to look him directly in the eyes, and right now you were piercing through his soul.

“Me?” You asked, playing nonchalant. “I like tarot.” 

“I know you like tarot.” He simply said “I meant the eye-rolling thing.”

You shot a quick look at Namjoon, who was smiling with his eyes. 

“I suppose you’re quite similar to your brother.” He said, trying to save the awkward moment.

“You think?” You sighed, going back to ignore Yoongi “I always thought we were so different. As different as people can be.”

“You are.” Namjoon confirmed, and Yoongi suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, what the fuck did he know? “From what I remember from high school he was, uh… something. And nothing like you, but somehow, similar.”

You snorted, probably knowing exactly what Namjoon meant. Simon was not just a player, he was the player. A complete menace. 

“My mom always said that.” You nodded, looking down at your notebook. “Like there are parts of him in me and parts of me in him. I don’t think I fully understood what she meant, though.”

Yoongi climbed down the stairs, standing in front of you yet far enough so his heart wouldn’t start beating too fast. He bent his knees just enough to look at you eye to eye.  “You have the same smile lines.” 

He, more than anyone, knew how similar you were to Simon. He knew both of you like the palm of his hand, you had the same laugh, and the same shape of eyes. Neither of you liked sea food and you pouted the same way when you were upset. There were huge differences, tough; you were way prettier than him, way funnier, and had way better taste in music and in movies.

Yoongi ignored it for years, but being around his friend reminded him constantly of you, not only because Simon always talked about you, but because he was an older version of you. 

But then, it clicked just a second after. That wasn’t something he was supposed to say out loud. 

There were no rules between the two of you beyond the truce, no agreement had been made of how to act around each other, besides trying not to kill yourselves when working together. And if they were, he had forgotten all of it.

It was ridiculous, he knew. It was laughable, he was sure you would laugh at him in another situation. He tried to set boundaries, yet the urge to break each one of them every time you looked at his direction was overwhelming. 

You blinked, startled, but he could tell you tried to hide it. 

“I…” You said, and it sounded like you were holding your breath. “I guess we look quite similar.” 

You stared at him for what it felt like hours, days, months, years, but it was not enough time to decipher what you were thinking. You looked at him as if you were trying to tell him something, a secret message, something only the two of you could understand, but he failed to understand. 

And as fast as it came, it left. You looked down at your feet, cleared your throat and tried to act as if nothing happened, as if your eyes didn’t burn through his soul, as if he didn’t fuck this up once again.

“Uh… I have to go.” You said. “I have to- I forgot something.” 

You turned around, walking towards the exit of the theater, leaving Yoongi with a hole in his chest. 

But it wasn’t your fault, no. It was his. It had always been. 

He stood there, staring at the exit as if he was waiting for you to come back. 

“Dude, you’re such an idiot.” He heard Namjoon talk, making him lose his train of thought. 

Yoongi rubbed his eyes, sighing. “Fuck you, I know.” 

Little did Yoongi know that was just the beginning of his downfall. 

For the rest of the week, Yoongi tried to escape from you. 

Or at least that was how it felt. 

He did his job, stood there when you needed him, but as soon as he was done, he disappeared. Maybe he was panicking, but he believed it was for the best, he no longer could allow himself to lose his mind every time you were around. He had to focus, and avoiding you seemed to be the most logical option, right?

He tried really hard, even if the universe seemed to be laughing at him.

It was like something was putting you in his way. On the hallways, on tiny closets, bumping in the kitchen when he was just trying to make himself a coffee. Brushing fingers when you handed him something, brushing shoulders when you walked past him. The other day you almost bumped foreheads with each other when you were trying to make your way towards the stage. 

But then again, he was reminded that he was the one who put himself in that place.

He only had himself to blame, he couldn’t hide the truth even if he wanted to. It was laid in front of everyone’s eyes. 

The Alley was one of the last places in this town that still held your essence. For the big hall, to the chairs of the theater and the room where he kissed you for the first time. The logical thing would be to stay away from it, to elongate his way home just to avoid passing by this street and never visit it again, but ever since that cold morning four years ago, he couldn’t seem to be kept away from it.

He was the one who offered legal help, the one who decided to be involved in every single detail, to come to help when he was not working, to let this place occupy his mind. 

He was a logical man, of logical thoughts and logical actions. But this was the only thing he couldn’t explain with rational thinking .Yoongi knew the answer was so simple, yet so painful.

Of course it was because of you. 

You. 

Even if you weren’t there, it was always you. 

“Yoongi.”

He raised his head towards the owner of the voice. 

You, again. 

He nodded in agreement, even though he didn’t have a clue what you were saying.

You laughed under your breath. “So?” 

Yoongi was sitting front row in the theater, counting the minutes to leave and take a nap. The Alley was showing Scream before the party, so that meant he had about two hours to sleep and prepare before showing up.

Minnie was finally back again, so that meant the day was a whirlwind of activity. She paraded around full of energy, filling every corner of the place with screams of excitement, anger, and joy. It made Yoongi miss you in charge, even if you were still strict and people were intimidated by you, you spoke softer, calmer. 

You were sitting on the edge of the stage, right in front of him, with your phone in your hands. Yoongi noticed that you were wearing purple glitter in your eyes today, he figured it had to do with the holiday, but what made him pay attention was the hint of amusement in your face… What did you just ask him?

“Sorry, I zoned out for a minute.” He said, shaking his head. “What were you saying?”

“Minnie is asking what are you wearing tonight.” You showed him the screen of your phone, shaking it in front of his face. 

“Uh…” He hesitated to reply, because maybe he should save the answer for himself. “I don’t know, I’ll figure something out with what I have.”

You shot him a glare. “She’s not going to be happy about that.”

“I’ll make her happy enough.” 

At least he learnt to keep his mouth shut. Or something like that.

He didn’t want to tell you that Summer had texted him this morning asking him the same question. She had been asking the same thing for days now, and each time she received the same answer, so she had decided to take the matter in her own hands.

Yoongi had no idea what that meant, but Summer told him not to worry about it and that she would handle it. It scared him a little.

You kept texting, probably informing Minnie about his situation. He could already hear the amount of insults he would receive if he didn’t show up in a costume, for a moment he prayed that Summer’s back up plan worked. 

He sank deeper in the chair, already tired. 

He should’ve been home by now, but for some reason he prolonged his time there, claiming that he wanted to help until the last minute in case something went wrong. 

And you should’ve been home, too. But you were there, enjoying the silence in his company like you had been doing every day for the past two weeks. And for some strange reason, it wasn’t weird. 

It wasn’t comfortable either, Yoongi knew this. But it was like you began acting in this automatic way where feelings weren’t allowed, he could tell. He wished he could do the same, but instead he found himself getting lost in his thoughts more often than he wished. 

There, with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on your knees. You were wearing combat boots, a plaid dark purple skirt and a black sweater. The gold chain wrapped around your neck. 

The gold chain. 

Wrapped around your neck.

There he goes again. 

Trying to snap out of it, he asked “What are you wearing?” He could only hope he didn’t sound too awkward, but you seemed to be used to him by now.  You didn’t flinch when he talked to you, you didn’t look like you wanted to kill him… all the time. 

You shrugged, your feet swinging back and forth. “I didn’t have much time to think. I’ll come up with something, too.” 

That night, The Alley was wrapped in cobwebs and flashing neon lights coming from the laser projector. The laughter cut through the loud music, the fog machine was breathing in and out like an old lung, the whole place smelled like weed, smoke and melted wax. Even if The Alley didn’t have the highest of budgets, it managed to disguise the whole place as a haunted house. 

The movie ended long ago, so people in costumes were dispersed all over the halls, the bathrooms, the kitchen, the bar and the backyard. There was a buzz in the air, something that made his heart pound. 

Most nights, the weak yellow lights barely reached the ceiling, but tonight seemed like a completely different place, like a memory buried deep inside Yoongi’s mind. 

In the end, Summer had somewhat saved him. She arrived at his apartment with nothing more than a red vest in her hands, making Yoongi more confused than he already was. 

She was wearing this sparkly pink dress, a glittery crown and had a magic wand in her hand. Her hair was tied up in a half pony tail and her lips were so glossy they shined. 

“I’m Glinda!” She explained with a smile on her face. “And you’re supposed to be Fiyero.” 

That didn’t make Yoongi less confused, as if he knew what any of those words meant, for his sake, he decided to go along with her. 

Luckily, Summer made sure that Yoongi understood their costumes. “It’s from Wicked.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Glinda is Fiyero’s girlfriend.” 

Then, Summer proceeded to talk about the new movie and the plot, the characters, the songs, but she made Yoongi promise to keep a secret: she didn’t watch it all the way through. He couldn’t blame her, because he hadn’t seen it either.

He was thankful that she saved him, but the idea of a couple’s costume made his stomach twist. 

It wasn’t like he didn’t like Summer. He did, he had never dated someone for this long. She was funny, kind and his mom loved her. Those were the main reasons why he decided to ask her out, and why he kept spending time with her.  But lately it felt like coming down from a high, it felt right at first, like something like he was supposed to do, but soon enough felt wrong. He was too afraid to admit it, to say it out loud, to accept the fact that he didn’t feel anything when he kissed her. 

He tried to be rational, he tried. Why wouldn’t he want to be with her? She was beautiful and nice, she was there, with the whitest of smiles, willing to make this night worth it, he figured he should. He had to.

He put on the vest on top of his white shirt and hoped that Minnie would think this was an acceptable costume. If he was lucky, no one would ask him about it. If he was lucky, he could pass unnoticed for the rest of the night and go to bed early. 

Perhaps you were right, this was way past his bed time. He wasn’t used to parties like this anymore, maybe when he was twenty and Simon dragged him to frat parties just to get drunk out of their minds on a Wednesday, but now it was a completely different story. Regardless of that, tonight the thread in his chest was pulling him in, making him stay.

And then, he saw you. 

He was a bit late, so the party had already started by the time he arrived. It was full of people, more than Yoongi would’ve imagined, and he thought he was safe because maybe he wouldn’t see you for a while at first, but when he walked into the room, you were the first thing he saw. 

He pretended he didn’t feel it, but it wrecked a part of his soul. Seeing you there, coming down the stage wearing a short strapless black dress, too short for his own sake, green tights and a pointy witch hat over your head. He was hit by a flashback so vivid it made him dizzy.

You, on a black dress. 

You, on top of him.

You, on his bed. 

When he turned right, there was Summer. Bright and flashy and full of excitement. She saw you too. 

Before Yoongi could snap out of it, Summer grabbed his arm, dragging him directly in your direction. “Oh my God, let’s go say hi!” She exclaimed, cheerful. 

Not this again.

She surfed through the sea of people, trying to reach the stage where you were still standing, in the last step of the stage. It wasn't that high, but you were eye to eye with him. 

Your eyes caught his, sparkling under the neon lights in the dark. You had a dark but subtle make up that made your gaze sharper and glossy lips. You held his stare for a second and then, your eyes fell on Summer. 

“You look stunning!” She yelped as soon as she got the chance. 

You seemed surprised and a bit startled, but there was no bitterness in your eyes, no sign of being upset, not like last time you encountered the two of them.

“You actually came.” You said softly, your tone light. His chest tightened at the casualness.

“We did.” he muttered, tugging at the collar of his Fiyero outfit like it could shield him from yet another uncomfortable situation. You, however, didn’t seem shaken at all. There it was again, that smile that decorated your lips when you were working in the play, when you were decorating the halls, when you were testing the DJ set. You seemed happy.

“I had to make him dress up.” Summer explained to you as if you were friends, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

“I figured that much.” You smiled gently, taking a good look at their outfits. “So… Glinda?” You glanced at Summer. The motion sent a shiver down Yoongi’s spine.

Summer nodded repeatedly, probably relieved that you were in a good mood tonight. “And are you Elphaba?”

“I don’t know, I guess I tried?” You scrunched your nose “What about you, Fiyero?”

He shook his head, trying not to roll his eyes. “Don’t ask me any questions.”

“I knew you weren’t that fun. I bet you didn’t even watch the movie.” You accused him, making Summer laugh. 

“I have a costume, don’t I?” He sighed.

“Barely.” You said, turning to Summer again. “You look beautiful by the way.” Summer almost melted on the spot. “There's an open bar until one a.m, and pizza in the kitchen. Enjoy the night.” 

You reached the floor, waving goodbye and disappearing into the crowd, leaving both of them speechless. 

As soon as he reached the bar, he asked for a beer.

“Never thought I’d see you drunk.” Jungkook’s bubbly voice filled Yoongi’s ears as they leaned on the wall, watching the party unfold. 

“I’m not drunk.” He said, taking the beer bottle to his lips one more time. 

The room was dark, and he could barely see the faces of the people dancing in front of him, or where Summer was, or who took her to dance after he told her that he preferred to stay there for a while. 

“Yeah, and I’m not high.” Jungkook laughed. He was dressed as a skeleton, he had a black body suit clung to his frame, the bones were printed down his chest and arms, but he was still wearing dark jeans and combat boots. Still, the most impressive part of his outfit was the make up on his face, it looked like it was done in a hurry and yet it looked impressive enough. There was black paint smudged under his eyes and jaw, making his bone structure more noticeable. He told him one of the girls from the staff offered to do it for him ten minutes before the party started. 

It wasn’t too elaborate, but it earned him the third spot in the costume contest. He had been wearing the brown medal on his neck all night, absolutely proud of it.

Yoongi checked the clock on his phone and realized it wasn’t even one am, and even if he wouldn’t admit it, it was too early to be this drunk. 

Still, he kept drinking.

“What do you think of her?” The question travelled through the loud sound of S&M by Rihanna, making him raise his gaze to look at Jungkook looking at a specific point in the dancefloor. 

A bit confused, he followed Jungkook’s gaze and froze.

You were dancing with Minnie, laughing and breathless in the center of the crowd, your body moving to the beat as if the music was part of you. The lights kept shifting, washing over your bare skin in flashes violet and red, tracing the curve of your neck, your legs. Your hair was loose, flowing all over the place. 

He gulped. “What about her?”

Jungkook laughed under his breath, as if it was obvious. “I’ve been thinking of asking her to dance.” He confessed. “Or is it too soon?” 

He forced a small laugh, even though his throat felt dry. 

“Too soon?” He repeated, his eyes glued to you like he was hypnotized.

“You know, she just got out of a relationship with that asshole.” Jungkook explained, bringing the disgusting image of your ex to Yoongi’s mind. 

“Ah, that fucker, yes.” He hummed. “But you’re worrying about the wrong thing, kid. I think you’d have to actually reach her first.”

Jungkook chuckled, not catching the edge of his voice. “C’mon, man. I may not be a movie star, but I’m good enough.”

He was right. Jungkook was no movie star, but he was exactly the type of guy you used to drool over when you were fourteen watching MTV. The kind of guys were tall, had piercings and dressed all in black, which made Yoongi shift uncomfortably.

He tried to focus on the music, on the crowd, on anything else beside you, but every small movement you made seemed to burn itself into his mind. 

Jungkook was okay, but you were a different kind of girl. Way out of everyone’s league, even his. 

“Well, maybe for any other girl.” He shrugged, trying to sound detached. “But for her? You’re aiming… pretty high, don’t you think?” 

Jungkook paused for a second, but Yoongi was in a haze, way too drunk to try to imagine what was happening in Jungkook’s mind, way too drunk to care. “That sounds like a challenge to me.” He said with a grin.

Jungkook stepped forward, leaving his place next to Yoongi to dive into the crowd towards you, but you didn’t notice him yet, you were too caught up in the music. 

Yoongi tried to follow each movement in the dark as he felt his stomach tighten, his hands twitching, itching to do something, say something, even if he knew it was wrong. 

Maneater by Nelly Furtado began blasting when Jungkook reached you, you noticed him and smiled, grabbing the hand he just offered to you. 

The fact that you’ve barely spoken to him during the whole night was almost painful, which was ridiculous. He came with someone else, and you were free to do whatever you wanted, even if that was dancing with Jungkook.

Jungkook pulled you towards him, making you giggle as he made you spin. Yoongi wanted to look away, to stop paying attention to the grip of Jungkook’s hands on your waist, or the way your hips moved, the way your hair danced with you, but he couldn’t. Maybe because he knew that was all he had, that was what he had to settle for. 

So he observed from the dark corner of the room where nowhere could see him. He had his eyes so focused on you as if you were about to disappear at any moment. Maybe you were, maybe this was just an oasis in the middle of the desert, a brief moment where you appeared, wrecked his word, made him doubt himself until you broke him, and then you would disappear back to your normal life. A life without him. 

Then, when the song ended, right before another one began, you looked around and accidentally glanced back briefly, catching his eyes as he took another sip of his beer. Neither of you said or did anything, nor an acknowledging smile or a vague wave, the both of you stood in the distance, staring at each other with eyes filled with poison.

It was three a.m when Yoongi thought the night should be over, but no one seemed to agree with him. The party was still at its peak, the music was still blasting from the speakers, people kept dancing, drinking, kissing. 

He had already danced a little when Summer begged him to, he had drunk more than enough, talked a bunch of nonsense with Namjoon all night, tried to ignore you dancing with Jungkook and focus on the girl beside him, the girl he had come here with in the first place, but it was difficult to focus on anything at all when he was this drunk. 

The night wasn’t going any faster either. It dragged slowly, the way he figured it would go when you felt this miserable.

Now he was ready to leave and end this night once for all. Summer had gathered her things and seemed to have had enough of it as well, but when he was about to be out the door, Minnie appeared behind him, her voice tight with exhaustion. “There’s a problem backstage with the cables and the fog machine. It’s cutting in and out.” 

He frowned, confused, why would she want him to fix that right now? He wanted to tell her to turn it off and call it a night. “Right now?” 

Minnie pouted, putting her hands together in a plea. “Pretty please. I won’t ask anything else from you.” 

“I highly doubt that.” He let out a chuckle, too tired to fight back.

“What if it explodes?” She exaggerated, but she was right, and he was already drunk enough to feel confident he could handle it. 

“Alright, take me there.” he muttered, leaving Summer behind for a moment. 

She took him to a tiny storage space behind the stage, full of coiled cables and equipment. There was a faint yellow light that poorly illuminated the tight closet, which made Yoongi aware that he was not as sober as he thought, but he was going to try anyway. The fog machine sat on the floor, making a loud sound that almost left Yoongi deaf. 

“Here, look at this,” Minnie said, pointing to a tangle of wires. “It’s probably just a loose connection, but-”

“Got it,” Yoongi interrupted, already crouching beside the mess, taking in the problem. “Where are the tools?”

Minnie straightened, rubbing her temples. “Hold on, they are in another room. I’ll be back.” 

Then, he left him there, sitting on the floor with his back pressed against the wall. The only sound in the tiny room was the old fog machine who threatened to kill him at any moment.

He was supposed to be on his way home by now. He was hot, tired, drunk and needed a glass of water and maybe a shower too. His whole word was spinning, he was just realizing.  

After a few minutes, he heard steps approaching, but it wasn’t Minnie’s hurried pace he was so used to hearing. He saw your feet covered by your green tights first, it looked like you had gotten rid of your shoes a long time ago. 

“What’s that sound?” You asked, making him glance up. You stood there with the box of tools in your hands. Your cheeks were flushed, and your witch hat was gone, probably lost somewhere on the dance floor after one of those spins Jungkook had pulled you into. That’s what Yoongi imagined, anyway.  “What are you doing on the floor?”

Yoongi blinked and returned to his crouched position beside the fog machine. “What are you doing here?” He asked, narrowing his eyes to look at you clearly.

You knelt down next to him, careful not to step on the scattered cables. The hem of your black dress shifted higher, but you didn’t notice or maybe you didn’t care. You just swept your hair over one shoulder so it wouldn’t get in the way. “Minnie handed me the tools and sent me here, I think it was because Thrilled started playing and she didn’t want to miss it.” Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh. He was there fixing this mess and she was out on the dance floor. “What are you doing, by the way?” You asked curiously. 

“Minnie asked me to fix it,” he muttered, his voice rough and slightly slurred. 

Yoongi averted your gaze, pretending to focus on the mess of wires in front of him. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight since the weak light on the ceiling was useless. 

“She really couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” you asked, your voice carrying that teasing softness he knew too well.

“She said the fog machine was the soul of the party,” he said, rummaging through the box until he found a screwdriver. His hands weren’t steady—too much alcohol, too little patience—but he started tightening the loose clamp anyway, muttering something under his breath as if the wires could hear him.

You leaned in, close enough for him to catch the faint smell of your plump perfume over the smell of the old closet. “She’s not lying, though.” You said, grabbing the phone off his hands without permission, your hands brushing together without care. 

“Are you sure?” He asked before he could stop himself. “I thought you were the soul of the party.” 

You scoffed, “Why is that?” 

“I don’t know.” He said so low it might as well could be a whisper. “You danced all night long with that kid.” 

“Jungkook, you mean?” He hummed in response. You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well, I had to make up for those who weren’t dancing.”

Yoongi snorted, half amused. “I danced.”

You shot him a look, it was playful, but it felt way too intimate. “If that’s what you call dancing, sure.” 

He twisted a loose wire between his fingers, pretending to focus on it. “So you were watching.”

“I paid attention.” You hummed. Maybe you were a bit drunk, too, otherwise you wouldn't be so willing to help him at this hour of the night. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” 

“No.” He let out a low chuckle without looking up, “I mean, yeah. Don’t worry. I’m just… not in my five senses right now.”

“You’re drunk.” You said, laughing under your breath. “But it’s okay, I am too. And a little high.”

“I’m not drunk.” he muttered, squinting at the mess of wires like they were moving on their own. “Not that drunk, anyway.”

You arched a brow, the corner of your mouth twitching. “Should I trust you not to set this place on fire?”

“No, not at all.” He chuckled, ignoring the way you rolled your eyes. 

There was a pause, a quiet silence despite the loud sound of the fog machine and the music outside. Yoongi thought that was it, the end of the conversation. A rare glimpse of you, and the version he used to know, until-

“So…” You said, making him flinch. “You didn’t watch Wicked.”

“I can’t say I did.” He shook his head, forcing himself to focus on the tangle of wires. “I just wore what she gave me.”

She. It was ridiculous.  He couldn’t even bring himself to say her name in front of you.

“Obviously,” you muttered, letting out a small sigh. 

“Why?” he asked, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Am I not the target audience for Wicked?”

“Well, no. I don’t think so,” you said, tilting your head slightly. “But also because… you should know this, Fiyero and Glinda are a terrible choice for a couple’s costume.”

“Why, exactly?” His curiosity got the better of him.

“Mmm… because Fiyero doesn’t end up with Glinda at the end.”

His gaze lifted, locking onto yours. “Is that right?” You hummed, nodding, “Who does he end up with, then?”

Yoongi watched his lips twitch into a smile, but you shook your head. “I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.”

It sent him into a spiral. The light of his flashlight illuminated your face, catching the way you slightly bit your lower lip,soft, and tempting. His chest tightened as his eyes traced the curve of your mouth, the mouth he had kissed so many times. 

He tried to look away, but couldn’t. His gaze drifted down, to your defined jaw, your exposed neck and the faint shimmer of the gold chain resting just above the curve of your chest, the low neckline of your dress in front of him and the heat pooling in his stomach, making impossible to focus on  whatever the fuck he was supposed to be fixing.

“Be careful, Fiyero.” You suddenly said, pushing his chin up with your finger. “I might hex you if you stare too much.”

Yoongi cheekily smirked, not ashamed at all for being caught, “I think I’m already cursed.” He murmured. 

You swallowed, looking at him like he just said something he wasn’t supposed to. 

A beat of silence stretched between you before he spoke again, too fast, like the words had been sitting on his tongue for hours.

“It’s not a couple’s costume,” he blurted out.

Your eyebrows drew together. “What?”

“Me and Summer…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s not- we’re not-”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “It’s not what? Not serious?”

“No, I mean- I think what I want to say is that it’s nothing.”

You pressed your lips together, and for a moment, he thought you were going to laugh at him. “You don’t need to explain anything to me.”

He clicked his tongue, nodding. “I know.” 

But you held his haze, watching his parted lips, waiting for him to say something else, to explain himself, to give you a different answer, and then, the machine hissed loudly, letting out a burst of white smoke that made the two of you flinch.  

“See? Not that drunk.” He whispered, his face way too close to yours. 

You drew in a sharp breath, chest rising and falling. Something shifted in your eyes—Yoongi couldn’t place what—but it made you pull back and stand up immediately.

He rose to his feet right after you, your eyes still locked. You pressed his phone into his chest, returning it, and his hand closed over yours.

For some reason, you didn’t pull away.

Yoongi’s gaze flicked down to your mouth and back up, feeling the heat of your stare. “That still gets me, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“The way you look at me,” he murmured, voice low.

Opening your eyes widely, you shook your head in denial. “You’re imagining things now.”

“Maybe.” He leaned slightly, closing the space between you and him bit by bit. “But if I am… You’re not exactly running.”

You stiffened for a moment, dropping your cold hand from his soft grip, but you were unable to escape his proximity. Your eyes flicked to his lips before darting away.

“I should go.” You murmured so low it might as well have been a secret.

“Then go.”

But you didn’t, and neither did he. The fog from the machine curled around your ankles, a soft white haze that made the closet feel smaller than it already was. 

Yoongi exhaled slowly, “Can I ask you what’s happening?” His voice was rough, hesitant. The alcohol could have made it easier to ask, but harder to articulate. 

You swallowed, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. “Nothing is happening.” Your words were almost a whisper, and your gaze dropped to the floor for a moment before flicking up at him again. “You’re drunk.”

“But it is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, swaying slightly on his feet. “Because I can’t-because I shouldn’t. But… here we are.”

Dead silence stretched, thick and suffocating. You didn’t know what to say, he already knew. 

“Don’t you remember what you told me that day?” you finally murmured. His gaze searched for any sharpness in your eyes, but there was none. You looked at him with tenderness, like a past memory, an old feeling.  

“I remember everything,” he admitted, and for a moment, you looked down at your feet, as if trying to anchor yourself.

“I do too,” you whispered. “You told me it shouldn’t have happened. That it was best to forget… for everyone’s sake. Didn’t you say that?”

He nodded slowly. His chest ached, a hollow squeeze in his heart. “Yes,” he murmured. “But… what if I’m the one who can’t forget?”

You didn’t answer, just shifted slightly, and he stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. His arm lifted, resting against the wall beside you, caging you.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back to your eyes, searching, daring. The closet felt impossibly small, the fog machine’s hiss and the hum of the wires fading into the background.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the two of you. “Yoongi, it’s been years…” You said, “I did exactly what you told me, what can I do now?” 

“I know, I know.” He swallowed, his throat tight, as if the words themselves were heavy. “It’s just… I’m tired. So tired…”

The world around him blurred, the air was too heavy. He didn’t understand why you hadn’t left, why you hadn’t punched him, cursed him, or sent him straight to hell along with all his regrets. And yet, here you were, standing so close he could feel the warmth radiating from you, listening.

“Yoongi… do you know…” Your voice trembled slightly, taking a deep breath. “Do you know how many years I’ve waited for you?” 

The question hung between you, catching him off guard. He raised his eyebrows, opening his eyes widely as he shook his head, unsure if he could utter a word. 

“Me neither,” you whispered, your voice was laced with so much sweetness it made Yoongi want to throw up. Still, you moved just a fraction closer, until the scent of you filled the space between them. “But even so… they’re more than the years I haven’t waited for you. I’ve got to change that.”

He nodded, your words settling deeply in his chest. You were right, you couldn’t do anything about it, it was his fault. Why was he even bringing this up? Why was he here? Why were you here with him, in this closet, caged between heavy breaths and unspoken words like so many years ago?

It was over, he knew. He always knew it. 

Then, why?

Why, why, why couldn't he forget about you? Why did he keep running away? Why did he keep dating girls who were the exact opposite as you to avoid thinking of you? To try to forget you? 

It was written here, in this town, in these walls, in his old bed, in the same dancefloor where he kissed you for the first time, in his hands, his chest, his mind, his heart.

What you had was something so deeply attached to his soul that he was afraid he would have to carry it like a cross for the rest of his life. 

He wanted you to free him from it, to forgive him, to make him forget. He wanted to say sorry, to make up for it, this time for real.

When he opened his mouth to speak, to do something about it, the spell broke.

“There you are!” A bubbly voice cut through the silence, making Yoongi jump in place, his chest tightening as he realized how exposed the two of you were. You stiffened, instinctively stepping backwards, your sudden movement shattering the fragile tension.

Yoongi’s gaze flicked to Summer. Her face had gone pale, her expression unreadable, but her eyes… they told him everything he already knew, everything he shouldn’t have let happen.

“I… uh…” Yoongi muttered, trying to compose himself, his hand dropping from the wall to his side.

You swore under your breath, cheeks hot, and muttered, “I’m sorry, I should go.”

Before Yoongi could breathe, you stepped further from him. You didn’t have to apologize for anything, it was him who did.

He watched you walk out the door, leaving him with a hole carved in the middle of his chest, bleeding.

“What happened?” Summer spoke, her voice weak. 

He looked at her, wanting to ask the same question. “Shall we go?”

On the way out, Yoongi almost collided with Minnie by the door. She was leaning against Namjoon, sharing a cigarette, the smoke curling around them like a small cloud. Their eyes lit up when they saw him.

“Did you fix it?” Minnie asked, a smile tugging at her lips as if she already knew the answer.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “But that thing doesn’t have much longer, I already told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She rolled her eyes, taking a slow drag from her cigarette. “Where’s your girl, by the way?”

Yoongi exhaled, the weight of the night pressing down on him. “She’s in the bathroom. We’re about to leave.”

Minnie hummed, a teasing note in her voice. “Did you have fun?”

“I think we did,” he replied, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Mmm, I don’t believe you for one minute.”

Yoongi wanted to laugh—he really did—but the hole that ached in his chest made it impossible.

His eyes drifted to the faint traces of smoke curling in the air, his thoughts wandering to the closet, the fog machine, your silly tone before he fucked everything up again. 

“Can I ask you something?” he said, and Minnie’s gaze snapped to him, immediately attentive.

“What is it?”

“Have you seen Wicked?”

“Of course, what kind of question is that?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Well… do you know who Fiyero ends up with at the end?” he asked, a hint of hesitance in his voice.

A mischievous smile spread across Minnie’s face. “Easy. With the Wicked Witch of the West.”

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls , @overtherainbow35 , @namin13 , @p34rluv , @moonchild1 , @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie @jalexad @lynnibears @benyhime @ktownshizzle @kiki-zb @ukelelethethird

[writesvani]

down low | 06

SUMMARY: There's no love, there are no fights with Jungkook—just a twisted addiction that keeps you crawling back. You tell yourselves it’s not toxic. After all, you never argue, never get jealous. Just fuck, lie, and slip back into the arms of the people who will never know.

It’s not love.

But it sure as hell isn’t nothing.

friends with benefits au, situationship au

TRIGGER WARNINGS: guilt, humiliation, emotional conflict, infidelity, secrecy, unhealthy relationship dynamics, manipulation, mild sexual content, sexual tension, anxiety, shame, self-blame, overthinking, obses.sion, internalized unworthiness, romantic pressure, coercive flirting, jealousy, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, relationship insecurity

comment here for the Down Low taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 5,8k // date: 1st of November 2025

CHAPTER SIX — Guilt; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey everyone, new chapter is here!! and it's somehow very important for your fragile hearts. we get more of y/n’s feelings, some actual boyfriend interaction (try not to die from excitement 💀), and jungkook… well, jungkook is still hiding secrets like a tiny dramatic raccoon, and we’re all suffering for it.

i had a massive fight with writer’s block, cried a little, screamed a lot, and somehow produced not one but two chapters in a single day. miraculous? probably. unnatural? definitely.

next chapter is long, chaotic, around 8k words of emotional whiplash and minor life crises and will be posted in around a week or two. read at your own risk, and remember: i am not responsible for any screaming, crying, or internal screaming that may occur.

The wind’s howl against the window is what rouses you from sleep. It sounds almost alive, like it’s begging to be let in, rattling the glass with its restless hands.

You blink the morning fog from your eyes, still caught between the haze of dreams and the soft weight of reality. Every muscle feels stiff, compact — probably because Taehyung has you tucked so tightly into his chest it’s a miracle you can breathe at all.

His arm is heavy across your waist, his leg tangled between yours, his breath warm and steady against the nape of your neck. He’s a furnace — unfairly so — the kind of warmth that makes you want to melt back into sleep.

He shifts, murmuring something incoherent, his palm sliding lazily over your stomach before settling again. The sound of rain finally reaches you — soft at first, then steady, like a heartbeat against the earth.

You could stay like this forever, cocooned in the low hum of rain and Taehyung’s sleepy heat. Rainy mornings were made for people like you — the ones who crave stillness, who see gray skies as an excuse to hide from the world a little longer.

But reality, annoyingly, has other plans.

Today’s the day.

Chrisfmas gift shopping day.

Taehyung’s been talking about it for a week straight, eyes bright like a child’s, rambling about matching scarves and surprise presents. You tried to say no — you really did — but who could possibly refuse him when he looks that excited?

Especially since the guilt is starting to catch up with you.

Or maybe not just catch up — maybe it’s already caught you, sinking its claws in deeper than you ever intended, holding fast where you wish it wouldn’t. It’s the kind of ache that settles in quietly, like it’s been waiting for you to wake up.

And now, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t even feel worth it. That’s the thought that always comes first — sharp and unforgiving — every morning when you feel Taehyung’s body pressed against yours, his warmth bleeding into your skin like a promise you didn’t deserve.

Jungkook wasn’t worth it.

Humiliation is a strange thing. It doesn’t scream like anger or tremble like fear. It’s quieter — patient. It sits in your chest, waiting. It fogs your mind in loops of overthinking and whispers all the ways you don’t matter, all the ways you ruined something that should feel safe.

And irrelevance hurts — even when you expect it. Even when it comes from someone like Jeon Jungkook, who was never worth the damage.

So you wake up with it — the guilt, the humiliation, the exhaustion of pretending you’re fine. You swallow it down, let it settle where it always does, and roll over slowly until you’re facing Taehyung.

He’s so pretty.

Dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, soft and messy from sleep. His lips are parted slightly, his breaths steady and unbothered — the kind of peace you don’t think you deserve to witness. When he shifts, a tiny crease forms between his brows, and something in your chest tightens.

You reach out before you can stop yourself, fingers grazing his cheek.

Gently.

Deliberately.

Calculated.

His skin is warm under your touch — unfairly warm, unfairly his.

He’s too good to be true.

And you’re a selfish piece of shit.

He’s never gonna find out.

That disgusting little mantra has burned itself into your skull, whispering through the quiet like a curse every time you look at him.

The guilt used to stay buried while Jungkook was still around. Maybe because as long as you were caught in that mess, you didn’t have to face the full weight of it. But now that it’s over — now that Jungkook kicked you out seven days ago — the guilt has clawed its way out of its grave, hungry and alive.

You lean in and press a soft kiss to Taehyung’s nose. Then his left cheek. Then his right. You scatter light touches across his skin as if you could rewrite what you’ve done through affection alone.

A kiss to his forehead.

He smiles in his sleep — a small, dreamy curve of lips that shatters you.

You kiss his smile, and he stirs.

“Morning, love,” he mumbles, voice rough and sleepy, eyes still closed but his mouth still chasing after yours.

“Mhmm,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep and something heavier you can’t name. “Morning.”

Taehyung hums, lazy and content, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he finally blinks his eyes open. “Somebody loves me a bit too much,” he teases, his words soft and drowsy, hand moving in slow circles across your back.

“A bit too much,” you echo, forcing a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You’re not even sure if it’s the truth.

Lately, you’re not sure of anything.

Do you do things like that to people you love?

Do you betray them, lie to them, still crawl back into their arms like nothing ever happened?

But you do love him.

Don’t you?

He yawns, stretching slightly, his arm tightening around you. “I slept so well,” he murmurs, the edges of his words fading into another lazy breath. “It’s perfect weather for sleeping.”

You hum in agreement, but the sound feels hollow. The rain outside beats steadily against the window, and for a moment, you wish you could drown in it — wash everything clean, start over.

But you can’t just wash things away in life.

They stick.

They leave residue.

You just learn to live around it — to push through, to forget, to pretend forgetting is the same thing as healing.

“Yeaah,” you grumble, stretching the word out as if it could buy you a few more minutes of peace. “I don’t feel like leaving the bed.”

It comes out whiny, soft. Your head drops against Taehyung’s shoulder blades, and you feel him chuckle — low, warm, the kind of sound that vibrates through his chest.

He pats your back, tender and unknowing. “Me too,” he says, voice still thick with sleep. “But we’ve got a fun day ahead.”

“Is gift buying even that fun?” you mumble into his skin, your lips brushing his shoulder as you speak.

“But it is,” he says easily, a smile in his tone. “Who doesn’t love holidays?”

You sigh. “My favorite thing about holidays is not having anything to do.”

He laughs — a soft, airy sound that fills the space between you. “That’s just because you’re lazy.”

You smile into his skin, even though it feels like a lie.

You swat his arm half-heartedly, pretending to be offended. “I’m not lazy,” you mumble, your cheek still pressed against him. “I just appreciate peace.”

Taehyung laughs again, the sound all honey and warmth. “You appreciate peace by sleeping through it.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite in it. “That’s called self-care.”

“Ah,” he says dramatically, “so that’s what we’re calling laziness now.”

You huff, lifting your head just enough to glare at him — but the sight of his sleepy grin softens you instantly. His hair’s a mess, his eyes half-lidded, his skin warm and golden in the weak morning light spilling through the curtains.

God, he’s beautiful.

And you wish beauty didn’t make you feel so small.

“Coffee?” he asks.

You nod before your brain even catches up. “Yeah. I’ll make it.”

He stretches, groaning as he untangles himself from the sheets. “No way. You made it yesterday. I’ll do it today.”

You watch him move around the room — shirtless, humming softly, so domestic it hurts. Every small motion is a reminder of how gentle he is with you, how easily he loves you, how undeserving you are of it.

Because guilt doesn’t just sit in your chest — it seeps. It finds its way into every quiet, ordinary thing. The sound of rain. The smell of coffee. The way his toothbrush sits next to yours like it belongs there.

And maybe that’s the worst part.

That you still get mornings like this.

That the world still lets you have them.

He glances at you from the doorway, eyes crinkling. “You coming, sleepyhead?”

You force a smile. “Yeah,” you say softly, pulling the blanket off your legs. “Coming.”

But as your feet hit the cold floor, all you can think about is how love shouldn’t feel this heavy.

Your gut feels impossibly heavy. Your heart, as if it senses the weight of your own unworthiness, hides somewhere deep behind your ribs. Because there will always be that shell of doubt inside you, brittle and sharp, a constant reminder that maybe — just maybe — you’re living someone else’s dream.

So you push the thought aside. You let yourself be content. You run with it.

You sip coffee with him, the warmth seeping into your hands, seeping into the small cracks in your chest. You eat breakfast together, the clink of cutlery and the low hum of the coffee machine grounding you in the moment. You make plans to stay at his place tomorrow, your voice lighter than you feel.

“Hurry up, I wanna see if I can find the bathrobe your mom wanted,” Taehyung whines, tugging your hand like he can’t wait another second.

“How do you even… know she wants a bathrobe?” you ask, squinting against the mall’s bright lights.

The place is the exact opposite of the gloomy clouds outside — impossibly bright, glittering. Star-shaped ornaments dangle from absurdly high ceilings. Christmas trees crowd every shop window like they’re in a competition for who’s the prettiest. And right in the center? A massive Santa sleigh, like someone dropped it straight out of a movie set.

“She mentioned it once,” Taehyung says, eyes scanning the shops like he’s on a mission. Of course he remembered. He’s that type — the one who actually pays attention.

“Right, okay. We should check Ralph Lauren, she loves their bathrobes,” you say, giving his hand a little squeeze.

He nods, smirking. “Yeah, they’re nice. Good quality.”

“Yeah, and also—”

A bump interrupts you. A teenage boy with headphones barely notices before colliding into your shoulder.

“Uh, sorry,” he mutters, already stepping aside.

Taehyung laughs, shaking his head. “Kids these days… don’t even look where they’re going, I swear.”

You nudge him in the side, elbowing his ribs. “Hey, chill. He didn’t do it on purpose. Don’t start acting like a grumpy old man.”

He laughs again, reaching for your hand. “I’m not grumpy. I’m just… observational.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help smiling. “Observational, sure. That’s what old people call being nosy.”

Taehyung grins, giving your hand a playful squeeze as he leads you toward the store. “You think we should go for a natural color or something fun?” Taehyung asks as you step into the store, eyes scanning the rows of fabrics and colors.

You pause by the men’s sweater section, thinking of grabbing one for his dad. “Hmm… I think she’d like a soft pink one,” you say, biting your lip, half-uncertain.

“Soft pink? Really?” he teases, pinching your cheek gently. “I was thinking she’s more of a beige woman.”

“Hey! Are you saying my mom is boring?”

“And what if I am?”

“Well…” you roll your eyes, nudging him with your elbow, “I guess I’d have to agree. But she does like pink, so maybe she’s not completely boring.”

“Soft pink,” he repeats with mock seriousness. “As you said… boring.”

“Kim Taehyung!” you hiss, elbowing him again as you start moving toward the women’s section. “You love my mom even though she’s boring.”

“Of course I do,” he says matter-of-factly, brushing his fingers over a soft robe. “I love you — so loving her is kind of a package deal.”

Love.

Love.

Love.

The word lands heavy in your chest. Your fingers tighten around the edge of a sweater, and your stomach twists a little.

“Mhmm,” you murmur, letting a small smile slip onto your lips. “Well… I love you too, even though you think my mom’s boring.”

He grins, tugging your hand lightly. “See? That’s fair. I forgive you.”

He picks out a bathrobe for your mom. “Let me pay real quick, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, falling into step beside him.

When he’s done, you walk out of the store, hand in hand, one gift already checked off the list. Great. Five more to go. The leather of his glove against your fingers feels comforting, grounding you in the moment, even as your mind drifts.

“When are Rob and Lara meeting us?” Taehyung asks, dodging a little child who runs past, another trailing behind, laughing and squealing like bells.

“Rob isn’t coming — he’s got one more exam before the holidays. Bro’s studying his ass off,” you reply, voice picking up, your words mixing with the hum of shoppers around you, the jingling of bells from a nearby display.

“Damn, I thought he was done already.” He shakes his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips, brushing a stray lock of hair from his eyes.

“Well, you know how premed is… There’s always something going on.” You shrug, tugging slightly on his sleeve, watching his playful grin light up under the mall’s festive glow.

“Okay, that’s true. Couldn’t be me, though.” He laughs, a rich sound that blends with the background music, and bumps his shoulder lightly against yours.

“Same. If I had to study that much, my brain would probably melt off.” You smirk, swatting his arm, letting a little warmth seep through the teasing words.

He nudges you again, leaning closer. “Mine’s already melting with Econ, so imagine what would happen to me with premed.” The sparkle in his eyes makes your chest tighten.

“What about Lara, though?” he asks, glancing at you as shoppers weave around. The smell of roasted nuts from a nearby stall makes your stomach rumble faintly.

“She said she doesn’t want to third-wheel our shopping spree,” you explain, “but she can come when we sit down somewhere to eat.” You notice how the light catches the highlights in his hair, how the edges of his smile curve just for you.

“Right. She lives nearby?”

“Yeah, like ten minutes away by foot.”

“Mkay,” Taehyung says, kissing your temple as you walk, “I was thinking of getting a tie for your dad.”

“Well, you can’t really go wrong with that,” you reply, keeping pace with him.

“Right? He’s always wearing a different tie,” Taehyung adds, glancing at the racks with a grin.

“Yes,” you nod. “Ties are like his own personal fashion statements.”

The mall lights glare off the glass, reflections of kids, parents, and your own restless thoughts mingling in the panes. Taehyung mutters something about cheap skinny ties, and you hum absently.

“Ooh,” he says suddenly, eyes lighting up. “Let’s check Brooks Brothers for ties!”

“Sure,” you say, offering him a small, tight smile. “He does shop there sometimes.”

Taehyung grins triumphantly, marching confidently toward the store. You trail behind, clutching his hand like a puppet, trying to match his energy, even though part of your mind feels miles away — flickering to…

To everything that’s been left unresolved.

“I’m thinking… maybe a tie with stripes,” Taehyung murmurs, more to himself than to you, fingers rolling the fabric between them, checking the texture. “But… nothing too loud.”

You nod, but your attention drifts. Silk, wool, cotton — you feel the tension in your chest tighten just a little. Everything here is bright, festive, safe… and yet, somehow, it all reminds you of what isn’t safe.

You squeeze his hand gently, forcing yourself to focus on the moment. Just… pick a tie. That’s all you need to do.

Simple.

Ordinary.

You don’t spend long picking out a tie for your dad. With Taehyung’s “expertise,” it barely takes ten minutes before he’s already at the checkout, practically dragging you out of the store.

“Baby,” he says softly, tugging your hand like he’s both pleading and commanding, “I’m kind of hungry.”

“Tae, we’ve literally been here for only half an hour,” you tease, trying to tug your hand back, but he’s already grinning at you like it’s a personal victory.

“Ugh, I know, I know,” he says, hands up in mock surrender, “but what can I say… shopping makes me hungry.”

“Ugh, you big baby,” you roll your eyes, laughing, and nudge him playfully. “Fine, let’s go eat something then. Before you collapse.”

He perks up like you’ve just given him a medal, and for a moment, you get lost in the warmth radiating off him — the easy energy, the way he makes the mall feel smaller, softer, like it exists just for the two of you. For a few precious minutes, the guilt that’s been lingering in your chest stays quiet. You’re allowed to enjoy this. To enjoy him.

You squeeze his hand as you weave through the crowd toward the food court, your other hand fumbling to type a quick message to Lara. She replies almost instantly. You tuck your phone into your bag over your shoulder and glance at Taehyung. His grin is wide, his eyes sparkling.

But then…

You notice him before he notices you. Hoodie pulled low, hands tucked into the sleeves, sitting at the Italian food parlor with its awkwardly shiny pink ornaments — it’s him. Jungkook.

He’s engrossed in conversation with a guy across from him, animated hands punctuating the air like he’s demonstrating a fight—or maybe recounting one he’s won. You don’t know; you haven’t spoken to him in days.

His laughter is easy, effortless, the kind that makes your chest tighten without permission. Dark brown strands fall into his eyes as he leans back, taking a careful sip from his water bottle.

You feel rooted to the spot, heart sinking into your stomach like gravity has doubled. Taehyung’s voice drones on beside you, something about the Italian sink, whatever—but you don’t hear a word. Your head is fixed, eyes locked on him.

It’s too much.

And somehow too little.

Embarrassment.

Humiliation.

Want.

Then his gaze snaps up, catching yours just as you pass.

Everything freezes.

He tilts his head, a flicker of recognition in his dark eyes. His smile fades, lips parting slightly, wet with a flash of tongue. He shifts in his seat, and just like that, the world tilts.

You move past him, but the second stretches, lingering longer than it should — a millisecond that feels like a lifetime.

Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. You don’t care. Or at least… you shouldn’t. Sure, he hurt your ego. What he did was shitty. But it’s not that big of a deal, right? It had to end eventually.

It had to.

But he’s here. In the same space you are. Happy. And it’s… annoying.

What’s even worse is that Taehyung picked a table only a few tables away from Jungkook’s. Fuck.

Taehyung leaves you at the table, heading off to order food. You don’t dare turn toward Jungkook this time. You can already feel the weight of his eyes burning on your face. Your stomach tightens. You gulp, shifting in your seat, trying to focus on anything else.

Your phone pings.

You don’t dare look.

But what if it’s Lara, asking where exactly you and Taehyung are? What if she can’t find you?

With shaky fingers, you unlock your phone, but the second your eyes hit the screen, your stomach drops. Because right there, at the top of your chats, is the number you deleted. The one you still know by heart.

xxx: fancy seeing you here, baby

Ignore him. That’s what you should do. Ignore him, wait until Taehyung brings you food, eat your pasta, and wait for Lara. You lock your phone and push it aside.

It pings again.

xxx: ouch, don’t ignore me

Your jaw tightens. The audacity. Typical Jungkook — acting like he’s the one who got hurt. You grab your phone before you can talk yourself out of it.

you: we have nothing to talk about

xxx: we have plenty to talk about

you: you said enough last time

xxx: i didn’t say shit

you: exactly

xxx: i’m sorry, okay?

you: lol you have the nerve

xxx: well, i am sorry. i had my reasons for kicking u out

you: mhm. i don’t care

xxx: nope, you do

you: i don’t

xxx: then block me

you: i have no reason to

xxx: this just means u still wanna talk to me lol

You’re about to type your next reply when Taehyung returns, tray in hand, balancing two plates and a couple of drinks.

“Here we go!” he announces, setting everything down carefully in front of you. “Pasta, fries, and yes, one hot chocolate with extra whipped cream because you’ve been whining for it yesterday.”

You glance up from your phone, blinking at him, and a small pang of warmth hits your chest. For a moment, it’s just him — your boyfriend, standing there, smiling at you like you’re the only person in the world.

You shove the warmth aside.

“Thanks, babe,” you murmur, sliding your phone into your bag.

But of course, the second you put it away, it buzzes again. Your heart sinks. You take it out.

xxx: okay, i know u hate me, but… meet me? just for a second

You stare at the screen. No. Absolutely not. The memory of being kicked out of his apartment like you’re garbage burns hot in your chest.

you: i told you, we have nothing to talk about

xxx: please… i just need five minutes. maybe in the restroom?

you: what? no

xxx: c’mon, i just wanna see u. maybe brush my lips against yours… feel u for a second

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard. Your neck flushes. What the actual fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with him?

“Baby? Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, leaning slightly over the tray. You almost drop your fork.

“I… yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you manage, voice a little too sharp, forcing a smile.

xxx: wow, ignoring me AND ignoring your boyfriend at the same time? that’s cruel

you: i am not ignoring anyone

xxx: sure seems like it… let’s js sneak off pls

you: look, i’m eating. leave me alone

xxx: five minutes. i just want to kiss you. promise i’ll be quick. maybe even… bite that lip i like so much

Your chest tightens.

Part of you aches.

Another part of you seethes.

Taehyung, completely oblivious, pours a little hot sauce over your fries, humming a tune. You force yourself to focus on him, on the mundane, on the warmth of the moment.

And yet… your fingers itch to pick up the phone again.

you: i’m not going to meet you. stop texting me.

xxx: but i can’t stop thinking about you… especially sitting there, so close to me

you: you hurt me last time. i don’t even want to talk to you.

xxx: baby pleaseee

you: seriously, stop. i mean it.

xxx: i love it when you try to resist me… it’s like you can’t help it anyway, can you?

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, typing, deleting, typing again. Why does he have to make it sound like this? Why does he still have this effect on you after everything?

you: i’m not going to. don’t be annoying

xxx: hm, i don’t think you mean that… i can feel it, baby. i can sense that little flutter in your fingers when you type back

Your chest tightens and your stomach twists. You want to block him for real. You want to ignore him completely. But a tiny, stupid part of you wants to see what he would do next.

you: lol you're delusional, i'm not meeting you

xxx: oh, i know you don’t… but that’s what makes this fun. you’re trying so hard not to, and i adore that about you

You take a shaky breath, glancing at Taehyung who’s humming softly and oblivious as he stirs his drink. You squeeze your hands in your lap, unsure of why your heart is racing like this.

xxx: look at me then, prove you don’t wanna see me

Your phone vibrates in your hand. You set it down slowly, unsure if you want to pick it back up — and even more unsure of what you’d reply if you did.

You bite your lip and, almost without thinking, let your eyes flick towards Jungkook. Just for a second.

xxx: that little glance didn’t prove shit

you: stop

xxx: oh, come on… i’m right here

you: you’re an assole

xxx: maybe i am

You press your hand to your face, trying to keep calm, trying to shove down the flutter in your chest. Why are you even considering this?

you: fine, i don’t care, only for a second. whatever you have to say, it better be quick.

xxx: that’s all i needed to hear lol. i’ll be fast. i promise. five minutes, tops.

you: and my lara’s coming soon. i want to see her before i keep shopping with tae.

xxx: deal. i’ll be quick. can’t steal you away, can i?

You shift in your seat, trying to steady your hands as you pick up your fork. The pasta feels dry in your mouth, like you can’t taste anything at all.

“Hey, Tae,” you say softly, catching his eye. “Um… I need to, uh… go to the restroom real quick. Could you… maybe wait here for Lara? She should be here soon.”

He blinks at you, concern flickering across his face. “Restroom? Yeah, of course, babe. You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” you murmur, forcing a smile. “Just… need a minute.”

He nods, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “Take your time. I’ll wait here.”

You slide out of your chair, heart already racing in your chest. Every step feels heavier than the last. Why is this so hard?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You resist the urge to check it. Your stomach tightens, and your chest feels like it’s about to burst. Part of you wants to run back to Taehyung, stay safe in the warmth of the table, but another part of you can’t stop walking.

You catch yourself hesitating at the corner of the corridor, taking a deep, shaky breath. Just five minutes. That’s all. Just… hear him out. And then it’s over.

When you enter, Jungkook is already there, which is… weird. He’s usually the one who shows up after you. For a quiet second, you’re just thankful Taehyung didn’t see him when you passed by — though you’re not even sure if Tae remembers him from that one party.

Jungkook is perched against one of the sinks, arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You roll your eyes and close the door.

“What?” you say, keeping as much distance as possible, glancing around to see if any stalls are occupied.

“Stop being paranoid, I already checked,” he sighs, bored. “No one’s here.”

“I wasn’t being paranoid,” you hiss, crossing your arms.

“Yeah, you totally were.”

“Whatever,” you scoff. “What do you want?”

“I already said what I want over text.”

“To talk?” Your annoyance sharpens.

“No, to kiss you.”

You laugh, a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, that’s definitely in the top ten things that are never going to happen again.”

“Aw, that hurts,” he says, leaning slightly forward, grinning. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“Why don’t you ask yourself that?” you snap, gritting your teeth.

Silence stretches for a few seconds. You roll your shoulders, uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry. For real,” he says quietly, the mischievous edge gone from his voice for a second.

“You can take your apology and shove it,” you mutter.

“Okay, I deserve that,” he says, smirking again, “but there were reasons.”

“You kicked me out. Told me never to call you, never to come to your place.”

“I meant what I said. Don’t call, and definitely never, ever, come to my place,” he admits.

“Okay?? Can I leave now?” you snap.

“No,” he says, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. You stumble back, your spine hitting the door, and suddenly it’s impossible to breathe. To think. To be rational.

He stops just inches from you, chest barely touching yours. “Look,” he says, low and rough, “there’s some shit I’m involved in that I… don’t wanna talk about.”

“Great,” you snap, voice sharp but tinged with heat, “so now you’re doing illegal stuff. Cool. Really cool.”

“You don’t know shit, so don’t go throwing assumptions around,” he growls.

“I’m only guessing based on what you just said,” you fire back.

“Well… don’t,” he mutters, voice tight, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that makes your pulse spike.

“Fine. Whatever,” you hiss, trying to sound indifferent — failing completely.

“I broke up with Eunji,” he blurts, like it’s supposed to change the mood.

“Congrats,” you say dryly, but your chest tightens anyway.

Then he leans closer, and the air between you sizzles. “I missed you,” he whispers, nose brushing your cheek, lips dangerously close. Your head turns, heart hammering.

“I didn’t,” you manage, but your hand can’t help itself — it snakes up to his shoulder, gripping him to steady yourself.

“I should’ve handled last time better,” he murmurs, mouth ghosting near your ear, breath hot and intoxicating. “But you have to listen to me. Don’t call. Don’t show up at my place. Promise me.”

“Jungkook… this is insane,” you gasp, knees weak, chest tight.

“Mhm, I know,” he hums, lips brushing your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “I’m selfish. I shouldn’t even be… touching you like this. Or even talking to you.”

“Why?” Your voice comes out breathless, shaky.

He lets out a low sound, almost a groan, and his lips slide down your neck. “Because… things,” he murmurs, tongue flicking the underside of your jaw. “I’ll tell you one day, maybe.”

You shiver and press against him, whispering, “You’ll tell me one day, but I can’t even call you? C’mon, you won’t even say why you humiliated me last week?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he growls, each word vibrating against your skin. “Hate fighting with you… hate making you feel like this.”

Your pulse races. Your body aches. And still, every nerve in you screams for more.

The bathroom door creaks open. You stumble forward, only saved from falling by your grip on his shoulder. His hand shoots out to steady you, fingers pressing into your waist, grounding you just enough to keep from hitting the floor.

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest. What if it’s Taehyung? Panic coils tight in your stomach.

You turn—and freeze.

It’s Lara.

Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly open, and she looks like she just walked into a crime scene. Every instinct in you screams to pull back, but Jungkook’s chest is still pressed against yours, his hand holding you like you’re fragile.

“Uh… hi?” Lara stammers, voice shaking as she takes a hesitant step inside.

Jungkook’s lips twitch—half amusement, half something darker—and his gaze flicks to yours, almost daring you to explain. Heat courses through you, but now it’s tinged with panic.

“I… uh…” you start, your voice tight.

Lara’s eyes flick between you and Jungkook, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Girl… I thought you weren’t talking to him anymore,” she says, voice a mix of disbelief and teasing.

“I’m not,” you reply quickly, trying to sound casual, though your pulse is still hammering.

“Eh, whatever,” she waves a hand, not pushing, just amused. “You’ll tell me later, I’m sure.” She glances toward the door. “Tae sent me here. He said you’ve been in here for a while, so I came to check.”

You swallow, heat rising in your chest.

Jungkook shifts slightly, finally pulling back just enough to leave a little space between you and him, though his hand still lingers on your waist. His voice is low, teasing, but firm. “Well… you should probably leave. Don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting, do we?”

Lara rolls her eyes but can’t hide the grin. “Oh, really? Is that what you’re worried about?” she says, stepping a little further into the room.

Jungkook straightens just slightly, brushing a hand along your waist one last time before letting go. “Well… I’m not worried,” he says, voice low, casual, but still tinged with that dark teasing edge. “I don’t care. But you two—probably a little concerned, huh?”

You glance at him, pulse still racing, cheeks flushed, unsure whether to be annoyed or turned on.

“Anyways,” he murmurs, stepping toward the door, eyes flicking to the floor briefly, then back to you. “I’ll see you around.”

You bite your lip, heart thudding as he pauses, hand on the doorknob. “Remember what I told you,” he adds softly, voice dropping to that intimate, hazy tone you can’t resist. “Don’t call me. Don’t come looking for me. Don’t—”

“I know,” you whisper, barely audible, though your body aches to argue.

“Good,” he says, smirking just slightly, that familiar dangerous glint in his eyes. Then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

You stand there for a long moment, pulse racing, legs weak, hand still brushing where his had been. The silence that follows is almost louder than his presence, leaving the memory of him lingering on your skin, in your chest, and in the space between your thoughts.

The sound of the door clicking behind him leaves an echo in the restroom. You slump against the wall, still shaky, trying to catch your breath. Lara slides beside you, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“What the fuck just happened?” she whispers, leaning close, eyes wide.

You bury your face in your hands, letting out a shaky laugh. “I… I don’t know either,” you admit, voice barely audible.

Lara nudges your shoulder, smirking despite herself. “Girl… seriously. That was… insane.”

You peek up at her, cheeks flushed, heart still hammering. “Yeah… insane,” you repeat, but the word tastes different—heavy, electric, and far too close to truth.

You both sit in silence for a moment, the noise of the mall outside muffled, leaving only the two of you and the lingering heat of what just happened.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, one thought refuses to go away:

He’s not gone. Not really.

And the guilt tastes kind of sweet again.

It shall stay buried indeed.

taglist: @mochi13 @wobblewobble822 @jkvamp @sunnikthv @whoa-jo @kimyishin @asyr97 @pjmname @shesscorpio7 @daarla07 @jeontids @bellefaerie @kissyfacekoo @lily-lilacsky @bammbi-jeon127 @httpjeonlicious @belleilichil @minghaosimp @marrtyaa @livluvsjungkook @leahsummms @septemberskies @yok00k @ioanatodorova @rokshi @b2407 @boommoom @kookienooki @indyuhhhhhh @avawants2havefun @bhonbhon @taekritimin123 @ana-marais98 @deeznutkooks @oraiseok @thenamesathy @superchamchi88 @lenamercedesworld @candygalx @notsevenwithyou @heesuvk @ggukieshoe @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeonsinsatiablekitten @saki-gojo @piratekingateez2001 @0-0rot @bangatanily @justbelljust @plusultra0 @softhaes @bangtanily

[writesvani]

taglist pt. 4: @tasha-07 @kadineedsrest @minificentflora17 @gregalution @hellogorgeousstuff @whoa-jo @livluvsjungkook @leahsummms @ana-marais98 @deeznutkooks @ggukieshoe @kooliv @whothefuckisthishoe @leeknowslefteyebrow @jkbilly @jeonloverrr @indyuhhhhh @septemberskies

[namfinessed]

ex-things - m.yg.

genre: angst (after breakup!) (4.8k)

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

masterlist

-

“scarf,” you say as soon as yoongi appears at the door, you fail to hide your smile when he throws his head back in exasperation and throws the door open.

you push past him and enter his apartment which looked…exactly the same.

but then again, you did just break up some ten minutes ago so, of course, it would be the same.

you don’t know why you expected the universe to shift just because your heart was broken.

and as you throw back the cushions on his sofa, push the things on his coffee table, look under the sofa and table, and walk past him to check the coat rack and then the kitchen, you feel his piercing gaze following your every step.

you knew where it was.

it was in your bedroom.

or well, his bedroom now.

“can you hurry the fuck up?” he groans and in that second, you eye the black plastic cover filled with two or three soju bottles sitting on his kitchen counter.

you swallow and yell back, “can you just let me look for my scarf in peace?”

another groan.

a stomp on the floor.

“fuck, i’ll mail it to you,” yoongi makes his way into the kitchen with loud steps and you arch your eyebrow at him, then look towards the green bottles shining on his counter, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and spits out, “i was going to drink today before anything ever happened, don’t feel too special.”

“really?” you muse, clinking them against each other, and in the next second, yoongi’s hand is wrapped around your wrist and he’s pulling you, gently, towards the door.

“i’ll send it when i find it,” he murmurs as he pushes your coat, your car keys, and your phone into your hands, and you don’t say anything for a while.

you clutch your belongings and stand by the door until you notice how yoongi's eyes are bloodshot, their usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. his shoulders rounded with an invisible weight, and you feel guilty for leaving.

“a-are you okay?” you ask, it feels stupid to ask because you know, you were the same as him.

he laughs bitterly and throws you a glare, you notice how his hands tremble beside his body, and you look away to save him and yourself from the pain of asking again.

“i just broke up with my girlfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” he breathes out, you wonder if it pains him like it’s paining you to hear his words, “now, can you leave?” yoongi gestures towards the door again.

you sigh, “wait a minute,” and enter your his home again.

“what now?” he throws his hands in the air and stomps after you.

he watches you grab the scarf from under his bed, he turns his eyes away when he sees your hands shaking while holding it, “did you know where it was?” yoongi breathes out, his face and voice in disbelief.

you don’t say anything again.

and when you leave, he pours himself glass over glass to forget the trembling of your jaw and how you paced around the apartment while knowing exactly where you kept the scarf.

he laughs again, the sound is strange, rough, and just wrong without your laugh chiming with him.

he pours himself a glass again.

-

it’s been a week.

“hi,” you say as yoongi walks into his house, he jumps a little, clutching his chest as his eyes widen to look for you.

you raise a hand to wiggle your fingers at him as a ‘hello, hi, ex-boyfriend, you’re back at your home and so am i!’ and yoongi blinks.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, i was loo-“

“wait wait, how did you even get in?” yoongi frantically marched to his front door and twisted the knob to check for any damages and you roll your eyes.

“i found your key under the potted plant. speaking of which, do you want to get robbed or something, why would you even put it there?” you throw your hands in the air as you sip tea, grimacing as the strange, bitter taste of yoongi’s favorite green tea spreads in your mouth.

“first of all, stop drinking my tea, you don’t even like it” you put the cup down with a sheepish smile and fold your hands on the table.

“and second of all, i didn’t think i had to worry about any ex-girlfriends breaking in, my bad,” yoongi complains loudly and you press your palms to your ears, shaking your head, “i’m not even here to see you, i’m here for…well, i’m here for,” you struggle to finish the sentence.

and yoongi glares at you.

“what is it?” as he moves his head to pin his glare on you, his soft, freshly straightened hair moves with him.

“straightener!” you say loudly, clapping your hands, and yoongi’s eyebrows narrow again, “you’re going to get wrinkles, yoongi.” you point at his eyebrows but he doesn’t let up, you’re sure that his eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“okay! i’ll be on my way once i get that,” you wander off into his bedroom and yoongi throws his head back in exasperation.

your straightener is easy to find because well, it’s not yours, it’s his and it’s just sitting on his vanity but yoongi doesn’t bat an eye at that.

he only watches you move around his home with his arms crossed on his chest and an unreadable satisfaction on his face.

and when you leave, you can’t help but notice that for all his annoyance, he never tells you to not come back, and he never tells you to find everything you own and leave at once.

with that knowledge, you leave his home with the biggest grin on your face.

-

“you need to get out before my booty call gets here,” you happily eat your ice cream on the kitchen counter as yoongi walks into your home as if he owned it.

did you mention that he was the one to bring you ice cream?

your favorite too, one scoop of hazelnut and one scoop of brownie.

“ha ha, very funny, you should start thinking of a career in stand-up” he responds with a roll of his eyes and you giggle even more, sliding down to catch up with his pace around your home.

“what are you here for?”

“t-shirt, you know the one you stole,” yoongi shrugs and glares again, walking right into your room and you follow with hands closed behind your back, “which one?” you muse as you remember all the (10) t-shirts you’ve stolen from him.

he looks back as he nears the closet, eyes narrowing at you, “how many do you have?”

“how many can you remember that i have?”

yoongi groaned in sheer frustration and you crawled on your bed, watching him pick apart your closet, and glaring at you whenever he found one of his t-shirts in there.

for a moment, it was amusing.

it was the funniest thing to watch yoongi get annoyed, you always enjoyed it.

but in the next moment, when he was around his fifth t-shirt, you felt this ache slowly develop in your chest and spread across your throat and then your mouth, then it was everywhere.

it was this dull throbbing that you couldn’t shake and your eyes dropped to fiddle with your fingers instead of looking at him, collecting his belongings from your home.

because, just two weeks ago, it had been your t-shirts too, hadn’t they? and it wasn’t just your home then, it was yours and his, wasn’t it? sure, you had separate apartments but it never felt like that, it felt like you had two homes and both homes belonged to both of you.

and now, you only had one.

you had wrapped your arms around his back when he was in your room two weeks ago, he was here now but you couldn’t even touch a hair on his head without feeling like you’ve crossed a line.

your head was starting to collect the ache and make a home for it so you ask, “are you almost done?”

you didn’t mean to ask him that, you actually very, very badly wanted yoongi never to leave so you could believe again, ‘i have two homes, i have two toothbrushes, two mugs, two keys, two doors, and two of everything’ but yoongi pauses, he collects the t-shirts he found and nods, “yeah, i’m done.”

when he walks out of your room, the ache finally takes over your head and you follow him with dazed eyes and stumbling feet.

at the door, yoongi stops, he turns around with concern brimming in his eyes and that is enough for your hands to shake again, “you good?”

“i just broke up with my boyfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” you deepen your voice to mimic his and yoongi shakes his head with a small laugh, “you better be okay,” he says at the end, and his voice is so soft, it feels like cotton pressed into your cheeks.

and you nod because if yoongi says you have to be okay, you’ll find a way to be okay.

but when he leaves, you are back to having just one home, with one toothbrush in the bathroom, one mug in the kitchen, one set of keys in your purse, one door, and one of everything else.

and you’re sorry to yoongi.

because you don’t know if you can be okay.

-

a couple days passed again.

you had an angry yoongi pacing in front of you as you watched.

“you’re being ridiculous,” yoongi shoves a hand through his hair, glaring at you as you sit with arms across your chest and refusing to look at him.

“i’m not,” you huff out and he rolls his eyes.

he did that a lot.

he did that a lot with you.

“i didn’t steal your plushie, are you fucking kidding me?” yoongi whines and walks away into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

you follow him and right at the doorway, you don’t enter, you just watch his even more sunken eyes and even more rounded shoulders with conflicted eyes.

a part of you wanted to hug him.

a part of you wouldn’t mind killing him.

a part of you wanted to kiss his shoulders to lift them.

a part of you wanted to leave a red mark on his face.

but all parts of you, you couldn’t trust or believe.

these past few days, you couldn’t trust or believe anything actually.

yoongi senses your eyes on him, he knows how you look at him and how you seem to show so much with just a gaze but he holds strong.

you were broken up.

you shouldn’t be here.

hell, he’s not sure if he should be here or not either.

but he betrays himself over and over again, he lets you into his house and you let him into yours, and he feels ridiculous every time he closes your door, he’s not sure what you feel when you close his.

“i threw it away,” he shrugs his shoulders, eye muscles tensing oddly, he’s not sure if you notice or not.

“what?” your whisper is so quiet, yoongi wouldn’t have known you were speaking if he didn’t see your lips moving.

“i threw it, okay? there was no use of it being around here anymore, so i fucking threw it away,” he didn’t mean for his voice to be loud, and he didn’t mean for his words to hurt but maybe he did, maybe he wanted to hurt you.

but he loves you?

but he’s also okay with hurting you.

to an extent.

yoongi had never understood why he couldn’t love properly, why his love for others and himself had to hold a touch of pain, a touch of misery, but it was always out of his control.

it had been different with you.

for a while, that is.

but he was back to his roots now, pain and misery and love and affection held his hands and danced around him.

and he had to dance with them too.

“i threw it,” he repeated, but your plushie was tucked into his pillows, into his sleep, and into his days and nights.

it was stained with salty tears now, it was stained with the ice cream he ate after he left your home, and he didn’t want you to see it.

for a moment, you both didn’t even twitch in the wrong direction, yoongi watched the dark liquid in his cup with growing intensity and you waited for him to tell you that your plushie was safe.

“fine,” you sniffled, grabbing your coat and stomping to the door and yoongi followed, he tried not to but his feet walked ahead of his mind.

at the door, you angrily shoved your feet into your sneakers and pushed your hair out of your face, as if to prove that you weren’t crying, that you weren’t affected and anyone else would believe you.

but yoongi knows you.

and he knows your red nose and cheeks can only mean one thing.

before you close his door, you say, “you’re a horrible person, yoongi.”

he thinks he knows what you feel when you close his door now.

hatred.

-

you swore to yourself that that would be the last time you turn up at his place, but you had genuinely forgotten something there and needed it this time, so you swallowed your pride and rang his doorbell.

you don’t greet him when he opens the door and yoongi feels like he could fall to his knees when you shove a bag with his favorite ice cream, matcha, and coffee (he’s a caffeine guy, he runs on it), into his hands and yoongi knows he’s forgiven.

“i forgot my trousers here,” you mumble afterward and head straight into his closet to dig through for the work trousers that you cannot live without.

yoongi doesn’t dare to utter a word, he looks through his closet beside you and apologizes when his skin touches yours in any little way.

you can’t believe there was a time when you would touch him as if his body was yours too and he would touch you the same. but his apologies just dug the truth deeper into your skin, which was that you didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you.

so, you nod, you bear your cheeks heating up and thighs going weak, and just look through his neatly organized piles of clothes too.

he used to organize your stuff too, he used to section them, fold them, and keep them neatly by his clothes.

that’s how you find your trousers, crisp folds, and fresh-smelling, right beside his work clothes.

and your heart squeezes as you pull it out.

the folds loosen, the trousers limp in your hands, and that small change in its structure, makes you think of yoongi and everything that fell apart with him.

when you leave that day, you pause at the door and whisper, “you’re not horrible, yoongi, but maybe i am, maybe i ruined everything, but please don’t hate me.”

before he can catch you and wipe your tears and tell you that you were right last time, he was the horrible one, he was the one who texted late, who came home late, who missed birthdays, but you were already running away and he was left with a lit cigarette burning his throat.

-

“i swear, it was here,” yoongi shifts the things around your closet, head buried deep in shelves and racks of clothes and shoes, you stand at the doorway with your arms crossed against your chest, trying not to roll your eyes.

“and you have a million other headphones, so i don’t understand why you would need to find this one,” you step into the room and lazily move things around to try and find it too, yoongi scoffs from a few feet away, “it was special to me,” he says and turns his back to you again.

“why?”

“my grandfather gave it to me,” yoongi huffs, and his hands stay busy.

but.

“your grandfather died when you were five,” there was no way his grandpa gave it to him and you know you’ve caught him.

he could’ve at least tried harder with his lies.

it was strange, seeing him here, standing in your bedroom, surrounded by things that no longer belonged to both of you.

you don’t think you’ll ever get over that feeling of loss.

the moisturizer you would’ve shared with him.

the cheap wig that he would wear to make you laugh.

the razor that you would hide to annoy him.

they only belonged to you now.

though you don’t bring up his grandfather to drive him away, you only say it because it was hard for you to understand why he was here, looking for headphones that he could buy tens of pairs of.

he pauses, you wait for him to say something else, or lie about a friend who didn’t exist who gave it to him, lie about his dad giving it to him.

but yoongi doesn’t say anything.

he keeps looking.

you refused to keep anything that touched you in the last three years.

well, except for some things.

“yoongi,” you call out, pointing towards the unopened box in your closet and he turns his head that way, quickly walking over to it and flipping it upside down.

the photo album that carried your first anniversary.

the promise ring that he gave you on your second anniversary.

the matching couple t-shirt which he cringed at but wore whenever he could.

the.

the.

the.

so many the’s and so many first’s and second’s of things that you kept, though ‘kept’ was the wrong word, you treasured these things, you loved them.

and all of them fell on the floor with noise that shook your ears and chest, not because of the volume but because it was like you were pouring your heart in front of him.

but you loved them in the past, you liked to think that you did and you were in the present now, watching yoongi eye the things you gathered without his knowledge.

and all of it was only yours now.

“when did you keep this here?” he asks, and you immediately know he’s asking about the simple diamond ring that everyone thought was your engagement ring.

but it was just a promise ring.

and you removed it when, “that day you didn’t come for my birthday,” you mumbled, picking up the things and putting them back where they belonged.

buried inside a box.

shoved into a closet.

but before, you pull out his headphones from the box and hang it over your head for him to take.

when he takes it, his fingers touch the smallest part of your palm and your eyes gather tears as if rivers were breaking a dam in them.

yoongi stands without saying a word for a long time but then he walks to the door, “you’re not going to close your door?”

you’re not coming to see me off?

you get up unwillingly and walk to the door without sneaking another glance at him and drop the ring into his palm, “bye, yoongi.”

his hands tighten around the band of platinum.

both of you look at the dangly, worn-out wires of his headphones that hang from his other hand.

you had given them to him for your first anniversary.

not his dead grandpa or dad or friend.

it was you.

and both of you refused to acknowledge that fact.

and when yoongi finally leaves, he leaves behind a space in the air that waits for him to come back and take his place again, in your life, in your home, in your space.

but he doesn’t turn back.

and you close the door, letting the space remain.

-

a few days went by again.

neither of you showed up at each other’s doors anymore.

neither of you had anything left to collect.

neither of you had anything that belonged to the other.

and it was strange, the quiet, the loneliness that crept on your back and it always hit at the most unexpected of times.

when you poured your cereal in the morning, you realized you were holding the box that you had bought while grocery shopping with yoongi, it was your favorite time of the month, the one time you could really feel that he was your person.

but the box was empty by the end of your breakfast and you kept it back in the cabinet.

when you arranged your clothes, you saw your messy folding and fell back on the pile of clothes that still needed folding.

how yoongi did this every day, you had no clue.

but as you lay in pieces of cotton, linens, satins, sequins, and many more materials that hugged and pinched you, you couldn’t help but think that surely, yoongi wouldn’t leave you like this, there has to be something of his that you still own.

there has to be something.

so, you got up and with renewed desperate energy, you started searching.

you pulled upon every desk, every closet door, every nook and cranny, you searched with shaking hands and watery eyes.

“there has to be something, there has to be,” you whispered to yourself, your voice choking as things fall over from the tall walls, they fall on your feet, and your toes, and a sharp pain hits you every single time, but you push through.

because.

there has to be something.

you can’t end it like this.

you and yoongi cannot end like this.

anyone else can.

but not you, not him and you.

and the closets you look through stay ajar, the desks you’ve emptied stay tipped over, and everything you own is on the floor.

but there is none of yoongi in any of it.

so, you sink.

you sink to your knees, sobbing and flipping over items as you reach them.

because goddamit, there has to be something.

when the bell first rings, you don’t register it, you are way too intent on the clutter in front of you.

but then it rings.

and rings.

and rings, again and again.

relentless.

and you push yourself up, hoping it’s no one you know because you don’t think you can explain the tears on your face.

but when you open the door, your mouth goes dry and you know you don’t have to explain anything.

because across from you, is a red-eyed yoongi and he’s carrying a box.

“can i come in?” is all he asks, his voice barely a whisper and you’re already opening the door and pulling him in.

but once he’s in your home, in your space again, the familiar soft and sharp scent of him, the sight of him, it was too much. you couldn’t breathe. your eyes never leave him, every breath he took, every shift of his fingers, every fall of his chest, all of it was dancing in your eyes and for the love of god, you couldn’t look away.

he sets the box down and stands there with his hands opening and closing around nothing, and you want to grab them, you want to spread them across your cheeks and feel his warmth, which was sometimes cold too but you didn’t mind, you never minded with yoongi.

but instead, you curl your hands behind your back and stop yourself because it still wasn’t right.

“i don’t have anything of yours,” you start, voice already breaking, “anymore,” you finish with hands tightening so hard around each other that you could feel the bruises blooming on their surface.

“i know,” he takes a sharp inhale of breath and looks away from you and you want to beg him to look at you.

for a second, it’s just you reliving every second you weren’t with him and it’s him looking at your apartment that was void of anything personal, anything that called it a home.

“i want all of it back,” he sniffs, looking at you finally, you want to take it back, you aren’t sure how you survived three years of his eyes only on you and you squeeze your door handle, “all of what?” you whisper, and he sniffs again, “your stuff, all of it, your stupid scarf, your straightener, everything, i want all of it back, in my place, in our place, where it belongs.” he says it so quietly, so earnestly and each word has you pulling your skin tighter.

“your plushie is in this, i never threw it away but i’m taking it back, my t-shirts and headphones are in this, i’m leaving them here,” he bends over the box and starts picking things apart, and each thing he pulls out, fills you with relief.

but.

“but that isn’t right, yoongi,” you try to defend, “we aren’t together anymore,” you hate the words as they surface out of you and yoongi shakes his head.

“but is this right?” he lifts his hands from the box, his jaw trembling again and you instinctively smooth your hand over it and yoongi pushes his face into your hands.

“is it right, both of us miserable?” he whispers and the world bottoms out from underneath you, suddenly gravity is nothing and you’re both floating towards each other.

“but i hurt you,” you grip his headphones and this time, his tears fall the same as yours do, “i hurt you too.” he places a hand on your knees and that cold warmth, that bare touch leaves you open.

“but i’m done, i don’t want to hurt you anymore,” yoongi begs, he shakes his head as he says it as if he can’t believe there was a time that he had hurt you but you’re the same, you can’t believe that you hurt him once.

“before you came here, i was looking for something, anything that was yours so i could come back,” you sniffed loudly, your voice falling and lifting and yoongi listens with eyes that have always looked at you, “but i didn’t find anything, yoongi and it killed me.” your voice fully gives up as you bury your face into your hands and immediately, you feel his arms pulling you into his chest and his hands running down your hair.

“you don’t have to do that anymore, i’m back see,” he tips your face towards him and his smile is so soft, so real that it makes you smile too, “i’m not going anywhere.” he assures you with a kiss on the top of your head and your watery eyes dry out.

“me too, i don’t want this anymore, i want us, i want two of everything, i want you and i want everything,” you utter back to him, the weight of the words floating between you too.

“and you have it, you have everything again, the ring is in there too but that is for whenever you’re ready.” he kisses you again and you snuggle into his embrace, feeling like you’ve lost centuries of holding him, the thought of the ring swells your chest into a balloon that could snap, “that will take time, but thank you,” you whisper, kissing where his shoulders met his neck.

“like i said, whenever you’re ready but it will always belong to you.” yoongi whispers back and you smile in pure delight, nodding along to his words.

“we were stupid for thinking that we could stay apart,” you laugh hesitantly into his chest, the idea of the two of you trying to be separate was ridiculous to you and yoongi laughs with you, which makes you melt into his body, because it was ridiculous, you were two parts of a whole, two houses in a home, two mugs in a kitchen, two keys in your purse, two toothbrushes in one bathroom and two of everything else that you could think of.

and that was how it should’ve been, that was how it was always meant to be.

somewhere in the night, yoongi crawls up your sheets and your plushie is between the two of you and you make fun of him for acting as if he threw it away, he rolls his eyes and shushes you with a kiss.

“by the way, that straightener is yours, not mine,” you whisper and he is aghast, “i fucking knew it,” he yells and sits up, and immediately starts to complain “you know how stupid i’ve been looking with hair that looks just like holly’s!”

and you remind him, playfully this time, that what was yours was his, and what was his was yours and he falls on the bed, grumbling under his breath and complaining until the sun comes up.

and it feels right, everything that belonged to you and him back in their place, back in their homes and yoongi, back in your life, your home, and your space.

just as it should be, just as it was meant to be.

[jkwrites-m]

What the Portraits Keep

Pairing: immortal!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: horror, paranormal, angst, smut

Word Count: 7.6k

Summary: Her reflection didn’t end in the mirror.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, thriller/horror atmosphere, haunted manor setting, old speech, harsh language, OC is a dumbass, pranks/dares, supernatural curse, psychological manipulation, obsession, yandere, immortal!jungkook, cursed!jungkook, time distortion, reality manipulation, loss of agency, yearning explicit: dubious content, coercion, possessive intimacy, oral sex (f. receiving), handjob, throat play, rough manhandling, unprotected sex, orgasm control, body worship

A/N: heyyy 👻 it’s the first friday of the month which means… spooky(ish) fic time!! pls lmk what you think! your feedback keeps me alive 🫶

JKWRITOBER ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03

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The night air smelled like copper and frost. Above, the blood moon hung swollen and terrible, its scarlet glow staining the sky as though heaven itself bled. Your boots crunched over the dead leaves scattered along the uneven path, and each step brought you closer to the manor everyone in town swore was cursed.

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you chicken out now, you owe me two bottles of soju,” Hoseok’s voice carried ahead, bright but tinged with the nervous energy none of you wanted to admit to. He pulled his hood tighter, glancing back at you with a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m not chickening out,” you snapped, though your arms were wrapped tightly around yourself. The night was colder than it should’ve been. “You all are just obsessed with the idea of me getting murdered.”

Jimin’s laughter cut the tension, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “Murdered, possessed, haunted- what’s the difference? Either way, you’ll be famous. You’ll get your own horror documentary.” He shot you a wicked grin, his breath visible in the cold.

Lisa bumped shoulders with you, her glossy lips curving into a smirk. “She’ll go down in history as the idiot who actually walked into Ravenwood Manor on the blood moon. Our girl, fearless and dumb.”

Your cheeks heated despite the chill, irritation prickling your skin. “You’re all just jealous because I’ve got bigger balls than any of you.”

The manor rose before you then, its towering silhouette framed against the bleeding sky. Iron gates loomed, their hinges rusted but somehow still closed tight, the curls of wrought metal twisted into shapes that looked disturbingly like skeletal fingers. Beyond them, the mansion squatted on the hill, all sharp lines and shadows. Windows glared down like empty eyes.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok whispered, his laughter gone. “Why does it feel like it’s… waiting?”

A silence fell between you, broken only by the restless crunch of leaves and the distant caw of a crow. The longer you stared, the more the house seemed alive- the air around it pulsed, as though the very ground resented your presence.

Lisa shoved her phone into your hand suddenly. The flashlight beam cut through the dark, weak but enough to paint the gates in pale light. “Proof,” she said, her voice low. “Video it. Otherwise, no one’s going to believe you.”

“You really want me to die just for clout,” you muttered, but your heart raced.

The gates groaned when you pushed, their rusted mouths opening with a scream that carried into the night. The sound of it made your bones vibrate. You stepped forward, the others hanging back.

“Y/N!” Jimin’s voice cracked. “Don’t actually go in- just touch the door and come back, okay? Don’t- don’t be stupid.”

But the manor pulled at you. You couldn’t explain it. Each step felt less like your decision and more like answering something that had been calling your name long before tonight.

The path led you to the massive oak doors, carved with strange patterns half-worn away by time. You reached out, hand trembling. The wood was colder than ice, frost biting your palm, and yet you didn’t pull away.

“Y/N!” Lisa hissed. “That’s enough! Come back!”

But when you pushed, the door opened on its own, heavy and deliberate, a sound like a sigh from the throat of the house. The others gasped, but their voices seemed far away, muffled, fading into nothing.

Darkness yawned inside, thick as velvet. And for a moment- just before the door swallowed you whole- you thought you saw movement in the shadows. A figure. Tall. Watching. Waiting.

Your friends’ calls echoed faintly, swallowed by the night.

And then the door closed.

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The silence inside pressed against your ears until it hurt, a thick, smothering quiet that seemed to devour the sound of your breath. The door had shut with such finality that the echo still reverberated in your bones. You tried the handle instinctively, but it refused to budge.

The flashlight’s beam trembled in your hand as you raised it. The manor’s foyer stretched wide and high, suffocatingly grand. A staircase with a blackened banister curled upward like a spine, ribs of cracked chandeliers drooping overhead, their crystals dulled with cobwebs. The marble tiles beneath your boots were veined with shadows, and your every step seemed too loud, too intrusive.

The air was different here. Heavier. It smelled faintly of extinguished candles and something older- iron, dust, and the faint, metallic sweetness of dried blood.

A row of portraits stretched across the left wall, each framed in blackened gilt. At first glance, they looked blurred by time, just blotches of crimson and shadow. But when you lifted the beam of your flashlight, the details came alive.

The first painting revealed a woman in a high-necked gown, her hair swept into a tight chignon. The brushstrokes were meticulous, her pale throat luminous against the dark velvet background. Her eyes- your eyes- watched with quiet solemnity, her lips pressed in a faint, knowing smile.

The next portrait showed another woman, this one in lace and pearls, her face tilted slightly downward, but her gaze still locked to yours. The curve of her jaw, the slope of her cheek- it was you again, only dressed centuries older.

Your stomach tightened as you moved to the next. And the next. Each portrait bore a different woman in different clothes, spanning centuries- victorian silk, renaissance brocade, 1920s satin- but all with the same face. Your face.

The further you went, the more suffocating it felt, as though the women were waiting for you to take your place among them. Their painted eyes followed no matter where you stepped. Some smirked. Some looked mournful. All of them felt like they knew something you didn’t.

A chill skated down your spine. You stumbled back a step, and the floorboards groaned as though in laughter.

“Hello?” Your voice cracked, pathetic against the cavernous silence. “Is… is someone here?”

The shadows seemed to shift. At the top of the staircase, the darkness pooled thicker than elsewhere, a corner of black so deep your light couldn’t pierce it. And in that depth- eyes. Or maybe just the trick of the blood moon leaking through a window. You blinked, and they were gone.

You forced yourself forward, each step weighted by dread. The flashlight flickered once, twice, before stabilizing again. Your reflection wavered in a broken mirror on the far wall- fragmented, fractured, scattered into versions of yourself that didn’t blink in unison.

The sound of footsteps came then. Not yours. Slow, deliberate, echoing faintly from the corridor beyond the stairs. The hair on your arms lifted, every nerve screaming.

“Lisa? Hobi? Jimin?” Your voice was a whisper now, choked and desperate.

No answer. Only the creak of the unseen steps, coming closer.

You backed toward the foyer’s center, flashlight jerking to and fro. The beam caught another painting- smaller this time, tucked into an alcove. A woman in an ivory gown, her throat encircled with a red ribbon. Her gaze met yours, identical to the eyes in your mirror. Identical to your own.

And beneath the painted frame, in gilded letters almost eaten away by time: The Bride.

The footsteps stopped. The silence returned. And then, from the shadows above, a voice- low, velvet, impossible to mistake as human.

“At last… you return to me.”

The voice slid through the silence like silk drawn across skin, deep and unhurried, carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. You froze, every nerve strung taut. The flashlight quivered in your grip as you angled it toward the staircase, but the light bent strangely, swallowed before it could pierce the thickest shadows.

Something moved up there.

Your throat worked, but your voice barely escaped. “Who’s there?”

The reply came low and certain, closer this time, a reverberation in the marrow of your bones:

“Did I not say it? No matter the age, no matter the guise… you always return.”

A figure stepped forward into the fringe of your light.

He was tall, dressed in a black frock coat that clung to broad shoulders, the cut of it belonging to another century. The faint gleam of a white shirt collar peeked above, loose dark hair curling just past his jaw. His beauty struck like a blade- sharp, cold, inhumanly flawless.

But it was his eyes that held you fast. Wide, dark, unblinking, filled with something that was not quite relief, not quite joy- something hungrier.

Your breath hitched. You staggered a step backward, but his movements were deliberate, graceful, like a predator easing into striking range.

The flashlight sputtered once more, dimming, then flaring as if protesting his presence. He didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he didn’t care.

“I-” Your voice cracked. You swallowed hard, trying again. “I don’t know who you think I am. This is- this is a mistake. I just came on a dare-”

His lips curved faintly, a smile that was not kind. “Always some folly,” he murmured, voice like velvet soaked in dust. “Once it was a carriage broken on the road. Another time, a husband eager to see the manor’s wealth. Once, you came with a key stolen from your father’s desk. Now…” His eyes glimmered. “Now it is dares and laughter that drag you here. But always, always- it is fate that returns you to me.”

You shook your head, fear bubbling hot in your chest. “You’ve got me confused with someone else. I’ve never-”

“Indeed, you have.” His words struck with quiet finality as he descended a single step, the sound reverberating like a verdict. “Across centuries, in silks and in veils, with keys stolen or vows spoken- you have always come. And every time…” His gaze slid to the painted brides. “…you sought to flee me. Always to flee.”

Your heart hammered so loud it drowned out thought. The women in the paintings seemed to stare harder, their painted mouths tightening as if in warning.

The man- no, whatever he was- reached the base of the staircase. The air around him shifted, colder, charged, carrying that same faint sweetness of blood.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that rooted you to the spot. Then, softly, reverently, as though speaking to a lover:

“You are my constancy… my eternal claim. Across every life, every name- you have ever been mine.”

The flashlight died.

The dark pressed close, velvet-thick, swallowing the last sparks of your flashlight. But his presence was unmistakable. A breath of cold, the whisper of fabric shifting, the scent of something faintly metallic and sweet lingering in the air.

You jerked back, your palms fumbling along the smooth marble behind you until they caught on the edge of a table. A candlestick sat there, black with soot. You seized it like a weapon, though your hands trembled too violently to make use of it.

A sound touched the silence- low, indulgent. A laugh, if one could call it that. “So like you,” he murmured, voice soft as a caress. “Always the instinct to fight. Always so certain it will free you.”

The darkness thinned as though obeying him. Faint light flared along sconces on the wall, each candle licking to life without a match. Their glow bathed the foyer in amber, shadows stretching long and deep. He stood fully before you now, no longer concealed by the gloom.

His face was carved with startling precision, as though a painter’s finest hand had traced each line- dark eyes unblinking, lips curved with that half-smile that made your blood quicken in terror. His frock coat brushed the floor as he stepped closer, fabric whispering against marble.

Your voice cracked as you lifted the candlestick higher. “Who are you?”

The question seemed to amuse him, his dark gaze glinting with something ancient. He didn’t answer. Not yet.

“Stay back,” you warned, though the quaver in your voice betrayed you.

He tilted his head, almost amused. “You speak as though you have not stood here before.” His gaze drifted to the portraits once more, lined like sentinels across the wall. “Do you not see? You have always returned to me.”

Your eyes darted to the painted women- your face repeated again and again, centuries apart. A tremor rolled through you, denial thick on your tongue. “Those… those aren’t me.”

He stepped nearer, close enough that the air around you thickened, heavy with his nearness. His hand lifted, fingers pale and elegant, hovering inches from your cheek. “Not you,” he agreed, voice low. “Not this you. But every reflection of you fate has carved. Every name you have worn. Every vow you have spoken.”

You flinched back, clutching the candlestick tighter. “You’re insane.”

His smile deepened, dark and knowing. “Insanity is believing that time severs what eternity has bound. You are mine. You have ever been mine.”

The flames shivered as though in answer. The portraits’ painted eyes glimmered strangely in the candlelight, watching, waiting.

And before you could draw another breath, the great double doors groaned of their own accord. The bolts slid into place with a violent clang, though no hand touched them. The sound reverberated through the manor like the toll of a bell, sealing the air with dreadful finality.

“You will not leave me again.”

The clang of the locks echoed long after the silence returned, each vibration sinking into your bones. The air seemed to pulse in time with your heartbeat, thick and heavy, as though the house itself inhaled around you.

You pressed yourself tighter against the wall, the candlestick wavering in your grip. He stood a breath away, his shadow swallowing yours whole.

“You-” Your voice fractured, desperate. “You can’t keep me here.”

A pause, long enough to stretch your nerves taut, then his lips curved- not cruelly, but with something far more terrifying. Tenderness.

“You say the same words every time.” His voice was velvet threaded with iron. “And every time, I prove them false.”

His hand lifted again, and though you flinched, you could not move. His fingers grazed your cheek, cold as stone at first, then warming with unnatural quickness, like heat spreading from a brand. The touch was reverent, his gaze devout, as though you were some holy relic returned to him.

You tried to jerk away, but his other hand caught your wrist, firm but not bruising, holding you steady. The candlestick wavered between you, ridiculous against the certainty in his eyes.

“I am not your enemy,” he whispered, leaning closer, his breath ghosting across your temple. “I am your constant. The one who waits when all else falls to ash.”

The portraits loomed in the corners of your vision, their painted eyes alive with silent accusation.

You swallowed hard. “Why… why do they all look like me?”

He drew in a slow breath, as though tasting the air around you, and his eyes softened with something feverish. “Because they are you. You who quicken the air with your presence. You whose eyes hold defiance, whose voice trembles yet does not yield. Always the same fire, the same sweetness… across every age, it is you.” His thumb brushed over your lips, reverent. “Ever you.”

Your heart thundered so hard it hurt. His face was inches from yours now, his eyes unblinking, his voice a vow and a curse in one.

“And this time, my bride…” His lips curved with quiet triumph. “…you shall not depart my keeping.”

The candles shuddered violently, plunging the hall into half-darkness. His hand tightened at your jaw, holding you still, and in that breathless moment, you felt the weight of every bride before you pressing down through the centuries.

And then- his lips touched yours. Cold. Certain. Claiming.

The kiss broke almost as soon as it began, yet the echo of it lingered, cold and clinging, like frost along your skin. You shoved him back with all the force you could muster, and though his body yielded, his gaze did not.

“What the hell are you?” The words tore out of you, raw and shaking. “Are you/ are you a ghost? Some kind of vampire? What are you?”

The candles guttered, shadows swelling with your voice. He only watched you, his expression unshaken, though his eyes gleamed with something perilously close to anger.

“You reduce me to a word,” he said softly, almost pitying. “A label to tame your terror. But I am not so simple.”

You swallowed hard, clutching the candlestick tighter. “You’re not alive.”

His lips curved faintly. “Not as you understand it.”

The answer made your stomach lurch. You backed away, but his step followed, measured, patient, like a hunter indulging a cornered creature.

“Do not ask me what I am,” he murmured, his voice low as a hymn. “Ask instead why you are always drawn back to me.”

You shook your head, fury and fear battling in your chest. “I am not- drawn to you. I don’t even know you!”

“You know me,” he said, the words sharp as glass. “Your heart knows. It has known me in lace, in silk, in bloodied sheets. It has known me in prayers whispered at an altar, in screams swallowed by stone. You have carried me in every breath of every life you have lived.”

“Stop it!” Your voice cracked. “You’re insane.”

His smile faltered, replaced by a shadow of something darker. The air around you thickened, as though the very walls leaned closer.

“You think me mad?” His voice dropped to a growl, not loud, but threaded with something that rattled through your bones. “Perhaps I am. What man would not lose his reason, when each time his bride returns, she slips from him before the vows are kept?”

The portraits loomed in the flickering candlelight, each painted version of you staring with silent accusation. His gaze flicked to them, then back to you, fever-bright.

“I endure,” he whispered, stepping closer still. “I wait, while dust takes kingdoms and bones rot beneath the soil. I wait, because you are mine. Always mine.”

His hand rose again, but this time it was not gentle. His fingers curled around your chin, tilting your face up toward his. His voice broke on the edge of reverence and demand:

“And this time, my bride… you shall not be loosed from my grasp.”

His grip on your chin softened but did not release, as though he relished the shape of your fear trembling beneath his fingers. You tried to twist away, but his hold followed, firm and inexorable.

“You tremble,” he murmured, his eyes dark as a midnight sea. “Not from hatred. From recognition.”

“I don’t recognize you,” you hissed, forcing the words out even as your throat constricted.

He only smiled, a shadow curling at the corners of his mouth. “You deny me now, as you have denied me in so many lifetimes. Yet you always yield in the end. And this time…” His voice softened, almost tender. “…I have prepared for you.”

Before you could recoil, he turned, releasing you as he strode into the wide corridor beyond the stair. The air seemed to bend with his movement, candles flaring to life along the walls as though the house obeyed his presence.

You stayed rooted, chest heaving, your knuckles white around the candlestick. Every nerve screamed to flee, yet your legs betrayed you, carrying you after him.

The corridor narrowed, lined with more portraits. Each frame was gilt and heavy, the faces within unbearably familiar. Some of the women smiled faintly, others stared with hollow-eyed dread. You quickened your pace, refusing to meet their gazes.

He led you to a door of dark wood carved with roses, their thorns entwined like chains. He pressed the latch and the hinges sighed, revealing a chamber bathed in the glow of dozens of candles.

The room was vast, its canopy bed dressed in silks of deep crimson and ivory lace. Rose petals littered the sheets as though a wedding night had been waiting centuries for its consummation. A mirror stood at the far wall, gilt frame curling into serpentine shapes.

The air smelled of wax, old wood, and something sweeter- jasmine perhaps, or blood disguised as perfume.

Your stomach turned. “What is this?”

He looked back at you, his expression softened into something perilous- adoration sharpened into obsession. “Your chamber.”

“I’m not staying here.”

“You are,” he said simply, as though it had already been decided by forces far older than your protest. His gaze lingered on the bed, then returned to you with quiet intensity. “I have dressed it in remembrance of you. Each veil, each rose, chosen because you once loved them. Do you not feel it?”

“I feel sick.”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes burned. “You will remember. You always remember. And when you do…” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “…you will never wish to leave.”

The bridal chamber seemed to close around you, the candle flames bowing inward as though listening. You staggered back, bile rising in your throat.

“No,” you whispered, your fingers still tight around the useless candlestick. “No- I’m not staying here.”

You turned and bolted.

The corridor behind you stretched long and straight, portraits looming in the candlelight. Your footsteps pounded against the marble, echoing wild and frantic. The air was thick, each breath tearing through your chest. The front door- if you could reach it, if you could just-

You skidded to a halt. The door was gone.

Where the great oak doors had been, there was only solid wall, wallpaper mottled with damp roses that seemed to bleed. You gasped, shoving your palms against the surface, but it was unyielding stone.

Panic surged. You spun back toward the corridor and hurled yourself into it, boots hammering the marble. For one wild moment, freedom seemed possible- then the walls began to shift. The passage narrowed, pressing inward, the portraits crowding closer as if leaning down to watch. Their painted eyes gleamed in the candlelight, some mournful, some mocking.

“Help!” Your scream cracked the silence. “Somebody-!”

The walls groaned, shifting. The corridor stretched impossibly long, then bent, pulling you down its throat. You ran, heart hammering, but every turn only tightened the noose- every door you flung open led not to freedom, but back into endless hallways lined with your own faces.

You stumbled, chest heaving, and burst through one more door- only to find yourself back in the bridal chamber. The crimson bed loomed, the rose petals fresh and waiting.

“No,” you gasped. “No, no, no!”

The air shifted. He was there.

He stepped from the corner shadows as though he had never moved, his gaze locked onto you. The tenderness in his face had frayed, stretched thin by something harsher.

“Why do you flee me?” His voice was low, trembling with a fury too controlled to break. “You run from me in every age. You tear yourself from my hands, and each time the house devours you for it.”

You shook your head violently, stumbling back. “Stay away from me!”

But he was already there, impossibly fast, his hand closing around your arm with crushing strength. His grip burned cold and hot all at once, an iron band locking you in place.

“Do not run from me again,” he snarled, dragging you closer, his eyes blazing. “I will not suffer it. Not this time.”

The walls shuddered, the candles guttered, and you felt the manor itself tremble in answer to his wrath.

His grip on your arm tightened until you gasped, the candlestick slipping from your hand and clattering uselessly to the floor. His chest heaved, each breath trembling with the force of restrained fury.

“You run,” he snarled, dragging you flush against him, “as though you are hunted- when it is you who hunts me, every time. You return only to tear yourself from me again. Do you know what it is to wait centuries for a touch? For a vow that never stays?”

“Let me go-” you choked, shoving against his chest, but his hand only slid around your waist, crushing you closer, caging you in his arms.

“Never again,” he vowed, before his mouth seized yours with bruising hunger.

The kiss was violent in its hunger, bruising in its claim. His lips moved against yours as though he meant to consume the breath from your lungs. You whimpered against him, but his hand was already sliding lower, gripping the curve of your hip, fingers kneading with possessive fervor.

His other hand rose to your throat, not choking but holding, controlling, tilting your head back so his mouth could tear from your lips and sear down the line of your jaw. His teeth grazed your neck, his tongue following in a hot, slow sweep.

“You are mine,” he whispered against your lips, his breath ragged. “Every vein that quickens, every shudder that betrays you, every gasp torn from your throat- mine, in perpetuity.”

You tried to twist away, but his hand caught your thigh, dragging it against him. His thumb pressed into you through your clothes, deliberate, the contact shocking enough to draw a broken sound from your lips.

“Do you feel it?” His voice was hoarse, fevered, his kisses growing more desperate as he buried them into your throat. “The fire that binds you to me? You may fight, you may weep, but you will never leave.”

His lips claimed yours again, hungrier, his tongue plunging deep, tasting, demanding. His hand slid between your thighs, pressing firmly against the seam of your jeans. His palm rubbed in slow, grinding circles, the friction rough yet precise. Heat bloomed against your core, traitorous, making your hips twitch into his hand despite the terror clawing at your chest.

A strangled sound escaped you, half-moan, half-protest. His mouth curved against yours at the sound, his thumb pressing harder against the swollen bud through the denim.

“Even now,” he whispered raggedly, lips brushing your throat, “your body remembers me. It yields, though your tongue denies me. Every gasp, every tremor cries my name though you dare not speak it.”

His mouth grazed your jaw, your throat, his tongue licking over the frantic pulse beneath your skin. “None of them ever left alive,” he breathed, voice a dark caress. His fingers rolled insistently against your clit through the fabric until your knees buckled. “But you… you will never even wish to leave.”

The candles flared wildly as though the house itself rejoiced in his vow. The portraits seemed to lean forward, their painted eyes gleaming with shared knowledge.

And he kissed you again, so deep, so punishing, it felt less like desire and more like possession incarnate.

It built too fast. The friction, the heat, the press of his thumb- your body betrayed you. You bit down on a gasp, but the sound still slipped free, strangled and desperate. His mouth devoured it, swallowing your moan as if it belonged to him.

Your hips bucked once, twice, and then it crashed through you. A shudder tore down your spine, your thighs trembling violently as the climax ripped from you, sharp and humiliating. You cried out against his lips, the sound muffled but undeniable.

His hand stilled, holding you there, making you grind against his palm until every wave had wrung itself out of you. Only then did he ease his grip, pulling back just enough to see your face.

His smile was terrible. Reverent. Triumphant.

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice rough with something between devotion and hunger. “Proof eternal. No matter how you fight, no matter how you flee- your body remembers me. It welcomes me.”

“Shut up-” The words came broken, half-sob, but his thumb brushed your lips, silencing you.

“You yield to me in every life,” he went on, his tone shifting to something softer, almost tender. “You came to me with vows, with laughter, with trembling hands. And always…” He leaned close, his lips grazing your ear. “…always, you fall to me first in pleasure.”

Your knees buckled, but his arm around your waist held you upright, crushing you to his chest. His mouth roved down your throat, teeth grazing, tongue lapping at the frantic pulse as though he might drink it in.

“They withered in defiance, every one,” he murmured, voice low, worshipful and cruel at once. His hand tightened on your thigh, branding. “But you… you shall flourish, for you are the one who will stay.”

He kissed you again, harder, hungrier, his lips bruising, his tongue forcing past your protest. The manor groaned around you, the candles bowing as though in worship.

And just as his hand slid up, seeking more, he broke away- eyes burning, chest heaving, every inch of him strung taut with hunger he had not yet unleashed.

“This is but the beginning,” he said, voice shaking with promise. “You are mine tonight, tomorrow, and all the nights eternity grants us. You cannot undo what has already been written.”

The portraits loomed in silence, their painted gazes heavy with knowledge. The candles guttered low, plunging the chamber into shadow. His words lingered in the dark, suffocating, inescapable.

And you knew- you were fucked.

The candles sputtered, choking on their own smoke, as though the manor itself braced for what came next. He reached out to seize your wrist, pulling you toward the window where the blood moon bled its crimson light across the floor.

“Look,” he whispered, his voice frayed with hunger and awe. “Do you see how it burns for us?”

You stumbled against him, your shoulder striking the glass, breath fogging the frost-touched pane. Outside, the moon swelled enormous, a wound torn into the heavens, its light painting his face in shades of scarlet.

His eyes gleamed like black fire. “It is no common moon, but the blood vow moon. It rises once every seventy-seven years, burning the sky red to summon you back. Each time, you return. Each time, I claim you anew.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice raw. “This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

He caught your chin again, forcing your gaze up to his. “Not real?” His smile broke, sharp with fury and something near despair. “Do you think a dream would carve you into canvas for centuries? Would it keep vigil while kingdoms crumbled to dust? No, little bride. I am more real than time itself.”

The moonlight drenched you both, hot as blood, and with a sudden motion he swept you back into the center of the chamber. The bed loomed behind you, but he did not push you onto it- yet. Instead, he dropped to one knee before you.

Your breath caught.

He looked up at you, reverent, terrifying in his devotion. His hand tightened painfully around yours, his lips brushing your knuckles.

“Before this moon and these witnesses,” he murmured, his gaze flicking briefly to the portraits, “I take you again as mine. In flesh, in vow, in eternity. No altar is higher than these stones, no covenant stronger than the blood moon’s flame. You are my bride reborn.”

The portraits seemed to lean forward, their eyes glittering in the wavering light. The air was suffocating, thick with incense and decay, yet he breathed as though he were inhaling divinity.

“Stop it,” you begged, trying to wrench your hand away, but his grip only bruised deeper.

“You may deny me with your lips,” he said softly, lifting your hand higher, pressing it against his chest. His heart thrummed there, too steady, too slow. “But your body, your soul, has never denied me. Not once. Not in a thousand lives.”

The blood moon pulsed, shadows shifting along the walls, and the house seemed to sigh in answer.

And still he knelt before you, eyes alight with madness and love entwined, the vows of a groom no grave had ever claimed.

The moonlight pressed through the window, staining the chamber in red. It painted him as though he were carved from flame and shadow, his dark hair gilded crimson, his eyes gleaming with feverish light.

He rose from his knee but did not let go of your hand. Instead, he pressed it hard against his chest again, holding you against that unnatural heartbeat. Too slow. Too steady.

“Do you hear it?” he whispered. “The echo of eternity. But it falters. Without you, it dies.”

Your throat constricted. “Good,” you spat, yanking against his grip. “Then let it.”

His eyes blazed, and for a moment his control splintered. The air trembled, the candles bowing low as though the house itself recoiled from your words. He seized your shoulders, his voice breaking with a fury edged in fear.

“You think I endure for myself?” His tone rose, sharp as a blade. “No. I endure for you. Always for you. Every seventy-seven years, the blood vow moon rends the heavens, and it summons you back to me. And if you do not stay…” His voice faltered, dropping to a near whisper. “…the curse devours me whole.”

You stared at him, your chest heaving. His words rang with too much conviction to be a lie. “What curse?”

He smiled then, broken and desperate, a smile that did not belong to a sane man. “The curse of longing made flesh. The price of eternity without completion. I live, but not as a man should. I breathe, but not as a man does. Only when you are mine- fully, willingly- does the torment ease.”

His hand slid from your shoulder to your waist, drawing you closer until the heat of his body pressed against yours. His voice softened again, dangerous in its tenderness.

“You need not fear it. You are not their shadow, not their echo. You are the end of the cycle. You are the bride who will not flee.”

“I don’t want this,” you whispered, your voice shaking.

His lips brushed the shell of your ear, his breath hot, his words a vow that chilled your blood. “Desire comes. It always comes. Soon you will beg not to be parted from me. And when you do… the curse will break, and we will be bound beyond death, beyond time.”

The portraits seemed to lean even closer, their painted faces glowing faintly in the red light, as though the blood moon itself burned within them.

“This is madness,” you whispered, your words sharp, panicked. “I don’t want this.”

But your protest faltered when his mouth found yours again.

The kiss was ruinous, desperate. His tongue invaded, claiming, his hand sliding into your hair as though anchoring you to him. You tried to push away, but your body betrayed you- heat bloomed low in your stomach, your pulse fluttered against his lips.

“You deny me with words,” he murmured, dragging his mouth to your throat, “yet your body yields. It always yields.”

He pushed you back, guiding you until the backs of your knees struck the bed. The silk sheets whispered as you fell, and he followed, caging you beneath him. His coat flared open, his chest pressing against yours, crushing you down into the petals.

You gasped, clawing at him, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand. The other traced your body, slow and reverent, skimming your ribs, your waist, your thigh.

“You are divinity clothed in flesh,” he whispered, lowering himself between your legs. “And I- your most faithful disciple.”

He kissed down your throat, your collarbone, tugging at your top and bra with unhurried devotion until the fabric slipped away, baring your skin to his fevered mouth. His lips traced the swell of your breast, the valley between, tongue flicking over hardened peaks until your back arched in a shuddering gasp.

Then he moved lower. Slowly, reverently, as though savoring a religious journey. Each kiss burned hotter, trailing down your stomach, your hips. His hands gripped the waistband of your jeans, and with unhurried devotion he peeled them down, tugging your underwear with them. The cool air kissed your bare skin, making you shiver, and then his palms slid up your thighs, parting you with merciless patience. He inhaled deeply, savoring you, his eyes half-lidded with worship and hunger.

And then- his tongue pressed against you. Hot, broad, dragging slow over your clit. Your cry shattered in the air, raw and startled, your hips jerking despite your hands pushing at the sheets.

“Stop-” The plea broke into a moan as he worked you, tongue circling, lips sucking, drawing every sound from you like prayer. His mouth sealed around you, greedy, unrelenting, his tongue flicking faster, slower, teasing and tormenting until your thighs shook violently.

He pinned your hips down with his strong hands, thumbs digging into your flesh, holding you open, keeping you spread for him alone. Your body betrayed you, back bowing, chest heaving, each ragged gasp pulled from your lungs as though he had rehearsed them across centuries.

“You taste of eternity,” he growled against your soaked skin, his voice vibrating through you. His eyes flashed wild and reverent, gaze fixed on your face as though watching you break apart was the only sustenance he’d ever need. “I could worship here forever.”

He lapped harder, tongue circling relentlessly, lips tugging at you until your hips bucked helplessly, caught between terror and unbearable pleasure. The moonlight spilled across your body, scarlet and holy, illuminating every shiver as his tongue drove you higher, closer-

And then he tore himself away, lips slick, chest heaving, his gaze fevered and undone.

“No,” he whispered, crawling back over you, kissing you with your taste still on his tongue. “Not yet. Not without binding you to me fully.”

His hand fumbled with the fastening of his trousers, dragging himself free, thick and straining. He caught your hand, guiding it to wrap around him, forcing your fingers to stroke. A groan rumbled from his throat, ragged, desperate.

“Do you feel what you do to me?” he hissed, his hips thrusting into your reluctant grip. “I ache for you across centuries. No torment rivals this hunger.”

You tried to pull back, but his mouth swallowed your protest, his kiss so deep it burned. His hands roamed your already bared body, palms tracing your curves as though memorizing what was eternally his. His eyes drank you in, awe and madness entwined.

“Perfection,” he breathed. “My altar. My salvation.”

He pressed himself against your entrance, grinding, rubbing, coating himself in your slickness until your body shuddered with need despite your tears. His lips traced your temple, your jaw, his words fevered vows spilling hot against your skin.

And with a final, desperate thrust, he pushed into you, burying himself deep, groaning as though salvation itself had been carved into his veins

He filled you to the hilt, the force of his thrust knocking the air from your lungs. Your cry tore into the air, muffled against his mouth as he devoured it with a groan that trembled against your lips.

“Perfect,” he rasped, dragging back slow, agonizingly slow, before slamming into you again, the bed groaning beneath the violence. “You fit me as though you were carved for this. As though you were always meant to hold me.”

His hands roamed wildly, gripping your hip, your breast, your throat- possessive, reverent, claiming every inch of you. He thrust hard enough to rattle the headboard, each movement more desperate than the last, yet his eyes never wavered from yours, black fire burning in their depths.

“You are mine in vow,” he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Mine in flesh.” His hips snapped into you, rough, relentless. “Mine in eternity.”

You sobbed, shaking beneath him, but your body betrayed you again- clutching around him, dragging him deeper. The heat, the friction, the unbearable stretch had your nails digging into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold on to.

“Yes,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Cling to me. I will bear your marks as I have borne your absence. Mark me, please, so I am never without you.”

His mouth moved over your body like worship: kissing your throat, biting your shoulder, dragging his tongue down between your breasts as his hips drove deeper, faster, relentless in their rhythm. Every inch of you became altar, every gasp another prayer he swallowed.

He shifted suddenly, hooking your leg over his shoulder, opening you wider. The angle was brutal- he hit deeper, harder, the head of him stroking places so raw you screamed. He caught the sound in his mouth, kissing you savagely, whispering against your lips.

“Do you feel it? The vows written into your bones? The curse breaking with every shudder?” His hand slid between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with ruthless precision. “Cum for me, little bride. Let the blood moon witness what it binds.”

Your body arched violently, pleasure building unbearable, unstoppable. His thumb pressed harder, his thrusts relentless, until the climax ripped through you, wrenching a cry from your throat that shook the room.

The candles flared high, the portraits glowed faintly, their painted eyes burning with scarlet fire. The house itself seemed to sigh.

“Yes- yes,” he groaned, pounding harder, chasing his own ruin. His thrusts grew ragged, desperate, his forehead pressed to yours. “I waited centuries for this- for you. I will never release you.”

You were still trembling from your orgasm when he stiffened, burying himself to the hilt, spilling into you with a guttural cry that tore from his chest. His hands clutched you like a drowning man, crushing you against him as he shuddered through his climax.

When it passed, he did not pull away. He pressed his lips to your temple, murmuring against your damp skin.

“My bride. My vow. My eternity.”

The portraits loomed above, the blood moon bled its light across the silks, and his whisper bound you tighter than any chain.

The room was still vibrating with the echoes of your cries, the scent of roses and sweat and candlewax heavy in the air. Jungkook did not release you; his body covered yours, his arms caging you in, his breath ragged against your cheek.

“You are mine,” he whispered again, softer this time, almost tender. “In every age, every hour, I waited. And at last- you stay.”

You closed your eyes, tears streaking hot down your temples. The fight in you had burned out, scattered with the ashes of your climax, with the knowledge that no door, no wall, no god could free you from this place. The portraits glowed faintly in the moonlight, their painted eyes unblinking, waiting for your choice.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracked. “…I don’t want this.”

His hand cupped your cheek, gentle now, though the strength behind it was undeniable. “Desire is a fleeting flame. Vows are eternal. Speak it, and the curse is ended.”

Your chest heaved, terror and exhaustion warring inside you. His gaze was unrelenting, black fire and blood moon light, and something deep inside you knew: whether you spoke or not, this house, this man, this curse would never release you.

Your lips trembled. The word slipped free, broken and soft. “Yours.”

The air shuddered.

Every candle flared at once, the flames bowing toward you as though in worship. The portraits glowed, one by one, until a new frame appeared in the shadows- your own likeness, painted in silks, eyes gleaming faintly red.

Jungkook’s breath caught, and then his lips crashed onto yours, sealing the vow. His tears mingled with yours, though his smile was triumphant, reverent, undone.

“My bride,” he whispered into your mouth, voice breaking with joy and madness entwined. “At last.”

The blood moon sank lower in the sky, its crimson glow fading- but it did not matter. The vow was sealed, the curse fulfilled.

And you, the last bride, remained in the manor that never let its portraits keep the living.

═══════

The night outside the manor was cold, the air sharp with autumn leaves and the scent of smoke from distant bonfires. The blood moon hung heavy above, its light painting the weeds and crumbling stones in shades of scarlet.

Lisa hugged her arms around herself, glancing at the silent house. “She’s been in there forever,” she muttered, trying to keep her voice light.

Jimin snorted, leaning against the gatepost. “Forever? Lisa, it’s been, like, five minutes.”

Hoseok checked his phone, screen glowing blue against the night. “Six, tops. She’s probably just walking around inside, trying to freak us out. You know her.”

Lisa chewed her lip, her eyes fixed on the windows. Dark, unbroken. Not a flicker of movement, not even a shadow. “Still,” she whispered, “doesn’t it feel… weird? Like the air’s thicker tonight?”

Jimin rolled his eyes, grinning nervously. “It’s Halloween. It’s supposed to feel weird.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Y/N! Stop hiding already!”

The only answer was silence.

The moon flared red, bright enough to sting their eyes, and for a heartbeat Lisa thought she saw something shift in the upper window- a pale face, watching, framed in flickering candlelight.

But when she blinked, it was gone.

“Five more minutes,” Hoseok said, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “Then we go in after her.”

They stood shivering at the gates, the house looming silent above them, while inside, the newest portrait on the wall smiled faintly in the dark.

═══════

JKWRITOBER ♡ MASTERLIST ♡ a03

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 10/03/2025

Taglist: @ane102 @moonchild-moonfairy @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @asyr97 @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @yu-justme @bangtaniess @roseda @hottigerboba @xumyboo @bangtansfav-7 @ggukieskookie @granataepfelchen @blubird592 @mellyyyyyyx @gukkiemybaby @likeesapphire @jaerisdiction @amarawayne @misshale21 @dltyum @xcallmetaniax @kyrasworldd @withpinksky12 @iridescentshine @elithenium @heyinwluv85s @prilnextdoor23 @Strxqrd1 @uli_o7 @jojojoliejolene @hoseokteardroo @mimi1097 @aiiselle90210 @sassywildbunny

[muniimyg]

꒰₊˚♡ kimiverse smau ♡₊˚꒱

a collection of my social media au scenarios for u delulu divas ⋆˙⟡₊₊· enj ♡ mwahmwah

m.list // mini m.list // smau m.list

kimi's note ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა nsfw is applied in all my content + fluff , angst , and crack .

! nam joon ₍ᐢ._.ᐢ₎₊˚✧

— n/a

! jin ( ੭ ˙ᗜ˙ )੭₊˚

— n/a

! yoongi ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱♡

— situationship msgs for the provider men lovers

— childhood crush msgs for the yearners

! hobi ૮₍˶ˊᵕˋ˵₎ა ₊˚⊹

— n/a

! jimin ₍⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝₎ෆ

— situationship msgs cos u're a weak hoe

— exboyfriend msgs that u aren't over

! taehyung ₍ᐢ•ﻌ•ᐢ₎っ

— roommate msgs cos u're lowkey into each other

! jungkook ₍ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎੭

— nice guy boyfriend msgs for the mean girls

— idol sneaky link msgs

— boy next door

˗ˏˋ ₊˚ ot7 ˚₊ˎˊ˗

— cheaters ! maknae line

— exboyfriend ! 3j line

— pick-up lines ! ot7

˗ˏˋ© 2025 muniimyg on tumblrˎˊ˗

[kithtaehyung]

baseball season (3tan) (m) | myg

drabble: baseball season pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; brother’s bf au, implied age gap au , road trip au summary: he’s wearing a what. note: yes. this did come from that damned look of his because backwards hat yoongi wrecked us all. so now enjoy backwards hat 3tan yoongi haha byeeee!! note 2: also, happy birthday to everyone that's recently had, is having, or will have one soon! consider this my gift to y'all :D warnings: language, yoongi in a backwards cap bc no one is driving the bus :)), road trip episode!!, beach episode!!, chains bc ofc, his texts might need their own warning, reader’s texts might need their own warning too tbh, reader in a sundress stresses yoongi out what’s new :)), food mentions/consumption (watermelon), mentions of sexual acts, his gd outfit, sneaking around, it’s summer but the sun is the least hottest thing here heyooo nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: october 7th, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 9.8k my god

nsfw warnings: many, many much teasing lol, choking, shower sex, sneaky sex, back shotttttsss, the chains stay on, the hat stays on fuck!!, hair tugging, oral (m/f rec), quickie bc they aren't alone!!, breast play, so much kissing my god, aftercare is cute, reader is cute, yoongi is cute, these are supposed to be nsfw warnings but oh well

“You got everything?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” you respond from the hall, checking your bag and making sure you packed right. And all your stuff’s in place but wait something’s missing. What’s missing? 

Oh, shit. Your sunscreen. 

Heading back into your room, you snatch the bottle from your desk before checking yourself in the nearby mirror, loving how your perfume is staying on for once and kinda liking how this new sundress compliments your every curve. Getting it online of all places? Reia deserves all your love for the find. 

You note to thank her as you head back out into the hallway, walking and checking your phone before turning into the kitchen for your water bottle. 

But as soon as you round the corner, your whole body whips into another, and all you feel is a sturdy let pliant build before cologne and hands grip your arms. 

“Hey, watch—”

“Shit, my bad—”

Wait. What the fuck.  

What the fuck? 

You expected your brother to be the one you bumped into, since it was only the two of you in the house. When the hell did Yoongi come in and why the fuck does he look like this? 

The tee showing off his pecs is enough. The long shorts should be more than enough. 

But the hat. On his head. Is backwards. 

The sight alone careens you back to the good old days. Summers your brother dragged you along to hang with all his friends, hooping on random courts or strolling down trodden sidewalks. Almost all of them at some point had ballcaps or snapbacks that loosely sat on boyish heads—even Taehyung and Jimin with theirs hilariously swinging sideways. 

But this boy is very much a man now. 

And his cap is sitting dangerously fitted on his handsome, attractive as hell hair. 

This is what he chose to wear today of all days? The day you all head down to the beach? Goddamn, you aren’t gonna survive the trip.

Your mind is attempting to find words. Your body is screaming to launch onto him and devour. But your brain cannot get anything to cooperate so all you get out is a measly, pathetic, “You’re good.” 

Oh, god. Yoongi’s mouth is curving up and tilting your entire universe off the edge say something else say anything else. Literally anything else! “I mean, I’m good? We’re good? …Good..?” 

A single puff of laughter isn’t supposed to make your soul moan and three simple words are absolutely not supposed to make your thighs squeeze. 

“You’re good, doll.” 

And yet you fucking do all of that anyway. Fuck! 

Gripping your bag and trying to calm your racing heart, you clear your throat before attempting to look around him. “I need to.. Uhh. Grab my thing.” 

Based on the blatant way he checks you out, Yoongi wants to say something. Or more devastating of a thought, he wants to do something. 

But a shout from the foyer beyond the kitchen smashes any tension coming to a head, and you both freeze,

“Yoong, you got the drinks?” 

Devious, your lethal, backwards hat wearing secret calls out while not tearing his gaze from yours, “Yeah, I’m coming.”

Well, fuck if you aren't about to do the same in just a second.

But your head pops out of the gutter as Yoongi steps aside, angling himself so you can walk through the passageway and onto tiled floor. Whispering, he puts a bold hand on the lowest curve of your back, 

“Not playing nice today, huh.” 

What. What did he just…? What does he mean?

You pin him with confusion, weeping inside when he throws you a wink and oh fuck did he just squeeze your ass? 

You are gonna fight this guy. 

After the tiniest squeal you can muster, you call out to your brother while swatting Yoongi’s hand away—ignoring his cheeky little laugh, “Everyone should be here soon, yeah?” 

Both your sibling and Jimin walk to the front room as he answers, “Just about. You still okay driving?” 

Jimin’s here, too? Did you just not hear anything as soon as you saw Yoongi? “Oh, Dom said she’d drive my car. She doesn’t trust anyone else to do long stretches.” 

Which, frankly, you’re totally fine with. Dom’s an excellent driver anyways.

“Okay, so we’ll all head to the beach house but we’ll meet you guys after playing.”

“On the pink outdoor courts?”

The question comes out because you’re genuinely curious. Not because you wanna sneak a peek at this man playing while looking like that, of course. Having him present and not doing a single thing is already bad enough because why the fuck did he wear his hat like that today?

Get it together. 

“Nah, we’re playing baseball today. Why, you gonna play in that dress?” 

Jimin starts to say something as Yoongi opens the fridge behind you, and you wonder if he was sent to get the soju stocked in there before you crashed into him. “I wouldn’t bet against her.” 

“See? He’s smart. I have one hell of an arm,” you chirp, taking a sip of your water and watching Yoongi set some green bottles on your island. It seems you were right on the money. “Nah, I was just wondering if you were gonna join us after. We’ll need to find more chairs and umbrellas if you do.”

“Yeah, we planned to,” your brother responds, “But don’t wait up if we take too long. We might play for awhile.” 

“K.” Turning to Yoongi, you keep talking, because you’re excited to give info and even more hyped that he’s coming on this trip. “You know there’s a pool with a lazy river there, too?” 

“Oh, yeah?”

You admit your nod is a bit goofy, but damn if you can’t help looking at that smile. It’s a wonder you remember to swing back to the other guys in the kitchen when your older sibling laughs in realization,

“Oh, is this the place you kept watching videos about?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s just the beach!”

“Umm, when have we gone to a whole beach resort? And it’s huge!”

You’re doing the thing again. The animated hands, the little bounces, anything that your body can do to expel extra energy. 

And the only way you noticed is the fact that all three of them are either smiling or shaking their heads in familiar laughter.

“Alright, let’s go before they tell us the volume of the pool in liters,” your brother teases, pulling a light laugh and a low chuckle. 

“I know what it is, too, I calculated—”

Bigger laughter cuts you off before you let out your own, and the front door opens with three girls before the guys head out. 

“Road trip time!”

“I’m so ready to read on the beach.”

“Y’all better use the bathroom before we go. I’m making the least amount of stops so we get there asap.”

Thank everything with higher powers that your friends are now here. You could only take so many sips from your water bottle to avoid looking at the demon in your kitchen.

For your sanity, you hope the drive seems short and the guys play long. Seeing Yoongi out with his friends and being himself? Laughing at all their antics while drenched in water and sunshine? You wouldn’t be able to handle the heat so early in the trip.

Or deal with the summer heartache longer than necessary. 

—

—

Positioned in the passenger seat, you lead the little musical happening in your car as you head straight for the beach house hours away. 

A lot of the drive has consisted of songs, laughter, and scheming for when you all make it there. But now it’s settled into a comfortable silence, with more mellow tunes filling your car and everyone resting or on their phones.

And the timing couldn’t have been better, because this is the exact moment someone decides to text you. Someone you’ve been thinking about this whole goddamn ride. 

Yoongi [9:28am]: What was the volume in liters?

Your heart expels a solar flare. 

Of all the things Yoongi decided to text, this is what he goes with? Honestly, this is the cutest and somehow hottest way it could have gone. 

And the most thoughtful. Because you really were ready to spit some knowledge earlier.

You [9:29am]: omg haha it’s 1.89 million!!!😳

Yoongi [9:29am]: Knew you were dying to tell 

Yoongi [9:30am]: Also what the fuck wow

Your laugh makes Dom look over, and you shrink at her knowing, smiling head shake. “Don’t perceive me.”

“Hard not to, Miss Down Bad.”

“Hey!”

Her cackle wakes up a sleepy Yuri in the back, but you tell her it’s nothing when she asks if something was up. 

You [9:31am]: ikr?? insane

Yoongi [9:31am]: Love that you know that

You [9:31am]: i just like finding out random things sue me!!

Yoongi [9:32am]: Same. They got me looking up places to eat and I figured you wanted to tell us about the pool thing 

You [9:32am]: ooh there’s a good brunch place by the courts there lemme send the link 

You [9:32am]: and honestly.. it was kinda just meant for you

It’s true. You figured Yoongi would have liked to hear about the area you’re visiting. Maybe Jimin, too, but he’s not the one that’s been subjected to your rambles in the middle of the night, or your short bursts of random knowledge during shows. He’s not the one you’re seeing on the down low.

The way, way down low. 

A few minutes pass by before you get another text, and you assume it’s because he finally found food places. By now, they’re all probably deciding where to go and having a debate over which restaurant would be best. 

Thank god you aren’t in the other vehicles. Poor Shiv has to deal with all of them in your brother’s car and you’re sure Rohan is dealing with Seokjin and Jungkook being competitive for no reason in the other—Jia joining in when she can from the driver’s seat.

Yoongi [9:40am]: Reacted 👍 to your attachment

Yoongi [9:40am]: You can always tell me stuff like that 

You [9:41am]: i know🥹

This man is way too considerate. You’re practically clawing at your door handle to get to him and the trip has only just begun.

You [9:43am]: are you guys really planning on playing a lot?

Yoongi [9:43am]: Yeah we’ll be there until everyone gets bored

Until they get bored? They’re gonna play until sundown! 

Damn, now you wish you did make a change of plans to see him. Is he gonna keep the hat on while playing? Is he gonna keep looking like complete sin while you’re crumbling under the tide?

You [9:44am]: then i’ll never see you again :((

Why the hell did he have to wear that outfit. This is agonizing and he knows it. He has to.

Yoongi [9:46am]: Haha nah we’ll be there

Yoongi [9:46am]: I’m seeing you in that dress again fuck

Butterflies beat around your ribcage, fluttering high and low and threatening to leave the very garment Yoongi mentioned. 

Isn’t he in the passenger’s seat? Isn’t your brother driving? What the hell is this man thinking because texting you is one thing but this one message is bold. 

You [9:47am]: i was wondering if you liked it🥺

Yoongi [9:48am]: It’s all I’m thinking about

You [9:48am]: your hat is all i’m thinking about😒

Whoops. 

Did you mean to send that? Did you mean to give away the damning knowledge that you can’t think of anything else? 

In a way, yes. But also, why the fuck did you give him that power because this man is gonna abuse it the entire trip now. Especially after knowing his track record. 

You close your eyes to slow your heartbeat, letting the situation simmer into the back of your mind like it never happened and you never said a goddamn thing. 

And after a good ten minutes later when you’re almost at the beach house, you finally get a text back. 

Which you groan at on sight. 

Yoongi [9:59am]: Was wondering if you liked it :) 

You [9:59am]: i hate it actually thanks!!!

Your car doesn’t take long to unload after you wake the girls up in the backseat. Everyone grabs their bags and marvels at the huge house before claiming rooms—until someone gets the maniacal idea to wait until everyone got there to randomly choose and see who gets where. 

“This place is huge but how many bedrooms?”

Counting on both hands, you quickly run out of fingers. “Should be six? And I think there’s fifteen of us?”

“Damn!”

“A lot of the rooms have two beds or bunk beds,” Dominique recalls, being the one that actually found this place after a week-long search. It isn’t hard to tell she’s damn proud of the find. “And there’s a master bedroom on both floors. For some reason.” 

That will make things incredibly interesting if the random assignments stay permanent. But you know they most likely won’t given the people staying in this place. It’s honestly a miracle how everyone said yes to coming and actually came through. 

You’re happy. You’re buzzing.  

With a tiny squeal, you giddily sort all the snacks and pre-prepped food throughout the bright, fully spec’d kitchen before checking your phone again. Your brother texted you that they’re gonna be getting “some brunch place” before playing, and you have other notifications sprinkled on your screen. 

The worst of them almost making you chuck your device into the nearest bin. 

Yoongi [10:17am]: Get used to it then :)

You know exactly what that spells out. 

That means the hat stays on. 

May the universe be kind and keep you nice and safe from Yoongi and that stupid cap for as long as possible.

—

—

Turns out, the universe had planned to destroy you from start to finish.

Because not only did your brother and all his friends end up joining your little beach setup quicker than expected.

But Yoongi had decided to go full demon, forgoing the tee for a tank and having shades on his face and his hat reversed. 

That motherfucker did it on purpose. 

All the guys bend under umbrellas to put down their phones and wallets on shaded towels, talking about the games coming up and which ones to put on later. They smell like the sun just like you do, but they all have a clear sheen of sweat that tells you they played ball for hours. 

As soon as most of them head down to the water’s edge, you shoot a fiery glare to your side, waiting for your immediate problem to burn a few feet away. 

And Yoongi does radiate heat, but only in the way stares, taking a sip of his recently procured drink which makes his cheeky demeanor even worse. He’s smiling he’s grinning his teeth are showing he fucking knows.

“You fucker,” you finally bite out, surpressing a grin when he bursts into laughter. “Are you kidding me right now?” 

“I dunno what you mean,” Yoongi airily responds, suddenly showing off that stupid side profile you love so much and being lucky he’s a few chairs away.

Scoffing, you take a sip of your own beverage and watch everyone enjoy the cresting waves, trying your best to keep your eyes off his bare shoulders and capped head.

Besides. If the two of you are caught talking—flirting—this casually with the expressions you’re having? There will be chaos ending this little reprieve. Your brother will come barreling back from the tide and kicking up a mountain of scorching sand in the process.

So it’s best if you just don’t ogle his best friend, as much as you fucking want to. Muttering, you say to the retreating waves, “When I catch you, I swear…” 

Your empty threat wisps into the breeze, and things fall silent for a moment. But it lets you soak in the atmosphere, which you find very enjoyable from the comfort and shade of your slightly reclined chair. 

Blues and yellows are prettiest in the slow exit of summer. The beach feels particularly nostalgic today, with the sound of bubbly crests under a slight, sun-warmed haze. If you raise your arm to reach the water, the wind’s caress would coat you in salty air and blown sand—and you would welcome it all, it all, it all.

“Trust me, I feel the same.” 

What?

Lowering your outstretched limb, you find yourself breathless as Yoongi has since lost his shades, his gaze slowly dragging over every part you have and have not covered. When flittering sunlight hits your eyes, you think you see a hint of yearning in his features, but it’s quickly passed when you look away again. “What do you mean?” 

A creak lets you know he’s leaning in his chair now. “That won’t work on me today, doll.”  

Busted. 

“You know you look fuckin’ hot right now.” 

Double busted. 

Pride shoots into your chest, swelling the breasts barely held in your sundress as you chuckle to yourself. “Says you,” you pout to the rush and crash of water. “This isn’t fair and you know it.” 

“I beg to fucking differ.”

Laughing outright, you rest your head on your chair as you turn. And fuck, Yoongi is a pleasant sight every damn time—and is that a book in his hand? “Now you’re just messing with me.” 

“You see this?” 

Eyes lowering further, you notice the way one of his legs is propped on the long chair while the other hangs off, a beach towel fully spread across both limbs. “Uh huh…” 

“There’s a reason I haven’t gotten up.” 

Oh.

“And as much as I wanna learn about the history of baseball, I can’t read for shit if I’m this hard.” 

…Oh, shit. 

You cannot laugh. It would be way too obvious and way too loud because holy fuck there’s no way Yoongi is in that position right now because of you. 

But you can giggle. 

So you do. 

Which makes things worse for him because his tongue prods the side of his cheek so, so firmly. 

The next thing you wanna say is not to be said aloud. Especially in a public place and especially not when you can see some friends making their way back from the shoreline. 

So you dive into your overheating phone, typing on a hot screen and holding in all your amusement. 

You [4:23pm]: you comin here too?😛

Yoongi [4:24pm]: Keep talking and everyone’s gonna find out

A hand slaps over your mouth before you can stop it.

You [4:24pm]: keep it in your pants omg??

Yoongi [4:24pm]: I’d rather be in yours

What the fuck! 

Stricken, you shut your eyes and instinctively bend your body to cover your sheepiness, chest beating and beating at the soft chuckling you hear three chairs away. Not even the constant swell and cawing of birds can drown out your heartbeat, and you realize you can’t win. At least, not against this Yoongi on a mission to make you melt faster than direct sunlight. 

However. 

You slowly unwind, stretching and rubbing your legs together before exhaling at your screen. 

This does bring up a question you’ve been dying to know for awhile now. And what better way to ask than on a godforsaken trip with all your friends? 

You [4:26pm]: would you ever…

Yoongi [4:26pm]: Reacted ❓ to “would you ever…” 

Maybe it’s too much. 

You [4:26pm]: nvm 

Yoongi [4:27pm]: Use your words 

Well. If he’s asking for it. 

You [4:27pm]: ok😊

You [4:27pm]: would you ever fuck me outside?

You see Yoongi’s foot slip off his chair, but you don’t get to see if he responds because Reia walks up to your outstretched feet, droplets falling from her head and feeling cold yet inviting on your skin. 

When you look up with a smile, you ask as Yuri steps under the wide umbrella, “How’s the water?” 

“Perfect,” Reia says with a grin, and you marvel at how beautiful she is right now. Even though her favorite time is autumn, she really does shine in the season that precedes. “You should join us, I’m just coming to eat some of this.” 

“You really should, babe!” Yuri is quick to agree, and you aren’t surprised by her radiance because summer is her jam. The two piece set she’s wearing has turned multiple heads her way already, but you feel quite endeared by a Rohan that simply shows off his girl. “It’s cold as hell at first but feels good quick.” 

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “I might.” 

Showing off his girl…

You know how much someone else wants to do that. One day. 

Rueful, you bend your legs and watch Reia open the cooler near your chair, feeling the heat of an aforementioned someone’s stare and suddenly forming a wicked idea. “I’ll have some, too,” you chirp, grinning when you receive some slices of watermelon that you all prepped in the beach house hours prior. 

As she stands, Reia takes a crisp bite before looking towards the water, tucking some drenched tendrils behind her ear. The sounds of waves and Yuri’s excited giggles echo in your ears as cool fruit suspends in your fingers, but you can’t eat until you’re back to being alone. 

“Watermelon tastes a lot better when you share it,” your friend suddenly blurts.

Yuri agrees with a slow nod, but your first instinct is to spare a glance Yoongi’s way. 

Thank goodness he’s thoroughly buried in his book. You wouldn’t be able to handle his eyes if he had heard the sentiment and shared a look with you right after. 

But still… Your heart pangs for a million reasons, and one of them is being so close to this man and yet so fucking far. 

So you call his name despite your friends being right there with you. And when he looks up, you forget the wicked idea you had and replace it with a much better one. “Here,” you offer with a smile, “Have some.” 

He blinks for a second before shutting his book, getting out of his seat—with a thankfully tent-less front—to walk over with a slight hunch under the shade. When he gently takes the watermelon from your hand, he murmurs, “Thanks.” 

“Of course,” you respond, starting to sit up to grab more, even though you have to scoot up a little and lean forward to procure another—

Yoongi’s there before you can even sit straight, reaching into the cooler with a toned arm and handing you a perfect slice. He's so close you can feel the heat from his body, and you almost reach out to run manicured fingers along his waistband.

“Oh.” Your heart cannot beat so loud. Your friends are already looking at the exchange, they can’t hear how you’re crumbling, too! “Thank you..” 

“No sweat.” 

Did the temperature rise? Is the sun beating straight through the nylon of your umbrella? Why are your cheeks and neck and chest and thighs feeling so hot? 

The first one you make eye contact with is Reia, because Yuri’s smiling at a Yoongi that’s absentmindedly eating watermelon while watching his friends on the beach. When you act like you don’t know what just happened, your friend gives you a saucy look before eating the last bit of her pink slice. 

She laughs at your downward air swat outright. 

“I’ll join you guys after I eat,” you promise through a bite, hoping that it also placates them enough to leave. “You better not be lying about the water.” 

“I’m not!” Yuri laughs before giving Yoongi one more glance. “You should both join. We have to take pictures, too.” 

When you look at Yoongi standing next to you, this time he is already looking back. And his eyes alone make you forget the rest of the world exists even for a brief moment, your soul suddenly crushed by wondering how fun it would be to walk along the shore with him. 

Huh. That could heal you, you think. 

Lost in thought, you don’t realize that Yoongi is the one that looks away first. “We’ll go.” 

“Yay!” 

“Don’t take too long,” Reia teases, her and Yuri chortling at your dropped jaw. “I’m kidding! Unless…” 

“Alright, that’s it,” you threaten, pretending to get up and grinning when they finally scurry away with laughter and watermelon on their lips. 

Breathing out a little laugh of your own, you settle back into your seat, watching them brave the sunlight again and join everyone. As you scan the shoreline, you see Jimin and Taehyung playing in the waves, and you notice your brother playing volleyball with the rest of the gang a little ways down, though you don’t know how they aren’t perturbed by the horrible playing field. 

They’re gonna be going at that for awhile from the looks of things. 

You’re suddenly overcome with the urge to be brave. 

“Walk with me.” 

What.

Your heart and breath both come to a stop. Because the one that suggests that isn’t you, and you turn sideways to see Yoongi bent with his hands on bare knees to look you at eye level. His hat still sits perfectly on his head, and a tiny bit of juice clings to his chin. 

Reaching out, you softly wipe it off in the boldest move you’ve made in months. “That’s… Literally what I was going to ask you,” you whisper, watching him lift both brows in surprise. 

“Really?” 

“No joke, I was just thinking that.” You tilt your head, eyes creased with a slow grin. “That’s wild.” 

Yoongi stares with eyes that hide none of his thoughts, and you suddenly feel like squirming. The way he manages to have this much aura is unfair. How does one command every ounce of a body’s attention with just one look? 

“Come on then, doll,” he softly says. “Just down to the beach. Then I gotta join them before someone else gets any ideas.” 

Ah. Right. 

Of course he didn’t mean what you meant. Of course the path you have to take is nothing like the one you want to walk. Yuri and Reia had witnessed far too much already and they were joking, because the very idea of you and Yoongi is just that. A joke.

“True,” you agree with a heart lodged in your throat. “Let’s go.” 

And while the walk along the sand does feel nice with him by your side, you peer down the wave-kissed shoreline with longing, yearning to be one of those couples walking side-by-side, hands intertwined while water laps at their ankles. Your chest caves at the realization that you can never do anything like that unless your worst nightmare comes to life, telling your brother and hoping the three of you survive the impending storm. 

So for now, you must feel content with the present. You’ll choose to feel grateful that you can walk by Yoongi’s side as your sundress whips at his legs, intentionally ignoring the stares people give him because you can’t do the same. 

“You look beautiful,” Yoongi compliments to the wind, and you stutter in your next stride. “And if we were alone, we’d still be sitting there eating watermelon. Trust me.” 

Smiling, you feel pricks in your eyes. “Because it tastes a lot better when you share it?” 

“Because that was fucking great watermelon.” 

Hunched forward in glee, you playfully shove his arm, cheeks hurting as he laughs. “I figured you’d like it. We got them at a farmer’s market yesterday just for this trip.”

“I’d kiss you right now just to have another taste.” 

What the fuck? How many times can he make your heart stop today? You may need to take note of the nearest aid station if he keeps this cheeky routine up. “What is up with you?” You hiss out. “You won’t let me catch a break!” 

You’re almost at the shoreline when he chuckles, and you swoon at how big he looks right now. God, you have it so fucking bad today. If this desire and yearning stockpiles, you aren’t quite sure what you’ll end up doing but it’s not gonna be tame.

“If you aren’t playing nice, why should I?” 

“Me?” 

When you both stop right where damp sand gives way to waves, Yoongi turns to face you with a smirk. “You wearing that dress like that for anyone else except us?” 

Floundering like neighboring fish, you finally expel a breath. “No.” 

“Mm. And yet, you got everyone’s attention with just one walk.” 

Huh? No, those people were looking at him. Not you. He’s the one with the aura to match a thousand suns. Why would they be looking at you? 

“You won’t believe me, doll, but it’s true.” Yoongi reaches up to adjust his hat, and you ache at the way he brushes over his hair before positioning it back on again. “I wasn’t gonna leave you there alone.” 

Wait. So he just… 

This man is something else. 

“When you’re finally mine,” you suddenly blurt, capturing his attention and the smell of saltwater, “I just want one walk on the beach with you.” 

Rolling water sloshes right over your toes, and you have to look away because Yoongi’s stare is so full of emotions that you can’t bear to process each one. You know he wants this, too. Which makes all the waiting so damn heartbreaking. 

But you have to do it when the time is right. Not just because of a simple walk on the sand. 

“I’m already yours,” he still manages to say, voice low and aimed towards the waves instead. “And I’ll give you as many walks as you want.” 

“Okay.” Your heart seems to know Yoongi’s about to go, because it beats heavier and heavier before he even turns away. “Have fun over there.” 

“Join whenever you want, doll.” With a look over his shoulder, he flashes a smile. “It's not basketball so you know we're ass at it.” 

Your laugh is whisked away by the summer breeze. 

—

—

As the afternoon passes, everyone has been having a good time. Your friends are even comingling with your brother’s friend group since you all decided to watch their games, cackling because Yoongi was absolutely right.

When it's time to head back to the beach house, everyone packs the setup and lugs everything from the beach, down the winding, plank walkway flanked by tall grass, and up the rickety wooden steps of the back deck. 

Some people choose various bathrooms to shower in while most of the guys and you and Reia start prepping the food. Like always, it's grilling time, so you start unwrapping marinated ingredients while hearing chopping noises and multiple steps in and out the back door. 

It’s definitely a strange but welcoming feeling, knowing you all can work together so seamlessly even though you aren’t always together. Yes, your friends do run into your brother’s friends, but this is the first trip you’ve all gone on together and it’s gone off without any hitches. 

This very fact gives you hope. 

At least, as much hope as an oncoming storm can lend. 

—

—

It’s very late afternoon when most everything has been prepped and served. With incandescent string lights above your heads, the deck and levels below are full of you all either talking loudly over your brother’s music, or sitting and watching the sunset. 

Yoongi has been enjoying himself, you’ve noticed with many smiles. Which is everything that you thought it would be and more. 

But the longing has ascended to an all time peak. Because even when he laughs at something from meters away, you can feel it pierce your chest. Your heart pulses just a little faster, your fingers curl around your cup just a little tighter. 

Your mood slowly descends with the sun. 

Conversations and friends do keep you company. You’re able to truly enjoy yourself in your own little bubble, too. Summertime is where your friend group shines, all of you radiating joy as you talk or get competitive with the mini drinking games. 

After a good amount sloshes around your system, you feel delightfully buzzed. 

And horny as fuck. 

This has happened before after a few drinks during girls night, the feeling that you wanna climb someone like a tree and ride them until all the bark is stripped. 

But all those other times? Didn’t include the sight you have in front of you now. And to everything that is holy, you need this man to defile you in every way possible.

Yoongi has since put chains on. And their glint over his tank and under his hat. Is not good for you.

You need him. You need Min Yoongi right the fuck now. 

When he emerges from the back door with Jimin and Shiv, you have to force yourself to look away, not wanting to witness him grabbing his hat and adjusting his hair again. 

But you don’t look away long enough because as soon as you turn to Jimin, you catch Yoongi slipping his hat right back over his head. Backwards again. Because of course he fucking does.

Of all the people in the world to have clutched your fated red string, did it honestly and truly have to be him? 

Because this feeling is agonizing. 

You damn near rat yourself out just to drag him into the beach house. You don’t care how or when it happens but you need to feel him in your guts right now.

Grabbing your phone, you quietly slip away from your friends’ conversation as Dom tells a story you’ve already heard, telling them that you’re gonna finally shower. They all tell you to use the master bathroom on the second floor, which does sound delightful, but you aren’t going in there to clean up. 

Nope. Quite the opposite. Because your cunt is already pulsing hard and you need relief right this second even if you’re the only one taking care of it. 

You [8:20pm]: fuck

You [8:20pm]: you win

You [8:21pm]: i need you

What’s come over you today? Is it the way Yoongi looks? Maybe, but there’s something else that has you hot and bothered and practically wobbling into the house and towards the winding stairs. 

You take a step, then another, and soon you’re at the top and scanning the whole second floor for anyone else. The scent of salt air permeates even this level, probably from some of the windows left opened from earlier, but you also smell some fresh product wafting from a recently used bath. 

On cue, Taehyung walks out from the master bedroom with a laid back yet expensive looking fit. And you hold back a smile as you hum at his dark wet locks from the staircase. “Someone’s looking nice.” 

His mouth lifts on one side. “And someone’s looking like she needs a break.” 

Miffed, you scoff at his laugh and throw all adoration for his dimple away. “Excuse you? I compliment you and you wound me.” Walking to peek into the wide double doors of the bedroom, you stare in shock. “Oh, what the hell? How did I not look in here before, this is nice.” 

“The shower is fucking crazy,” Tae says, incredulous. “If you turn on both ends and just stand in the middle, it’s heaven.” 

“I did say I'd be showering...” For a brief second, you actually consider hopping in and doing just that. A cold wash would clear your head right out. 

But if Yoongi somehow magically decides to be an idiot, too, you can’t experience the main bath everyone’s raving about just yet. 

Unless… 

No. That would be ludicrous and the worst idea imaginable. 

Your phone buzzes, and Taehyung looks down when you do. He smells absolutely fantastic as you blatantly hide your screen from his view, and you shoo off his cologne and knowing hum. 

Yoongi [8:27pm]: We got time when everyone passes out, I got us

No. That’s not good enough. You need him and you need him now. 

“Tae,” you gulp. “Can you do me a favor?” 

He sighs, but nods. Because you both know he was going to help you anyway and you cannot love him enough for that. “What do you need?” 

“I just wanna be alone with him.” Fuck, you feel like a fool. But you’re way past the point of giving a shit. “Even if it’s just.. I dunno. Fifteen minutes.” 

“I got you,” he confirms. “But you said you’d be showering, so you have to come back out like you did.” 

Fuck. He’s right. How the hell are you gonna do this? 

You don’t know nor care. And you’re smart, so you’ll figure something out even in a horribly horny state. Even Taehyung is looking enticing right now and you’ve only felt this way twice about him years ago. “I can do that.” 

“K. Just get your stuff and bring it here.” 

“Okay.” 

Three minutes later, your stuff is all in the master bedroom with a bunch of other bags, and you’re so driven by lust and want that you consider a cold shower a second time. 

You [8:33pm]: now

You [8:33pm]: i’m gonna take care of this whether you come up here or not

It doesn’t take him long to respond. But you don’t know if it means Taehyung was successful with whatever he planned to do or not because it’s only two words. 

Yoongi [8:34pm]: Oh fuck

—

—

Maybe this is for the best. 

You are on a goddamn trip with your goddamned brother and all your goddamned friends. There is absolutely no reason for you to be sneaking off like troublemakers just because you need him. 

Curse that fucking hat.

As you grip the sink counter with your palms, you stare into the rest of the bathroom, trying to be impressed with the beautiful seafoam tiles and matching paint, or at least happy with how perfectly placed all the decor is around the space. 

Minutes have passed by now, and your heart sinks lower and lower as reality sets its weight on top. 

Well. At least this shower is the nicest one. You can take a long one, stare off into the mint green void, and pleasure yourself imagining the man of your dreams making you see stars. 

Walking to the wide glass doors, you open one before turning the knob on one side, pleasantly shocked at the great water pressure. Moving to the other, you turn that one on, too, and you barely register a clicking sound because you laugh at the sudden thought in your brain, 

“Bet he’d scold me for the water bill here, too.” 

“I’m about to.” 

Your heart leaps from your chest as you spin around, shocked to see Yoongi dumping his bag onto tiled floors and walking over to your bare feet. Shower spray mingles with the pats of his strides, and you can’t form a single thought other than being so happy to see him actually follow through.

“Yoongi—”

“Come here.” 

Everything happens at once. You feel his hands on your face, your neck, sliding down your sides and squeezing your dress at your ass. And your own fingers don’t know where to stop, grabbing at his perfect, flexing jaw, his neck, his shoulders, raking at his back. 

A muffled hmph blows against your lips before he slides out, “Easy with the nails, doll.” 

“Fuck, sorry.”

“Don’t ever have to be.” Yoongi pins you against the wall by the running shower, and if you looked straight on you know you could see his broad back in the long, backlit mirror. “This fucking dress, goddamn.”

“Fuck this hat,” you finally curse out loud, clutching his hand when he starts to remove it. “Don’t.”

“You really like it like this?”

“Yes,” you whoosh out. “It’s hot as shit.” 

Smothering your lips again, Yoongi juts his tongue inside, and you taste whisky and watermelon with a smile. “Good to know.”

“I think,” you gasp as his palm sliding under your dress, “You already know that.”

“Mm… Maybe so.” Cupping your ass again, Yoongi groans when he realizes what you have on underneath your sundress from hell. “What the fuck?” 

“What’s wrong, baby,” you tease, tugging him closer and claiming his lips again. Your hips jut forward into his pelvis as your core slicks over, lingering alcohol fueling your every want and desire. “Something wrong?”

Yoongi’s quiet, competitive laugh is one of your favorites ever. “Someone’s a little buzzed, huh.”

Busted yet again. 

“Is it that obvious,” you ask through a smile, biting your lip when you watch his smirk grow and grow. “Like you aren’t the same.”

A little tch precedes a major grope on your butt, and you laugh at the possessive shove into his very prominent hard-on. “This? Is not the same.”

“Why?”

Cocking a curious brow, Yoongi clearly thinks that should be obvious. But loaded with more adrenaline and lust and now the haze of shower steam, you can’t get there. “You asked for fifteen minutes. I want a goddamn week.”

Okay, that just turned you on another full notch. “Is this still okay?”

“With you? Always.” He dives into your neck, pulsing shivers down your skin and curling your toes. You know you make a sound, but you aren’t aware of how loud it is until you feel a hand over your face. “Now do me a favor.”

“Hmm?”

Before you can ask what, Yoongi sinks to the ground, baring your upper body to the mirror and letting you see exactly how he left you. 

Holy shit, you look fucked out.

Slinging a leg over a strong shoulder, Yoongi hikes your dress before staring upward. Smug as he finally gives you his command, 

“Cover that pretty mouth.”

If the shower wasn’t running double-time, someone for sure would have heard your quick yelp. Because the way Yoongi shoves your swimsuit thong to the side and laps at your sex causes you to buckle and cry right before you clamp a hand over your mouth. 

Fuck. What the fuck? You’re watching him in the mirror and stay slack jawed because it’s unreal how fucking hot he looks between your legs, the cap still on and moving with his every lick and tilt of his sucks. 

“Taste so fucking good.” 

Your breaths are so shallow as your chest heaves, and you watch with pure desire as Yoongi’s hands reach up to squeeze your tits, tugging your dress down until they spill out completely for his pinches and smacks. 

You scream his name through your fingers as your mouth is shut tight. This is so bad. Bad, bad, very very bad. And yet, you feel even hotter, naughtier, sexier knowing there’s a house full of people that don’t know you’re getting fucked by Yoongi’s mouth. 

“Such a good girl.” He very audibly slaps your breast, knowing you can see everything he does. “Yet so filthy for me.”

Grabbing at your ass and tugging you forward, he surges, proudly making a mess of you on his chin. You grab at his hat, but only yank it off to pull at his hair better, and he chuckles so dark you melt. 

“Easy, doll. Not too loud.” 

“I’m so sorry,” you grit out, having to cut yourself off before yelping again at a deep suck, “It just feels so fucking—mmph!”

You’re gonna come. You need this. But you need him inside you even more and you are running out of time and you still have to shower fuck! 

Hurried, you tug him up and smash your lips onto his, tasting yourself alongside everything else he’s consumed today and filling with pride. 

“Get in the shower.” He takes out a condom from his pocket, and you lift a brow while shucking off your dress. “I’m coming in, too.” 

“Planned ahead?”

“Something like that.” Raking his lidded stare over your two-piece, Yoongi groans while biting the wrapper and ripping it. “Fuck me.” 

Your nose scrunches in a smile as you playfully nudge his chest. “You like it?” 

“You’re keeping that on.”

You shrug, smile salacious as you watch him strip. This part always makes you shy, but today? You just want to get straight to it, and time does not wait for shyness. Hopping under the warm spray, you hum while eyeing Yoongi’s head. “Are you keeping the hat?” 

Blinking, he pauses in slipping the condom on. “Do you want me to?” 

“Uhh...”

“Whatever you want, babe.”

You nod before letting him into the steam, kissing him before he even gets the door closed with a wobbly thump. Your slick skin feels like heaven on his, hands roaming all over each other like you didn’t just do the same on the other side of the glass. 

When you feel one half of your top shoved down, you mewl right as Yoongi closes lips over a nipple, his fingers freeing the other and pinching just right. Gnawing your bottom lip is the best thing you can do to stop from screaming, but your breaths are so harsh and high-pitched that the echoes are just as bad. 

Shower spray runs down your bodies in rivulets, but you can feel essence of your desire soak your thighs right with them. Your rough pulls on his biceps, his shoulders, his back make him tense, and you can feel his cock twitch on your stomach as he bucks foward. 

“Fuck a fifteen minute—shit.” 

Suddenly, you’re spun, hands crashing into the doorframe as Yoongi tugs your hips backward. 

And holy. Fuck. Your reflection in the mirror across the bathroom.

You’ve never seen Yoongi with eyes this dark, this stormed, this hungry. And he’s staring at all of you like he can’t decide what to keep his gaze on. “Fuck.”

You can only whine.

Slowly, he positions himself at your folds before pushing in, and you both groan at the connection before he hisses out a low string of curses and praise, “…of fucking question is that.”

Your eyes flick upward. Is he talking to you? “Huh?” 

“Asking if I wanna fuck you outside,” Yoongi scoffs out as he fully submerges in your heat, water cascading and bounding off his drenched hat. “As if there’s any place I wouldn’t.” 

Laughing, you turn shy at the very prospect. Getting your guts rearranged while someone could catch you at any moment? By him? You wouldn’t dare say how much that idea turns you on. Because the level is scarily high. 

A dark rumble behind you makes you freeze before a shove has you grappling for your open mouth. Fuck, Yoongi is deep. 

“You wanna get caught so bad,” he correctly assumes under rain, laughing gravelly in your ear and making you look him in the eye through water droplets. “Don’t you?”

Gulping, you grit your moan as he rolls his hips, shoving you into the glass and kicking your head back. Your response is a garbled mess but that doesn’t do enough. 

“Tell me, angel,” Yoongi darkly orders, cupping your chin and holding you firmly in place. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna…” His wet fingers are so slick on your chin, his chains hitting the bare skin of your back just right, his dick filling you up so perfectly you could cry. “Wanna fuck you outside.”

“Uh huh. What else?”

Oh god. Is he gonna make you say it?

“Wanna… Fuck.” Yoongi’s fingers have made their way to your neck, slowly wrapping around the slippery column until you’re slightly choked and thrusting at a devastating, slow pace. “I… Sorry, it feels so good.”

He laughs once, tilting your head to claim your lips before whispering, “I know.”

“Wanna get caught,” you wheeze out, some water catching in your mouth. “With you.”

Do you really? Is that why you sound so fucking loud even though you haven’t screamed at all? 

“Fuckin’ knew it.” Yoongi grabs a fistful of your chest, raking his fingers and letting you feel the afterburn of sunlight. “Turns me on and you don’t even know it.”

He thrusts in jilted movements, and you rock against the cool glass each time before he speaks in low, staccato phrases. “Getting caught with you.” A lurch. “Letting them know.” A shove. “Just what you fucking do to me.” 

Your groan fights the skin of your palm, and your walls clench so hard around him he hisses with a lock of his limbs. 

“—always bring me to my goddamn knees, fuck.”

No matter how much time passes, you will never, ever get used to this man and his praise. He could rinse and repeat the same song and you would never believe he’s singing it for you, so sure and yet so unbelievable that you outright laugh in disbelief. “If you keep talking like that,” you gasp, “We really are gonna get caught.”

Another hard push launches you forward before his breath fans your ear. “Maybe I want to.”

The clear shower door keeps your moan in an opaque, warm memory, droplets forming and moving as your breath quickens with each squeeze of your cunt. “Baby—baby, please—”

“You gonna come?”

“Yes, I—”

Slick fingers encircle your throat again, and you mewl under relentless shower spray and perfectly rough thrusts. You feel the coil winding and winding until there’s no room left to squeeze, and right as Yoongi releases your airway all sense of decency and caution flees your body as you moan. 

It’s a rolling, rolling, rolling rolling wave of euphoria. Every limb locks into place as your head kicks back into his slick chest, eyes lost somewhere far behind your arched back. You can hear his praises in your ear but you can’t understand them, every word now unknown to you other than his name. 

When you hear him coax you to come again, though, your body readily responds. And this time, Yoongi has to cover your mouth because you can’t, and you groan so hard into his palm even he reacts with a low grunt of his own, 

“Fuck, babe, I’m—”

A mix of lust, alcohol, and deviousness overcomes your system, and you order him to pull out before you spin with a wince. 

“You okay—”

Slamming your knees onto seafoam tiles, you grip his cock before unwrapping him with the insistence of an impatient addict. And fuck it, maybe that's exactly what you are for him.

“Doll, wait—”

“Lemme suck you off, baby,” you command in a rushed tone, fluttering when Yoongi only groans out a curse. 

The condom slips off with a pop before you fling it away, pumping at his shaft as water rains down on your whole vision. It’s a good thing you know your way around him, because your eyelashes are thoroughly caked with droplets and it’s blurring his beautiful length. 

That goddamn hat. You’re gonna give Yoongi the suck of his life. 

You immediately take a mouthful of him in, pumping him with your puffed lips and lolling your tongue along the bottom of his cock. When he bucks forward, you gag, head rocking back into his wet palm. 

“What the fuck, doll.” 

Licking, sucking the tip, sliding onto his velvety hard skin, you worship him and imagine how he looks with his capped head kicked back, eyes shut tight and brows knitted so wondrously. You hum around him, too, shower ringing in your ears along with his telltale moans. 

You need to do this in every shower ever. 

Yoongi sounds like an angel when he moans here. 

As you hollow your cheeks—

Yoongi yanks your head off, suddenly shuddering his own release and spilling into your chest, fighting to stay upright on the slippery shower floor. And it seems his orgasm is just as powerful as yours because he has to lean forward and grab your head just to muffle his shout, 

“Fuck!” 

Oh, you’re dizzy. This man reacting this way because of you? This selfless, thoughtful, protective man losing his absolute mind because of your body? You don’t know what to do and feel your heart pulsing double-time to keep up with your thoughts. 

He’s so perfect like this. Lost to his release and heightened pleasure and you want to give him everything he’s ever wanted. Is this how he feels about you? Is this piercing pride in your chest something he shares, as well? 

Maybe. But you’d never believe him if he said it’s true. 

It takes all of you to keep yourself up and stable, energy zipping up and down your limbs before they settle with the warmth of satisfaction. 

When you start to feel soap suds on your skin and the gentle rubs of a loofa, you feel like crying. Because of course Yoongi is gonna make sure you keep your word that you did, in fact, shower. 

Smiling soft, you bring him in for a kiss before lightly taking his cap off. Slowly grabbing the soapy loofa, you use it on his skin, too, making sure to get as much of him as you can just in case he was supposed to be showering, as well. 

When he protests, you order him to let you. And when you set his hat down to wash his hair, too, he looks like a man deep in thought and at peace. Which is exactly how you want him to be. At peace and happy and satisfied. 

"Your knees okay?"

You wince. "They'll live."

"If they still hurt tonight, let me know."

"K.."

The rest of the shower is just that: showering. Both of you use each of the sprays, bumping here and there and quietly laughing at the normalcy of it all. 

—

—

When you’re both getting dressed, you faintly hear the music bumping outside. It’s been seventeen minutes, so you know you’re pushing it heavily. 

But you still want to ask, “How was baseball?” 

Yoongi suddenly laughs, and you lose yourself in the shake of his naked shoulders. As he slips on another long pair of shorts, he readily admits, “Embarrassing. We all sucked.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and your heart beats wildly as his creased eyes keep staring into yours. “Damn, now I wish I watched.”

“You really would’ve smoked us,” he chuffs, “If you weren’t kidding about your arm.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m pretty fucking good.” Yanking on an oversized tee, you hum as you hear him put on his own dark shirt. “Having a brother and a lot of free time practically forced greatness on me.” 

Yoongi chuckles again, walking over to touch his forehead to yours. Holding the tips of your fingers, he sighs, “So fucking cute.”

“Nu uh.”

“Uh huh.”

The mention of your brother hadn’t even phased you, and by the unbothered look in his eyes, hadn’t done anything to his best friend. 

Is this a sign? Are you both ready? 

Or is summer really just casting her effervescent spell stronger than usual? 

Either way, you both finally face the real world, quietly bagging up the discarded protection and staggering your exit back into the house and out the back door. 

But before Yoongi leaves, he turns and walks away from the bathroom door with purpose, tugging you in for a toe-curling kiss and smushing you against the tiled wall.

God, you feel like kids. Maybe you both still are. And that’s what you like about Yoongi, experiencing what was ripped from your youth by guys that only used and took and discarded. 

With him? You feel alive. So beautiful, and gleaming, and dare you believe it, like a goddess in silver and gold. 

The metal you’re staring at right now calls to you, and you grip Yoongi’s chains in your hand before whispering low,

“Thank you.”

He looks at you with curiosity. “For what, babe?”

“Just.. everything.” You plant a light kiss on his cheek to let it linger as he goes. “Now get out before we actually do get caught.” 

He hisses out a laugh before kissing your forehead, and you remember how he feels like summer to you, too. “Throw around with me when you get down there.”

Huh? Does he really mean that? “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll get the guys to do it and you can join us.”

Suddenly shy yet bursting with pride, you agree. “Sounds fun. I’ll go easy on y’all.”

“That’s my girl.” 

Yoongi taps your cheek before heading out for real, leaving you to stare at a back that’s grown so big since you first knew him. You’d think you would be used to it by now, but you’re not. Because the weight of his world is more than you can imagine, and you would do anything to help relieve him of it again and again and again. 

So if he wants you to join him for a little catch? Even if he just wrecked your soul and ability to walk straight on two legs? Throwing with a sore arm because you had it bent for most of your much needed, very stupid, risky tryst? Of course you fucking will.

The very dry, very new hat on his head was already enough to convince you. 

It’s baseball season, after all. 

—

—

Hours later, a shout from upstairs rings from the master bedroom.

And you can only stare at your phone with burning ears, kneecaps to match, and a terrible, crooked smile. 

“Yoong! You left your hat in the shower!” 

—

—

fin. :)

⟶ what do we feel! | join the taglist | masterlist | feedback box!

a/n: SDFJKSDFH THE ENDING oh my god we have a 3tan drop?? after forever? is this a dream? yes and it's a great one because 3tan yoongi is back and scarier than ever. if he comes back today of all days i am going to ram my head into the nearest shower door. a/n 2: thank you guys for being so patient with me as i work through juggling my writing time with my work time with my shop time with my workout time and with my actual time to myself :')) it's been rough getting some messages, but we press on! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! link is above. ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[gukcnt]

03 | BOUND BY VOWS ⭒ JJK

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. Yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. Your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, protective!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, trauma and panic attack, several crying scenes, isolation, domestic drama, tension, hurt and comfort, jungkook's dog bam makes an appearance (their bonding is so cute ugh), healing, trust issues, mentions of past abuse, power imbalance, mild sexual feelings and desires, manipulation, guilt and self-hatred, quiet acts of kindness from jungkook, miscommunication, argument

wc — 12.3k

a/n — hope y'all enjoy this chapter! let me know your thoughts <3

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The heavy air pressed against your skin as you stirred awake on the hardwood floor, faint light seeped through the curtains, casting a glow across the room.

Your body ached with a throbbing pain on your shoulders and waist from curling into a tight ball on the cold floor through the night.

In a cramped position.

Your muscles protested as you shifted. your eyes swollen from the tears you'd shed until you fell asleep and your body felt heavy from the residue of your grief.

Your throat dry and raw from the sobs.

You lay still for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

The events of the previous night flooded back—your confrontation with jungkook, the words you'd told him, each one laced with years of pent up fear and anger.

You'd called him a monster, accused him of buying you and said he was like your father.

The memory of your own voice, sharp and rude for the first time, sent a shiver through you. You'd never raised your voice to a man before.

Never dared to.

Growing up you'd learned to stay small, to stay quiet in order to avoid your fathers anger.

But with jungkook something had snapped and the words had come out, controlled by the terror of being trapped in a marriage you didn’t choose.

He hadn’t yelled back and hadn’t raised a hand like your father would have.

Instead he stood there, dark eyes unreadable, his cigarette burning between his fingers.

The image of him in the white shirt, faint scent of smoke clinging to him, lingered in your mind.

Unsettling you.

He hadn’t hit you and hadn’t even raised his voice but the fear of what he might do now gnawed at you.

What if he'd been holding back last night? his patience was just him pretending?

What if today he'd show the cruelty you'd always expected from men like him?

Your father has taught you to brace for the worst and jungkook with his intimidating presence seemed like the kind of man who could destroy you with a single word.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your muscles protested.

You stood, legs shaky and caught sight of yourself in the mirror—skin pale, eyes red rimmed and hair tangled in knots.

You looked fragile and on the verge of breaking.

The sight of you welled tears in your eyes again because it reminded you of your mother.

But you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You had to be strong, you had to survive this for her.

After all, she was the only reason you were here, the only reason you hadn’t run.

The room felt too big, too empty and you felt out of place in jungkook's world.

This wasn’t your home—it was a prison that you paid for with your freedom.

What would jungkook do now? would he punish you?

Would he demand obedience like your father always had?

All your overthinking felt suffocating and you sank back onto the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, trying to ground yourself against your thoughts.

You remembered the way jungkook had looked at you, his eyes dark but not angry, his hands still.

It confused you.

Your father would have lashed out but jungkook had just stood there, letting you scream, letting you hate him.

Your stomach knotted with guilt.

You didn’t wanna feel guilt—you didn’t owe him anything.

He'd married you without your consent and had taken you from your life.

Yet the way he’d stayed calm and the way he hadn’t touched you caused you to doubt.

You pushed the thought away, refusing to acknowledge it.

Men like him didn’t change, they waited, they manipulated and then they struck.

You'd seen it your whole life.

You need to move, to do something but the thought of leaving the safety of this room or facing jeon jungkook made your heart race.

You stayed there frozen, mind hazy until the ache in your body forced you to stand again.

You couldn’t stay on the floor forever.

You had to face the day, face him and face the life you'd been forced into.

You had to step forward.

You slowly walked to the attached bathroom and it was really different than the one you were used to at home.

The glossy tiles and the modern things made it look like it belonged in a luxury hotel.

The space large and you felt small and out of place in here.

You shuffled inside closing the door, the thin dress you'd worn since the wedding clinging to your skin stiffly with sweat and tears.

You stood in front of the sink, turning on the faucet and splashed your face with water, the coldness making you gasp.

You did it again and again as if you could wash away the pain and the memory of last night.

To pull you back from the state of dizziness.

You stripped off your dress after that, letting it fall to the floor and kicked it aside, not wanting to look at it.

Your body felt exposed and vulnerable as you stood in your panties only.

You avoided the mirror now, not wanting to see the curves that had always made you self conscious.

You’d never felt comfortable in your body, not when it drew attention you didn’t want.

You stepped in the glass shower and turned the knob as warm water poured over you like rainfall.

You didn’t have access to this in your home, the water was always cold, so this felt foreign.

You stood under it, letting it cascade over your body, the warmth seeping into your sore body.

The water was a momentary comfort as you tilted your head back, letting it soak your hair.

The shampoo and conditioner on the shelf were expensive, you could recognize that just by looking at the bottles.

You poured a small amount of shampoo into your palm and worked it through your hair, the foam forming the scent sweet as you rinsed it slowly.

You used the conditioner next, its creamy texture smoothing your hair, making it feel softer than it had in years.

You stood under the water for a long time, longer than necessary, letting the shower drown out all your thoughts.

jungkook was powerful—his wealth, his presence—but he hadn’t hurt you.

Not yet.

He was playing a game, you told yourself.

He was waiting and when he would finally react, it would be worse than anything your father had done.

You turned off the shower.

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a plush towel you found and you clutched it tightly to your chest.

You wiped the fog from the mirror with your hand, revealing your flushed face. Even though you looked better, the haunted look in your eyes was still there.

Along with the fear.

You didn’t wanna go out but you had to.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

You needed to check on your mother, needed to know she was okay.

Your mothers life depended on you and you didn’t know what the day would bring but you couldn’t stay here hiding like a scared child.

You stood in the center of the room drying your hair with trembling hands and that’s when the sharp knock on the door jolted you.

Your fingers tightened around the towel around yourself as you stared at the door, frozen.

Another knock, firmer this time and your pulse quickened.

It had to be Jungkook.

He'd come to demand an apology to punish you for your behavior from last night.

Badly.

The thought of his wrath made your knees weak but the knocking persisted, not aggressive but insistent.

You couldn’t hide forever.

If you ignored him, it might make things worse and might provoke the anger you were certain was simmering beneath his coldness.

Swallowing hard, you forced your feet to move.

Your hand shook as it hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for facing him.

With a final surge of courage, you turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your body tense, ready to flinch.

To your shock, it wasn’t jungkook.

A woman stood in the hallway, she was in her fifties from what you thought by looking at her appearance. Her dark hair with silver strands was pulled in a bun and her face was softened by wrinkles.

She wore a simple black uniform but her smile was genuine.

She looked at you with concern but there was a kindness in her gaze that made your chest thud with something you couldn’t name—relief that it wasn’t jungkook.

“Good morning, mrs. jeon.” she said

Her voice held a maternal warmth that unsettled you.

The title—mrs. jeon—hits you with disgust reminding you of the marriage you'd been forced into once again.

A name you'd never accept as your own.

Her smile didn’t falter though as you didn’t speak.

“You can call me mrs. kim.” she continued

“I’m the housekeeper here. I cook, clean and keep things running for mr. jeon. He asked me to bring you these.”

She extended her arms, offering a stack of neatly folded clothes.

You stared at them, throat tightening.

It was a collection of clothes that you usually wore but the only difference was that the fabrics looked impossibly luxurious.

The kind you'd only ever seen in shop windows.

And just by looking at the top item, you could tell that it was worth more than a months rent at your father's apartment.

Your distrust of jungkook's intentions kept you rooted in place.

“I don’t need these.” you said bitterly.

Barely masking the tremor beneath it.

You were sure that this was another way for jungkook to assert his dominance over you to make you feel indebted to him.

Your father had done the same, giving you small things only to use them on you later on to guilt trip you or taunt you.

You wouldn’t fall for it again.

mrs. kim's eyes softened.

“They’re just clothes, dear.” she says gently.

Not pushing you.

“You need something fresh to wear, don’t you?”

She didn’t mention how jungkook had picked these out himself, thinking you’d like them and that they’d suit you.

The idea of jungkook choosing these clothes—knowing your size, your preferences—sent a chill down your spine.

It felt invasive.

He'd reached out and learned about your personal life without permission.

How did he know anyways?

Had he been watching you?

Studying you?

Your fingers tightened around the towel, knuckles white.

mrs. kim noticed your hesitance but she didn’t argue further, she simply held out the clothes, her expression patient.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.” she smiles.

“But you can’t stay in that towel all day, can you? just take them for now. You can decide later.”

Your eyes darted between her and the clothes.

You had nothing else to wear—the dress you wore last night was crumpled and sweaty.

You had to give up your pride, your refusal to accept anything from jungkook.

Reluctantly you reached out and took the stack, heart racing.

“Thank you.” you muttered.

Your eyes fixed on the floor, you couldn’t let her see the shame and fear in your eyes.

Accepting the clothes felt like accepting jungkook's control and you hated it, hated him along with yourself for being so powerless.

mrs. kim nodded with a grin.

“Breakfast is ready downstairs when you’re ready. Take your time, dear. No need to rush.”

She turned to leave and you closed the door behind her, the lock snapping shut.

You stood there for a moment clutching the clothes to your chest. These clothes were his doing, another reminder that you were in his house and bound to him in ways you couldn’t escape.

You set the clothes on the bed and picked a sweater, it was beautiful, perfect even and exactly what you'd have chosen for yourself.

And that made it worse.

The thought of wearing his gifts and his money touching your skin made you feel like a doll dressed up for his liking.

But you had no choice.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up the sweater, a skirt and dressed slowly, the clothing fitting you perfectly like it had been tailored just for you.

You resented how good they felt, how they made you feel cared for when you knew it was a lie.

jungkook wasn’t kind.

He couldn’t be.

Men like him—powerful and in control—never was.

You pushed your damp hair behind your ears as you looked at the door.

You didn’t wanna go downstairs, you didn’t want to face the possibility of seeing jungkook.

But you needed to call the hospital and that need outweighed your fear.

At least for now.

You opened the door and walked down the staircase, heart pounding as you looked at your feet because you thought if you looked up, you'd see jungkook.

The air was filled with the scent of food and your stomach growled since you were hungry but you pushed it down, refusing to give in to jungkook's offerings again.

You didn’t want his food, his clothes or his pity.

You didn’t want anything from him.

You reached the dining table and looked at the table which was set with a feast that made your breath catch—an array of dishes.

Every possible breakfast item one could think of, along with bowls of fresh fruits and homemade pastries and croissants.

It was overwhelming and in excess.

You’ve probably never seen so much food at once in your life where you could barely have a meal in a day.

mrs. kim appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

“mr. jeon wasn’t sure what you liked.” she chuckled.

“So he asked me to make a bit of everything. Please sit down.”

You stood frozen, your eyes scanning the table, stomach twisting with hunger.

And disgust.

At his ability to control every aspect of your life

You laughed mockingly, the sound startling her.

“What is this, a bribe? does he think he can buy me with his fake kindness?”

You whispered under your breath but mrs. kim heard you anyway.

Her smile faltered.

“It’s just breakfast, dear.” she says soothingly.

“You need to eat. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

You refused to admit her words, you'd gone hungry before and survived without eating for a whole day.

This feast was nothing but a show, a way for jungkook to flaunt his wealth.

“I’m not hungry.” you lied.

Though your stomach betrayed you with another grumble.

“I just need a phone. Can you please give me that? I need to make a call.”

A desperation in your voice

Her eyes softened with sympathy but she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a brand new smartphone.

“mr. jeon left this for you before he went to his office.”

You stared at the phone, heart sinking. It was a much updated top model phone than the old one you used before with a cracked screen.

You wanted to throw it across the room and scream that you didn’t want this.

But you needed to call the hospital, you needed to hear that your mother was still alive, still fighting so you grabbed the phone, taking it.

You exhaled shakily with unshed tears, you felt dirty for giving up but your mother was important and you couldn’t risk her.

“Fine.” you sign.

“But I’m not eating.”

mrs. kim frowned as she studied you.

“You need to eat, mrs. jeon.”

Her voice almost pleading.

“mr. jeon won’t be happy if you don’t. He was very clear about it.”

The mention of jungkook's displeasure frightened you but you were too angry and hurt to care.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you snapped.

The words burst out before you could stop them.

Her eyes widened, mouth parting in shock because no one spoke about jungkook like that—not in this house, not in his world.

The curse was a word you never dared to utter before but your tongue was loosened from all the emotions you felt.

Since last night.

“I don’t care what he wants.” you added.

“I’m not his puppet.”

You turned to leave but her words stopped you.

“I’ll let you be.” she said quietly.

“But the foods there when you change your mind.”

You went back to the guest room, the phone clutched in your hand.

You slammed the door shut and leaned against the door, chest heaving. You dialed the hospital's number that was already saved.

You realized that all your saved contacts were here.

But you didn’t pay much attention to it as you waited for the line to connect, wanting to hear that your mother was okay.

The nurse picked up, confirming your mother was stable but still in a coma, all her expenses covered.

You furrowed your brows, assuming it was your father using the money from your marriage and the thought made you sick.

But you were grateful.

You hung up relieved and tossed the phone on the bed before sitting down on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked against your chest.

You sat there for a long time, the room quiet except for the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen downstairs, where mrs. kim was likely preparing another meal you had no intention of eating.

Your mind too heavy with the thoughts of your mother, your father and the man who now was your husband.

The silence was shattered by a soft bark outside the door, your breath catched.

The bark came again, followed by the scratch of paws against the door.

Your first instinct was fear—because this place is very unknown—but your animal loving heart won against everything.

You stood and approached the door.

If you ever saw a little one, you had to follow and you still remembered the puppy from outside the diner that day whom you fed.

And your heart felt so happy, the last moment of happiness before it got snatched from you and you needed that closure again.

Their pure souls too good for this tainted world.

You opened the door slightly and peered out.

A large, dark brown doberman stood there, his eyes sharp and his ears perked as he tilted his head to look at you.

He was an intimidating tall dog, nothing like the little puppies you were used to, he was the kind of dog that could tear through anyone without hesitation.

Your breath hitched and you stepped back but then he moved, stepping forward with a soft whine.

His nose sniffing the air as if trying to understand you.

He didn't growl or bare his teeth, instead he lowered his head slightly.

“Hey buddy.” you coo.

You knelt slowly, keeping your movements slow not wanting to startle him.

You looked at his collar and you read the name etched into it.

“bam”

jungkook's dog.

Of course the dog belonged to him, another innocent soul for him to control.

But bam's eyes were soft, almost pleading and when he stepped closer, his nose brushing against your hand, you felt a small warmth.

His tongue darting out, licking your fingers and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“bam, huh?” you murmur.

You reached out hesitatingly then gently scratched behind his ears and he leaned closer to your touch, his eyes half closing in contentment.

The weight of the day—the tears, the anger—seemed to lift just for a moment as you sat there with him.

“You’re not so scary, are you?”

bam responded with a happy huff, his tail wagging enthusiastically now.

You sat cross legged on the floor, letting bam settle beside you. He was big, his head leveling with your shoulder when he sat up.

But there was a gentleness in him that surprised you.

You'd expect a dog like this to be cold and scary like his owner but bam was different.

He nudged your hand whenever you stopped petting him, his wet nose making you laugh, the sound making you gasp.

It had been so long since you'd laughed since you'd felt anything other than agony.

“You’re a good boy.” you hummed.

“I bet you don’t even know how cruel your owner is.”

bam tilted his head as if listening and you found yourself talking to him.

“My mom’s sick, you know.” you whimper.

Your fingers tracing patterns on his collar

“She’s the only one I have. My dad… he's awful. He sold me to jungkook like I’m some kind of thing.”

“And now I’m here stuck and I don’t know what to do.”

Your voice cracked, eyes glistening with tears but you didn’t stop.

bam listened, his eyes fixed on you and it felt like he understood, like he was the only one in this house who did.

You told him about your dreams of escaping this and building a life where you could be free. You told him about the fear you felt every time you thought of jungkook.

The way his presence made your heart thud with something you couldn’t name.

Hours passed like this.

bam stayed beside you, head resting on your lap and he showed that you weren’t entirely alone after all.

You let out a sigh as he closed his eyes under your pets.

“You’re lucky.” you whisper.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be afraid all the time.”

The door creaked open and you tensed, hand stilling on bam's head.

It was mrs. kim.

“mrs. jeon? you really should eat something. mr. jeon doesn’t like it when his instructions are ignored.”

You bristled, jaw tightening.

You didn’t care about any of his bullshit.

“I’m used to going hungry. I’ve done it before and I have no problem doing it again.”

You looked down at bam, who was watching you and you scoffed.

“I’m not eating his food.”

You told bam as if he could understand.

“I don’t want anything from him.”

But your stomach growled louder this time and bam nudged your hand as if urging you to reconsider.

You shook your head stubbornly.

“I’ll be fine.”

You said more to yourself.

But as you sat there, you felt hope.

Maybe, just maybe.

You could survive this place if only because of this unexpected friend who'd found you in your darkest moment.

You suddenly heard the sound of the front door slamming, pulling you out of your thoughts as your heart jumped, pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears.

It was him.

jungkook was home.

The realization caused you dread as you curled onto the dog.

You hadn’t seen him since last night, since you’d screamed at him and you couldn’t help but think of the worst possible things he could do now.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder as you clutched your sweater, your breath uneven.

bam stirred, lifting his head as he sensed the approaching presence.

You wanted to lock the door again but you knew it was pointless.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door and you braced yourself, mind racing with images of your father's rage that followed with pain.

You expected jungkook to do the same.

The door opened without a knock as his towering figure filled the space, his tailored black suit accentuating his muscular body.

You squirmed under his gaze as his jaw tightened and his expression—anger, yes but something else too, something you couldn’t read.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” he asked lowly

There was a sharp edge to it.

You gulped, voice trapped with fear.

“I wasn’t hungry.” you mutter.

But it carried a stubbornness.

You kept your eyes on bam, avoiding his gaze, your hands stroking the dog's fur to ground yourself.

You didn’t want to look at him and didn’t wanna see the anger you were sure was there.

His eyes narrowed, frustration crossing his face.

He stepped into the room, his presence filling the space, making you feel smaller.

You tensed but then his gaze shifted, landing on bam who was still curled in your lap, his head resting against your thigh.

jungkook's expression changed to surprise, softening the hard lines of his face as a brow lifted slightly.

Bam doesn’t like anyone but him.

And yet…

jungkook studied you with an intensity that caused you goosebumps.

He took another step closer and you flinched as his hands clenched into fists at your reaction.

“You need to eat.” he says.

Voice calm now but still carrying the commanding tone.

“Go downstairs. Now.”

The words sparked something inside you. You'd spend your life swallowing your anger but with jungkook it was different.

He wasn’t your father.

But he was the man who'd married you against your will.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I’d rather starve.” you snapped.

Tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Stop pretending you care! you don’t get to act like you’re some savior when you’re the reason I’m here trapped in this marriage!”

Your voice cracked on the last word, chest heaving with sobs. The dog whined softly, sensing your distress and pressed close, his nose nudging your arm.

You were shaking and you expected jungkook to yell to prove you right about him.

To teach you a lesson for disrespecting him.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, eyes fixed on you with something even he couldn’t explain, anger in them for the tears you shed.

He disliked your distress.

He didn’t want that.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” he rasps.

You didn’t believe him.

Couldn’t.

“Stop lying.” you hissed.

“Y—you’re just like him. You'll hurt me, control me and make my life hell. I know men like you—”

“Enough.”

His one word cut off your words, cold but not cruel.

“You will eat, y/n. If I have to force you, I will.”

The finality of his words shook you and you felt your stubbornness crumble under his authority.

You were scared, body trembling as you stood, bam sliding off your lap and going to jungkook.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and followed him downstairs.

You didn’t want to obey.

Didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

But you were exhausted with hunger and you didn’t want to piss him off more, even though you didn’t understand why he cared if you ate or starved.

What does he get by doing this?

You looked at the dining table now set with a fresh spread of new food—lunch of course, but a variety of them just like breakfast.

Way too many options.

jungkook gestured to the table, eyes still fixed on you.

“Eat what you like.” he whispers.

There was a warmth beneath his words.

You sat, hands shaking as you picked up a spoon.

jungkook moved to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette.

The smell of tobacco filled the room as he watched you, his eyes never leaving your small frame.

You felt exposed and embarrassed under his gaze but you had no choice so you took a small bite of rice.

It was delicious.

You had to admit that, it was not the stale food you were used to but each bite showed exactly how little control you had in your life.

You felt like a doll that he could command.

bam padded over and settled at your feet, his warm body pressing against your legs. You glanced down, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached down to pet him.

jungkook's eyes softened at the sight, pride and possessiveness crossing his face as he watched bam's loyalty shift to you.

He's never done that with anyone else, not even the staff because the doberman was a grumpy dog and he scared off several people.

But his behavior towards you shifted in such a short time.

It shocked him.

You ate slowly, your stomach too knotted to handle much but jungkook didn’t move, didn’t speak and just watched.

Making sure you ate enough.

In his mind he was thinking of everything that happened—your father’s lies, the forced marriage.

The pain you’ve carried for years.

He wanted to find your father to make him pay for what he'd done.

The thought of that man threatening your mother's life and selling you like you were nothing made jungkook's blood boil.

He imagined wrapping his hands around your father's throat, watching the life drain from his eyes but he pushed the thought down, smoking faster now.

He couldn’t do that.

Not yet.

Your mother was sick and any move against your father would hurt you more and that was the last thing he wanted.

He hadn’t slept last night, pacing his room, the image of your tear streaked face burned into his mind.

He'd been angry—at your father, at himself.

At the world that had let you suffer

He'd been lied to, told you'd agreed to the marriage and the guilt pressed on him.

He'd wanted you since that day outside the restaurant when he'd seen you feed that puppy, your sad eyes awakening something inside him he didn't understand.

He'd thought you wanted this.

Wanted him.

But now he knew the truth and it changed everything.

He couldn’t confront your father yet, couldn’t risk pushing you further away.

But when the time came, he'd make sure that man suffered for every tear you'd shed.

Watching you now, he felt the urge to shield you from the world that had hurt you.

You were so fragile yet so fierce, at least you showed him emotions, even if it was anger.

It infuriated him.

He wanted to tell you he wasn’t like your father, that he’d never hurt you but he knew you wouldn’t believe him.

Not now.

So he stood there, eyes tracing the curve of your face and the way your hands trailed as you ate.

He'd make sure you were taken care of whether you liked it or not.

“You need to eat more.” he said suddenly.

“You look frail.”

You froze, your spoon halfway to your mouth, eyes flicking up to meet his for the first time.

There was no anger in his gaze, only concern and it made your heart stutter.

“I’m fine.” you protested.

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“Do you?” he questions.

“You’ve been starving yourself for years. I’m not blind, y/n.”

Your cheeks flush with anger.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” he grumbles.

A glare in his face.

“I know that you’re not going to let yourself waste away in my house. Eat.”

You hated how he made you feel—small and powerless but also strangely cared for.

You took another bite and jungkook watched satisfaction present.

He wanted to say more, to tell you he'd paid for your mother's treatments that he'd make sure she was taken care of.

But he didn’t.

He knew you wouldn’t believe him and knew your trust had been shattered long before he’d even entered your life.

So he stayed silent, looking at you and the way you fought to hold onto your strength despite everything.

He'd wait for you to see him, to understand that he wasn't your father and that he'd protect you.

Even if you hated him.

You finished eating, stomach full but heart heavy.

You stood avoiding his gaze and moved to leave, bam trailing behind you.

“Wait.”

His voice stopped you in your tracks.

He stepped closer, his tall shadow falling over you, making you shiver at the proximity.

He pulled a black card from his pocket and held it out.

“Use this if you need anything. Clothes, food whatever you want.”

You stared at the card, your hands balling into fists.

“I don’t want your money.”

His eyes hardened but his voice remained firm.

“Take it, y/n. You’re my wife.”

The word “wife” made your lips part in surprise.

You wanted to refuse to throw the card in his face but his stern gaze pinned you in place, his authority undeniable.

“You’re not gonna live like you’re still in that hellhole with your father.”

His words make your breath shake as you reluctantly take the card, your fingers brushing against his calloused ones, sending a jolt through you.

You didn’t say anything else as you turned away and hurried back to the guest room, even if you accepted his card, you would never use it.

No matter what.

jungkook watched you go, his fists balling as his cigarette burned in his hand.

Your ignorance cut him deeper than he'd expected.

But he wouldn’t stop even if you fought him every step of the way.

But for now he'd give you space, let you hate him and let you heal.

He'd wait.

Because you were worth it even if you didn’t know it yet

۶ৎ

A few days passed and you'd mostly stay in the room, it was your own haven from everything that's been going on outside.

A barrier from the reality of your new life.

You kept the door closed and locked even though every corner of the house carried traces of him that made your chest tighten even when he was nowhere to be seen.

You confined yourself to the guest room as much as possible, only going out when necessary.

The phone jungkook had given sat on the dresser and you would use it sometimes to hear the nurses updates about your mother.

You'd call almost every day and hear the same thing again—that she was still in a coma—and you'd hang up and curl onto yourself on the bed.

You'd try to distract yourself because everything you're going through makes you exhausted.

mrs. kim, the housekeeper became your only companion in the house, her presence kind and motherly.

And you’ve started liking her.

She'd knock softly on your door and leave trays of carefully prepared food outside and the portions were generous, you could sense her care in every dish.

At first you resisted eating, refusing to accept it but then you realized that jungkook will make another appearance like that day and force you to eat.

So you stopped resisting, not wanting to see him again.

You'd sit on the bed eating slowly and you hated how the food nourished you.

The comfort it brought to your starving body.

But you ate because you had to, at least for your mother.

You'd always thank mrs. kim politely.

“Thank you, mrs. kim.”

She'd nod and smile warmly.

“You’re welcome, mrs. jeon.” she'd reply.

The title felt weird and you didn’t want her calling you that but you never corrected her even though the urge was there.

You weren’t mrs. jeon—never.

You were y/n, your own self.

You didn’t belong to anyone.

You appreciated how mrs. kim never pried, never commented on the fact that you and jungkook slept in separate rooms despite being married.

Barely spoke or lived like strangers under the same roof.

You found yourself warming up to her despite still being distant because you couldn’t fully trust anyone.

After being betrayed several times in life.

Your interactions with jungkook were almost nonexistent, the last time you did was when he made you eat that day.

You avoided him, staying in the guest room or slipping out to the garden when you knew he was at the office.

The garden was a comfortable place and you'd sit on a stone bench, bam at your side pressed against your leg as you petted him absentmindedly.

bam had become your best friend during this time, you and jungkook were the only ones he'd warmed up to.

You'd always talk to him and he'd always listen, his tail wagging and you'd feel good that not everything in this house was cold or threatening.

You would even feed him sometimes with the huge collection of dog food that was exclusively for him.

That softened your heart even just a bit because of how far jungkook goes for his bam.

How he cares for his dog.

jungkook for his part, maintained a careful distance.

He was gone most days as he buried himself in work and his absence felt like a relief to you.

Allowed you to move through the house without the constant thought that you'd run into him.

When he was home, you'd hear him and his steps but he'd mostly be in his study, his deep voice a low murmur on a phone call and the clink of a glass as he poured whiskey.

But he never sought you out, never knocked on your door or demanded anything from you.

It was as if he understood..

And he chose to give you space.

You didn’t trust it or anything because you thought he was hiding his true intentions like your father, waiting for the right moment.

Yet jungkook's actions were nothing like that but you refused to acknowledge that.

The wardrobe in your bedroom was filled with fresh clothes always in your size and style and you'd wear them reluctantly.

The fridge always stocked with your favorite snacks—some of them you mentioned your liking to mrs. kim in a rare moment.

You didn’t know jungkook was behind it and didn’t know he’d overheard the conversations or paid attention to your habits.

He ensured you had everything you needed even a small stack of books that appeared on the shelf.

Because you loved reading.

All delivered by mrs. kim.

jungkook's silent attempt to make you feel at home.

۶ৎ

One evening you went to the kitchen a bit hungry and the sight stopped you as you saw the food on the table and you thought mrs. kim left it since she usually was the one who cooks.

But the food felt too personal and different… like it was made by someone else.

You ate, not knowing jungkook had cooked it himself, his hands moving with a care he'd never shown anyone directly.

He never cooked for anyone but he did for you.

He'd left before you came down, not wanting to pressure you and he knew that you wouldn’t touch the food if you knew he was the one who cooked it.

Your routine fell into a rhythm.

You'd spend your days reading, playing with bam or staring out the window in your room, dreaming of the life outside.

You stopped resisting the gifts from jungkook because you couldn’t afford to fight everything by yourself and you just needed to wait till your mother got well.

But you never let yourself forget that this is a cage and you didn’t want this.

Soon being in the house all day became suffocating, and you missed your job at the bookstore.

It was more than a job—it was your escape, your dream and you loved working there.

You needed it.

Needed the normalcy and the independence of earning, even if it’s a small income but you could still contribute it to your mother’s bills.

You couldn’t rely on your father, couldn’t trust him to keep his promises, not after he’d sold you to jungkook without a second thought.

The thought of your father and how he didn’t even check on you even once after marriage hurt you more than you expected.

A small part of you hoped he'd care.

That he’d call to see if you were okay, but he hadn’t—maybe he never cared at all.

You were just a burden.

۶ৎ

The next morning you went down willingly, knowing jungkook would be there and found him in the kitchen.

He stood by the counter wearing a navy blue suit, his hair pulled into his usual man bun, a few strands loose.

His brows furrowed in a glare as he focused on his phone, likely checking updates of his work.

You hesitated in the doorway, your heart racing, hands twisting together.

You'd avoided him for days and now facing him, being the first one to approach him made your chest cave.

“uhm…” you started.

Your voice trembles as you forced yourself to step forward and you felt his gaze on you immediately but you didn’t make direct eye contact.

“I wanna go back to my job at the bookstore. I can't leave it. It’s… it’s important to me.”

You looked at him briefly, his eyes meeting yours, unreadable.

For a moment he said nothing and you braced yourself for rejection.

Expecting him to demand you stay, to control you like your father had controlled your mother

Your father had never allowed her freedom.

And you feared jungkook would do the same.

But his expression softened a bit as he set his phone down.

“You can go.” he states.

The dominating tone still there.

“But you’ll take my car and driver. For safety”

You blinked, stunned, the air leaving your lungs.

“You’re… okay with it?” you asked

It was too easy, too kind because your father would’ve laughed and told you a woman’s place was in the home serving her husband.

“I won’t stop you from doing what you love.”

“But you’ll be safe. No considerations on that.”

He left no room for argument.

You nodded slowly, reluctant but relieved.

His agreement threw you off, contradicting the image you'd built of him as a cold, controlling man.

“Okay.”

You paused before saying

“Thank you.”

You never thanked him for anything before but you couldn’t hold back this time and you hated yourself for it.

He nodded once, eyes holding yours, then turned back to his phone without another word.

You walked back to the guest room confused.

He was being kind but you didn’t know if it was genuine and you couldn’t let your guard down.

You couldn’t let yourself be fooled by his generosity.

At the bookstore later that day, the familiar scent of paper and dust made you feel better.

Your coworkers, a small group of women who'd become your friends, noticed the ring on your finger and asked about your marriage, giggling among themselves.

“It’s… fine.” you lied.

Your smile forced.

You didn’t want their pity and didn’t want to admit that you were trapped in a marriage you hadn’t chosen.

You worked quietly shelving books and helping customers but your heart wasn’t in it.

The joy you’d once found in the bookstore felt distant because of the pressure of what you’ve been going through.

jungkook on the other hand never questioned where you went, though he knew every detail.

His driver, a stoic man, reported about all your movements to him—trips to the library and to the hospital to sit by your mother's bedside, your small frame hunched as you held her hand.

Whispering to her even though she couldn’t respond.

jungkook didn’t ask for specifics and didn’t want to intrude but he needed to know you were safe and okay.

He'd instruct his driver to stay close, to ensure no harm came to you and the driver obeyed without question since he's very loyal to jungkook.

jungkook’s protectiveness was a vow one he’d made on your wedding and he meant it.

After seeing your swollen eyes and trembling lips, he couldn’t help it.

And how now he's also one reason for your tears.

He didn’t understand why you stirred something in him, why your pain cut deeper than his own.

But he just knew… he couldn’t let you go.

Your hatred was a constant ache in his chest.

He knew you saw him as a monster like your father and it gnawed at him.

He'd spent his life building walls around his heart against a world that had abandoned him as a child.

Left him to fend for himself in foster homes that offered no warmth.

But you’d slipped through those walls like a much needed light. He didn’t deserve a girl whose selflessness had awakened something in him that was long dead.

You’d changed something in him—something soft, dangerous—and he didn’t know what to do.

But he just knew he couldn’t see you broken.

He didn’t know if it was love, he didn’t believe in such things or ever experienced it.

But it was something.

That bound him to you.

In a way he couldn’t explain.

You had started noticing the differences between jungkook and your father, how he abused your mother and controlled every aspect of her life.

jungkook, for all his coldness, hadn’t done that.

He'd given you space and freedom, even agreeing to let you return to your bookstore job without hesitation.

But you refused to soften.

Because he'd trapped you and no amount of kindness could erase that.

۶ৎ

The afternoon sun cast shadows across the floor of the polished kitchen.

You stood by the island, mrs. kim beside you stirring a pot at the stove.

You'd offered to help her cook not because you felt obligated but because the guest room has started feeling too much.

Its walls closing in with every hour you spend alone with your thoughts.

mrs. kim had welcomed your help with a warm smile and handed you a cutting board and a pile of vegetables so you set to work.

Slicing vegetables as it helped distract you from overthinking.

The kitchen felt warm not just because of the stove but also from her presence that made you feel less alone.

You'd really started appreciating her.

You found yourself opening up, if only slightly.

“It must be hard working for jungkook.”

You say almost casually but still with bitterness present.

“He’s so cold and rude. Doesn’t seem like he cares about anyone.”

She paused, her spoon stilling in the pot as she turned to look at you, her eyes had a depth of understanding that caught you off guard.

“mr. jeon isn’t like that.” she says.

Even though she didn’t sound overly defensive

“He can be stern, yes… but only when it's necessary. He's not a bad person, mrs. jeon.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you diced an onion sharper than necessary.

“He’s not as nice as you think he is.” you add.

“Men like him… they're all the same. They act kind until they get what they want, and then…” you trailed off.

Your throat tightening with memories of your father and how badly he would react when he was drunk or even in general.

mrs. kim wiped her hands on her apron and faced you fully.

“I’ve worked for mr. Jeon for years.”

“He’s not perfect but he’s not what you think. You know what he did once?”

You looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“He pays me well more than I ever expected. When my youngest child was sick and needed surgery we couldn’t afford, he covered it without a second thought. Didn’t even ask for anything in return. Just told me to take care of my family.”

You paused your knife hovering, her words made your stomach flutter along with a doubt about the assumptions you made about jungkook.

You didn’t want to believe her but the sincerity in her voice and the way her eyes softened when she spoke of him made it hard for you.

“That doesn’t mean he’s good.” you said quietly.

She didn’t reply right away, her gaze lingering on you.

“I don’t want to pry into your marriage.” she said carefully.

“That’s between you and him. But I've seen a lot in my years and I can tell you this...”

“mr. jeon lost more than most, his trust, his parents and his chance at a normal life. He's built so much wealth from the ground to protect himself but that doesn’t mean he's heartless. He’s worth a chance.”

“Not because he’s your husband but because he’s a man who’s trying even if he doesn’t always know how.”

You looked away, a shaky breath leaving you as you resumed chopping, wanting the tears that had welled in your eyes to go away.

You didn’t want to admit how much her words affected you.

Her words hit a nerve, especially the story about her son.

“I don’t see him that way.” you grit out.

“That’s up to you,” she says simply.

“But people aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes they surprise you.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The conversation, though, didn’t leave your mind.

You didn’t know that jungkook hadn’t known about your forced marriage but the idea that he might be more.

That he might have a heart beneath all this…

You shook your head, focusing on helping mrs. kim plate the food, trying to bury the doubt she'd planted.

۶ৎ

One morning you wandered into the kitchen barefoot and stopped at the sight of a coffee maker on the counter. It was a new model, along with a whole collection of your favorite coffee packets.

You stared at it, heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t had coffee in days and it wasn’t present in his house anyways because you’ve heard from mrs. kim that jungkook disliked coffee.

So what is this doing here?

Coffee was one of the small joys in your life and you approached the machine cautiously, you didn’t wanna use it, not knowing the purpose of this.

Maybe jungkook bought it for a staff…? Or did he have a recent liking for coffee?

Obviously he wouldn’t know you loved coffee so much and go out of his way to buy one for you specifically… right?

You brewed a cup and sipped, closing your eyes and savoring it.

For a moment you were just y/n, not jungkook's wife but just a girl with a cup of coffee.

You didn’t know jungkook was watching from the hallway, he stood there, his suit already on for the day.

Your grin, the genuine one you let out, hit him right on the chest.

He'd chosen the coffee maker himself and had spent hours researching your tastes, wanting to give you something that would make you happy.

Even if you'd never know it was from him.

For you.

You laughed as bam approached and you fed him some of the chicken left boiled for him.

He was jungkook's dog but he was yours now too and the thought brought a strange loving feeling.

That you relished in.

Sometimes you'd curl up on the couch and lose yourself in a book.

jungkook watched you sometimes when you thought you were alone.

He'd stand in the doorway of the study, dark eyes tracing the way your face brightened, your lips curving slightly.

You were so beautiful to him…

Your innocence, everything, captivated him.

It made him possessive of you.

He'd turn away before you noticed.

Every day he asked mrs. kim the same questions as he stood in the kitchen.

“How is she doing today? did she eat well?”

mrs. kim would nod, giving honest answers that yes you would eat, but not a lot. You're quiet and well, you're managing.

He'd nod back with a nonchalant hum but inside he was noticing every detail, the way you looked healthier, your skin less pale.

The rich, healthy foods he ensured were always provided helped you and it gave him a quiet satisfaction.

Even if you'd never thank him.

He didn’t need your gratitude, he needed you to be whole.

Get everything that you never got in your life.

You noticed the changes in yourself too, though you hated to admit it, your clothes fit better and your body felt strong.

You'd always been weak from hunger and stress but now you looked less frail, your curves fuller.

You still refused to use the black card jungkook had given you, the one he'd pressed into your hand with a stern look.

You used your own money earned from your bookstore job for anything you needed, determined to maintain some semblance of independence.

You hated being too dependent on him.

The card sat untouched in a drawer.

Meanwhile, jungkook’s feelings for you grew with every passing day, an obsession he couldn’t shake.

A girl who hated him had become the center of his world.

He thought of you constantly—at his office, during meetings and even in the quiet of his own room, which was supposed to be yours as well after marrying him but it wasn’t.

Never would be.

He had too many questions about your life, about everything but you were already hurting and hating him and demanding too much will push you further away.

He didn’t know how to fix it.

So he did what he could—small gestures, quiet care, hoping one day you'd see him for who he was.

Not who you feared he'd be

You, on the other hand, hated how everything made you feel cared for when you were supposed to see jungkook as the enemy and you'd sit and eat in silence at the dining table.

Your eyes fixed on your plate, avoiding the empty chair where jungkook might sit if he were home.

jungkook was out most days and you didn’t understand why he stayed away.

Didn’t believe it was out of respect.

You'd spend time with bam, who you've accepted as your little baby.

“You get it, don’t you bamie?”

You pout as you scratch behind his ears.

“You’re stuck here too but you make it better.”

He'd nudge your hand then, jungkook would watch all those moments from his study window when you'd spend time in the garden with bam, playing with him.

Watching you laugh as bam chased a butterfly—that rare moment of joy you let out.

He wanted to reach out, to cross the distance between you two but your words from the wedding night still echoed in his mind—"you're just like him. I’ll never expect you”

So he did what he could.

jungkook's care extended always as time went by.

He'd instructed mrs. kim to ensure you had everything you needed—every snack, everything you craved but were too shy to ask for.

When you'd find a new warm blanket in the guest room, perfect for cuddling with bam, you'd thank mrs. kim, assuming it was her thoughtfulness.

She'd smile, her eyes knowing but never correct you.

jungkook’s orders were clear: give what you need to make you comfortable, but don’t push or intrude.

۶ৎ

Today you emerged from the bathroom, your body wrapped in a towel and it was a short one, barely meeting at your chest but you didn’t have any extra towel.

Your hair still wet from the shower, dripped water as you adjusted the towel, ensuring it stayed secure.

You went out of the room to grab a piece of your clothing that bam had probably playfully brought out with his teeth while playing.

You moved quickly, grabbing it, intending to slip back into the guest room before anyone could see you in such a state.

Your mind was preoccupied and you were so focused on reaching the safety of your room that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.

jungkook walked with his phone in his hand as he typed a quick message to his assistant.

He was distracted, dark eyes fixed on the screen, unaware of you.

You collided into him, stumbling as your foot caught the edge of a rug.

The towel slipped slightly, exposing your cleavage as you gripped it tightly against your breasts while the other instinctively grabbed at his suit to steady yourself.

You gasped, your fingers curling onto his suit, heart lurching as you realized who you'd bumped into.

jungkook's hand shot out immediately, his large hand wrapping around your upper arms to keep you from falling.

The warmth of his touch was unsettling against your bare skin as you froze, catching your breath.

Your cheeks pinked with embarrassment as you stood there exposed and vulnerable, the towel your only shield.

jungkook's eyes widened briefly in surprise as he registered the situation.

His gaze locked onto your face, avoiding the way your body was almost bare.

The intensity of his stare made your stomach flutter, a mix of fear and a strange warmth unsettled you.

You were still holding onto him and could feel his strong, muscular figure.

His teeth clenched, a muscle ticking as he fought to maintain control.

He was acutely aware of your closeness, the way your breasts pressed against his chest.

The way your small frame seemed even more delicate, his grip on your arms was careful not to bruise but enough to keep you upright.

“Sorry.” you breathe.

You tugged the towel tighter around yourself, your eyes burning with shame as it exposed your cleavage anyways.

You felt exposed not just physically but emotionally as if this moment had taken away the walls you'd built to protect yourself.

You wanted to disappear, to retreat to the guest room and hide from his piercing gaze.

The idea of him seeing you like this made your heart race.

“It’s okay.”

A deep rumble leaves him.

He released your arms slowly, his hands hovering for a moment as if unsure whether to steady you further or step back entirely.

“You alright?”

You nodded quickly, still avoiding his eyes, your cheeks flushed deeply.

“I—I’m fine.”

Your voice trembled as you took a small step back, putting distance.

The towel felt flimsier than ever and you crossed one arm over your chest but that only made your breasts pop out more and jungkook cleared his throat before looking away.

He didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.

You smoothed your wet hair back nervously, he made it impossible to breathe and you can still feel his touch from when he steadied you.

jungkook's eyes remained fixed on your face. He didn’t let his gaze drop and didn’t allow himself to linger on your curves or the way the towel hugged your frame.

But the effort was hard, hands clenching at the sides as he fought the desire that coursed through him.

You were breathtaking even in this unguarded moment—your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the way your damp hair clung to your skin.

It stirred something primal in him, a need he hadn’t felt in years but he pushed it down, his jaw clenching harder.

He wasn’t your father.

Wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of your vulnerability

He was your husband.

He'd promised himself he'd protect you even from himself and he meant it.

“Be careful.” he said deeply.

He stepped to the side, giving you space to pass, his posture rigid.

His eyes followed you briefly—a flicker of guilt and maybe longing passing through them before he turned his gaze to the floor, giving you the privacy you so clearly needed.

You nodded again.

Exhaling, you hurried past him, your bare feet moving quickly towards the guest room.

The door clicked shut behind you and you leaned against it, heart pounding.

Your mind racing with his touch, his voice and his restraint.

It also sparked the memories of the wedding when he kissed you.

Barely a kiss, just a peck… but so respectful.

As if he knew you weren’t ready.

He hadn’t looked at you the way you’d feared, he hadn’t leered or made you feel like an object.

Since the wedding night, not once did he ever force you or touch you without consent.

Your thoughts were all over the place.

jungkook hadn’t.

He respected you and kept his eyes on your face. It didn’t fit the image of the cold, controlling man you’d convinced yourself he was.

You hated how he made you feel.

Hated him.

You tried to process what happened, your body reacting on its own and you felt a faint throb between your legs that you tried to conceal by pressing your thighs together.

Though it only worsened it.

You shuddered, you’ve never felt such feelings before and you didn’t wanna dwell on them so you went to change your clothes.

Hoping it would help to outrun your thoughts.

The way you bumped into him in the hallway had shifted something.

However small.

And you weren’t ready to face what it meant.

jungkook still stood in the hallway for a moment longer, heart racing with the unfamiliar heat in his veins.

Seeing you wet and flushed had tested his control.

He'd wanted to pull you closer to feel the warm wetness of your skin under his hands and to erase the fear in your eyes with his touch.

But he hadn’t.

Because he wanted to be the man you needed him to be.

The effort had left him shaken, body tensed as he felt his cock harden under his pants and let out a low growl.

Adjusting himself.

Because it's been forever since a woman made him react.

He turned, heading toward the staircase.

He needed to get to the office and needed the distraction of work.

Anything to keep the image of you off his mind.

۶ৎ

That day late at midnight

You couldn’t sleep.

Thunder rumbled so hard it shook the windows, sending tremors through you.

It was raining heavily.

You sat huddled on the bed, your knees drawn tightly to your chest as if you could make yourself smaller.

Panic clawed at your chest.

Each thunder was a reminder of your childhood, of nights spent hiding in your closet as your father's voice echoed through the house.

The sound triggered memories you'd tried to forget—your mother's cries and the crack of a hand against skin, your own tears as you prayed for it to stop.

Whenever it rained, your father wouldn’t be able to go out and his temper would always be high so he’d yell and beat up your mother.

That’s why you hated rain and blamed the weather for it.

Now alone in this unfamiliar house, married to a man you feared only increased it.

You felt like a child again, small and powerless.

Your hands trembled.

Your breath came in short gasps and a sob broke free uncontrollably.

The panic attack taking hold of you.

You pressed your palms to your ears trying to block out the thunder but it was no use.

The noise was everywhere.

The weight of it all—your forced marriage, your lost dreams and your mother's illness—crushed over you and you wailed harder, body shaking.

You covered your mouth trying to not let any noises out, not wanting jungkook to hear.

You felt so alone.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

A small knock on the door cut through your sobs, startling you as your body tensed, staring at the closed door.

It was jungkook—you were sure of it.

No one was home except him now.

The thought made your panic spike, thinking of his dark eyes and anger from being disturbed by your pathetic cries.

What if he found your crying annoying and was angry?

What if he thought you were weak and a burden?

And throws you out of the house in this weather?

You tried to swallow your sobs to pull yourself together but the thunder crashed again and you flinched, a whimper escaping your lips.

“y/n?”

jungkook's voice came through the door, concerned.

It wasn’t the cold, commanding tone you’d expected, the one that he’d used when he’d ordered you to eat.

“Are you okay?”

You wiped at your face and tried to steady your voice.

“I’m fine.”

But the words came out shaky, barely audible.

Another thunder shook the house and you gasped loudly.

“I’m sorry I—I didn’t mean to…”

You started speaking as the door creaked open and jungkook stepped inside.

He was dressed casually, which was a rare sight that you haven’t seen—a black t-shirt hugging his muscular chest and sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

His dark hair loose and slightly messy, free from its usual man bun.

His presence was overwhelming even in the dark.

His eyes usually so unreadable, held worry in them as they landed on you curled on the bed, your face glistening with tears.

“Don’t apologize.” he says gently.

He closed the door behind him.

“It’s just a storm. You’re safe here.”

You shook your head, hands clutching your knees tighter, you didn’t want him here and his pity or any of his fakeness.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to go away.

His expression shifted, dark eyes softening.

He took a step closer then stopped as if aware of how his presence might intimidate you.

“You’re not alone.” he rasps.

“I’m here. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

You hesitated, your fear of him warring with the desperate need for comfort.

He was the last person you wanted to rely on but in that moment with the storm outside and your heart jumping out of your chest, his presence felt like a lifeline.

A tether to something solid.

You swallowed hard.

“Okay.” you sniffled.

jungkook nodded, his movements careful as he pulled the single chair from the corner of the room and set it beside your bed, keeping a distance.

He sat, his posture relaxed but alert, his hands resting on his thighs as he noticed how your panic attack was still there.

“Breathe with me.”

His deep voice almost soothing.

“In and out. Slow. Like this.”

He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and exhaled, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to follow, your breaths shaky and fast but his steady gaze kept you going.

Inhale exhale, inhale exhale.

The rain and thunder still went on but it seemed farther away now, his voice overtaking your attention.

“You’re doing good.”

He encouraged you.

“Just keep breathing. The storm will pass.”

You nodded, your hands loosening their grip on your knees.

The panic was still there but less overwhelming with him here.

You didn’t understand why he was doing this.

Why he cared.

He was supposed to be cold, cruel.

But this man sitting quietly in the dim light, eyes soft and voice steady was nothing like the monster you'd imagined.

But you clung to the comfort he offered, too desperate to push it away.

“You’re stronger than you think.”

He said after a moment.

“You’ve been through a lot, y/n. I see it in your eyes, but you're still here, still fighting… that’s not weakness. That’s a strength most people don’t have.”

His words hit you and you stared at him, your eyes wide, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“You don’t know me.” you defended.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t.” he admits.

His eyes not leaving yours

“But I see you. I see how you carry it, how you don’t let it break you. You’re not alone, not tonight.”

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

You wanted to argue to tell him he was wrong that you were broken and weak.

That you'd been broken for years.

But the sincerity in his voice stopped you.

For the first time you saw him not as the man who’d married you against your will but as someone trying to help.

Someone who saw your pain and didn’t turn away.

The thunder crashed again and you squeaked, grabbing the bedsheets.

“Listen to me, it’s okay.” he coaxes you.

“Just focus on me. The storm can't touch you here, not while I'm here.”

Your breaths evened out, the panic fading slowly. You leaned back against the headboard, body exhausted from crying.

From fighting the fear.

jungkook stayed silent, his eyes watching you carefully not with judgement but with a patience that made your chest ache.

You didn’t understand him.

Didn’t want to.

But in that moment you forgot you hated him, forgot you feared him.

He was just a man sitting there offering you safety when you'd only ever known chaos during storms like this.

Your mother had been the only one to comfort you during rain like this.

Now jungkook was here and it felt both wrong and right.

“Try to rest.” he whispers.

“I’ll stay right here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

You didn’t respond, throat too tight with emotion and you slid down the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself.

The rain was slowing and your eyes grew heavy, tiredness pulling you under.

As you drifted off, you felt safety and a warmth you hadn’t expected.

jungkook's presence lulled you to sleep, your breath evening out, body relaxing for the first time that night.

Maybe the first time ever.

jungkook watched you, his heart squeezing in his chest.

You looked so small.

Your face streaked with dried tears, lips parted as you slept.

The t-shirt you wore loose and slightly oversized hugged your curves in a way that made his nostrils flare, his eyes catching the outline of your body before he forced himself to look away.

He got flashbacks from the morning when you crashed into him and everything was taking a toll on him, hands tightening on his thighs.

You were beautiful, heartbreakingly so.

He noticed the faint outline of your nipples through the fabric, hard and pebbled and his body reacted despite his efforts to stay in control.

He turned his gaze to the floor, he wouldn’t let himself think of you that way, not when you were so vulnerable.

Cursing himself for the thoughts he couldn’t stop.

As if the universe itself was set on testing his patience today.

He didn’t sleep, his eyes returning to you again and again. You made soft noises in your sleep, small whimpers that broke his heart.

He wanted to reach out to smooth the crease between your brows and erase the frown.

He couldn’t believe that you had let him stay so near you yet so far but at least it was small steps that you were comfortable around him to let him stay.

A small part of him was grateful that you'd let him stay that you'd fallen asleep with him there.

It was a small trust, one he didn’t deserve but he clung to it.

When he heard you crying from his room, he rushed not even thinking twice.

He wanted to pull you in his arms and hold you tight when he saw you shaking so bad, wipe your tears away with his thumbs and whisper words of comfort to you.

Hold you against his chest as if he could protect you from the world.

But he knew that wasn't possible.

Carefully he leaned forward, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek slowly so as not to wake you.

Your skin was soft and warm.

The contact felt electric.

He pulled back and he suddenly needed a cigarette. He wanted to smoke to distract himself but he didn’t want to disturb you so he didn’t.

For the first time valuing someone else’s comfort that wasn’t his.

He knew you saw him as nothing but a captor.

He'd married you because you made him feel for the first time but now he wondered if he'd made a mistake, if you'd be better off without him.

Because you deserved all the good things in the world.

If he’d known, he told himself, he would’ve helped you, would’ve paid for your mother’s treatment and given you freedom.

Even if it meant not marrying you, even if it meant hurting himself more.

Only if he knew.

Only if he didn’t believe the bastard of your father.

He sat there all night, awake, his body still.

The storm soon stopped, the rain softening but he didn’t move.

He watched you memorizing all your features closely.

He'd prove you everything.

And most importantly.

He'd wait as long as it took to earn your trust, to show you he wasn't what you thought he was.

But for now he'd sit as a guardian for you in the dark.

Watching over you as you slept.

And promising himself that just like this he’ll be watching over you for the rest of his life.

For as long as he breathed.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

[gukcnt]

taglist:

@dollytingz @neg-l3ct @whoisbaek15 @haebearchan09 @amarawayne @chaelvrxlachimochala @queenbloody @jkvien @zelda28ma @eogiyeongcha @stars4kooo @j0cgr0c @elithenium @gukihoney @itsjkbiased @supercoolchem @3ntanv @pearinwords @ninglyss @cheolew @meilyn2727 @yuniesluv @namj00n-ing @ivykl33n @llallaaa @butterflyfairy99 @swatysheeppeace @kissyfacekoo @littlestarstinyseven @infiniteritualdreamer

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[minisugakoobies]

Joyride | KTH & JJK

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: smut, strangers to lovers, College!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking pot, kissing, grinding, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, masturbation (m), voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, sex on a beach (not the drink), unprotected sex (with bc), threesome, finger sucking, dick piercing, Taehyung has an oral fixation, grand theft auto, a bitch gets slapped, that bitch is Jimin

Word Count: 12.8K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Senior year spring break sucks, thanks to the annoying spoiled little rich boy who won't stop trying to get your attention. When a scenic drive in his ridiculously expensive sports car goes wrong, you meet two sexy mechanics who decide to teach him a lesson - and show you the real meaning of "joyride."

Destination: Miami, FL

A/N: Written as part of the Spring Break-ing The Rules collab hosted by @btshoneyhive! For some reason, when I read the prompt "breaking the rules," Taehyung and Jungkook immediately jumped to mind as the likely rulebreakers. Who wouldn't want to go for a forbidden joyride with those two?

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

The wind whips around you as the bright red sports car speeds down the bridge. The scenery outside your open window steals your breath away–nothing but clear blue skies above and tranquil turquoise waters below. Resting your arm on the molding, feeling the sun’s brilliant rays gently kiss your skin, you wish for the hundredth time that you were somewhere, anywhere other than paradise right now. 

“Hey sweetie?”

Clenching your jaw, you turn away from the stunning view outside the Lamborghini and face the source of your desire to be elsewhere. Sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, sunglasses slightly lowered on his nose as he looks at you, Jimin flashes you a sickeningly sweet smile.  

“Can you close your window just a little? It’s starting to mess up my hair.” 

Oh, god forbid one strand of his luscious blonde locks should fall out of place. With a nod, you press the button to roll your window up, suppressing another sigh. 

When this trip ends and you get back to campus, you’re never letting your roommate make another decision for you, ever again.

Two months ago, you’d been standing in the tiny kitchen in your apartment, frowning at the hot plate that was taking way too long to heat up, when Jang-Mi had burst through the door. 

“Roooomieeee!” “In the kitchen!”

She’d bounded into the room, beaming from ear to ear, giggling like mad. You knew immediately the source of her elation. 

“What did Hoseok do today?” 

Hoseok was your roommate’s crush and the president of Beta Tau Sigma, the fraternity with the reputation for the wildest parties and the hottest members. Not to mention the richest - the entire frat seemed to consist of nothing but trust fund babies and the heirs to every mega-successful corporation in the country. Unfortunately, they always acted like they were entitled to whatever they wanted because of their wealth. 

As you loved to tell Jang-Mi, you can’t spell “spoiled brats” without BTS. 

For three years, you’d watched your friend moon over this (admittedly handsome, devilishly charming) man as he fucked his way around campus, before he finally shone his sunshiney smile her way. They’d been flirting up a storm in the last few weeks, and based on how she was practically dancing around the kitchen, you deduced that he must’ve finally made a move. 

“Pack your bags, roomie, we’re going to Miami!”

Once she was finished bouncing around the room, Jang-Mi explained that Beta Tau had reserved several floors of a swanky hotel in Miami for spring break, and one of the rooms was suddenly vacant thanks to a brother whose travel plans had already changed, so Hoseok had offered it to Jang-Mi. 

For free. 

Hoseok was your favorite of Beta Tau’s members, the only one who didn’t try to get by on his money and good looks alone, so if any of them were going to be generous, it’d be him. But still–without knowing the hotel, you could pretty much guarantee it was opulent and overpriced, so giving away a room to your roommate for an entire week was pretty incredible. He must’ve genuinely liked her.

“Are you serious? He’s offering you a spring break trip for free?”

Jang-Mi’s giddy effervescence was only slightly punctured by your incredulous tone. “Well, not the whole trip–we’d still have to find our way to Miami and back, but he’s giving us the room for free! He said the floors were paid for by one of the brothers’ dads, so there’s no need for me to give him any money for it. I’ve already been researching and there are some cheap flights and–you should really be more excited about this! Come on, senior year spring break! For cheeeeap!”

“You know, if you take the room, you’re probably going to have to fuck him,” you tease her. Jang-Mi rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up, you know it’s not like that. But let’s be real, I’m already planning to, anyway. Come onnnnn, roomie!”

It wasn’t as if you weren’t dying to get away, anyway. Four years of busting your ass to get into medical school were coming to a head, exams and applications and interviews finally about to pay off, and you needed a fucking break. A chance to relax, have some fun. Why not Miami? Sure, when you pictured yourself on spring break, you didn’t imagine it’d be with the Beta Tau brats, but whatever, you could probably sneak away and plant yourself on the beach for a week without seeing any of them. 

You definitely weren’t in any position to turn down a free room, and you certainly weren’t about to let Jang-Mi go alone. 

“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Miami!”

Like you’d assumed, the hotel you were staying at was extravagant, a towering modern monolith of steel and glass glittering in the blinding Florida sun. The other hotel guests milling about at the entrance looked way posher than broke college students like you and your roommate, and a million miles (maybe a million dollars) away from the crowd at the motel you’d stayed at during last year’s spring break trip to Myrtle Beach. Somehow, you couldn’t picture these people setting up a slip-n-slide on the staircase between floors or drinking jungle juice out of a tub. 

Which was okay with you. All you wanted from this trip was the chance to relax, anyway. 

As you were dragging your suitcase off the airport shuttle, the sound of squealing tires caught your ear. A shiny red sports car zoomed into view, coming to a stop inches from where you and Jang-Mi stood, Lamborghini logo sparkling in the sun. An absolutely stunning blond man climbed out of the driver’s seat, clad in a green and white Gucci bomber jacket, and flipped his keys to the valet. He caught you looking and flashed you a charming smile and a wink. 

“Ooh, well, hello,” Jang-Mi muttered under her breath. “Looks like your ride is here, roomie.” 

You merely laughed as the two of you entered the lobby behind Mr. Gucci. Opulent didn’t even begin to describe the place–ornate chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, lighting the cavernous dark wood and chrome lobby. Fresh flowers decorated every surface, and a wall of windows behind the reception desk gave you a view of the dazzling courtyard, where three large pools laid separated by lounge chairs and palm trees. 

You could already see yourself lying on one of those chairs, all alone, sipping a cocktail from the cabana bar, enjoying the sun in silence.  Jang-Mi and Hoseok could have your room for the week, as far as you were concerned–you could just camp out by the pool 24/7. 

“Jimin!” At the sound of Hoseok’s voice, you and Jang-Mi turned towards the elevators. Hoseok emerged with a wide smile plastered across his handsome face, and strode across the lobby to hug Mr. Gucci. After a few seconds, Hoseok spotted Jang-Mi. “Mi-Mi! You’re here!” 

He quickly embraced your roommate, and you suddenly became interested in your luggage tags as the two of them greeted each other only using their tongues. Once they came up for air, introductions were made. 

“This is Jimin. We grew up together–our dads are business partners. He’s studying at the University of Florida.” Hoseok grins. “Actually, he’s not doing any studying this week. He’s blowing off his classes to join us for our spring break!” The two men then proceeded to perform a complicated handshake ending in both of them miming throwing back shots and slapping asses, making Jang-Mi giggle while you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Must’ve been nice to be able to take two spring break trips in a year without worrying about classes or other responsibilities. If only you’d been born into a wealthy family, too. 

“Jimin, this is Jang-Mi, the girl I’ve been telling you about.” 

Jimin grabbed your roommate’s hand and pressed his plump lips to it as she giggled again. “Lovely to meet you. Hobi’s been talking my ear off about you.” 

“And this is Jang-Mi’s roommate, YN.” 

It was your turn to feel Jimin’s full attention, and holy hell, did you feel it. He lightly grasped your hand, fingers rubbing your knuckles as he brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently with his pillowy pink lips. His touch sent goosebumps rippling down your arms, and you couldn’t deny that he was hot as fuck as his gaze raked over you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he purred your name. 

“Likewise.” 

“Jimin was just about to show me his new toy,” Hoseok informed you and Jang-Mi. 

“Yeah, got my graduation gift a little early,” Jimin grinned. 

“I can’t believe your dad got you a Huracán EVO Spyder,” Hoseok shook his head. “Sick.” 

“He bought you a spider?” Jang-Mi blurted in horror. “Spiders are so creepy!”

Hoseok burst into laughter, pulling Jang-Mi into a hug. “You’re so cute! It’s a car, babe.”

Jimin sniffed imperiously. “Yeah, my dad had her specially made–most come with a double-clutch system but he had them put in a classic manual transmission for me. She’s my second Lambo. First one was okay, but this one–she’s got some wicked power under the hood. Maxes out at 200 mph.” He grinned, leaning towards you. “Are you the kind of girl who likes to go fast? Wanna go for a ride?” 

Just as quickly as your desire for this man had appeared, it suddenly evaporated. Jimin was just another spoiled little rich boy, with cheesy lines to boot. Why did they always seem to go hand-in-hand? Oh, right, they assumed you’d swoon over their money and didn’t expect to have to work for your attention, so why bother to come up with something clever?

Hoseok saved you from having to answer. “I’ll text you when we get back and we can maybe make some dinner plans?” he asked your roommate, who nodded enthusiastically. “Cool. See you ladies later!” 

“Come on, I wanna get checked in so I can start planning my outfit for dinner!” Jang-Mi squealed, and you shook your head at her adorable excitement as you followed her to the reception desk. She was really crazy about Hoseok.

Once in your room, the two of you prepared for your evening. You tried to freshen up enough to look like you weren’t currently experiencing wicked jet lag while Jang-Mi primped as if she were preparing for a runway show, full hair and makeup going once she’d finally settled on a dress to wear. 

She suddenly turned to you with a solemn look, putting her curling iron down. “Roomie, I’m nervous.”

Applying a coat of mascara to your lashes, you blinked in the mirror. “Nervous about what?”

“I mean, I really like Hoseok! More than I thought I did, you know? Like…”

“Like beyond just wanting to jump his bones?” 

She nodded so seriously that you couldn’t help but laugh. “Jang-Mi! That’s wonderful! So what do you have to be nervous about?”

“I’m just afraid I’ll mess it up somehow! Like I’ll get in my head and say something stupid or do something cringe or maybe I’ll accidentally tell him I like him and he won’t feel the same and then I’ll–”

You cut her off before she ran out of breath and collapsed into a pile of gasping anxiousness. “Okay, okay, I get it. I think you’re already psyching yourself out over nothing–the man obviously wants you here, he gave you a free room to come and hang out with him–but I get it.” 

Jang-Mi worriedly twisted the cord of her curler. “Will you make me a promise, roomie?”

“Anything.”

“Can you–can you just hang out with me this week and help keep me calm like you do? So I can be around Hoseok without making an idiot of myself?”

The image of you lying on one of those lounge chairs, soaking up the sun in blissful silence, vanished before your eyes as you smiled at your roommate. “I will stick by your side and give you all the support you need to finally get your man, okay? I promise.”

So that’s just what you did. Whatever Jang-Mi wanted to do, you also did. Sunbathing on the beach? Shopping at luxury boutiques? Visiting the hotel spa? If Jang-Mi went, so did you. And so did Hoseok, of course, which was fine.

But unfortunately, if Hoseok was there, that meant Jimin was, too.

It only took about five minutes of talking to Jimin to realize he was absolutely not your type. Your assumptions about him being the type of man to flaunt his wealth proved to be true as he bragged about his car and mentioned his family’s vacation homes in Rome, Tokyo, and the Hamptons all within the answer to your opening question, “So, what did you do on your other spring break?” 

You tried, you really did. Knowing that Jang-Mi was worried about things going smoothly with Hoseok meant that you had to watch your tongue around Jimin, fearing that upsetting him might upset Hoseok. So you kept trying to engage him in conversation in the hopes of finding something you might have in common. Not that he ever bothered to ask you anything about yourself, always steering the conversation back to himself any time you attempted to jump in with something remotely relevant from your own life. 

He was an absolutely shameless flirt, too. Unfortunately, his personality (or lack thereof) was too much of a turn-off for you, so you continuously avoided his advances, politely rebuffing him as best you could, hoping he’d eventually get tired and pursue any of the BTS groupies who had also flocked to Miami for spring break with the boys. 

But rejection appeared to be a foreign concept to Jimin, and instead of discouraging him, it simply made him try even harder. And he started using his considerable wealth to do it. He paid for all of your meals, bought you drinks at every bar and club that your group visited, even slapped down his black card when you pondered splurging on the best package at the spa. No matter how much you argued with him or attempted to slip your own (debit) card to the staff, Jimin managed to scoop up the bill every time. 

At first you’d felt guilty, but you quickly got over it the more you were subjected to his dull monologues (you can’t call it a conversation if one person does all the talking, can you?). Not to mention the incessant pick-up lines, each one worse than the last. By the time the week was half over, you’d stopped caring and simply accepted him buying everything as your payment for putting up with him. 

And now you’re here, stuck in a ridiculously expensive car zipping down US Highway 1 towards the Florida Keys, with the most noxious man–no, boy–you’ve ever met. Hoseok and Jang-Mi are in the car ahead of you, another fancy Lamborghini that Hoseok rented for the day, since there are no backseats in Jimin’s car. The plan is to go snorkeling, and you’re excited that you’ll get a little break from Jimin for once because he won’t be able to talk your ears off underwater. 

If you guys even make it to the Keys, that is. For all his talk about his beloved Lambo, Jimin’s clearly spent very little time behind the wheel and doesn’t appear to really understand how a clutch works. You, on the other hand, know how to drive stick, and you recognize that the constant grinding sound every time he shifts is most definitely not a good sign. 

He’s either playing it cool or legitimately doesn’t seem to see any reason for worry as he grins, fingers curling around the shifter again. “Traffic is thinning. Let’s open her up a little, shall we?” he asks rhetorically, and as he toggles the knob, stepping down on the clutch, the car lets out an ear-splitting shriek of metal-on-metal and begins to vibrate. “Uh. Fuck. Let me try…” He shifts again, and the squealing sound intensifies. “Fuck!” 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, knowing full well the answer is no. 

“Yeah, sweetie, no worries.” His smile is dazzling but his sunglasses are still lowered enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. He presses a few buttons on his console and Hoseok’s voice suddenly blares through the speakers.

“Jimin? What’s up?” 

“Hey, the Lambo’s kinda making this weird noise.” As if to corroborate his story, the car squeaks again. “I’m going to pull over for a second to try to figure it out.” 

“Do you want us to stop with you?” 

“Nah, keep going and we’ll catch up. I’m sure we’ll be back on the road in a few minutes.” 

But fifteen minutes later, you’re still sitting on the side of the road, sighing heavily as Jimin scrolls agitatedly through his phone. He’d lowered the roof, at least, so you’re getting a nice breeze as you wait impatiently for him to realize that he’s going to need a professional to fix whatever’s wrong with his car.

Finally, he lowers his phone. “Maybe something just got caught in the engine? Let’s head back out and see if we still hear it.” 

He flips the ignition, steps on the gas, then steps on the clutch. Nothing happens. He repeats the steps, to no avail. With an angry curse, he slams the shifter back into park and kills the engine again. 

“I think we’re going to need a tow truck,” you declare, pulling out your own phone. 

“No way. A tow truck driver will take one look at this car and charge me double what he’d charge anyone else.” 

You can’t help yourself. You laugh right in his handsome face. The man who has been throwing his credit card around all week is suddenly feeling frugal? “You’re seriously worried about paying too much?” 

“It all adds up,” he informs you sagely, and you roll your eyes. “Let me see if I can figure this out.” 

“Well, if you’re not going to call for a tow, what exactly is your plan?”

He shrugs. “You can find anything on the internet. There has to be some article somewhere that will tell me what to do.” 

“Ah, right. I forgot, mechanics don’t even undergo training anymore - they just sit in their shops and Google ‘how to make car go’ all day.”

Jimin’s smile disappears as he glowers a little. “Look, just give me a minute, okay?” His fingers fly over his phone again. 

“I’ll give you ten. And then I’m calling a tow.” 

Twenty minutes later, Jimin sulks quietly while you wait for the tow truck to arrive. You’d managed to find a shop that specializes in imports like his Lamborghini, but it’s back in Miami city limits. So much for Key Largo and snorkeling. 

You’re expecting panic from Jang-Mi when you tell her as much, figuring she’ll insist on making Hoseok double back for you, or even send you a rideshare, but to your surprise, she’s totally fine. 

“You know, this might be for the best!” she has the audacity to tell you when you slip out of the car to call her. “Things are going really well with Hoseok today. I think we’re okay on our own!”

Well then. “That’s great! But what the fuck am I supposed to do now instead?” 

“I don’t know, just keep Jimin company, I guess? He’s probably going to be upset if his car’s fucked up.” 

You haven’t told Jang-Mi how much Jimin repels you, not wanting to burst her happy little Hoseok bubble, so you bite your tongue again instead of stating your desire to ditch him as soon as possible. “Yeah. I guess. Hopefully the shop can fix whatever’s wrong quickly enough that the whole day isn’t shot.”

Jimin triggers the mechanism to close the roof as you climb back into the car. You’re contemplating telling Jimin you’re going to call a rideshare when a gigantic black truck slowly pulls over in front of you. The license plate reads “BEOM 1.” “This must be the guy from Tiger Motors,” you sigh thankfully. 

A tall, vibrantly purple-haired man dressed in a greasy pair of navy coveralls climbs out of the cab of the truck and ambles back towards Jimin’s car. He saunters, really, his walk a little bow-legged but confident. When he reaches the driver’s side, he slowly lowers himself until his face appears in the window. 

“Howdy. Y’all need a ride?” He grins at Jimin, and then his gaze shifts to you, and you literally feel your breath stick in your throat as his smile shifts into a smirk. The man is absolutely gorgeous, dark brows setting off deep brown eyes and a plump lower lip adorned with a spider bite piercing on the right adding to his beauty. Multiple other piercings dot his brow and nose, twinkling as they catch the sunlight reflecting off of the driver’s side mirror. 

“What do you think?” Jimin grumbles petulantly, and the man just laughs, thumbing towards the truck. 

“C’mon, go take a seat in the truck. I’ll be done here in a minute.” He strolls away to prepare the towing mechanism. 

Jimin reaches the cab first, and you wait for him to open the passenger’s door for you, but he just leans against the vehicle with his arms crossed, so you sigh and yank it open yourself. He really doesn’t seem to like that you took charge, and is choosing to act like a huffy baby about it. 

The tow truck only has a bench seat in it, so you slide into the middle of the cab to make room for Jimin beside you, carefully arranging the skirt of your short sundress so it covers your bare thighs. 

Jimin stares out the side window as you wait, arms still folded. Even when the driver joins the two of you, he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. If you’d known all it would take to get Jimin to ignore you was taking charge, you would’ve done this day one. 

The three of you ride in absolute stillness for a few minutes before the tow truck driver clears his throat. “Spring break?” 

“Hmm?” You tear your eyes from the highway to glance at the driver. The light streaming through the window filters through his violet locks, giving him a soft glow. 

“You two on spring break?” 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Mmm.” A hush falls over the cab after your short answer. You turn back to the windshield, the dotted white lines on the road lulling you into a hypnotic trance, only to startle slightly when something brushes your thigh. Glancing down, you see the driver’s hand on the stick shift, which is currently close enough to your leg that his hand rests against it. 

“Sorry, it gets a little crowded in here with three,” he apologizes, moving his hand. 

“No worries.” You’re transfixed by his arm. Tattoos cover nearly every inch of visible skin, flowing from his bicep all the way down onto the back of his hand, and you realize there’s another sleeve of ink on his other arm as well. And then he catches you staring, and you feel your face heating as he shoots you a quick wink. You snap your head back so quickly, your neck cracks. 

“It’ll be about another ten or fifteen minutes until we reach the shop,” he informs you. “I can turn the radio on, if you’d like?” 

Jimin seems content to continue ignoring the two of you, so you answer. “Sure, thank you, uh…” 

“Jungkook.” 

“Thanks, Jungkook.” 

With another smile, this one softer, his long fingers twist the knob on the console and music fills the air. Again, you find yourself watching his hands as he drives, and it quickly dawns on you just how ridiculously horny you are. 

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the time to go out and get laid. You’re always too busy for anything serious, but lately you’ve also been too occupied to find the time to scratch that particular itch with your usual no-strings hookups. And while your main plans for this week were originally to find some peace and quiet alone, part of you was also hoping to sneak in a few quick trysts in between naps by the pool.

And then Jang-Mi made her request and Jimin glued himself to your side and any hope of getting in even just one good quick fuck went right down the drain. 

So you find yourself gawping at the handsome man whose strong hand keeps flitting against your thigh, and you wonder if he can feel the goosebumps that arise there every time. 

Gnawing on your lip, you wait for the next brush, and when his hand skims against your leg again, you push back. Just a little. 

Jungkook’s eyebrow quirks, a silent confirmation that he felt your touch. His hand glides by again, and this time you watch the stick shift and realize he’s not even changing gears, and you wonder if he even has been this whole time. 

Jimin is still facing away from you, pretending neither of you exist. 

One more touch, and you raise your leg off the seat slightly, nudging harder. You glance at Jungkook’s profile and witness his tongue darting out to lick his lips, catching a brief glimpse of silver on the pink muscle. Another piercing. Your attention is suddenly drawn away by his pinky as it hooks itself under the hem of your skirt, pulling the cottony material up just an inch or so as he draws his hand back. It’s enough to make you nearly gasp as his finger dances up your thigh, tracing patterns into your skin. 

You can feel yourself starting to grow damp and shift slightly in your seat, clamping your legs together. Fuck, you must really be hard up if you’re getting wet from just this. 

Jungkook fiddles with the radio, turning the volume up. He glances at you. “Is this okay?” And then his hand lands on your thigh, bypassing the stick shift completely. To Jimin’s turned back, it would appear that he’s asking about the music. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes focused on the long fingers lightly gripping the soft flesh of your upper leg. His palm is warm, heating you despite the AC blasting throughout the cab, and the contrasting sensation makes you shiver. 

Jungkook slowly slides his hand underneath your skirt. You bite your lip as hard as you can, doing your best to keep your heavy breathing down enough that the music covers you. His gaze never leaves the road, but you glance at Jungkook’s face as his fingers slip between your thighs and graze your underwear, finding how drenched they are, and his eyes widen briefly before he smirks, spider bites glinting as his lips twitch.

“Are you getting close?” Jimin whines, his voice cutting through the air like the annoying squawk of an airhorn, making you jump. Jungkook’s hand is back on the steering wheel before Jimin finishes twisting in his seat. “Has it been fifteen minutes yet?” 

He’s wearing a ridiculously expensive Patek Philippe on his wrist, so there’s no reason he can’t answer that for himself, but you don’t point that out as Jungkook just grins. 

“Shop’s right there,” he indicates with a wave of his hand as the truck turns off the highway. 

The garage is quiet, a few other luxury vehicles scattered about in various states of repair. Once Jungkook finishes detaching the Lamborghini from the tow truck, Jimin immediately corners him. 

“Exactly how long is this going to take?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We gotta run diagnostics first, to see what the issue is. Once we know that, we’ll know how long it’ll take to fix her up.” He pats the hood of the car tenderly. 

Jimin frowns. “And once you know the problem, you’ll start working right away to fix it, right? Or do we have to wait for you to finish the other cars first?” He cranes his neck, scanning the garage’s waiting area. “I don’t see anyone here waiting, so we should get priority, right?” 

“You in a big hurry to get back to your kegger?” Jungkook leans his lanky frame against the Lamborghini’s hood, and Jimin’s eyes narrow.

“Can you please not sit on the car? I just had her waxed!” 

Jungkook raises his hands as he straightens up. “No problem, man. Let me grab my boss and we’ll get going on the diagnostics, okay? He can answer all the other questions you undoubtedly have.” He wanders off towards the garage’s little office as you give Jimin a look. 

“Is that how you usually talk to your mechanic?” 

Jimin squares his shoulders. “Look, sometimes you have to be firm with these people. Otherwise, they’ll walk all over you and charge you twice what they’re worth while they do it.”

Crossing your arms, you just sigh, hoping Jang-Mi is having the time of her life right now with Hoseok. 

When Jungkook returns, he has another unbelievably handsome man in tow, dressed in matching overalls covered in dirt and grease, with thick curls barely restrained by a bandana. As he peers at you with dark, alluring eyes, a thin white stick dangles between his full lips, and he tugs on it slightly, revealing a cherry red lollipop. 

“I’m Taehyung. Welcome to my shop. Jungkook said you had some questions for me,” he says in a calm, clear voice full of bass, and you realize you’re once again gawking as the man breaks eye contact with Jimin long enough to wink at you. It occurs to you that Jungkook might have told him about what the two of you were up to in the tow truck, and you glance away as your neck starts to heat.

Jungkook jerks his thumb towards the waiting area. “You can have a seat in there,” he murmurs to you as Jimin starts firing off questions at Taehyung. “They might be a while.” 

You nod gratefully, happy to slip away from Jimin for a few minutes.

Eventually, he comes to join you. “Well, that was a waste of time. They couldn’t tell me when we can expect to be out of here or what sort of cost I’m looking at or anything.” 

“Mmm,” you reply, not bothering to remind him that they have to run their tests to diagnose the problem first, knowing he won’t listen. “So, should we get a ride out of here…?” You hold up your phone, where you already have your rideshare app open. 

Jimin scoffs. “You want to pay for surge pricing right now? It’s spring break, those companies are all charging triple what they should!” He throws himself into one of the plastic chairs sitting against the wall. “Besides, I don’t want to leave my baby here alone with those two.” 

His baby? Blech. 

“Well, I don’t mind paying for a lift, so I’m just going to head back to the hotel, if that’s okay with you.” 

The pout leveled your way is quite powerful. If you were a weaker woman, you’d be on your knees right now, trying to console Jimin as he gazes at you pitifully. “You’re going to ditch me? First Hoseok, now you?” His lower lip is practically dragging on the ground. “Fine. Just go. You know what, maybe I’ll see if Hoseok and Jang-Mi are done snorkeling yet–maybe Hoseok will come keep me company.” 

As much as you might be annoyed with your roommate, you’re not about to let Jimin cockblock her. Jang-Mi is going to owe you big time when this trip is over. Like, firstborn-big. 

“No, don’t do that,” you sigh. As gracefully as you can, you flop into the seat next to him. “I’ll stay.” 

After thirty-or-so minutes of scrolling on your phone, Jungkook pops his head into the waiting area. “We’ve narrowed it down, if you want to come look.” He strolls away without waiting for an answer, and Jimin follows, and so do you, out of sheer boredom. 

As soon as you reach the car, Taehyung launches into an explanation of the issue. You’re only half-listening, too distracted by the way his rather plush lips form the words as he says them, but you catch that the issue has to do with the clutch. “It’s surprising,” he drawls in his deep voice, “given how few miles you have on her, the clutch mechanism shouldn’t be worn out already, but it’s definitely ground down.” 

“And what would cause that?” Jimin asks.

“Not knowing how the fuck to drive stick,” Jungkook mutters under his breath behind you. You tip your head to catch his eye, and smile at the way his nose wrinkles when he grins back. 

“Could just be that the part was defective to begin with,” Taehyung states, and you marvel at his diplomatic answer. “But the good news is, we have a replacement on hand, and we can definitely get you fixed up today.” 

“How long, and how much?” 

“About two to three hours. As for the cost, here is our estimate.” Taehyung holds out a piece of paper. Jimin snatches it up as his eyebrows disappear beneath his perfectly coiffed hair. 

“Uh. I need to make a phone call.” As he heads towards the shop’s entrance to step outside, you catch the beginning of his conversation. “Hey, Dad, remember when you said I couldn’t have the limit on my credit card raised any more? Well….” 

It’s just you and the two mechanics now. You shift from one foot to the other, hands in the pockets of your skirt, not quite knowing how to make small talk, when Jungkook gently pats the hood of the Lamborghini. 

“It’s a damn shame that this beauty is being wasted on that prick.” He runs a hand along the hood of the car, long fingers skimming lightly over the curve of the metal. “He clearly has no idea what he’s doing with her.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung pipes up. “That clutch is so worn down. I’m not sure how he did that. Ride it constantly, maybe?” 

You snort, unable to suppress a snipe. “With him, it’s more likely that he talked it to death.” 

Taehyung’s smile is slightly boxy and sends a wave of warmth flaring through your body as you share a laugh. Meanwhile, Jungkook giggles delightedly, and for the first time today you feel yourself relax a little, content to be in their company while Jimin is still outside, obviously begging daddy for more money. 

Taehyung wanders around the other side of Jimin’s car. “But you do have a point, Kook. She’s obviously way more than he can manage–I mean, just look at her. You can tell it’s been too long since she was last handled properly.” He sucks on his candy, eyes shining impishly as he peers at you and not the car. “Bet it’s been ages since anything got her motor revving.” 

“Maybe we should take her for a spin, hyung. Really open her up, get her purring.” Jungkook’s looking at you now, too, a knowing grin on his face.

The garage feels a bit stifling all of a sudden, and you wonder if you’re flushing as the two men smirk at you. 

“Do the two of you usually take your, uh, client’s cars out for a ride?”

“We’re professionals. We follow a strict code of conduct.” Taehyung assures you. “We’d never do anything to break our clients’ trust. But…” He caresses the roof of the car as he pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “Sometimes we bend the rules a little, don’t we, Kook?”

“That’s right. And I’m just suggesting we give her what she wants,” Jungkook replies, lowering his ear to the hood. “Can’t you hear that? She’s just dying for someone who knows what they’re doing to take her for a little joyride.” 

“Like I said, we’re professionals.” Taehyung leans over the car, tongue flicking out to recapture the lollipop. His eyes roam over you slowly, like he’s drinking you in inch by inch and savoring every sip. “And we’re not satisfied until everyone is satisfied. So we should give her whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.” 

There’s absolutely no question what they’re talking about now, and the implication has your clit throbbing with need, wetness growing between your thighs again.

Naturally, this is when Jimin reappears. 

“All right. Do what you have to do to get us back on the road.” He holds out his credit card to Taehyung, who nods. Then he pivots on his heel and heads for the waiting area, and once again you’re alone with the two mechanics, but the spell is broken now, and you slink back to the hard plastic chair by Jimin’s side to wait. No matter what you do to distract yourself and pass the time, though, all you can think about is how insanely jealous you are of the Lamborghini, with her hood propped open and two pairs of skillful hands buried deep inside her. 

Nearly three hours later, after you’ve scrolled so far on your phone that you’re sure you’ve hit the end of the internet, the Lamborghini is ready. Jimin is super cranky, so eager to get out of there that he has the car thrown into reverse before you’ve even stepped inside. 

“Thank you,” you say to the mechanics, thanking them for Jimin who barely grunted at them after getting his receipt, but also thanking them for yourself, for making your day a little less shitty than the rest of your week. Sure, it would’ve been even better if either of them had actually taken you for that “joyride” they’d mentioned, but the suggestion alone was enough to lift your spirits, just a bit. 

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung inclines his head. 

“Enjoy your evening,” Jungkook gives you a crooked grin. Both men wave as Jimin peels out of the parking lot, tires screeching loudly. Regret slices through you, a cut that feels like a missed opportunity, a connection denied, but you don’t dwell on it. It seems silly to think too much about what could’ve been. You don’t like to play the “if only” game. 

As you and Jimin rush back to the hotel, you decide you’re going to do something about your unrelenting horniness tonight. Even if you have to bang a server in the bathroom at dinner or fuck someone behind the dumpster at the club afterward, you are going to get laid if it’s the last thing you do. You just have to figure out how to get Jimin off your back for five minutes first. 

Jang-Mi practically floats into your room when she returns from her snorkeling date with Hoseok. She twirls around a few times, humming to herself, stopping when you step out of the bathroom. “Whoa, roomie!” She whistles as you model your dress for her, a short, backless satin halter dress that leaves very little to the imagination. It’s by far the skimpiest piece of clothing you brought with you, something you’d picked up on a whim while shopping for your trip. 

“Is it too much?” you inquire as you study yourself in the mirror on the closet door. 

“Depends. What look are you going for?” 

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘extremely fuckable.’”

“Oh, you achieved that! I’ll be surprised if you make it to dinner–Jimin’s going to rip that off you the first chance he gets.” Jang-Mi combs through her suitcase, missing the rude face you make at Jimin’s name. 

“I’m not averse to this dress ending up in tatters if it nets me at least one good orgasm. I might explode without one soon.” 

“Says the future doctor.” 

“Shut up. You know what I mean. It’s just been too long since someone else got me off.” 

“Hmmm, can’t relate,” Jang-Mi singsongs as she waltzes into the bathroom. 

“Ohhhh, you mean you two finally…”

“Yep!” Jang-Mi sticks her tongue between her teeth, wiggling it lasciviously. “Hobi and I spent a little time in the shower together at the beach after we were done snorkeling. When I tell you that that man has a strong stroke game, roomie!” she squeals, and the two of you spend the rest of the hour giggling over the sordid details of Hoseok’s impressive skills. By the time you leave for dinner, you’re even more committed to getting your own happy ending, no matter what it takes. 

Of course, the universe does not make it easy for you.

Dinner is a total bust. Somehow the trauma of his poor baby’s breakdown (which he caused) makes Jimin even clingier than usual, and he parks himself at the table close enough to sling an arm over the back of your chair. One might think he’s doing it to seek comfort, but to you it just feels weirdly territorial. All of the waitstaff at the restaurant are too busy meeting the frat boys’ impatient demands for you to attempt to flirt with any of them. Jimin’s obviously not an option, and the only other BTS brothers you’d even consider–the quiet, pink-haired Yoongi or the hilarious, almost-too-handsome-to-be-real Seokjin–are both already sloshed, having pregamed in their hotel room, so they’re both no-gos. 

Somehow, this long fucking day just keeps getting longer, but you’re not giving up. 

After dinner, the party relocates to yet another club. This one blurs together with the others you’ve visited earlier in the week, another cramped room packed full of spring breakers closely gyrating  in the flashing lights. Shots are ordered and you quickly tip yours back before someone orders a second round. It’s when the server returns with the drinks that you glance around and realize you’re basically alone. 

Jimin sits at a table to your left, talking to one of the other BTS brothers–Namjoon, maybe? You’re not entirely certain of his name, since you mainly refer to him as “Sexy Hulk” when talking to Jang-Mi about him. To your right, Yoongi and Seokjin are playing some sort of drinking game that they both appear to be losing, based on how they can’t seem to stand up straight without starting to fall over. Behind you, Hoseok has Jang-Mi pinned to the wall with his tongue down her throat. 

Well, fuck all this. Snatching Hoseok and Jang-Mi’s untouched shots, you down them one-two in rapid succession, then stalk off towards the dance floor. 

As the music swirls around you, you tip your head back, running your fingers over your hair and down your neck. The bass thumps through you, driving all that irritation, all that endless frustration of your horrible trip far, far away. 

All week long, you’ve been holding yourself back, trying to be polite and not cause any trouble for Jang-Mi’s sake. This means you’ve been quieter. Smaller. Less than. But here now, under the strobe lights, surrounded by the crush of bodies losing themselves in the music, you let go. Break free. Arms raised, eyes closed, you give yourself over to the rhythm and surrender to the beat.

A hand brushes lightly over your hip.

Opening your eyes, you twirl in the direction of the glancing touch. A pair of dark eyes gleam at you from a face you never thought you’d see again.

The purple-haired mechanic’s lips twitch at your surprised expression. Gone are his greasy coveralls, replaced by unbelievably tight black jeans and a sheer black shirt, two nipple piercings peering at you through the flimsy material. His hand drops to your side again and this time he grips, bringing you towards him. 

It’s too loud to hear his words, but you know what he’s asking and simply slide your arms around his neck, letting him guide your hips to rock in time with his. He smells like jasmine, and also leather, an unusual combination, delicate and strong all at once, and you shift a little closer as his fingers curl into your dress, sliding it up a little. 

Rolling your body, you grin at the way his breath huffs when your breasts press into his chest. But before you can repeat the movement, he suddenly takes a step back and spins you, pulling you flush against him. As his arm snakes around your waist, his other hand tips your head up so you’re looking straight ahead.

To see the man standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching you both. Wearing a white blazer over a low-cut silk white top, several chains looped around his neck, Taehyung’s untamed dark curls hang in his eyes, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze as he observes you writhing against Jungkook. Another white stick hangs from his lips. 

“Is it okay if Taehyung joins us?” Jungkook breathes in your ear, and you nod emphatically. Oh yes. Please. “Let him know.” 

Raising your hand, you beckon to the other man with a single finger. Come. 

As Jungkook lets go, the older man takes you in his arms smoothly, without missing a beat. He slides a leg between yours and the two of you grind, moving together as one for a few bars before hands on your hips and a solid chest at your back let you know that Jungkook has joined the two of you. 

Hot breath glides down your neck, your cheek. Sweat drips on your arms, your back. Is it yours? Theirs? Who knows. You’re completely ensnared, caught between the two men as you sway to the throbbing beat. Your skin tingles where they touch you, aches where they don’t. You want so badly to stay here, in this song, this moment, for the rest of the night, the trip, your life. With the pulsating music and these two sexy men wrapped around you, you feel so alive.

“Uh, what the fuck?!”

Like a bucket of ice cold water, Jimin’s voice crashes over you, extinguishing the moment. Then his hand clamps around your upper arm, and Jungkook and Taehyung both jump aside as Jimin drags you away.  

“What are you doing?” you shout, yanking your arm out of his surprisingly strong grip once you reach the edge of the dance floor. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses back, glaring. “Out there slutting it up with those two?”

“Excuse me??’” Your jaw nearly scrapes the ground at his response.

“You heard me. All week long, I’ve been buying you dinner and paying for your drinks and dropping ridiculous amounts of money on your frigid little ass, and all I get is a goodnight kiss on the cheek? And then I turn around and see you sandwiched between the help, for God’s sake, just giving it all away for free?!”  

Several partygoers around you gasp as you slap Jimin soundly across the face. He reels, eyes opening wide in shock as his hand flies to his cheek, and you round on your heel and storm through the crowd towards the exit, not slowing when you hear Jimin yell your name. 

The air outside is unexpectedly chilly, and you rub your arms for warmth as you stomp towards the car. The nerve. The nerve of that fucking asshole. He really thought he could just buy you? Throw money at you all week and then, what, you’d fuck him? 

Reaching the Lamborghini, you pause. What exactly is your plan here? You don’t have the keys and even if you did, where would you go? You flick a hand out and touch the roof, expecting an alarm to sound, but nothing happens. Surprising. You’d think Jimin would put an alarm on his “baby.”

Leaning against the car, you drop your head onto your arms. What a fucking disaster of a trip. So much for rest and relaxation. Jang-Mi will be lucky if you ever speak to her again after this. Why didn’t she run out here after you? Oh, right, she probably couldn’t see you with her face suctioned to Hoseok’s. 

Deep breaths. As your heartbeat returns to normal, you hear a small cough, and glance in that direction, towards the back of the club. 

Jungkook lifts his hand in a small wave. He and Taehyung lean against the wall near the fire exit, smoking. Jungkook holds his cigarette out to you, inviting you to join them. 

“You look like you need this,” he says as you approach, and you realize it’s a joint, and yes, yes you do. Taking a hit, you hold it as long as you can, letting it swirl inside you, collecting all your anger, before tilting your face up to exhale it all into the night sky. 

“Thanks.” 

Jungkook nods. 

“Your boyfriend is a dick,” Taehyung announces. Orange embers flare in the shadows as he inhales. 

“Not my fucking boyfriend,” you snarl, taking the joint again. “But he is a dick. A fucking enormous one.” 

Jungkook holds out his hand as Taehyung reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet with a sigh. He slaps a bill into the younger man’s hand. 

“Uh…”

“I told Tae there was no way you were dating that asshole. He didn’t believe me.” 

Even though you don’t really know this man, you’re deeply insulted. “You honestly thought I’d date him?”

Taehyung shrugs. “He’s rich and handsome. That’s all some women want.” 

“Well, that’s not enough for me.” 

“Hmm.” Taehyung finishes the joint, stubbing the end on the brick wall. “What more do you need?” 

You snort. “Anything. Everything. What do you got?”

The flickering light hanging over the fire exit illuminates Taehyung’s face as his eyebrow quirks.

“You’re here on vacation, right?” You nod. “Have you gone for a ride through the city at night?”

“No, my nights have mostly consisted of avoiding Jimin at various dance clubs.” 

Jungkook laughs, the pleasantly high-pitched giggle tugging at the corners of your lips. “I bet that’s a full-time job.” 

“You have no idea.” 

“Well, then it sounds like you could use a break. We could show you around, if you’d like.” Taehyung gestures to himself and Jungkook. “Give you a tour.”

“A tour?” 

“Yeah. You know. Go for a ride.” 

If Jang-Mi were here, she’d tell you not to go. You can hear her now, grousing at you to wake up and snap out of it, insisting that you bid these men, these strangers, goodnight and walk right back into that club. But honestly? You’re tired of always doing what Jang-Mi would want. All week long, you’ve been so worried about making sure she’s having a great time that you’ve sacrificed your own happiness. 

Tonight is about what you want instead. And right now, more than anything, you want to have some fun. 

“Mmmm. That does sound… kinda nice, to be honest.”  Fuck it. “Okay. Let’s go. Which one is your car?”

“This one right here,” Jungkook replies, veering over to the Lamborghini and stroking the roof. 

“Uh.” Both men look at you expectantly. “Very funny. That’s Jimin’s?”

“It sure is. And I think she’s still waiting for that joyride.” Jungkook winks. 

“Riiiight. Are you suggesting we steal his car for this… tour?” you ask, fingers twisting nervously into your skirt. What had Taehyung said earlier, about bending the rules? This is not that. This is breaking them. You’re no saint, but for the most part you’re not a rulebreaker. Grand theft auto is way beyond anything ‘bad’ you’ve done before. 

“We’re just going to borrow her for a little. We’ll bring her back, in perfect condition. But don’t you want to see what she can do in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“And someone who ‘knows what they’re doing’ - that would be you two, I take it?”

Jungkook reaches forward and pinches your chin in his fingers. You go still at his touch, staring up into his warm doe eyes. “Yeah,” He lowers his face, brushing your mouth with his as he breathes the words, “Want me to show you?” 

Ams wind around your waist, tucking you against him as you kiss. You’re vaguely aware of Taehyung walking away, too focused on Jungkook’s tongue slipping into your mouth. His nipple rings brush against your chest as greedy hands slide down your bare back and grip your ass tightly, and he swallows the shocked yelp you utter. Strong fingers caress your flesh, holding you close, and you lose yourself in him, arousal pooling in your belly again. 

Until a strange jingling sound catches your attention. Taehyung slides a thin metal tool into the passenger’s side door of the Lamborghini. After jimmying the rod a few times, the locks spring open. 

Jungkook immediately opens the driver’s side door and jumps in while Taehyung leans over the roof. “You in?”

“Are you okay to drive?” you question Jungkook.  

“I don’t drink,” he answers. “Just had a few hits. I’m fine to drive.” 

“I promise you, he’s fine,” Taehyung adds. “I wouldn’t get into a car with him otherwise.”

Again, both men look at you, waiting. 

Nibbling on your lower lip, you contemplate for a minute what you’re doing. Stealing Jimin’s car and riding away with two near-strangers, slightly high and slightly drunk, to go god knows where and do god knows what. 

Finally, this vacation is looking up. 

“Fuck it, let’s go.” 

The smile on Jungkook’s face is electrifying, as he dips his head beneath the steering wheel, popping a panel open and hurriedly twisting a few wires together. The engine roars to life. 

Taehyung climbs into the passenger’s seat and spreads his long legs. He glances at you, patting his lap. “Come on.” 

Carefully, you fold yourself into the car. Your legs fit between his, back against his chest, ass firmly on his crotch. He wraps the seat belt around you both before his arms do the same.

“Safety first,” he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through you. 

Jungkook flips on the headlights, and smoothly backs the car out of the parking space. Before he shifts into drive, he presses the button to lower the roof, opening the cab up to the heavens above. 

“Ready?” he asks.  

You nod.

He revs the engine once, twice, and then steps on the accelerator.

The air whips through the car as the three of you burn down the highway. Tilting your head back, you watch the stars zoom by, tiny specks of light blurring into streaks as Jungkook presses the pedal into the floor. He lets out a joyful whoop, and you can’t help but laugh, elation coursing through you. It’s exhilarating. 

The city is awash in neon lights as you race past soaring skyscrapers and imposing high rises. Jungkook is an amazing driver, handling the road so gracefully, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick shift. This time, after he switches gears, he doesn’t lightly brush your leg, he firmly clutches it, giving your thigh a tight squeeze that has you yearning for more. 

Taehyung says something, but the wind carries his words away, so Jungkook flips the roof shut. 

“What was that?” 

“I was just asking if you were enjoying the ride.” 

You twist slightly, looking back and up at him. “This is easily the highlight of my day. My whole week, actually.” 

“Is that so? As happy as I am to hear that, I can’t help but feel it’s a fucking shame. And I’m guessing no one’s been taking care of you all week.” One of his arms is still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him, while the other has drifted down, resting on your knee. You can’t help but stare at his fingers like you did Jungkook’s. Taehyung’s are longer, you note, observing the way they tap on your skin like he’s drumming along to a song only he can hear.

“What makes you say that?”

“Kook told me how excited you were in the truck today. He said he barely touched you.” 

Shit, you knew he’d said something!

“He did, did he?” You cast a glance at the man driving the car, and he has the audacity to smile and nod. 

“I did, baby. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” Normally, having a man you barely know call you “baby” would set your teeth on edge, but the word drips so sweetly from Jungkook’s mouth that you don’t mind at all. “But to tell you the truth, what I’m really sorry about is that I didn’t get to slip my fingers in before that asshole interrupted us.” His eyes flit back to the road as he licks his lips. “I just wanted a little taste.” 

“Fuck,” you murmur quietly, rubbing your thighs together, suddenly in need of some friction. Wherever this ride is going, it needs to arrive soon or you might actually implode. A little louder, you proclaim, “Oh, god, please don’t mention that man. I don’t want to think about that jerk at all right now.” Both men snicker, simultaneously squeezing your knees. 

“How’d you end up with that guy, anyway?” Taehyung inquires. 

“Pretty sure I’m cursed,” you quip. “My roommate and I were given a free room for spring break, but it turned out to be some sort of monkey’s paw situation. The unspoken cost was having to put up with that fucker all week. But I’m the one left suffering while my roommate is having the time of her life with the guy she likes.” 

“Mmm, poor baby. You’re free of that douchebag now. We’ll do our best to make sure you have a good time tonight, okay?” Taehyung’s breath hits the back of your neck as he speaks. He’s so tantalizingly close, but not as close as you want him, so you decide to make it clear to him that you want more. That you’re here for that good time, nothing more, nothing less.

Rocking your hips slightly, you press your ass more firmly into Taehyung’s lap, smiling to yourself as you hear him hiss slightly. The fingers wrapped around your side grip you a little tighter.

Downtown shines in the rearview mirror as Jungkook takes the car out on the open road, away from the city. Here, he’s able to push the limits of the engine’s power, and you watch as the needle on the speedometer climbs and climbs as he deftly weaves the sports car down the highway, flying past tourists and townies alike out enjoying the gorgeous summer evening. 

“So… where are you taking me?” Your voice is casual, relaxed, belying the tension coiling in your belly as you shift in Taehyung’s grasp, still slowly grinding against him. 

Jungkook and Taehyung exchange a look. “Somewhere scenic, where you can really enjoy all the beauty tonight has to offer you,” Jungkook states, letting his hand drop to your thigh again.

“Somewhere private,” Taehyung adds. “So you can… indulge yourself in what we have to offer you.” Until now, your hands have been in your lap, clutching the hem of your skirt, but you’re struck by the urge to feel him, so you place one hand on his arm where he holds you, and let the other fall onto his thigh. His leg is so solid and strong underneath you. 

It’s been too long since you’ve touched and been touched like this, and you don’t want to wait to reach whatever destination you’re cruising towards to get more. 

“And what exactly are you offering me?” you ask, still shamelessly rubbing your ass into Taehyung’s crotch. 

His lips skim your ear. “Anything. Everything. What do you want?”

Turning your head, you demand, “Touch me,” before his mouth captures yours. He steals your breath away with his kiss, tongue poking and prodding at your lips before slipping inside to tangle with yours. Then he obeys your command, fingers disappearing beneath your skirt as you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Oh, naughty girl,” Taehyung groans as he traces along your sodden folds, “you forgot to wear panties tonight, huh?” 

“Didn’t forget,” you practically pant as he dips a finger into your slit, sliding all the way in. “Didn’t want to wear them.” 

“And why was that?” He crooks his finger just so, and you keen.

“Ahhh! So… so…” 

“So someone could do this?” 

Taehyung’s long fingers feel like they were made for your cunt, the perfect width to scissor you apart as he slides a second one inside, the perfect length to find that sweet spot on your inner wall that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” you praise him, digging your fingers into the meat of his thighs, causing Taehyung to curse into the back of your head. 

“She’s so fucking wet, Kook. Like you said she was earlier. She’s gonna make such a mess all over this leather seat,” Taehyung tuts as he fucks you with his fingers, pumping them in and out rapidly. All you can do is take it, mouth falling open in ecstasy. 

“Is that so?” Jungkook’s hand suddenly lands on your inner thigh, tracing through the slickness there. “Ah, shit, you weren’t kidding, hyung.” His index finger circles your clit before withdrawing. You watch him suck the digit into his mouth. “Shit, she’s so sweet. Like honey.” 

“Oh fuck,” you shudder, watching as Jungkook palms himself through his pants. Then you gasp helplessly as Taehyung adds a third finger, stretching you even more. “Taehyung! Fuck!”

“You like that? Hmm? Poor baby, just needed someone to touch her like this.” His tongue snakes down the side of your neck, hot and wet. The sensation sends goosebumps rippling down your bare arms. “Am I making you feel good?”

“So good!” You’re rapidly falling apart, humping his hand, hips jerking forward to try to get him deeper. “Fuck, so good.” 

Taehyung is hard beneath you, his cock poking sharply into your ass, the sensation making you even wetter than his plunging fingers, so you slide forward a little and reach behind you to unzip him.

“Baby, what are you…?” he rasps brokenly into your ear as you quickly free him from his pants and wrap your fingers around his length, stroking without hesitation. His tip is slick already from his excitement. “Fuck!”

“Are you… do you have…” You can barely choke out the words as his hand withdraws from your core. 

“I’m clean. Are you…?”

“Clean. On… on pill…” With his hand no longer working its ministrations between your legs, you’re nearly out of your mind with need, so you roll your hips back and position his cock so it drags through your soaking folds. He hisses at the way you drench his length, his forehead pressing into the back of your head as he bucks against you. 

“Fuck, are you two about to–”

“Yes!” You and Taehyung shout in unison, cutting Jungkook off. He just huffs out a loud laugh and steps on the accelerator. As the car shoots forward again, easily zipping around the other vehicles on the bridge, you feel Taehyung’s head breach your lower lips. 

“Oh god damn,” you moan, sinking down onto him. He’s not the biggest man you’ve ever fucked, but he is the thickest, filling you in a way you’ve never been filled before. Your toes literally curl as he rubs against your walls. “Taehyung.” 

“That’s right, baby. Say my name.” His thighs slap against yours as he thrusts up into you, hands gripping your waist to hold you in place as he pounds away. “Fucking sing it, baby, such a pretty voice!”

The car fills with your wanton mewling as Taehyung fucks you. Jungkook has one hand on the wheel again as the other rubs at his crotch, and you can’t resist reaching out. His cry of surprise becomes a shaky groan as you pet him through his tight pants. You’d love to help him out, but given the crazy fast speed that you’re currently hurtling along at, that would probably be a really bad idea right now.  

Jungkook must have had a similar thought, because he turns off the highway and brings the car to a smooth stop in an empty lot. A sign enlightens you that you’re at a beach, and that’s as much as you’re able to comprehend in your current state, having your brains fucked out by the sexy man underneath you. 

As soon as the car is parked, Jungkook unzips his pants with trembling hands and pulls his cock out. A flash of silver catches your eye.

“What, ah, ah, is that?”

Jungkook’s tattooed hand is stroking his long shaft furiously, but he stops at your question, running his thumb over the engorged head. He flicks at the piercing, a barbell sticking out of the top and bottom sides of the head. “It’s called an apadravya piercing.” He reclines back against the seat as he watches you and Taehyung fucking, starting to jerk himself off again. The warmth in his eyes has flamed into full-blown lust. “I’m pierced for your pleasure, baby.” 

“Ah!” You squeal as Taehyung gives a particularly hard thrust. “I wanna know, ah, what it feels like!”

“Don’t worry.” His hand moves so swiftly as he concentrates on the way your tits jiggle under your dress. “You’ll find out.”  

“Ah!” you shout again, this time because Taehyung has pinched one of your nipples. 

“You can focus on him all you want later, baby. Right now, focus on me,” he rasps, pinching your other nipple. “I wanna feel this pussy choke my cock.”

“Fuck!”

Rolling your hips, you take him as deep as you can, and Taehyung growls, one hand digging into the flesh of your side as the other tugs at the knot of your halter. The silky fabric spills down your torso, exposing your breasts. Taehyung’s free hand gropes your right breast as Jungkook reaches across the console and kneads the left. Jungkook’s touch is tender, almost reverential, while Taehyung’s is rough and desperate, and somehow it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

Taehyung’s mouth latches onto your neck, sucking away, and you thread your fingers through his dark hair, holding him in place, urging him to nip harder, to bite and leave his mark. 

“Ah, Taehyung, ‘m so close! Harder, please, fuck, harder!”

With no hesitation, Taehyung’s hands fly to your hips again and he holds you as he pumps into you. Your cries of delight turn to pain as your head smacks into the ceiling of the cab. “Ow! Fuck!” 

The roof suddenly opens, and you shoot Jungkook a grateful smile before Taehyung resumes his thrusting, bouncing you freely now that there’s nothing hanging over you to stop him. As Jungkook’s free hand finds the sensitive nub between your legs, you let your head fall back onto Taehyung’s shoulder, staring into Jungkook’s hooded eyes as he cums, white lines crisscrossing the black ink on his hand. He doesn’t stop strumming your clit, and soon you’re wailing both their names as you’re swept away by your orgasm. 

A moment later, Taehyung clutches wildly at your breasts as he nears his peak. “I’m gonna cum, baby, can I fill you up?”

“God, yes,” you nearly beg, and he lets out a desperate cry as he climaxes, and then there’s nothing but panting and the scent of sex swirling around the tiny cabin of the Lamborghini and out into the starlight. 

“Goddamn,” Taehyung finally sighs, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Mmmhmm,” you hum, twisting to brush your lips along his jawline. He places a large palm on the side of your face and pulls you in for a proper kiss. 

“Me next,” Jungkook insists, a tiny whine in his voice, and you turn back to the purple-haired driver, smiling into his lips as he kisses you needily. 

The sound of waves crashing on the shore calls to you. 

“Can we go down there?” 

“Sure thing, baby.” 

After clumsily disentangling yourself from Taehyung, the three of you walk down to the beach together. You leave your heels in the car, letting your bare feet dig into the still warm sand as you cross the dunes to the ocean below. 

A cool breeze kicks up, sending your skirt fluttering as you walk along the edge of the water. You take a deep breath, listening to the swell of the waves as they break over and over, and for just a minute, your eyes slip shut as a surge of peaceful contentment ripples through you. 

Free. Standing on the shore, water swirling around your legs as you inhale the salty air, you feel so free. 

Then you turn and look at the two men next to you. 

“Come here.” You raise your hand and motion to Jungkook, who steps forward to embrace you ardently. His kiss hits like a tidal wave, slamming into you, knocking you off your feet. He catches you, arms slipping behind your knees, and you wrap your legs around him as he carries you towards a pavilion a few yards away. 

Taehyung follows, and as Jungkook lays you on your back on a table, the older man kneels on the bench beside it, stooping to kiss you as his hands find the new knot around your neck and loosen your dress again. His mouth trails hungrily down your neck and into the valley of your breasts, and as he flicks his tongue over a nipple, waking the bud, you feel another tongue lapping at your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his soft hair, holding it back from his face so you can watch him watching you as he works. He flattens his tongue against your clit, the small silver metal bead of his piercing pressing against you just right, and you feel like you’re being dragged in the undertow, losing all sense of self, only perceiving the wetness on your breasts and your cunt, the tongues and lips and fingers working together to pull you under again. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Jungkook asks, licking his lips as he slips a finger inside you, then a second one. You’re still soaking, or maybe you’re wet again, you’re not sure, but he meets no resistance as you roll your head back with a moan. “Yeah, I think you’re ready.” He stands and pulls his sheer shirt over his head before sliding his tight jeans off. Completely naked, completely shameless, he stands in front of your spread legs, stroking his hard cock as you admire his beautiful body, golden skin covered in ink and metal sparkling in the light of the moon. 

Taehyung climbs onto the table, motioning for you to sit up. He cradles you, one thigh on either side of yours, hands massaging your arms. You press your back into his chest and tilt your head up to kiss him as Jungkook rubs the head of his penis over your slit, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Will I feel that?” you ask him, nodding towards his piercing. 

Jungkook grins. “That’s kinda the whole point of it,” he informs you as he slides in. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groan happily as he enters you slowly, just the tip, then a little more, languidly plunging in and out. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” His head falls forward, mouth agape as he watches himself disappear into your welcoming heat. “So wet, so tight.” 

He suddenly grabs your thighs, pulling you down the metal table further, and thrusts until his pelvis is flush with yours. You wail in surprise and pleasure as his piercing hits your g-spot. 

“Oh, Jesus!” 

“No,” Jungkook says, thrusting again, and again, faster and faster, “Jungkook.” 

Taehyung’s tongue finds its way into your mouth as his fingers rove over your breasts, tweaking your nipples just as hard as he did in the car. His touch is harsh, callused hands rough on your smooth skin, and he holds you upright as Jungkook fucks you.

“Ah, ah, ah!” 

Jungkook’s fingernails dig in as he grasps your thighs, keeping your lower half in place while he ruts into you. Again and again he hits that spot inside you, an intense expression on his face, hell-bent on making sure you’re enjoying every move he makes. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickles down your chest, and Taehyung collects it with his fingers, brings it to his lips. “Fuck, I just want to run my tongue all over you,” he declares, demonstrating by bringing one of your hands to his mouth and sucking your fingertips one-by-one as you nearly sob.

The nonstop jackhammering at your g-spot overwhelms you, leaves you endlessly moaning, and Taehyung drops a hand to your clit, rolling it between his fingers, and you know your end is coming. 

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook pants, “tell me, are you feeling it?”

“Fuck, oh god, I feel it, I feel it!” you babble, head nuzzling into Taehyung’s neck as you totally let go, every muscle in your body relaxing as you let him completely support you, every muscle except the ones in your core, which are so tight tight tight–

“Oh f-fuck!” Jungkook stammered, hips jerking erratically. “I feel you, holy shit, come on, baby, cum for me!”

Intense, white hot ecstasy rips through you with every stroke. Your orgasm floods your body, drowning your senses, driving everything out of your head except for the words you hear but don’t realize you’re chanting, two names, over and over. Jungkook continues to pump away, but his rhythm gets sloppier and sloppier as you clench around him, until he finally succumbs to his own end, cock spurting hot inside you. 

You melt into Taehyung, who brushes your face with soft kisses, a tender gesture that surprises you as much as it pleases you. Jungkook releases your legs, collapsing forward, and Taehyung scoots backwards, bringing you with him, making room for the younger man to join the two of you on the table. Sandwiched between them, you inhale deeply, breathing in their musly scents. 

Bliss. You feel absolute bliss at this moment. Nothing but pure joy. 

After a few minutes of lying this way, music drifts over the dunes, stirring you from your reverie. Faint, but familiar, the tune repeats itself, and you sit up with a jolt, disturbing both men, who grunt grumpily in tandem. 

“Fuck, that’s my phone!”

It was a random BTS groupie, wanting to know which club you were at, or were supposed to be at, anyway, and your panic subsides, but only slightly. Jang-Mi clearly hasn’t noticed you’re missing, and Jimin hasn’t realized his car is gone, but the longer you’re away, the greater the risk you’ll get caught. With a heavy sigh, you turn to the two mechanics. 

“Time to go.” 

A block away from the club, you suddenly grab Jungkook’s arm. “Don’t park at the club. Stop there.” You point to a restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, arms once again locked around your waist. 

You nod as Jungkook guides the car into the parking lot. “I’m fine. Listen.” Swiveling, you sit sideways in his lap so you can face them both while you speak. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, in case someone sees us getting back. So you walk from here, and I’ll drive it back.” You don’t care if Jimin finds you driving his car–after the way he spoke to you tonight, you’re kind of itching for another confrontation. But you don’t want these two to get caught, knowing Jimin won’t hesitate to call the cops on them.  

“You can drive stick?” Jungkook asks.

You can’t help the grin that spreads over your face. “Of course I can.” 

As soon as he’s out of the car, Taehyung grabs your hip, tugging you to his chest. “Take care of yourself,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. 

“I will. And thank you, for tonight.” 

“You had a good time?” 

Nodding emphatically, you smile. “The best.” 

You feel Jungkook behind you, and as the older man releases you, you spin and fall into Jungkook’s embrace as his lips dance with yours. “Good night, baby.”

Jimin is not outside the club when you park the Lamborghini, and you huff a sigh of relief. Inside the club, Jang-Mi and Hoseok grind on the dance floor, still completely oblivious to the world around them, and you find Jimin slumped over a table, snoring obnoxiously.

“Some men just can’t hold their liquor,” Seokjin mutters disdainfully as he joins you. He’s tilting pretty severely to one side, but he’s still awake and coherent, so you give him that much credit. He catches your wide grin. “I don’t think I’ve seen you look this happy all week. What’s–what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, tapping on your phone to call a rideshare. In your hand is a business card that Taehyung slipped you when you said your goodbyes. You still have a few days of vacation left. It might come in handy. “Just found my joy.”

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire @parkdatjimin @reliablemitten @yuugehn @ut-dixisti @hesperantha @seokjinger-ale @bangtanintotheroom @taeshuworld @nch327 @hannahbee12719ficrecs @7minsuga96 @dvalitaes @wonieclub @thatlongspringnight @miscelunaaa @acquiescence804 @itsirisz @velvetskize @starbtslove @ajw05

[gukcnt]

07 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, grief, intense heartbreak and longing, loss of a loved one, abandonment and betrayal, detailed violence, descriptions of physical fights, mentions of blood and injury, obsession and possessiveness, he gets several tattoos for her as a symbol of his love, destroying several things, delusion, self-harm, binge drinking alcohol and smoking as a coping mechanism, isolation, tears and vulnerability, trauma, sexual fantasies, mentions of masturbation (not detailed), sexual longing and desperation, boxing, near death experience

wc — 6.3k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The morning crept into jungkooks cabin, warm light casting across the bed where he lay, his body heavy with warmth.

His arm reached out, expecting your bare body beside him but his fingers brushed against the other side and only found cold empty space.

The absence of your naked body—soft and pliant along with the scent of your arousal—hit him almost too hard, his heart lurching.

His breath caught sharply as his eyes snapped open, panic in them.

The room still carried your presence along with your scent, but you were gone.

He sat up, chest heaving, the tattoo of your name over his heart seemed to burn.

The silence was too loud, devoid of your soft sleepy hums and your gentle breaths.

His gaze darted frantically, taking in his surroundings—some of your plush toys that had softened his brutal existence were missing from the shelf.

Some of your books the ones you usually read late at night while laying on his chest were no longer there, along with some of your products that were in the nightstand.

“No.” he whispers.

His voice a low rasp trembling with disbelief.

He stumbled from the bed, bare feet hitting the floor.

His hands tore through the room searching for any trace of you.

The drawer where you kept your clothes along with the nighties that he loved so much—those flimsy, sheer ones that clung to your curves—was gone.

One of his hoodies that you wear almost always was gone.

His own despair felt too much.

“Where are you?” he growls.

His voice rose in a plea in the empty air.

Rage erupted very soon as he felt the fire in his veins, forgetting every rational thought in that moment.

He roared, an animalistic sound that shook the cabin's walls.

“No!” he bellowed.

His words came out in a sob that he refused to acknowledge.

He couldn’t control himself.

Anger overtaking him

His hands destroying everything in his path, any pieces of you that you left behind—he grabbed the mug you loved, shattering it against the wall.

The fairy lights he'd strung above the bed because he knew you loved them, their glow holding too many memories of you were ripped down, snapping them.

The brown teddy bear, his latest gift to you that you left behind, only taking his first ever gifted pink bear with you, stared at him with its lifeless eyes as he tore out its stuffing.

He turned to the mirror, his reflection a crazy man—eyes black with fury, hair wild as his sweaty chest heaved.

He smashed his fist right into it.

The glass breaks and shards cut his knuckles as blood dripped onto the floor.

“Why did you leave me?” he screams.

The words tore from his chest in anguish.

He punched the wall again and again.

The pain nothing, a fleeting sting compared to the one in his chest at the knowledge that you'd chosen to leave.

To rip yourself from his world.

His knuckles bled, even more blood pooling on the ground.

His hands were going numb now but he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

The cabin was a mess, every broken object that belonged to you was torn but they barely dimmed his anger.

Everything was a reminder of you.

Because you were in his very soul.

“Why?”

He roars again.

Sinking to his knees, his bloodied hands grip his hair, pulling until his scalp burned, breaths coming out harshly.

You were his petal, his girl, the only softness in a world that had turned him into a criminal.

You'd cracked open his stone heart and made him feel something for the first time.

And now you'd taken it with you, leaving him empty, bleeding and ruined.

The betrayal of it tightened his chest with every heartbeat and he clawed at his chest as if he could pull out the pain.

His voice broke into a sound of misery and he pressed his forehead to the floor.

His gut churned, a sick uncertainty settling in—you were gone for good, your choice now done and final.

He saw you in his mind still from last night when he had you in his arms when you were his—your eyes wide, body trembling under him as your lips quivered, your pussy clenching around his cock.

Your moans he'd never hear again.

The thought twisting his wound deeper and he screamed once more, voice shattering as he felt his heart breaking into pieces.

He stumbled to his feet, blood dripping, his emotions a mix of rage and hurt.

“I’ll find you, petal. I’ll tear the world apart.”

“You’re mine and I’ll never let you go.”

He swore, voice venomous.

The promise would forever bind him to you and he stepped outside, bloodied fists clenched, his need would be there until he had you back.

Or until it consumed him entirely.

۶ৎ

His eyes once sharp with predatory focus, were wild now as he moved through the city, darting to every corner searching for a trace of you.

He reached your apartment.

He used the key and stepped inside.

The air hits him first—your warm floral scent that had grounded him once was gone, replaced by abandonment.

His heart ached, it seemed as if you'd taken his soul with you.

The couch where you'd once curled up with a book, while he watched you read, feeling peace in doing that was empty and then when he moved to the bedroom, he almost broke.

It was filled with too many memories spent together, with the ones when their relationship was just building, the days when he'd stalk you.

The day he made you his in that very bed, took your virginity.

Became the first man to touch you.

He growled.

“Where the fuck are you?!”

He grabbed the small table by your bed in haste where you'd kept your journals and hurled it against the wall.

The lamp followed next, its glass shattering.

He sank on the bed, his hand shaking as he lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke, his hand still dripping with blood that he didn’t bother to check on.

“Please… I need you.” he whispered.

The word was foreign to a man who'd never begged for anything.

“You don’t get to leave me.”

His face hardened, he didn’t want to waste a single second before he began his hunt and he knew the city well—anything could be a potential clue.

Each face a suspect.

He called every contact.

“Find her.”

He snarled into the phone, his grip so tight the device creaked.

“I don’t care who you have to kill. Find her or you're dead.”

The man on the other end stammered, promising things but jungkook hung up, his patience barely there.

He stormed to find every lowlife that he thought knew something, his knife pressed to throats, eyes blazing with anger.

“Where is she?” he rasps.

“Speak or I’ll fucking kill you.”

But no one knew.

No one had seen you and it felt like slowly as time went by, you were slipping through his fingers even more.

His fists were in constant use, breaking noses by punching them, the sound of the crunch of bones a satisfaction to him.

He pinned a man to the wall, choking him enough to turn his face purple.

“You know something.” he hissed lowly.

His cigarette smoke blowing into the mans face.

“You’ve seen her or something. Tell me.”

The man choked as he shook his head and jungkook's knife plunged into his stomach, a scream tearing from his throat.

“Nothing?”

jungkook spat, twisting the knife deeper.

“Then you’re useless.”

He left the man slumped alive but broken.

The nights turned into days.

He stood on a rooftop looking down at the city below, its lights not giving away any places where you could be.

He lit another cigarette, body trembling from barely eating or drinking these past few days.

He was having mixed feelings—anger at you for leaving him, for breaking him and at himself for letting you become his weakness.

All his life he'd been betrayed, but this one hurt him so much it felt like he was bleeding every day.

He just wanted to desperately see you, touch you and hear your voice.

Hearing those sweet giggles would be enough to light up his day.

He was going crazy with all his assumptions that you were gone forever, that his gut was right and nothing could bring you back.

That you left him.

Just like everyone in his life.

“I’ll find you.” he murmurs.

He promised, eyes burning with tears he refused to shed.

“And when I do, you’ll never leave me again.”

He turned into the night after that, his heart shattering, thinking that he was just chasing a ghost that he will never get.

۶ৎ

A week had passed since you'd vanished, each day cutting into him deeper.

He was no longer a man.

But a beast.

Full of rage and torment.

jungkook's hands were raw, the skin split and oozing from countless punches and they throbbed with every clench of his fists, which he barely registered.

He smoked incessantly.

Each drag burned his throat but it did nothing to fill the void or the empty place in his heart where you once and forever will reside.

Your hair tie, a black one with a small pink bow was around his wrist, its delicate texture helping him.

Anchoring him in order to find you along with the ones that were in his apartment.

He'd sometimes run his calloused fingers over it—the faint scent of your shampoo still clinging to it enough to keep him grounded.

He moved constantly, his eyes intense, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

In every corner, resided the screams of men who knew nothing of you and were killed by him or his knife.

Each cut a question, each scream an answer he didn’t want.

One night he was in a bar drinking away desperately that’s when he saw a man that he didn’t even know, but he had lost his mind.

Nothing made sense other than finding you.

Getting you back.

jungkook cornered him, pinning him to the wall.

He growled, his breath smelling of the alcohol he'd been drinking, eyes burning with a madness that even made the man tremble.

“Speak.”

The man sobbed, voice a whine for mercy.

“I don’t know! I swear!”

jungkook laughed, the sound hollow and crushed his head against the wall hard enough to crack it.

“Wrong answer.” jungkook scoffs.

The blood splattered all over the wall and jungkook in the process but it felt like a fleeting comfort against his anger.

His kills were not for pleasure but for survival, each death an attempt to fill the space you'd left.

He alone would take a group of three men, their brave facade crumbling under his gaze.

“You took her.”

He accused, voice dripping with anger.

They denied it, their voice trembling but it was already gone under jungkook's fists and knives.

The metallic scent of blood always there.

Like it was his own smell now.

“Petal…” he breathes.

His muscles taut, heart pounding with ache. He could barely sleep, sometimes taking sleeping pills, hoping that once he slept his mind would erase your thoughts.

But even dreams were haunted by you—your soft smile, the way your pussy clenched around his fingers, his cock like you were made for him.

He'd wake up with a hard on, his chest tight and sometimes he'd scream.

“Why did you leave me?”

He barely felt alive anymore.

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t live without you.

“Come back to me, baby. I’m nothing without you.”

He shook as he fisted one of your dresses in his hands that you didn’t take with you.

He'd shut all his windows and doors, hoping that your smell wouldn’t leave his place, obsessively trying to keep all parts of you inside.

He knew he was going crazy.

He was a monster, but without you he was a monster without cause.

His rage would soon devour him whole, leaving nothing behind.

Because no matter how much he killed or shed blood, it offered no answers, no traces of you and with each passing day, his hope was fading.

And his heart blackened further.

۶ৎ

The new city you now lived in was very different, with busy streets.

Your small apartment was in a quiet corner of this unfamiliar world.

As you attempted for a fresh start.

You lived with a roommate and the air inside the apartment carried a faint scent of her perfume, a stark contrast to the cigarettes and musk that you were once used to.

Your roommate was a gentle girl and she was kind, easygoing and most importantly, she respected your privacy.

Never asked questions about the sadness in your eyes and you were grateful, though her warmth only deepened the ache for the man you'd left behind.

You worked part time at a hospital where you assisted doctors with the patients and occasional practice.

The work was grounding.

It was tethering to your dream of becoming a doctor though your studies remained on hold, your textbooks gathering dust on the box you kept under your bed.

Being busy with work drowned out your thoughts—almost.

At lunch you'd sit in the break room, not being able to eat, your eyes distant as you imagined jungkook's dark gaze across from you, his smirk there.

Stalking you, keeping an eye on you just like the old times.

But that’s when the reality hits you hard and you realize that you left everything behind.

The nights were your undoing.

When everything was quiet and your roommates soft snores drifted to you from the other room.

You were alone with your longing and pain.

Your bedsheets tangled from your restless tossing, not being able to sleep.

You'd curl into yourself, clutching jungkooks hoodie that you wore around yourself, his scent now faded from it no matter how much you tried to hold onto it.

You'd bury your face in it, inhaling deeply, only smelling the salt of your own tears and nothing of him.

You missed him with a ferocity that felt like someone was hurting you physically.

The pain unbearable.

You hoped he moved on that he'd returned to his life of no weakness.

But you knew you never would.

jungkook was the only man, the only one who ever saw you, ever made you feel alive and despite everything,

You loved him so much.

You'd lie awake, body trembling with need, your mind replaying every moment with him—the way his calloused fingers traced your skin, the heat of his mouth, the way he claimed you in a way that felt like worship.

You missed his voice, rough and commanding yet gentle for you, calling you sweet nicknames, whispering “petal”

You missed his tattoos, especially the one with your name over his heart, a vow you'd never forget.

Every memory hurt and you'd sob, tears soaking into the fabric, your body shaking.

As you fought the urge to run back to him, to fall into his arms and let his darkness consume you once again.

You couldn’t look at pink roses anymore, avoiding them in flower shops, always reminding you of his gifts, his obsession.

You'd see them sometimes in vases at the hospital and your heart would lurch, eyes burning as you turned away.

You knew you'd never move on.

Never let go.

jungkook was a part of your heart that you'd carry forever.

You loved him in the darkest way, a love that destroyed and you'd live with the pain and longing because it was all you had left of him.

Every night you'd cry, body aching for him, his touch.

Your heart whispering his name.

For a man that can never be yours.

۶ৎ

A month without you had turned him into someone unrecognizable.

A man who'd once held you, claimed you and loved you in his twisted way.

His cabin, once softened by you was now nothing like it.

He was more muscular now, his body sculpted from endless hours of lifting weights, punching bags and fighting, where blood and pain were his only companions.

His hair was longer, rugged and falling into his eyes and his body had scars all over—some fresh and some old—each one from his fights and kills that he had done to forget his pain.

But none could touch the wound in his heart.

His body now also adorned with several new tattoos. On his left arm he got a small rose that showed the beauty of the pain you'd left behind, some thorns he'd gotten around his wrist were a reminder that loving you was misery itself.

On his chest beside the tattoo of your name, a petal unfurled, symbolizing the innocence you'd brought into his world and the way his heart was incomplete without you.

The ink was fresh, the skin still tender and the pain of the needle was a sweet distraction from you.

Each tattoo was a mark that you were still his even if you fled, even if you'd shattered him.

He was just surviving.

Cigarette butts piled up just like his regrets, he'd lie awake at night imagining your body beside him as he watches you sleep.

He fought in illegal rings sometimes.

He tried to not kill after going almost crazy with violence after you left because soon he remembered you'd begged him to stop and that you'd left him for this very reason.

And he didn’t want to lose himself in it once again.

Even though the urge to kill clawed at his insides, he honored your wish.

By getting more tattoos, hoping the pain would distract him and constant hard workouts that left him trembling.

He wanted to be better.

A man who you could love without fear but the effort was a tough task and he tried always but he realized how it's now too late.

You're gone forever.

He kept some of your belongings that he didn’t destroy in a fury, keeping them like his precious belongings.

He once found a single pink rose in your apartment, its petal brittle but intact from one of the nights he'd left them for you and you kept it safely in the drawer of your study desk.

A note you'd written for him—'don't forget to eat jungkook'—was folded in his wallet, the ink smudged from his thumb tracing the words.

Like your handwriting could bring you back.

He'd sit in the dark, the rose in one hand, the note in the other, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Your memories were a torment and they were so vivid in his eyes. He saw you in your pretty dresses and skirts that you'd wear, the fabric clinging to your curves, your full breasts straining, nipples hard.

The curve of your ass a temptation he'd barely resisted.

He remembered you in his hoodies, the fabric swallowing your frame, your shy smile as you tugged at the sleeves, your scent mixing with his.

Your eyes always wide, looking at him with trust and need.

And he hated himself because he took it all away.

He missed your soft and tentative voice calling his name, your gasps when he kissed you and your laughter when he surprised you with a gift.

He craved your touch, your small fingers on his scars, lips kissing them as you made him feel human.

Wanted, loved.

But he was angry, so damn angry at you.

He thought of finding you, locking you in his cabin, chaining you to him and wrecking your cunt until you begged for mercy until you were his forever.

He imagined filling you, getting you pregnant and tying you to him with a child so that you could never leave him.

The twisted fantasy made his cock throb.

The nights when he would fist his cock, thinking of you, his groans loud and broken, chest heaving while his tears fell.

The release he got felt dull, the memories of you burning brighter than the pleasure ever could.

Guilt and longing in his heart.

The fantasies would soon be gone, replaced with the need to be a man you could return to without fear.

He wanted to be gentle, to love you softly, to give you the world without blood.

Without violence.

But the ache of your absence kept dragging him back into the darkness but he tried controlling himself because he promised.

That he'd be worthy even if it killed him.

“I’m trying, petal. I’m trying so fucking hard for you...”

His voice trembled as he closed his eyes, your face the only thing keeping him alive.

He went to places that felt alien to him.

Job interviews were his battle now, his tattoos hidden under his formal clothing, a button up shirt that felt itchy against his scarred skin.

He sat across from hiring managers, his voice low, forcing it into a gentleness.

“I’m reliable,” he’d say.

His jaw tight but his eyes betrayed him—wild, haunted, searching for you in every face.

The scent of the office choked him because he wasn’t used to it at all.

His hands, rough from fights, still injured, fidgeted in his lap, itching to break something to feel the familiar crunch of bone instead of this suffocating normalcy.

One interview for a loading job annoyed him to his limits.

The manager made jungkook want to smash his face against the table.

“Do you have any experience?”

He asked.

“Yeah.”

He mutters, trying to keep the growl at bay.

“I’ve carried heavier things than boxes.”

The man raised an eyebrow in amusement, and jungkook's rage surged so fast that he couldn’t contain it.

He stood up, fisting the man's collar as his smirk faded, a look of horror taking its place.

jungkook grits his teeth, his hands shaking with the urge to twist his neck but he didn’t, instead pushing him off.

He left with his fists aching to hit someone.

Another attempt.

“Reliable?” he laughed bitterly.

“I’d burn this city to find her and you’re asking if I can stock screws?”

He looked in the eye of the man as he leaned forward, his breaths harsh.

“No? then don’t waste my fucking time.”

He kicked the desk along with the man sitting across from him, not caring about it at all and the security guards needed to come to drag him out.

Each attempt of his at normal jobs were failing.

He felt helpless because he couldn’t do it.

It felt like he was failing you.

His diary was a new habit born from a memory of you perched on his couch.

“Writing your feelings helps.”

You said with bright eyes and he smirked, amused by the cliche, his lips curling as he lit a cigarette.

“Sure, petal.”

He'd teased but your words had gotten to him deep now in the lonely nights when his anger and tears soaked the pages.

The diary was worn at the edges from his tight grip and some pages were stained with the alcohol he'd drink.

He wrote everything he had in his heart.

'I fucking hate this. You're gone and I'm breaking petal. I never cried—not when my parents left, not when I starved or almost bled to death. But you—you ruined me. I love you, oh god I love you. I didn't believe in it, I thought it was for the weak people but you made it real. Every day without you, I'm dying baby. I'm trying to be better, to be the man you'd want but it's hard. I want to kill to break but I don’t because you asked me not to. I see you everywhere. I'd crawl on my knees, beg and bleed for you—anything to have you back. You’re my everything and I’m nothing without you…'

'Gave another interview today baby, and another failure. They don’t get it like you do. They talk about schedules and obedience like any of it matters when you're not here. I wanted to smash their faces and make them feel this pain but I walked away. For you. I have your hairband around my wrist. I touch it when I want to break. It smells like you or maybe I'm imagining it but it's all I have. I love you so much it hurts… I'd trade my life for one more day with you, one more night to hold you. I'm sorry I scared you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t enough and couldn’t be the man you wanted. I’m sorry I was so fucking selfish to my sweet girl.'

'Saw a man today buying his girlfriend roses, pink like the ones you loved and I broke. I can't look at them without seeing you, your small hands holding them, your cheeks pink when I left them for you. I'm trying to be good petal, I promise but it's killing me. I haven’t killed because you wanted me to. But the urge is there always and I fight it for you. I'd live for you and give you every damn thing you want. Just come back.. please.. please'

Writing helped him even for a bit, and he'd clutch the diary, tears falling.

“I love you, petal.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, the words unreal to him but true—a confession he'd never spoken until you.

“You changed me, you made me feel it but now I’ve lost you.”

He'd scream into the night, drunk after drinking nonstop.

“I love you! do you hear me? I fucking love you!” he screams.

His words reduced to a broken cry.

The words felt like they belonged to you, like you were meant to hear them and he clung to the hope that somewhere you felt them too.

He kept your incomplete bucket list, some of them completed by him when you were still his.

He completed it obsessively now, buying rare books, the unique snacks you’ve wanted but couldn’t afford to buy and some dresses you wanted.

He stored them in his cabin having joy in the delusion that you'd return, that you'd walk through the door, your happy giggles filling the silence.

“It’s for you my baby.”

He'd murmur, arranging the items on the shelf, his fingers lingering.

“All of it. I’ll keep it safe until you’re back.”

He'd fall to his knees, his head bowed.

He wasn’t a man who was scared of anything, not even death.

But he's terrified of living without you.

His love was madness.

He poured it into every act, every word and every breath of his.

He was a monster, a criminal but for you he will be anything—a gentleman, a lover.

Yet he was failing every day.

۶ৎ

The air was filled with the smell of sweat and blood, clinging to jungkooks skin as he stood in the underground boxing ring.

The arena was dark yet full of chaos from the audience, their shouts a chant.

jungkook's upper body was bare and sweaty, his knuckles wrapped in blood stained tape and his hair falling messily over his eyes.

Matted with sweat and the weight of a month without you.

More than a month.

More than thirty days of agony.

He was unrecognizable with muscles, new tattoos and from smoking all day, not caring about his health, his fists bruised from punching walls, bags and anything that could absorb his rage.

Without killing.

The offer to fight had come like a lifeline, a chance to get his pain out into something useful.

The payment would be good enough to complete more of your bucket list—everything you ever dreamed of or thought of.

None of it was for him, every cent was a prayer for your return, a way to keep you alive in his world.

Even though he was getting more delusional as days passed by.

He'd agreed without hesitation, itching for violence, the fight was a chance to prove he could still feel something other than the ache of your absence.

His opponent was a hulk, his face a map of scars, eyes cold.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight.

jungkook moved with ease, his fists a blur, each punch releasing the fury that had consumed him since you left.

The crowd roared but he heard nothing and saw nothing.

His opponent suddenly landed a sharp blow to his jaw and blood filled jungkooks mouth but he didn’t even flinch.

He welcomed the pain, let it ground him and let it remind him that he was still alive and fighting.

“Get up, you bastard!” the opponent snarled.

As he circled jungkook, his fists raised.

“Or are you too busy crying over that little bitch you lost?”

jungkook's vision went red, a primal rage surging through him.

He lunged, his fist connecting with the mans nose. Blood sprayed as the crowd cheered louder but jungkook's mind was elsewhere.

This man had the audacity to talk about you.

He wanted to kill him.

No.

Torture him to death.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her.” he growls.

“You don’t even get to say her name!”

The fight was brutal.

jungkook's muscles strained, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

He was winning, his skill unmatched to the man and his opponent was staggering under the force of his punches.

But then suddenly it hit him—a wave of despair so quick that it stole his breath.

You were gone, truly gone.

No amount of blood, no amount of pain would bring you back, no matter how many fights he won.

You deserved better—a gentle man, a kind one not a monster who'd cage you like him, who'd ruin you like he ruined his life.

It was a good thing you were gone far away from him.

The thought tightened around his heart and his arms faltered, dropping to his sides.

“Giving up already, huh?” the man sneered.

His fists slammed into jungkook's cheek, the impact almost blurring his vision.

Blood trickled down his face, pooling at his collarbone but jungkook didn’t move, didn’t fight back.

He stood there, his body willingly taking all the hits.

He deserved each of it for failing you, for letting you slip away.

The crowd screamed louder but he only saw you in his mind—his pretty girl, his innocent little petal whom he ruined so badly.

“Baby…” he rasps.

His voice lost in the chaos.

Another punch, this time to his ribs and he staggered, his knees buckling. The hit burned with pain but was distant.

“You’re pathetic.”

The man spat, laughing mockingly.

His fist connecting into jungkook's head, blood spraying everywhere. the world tilting.

jungkook fell down, his body giving up.

He could’ve gotten up, could’ve won but he didn’t want to.

He wanted this and needed to drown in this. His opponent loomed over him, fists nonstop, each blow felt like it was breaking his very bones.

His soul.

Blood pooled beneath him.

His vision blurring, a sick bloody grin curved in his lips, your name a whisper on his lips.

Maybe this is it, he thought.

Maybe he’ll finally be free.

The world was spinning, the crowd's screams distant, his body limp and his chest heaved as he struggled to breathe.

He blacked out.

His last thought of you—your smile, your warmth, the love he'd never believed in but felt with every fiber of his being.

And let it consume him.

His smile lingered even as the darkness claimed him.

Maybe finally he'd find peace.

۶ৎ

You were in the hospital.

Walking through the corridors, the exhaustion of a long shift pressing on your shoulders.

You gripped a clipboard from the last patient's chart and talked with another surgeon.

The day had been relentless and tiring but suddenly a noise interrupted your words with the doctor.

Nurses shouted and a voice barked.

“Male, late twenties, critical. He’s bleeding a lot, pulse barely there!”

Your heart thudded as your stomach knotted with dread.

You didn’t know why but your feet moved before your mind could catch up, running to the scene.

The emergency bay was filled with doctors barking orders and nurses as you pushed through the crowd, your breaths shaky.

And then you saw him.

jungkook.

He lay on the stretcher and all you saw was a broken man covered in blood and injuries.

His chest barely rose, each breath he was taking felt shallow as if the life itself was slipping away.

Blood soaked the sheets beneath him from the gashes on his face, his arms and his torso.

His skin was pale and his face swollen, bruised. His lips split, blood crusting at the corner.

One eye was swollen shut, the other half open, unseeing. The gaze that you'd once lost yourself in was now numb with pain and near death.

His rough, calloused hands that had touched you with tenderness now lay limp.

You froze, your clipboard slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor with a loud thud.

The loud pounding of your heart was the only sound you could hear, the chaos and the shouts of the doctors fading.

A sob made its way up your throat, raw and unstoppable.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your bottom lip quivered.

Your knees buckled and you gripped the edge of a nearby table, knuckles whitening as you prevented yourself from collapsing.

“jungkook.” you whispered brokenly.

You couldn’t speak yet that one word carried thousands of unsaid words.

Your eyes roamed his body, looking at every wound.

His chest stuttered, the rise and fall almost not there and you choked on a scream.

Your hand flying to your mouth trying to stifle the sound.

He was dying—your jungkook, the man who claimed and loved you in his obsessive way, was slipping away.

And you were just standing watching him unravel.

You stumbled forward, hands reaching for him, not caring about the nurses shouting at you or trying to move you away.

“No, no, no.” you wailed.

Your voice rising, cracking with desperation

“You can’t leave me, jungkook. Not like this please, please!”

You shouted as the nurses glanced at you with pity in their eyes but you didn’t care. You leaned over him, your tears falling onto his chest.

Your fingers hovering over his face, afraid to touch.

Afraid to hurt him more.

His skin was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth he always held and you gasped.

“I’m here.”

Your voice was shaking as you spoke to him, hoping he could hear.

“I’m right here, jungkook. I’m right here.” you whimpered.

You looked at the changes in his body, his new tattoos and how broken he looked.

All because of you.

You hated yourself.

You cried harder, body shaking, your hands finally setting on his arm, careful of his wounds.

“I—I’m so sorry.” you gasped.

Your vision blurring from your tears.

“It’s all my fault. You fought for me and I ran, please… I need you!”

He couldn’t leave you.

This time he'll go where you couldn’t follow.

No no, he couldn’t.

The monitors beeped and you hiccuped, your eyes snapping to the screen. His pulse was fading, weakening and the doctors surged forward, pushing you back, making you thrash as you choked on a sob.

“We’re losing him.” one shouted.

And you screamed a sound so raw it ached your throat, your hands clawing at the air as a nurse held you back, her grip tight.

“No!” you panted.

You chanted his name continuously along with pleas, shouting with every ounce of your being as if you could drag him back.

Your body shook, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.

The doctors worked needles piercing his skin but you saw only him—his broken body, his life fading, the man who'd both terrified you and saved you.

You sank to your knees.

Your hands covering your face, your sobs wracking your body.

“I love you.” you whisper like a mantra.

Wanting him to listen, wanting him to hold his strength for the sake of you.

Fight when he wanted to give up the life he lived with you.

“I love you, jungkook. Come back to me!”

The monitors faltered, the beep slowing and you looked up, your breath catching as your heart stopped.

His chest stilled, the line on the screen flattening and you wailed again as the doctors fought, their voices desperate.

You felt numb, your ears ringing.

The room spun, everything blurring as you felt your consciousness slipping.

You clung to the hope that was barely there, that fragile hope that he could hear you, that he'd fight, that he'd live.

For you.

For the love you both nearly lost.

But all you saw was his life disappearing before your eyes.

Taking yours away along with it.

────

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[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. ii (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. ii (m) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. i rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. this is where i will hold hands. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 ; nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 1st, 2025, 9:57pm est word count: 21.1k wtfffff

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.” 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi—”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

a/n: this was the part that i couldn't write until i knew yoongi was fine. it was always the plan to have him isolated, but to see real life yoongi go through all that last summer.. i couldn't find it in my heart to write his self-isolation and self-deprecation without my soul hurting. it just didn't feel right. but as soon as i saw him okay? 3tan yoongi came back again. and my fingers flew. a/n 2: thank you again, everyone. i hope you all love all the parts of fugue in equal amounts! any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me. again, i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline, but i am back. for real. love you guys so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. i (3tan) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. i will hold everyone’s hand this time.  warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

—

It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it sounds like shit. 

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair. 

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago. 

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront. 

Which is why it sounds like shit. 

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase. 

“Fuck, not that, either.” 

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag. 

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf. 

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time? 

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box. 

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete. 

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what’s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal. 

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free. 

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange. 

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn. 

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark. 

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along. 

He’ll never be enough. 

—

“You’re more than enough.” 

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen. 

More than enough…

You told him that. 

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time. 

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them. 

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault. 

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

What was her name again? 

Right. 

Dom. 

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you. 

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now. 

“She went in there with Kook.” 

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.” 

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants. 

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds. 

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.” 

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that? 

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.” 

“I know.” 

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?” 

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.” 

“You’re lying.” 

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed. 

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.” 

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes. 

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.” 

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.” 

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod. 

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.” 

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.” 

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.” 

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm. 

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough. 

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright. 

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.” 

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway. 

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight. 

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck. 

He wants to hurl. 

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here. 

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit. 

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off. 

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you? 

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power. 

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed. 

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life? 

Was he really that cut off from everything back then? 

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

 “Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait. 

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck. 

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course. 

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” 

Mm. He doesn’t like that. 

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you. 

“Please.” 

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder. 

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t. 

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs. 

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too. 

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice. 

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

— 

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade. 

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal. 

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight. 

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse. 

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now. 

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time. 

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines. 

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water. 

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now? 

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on. 

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door. 

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body. 

And every night, he fails you when he loses. 

Every. Single. Night. 

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there. 

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes. 

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it. 

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out. 

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before. 

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up. 

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night. 

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin. 

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed. 

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes. 

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.  

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you. 

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet… 

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems. 

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore. 

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that. 

—

— 

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great. 

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second. 

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname. 

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours. 

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here 

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition. 

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything. 

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words. 

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over! 

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.  

No fucking way. 

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home? 

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.” 

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?” 

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing? 

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.” 

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all. 

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts. 

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice. 

Your brother. 

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to. 

The very reason he had to say goodbye. 

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare. 

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door. 

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all. 

It works. For now. 

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly. 

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.  

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.” 

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.” 

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over. 

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch. 

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside. 

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck. 

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud. 

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course. 

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?” 

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.” 

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?” 

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.” 

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him. 

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything. 

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?” 

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.” 

Agreed. “Mm.” 

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.” 

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps. 

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.” 

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.” 

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah? 

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.” 

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown. 

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options. 

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive. 

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out. 

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?” 

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane. 

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.” 

After what he’s about to do. 

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies. 

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.” 

“Does she know, by the way?” 

“Know what.” 

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.” 

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.” 

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.” 

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?” 

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore. 

“No. And I’ll think about staying.” 

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.” 

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.” 

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.” 

“Really? You never say bye.” 

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.” 

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.” 

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.” 

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?” 

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door. 

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.” 

—

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals. 

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up. 

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.” 

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls. 

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.” 

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working. 

So why does that gut him even deeper? 

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!” 

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem. 

—

— 

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot. 

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say. 

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.  

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing. 

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.” 

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day. 

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!” 

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again. 

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t. 

Yourself.  

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount. 

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same. 

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again. 

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you. 

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown. 

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in. 

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet. 

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand. 

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?” 

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before. 

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his. 

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it. 

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind. 

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit. 

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before. 

If he wasn’t such a damn coward. 

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second? 

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls. 

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life. 

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes. 

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t. 

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself. 

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go. 

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it. 

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive. 

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it. 

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies. 

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish— 

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night. 

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid. 

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again. 

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss. 

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.  

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this. 

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart. 

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see? 

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you. 

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light. 

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real. 

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much. 

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!” 

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again. 

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go. 

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.  

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams. 

Fuck, he needs air. 

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all. 

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.” 

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.” 

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.” 

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about. 

He’s at least gotten past that part. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.” 

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes. 

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe. 

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.” 

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare. 

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way. 

—

— 

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate? 

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car. 

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes. 

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky. 

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days. 

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away. 

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights. 

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day. 

Once again, he’s back to that same night. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside. 

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard? 

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend. 

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.” 

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?” 

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?” 

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.” 

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing. 

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar. 

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into? 

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief. 

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.” 

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal? 

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today. 

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s? 

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio. 

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box. 

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing. 

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind. 

— 

— 

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him. 

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

— 

— 

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions. 

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck. 

He can’t catch a fucking break. 

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross. 

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place. 

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.” 

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.” 

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!” 

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. 

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.” 

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music. 

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off. 

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak. 

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff. 

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone. 

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know. 

No surprises for you. Not again. 

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you? 

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through. 

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else. 

Please don’t. He just needs more time. 

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath. 

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh. 

Did you really banish his worry just like that? 

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real. 

It is. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest? 

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.  

Shit. 

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again. 

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure. 

You’re really something else. 

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe— 

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent. 

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through. 

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop. 

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill. 

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone. 

Fuck, it hurts. 

It all fucking hurts. 

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it. 

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort. 

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark. 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. ii

-

so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[scenerthv]

WHEN THE WORLD IS QUIET | PJM

PART ONE

playboy!Jimin x fem!reader

genre: university au, angst, smut, fluff

SYNOPSIS ! (what the story is about is in that link!)

word count: 3.2k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

There are a lot of things you’ve gotten good at avoiding since you started university.

Noise was one thing. You don’t go out of your way to attend parties, you don’t linger in chaotic study lounges, and you definitely don’t sit in the center of lecture halls where everyone’s packed together like concertgoers getting ready to scream their lungs out.

You’ve learned how to keep your head down, how to move without drawing attention, and how to find the small silent places in a world that never stops spinning.

That’s why your mornings always look the same.

8:00 a.m. You go to your favorite cafe and get yourself a vanilla latte.

8:15 a.m. Walk across campus, headphones in, avoiding eye contact.

8:35 a.m. Slide into your usual seat in the lecture room. Second row, left side, one seat from the edge. Safe and peaceful.

8:50 a.m. Lecture begins.

Simple. Predictable. Yours.

Until today.

You’re only five steps into the lecture hall when you spot it.

Someone’s sitting in your seat.

Well in your row. The window of empty space you’ve claimed quietly, week after week, is no longer empty. There’s a backpack slouched carelessly on the floor, legs sprawled out across the carpet, and a shoulder dipped over the backrest like the chair’s doing him a favor by existing.

You nearly stop walking.

Because even from behind, the silhouette is unmistakable.

Park Jimin.

And you? You’re officially screwed.

You know the name. Everyone does. Jimin is the kind of boy whose reputation enters a room before he does. He’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that feels like a dare. The kind of attention you don’t want, but still catch yourself glancing at.

Rumor says he’s slept with at least three different people from this class alone. Possibly more. And he hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction all semester.

Until now.

You consider leaving. You could take a different seat, even if it means sitting in the back with the loud breathers and laptop-typers. You could walk right out, fake a stomach ache, and skip class entirely. You could do literally anything other than walk down that aisle.

But your hands are already wrapped around your vanilla latte. Your bag is digging into your shoulder. And your professor doesn’t tolerate tardiness.

So, you walk.

Five steps. Then ten.

The closer you get, the more you feel his presence. His hair is pushed back in waves that look too good to be accidental. He’s dressed in a black crewneck, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a thin silver chain resting against his collarbone.

He turns when you pause beside him, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think anyone else sat in this row,” he says. Voice low. And it sounded like the start of something you didn’t want.

You glance at the empty seat beside him. Then at him. Then back again.

“They don’t,” you reply softly. “But I do.”

His smirk deepens.

“Then by all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “Join me.”

You sit without another word.

You feel him watching you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

Jimin doesn’t speak again. Not right away at least.

But he doesn’t need to. He leans back in his chair like he’s at home, legs spread wide, thumb dragging idly over his phone screen. Every so often, you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a tilt of his head, a glance in your direction, a finger twitching, like he’s watching you without looking too obvious about it.

He is not subtle. And you are not impressed.

You try to focus on your screen. Lecture slides are beginning to fill with bullet points, market trends, economic theory, something about supply chain analysis. You type methodically, just fast enough to stay ahead of your professor’s rhythm.

Jimin doesn’t type at all.

In fact, you’re not sure he’s opened a single document.

You hear him yawn softly next to you and wonder for a moment, what it must be like to glide through university with that kind of ease. Not careless, but untouchable. One where things fall into place just because of who you are.

You sometimes wished you had it that easy.

“Hey,” he murmurs suddenly.

You glance over, reluctantly.

He’s still facing forward, voice pitched low so only you can hear. “You type really fast.”

You blink. “That’s what you interrupted me for?”

He shrugs, smile barely there. “It’s kind of hot.”

Your lips press into a tight line. “Don’t talk to me.”

He grins wider. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you don’t mean it.”

You turn to him now, fully, letting your expression speak louder than words. “I do.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, amused. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good.”

He’s not.

Ten minutes later, he offers you a piece of gum. You ignore him.

Five minutes after that, he drops his pen. Then takes yours.

When you try to snatch it back, his fingers brush yours. Warm. Deliberate.

You jerk your hand away like he’s fire.

“Touchy,” he whispers.

“Annoying,” you whisper back.

His smile is all teeth and trouble.

And you hate the way your stomach twists.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You barely survive the rest of the lecture. You managed to keep your notes clean, your face neutral, and your limbs tucked safely into your side of the desk. But it’s harder than it should be.

Jimin doesn’t do anything, not really. He doesn’t flirt in an obvious way or say anything overtly inappropriate. But he’s there, radiating heat, confidence, and attention like it’s second nature. Like he was born to be noticed.

And you?

You are trying desperately not to fall into his bubble.

You pack up quickly after class ends. Laptop closed. Notes stacked. Coffee cup tossed in the recycling bin. You don’t say goodbye. Don’t look back. Just move.

But you don’t even make it to the hallway before you hear it.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Your shoulders tense before you turn.

He’s walking toward you, slow and lazy like there’s no rush. Backpack slung over one arm. That same teasing smile dancing on his lips.

You fold your arms. “Do you ever stop?”

His eyes sparkle. “Nope.”

You sigh.

“I’m Jimin,” he says then, holding out a hand like you haven’t known his name since your first semester.

“I know.”

“You gonna tell me yours?”

You hesitate.

Every instinct in you says no. That you shouldn’t give him anything. You’ve heard the stories, the rumors. Park Jimin is a lesson you didn’t want to learn firsthand.

But he’s watching you like he already knows the ending. And something rebellious stirs in your chest.

“Y/n” you mutter.

His grin grows. “Pretty.”

“You should go.”

“Only if you come with me.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a cafe across campus. Good iced coffee. Better bagels.” He shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

“And you think I’m hungry too?”

“No,” he says, head tilting. “But I think you’re interested in me.”

You narrow your eyes. Just how high is his ego?

“I’m not,” you say flatly.

He laughs under his breath, and it’s disgustingly charming. “Then I’ll see you next class, partner.”

You freeze.

“…Partner?”

He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and turns the screen to you.

Group 4: PARK JIMIN, L/N Y/N

The class project. The one that lasts the entire semester. The one you were dreading.

Your stomach sinks. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It must be fate,” he says, winking.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you turn around and walk away.

This time, you do look back.

Only once.

He’s still standing there, smiling like he knows something you don’t.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You don’t think about Jimin for the rest of the day.

Well. You try not to.

You tell yourself he’s just like the background noise in the halls. Unavoidable, sure, but not worth tuning into. The kind of boy who floats through life with too many numbers in his phone and not enough sincerity in his voice.

It works. For a little while.

Until you check your email.

Subject: “Group 4 - Semester Project Guidelines”

From: Professor Lee

You skim the list. Timeline, expectations, deliverables. Midterm presentation. Final paper. Weekly check-ins. The same grueling structure as every other group project, but now with the added headache of Park Jimin.

You close the tab and exhale slowly.

You can handle this. You can stay professional. You can survive one semester of proximity without getting pulled into the whirlpool of his attention.

Probably.

Your phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

You hesitate.

Then unlock it.

** :

hey partner ;)

just read the email. u free this week?

You blink. Then frown.

Did he save your number? How did he even get it?

You:

How did you get my number?

Jimin:

class group chat.

ur profile pic is cute btw

You groan into your hands.

You:

We should meet to go over the project.

Jimin:

u asking me out?

You:

I will block you.

Jimin:

damn

okay okay

i’m free thursday after 3

You:

Library. Second floor. Study rooms in the back.

Jimin:

sounds hot

see u then.

You toss your phone onto your bed like it personally betrayed you.

This is going to be a long semester.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

Thursday comes faster than expected.

You arrive ten minutes early. You wanted time to pick a quiet corner, open your laptop, and steel yourself for whatever version Jimin decides to show up as.

You’ve seen him on campus since that first day. Laughing with friends near the art building. Leaning against vending machines like they’re props in a music video. Walking out of the business department with his sleeves rolled up and a girl giggling beside him.

He hasn’t noticed you again. Or maybe he has, and he’s just letting you think otherwise.

You pick a room with glass walls but enough distance from foot traffic to feel semi-private. You pull up the project brief. You outline a few tasks, researching presentation, slide formatting, and even sketch a rough schedule.

At 3:10, the door opens.

And there he is.

Late, of course. But somehow, still managing to look like he owns the place.

“Hey, scholar,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you like he’s been here a thousand times before.

You don’t look up. “We’re already behind.”

“Chill,” he says, propping his chin on his hand. “We’ve got time.”

You risk a glance.

He’s wearing a fitted white tee under a soft denim jacket, a chain around his neck, and an expression that says he’s more entertained by you than the actual assignment.

You shut your laptop.

“Let’s get something straight,” you say quietly. “I don’t care what people say about you, or how you act with them. This project matters to me. So if you’re going to flirt or screw around, go do it somewhere else.”

There’s a long pause.

Then he laughs.

“Damn,” he says, eyes shining. “You’re serious.”

You stare at him, unmoving.

“I like that.”

You blink. “You like that I don’t like you?”

“Kind of.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’re not pretending. Most people do. Smile at me, laugh at everything I say, then talk shit the second I leave. But you? You’re honest.”

“I’m not being honest,” you mutter. “You’re just annoying.”

“Same thing.”

You open your laptop again.

“This is due in three phases. First milestone is a week from Monday.”

He nods, finally matching your tone. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

You blink.

You’d half expected him to push back. Dodge responsibility. Fake an emergency. But he’s watching you instead, waiting for directions, like this actually matters.

“You’re good at presenting,” you say cautiously.

“Sure am,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes. “Then start outlining the first section.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You spend the next forty-five minutes working side by side.

To your surprise, he’s focused. Not perfect, but present. He asks questions. Types faster than you’d expect. Doodles a little in the margins of the shared doc, but nothing disruptive.

At one point, your knees brush under the table. You freeze. He doesn’t move.

You scoot your chair back slightly. He hides a smile behind his water bottle.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

When you finally wrap up the session, your head is spinning.

Because it went fine. Better than fine, actually.

And Jimin..he was still Jimin. A little smug, a little too pretty for his own good, but also unexpectedly thoughtful. Capable. Collaborative.

As you gather your things, he watches you quietly.

“Are you always like this?” he asks.

You glance up. “Like what?”

“Quiet.”

You pause. Then zip your bag.

“Only around people I don’t trust.”

His smile falters just for a second.

Then he nods. “That’s fair.”

You think that’s the end of it. You turn to leave.

But just before you reach the door, he calls out.

“Hey.”

You glance back.

You notice him hesitate before speaking, and then he quietly shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

You don’t answer.

You just walk away.

But your chest feels heavier than before.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You don’t think about Jimin that night.

Not exactly.

It’s more like the memory of him clings to you. His voice low and smooth, his eyes cutting sideways with something unreadable, that ridiculous smirk when he caught you flustered. It settles behind your ribs, heavy but soft, like the feeling of knowing a storm is coming before the clouds even form.

And the worst part?

You can’t even tell if you’re annoyed or intrigued.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The days after pass strangely.

Your paths don’t cross again right away. Not on campus, not in your shared lecture, not even by accident. He’s absent for the next class, and the seat beside you stays empty.

It should feel like relief.

But it doesn’t.

You try not to look at the door when it opens late. You try not to check your phone. You try not to notice how the second-row seat next to yours suddenly feels colder.

He messages you late that night.

Jimin:

sorry i missed class

had to meet w/ my advisor

what’d i miss?

You:

Not much. Notes in the drive.

Jimin:

ur an angel

i owe u one

You:

You owe me finishing the presentation on time.

Jimin:

oh come on

i was hoping u’d say dinner 😔

You stare at your screen.

You:

That’s not happening

Jimin:

not yet

You don’t reply after that.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You meet again the next week to work, same room, same seats.

And it’s easier this time.

There’s less tension in the air. Less suspicion in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s him who’s different or if you’re just adjusting to the strange pull of his presence.

He still flirts. But it’s not aggressive. Not forceful. It’s light. Teasing. More like he’s testing the edges of your resistance than trying to tear it down.

And he’s annoyingly good at this project.

His ideas are sharp, and he’s articulate when he presents them. He’s not afraid of speaking, not hesitant about taking the lead and he listens when you challenge him.

Really listens.

Somewhere in the second hour, he starts chewing on the tip of a pen while thinking through a citation. You don’t mean to look. You really don’t.

But your eyes drift.

And your chest does that thing again. That traitorous, fluttering thing that makes your spine straighten and your jaw tighten, like you can scare the feeling out of your body if you’re stiff enough.

He catches you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just glances up slowly, meets your eyes, and raises a single brow.

You look away first, your cheeks heating up.

He chuckles to himself.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The moment you realize you’re in trouble doesn’t hit you all at once.

It’s slow. Subtle.

It’s in the way you start dressing a little more carefully on the days you might see him. It’s in the way you think about what to say before you open the chat. It’s in the fact that his voice, his dumb, drawling, overconfident voice is now unmistakably stored in your head.

It’s in the fact that, even when you’re not around him, you still feel like you are.

You don’t like him.

You remind yourself of that every time he texts. Every time his knee bumps yours in the study room. Every time he tells you that you’re “different” and “smart” and “the only girl who talks to him like he’s not a goddamn Disney prince.”

You don’t like him.

But he’s becoming harder to ignore.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The rain came suddenly.

You hadn’t planned to study. The week’s been long, the assignment is mostly done, and your bed is calling like a siren song. But Jimin texts you around 7 p.m.

Jimin:

hey

it’s pouring

power went out in my apartment

library’s still open, right?

You:

It is. You need help?

Jimin:

nah. just don’t wanna sit in the dark.

u coming?

You:

I wasn’t planning on it

Jimin:

come keep me company

promise i’ll behave

You:

That would be a first.

Jimin:

pls? 🥺

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You go.

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s the tiny voice in your chest that’s been curious ever since he first smiled at you in that lecture hall seat.

Whatever it was, you listened to it and went.

He’s waiting near the back tables. Hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, slouched over his laptop. He looks up when he sees you and smiles like he knew you’d come.

“Hey, scholar.”

“You owe me coffee.”

He chuckles. “Next time. Pinky swear.”

You sit beside him. Close. Closer than before.

The library is nearly empty, most students aren’t desperate enough to be here on a rainy Friday night and for once, the world does feel quiet.

Time stretches differently.

You work in silence for a while. Until your screens start to dim, your shoulders relax, and the only sound is the low hum of storm outside.

Eventually, you glance over.

He’s staring ahead, but not at his screen. His eyes are soft. Distant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely.

“Jimin?” you say softly.

He blinks and turns towards you.

He doesn’t smile.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a beat.

You nod.

“Do you think people can change?”

You’re not expecting the question.

It sits heavy in the space between you.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “If they want to.”

He’s quiet.

Then, so softly you almost miss it.

“Even someone like me?”

You stare at him.

And for the first time, you realize that he doesn’t actually believe the answer.

But maybe he wants to.

The moment stretches too long.

You could say something. You could ask him why he’s asking. You could tease, deflect, ignore it completely.

But when the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you, alone in a forgotten corner of the library with the rain against the windows and the hum of electricity in the air, something shifts.

You don’t say anything.

You just reach out, gently, and hand him your last piece of gum.

His smile returns.

But this time, it’s different.

Softer.

Real.

And you think that you may have started to lose the battle you were never meant to fight.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

notes: haiiii !! i want to be clear that this is my first story I’ve written since.. 2021? So I apologize if its not the best right now, I’m a bit rusty lol.

I’m super excited to be starting this story. I was thinking about it and I think I’ll do maybe 5-6 parts, (7 maximum though). I hope you stick around for the story!

Likes, comments, reblogs, asks & feedbacks are appreciated. Thank you! <3

tags: @pjmxxjmdipity @osakis-gf @graydolan12

[gukcnt]

02 | BOUND BY VOWS ⭒ JJK

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. Yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. Your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, smut, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, protective!jungkook, angry!jungkook, emotional trauma, power dynamics, hurt and comfort, grief, fear of intimacy, several intense crying scenes, emotional distress, abuse and manipulation from readers father, mentions of fear, isolation, break down, miscommunication, argument, betrayal, trust issues

wc — 5.2k

a/n — this chapter is relatively short, but I promise the next part will be longer—and probably a smut, finally hehe. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter and feedback is appreciated! <3

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The week before the wedding unfolded, each day was relentless slowly bringing you closer to the cage made up by jungkook and your father.

A constant reminder of the life you were being forced into.

Every broken room you entered which you were so used to transformed for a marriage you dreaded.

Your small apartment now full of luxury with extravagant gowns to choose from.

The dresses were masterpieces.

Each fabric delicate and every one of them was adorned with lavish details, the dresses hugging your curves like they were meant to be.

One gown the chosen one was a work of art—it was sparkly, floor length and so light it seemed to float.

You ran your fingers over the fabric, its softness causing a pang in your chest—once you might have dreamed of such a dress.

Childish dreams of wearing a beautiful wedding gown like a princess and meeting your prince.

But now you hated it.

Because it would snatch your life from you.

The dressmakers cooed over you as they adjusted the dress, needles in their hands.

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride.”

One said, her eyes full of admiration.

You forced a smile, lips trembling but inside you wanted to lash out.

Beautiful?

You felt like a doll dressed up to be somewhere you hadn’t chosen to be.

You felt like a prisoner.

The mirror in front of you reflected a stranger—your hair down and styled to perfection, skin flushed with a forced glow from makeup.

Anyone that would see you would see a happy bride.

Your eyes though, betrayed, red rims from nights spent sobbing into your pillow.

There were several jewelry pieces everywhere—diamond rings and necklaces, each piece more expensive than the last.

You wore a delicate necklace, its small diamond stones were dazzling, with matching earrings.

The planners were there constantly, invading your space with samples of everything.

Menus of dishes you'd never tasted were sent for you to approve.

A towering wedding cake that almost seemed too beautiful to be real with its fondant roses and small art designs.

“Everything is to your taste.”

The woman assured you, smiling.

“Mr. jeon was specific, he wanted it to be perfect for you.”

You nodded, throat tight.

You didn’t care about the flowers, the gown or anything.

You didn’t care about any of it.

Your father was a different creature in these days, his usual scowl replaced by a greediness in his eyes.

He roamed through the chaos barking orders at the staff reveling in the wealth this marriage would bring him.

“Look at this y/n.”

He said one afternoon, holding a box containing an expensive bracelet jungkook had sent.

“This is what you’re marrying into. Don’t mess it up.”

His voice was sharp, lacing with warning and you shook, fear knotting your stomach once again.

“I don’t want this.” you whisper.

He laughed, the sound cruel.

“You don’t get a choice, girl. You're doing this for your mother… or do you want her to die because of you?”

The words hits you deeper each time he says them.

You turn away, hands trembling and retreated to your room, the only place you could breathe though even that was tainted.

The flowers invaded here too, their scent too suffocating now and there are piles of fabrics and dresses on your bed.

You sank to the floor, back against the wall and buried your face in your hands, the tears coming out fast.

“I can’t do this.” you sobbed.

“I can’t be her. I can’t be trapped like her.”

Your mother's face haunted you, she was so close to death.

You couldn’t tell her about the marriage, couldn’t confess the terror that consumed you.

She'd always wanted you to have a life free from the pain she'd endured but now you were walking into the same hell like she did.

Trapped forever.

You'd promised her you'd be strong, but strength felt impossible when every moment was a countdown to your misery.

The nights were the worst.

When the planners left and the apartment was silent, you'd lie in bed in the darkness.

The sheets, once comforting did nothing to help you.

You cried until your throat was raw, sobs shaking your entire body.

This was your last week of freedom, the final days before you'd be stuck to a man you feared.

A man whose dark eyes and presence had already invaded your nightmares.

You imagined jungkook as a shadow of your father, his wealth and power only increasing his cruelty that you'd grown up with.

The thought made you curl into yourself as if you could shield yourself.

The planners noticed your silence, your lack of enthusiasm.

“Every bride is nervous.” one said.

“You’re so lucky to be marrying Mr. jeon, he’s sparing no expense.”

The word felt like a slap, and you wanted to scream out that this wasn’t luck—you were pressured into this.

But you stayed quiet, eyes dull as you nodded.

You'd learned long ago that speaking out only brought pain.

jungkook's influence was everywhere, his wealth reshaped your world in a way that you struggled to adjust to.

Gifts arrived daily—each item chosen with care, exactly to your preferences that your father had fed to jungkook's team but they felt like bribes.

Attempts to buy your dreams you no longer believed in.

You touched them slightly as if they might burn you and left them untouched in their boxes, their beauty barely affecting you.

One evening as the sun was setting, giving the room a glow, a woman handed you a velvet box.

Inside was a delicate silver locket, engraved with tiny roses and a single diamond at its center.

“From Mr. jeon.” she said.

Her voice full with awe.

“He thought you’d like something personal.”

You opened it, lips parting and found it empty except for the locket—no photo, no note, just a hollow space like the man he was.

You snapped it shut and set it aside, chest tight with anger and grief.

The final fitting felt like torment, with the dressmakers around you with their tape measures and pins.

You stood still, letting them do their thing and listened to their chatter—how lucky you were, how grand the wedding would be and how every detail was perfect.

Perfect. The word was nothing but a lie.

When they left, you collapsed onto your bed, the gown still on suffocating you, too tired to take it off as you clutched the bedsheets.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I'm trying to save you… but I’m losing myself.”

The words were for the empty room, a pain that no one answered to.

You were alone, a bride surrounded with luxury she didn't want and you were counting down the hours until your freedom was gone.

Forever.

۶ৎ

The morning of your wedding broke through like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

Stuck in it.

You stood wearing the gown.

It hugged you like a second skin while the long flowing fabric stretched behind you, pooling on the floor.

Despair pressed against your chest.

Your hands shook as you touched the veil.

Your eyes swollen from crying were hidden behind light makeup, cheeks flushed with blush and your lips painted with a glossy rose pink but that did nothing to hide the way your lips quivered.

No amount of makeover could erase the sadness etched in your features, the emptiness in your eyes.

The floor was a polished marble, cold beneath your bare feet as you stood, too numb to slip into the heels waiting nearby.

The women bustled around you, their hands adjusting your veil, smoothing your gown and trying to perfect you for the monster waiting for you.

“You look like an angel.”

You didn’t respond, chest aching with the weight of unshed tears that you couldn’t let out because it would ruin your makeup.

You looked at the mirror and you saw not a bride but a broken girl bound to a fate she couldn’t escape.

The venue itself was a display of wealth, along with hundreds of strangers you didn’t recognize in suits and gowns, their talks low as they awaited the ceremony.

The aisle was decorated with scattered petals leading to an altar, the air thick with the scent of candles and flowers.

The soft music playing in the background did nothing to dim your mourning.

Your father stood at your side, his grip on your arm bruising, his face holding fake pride, reminding you of the man he'd always been.

“Don’t ruin this.”

He hissed under his breath.

“Smile or I’ll make sure your mother pays for it.”

The threat knotted your stomach until you thought you might break.

You nodded, a single tear streaming down your cheek and he tugged you forward, forcing you to walk.

The aisle stretched before you, each step of yours felt heavy.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears, drowning out the music.

The guests eyes bore into you, their stares a mix of awe and pity but you didn’t meet them.

Your vision blur with tears as you didn’t try to look forward at the man standing for you.

Your soon to be husband.

The thought nauseating you.

You focused on the petals beneath your feet, your gown trailing behind you just like your life that you were leaving behind.

Your hands clutched a bouquet of lilies, fighting to keep your sobs silent.

At the altar stood jungkook, his presence terrifying you.

His suit was simple yet elegant.

Its black in color and tailored to accommodate his broad shoulders and muscular frame.

His man bun was sleek, a few dark strands escaping to frame his rugged face.

His dark eyes locked onto yours the moment you appeared, their intensity enough to make your knees buckle.

His hands clasped before him, the veins prominent.

The scars on his knuckles were visible from his life, the one fought and won.

His scent—smoke and something uniquely masculine—reached you even from a distance, stirring a warmth in your chest that you pushed away.

As you reached him, your father released you and you stood before jungkook, trembling like a leaf, feeling his gaze on you like a physical touch.

You couldn’t look at him.

Your eyes fixed on the floor, anything but the man who was about to claim you.

Your tears fell freely now and though you couldn’t see it, his heart raced in a quick rhythm that matched your own.

You were a vision in his eyes—the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Your fragile self and sorrow only deepening the possessiveness in his chest.

But your tears and the way you shrank from him angered him for a reason he didn't know why—not at you but at whatever had brought you to his state.

He wanted to reach for you.

To wipe away your pain but your father's earlier words echoed in his mind.

“She’s just emotional about leaving her family.”

He clenched his jaw, hands tightening, restraining the urge to act.

The priest's voice started, his words about love and unity felt mocking against your reality. You barely heard him, mind swirling with your grief.

The vows came too soon, your voice quivering as you forced the words out, each of your words a lie that you had to admit against your will.

“I… I take you jeon jungkook, to be my husband…”

Your voice cracked, a sob escaping and you pressed your lips together, fighting to continue.

“For better and f—for worse”

The words were bitter in your mouth, and you choked on them. Your tears are constantly there, a whimper slipping from between your lips.

jungkook's voice when he spoke was steady and sure, a deep rumble but there was a softness beneath it.

A gentleness you didn’t expect

“I take you y/n, to be my wife. To protect and love in sickness and in health.”

“Until death do us part.”

His words a vow, not just to the priest but to you and they stirred something in you.

A flicker of something.

He took your hand and you gasped, the warmth of his touch a shock against your cold skin. His hand was large and calloused, the roughness of his palm so different than you.

His fingers curled around yours, not tightly but with a deliberate care that made your breath hitch.

The ring he slid onto your finger was a band of diamonds, each small stone was twinkling like a tiny star, catching the candlelight.

It was beautiful, simple yet extravagant, chosen because it reminded him of you—delicate, precious.

And unique…

But to you it felt like a heavy weight against your fingers, something that’s going to bind you to a life you didn’t want.

You slid a plain platinum band onto his finger, hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it.

The priest's final words were like a death sentence to you.

“I now announce you both as husband and wife.”

You wept openly now, your body shaking, sobs coming out raw and broken.

The guests clapped, their applause barely reaching your ears because you felt only the weight of your free life being taken away from you.

The ring around your finger felt like chains that were about to keep you locked up.

You hated this moment, hated the ring.

Hated the man before you.

Even though a small traitorous part of you wondered at the gentleness of his hand, the way his touch hadn’t hurt you or bruised you like your fathers always had.

“You may kiss the bride.” the priest said.

Your heart stopped.

You looked up at jungkook, meeting his eyes for the first time and the look in his gaze stole your breath.

His dark eyes softened, a flicker of tenderness breaking through them and it almost terrified you.

Your bottom lip trembled, a mewl escaping as he stepped closer.

His hand cupped your cheek.

His touch felt like a caress of feather, even though the hard callouses of his hand sent shivers down your spine.

His thumb brushing away a tear that escaped.

“Don’t cry.” he murmurs, huskily.

His whisper was meant only for you.

“I’ve got you.”

He leaned in and you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for something forceful, something cold.

But his lips met yours in a soft, fleeting peck, brushing against yours with a warmth that was over before you could process it.

The kiss was respectful and restrained.

As if he knew you weren’t ready and it left goosebumps all over you, your lips tingling with an unfamiliar heat.

It was your first kiss, stolen on the day you dreaded the most and the realization made your tears fall harder.

He pulled back, breath hot against your skin and whispered.

“I’ll protect you y/n, always… I promise.”

His words were another vow, your mind reeling and assuming that all his words were just a lie in order to get you to be his slave.

Even though a small part of you told you otherwise, which you refused to acknowledge.

You turned away as you clutched the bouquet, the petals crumbling under your grip just like your life.

The crowd cheered, their voices distant, you only felt the ghost of his lips and the cage closing around you.

jungkook stood beside you, frame towering like a threat, his own heart tangling with mixed emotions.

He didn’t understand your tears and didn’t know the depth of your pain.

But he knew one thing.

You were his now.

And he'd burn the world to keep you safe.

Even if you hated him for it.

The ceremony ended with you walking back down the aisle, his hand at the small of your back, the touch both comforting and suffocating.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t speak, your tears falling like rain as you mourned for the life you’d lost and the cage you’d just entered.

Locked up forever.

The future was dark in front of you.

And you didn’t know if you’d ever find light again.

۶ৎ

You were currently in jungkook's house after the wedding.

The bedroom was dimly lit with candles that lined the nightstand, their glow casting across the masculine decor of his room.

A king sized bed with charcoal silk sheets.

The scent in his room was heavy with a clean male scent that was uniquely jungkook's and a sharp smell of cigarette smoke.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your small frame hunched as if trying to disappear.

The simple white dress you wore after the ceremony—clung to you.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fingers twisting the silky material until your knuckles whitened, the texture grounding you against the fear in your chest.

Tears fell silently down your cheeks, their saltiness on your lips.

Each sob was a quiet shuddering breath, barely audible as if making any sound would summon the man you now called your husband.

You couldn’t breathe, you just wanted to wail loudly.

To let out all the sorrow you had.

The room's luxury and its richness mocked the poverty you had but at least it provided you joy and a freedom you always loved.

You imagined him forcing himself on you, his voice rude and the thought made your stomach lurch, bile rising in your throat.

The door creaked open, sending your body jolting.

jungkook stepped inside, his presence shifting the air in the room immediately and the tension was palpable.

He'd discarded his wedding suit, the white shirt was now unbuttoned at the top, revealing his skin and hints of his muscular chest.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his veiny arms and faint scars.

His face with all its sharp features and the constant frown he had was softened by the glow of the candle but the intensity of his gaze remained.

Unrelenting and piercing.

Your head spun at his even sharper smell and how he invaded your senses.

He didn’t approach immediately.

His steps measured as if navigating whether you're comfortable or not.

Instead he paused near the table, picking up a glass from the tray and filling it with water from a jar.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

It was careful but it still made your heart race.

You shook your head, unable to form words, eyes fixed on the floor, not even daring to meet his.

jungkook sets the glass down with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the silence.

He moved to the window, the curtains parted slightly to reveal the night sky. He tried to fill the silence with words, voice gentler now, almost hesitant.

“The ceremony… it was long. Did you manage to eat anything after?”

His tone was an attempt at normalcy, but it felt nothing like that, instead it felt like a stranger intruding on your grief.

You didn’t respond, lips pressing into a thin line as another tear slipped down your cheek.

He exhaled a sound heavy with frustration and confusion at not being able to understand you and reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette.

He lit the cigarette, taking a drag and leaned against the window frame, his posture casual, though his eyes never left you.

Minutes passed, the silence stretching.

jungkook’s already thin patience seemed to fade because he couldn’t just read your mind if you didn’t speak.

He wanted to listen and he'd never cross the line, make you uncomfortable or do anything without your consent.

He straightened, the cigarette dangling from his lips and spoke again, voice edged with something raw.

“Are you unhappy with this marriage?”

The question lit a spark of fury inside you, igniting it into something you'd been holding back.

You didn’t know how it happened but you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your head snapped up, eyes glistening with tears, a scream begging to be unleashed from your lips.

“Unhappy?”

The word was more of a sob.

“You think I wanted this? you think I chose to be here? m—my father forced me! he sold me like I was nothing and threatened my mother’s life if I didn’t comply.”

“And you—you just took me? like I was a prize to be brought to me! I'll never accept you as my husband, never love you and never let you touch me! you're no different from him—from the monster who beat my mother, who broke every day of my life—”

You paused, chest heaving as a broken sob left you, you realized you were rambling, pent up emotions and anger coming out all at once.

“You’re just another man like him and I’ll die before I let you break me too!”

Your voice cracked, the words spilling out in a rush and you struggled to breathe, your dress clinging to your sweat damped skin.

Your hands trembled violently, nails digging into the sheets.

Your cheeks flushed with your anguish, bottom lip trembling with another sob.

jungkook’s face darkened from where he stood, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t interrupt once when you were talking, letting you let out all your feelings.

Something men has never allowed in your life, they never let you have a voice and never valued your feelings.

They always silenced you like your father.

Punished you.

The cigarette burned, forgotten between his fingers, jaw clenching as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded

His voice was almost a growl with confusion but not anger—not at you.

The cigarette fell to the floor, dying in the dark.

He took a step toward you and you gasped, your body curling, arms wrapping around yourself as if expecting a blow or a slap.

The action was like a knife to his chest.

His eyes flashed with an anger so intense his entire form was shaking and it was aimed at the one who had taught you to fear.

To expect pain from a raised hand.

His fists unclenched, hands hovering uselessly as if he wanted to reach for you but he knew he couldn’t.

He had questions too many of them.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, quietly.

Though there's a dangerous edge there.

“Who made you think I’d hurt you?”

You didn’t hear the question, couldn’t hear anything over your own pounding heart.

“Stop lying!” you screamed.

A wail left your lips, body shaking as you stood abruptly.

“Just stop acting like you didn’t know! you knew I didn’t want this, that I was forced into it and you just went with it—"

You paused, taking a deep shaky breath.

“You’re a monster just like him! I’ll never forgive you or think this is okay. You—you bought me and I'll hate you for it every day for the rest of my life!”

Your words hung for him heavy and final

You collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, hiccups leaving you as tears soaked the sheets beneath you.

Your hair clung to your wet cheeks, covering your face from his gaze, your makeup ruined just like the inside of you.

The room started feeling smaller, the walls felt like they were closing in.

jungkook stood frozen, his breathing shallow, eyes locked on your frame.

The fury in his gaze softened into something else—something almost broken.

He wanted to speak to deny your accusations, to tell you he hadn’t known that he’d been lied to for the first time, manipulated by your father’s bullshit.

But your pain was like a wall in front of him that he couldn’t break through, a wound he couldn’t easily heal.

He took another step, slower this time and you moved away, shaking your head.

His heart lurched at that, his brows furrowing.

He stopped, his hands falling to his side. In this moment, he not only hated the world that had hurt you but he hated himself more for being a part of it.

He wanted to rip apart whoever had made you this way, to tear their limbs from their body with his bare hands.

To make them feel the terror you carried in your very soul since you were a child.

But he couldn’t.

Not now.

Not when you were shattering before him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance, with a choked cry, you bolted from the bed, your bare feet carrying you out.

You ran, sobs echoing in the hallway.

You found an empty room, its door ajar and burst inside, slamming it shut with a force that rattled it.

The lock clicking in place.

You sat down on the floor, body weak and no energy left in you.

The room was a stark difference with minimal furnishing compared to jungkook's bedroom.

You cried until your throat was raw, eyes swollen and burning.

The lock on the door was a small barrier but it was all you had—a shield against the man you feared, the man who was now your husband.

Your hands clutched at the floor, wanting to ground yourself to reality, chest feeling empty and you wondered if you'd ever feel whole again.

You hated jungkook—hated his presence, the way he'd claimed you without a thought about your willingness.

A memory was there that refused to be gone though.

His touch when he'd wiped your tears at the altar, his lips soft against yours and his voice that promised safety.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense also the way he didn’t react when you yelled at him and didn’t hit you like your father had.

Men like him—men like your father—didn’t protect.

They destroyed.

You shifted, your body aching from the hard floor and pressed your cheek against the door.

Your tears had dried, leaving wet trails on your face as hiccups left you.

Sleep tugged at you, an escape you needed but you fought it, afraid of what might happen.

Images of chains, your father’s fists and jungkook—they didn’t leave your mind.

You were scared that jungkook would hurt you once you slept, his facade slipping to reveal the real him.

Terror was threatening to swallow you whole.

“I won’t break.” you whisper, hoarsely.

Saying it as much to yourself as to the universe for always attempting to destroy your life.

“I won’t let him break me…”

Your father had been the first man to hurt you, to ruin your life and jungkook was here now.

You didn’t know if you could fight them both, you didn’t know if you had the strength.

But you clung to the memory of your mother's love.

And hope.

The only thing that had ever guided you.

۶ৎ

The bedroom was filled with silence after your departure. The sheets were rumpled from where you sat, along with the faint traces of your perfume.

jungkook stood motionless in the center of the room, his broad shoulders slumped, man bun loose now, tugging his hair in his fist as if the pain could anchor him.

His eyes burned with emotions he couldn’t name.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for another cigarette, taking a sharp inhale, brows furrowed in a scowl that was more pain than anger.

Your words went through his mind, each one cracking the wall around his heart that he'd spent decades forming.

“forced… sold… I hate you.”

He could hear them endlessly.

He'd been deceived by your father's lies and the betrayal stung not because of the man's audacity but because it had cost him you.

You with your tear streaked face, saw him as a monster—a reflection of the very man who'd broken you.

The realization made him smoke faster, wanting to distract himself but that was barely working.

He exhaled the smoke as he fought the urge to go after you.

He wanted to break down the door of the guest room, to kneel before you and beg for forgiveness, which was something he has never done for anyone.

To promise you the world if it would erase the fear in your eyes that you held for him.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not when you run away when he approaches.

Someone had hurt you, had taught you to fear a raised hand and the thought made him want to hunt down the culprit.

Make them suffer.

His first clenched, knuckles whitening

“Damn it.” he signs.

A snarl leaving his lips, it was a sound of frustration and agony of a man struggling with feelings he'd long buried.

He turned, pacing the room like a locked beast.

He stopped at the window as he gripped the glass hard enough for it to crack, staring outside at the darkness, the same as what he felt within him.

“Who made you so afraid?” he breathes.

He thought of your eyes wide and shimmering with tears, the way your small body trembled under his gaze.

He'd seen terror before—in the eyes of his enemies—but never like this, never so raw, so personal.

You were so delicate.

So breakable.

Yet you’d stood up to him, your voice rising in a way he hadn’t expected.

That courage buried beneath years of misery, only deepened the ache in his chest.

The need to protect you.

To shield you from a world that had already taken too much.

He sank into the bed and buried his face in his hands.

He didn’t know what love was—had never felt it, never trusted it—but what he felt for you was something fierce.

It was a hunger, a desperation to keep you safe even if it meant fighting his own nature.

He'd been called a monster, a man without mercy and perhaps he was all those things.

But for you he wanted to be more.

He needed to be more.

“Forgive me.” he murmurs.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know.”

The confession meant that he'd failed you before he'd even begun.

He'd trusted your father's lies, believed you'd chosen this and now you were locked in another room, crying and hating him.

He could barely breathe.

“I’ll fix this.”

He promises with a rasp, he swore he'd try.

“I’ll make it right even if it kills me.”

He meant every one of his words said to you today, even at the wedding.

He didn’t know he could be the man you needed, didn’t know if he could learn to love but he knew he couldn’t let you suffer.

Not you.

Never you.

Not the girl who’d given her meal to a stray, who’s so selfless and had endured too much injustice all her life.

The night stretched on.

In the guest room you drifted to sleep, your body curled on the floor weakly, the entire day taking a toll on you.

In the bedroom jungkook stood, not being able to sleep, his heart filled with fury and longing.

Two souls bound by a marriage.

Their paths entwined with an uncertain future that could change.

Or ruin them both.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

[gukcnt]

taglist:

@bgfdcvbnjk @dilfdixon @doulcha @jungkookswifeeeeeee @yayaalexis0613 @quhrtz @joonwater @misschelliejeon @ryryrory @ilikekpop-c @everybodysaynoooooo @ksval-idk @tan-veee @daphhie @stargirl-mayaa @alextgef @tteokbokibyjk @suker4angst @cranberrycupcake @taesluvrgirl @wtfanu @cutttteeee @lovejkmilitarywife @itsjustmoi @geniejunn @sftlrmin @sy-ae @luvjiminandyoongi @psychicjellyfishalpaca @theyloveyams @bhonbhon @themwordsblog @armybomb-infires @mineekookj @asdfghjklqwesblog @mokaliciouss @rjooniesdimples @jeeykey @kpopslur @blueberriesm @dallybangtan @hoelychildofgod @istarag @dwaekkaa @darkuni63 @hallomotherfuker @aaclariww @rutukn @camellias-98

[letherkook]

Vigil pt. 6 j.jk

Pairing: Obnoxious Rich Boy Jungkook x Powerless Reader
Genre: Dark Romance, Obsession, Angst, Forced Proximity
Themes: Power Imbalance, Class Difference, Emotional Manipulation

Warnings: Minors DNI, Hesitant MC, Dub-con, Non-con elements ish? SMUT (18+)

Taglist: @hkplushier @darkuni63 @investedreader @gguksbeloved @mar-lo-pap @lachimolalajeon @jjk174 @mageprincess7 @thekookiedealer @strawbi-reads @aaclariww

*Smut right away so be warned*

___________

You can’t stop trembling.

The aphrodisiac he gave you has fully taken hold now—thick in your blood, spreading heat through every inch of you. It’s unbearable. Your thighs are sticky and slick, your body flushed and twitching from the strain of being denied for so long.

He hasn’t touched you in nearly twenty minutes.

Jungkook leans lazily beside you on the bed, shirtless, lounging like he’s got nowhere to be, watching you suffer with a grin curling his lips.

“You look like you’re gonna cry,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over your naked form. “You want something, baby?”

Your hands fist the sheets.

“I need you,” you whisper, breath hitching. “Please…”

He hums, dragging a finger up your thigh. “Need what?”

“You know what—” you gasp, hips rising. “Please—”

“Say it.”

Your jaw clenches.

He laughs softly. “Still so stubborn,” he mutters. “Even now. Even when your body’s begging.

You don’t answer. You can’t. If you speak, you’ll break.

So you grit your teeth, clench your fists tighter, and keep your mouth shut—no matter how badly you’re aching.

He leans closer, his voice dropping.

“You want daddy’s cock?” he asks, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Want me to fuck you full, baby? Fill you up till you can’t think?”

Your thighs twitch. Your breath catches. But you don’t speak.

He kisses the corner of your mouth.

Then your nose.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say you love me. Say you’ll marry me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Still silent.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re so cute when you try to act tough,” he murmurs, shifting his weight over you, his body warm and heavy and infuriatingly in control. “But you’re not fooling me, baby.”

He nudges your thighs open with his knee.

“You’re soaking the sheets. Your clit’s throbbing. You’re practically dripping without me even touching you.”

You gasp when his fingers trail through your folds—just a tease—and your hips jerk helplessly.

“Still won’t say it?” he whispers.

You glare up at him. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’m not—giving you that.” You pant. “You don’t get to win.”

He lets out a low laugh, clearly enjoying this too much.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs. “This isn’t about winning. It’s about owning.”

Then—suddenly—he grabs your thighs and flips you over.

You yelp, your face pressed into the mattress, legs spread wide beneath him. The next thing you feel is the thick, hard weight of his cock resting between your thighs—not inside—just enough to make your whole body ache.

His mouth brushes your ear.

“You’ll say it eventually,” he says softly. “I can wait.”

He ruts against you, slow and firm, dragging his cock through your folds without giving you what you need.

Your whole body trembles.

You try to fight it—try to resist—but it’s too much. Too hot, too slick, too raw. You’re losing your mind.

“I could fuck you right now,” he murmurs. “Make you come over and over without ever hearing you say a word.”

He presses in—just the tip—and you nearly scream.

“But that’s not what I want,” he growls.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Say it,” he whispers again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you love me. That you’re mine. That you want to wear my ring.”

“No,” you gasp. “No—I won’t—”

He kisses your shoulder.

Then bites down on it gently.

“Then you’ll stay empty,” he says, voice low. “Until you’re not so stubborn.”

You break.

You scream.

And when he doesn’t move, doesn’t give in, you finally sob:

“Jungkook—*please—*I’m sorry—I can’t take it—please give it to me—”

He groans softly. “Then say it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Shake your head.

He leans in closer, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction.

“I can wait all night, baby.”

And the worst part?

You know he means it.

He leaves you there. Tells you he’s going to take a shower. That you can join him if you’re good.

———

The water in the bathroom stops.

You don’t move.

You’re still curled on the ruined bed, naked, flushed, wrecked from the inside out. Your thighs are sticky, your face hot, and you’re trembling with something between shame and desperation. But you don’t go to him.

Not this time.

You stay exactly where he left you—like an offering.

Exactly as he wanted.

The door creaks open a minute later.

And there he is.

Bare-chested, towel low on his hips, still damp from the shower. His hair sticks to his forehead, and his skin glows warm and flushed from the heat. But it’s his eyes that make your breath catch.

“Well, well…” His voice is soft. Dangerous. “You didn’t run.”

You don’t respond.

He walks closer—slow, deliberate. His towel slips a little lower with every step, but he doesn’t bother to fix it.

“You still haven’t said it.”

He stops beside the bed. Looks down at you like you’re something fragile. Precious. Breakable.

But he’s not smiling.

He leans over you slowly, his voice dipping lower. “You really want me that badly?”

You inhale shakily. “I—”

“Say it.”

You press your lips together.

And that’s when he moves—grabbing your jaw, tilting your head back, kissing you hard. Not rough. Not punishing.

Consuming.

His tongue claims your mouth like he owns it. Like he’s missed it. Like he can’t believe you’re still here, spread out and waiting and still too stubborn to admit what he already knows.

When he pulls back, your chest is heaving.

He chuckles darkly. “Still won’t say it, huh?”

You swallow. “You didn’t wait that long.”

He grins.

Then lets the towel drop.

And your eyes widen.

You scramble up slightly—but he’s already climbing over you, one knee on the bed, crowding your space with all that warmth and tension and hunger.

“You want me?” he murmurs, his cock dragging up your thigh.

You turn your face away. “Don’t—”

He grabs your chin.

Kisses your cheek.

Then your nose.

Then the corner of your mouth.

“You’re shaking, baby.”

He slides two fingers down between your thighs, brushing gently through your wetness—and you jolt.

Your hips rise instinctively. A breathless cry leaves your throat.

He hums, grinning against your cheek. “Just like that. So needy.”

“Jungkook—”

“Say it.”

You shake your head.

His fingers move again.

Slow circles. Barely any pressure. Not enough.

You sob.

He kisses your temple. “You want it?”

You nod desperately. “Yes—”

“Mm.. My cock, baby?”

You whimper, your hands clutching the sheets again. “Please—”

“Say what I want to hear.”

Your voice cracks. “I—I can’t—”

He pulls his hand away.

You let out a broken cry.

He tuts softly. “You can. You just won’t.”

He shifts closer, pressing the full length of himself between your thighs, dragging his cock against your slick, flushed heat.

“Should I push in?” he whispers. “Just a little?”

You moan.

“Would you like that?” he teases, kissing your ear. “To be full again? So full you can’t think straight?”

You shiver.

He nibbles your earlobe. “Should I keep you like that, baby? Plugged up with daddy’s cock all the time? Day and night?”

You gasp. “You’re—insane—”

“Mm. Maybe,” he says, lining himself up at your entrance.

Then—

He stops.

“You know what to do,” he breathes, brushing your lips with his. “Say it. And I’ll give you everything.”

And this time, when your mouth opens—

You almost do.

You almost say it.

It’s on the tip of your tongue. The words throb in your chest, tight and hot, tangled in the same desperate ache between your thighs.

But when you look at him—his flushed chest, the cocky gleam in his eye, the quiet smile like he’s already won—

You snap your mouth shut.

He sees it.

His expression doesn’t fall. He just lets out a low hum, like he’s amused by your defiance. Like he’s already factored it in.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs.

You breathe hard. “If you think you can break me down like this—”

His hips shift.

The head of his cock presses just barely inside you, not even an inch—just enough to feel the stretch, the promise.

You gasp, legs tensing, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He stays there.

Still. A tease.

You squirm, but he doesn’t move.

“You’re so close,” he whispers, voice heavy with pleasure. “You want to give in. I can feel it.”

You shake your head weakly, lips trembling. “I don’t—I won’t—”

He kisses your lips, slow and patient. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“You don’t have to mean it,” he breathes. “Not yet.”

Then he kisses your nose, nuzzling it gently.

“Just say it for me. Just once. I’ll make it so good you forget your own name.”

You bite your lip.

He pulls back half an inch. You cry out.

“Say it,” he repeats, nipping your throat.

“Say you love me,” he breathes. “Say you’ll marry me.”

You lick your dry lips. “No.”

His eyes flicker.

You see the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers flex on your hips. You know he’s trying to wait. Trying to be patient. He said he’d hold out.

But the way your body writhes beneath him—pink, flushed, soaked, trembling—tests every limit he thought he had.

You bite your lip, defiantly silent, even as your thighs twitch and your back arches. He sees the tears in your lashes. The way your lips part to pant. The shiver that runs through your whole frame every time his cock brushes just a little too close.

And he breaks.

“Fuck it,” he growls.

Then he slams into you.

You scream—body seizing, back bowing so hard your shoulders lift off the bed.

“Couldn’t wait,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “You look too fucking good like this.”

He starts to move—deep, rough thrusts that make the headboard slam against the wall.

“You were made for me,” he pants. “perfect, god so fucking perfect.”

You sob, nails raking down his back. “I thought—you weren’t—”

“I lied,” he growls. “Because you—” thrust “—look—” thrust “—so goddamn pretty when you beg.”

You gasp, the air ripped from your lungs with each sharp thrust.

He leans down, mouth catching yours in a hot, dizzying kiss. “So what if you won’t say it?” he pants against your lips. “Your pussy’s honest enough.”

You moan, the words wrecking you almost more than his cock.

He presses your knees up, opening you wider, fucking into you even deeper.

He kisses your throat.

Then your chest.

Then your cheek.

“God, you’re like a drug.” he groans.

You whimper. “Jungkook—please—”

He grins. “Not so stubborn now, are you?”

Your thighs tremble violently. You can feel your orgasm building fast—tight and hot and unbearable.

He sees it.

He leans in, kisses your mouth again. “You gonna fall apart for me, baby?”

You nod frantically. “I’m—I’m close—”

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take it deep. Let it hit you.”

One more thrust—and your whole body breaks.

You scream, pulsing around him, crying out as your orgasm rips through you like a storm.

He follows with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside you, his hips stuttering as he holds you through it.

Then he collapses onto you, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, your bodies tangled and shaking.

His lips brush your temple.

“You’ll say it,” he murmurs, barely a breath.

Then a kiss to your cheek.

“Eventually.”

————

The morning light is soft—but it burns.

Your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Every nerve feels swollen, tender, overstimulated. And still, you feel needy. Warm between the thighs, your breath hitching at the memory of last night—of him, of what he did, what he made you say.

The aphrodisiac has dulled, but not disappeared.

You roll onto your side slowly. Jungkook’s already awake.

He’s watching you.

Of course he is.

One arm tucked under his head, the other draped over his bare torso. His lips curl when he sees the way you wince, the way your thighs press together instinctively.

“Still feeling it?” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

You glare at him weakly. “What the hell did you give me?”

He chuckles. Low. Deep. Satisfied.

“Something from a friend. Imported.” He leans in. Brushes your hair behind your ear. “You looked too sweet. Couldn’t help myself.”

Your cheeks burn.

He shifts closer—presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then your temple.

“You were perfect last night.”

You stay quiet.

His hand trails down your side, over your hip, pausing just above the place where you’re still sore.

“Bet you’re still wet,” he murmurs. “Even now.”

You slap his chest—lightly, too tired to mean it.

He grabs your wrist.

Presses a kiss to the inside.

Then brings your hand down—slides it between your own thighs.

The second your fingers brush over your heat, you flinch.

Wet. Sensitive.

Your eyes widen.

“I told you,” he says, grinning. “That pretty little pussy was made to be filled.”

You try to pull your hand away. He doesn’t let you.

Instead, he leans in—mouth against your ear.

“Wanna know what I’ve been thinking about since I woke up?”

You swallow.

He presses closer.

“I’m hard every morning, baby. But today? I’m aching. Just from thinking about you whining, begging, crying for it last night.”

“And now?” he continues, voice dropping lower. “Now I wanna see how much more you can take.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You’re slipping.

You feel it in the way your hands cling to his shoulders, in the way your hips move to meet his even before your brain catches up. You feel it in the little sounds you make, the ones you try to bite back but never quite manage to contain.

You’re falling apart for him.

And worst of all—you know he knows.

Jungkook watches you with that same maddening smile. That cocky, knowing tilt of his head, that glint in his eyes that says he doesn’t need your words to tell him the truth. He can feel it in your body.

“Still trying so hard,” he coos, fucking into you slow and deep. “Trying to pretend like you don’t want this.”

You glare at him through glassy eyes, but it’s weak. Everything in you feels weak—your limbs, your voice, your will.

“I don’t,” you lie, breath hitching as he grinds into you just right.

“No?” He leans in, kisses your nose.

You turn your head.

He kisses your cheek.

“Why are you dripping all over me?”

You gasp when he shifts, the head of his cock brushing somewhere sensitive—too sensitive.

“Why are you moaning like you’re in love with me?”

Your hands fist the sheets.

His lips find your ear. “Is that it, baby?” he whispers. “Are you falling for me?”

You don’t answer.

He thrusts once, hard and deep.

You gasp.

“Still pretending.” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head.

He kisses you again—slow, messy, open-mouthed. When he pulls away, your lips are wet, swollen, and trembling.

“You belong to me,” he whispers. “Your body knows it. Your heart’s next.”

You shake your head, desperate. “You don’t know what I feel—”

He kisses your throat, then your chest, moving slowly down until he’s resting his weight fully over you.

You sob, biting your lip, trying to hold back the rising wave inside you.

“You’re breaking,” he says gently.

His fingers brush your cheek. “Just let go. Let yourself want me.”

You close your eyes, trembling beneath him.

And for the first time—

You almost say it.

But he grins.

He sees the hesitation.

And he teases you for it.

“Want me to fuck it out of you?” he purrs, rolling his hips slow. “Want Daddy to make it so good you forget how to lie?”

You moan, back arching.

He kisses your temple.

“Let me in, baby.”

His lips find yours again.

———-

The villa is carved into the cliffside—white marble and towering glass, with the sea sprawling endless and glittering beyond the edge of the infinity pool.

It’s the kind of place you’ve only ever seen in magazines. The kind of place people like you don’t belong.

But you’re here.

Wrapped in silk. Dressed in a bikini you didn’t pick out. Lounging beside a pool you didn’t ask for.

Jungkook is shining.

He moves through this world like it was made for him. His tan skin glows under the sun. He’s shirtless, in designer swim trunks, barefoot as he struts across the stone with a glass of champagne in one hand and his other reaching for you.

“Come swim,” he says, smirking. “Or do you want to just stare at me all day?”

You don’t answer.

He takes that as a yes.

He pulls you to your feet and tugs you into the water with him, arms locking around your waist as your body collides. The pool is warm. His skin is warmer.

“Still mad at me?” he whispers, mouth brushing your temple.

You don’t respond.

You swim together for a while, weightless in the silence—until he traps you against the pool’s edge and kisses you senseless, slow and open-mouthed, the way he always does when he’s trying to remind you what’s his.

By afternoon, he’s giving you a tour.

You thought this villa was impressive—until you saw the second one. The one up the road. The one he calls “a guest house.”

“You own both?” you whisper, stunned.

He hums, unlocking a sleek silver car with a wave of his hand. “And the three below us. But this one’s my favorite.”

It’s a blur of things you’ve never had—personal chefs, private beaches, closets bigger than your old bedroom. There’s a cellar filled with wine that costs more than your mother’s yearly salary. There’s a balcony in his bedroom that overlooks the ocean, and a bed big enough to sleep six.

He orders lunch while you sit quietly on the lounger, the sea breeze curling through your hair. You overhear him speaking with his assistant on the phone. Something about stocks. Land deals. Branding. The Jeon name.

It hits you then.

He’s not just rich. He’s untouchable.

And he’s wrapped that power around you like a silk ribbon. Bound you to it. To him.

That night, after a candlelit dinner on the veranda, he leads you back to the bedroom.

You’re full. Tipsy. Tired.

But Jungkook?

He kisses your shoulder as you stand at the balcony railing, looking out at the stars.

“You looked pretty today,” he murmurs. “Even when you weren’t speaking to me.”

You turn to say something—but he’s already pressing against your back, arms curling around your waist, mouth on your neck.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, “we’ll take the yacht out.”

“Jungkook…”

He nips your ear. “Let me show you how far my world stretches.”

And then—

His hand slips beneath your dress.

Soft. Slow. Possessive.

“This life,” he breathes, voice silk and steel, “is yours now. And so am I.”

You shiver.

Because you know it’s true.

And the cage, gilded as it is, has never looked more beautiful.

—————-

The yacht is obscene.

Massive and gleaming white, slicing through sapphire waves like a beast of luxury. It has two floors, a private chef, a built-in hot tub, and a helipad you didn’t notice until Jungkook casually pointed at it and said, “We’ll use that next time.”

He makes you wear the ring.

Slips it on your finger first thing in the morning, while you’re still in bed and half asleep, blinking at him as he fastens the diamond around your knuckle like a collar.

It’s heavy.

You’ve never worn something that expensive before. Just touching it makes you feel like you’re made of glass.

Jungkook looks like he could explode from pride.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, admiring the sight of it on your hand. So you wear it.

Out on the yacht deck, the breeze tangles in your hair and the sun glitters on your skin. He doesn’t let you out of his sight—always an arm around your waist, a kiss to your temple, a possessive squeeze of your hip as the waves stretch on endlessly around you.

At some point, he brings out champagne. Holds a glass to your lips.

You take a sip—reluctantly.

He smiles.

“You look good like this,” he says. “Diamond on your finger, ocean behind you. Like something I stole from the gods.”

You glance down at the ring. “This is too much.”

“Nothing’s too much for my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

He hums. Tilts his head.

You roll your eyes and turn away, gripping the railing.

He doesn’t let you stay distant.

Steps in behind you, hands sliding down your arms, mouth brushing your neck.

“You’d be a good wife,” he murmurs. “You’d keep me sane.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

He laughs.

“And we’d have kids,” he goes on, ignoring you completely. “Spoiled brats, probably. You’d chase them around this yacht and yell at them to behave while I pretended I wasn’t the one who taught them to misbehave.”

You stiffen. “Jungkook—”

“Can you imagine them?” he breathes. “Little yous. Little mes. Wild and loud. Jumping off the side of this boat and laughing while you scream.”

Your eyes blur.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’ll happen.” he says simply.

You shake your head.

He wraps his arms around your waist tighter. “I like talking about it. Makes it feel real.”

You try to pull away.

He holds you still.

“You’d love them,” he murmurs. “Our kids. They’d love you even more.”

His voice softens. Warms.

“I’d give them everything,” he says. “Just like I gave you.”

You close your eyes.

Because deep down, you know he’s right. Something in you—weak and human—is starting to mold around him. Not love. Not yet. But something like surrender.

He lifts your hand. Kisses your knuckles. His lips brush the ring.

“I’ll give you time,” he says softly. “But I’m not taking it off.”

You swallow.

“It’s not real,” you whisper.

“It is to me.”

He lets your hand fall, then steps back.

“Come on,” he says with a smile. “Let me show you the captain’s quarters. You’ll get used to the view.”

—————

The yacht creaks softly as Jungkook leads you below deck, his hand loosely tangled with yours, like he’s giving you the illusion of choice. The air is cooler here—dimmer, quieter, scented with teakwood and salt.

Everything gleams.

The corridor is narrow, lined with polished paneling and subtle gold accents. At the very end, behind a thick, sealed door, lies the captain’s quarters.

Except it’s not for the captain.

It’s his.

Jungkook opens the door and steps inside like a king returning to his throne.

You hesitate in the doorway.

He turns. Tilts his head. “Come in.”

You don’t move.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he says.

You step in slowly.

The room is massive. There’s a bed built into the far side, bolted to the floor with a view of the ocean behind it. Shelves lined with rare books. A wall-mounted screen flickering with navigation data. And in the center—spread wide and waiting—is a table of food you didn’t even hear him order.

Fresh fruit. Champagne. Hand-cut pastries.

“Sit,” Jungkook says, pulling out a cushioned bench.

You do, mostly because you don’t know what else to do.

He takes the seat beside you, watching as you glance at the spread but don’t touch it.

“It’s all already yours.” he murmurs, reaching for a grape and holding it to your lips. “Still think this is temporary?”

You part your lips—mostly out of reflex.

He slides the grape past them, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I think,” he says softly, “you’re just afraid you might like it.”

You chew in silence.

“You’re wearing the ring.”

You glare at him.

He smirks. “You could’ve taken it off last night. Or this morning. Or just now, before we came down.”

“I didn’t want to deal with you throwing a tantrum.”

“Maybe.” He leans in. “Or maybe you’re getting used to the way it feels.”

He places a hand on your thigh, slow, possessive.

“And maybe you’ll get used to this too.”

You shiver.

His fingers press just slightly against your skin through the fabric of your dress.

“I think you like the idea of being mine,” he whispers, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

You breathe out—shaky, uncertain.

He pulls you gently into his lap, the hem of your dress sliding up your thighs as he shifts you across him. His hand ghosts along your hip, tracing the skin there like he’s savoring it.

“I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs. “Bend you over that table and make you cry on the wood.”

You tense.

“But I won’t.”

Your eyes flick to his.

He smiles—sweet, indulgent.

He brushes a kiss against your temple, arms wrapped around you like a cage. Gentle. Heavy. Permanent.

“We have time,” he says softly. “The whole rest of our lives.”

And in his voice is that same dark certainty that always follows him like a shadow.

He doesn’t let you leave his lap.

You’re still perched across his thighs, your legs draped over his, your fingers clutching the hem of your dress like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Outside the wide porthole behind you, the ocean stretches endlessly, glowing like molten glass beneath the setting sun.

Jungkook holds you like you’re already his wife.

His bride.

His prize.

And then—softly, like he’s changing the subject—he says, “Your mom wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

You blink.

“What?”

He brushes your hair behind your ear. “I’d take care of her. She’d never have to clean my house again. Or anyone else’s.”

You stiffen slightly, eyes darting away.

“I’d pay off everything she owes,” he continues. “Move her somewhere nicer. Quiet. Safe.”

Your mouth opens.

No words come out.

“And your siblings,” Jungkook says, shifting slightly so your chest is pressed tighter to his. “Private schools. Tutors. Everything they need. They’ll never want for anything.” You’ve never discussed your siblings before. You didn’t want them part of any of it. Neither did your mother. You don’t ask how he knows about them.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and warm all at once.

“I’d change their lives.”

You finally find your voice.

“Why are you saying all this again?”

He shrugs.

“Because it’s true.”

“No,” you whisper. “Why now?”

He leans in.

Because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re slipping,” he murmurs. “Falling. You try to hide it, but I see it.”

“That’s not—”

“Let me finish.”

His hand slides over your thigh again, slow and calming.

“I’m not just offering you pleasure,” he says. “I’m offering protection. Legacy. Power.”

His fingers lift your chin until your eyes meet his.

“I’m offering your entire family a life they could never afford. A future no one else will ever give them.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re all I want,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek, “just you.”

You swallow hard.

“Think about it,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder ever again. No more scrubbing floors. No more debt. No more hunger or fear or begging.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth.

“It would be so much better if you started choosing me too.”

———-

You’re still trembling — from his words, his mouth, the looming promise of what he might do to you on this deck where the sky kisses the sea — when a voice interrupts the silence.

“Master Jeon.”

Jungkook turns his head sharply.

One of the yacht staff stands at the edge of the deck. Eyes down. Hands behind his back. Neutral, but tense.

Jungkook exhales through his nose. “Speak.”

“There’s… a visitor waiting for you on the dock. She’s insisting she won’t leave without speaking to you directly.”

Your brows furrow.

A she?

Jungkook stands slowly. His shoulders roll back, expression unreadable now.

“Did she give a name?”

“She didn’t have to,” the staffer says. “It’s Miss Min.”

Something flickers in Jungkook’s jaw.

You blink. “Who’s that?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares out at the water.

When he finally speaks, his voice is clipped. Controlled.

“Stay here.”

“No.”

His head tilts.

Your voice is steady. “I’m not being left behind like a secret.”

His eyes narrow.

But you stand.

The slit on your dress opens slightly, exposing your thigh.

His gaze drops.

His fingers twitch.

But then the staff member clears his throat, and the moment passes.

“Fine,” Jungkook says, not looking at you. “You want to come?”

You nod once.

He grabs your wrist.

Not hard.

But firm.

“Then stay close,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet. “And don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

You don’t answer.

But you feel it already:

The shift.

The crack in his perfect world.

The edge of something dangerous approaching

And you wonder, just for a second—

If this empire of silk and saltwater was never meant to last.

—————

The walk from the yacht to the private dock is silent.

Jungkook holds your wrist the whole way, like he thinks you might disappear. You don’t yank away — but you don’t hold back either. The tension coils between you like wire.

And then you see her.

She’s standing on the dock, heels planted, silk dress unmoving in the wind. Tall. Beautiful. Effortlessly polished. A threat without even trying.

Miss Min. A name you’ve never heard. A person you’ve never seen. How was that possible? You thought you’d scene everyone that came in and out of the Jeons lives. You did spend half of your life in the house that welcomed them.

She doesn’t smile when Jungkook approaches.

Her eyes flick to you for half a second, then back to him.

“You’ve gone soft,” she says.

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

She tilts her head. “Or maybe just stupid. Letting her walk around in your clothes. Wearing your ring.”

Your stomach twists.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“You’re trespassing.”

Miss Min laughs. “On land my father owns?”

You blink.

Jungkook steps in front of you slightly, shielding you.

“What do you want?”

“I came to see if the rumors were true.” She looks at you again, slower this time. Her gaze drips with judgment. “You’ve replaced me with that?”

Replaced? Has Jungkook tormented others besides you?

Your face burns.

You open your mouth, but Jungkook cuts in first.

“Careful,” he says, calm and deadly. “You know how I get when people insult what’s mine.”

Miss Min’s smile fades.

She takes a step closer.

“You think you love her,” she says. “You think she’s special because she’s afraid of you. Because she’s quiet. Because she doesn’t fight back.”

“You really don’t know anything,” Jungkook says softly.

That makes her flinch.

But only for a second.

Then her gaze sharpens like a blade. “You’re not in love, Jungkook. You’re obsessed. And when it starts to rot — and it will, you’ll run right back to me.”

“I wouldn’t touch you again if you were the last woman breathing.”

You stiffen.

She notices.

Smiles.

“Ah,” she says. “He didn’t tell you?”

Your heart starts to pound.

Miss Min steps back — cool and unbothered again.

“I’ll leave you to your dream, then. I’m sure it’s lovely until it turns into a nightmare.”

And with that, she walks off.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a long time.

Neither do you.

Finally, he turns around.

You stare at him.

Quietly.

He sighs.

You don’t say anything.

“I left her,” he continues. “Years ago. She never recovered.”

Still, you’re silent.

His hand finds yours again.

“She doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “She never did.”

You swallow.

And nod.

But in your chest, doubt blooms like a bruise. And you hate that you aren’t relieved.

———

The room is quiet.

The only sound is the faint rocking of the yacht against the water and the soft click of the door as it shuts behind you both.

You don’t speak. Not right away.

You just walk to the far side of the suite, arms folded tightly across your chest, back turned.

Jungkook stands still for a moment.

Then, slow and careful, he follows.

When his voice breaks the silence, it’s low. Unbothered. Dangerous in how calm it is.

“She shouldn’t even be a thought in your head.”

You don’t respond.

“She doesn’t matter. None of them ever did.”

That makes you turn.

Your eyes narrow. “How many?”

His brows rise, amused. “What?”

“You said none of them. How many girls came before me?”

He tilts his head.

Then smiles.

That dark, slow, wolfish kind of smile that always means trouble.

“Are you jealous?”

You scowl. “No.”

“No?” He takes a step closer. “Because you sound jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re cute when you lie,” he murmurs, now right in front of you. “But if you were jealous, I’d understand.”

You open your mouth — but his hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek, almost tender.

“Because there’s no greater feeling than you,” he says, voice like smoke. “No one ever tasted like you. Sounded like you. Felt like you.”

You look away.

But he follows your gaze, inching closer, until your back hits the wall and there’s nowhere left to run.

“And besides,” he whispers, “I’ve never wanted to ruin anyone the way I want to ruin you.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in.

“I’ve never wanted to break anyone like this. Make them forget the world. Make them beg. Make them stay.”

You try to speak, but your voice fails.

So he keeps going.

“You think she mattered?” he scoffs. “She was decoration. Temporary. Replaceable.”

His fingers slide to your waist.

“You? You were a mistake the universe let me keep. You weren’t supposed to be mine.”

His lips hover by your jaw.

“But now you are.”

You whisper, “I’m just wondering how many people you’ve ruined before me.”

He exhales a soft laugh.

“None.”

His hand slides lower.

“You’re the only one I ever wanted to destroy.”

His mouth meets yours — hot, deep, possessive.

“And rebuild.”

You tremble.

He kisses your cheek.

“Keep.”

Your head tilts back, breathless.

“Own.”

Then he nips your neck gently, voice ragged.

“You’re the only one I ever wanted to fuck into forever.”

And the way his hands start to claim you again — firm, slow, reverent — tells you exactly what kind of forever he’s planning.

———-

The morning light is gentle.

No harsh gold, no glaring warmth — just pale silver sliding across the bed, curling around your legs like mist as you shift under the sheets.

He’s not beside you.

For once, he’s given you space to breathe. Maybe because last night you stopped fighting. Maybe because, for a moment, you even wanted him.

You sit up slowly, skin sore in places you don’t dare name.

And beside you, on the nightstand, is a cup of your favorite tea.

Hot.

Fresh.

You blink.

There’s no note.

Just the silent heat rising from the porcelain. And a single silver spoon resting beside it.

You stare at it a moment too long.

Your fingers curl around the cup before you realize what you’re doing.

And just for a moment—

You smile.

Not big. Not soft. Barely there.

But it’s real.

Warm in a way you haven’t been since this whole thing began.

Jungkook sees it.

He’s been leaning quietly in the doorway this whole time — arms crossed, shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp from the shower. Watching.

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

But the moment your lips curved, his eyes flickered.

Not with victory.

With wonder.

Like you were the one sunrise he’s never been able to catch.

You flinch when you realize he’s watching.

His smile is slow.

“So you do like when I take care of you.”

You frown, looking away. “I was just… thirsty.”

He hums, unconvinced.

“You’re easy to read in the morning,” he murmurs. “It’s sweet.”

You scowl, trying to get out of bed.

But he’s already across the room before your feet touch the floor — crowding into your space, taking the cup from your hands and setting it aside.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says quietly. “I already know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’re falling.”

You go still.

His hand touches your waist — not possessive this time, just grounding.

“I won’t make you say it,” he murmurs. “I’ll stop that for now.”

His voice drops lower.

“But I’ll keep watching.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Waiting.”

You shudder.

He pulls back — just enough to meet your eyes.

“Because when you break again, this time I don’t want it to be because I forced you.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip.

Then he turns and leaves.

And this time, it’s you who stares after him—

Pulse unsteady.

Heart aching.

Mouth tingling where he touched it.

Because maybe he’s right.

Maybe the fall has already begun.

And there’s no one left to catch you but him.

——-

It was a short cruise back to the mainland, smooth and quiet, sunlight dancing over the waves.

You sit beside Jungkook on the lower deck, your plate untouched, legs crossed neatly, eyes fixed on the horizon even though you’re not really seeing it.

You’re trying not to look at her.

The girl.

The yacht staff member — young, pretty, annoyingly bubbly — who brought Jungkook his espresso with a smile a little too bright. Who leaned too close when asking if he wanted sugar. Who laughed too hard at something he said about the view.

You saw the way her hand brushed his shoulder.

You saw the way he didn’t move.

And now you’re mad.

You don’t even know why.

He’s not yours.

Not really.

Except—He is.

You didn’t say it. You didn’t agree. But somewhere between the kisses and the confessions and the way he made your body scream and beg and yield.

Something tethered.

And now it’s tugging.

He doesn’t notice at first.

Or maybe he does.

Because a few minutes later, he sets his cup down and glances your way.

“Something wrong?”

You keep your gaze forward. “No.”

“You haven’t touched your food.”

“Not hungry.”

“Mm.”

He leans back slightly, one arm slung behind your chair — not touching, but close enough to remind you he could.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” he says, voice low and smooth.

You tense. “What?”

“The steward girl.”

You grit your teeth. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he cuts in. “It was brief. But it was there.”

You say nothing.

He smirks. “You were jealous.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

You whip your head toward him. “Why would I be jealous of someone who’s clearly your type?”

His smirk drops.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me,” you snap. “She’s perfect, isn’t she? Pretty, obedient, disposable.”

He’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then, slowly, he turns to face you fully — his gaze unreadable, but intense.

“Is that what you think you are?”

You don’t answer.

His jaw clenches. “I’ve never let anyone touch me the way you have.”

You scoff. “Apparently you’ve touched plenty.”

He leans in, voice sharp now.

“No one broke me the way you did.”

You blink.

Something flickers behind his eyes.

He exhales through his nose.

“I’ve had women,” he says. “But none of them ever made me feel anything.”

You look away.

But his hand catches your chin.

Forces you to face him.

“You’re the one I watch when you’re not looking.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re the one I ache for.”

Your pulse stutters.

“You’re the one I’d destroy worlds for, and you’re worried about a yacht girl?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to care.”

He leans in until his forehead touches yours.

“But you do.”

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

He doesn’t either.

And for one stretched moment, jealousy turns to tension. Tension turns to want. Want curls into something you don’t yet have a name for.

The silence between you stretches.

But it doesn’t cool.

It smolders.

Beneath the shared breath. Beneath the pounding in your chest. Beneath the weight of Jungkook’s eyes — fixed on yours, locked, as if he’s waiting for you to break first.

And then he does.

Not with words.

With touch.

His hand fists the back of your chair.

His other grabs your jaw — not harsh, but firm — fingers digging in just enough to tilt your face toward his again.

And then he kisses you. Hard.

Like punishment. Like a dare.

His mouth crashes against yours, lips rough and bruising, his tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your body jolts. You gasp against him, caught between instinct and defiance.

But you kiss him back.

Because of course you do.

Because even now — even angry, even confused — your mouth knows him.

Your hands grip his shirt. His shoulder. Anything to ground yourself as he kisses you like he’s starving. Like you’re the last thing on earth that can satisfy the ache in his chest.

“You drive me insane,” he growls into your mouth.

You try to pull back — barely — but he follows, gripping your jaw tighter, pressing closer.

“I mean it,” he pants. “You—” kiss “—ruin—” kiss “—me.”

You whimper.

“Watching you pretend you don’t care? Watching you glare at that girl like you’d rip her throat out if I smiled too long?”

He groans, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You gasp again.

His voice drops to a dark whisper.

“You want the truth?”

You blink.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear.

“I liked it,” he breathes. “Watching you jealous. Watching you claim me without even knowing you were doing it.”

Your nails dig into his biceps.

You despise how fast your body responds.

Hate how much your thighs press together — desperate, aching.

“You don’t belong to anyone,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

His eyes burn.

“You’re wrong.”

His hand moves to your waist — dragging you closer, into his lap.

You suck in a breath, heart hammering as he grinds against you slowly, shamelessly.

“I belong to you,” he says. “Every broken, jealous, obsessive part of me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” His voice softens, but it’s no less intense. “Because you’ll start believing it?”

Your throat tightens.

His mouth brushes yours again.

“Or because you already do?”

——-

note: SORRY THIS LEGIT TOOK SO LONG AND IK I KEPT SAYING IT WAS COMJNG BUT HAHA ATLEAST ITS HERE NOW? I hope you enjoyed

[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. ii (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. ii (m) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. i rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. this is where i will hold hands. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 ; nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 1st, 2025, 9:57pm est word count: 21.1k wtfffff

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.” 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi—”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

a/n: this was the part that i couldn't write until i knew yoongi was fine. it was always the plan to have him isolated, but to see real life yoongi go through all that last summer.. i couldn't find it in my heart to write his self-isolation and self-deprecation without my soul hurting. it just didn't feel right. but as soon as i saw him okay? 3tan yoongi came back again. and my fingers flew. a/n 2: thank you again, everyone. i hope you all love all the parts of fugue in equal amounts! any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me. again, i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline, but i am back. for real. love you guys so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[kithtaehyung]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. i (3tan) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. i will hold everyone’s hand this time.  warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

—

It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it sounds like shit. 

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair. 

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago. 

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront. 

Which is why it sounds like shit. 

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase. 

“Fuck, not that, either.” 

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag. 

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf. 

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time? 

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box. 

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete. 

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what’s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal. 

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free. 

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange. 

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn. 

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark. 

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along. 

He’ll never be enough. 

—

“You’re more than enough.” 

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen. 

More than enough…

You told him that. 

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time. 

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them. 

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault. 

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

What was her name again? 

Right. 

Dom. 

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you. 

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now. 

“She went in there with Kook.” 

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.” 

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants. 

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds. 

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.” 

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that? 

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.” 

“I know.” 

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?” 

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.” 

“You’re lying.” 

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed. 

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.” 

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes. 

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.” 

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.” 

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod. 

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.” 

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.” 

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.” 

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm. 

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough. 

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright. 

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.” 

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway. 

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight. 

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck. 

He wants to hurl. 

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here. 

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit. 

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off. 

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you? 

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power. 

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed. 

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life? 

Was he really that cut off from everything back then? 

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

 “Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait. 

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck. 

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course. 

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” 

Mm. He doesn’t like that. 

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you. 

“Please.” 

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder. 

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t. 

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs. 

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too. 

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice. 

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

— 

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade. 

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal. 

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight. 

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse. 

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now. 

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time. 

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines. 

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water. 

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now? 

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on. 

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door. 

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body. 

And every night, he fails you when he loses. 

Every. Single. Night. 

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there. 

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes. 

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it. 

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out. 

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before. 

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up. 

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night. 

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin. 

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed. 

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes. 

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.  

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you. 

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet… 

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems. 

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore. 

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that. 

—

— 

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great. 

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second. 

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname. 

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours. 

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here 

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition. 

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything. 

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words. 

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over! 

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.  

No fucking way. 

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home? 

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.” 

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?” 

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing? 

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.” 

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all. 

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts. 

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice. 

Your brother. 

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to. 

The very reason he had to say goodbye. 

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare. 

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door. 

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all. 

It works. For now. 

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly. 

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.  

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.” 

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.” 

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over. 

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch. 

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside. 

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck. 

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud. 

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course. 

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?” 

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.” 

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?” 

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.” 

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him. 

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything. 

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?” 

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.” 

Agreed. “Mm.” 

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.” 

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps. 

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.” 

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.” 

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah? 

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.” 

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown. 

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options. 

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive. 

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out. 

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?” 

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane. 

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.” 

After what he’s about to do. 

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies. 

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.” 

“Does she know, by the way?” 

“Know what.” 

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.” 

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.” 

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.” 

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?” 

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore. 

“No. And I’ll think about staying.” 

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.” 

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.” 

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.” 

“Really? You never say bye.” 

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.” 

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.” 

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.” 

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?” 

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door. 

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.” 

—

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals. 

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up. 

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.” 

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls. 

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.” 

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working. 

So why does that gut him even deeper? 

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!” 

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem. 

—

— 

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot. 

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say. 

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.  

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing. 

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.” 

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day. 

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!” 

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again. 

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t. 

Yourself.  

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount. 

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same. 

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again. 

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you. 

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown. 

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in. 

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet. 

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand. 

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?” 

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before. 

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his. 

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it. 

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind. 

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit. 

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before. 

If he wasn’t such a damn coward. 

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second? 

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls. 

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life. 

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes. 

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t. 

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself. 

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go. 

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it. 

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive. 

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it. 

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies. 

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish— 

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night. 

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid. 

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again. 

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss. 

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.  

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this. 

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart. 

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see? 

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you. 

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light. 

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real. 

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much. 

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!” 

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again. 

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go. 

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.  

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams. 

Fuck, he needs air. 

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all. 

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.” 

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.” 

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.” 

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about. 

He’s at least gotten past that part. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.” 

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes. 

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe. 

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.” 

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare. 

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way. 

—

— 

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate? 

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car. 

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes. 

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky. 

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days. 

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away. 

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights. 

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day. 

Once again, he’s back to that same night. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside. 

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard? 

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend. 

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.” 

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?” 

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?” 

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.” 

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing. 

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar. 

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into? 

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief. 

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.” 

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal? 

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today. 

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s? 

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio. 

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box. 

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing. 

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind. 

— 

— 

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him. 

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

— 

— 

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions. 

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck. 

He can’t catch a fucking break. 

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross. 

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place. 

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.” 

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.” 

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!” 

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. 

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.” 

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music. 

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off. 

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak. 

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff. 

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone. 

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know. 

No surprises for you. Not again. 

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you? 

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through. 

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else. 

Please don’t. He just needs more time. 

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath. 

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh. 

Did you really banish his worry just like that? 

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real. 

It is. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest? 

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.  

Shit. 

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again. 

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure. 

You’re really something else. 

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe— 

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent. 

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through. 

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop. 

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill. 

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone. 

Fuck, it hurts. 

It all fucking hurts. 

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it. 

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort. 

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark. 

-

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tbc in fugue, pt. ii

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so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[aaclariww]

i can’t with this fking man omg he needs so much love he is my baby my shaylaaaaaa can we put him in a glass box so he never suffers again pls 🙏😭😭😭