⋆ lina ⋆

🗝️ yoongiswife eighteen!

[dxsbeauty]

UPCOMING BTS FICS

MIN YOONGI

HOLIDATE (pt1 pt2)

Holiday Renter Min Yoongi x Reader

coming out: TBD

SUGAR-TALKING (one shot)

Idol Min Yoongi x Business women Reader

coming out: TBD

ONLY LOVE (series pt1 pt2 pt3)

Time Traveler Yoongi x Time Traveler Reader

coming out: TBD

TBD

CARMEL MACCHIATO (series pt 1 pt 2)

Barista Yoongi x Journalist Reader

JEON JUNGKOOK

STAR-STRUCK

Idol Jeon Jungkook x Reader

NERD ALERT!

Dorky Gamer Jungkook x Popular Girl Reader

POLAROIDS

Class Clown Jungkook x Mute Reader

MIN YOONGI

STACY’s MOM (series pt 1 pt 2)

Childhood Son’s Best Friend Yoongi x Milf Mom Reader

SWIMMING IN LOVE (one shot)

Captain’s Daughter Reader x Saliors Boy Yoongi

LOVE SPELL (one shot)

Childhood Best Friend!Yoongi x Childhood Best Friend!Reader

[dxsbeauty]

which one yall want dropped? 👀

[dxsbeauty]

TikTok - Make Your Day

i’m writing this as we speak bc omg.

[dxsbeauty]

guys i swear ill post tmrw with drafts and new fan fic give me time 😓

[kithtaehyung]

baile inolvidable (explicit) | myg

title: baile inolvidable (explicit) pairing: ex!yoongi x reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; exes to lovers au summary: there’s only one person that you’re better off never running into again. but when fate decides it’s time for you to face him, you prepare yourself for complete destruction. because he never told you what you wanted, and you never told him goodbye. note: literally nothing redeeming to say i wrote this in two days all bc of a guy wearing a jersey lol barely edited so pls excuse any typos! note 2: also tell me why i wrote all of this and then looked for a title, only to fucking weep when this song matched perfectly. anyway, here we go, first new fic in years! enjoy and i’m so sorry if it hurts a bit. warnings: language, explicit scenes, an unforgettable dance, pining, angst but truly who is shocked anymore, men that give The Ick, exes, yoongi in that gd madrid jersey, chains (hi hello it’s me), hoseok also needs his own warning, tension, more angst, kissing as a warning, guilt, yearning, yoongi hands, the ending is worth it<3 disclaimer: all characters are my own and just happen to look like members of bts! purely a work of fiction. just had a lot of feelings. mood: baile inolvidable - bad bunny ; qlona - karol g, peso pluma explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: june 30th, 2026, 7pm est word count: 13k have mercy!

explicit warnings: manhandling, public sex, rough sex, hair/head pulling, oral (m rec), choking, cowgirl, spitting, reverse cowgirl, unprotected sex, breast play, fucking an ex lol yes that’s a warning, multiple orgasms, the chains stay on, hella backshots, emotional sex, creampie OOP, club sex reader is bad, yoongi loses his gd mind, couch sex, wall sex, chair sex, umm yeah alexa play like animals thanks

-

-

“What’s taking you so long!” 

Groaning, you concentrate on getting your lashes just right. “Told you it’d be just a minute!” 

“I know.” Hoseok pops into your hotel bathroom, deep neckline and even deeper scent of cologne almost making you jab yourself right in the socket. “But it’s been ten.” 

It’ll end up being a lot longer than that if he keeps cocking that perfect brow. Shouldn’t he know the rule of getting ready already? 

Done with your current task, you blink and inspect yourself in the wide mirror spanning the master bath. “Yeah, a minute means twenty. So I have ten to spare, right?” 

Bright teeth shine as he shakes his head. And you know it’s because you’re both slated to be super early anyway. 

Everything’s going according to schedule. All your old friends flew in yesterday, and the plan for today is to head to dinner to watch the night game with everyone. After that, you’ll walk straight to the club a few blocks down that you’ve heard to be the best in town. 

Well. Best in town for absolute eye candy. Taehyung warned that everyone that’s been to Lo Prohibito knows the dress code is simple but effective: luxurious. Unless your face card is so lethal you get in on that alone, or you happen to have celebrity status. 

And your confidence can only take you so far. You look fucking good, but you aren’t risking being turned away just because you were lax getting ready. 

So ten more minutes it is. Hobi will just have to deal with it. 

Goddamn, he could get in without a single issue, though. Honestly, he could be wearing a linen shirt and shorts with sandals and they’d mistake him for a millionaire. “I’ll be ready before you know it,” you say over your bare, perfumed shoulder. “You’ll be able to see your lover soon enough.” 

Hoseok shoots you a grin before huffing out, “Got me, huh.” 

“You’re the easiest person in the world to read.” Leaning over your makeup bag, you rummage through your brushes. “Whatever you’re thinking is always written all over your face." 

Quick laughter coats the bathroom in more light. “I can’t help it, okay! It’s always been that way.” When you focus in the mirror and pat your face, he suddenly drops two pitches in tone. “Sorry about yours.” 

Here you go again. You know exactly what he’s talking about. 

“Hobi,” you sigh. “I don’t care anymore, okay? It’s been a month.” 

“I know, but…” Expelling a heavy, sympathetic breath of his own, he leans against the double door entryway. That dulcet yet gravelly tone of his rolls across marble floors as he says exactly what you don’t want him to, “You seemed pretty happy with them.” 

You were. In fact, you were more than happy. 

But something just didn’t feel right. Sure, the days you spent with your most recent fling were perfect. You felt comfortable with them, you admired how thoughtful they were and how attentive. 

It was the nights that made you more than hesitant. 

Because no matter how many times you slept together, you never felt truly understood. What you wanted, what you needed? They would get so close to getting it right, only to never reach that level of intensity and passion you were looking for. 

So you broke it off one quiet, cherry-red sunset on the beach weeks ago. 

Only to find out that they were seeing someone else the whole time anyway. 

Fuck love. To hell with happiness. Why do all your relationships end up this way? Why do you always attract the people that seem perfect on the surface but hide so many flaws underneath? It’s starting to fucking annoy you and you may damn well swear to the single life forever. 

Though. There was one relationship that didn’t exactly end this way. 

But you’re never thinking about that one again, so no point in shuffling through those beautiful, tragic, regretful memories now. 

“And now I’m happy without them,” you finally respond to Hoseok, who tears his gaze from the white floors to see you staring in the mirror. “Probably happy without anyone else, actually.” 

What a fucking lie. 

“I mean, there’s time to find someone you...” Your friend pockets a hand while adjusting his loose top, shadows naturally accenting his abdomen. “Never mind. See you out there. Love the red.” 

You swish the silken floor-length material of your gaudy, quite revealing dress. “Thank you. This is my favorite part, look.” 

Hoseok watches as you stomp your leg out of the thigh-high slit so comically it catches him off guard, cackling before a lighthearted, “Careful with that!” 

“Says the man who’s practically naked.” 

All you get is a shameless shrug before your friend spins on this heel to leave, no doubt checking the texts on his phone. 

At least he's excited about seeing his gorgeous pull after so long. And you do not blame him one bit. The way he looks at her? She may as well be a goddess because his gaze turns almost reverent every time. 

A blurry memory consumes your mind like a haze, and you see completely different eyes with just as much fervor. They watch as you mount slow, chests slick with sweat and breathing deep from hours of—

Manicured hands grip the sink as your brush skitters onto granite counters. 

Fuck. Never again. 

Never, ever, ever again.

Pull yourself together. You’re a whole different person with a whole different future. That version of you is one you left far behind, as well as the life that came with it. 

You extend ten minutes into fifteen. 

And Hoseok’s outright whistle at your emergence lets you know the extra time was worth it. 

—

—

Dinner is loud and vibrant, with the whole restaurant locked in on the game and erupting in cheers when the home team scores. Or at least, the team that the majority of fans want to win scores. 

You aren’t completely sure, because there are jerseys of every country everywhere you look. It’s the one time you feel a sense of togetherness, with everyone giving each other friendly jabs and your group doing and saying anything to rile each other up. 

Hoseok is downright lethal with his date, the two of them showing off jawlines that can kill as they watch the nearest screen. But they’re on the other end of the long wooden table, so you have to find other people to converse with. 

Unfortunately, you find that the person sitting in front of you is a stranger, seemingly knowing someone else in the group and just happened to tag along. He quickly offered small talk when you all started ordering, which you already found a little awkward because you were trying to focus on what to get. 

Now, he keeps giving you more and more information about his achievements and endeavors, not once asking for your name. Figures.

Both the friends you’re sitting next to are no help, either. 

To your left, Jeongguk’s checking his phone for the fiftieth time this hour, scrolling through videos to avoid having to speak to anyone. 

And to your right, Taehyung cheers and stands when another goal is scored, locking elbows with the stranger behind him and drinking from his glass mug. Apparently he had been making fast friends while you were entertaining the guy that keeps staring at you. How cool. Happy for him. Can you both switch seats? 

Your wish doesn’t get granted for another hour. So that means you’re still talking to and giving polite encouragement to this gentleman. Though the term gentleman is very, very generous. It became more than obvious he just wants to fuck from the way he's been shamelessly ogling your plunging neckline. 

Mercifully, Jeongguk finally saves you, leaning in and pretending to show you a reel or tiktok or whatever the fuck he’s scrolling through. Instead, a text he typed into your message thread is all you see. 

Wanna go outside?

Going along and laughing at his fake share, you give him a grateful smile and nod. Turning to the man watching you with curiosity—and is that really jealousy?—you excuse yourself, 

“We’re gonna check out the second floor! Be right back.” 

Not even waiting to see nor hear his reaction.  

—

—

Outside the restaurant and not on the second floor, you can finally breathe again, watching the city come alive with its vehicle rush and streetlight hum. 

Next to you, your tattooed savior takes a long hit of his vape, and you run a hand across the thin gold chain around your neck. 

Without your permission, another memory slips through your defenses. And this one proves sharper, astonishingly clearer than the first.

Hands grab a string of gold from a nightstand, and you instantly ache because you remember what comes right after. As soon as it’s clipped onto a slim neck, you watch the necklace lower, and lower, right before you angle your mouth up to take it between your—

“Fuck.” 

Jeongguk whips his head right as your eyes snap open. “You okay? What’s wrong?” 

No. There are a thousand things wrong. You didn’t even fucking realize your vision went dark until light flooded out your unwanted nostalgia. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought of that summer afternoon in years. Your reaction was visceral enough to spurn an oncoming headache. “Nothing,” you whoosh out. “What time is it?” 

“Almost time to head over to Lo Prohibido.” Gripping his phone, the man asks with concern, “You sure you’re good to go?” 

Head pulsing, you nod. “Yeah, I’m fine, just dehydrated. Can you pick a city that won't try to burn me out next time? I'm down for traveling but it's been hell here.” 

Unconvinced and unfazed, Jeongguk cocks his head to the door. “Let’s go back in. I know your favorite person is waiting, but you gotta drink water.” 

“Don’t,” you groan. “He’s cute, but I got the biggest ick like halfway in.” 

Your amused friend giggles as he holds the door open, “You lasted a lot longer than I thought you would.” 

Laughing when more cheers erupt from inside, you give his jacketed arm a playful shove as you look down the street. “I’m nice, okay? Don’t—”

Your heart. 

It booms. 

In an instant, the whole world blurs, lights and bodies making solid, serpentine lines and even sound itself rolling to a deep, dull hum.

The only one you can see. The only person you can make out with perfect clarity. 

Is the one you’ve been trying your fucking hardest to not remember. 

Staring right at you with eyes you’ll never, ever forget. 

Yoongi. 

He’s just down the way, standing amongst a group with a striped jersey, dark hair swept so perfectly your chest pangs. Even though everyone around him is animated and laughing, the look on his face makes it undeniable he’s not focused on anything else.

And with a stopped heart, neither are you.

Until your lower back is held, tugging you out of the dream as Jeongguk’s question is laden with worry, 

“Seriously, what’s going on? Do you need to go back to the hotel?” 

You jolt away from his touch, but the action isn’t warranted. For fuck’s sake, he’s a friend you’ve known just as long as you've known the spectre down the street. Why did you feel the need to escape his worrisome hand? He isn't like the guy you just met.  

If that dude had been the one to touch you, though, you would’ve fucking decked him. You are not letting him feel an inch of your skin, and that includes the majority of it you’re baring at the back. 

“No, I’m—I’m fine,” you manage to get out. “Just thought I saw.. Never mind. Water.” 

Yoongi would’ve damn near murdered that creep, too. 

Shit. 

Right before stepping back in, you turn to peer back down the sidewalk, brain concluding that what you saw was your imagination and your heart adamantly disagreeing. 

However, there’s no sign of Yoongi anywhere. That same group of people continues to chitter away outside, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

So your logic is sound. It was just a dream. There’s no way he’d be here, and he looked way too fucking handsome to be real anyway. Maybe your mind is just playing tricks on you as an act of revenge for making it remember him this much today. 

Because you’re remembering everything. The way he knew exactly how to get under your skin. The times he proved so patient. The way he absolutely knew how to act under your sheets. 

And his. And elsewhere. Anywhere the two of you decided to make love. 

And that singular word is exactly why your flame burned its brightest before choking out. 

You were ready. 

He wasn’t. 

And you regret your decision to leave more than anything else in your entire life. 

Because you could’ve fought harder. You could’ve given him more time. But when you confessed under a blanket of stars and didn’t hear those three words reciprocated, every single celestial plummeted from the sky, plunging you headfirst into a deep, dark ocean of insecurity and bubbling self-loathing. 

The night you left, you left everything. You left your room, your apartment, the city you called home your entire life. Like a coward that couldn’t face rejection. 

Because you didn’t even tell Yoongi goodbye. 

And that’s the last damning reminder you hurl at yourself before rejoining your friends inside. 

—

—

You readily down two glasses of water. 

Inwardly laughing at the fact that the same dude straight up left to “meet up with his brochachos.” 

—

—

Lo Prohibito is decibels louder than the restaurant, and that includes the moments everyone cheered to the max.

A dazzling laser show beams from behind the raised DJ booth, and machines shoot out air to provide much needed circulation and boost the spread of confetti. 

To your delight, everyone here is just as pretty as you imagined. You’re thanking all your lucky clovers that you were accepted inside, strutting in on your heels with chin held high. 

Maybe not as high as it could go. 

But you refuse to let anything else bring you down tonight. You’re supposed to be having another great outing, spending it with your friends and enjoying the nightlife while you’re still able. 

Bright colors span across every surface as a thumping bass shakes your toes, and you wait for the rest of your group to trickle in to find a good dancing spot—and a much needed drink because you are desperate for one. 

At this point, you’ll pay any price to forget whatever the fuck you saw earlier. 

Be it a figment of your imagination, or a devilishly attractive ghost, you just need to wipe that achingly handsome face from your mind. 

There’s no way he’s here. And even if who you saw was real? It wasn’t the man you loved. 

Because there’s no way Yoongi would even look your way again. 

Not like you want him to anyway. Forget him. He gave you everything except the one thing you ultimately wanted, and you couldn’t live in his moonlight without your stars slowly burning out.

Breathe. Focus on the present. Stay in the now. 

“Come on,” he instructs, holding your fingers before grabbing your waist. “Stay with me.” 

“Sorry,” you whisper to your stumbling feet. “I just keep messing up that damn step and it’s annoying.” 

“I know.” He grips your hand, turning so that you land against his chest, comforting tone soothing your burning ear, “But you got a lot more chances to get it. We got time. Stay in the now.” 

“Okay.” 

“That’s my girl.” 

“Come on!” 

Your past whisks away with the club fog, and you follow Hoseok and the rest off the crowded floor. “Where are we going!” 

Hand on the nearest winding staircase, he turns with a smile. “Got us VIP! We’re up here.” 

“No fucking way?” How the hell did Hobi manage to do that? Wasn’t this place booked up the last time you both checked yesterday? “How!” 

Cheekily, the man simply plucks at his undone overshirt and wiggles, smirking as his date doubles over in a laugh. 

“Oh, you’re a freak,” you call out behind him with praise. “Thank you for your service.” 

Thank Jung Hoseok and those abs indeed because the VIP booth is a godsend. Sure, it’s still crowded on the second floor, but at least you don’t have to worry about standing shoulder to shoulder the whole night. You have somewhere to retreat to when you need a breather. 

Which Jeongguk is already taking the most advantage of, settling into the middle of the booth and planting elbows on the long table stretching end to end. Music blares while people shout all throughout the club, but he seems quite zeroed in on his phone. 

Maybe you can both use each other as a scapegoat again if you need to leave. He’s been enjoying himself for the most part, but you can tell he’s extremely ready to go home and the night just started. If you weren’t desperate to let loose and forget years of your life tonight, you would’ve offered to get shitty fast food with him and walk around the city instead. 

Mm. That still sounds like a backup option. 

“Who wants drinks!” Taehyung calls out from the far end of the booth, standing to wave someone down and glancing at everyone giving him their orders all at once. “Let’s just get bottles!” 

Perfect. He knows exactly what to do, so you let him drive and settle into the booth to wait for the liquid ailment to your problems. 

This club has it all, you muse as you take everything in. From endless bottles and extravagant cocktails sailing over the crowd, to sparkler shows and pops of streamers raining down from above, it’s a paradise of a getaway. 

But the outfits? To your surprise, you feel slightly out of place, even arguably overdressed wearing the most expensive thing you own. Yes, there are loads of tens walking around, even some elevens and twelves if you’re honest. But you do see quite a few people in outfits as casual as Jeongguk’s leather.

Either way, almost everyone is dripped in the most lavish jewelry and clothing, from designer to exclusive to wait someone got in wearing a jersey? 

How the hell? Despite the outfits you saw there hasn’t been anyone in here with a jersey, is he famous? It's the same one you saw on the sidewalk when you—

Fuck. That’s not him, is it? You can’t quite see his face, but that back is so… 

No. No no no. You’re staying here for awhile so that better have been another mind trick or you're taking that backup plan with Jeongguk immediately—

“Here,” Taehyung catches your attention while hastily holding out a glass. “This is what you wanted, right?” 

You take it with shaky fingers. “Yes, it’s perfect, thank you.” 

When you turn back, the red and white stripes are gone. 

And you release a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“You okay?”

Turning, you notice that Tae’s eyes are extremely focused on yours. You nod as you down your shot in one go. “Yeah, I’m good.”

His honey rasp slows on the way out, “You sure..?”

“Yeah.” When you push more of the stinging, sweet alcohol down, you decide to start telling him what you saw. “I just… I thought I saw…”

Taehyung is one of the only ones that never questioned why you left town. Which you’re grateful for, because you couldn’t handle all your other friends sending you text after text after call. It was fucking overwhelming, but you had one person that just allowed you to make decisions and live with them. 

“Saw who?” He asks, cutting through your vision with long fingers in a wave and calling you back to reality. 

“No one.” You don’t even wanna say his name. It carries the weight of the world. “Forget it! I’ll be good as soon as we start.”

Unconvinced but letting you have space, Tae doesn’t pry. 

“If you say so.”  

—

—

For the next hour, everything is great. You play stupid drinking games with your friends, cheer for the most random shit the house emcee yells, and you start to slowly wash the unwanted memories from your mind. 

At one point, Jeongguk stuns the section by dancing on booth cushions and swinging his jacket, revealing he only had a thin tank underneath. Many people stare slackjawed at his physique and understated choice of outfit, but you can only cackle with your friends because you all know he’s gonna go right back to his phone in seconds. He just really, really likes the song playing. 

And you’re enjoying the DJ set, too. As long as they don’t play specific songs, you can enjoy the rest of the night in absolute peace. 

Especially the one song that haunts your every waking moment. The first time you heard it, in a club somewhere along pink lemonade sand, you trudged knee deep into the crashing tide and didn’t leave until the sun dipped under the horizon. 

Because it hit too close to home. And your deluge of tears gave back infinite saltwater to the sea. 

Relax. Don’t throw any possibilities into the atmosphere, especially when your mind is fucked up tonight. Your friends are heading down to the dance floor, so go with them and forget everyone else. 

Making sure your drink is finished, you feel ice hit your lips before clinking it down, rushing to join your group at the top of the staircase. 

Only to stutter so close to the edge your heart leaps out of your chest.

It keeps falling, and falling. Because there’s no mistaking this time. That man you saw wearing the outfit that’s starting to haunt you? He’s talking animatedly to someone across the second floor, dusty pink elbow perched on the railing with a drink in his still so veiny hand. 

And your mouth turns sour at the way his shoulder is tapped by pretty nails, tongue hot and darkly spiced when Yoongi just laughs into his cup.

God. He’s here. He’s devastating without even trying.

And, as your blasphemous logic reminds you, that beautiful smile will never be yours anymore.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring. Because while on the street, you could’ve argued he was a hallucination birthed from dehydration. Right here, in this moment, you’ve sobered up in a snap and you know for a fact what you’re seeing is real.

Maybe it was better when you assumed he wasn’t. 

At least then, you didn’t have to entertain any worse outcomes than just seeing him. You didn’t have to think about how you’d feel seeing him so close to someone else.

Looks like the universe is giving you the final consequences of your escape. Yoongi has your fate in the warm, rough palm of his hand, and you know he’ll do nothing but let it fall to the rumbling floor below. Just to watch with unblinking eyes.

“Hey, you gonna go down or what?”

Turning, you start to move to the side, embarrassment heating the skin of your back that was just lightly grazed, “Shit, sorry—”

A strong arm pushes you sideways into hard metal as a duo of guys head down the stairs. You figure it’s an accident, but that doesn’t stop your face from contorting in pain and a curse to fling from your mouth. Because damn that fucking hurt. 

“Dude, watch it!” The one behind looks back at you to apologize, “Sorry about my—”

Oh… Really… 

The guy from dinner halts in his apology, and your brow lifts right before he waves you off. 

Waves you off. 

At least your intuition is always spot on. Good riddance, you were completely valid to ditch his brochacho ass earlier. 

Rolling your eyes skyward and even aiming a petulant tongue at his retreating back, you scoff before leaning on chilled metal, letting a moment pass before heading down to Taehyung and the rest of them. 

Where are they anyway? If you don’t spot them from here it’s gonna be hard to find them on the.. ground.. 

Your heart looks up before you do.  

And you catch your ex watching intently from across the way, phone sliding from his ear before he straightens to start walking. 

…Towards you? 

Fuck. 

It’s been bad enough catching glimpses of Yoongi and seeing him entertain someone else. If he gets one foot right in front of you? Everything you’ve worked so hard to build up against him and the haunting memories of your relationship will collapse into dust. You can’t bear him seeing how you haven’t changed your fucking mind. 

To your utmost pain, all roads have always led back to him. No matter how deep you relate to or click with someone, no matter how happy another person makes you, no one has come close to how Yoongi made you feel. 

Because he’s the only one that understood even the darkest parts of you. And he’s the only light in your life you ran away from. 

There’s a reason you watch every sunset. There’s a reason you stand on the beach back home and don’t move your sandswept legs until the last rays give way to the ocean line. 

It’s because of the guilt. The guilt of turning away from the warmth you held in your hands and the warmth you left behind. 

Your eyes stay tethered as your ex makes his way down the long side of the upstairs balcony, partiers smushing together and bottles roving over his head as ladies take them to VIP tables. 

Based on the heat in his eyes? Yoongi’s on the universe’s side. There’s no way he’s seeking anything else other than revenge. 

Shit, shit shit. This isn’t good for you. Literally nothing great nor healthy can come out of this if he ends up in your orbit. One word, two words, and even worse, three words from those unforgettable lips would destroy you and never let you recover. 

But your hands stay tight on the warming railing. And they won’t fucking let go. 

Downstairs. Go down the stairs. Go. 

Yoongi’s almost here. All he has to do is round the corner. He's close enough for you to notice the silver chains adorning his neck.

And the last thing you think with a withering heart is how devastatingly handsome he’s become. 

With a tight breath, you pelt high heels downward one hasty step at a time. Winding, winding, spiraling like the thoughts storming your mind. The further down you go, the farther away he is. 

Your heel catches on your dress before you stumble, but you don’t look back to see if Yoongi’s even still behind you. 

Chill the fuck out and don’t fucking trip. You already had nasty falls before with scars to prove it and a sticky club floor is the worst place to sprawl onto. 

Keep going. Disappear into the crowd. Go find your friends. 

And deal with the unmoving, gaping hole in your chest later. 

—

—

It takes you awhile to find them, but soon enough, you're back to having the time of your life. The lineup of DJs is all stellar, with only a few misses here and there, even getting Jeongguk to stay on the dance floor longer than you expect.

What's even better? There's no sign of Yoongi. Surrounded by sweaty bodies and flashy grins, you don't catch a single glimpse of him in the crowd.

Good. That's good, right? You wanted this. You wanted to avoid him and run, just like you did the last time.

Your group starts to split up in the commotion of lights and confetti and streamers, but you're fine dancing on your own. With each ebb and flow of music, you lose yourself, letting your heart get swept away by stories of love and loss. Every song holds a piece you understand. Every verse carries the same message.

You aren't alone in being alone.

So embrace it. Let the hurt come later. Smiling wide, you await the next song up, arms thrown in the air with everyone in beautiful togetherness around you.

Then it starts.

The one song you knew you'd hear at some point but sure as fuck didn’t want to.

While people around roar at the familiar opening, you feel like disappearing entirely. Where’s the nearest coastline? You need a rising tide. 

As the melancholic notes buzz up your chest, you slowly, quietly, lower both arms to your sides. Around you, the floor moves in sensuous circles and dips, and you envy everyone for not feeling how you feel. This glowing, searing pain setting your chest ablaze until it’s nothing but a pile of cinders, only to be washed away with the waves crashing against your knees.

With each scathing line, your heart cries, remembering exactly why it hit too deep. All those lessons you took that started on a whim. All those sunny afternoons practicing and stumbling about your living room. All those times you were held close and knew there’d be no one else.

Your heart isn't strong enough to stay in the now. It doesn’t want to. It will always remain in the past, on a rooftop gazing into a sea of stars and hoping for a different outcome. 

Night, after night, after night. 

Suddenly, you’re back in the past, too.

Because a hand, so sure and so steady, settles onto your hip from behind, and your eyes burn when another slides along your bare shoulder. Heat from a body you can sense from anywhere in the fucking universe warms the skin at your back, and you shake as lips touch the shell of your ear to whisper three words that shatter what’s left of your soul, 

“One last time.” 

You aren't in the past. You're here. And so is he.

Breath whooshing out in a hitch, your throat is in absolute flames as your eyes slide shut. Then you nod, because you can’t think of doing anything else, and you allow him to lead.

And he feels so perfect against you it hurts. 

You feel how strong he’s gotten, how sturdy and lean. And yet, you also feel the same soft give you used to feel all those years ago. You know how pliant he could become under your mercy, just like all those times he gave you complete control. If you faced him, you could run your hands along that stomach you’ve kissed every inch of a thousand times over. 

But you’re too much of a pathetic coward to turn around. 

When you back into him, his quick hiss into that groan you miss so fucking much flips every warning light in your body. But you can’t help it. You know this dance, this connection, this reunion will be the last you will ever have. 

He never loved you. You never said goodbye. 

Everything that’s left unsaid swirls around you as you move in perfect sync, both your hips moving as one and your hand snaking up and back to grip his neck fuck he feels just like home. 

Yoongi… Still feels like home. 

A single, hot tear leaks from your eye as you sway, burning a path down your cheek as your other hand closes tight around fingers holding your side. When he grips you even tighter, another tear betrays you, and you feel his lips so close to your neck you expect him to kiss there if he wanted to. 

But he doesn’t. 

Of course he doesn’t. 

So you take what you’re given. A dance. Just one. One last unforgettable dance before your life changes all over again. 

Knowing this song by heart, you know it’s approaching the end. The bittersweet last chorus clues you in, and you tense around his neck just a little tighter, hoping Yoongi didn’t catch the need in your fingers for this moment to never end. 

Mother Earth can swallow you whole as soon as the last word is sung. You give her your express permission. 

Because you feel so hopelessly in love all over again, and you can’t bear your affection to be unreciprocated a second time. 

Just like that. Against your deepest, sincerest wishes. 

The song dies. 

And immediately after, as if your world hasn’t just been upheaved and tossed to the wayside, the next number booms. Everyone on the dance floor cheers again when it’s extremely familiar and a faster tempo. Even more people fill the floor because they need to feel this one in their bones. 

And you need nothing else but to leave. 

Get out. Go. Yoongi said so, right? One last time. It’s over. This tension between you needed an outlet and that song was the one out you both could use to set it free. 

And it’s done. So you start your brisk walk away.

Only for your wrist to be held and your heart to fall out of your ribcage. 

Fuck.

When you turn, you forget you’re tear-streaked and full of painful regrets. 

And the look on Yoongi’s face heats your soul all the way through. 

Because his eyes are unwavering, brows cut deep and mouth completely shut. Over his forehead, tendrils of mussed bangs sweep slow, and his chest rises and falls with every hard, wordless breath he takes. 

And you finally get the courage to whisper his name. 

Without a word, he slowly pulls you in, not stopping until your hands softly push into his strong chest and your face is inches from his. All heavy bass and bright beats of music fall away. All lights shift until you can only see him. 

Time. All that time apart vanishes when you finally feel this close again, his steady expression watching you with an emotion you can’t place but feel ripping at your walls to destroy them. 

What is happening? What’s he doing? 

Does he know he has the power to hurt you in ten million different ways?

Fingers rise to wipe the sadness from your face, only inviting more to pour from your eyes. “Yoongi,” you whisper again, breaking the dam you’ve been building block by block this whole time, just like you were afraid of. And you can’t fucking stop. “Yoongi…”

Then, when his eyes slide shut, you think he’ll let you go. Why can you only say his name? Why the fuck are you ruining this singular moment that you’ve only dreamed of having wait wait why is he resting his forehead against yours fuck wait—

“You know how long,” he breathes out, “I’ve been waiting to hear you say that again.” 

Have mercy.

Your soul finally snaps in two. 

You can only say it once more, broken and chipped, before Yoongi grips your jaw and kisses you like it’s his last minute on earth. 

And you push back with a ferocity that’s been dormant for years, a magnificent flame never awakened by anyone else. Nothing else. Just him. Only him. 

Rivers stream from your eyes as his arms circle you, hands gripping the skin of your back as your nails rake down his. Around you, people dance and bump into your bodies, but neither of you seem to fucking care. No one else exists. The only music you hear is every deep breath Yoongi takes and it’s your favorite, favorite, favorite.

You shouldn’t be doing this. There’s no possible way this doesn’t leave you without a broken heart and a shell of whatever intact spirit you have left. 

But goddamn if you don’t stay in the now more than ever. 

“I don’t give a shit,” you tumble into his mouth, waiting until he pulls away enough for you to spill every forbidden thought you’ve harbored in your beating chest. “I don’t care if you never loved me. I don’t care if you moved on. I just—just tonight, Yoongi, I need you—”

Your plea is engulfed by another soulshaking push of his lips, and you think that’s the end of it until he tugs away from you before swerving his head around the floor. 

“Come here,” he orders, gripping your hand and reminding you just how perfect his fingers slot with yours. 

Time. You’re getting more time? Your tears and the burning in your chest don’t quell as you’re led through the crowd. When you get strange or pitied looks, you don’t care. All these perfectly dressed people can fuck off. 

When they stare at the man guiding you, that’s what gets your stomach flaring. They can have him. Just after you get one last time to carry you through the rest of your loveless life. 

Yoongi suddenly turns to look at you trailing behind, and he waits to bring you in front of his side, now leading you both together through the rest of the packed floor. 

Ah. This is the man you remember. 

And that just makes everything hurt even more. 

Soon, you’re led off the dance floor and through a series of turns, Yoongi heading up a long back staircase before rounding into a hallway of doors before he checks each one. 

What are these? Karaoke rooms? Party rooms? You don’t know, but the ache in your body hunches you over, and it takes everything to not crumble before he finally stops and yanks open a door. 

“Yoongi, what are you—?”

A dim, neon-lit room is what you come to, and you hear a faint click while noticing the long window looking out into the club below.  Different lounge chairs and couches fill the space, and you can see just enough out the glass to know you’re even high above the VIP tables. The room feels exclusive but you don’t get to observe anything else as you’re being pushed into the nearest wall to be liplocked again. 

Fuck, he’s gotten even better at this. 

Just like you have. 

As your dress is gripped tight, your thoughts all blur together in a lustful slurry. How many has he taken to bed after you? Do you remember your own count? Has anyone else made him feel like you do? With a searing green flare, you remember that no one has come close to him. How awfully one-sided would that be if he found someone that completed him.

A veiny hand grips the side of your neck before sliding to your head. “Fuck,” Yoongi grits out. “I… I can’t.” 

...What? 

No. No no no. 

Your heart begins its fast descent. Because if Yoongi doesn’t want this, you have to respect that. As much as you will scream into the night, you’re not gonna stop him if he gets up and leaves. 

Because you did. So why shouldn’t he get that same chance to destroy you? 

“I get it,” you hitch out, holding his strong wrist with shaky fingers. It’s only fair. This felt too good to be true anyway. “I know.” 

“It’s not that.” Yoongi slides his free hand on the wall, holding it at your shoulder. “I just… Fuck, if we do this, I can’t promise I’ll hold back.” 

Oh. Fuck that. 

You tug the warm silver around his neck. “Then don’t,” you urge to his grunt. “If this is all we get? I don’t fucking care.” 

“Even if I t—”

“Do it, Yoongi,” you plead with a gritted cry. “You can do anything to me, whatever it is just do it.” 

“Fuck.” 

All doubt flees from his eyes as your back gets smushed into the wall, your lips puffed and parting when he places hot, open mouthed kisses down your column. 

Hands keep their quest in gathering up your dress. And you make quick work of his belt before pulling, tugging, yanking it out of its holster. 

“The fuck,” he shoots out. “Who the fuck taught you that?”

Your eyes flicker to his as you grip the hem of his jeans. “You really wanna know?”

“No.” He switches up on a dime. “Don’t tell me.”

Your lips collide again before he rips his mouth down to attack your chest, nipping at a spot that has you flinching and hand sliding between your legs. When he runs a finger along your underwear, his eyes practically burn out as he growls, “You’re this fucking wet already?”

“I told you,” you gasp out. “I need you.” 

Your hand is yanked to the front of his jeans, and shock and emotion completely cover the expanse of your face feeling how unbelievably hard he is.

Unfazed, Yoongi continues kissing up to your shoulder, leaving hot saliva trails all over your skin and bunching your silk in his hands. “Seeing you in this? Lost my shit.”

“You're lying.”

“All fuckin' night."

“Liar.”

Liar, liar. A bold faced lie. You saw him talking to other people. You saw his anger piercing across the club. But you watch as his look levels, and your cheeks sizzle at the way he shifts his jaw, 

“I’d never lie to you.” 

Shit. Your heart bats eyelashes before you shove it out of frame. 

The organ in your chest is a walking liability, especially when it’s connected to your mouth. So there are many, many things you might reveal tonight in the throes of agony and passion. Things you will regret come morning waking to an empty bed. 

The best way to not say anything that could potentially do more harm than good? Keep your lips occupied. And that’s exactly what you intend to do. 

“We’ll see,” you grit out, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. When Yoongi lets you twist to shove him back against the wall, his eyes flare in dark need when he hisses, 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” 

To show him how you’ve grown in the years you separated, to show him what he could’ve fucking had. 

To show him that you aren’t taking a single bit of this last, serendipitous night for granted. 

Kneeling slow, you slide your hands along his clothed chest, kissing his chains exactly how you used to and smearing lipstick all the way down his jersey.

“Fuck…”

Balancing on your heels, you wince at the tight bend in your knees, but you aren’t going down completely because your kneecaps aren’t what they used to be. Fuck that. You can do plenty in a low squat anyway, and he’s seen you look a hell of a lot more awkward many times. “Shit,” you still whisper. “You’re lucky I can’t wait to swallow you.”

A curse flings out of his mouth. “Get up, babe.”

Heart ringing at the name, you reject his order with a harsh, “Shut up.” 

You want this, and you know for a fact he does, too. When Yoongi tries to bend, you pull down his underwear, springing his cock free and almost salivating at the sight. 

Just like you remember. Everything about him is just how you remember, and yet his body has only gotten stronger and filled out in all the perfect places. Yoongi’s a man now. A real, grown man. 

If you both just met tonight, you know he would’ve asked for your name before anything else.

Cut the shit. You are not getting into that now, not when you have him with hands trembling against a wall before you take him in your palm. As soon as you touch, Yoongi expels a deep groan, kicking his head back and gripping the wall with a large hand.

What’s going on? You haven’t even done anything yet. Why does your chest constrict at how sensitive he is? This isn’t the time to relax, but you really can’t help but soften at his complete and utter unravelling. 

It’s almost as if nothing’s changed. 

Yoongi lowers his gaze, and you lock glistening eyes before you take him in your mouth, slow on the tip and swirling to get it coated and prepped just right. Your hand expertly glides along his solid, slick length, squeezing at the spot you know makes him fold. 

“Holy fuck,” he gasps out, hand hesitating to palm your head before balling in a fist against plaster. “Shit, babe..”

Again? Does he even realize what he’s saying? Is he trying to hurt you because if that’s his goal it’s fucking working. 

Anger, regret, painful nostalgia drives you forward, sinking his velvety ridges inside your throat and proving to him how much better you’ve gotten. With every plunge, you hollow your cheeks, already feeling the telltale searing at your eyes and spiraling up your throat. His endless stream of sounds and praise tumble down your skin, and you keep sucking mercilessly even when his hips buck and his eyes squeeze tight.

Releasing with a loud pop, you feel a huge strain on your soaked legs as you adjust, tilting your drenched chin to bury your face in his sack to lick and take it in.

“Baby..”

At this new, old nickname, you grip his cock tighter, swallowing him whole again just to hide your real tears behind the ones streaming from taking him in so deep. 

More. You give more, and more, and more. Time will take away everything else so what you can give is all you got.

Hands grip your head in desperation, and you let Yoongi push you onto his length until your airway is closed tight, nose and cheeks flush against the skin of his thighs. His scent is heady and just like you remember, if only slightly different due to the new musky cologne he’s probably sticking with nowadays. Not like you can focus on it too long because your airway is screaming to be freed again. 

Tears leak over your lashes as want slicks your cunt, and you hear syllables that could be words before you finally give his legs a telltale tap.

Oxygen floods your lungs as more tears stream from your eyes, lips sopping wet and saliva leaving your chin in strings. Gulping, you go right back to it, taking him in again and pumping his slick ridges quick.

“Get up,” he commands with a rasp so deep it rumbles your chest. “Get the fuck up.” 

You’re pulled upward so fast your legs cry at the bends, and you’re spun so quick the wall hits your shoulderblade and you cry out into a furious mouth. 

Pleasure and pain intertwine as you match his intensity, raking at his shoulders and clawing into his hair. With each kiss, he reaches deeper into your throat, and you know he can taste himself on your tongue with the way he claims it in waves.

For a moment, there’s no one else in the world. You aren’t in a dimly lit lounge in a club away from home. You’re right here in his bedroom, getting slung and dragged along his wall and knocking every one of his plaques and posters off-kilter. 

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know.”

Without further prompt, Yoongi wrenches at your dress to shove it up to your hip, burning a path along your leg with expert fingers. As you hook itover his smooth forearm, your lips part when his other hand slides between your thighs. 

You know your underwear is soaked all the way through. 

And now, so does he. “Goddamn.”

“I can’t take it anymore,” you gasp out. “Just—”

“Are you still on the—”

“Yes.”

Shifting the sodden material to the side, Yoongi wastes no time, angling himself to rub over your folds and moaning in tandem with you because holy fuck this already feels so—

“This fucking pussy,” Yoongi grits out, sliding in perfectly and so smoothly it’s like neither of you ever left each other's sides. Your high moan cuts into the cherry ceiling when he sounds like he’s just struck gold, “Shit, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Yoongi, please—”

He’s talking absolute nonsense. Gonna be? How is that possible when you won’t see him again? 

All questions vaporize when Yoongi’s hips snap up, launching you up the wall again, and again, and again. Pops of need and lust zoom straight to your head, sparkling out of your eyes when you feel his lips smothering your neck. 

You’re in heaven. You’re in hell. It feels so good it hurts. Caught in a flurry of need and anguish, your nails rake down his shoulders before scratching at his arms, shivering at his outright growl, 

“Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I—”

“Do that shit again and I’ll come.” 

Shit. You don’t understand how he could be so shameless. You’re trying your hardest to keep it together and here he is saying whatever the fuck he wants? If you let your mouth just as loose as he has there’s no telling what you’d be shouting out. 

But you settle for an apology for now, just in case you actually hurt him, “Sorry.. My nails are super long right now.”

“I noticed.” Another thrust launches you into the sky. “They look good but they hurt like hell.”

“Oh.. Sorry again.” A moan escapes when he shoves into you, mind hazy because he’s still placating you. 

“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing.” Devilish, he breaks into a slow smirk you haven’t seen in ages, and your ribcage folds inward and inward. “I’m just not fucking done with you yet.” 

Oh. He doesn’t want this to end, either. 

Now that changes every fucking cog in your brain. 

You keep yourself upright as long as you can, arms slung around his neck as you both move together, dip and lean together, breathe so hard it scorches your chest together. Every muscle in your planted leg burns, but it’s nothing compared to the stare you have connected to his eyes. With each deep thrust, his brows furrow and his teeth peek from his lips, and every groan you hear goes right into a chest for safe keeping. Right next to all the other memories you want to lock away.

Yoongi’s pace starts to quicken the more your mewls encourage him. What was sensuous is now unbearable and, as your dress threatens to shift, you know your breasts will be on full display soon, and Yoongi bites his lip with a grunt with his next hard thrusts.

Soon enough, you feel a chill on your nipples as they’re freed, moaning to the ceiling when Yoongi immediately heats one whole with his tongue. “Baby!”

Goddamn it. You weren’t supposed to address him like that, too. But maybe it’s better than saying his name because every time you do there’s a charge sparking the air. 

So you decide to switch, moaning the same word over and over as he licks and sucks, dragging his teeth along your exposed chest and littering it with heavy proof of his lips. Just like the lipstick on his jersey, you know he’s claimed his own marks on your skin. 

And neither of you will be able to hide them when you part.

Expelled tension flits about in light streaks as you move with him, slick with exertion and tight with muscles working in double time. You both know this is the last time and you’re acting like it. And you send a prayer to the heavens to let time stop just to keep holding him in your arms. 

Suddenly, your heel slips, and you yelp before strong arms keep you upright. “Shit, sorry.”

“I got you.”

Summer sunsets smother your vision as you let him guide you from the wall, gently placing your leg down and leading you to a sofa. Everything simmers to a lull, and you have a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing, racing heartbeat. 

When Yoongi sits on vibrant cushions, you admire the way his biceps fill those sleeves right as he tugs his jersey clean off. And you have to fight to not teeter over, continuing to stare in awe at him, so perfectly filled in some placed and chiseled in others that you start to wonder how you even left in the first place.

Of course you know why you did. So why bring it up now when you’re right here? Why agonize over the past when you’re standing right between his legs?  

“Baby.” 

You flick your gaze back up to his. 

“Stay with me.”

Tears zing up your eyes as you nod, heart plugging your throat as you mount his toned thighs. When you feebly place hands on his searing shoulders, you hate the way your words shake on the way out, “Stay in the now. I know.”

Yoongi’s eyes shine with a light in them you weren’t sure was there before. But you can’t wait long enough for confirmation because your heart is keeling over with ache. 

He remembers. He remembers. Does that mean he’s thought about you, too? 

Focus on something else. No time to think about the past, nor the future. No time to notice that the way Yoongi looks at you now is so heartbreakingly similar to how he worshipped you before. Back when things were perfectly imperfect. Back when you were sure he loved you before he proved to you that he didn’t. 

“Still so beautiful.”

Liquid fire fills your eyes as your breath hitches, guiding his length to your entrance before sinking onto him with no issue. When you both groan, you let your glittery vision watch the ceiling instead of him when you admit, 

“You look so fucking good in red.”

There’s no response as you breathe, angling yourself to feel him deep and moving in a slow push and pull along his legs. Your thin chain tightens as your neck strains above Yoongi’s head, and you wish you had the guts to look down at the ones around his neck. They’re already deadly resting on his clothes, but rocking against the flush of his skin is how you love them the most.

Still, you can’t bear to look. You know you’ll lose yourself in those eyes if you dare stare long enough. Because what you saw earlier looked too close to longing, which would be impossible because that only exists in yours. 

“And,” you whoosh out in tired breaths, gripping your fingers on him a little tighter, “Looks like you.. finally hit the gym.. like I kept fucking saying.” 

A puff of warm laughter hits your chest before sweaty hands grip your waist. “Always said I would.”

“But you never did,” you huff out, grinding on him harder and melting at his little sounds. One thing you will keep giving this man credit for: he isn’t ashamed to be just as vocal as you are. The more people you ended up meeting? The rarer and rarer you realized that bedroom quality was. 

“I did eventually,” he grits, holding you in place and surging into you so hard you yelp to the stars. “Didn’t I.”

“Fuck you,” you bite, moaning when your argument dies the moment his tongue swirls around a nipple again. What’s left comes out a garbled mess of a groan, and you hate, hate, hate the dark chuckle against your breast. Partly because he’s a constant problem, and partly because you yearn to see his smile again. 

“What else is new about you,” Yoongi suddenly rasps, hands lowering to rest on your hips as you ride him. “Aside from clearly getting better at this.”

Lost in lust and surprised at his question, you finally peer down to see him looking up already. “No thanks to you.”

And your world stills as he doesn’t respond right away, any hint of sunlight fading from his features. “No thanks to me,” he slowly agrees. 

Fuck. You didn’t mean to do that. 

Slowly slipping hands from his body, you rise from his length and mourn the disconnect before standing. When Yoongi only regards you with eyes on fire, you slowly turn and rest on his thighs. 

He’s not gonna like this. But he asked.

You turn your head before slowly sliding one side of your dress completely down, revealing a rough scar on your back a little lower than your shoulder.

And your soul immediately clenches when Yoongi heats your back with his body heat. “The fuck?” His fingers feel so light, so protective as they caress your mark. It’s confusing, and you abhor it as much as you need it. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you whisper. “Pretty hard.” 

Details of how and when it happened don’t matter. But he wanted to know what was new, and the scar on your heart isn’t exactly readily available to show. 

“I did, too.” 

What? At his voice over your shoulder, you strain your neck to see him. “When?”

Why is he kissing your scar? Exes don’t do that. Exes don’t do anything you’re doing right now. 

“Before you left.”

Now you feel worse. When the hell did that happen? Why didn’t you know about it? “Sorry,” you breathe out with sorrow. “I didn’t know.”

Another slow, calm graze of his mouth tightens your throat. Because he’s since moved across your back, lips now touching where your shoulderblade hit the wall. 

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “I never told you.” 

He never told you many things.

Stepping into dangerous territory is making you regret showing him your worst moment. So you shift your ass to push over his cock, feeling it throb against you when you wisp out the worst reminder, “We don’t have much time.”

“Mm.”

When you feel his hands shift your dress, you lift up and allow you both to effortlessly situate you back where you wanna be. Your back hits his chest as he guides himself up into your folds, and your head kicks back to lie across his shoulder like the red silk flowing over your thigh. 

“Just like you said,” you start to whisper, eyes already welling with oncoming regret, “One last time.” Every syllable just as melancholic as the notes of your favorite song. 

When Yoongi starts, your heart weeps at the pace. Because it reminds you of better times, sensuous and intentional and convincing you to confess all over again. It takes everything not to speak, your moans escaping in weak puffs and your hips swelling in a calm wave. 

This is too much. This is way too fucking much and you finally break when his name leaves you like a prayer. “Harder,” you beg. “Please, please go—”

You’re cut off as soon as his hips jolt up, flinging you to life before going at a menacing pace. Yes yes yes this is the one you need. The one you crave. The one that leaves no room for feelings and decisions. Your dress threatens to slip off your sides with each pound, slowly rolling and accentuating your chest in seconds. “Shit, holy shit!”

“Fuck, you’re so tight—”

“So fucking big—”

As if knowing exactly what you want, your arms are held back, locked into place as you’re under the absolute mercy of his dick slamming up into you over and over, skin slapping obscene and thighs burning from the stretch across his lap. 

Yoongi knows you better than anyone else. A frustrated growl tears from your lips as you arch so far back you connect clouds, and a strong forearm wraps across your stomach to pin you so fucking close you may as well mold right into him. Passion streaks down your limbs as sweat beads along your skin, the heady scent of sex and forbidden fruit swirling into your nose. 

More. More more more he’s giving you everything. As your arms are freed, you can only grip the other forearm slinging over your upper chest, nails digging into creamy skin and leaving angry, cherry red lines.

Words, praise, everything under the sun is being spewed onto your slick shoulders as you mash your teeth and eyes tight. You even hear a word you’ve been wanting to hear for years, but that can’t possibly be true because there’s no way Yoongi would ever—

A hand closes around your throat, and your eyes fly back into your head.

You’re so close. Fucking hell, your thighs are singing and your throat is burning and your abdomen strains from the arch but you need this release. You need this tidal wave to consume you. If only to forget for a split second that Yoongi isn’t—

“—yours.”

What?

Another fierce round of thrusts almost topples the two of you over, and white hot pressure paints the edges of your eyes as you strain for breath. You’re so close. So fucking close it’s right within reach.

But it all vanishes in a snap as Yoongi stops, and you cry with a teary rasp, “No, please, baby—”

“Not yet.” He hauls you up, making you sit straight and facing away yet again. “You know what to do.” 

Fuck. There’s no way he remembers this, too. You flinch at the slap to your breast before shakily getting up, legs wobbly but positioning yourself on his cock perfectly before sliding down. 

Both heels planted on the ground, you brace his strong knees and work his slick length, eyes rolling at his breathy groans and curses leaving his mouth in spurts. 

You know exactly what to do to make him lose his goddamn mind. So you do it all, swirling and swerving your hips while flicking off your silk, showing him the best view of your ass as it bounces. Your legs tire, but you don’t, and you use the music leaking into the room to set your sickening, aggravating pace. 

“Fuck, baby..”

“You asked for it.”

“Don’t regret a goddamn thing.” 

You can tell he’s on the brink of madness, and you can only picture the way his head thumps back on the couch, mouth torn by his teeth and brows furrowed to hell. His muscles are probably contracting in waves, including the ones in his perfect, bulging arms. 

“You shouldn’t,” you hum. “Since this is all you get.” 

Without a word, hands reach out and tug you backward, and you’re up on your feet and tripping before your hands slap the firm cushions of the next chair over. “What the fu—”

To your absolute delight, Yoongi plants a foot on the chair before gripping the pliant dip of your hips, pushing tears from your eyes with each quick, deep thrust he rams forward. Stars dance along your vision as drool leaks endlessly from your mouth. “Baby—! Fuck!”

“This pussy’s so.. Fuck.” You’re shoved so far down that your moist cheek smushes into firm cushion. “Say my name.”

“Babe—”

“As much as I wanna hear that every fucking day”—Yoongi shoves into you again and keeps his cock thrumming inside your cunt—“Right now, I’m gonna hear my name. So say it.”

“Yoongi—”

His deep, gritted command makes you snap, “Louder.”

“Yoongi—!” 

You feel it. You’re at the brink again. With every snap of his skin pounding against yours, you’re inching closer and closer and closer to the edge, waiting for the fall that will end you. “Baby, I’m gonna—”

Firm arms haul you upward and you’re both travelling the room again, legs skittering until you hit back first into the nearest wall fuck that took your breath out.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he slams a hand against the plaster to steady, face burrowed in your neck and hair brushing harsh against your ear as he buries inside of you again. Fire spews from his mouth as you feel his cock squeeze up into your cunt, and his arm tenses tight behind your knee as he commands,

“Come for me, love.”

You don’t know what the fuck you just heard but you know he didn’t just say—

“I said come.”

Instinct. Pure, animalistic instinct surges your orgasm forward in a high crest, breaking onto shore in hot, white waves as you tremble around him. Your cunt squeezes and tugs, your poor leg threatening collapse as Yoongi roughly hums so deep against your chest. Pleasure, starlight, the warmth of an afternoon faraway heats your body just right, and one crash leads into the next so effortlessly that tears zip down your cheeks.

Your name rips from Yoongi’s throat. 

And it’s enough to send you right over the edge again.

How the fuck is this possible how the hell can someone break you with your own name how can Yoongi have this much of a hold on you when it’s been literal years? It doesn’t make any sense and the cries into his neck as he holds you close are akin to sobs. Maybe they are. Maybe they’re your way of mourning everything that could’ve been. Everything that will never be. 

But at least you were able to have him, shaking in your grasp and pulsing in your core. One more night. One last time. 

“Fuck it, come here.” 

Your sobs are yanked from the wall again, and you don’t know up from left as you're thrown onto a sofa, back curling as Yoongi tugs your head upright. Your tears slide down your neck, wetting your necklace as he breathes out, 

“Again.” 

Fuck! Your cunt tightens around him as you gasp out, “I can’t… I can’t—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yoongi growls, clutching your chin and flinging hot spit onto your face that catapults you into another level of need you’ve never been to holy fuck. Smothering it against your cheeks, he taps you once and it brings destruction. “I said again.” 

All your limbs lock at the bends as you throw your head in a strained cry, a release that overpowers all the others flushing through your veins and igniting beams out of your sweaty chest. Wave upon wave crashes into your soul and your ears ring so loud you can barely hear or see Yoongi watching from above. You can’t. You’re too caught in chaos. You can’t see the way he looks at you. 

“Come for me, Yoongi,” you suddenly plead, “Let go.”

“Let me pull—”

“Do it now,” you hitch out. “Come inside.”

A prolonged moan leaves his mouth as he launches into a pace that has you screaming, teeth gritted to hell and fingers gripping you so hard you know they’re going to bruise. But who cares when your skin will match your heart? Who gives a fuck about anything else anymore?

Beautiful weight crushes your chest as Yoongi’s body turns erratic, jolting and seizing up. And you know he’s racing to his own cliff to dive and you’re gonna be right there to catch him. Slinging your arms around his drenched back and fisting the wet base of his hair, you’re already ready and waiting with harsh harsh breaths, because you're about to break him.

“That’s it, baby,” you whisper to his ear, ravaging his slick neck with your lips and scraping teeth over his ear just how he likes, hearts beating as one when you stop just to connect your forehead to his. With a singular, throaty gasp, you plead,

“One last time.”

Yoongi’s sudden release sends a pulse through the air, and your core beats and beats with each pump of essence he spews inside. Heaven and earth collide with stars as you hold tight, and your thighs shake as he finishes filling you with the longest orgasm you have ever, ever seen him endure. 

The float down doesn’t come quick, both of you softly suspended in time and air. Steam radiates from your skin and flows from your mouths with each breath, and beads of sweat slip down his jewelry as he stares with a deep vastness in his eyes. 

Why is he so quiet? 

Why are you so quiet? 

Why do you feel like crying again? 

With one more shaken breath, Yoongi swallows, chest heaving right after as he struggles to gather himself. His shoulders are so broad when he moves under your hands, closing his eyes as soon as your brows touch,

“I know it’s over.”

Your heart flares.

“But I need you to know.”

Stars light the night sky.

“I love you. And I always will.”

A sob breaks your silence, hand flying to cup your mouth before you hunch forward into his trembling chest. Days and days of pent up anger and sadness spill out all at once, and you weep into his chest because you can’t bear to let go. 

“I know you’ve moved on,” Yoongi continues with a shake to his words, not pausing at the way you choke and weep. “But I’ve regretted never saying it back then. And I’m not gonna get another chance.”

What the fuck is happening. What does he mean? What does he mean? Your body can’t stop as it locks and locks, sobs wracking your chest because this is fucked up and confusing and everything you’ve been wanting for the longest time. This is all you wanted. And you only get it at the very end. 

“I didn’t even say goodbye,” you shake out. When you lift your trembling head, his lips are already so achingly close to yours and his hand moves to steady your neck. “I left and never came back.”

When his eyes are the only ones that speak, you start to spill everything out, words tumbling into one another and pinging to the floors around your tired feet,

“I tried so hard to forget you. Tried so, so hard to stop loving you. Every day, I’d wake up wanting nothing to do with you, only to see you in my dreams and remember how it felt to—to—” 

Bright red flares across Yoongi’s eyes as he keeps listening, jaw pulsing and brows so tense. 

“At first, I was so angry. At you, at myself, at the world for letting me love you when you never loved me back. But now, I know what I did was wrong. And I regret it every day that I live.” 

When your face contorts in sorrow, Yoongi brings a hand up to wipe your cheek, thumb brushing away your tears. “I did, babe.” Your breath stops and your eyes splay wide. “Just never had the guts to say it first.” 

First. 

Yoongi loved you all the way back then? Before that starry night that’s kept your heart captive for so long? It pulses against your chest, ramming and ramming into your ribcage to get to his. 

Only one question barrels through your mind. “…Why?”

Yoongi looks from one eye to the next. “Because I didn’t think I deserved to.”

Everything clicks into place and you suddenly feel so, so upset. You are going to fight this man to the moon and back. Or, better yet, you’re gonna fight him to the moon and leave him there. “You think I thought that way?”

“No.” He sighs, chains shaking over your chest. “And I replay that night over, and over. Knowing that I’d do anything to go back and tell you how I felt.” 

Yoongi never lived in the past. He was always adamant about staying in the present. So knowing he’d been stuck there right next to you makes your chest collapse before slipping down into the deep sea. 

“When I saw you today? Every day I told myself I’d get over you didn’t matter. Every reason I told myself I couldn’t be with you was bullshit.” 

Your throat constricts again.

“But when you kept running.. I knew you were done with me for good.” Yoongi’s hand falls. “And there was nothing I could do to change your mind.”

“Yoongi…”

All this time, you both had your own reasons for avoiding each other. Everything you fed into your logical side was just a ploy to project your feelings, and it turns out Yoongi did the exact same thing. 

He said he wouldn’t be able to hold back if you did this tonight. And now, you’re blessed to know exactly what he meant. 

So you also let everything go. 

“I was never done with you,” you choke out, seeing a swath of emotion brush across his face. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I will be even if you walk out of here without me.”

Musk and heaven consumes you in a hug, and you cry into a bare shoulder as you hear Yoongi vow something so full of longing and conviction you hold him tighter, 

“I’m not going anywhere else without you.” 

Music continues to pulse outside, lasers continue to dance around the room. But you see nothing but the light in your lover's eyes. 

And it’s a beautiful, beautiful sunrise. 

—

—

When you both finally part, it’s only to let him get dressed and for you to use the nearest restroom. In the quiet wake of your emotional storm, Yoongi walks you to the window spanning the far wall of the lounge, and you both watch the club floors move and sway from above. And it’s only now that you feel shy. It’s only now that you feel nervous seeing everyone below. 

But a thought occurs to you that dashes all others away, 

“How did you know to come up here?” 

Yoongi gives you a look that you raise a brow at. “I…” He sighs. “Let’s just say I know my way around this place.”

Ah. Of course. “Come here often?”

“Not for the reasons you think.”

Your brows are fully bent now. “…Huh?”

“I own the building.” Hands busy, he adjusts his jersey as if he didn’t drop the biggest shock of the century on your toes. “And a couple others in the city.”

What. 

Pause pause pause hold the fucking phone. 

Yoongi lives in this city? He owns what? This is a little too much to take in, but you have time. And you’re gonna hound him for every single detail of his life that you’ve missed. 

You have time. Your prayer had been answered tenfold. And you send endless gratitude to the sky. 

But suddenly, a second realization pierces your mind and you lightly shove him. When Yoongi looks at you in shock, you yell out, “You asked what’s new and I showed you a scar! Now you tell me you own a fucking building?” 

Your lover laughs, and the sun rises even higher over your horizon. Ducking your next swipe, he’s already back to irritating you again as he clarifies, “I said more than one—”

“Oh, fuck you!” 

He rushes forward and gathers you in his arms, not caring if anyone sees your embrace in the window. “You wanna go again?” 

Your face heats as your eyes roll heavenward, exactly where you feel like you are in this moment. “I have a pretty big hotel room,” you divulge. “And no one to share that bedroom with unless someone else catches my eye tonight, so…”

Yoongi’s eyes crease as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that. Take me home.” 

Your giggles into his chin bubble out in pink, poppable spheres. 

As magnificent and dreamlike all of this has been, you're starting to find logic again. Because more than one question badgers into your mind.

How long have you been gone? Have your friends not even checked on you? Did they try? Did they leave do they even still have the... table…

Wait.

Everything else clicks into place. 

The random city everyone flew to that Jeongguk picked. The infamous club and dress code you heard about from Taehyung. The table that Hoseok bragged about getting…

“...You're the one that got us VIP.” 

That stupid, annoying, ridiculous grin. Of course this is how you'd be reminded of how much you love to hate it.

“Now come dance with me,” he says with teeth still flashing wide. “Let’s see if you ever got that step.” 

Eyes sparkling, you let him lead you down and onto the dance floor, moving through until you’re suddenly next to your friends that shout and holler at your arrival together. 

“All of you are crazy!” You yell out, tears in your smile as they burst into laughter. “Why didn’t you just tell me!”

Yoongi grabs hold of you before chuckling into your ear. “I told them not to.” 

“Why?”

“Didn’t know if you were really done.” He grips you tight, face falling into seriousness. “But I heard you broke up with someone a month ago. This was my only chance and I took it.” 

Holy fucking shit.

“Thank you.” You kiss his cheek with purpose. “I love you.”

Yoongi’s cheeks rise high, dimples prominent and eyes carrying the light of the universe. Lips close, he responds how he wanted to the first time.

And you seal your devotion with a kiss full of starlight. 

“Ugh, here we go.”

“Already at it again, huh.”

"Figures. Didn't you see his jersey?"

“Get another room—!”

Suddenly, the same song that used to haunt you comes on once more, but this time, you welcome it with a swell of freedom in your chest. The waves of your mind calm, washing onto an empty beach and fading into a mesmerizing valley of blue.

Yoongi grins as he holds your hand, and you can't help but stretch your mouth wide as you both immerse into the crowd, moving and spinning and stepping perfectly together on every beat. Laughter and joy fills the space between your hearts as you all cheer, sharing this infinite moment together as fate intended.  

In a beautiful, unforgettable dance. 

-

-

fin :)

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hi lovelies what did we think !! | main masterlist

a/n: so don't ask how i managed to write all of this in a single day (now two) lol i think this madrid yoongi broke me. anyways, here's the sidequest that became the main quest for a bit! i'm back to writing three tangerines so 3tan13 will be finished here real soon :D thank you all for reading and i hope you enjoyed this irresistible ex turned lover yoongiiiii :DD did i cry? yes. can you prove it? no!!!!

a/n 2: as always, reblogs and comments and asks are always super appreciated! i love sharing things with you guys and a big part of that is getting to hear what you all liked and what you're excited about. happy to chat, and thank you for reading!

++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here!

++ more links: ⇥ masterlist 

[glossdebut]

the first taste | myg ୨ৎ chapter 4 !!

୨ৎ PAIRING !! yoongi x f!reader

୨ৎ SUMMARY !! You’re fresh off another breakup, furious at your own body for never responding the way it’s “supposed” to—and even more furious at the sinking fear that something might be wrong with you. When late-night research leads you toward fantasies you’ve never dared to voice, you turn to the one person you trust most: your best friend.

୨ৎ TAGS/WARNINGS !! NSFW, MDNI (18+), the return of what’s-his-face, yoongi and MC get into an argument, vmin cameo, soft launching the japan trip that’s going to span the next several chapters, YOONGI GETS A HAIRCUT, honestly this chapter is like 90% smut but the smut is So Important To The Plot, we’re dealing with this yoongi here btw, punishment (no joke this time), watching porn together, dirty talk, degradation, praise, orgasm denial, face slapping, pussy spanking, hair pulling, fingering, oral (f. receiving), overstimulation, crying during sex, crying AFTER sex, aftercare, lmk if i missed anything (:

୨ৎ WORDCOUNT !! 12.1k

୨ৎ AUTHOR'S NOTE !! HELLO WORLD! this chapter is largely unbeta’d because i was too impatient, so if there are any mistakes forgive me 😭 however, both claret @yoonmetogether and peach @risky-peaches did camp out in the doc at several points watching me write, not to mention they put up with me talking about little else for the past several weeks. thank you guys, and @joonary for being tft!yoongi’s #1 fan (not fucking normal about him)

i know it’s been a long wait for this chapter so i hope it doesn’t disappoint! i can’t wait to hear what all of you think 🫶

chapter 4: acceptance is the key (♬)

Some people are born lucky.

In high school, there was this girl you knew who seemed to have unlimited amounts of it. She got straight A’s without even trying. When teachers pulled names for classroom chores, she always got the easy ones like sweeping or dusting, while you were, more often than not, stuck cleaning toilets. She didn’t even seem capable of having a bad hair day—her luck was that good.

You’ve always wondered what it would be like to live like that. Luck has never been on your side.

You’re no stranger to the humiliation of a humongous zit erupting on your forehead the day before yearbook photos, or your car breaking down the morning of an important job interview. Not to mention the countless instances of locking yourself out of the apartment, or spilling coffee all over yourself five minutes before work, or stepping directly into a puddle in shoes you just bought.

It certainly explains your dating life. Unlucky in love, much like everything else. 

And yet, you keep trying.

Your mom has always told you it’s one of your best qualities. Despite the way the universe insists on knocking you down, you never fail to pick yourself back up and keep going. 

Even when it hurts. Even when it feels pointless.

Still, these past few weeks have given you a new perspective. You wouldn’t say your luck is turning around, not quite, but you’re starting to feel stupid, dangerous things like hope—at least where your bedroom-related woes are concerned.

Yoongi told you he’d be there for you, that all you needed to do was ask and he’d come running, and you’ve been taking him up on the offer. Often. 

Which is to say, you’ve been having many, many, many orgasms. Ridiculous amounts, considering you were batting zero just a month ago.

It’s honestly surreal. You’ve spent so long convinced your body was fundamentally broken that every time Yoongi gets you off still feels nothing short of miraculous. It’s as if whatever weird cosmic curse has haunted your sex life since your late teens disappears entirely.

Which is why getting a text from your ex while you’re still sweaty and out of breath from three consecutive orgasms feels a little laughable. Not necessarily unlucky, but definitely ironic.

hey. found some of your stuff while cleaning. when do you wanna come grab it?

So, Sunday morning, you find yourself in the car, on your way to what’s-his-face’s place.

You honestly wish he would’ve just offered to drop your stuff off while you were at work. It would’ve been the kinder thing to do.

Because now that you’re actually in Yoongi’s passenger seat and your ex’s street is getting closer and closer, your stomach feels like it’s full of wet cement. 

“You can still back out,” Yoongi reminds you as he pulls up to a red light.

“No, I can’t.”

“You literally can. Watch.” He breaks his 10-and-2 to gesture at the road ahead of him. “I’ll just keep driving.”

Your hands twist nervously in your lap. You recognize what he’s trying to do, and normally, it’d work. At the very least, it would get a laugh out of you. You’re just not feeling it.

“No, I want my stuff back,” you say quietly. “It’s okay.”

Yoongi glances at you from the corner of his eye. You can practically see him weighing whether to keep pushing or leave it alone.

Thankfully, he chooses the second option.

“Okay,” he says simply. The light turns green, and the car rolls forward.

When he finally parks on the street outside the building, you don’t make any immediate move to get out of the car. You just stare out the window with dread usually reserved for dentist appointments and funerals of distant relatives. 

A few months ago, you came here excited. Nervous in a good way. Hopeful. Now the building just looks cold.

You can see the window of his apartment from here, curtains half drawn. A succulent you bought together used to sit on the sill, but it isn’t there anymore. Which means you can probably expect to have it in your hands in a few minutes.

“You want me to come up?” Yoongi asks softly, breaking you out of your thoughts. 

Ha. Again, you appreciate the thought, but that would probably only make things worse. 

You shake your head, reaching to open the passenger door. “No. I’ll be quick, okay?”

“I’ll be here,” he says. 

You step out onto the sidewalk before you can change your mind, the car door closing behind you with a muted thump.

You walk inside, past the mailboxes, up the familiar flight of stairs because waiting for the elevator feels unbearable. Each step gives your brain another opportunity to reconsider, but you don't take it.

By the time you reach his floor, your palms are damp.

You stop outside his door and stare at it for a moment. Breathe once. Twice. Then you lift your hand and knock.

You’re greeted with your ex’s face less than a minute later.

For one awful second, your body reacts on instinct. A familiar face, familiar apartment smell drifting through the crack in the doorway, familiar posture leaning against the frame. Muscle memory tries to kick in before your brain catches up, and suddenly you’re vividly aware of how many evenings you spent standing exactly here kissing him hello.

The feeling dies almost immediately, because he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

At least the suffering is mutual.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

“Hey.”

The interaction itself is painfully polite. Almost sterile.

He already packed everything into a cardboard box for you. A couple t-shirts. Your toothbrush from his bathroom. Some skincare products you forgot about. Movie tickets. Tiny remnants of a relationship reduced to clutter.

“How’ve you been?” he asks, once the hand-off is complete.

Ugh. You hate this. 

“Fine,” you say, adjusting your grip on the box. “You?”

“Good,” he says.

You nod. He nods. Nobody says anything. 

It's almost impressive.

This is someone you once spent entire weekends with. Someone you told stupid stories to at two in the morning. Someone who knew how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you preferred.

Now neither of you can sustain a conversation for more than thirty seconds. Funny how that works.

Your ex shifts awkwardly. "So..."

"So."

“I guess that's everything.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry it took so long to get it together.”

“It's fine.”

More silence. Then he rubs the back of his neck.

“Well,” he says. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too,” you say softly. Then you turn around and leave.

When you make it back to the car, you don’t say anything. You just buckle your seatbelt, cardboard box balanced on your knees.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks as he pulls back onto the road.

Good question.

You haven’t thought about your ex much since he dumped you. You weren’t with him for long, sure, but historically, you love to dwell. To pick apart every event that led up to the end, to catalogue all of your missteps so you don’t make them again. 

You haven’t had much time for any of that, with how quickly you fell into bed with your best friend.

Should you feel guilty for that? Maybe so. You don’t, not really, but you’re definitely feeling something. It’s weird, staring down at a neatly packed box of all of your memories with someone, no matter how long the relationship lasted, and knowing you’re the reason it ended. That it’s your fault you’re in this position. 

What’s-his-face is a nice guy. He liked you. He tried with you. 

And you failed, again. You couldn’t be what he wanted.

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “That sucked.”

Yoongi hums sympathetically. “Screw that guy,” he says. “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

You huff. It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t really work in this case. You couldn’t screw that guy, and that was exactly the issue. He knows what he's missing and he’s perfectly fine not having it.

“He’s a nice guy, Yoongi,” you mumble, smoothing your hands over the box in your lap. “I was the problem. I always am.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly. “You’ve gotta stop talking about yourself like that.”

You turn your head towards him. “It’s true, though.”

“It isn’t.”

“Yoongi,” you say tiredly. “Come on. Think of all of the partners of mine you’ve met. You know I’ve never broken up with any of them? I’m always the one who gets broken up with. You seriously think that’s just a coincidence? Because I don’t.”

“I seriously think you just haven’t dated the right person.”

“How many more people do I have to date?” you snap. “It feels like I’ve been dumped by the entire population of Seoul! And I don’t blame any of them, Yoongi! Would you want to date someone who can’t fucking cum? I don’t blame them, because it’s probably insulting.”

Ugly as they may be, the words rush out of you with no hope of stopping them. A dam finally broken by years of erosion. Of heartbreak and frustration and too much time spent feeling horribly, disgustingly inadequate. Defective, like you told Yoongi before. Broken from the start.

Yoongi goes quiet. You suck in a shaky breath and, head in your hands, try to pull yourself together.

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but you’re just so tired of it all. You can only take so much of the whole ‘there are plenty of other fish in the sea’ thing. You get enough of it from your mom, from Jimin and Taehyung and Hoseok, from your fucking exes themselves sometimes. You don’t want Yoongi to bullshit you, too. Not when, for your entire life, he’s been the one person you can trust to be honest with you, no matter what.

“But you can,” he mumbles.

You lift your head. “What?”

“You can cum.”

Oh.

You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s no nice way to say ‘yeah, but practicing with you is different from the real thing’ without sounding like an asshole—not that you think Yoongi would care. 

“Look, can we just go home?” you ask instead. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Yoongi glances at you out of the corner of his eye for a moment, then sighs and redirects his attention to the road. “Okay.”

୨ৎ

When you get back to the apartment, you can tell the conversation isn’t actually over.

You both slip off your shoes in silence. Silence that continues as Yoongi sheds his jacket and hangs up his keys and you find somewhere to stow the box you came home with. But he’s being twitchy, and you can tell he wants to say something more.

It’s driving you crazy.

You shove the box in the corner of the living room to deal with later and whirl around to face him, annoyed.

“Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”

Yoongi, who’s in the middle of adjusting the Dodgers cap on his head, freezes at the threshold of the living room, caught.

“Who said I was thinking anything?”

“We’ve known each other for how long?”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it,” he hesitates, which just annoys you even more.

“And now I’m saying spit it the fuck out,” you snap.

Yoongi’s been on the receiving end of your stubborn streak more times than he can count, so you know he knows better than to fight you on this. 

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face as his feet guide him a little further into the room. You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he gathers his thoughts, clearly trying to choose his words carefully before they come out of his mouth.

Normally, you’d appreciate it, but right now it sets your teeth on edge.

“Look,” he starts after a moment, “it just pisses me off that you keep talking like there’s something, like, fundamentally wrong with you.”

You cross your arms defensively. “Well, up until about a month ago, I thought there was.”

“But there isn’t!” he says, gesturing wildly. “There’s nothing wrong with you! I mean, fuck, how many times do I need to make you cum before I finally get through to you?”

Oh, this really does piss him off.

You scoff. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“You want me to?” 

“Yes!”

“Fine. Your ex was a fucking loser.”

Wow.

You’re so stunned that you visibly back down, arms dropping limply at your sides. You didn’t exactly have a quippy response locked and loaded for that one.

Yoongi keeps going.

“You keep saying he was a nice guy,” he continues, “but nice guys don’t break up with their girlfriends over shit like that. Did he even try to talk to you about it before he decided making you cum wasn’t worth his effort? Did any of them?” 

The bluntness of his words hit like a slap, forcing your eyes down to the floor where you’re suddenly very interested in your sock choice of the day. 

Turquoise with yellow stars, and there’s a tear you didn’t notice in the heel of the left one. You can try to mend it, you think, but it would be so much easier to retire them entirely.

Hm.

“I hate the way you talk about your exes. Like they’re fucking saints for deigning to touch you or something. Because you’re so hard to figure out, right? You’re not.”

You look up from studying the hole in your sock. 

“You’re not hard to figure out,” he reiterates, stepping closer. “It only took me a few minutes, didn’t it?”

Something about the way he says that makes your face instantly hot. How, how, how does he sound so sure of himself? Of you? 

It’s baffling, maddening, completely unbelievable that he can think of this as anything other than a fluke. A product of sheer luck (his, not yours), or experience (again, his).

“Because I told you what I was into,” you try to reason.

“You really think I wouldn’t have figured it out anyway?”

“You’ve known me my entire life! Don’t act like you don’t have an advantage here.”

“No, I listened to you,” he says, jabbing his index finger at his own chest, repeating, “I listened to you. I paid attention. It isn’t rocket science.”

Your brow furrows. Suddenly, it feels like you’re talking about something else entirely. 

“I’m sorry, when did this become a competition between you and my exes?”

“It didn’t! It isn’t!” he insists. He’s pacing now, feet mapping the same semi-circle over and over. “I’m just sick of you talking about your past relationships like you were somehow the only one at fault for the way they ended. I don’t like seeing you punishing yourself for other people’s shitty behavior.”

You laugh humorlessly. “Because you’re the only one who’s supposed to be punishing me, right?”

At that, Yoongi stills. Looks you dead in the eye. 

“You know,” he says, his voice suddenly dangerously low, “maybe I should.”

You blink, eyes widening like a deer caught in the headlights. Or maybe, more accurately, caught in the crosshairs. 

Oh.

“You aren’t serious,” you say weakly, because you were fucking joking. Or, at least, you think you were joking. 

But the look on his face tells you he doesn’t think shit is funny.

“I could be,” he says. “Maybe you fucking need it.”

Oh.

“What are you gonna do?” you weakly taunt. “Make me cum until I stop talking badly about myself?”

Yoongi tilts his head in consideration. 

“That’s an idea,” he admits. “But not quite what I have in mind.”

“No? Then what? You gonna spank me?”

Amusement flashes over his features, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek to poorly mask a smirk.

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You’d like that too much, I think. Defeats the purpose.”

That just pisses you off even more.

“Well, are you planning on telling me anytime soon? Or are you just gonna keep me in suspense?”

“I’m kind of enjoying letting you run your mouth.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“See?”

You glare at him and he just stares back, so maddeningly calm that you’re the first to break, looking back down at your stupid socks.

You don’t know how he can even be so calm, how his head isn’t spinning like yours is. Only seconds ago, you were arguing. Something you and Yoongi don’t do that often to begin with. And then you opened a door, a door you didn’t even intend to open, a door that leads to… fuck.

Sexy landmines everywhere.

You’re not super upset about it, not really, but it’s a little pathetic, isn’t it? You shouldn’t fold this easily. You should have some dignity. 

“Who says I even want to do anything?” you mutter after a moment, because it’s the last line of defense you have. 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for so long that you honestly think he’s going to back off. 

It would make sense. He’s a boundaries guy, he’s made that clear. And this is unfamiliar territory for you. Light reprimand for talking back or teasing during a scene is one thing, but what he’s suggesting? Full-scale punishment? 

Maybe he’s decided you’re out of your depth.

“Say it, then.”

At the sound of his voice, you lift your head, brows drawn together.

“What?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “Tell me you don’t want it. This all happens on your terms, remember? I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to.”

His gaze drags over your face for a moment, studying you. You’re sure there are a million tells in your expression, clear as day for him to catalogue, but you have no idea what they are. You wish you knew. You wish it were easier for you to hide how much you want him.

“But I think you do,” he adds.

You lick your lips. “What makes you think that?”

He closes the distance between you, and you barely fight off your urge to back yourself against the wall. 

On a normal day, Yoongi is about as threatening as a newborn kitten, poor eyesight and all. But whenever he gets like this, you feel your heartbeat in your throat. You feel like the defenseless animal.

You don’t know what it says about you, that you like it so much.

“You mean other than you giving me suggestions on how I should punish you?” 

He cups your jaw, littlest finger pressed firm against your carotid. You wonder if he can feel your blood rushing. 

“Very cute, by the way,” he murmurs, voice so low it practically vibrates through you. “You think I need suggestions?”

Fuck.

Your eyelids flutter. You can feel yourself slipping, your body swaying into his. Whatever magnetic pull exists between you in this moment is so much stronger than the weak dregs of defiance you pathetically try to scrape together.

“Shut up,” you breathe.

“Nuh-uh.” A light squeeze to your jaw draws your eyes to his again. “Do you want it or not?”

Your throat feels so dry. “I…” you start, but nothing else comes out.

“That’s funny,” he teases. “You seemed perfectly capable of using your words a minute ago.”

Your lips flatten into a line at his condescending tone, but you’re getting wet. You can feel it, and you like it, because you’re a sicko.

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes. “Yes or no?”

“Fine,” you grit out. “Yes.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “I think you can be a little nicer than that, can’t you?”

You stare at him, slackjawed.

“You want me to say please?” you ask. “Seriously? You want me to plead with you to punish me?”

“I think the practice will do you some good,” he says with an infuriating shrug.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I just have a feeling you’re going to be saying it a lot in about…” he trails off, checking his non-existent watch, “five minutes?”

Asshole.

Complete fucking asshole.

But you did, quite literally, sign up for this. You can’t deny that you’re more than a little curious about what he’s got in store for you, although the circumstances of the whole thing are a bit strange.

“Please,” you bite out through clenched teeth. “Will you please punish me?”

Yoongi looks so pleased with himself.

“Of course, baby,” he replies smoothly. “If that’s what you think you need.”

“I hate you.”

“Uh-huh, sure. Is your laptop in your bedroom?”

This conversation is just throwing you for a loop at every turn. You blink hard, shaking your head in confusion when you ask, “yeah, why?”

He nods his head towards the hallway. “Let’s go.”

And then suddenly you’re faced with his broad back through the fabric of his worn Supreme tee as he retreats down the hallway, just innately expecting you to follow.

Which you do.

Once inside, you tentatively grab your laptop from your desk and set it at the foot of your bed, although you still aren’t sure why you need it in the first place. The look Yoongi gives you, eyebrows raised as if to says, ‘well?’, prompts you to bend at the waist and open it up, but when the screen wakes and prompts you to type in your password, you glance at him over your shoulder.

“Is the laptop part of the punishment?” you joke. “Are you gonna smash it or something to teach me a lesson? It was expensive, you know.”

Yoongi snorts. “Are you gonna be a brat the whole time?” he counters. “You know you’re just making things worse for yourself, right?”

“I’m just making sure,” you defend with a smirk.

“Your laptop will be fine. C’mere.”

He gently grabs your wrist and pulls you to turn around and face him. Strong hands move to your hips, thumbs rubbing little circles just above the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You understand what’s about to happen?” Yoongi murmurs. 

You have the urge to continue being a brat and prolong this just to annoy him, but your curiosity wins out. You want to know what he’s planning. 

Plus, if you had to guess, this is probably the last time he’s gonna be nice for a while. So you decide to soak it in and not piss him off any more than you already have.

“You’re gonna punish me for talking badly about myself,” you say.

“Uh-huh. But I need you to know just because it’s a punishment doesn’t mean you can’t say no,” he reminds you. “You’ve still got your safewords. You can use them at any time and everything will stop. Understand?”

You nod.

“Words.”

“I understand,” you say.

“Good girl,” he says. He grips the brim of his cap and pulls it off, running his fingers through dark locks before putting it back on, backwards this time. Then, he grabs your wrist. “Come here.” 

He pulls you closer and you follow willingly until your body is flush with his. Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, and he leans down to kiss you. 

Doesn’t feel like much of a punishment, but you aren’t complaining. Yoongi is a great kisser. Maybe the best you’ve ever had. It doesn’t matter if it’s slow and lush, like this one, or if it’s heated and frantic. You feel it all the way down to your toes every single time, without fail.

By the time he pulls away, his hands spread over the small of your back, you’re already breathless. His forehead presses against yours for just a moment, and then he takes a step back.

“Remember when you told me about the research you were doing? On BDSM?” he asks suddenly.

You nod, although your brow creases in obvious confusion. 

Haven’t you already covered this? You don’t see why it would come up again. Is he planning on punishing you by making you talk shit to death again? Because honestly, that’d be pretty evil on his part.

“Why?” you ask.

“Well, you told me a little about the sites you signed up for. Articles. Shit like that.”

“Yeah…” you say, waiting for the point.

“And, okay, I guess it wouldn’t be totally out of character for a Wikipedia rabbithole to turn you on,” he jokes. “But I have a feeling you were leaving some stuff out. Call it a hunch.”

Oh no. 

Ohhhhh no, you have a feeling you know where he’s going with this.

Warily, you ask, “what… what kind of stuff?” 

Yoongi crosses his arms over his chest, his shirt stretching over the lean muscle hidden beneath. You try (and fail) not to stare. 

“You tell me,” he says.

“I have no idea.” You’re a lying liar who lies. 

“No?” he asks. “So you didn’t, say… watch any videos, during your research?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, ABORT MISSION! IS THIS WHY HE ASKED ABOUT YOUR LAPTOP???

“Like… like porn?” you stutter.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “Yeah. Like porn.”

Dread. Dread is what you’re feeling. Pure, unadulterated, put-your-heart-in-your-ass dread.

“I mean… I might’ve watched one…? But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Maybe I want to see it.”

FUUUUUUUUCK!!!

You laugh nervously, heat creeping up your neck. “Yoongi, no.”

“Why not? Are you embarrassed?”

Yes. “I mean… I probably wouldn’t even be able to find it,” you lie. Again. 

You’ve watched it countless times since that first night. The title is pretty much seared into your eyelids at this point. 

Yoongi clicks his tongue. “You’re a shitty liar. If you’re embarrassed, you can just tell me.”

You groan, annoyed. “Fine! I’m embarrassed.”

“Enough to use your safeword?”

Your lips part in sheer disbelief. 

Shit, he’s really on a roll tonight, isn’t he? You have no way of predicting what’s going to come out of his mouth next.

“I… no?” you finally manage.

Yoongi nods his head towards your laptop. “Prove it, then.”

Walking back over to your bed literally feels like walking the plank. You still don’t know what he’s planning, but whatever it is, you know it hasn’t even started yet. And you already hate every second.

You’re also soaking your underwear, but whatever! Whatever.

You bend down to finally unlock the screen fiddle with the trackpad as you pull up your browser (in an incognito tab, because you aren’t an animal). Meanwhile, Yoongi cages you in from behind, one hand braced on the mattress next to yours, while the other slides under your shirt to grope at your tits.

You try to type in the URL, and you get more than halfway through with immense effort, but your breathing picks up when he starts to tweak at your nipples, rolling the buds between his fingers. He kisses the back of your neck, openmouthed, and your thighs squeeze as another gush of arousal seeps into your panties.

“Focus,” he murmurs, and oh, you hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed.

He probably thinks you’re deliberately trying to prolong things, and if you had all of your brain power right now, maybe you would be. But you’re not. 

He’s just so…

You swallow hard, staring at the cursor blinking in the search bar as you fight for some composure.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and poise your hands to type again.

After a bit more effort, the garish site fills your laptop screen. Shame swirls in your gut as you locate the video, mingling with the pleasure-pain of him playing with your tits. You feel exposed, in more ways than one.

“There.”

Yoongi doesn’t even react. He just glances over your shoulder and asks, “want me to tell you what your punishment is?” 

“Please,” you pant.

He chuckles at how easily you say it as he gives your aching nipples a break to slip a hand beneath the waistband of your sweats. 

“You and I are gonna watch this video together…” He cups your pussy with his entire palm. It’s torture forcing yourself not to immediately grind down into the heat and pressure of it. “...While I play with this sweet cunt.”

Fuuuuckfuckfuckfuckfuckpleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—

Pause. 

Wait…

 “That’s it?” you ask breathlessly, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. “That doesn’t sound like a punishment…”

Yoongi takes advantage of the position to capture your lips in a quick kiss. “I haven’t told you the rules yet,” he murmurs.

You swallow, already dizzy. “What are they?” 

Yoongi uses his free hand to cradle your cheek, kissing you again, this time with tongue. You know it’s probably a distraction, something to disarm you, but you don’t care. It’s working. He’s touching you, he’s kissing you, and you can’t get enough.

His hand moves from under your sweatpants and you whine at the loss, but then he’s turning you in his hold and kissing you deeper.

You only break apart so he can shove your shirt up and over your head until you’re bare from the waist up. Your sweatpants go next, along with your panties, pushed roughly down your legs until they’re tangled at your feet. He’s still licking into your mouth as he helps you step out of them, until all that’s left is your star-patterned socks. You take those off yourself.

When he finally completely pulls back, you’re naked in front of him. His hand slips between your legs, fingers parting your folds and gathering wetness, sliding up to circle your clit. Your knees practically turn into jelly.

“Ah, fuck—”

“Feels good, baby?” he rasps, hooking his free arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Mhmmm…” 

“You’ve gotta tell me when you’re close, okay? That’s your first rule.”

“A-ah, yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically. If he keeps doing that, it isn’t going to take long at all. “I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah?” His motions speed up enough to make your thighs shake from the force of it. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yes!” You moan helplessly, pressing your face into the fabric of his shirt to dampen the sound.

“Promise?”

“Yes, fuck, I promise!”

“Good. ‘Cause your second rule is that you aren’t allowed to cum. Not until I say so.”

Eyes wide, your head jerks back so fast you swear you hear your neck crack. “What?” 

Yoongi doesn’t even falter. “You heard me.”

Oh, FUCK. That’s the punishment, then? 

A month ago, it would’ve made you laugh. In your mind, reaching orgasm wasn’t even in the cards, so the idea of holding one back? Unheard of. But you had a taste of it the night of the gala—when he almost made you cum just from playing with your nipples—and the memory is more than enough to know this is going to be fucking torture.

God, he’s good.

“Clearly making you cum whenever you want isn’t getting through to you,” he explains. “So maybe if I make you work for it, you’ll understand.”

“No, no, please,” you whine immediately, because he’s still rubbing your clit with terrifying precision and you’re already getting close enough that the threat feels real.

“This is the nice version, baby,” he coos, nipping at your neck. “Trust me, if you decide to break my rules and cum anyway, you’ll be getting a lot worse than that.”

Your stomach drops at the thought. You believe him. This is evil mastermind level punishment, so you don’t even want to know what his mind deems as worse.

“Are you gonna break my rules?”

“No,” you pant quickly. “I won’t.” And because you’re trying to prove it, you will yourself to admit, “I’m close.”

“That’s my good girl.” And then he pulls his hand away completely.

You make a broken sound at the loss, while Yoongi simply climbs onto the bed, settling back against the headboard with his legs spread comfortably.

“Sit,” he says, patting the space between his thighs.

You scramble onto the mattress immediately. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you against his chest so your body rests between his spread legs, the bare skin of your back pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt. Him fully clothed where you’re completely bare. You’re figuring out he likes it like that.

He reaches around you to drag your laptop closer.

“Show me,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the trackpad. Making you press play yourself.

Your body feels rigid as the familiar frames play out in front of you, the low voice of the dom filling your ears as the camera adjusts. Yoongi watching over your shoulder like this makes you so much more aware.

Fuck, now that you’re paying attention, this guy’s timbre is kind of similar to Yoongi’s…

And then the sub appears, bound to the headboard by her wrists, thighs forcibly held open by a spreader bar. There’s a needy, dazed look in her eyes as she squirms just at the idea of being used.

It bothers you that you can’t see Yoongi’s face. That you can’t tell whether he’s judging you.

You snap out of it when Yoongi’s hands ease your thighs apart. You hadn’t even noticed you’d closed them, probably unconsciously did so out of embarrassment. 

“Shy?”

“No,” you lie.

“Good,” he says, and then repositions you so your legs are draped over his spread thighs, making it that much harder for you to close them again. He gestures towards the screen, at the spreader bar locked around the woman’s calves. “‘Cause I’ll get you one of those if I have to.”

Your pussy clenches greedily at the thought. 

“You’re telling me you don’t have one already?” you ask.

You know if you keep mouthing off you’re bound to face consequences, but you can’t help taking such an easy shot. Plus, you’re genuinely curious.

Yoongi hums. “I prefer using my hands.”

OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His hand dips between your thighs, fingers lightly trailing over your slit. You twitch at the contact, releasing a surprised puff of air.

“Relax,” he murmurs against the back of your neck. 

How are you supposed to be anything other than tense in this situation? Humiliated, hopelessly turned on, actively being punished—that is not a recipe for relaxation! 

Still, you don’t talk back this time. You try to do as he says, even though every inch of your skin feels as if it’s on fire.

You lean back into the cradle of his body, inhaling deeply through your nose. Exhaling slowly. Allowing yourself to finally melt just the tiniest bit when Yoongi’s fingers gently relocate your throbbing clit.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Remember your rules?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Gonna add another one,” he tells you. The hand not currently teasing you into madness snakes up between your breasts until he’s got a firm hold on your face, squishing your cheeks. He directs your attention back to your laptop screen. “You’ve gotta actually watch.”

Shit.

Right then, the man’s hand moves from the woman’s throat, rearing back to deliver a light slap to her cheek. A shiver runs down your spine. It’s exactly what you asked—begged—Yoongi to do to you the first time you were together, and now he knows where you got it from.

As if he can read your thoughts, the hand holding your face moves to gently pat your cheek, mimicking what you just watched. You gasp.

“Like that?”

Fucking obviously, you think. He knows that. But you bite it back, giving a jerky nod instead. The woman on your screen, much more courageous than you, begs to be fucked.

In response, the man delivers another slap, this time to her pussy. Yoongi’s hand on yours stops cold, and you go rigid all over again. 

“Like that, too?” he asks.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out.

“Color?”

“Green,” you rush out.

“Answer me, then.”

You squirm in his hold, eyes still fixed on the screen. The dom has his cock out now, one hand wrapped around the base as he teases the tip up and down his sub’s cunt, drawing pathetic whines from her throat. She’s spread open so wide you can see the way her hole clenches and unclenches in anticipation.

“I think I do,” you admit shakily. “I don’t know.”

Yoongi hums, seemingly satisfied if the way his fingers continue their gentle rubbing is anything to go by. 

“Wanna find out?” he asks breezily.

You force yourself to set your shame aside, because yes. Yes, you want to find out. That’s what all of this is for, right? So you can try these things with someone you trust? So you nod.

Yoongi taps your cheek again, harder this time. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you pant. “I want to find out.”

“Mm.” The couple on your screen is fucking now, you notice. Hard not to, with the way the woman is wailing in pleasure. In relief. “Say ‘please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi.’”

Oh holy fuck!!! 

Is he serious? He can’t be serious, right?

“Yoongi,” you whine, wiggling your hips in an attempt to increase the friction on your clit and evade his request all at once.

“No,” he reprimands, swatting your cheek a third time. This one stings enough to make you moan. “Say it, baby.”

God, he’s cruel. You can’t believe he’s really making you say this shit, and you’re just!!! You like it! You like how it’s making you feel! 

“Please…” You swallow thickly. “Please spank my needy cunt, Yoongi…”

You feel Yoongi’s amused huff against your nape. “Cute,” he mocks. “You’re trying so hard to be good, aren’t you? You must really want it.”

There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, meekly, you ask, “are you gonna…?”

“Spank your needy cunt?” Yoongi finishes smugly. All you can manage is a nod in response. “I’ll think about it.”

Record scratch.

“But—”

Whatever pathetic plea was bound to come out of your mouth is cut short when Yoongi’s hand dips lower, a single finger breaching your folds.

His laugh is fuller this time, throaty. “Shit, you’re squeezing me so tight, baby,” he rasps, dragging his finger all the way out just to thrust it back in so deep your eyes roll back into your head. “Does it feel that good?”

You’re so wet you can hear it, even over the sounds emanating from your tinny laptop speakers. Skin slapping. Ragged breaths. Their sex mixing with yours, completely at odds with one another. Yoongi is moving so slowly in comparison, dragging things out just to torture you. Punish you.

“Yes,” you pant, but you can’t help but squirm. You want more.

And thank god Yoongi has apparently been gifted the ability to read your fucking mind, because before you can even ask, another finger plunges in alongside the first. 

The angle is a little weird to start, the added intrusion throwing things off. But then you adjust your thighs, spreading them even wider where they’re hooked over his, tilting your hips up just a bit, and suddenly it’s perfect. 

“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezing shut. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, and the hand holding your face adjusts to rest lightly at your throat instead. “Please don’t stop.”

You feel his hum reverberate against your back, deep in his chest. He doubles his efforts, fingers fucking you a little faster in response, his shallow breaths tickling your ear and mixing with the slick sounds in the air. The hand at your throat squeezes, just a little. You don’t know if it’s purposeful, but it makes you moan all the same.

He’s too good at this. He’s right, it only took him a few minutes to figure you out. If there were some kind of competition to be won, he’d win it by a landslide. It wouldn’t even come close. 

Because now that you think about it, nothing you and Yoongi have done together has been too crazy, too far outside of the realm of what you’ve done with others. You’ve barely even scratched the surface of his scary-exhaustive list of Deviant Sexual Acts. You haven’t needed them.

He’s capable of getting so much out of you from so little. You guess you have his slut era to thank for that—which was, apparently, also the era where he learned how to fucking talk like he does. In that way that makes all the hair on your body stand up. 

You have to give credit where credit is due.

You feel like you’re burning up. Your muscles spasm as Yoongi’s fingers curl and rub at your inner walls, and when his thumb joins the mix to stimulate your clit in tandem, you realize with dread that you’re about to cum.

It’s kind of funny. You told him not to stop, and now you have to tell him the opposite.

Chest heaving, you moan, “think I’m gonna…” 

You hope that’s enough for him. You don’t really want to say anything at all.

In response, Yoongi—the bastard—has the audacity to laugh at you, breath puffing against the back of your neck. “Yeah, I could tell.”

The pumping of his fingers slows, and your orgasm slowly recedes. Which is enough to make you whine on its own, but it certainly doesn’t help that now that he’s worked you up so much, you’re unbelievably sensitive. Even the languid pace he’s set now is enough to have you squirming in his hold.

“Still good?” he asks.

“I kind of want to kill you.” 

He laughs again. “Mm. Are you tapping out?”

You stretch your neck awkwardly to give him a flat look. “Are you gonna let me cum anytime soon?” you counter.

“If I feel like you’ve learned your lesson, maybe.”

If he thinks you’re going to unlearn literal years of psychological bullshit just by denying you a few orgasms, he’s got another thing coming. It isn’t that easy. 

Still, you’re no quitter.

“I’m not tapping out,” you sigh. “I’m actively fantasizing about smothering you with a pillow, but I’m not tapping out.”

“Whatever works for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Green, go, get on with it.”

“Don’t be like that,” Yoongi murmurs, and you absolutely intend to continue being like that, but his lips find the side of your neck before you can, tongue laving over your pulse as his fingers continue to lazily pump in and out of you. Instinctively, you tilt your head to give him better access. “I’m doing this for a reason, baby. I’m not being mean just to be mean.”

His reason is stupid. He’s stupid.

“Your reason is stupid,” you mumble, although it’s half-hearted. Logic isn’t really on your side here. Everything feels so nice. 

“I don’t think so. You’re already proving my point, aren’t you?”

The hand at your throat slides down to grope at your chest, squeezing each breast once before settling in to tease his thumb over one of your nipples, still stiff and sensitive from earlier.  

You moan, hips wiggling to coax his fingers deeper, and Yoongi lets out a groan that sounds almost pained as he obligingly picks up the pace. You haven’t been able to see any of his reactions this whole time, forced to face away from him, so the audible evidence that he’s affected by this too—maybe just as much as you are—turns you on even more.

“You think something’s wrong with you?” he rasps, nipping at the shell of your ear and causing you to shiver. “‘Cause it doesn’t seem like it from where I’m sitting.”

You can’t help but preen openly at the praise.

“How could anything ever be wrong with you? Shit, I wish you could see yourself, baby. So pretty. So fucking perfect for me.”

All over again, you’re so wound up you’re about to cum. He says things with such certainty it makes it damn near impossible to doubt him, and the idea that he sees you like that? That he thinks you’re perfect like this? It’s a good thing your eyes are closed, because if you were to open them and make eye contact with him in any way, you’d be a goner.

“Yoongi, I—”

“I know, I know,” he soothes, clearly taking pity on you this time. But unfortunately for you, this time he backs off completely, withdrawing his fingers from your aching cunt. You can’t stand it.

“Please,” you beg, eyes wide as your neck strains to look behind you. “Please, please, please let me, I can’t—”

Yoongi shushes you, the tip of his nose brushing your temple. “Just a few more, yeah?” he says, pressing a kiss there. “You’re doing so good for me. You can take a little more.”

You don’t see how that could possibly be true, but it’s not like you have much of a choice. So, weakly, you nod your consent for him to keep going.

“You sure it’s okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, swallowing hard. “Green, just… mm, please touch me, Yoongi…”

“Fuck,” Yoongi grunts, shifting behind you and immediately snapping your attention to the thick press of his cock against your lower back. Fuck indeed. You’re going insane. “Think you can take it if I get a little rough?”

“Yes,” you whoosh out instantly, uncaring of how needy you sound. Suddenly, you don’t have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. “I can take it, I promise.”

He makes a low sound in his throat, and then, sudden enough to make you cry out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and roughly forces your gaze back to your laptop screen.

“Fuck—!” 

“Remember what I told you to do?”

You can barely think, let alone speak! Three denied orgasms, and now he’s switching up on you so fucking fast, like it’s as easy as breathing for him. You whimper and blink hard as you grasp at straws for any coherent thought.

“A-ah, um, you,” you gasp, licking your dry lips, “y-you told me to watch!”

“Were you watching?” he demands.

“Yes! I-I, fuck, I was trying—”

“Then try harder this time,” he says, and then he splits you open on his fingers again.

“Ah—!”

You don’t even try to bite back your sounds—it would be useless. Up until now, Yoongi has been relatively gentle. Coaxing. Teasing. Now, the pace he sets is cruel.

“Oh my god, Yoongi—”

Your hands fly to grip his forearm just for something to hold on to. If your body wasn’t so securely cradled in his, you’re sure you’d be careening off the mattress. 

“Shit, I fuckin’ love when you say my name like that,” Yoongi groans, but even as he praises you, his grip at your scalp tightens. “Watch, baby.”

Fuck, right, you’re supposed to be doing something. Somehow, you just barely manage to keep your eyes open, your bleary vision fixed on the filthy scene playing out in front of you.

For someone who has probably never seen this video, Yoongi’s timing is sick. Because when your eyes finally focus, you’re greeted with the sight of the dom pulling out to stroke his cock fast and hard while his sub lays beneath him, still shaking with the tremors of her orgasm. You swallow hard when a throaty moan sounds from the speakers, thick spurts of cum landing all over the sub’s stomach and cunt.

Yoongi’s fingers falter just slightly, and behind you, his dick twitches hard against the small of your back.

Oh.

The overworked gears in your brain stutter back to life all at once, and suddenly, you’re overwhelmed at the thought of being fucked. Of Yoongi fucking you. This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed your mind in recent memory, but it’s certainly the first time you’ve felt this desperate for it. 

You can imagine it so clearly. Yoongi flipping you over and fucking you hard, giving it to you so good you can’t help but scream into the mattress just like the girl in the video. Pulling out and marking you with his cum, maybe on your back, or your stomach, or your tits, or your face. Maybe he wouldn’t pull out at all. Maybe with his last thrust, he’d press his hips even harder into your ass to get as deep as possible.

You’re so caught up in the fantasy—mouth hanging open on a moan, eyes heavy-lidded, practically drooling—that you don’t register your screen going black. You don’t register the grip on your hair disappearing. You don’t register anything at all except the pleasure sparking hot in your stomach, spreading like wildfire through every limb in your body as Yoongi pounds you closer and closer to—

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The fingers stuffing you full withdraw so fast it sends you reeling, and before you can even ask why, Yoongi’s full palm comes down hard on your aching pussy.

“Ohhh!” you wail, clit throbbing.

“Filthy slut,” Yoongi spits. “You think you can get away with breaking the rules now?”

You blink hard, tears pricking at your eyes. What? What is he talking about? “I-I… I don’t…” 

His knuckles graze the side of your face, the fleeting gentleness tethering you back to reality for a moment. “Color, baby,” he says softly.

Your chest heaves as you gulp a big breath, turning your head to look back at him. There’s a crease between his brows, but it’s in concern, not anger. Like he’s nervous he took it too far.

Your Yoongi.

“Green,” you whisper. 

You want to say more. You want to tell him how much you liked it, how much you want him to do it again. But you can’t find the words, so you silently hope that’s enough.

Yoongi lightly traces your cheekbone with his thumb. “Want a breather?”

You shake your head. “I’m okay, just…” You crane your neck a little more, tilting your head towards him in what you hope is a clear request for a kiss.

Thankfully, Yoongi gets the hint, dipping down to gently press his lips to yours once, twice. On the third, he lingers, deepening the kiss just enough for you to relax in his hold. 

“C’mere,” he murmurs, reaching past your body to shut your laptop and push it closer to the edge of the bed. Satisfied, he takes a minute to rearrange your bodies so you’re laying on your back beneath him. “Let’s slow down anyway, okay? Just for a minute.”

Part of you wants to reassure him that you’re fine, that you don’t need to be coddled just because you’re a beginner, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Not when he’s finally allowing you to face him.

Instead, you loop your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back in. Your thighs spread wide to accommodate his body between them as he kisses you thoroughly, over and over until the scattered pieces of your mind lock back into place.

Satisfied, Yoongi sucks gently at your bottom lip before soothing the sting with his tongue, pulling back to admire your swollen mouth. “Feeling good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, hands sliding down from his shoulders and over his chest. “You’re mean.”

Yoongi huffs. “Too mean?” he jokes, but you can tell he’s genuinely wondering.

“No,” you softly insist. “Not too mean.” Then, you pause. “Actually, the not letting me cum part is pretty evil.”

His responding laugh is real this time, your own worries quelled by the sight of his gums showing. “You knew what you were signing up for,” he reminds you, features settling into something gentle and fond. “I make you cum literally every day. I think you’ll survive a little longer.”

“Nooooo,” you complain. “There’s more?”

“Only if you’re really okay,” he says, kissing your pout away. “Wanna taste you.”

The thought makes your body heat up all over again, your eyelids fluttering shut and hips lifting all at once. “Oh?” 

“Mhm,” Yoongi hums against your lips. His hips roll down, his clothed cock pressing against your still-soaked cunt. “You like that idea?”

You nod eagerly, a breathy moan tumbling from your parted lips. “Uh-huh…”

“Even if I still don’t let you cum?”

“Yoongi…” you whine. 

“C’mon, baby,” he coaxes, sliding his hand between your legs again. “Don’t you want me to eat this pretty cunt?”

Your head falls back against the mattress. You moan softly, looking up at him as he tenderly traces your oversensitive slit with one finger.

He drives a hard bargain, he really does. You hear what he’s really offering loud and clear—you can either say yes, and he’ll edge you until he’s satisfied enough to finally give you what you want, or you can say no, and everything stops now.

It’s still a punishment, after all.

So you take a breath, gather all the determination you can, and say “yes.”

Eyes still locked on yours, Yoongi smirks, his hand retreating. He braces his hands on each side of your head. “Do you want me to be nice about it?” he asks. 

You know why he’s asking. He’s making sure you can take it, after everything you just did.

You don’t even hesitate. “Fuck no.”

Delighted, Yoongi grins. “That’s my girl.”

And then he’s quickly sitting up, his strong hands taking hold of your hips to roughly flip you over. You gasp, bouncing against the mattress once before he yanks you up onto your hands and knees.

You don’t even get a chance to adjust to the new position before a hand cracks down harshly on your ass. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut as you brace yourself for more.

“Don’t think I’m letting you off the hook,” Yoongi says, spanking you again. “You think you can cum without my permission?”

“N-no!”

“No,” he agrees. “Because that was one of, what, three things I asked you to do? If you have such a hard time following simple instructions, I think I’m gonna have to punish you more often. Train you up.”

The thought makes you dizzy. Honestly, just the phrasing makes you dizzy, a reminder that while you may be new to this, Yoongi isn’t. Not even a little. 

His palms smooth over your ass, kneading and squeezing unabashedly, like it’s a simple fact that he gets to touch you however he pleases. And to prove him right, you practically mewl, pushing back into his touch.

“Oh, you like that idea, huh?” Yoongi asks, sucking his teeth. “Knew you would. Such a nasty fucking girl.”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, unashamed. 

“No wonder you couldn’t cum with anyone else, baby.”

You look over your shoulder in surprise at his words, only to find him biting his lower lip as he admires your pussy. His thumbs dig into the softness of your inner thighs, spreading you open even further. When he looks up to meet your eyes, he raises a brow.

“They didn’t treat you like the slut you are.”

His words steal the breath from your lungs, and before your brain can fully process what they mean, Yoongi surges forward to push your head back down.

“Still green?” he asks.

Cheek pressed into the sheets, you breathe your muffled consent, and then the mattress dips behind you. After some shifting, Yoongi’s hands spread over your ass again, holding you open.

“Oh, shit,” you moan when he kisses your clit.

He told you he was going to eat you out, but you didn’t know he was planning to do it like this. There’s something so dirty about it, being on all fours while his tongue darts out to taste you.

Yoongi hums in satisfaction, the sound vibrating through you before he pulls back, breath ghosting over your soaked folds.

“You remember your rules?” he asks.

Your chest heaves. “D-don’t cum without permission.”

“And?”

“Tell you when I’m close.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He gives your ass a gentle squeeze. “Keep that shit up, you understand?”

“Yeah,” you pant, digging your knees further into the bed to stabilize yourself. 

Yoongi doesn’t waste any time after that. 

He licks a luxurious stripe up your slit, collecting your arousal on his tongue and groaning into you at the taste, to which you respond with your own strangled moan. Fuck. He’s already so good at this to begin with, you don’t know how long you’re going to last with how sensitive you’ve become. 

Every delicious stroke has your thighs trembling, breathy whimpers spilling into the sheets as he fucks his tongue into you, using his grip on your ass to lock your squirming body into place.

Surely you must be dripping onto the sheets by now, with the way he’s devouring you. You wish you could see, but it’s almost hotter like this—only being able to hear the way he messily laps and slurps at your cunt.

And then, just when you think you can’t take anymore, he switches course.

“O-oh!” you cry, your legs nearly giving out when his lips wrap around your angry, swollen clit. 

But Yoongi doesn’t take pity on you. If anything, he doubles his efforts, sucking so ruthlessly your vision whites out. You do your best to clench your muscles in a desperate attempt to keep your orgasm at bay, but at this point, it’s only making things worse. There’s no way you can hold back anymore.

“Yoongi,” you cry, “I can’t—fuck, please, please, I’m gonna—!”

Suddenly, the warmth of his mouth leaves you entirely. Yoongi slings his left arm around your shoulders, hauling you up until you’re seated in his lap, your sweat-slick back pressed against his chest again. Your head is forced back against his shoulder when his arm tightens, bicep and forearm squeezing at your throat. You reel at the way he’s used that deceptive strength of his to manhandle you exactly how he wants you.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna cum,” you gasp, unable to control the way you squirm, grinding back against his cock.

“Yeah, I know,” Yoongi snarls into your ear. “‘Cause you know you can, don’t you? How many times would you have cum already if I let you, hm?”

“F-four…”

“Four is nothing, baby,” he mocks. “You’re already done? I can do this all night.”

Your eyes go wide. “N-no, Yoongi, please, I’ve been so good!”

“If you wanna cum, tell me what you’re gonna do to earn it.”

Fuck! You can barely even remember what you’re being punished for anymore. Your brain has gone all fuzzy again, exacerbated by the delicious pressure at the sides of your neck. All you’re able to grasp onto is your single-minded need to cum, right now.

“I…” You gulp a breath, vision swimming. “I don’t know what you want… Please…”

He loosens his hold on you. “Do you want to stop?”

“No!” you panic. Your hands fly up to grip his bicep, nails biting as you encourage him to squeeze again. “Nonono, green, fuck, I’m okay!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Yoongi hums. “But you want me to make you cum,” he clarifies, and you nod eagerly. He chuckles, breath tickling your ear. “You need it, baby?”

“Need it,” you moan.

“Hm.” He takes a moment to consider that, nosing the side of your neck. “Well, maybe we can switch things up a little.”

You perk up instantly, straining to look at him behind you. “Really?”

He smirks. “Don’t get too excited.”

Fuck that! You can barely contain yourself! 

You grin at him, eyes sparkling. “Sorry,” you say breathlessly, not meaning it at all.

“Uh-huh.” His arm drops from around your neck, his palm coming down on the side of your thigh. “Lie back.”

You instantly scramble off of his lap and flip flat onto your back, spreading your legs. Is he going to fuck you? You hope he’s going to fuck you. 

“Shit,” he groans, sounding amused and turned on all at once. He climbs over you, caging you in. “Look at you. So fuckin’ easy for me, aren’t you?”

“Mhm,” you agree shamelessly. You tug gently at the front of his shirt, and Yoongi leans in to kiss you once, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Why’s that, huh?” he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip.

“‘Cause you make me feel so good,” you answer breathlessly. “Please make me feel good, Yoongi…”

“You make it hard to say no,” he says. “Too fuckin’ cute.” His hands run greedily over your spread thighs, stroking and squeezing. “Okay, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

“Thank you!” you moan, tilting your hips up towards him.

He laughs, scooting down on the bed until he’s kneeling between your legs. “Don’t thank me yet. This doesn’t mean your punishment is over.”

You sit up on your elbows, brow furrowing as you blink at him. “Wh-what?”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes dark. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he tells you, sinking his teeth into your inner thigh just to hear you yelp. “I’m gonna eat this pussy again, and you’re gonna be loud for me. You’re gonna scream my name until our neighbors know exactly who makes you cum so good.”

Your face goes hot, your stomach swooping.

“And then you’re gonna keep cumming,” he continues. “You’re gonna cum over and over until you have no choice but to tap out. Do you understand?”

Oh, fuck. You can’t even be mad at him for this, because you’re the one who suggested it in the first place. This is just what you get for running your mouth.

“I understand,” you manage, because what else can you say? You want to cum so badly.

“Good.”

And then he’s sucking on your clit with fervor, and you’re screaming just like he told you to.

“Yoongi—!”

Your first orgasm catches you by surprise. You’re so pent up that it crashes through you within mere seconds, your body floundering pathetically from the force of it. Yoongi just grunts in satisfaction, gripping your thighs tightly to keep you spread open beneath him as he feasts on you.

Because he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow down! He just adds even more, pushing three fingers inside your sopping cunt and making you shriek as they curl up to rub hard at your G-spot.

“Oooooh my god!” you cry out, another wave of pleasure wracking your body.

“Fuck yeah,” Yoongi groans against you, pistoning his fingers even harder, “cum again. Keep fucking cumming.”

And you do. 

Every time you think you can’t have any more left in you, that you can’t possibly cum again, you prove yourself wrong. You lose track, breaking over and over until you can’t tell where the last one ended and the next one begins.

“C-can’t take anymore, fuuuuck, p-please,” you plead. You reach down to push at his shoulders, but Yoongi uses his free hand to smack yours away, still mercilessly fucking you with the other.

He pulls back, the lower half of his face completely soaked. “Are you gonna use your safeword?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Then show me you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I’m sorry!” you wail. 

To your surprise, Yoongi stills his fingers inside you, watching your face intently. Something clicks into place.

“I-I’m sorry for talking badly about myself,” you continue, eyes welling up with a fresh wave of tears. “I-I don’t… I know there isn’t anything wrong with me.” You immediately shake your head, because that isn’t quite right. “I’m trying. I’m trying to know that. I’m trying to believe it.”

Yoongi’s expression softens. “I know.”

“I’ve felt this way for years, it isn’t…” Your words break off with a sniffle, your bottom lip trembling. “It isn’t easy to stop.”

“I know,” he repeats. Slowly, carefully, he withdraws his fingers.

“I need you to help me,” you say, tears streaming freely now. “I wanna stop. I wanna keep working on it, but I can’t… Will you help me?”

You don’t even really know what you’re asking for, if it makes any sense at all. All you know is that you only feel good lately when you and Yoongi are doing this. When he’s showing you exactly how not broken you are.

Maybe that was his point.

Yoongi wipes his hand off on his pants and moves closer to pull you up and into his arms, shushing you gently.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs against your hair. Overwhelmed, you sob into his chest, a pathetic, hiccupy sound that instantly makes Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “You’re okay, baby. I’ll help you. That’s all I wanna do.”

He holds you for a long time, rubbing your back as you get it all out. You haven’t cried like this since the first time, and this is so much more intense. You aren’t sure if it’s from the way your day began, seeing your ex, or if it’s from sheer overwhelm. Maybe it’s a mix of both, but regardless, it’s clear to both of you that you need it.

Once your breathing evens out, Yoongi carefully pulls back, nudging your chin up so you’re looking at him.

“You’d tell me if I gave you too much, right?” he asks, his words laced with clear concern. 

“It wasn’t too much,” you reassure him. “I think you were right. I think I needed it.”

Yoongi frowns, cradling your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have started anything while we were arguing like that. It wasn’t the right time. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him honestly. “It, like… It got me out of my head, you know? I liked it.”

Something in his expression changes then, just for a moment. It isn’t there long enough for you to know what it means or how he’s feeling about that. He just rubs your back some more, deep in thought.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, nudging you, “we’re gonna have a good week.”

Oh, right! After all the drama with your ex, you almost forgot about the trip.

Hoseok’s dance crew has a big showcase happening in Tokyo, so you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Taehyung are all flying out to support him. Your vacation time officially starts tomorrow, and you’ll be there for a whole week.

Your mouth lifts at the corners. “Yeah,” you say, thankful for the reminder.

“We’ve both been needing some vacation time, I think,” he says, matching your small smile. “No work, no exes. It’ll be fun. Get your mind off of things.”

You hum in agreement, resting your cheek against his shoulder. He’s right. It’s been a long time since you’ve taken a trip like this. For a long time, neither of you were able to afford it. Lately, you’ve both been so busy—you in particular.

But you took the time off months ago, and you’re excited for it. You know Hobi’s been working hard.

Suddenly, a thought pops into your head.

“Are we telling them?” you ask. “About, uh… this.”

Yoongi looks down at you. “Uh,” he says, surprised. “Do you want to?”

You only realize how ridiculous it sounds after you’ve asked—letting your friends in on the suddenly-sexual nature of you and Yoongi’s relationship because… why? Because they’d find it interesting?

“Actually, nevermind,” you say, covering your face with your hands. “Forget I asked.”

Yoongi’s chest shakes with a laugh. “I mean, if you want to tell them—”

“No,” you say emphatically. 

He gently pulls your hands from your face, his lips twitching at the corners when you finally open your eyes. “We won’t, then.”

“Good.”

“It isn’t anyone’s business unless you want it to be.”

“Good,” you repeat.

"Besides,” he continues, his thumb tracing slowly across your shoulder. "I kind of like this being ours."

You swallow. "Oh."

It’s unbelievably stupid, you think. After everything that happened today, that's what makes your stomach flip the hardest? Not the punishment. Not the orgasms.

I kind of like this being ours.

"Yeah," you agree softly, caught off guard.

And although you both have so much left to do tonight—dinner, packing, coordinating plans—you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of his arms for just a little bit longer.

୨ৎ

The next morning, Jimin and Taehyung arrive earlier than you expected them to.

You’ve been on trips with them before. Yoongi and Hoseok have a tendency to take point when it comes to vacations, the most punctual and practical of the group. You, on the other hand, used to be a nightmare when it came to getting anywhere early. But to your credit, that was back in college. Working in the adult world has beaten punctuality into you. Plus, living with Yoongi always meant that if there was somewhere to be, you woke up when he woke up. 

Jimin and Taehyung, though? They’ve always been the last ones out the door. Both have a tendency to preen, determined to look their best even if they’re going to be stuck in the airport (and then a stuffy metal tube) for hours. It only got worse when they started dating, because… well. Morning sex, of course.

So when you open the door still nursing your first cup of coffee, only to find both of them standing in the hallway with their luggage already in tow, it’s hard to mask your surprise.

"Good morning," Taehyung says breezily.

“Oh,” you say, eyes wide as you let them both in. “Yoongi’s not back yet.”

They both set their bags by the door and walk to the living room, dropping onto the couch.

"Where'd he go?" Jimin asks.

You shrug. "No idea."

Yoongi left over an hour ago, and all he'd said was that he had to run an errand before the flight. No explanation. No elaboration.

"He didn't tell you?"

"No."

That seems to surprise both of them. It surprises you a little, too.

Not because Yoongi reports his every movement to you—he obviously doesn't—but because it’s so unlike him on a day like this. He’s usually carting everyone to the airport with hours to spare, double and triple checking everyone has what they need.

The conversation drifts elsewhere—Hoseok's showcase, travel plans—until the sound of keys rattling outside finally cuts through the apartment.

The front door opens, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head.

Suddenly, you understand why he didn't tell anybody where he was going.

The longer hair he'd been sporting lately at the behest of his eomma is long gone. It’s significantly shorter now, exposing more of his forehead.

Yoongi closes the door behind him and sets a small shopping bag on the entryway table before looking up. Immediately, he catches three people staring at him.

"What?"

Taehyung blinks first. "You got a haircut."

"Oh,” he says, as if he'd forgotten.

Jimin squints. "When did you do that?"

"This morning."

"That's where you went?"

"Yeah."

The conversation continues around you, but you're only catching about half of it, too distracted by your monkey brain going haircuthaircuthaircuthaircut.

You hate that you're noticing things like the shape of his neck. Or the cut of his jaw. Or the fact that the delicate silver hoops in his ears are more visible now. 

He looks pretty.

Yoongi catches you staring. "Do you not like it?"

The question catches you completely off guard. Shit.

Jimin and Taehyung follow his gaze to you. Double shit!

"What?" you ask, heat creeping up your neck.

"My haircut."

"It's fine," you say.

The second the words leave your mouth, you know they were a mistake. Yoongi's eyebrows lift.

"'Fine?'" he repeats.

Taehyung looks between the two of you. "I think it looks good,” he offers.

"Thank you," Yoongi says.

“It makes you look like a baby,” he continues.

"Thank you?" 

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment,” Jimin says.

"Neither am I,” Yoongi says, glancing at you pointedly, “but it’s better than ‘fine.’”

Your cheeks are so hot at this point you don’t know how much more you can take.

"Can we please leave before we miss our flight?" you ask, standing up from the couch. “We have places to be, people!”

“Damn, hello Hoseok,” Jimin says, but still, thankfully, everyone starts grabbing their bags.

Once the luggage is packed into the trunk and the four of you are finally settled in the car (Yoongi in the driver’s seat, you in the passenger seat, Jimin and Taehyung in the back), your phone buzzes three times in your lap.

You pick it up and flip it over, squinting to your left when you see that it’s a text from Yoongi. You were wondering why he was spending so much time fiddling on his phone. You figured he might be checking the flight details one more time, or queueing up some music, but apparently not.

When you open it, your eyes widen. Oh. That’s why he texted you instead of saying it out loud, then.

Yoongi: I’m glad you like my haircut.

Yoongi: By the way, there’s a BDSM club in Tokyo I’ve been wanting to check out. If you’re down.

Yoongi: Think about it :-)

You slam your phone back down onto your lap before Jimin or Taehyung have a chance to be nosy, your cheeks going hot.

Fuck.

So much for this trip being relaxing.

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[dxsbeauty]

girl.

you need to be put in the hall of fame for this beauty. this made me feel ways i’ve never felt before.

[mei-mei-fics]

monomania | stalker!k.th

pairing: stalker!kim taehyung x afab!reader

synopsis: there was something odd about your regular customer, taehyung. he always came to your bakery, but only the days you worked. he tipped well, too well. when your hours become scarce, he finds other ways to show up around you. you notice him everywhere you go. your suspicions grow when he becomes your new neighbor.

wc: 15.5k (;-;)

warnings: age gap (reader is 21, taehyung is 31), stalking, implied violence, depressed taehyung, loser taehyung, ocd tendencies, clueless reader, sub/dom dynamics, submissive taehyung, dominant reader, heavy smut, implied suicidal tendencies, low self esteem reader and taehyung, codependency, manipulation, toxic dynamics, etc

Monomania 

monomania | ˌmänəˈmeinēə | noun exaggerated or obsessive enthusiasm for or preoccupation with one thing: she has an obsession with the drug that verges on monomania. 

There was something wrong with Taehyung. 

There were a few things in this world that Taehyung loved. He loves jazz music. The sultry melodies and the rhythmic sounds of brass instruments enticed him. He loved fashion. When people were creative, it inspired him more to chase after his own dreams and push his own ideas out to the world. He loved his camera. 

Because his camera was filled with pictures of you. 

Pictures of you at work. Your outfits. Your friends. The boys who occupied your attention from him. Your apartment. He especially loved taking pictures of your apartment. 

Whether you were there, whether you weren’t. He was obsessed with your apartment. 

Mainly because in his mind, you both shared the space. At least, it will be soon. 

It started almost one year ago.  

Taehyung worked long hours at a marketing company. He dreaded his job. Especially his coworkers and boss. 

The bakery down the street from his office was where he spent his lunch breaks occasionally. Until you started working there. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 2pm-6pm, you were there earning a buck. 

When he first noticed you, your kind smile and soft skin struck his eyes. He looked at you like you were a rare jewel on a sparkling necklace. Your voice was like honey, and your tone was gentle and sweet. 

“Welcome, May I take your order please?” 

He stared for almost a second too long. He returned your smile with his timid one. 

“A hot black coffee, and cheese croissant please,” 

You nodded, following along as you typed the order on the screen. “Cream, sugar, milk?” you questioned softly. 

He shook his head, pulling out a crisp $20 bill and handing it to you. “Please, keep the change,” 

Your eyes lit up at the kind gesture. “Thank you! I’ll make sure to have it right out to you!” You beamed as you handed him his receipt sweetly, waving him off. 

Taehyung reciprocated the smile, bowing his head and taking the receipt to his table by the window. His eyes trailed to you once he took his seat, watching as you interact with each customer. Kind eyes. Soft voice. Sweet demeanor. Like a princess, or an angel from a movie. You were the complete opposite of him. 

You seemed to enjoy your job, enjoy interacting with others. And everyone seemed to love interacting with you. This was quite the opposite for Taehyung. 

He hated others. He hated interactions. Everyone seemed to hate him too. 

“Here you go sir,” your voice sang as you placed a tray with his order down in front of him. 

Packets of sugar and various creamers amongst the trays. “I know you said you didn’t want any cream or sugar, but it seems like you’re having a rough day.  A little sugar wouldn’t hurt?” You suggested with a little grin, waiting for his reaction. 

He was wide-eyed and at a loss for words. You noticed his tense demeanor right beneath him, despite how kind he was while placing his order. You saw right through him. No. You noticed him. He’d never been noticed before. 

“Thank you,” he replied, watching you wave once more before turning on your heel back to your station. 

He eyed you as you took off, attending the counter once more. 

He cleared his throat before taking out his small digital camera, as he loved to snap photos of his meals every now and then. For some reason, the meal bestowed upon him from you deserved its own snapshot that day. So, he did. He snapped a photo before eating. 

As he exited, a chirp from you could be heard on his way out. “Have a great day! Come again!” 

His ears perked, head turning towards your beautiful expression again. Waving meekly before exiting the café. 

That was the day he decided to come again. And again. 

—— 

He came in again later that week around the same time. This time, you weren’t at the cash register, you were making the drinks. 

You smiled once you noticed him again. “Oh! Hi Sir, nice to see you again,” you exclaimed cheerfully. 

Taehyung was caught off guard. You’d remembered him, and it had only been the second time you’d seen him. Yes, you had left an impression on him, but did he leave one on you? 

“Hi, nice to see you. See you’re making the drinks today,” he chuckled awkwardly. He was never good at small talk. It was something his coworkers critiqued a lot about his behavior. The main reason why he didn’t speak to them now. 

You giggled back, nodding your head. “Black coffee again? Or could I make you something actually yummy today?” You questioned, grabbing a cup and sleeve as you headed towards the espresso machine. 

His brows were raised in surprise. Taehyung didn’t usually receive offers from anyone. Not even negative sarcastic ones. At his job, he simply did as told and continued on with his day. And he didn’t have any close friends either who would offer anything to him. 

“Oh, whatever you want to make is okay. I’m not picky,” 

You smiled, nodding as you began to make the beverage. A hot caramel coffee with whole milk and an extra pump of sugar. It was sweet. It was almost too sweet, but it was delicious.  

You sat the beverage on the pickup counter, signaling him to receive the drink. 

Taehyung shyly approached the counter, looking for confirmation. “Is this mine?” 

You nodded. “Try it! I think you’ll really like it,” 

He reluctantly picked up the warm cup, pulling it towards his lips as he took a long swig of the sweet coffee. He tasted the drink against his lips, his eyes widening at how much he enjoyed it. 

You clapped your hands cheerfully at his reaction.  

Cute.  

“It’s really good,” he complimented genuinely. You coined a big grin at his praise. 

“I’m so glad you liked it! I hate when people drink plain coffee, so I whipped this one up just for you,” you explained. 

Just for him? Favors and gifts were a foreign concept to Taehyung. Outside of his mother, he rarely received anything nice from those around him. Hell, he can’t even receive a day off from his company when it’s his birthday. 

“Hey uhm- I didn’t get rung up for this, how much is this?” He nervously remarked, his statement shushed once you shook your head. 

“Oh please, it’s on the house. You seem so stressed every time you come into the shop,” you replied, leaning against the counter as your eyes locked in with his. 

He took the opportunity to properly gaze upon your face. Eyeing every detail of your beautiful carved face. You were adorable. Your personality matched your beauty perfectly; it wasn’t something that could be disregarded or ignored by him. 

“I am,” he openly admits as he continued to sip his drink. “I work every day at that marketing building down there,” he pointed outside the window. 

Your eyes followed his direction. “Ahhh, I see. Marketing seems hard. I have school every day and work every other day afterwords, and I find myself getting really tired and stressed too. I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” 

On the outside, Taehyung nodded, following along with your words politely. But on the inside, he made mental notes. You worked every other day? Great. He’d figured out how to tailor his lunch breaks around your shifts. 

And school? Hm, what university could you go to? What is your major? How long did you have left?  

“Are you in college?” He simply asked, narrowing down his questions into one simple umbrella. 

You nodded, humming an ‘mhm’ to him. “It’s my third year. I’m a student at the downtown campus, focusing on healthcare,” you answered him. 

Taehyung's smile grew. Healthcare, third year? It made perfect sense. Your caring demeanor and youthful appearance. 

He looked at his watch and scoffed at the time. “I have to go back to work sadly,” he sighed, a furrowing of his brows amongst his face as he frowned. 

You returned the small frown, nodding your head before you waved off. 

“Wait!” You erupted as he turned his back. 

His brows cocked in confusion. 

“What’s your name sir,” you politely asked finally. 

He was taken aback, before clearing his throat to answer. “Taehyung,” 

Taehyung. The name registered in your mind from there on out. “Y/n, nice to meet you sir,” you introduced. 

Your name stuck with him like glue. He repeated your name to himself for the rest of the day. A name belonging to the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.  

———- 

Following his next few visits, Taehyung took his lunch breaks as an opportunity to get to know you more. At least, it started off innocently. 

He learned about your favorite food, your favorite class, and even sat on lunch breaks with you. He rarely spoke about himself, but with you, he felt free enough to let you in. 

He was older. Much older, but to you, he was just a really kind customer who spent 30 minutes every few days with you. Made your shifts go by quicker, tipped you well. 

But God, were you so much more than that to him. 

You slowly became the reason why Taehyung woke up every morning. Why he became less irritated at work, why he sprayed extra cologne on in the morning, and starched his outfits every night. 

You became the reason Taehyung took long walks around the city, hoping he could catch more traces of you. 

When you told Taehyung you were going to the library after work, he took it upon himself to go as well. Not with you, that would be overstepping a boundary. No. He disguised himself in a narrow corner by the entrance of the library, watching you walk in with a friend of yours to the study space. 

He eyed you from the corner, watching you place your earbuds in and highlight over your textbook. He took in the way the warm lights highlighted your face. How cute your scrunched nose adorned you as you were deeply focused on your book. 

As blessed as Taehyung was to observe this with his own eyes, he was too greedy to only take in the moment once. 

He fetched his camera, shutting off the flash of course before snapping a quick photo of you. Looking at the image immediately after it was snapped and saving it to his private folder of you. 

You studied for 3 hours. He stayed the entire time. 

Taehyung made a habit of waiting outside your job once you got off. Making sure you boarded the bus safely, as he waited in his car for you to do so. You didn’t know he did this. He wouldn’t tell. But he did. 

You were too innocent in his eyes to wait alone. You weren’t cautious enough to watch your surroundings and the people around you. A young girl like you taking public transit at night wasn’t a smart idea. Even when Taehyung offered you rides home, you politely declined as you didn’t want to bother him. 

But boy, you taking the bus bothered him worse. 

Today was different. 

Taehyung discovered that you lived alone. No one was home ever waiting for you to return. You walked alone every night. You came home to an empty apartment. 

Taehyung liked that. 

He waited in his car, parallel parked across the street as he waited for your bus to retrieve you. 

You should’ve been more alert, waiting at night for the bus to arrive. Maybe if you were, you would have noticed his car. You would have noticed him in the window. 

But you didn’t. You were naïve of the world. You didn’t overthink much, and it was a blessing and a curse. 

Your bus arrived. You boarded. The bus drove, and so did Taehyung. All the way until the bus dropped you off at your stop, which was right across the street from your apartment complex. 

Taehyung, of course, snapped his photos. You getting on the bus. You disembarking the bus. And you walking into your small complex. 

He parked at the leasing office of your building. Again, you should be weary and notice that this car had followed you for 20 minutes, but you didn’t.  

Taehyung watched as you walked, safely making it into your place in one piece before shutting the door. He watched as the windows inside lit up with the lights you turned on. 

This would be the day where Taehyung discovered where you lived. 

——- 

When Taehyung arrived home that night, he researched the place you lived. The complex only offers 1–2-bedroom spaces. It was extremely cheap, obviously catering towards the young students in the area. 

Not gated. Always leasing. Every amenity was shared. The complex had a laundry room, a mailroom, and even study space catered towards everyone who lived in the complex. 

He sat in front of his computer, favoriting the tab for later. He made a note for himself to apply for the place. Hoping that he will get a unit close to yours. 

Taehyung didn’t see anything wrong with it. He just wanted to be closer to you. You didn’t have a car, you didn’t pay much attention to anything around you, and you got along very well. If anything, he would be doing you a favor. In his mind, at least. 

He would take care of you. He would. Taehyung cared for you.  

Taehyung dug in his back pocket and retrieved the SD card from his camera, uploading it to his computer. 

Dozens of pictures from the last few months of you plastered amongst his screens. It was lit of countless off-guard portraits of you. 

You studying. You at work. You at the bus stop. And now, you walking home to your apartment. 

He favorited that one. 

“Any plans this weekend?” You asked as you handed Taehyung his receipt. 

It’d been almost 4 months since Taehyung first arrived at the bakery. He came in asking for the usual coffee you made him the second day followed by a cheese croissant, which you were currently making for him. 

It was Friday. Taehyung dreaded Fridays. You didn’t work on weekends; that meant no time to speak. The only time he’d seen you during the weekends was when he sat outside your apartment in his parked car, or when he quietly followed you around town when you hung out with your friends. 

“No, taking it easy and resting from work. How about yourself?” 

You nodded as you sleeved the warm cup of coffee, handing it to him. “I actually have a date, some guy from my English class asked me out,” you mentioned easily. 

Taehyung’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. Although this expression didn’t falter, he felt himself tense up at the words. He was irritated beyond relief on the inside. “Oh, really? Tell me about him,” he peered with a feigned sense of eagerness, sipping away at his coffee. 

You leaned against the counter with a smirk. “His name is Gabe, senior, and business major. He wanted to take me to this museum or something, but we haven’t spoken much. Kinda just text every now and then,” you gossiped to the older man. 

Taehyung stored every word you said meticulously in his mind. He kept a grin on his lips, but in his mind, there was a harsh grimace as he thought about every option possible. He had to prevent this date from happening. 

“Well, I hope you enjoy your date. He’s a very lucky guy,” 

—- 

Not lucky enough. Once Taehyung arrived home, he immediately got to work, researching his victim. 

He was able to put pieces together from his collection of photos of you, and your Instagram which he stalked daily, to find the man who was taking you out. Or, attempted.  

There was no way that loser was going to get to you. It made no sense for a guy like that to be with someone as stunning and radiant as you. The guy didn’t look extraordinary. Average hair, average skin, average height. You didn’t deserve anything average. 

Taehyung saved the profile on his computer, selecting the ‘message’ option on Gabe’s account. Taehyung wasn’t one to make threats. He made promises. He didn’t have to strike fear into someone; he had to inform them of what lies ahead of them. 

This is exactly the initiative he took with Gabe. Taehyung messaged the man from a private account. The text read his address, his IP, and a photo of Taehyung’s gun. Clean of course. Followed by one more brutally crystal-clear text. 

He’d never used the gun. Never needed to. He was a man living in the city, it was only smart of him to keep one for protection. Or, for a moment like this. 

“Don’t talk to y/n ever again.” 

Simple. Blunt. To the point. 

After a few moments, the text was read. The messages were liked. 

“Woah, sorry dude I don’t want any issues… I’ll drop the date now…” 

His work was done. He leaned back in his seat, opening his folder once more, scrolling through. 

He clicked on the favorites tab, a collection that was growing bigger by the day. Today, he liked a new photo of you. It was you in the window of your apartment this morning, getting dressed for class. Only a bra on and a skirt.  

“Oh Y/n,” Taehyung huffed aloud to himself as he allowed his hand to roam to the bulge in his sweats. He palmed himself at the sight of the photo. “How foolish of you to get ready with the curtains open,” he cooed. 

He bit his lip, squeezing his cock. “A pretty girl like you doesn’t know how to care for herself properly. Need me in your life,”  

Taehyung often caught himself doing this. Jerking to your photos, talking to them like you were actually there. It was almost incredible how quickly he got himself off to this too. Once a day wasn’t enough. Some days he’d do it 4 times. 6 times. Until he couldn’t cum anymore. 

Tonight was one of those nights. 

Ropes of cum usually filled his screen by the end of the night, landing on your photos. Loud screams of your name falling from Taehyung’s tongue as well. 

Every day, he prayed to be able to do it in person. 

—- 

You sniffled, sitting at your bus stop waiting for the vehicle to come sweeping you away from your misery. 

Taehyung watched from afar. He knew why you were crying. Your date was mysteriously canceled, and you were looking forward to it. 

“Hey,” Taehyung called quietly, feigning a confused look at your sullen expression as he approached you. “Oh, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” 

You were fresh off work. It was Friday. You were expecting a date the next day, and it would never come. 

“H-hi,” you stammered sadly. “It’s nothing, it’s really stupid,” you shut down, eyes looking at the concrete ground beneath the bench you sat at. 

Taehyung pouted. It hurts to see you cry, genuinely. Him being the cause, he almost felt guilty. But how could he? If anything, he saved you from a boring weak man who couldn’t care for you. 

“Hey, you can talk to me,” he assured, sitting beside you on the col bench. His eyes locked on your face. 

“He canceled the date. And he blocked me on everything. I don’t know what I did. I must have made him uncomfortable during our conversation,” you explained, eyes welling with tears again. 

Taehyung gasped, his brows furrowing in his faux sympathy for you. “I’m so sorry, you don’t deserve that,” he comforted the best way he could. “What do you mean you ‘made him uncomfortable’? What did you say?” He curiously asked, his body faced completely to you. 

You shook your head rapidly. “I-it’s, I don’t know. I guess it was too soon, it was stupid and my fault to tell him. I understand why he ghosted me,”  

Now Taehyung was intrigued. New information about you that he didn’t know? How could you be so open to that guy, but not to him? Why are you hiding from him now? 

“Tell me, "He said strongly. Not loud, but gruff and serious. He didn’t like that you didn’t tell him everything. Let alone, you had the audacity to tell another man? That’s not fair. 

Your eyes widened, looking at him in shock by the sudden assertive behavior. You gave in.  

“I told him what I liked in the bedroom. He said he was down at first, but then later in the night I was blocked,” you shamefully admitted whilst another tear shed. 

Taehyung looked at you with deep confusion. Sure, Taehyung peered into your life as much as he could. One thing that bothered him was his lack of knowledge on your sex life. You never brought men home, and at night your curtains were usually shut. You lived on the higher floors of your complex; it was almost impossible to peek in on you as he’d liked.  

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you tell him that you liked?” He questioned softly, analyzing your humiliated face. 

The bus was approaching; you took it as your opportunity to end the conversation. 

“I should really get going now I can’t hold you up about my drama Taehyung,” 

As you collected yourself, a firm grip was laid on your wrist.  

“I can take you home, it seems like you need a friend right now, you can talk to me,” he insisted with a friendly smile.  

You kept a frown before nodding your head, agreeing to his request. 

He smiled and awaited you to stand with him, leading you to his car across the street. For some reason, the sight seemed oddly familiar, but you ignored it. 

He opened the passenger side door for you, allowing you to enter the car and sit comfortably before he closed the door. 

He started the car after fastening his seatbelt, pulling out of the parallel space and heading towards the main street. 

“Uhm, Taehyung?” You questioned; his eyebrows raised in acknowledgment. “Don’t you need my address?” You questioned curiously, confused at his actions. 

Fuck, he almost forgot. His expression was blank; he coughed before pressing the GPS on his dashboard. “Right, sorry I just assumed you were gonna give me directions as I drove,” he faked as he opened the keyboard. “You can put your address in,” he ushered, waiting for you to do so. 

You nodded, typing in the words and clicking the ‘start’ icon, the GPS voice narrating the directions. 

The ride was silent for about 5 minutes. Not an uncomfortable silence, but an awkward one. 

“So, are you gonna tell me what you told him?” He peered, bringing up the situation again. “As a guy, I'll tell you honestly if it was something that would push us away, you know?” 

You side eyed him, still recovering from your flurry of emotions. Flurry of emotions. 

“Well, I told him about my preferences in the bedroom,” you lead quietly, eyes shameful as you averted your gaze from his. “I- I like to play the dominant role, I like certain things that I guess he wouldn’t,” you continued on. 

He nodded. His heart secretly halted at the confession. He wouldn’t have taken you for that type, you seemed sweet and innocent, incoherent to sex life. But to find out that you liked to be in control, exuded something in him. A new fire that he never thought would burn. 

“That shouldn’t have driven him away,” he comforted. “Any real guy shouldn’t have an issue with letting their girl take control. As long as my partner enjoys it, she can do whatever she wants with me,” he assured you. 

Your ears perked and your eyes softened. “You’re being serious?” you questioned unsurely. He nodded, a small tug of a smile on his face. 

“Thank you,” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” 

—- 

“Would you like to come inside? I can make you dinner to repay you,” you asked as you pulled into your complex, parking at an empty spot in front of your building. 

Taehyung smirked. “If you’re offering, then sure, but you don’t have to repay me,” he assured, taking off his seatbelt as he shut the engine off. 

Exiting his car, you took the lead of walking towards your apartment, your keys jingling in your hand as you lead him upstairs to the unit. He viewed the surroundings, looking for cameras, nosy neighbors, bright lights, just in case. Anything that would help him furthermore with always keeping his eyes on you. 

You opened the door, “Ta-da!” You cheered, slipping off your shoes at the door as you entered the cozy space. 

It was surprisingly heavily decorated from what he usually seen. He had faint photos of your bright lights and some portraits among your wall, but not anything as high detail or descriptive as being inside. 

He slipped his off as well, keeping them by the door as he entered, eyes intently focused on every aspect of the apartment. Warm walls, pink throw pillows, pictures of your family, thick curtains, plants, everything. He took it all in. He could get very used to being here. 

“It’s so nice here,” he complimented. “Decorated everything yourself?” He questioned as he followed you into the kitchen. 

“Yeah, took forever, I've been living here since last year so,” you answered, pointing to your stool at the kitchen island. “Have a seat, I'll start making dinner,” you instructed. 

Opening your fridge, you took out some beef cubes, green onions, and eggs laying them amongst the counter. You headed towards your pantry and grabbed 2 packs of ramen. 

Taehyung watched you with a gentle smile, the way you flowed freely amongst your kitchen. You turn on your stove and wait for the pot of water to boil as you season the meat. The domestic sight made his heart flutter; it seemed as if all his fantasies for the past few months were slowly becoming real. His doubts of you never becoming his washed away day by day.  

“Oh shoot, my phone is dead,” your cursed, tapping the screen of your smart device repeatedly just to be met with a black cold screen. “Let me go put this on the charger really quickly,” you announced, walking to your bedroom. 

Taehyung nodded, acknowledging your action. He kept his eyes locked on his cellphone until he heard your bedroom door open and shut. Quickly, he rummaged in his pants pocket and pulled out his digital camera. Turning it on. 

He snapped a few photos. The photos of you on your wall. A photo of the kitchen, zooming in on the ramen ingredients. And a few more photos regarding the layout of the apartment, the windows primarily. For later usage. 

He heard your bedroom door open once more. He turned off the camera and shoved it back in his pocket before holding his cellphone again, smiling at you as you walked back into his sight. 

“I hope you like your ramen a bit spicy, I only siracha flavor,” you alerted, walking to the pot of boiling water and opening the packaged noodles. 

He placed his phone down to acknowledge you. His eyes timidly met yours as he quietly fidgeted with his hands. “I can handle it; I should be thankful that you’re cooking anything for me. It’s very sweet of you,” he said bashfully.  

You looked up to him with a soft grin. “You were kind enough to listen to my rants and take me home today, please allow me to repay you” you asserted. 

Once you began to assemble the bowls, Taehyung felt an urge of courage suddenly striking his core. He had been thinking about your confession earlier; he didn’t receive as many details as he would’ve liked regarding your bedroom fantasies. It was his right to know what you wanted. You pour yourself out to him any other time; why should now be any more different? He helped you avoid a date with a guy who wasn’t willing to fight for you the same way Taehyung did. He was the one who valued your ideologies, your wants, your needs, your wellbeing. He deserved to know.  

“Hey y/n, I have a question, if that’s okay...” he started off, his gaze low.  

You hummed, “mhm?” Waiting for him to finish while you continued your task. 

He paused briefly. “So, what exactly do you mean by being in control during bed?” He nervously spat out. 

Your cheerful expression fell into an incomprehensible one.  

You grabbed the two bowls of ramen and placed one in front of him, before taking your seat next to his. 

He sat up immediately. He became hyperaware as you were next to him, your eyes blank before you grabbed your chopsticks and picked at the dinner. 

“The dinner looks nice, thank you,” He bowed his head, grabbing his own utensils as he dug in. 

You nodded softly. Still quiet. 

“I don't know. I guess I just like to be the one who controls the pace of sex. I like to give commands, ask the questions, tie men down, things like that” you admitted nervously. Taehyung listened, his face unwavering as you explained. 

“I think sex is very vital to a relationship, and submission shows how much you trust your partner. It can be a sign of devotion and acceptance of the relationship you know? It’s not about just possessiveness, but it’s real love. Plus it’s just really sexy,” 

You added, your tone faltering at the last sentence. 

But Taehyung heard everything loud and clear. His brain decoding ever word and storing it like a smart computer. 

“I understand. I think guys should be most willing to do that with their partners. I personally wouldn’t mind having a woman tie me up and take over you know,” he assured your words as confidently as his coy behavior would allow. 

He blissfully enjoyed the dish you prepared while you sat in your thoughts.  

For some reason, the pattering of your heartbeat slowed and a sense of calm rushed over you from his affirmation. You enjoyed Taehyung’s company, but you never expected much from him other than quick conversations and laughs. Never in a million years did you expect to express your deepest desires to him. Let alone, for him to understand them and enjoy them for himself. 

You didn’t continue the conversation after that. You both ate in a comfortable silence. 

—- 

“Thank you for the dinner y/n,” Taehyung said as he took his empty bowl and yours to the sink. “I’ll wash the dishes for you,” he offered, grabbing a sponge and turning on the faucet. 

You shook your hands. “Oh Tae, that’s not necessary really,” 

Tae. The nickname was unfamiliar coming from your mouth. Not many people referred to him as Tae. Not even his own friends and family, maybe some coworkers but only when they’re passive aggressively speaking to him. He liked it coming from you. It was blissful. 

He shook off your protests and allowed himself to continue. He rinsed away the broth and debris before placing it on your drying rack. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t repay you?” He questioned rhetorically, coming back to your side. 

You froze with a grin. “What kind of friends do you have that do your dishes for you?” you chuckled teasingly, standing up from your seat. 

Taehyung’s face fell slightly at your words. “Not many, I actually don’t have friends who would even hang out with me really. Let alone invite me over and cook for me,” he admitted insecurely to you.  

You frowned at his admission. “I’m sorry, Tae. You know you can always call me if you wanna hang out and such, I’d love being your friend,” you wholeheartedly told him. Your arms extend and wrap around his neck for a quick hug. 

He froze.  

He was taken aback but didn’t miss the opportunity to hug you back. His arms wrapped gently around your waist.  

His breath steadied, taking in your scent. The moment was more intimate than he thought; the rapid pace of his heart racing brought him down from the high. You pulled away softly, eyes looking up to his almost dazed expression. 

“Are you okay, Tae?” 

“Sorry, it’s just, been a while since I’ve hugged a girl,” 

Shit. Why did he say that? 

Your eyes widened in shock. “Really? Like how long?” you peered, head cocking in confusion. 

“I-I,” he stammered reluctantly. “I couldn’t tell you honestly. It’s been years,” he continued shamefully. 

You didn’t laugh, scoff, snicker. You nodded, understandingly. “I haven’t really hugged or talked to any guys in a minute either. It’s why I was so happy to finally have a date, get a kiss out of someone for once,” you said as you related to his hardships. It wasn’t anything you were necessarily embarrassed of, but it wasn’t your favorite fact about yourself. 

Taehyung’s eyebrows rose. “I could kiss you,” he suggested before catching himself. His impulsive thoughts coming to light too quickly. 

You paused. 

You stared at him, your expression blank. God, he hated that. When he didn’t know about you. How you felt. What you were thinking. He hated every fucking minute of it. 

“Sorry,” he ushered, pulling away from your hug. “I should get going, shouldn’t I?”  

Taehyung grabbed his phone and his blazer, heading towards your front door vigorously out of humiliation. Just as he was about to slip on his shoes… 

“You can kiss me, Tae,” you simply allowed. Your voice is quiet, just above a whisper. You still stood in the same spot. With your island chairs. Facing his frantic body in vast parallel to your steady one. 

He froze in his tracks, eyes of hope looking into your certain ones. He took a few strides against the wood flooring. Meeting your smaller frame swiftly. 

Your head tilted up to his, your eyes low yet sure as you scanned his face. 

“Are you sure?” He questioned stiffly. 

You nodded rapidly.  

Taehyung wasted not a second more. His lips connected with yours in an instant; the kiss was feather-light but warm.  

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Contrary to his timid demeanor and soft-spoken voice, his kiss was confident yet desperate. His hands held your waist flush against his chest, and his breath was deep and rugged between the kisses. 

Your hands cupped his cheek, not allowing him to dare to pull away. Not that he ever wanted to. 

Once you both finally stopped, your breaths were caught in deep huffs, and your eyes were sewn onto one another. You could not resist the smile that crept on your face. 

Taehyung’s cheeks were reddened from the intense heat of the passionate kiss. He wanted to keep his eyes on yours, but the creeping sensation of bashfulness wouldn’t allow for it. His eyes scanned everywhere on your face but into your orbs. 

“Look at me,” you spoke sternly. His eyes flicked onto yours immediately. It was a command, not an ask. He obeyed. 

Your smile grew. “Good,” you cooed, cupping his cheek. “You listen really well, don’t you?” you questioned to the older man; he nodded slowly into the palm of your hand. 

“Aww, can’t use your words huh?” you asked authoritatively, already knowing the clear answer to your question. 

His lips tugged a small pout. “I-I can use them,” he spat out unconvincingly.  

“No, you can’t. Hardly can even look at me half the time we talk without getting nervous, I'm surprised you even kissed me,” you told, recollecting all the times over the past few months where you’ve two interacted. 

You’d talk; he’d listen. Not without toying with hands, or averting his gaze, or stammering hard as he fumbled out the words he needed to say. You’d notice it of course; his actions were subtle, but you weren’tstupid. You made him nervous, weak, and shy. 

You always thought it was adorable how he reacted to you. He was also very handsome as well, so it didn’t take long for you to be interested in him. He was older, had nice dark hair, a deep yet sweet voice, and valued your work ethic. 

It was natural for you to take interest in him, and luckily for you his feelings were reciprocated. 

If only you knew the exact feelings he had for you. 

Your feelings were vastly contrasted to his. You liked him. He loved you. You were interested in him, and he was obsessed with you. 

“I can’t. You’re right,” he pathetically admitted, his voice softening and pitching just above a whisper. 

You held back a small chuckle. 

“Do you like me, Tae?” You asked, opposite hand meeting with his chest, placing it over the space where his heart was, feeling each rhythmic beat pound against your palm. 

Something about the action was beyond explaining in words for Taehyung. You were so close; the moment was intimate, not only sexual but endearing.  

Your fingertips against his heart, the tone of your voice condensing yet somewhat nurturing, and the intense eye contact caused his blood to burn hot.  

He felt his pants get tighter and the blood flow rush to his manhood at each giving moment. 

He bit his lip, almost choking on the word vomit that he threatened to spew. 

“I do, I'm sorry if it’s weird. I know we barely speak but I love coming to the café and seeing you and- “ 

“Shhh…” you cooed, tapping his cheek lightly. 

His eyes widened, confusedly at your voice. 

“I know Tae, I know,” you whispered condescendingly as you strummed his cheek. “You were too shy because you thought I wouldn’t feel the same?” You asked him, receiving a rapid head nod as an answer. 

“Is that why you gave me so much reassurance when I told you my secret?” You questioned again. 

It took him a moment to remember what you were referring to. But how could he forget? The confession of your sexual desires to him. How much the two of you relate to the roles, how he told you that your fantasies turned him on as well. 

“Yes but, also because I genuinely like it too…you being in control that is,” he admitted, his eyes squeezing shut as his cock twitched in his tight dress pants. 

Taehyung dreamed about this moment constantly. His occurring wet dreams of you consisted of you on top of him, talking to him filthily about the lewd things you wanted to do to him. He found himself waking up in a pool of sweat with a raging boner every morning prior to work because of it. 

You hummed, understanding his thought process. Your eyes shamelessly looked down at his pants. His dick threatening to bust out of the seams. You smirked. 

“Follow me, darling,” you instructed, hands leaving his body as you walked to your bedroom. 

Taehyung’s eyes resembled a deer in headlights. Your room. He was going to see your room.  

The man shamelessly jogged after you, entering the space beyond the wood door and took everything in. 

—- 

Your room was surprisingly nothing like he expected it to be. It was filled with a flurry of all your niches. 

Posters of your favorite band, plushies of your favorite cartoon, your favorite color splattered in traces of décor and accessories.  

He viewed everything he could, as if he were writing down every item you had in a blank notepad in his brain. He noted your favorite lip gloss, or what he assumed to be so as it was sat loosely on your desk. As well as the brand of highlighters you used for school. He remembered that from the couple of times he watched you at the library. 

The brand of hair clips you used, the ones you tied your hair with at work? Everywhere. He already knew which ones you would like, but he underestimated how many were in your collection. 

Your room was a shrine of you. Everything you liked, everything about you, everything that reminded him of you. He felt like an art freak in a museum. Enamored by the amazing work that bodied his favorite subject. You. 

“It’s cute here,” he complimented as his eyes finally found yours again. 

You chuckled, “thank you, Tae,” you sat on the edge of your bed. “It’s even cuter when you’re here,” you added, crossing your legs while you sat. 

“I’m still in my outside clothes. I hate lying in bed with dirty clothes on. But I'm so tired from work, I can hardly move and take them off,” you complained, pouting at the inconvenience you feigned. 

Taehyung looked at you, his expression blank and almost dumb. His boner still prevalent and face redder than a tomato as he stared, confused on what even to do. 

“I can uhm. Help you out of clothes,” he offered quietly, stepping closer to you. 

You giggled again. “That’s so sweet of you, you should,” you replied. Your voice still sweet and firm, it was amazing how well you exuded your dominance to a man like him. Who knew a hard-working corporate man, had a thing for a young sweet girl like you? 

Taehyung nodded, more so to himself attempting to give himself some confidence before proceeding. 

His body made his way to yours, walking across the room to your bed and stopping once he was in front of you. His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a deep gulp, eyes meeting your top. 

Your smirk never faltered, waiting for him to finally make a move. 

You lifted your arms up, waiting for the man to take off your long sleeve work shirt.  

Taehyung gulped. Hands carefully, taking the bottom of your shirt and lifting it off your soft skin. Exposing your almost bare half to him, leaving you in your black bra. 

He took the fabric and folded it lazily before placing it on your desk. 

“Good job!” You applauded him, quietly clapping your hands for him. “Can you unhook my bra for me now please?” 

His breath hitched as he nodded profusely. His large hands wrapped around your back, reaching for the clasp and unhooking your bra as your breasts spilled. His eyes sewn towards the plush skin. Your nipples perked and taut. 

You grinned, allowing him to stare for a bit longer before you became overwhelmed with the ache in your panties. You were sopping wet already and needed relief. “Okay, time for my pants now. Get down for me,” you pointed to the ground expecting his obedience while you uncrossed your legs. 

The man got to his knees against your fur carpet. His hands reluctantly reached to touch the button of your jeans, unclasping the material and pulling the denim hem down achingly slow against your plush thighs. 

You watched with your bottom lip caught between your teeth and eyes drooping in a daze. He moved carefully, hands feeling feather light at the movement. Once your jeans were fully off, Taehyung allied the fabric to pool on the carpet. His eyes glued to the sight of your bare legs and black panties caught between your legs. 

You chuckled under your breath. “What about my panties?” You questioned. 

He froze in place. He imagined how beautiful you would complete bare before him multiple times. Every time he had the opportunity to peer into your window, he hoped to catch slivers of your naked skin, but was never blessed with the opportunity to see anything past you in a bra. He believed he was unbelievably lucky to be around you as much as he is, let alone for you to be into him. 

But the true blessing coming to light, seeing you willingly naked all for him. 

His hands grazed your hips. Thumb and index finger clasping to the cotton hem of your panties. He struggled to remove the fabric swiftly, but his eyes immediately caught the shine and moisture between your legs. You were soaked. Sticky slick spilling from your cunt. 

You hummed at the release, fully exposed to the man in front of you. “Good job, thank you so much, Tae. I can finally be comfortable,” you sighed, leaning back on your elbows. “My feet are really killing me from work,” you feigned.  

Taehyung placed the fabric of your panties adjacent to your jeans on the ground. He looked up to read your expression. Your pout was adorable, but he knew it was anything but innocent. He looked down at your feet. Your perfectly polished toes made his mouth water. 

“I can massage them,” he offered sincerely. You smiled, patting his head and running your fingers through his thick locks. “How sweet of you, thanks, Tae,” you cheered, sticking your foot towards him. 

He nodded, taking your soft foot between his hands, pressing his thumbs against the heel. He massaged lightly, rubbing gracefully on the sole. You blissfully moaned beneath your breath at the feeling.  

Taehyung watched you intently, taking in how every touch of his hand caused you to react. His eyes grazed down to your toes again; his impulsivity running ramped as he took your foot, placing your toes against his tongue. 

Your eyes squeezed at pleasure. The warm muscle sloppily licks between the sensitive nerves on your foot causing you to moan loudly. The sound echoes from your bedroom walls. Taehyung took your big toe, encapsulating the digit completely and sucking it tastefully. Humming around it, the vibrations striking though your toes and straight to your clit. 

“G-good job, fuck feels so good,” you moaned to the older man, praising him for his actions. Your fingers tighten the grip on his hair, holding him tightly amongst your sensitive feet.  

Taehyung used your praises as motivation to continue, licking long stripes against your soles. Pressing sloppy open kisses against them. His sick fantasies in mind run across his mind. He recalls how vividly he imagined this moment would be.  

He had a fetish for you. Everything is revolving you and your body. He thought of putting his tongue anywhere it could be. His lips kiss every inch of your body. His dick rutting into every hole you possessed.  

He worshipped your feet, completely whipped at the sight of you falling apart from the light touches. Your pussy dripping, staining your sheets below you. 

“Tae,” you called with a breathless whimper. “That’s enough, touch me up here now,” you instructed, looking down hazily at him. His lips glistening from his own saliva pooling from his mouth. 

His mouth pulls away from your sole as he pouted. He didn’t want to stop, but he was eager to get closer to you. He hoped to finally have you cum for him. 

“Yes Miss,” he obeyed, placing your feet down as he came closer to your dripping heat. His hands rest firmly on your soft thighs, spreading you wider for him. Your perfect pink clit shining for him like a pretty pearl. 

You bit your lip, stroking his flushed cheek with your thumb. “Gonna be a good boy and eat me out?” You questioned, knowing the answer already. He shyly nodded, head eagerly diving into your legs before you caught him roughly by his hair, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Words. Are you gonna be a good boy?” you sternly repeated. 

Taehyung’s head rapidly nodded, words choking out embarrassingly. “Yes, yes, I will Miss. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, make you feel good ma’am,” he stammered, hissing at the pain of your fingers tightly in his hair. 

You hummed approvingly, releasing the tight grip. Taehyung sighed in relief as he dug into your pussy. His tongue twirling in circles around your cunt. His hot breath against your hole and the tip of his nose grinding against your clit. 

You wanted to scream from the intensity. He ate you like you were his first meal in ages. It was sloppy, hungry, and forceful. His desperate whines against your cunt made your abdomen ache from pleasure. His eyes squeezed shut as he took in every moment shared. 

“Shit! Just like that baby boy,” you cooed. The praises falling naturally from you. You were enjoying every single minute of it, his tongue was aggressive and needy against your clit. You’ve never had someone take as much pride into making you feel this good before. 

Something you could easily get used to. 

Your thighs threatened to shake from the blissful pleasure. You didn’t take your eyes off the handsome man devouring you. He looked as if he were ready to cum himself. Flushed skin, a light layer of sweat, and deep sweet moans spilling from his mouth. 

His two long and thick fingers entered your hole, swirling around the velvety walls and fucking you at a harsh pace. His fingers causing squelching noises between you. 

“So-so sweet miss,” he whimpered against your puffy lips. “like candy, just like I imagined,” 

Strings of slickness and spit filled your thighs and his mouth. He sucked harshly at your swollen clit, you near your release. 

“Tae, fuck. Who taught you to do that?” you asked rhetorically in shock from the skillful tongue. Sure, he was older, and you assumed he had much experience. But you were far from correct. 

You didn’t know how much research Taehyung put into learning how to properly give oral sex, just in case he got the chance to perform it on you.  

Luckily those countless hours of porn seemed to be paying off well for him. 

Your eyes fluttered as your back arched, ready to give yourself to him completely. “Wanna cum! Gonna be good and take it, right? Good boy,” you warned, your thighs impulsively squeezing around his face as you grind against his face. 

Taehyung’s pace became relentless. His tongue flicks over your lower lips rapidly, eagerly pulling you to your climax.  

With a few more loud screams, you achieved it. Your release painting his face like a canvas. His lips swollen and shiny as he met your eyes. “Did that feel good Miss?” He questioned bashful. 

You softly chuckled and pulled his chin to gently peck your lips, tasting yourself. “Did such an amazing job baby boy,” you praised. Your eyes fell to his crotch, the evident strain of his bulge as clear as day. “Want me to take care of that?” You questioned, pointing at the sight. 

He gulped, nodding his head vigorously. “Please help, been dreaming of it,” he plead honestly to you. 

You didn’t read too much into his words, but you smiled the same sweet one you always did. “Let me ride you then,” it wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. And order that he was always more than willing to follow. 

In his fantasies, they always included you on top of him. Bouncing your perfect tits in front of him while you took every inch of his cock while on top of him. His dick could hit you at the perfect angle, making you dumb and compliant for his touch. 

Taehyung moved like lightning. To his feet and immediately tugged his pants and boxers off swiftly. 

You moved your body fully on the bed, waiting for him to prepare. Your eyes caught the silver device poking from his back pocket. “Is that your digi-cam?” You questioned calmly. He stopped in his tracks, seeing the silver lens peaking. 

He’d always been open about his love of photography to you; it was no surprise to you at all that he had it. “Yeah, just take it with me everywhere. Never know what you’re gonna see,” he claimed. His excuse convincing enough for you as you nodded your head with an understanding hum. 

“One day you’re gonna show me your pictures, right?” you asked intrigued with his hobby. 

He chuckled nervously, “yeah, you’ll be the first one to see,” he assured. 

Taehyung’s cock freely sprung into the air, angry with a leaking red tip and veins bulging from the member. 

You pat the open space on your mattress, signaling him to lie down for you. 

Taehyung reluctantly took his place, back against your plush mattress. You crawled on top of his warm body, your pussy against his bulging cock teasingly as you sat on him. 

Your lips connected once more in a deep passionate exchange. Taehyung loved kissing you. It was better than he had imagined; your lips were like sugary candy. They were soft, your lip gloss just a bit sticky. He loved it.  

His large hands gripped tightly on your waist as he held your naked lower half against him. His cock throbbing from the contact. You two were so close, yet not close enough. He yearned to finally be inside you, your beautiful wet canal taking him in like you were meant to do. 

You pulled away from the heated kiss breathlessly, sitting up and taking his hard cock in your hands, pumping the large member. 

“Ready for me to ride you baby?” You asked just above a whisper. 

“Please! Need you so bad,” he begged quietly. 

You condescendingly cooed, a feigned pout on your lips. “Aww, no that doesn’t sound very convincing babe. Think you can beg better than that,” 

“Fuck y/n, just- fuck please. Please fuck me, I always think about it. Always imagine you on my dick, I always do. Think about you every day…. Wanna fuck toy every minute-“he rambled frantically, his sentences ending with grunts as your hand squeezed his member tightly. 

“Good boy, since you asked so nicely,” 

You finally slid onto his cock in one fluid motion. His thick member gave you a good firm stretch, your eyes fluttering as you released a high-pitched moan. 

Taehyung’s moan was loud and guttural; his hands harshly gripped your hips, holding you as you took him in. 

You were wet. So wet. Tight like a glove around Taehyung, his body reacted immediately. 

Your movements were slow at first, getting used to his fat cock took a moment, but the way his eyes fluttered like he was in heaven made you only want to fuck him faster. Harder. 

He was a whiny, desperate mess inside of you. “So beautiful on top,” he cooed. His lips caught between his teeth as he chewed down holding back a moan. 

You pouted, “lemme hear baby, don’t you feel good?” You said. Your hips pick up the pace. The wet slapping skin fills your bedroom. The tension is thick and hot. 

You grind against his member with a steady rhythm earning his moan, beautifully hitting your ear. He was a mess. Whimpers incoherent and eyes squeezed shut, as he could barely look at you due to the immense pleasure you caused him. 

The sex was so good to the point where he could almost cry. Months he waited. Countless nights of jerking off to his secret shrine of you. Worth it. 

“You’re the best mommy. Best pussy ever- gonna make me cum,” he whimpered helplessly to you. 

His words are melodic to your ears. A new profound energy overcame you. You were so turned on from his words, his voice, his cock. It was the best feeling you’d had in a while.  

You leaned down, wrapping your arms around his neck, hips snapping against his cock intensely. Your mouth littered open mouth kisses against his jaw and neck, humming with each one. 

Taehyung’s legs shook and abdomen convulsed as his high came over him.  

You looked and seen a few stray tears cascade over the poor boy's face. 

“Aww, baby. Felt so good huh? Don’t worry, I'm cumming too for your love,” you comforted, kissing away the hot kisses of his overwhelmed frame. 

Your climax harsh and jagged like his. You cursed his name as you felt apart against his toned body, his hands holding you close as you came.  

A few moments of silence filled the air. You two laid comfortably against another, taking in each other'ss warm embrace. No words, no questions, no worries. Just the feeling and comfort of one another. 

Taehyung held you tightly, strumming your hair softly as your breathing slowed down. His cock still inside you, softening but he didn’t dare pull away. Not at this moment. 

—- 

Taehyung woke up bright and early the next morning. 5:48 am to be exact. The sun barely rose, but it was peeking through your blinds. 

You weren’t on top of him anymore. You were adjacent, your back facing him as you were caught in a deep sleep. 

He watched you momentarily. You looked peaceful and angelic. The way the sun kissed your skin was like a mural. Like a muse to the artists of the world. 

Taehyung quietly slipped out of your bed, making sure to make not even the quietest noises to disrupt you from your sleep. Once on your carpet, he leaned down to his pants and dug for his digital camera. His hands turned on the small battery powered device and loaded the screen. 

He looked at you deeply just once more before holding the camera to his eyes, snapping a few photos of you asleep. Naked. 

He then grabbed your soiled panties from the floor in his hand, taking detailed up-close photos of the fabric. 

He then snapped multiple photos of your room. Your desk. Pillows. Posters. Everything. 

He sat his camera down on the floor once more, grabbing his boxers and slipping them on, along with his dress pants. Shoving his camera in his pocket once more. 

He rolled up the fabric of your panties, and slipped it into the opposite pocket. 

Taehyung took a deep breath, leaning on the bed and tapping your shoulder slightly. 

“Hm?” you responded groggily, still half asleep, not even turning to meet his body. 

“I have to go now y/n, I'll see you later, okay?” He calmly alerted you. 

“Mhm,” you hummed, hardly even processing his words in your fatigued state. 

Taehyung sighed at himself. He quietly exited your bedroom, closing your door. He headed to the front door, slipping on his shoes and exiting through the front door of your apartment, making sure to lock it on the way out. 

He stood outside the door momentarily. He looked around the complex. It was quiet, even though it was only dawn. It was peaceful, perfectly suited for you. Your side of the complex seemed to be scarcely populated. 

His eyes trailed to the unit right next to yours. He took a step over to the window. Taehyung’s curiosity got the best of him; his eyes pressed against the glass and searched inside the unit. Empty. Dark. No furniture, no lamps, nothing. 

He looked at the number of the door, making a mental note before finally heading to his car. 

—- 

“Apartment 613 is available for lease sir, that is correct,” the apartment manager spoke on the phone to Taehyung. 

“Great, my application has already been approved. I was wondering when my move in date would be?” he asked abruptly to the woman over the phone. 

“Well, we can schedule you an apartment tour for tomorrow but- “ 

“No tour. I want to move in. When can I move in?” he interrupted bluntly, causing the woman to be taken aback from the conversation. 

The agent cleared her throat before answering. “How does the 21st  look?” She asked carefully. 

The 21st. Less than a month. 

“Perfect, the 21st,” Taehyung answered to the woman. 

She gave a nervous smile against the phone. “The 21st it is Mr. Kim, thank you for leading with us,” 

The line cuts. Taehyung couldn’t stop the smile that formed on his face. Ever since that night, he knew he had to make his move to keep you in sight. Asking to be your boyfriend and wait for when you would allow him to move in would simply be too long to wait for him. He knew if he wanted to change, he would have to do it himself. 

Being your next-door neighbor was way more rational to him. He’d know when you’d get home, who you’d bring home, observe you closer. The only thing repeating you would just be a wall. 

He’d wonder how you would react. 

He could play it off as a coincidence. He didn’t know the apartment they would lease him would coincidentally be the one directly next to yours. 

Why did he choose your complex? For the rent, the amenities, the close proximity to his job. It seemed believable enough. 

Taehyung didn’t have much to move to the new place either. Outside of his clothes, utensils, and computer, it wouldn’t be much of a hassle at all.  

His phone buzzed, and a text from you popped up.  

You: hi, idk if this is weird but I really enjoyed what we did the other night. 

You: was wondering if u maybe wanted to keep it going? Something just casual, yk? 

Casual? Taehyung never did anything casual. He never did anything. If you enjoyed it so much, why would you only keep it as something brief? Didn’t it mean something more to you? 

To him it was everything. The ultimate act of intimacy. It was love. Why didn’t you love him? 

No, you do. You said it right? You were interested in him. You liked him. You told him you did. You love him, you just don’t realize it yet. That’s okay. He’ll help you. 

Him: casual is fine :) whenever ur up for it, we can. 

Smooth Taehyung. 

Despite it being the total opposite of what he wanted, Taehyung knew better than to rush this with you. The last thing he wanted was to push you away. He could never do that. He’d gotten you closer than he planned to within the last few months, and he’d be damned to let you go now. 

You: cool. Was wondering if you were free tmrw night? A movie n’ chill? 

Him: sounds great. See u tmrw :) 

—- 

And so it began.  

That following month, your friends with benefits situation with Taehyung went extremely well. 

He was more than amazing during sex, and he loved to spoil you with dinner and movie dates in between your rendezvous.  

He still visited you at the café during the week, not much changing other than a bit of flirty exchange every now and then. But he was the same Taehyung to you. The kind shy man who knew how to please your body beyond relief. 

There were a few odd things that took place during that month with you and Taehyung. At least once a week, he brings you flowers. You assured him that you didn’t need them, (nor really wanted them so soon), but he made it a mission to have them delivered to your doorstep. 

The thing that made it odder? They were your favorite flowers. You never told Taehyung your favorite flowers. 

“Oh wow, Taehyung you know you didn’t have to!” you said as you grasped the 5th bouquet he’d given you. 

“But you deserve them, I don’t want you to think that just because we’re causal that I can’t be chivalrous,” he protested. 

You nodded slowly. Accepting your fate. “Thank you,” you quietly said, holding onto the obnoxiously bright bouquet, bringing them inside. 

Another incident that often occurred during your rendezvous was the fact that your panties always went missing. But not necessarily the pair you wore right before sex. Pairs that you swear you tossed in your dirty laundry hamper earlier in the week. 

While doing your laundry downstairs in the laundromat, it seemed like the pink pair you worse Tuesday miraculously disappeared. You were getting annoyed; you couldn’t really afford to go panty shopping every week with your barista salary. 

Taehyung also got clingier, naturally. But his few texts a week turned quickly into rapid spams a day. 

Him: I hope u do well on ur exam today!! 

Him: I went to the vending machine at work and seen ur favorite candy. Dropping it off at your place soon. 

Him: The flower shop ran out of ur favs, so I grabbed some pink peonies today, hope that’s okay. 

Him: Am I seeing u tonight? 

Him: y/n? did u see my text yesterday?? 

To anyone else, this would be a dream. A guy being so caring and considerate like this would be heavenly. But to you, it’s a little weird. 

You liked Taehyung yes, but you didn’t want anything serious so soon. You’d only met him a couple of months prior, and you began to get to know each other only a few weeks ago. You wanted to be casual. He agreed to be casual. 

It was far from it. 

Taehyung was beginning to grow impatient as the countdown for his move in day came quicker and quicker. 

After your fuck sessions, he would bring home more evidence of you to his apartment while leaving traces of him in yours. 

The flowers filling your place were symbols of his love for you. At least, that’s how he seen it. 

How did he know they were favorites? Maybe he opened your phone one night after sex and scrolled through messages of your ex-flings while simultaneously deleting and blocking their contacts. 

The panties you complained were missing?  

He told you that maybe some creep in your complex was raiding your hampers when you left your clothes to wash in the laundromat downstairs. 

“Ew, that’s gross who would do such a thing?” you grimaced as he chuckled. 

“It happened to my old friend at her place. Sometimes homeless people just grab clothes and take it for themselves from public places like that,” he explained as he drank the coffee you fixed for him. 

“Yeah, but it’s only my panties going missing, Tae,” you explained, your voice in a timid whisper. 

He chuckled. “Maybe they have a thing?” He joked, earning another grimace from you. 

But of course, this wasn’t the case. 

Taehyung keeps your panties scattered across his mattress, sleeping beside them like they were extra pillows or his favorite plushies. 

Only your soiled ones, of course. The ones he secretly grabbed from your hamper while you showered or cooked in the other spaces of your home. 

The days where he didn’t see you, he used them as his personal cum sock. His sick urges getting the best of him every time as he jerked himself with the damp fabrics. Moaning your name lewdly as his imagination ran with the filthiest desires for you. 

—- 

A month passed. 

Taehyung’s and you decided to pick up the pace a bit with your relationship. You officially went on dates, but to your eyes were nowhere close to officially being a couple. You were exploring the connection you two had. 

You enjoyed the flowers more now. The late-night calls, and the dinners picked up. A few times a week you two would go out, and you enjoyed it. 

The school day had just ended for you. It was a slow day, just a few classes and a study session but nothing out of the ordinary for you. 

You finally returned home, walking up the stairs to your unit, keys in hand when your attention was caught by the door next to yours wide open with movers coming in. 

You stopped in your tracks and peered nosily in the open space, trying to get a glimpse of your new neighbor. “Hm,” you hummed curiously, not making out any signs of them. 

You hoped they weren’t like the last ones. Loud and obnoxious at any given moment. Maybe they went to your school? You hoped they were nice.  

You unlocked your door and stepped inside your space, making yourself comfortable as you set your school supplies down and headed to the kitchen. 

The kind spirit inside of you decided you would make them a welcome treat, you luckily had some brownie mix and eggs in your fridge, so you whisked the ingredients together and set them to bake for the next hour. 

Once the movers stopped for the day, you took the tray of brownies and placed the squares in a large Tupperware container before heading next door. 

You knocked on the door three times, watching the warm light flicker through the window as the sound of footsteps led to the door. 

Once the door opened, your eyes widened in shock at what stood behind the threshold.  

You almost drop the container. 

“Surprise!” Taehyung cheered, arms wrapping gently around your frozen frame. 

“Y-you’re my neighbor?” you sputtered in a gasp. 

He pulled back to read your face. 

“Yeah, I’ve been apartment shopping for the last few months, and I coincidentally signed up for this place a few months ago. Crazy, I didn’t expect a unit so close to you,” he explained like it was something so simple. As if it were just a crazy coincidence. 

You were stunned but somehow managed to smile his explanation.  

It was just a coincidence. You told yourself. 

“What a surprise,” you said. A nervous grin crept on your face. 

He nodded, stepping back behind the threshold. “Please, come in,” he ushered you inside. 

His apartment layout was similar to yours. 

Kitchen. Living room. One bedroom. Bathroom inside. 

Empty but a couch, a couple of boxes, and a lamp. 

“You packed light,” you commented, setting the brownies on the kitchen island. 

“Yeah, I don’t have much. Minimalist,’’ he replied with a light chuckle, his body walking towards a box on the floor as he sat down and began to unbox it.  

“So, you weren’t gonna tell me you were moving here?” You began, sitting adjacent to him on the wooden floors. 

He merely shrugged. “Just didn’t think it was of much importance you know?” He answered as he pulled out the contents of the box. Pots, pans, and kitchen towels. 

Your brows are furrowed. “But- we’ve been talking for the last month, I just thought it would’ve been important to know,” you protested, your tone quiet but your tone the complete opposite of calm. Shaky. 

His eyes met yours confusedly. “You said we were casual, I didn't think casual meant tell you I was moving,” he answered honestly. Too honest. He rarely talked about himself to you, for good reason. 

This, being the prime example. 

“Taehyung, no,” your voice rose. “No, you knew I lived here for the past month and when I invited you to my place, you never once mentioned you moving here let alone being my next-door fucking neighbor! This is weird!” you snapped, voice raising to a scream. A scream he never heard. 

You were scared of him. His worst possible fear is coming to light. 

His head lowered; he froze in his tracks. 

His eyes welled as he attempted to hide his face from you. 

“I didn't know, we were gonna be neighbors I swear- I signed the lease before knowing you... I didn’t-” he choked. 

His emotions are real, but his words are far from the truth.  

Your eyes met his sullen frame. Guilt crept as you scooted closer to him.  

“Fuck, Tae,” you cursed apologetically. “I’m sorry, I know you did say that. I’m just overthinking, I’m upset you hid it from me,” you apologized sincerely, wrapping your arms around him. 

His large arms wrapped to hold you closer, tears falling now against your shoulder. 

Geez, who knew a man like him could be so sensitive. 

“I think it’s nice that we’re neighbors now. It’ll be easier for us to date,” you admitted shyly, his tears slowing at your confession. 

“You still wanna date?” He asked meekly. 

You nodded in response with a cheeky grin. 

“Of course, who doesn’t want their future boyfriend next door to them?” 

Exactly. 

You were finally on his wavelength. You see eye-to-eye. The reason why he did this was already perfectly decoded in your mind, and he didn’t even have to explain it to you. 

Such a smart and willing girl. 

— 

You enjoyed Taehyung being your neighbor.  

Once summer finally came around, you agreed to be his girlfriend officially. School was out, and you could finally focus on things outside of just school and work. 

Him, your family, and friends. 

But mainly him. 

Taehyung occupied most of your time. 

He convinced you to work the same hours as him at your barista job. You both now worked every day, 9-5 except weekends. You left the house together; you came home together. 

You ate together, showered together, shopped together, slept together. 

Everything in your routine perfectly matches Taehyung’s. 

You spent equal time in one another’s apartment, hardly ever leaving the space now outside of work or errands. 

You texted your friends throughout the day, as much as you could at least. If Taehyung didn’t complain about you ignoring him, that was. 

He never exclusively said he wanted to meet your friends, but he always implied that you needed to describe every detail of how you met them, what they’re like, what they do, etc. 

If you wanted to hang out with them, he never exclusively said no. 

But he did do everything in his power to limit the time you spent with them, or plain guilt-trip you into not going at all. 

“Baby, you’ve worked all week, why don’t you stay home tonight?” 

“Honey, tonight is our night. We already agreed to go to the movies,” 

“Y/n, you have dinner here at home already. Why go out and spend more money?” 

You always caved in. 

You’ve seen how upset Taehyung gets. Never angry, never cold. Just plain sadness. No, depressed. 

His shoulders slumped, tears brimmed, and voice quiet. He’d rather isolate himself for hours than yell and allow you to see him angry. It was off-putting, and you genuinely hated it. So, you prevented it by all costs. 

However, tonight you were willing to put up with the possible repercussion. 

It was your best friend’s birthday tonight and you hadn’t seen her since the end of the semester. You were extremely excited to celebrate with her, and you’d been mentioning it to Taehyung all week. 

It was a girl’s night at the bar, and the theme was ‘dress to impress’, and you were beyond excited for some release. 

You’d done everything to convince Taehyung. You made him dinner early, promised he could pick you up from the club, wear a dress he approved of, and even fucked him extra good the night before.  

He was putty in your hands when he finally agreed. 

“How do I look?” you stepped out in the long black maxi dress you both chose alongside the expensive kitten heels he bought you to compliment. 

You did a small twirl for him, showing off the silky fabric and the curls of your hair falling gently. 

His voice hitched, a feigned pout on his face as he stared. “Darling, you’re making me regret saying yes,” he said, his head dipping dramatically. 

Your eyes rolled as you walked closer to him, taking his droopy head between your hands and pecking the pout on his lips away.  

“Oh, don’t be so whiny, you’re picking me up at midnight right baby?” You questioned, pecking his lips again. The man nodded, hands placed on your hips firmly. 

“I will, so don’t have me waiting please. Midnight, I'm serious,” he answered, his tone stern and assertive. A tone he only used when it came to situations like this. Where he was afraid something would happen between you. 

You nodded. “Midnight, gotchu baby,” you assured before turning on your heel and walking back to your bedroom briefly. 

You were originally in there to grab your lip gloss and keys, but your eyes caught a glimpse of the silver camera Taehyung always carried around. 

On your dates, he would snap photos of you two, (mainly just you) and show you how cute they came out. You loved using the pics he snagged for your Instagram and such. He hadn’t used it since the last date;you wondered why it was in your room actually. 

Maybe he just had it on him and took it out when he came over? Yeah, that made the most sense. 

You did love the quality of the photos, however. Maybe you and your girls could snap pictures of each other tonight at the party!  

You didn’t think much further, taking the camera and safely tucking it away in your purse before exiting the room. Taehyung waited beside the front door of your apartment, and a small frown on his face again. 

“Are you sure I can’t come?” He whined, eyes like a lost puppy staring into you. You rolled your eyes teasingly, hugging your big baby and pecking his cheek. 

“Unless your name changes to ‘Taeyeon’, I don’t think so,” you joked, letting him go and opening the door. “See you later baby,” you bid before exiting the unit and going downstairs. The uber you and your friends were sharing awaited downstairs for you. 

Taehyung made sure you safely entered the vehicle before closing the door to your apartment and locking it. 

He continued to roam around your apartment, looking at things to see if anything had changed. He knows it didn’t. Never did. 

He went through all of your drawers. Cabinets. Closet space. Even your mattress, anytime he could. Anytime he can. 

Walking into the bedroom, his eyes scanned your desk. Looking at all the makeup you used to get ready tonight. 

You hardly wore this much makeup on your dates with him. Not that you needed it, but it caused his heart to race. 

Why did you need it tonight? You were just hanging out with the girls. That’s what you said, right? 

If not him, then who’re you trying to impress? 

The dolled-up face, the tight dress, the curly hair. All for a bar filled with random men to see you at all night.Fuck. He had to release this pent-up aggression. 

His eyes scanned, searching for his camera. 

He swears he left it there, it was right there. By your lip gloss. The lip gloss you just used… 

Fuck. 

—- 

“Happy birthday to you!” You and your girls sang to your best friend, everyone’s phone recording as the mini cake was lit up at the VIP section of the club. 

The music was thumping and the bass was almost too loud for anyone to hear each other. 

Shots scattered around the table. You only had 2, just like you promised Taehyung you would. 

Your best friend blew out her candles, and your section cheered happily at the sight. Flashed lit up the table as everyone took selfies and pics with one another on their cellphones. 

“Oh my god, guys wait!” you announced, digging in your purse as you scurried to find the camera. “I took my boyfriends digi-cam tonight. I want all our pics to be like in A1 quality, I'm so serious,” you told the girls. 

Your best friends' eyes shot up happily. “Oh my god! That’s amazing, I literally need like professional pics for tonight! We all look too good,” she cheered. 

“How’s you and that guy anyways?” Your other friend commented curiously. “Being as, it’s been almost 3 months, and we haven’t met the guy, you guys still going slow?” She wondered. 

You nodded. Your hands finally found the camera as you rushed to turn it on. “Still kinda slow, we haven’t met each other's friends or family yet. Told him I wasn’t really ready for that type of shit yet, but he completely understood and agreed,” you told your friends, the girls nodding their heads and humming. 

You turned on the camera and peaked at the settings, adjusting it for the club lighting. “Okay ladies, everyone looks at the camera!” You announced, flipping the camera lenses to face you and your group. 

You all smiled and held up ‘peace signs’ before the shutter went off. 

“Okay show us!” Your best friend urged.  

“Yeah, come on!” your other friends are heard begging profusely, tapping your arm in excitement. 

“Chill! Okay!” You shushed the girls, opening the gallery of the camera, searching for the pictures. 

Suddenly, it’s dead silent. 

Your mind blanks as you’re faced with what was in the gallery. Your friends' hands flew over their mouths in shock, eyes wide and voices completely gone. 

You didn’t pay any attention to them. To the music, to the crowd, to the drinks. Just completely shifted to what was lying in the camera roll. 

Hundreds of photos of you. 

Naked. 

Asleep. 

Walking to school. 

Walking home. 

Walking to work. 

Working. 

Even some with you and your friends, the same friends sitting right beside you. 

“Y/n what the fuck?!” Your friend cursed.  

“Did you know?” The other questioned. 

Tears well in your eyes. “I-I-I had no clue… I never went through this before, I only seen pics he’s shown me…” you stammered hopelessly, eyes still glued as you scrolled. 

A knot in your stomach churned; you began gagging violently. 

Your best friend caught you in her arms, patting your back. “No- fuck. Y/n, no you’re okay, it’s not your fault, it’s okay,” she comforted as much as she could.  

Your other friends took the camera from your hand, averting your eyes from the images. 

But they looked. They scrolled and seen everything. “Y/n, this is really bad,” one of them commented. 

“He literally has pictures of your documents here too. Your birth certificate, your social, your passport,” 

“You have to go to the police right now!” 

“Shut the fuck up! She’s literally about to vomit from this shit, she can’t handle hearing this right now!” Your best friend yelled at the other girls, she being more overwhelmed than you are. 

Your breath steadied, eyes blinking rapidly as you attempted to calm down. 

“it’s fine… I'm gonna figure this out myself,” you told your friends, feigning a calm and stable voice. 

You reached for your phone. 11:57pm, Taehyung will be outside any minute now. 

You collected your purse and stood up. Kneed wobbly and eyes watery. “Gimme the camera, I gotta go,” you said, reaching for the device and snatching it away from your friends. 

They all stared at you in disbelief, calling your name profusely. 

“You can’t go! This guy is fucking weird!” Your friends screamed. 

“Y/n, we’re gonna call the police, I swear to fucking god!” 

“Please, this isn’t safe!” 

It was all white noise. 

Your hands rummaged through your purse as you set the camera inside, walking outside the bar and seeing a familiar black car parked right in front of the building. 

You opened the passenger door and sat down inside, buckling your seatbelt. Your eyes averted from the man beside you. 

“Hey, Tae,” you whispered, eyes looking out the window. 

Taehyung’s gaze was completely on the side of your face. Small smile, soft eyes, the typical expression he always shared with you. 

“Hi baby, you, okay?” He asked, his hand reaching instinctively to land on your thigh. 

“Drank too much, feeling sick can we-,” you paused, your eyes looking outside the window and seeing your friends flocking around the club entrance trying to find you. 

“Please, let’s just go,” you begged as tears threatened to fall from your eyes. 

Taehyung didn’t say anything else, immediately putting the car in drive and pulling off. 

—- 

The street was bare, hardly anyone was out driving this late. The streetlights suddenly became eerie, and the silence in the car echoed throughout the drive. 

Taehyung came to a stop at the red light. 

“Hey baby?” He asked softly. 

You hummed in response, still not facing him. You couldn’t. You were physically sickened to your stomach. 

“I can’t find my camera. Have you seen it?” He asked casually. His eyes focused on the road as the light turned green, his foot accelerating on the pedal. 

You choked. “N-no, haven’t seen it,” you lied. 

He sighed frustratingly. “You’re a liar,” he deemed. 

Your eyes widened, looking over at him now. His foot on the pedal pressing, faster.  

50. 

60. 

70. 

“I-I-I'm not lying, Tae… slow down, you’re speeding,” you begged frantically, watching as signs, buildings, lights passed you by at lightning speed. 

His hands gripped the steering wheel harder; his knuckles whitening. 

“You’re lying to me. Why’re you lying to me? I never lie to you, why do you lie to me?” He chanted under his breath, barely above a whisper. It was hard to say he was even asking you directly at this point. 

Tears fell down your face. Your throat hoarse from the sobs you choked back all night. 

“I have it!” You screamed, holding onto your own body against the seat. “It’s in my purse! I just borrowed it for tonight! I swear!”  

Taehyung’s eyes were glossy. His foot lifted off the accelerator; the car naturally slowed down at the release.  

His chest heaved from frustration. He continued the drive at a steady speed; his hands still rough against the steering wheel. 

“Why did you lie?” He asked quietly. 

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand as you trembled. “I didn’t want you to be upset that I took it out with me,” you responded honestly. 

“You should’ve just asked, I would’ve given you a new SD card and all,” he replied in his same soft-spoken tone that he always used with you. 

It was fucking petrifying. 

“It’s okay, we only took one picture anyways- “ 

“No!” He yelled, hitting his hand against the wheel. “It’s my camera! The photos on there are mine! Only for me to see!” He yelled harshly. 

You flinched at the loudness, hands shaking as you shielded your face from him. 

“I’m sorry! No one seen anything! I promise!” you defensively yelled back at the man. 

“Yes, they did! That’s why you’re lying, you’re a fucking liar! You’re lying to me!” He accused his foot picking up on the accelerator again. 

Suddenly, a loud siren wailing sounded from behind your boyfriend's car. Red and blue flashing lights followed behind. 

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. 

Your eyes were red. The intense crying blurred your sight completely, and your heart raced from fear. 

Your boyfriend and the cops would never mix, especially in the situation you are in now. 

Luckily, Taehyung was smart enough to pull over. 

The parallel parking lane was dimly lit.  

Taehyung pulled out his license and registration immediately, rolling down the windows for the cops. 

“Have any idea why we’re stopping you?” The gruff voice of the cop beamed through the interior of the car. He took the information of Taehyung and scanned it thoroughly. 

“My girlfriend had a really long night at the bar, just trying to get her home safely,” he answered, his thumb sticking to point to you. You didn’t look at the cops. 

Your face was tear stained, hair frizzy, and body attempting to stabilize from the trembles. 

The cop stared at your figure.  

“Ma’am, step out the vehicle for me,” he instructed. 

“W-why does she need- “ 

“It’s fine, Taehyung,” you assured, eyes briefly looking at him as you unbuckled your seatbelt, taking your phone and purse with you to the back of the car where the officer awaited. 

“Name?” 

You told him your first and last name. 

“Date of birth?” 

You answered. 

The cop spoke on the radio, saying a number and asked for backup. 

“We got a call earlier about you, leaving the club downtown, saying you were the victim of a violent incident and people there were concerned for your safety,” the cop bluntly stated. 

Your eyes widened, your head turned to the car, looking through the back window for any signs of Taehyung paying attention to the situation. 

“Don’t look at him, talk to me” the officer instructed firmly. 

“If he’s hurting you, you have to let me know. We can’t have you going home and something happens,” the cop explained narrowly. 

“He doesn’t hurt me but, I think he stalked me,” you answered shamefully. 

The cop nodded his head. “The caller mentioned he took explicit photos of you without your consent, has a gallery of pictures inside your house, and so forth,” the cop continued. 

You only nodded your head.  

“Do you have the camera on you?” He asked once more. 

You reluctantly opened your purse, hand maneuvering through the bag. 

“No!” A loud visceral yell is heard from beside the car. Taehyung is standing by the driver's door, tears rushing down his flushed face. 

The cop immediately reached for his taser, aiming it at the man. “Stand back!” The cop screamed. 

“No!” You yelled at the cop, reaching before him.  

“Please Y/n! I’m not crazy… I swear baby. I-I-I just love you so much, I had to see you everywhere I…” he hiccupped between his words, falling to his knees. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you; I just never knew I could love someone like I love you. I took pictures to have you with me all the time because… I was scared you weren’t gonna ever like me… I took what I could please,” he whimpered, tears drenching his face like rainfall. 

“I’m begging you, please don’t leave me, I can’t be without you please. It’s not worth being here if you’re not with me… you’re my purpose… you’re my life, God y/n,” 

The cop rolled his eyes. He replaced the taser with cuffs. He walked over slowly to the weak man, placing his arms behind his back and cuffing his wrists. 

You stood there in shock, hand over your heart as you watched the man cry, plead, beg for you. 

His eyes glossy and red, lips stained with saliva as his cries grew louder. The cop dragged him into the back seat of the patrol car, shutting and locking the door before walking back to you. 

“I’ll make it simple. He admitted to his crime already, you can hand me the SD card for evidence, you go home, he goes to jail and you don’t have to deal with this,” the cop explained to you swiftly. 

“Or you don’t give me the card, you don’t press charges, he goes to jail overnight with a ticket and then comes home and you risk him hurting you, what’s gonna happen?” 

Your eyes dart between the cop, your purse, and Taehyung in the back of the car. 

You choked on your sobs, wiping your face with the back of your hand before focusing on the cop. 

You dug once more in your purse and opened the SD card port to the camera, punching out the small blue disk and handing it into the officer who gladly accepted the piece. 

— 

School started again around two months ago. 

You quit your job as a barista and moved out of your apartment right after Taehyung was convicted and sentenced to prison time. 

It was hard facing him in that court room, testifying against him while viewing the photos he took of you for the second time. 

The police raided his apartment. The old one and the unit he purchased next to you. They found the gun he’d threatened Gabe with. He never told you owned one, and you doubt he ever would. They found the portrait frames he’d purchased, planning to frame the photos he’d taken of you alongside the computer filled with terabytes worth of evidence towards stalking you. 

What pained you the most about the whole thing... it wasn’t the fact that he had explicit photos of you nonconsensual. It wasn’t the following you home every night. It wasn’t the threats he sent to the men around you. It wasn’t manipulation, lies, the infatuation.  

It was the fact you were blinded by his ‘love’ for you. 

The way he masked his obsession behind flowers, and dates, the sex. 

It was an impressive facade. 

The monomania of being in a relationship with you, rather than genuinely loving you. 

You’ve gotten a new job, working in retail at your favorite clothing store. 

“Here’s your bags,” you smiled at the young lady opposite the cash register, handing her the bags filled with clothes and the receipt. “Enjoy your day!” 

She reciprocated her smile, “thanks” she accepted the bags and walked towards the exit of the doors. 

A buzz from your phone rang in your back pocket, 

“Excuse me, sorry need to take this,” you alerted to your manager who nodded understandably as you walked to the back office. 

You picked up the call. 

“Hello?” 

“Hello, this is Officer Jackson with the county jail downtown, it appears that inmate Kim wanted to speak with you over the line, is that okay?” The officer’s voice beamed through the speaker. 

Your eyes squeezed in realization. A deep strung-out huff blew from your chest as you collected your thoughts before you answered. 

“Yes,” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

a/n: I feel this might be one of my fav works yet. I've never wrote yonder, idk lmk how u like it <3

taglist: @calmyourtitts7 @barnessmut @cprcupcakke @himik0-0 @heyyymin @babyluvlol @mokaccinooooo @floclover @shinylovertree @qhevy @wordoffliah @s1mpf0rda1k1 @sweet4goddess2writer0 @taeohyungs @seeyouinheaveen @thebaratheonlion @mysteris-things @jjanajk @raging-yapper @maddieppson @siignsofautism @katsuskiess @thisaintredwine @jeilicious @inlovewithallmusic @iheartwonnieee @xox0juli4 @fadedmixtape @thvgia @nextweekbts @beyibu @ayoo-bangtan @2016jklover @minabaee @sammywhammy1 @nanajwrld @jungkoookieee @thvxesthetic @alwaayys-blog @kookiee1997 @renpodz @written-with-stars @tifoffee @kookie96

@ohgoch @chikityy @glazeddonut20

[mei-mei-fics]

second taglist: @xlee-xd7@serenaorsiren @hummusxx @cherrylovescheol @floclover @lunette13 @katarinamae @jhens-world @sugadclaws @thedelulusafespace @taegiverse7 @liazs44 @sierrakook @amoamor42 @vevemagicshop @shadykittyperfection @amy03g @dna-black-and-blue @cprcupcakke @heartsfromgabz @ae12moonss @euniciane @jinandnamjoonsfavgirl @sftlrmin @krysphycookiez @skzrracha @sourcandyfish @fandom-taylor @dvarlinggg @b-tangkitten @r0sek00kie @scyllayoucunt @akl3223 @miriamkovacova @lixii00 @galaxygurlll @kittygangcore @bebesnyia7 @navixfr @addicted-to-f1 @ddalgidaltae @f1wr @moonf1owerr @dxsbeauty @gdjyho @lunaryoongie @imhaelie

[lostbookmark]

MDNI🔞 (Taglist Closed)

Main Masterlist here

Before I Forgot Masterlist here

Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut

Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…

"The secret, Y/N, is respect," Jin says, wielding a wooden spoon. He taps it sharply against the rim of a massive copper pan. "You cannot rush the garlic. If you burn the garlic, you have insulted the dish. If you insult the dish, you have insulted me. And frankly, neither of us wants to live with that kind of negative energy."

​You lean your hip against his immaculate marble island, a glass of white wine held between your fingers, watching him with an amused grin.

​"I'm not rushing it," you defend yourself, taking a small sip of your wine. "I was just asking if we should turn the burner down. I've seen the video of you almost burning the dorm down."

​Jin gasps, a hand flying to his chest in offense.

"Turn it down? This is medium-low, Y/N. It is a gentle simmer. Look at these shallots. They are translucent. They are crying out for the seafood, but we must wait for the exact moment of peak fragrance." He dramatically closes his eyes, inhaling the steam rising from the pan. "AND….We don't talk about that video! Ah. There it is. The symphony begins."

​He moves with a fluid, effortless grace, dumping a large bowl of freshly cleaned clams and mussels into the pan. They hit the hot butter with a loud, violent sizzle, a cloud of steam billowing up toward the range hood.

​"Now," Jin says, capping the pan with a heavy lid and turning to you with a wide, satisfied smile. "We let the steam do the heavy lifting for exactly four minutes. Do not touch it. Do not look at it. If you look at it, the heat escapes, and the clams get stubborn. What kind of food did you cook back at home?"

“We didn't really cook,” you answer. “We ordered out most nights.”

Jin gasps loudly. He drops his wooden spoon onto a ceramic rest with a dramatic clack that echoes through the pristine kitchen.

"Ordered out? Most nights?!" He looks at you in shock. He grips the edge of the marble island, leaning in looking at you seriously. "Y/N! A kitchen is a sanctuary. It is a stage! It is meant to be lived in, fought in, and absolutely covered well-executed sauce!"

He waves a hand dismissively in the air, his voice rising into an indignant squeak.

"And this... this Corbyn person hated a dirty kitchen? What kind of man fears a little splatter? You cannot make an omelet without breaking eggs, and you certainly cannot live a joyful life without having to scrub a frying pan at least once a day!" He exclaims.

"He just... preferred things orderly. If a single drop of marinara hit the backsplash, it was a whole ordeal. It just became easier to open an app and let someone else do the dishes." You offer a sheepish smile, swirling the remaining white wine in your glass.

"Tragic. Utterly tragic," Jin mutters, though the theatrical anger is already softening into something much more gentle. He checks his watch, his internal culinary clock ticking down the final seconds for the shellfish. "To live in fear of a mess is to live in fear of flavor. Look at your hands from the other day. Yura told us you were practically a charcoal statue! Did you die? No. You survived. The kitchen is no different."

He steps back to the stove, gripping the handle of the heavy lid.

"And besides... if you never get the kitchen dirty, it means you never get to do this." He smiles.

With a grand, sweeping motion, he lifts the lid. A magnificent, billowing cloud of garlic, white wine, and ocean-rich steam erupts into the space, instantly making your mouth water. The clams and mussels have opened perfectly, yawning wide to reveal plump, tender centers swimming in a shimmering, buttery broth.

"See?" Jin beams, his chest puffing out with pride as he grabs a handful of freshly chopped parsley and showers it over the pan like confetti. "Chaos yields perfection. Now, go grab the toasted sourdough from the oven. Let's see if we can break you of another bad habit."

He slides two wide, shallow bowls onto the island, his eyes crinkling into a warm, supportive crinkle.

"In this house, Y/N, we make a mess. And we enjoy every single bite of it." He nods. “Aaannd…. in this house we are also nosy.”

Jin's eyes go to your left hand where the thin silver band with the dark stone sits on your middle finger.

“What?” You question.

"I know your date with Yoongi went well," he says softly. "But..."

He pauses, the dramatic, theatrical chef completely vanishing. In his place is the friend who watches over everyone with a quiet, protective intensity. He sets the tongs down, his eyes locked on the thin silver band catching the light of the kitchen.

"I know what that ring meant to the both of you," Jin continues. He leans his forearms against the cool marble, looking at you with a gaze that is entirely stripped of jokes. "And because I love you both, I have to say this. Don't get his hopes up if you aren't certain, Y/N. Especially since you're not ready for the weight of what that ring actually carries."

The warmth of the steam between you suddenly feels heavy and extra warm.

"Yoongi... he wears his heart behind a steel vault, but you have always had the combination," Jin says gently, his eyes softening as he notices you instinctively tracing the dark stone with your thumb. "When you disappeared, a part of him just shut down. Seeing you wear that ring again? To him, it will look like a promise. It will look like a path back to exactly how things used to be."

He reaches across the island, his warm, solid hand briefly covering yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.

"But you don't remember 'how things used to be' yet. And that is okay," Jin reassures you, giving your hand a light, supportive squeeze before drawing back to give you space. "You are allowed to just go on dates. You are allowed to move at a snail's pace. But that ring carries history you're still trying to piece together. Just... be careful with his heart while you're figuring out your own. He will wait a lifetime for you, but the suspense might actually kill him."

A small, bittersweet smile tugs at Jin's lips, breaking the heavy tension just enough for you to breathe. He taps the edge of your wine glass with his fingernail, a soft clink echoing between you.

"Now, retrieve the sourdough before it turns into the charcoal you modeled the other day," he orders, his tone shifting back to its familiar, lighthearted warmth. "The broth is perfect, the chef is hungry, and we have a lot of mess left to make.

Before you can even reach for the oven mitts, the front door flies open. The quiet, aromatic sanctuary Jin had so carefully constructed is instantly wrecked by a tidal wave of footsteps on the floor, overlapping voices, and the unmistakable, chaotic energy of a family arriving in full force.

"Is the food done! I'm hungry!" Taehyung’s voice echoes down the hall first. He catches sight of the marble island and drops his keys with a dramatic clatter. "Jin! Tell me the sea creatures are ready!"

"Wow. It smells like heaven in here." Jimin says right behind him.

"Hey, watch the elbows!" Namjoon grunts, navigating the doorway while trying to balance a giant cardboard box full of old vinyl records he must have dragged along from somewhere. He sets it precariously near the dining table, giving you a warm, dimpled smile. "Hey, Y/N. Don't let Jin boss you around too much."

"Excuse me! I am culturing her!" Jin defends himself, waving his wooden spoon at the incoming horde. "And who invited you all? This was a private masterclass! A culinary sanctuary! Look at you, tracking the outside world into my kitchen!"

"Oh, shut up, Jin, we brought dessert," Yura’s voice cuts through the noise and immediately slides into the space next to you at the island. But she isn't alone. Jungkook is attached to her hip, his arm wrapped firmly around her waist, his chin practically resting on her shoulder as he eyes the steaming pan of clams.

"Hey, Y/N. Tell me he made the garlic bread. If there's no garlic bread, Yura's going to make me drive to the bakery and I've been driving all day." Jungkook looks up, flashing you a massive grin.

"We're married, Jungkook, not glued at the hip, move your big head," Yura teases, though she leans back into his chest affectionately, reaching out to steal a sip of your white wine. She winks at you. "How's the brain-breaking going? Still got charcoal under your fingernails?"

"Washed most of it off," you laugh, the warmth of the room instantly bubbling up in your chest.

Yoongi walks into the kitchen. He doesn't make a loud entrance like the others. He just slips into the room, his dark eyes instantly scanning the chaos until they land on you. Your breath catches for a fraction of a second. The memory of the stone alcove, the scuffed headphones, and the quiet, deliberate pressure of his lips against yours on Saturday rushes back.

Yoongi steps closer to the island, stopping just a foot away from you. There's a subtle, careful hesitation in his posture. A quiet, mutual awareness that things have changed between you. He gives you a small, private nod, his eyes softening.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," you reply softly, offering a tentative smile.

​Your stomach does a nervous flip under Yoongi's gaze. Instinctively, your fingers find the familiar shape of the silver band on your middle finger. You twist it around your knuckle, the dark stone catching the light as it spins.

​Yoongi’s eyes follow the movement.

​The moment his gaze lands on the jewelry, he freezes. The subtle, relaxed warmth in his posture completely vanishes. His dark eyes zero in on the ring…the engagement ring he had chosen for you, the one you practically snatched from him.

You can see the gears turning in Yoongi's head. The different emotions cross his eyes. He doesn't say a word. He doesn't even breathe. He just stares at your hand, his jaw tightening slightly. The weight of it feels massive, exactly like Jin said it would.

"Is it... is it okay if I wear it?" You ask softly, trying not to draw attention to the two of you.

​The question is timid, almost fragile. You want him to know you aren't trying to force a memory that isn't there yet, but you also want him to know that you want this…this connection, this piece of him…close to you.

​Yoongi’s eyes slowly snap back up to yours. The raw vulnerability flashing across his face is staggering, but he forces a slow, deep exhale through his nose, purposefully relaxing his shoulders. A tiny, incredibly gentle smile tugs at the corner of his lips, erasing the sudden tension.

​"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice a low, rough rumble that carries a depth of emotion that makes your chest ache. He steps just an inch closer, his eyes locked on yours. "Yeah, Y/N. It looks perfect exactly where it is."

"Min Yoongi!" Jin shouts from the stove, aggressively dishing out mounds of steaming pasta into wide bowls. "Instead of giving Y/N lovey dovey eyes, why don't you be useful? Get the sourdough out of the oven before it turns into charcoal!"

"I've got it," Yoongi says quickly, his hand moving to guide you out of Jin's immediate splash zone. His fingers briefly brush against the small of your back.

"Alright, clear the table!" Hobi cheers, appearing out of nowhere with a stack of cloth napkins, practically vibrating with hunger. "The feast has arrived! Move the records, Namjoon, or they're getting marinara on them!"

The kitchen erupts into a flurry of moving chairs, clinking silverware, and the collective, ravenous appetite of a group that clearly eats together often. You and Yoongi work side by side in a quiet, synchronized rhythm, transferring the hot bread to a cutting board, your shoulders brushing occasionally in the narrow space. It's careful, and it's a little delicate, but as you look around the loud, messy room, the hesitation starts to feel less like fear and more like anticipation.

The table is a magnificent, chaotic battleground of passing plates, clanking silverware, and overlapping voices. Jin’s "tragedy of a clean kitchen" has officially commenced, and nobody is holding back.

​"Pass the clams, Namjoon…no, the other left!"

​"Jungkook, if you eat the last piece of sourdough before I even get a bite, our marriage vows are legally null and void." Yura groans.

​You laugh, taking a bite of the perfectly tender seafood, the rich, buttery white wine broth exploding with flavor. Yoongi is sitting right next to you, his thigh occasionally brushing against yours beneath the crowded table. He isn't talking much, content to quietly eat his pasta, but every time you reach for your wine or laugh at one of Jimin’s jokes, you can feel his eyes on you.

​"So, Y/N," Yura says, leaning across the table and wiping a stray drop of sauce from the corner of her mouth. "I was looking up some stuff this morning and I stumbled across this watercolor class. It focuses on landscapes and blending techniques."

"Watercolor?" ​You blink, a sudden, familiar spark igniting in your chest.

​"Yeah. I think the charcoal might have been a little too much to get you back into the swing of things," Yura continues, her eyes bright with encouragement. "But watercolor is gentler. It's all about letting the water do the work, building layers. I remember you used to say it was the easiest medium for you to lose yourself in. I thought... maybe it would feel easy now, too. A good way to just play around without any pressure."

​"Actually, that sounds really amazing," you murmur, genuinely intrigued. The thought of vibrant pigments bleeding into wet paper feels like a comforting, distant song you almost know the words to. “I feel like….”

​Directly right across from you, Taehyung lets out a frustrated, deeply pathetic whine. ​He is currently engaged in a losing battle with a particularly stubborn, tightly sealed mussel. His bottom lip is poked out, his knuckles white as he tries to pry the shell apart with his bare fingers. His grip slips, nearly sending a spray of broth directly into Jimin's face.

​"Taehyung, stop wrestling with the seafood," Jin snaps.

​"It won't open!" Taehyung groans, his oversized cardigan sleeves dipping dangerously close to his pasta bowl. "It's locking me out! It's a vault!"

​Without even breaking eye contact with Yura, completely untethered from the conscious thought of what you are doing, your hands move on instinct.

​"....I wouldn't need such a heavy hand," you finish your sentence smoothly.

​In one fluid, seamless motion, you reach across the small gap between your placemats. Your left hand grabs Taehyung’s wrist to stabilize his slippery fingers, while your right hand slides an empty half-shell from your own plate right into the tiny crevice of his stubborn mussel. With a quick, practiced twist of your wrist, you use the shell as a lever.

​Pop.

​The stubborn mussel springs wide open, revealing the plump center. You slide your hands back to your own glass of wine, picking it up and taking a casual sip.

"Anyway, Yura, send me the link to the class. I'd love to look at it." You smile at her.

​Yura doesn't answer.

​In fact, nobody answers.

​The clinking of forks against ceramic abruptly dies. The loud, boisterous chewing halts. The chaotic symphony of the dinner table is instantly sucked out of the room, replaced by a sudden, heavy, dead silence.

​You freeze. Your wine glass halfway to your lips.

​Slowly, you look around the table.

​Taehyung is staring down at his perfectly opened mussel, his mouth slightly agape, his fingers still hovering in the air exactly where you had held his wrist. Next to him, Jimin’s fork is suspended halfway to his mouth. Jungkook has stopped chewing entirely, a piece of sourdough gripped in his hand, his eyes wide as he looks from Taehyung’s plate to you.

​Even Jin has gone completely still, a serving spoon hovering over the pasta bowl.

​Next to you, you feel Yoongi go rigid. His breath hitches, a sharp, quiet intake of air that cuts through the silence. ​You look at them, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs as a cold prickle of self-consciousness washes over you.

"What?" You ask, your voice sounding small in the quiet room. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"

​"No," Taehyung whispers, his voice unusually soft. He looks up at you, his large eyes shifting from a state of shock into something deeply vulnerable, almost fragile. "You... you always used to do that. Whenever I got a stubborn one. You wouldn't even look."

​A wave of dizzying realization hits you. You hadn't thought about it. Your body had just known. Muscle memory, deep and buried, had bypassed your broken recollections and simply executed a routine you had performed dozens of times before. Namjoon clears his throat, his expression a mixture of profound awe and a quiet, aching sadness.

"Exactly like that," he echoes softly. "You’d keep talking to whoever, pop it open, and carry on."

"Your hands remember." ​Yura’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, a trembling but massive smile breaking across her face. She reaches across the tabletop, covering your hand with hers.

The heavy tension in the room breaks, dissolving not into sadness, but into a collective, warm burst of emotion.

​"That was amazing," Jimin breathes, finally dropping his fork and shaking his head. "For a second, I thought I was having a hallucination. It was like a ghost just walked into the room and opened a shellfish."

​"A ghost with excellent technique," Jin chimed in, though his voice was rougher than usual as he aggressively blinked away moisture. He pointed his wooden spoon at Taehyung. "See? That is what I mean by respect! Y/N has the touch!"

​"I'm keeping this shell forever," Taehyung declares, holding up the empty half-shell you had used as a tool like it was a holy relic.

​"Don't put garbage in your pocket, Taehyung," Jungkook groans, though he's smiling widely now, shoving the rest of his bread into his mouth.

The table instantly explodes back into motion, the sudden burst of noise a relief against the heavy silence that had just gripped the room. Taehyung carefully sets his holy relic shell next to his water glass with a stubborn, defensive glare at Jungkook, while Jin begins aggressively shoveling more clams onto everyone’s plates as if a surplus of seafood could heal a timeline.

"Eat, eat!" Jin demands, his ears slightly pink. "The emotional shock has burned through your calories. We need sustenance!"

Everyone descends back into their normal chaos, Jimin trying to steal a noodle from Namjoon, Yura enthusiastically texting you the watercolor link under the table. You feel the tight knot of panic in your chest slowly begin to unwind. Your hands are still trembling slightly against the stem of your wine glass. You look down at your fingers. They knew exactly what to do.

"Hey."

The murmur is right at your ear, so low it’s meant only for you.

You look over. Yoongi has shifted in his chair, turning his body slightly toward yours. The rigid tension you felt in him a moment ago has melted, replaced by an intensity in his dark eyes that makes your breath hitch all over again. He isn't looking at the table. He's looking entirely at you, his features soft, a quiet, fierce pride radiating from him.

Slowly, beneath the edge of the crowded table, his hand slides over yours. His palm is warm and slightly calloused. Instead of just a fleeting brush, his fingers slide between yours, locking his hand with yours in a firm. His fingers brushing against the ring sitting on your middle finger. It's hidden from the rest of the room.

"You okay?" He asks softly.

"Yeah," you breathe, a genuine smile finally breaking through your shock. "Yeah. It was just... weird. Like my brain got bypassed."

"Your brain tries too hard sometimes," Yoongi says, his mouth twitching into that faint, knowing gummy smile you’re quickly realizing is your favorite sight in the world. He squeezes your hand again, leaning in just a fraction closer. "Your heart and your hands have a better memory than you give them credit for. Trust them."

Before you can answer, a heavy piece of sourdough lands with a soft thud directly into Yoongi’s pasta bowl, splashing a drop of buttery broth onto his thumb.

"Yoongi, stop hoarding the bread basket and pass it down!" Jungkook calls out from down the table, completely oblivious to the quiet moment he just interrupted.

Yoongi lets out a low, irritated huff, but the warmth doesn't leave his eyes. He slowly lets go of your hand, though his fingers linger against yours until the very last second. He picks up the bread basket with his other hand and glares at the youngest.

"If you drop sauce on my shirt, Jungkook, you're doing Jin's dishes alone," Yoongi warns, though there's no real bite to it.

"I'll help you do the dishes, Y/N!" Taehyung chimes in, finally eating his hard-won mussel. "Since you saved my life from starvation."

"She's a guest, you freeloaders, none of you are making her do dishes!" Jin scolds, waving a napkin.

You lean back in your chair, taking another sip of your wine, the rich flavor settling over your tongue. The noise, the bickering, the warmth of Yoongi's leg resting firmly against yours under the table. It doesn't feel like a puzzle anymore.

It just feels like home.

​"I am a martyr," Jin announces to the ceiling, his voice echoing off the tile backsplash over the sound of rushing water. He aggressively attacks a copper pan with a soapy sponge, bubbles flying in every direction. "A culinary saint trapped in a house of ungrateful, lazy heathens. I feed you, I culture you, I give you the gift of my presence, and how am I repaid? Desertion!"

​"Jin, I literally just offered to dry," Jimin says, leaning against the counter with a dish towel draped over his shoulder, looking thoroughly amused.

​"No! Get out of my workspace!" Jin snaps, waving a sudsy hand dismissively. "Your technique is sloppy, Jimin. You leave streaks. If anyone is going to touch my fine ceramic, it will be me. But that doesn't mean you all get to sit there and watch me suffer in silence!"

​"He's in his element," Yoongi murmurs near your ear.

He’s standing right next to you, helping clear the last of the empty water glasses. A faint, lingering warmth remains on your skin from where his hand had been locked with yours under the table just minutes before. He gives you a subtle, lingering look before heading toward the living room to escape the splash zone.

​You chuckle, grabbing a damp cloth to wipe down the immaculate marble island. The kitchen is exactly what Jin had wanted for you earlier. There are stray flecks of parsley, a ring of white wine on a coaster, and a faint smudge of marinara near the edge where Jungkook had aggressively defended his bread territory.

​As you lean over to wipe a stubborn drop of buttery broth, a deep, crackling hiss echoes from the corner of the dining room. ​Namjoon has finally freed his vinyl records from the cardboard box. With meticulous, surprisingly delicate care, he places a heavy black disc onto the turntable. The needle drops with a soft, warm pop, and the room is instantly filled with the smooth sound of an old-school jazz track. The tempo is slow and romantic, cutting right through the clatter of Jin's dramatic dishwashing.

​"Ah, now that is a classic," Namjoon says proudly, crossing his arms and admiring the sound spinning from the speakers.

​"It's too slow! It's putting me to sleep!" Taehyung complains from the couch, though he's already half-buried under a throw blanket, looking thoroughly defeated by the massive amount of carbs he just consumed.

​Before you can finish wiping down your section of the island, a whirlwind of energy materializes right beside you.

​"Oh, absolutely not. We are not letting the post-dinner coma win tonight," Hobi declares. He appears out of nowhere, his bright eyes locked onto yours, a brilliant, blinding smile stretching across his face.

​Before you can even register the laugh bubbling up in your throat, Hobi gently but firmly plucks the damp cloth right out of your fingers, tossing it onto the counter behind you. He grabs your right hand, his grip warm and full of infectious enthusiasm, and places his other hand lightly on your waist.

​"Hobi, wait, I'm supposed to be helping…" you protest, laughing as he easily steers you away from the island and into the open space between the kitchen and the dining table.

​"The table can wait, Y/N. The music is calling!" He exclaims.

​He doesn't drag you into some high-energy dance. Instead, he perfectly adapts to the lazy, swaying rhythm of Namjoon's record. He guides you into a smooth, effortless slow dance, stepping in time with the deep thrum of the double bass.

Hobi moves with a natural, fluid rhythm that makes it impossible not to follow him. He leads you in a slow, elegant sway, his eyes sparkling with pure mischief and joy as he exaggerates a dramatic dip that makes you gasp-laugh, gripping his shoulder for balance.

​"See? Perfect form!" Hobi beams, pulling you back up seamlessly into the lazy tempo of the jazz music. "You've got the rhythm in you, Y/N. You just have to let the music do the work."

​Over Hobi’s shoulder, you glance back toward the kitchen island. The chaos has shifted into a quieter, domestic rhythm. Yoongi and Yura are working side by side, completely in their own world as they pack away the leftover clams and pasta. Yura is holding open a stack of glass tupperware containers, while Yoongi uses a large metal spoon to carefully transfer the remaining food, ensuring not a single drop of the precious buttery broth is wasted.

​Even from across the room, you can see the relaxed slope of Yoongi’s shoulders. He says something in a low voice that makes Yura laugh out loud, shoving his shoulder playfully. He looks up then, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the room to find you. He watches you swaying with Hobi, a soft, incredibly tender expression crossing his face that makes your heart skip a beat.

​Hobi catches the direction of your gaze, a knowing, brilliant smirk spreading across his lips. He doesn't miss a single beat of the music.

​"Hey, Yoongi!" Hobi calls out, his voice ringing loud and clear over the brassy hum of the turntable. "You're slacking on your boyfriend duties! Come take over before I steal your dance partner for the rest of the night!"

​Yoongi freezes, a plastic container lid hovering in his hand. His ears instantly turn a bright, telling shade of pink. Yura lets out a delighted squeal, snatching the lid out of his hand and giving him a hard shove toward the dining area.

"Go! Move your feet, Min Yoongi! Don't be a coward!" She laughs.

​Before you can even prepare yourself, Hobi tightens his grip on your hand just enough to guide you into a smooth, sweeping spin. The room blurs for a fraction of a second. The gleaming copper pans, Jin's soapy suds, Namjoon's dimpled grin…and then, the spin slows.

​Hobi releases your hand at the perfect moment, launching you right into Yoongi’s space.

​Yoongi steps forward automatically, his hands coming up on instinct to catch you. His large, warm palms settle firmly against your waist, steadying your momentum as your chest bumps lightly against his chest.

​"Gotcha," Yoongi murmurs as your palms land flat against his chest.

​Suddenly, the living room erupts.

​"Ooooooh!" Taehyung howls from the couch, throwing off his throw blanket and sitting up straight with a massive, boxy grin. "Look at him! He's blushing!"

​"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Jimin starts chanting rhythmically, slapping his hand against the kitchen counter in time with his words. Jungkook immediately joins in, banging a spoon against an empty glass.

​"Yeah, come on, we missed it the first time!" Yura shouts, cupping her hands around her mouth with zero shame. "Give the people what they want!"

​"Stop peer pressuring them, you animals!" Jin yells, though he has completely stopped scrubbing his pan, leaning over the sink with a massive, expectant grin plastered across his face.

​Your face flushes incredibly hot, the heat blooming from your neck all the way to the tips of your ears. You look up at Yoongi, a helpless, embarrassed laugh escaping your lips.

"They are entirely shameless," you whisper, your eyes wide.

​Yoongi is looking down at you, his own face flushed a deep, beautiful crimson that stretches all the way to the back of his neck. He lets out a breathless, flustered laugh, his head dropping for a second as he tries to hide his gummy smile from the roaring crowd.

Yoongi shakes his head, his shoulders rolling with a silent, breathless laugh as the tips of his ears burn an even deeper shade of crimson. He looks out over the living room, his small, knowing gummy smile completely giving away how flustered he actually is, despite his best efforts to look unbothered.

"You guys are absolute idiots," Yoongi calls out, his voice a low, raspy drawl that barely carries over Jimin’s rhythmic kitchen counter drumming.

Before the crowd can boo him for stalling, Yoongi’s eyes flash with a sudden, playful spark. His large hands shift from your waist, one sliding smoothly down to catch your right hand while the other gives you a gentle, surprisingly firm push. With a slick, effortless flick of his wrist, he mimics Hobi's earlier move and spins you right out of his personal space, sending you sailing across the polished floor toward the dining room.

You gasp, laughing as the room blurs again, only to be stopped by a broad, solid chest.

Two muscular arms catch you instantly, wrapping around you with a secure, heavy grip that halts your momentum perfectly. You look up, blinking back your dizziness, straight into Jungkook’s massive, mischievous boyish grin. He’s still holding his spoon in one hand, but he adjusts his hold on you seamlessly, tossing the spoon onto the table behind him.

"See? I told you he’d chicken out!" Jungkook brags loudly to the room, adjusting his stance and immediately moving you into a bouncy, overly energetic box-step that has absolutely nothing to do with Namjoon’s slow jazz record. He shoots a smug, challenging look over your head at Yoongi. "I'm a way better dancer than Yoongi anyway. He’s got no upper body strength."

"I have enough strength to throw a glass tupperware at your head, Jungkook." Yoongi scoffs from the kitchen island, folding his arms across his chest.

Jungkook completely ignores the threat, his eyes crinkling with that competitive energy that usually signals impending chaos. He looks down at you, his grin widening into something deeply menacing and full of adrenaline.

"Hey, Y/N," Jungkook says, his voice dripping with absolute confidence as he takes a deeper, sturdier stance on the hardwood floor. "Watch this. I bet I can flip you right over my shoulder. We can do a full acrobatic routine right into the living room."

"No!" The entire room screams in unison.

"Jungkook, do not drop her!" Yura shrieks, abandoning the leftovers entirely and lunging forward to point a threatening finger at her husband.

"Jeon Jungkook, if you break a single piece of furniture or the guest, I'll make sure you are sleeping in the garage!" Jin bellows from the sink, waving a soapy sponge so aggressively that a sudsy bubble flies across the room and lands directly on Namjoon’s vinyl player.

"Don't do it, Y/N, he has no sense of spatial awareness!" Jimin shouts, actively jumping over the back of the couch to intervene.

You look at Jungkook, your eyes wide with absolute terror and amusement as you feel his grip tighten on your waist, his knees bending as if he’s genuinely preparing for a lifting cue.

"I'm serious, I can do it!" Jungkook protests, a look of pure, stubborn determination. He shifts his weight, his large hands anchoring firmly at your waist as if he’s genuinely timing his launch to the slow, heavy thrum of the double bass. "It's all about leverage, Y/N! Just trust me, on three…"

​"If you launch her into the ceiling fan, Jungkook, I will personally dissolve our marriage," Yura warns, sprinting around the marble island to swat at his arm with a dish towel.

​"Don't you dare!" You yell, laughing so hard your stomach aches as you frantically grab onto Jungkook’s solid biceps. "Jungkook, put me down! I just ate three plates of pasta!"

​"Put her down!" Jin screams from the kitchen, running out with a dry tea towel to rescue Namjoon’s turntable from the flying soap suds. "Namjoon! Move the record! The child is losing his mind!"

​"I'm on it, I'm on it!" Namjoon says, his dimples vanishing in a flash of pure panic as he carefully lifts the needle, cutting the smooth jazz off with a sudden, tragic skrrrt.

“What if she hits her head again!” Hobi exclaims.

“What if that's a good thing!” Taehyung smiles. “It might knock some sense into her. Why didn't we think of that before?”

​Taehyung starts throwing pillows from the couch to create a makeshift landing pad, while Jimin has successfully sprinted across the room, tackling Jungkook from behind in a chaotic, full-body hug to pin his arms down.

“Down, down,” Yoongi demands, pointing his finger.

​"Abort mission! Abort!" Jimin grunts, wrapping his arms around Jungkook’s neck. "He’s too strong, Namjoon, grab his legs!"

​"Get off me, I was going to stick the landing!" Jungkook laughs, his deep, boisterous cackle echoing through the house as he stumbles backward under Jimin’s sudden weight, safely letting go of your waist to prevent anyone from actually falling.

​You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.

You stumble back a step, breathless and giggling, only to feel a warm, steady hand immediately grip your elbow, pulling you safely out of the pile of squirming, shouting boys.

"Come on," Yoongi’s voice mutters right next to your ear, low and laced with quiet amusement. "Before Jungkook decides you’re a human projectile again."

While Jin is busy lecturing a tangled heap of Jimin, Taehyung, and a fiercely protesting Jungkook on the living room rug, Yoongi steers you towards the front door before anyone can even notice you're gone.

"Unbelievable," Yoongi huffs, a small, soft smile playing on his lips as he guides you down the driveway. "Give them five minutes and they'll realize they lost the guest of honor."

"I think Jin is too worried about his ceiling fan to notice," you laugh.

He steps back just an inch, leaning his hip against the side of your car. He looks at you, his dark eyes softening under the amber glow of the streetlamp.

"It's like old times," he says softly, a hint of nostalgia warming his usually quiet tone. "Sneaking out of the chaos. Just you and me. It's nice."

"Even though I don't remember... it felt really nice inside. It was comfortable." You nod.

Yoongi’s expression softens even further, a look of pure, unconditional tenderness crossing his face. He steps back into your space, tilting your chin up slightly with the gentle brush of his knuckles until you're looking at him.

"You don't have to force yourself to remember," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm. He takes your hand in his. His fingers straighten the ring on your finger. "We can just make new ones."

Before you can reply, he leans in. The kiss is slow, warm, and deeply reassuring…a perfect blend of a slightly muddy past and a promised future. It tastes like the quiet safety you always seem to find whenever he’s near.

“WOOOOO! GET IT, Yoongs!”

The loud, piercing screech of a whistle shatters the romantic silence.

You both freeze, breaking the kiss to look back toward the house. The large bay window is practically overflowing. Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung are pressed flat against the glass, their faces distorted into ridiculous, teasing grins. Behind them, Jin is shaking his head but grinning, while Yura, Hobi and Namjoon are waving enthusiastically. Yoongi lets out a deep, long-suffering sigh, dropping his forehead against yours with a soft groan as you burst out laughing.

“Trust me,” he whispers. “Nothing's changed.”

Everyone eventually disappears from the window one by one, dragged away by Jin yelling something about “fingerprints on the glass” and Namjoon panicking over the vinyl still sitting unattended on the turntable.

Jungkook is the last face pressed against the window.

He gives Yoongi an exaggerated thumbs up.

Yoongi flips him off without even turning around.

Somewhere inside the house, you can still hear muffled arguing, the clatter of dishes, Taehyung loudly insisting he could have caught you if Jungkook dropped you. Yoongi shakes his head fondly.

“Idiots,” he murmurs.

But there’s no real irritation in it. Only affection. Your laughter softens into something quieter as you look at him. The soft flush still lingering across his cheeks. The way his hair falls into his eyes. The tiny crinkle near his mouth from trying not to smile too hard.

And suddenly, the ache in your chest doesn’t feel empty anymore.

It feels full.

Not with memories…not all of them, anyway.

Just... with this.

With warmth.

With garlic and jazz records and overcrowded dinner tables.

With hands reaching for yours under the noise.

With people who stayed.

“What?” He asks quietly after a moment of watching you and you shake your head slowly, smiling.

“I think…” you murmur, glancing back at the glowing house behind him, “I think I finally understand why this place feels familiar.”

“Yeah?” His eyes soften instantly.

“Because it feels like home.” You nod.

For a second, Yoongi just stares at you. His entire expression breaks open into that small, devastating gummy smile.

The one that always feels honest.

He reaches for your hand again automatically, like it belongs there, threading his fingers through yours as naturally as breathing.

“IF NOBODY HELPS ME PUT THESE LEFTOVERS AWAY I’M THROWING THEM OUT THE WINDOW!” Jin shouts from inside the house and Yoongi sighs deeply.

“You hear that?” He deadpans. “Romance is dead.”

You burst into laughter again, and this time when he smiles back, there’s no hesitation left in it at all.

Together, hand in hand, you head back toward the noise.

Towards Home.

<Next>

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[inthelow]

SORRY, WRONG NUMBER ! — jeon jungkook (seven).

pairing: student! fem reader x student! jeon jungkook

summary: when you finally get your crush’s number, you expect the start of an epic love story— not a random guy making fun of you because he thinks the guy you’ve been obsessed with for the last six months gave you a fake number. Jeon Jungkook, the one who replies, finds it entertaining and helps you chase the guy… at least until he finds out that the person he’s been helping date another guy is you, the girl he’s been obsessed with for the last two years.

genre/warning: this is a smau fic!! with narration included in some chapter but it’s mostly messages/tweets. very unfunny jokes. this is mostly crack/fluff.

authors note: chapter so long i couldn’t put my dividers 💔💔 the tweets have to be read from bottom to top btw okay bye<33 enjoy this is a mess and i had to delete a lot of things but i couldn’t make it shorter i’m sorry 😭😭 it would be better if u open the pics to read it>_<

chapter index | previous — next

——————————

— chapter seven: holy crash-out!

——————————

messy ass chapter but life is like that we know. i might forgotten to add some people im sorry guys. 💔💔

taglist: @louxmclll @fluffysheepmaster @labbbaaa @yooniebuns @oncyanii @taetaecatboy @yawnzshit @mniys @kit9doctordreamer @asyr97 @wonderlandkook @songbyeonkim @jksusawife @lackingdopaminesince2007 @amimi-bts @unknownbeknowst @koobiiiistar @nastypinkbunny @mninotjungkook @4rmyf1cs @iiunique @oopscoop @dollyunjinz @junecat18 @gwonlvr @pprettyanna @94hobi @spenceatiny18 @mikrokookiex @urmotherlvr @akl3223 @@dim18 @bloopkook @cherrieshyy @lizka007 @hagridshaircare @jooniesthigh @star-my @iridescentshine @kookie96 @brieally @fadedmixtape @xyz77777777 @hennessysthings @snipky @taemanikoo @fullcolorfreaklight @jjanajk @badaspice

[just-here4funsies]

MOTGER YOURE SO FUNNY IM CRASHING OUT WITH JUNGKOOK HELLO THIS IS PEAK HELLO?!?!? CANT WAIT FOR A HOMEWRECKER (He can wreck me idc)

[yoonmetogether]

missed you, baby - a min yoongi oneshot pairing: yoongi x f!reader genre: established relationship summary: it's been rough lately. you're on your period and no matter how much you sleep, you're exhausted and depressed. luckily you have a boyfriend who has no problem busting down your door because he misses you. warnings/tags: just fluff, kind of sickly sweet im sorry, mc’s on her period and dealing with some depression, yoongi is the king of acts of service, i just love to imagine a man who pays attention and gives a fuck wc: 1.7k notes: not proofread or beta'd and i kinda rushed the ending oh well. but be proud that i was able to write something without smut lmao. sorry it's only 1k. thank u to aqua @glossdebut for reading through some of this <333.

You’re so tired. You’ve been lying in bed all day. Really all weekend. The whole entire week was exhausting, work stressful, school draining. And to top it all off, you’re on your period. You haven’t looked at your phone since it died yesterday afternoon. It’s almost 7pm on Saturday. You should charge it. Yoongi hates when you don’t check in after a day or so. But you don’t think you can muster the strength to even move out from under the covers.

Then your doorbell rings and you groan and throw the covers over your head. Maybe someone is just at the wrong door. You can only hope. You miss your boyfriend horribly, but you feel like shit, you haven’t showered, or eaten, or tidied up, and your cramps are killing you. You’re the definition of a hot mess. And he hasn’t seen this kind of hot-mess-you yet.

Closing your eyes, you silently beg whoever’s at the door to go away, but they fly open at the sound of a key turning in your lock and you spring out of bed. Blood rushes down to your legs and up to your head as you rush out of your room because the last thing you need is Yoongi witnessing your rock bottom. He’s stepping out of the foyer, shoes neatly tucked in the corner, by the time you skid into the living room, blanket flailing behind you like a cape.

“Uh, hi,” you greet lamely, moving to get in his way of further entering your apartment. “You couldn’t wait for me to answer?” Fuck, you sound mean. Pms has gotten the best of you.

Despite your tone, he smiles. This guy just has to make it hard to shut him out. “I thought you might be asleep.”

“I wasn’t,” you say, self-consciously wrapping your blanket beneath your neck to hide as much of you as you can.

He turns his snapback backwards, revealing his entire pretty face. “Well, I haven’t heard from you in a few days, my love. I know you need your space, but I need to know that you’re alive. Why else would you give me your spare key?”

“So that you can bring it in case I lose mine.”

He puts his free hand on his hip, leveling you with a playful glare. “I’m your boyfriend, not a locksmith.”

You shrug, and glance over your shoulder, checking to make sure your unkempt living room didn’t manage to become more unkempt just because he showed up.

“Are you gonna let me in or am I just gonna be your food delivery guy?”

“It’s a mess in here. I’m a mess.”

He tilts his head. “Babe, when have I ever cared?”

“I care. I hate that you’re seeing me like this.”

“I just like seeing you. No matter what state you’re in.”

You stand there like a statue as you go to war with yourself because you miss him but you’re having a hard time believing he doesn’t care that it looks like a category 5 tornado ran right through your place.

“It’s not that bad in here,” he says, stepping around you to head for the kitchen. Okay, mind reader. “Just come eat.”

“I’m gonna shower first.”

He just nods and sets the food on the counter to unpack it. Halfway through your glorious shower, you pause when the bathroom door squeaks open. Instinctively, you reach for the handle to adjust the temperature to a cooler one he can stand, expecting him to join you, but you don’t hear his footsteps pad onto the damp, steamy tile. You don’t hear anything.

“What are you doing?”

All you get in response is a closed door. Okay?

After brushing your teeth, washing your face, moisturizing, and changing into clean sweats, you come back into the main area to find Yoongi in the kitchen washing dishes. The washer is running in the corner, half-empty hamper by the end of the counter. You’re horrified, that thing was overflowing, clothes smashed against the wall. And he took it upon himself to start doing your laundry?

“Please don’t clean up after me,” you say in a panic, darting into the kitchen.

“Can’t hear you,” he says, tapping his earbud, and completely ignores your attempts to stop him from scrubbing a plate. You would be annoyed if you weren’t so relieved you don’t have to do your dishes tonight. The least you can do is help.

Side by side, he silently passes you one of his earbuds and you finish up with the dishes and wiping down the counters while listening to his playlist, the one that’s filled with songs you both picked together. You almost start crying when “Mansard Roof” comes on - a song on your playlist that was on in the background when Yoongi first told you he loved you. Corny, you know. But that was the two of you. Before you can reminisce and become more emotional, Yoongi bumps hips with you and loudly sings the lyrics. You shriek when during the bouncing beat of first verse, he grabs your hand and twirls you around, ignoring your shouts of his name as he pulls you into a silly, uncoordinated dance routine. You laugh giddily and the sound surprises you. Leave it to Yoongi to bring out the sun when all you’ve known is rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggle breathlessly when the song ends, pushing at his chest but he remains close. He grins and swoops in for a swift peck.

“You love it.” He turns around for the food before you get the chance to say you love him.

You sit next to him at the island counter, legs tangled together, picking from each other’s bowls. Yoongi makes sure you have enough protein, you give him extra vegetables. As you eat, your cramps slowly creep in and get worse, and they become harder to ignore, but you try your best not to let your pain show.

“Cramps?” Yoongi asks after you start cleaning up.

“You can tell?” How the fuck?

“You make a face.” Oh. You shouldn’t be surprised. Your boyfriend is insanely attentive.

“Need meds?” You shake your head.

“Heating pad?”

“It’s somewhere in my closet.”

“Go get it. I’ll finish up here.”

You can’t get over how good he is to you despite the fact that you ignored him for three days. He brought food, did your dishes and laundry, and twirled you around the kitchen when he hates dancing. Just to make you laugh. He put on your favorite chill playlist while you ate together. He didn’t ask you about your week, didn’t try to push you for answers about why you went MIA. Because he knows you prefer to eat in silence, especially when it’s been a while since you’ve eaten. And he knows when you’re in pain because of a face you make? You really hit the jackpot with him. You need to show him how grateful you are.

When you come back to the kitchen, he’s back at the sink, towel drying the dishes and putting them away. You set the heating pad on the island counter and stride up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek planted on his back.

“I’m sorry I sounded like I didn’t want you here,” you apologize, guilt swimming through you. “I just don’t want you to think I can’t take care of myself.”

He sets down the dishes and swivels around, eyes filled with something that makes you want to shy away as he reaches up to hold your cheek.

“Baby, it’s okay if you can’t sometimes, though. God knows I’ve been there. You know I’ve been there.” You sniffle, remembering the times when you’ve been in his shoes, worrying about his prolonged silence, wondering if he’s okay, if he’s taking care of himself, showing up unprompted to do it for him. You don’t know why it’s hard to accept when he does it for you.

“And I love you, or something, so I want to be there for you.” You glance up to the small smile playing on his lips and it spreads onto yours.

“‘Or something’?”

His gums show under a grin and you can’t help but crack into a full smile. He reaches out to brush the corner of your quirked up lip.

“Love seeing this.”

You’ve known this man for a little over two years and dating him for eight months but he still makes you so, so shy. To hide it, you knock your face into his shoulder, heart melting when his hand smooths up to your neck and his lips press into your temple.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his shirt, tears jumping to your waterline when his scent overwhelms you with comfort.

“Missed you, too, baby,” he says softly.

“And,” you sniff. “I’m really grateful for you.”

He tilts up your chin with a knuckle. “I love you.”

Heart bursting, you lean in and kiss him with a full smile, and he holds both sides of your face as he kisses you back - soft and slow and warm and with a silent promise that he’ll always care.

“Can I stay?” he whispers after you break apart, feeling dazed and like you’re floating on a cloud.

“Please.”

“I’ll even suffer through watching your favorite show,” he sighs exasperatedly. You roll your eyes. Like he doesn’t verbally scrutinize the plot after each episode and make insightful commentary about the characters’ dynamics. 

“You know you’re just as into the drama as I am, stop denying it.”

He shakes his head belligerently. “No.”

Laugh resonating in your chest, you push him towards the living room, curl up with him on the couch under a big, soft blanket, and get into a huge debate about the direction of the cliff hanger.

Hours later, after making your bed together, you crawl under the covers, each on your designated side, and he pulls you into him as you get settled. You nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his intoxicating and soothing scent. You’re so comfortable and safe, and now you have a better reason for not leaving your bed. With his beating heart echoing under your skin and his arms wrapped snugly around you, you find yourself the happiest you’ve been in a while. You could stay like this forever.

“I’m calling out tomorrow,” you declare against his throat. 

“Good,” he yawns. “I already did.”

You kiss him in a silent thank you. As you get settled, his hand finds yours under the covers and tangles your fingers together. You go to sleep wondering how many times he can make you fall in love.

.

.

.

bc i haven't posted in a while <3 kinda self indulgent i wrote this when my period was killing me

[voyter]

i need jungkook x reader love island aus on the table by 9:00 PM PDT TOMORROW with lots of drama flirting a bit of angst and sex in a room full of other islanders or i might have to make my drabble debut immediately Please speed i need this

[lostbookmark]

MDNI🔞 (Taglist Closed)

Main Masterlist here

Before I Forgot Masterlist here

Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut

Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…

The room is noisy with beginner-level chaos. Easels scrape against the floor while people awkwardly introduce themselves to strangers. A woman near the supply shelves is already panicking over everything she sees like she’s selecting surgical equipment. Someone in the back drops a pencil tin loud enough to make half the room jump.

And….

You want to run.

“Oh my god,” you whisper under your breath, clutching the strap of your bag tighter. “I hate this already.”

Beside you, Yura snorts.

“You think you hate this?” She mutters back. “I have an actual art degree and I still feel like I’m about to throw up.”

“What?” You blink at her.

“Y/N. Critiques permanently alter your brain chemistry. You never recover.” She gestures vaguely toward the room. “This place smells like academic trauma.”

A startled laugh escapes you before you can stop it. The tension in your shoulders loosens just slightly. Yura notices immediately, bumping her shoulder against yours as she guides you further inside.

“See? Humor is the best defense mechanism against the Ghost of Critiques Past,” Yura says, flashing a quick smirk before her eyes lock onto an empty pair of easels near the back corner. “There. Prime real estate. Close to the exit in case we need to make a strategic retreat, and far enough from the instructor that he won’t see me rolling my eyes when he explains what a shadow is.”

​You follow her lead, navigating the minefield of stray stools and oversized portfolios. The space feels alive with a nervous energy that is entirely different from the suffocating silence of your insurance cubicle. Here, the anxiety is loud, messy, and shared.

​As you set your bag down, your hands find the edges of the wooden easel. The surface is scarred and worn. You run your thumb over a particularly deep groove, wondering if a younger, past version of yourself had ever stood in a room exactly like this, feeling this exact feeling of terror.

​"Alright, folks, find a spot, settle in," the instructor calls out. He steps up to a central platform where a deceptively simple still life is arranged. You see a dented metal watering can, three green apples, and a draped piece of navy blue velvet.

​"I know some of you are looking at that watering can right now and thinking, 'I can't draw that, it's too complicated,'" the instructor says with easy warmth. "But today isn't about drawing a watering can. It's about breaking your brain of its bad habits. I don't want you to draw the object. I want you to draw the negative space around the object."

​A collective, anxious murmur ripples through the room. The woman who was panicking over supplies lets out a soft whimpering sound.

​Beside you, Yura mimics the instructor’s words silently with her mouth, rolling her eyes so hard you're surprised they don't get stuck. But when she reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick stick of charcoal, her posture changes. Her shoulders drop. Her chin lifts. The sarcastic friend vanishes, replaced instantly by someone who moves without thinking.

​With three fluid, sweeping motions of her wrist, she marks the boundaries of her paper. She isn't even looking at her hands. Her eyes are fixed entirely on the velvet drapery on the platform. It's pure, unfiltered muscle memory.

This is nothing for her.

​You look down at your own blank pad of paper. The white paper feels like it's practically begging you to ruin it. You pick up a piece of charcoal, your fingers instantly turning black from the dust. Your hand is trembling so hard the stick rattles against the wooden ledge of the easel.

​I don't know how, your inner voice whispers, the familiar, safe panic clawing at your throat. I don't remember the rules.

​Then, you look at the black smudge already transferring from your fingers onto the edge of the paper. You think of the bright, chaotic blue streak Jimin dragged across the studio wall. You think of Yoongi sitting on a tiny plastic chair, letting a six-year-old braid colorful pipe cleaners into his sleeve without a single complaint.

​“Get charcoal on your face, and fail miserably for a few weeks.”

​A quiet, shaky breath escapes your lips. You lift your hand, press the charcoal to the center of the page, and pull it downward.

The charcoal drags across the rough paper with a harsh, satisfying scritch.

It’s a terrible line. It’s shaky, uneven, and completely misses the contour of the watering can’s handle. But it is there. The pristine, intimidating whiteness of the paper is officially ruined, and with it, a fraction of your panic evaporates.

"Not bad," Yura murmurs, not looking away from her own page as her charcoal dances in swift, aggressive hatches. "At least you didn't poke yourself in the eye. I saw a guy do that first semester of art school. Had to wear a patch for a week."

A quiet snort escapes you, the tension in your jaw relaxing. You squint at the still life, trying to tune out the voice in your head that demands perfection, the voice that usually categorizes things into neat, orderly spreadsheets. Instead, you look at the empty space between the watering can's spout and the draped velvet.

“The negative space,” the instructor had said.

You press the side of the charcoal stick flat against the paper and begin to color in the darkness around the object. The dust coats your palm, embedding itself into the lines of your skin. It’s messy. It’s chaotic. It’s the exact opposite of your insurance cubicle, where a stray ink smudge on a document meant starting over. Here, the mess is the point.

As the class settles into a rhythm of scratching charcoal and heavy breathing, the initial terror transforms. You actually lose track of time. Your shoulder starts to ache from holding your arm out, and you’re pretty sure you just wiped sweat off your forehead with a hand covered in black dust, completely fulfilling Yoongi's prophecy.

"Alright, everyone, step back from your easels," the instructor’s voice suddenly breaks the trance. He claps his hands together, sending a tiny puff of chalk into the air. "Take a walk. Look at what your neighbors are doing. And remember…be kind. We're all re-learning how to see."

You blink, feeling like you’ve just surfaced from underwater. You drop your charcoal back onto the ledge and take two steps back to look at your creation.

It looks... vague. Like a ghostly, smudged silhouette of a watering can trapped in a heavy fog. But as you look at it, a sudden, fierce spark of pride flares up in your chest. You didn't run. You didn't freeze.

You made something.

"Well, look at you, Michelangelo," Yura says, stepping back to examine your work. She leans in closer, nodding approvingly. "Your proportions are totally warped, the perspective is deeply chaotic." She turns to you with a bright, genuine grin. "I love it. It has personality."

"Thanks. I think half of it is just pure adrenaline." You wipe your hands on your jeans, only succeeded in creating two dark handprints on your thighs.

"The best art usually is," Yura says, slinging an arm over your shoulder, entirely unbothered by the charcoal transferring onto her shirt. "Come on, let's go scope out the competition and feel superior about our messy hands."

As you follow her down the aisle, walking past a dozen different interpretations of the exact same three apples, the heavy weight that had been sitting on your chest for weeks finally feels manageable. You're failing miserably, just like you were supposed to and it feels incredible.

The parking lot is dimly lit, bathed in the orange glow of a few streetlamps, but it feels like the most open space you’ve been in all day.

You and Yura walk side by side, the gravel crunching beneath your sneakers. You’re hyper-aware of the state of your clothes. How your jeans feature two prominent charcoal handprints on the thighs, and a quick check in your phone screen earlier confirmed a dark smudge slashed across your left cheekbone. You look like a disaster.

You feel absolutely alive.

"So," Yura starts, swinging her car keys around her index finger with a wicked little smirk. "First class officially in the books. Look at you, surviving the beginner-level chaos without a single tears-induced bathroom break."

"The night is still young," you joke, though a genuine smile tugs at your lips. "But yeah. I didn't run away. Even when the paper started staring back at me."

"And you shouldn't. For a first attempt at breaking your brain, that watering can showed real promise," she teases, bumping her shoulder against yours as you both stop between your parked cars. She leans against her driver's side door, crossing her arms and looking you up and down with an amused spark in her eyes. "This was a pretty massive first step, Y/N. Forcing yourself out of the cubicle, re-learning how to see, letting yourself be messy..."

She pauses, her smirk widening into something distinctly mischievous.

“If this class is your first step in rediscovering art... is your date with Yoongi your first step to rediscovering him?" She asks.

The sudden shift in conversation hits you out of nowhere. You freeze, your hand halting halfway to your car door handle.

"What?" You blink, your brain scrambling to catch up. "My... my what with Yoongi?"

"Your date," Yura says, pronouncing the word with exaggerated clarity.

"How do you even know about that?!" You exclaim, your voice dropping to a harsh, panicked whisper as you glance around the empty parking lot.

Yura bursts out laughing, a loud, triumphant sound that echoes off the brick facade of the art center. She holds up her hands in a mock surrender, though she doesn't look remotely guilty.

"Okay, okay, full disclosure," she chuckles, leaning in closer. "The guys have a ‘guys only group chat’. The Parking Lot Philosophers. They named it that because they think it makes them sound smart. But really, they named it that because they stand around gas station parking lots trying to figure mystery flavored candy. Anyway, Jungkook lets me read sometimes."

"He what?" You stare at her, horrified and deeply intrigued all at once.

"Apparently, the second Yoongi got home on Saturday, he panicked. Like, full-blown, existential crisis panic." Yura says, eyes full and bright.

"Why would he panic?" You ask, your heart doing a strange, fluttering flip-flop in your chest.

"Because he realized he used the word 'date' he thought he might have scared you off," Yura explains, shaking her head with a fond, exasperated roll of her eyes. "The group chat went absolutely nuclear for about twenty minutes. Yoongi drafted this massive, terrifyingly formal three-paragraph apology text to send you, trying to walk the word back."

"But he didn't send it," you say quickly, suddenly terrified that you missed a giant wall of text.

"No, thank god," Yura laughs. "Namjoon literally had to step in and stop him."

You lean your head against the roof of your car, a mix of pure embarrassment and a strange, bubbling warmth washing over you.

"I can't believe this," you mutter into the cool metal of your car, though you can't stop the massive grin spreading across your face. "We are just spending the day together. Just like I did with everyone else. "

"Everyone else isn't Yoongi.” She gives you a tight smile. “You weren't engaged to any of us.”

You absorb Yura’s words, the ambient hum of the distant highway suddenly feeling a little louder in the silence that stretches between you.

You weren't engaged to any of us.

​It’s the truth you’ve been keeping in your nightstand since you discovered the truth. ​You look down at your charcoal-stained fingers, tracing a line on the roof of your car before looking back up at her.

​"Yura," you say softly, the playful banter completely draining from your voice. You hesitate, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. "Can I ask you something? And you have to be completely honest with me."

"Always, Y/N. What is it?" She asks, turning serious.

​"Did he..." You clear your throat, staring at the orange glow of the streetlamp reflecting off her windshield. "Did Yoongi ever date anyone else? While I was... ‘gone’?"

​Yura hesitates. It’s only a fraction of a second, but you catch the slight stillness in her shoulders, the way her eyes dart down to her keys before locking back onto yours.

​"He did," Yura says gently, her tone dropping into a quieter, more careful register. "I'm not going to lie to you and say he lived like a monk in a cave for years, Y/N. He’s human. He tried."

​Your heart does a strange, uncomfortable squeeze…not quite jealousy, but a sharp, hollow ache of reality. Of course he did. Years had passed. The world kept spinning, people kept living.

​"Anyone... serious?" You ask, hating how small your voice sounds in the cool night air.

​"No," Yura answers instantly, and this time there is zero hesitation in her voice. She steps away from her car door, crossing the small gap between your vehicles to stand closer to you. "He dated a few women over the years. A couple of casual setups through co-workers, one girl he saw for a few months who worked near his school. But it was never anything serious. At least, not on his end."

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“They were ….nice…. I guess.” She shrugs. “But…I don't think he could really ever let himself be open to others like that again. Not like how they needed him to be.”

“I shouldn't have asked that.” You shake your head. “I mean… I was going to get married to someone else.”

Yura doesn’t say anything right away. Slowly, she reaches out and takes your arm, her grip firm. She doesn't mind the charcoal smudging her sleeve.

"Yeah," Yura says softly, her voice entirely devoid of judgment. "You were. But there’s a difference, Y/N."

You look up at her, the orange streetlamp catching the serious, fiercely protective look in her eyes.

"You were building a life with someone else because you thought your past was completely erased. You were moving forward with the pieces you had left," she says gently. "Yoongi was trying to move forward because he thought his past was pretty much dead. Those are two completely different kinds of survival."

She gives your arm a reassuring squeeze, letting the words sink in.

"Neither of you did anything wrong," she continues. "You don't need to feel guilty for trying to live, and he doesn't either. But the point is... those other people? They were just chapters you both forced yourselves to write because you thought the book was already finished. But now? You're both standing in the same room again. The book is wide open."

You let out a long, shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding. She’s right. The guilt, the hesitation, the fear of what had happened during those missing years. It was all just negative space. The empty, messy darkness around the actual object.

And the object, standing right in front of you, was a Saturday with Min Yoongi.

"Now," Yura says, breaking the heavy mood with a sudden, sharp grin as she steps back toward her car. "Go home, scrub the charcoal off your face before you scare your neighbors, and stop overthinking this. He's panicking in a group chat because he thinks he used a scary word, Y/N. The man is entirely at your mercy. He always has been."

A genuine laugh escapes you, bright and clear, melting the last remnants of the tension.

"I'll see you next week, Michelangelo," she calls out, unlocking her car with a loud beep. "Don't wash your jeans too hard. I think the handprints give them character!"

As you watch her car back out of the lot and disappear down the street, you turn to your own reflection in the dark glass of your driver's side window. You really do look a mess. You're smudged, dusty, and completely unraveled from the neat, organized corporate shell you've been hiding in.

You pull out your phone, your thumb hovering over Yoongi's contact name. The text thread is quiet. No three-paragraph formal apologies. Just his last message confirming the time.

Your fingers leave a faint, gray smudge on the screen as you type out a quick response.

You: Just finished my first art class. I failed miserably and I have charcoal everywhere.

You: I'm still on for Saturday. Don't walk the word back.

You hit send before you can lose your nerve, slipping the phone into your pocket. As you start the engine and pull out of the art center parking lot, your heart is beating fast. Not with the suffocating panic of the insurance cubicle, but with the wild, unpredictable adrenaline of a blank page.

​"Outdoors? Brilliant! Spectacular! A visionary move, Y/N!" Hobi had cheered earlier, literally doing a little spin in the hallway when you proposed the idea.

​Your plan is deceptively simple but high-energy. The kids will lay down massive rolls of butcher paper on the grass, trace their outlines with thick markers, and then let them paint their giant, life-sized selves however they see fit.

​Currently, the courtyard is a glorious battlefield of creativity.

​"Hobi! Look! I have purple wings!" Minjun shrieks, pointing proudly at his paper double.

Hobi, who is currently wearing a bright yellow apron over a tie-dye shirt, gasps dramatically. He drops to his knees on the grass next to the boy's drawing, hands clutching his cheeks in pure, unadulterated awe.

"Minjun! A purple-winged superhero? The neighborhood is finally safe! But wait…do the wings have glitter capabilities? This is crucial information." Hobi smiles.

​"Yes!" Minjun laughs, instantly grabbing a handful of green sequins and tossing them wildly into the air.

​"Arts and crafts hazard!" Hobi yells playfully, shielding his face with a laugh that rings out across the lawn like a bell.

He looks over at you from across the courtyard, giving you a flashing, proud smile and a massive thumbs-up. ​You laugh, shaking your head as you turn back to the little girl lying at your feet.

"Alright, Hana, keep your arms out wide like a starfish. Ready?" You ask.

​"Ready!" She chirps, squeezing her eyes shut like the marker might tickle.

​You kneel on the grass, pressing your palm against the paper to steady it as you drag a thick black Sharpie around her tiny sneakers. Your hands are clean today at least, they were until ten minutes ago when a rogue blue paint explosion claimed your left forearm. But after surviving the watering can incident with Yura on Tuesday, a little acrylic paint doesn't scare you anymore.

​As you trace the curve of Hana's shoulders, a shadow falls over your workspace.

"Are you aiming to turn the entire youth of the neighborhood into abstract art?"

The voice is quiet, a low, gravelly rasp that cuts straight through the high-pitched screams of the children. Your heart does a sudden, violent acrobatics routine against your ribs.

You look up.

Yoongi is standing at the edge of your butcher paper.

"Don't you have students?" You ask, with a small smile.

"They're practicing scales. I told them if they could play a perfect C major five times in a row without looking, I'd give them a break," Yoongi says smoothly.

"Yoongi!" Hobi shouts, clapping a heavy, paint-smeared hand onto Yoongi’s pristine black shoulder.

Yoongi flinches slightly but doesn't pull away, merely sighing with a deeply practiced air of long-suffering patience.

"Hobs. You're getting yellow on me. I have to go back to the keyboards after this." Yoongi sighs.

"It adds character! Just ask Y/N!" Hobi beams, winking at you conspiratorially. He leans in closer to Yoongi, his voice dropping into a stage whisper. "So, the group chat was pretty wild the other night, huh?"

Yoongi’s ears instantly turn a vivid, violent shade of pink. He shoots Hoseok a glare that could melt steel.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Go back to your director duties. Don't you have a superhero with glitter to supervise?" Yoongi asks.

"Right! Duty calls!" Hobi winks at you.

Yoongi clears his throat, coughing into his fist as he looks anywhere but at you. The fierce, untouchable aura he usually carries completely evaporates, leaving behind the man who had panicked over a three-paragraph text.

"I can't believe him," Yoongi mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I think he's great," you counter, a massive grin breaking across your face. "And for the record, Yura told me everything. I would have loved to read that text."

"I am going to kick Jungkook out of that group chat." Yoongi closes his eyes for a brief, agonizing second.

When he opens his eyes, he steps closer to you. He looks down at your paint-stained arm, then back up to your eyes.

"You really aren't scared off?" He asks.

"At this point," you say softly. “I think it's going to take more than calling today a date to scare me off.”

He studies your face for a moment, his eyes tracing the line of your jaw, before falling down to the grass.

"Good." He whispers.

"Y/N! I need more blue!" Hana interrupts, tugging aggressively on the hem of your shirt.

"Oh! Right, coming, Hana!" You smile at her and move to get up from the ground.

"I'll get it," Yoongi interrupts smoothly.

Before you can object, he walks over to the supply table, picks up a giant pump-bottle of blue acrylic paint, and returns to Hana’s paper outline. He drops down onto the grass once more, completely uncaring of his dark jeans meeting the dirt, and pours a neat dollop of blue right into the center of the drawing's head.

"Are you making my hair blue?" Hana asks, eyeing his beanie and his dark clothes suspiciously.

"Blue hair is cool," Yoongi says, his voice dropping into that quiet, gentle tone he uses when he's trying to coax a nervous kid to touch the piano keys. He picks up a thick foam brush and hands it to her. "Trust me. I've had it. It makes you run faster."

"Really?" Hana’s eyes go wide.

"Absolutely." Yoongi nods.

Hana doesn’t need to be told twice. She snatches the brush from Yoongi’s hand with a fierce nod of determination and immediately begins violently spreading the blue paint across her paper head, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in deep concentration.

​Yoongi watches her for a second, a soft, gummy smile gracing his features before he pushes himself back up to his feet. He brushes a stray blade of grass off his knee, though he completely misses a streak of blue paint that has managed to find a home on his thumb.

"Go go go!" Hana commands, completely dismissing both of you as she uses her entire forearm to smear the blue paint into a massive streak. "I'm going to be faster than a race car!"

​"Keep your eyes on the track, lightning," Yoongi murmurs, stepping backward out of her immediate splash zone. He catches your eye, the soft corners of his gummy smile still lingering before he clears his throat, slipping his hands back into his pockets. "I should... go make sure nobody has passed out from playing C major."

​"Right. Don't let them slack off," you laugh softly as you get up, adjusting the plastic apron around your waist. "I'll see you at two?"

​Yoongi halts his retreat for a fraction of a second, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a quiet, steady weight that makes the chaotic noise of the courtyard fade into a low, distant hum.

"Two o'clock. Don't wash the paint off your arm too quickly." He smirks.

​With a subtle, parting nod, he turns and disappears back through the double glass doors of the community center, leaving you with a racing pulse and a very impatient five-year-old demanding green sequins for her shoes.

By the time the parents arrive to collect their bright, multi-colored children, the lawn looks like an explosion at a crayon factory. You spend the next twenty minutes helping Hobi roll up the paint-soaked butcher paper.

"You are a lifesaver, Y/N!" Hobi says, hoisting a trash bag full of empty paint bottles over his shoulder. He looks at you, his eyes instantly tracking the blue smudge on your forearm and the rogue smear of green that had somehow migrated to your chin. "Look at you. A true artist."

"I'm just embracing the chaos, Hobi," you laugh, wiping your brow with the back of a relatively clean wrist.

"As you should!" He beams, giving you a quick, encouraging nudge with his elbow as you both head back inside. "Go on, get cleaned up. You've got places to be!"

Ten minutes later, you’re standing at the sink in the communal restroom, desperately trying to scrub the stubborn acrylic from your skin. You manage to save your face from looking like a watercolor painting, but your left forearm is still faintly stained a pale, robin's-egg blue.

When you step out into the main hallway, standing near the display cases of kids' pottery is Yoongi.

He’s staring intently at a deeply lopsided clay vase on a shelf, his expression so intensely serious you'd think he was analyzing a classic masterpiece. As if sensing your footsteps, his head turns. His eyes lock onto yours, and the heavy, contemplative crease between his brows instantly smooths out.

"You survived," he says, his voice a low, comforting rumble in the quiet hallway. He steps away from the display case, his eyes immediately dropping to your forearm. A tiny, almost imperceptible quirk touches the corner of his lips. "I see the blue paint won the battle."

"It's a tactical choice," you say, matching his stride as he reaches your side. "Heard it makes me move faster."

"Indeed it does," he murmurs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Hey! Lovebirds!"

The loud, cheerful shout echoes down the corridor, making both of you halt. Hobi is jogging backward down the hallway toward the administrative offices, a stack of clipboards precariously balanced in his arms. He has a massive, mischievous grin plastered across his face.

"Have fun on your date!" Hobi yells, throwing in a dramatic wink.

Yoongi’s hand instantly flies out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, his head dropping as a distinct, rosy flush creeps up from his collar to the tips of his ears.

"Hoseok, I swear to god, go file some paperwork," he mutters, though there’s no real heat in it. Just the embarrassment of a man whose friends refuse to let him live in peace.

"Love you guys!" Hobi sings out, spinning on his heel and disappearing around the corner with a loud, echoing laugh.

You break first, a bright, helpless laugh escaping you. Yoongi looks over at you, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh that turns into a reluctant, quiet chuckle of his own.

"I’m kicking him out of group chat too," he mumbles, shaking his head as he guides you toward the heavy glass exit doors. "They’re like children. All of them."

"I think it’s sweet," you tease, pushing the door open and stepping out into the late afternoon air.

The parking lot is pretty much empty now as you stop between your two cars. You look down at your paint-stained arm, then up at Yoongi, who has stopped a few feet away.

"So," you say softly, your heart taking a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. "Where are you taking me, Yoongi?"

Yoongi takes his hands out of his pockets. He steps into the small space between you, the golden sunlight catching the dark, warm depths of his eyes. The nervous, group-chat-panicking man is gone, replaced entirely by the unmovable presence of the man who used to hold your world together.

"Somewhere quiet," he says, his voice dropping into a gentle, reassuring register that completely settles the butterflies in your stomach.

He extends his hand toward you, his fingers open, completely unbothered by the faint blue smudge still visible on his own thumb.

"Ready?" he asks.

You look out the passenger window, blinking at the brick archway and the immaculate, manicured green lawns stretching out under the campus lamps. A massive, brushed-bronze sign stands near the entrance pavilion, as Yoongi pulls his car into a secluded part of the parking lot.

​Your eyes trace the letters, and a strange, electric jolt goes straight down your spine.

​You know this name. It’s the exact same university stamped on the heavy, gold-embossed degree that Hoseok had handed back to you. The degree with your name on it. The degree you have absolutely no memory of earning.

​"Yoongi," you breathe, your throat suddenly feeling tight as you turn your head to look at him. "Why are we at our old college?"

​Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He reaches into the back seat and pulls forward a heavy brown paper bag. The scent of melted sharp cheddar, sourdough bread toasted to an absolute, buttery perfection, and a hint of garlic instantly fills the cabin of the car.

​Ten minutes ago, he had pulled up to a food stand on the corner of a busy avenue. He had told you to stay in the car before disappearing. He’d returned with this bag, completely refusing to tell you what was inside until now. He unrolls the top of the brown bag, pulling out two neatly wrapped squares of parchment paper.

​"Gourmet grilled cheese," Yoongi says softly, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he hands one over to you. “That food stand stays open late for the college kids. You used to text me at one in the morning sometimes making me take you over there.”

The parchment paper is warm against your palms as you look from the wrapped sandwich to the sprawling brick campus outside.

You stare down at the parchment paper, the warmth radiating through your palms, before looking back up at the brick buildings of the campus. It’s strange how a place can look so entirely unfamiliar, yet feel so familiar at the same time.

Slowly, you peel back the layers of paper. The scent hits you first…sharp, comforting, and intensely familiar.

You take a bite.

The buttery taste of the sourdough crunches between your teeth, followed by the rich, sharp pull of the melted cheddar. It is spectacular, but as you chew, a sudden, sharp sensation pinches the back of your brain. It isn’t a thought. It’s a physical pull, like a hook catching onto a line buried deep underwater and dragging it violently to the surface.

Your eyes wide, your breath hitches, and the campus outside the window disappears.

The air is so biting and cold it burns your lungs with every breath. Huge, heavy flakes of snow are tumbling from a dark night sky, blanketing the campus in an unblemished, blinding white. You are walking down a paved path, laughing so hard your chest aches.

You’re drowning in a thick, oversized black hoodie that clearly doesn't belong to you. The sleeves completely swallow your hands, and you have to repeatedly bunch the fabric up at your wrists just to keep your fingers free.

"I am losing a toe. I am actively losing a toe to frostbite, and it's entirely your fault," a voice groans beside you.

You look over to see Yoongi, his nose and cheeks bright red. He has a black scarf pulled up to his chin, his shoulders hunched so high against the wind they’re practically touching his ears. He looks utterly miserable, but there’s a stubborn, protective way he keeps his body positioned on the outside of the path, blocking you from the worst of the freezing wind.

"You're fine, Yoongi! It's barely below freezing," another voice yells from a few paces ahead.

Taehyung is walking backward in the snow, a brilliant, boxy grin on his face. He’s wearing a ridiculous, fluffy trapper hat with the earflaps bouncing wildly as he steps. In his hands, he’s carefully balancing a steaming paper cup of tomato soup from the exact same food stand.

"Easy for you to say, you're wearing three coats!" Yoongi snaps back, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward. He glances down at you, reaching out with a gloved hand to yank the oversized hood of the sweatshirt further down over your freezing ears. "And you. You're a thief. That's my favorite hoodie."

"It's mine now," your own voice laughs, muffled by the fabric. "And you love me, so you won't take it back."

"We will see about that," Yoongi mutters, but his hand lingers on your shoulder for a second, a quiet warmth cutting through the freezing air.

"Hey, watch this!" Taehyung calls out, attempting to do a dramatic pirouette in the snow while holding his soup. His boot catches on a hidden patch of ice. "Whoa…!"

Time seems to slow down. Taehyung’s arms flail wildly. The paper cup launches from his hands, turning upside down in mid-air. A massive, vibrant splash of red tomato soup paints a perfect, tragic arc across the pristine white snow.

Taehyung lands flat on his back with a soft, heavy thump.

The silence that follows lasts for three seconds. Then, Taehyung lets out a tragic, dramatic wail into the night sky, staring at the empty cup in his hand.

You and Yoongi burst out laughing. Yoongi’s laugh is loud. His eyes crinkling into tiny, happy slits as he doubles over, entirely forgetting about his frozen toes.

You blink rapidly, the dark interior of the car rushing back into focus.

The warmth of the grilled cheese is still in your hands, but your heart is hammering wildly against your ribs. The echo of Yoongi's young, unburdened laughter still feels loud in your ears. You look over at him, your chest tight with a mixture of awe and a lingering, phantom cold.

Yoongi is watching you intently. He hasn't even unwrapped his own sandwich yet. He’s leaning against the driver's side door, his dark eyes searching your face, tracking the sudden wideness of your eyes and the way your hand is trembling slightly against the parchment paper.

"Y/N?" He asks softly, his voice cutting through the remnants of the memory. "You okay?"

You swallow hard, clearing the sudden tightness in your throat.

"Taehyung," you whisper, turning your head to look out at the snowless, green campus lawns. "Taehyung dropped his soup. His tomato soup. In the snow."

A sudden, breathtaking silence fills the car.

Yoongi’s entire posture freezes. His eyes widen just a fraction, a profound, quiet awe washing over his features. He lets out a slow breath, his head tilting slightly as a soft, incredibly tender look replaces the tension in his face.

"You remember that?" He murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, reverent register.

"I... yeah," you say, a breathless, stunned laugh escaping your lips. "We were walking right out there, wasn't it? It was freezing. He tried to do a spin, and he spilled it everywhere. He looked so devastated." You turn back to look at Yoongi, your eyes scanning his face as the details of the memory solidify. "And you were complaining the entire time about losing a toe."

"Because it was negative ten degrees, and you insisted on walking across campus instead of taking the shuttle or driving," Yoongi defends himself, but there is zero heat in it. A beautiful, genuine gummy smile breaks across his face, the exact same one from the memory, instantly bridging the gap between the past and the present. "I had to give you my hoodie because you refused to wear a proper coat."

"I remember," you say softly. You look down at your hands, tracing the edge of the parchment paper.

The warmth of the memory settles into your chest, but with it comes a curious, lingering detail. You remember the easy, comfortable banter, the way his hand had lingered on your shoulder, the way you had teased him about loving you. But there hadn't been that feeling of being couple yet.

It had felt... lighter.

You look back up at him, gathering your courage.

"Yoongi... when did that happen?" You ask, your voice quiet and direct. "Were we... were we dating then?"

Yoongi’s smile softens, turning into something a bit more nostalgic, a bit more careful. He shifts slightly in his seat, resting his forearm on the steering wheel as he looks at you.

"No," he says gently, shaking his head. "We weren't. That was... three, maybe four months before I finally asked you out."

"Really?" You tilt your head, genuinely surprised. "But it felt so... close. The way we were talking."

"We were inseparable by then," Yoongi explains, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he looks down at his own sandwich and takes a bite. He chews, swallowed by his own thoughts for a moment, before looking back at you. "You were always in my space, and I was always in yours. We just hadn't put a label on it yet."

You take another bite of your grilled cheese, the sharp cheddar tasting even better now that it has a history attached to it. The warmth in your chest expands, making the car feel incredibly small and intimate. You look out the window at the manicured lawns and then back at him, a playful thought crossing your mind.

"Yoongi?" You ask, tilting your head. "Did you really bring me all the way to our old college campus just to get sandwiches?"

Yoongi lets out a low, amused huff, shaking his head as he sets his wrapped sandwich down on the center console.

"No," he says softly.

He turns in his seat, leaning his arm against the steering wheel, and points a finger through the windshield. His eyes guide yours past the main pavilion, toward an older, three-story brick building nestled beneath a canopy of large oak trees. It has a slightly weathered, classic collegiate look.

"That building right there," Yoongi murmurs, his voice dropping into a gentle, reminiscent register. "That's dorm rooms over there. That's where I first met you."

Your breath hitches slightly. You look at the building, trying to see if another hook will drag a memory to the surface, but this time, the canvas in your mind remains blank. You turn back to him, eager, your heart doing that familiar, expectant flip-flop.

"Tell me," you say and a soft, nostalgic smile touches Yoongi’s lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you.

"There was a party," he says, a quiet chuckle escaping him. "Some end-of-semester bash that the third floor threw together. It was loud, crowded, and entirely too hot inside. Jungkook had been harboring this massive, pathetic crush on Yura for months, and he was finally brave enough to ask her to come."

You can't help but smile, entirely able to picture a younger, panicked Jungkook trying to act cool.

"Yura showed up," Yoongi continues, his gaze locking onto yours, his dark eyes softening completely. "And she brought you. Her friend from art class."

He pauses, his smile widening into a faint, beautiful gummy grin as the details of the past wash over him.

"You had just come straight from the studio because Yura practically dragged you out by your wrist. You had a streak of blue paint dried right into your hair, near your temple that dragged down to your ends, and for some reason I still don't entirely understand. You were absolutely covered in glitter. It was on your arms, your clothes, your face."

"Glitter? Really?" A laugh escapes you.

"Seriously. You looked like a chaotic star," Yoongi murmurs, his voice incredibly tender. "I was standing by the kitchen counter, trying to avoid the crowd, and you walked over to grab something to drink. We both reached for the exact same red solo cup at the exact same time."

He takes his hand out of his pocket, holding his thumb up. The very same thumb that still bears a faint, pale smudge of robin's-egg blue from helping Hana in the courtyard earlier.

"Our fingers brushed," Yoongi says softly, his eyes tracing the lines of his own hand before looking back up to lock onto yours. "You pulled your hand back, apologized, and flashed me this bright, completely unbothered smile. And when I looked down at my hand... my thumb came away covered in green glitter."

He lets out a quiet, breathless laugh, the sound vibrating with a deep, enduring warmth.

"I spent three days trying to scrub that green glitter off my skin," he whispers, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had been marked by you from the very first second. "But the truth is, I think I knew right then, standing in that cramped dorm kitchen with glitter on my hands, that I was never really going to get rid of you."

You take a final bite of your grilled cheese, suddenly realizing you’ve been holding it halfway to your mouth for the last five minutes. You swallow, wiping your hands on napkins Yoongi hands you, and look out at the old brick dorm building. The warmth from the food and the sheer weight of his story make the car cabin feel entirely too small.

​"Come on," you say softly, reaching for your door handle. "Show me."

​Yoongi blinks, a little surprised by your sudden initiative, but a soft smile quickly follows. He packs the parchment wrappers back into the brown paper bag and sets it aside before stepping out into the evening air.

​The car doors click shut, and campus wraps around you both. You walk side by side across the empty asphalt and onto the manicured green lawn, the grass soft beneath your sneakers. Yoongi doesn't head toward the main entrance of the dorm, though. Instead, he guides you around the side of the building, navigating a stone pathway that cuts through a thick cluster of old, sprawling oak trees.

​You follow him closely, the golden glow of the campus lamps casting long, dancing shadows ahead of you. Just past the edge of the building's brick foundation, the path opens up into a hidden, architectural alcove. It’s a small, stone-paved courtyard tucked beneath a concrete overhang, shielded from the wind and completely invisible from the main quad. A concrete bench sits against the brick wall.

​Yoongi stops in the center of the alcove, slipping his hands into his pockets as he looks around the quiet space.

​"This is it," he says.

​"What did we do here?" You ask, stepping up beside him, your eyes tracing the worn concrete.

​"We worked," Yoongi explains, a nostalgic huff escaping him. "The dorms were always too loud, and the library was too sterile. So we came here. Even when it got a little chilly, we'd just bring jackets. I would lose myself in my music on my laptop, while you sat right there on that bench and drew in your sketchbooks."

"We spent hundreds of hours in this exact spot. We wouldn't even talk for three or four hours at a time. We didn't need to. We just shared the space." ​He looks over at you, his dark eyes reflecting the warm orange light of a nearby lamp.

​A visual tugs at your mind…not quite a full memory, but a feeling of absolute safety, the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard pairing perfectly with the harsh scritch of charcoal on paper.

​"Didn't the music distract me?" You ask softly.

​"No," Yoongi murmurs, a faint, knowing smirk touching his lips. "We used to wear matching headphones."

"Matching?" ​You blink at him.

​"Yeah." Yoongi reaches into the heavy black bag he had carried out of the car with him. He unzips the main compartment, his fingers searching for a moment before he pulls out a large, heavy pair of over-the-ear studio headphones.

​Your breath hitches in your throat.

​The headphones are scuffed and clearly well-loved, but what catches your eye…is the thick, slightly peeling strip of bright rainbow-patterned tape wrapped securely around the top arch of the headband. It's exactly what Yura had described to you.

​"They were yours," Yoongi says gently, holding them out to you. "I bought a pair to work with, and a week later, you bought the exact same model. We kept grabbing the wrong ones out of our bags, so I went into your art supplies, pulled out this ridiculous rainbow tape, and wrapped it around yours so we could tell them apart."

​You slowly reach out, your fingers brushing against the smooth plastic and the textured edge of the tape. The rainbow pattern is bright, loud, and entirely chaotic. The exact kind of mess you’re realizing you used to love.

​"They're still in perfect condition," you whisper, looking up from the headphones to his face.

​Yoongi doesn't look at you. His eyes are fixed on the scuffed plastic in your hands, his jaw tightening slightly. The soft, nostalgic warmth that had been carrying the conversation for the last hour suddenly shifts, dropping into a heavier, much more fragile territory.

“I need to apologize to you, Y/N." Yoongi whispers.

"Apologize? For what?" You blink, caught off guard.

​"For everything else," he says softly. He finally looks up, and the raw, vulnerable honesty in his dark eyes makes your breath catch. "Having you back... seeing you try so hard to piece everything together... It made me realize how much I took away from you by trying to protect myself."

​He steps a fraction closer, the orange lamp light catching the deep line of conflict between his brows.

​"When we... when the accident happened, and your parents took you away... I couldn't handle it," Yoongi confesses, his voice cracking just a bit before he forces it steady. "Every shelf in our apartment, it was all just a physical reminder of what I’d lost. Your extra sketchbooks, the coffee mugs you left behind, your old sweaters... it felt like living in a haunted house."

​You hold the headphones tighter against your chest, listening to the quiet agony of a past you weren't there to witness.

​"So, I gave it all away," Yoongi whispers, a look of profound regret washing over his face. "I packed up every single personal thing of yours that I had and I gave it to everyone. I told them to take it, hide it, burn it, do whatever they wanted with it. I just... it hurt too much to keep it. I was weak, Y/N. I forced myself to erase your presence from my life because I was trying to survive the ghost of you."

​He lets out a heavy, ragged sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

​"And now you're back. You're back, and you're looking for pieces of your old self, and I don't have them. I threw away your history because I couldn't handle the weight of it. I am so incredibly sorry. I'm just thankful that they kept it all."

You look down at the headphones in your hands. The single, solitary item he couldn't bring himself to part with. ​Slowly, you step toward him, bridging the small gap between you. You reach out and gently touch his forearm.

​"Yoongi," you say softly, waiting until he looks down at you. "Look at me."

​He raises his eyes, looking entirely exposed under the dim campus lamps of the alcove.

​"Yura told me something in the parking lot on Tuesday," you say, a gentle smile touching your lips. "She said that I was building a life with someone else because I thought my past was erased. And she said you were trying to move forward because you thought your past was dead."

​Yoongi’s shoulders drop a fraction as he absorbs your words.

​"You don't need to apologize for surviving," you tell him firmly. "You thought the book was finished. Anyone would have tried to close it. You kept my ring….and the fact that you kept these..." You lift the headphones slightly. "...means you didn't erase me. You just kept the pieces that mattered most. The part where we shared space."

Your fingers tighten slightly around the rainbow-taped headphones. The peeling edge of the tape catches against your thumb, and another strange ache moves through your chest…not painful exactly, just heavy with the shape of something missing. You look down at them for a long moment before glancing back up at Yoongi.

“Can I ask you something?” You say quietly.

“Anything.” Yoongi nods immediately.

“What was my favorite song?” You ask.

For a second, genuine confusion flickers across his face. His brows pull together slightly, like the answer should be obvious.

“You don’t even remember that?” He asks softly and you shake your head.

He doesn't hesitate. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. His fingers move across the screen, searching for a moment before he selects a track. ​He doesn’t turn the volume up to a blast. He holds the phone out between you both, letting the audio play in the quiet stone alcove.

"You used to hum this constantly," Yoongi’s voice drifts in over the intro. "You didn't even realize you were doing it. Half the time you were sketching on this exact bench, your foot would be tapping to this rhythm. There's an old video on my hard drive of you working on a canvas, completely lost in your own head, just softly humming this exact chorus under your breath."

​As the chorus hits, a strange sensation ripples across your skin.

It is familiar.

However, it's not familiar from your dream where it sounded like it was under water. It wasn't familiar from you humming it from your cracked phone. No…this was…real. You heard this in person.

The quiet room away from Hobi’s chaotic hallway. Walking away from Taehyung after handing back the scrapbook, taking that tentative, terrifying step into the room where Yoongi sat hunched over the exposed strings of the piano. Sitting right beside him on that worn wooden bench, watching his fingers press those exact notes.

​“Are you sure about that?” He had asked you then, his voice a low, knowing voice before he turned back to the ivory keys.

“You played it in the music room.” You look up at him as he nods at you.

“I always find myself playing it when I miss you,” he admits.

You look down at the rainbow tape on the headphones, then back up at the faint blue smudge on his thumb. The pieces of your past are scattered, and some are completely gone, thrown into the fire of a grief you never had to witness but are only now beginning to understand. You don't have the memories of the late-night laughs, the shared hoodies, or the exact moment you realized you were falling for him.

​But looking at him now, seeing the raw devotion in his eyes, the pink flush still lingering on his ears, and the steady, unmovable way he stands by your side…you realize you don't need a map of where you've been to know exactly where you are.

​"Yoongi," you say softly, your voice steady despite the rapid fluttering of your heart.

​He locks his eyes onto yours, completely attentive, waiting for whatever you have to say next.

​"I don't remember loving you," you whisper. Yoongi’s expression softens as you step closer, closing the final gap between your bodies. “But…I want to.”

​Yoongi’s breath hitches. His posture freezes, his eyes widening in a rare moment of complete, unscripted shock.

​Before he can overthink it, before he can draft a three-paragraph mental response or let the ghosts of the past crowd the room, you reach up. Your hand finds the collar of his shirt, and you pull yourself up, pressing your lips gently against his.

​He is entirely taken aback. For a fraction of a second, he doesn't move, his mind clearly scrambling to process the sudden, wild shift in the universe. But then, a low, ragged breath escapes him. The shock melts away, replaced instantly by a deep, instinctual surrender.

​Yoongi gives in.

​His hand comes out of his pocket, his palm sliding up to cradle the side of your waist with tentative care, as if he’s terrified you might vanish if he holds too tight. The kiss is soft, quiet, and completely devoid of urgency. It tastes like the lingering warmth of toasted sourdough, the crispness of cooling of the evening air, and a quiet promise stretching out into the dark.

​It isn't a dramatic, sweeping explosion. It's a gentle line pressed onto a completely blank page.

​When you slowly pull back, your breath fans across his lips. Yoongi’s eyes remain closed for a second longer, his forehead leaning gently against yours as he takes a slow breath. ​A faint, beautifully breathless gummy smile breaks across his face, his thumb softly brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

​"Well," Yoongi murmurs. "That definitely wasn't in the group chat."

​A bright, genuine laugh escapes you, the last remnants of the heavy silence evaporating into air. You lean into his touch, holding the scuffed headphones tight between you, ready to start writing the very next chapter.

<Next>

Tagged Readers

@selihmvale , @artful-ahgase, @lovemarysblogposts

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[foliexaxdeux]

I'LL DO THE THING FOR YOU | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x f!reader

Genre: Oneshot, smut, pwp, established relationship

Summary: After a small fight, Yoongi wants to make it up to you. He'll do the thing for you, he's on his knees and, of course, he also says please.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit sexual content, very loosely based on the lyrics of 'Please', oral (f receiving), fingering, face sitting, PiV, unprotected sex (they're together and I imagined MC on some form of contraceptive), dirty talk, Yoongi is cocky in the beginning and whiny towards the end, this isn't a dom/sub setting at all but if it was he'd be a switch, he's pussy whipped and begs for it hehe

Wordcount: 3.4k

Masterlist

The argument you had with Yoongi earlier wasn't even supposed to be one, seriously. You were just playing, but he took it the wrong way and now you're sitting on the couch sulking. 

You were driving home together when it happened. Yoongi was parking the car, had put it in reverse, looking out the rear window with his arm slung around the back of your seat while backing into the open spot. You’d told him something about - what even was it...? Some random post you’d seen online about sourdough. And he didn’t listen because he was busy concentrating on parking. He’d asked you to come again once he turned off the car and you said something along the lines of it’s alright, you never listen to me anyway. 

It was supposed to be a joke. Obviously! You’d even grinned while saying it but had turned your head away from him to look out the window in a dramatic display of feigned offense. Yoongi didn’t catch the sarcasm. And he huffed. Then shook his head and got out of the car without another word. That’s when you started to get pissed. He really thought you were that much of a bitch, huh? Okay then. 

Neither of you were in the mood to address it, busy seething with a subtle broil of pent up irritation as you entered your shared apartment. He tried to ease the tension by pushing your shoulder with a playful nudge of his while you slipped out of your shoes. You scoffed though, still griping about him believing you’d be upset over something so trivial. And yes, the irony was lost on you. He let you be then, knowing you’d come around after a while and needing a minute to clear his head himself.

Some hours have passed since, the cool down phase in full effect and you drop on the couch after a long shower that brought some sense of balance to your brain. This ‘fight’ was so stupid, it almost makes you laugh. You shake your head, pulling your bath robe tighter as you swipe on your phone when he walks past you, then stops. He’s testing the waters, you can tell from the way he monitors your body language; how you will or won’t react to his presence. You raise a brow while looking up at him, the corner of your lip pulling upwards. A truce. One he decides to accept, judging by the way he trudges closer.

“You feel better?” he asks and you know he worded it that way on purpose, so as not to ask you if you’ve finally calmed down. 

You huff out a breath, laughter mixed with a hint of reluctance, because that question still suggests that you’ve been overreacting. You don’t pin him down on it, though. Not yet at least. Rather, you return it. “And you?”

“Mhm.” He bends his knees until he’s crouching before you, his eyes now level with yours, one hand resting on your knee for support. “We were both being stupid, huh?”

Yeah, he’s right. Still, you don’t have to admit it right away. “I was just joking, you know? When I said you never listen to me.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he sighs. “An hour too late, I guess.”

The honesty makes you laugh and you drop your phone somewhere in the cracks of the couch cushions. 

Yoongi takes it as an invitation - an unspoken extension of the truce that, if handled correctly, could even lead to peace. “I’m sorry baby,” he says before he leans in. “Let me make it up to you.”

You’re closing in as well, meeting his lips for a single kiss. Smiling now, you might have an idea on how he could fulfill that proposition. “And how would you do that?”

Yoongi cocks his head to the side with a smirk, eyelids narrowing as he thinks about it. He moves from crouching to resting on his knees on the floor before you, hand on the back of your head pulling you forward, so you’re still face to face even though he’s positioned lower than before. He kisses your cheek, lips wandering along your jaw and down the side of your throat where he sucks lightly, making your breath hitch. When his nose traces your earlobe he detaches from you but stays close, whispering, “I’ll do the thing for you.”

“The thing?” Oh, you know exactly which thing.

“Yeah,” he breathes against your neck while his right hand reaches for the lapel of your robe. He rubs the soft material between his fingers before gently pushing it aside and slipping them under. “The thing you like so much, you know.”

With the back of his hand now resting on the supple skin of your chest he pulls his head back to look at you. 

“Hm, I don’t know what you mean,” you lie as you move closer for another kiss. He leans in harder now, sighing against your lips and pushes his tongue into your mouth. He flicks it against yours lightly, barely grazing you with its tip and it makes you chuckle how he’s subtly trying to help you remember. You pull back but keep him near by cupping his cheek. “Ah, that thing.”

His hand under your robe inches down, knuckles brushing over your nipple and the sensation makes it harden instantly. He finds the belt around your waist with his other hand and unties the knot with his thumb. His eyes widen slightly as the fabric falls open and drops loosely around your sides. It’s not like he hasn’t looked at you a million times before. Still, his lids show the tiniest of flutters every single time, the dilation of his pupils barely detectable. 

Yoongi leans in, not taking his gaze off your tits and latches onto your chest. With his lips around one nipple and his hand on the other, he sucks with a slight graze of his teeth and simultaneously rolls his fingers, pulling a gasp from you. 

The smirk on his face is dangerous, bordering on vicious, when he looks up at you. “You know, sometimes I think you’re only provoking those small fights for the make-up sex.” 

He straightens his back when you don't respond, his knees still on the floor and leans backwards as he snakes his hands beneath your legs. With a firm pull, he drags you down the cushion, so your ass rests at the edge of the sofa, your back now flat against the seat. His hands run up the skin of your thighs, grabbing them gently by the backs of your knees and pushing your legs up against your belly while spreading them. “Keep them like this for me, alright?” 

You do what he asked and hold your legs up with your hands, anticipation coiling tightly in your abdomen as you watch him with bated breath.

“So pretty,” he muses quietly when he looks down at you, nodding to himself as if he’s confirming his own remark while his eyes stay glued to your core. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You nod even though he doesn't wait for your answer anyway, already tilting his head down again but not closing in. He purses his lips a good few inches above your pussy and releases a dense wad of spit, letting it drop slowly so it stretches into a thick string, before it lands directly on your clit. You suck in a breath of surprise at the feeling, your hip jerking as hot slick that’s cooling down quickly trickles down your folds and Yoongi grins as he watches how it coats you.  

When he finally comes closer, his lips trace down the inside of your thigh, kissing and sucking the skin on his way. “Gonna eat you out so good baby,” he mumbles while his thumbs draw lazy circles around the outer edges of your labia. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you whine, mouth agape as you watch him descend. If you weren’t wet before, you certainly are now. “Want it so bad.”

Yoongi chuckles against your skin, hot breath fanning over the slick across your core. His lips are soft when he brushes them from where his thumbs work, up to your mound and his eyes snap to yours just before he closes the last bit of distance to place a kiss on your clit. You shudder at the contact, brows furrowed into a needy frown, to which he only grins. 

His tongue glides across you in calculated motions and - oh - when he flicks it, he’s really doing the thing that always makes your eyes roll back into your head. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out, removing your hand from your shin and bringing it down to stroke through his hair. Yoongi’s lids fall shut when your fingers catch hold of a thick strand to pull him even closer and he releases a muffled groan against you. 

He runs his tongue up and down your pussy in unhurried strokes, lapping at your entrance and tracing its outline before coming back up. His finger pushes into you right when his lips close around your clit, sucking lightly and kissing it softly as he applies pressure to his hand, entering you with one single, slow thrust. Your head falls back into the couch cushion when he pumps it in and out, curling it just right, so he hits the spot you need him to. 

“Right there,” you moan, fingers tightening around the hair close to his scalp. He knows, of course he does, that you like it right there and doesn't relent, his tongue still working its wonders while he adds a second finger, pushing and pulling and curling on their way out, making you feel like you’re going to explode. 

Fuck, the muscles in your abdomen are straining, breaths turning shallow and your legs begin to shake already. You're about to come, pulling him even closer and he groans against your pussy again. 

When you tear your eyes open to look at him, you notice him shuffling around a bit and wonder what he's doing. The coil in your belly relaxes at the slight distraction, eyes wandering over his hunched figure. Ah, he moved his free hand down into his pants. You twist your torso a bit to get a better view and take another peak to confirm. Yes, he pushed down his sweats and is jerking himself off while eating you out. 

You giggle, feeling yourself getting even wetter at the thought of him enjoying this so much he has to touch himself, but Yoongi looks up at you at the sound. 

“What's so funny?” he asks, a bit out of breath. 

“Nothing,” you answer as your fingers run across his scalp. “Just didn't expect you to multitask.”

His gaze drops down to his dick, a slight flush on his cheeks before he pulls up his pants. 

“No, don't stop. I like it.”

“Not planning on stopping,” he says as he stands up from the floor and offers you his hand. “Just changing the setting.”

You let him pull you up and guide you into the bedroom, where he pushes the bath robe from your shoulders and takes off his shirt. He pulls you to sit at the edge of the bed, tips of his fingers ghosting up your arms before he tangles them in your hair to pull you in. Your lips meet for a hungry kiss, Yoongi’s nonchalance slowly but surely dissipating. His hands roam your whole body and end up on your tits for a harsh squeeze while you sigh against his lips, desperately wanting to touch him too. You reach out for him, palming him over his sweats and earn a sharp exhale from him. He doesn't grant you access for long though as he pulls back, eager eyes now dark and almost impatient, taking in your figure before he slips away. 

You watch him moving up the mattress where he throws the pillows down to the floor and lays down flat on his back, his head right where the pillows were a second ago. 

“Come here and sit on my face,” he says as his hand already snakes down into his pants again. 

No need to ask you twice, of course you’re going to, you’re already on your way actually. You climb onto the bed and swing a leg over him, straddling his face between your thighs. Yoongi smiles up at you before pulling you closer by your hip. 

“Now let me finish this.” His words slur against your skin as you grab the headboard for support in hopes that it'll help you to come out of this alive. 

His strokes are quick now, diligently lapping at your dripping heat, making you throw your head back, nails digging into the wood in front of you. 

“God, fuck,” you sigh, wanting to tell him how good it feels but alas, you're lost for words, thoughts currently swimming somewhere too far away for your brain to catch up and form a coherent sentence.

You're afraid of suffocating him between your legs, thighs flexing absentmindedly to hold most of your weight up even though his left arm on your hip keeps pulling, pulling, pulling you down and you finally give in and relax. Now that you're really sitting down, he breathes out a groan so content, it vibrates through your whole body. 

Without a doubt he’s giving his all to make it up to you, kissing, tongue swirling, slurping you up until you see stars. Your hips start rocking on him on their own, needily grinding over his face as you chase your release and he seems to like that, judging by the way he hums against you at the constant back and forth. 

“Shit, I’m so close,” you gasp as he’s guiding your movements across his face, tongue rolling over your clit every time you glide over his lips. The coil in your belly tightens as you feel him stir and you turn your head only to see that he’s pushed his sweats down again, hand closed around his dick and stroking himself. The image propels you across the edge, fingers on the headboard digging harder into the wood while your other hand finds his hair to hold on to. With your head spinning and ears ringing, you shudder above him, riding out your high in quick motions, pussy clenching around nothing while he eats you out like you're his favorite meal. 

He’s not stopping his feast, still licking your throbbing clit until you have to pull off of him with a moan that ends up sounding more like a cry. Your body betrays you as you move and you practically fold, falling down on the mattress right next to him and landing on your back with a thump. 

Yoongi gets up on his knees while you gasp for air, towering over your figure with his sweats shoved down his thighs and he immediately presses himself against you, hand on his hard dick, rubbing it up and down your sensitive core. 

“Shit baby,” he grits out with his eyes closed, mouth glistening with your essence as he leans in for another kiss. “Wanna fuck you so bad.”

“Yeah?” you ask, buying yourself a bit more time to calm down. You reach for him and replace his hand with yours, fingers wrapping tightly around his erection. “I’m still so sensitive though.”

His tip is halfway inside of you and his head falls back when you start pumping him slowly, dragging out the moment before he can push in further. “Please baby, you feel so good.”

It makes you chuckle when he begs and he knows you like it, so you can't help yourself from playing that game, still pumping him lazily while he holds himself back from sinking in fully. “Are you sure you've made it up to me properly? You were really mean earlier.”

“Shit, don't do this to me,” he almost whines. “I was so, so good to you, wasn't I? Made you come so hard.”

“Yeah, you did,” you tell him, gripping him a bit tighter as you roll your wrist on him and drawing another sharp breath from his lips while you kiss him. “So you’d say you’ve earned it, huh?”

“Yes!” He nods like you asked him if you should gift him a million dollars right now. “Yes, I’ve earned it. Please baby. Please.”

Can't deny him his wishes, not when he begs so nicely, can you? 

“Alright, yeah,” you whisper while changing the angle of your hold to line him up perfectly. “Go on and fuck me, baby.”

He thrusts in fully without any warning, pushing a moan from your lungs at the sudden intrusion and his lids scrunch together when he does. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters as he stills. “That wasn't… Couldn't help it. Did I hurt you?”

Your hands intertwine behind his neck as you shake your head and relax, getting used to the stretch. “No, it's alright.”

He leans in for a kiss, tongue twisting against yours as he pulls his hip back before he thrusts into you again. He sighs with each move, groaning when your lips part. Gripping your hips as he leans back, he holds you in place, fucking into you with force now and his eyes roll back like he’s losing himself in the feeling. “Always so fucking tight for me.”

The noise of your combined moans, your high pitched whines and his low grunts fill the room, accompanied by the quieter sound of his groin snapping against yours, quite like a beat to the carnal melody that the two of you are creating. 

Yoongi slides his hands down your legs and moves them to drop your ankles upon his shoulders, creating an angle that allows him to go even deeper than before. You're gasping for air from how he plows into you, the roll of his hips making his cock drag across your g-spot with every thrust. 

He grows frantic, spitting out curse words here and there before he takes your hand and guides it between your legs. “Make yourself come on my cock,” he directs with his head falling back between his shoulders. “That’s it baby, I can feel how close you are. Fucking squeezing me.”

He’s right, you are close again, now rubbing yourself in tight circles like he asked and it's like there's no air left in your lungs to exhale. Your muscles tense all over and you bite your tongue to relieve the pressure, watching him pump in and out of you over and over, a vein on his neck straining against his skin like it's about to burst.

“Come for me,” he groans, voice breaking to a tone so wrecked, you both know that no one will ever hear him sound like that but you. 

You follow his command, it’s not like you have a choice, another orgasm crashing all over you and draining your mind from everything that isn't him inside of you. Limbs convulse and sweat drips down your temple as the shuddering waves ripple from your core throughout your whole body. 

Your pussy clenches around him frantically and pulls him over the edge as well, so he can't help the moan from slipping out as his hips stutter with every spurt of cum that he fills you with. His head falls into the crook of your neck, breathing heavily against your sticky skin, still moving, still pressing himself in as deep as he can, like he wants to bury himself inside of you. 

“Shit,” he curses, muffled and drawn out, panting and revelling in the feeling of your cunt still wrapped around him so tightly. “I’m never pulling out of you, just so you know.”

You chuckle as you bring your arms around his back, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “You sure about that?”

He’s still breathing heavily and you feel his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he nods. “No doubt about it.” He lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Still mad at me?”

“Never was.”

Masterlist

A/N: Thank you so much for reading :] Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed, or if you're shy, feel free to send us an anonymous ask! <3

[eomgelic]

hi!!!! coming back because i just saw a really concerning post!!!! this user @/hungrilymercilessghoul is posting smut of the 09z in cortis.

this is so disgusting on so many levels, seonghyeon is a minor. writing any sexual content of him IS illegal, it’s literally child pornography (doesn’t matter if you are a minor aswell = it still is sexual content of someone who is not legal age).

besides that fact, it is just incredibly disgusting. i’m going to mention something i said in an earlier post on this ↓

idols aren't objects to be used for weirdos sexual fantasies. anyone saying "you can just ignore" / "just scroll" is apart of the problem. releasing and giving access for sexual content of minors or people who are barely legal is giving an outlet for pedos or people with bad intentions, and it makes you apart of the problem. all this content is in a space where minors (a majority of cortis's fanbase are incredibly young) will be exposed to that sort of content. it's inappropriate.

please report, block, and do not engage with anyone making this content! to anyone consuming / providing this content, seriously get a job!!! you’re disgusting!!! and if you can’t get a job, get offline cause you’re probably too young to be on here anyways.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI🔞 (Taglist Closed)

Main Masterlist here

Before I Forgot Masterlist here

Summary: Your life was perfect. You had the perfect fiance, the perfect house and the perfect ring on your finger. The only thing that wasn't perfect …. were the memories you lost years ago and the fact your parents won't talk about it.

Pairing: Yoongi x F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Smut

Warnings: Memory Loss, Swearing, Blood Mention, Unprotected Sex, Mention Of Car Accident, Mention Of Drunk Driver. Will add as I go…

You keep your head down, focusing on your keyboard as you process claims for unforeseen water damage and minor fender benders. However, every time the elevator chimes, your shoulders stiffen and your foot starts to tap nervously. Every time a man in a tailored suit walks past your cubicle, you hold your breath until the scent of his cologne fades. You wait for the sharp, expensive notes of Corbyn’s aftershave that thankfully come.

​But the day is almost over.

4:55 PM.

​"Psst," Leah hisses, rolling her chair back a bit to peek around the partition. "Thirty-five settlements, two denials, and zero Corbyn sightings. I think we’re in the clear."

​"Don't jinx it," you whisper, finally letting out a breath. "I just want to get to the parking lot without a performance review on my personal life."

​"You’re doing great," she encourages as she shuts down her computer and grabs her bag from under her desk. "Clean break. Professional. Boring. Exactly what we…"

​"Y/N? You have... uh... visitors at reception? They say it’s urgent." ​The intercom at the front desk crackles, cutting her off.

"Corbyn doesn't do reception." ​Leah’s brow furrows.

​You stand up, a knot of dread forming in your stomach. As you walk towards the lobby, you notice the office atmosphere has changed. Usually, at five o'clock, everyone was a zombie. Now, heads were popping over cubicle walls checking out what was going on. People are whispering. Carrie from Accounting is actually standing on her tiptoes to see down the hallway.

​When you round the corner, you see why. ​Leaning against the sleek, minimalist reception desk are two men who look like they have no reason to be talking to you.

Taehyung stands with one ankle crossing over the other, dressed in loose charcoal trousers and a cream silk shirt with the sleeves pushed to his elbows, rings shining as he reaches into the bowl of complimentary peppermints. A pair of sunglasses resting in his dark hair despite the fact he was indoors. Next to him, Jimin is leaning back on his elbows, flashing a blinding, angelic smile at the receptionist, who looks like she has forgotten how to breathe.

​"Y/N!" Taehyung’s face lights up the moment he sees you.

​"What are you guys doing here?" You laugh nervously, reaching them and trying to ignore the fact that the entire sales team was now watching the exchange.

​"We’re here for you, obviously. I mean…I already have insurance," Jimin says, his eyes crinkling as he reaches out to adjust the collar of your blazer. "Operation: Glow-Up Phase Two requires a change of scenery. Also, Taehyung wanted a peppermint."

​"They're a bit chalky," Taehyung notes after popping one in his mouth. He then looks past you, his gaze sharpening as he scans the rows of desks. "Where is he? The Beige King? I bet his office doesn't have dust in it either."

“He doesn't work here,” you tell them, shaking your head. “He's a lawyer that works with our firm…. sometimes.”

“That’s honestly disappointing. I had a whole monologue prepared.” Taehyung blinks once.

“You absolutely did not,” you mutter, though a tiny spark of amusement flickered in your chest.

“I did,” he insists, throwing a hand over his heart. “It involved emotional support dust bunnies.”

Before the growing audience of curious coworkers around the reception desk could become any more obvious, Jimin gently hooks his arm through yours, guiding you toward the exit. “Come on.” Jimin smiles.

“Where are we going?” You ask immediately. “I just got off work.”

“And now, you are coming with us.” Taehyung pushes off the desk.

“You two are insane,” you sigh, giving in.

“And yet,” Jimin says smoothly, opening the door for you. “You're coming with us.”

“That’s because I’m too tired to fight you.” You joke.

“Hey,” he says quietly and more seriously. “You survived today.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“I know that sounds dramatic,” he continues. “But the first days after big decisions are awful. Your body thinks you’re being hunted for sport.”

“That’s… weirdly accurate,” you admit, the honesty of it hitting you square in the chest.

“Thank you. I’m emotionally intelligent.” He winks.

“You cried because a bakery ran out of strawberry cream buns once.” Taehyung scoffs loudly from the other side of you.

“That was grief.” Jimin defends himself. “I was hungry.”

By the time you reach the car, you are smiling again. Barely…but it was enough to keep you moving. About twenty minutes later, however, the realization hit that they still hadn't disclosed their destination.

“Okay,” you say from the passenger seat, narrowing your eyes at Jimin’s reflection in the rearview mirror. “Seriously. Where are we going?”

“The studio,” Jimin replies simply.

“Your dance studio?” You ask. “Why?”

“I need your assistance.” He replies.

“With what?” You question.

“You’ll see.” He smiles, mysteriously.

“That’s …mysterious.” You lift an eyebrow

“Very mysterious. Very cinematic.” Taehyung hums from the driver’s seat, steering the car with a relaxed confidence.

“I can’t dance.” You fold your arms across your chest. “You better not make me dance.”

“We know,” Taehyung says immediately and you frown as Jimin chokes on nothing in the backseat. “No, no…that sounded so much meaner out loud than it did in my head.” Taehyung scrambles to fix it as you give him a horrified look.

“We’re joking,” Jimin says quickly through his laughter. “You don’t need to dance. I actually need you to come.”

There was something in the way he says it that makes you stop fighting it. Instead, you sit back in the seat and watch the city roll by. After a day spent bracing for a confrontation that never came, the silence inside your own head is finally louder than the anxiety. You lean your forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the sun catch on the glass of the passing high-rises.

You catch Jimin’s eye in the mirror again. He’s looking out his own window, his expression softer now, devoid of the playful smirk from earlier. Then there’s Taehyung, humming a tune that doesn't quite match the radio, his rings tapping a steady rhythm on the steering wheel.

A Glow-Up Phase Two. Whatever that means, seems like a terrifying concept. You aren't sure what you're supposed to provide at a dance studio, but as the car slows and the building comes into view, you take one deep, steadying breath. The car rolls to a stop.

"We're here," Taehyung announces, killing the engine with a flourish.

"Ready, Y/N?" Jimin asks, leaning forward to rest his chin on the back of your seat.

You look at the studio doors and then back at them.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you say.

“This is where we teach my youngest dancers,” Jimin says.

You stop short. Buckets of paint are scattered everywhere. Large plastic sheets are spread across the floor. Open jars of brushes sit nearby beside bottles of water, old paint-stained towels, and paper plates smeared with dried color. Blue. Red. Yellow. Green. Actual, vibrant color. Your brows pull together slowly as you take it in.

“What is this?” You ask, looking at him.

“Art therapy?” Jimin shrugs casually, though there was something careful in his eyes now.

“Rehabilitation for former residents of the Beige Void.” Taehyung drops onto the floor cross-legged beside one of the paint buckets.

“The room needs a little make over,” Jimin smiles.

You stare at them both, then back at the paint. You don't understand what they want you to do.

“Go ahead. Paint.” Jimin’s voice softens as he nudges you forward.

“No.” You let out a quiet breath and shake your head almost immediately.

Neither of them push right away.

“Why not?” Taehyung just tilts his head slightly, his gaze curious.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first because the answer sounds ridiculous even inside your own head. Your gaze drifts back toward the paint buckets, the bright acrylic colors almost overwhelming after years of muted neutrals and careful control. Your fingers curled slightly against your sleeves.

“I…” You swallow hard. “I don’t know how.”

The room goes quiet. It isn't an awkward silence. Jimin leans back against the mirrored wall, studying you carefully.

“You think people forget?” He questions.

“I think I did.” You laugh once under your breath, but there is no humor in it.

“You’re acting like somebody’s grading you.” Jimin comments.

“No one’s grading you here,” Taehyung adds. “This isn’t an art exhibit. It’s emotional damage control with supplies.”

A tiny breath of laughter escapes you before you could stop it. Encouraged, Jimin pushes off the wall and walks toward one of the blank walls. He picks up a thick brush, dips it lazily into blue paint, and drags one messy streak across the white surface without looking.

“That’s it,” he says simply as you stare at the line uneven and crooked, and paint begins to drip slowly down the wall.

“Jimin. Your technique. So avant-garde.” Taehyung gasps dramatically.

“Thank you,” Jimin says, semi-seriously. Then, he turns and hands the brush to you.

You stare at it. At the blue paint clinging to the bristles, and at your own reflection in the mirrors behind them. You look uncertain, smaller than you remembered feeling. Your fingers slowly close around the handle, and for the first time in a very long time, nobody told you to keep things clean.

​"Mine is a space owl," Minjun announces, slapping a neon purple wing onto a toilet paper roll with enough glue to hold together a skyscraper.

​"It's perfect," you whisper, leaning in.

​The door to the community room creaks open. You don't look up immediately, too busy helping a girl named Sophie navigate the treacherous waters of safety scissors.

​"I heard there was a craft crisis," a deep, gravelly voice enters the room.

​You look up, and the breath you’d been holding since 9:00 AM finally leaves you. Yoongi is standing there, his guitar case slung over one shoulder and a keyboard stand tucked under his arm.

​"No crisis," you say, offering a small, genuine smile. "Just a lot of googly eyes. I'm surprised Hobi hasn't been in to check in on me."

​"He's in the office," Yoongi tells you, setting his gear down on the floor. He walks over to your table, his hands buried in his pockets. He scans the carnage of felt and feathers. "Is that a three-headed owl, Minjun?"

​"It's for extra hearing!" Minjun explains.

​Sophie, who had been meticulously peeling the backing off a glittery sticker, suddenly stands up. She holds her creation up high in the air. It is a toilet paper roll so heavily decorated with multi-colored feathers, mismatched googly eyes, and neon pipe cleaners that you can't even tell what it is.

​"Look, Yoongi!" She chirps, thrusting the creature toward his face. "It’s a Rainbow Owl. He lives in the clouds and eats starlight."

​Yoongi pulls back slightly to get a full view of the masterpiece, his eyes widening in mock awe. He reaches out a pale finger, gently poking a stray pink feather that was hanging on by a thread of hot glue.

​"Starlight, huh?" He repeats. "That’s a high-energy diet. No wonder he’s so bright. Does he have a name?"

​"Sparkle-Cloud," Sophie says, with a smile.

​"Great name," Yoongi nods. He looks up at you then, his dark eyes catching yours over the top of Sophie’s head.

​"I saw the studio," he says casually. "Jimin sent me a photo of the renovations you three did."

​You feel a familiar heat creep up your neck, and you instinctively reach for a stray piece of felt to keep your hands busy.

"Oh, no. I was hoping he’d keep that locked in a vault somewhere." You let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "I wouldn't exactly call it a painting, Yoongi. It’s more like... accidental splatter. It looks like a blue and yellow ink cloud exploded."

​"I liked the explosion," he counters, his gaze steady as he watches you shred the edge of the felt. “It felt real…. uncontained.”

​He reaches onto the table, his long fingers navigating the sea of sequins until he finds a rogue googly eye. He picks it up, turning it over thoughtfully.

​"Jimin told me you were worried about not knowing how," he adds, his voice barely above a murmur so the kids won't overhear. "But art isn't about knowing how to do it right. It's about having the guts to do it wrong."

​"I did it very wrong," you mutter, finally looking up at him. "There’s a blue handprint near the ceiling that I’m pretty sure Taehyung is responsible for."

"Taehyung is a menace with a paintbrush. But the point is, the wall isn't beige anymore. And neither are you." ​Yoongi’s lips twitch, the corner of his mouth curving into a faint gummy smile.

Heat crawls up your neck, and you quickly reach for the nearest distraction before he can say anything else that makes your heartbeat weird. Your gaze flicks toward the pile of equipment he’d carried in.

“Why do you carry extra musical equipment?” You question. “The center has instruments right?”

“The stuff here is usually fine,” he says with a shrug. “The center does what it can.”

“But?” You ask.

His expression softens slightly as he looks over at the kids scattered around the tables. Minjun is now attaching approximately twelve more googly eyes to his owl while Sophie attempts to convince another little girl that feathers improve everything.

“Sometimes my older students need more,” Yoongi says quietly.

“More how?” You tilt your head a little.

He takes a seat beside the table, legs stretching out comfortably in front of him. One of the kids immediately wanders over and starts braiding colorful pipe cleaners around the sleeve of his hoodie like it was the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t even react.

“The younger kids just want somewhere safe to be loud,” he explains. “The older ones…” He pauses briefly, searching for the right wording. “A lot of them are carrying things they don’t know how to talk about yet.”

“So music helps?” Your fingers still against the felt in your hands.

“Sometimes.” He nods once. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps.”

The room buzzes around you with the sound of scissors snipping paper and children arguing passionately about glitter placement, but his voice somehow cuts clean through all of it.

Calm.

Steady.

Honest.

Yoongi reaches down absently as Sophie deposits a handful of sequins into his palm like an offering.

“One kid comes in every week and practices until his fingertips blister because it’s the only time he says his brain shuts up,” he says. “Another one writes lyrics instead of talking during group discussions. One girl barely spoke for six months, but she started playing piano when she thought nobody was listening.”

“And the extra equipment?” You ask softly and he rolls one shoulder.

“Some of them can’t afford lessons. Or instruments. So if they want to learn properly…” He nods toward the guitar case. “I bring things.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like there’s no world where he wouldn’t. You stare at him for a second too long before catching yourself.

“That’s…” Your voice comes out quieter than intended. “Really nice.”

“Don’t say that so loudly. I have a reputation.” Yoongi looks mildly horrified.

You laugh before you can stop yourself. A real laugh this time, warm enough that Sophie immediately looks between the two of you with suspicious interest.

“Oooooh,” she sings suddenly, pointing a glitter-covered finger at Yoongi. “You like her.”

You choke on absolutely nothing.

“HE DOES.” Minjun accuses and points a finger at Yoongi along with her.

Yoongi freezes. Not dramatically. Not obviously. Most people in the room probably wouldn’t notice it at all.

But you do.

You notice the way his shoulders go still beneath the oversized black hoodie. The tiny pause in his breathing. The way his fingers stop turning the googly eye in his hand.

And apparently the children smell blood in the water immediately.

“HE DOES,” Minjun repeats louder, standing up in his chair.

“WAIT. ARE YOU TWO IN LOVE?” Sophie gasps, both hands flying to her cheeks.

“This is inappropriate,” Yoongi says flatly. “Make your owls.”

“Sophie, use your inside voice,” you tell the little girl.

“THIS IS MY INSIDE VOICE,” she argues.

Yoongi finally moves, but it’s only to slowly place the googly eye down on the table. He doesn’t look at the kids. He looks at you, and for a split second, the reputation he’s so worried about protecting is nowhere to be found. His dark eyes are wide, caught in a rare moment of genuine, unscripted vulnerability.

"It’s like the movies! He brought the guitar to sing to her!" Minjun shouts from his chair.

"I brought the guitar for my class, Minjun," Yoongi says, but the kids don't care. It just fuels the fire.

"That’s exactly what a secret boyfriend would say," Sophie whispers loudly to the entire table.

The heat in your neck has now officially reached your ears. You scramble for a distraction, grabbing a handful of pipe cleaners.

"Okay, okay! New rule. Anyone who talks about boyfriends has to help me organize the glitter jars by color," you call out.

The threat of manual labor should have worked on kids, but Sophie is on a mission. She leans over the table, peering intensely at Yoongi’s face.

"Your face is turning pink, Yoongi. You like her.” Sophie blinks innocently.

Yoongi lets out a long, slow breath, pulling the brim of his beanie down until it nearly covers his eyes.

"I’m leaving," he mutters, though he doesn't actually move an inch. "I'm going to go tune the piano. In the dark."

"Wait!" You laugh, your voice a mix of embarrassment and a strange, bubbling amusement. "You’re just going to leave me here to defend myself against the Rainbow Owl investigators?"

"You're doing great, Y/N," he says. "You're stronger than you think."

He winks. It's a quick, sharp movement that felt like a secret code before finally retreating towards his discarded instruments.

"HE WINKED!" Minjun shrieks, nearly falling off his chair. "I SAW THE WINK!"

You bury your face in a pile of neon felt, the scent of glue and cheap acrylic paint filling your senses. Suddenly, you aren't thinking about claims, settlements, or the sharp scent of expensive aftershave. You're just thinking about the fact that your life is currently a mess of glitter and googly eyes…..and you’ve never felt more awake.

"Okay, Sophie," you sigh, peeking out from the felt. "Tell me more about this starlight diet. Does the owl need a cape? I think he needs a cape."

The community center has finally emptied out. The chaotic energy of Sparkle-Cloud the Rainbow Owl and the Wink Investigation Team left, leaving only the muffled sound of Yoongi’s piano from the other room.

You are sitting in Hobi’s office. Hobi isn't his usual whirlwind of sunshine at the moment. He is focused, tapping a rhythmic beat against his desk with a pen as he watches you.

"You look tired," he notes, though his smile remains warm. "But the good kind of tired. The kind that comes from actually doing something."

"I have glitter in places I didn't know glitter could go, Hobi," you joke, leaning back in the guest chair. "But yeah. The good kind."

He chuckles, then his expression shifts into something more intentional. He reaches for a thick manila folder sitting on the edge of his desk and slides it across the polished wood toward you.

"I've been doing some digging," he says simply.

You pull the folder closer, your brow furrowing as you flip it open. Inside were several printed documents. The first page is certification requirements and behind that is a copy of a university transcript that bore your name but felt like it belonged to a stranger.

"Hobi? What is this?" You ask, your voice trailing off as you scan the credits. History of Art Education. Child Psychology. Visual Arts for the Primary Classroom.

"I did some research," Hobi tells you, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the desk. "I know the accident changed everything. I know the memory loss made it feel like you had to start from zero. But your degree? Your hard work? That didn't just evaporate because you hit your head."

You stare at a scanned copy of a diploma.

"You were so close to your own classroom. You and Yoongi…. you guys actually found schools rather close to each other, " Hobi continues softly as you look up at him. "You’ve already done the hard part. The degree is yours. It’s permanent."

He points to a highlighted section on the top sheet.

"Since you haven't been teaching, your license is just inactive. I called the board. You don't have to go back to school, Y/N. You just need to reinstate it." He smiles softly.

Your eyes look at the short bulleted list.

• Step One: A background check (standard procedure).

• Step Two: A few continuing education hours—mostly just to catch up on current classroom tech.

• Step Three: Filing the reinstatement fee.

"That’s it?" You whisper, looking up at him.

Your heart, which had been steady since Yoongi’s departure, started to gallop.

"That's it," Hobi confirmes. "No more fender benders. No more boring cubicles. No more Beige Kings or tailored suits. You could teach, Y/N. For real. Not just volunteering with me on Saturdays."

You look back down at the papers. For the last few years, you had been moving through the world like a ghost, taking the path of least resistance because it was safe. You had let your life become a neutral palette because you were afraid of the mess. However, slowly… you've been becoming unafraid of that mess.

"Why are you doing this for me?" You ask, your eyes slightly misty.

"Because I've been watching you with the kids. I also saw the photo Jimin sent of his studio wall. You think you forgot how to be an artist, but your hands remembered before your brain did." He stands up, rounding the desk to give your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

You look back down the papers in your hand and slowly flip through them.

"Think about it. No pressure. But just so you know..." He winks, a playful echo of Yoongi’s earlier gesture. "The Rainbow Owl could really use a professional mentor."

The air of the parking lot felt like a shock after the stuffy, glue-scented warmth of the community center. You walk toward your car, the manila folder clutched so tightly to your chest that the edges were starting to curl. Your head is currently spinning at Hobi’s words, the sight of your own name on a teaching degree, and the terrifying realization that your safe life was suddenly full of exits you hadn't realized were unlocked.

​"Leaving without saying goodbye? That’s cold, even for an art teacher." Yoongi's voice says from behind you.

​You jump, spinning around to see Yoongi leaning against the brick pillar of the entryway. He’d swapped his guitar for his keys, tossing them up and catching them in one fluid motion. He looks relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, immediately landing on the folder you were hugging.

​"Did Hobi give you homework?" He asks, pushing off the pillar and walking toward you. "I told him to give you a break. You already survived the Great Glitter War of 2026."

​"It's not homework," you say, your voice coming out a little breathless. You hesitate, then slowly hold out the folder. "It’s... it’s me. Or who I was."

​Yoongi’s expression shifts, the playful expression disappearing as he takes the folder. He flips it open, and as his eyes scans the transcripts and the diploma, he goes very still. The silence of the parking lot feels heavy. He knows these papers. He’d probably seen the originals years ago, back when the two of you were planning a life that didn't involve insurance claims and memory gaps.

"Hobi’s been busy." ​He looks up, his gaze unreadable.

​"He says I can go back," you whisper. "He says I just have to file some papers and take a few classes. He makes it sound so easy, Yoongi."

​"And you don't think it is?" He asks.

​"I think it’s impossible!" The outburst surprises even you. You gesture wildly at the folder. "I’m overwhelmed, Yoongi. I look at those credits… Child Psychology, Art History….and I don't remember sitting in those lectures. I don't remember the tests. Hobi sees me with the kids and thinks I can lead a classroom, but he's wrong. Helping Sophie glue feathers to a toilet paper roll is a Saturday hobby. Teaching? That’s... that’s a responsibility I don't know how to carry anymore."

You look around at your surroundings and shake your head. This whole situation just seems … like a little too much right now.

"I can’t teach again. I don't know how. I’m just a person who processes fender benders and tries not to trip over her own shadow. That girl in those papers... she's gone." ​You feel the sting of tears and look away, focusing on a streetlamp.

Yoongi steps closer, closing the distance until you can smell the faint, comforting scent of coffee that clings to his hoodie. He doesn't reach out. He knows you aren't ready for that yet. However, he stands there absorbing your panic.

​"You're right," he says quietly.

​You blink, looking back at him in surprise. You expected a pep talk, not an agreement.

​"You aren't that girl," Yoongi continues, his voice steady. "That girl was young and hadn't been through hell yet. But don't you get it? You think teaching is about remembering a textbook. It’s not. It’s about what you did today. You didn't just 'do crafts.' You made Minjun feel like his three-headed owl was a masterpiece. You made Sophie feel seen. You were 'doing' it for three hours today without even trying."

​He steps even closer, his dark eyes searching yours.

"The accident took your memories, but it didn't take your soul. And your soul is a teacher. You can't run away from that just because you're scared of the paperwork." He finishes.

​"I'm terrified, Yoongi," you admit, your voice breaking. “I can't even draw Super-Koo.”

“Good,” Yoongi smiles. “Super-Koo is kind of stupid.”

"My hands don't remember, Yoongi," you tell him, your voice cracking as you look down at your palms, stained with streaks of neon blue and dried Elmer’s glue. "I can help a six-year-old with a glue stick because that’s just... mechanics. But a classroom? Parents expecting their kids to learn perspective, shading, color theory? I can't even sketch a basic landscape without my brain short-circuiting. How am I supposed to teach them to find their voice when I can't even find my own brushstroke?"

​The panic is rising again, that cold, familiar weight in your chest that usually sent you scurrying back to the safety of beige cubicles and predictable spreadsheets. Yoongi lets out a soft hum, a sound that isn't dismissive, but contemplative. He reaches out, finally, and takes the folder back from you, tucking it under his arm so you are forced to look at him.

​"Then be a student first," he says simply.

​ "What?" You blink.

​"You're acting like you have to walk into a university lecture hall tomorrow morning and give a speech," he counters. "If your hands don't remember, then give them something new to learn. Take some classes, Y/N. Not the 'Continuing Education' stuff Hobi highlighted. I mean art classes. Go to a studio where nobody knows your name or your medical history. Sit in a room with a bunch of strangers, get charcoal on your face, and fail miserably for a few weeks."

​"Yoongi, I don't have time to…" You try to find a reason to get out of his suggestion.

​"You have nothing but time," he interrupts gently. "You've been spending it all processing insurance claims for people who had bad days. Maybe it’s time to spend some of it on yourself."

“Yeah…maybe.” You nod your head, unconvinced and look down at your shoes. You bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “You know…you still owe me a day.”

“What?” He questions staring at you as you look back up at him.

“I've spent a day with everyone but you,” you inform him. “The day with Jin at the bakery doesn't count.”

“What about you storming into my house and stealing your engagement ring back?” He questions and you try not to smile.

“That doesn't count either,” you reply.

Yoongi goes silent. He shifts the weight of the manila folder under his arm, his keys jingling softly as he hooks them onto a belt loop. The playful banter about Super-Koo and the chaos of the community center feels like it’s miles away now, replaced by the sounds of the city and the weight of words that haven't been spoken in a long time. He looks down at the asphalt, his tongue darting out to graze his lower lip as he thinks.

"A whole day," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Are you sure about that? I mean... really sure, Y/N?"

He takes a half-step closer, his expression softening into something cautious, almost fragile.

"I’m not Jimin, and I’m definitely not Taehyung," he says, his dark eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. "I don't have a 'Glow-Up' plan or an elaborate trip prepared. And after everything… the ring, the things kept from you, the way I've been keeping my distance because I didn't want to overwhelm you..."

He pauses, the edges of his mouth twitching with a shadow of a sad, honest smile.

"Spending a whole day with me means there’s nowhere to hide," he continues. "No kids to use as a buffer. No Hobi to break the tension. It’s just us. Are you sure you want to be alone with me after everything we’ve been through?"

​"I wouldn't have brought it up if I wasn't sure, Yoongi," you say, your voice steadier than it has been in years. "I'm tired of hiding. I've spent enough time in the Beige Void. I think I’m ready for whatever color is ready to be thrown at me."

​Yoongi studies you for a moment. He’s looking for the flicker of doubt, the twitch of a shoulder that says you’re just being polite. When he finds nothing but your quiet resolve, he lets out a breath he seems to have been holding since you walked out of the center.

​"Okay," he says, the word a soft surrender. He nods, a small, genuine smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips. "Okay. If you're sure, then I'm in."

​He hands the folder back to you, his fingers lingering against yours for just a second too long. There's a brief, electric contact that makes the neon paint on your skin feel like it’s glowing.

​"Next Saturday?" He asks, confirming the plan. "After we’re done dealing with the Rainbow Owl kids and whatever glitter-based disaster Hobi has planned?"

​"Next Saturday," you agree, clutching the folder to your chest. "After the center."

​"It’s a date," he says.

He goes silent.

However, he doesn't take it back.

For a second, neither of you moves. Yoongi clears his throat, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck where the skin is still flushed a telltale dusty rose. He looks away toward the street, then back to you, the intense vulnerability from a moment ago morphing into a quiet determination.

​"Drive safe, Y/N," he says, his voice a little lower now, rough around the edges. "Don't let the folder catch fire from all that overthinking you're about to do."

​"I'm not going to overthink it," you lie instantly, lifting your chin.

"Right. Minjun's owl only has three heads for balance." ​Yoongi lets out a soft, breathy huff that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

“I'll see you Saturday, Yoongi.” You smile.

You scramble into the driver’s seat, your heart hammering against your ribs so violently you can feel it in your throat. You shove the key into the ignition, throw the car into reverse, and pull out of the parking space without looking back once. You don't dare glance in the rearview mirror to see if Yoongi is still standing there, watching you leave. If you look back, you’re entirely convinced you’ll either dissolve into a puddle of neon glitter or sprint right back to him to take it all back.

​A date.

​He said it. He actually said the word.

A date.

You have a freaking date.

​

The drive to Leah’s house is a blur. You navigate the streets on pure autopilot, the manila folder sitting in the passenger seat next to you. Your mind is a chaotic puddle of goo, bouncing between the image of Yoongi’s pale finger poking a rogue pink feather, the wide-eyed shock on his face when Minjun accused him of liking you, and the drop in his voice when he said it's a date.

​By the time you pull into Leah’s driveway, your hands are shaking so badly you drop your keys. You fish off the floor, grab the folder, and practically burst through her front door.

​The lock clicks open, and the familiar, comforting scent of Leah’s living room hits you. Leah is sprawled on the couch with her laptop balanced on her knees and a chip halfway to her mouth. She blinks, taking in your wild eyes, your wind-disheveled hair, and the distinct streaks of neon blue paint still drying on your skin.

​"Whoa," Leah says, slowly lowering the chip. "You look like you just escaped a high-stakes hostage situation at a Michael's craft store."

​You stand in the entryway, clutching Hobi's manila folder to your chest. You don't take off your shoes. You don't drop your bag. Your brain has completely run out of processing power to filter your thoughts.

​"I have a date," you blurt out.

​The words hit the quiet room like a firecracker.

​Leah freezes. The laptop screen reflects in her widened eyes. Slowly, meticulously, she sets her chip down on a paper towel. She closes her laptop and slides it onto the coffee table, never breaking eye contact with you.

​"I'm sorry," she says, her voice dangerously calm as she sits up straight. “You just broke off your engagement to Corbyn and you already have a date?”

"That's exactly what I said," you breathe out, finally kicking off your shoes and dropping the manila folder onto her coffee table. Your hands are still tingling. "I have a date."

"With who, Y/N?!” She exclaims.

"With my ex-fiancé," you say, the words sounding completely bizarre as they leave your mouth.

Leah’s jaw drops so fast you’re worried it might unhinge. She grips the edge of the couch cushion, her knuckles turning white.

"Corbyn?!" She shrieks, her voice hitting a pitch that could shatter glass.

"No! No, not Corbyn!" You scramble to clarify, waving your hands frantically in front of you.

"Yoongi."

Leah freezes, her entire body going rigid as the name hangs in the quiet air of the living room. For three agonizing seconds, she just stares at you, her mouth slightly open, her brain visibly attempting to reboot.

Then, the tension suddenly drains from her shoulders. She sinks back against the couch cushions with a massive, loud exhale, rubbing a hand over her face.

"Oh," she mutters into her palms, her voice muffled. “I completely forgot about the other one for a second."

She drops her hands, looking up at you as you stand there, still covered in the remnants of the day's chaos. Her expression softens, but the protective, sharp line of her jaw returns.

"But wait. Hold on," Leah says, pointing a finger at you. "Yoongi….Honestly, it sounds like a lot."

She shifts on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest and looking at you with a heavy, grounded seriousness.

"I need you to be careful here," she says softly. "You are still navigating a massive blind spot with your memory. Spending a whole day alone with someone who holds an entire chapter of your life that you can't read yet? That's high stakes. Just promise me you're ready for whatever is coming your way."

You look down at the manila folder on the table, the weight of her words settling over you, balanced against the lingering warmth of Yoongi's dusty rose flush in the parking lot.

"I'm sure, Leah," you say quietly. "I mean…I'm sure he didn't mean date as in DATE. However, I think I'm finally ready for … whatever happens. I can't be scared anymore."

Leah looks at you for a long, silent moment, searching your face for any sign of the frantic, fragile girl who used to hide behind spreadsheet numbers and neutral-toned cardigans. When she finds only that quiet, stubborn resolve, a soft, proud smile finally breaks through her skepticism.

"Good," she says, leaning forward to pull you to sit next to her. "Tell me every single word he said. Do not leave out a single detail."

The weight of your forgotten past is still out there, heavy and unresolved. The blank spaces in your memory haven't magically filled themselves in, and the prospect of the art classes and reinstated teaching certificates is enough to make your stomach do nervous flips. But as you sit in the warmth of Leah’s living room, listening to the TV and the comfort of your friend’s voice, the cold, paralyzing dread is entirely gone.

You don't know what next Saturday will bring. You don't know what it means to be alone with a man who holds a version of you that you’ve lost. You are simply waiting for the weekend. And as you catch sight of your reflection in the windowpane. You're cheeks flushed, hair messy, and eyes wide awake. You realize that whoever you used to be, the person you are becoming right now is finally ready to find out.

<Next>

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[ktownshizzle]

Smoke & Mirrors, part two | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Situationship, idol!au, angst, smut, coworkers, love triangle maybe ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Across sleepless cities on tour, you and Yoongi cling to each other in an unspoken arrangement neither of you knows how to end until someone new makes you wonder if you should. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter Warnings: angsty introspections, smut, fluff (kinda), more arirang song references, oral (f. receiving), penetrative sex, edging!, implied nipple stimulation leading to orgasm, exhibitionist kink (if you squint), mc being dense af, yoongi being dense af, miscommunication or lack of?, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Madrid OH Madrid ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 7k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Betaread by: Aqua (this is for you!), Tea, and Catie ✎ ˎˊ˗ Playlist by @angellekookie ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Since you really wanted it...💜 I had to split up the original chapter bec it was getting to 14k it didn't want to end. But the good news is the next chapter is about 80% done atp. Please let me know what you think and enjoy. Taglist to follow because I need to clock in for work in a few minutes. And sorry in advance if I don't get to tag everybody, but I will try! <3

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You don’t really do casual. Or fuck buddies. Or situationships.

There’s a first time for everything.

Because this is where you currently stand with one Min Yoongi.

Your last real relationship was four years ago. After that, it’s just been a string of dates that never really turned into anything.

The plan was simple: focus on yourself, your career, travel the world.

This was not in the plan.

At least your career is thriving. And you are traveling the world. And maybe that’s how you justify it.

Because somehow, you start to understand why Tiff and Bina and Angel agreed to something like this with the other boys. The work is stressful, the hours are insane, and this arrangement takes the edge off in a way nothing else really does. There’s something about being in the same place at the same time a little too often that makes whatever this is with Yoongi… convenient. Easy.

That’s why it works. Theoretically.

You’re focusing on yourself. Your well-being. And if that well-being happens to come in the form of a chemical-induced haze on the regular—dopamine, not drugs—then so be it.

There’s an easy, unspoken rhythm to it now. Between rehearsals, Yoongi glances at you from across the room. A tilt of his head. You follow. In the evening, a text from him. Midnight. Sometimes as late as 2 or 3 a.m. when he’s still buzzing from adrenaline or when he can’t quite figure a track out. You’re out the door and into his lap.

It’s always him. You don’t really initiate. You don’t have to. Not when he seeks you out first and gives it to you all night.

⊙⊝⊜

Yoongi is a generous lover. This to say, he is a munch. 

Now you get why he sings about giving good head every chance he gets. That tongue technology. Feeling the high waves coming. That salt in his tongue. Yeah, that’s your salt on his tongue.

Yoongi knows what to do to make your toes curl. How to pull pleasure out of you like no lover has before. Maybe it’s because of the secrecy, the risk. It heightens everything. Mostly you know it’s him. He’s clocked the hours to up his dick game. There are times you’re bothered by it. There are times you don’t care.

He’s mapped the places in your body that fall apart with his touch. Makes sure he does it again. And again. That’s what keeps you coming back for more.

The part that always gets you though is that brief moment of clarity after the act. The way he pulls you in after like it’s the right thing to do. You know it’s bare minimum. It doesn’t mean anything at all.

But for that stretch of time, danger looms. When your brain conjures a different version of you and him. A version where you’re allowed to ask questions like why he cut his hair. Why he doesn’t eat more. How his cat is doing. Why he keeps pressing on his shoulder like that-Is his past injury bothering him again? Is he gonna do another marathon?

You swallow all of it down. Because those aren’t your questions to ask. They belong to the people Yoongi loves. Jimin, for one. Not you.

Despite the many things you want to say in between the moment you come and the moment you go, you stop yourself because that’s not your role in his life. 

Whatever this is has rules. Unspoken, but clear. You’re a big girl. You’ve come to terms with the fact that this doesn’t extend beyond closed doors and dim lights. That this is temporary. A placeholder until he finds something real and true and worth risking his idol life for.

So you draw your own lines for your own good.

You don’t stay the night. Not once. You leave before things can settle into something softer, something harder to walk away from in the morning.

You don’t let him clean you up, either. Never. The first time he brings you a washcloth, you take it from his hand with a muttered I got it, like it’s nothing. Like you don’t want the care. Like you don’t need it.

Every now and then, a casual baby slips from his lips because he must know exactly how much it gets to you. You’re not his baby, you know that, so you never call him anything sweet. It should be enough for him that the world calls him SUGA.

And kissing. None of that. Let him take, let him unravel you however he wants. Just not your kryptonite.

The rules keep you grounded. You hold the line firmly where you can, even if sometimes things feel like they are starting to blur.

Yet, there are moments when they do blur in your favor.

When he’s with you, breath uneven, composure slipping in ways not many get to see. When his hands tighten their grip on your hair as he struggles to stay grounded. When his eyes—usually so guarded, so distant—roll to the back of his head as you give him bliss. When he calls you that one word in a voice so strangled and desperate, and punctuates it with please as you have his warm and heavy cock wrapped tightly around your fingers and he chants your name and curses over and over before white blooms across your skin.

That’s the power you have. It does something crazy to you. Because for all the secrecy, all the restraint, all the careful distance you keep, you know this much is yours. 

This version of him that comes undone in your hands. Pretty. Putty. It’s enough for now.

[Busan, SK, June 2026]

“Ughhh…”

You’re backstage, in one of the new costumes created for Festa, and this frickin’ zipper won’t—

“Hold still.”

You know the voice, and you don’t even argue. Yoongi steps behind you, tugging the zipper up in one smooth motion, the back of his hand brushing your spine in the process.

“You could’ve cut your skin,” he lightly scolds you with an eyebrow raise.

“Thanks,” you say, not meeting his eyes, ignoring the thump in your chest.

Down the hallway you hear a gaggle of noise and spot some of the dancers congregating by the catering table. You should probably join them and get something to eat, too. Though you’re feeling kinda…

“Nervous?” Yoongi asks.

“What?”

“You seem stressed.”

You don’t even realize you were showing it. “…maybe a little.”

Yoongi nods once like he’s satisfied that he read your mood. “Why?”

“Uh, my family is watching today.”

“Really?” His eyes widen. “Did you ask to seat them in the suites?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. They should be okay in the 300s.”

Yoongi plucks his phone from his back pocket and starts tapping away. You don’t even know if he heard you or anything, but suddenly he’s furiously texting someone, fingers flying across the screen.

Since he seems distracted, you decide to bounce.

“I’m gonna go.” You jerk a thumb behind you. “I have to meet with Seung Eun to orient some of the… anyway, bye.”

Yoongi lifts his head and nods absently, before going back to whatever has him occupied.

⊙⊝⊜

Your phone rings and your sister’s goofy smile fills your screen. You swipe to answer it immediately. “Hey…”

“Unnie!!” There’s an unmistakable tone of delight in her voice. “Yo, the seats were amazing! Thank you for the upgrade!”

You pause mid-step, phone pressed to your ear. “…upgrade?”

“We got moved to the sky suite,” your sister gushes. “There was a buffet and everything. It was so cool!”

You stop walking entirely now, trying to piece it together. “Huh.”

Your sister is none the wiser about your confusion, still gushing about her experience. “We even met V, J-Hope, and RM!” She continues, sounding a little breathless. “Eomma introduced herself to RM. She thanked him for helping with her surgery. He was so nice, unnie. And so hot.”

Ah. That tracks.

Namjoon.

Of course it was him. Now you’re not surprised because you might have mentioned this to him one time. Honestly, you can’t remember. But he’s a generous soul. Does thoughtful things and he never expects anything back. Who else would have done this for you anyway.

“That’s great,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “I’ll thank him later.”

“I couldn’t really find you though,” your sister adds sheepishly. “All the dancers looked the same.”

You laugh. “That’s kind of the point.”

“You should come home when you can, okay?”

“How are things with eomma and appa?”

“They still haven’t killed each other.” She chuckles wryly and something pricks at your chest. 

“Were they at least happy today?”

“So happy,” she assures. “I’m proud of you, unnie. We are all proud of you.”

Your heart feels like it expanded two sizes. “...Thank you.”

“Come visit when you get back from tour, okay?”

“Yeah… I should be able to after US. We’ll have a short break.”

“Okay. I miss you.”

“Miss you, too.”

You say your goodbyes as you reach Yoongi’s door, still feeling a little frayed around the edges. It seems to be the case anytime you speak to your younger sister these days, who is literally the best person in your life. You wish you could tell her your worries, but she already has enough to deal with at home.

You sigh deeply, trying to reset yourself before you lift your wrist to knock.

Yoongi has asked you to come over that night and there wasn’t really any reason for you to say no. You still had some surplus energy you wouldn’t mind burning off. And it should take your mind off things. 

He tells you he just wrapped up a Weverse live with the members and you suspect his body is still high from all of the adrenaline and excitement from today.

One thing about Yoongi is that he always knows exactly where to put all that restless energy.

By the time he’s done with you, your thoughts have gone blissfully quiet, your body boneless beside his.

The room is quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breathing, bodies still warm, the sheets a mess around you.

You’re staring up at the ceiling when he speaks. “Did your family enjoy the show?”

You turn to him, brightening instantly. “Yeah. They loved it. I was on the phone with my sister on the way up.”

Yoongi smiles, soft and pretty in the afterglow. “Your dad must’ve liked the unlimited beer in the sky suite.”

You grin. “I think he did. They really appreciated being there.”

“You’re wel–”

It clicks then. “Oh shit.” You sit up suddenly, clutching the sheet to your chest. “I forgot to text Joon.”

“Namjoon-ah?”

“Yeah,” you say, already reaching for your phone. “To thank him for doing that for my family. That was really thoughtful of him.”

You don’t look at Yoongi.

You don’t see the way his expression stills. Flattens.

He watches you for a second longer, something stormy settling behind his eyes. Then he sits up, reaching for the shirt draped over the chair.

“I need to sleep.” He says as his head pokes through the tee.

You glance up from your phone, blinking as realization hits. “Oh. Yeah, of course.” You take it as your cue, slipping out of bed without question.

This isn’t new. This is how it usually goes.

“Sorry,” you mumble, already gathering your clothes. “I’ll get gone.”

He shrugs lightly. “It’s fine.”

You don’t think anything of it. He doesn’t really kick you out per se. But you guess in the few times you’ve done this, he’s figured out you never stay so he doesn’t expect you to.

You dress quickly and head out the door mumbling a goodbye. He doesn’t say anything back.

⊙⊝⊜

You’re walking down the hallway when Namjoon’s reply comes through.

You smile, opening the message.

Namjoon: Your family was so nice. I’m glad to finally meet your eomma. She looks healthy. Namjoon: Wasn’t me though. You should have told me they were coming and I would’ve arranged for it.

You read the last bit again. Confused.

Wait, so if it wasn’t him…

The elevator doors slide open with a soft chime.

You step inside slowly, thumb hovering over your screen uselessly.

Before it closes, your eyes lift to the door at the end of the corridor, thinking of the man behind it.

Oh.

Your stomach drops.

Could it be…?

You type before you can overthink it.

You: Was it you?

No reply comes.

⊙⊝⊜

Until a week after, where a u free tonight? graces your thread and you’re up and out the door in a green hoodie you copped from the Goyang tour kick-off. It seems like ages ago now, you think, as you pull some loose threads on the sleeve, but it’s really the comfiest thing ever.

You’re back in Seoul now. There’s two weeks of rest and rehearsals before flying out again. Seoul feels strangely still compared to months of constant movement, but it’s nice to come back to this pace after being crazy-busy.

This is the first time Yoongi has messaged you outside the tour bubble, and the fact that he wants to meet at his actual house sends a strange little thrill through your chest.

The lobby of his high-rise is massive, luxurious, infinitely more intimidating than your condo complex. You half expect security to arrest you, but the moment you say your name at the desk, the concierge nods immediately and sends you up without a problem. Still, maybe you should have dressed up a bit? Ah, it’s useless thinking about that now. Yoongi probably just has a random tee and his favorite sweats on anyway.

When you get to his room at the penthouse level, you press the doorbell on the digital screen. The door swings open not five seconds later.

See, Min Yoongi is a menace.

A white ribbed tank clings tightly to his toned chest, biceps completely exposed, the slim-cut brown trousers tapering perfectly against his narrow waist. He smells so good, too. Soapy and musky from having just showered, hair combed back showing his fresh new undercut.

Damn. Okay.

Yoongi chose violence tonight.

“Hi,” you say stupidly, suddenly hyperaware that this is the first time you’ve seen him outside of HYBE, arenas, and hotel hallways. 

(Except Hannam. But you don’t talk about that.)

Yoongi leans against the frame barefoot. “Hi,” he echoes, quieter, stepping aside to let you in.

His apartment is exactly what you imagined and somehow not at all.

Minimal. Clean lines. Classy. Smells nice. Huge windows wrapping around the open plan layout of his spacious living room, connecting to the kitchen towards the farther side of the room.

“Wow,” you mumble, toeing your shoes off near the entrance. “This is where you live…”

Yoongi snorts softly behind you. “Shut up.”

“Wae? I haven’t even said anything!”

A tiny smile pulls at his mouth as he watches you slowly wander further inside, your fingertips brushing lightly over the back of the couch as you take everything in.

You stop near one of the framed photos on the shelf. “You decorated this yourself?”

“Mm. Mostly.”

You glance around once more, genuinely impressed. “It feels very…”

“Go ahead,” he sighs. “Make fun of me.”

“No, I was gonna say warm.” You look around once more before teasing lightly, “Like a rich man in a K-drama lives here.”

“The lead or the second lead?”

The question catches you off-guard, but makes you grin. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!”

“They’re not usually both rich, you know.”

“But what if they both are?” He shrugs, still waiting for the answer. “So?”

“Lemme think.” You consider it, making a show of surveying the space like you’re a reality show judge. “The Pinterest touches. I dunno ‘bout those…”

“What do you mean?”

“Yankee candle in Fresh Laundry. Bottle of Rose on the counter with two wine glasses.” You point accusingly. “Succulents.”

The place kinda looks a bit showroom-y, like he got the model unit from the realtor. But there are obvious traces of him everywhere. A pair of ear buds lying on the coffee table outside of its case, shelves of vinyls from many years of collecting, a Spotify plaque for D-day hanging on a wall beside some other accolades, a cat scratching post on the corner.

The one thing making this place feel the most like a K-drama set though is the man standing in front of you right now. In that fit. So fucking handsome. Looking at you with those stupidly hopeful eyes like your opinion of his apartment matters way more than it should.

Hands twitching faintly at his sides, Yoongi seems to be combusting for praise tonight, so you give it to him. It’s the truth anyways.

“Lead guy.”

His mouth twitches. “There it is.”

You smile softly as you watch him pour the wine. The sweet tang of the rosé glides across your tongue, cool and refreshing down your throat while Yoongi leans against the kitchen counter, watching you over the rim of his own glass with far too much satisfaction.

Like he’s pleased you like it here. Like he’s pleased you’re here.

“C’mere,” he mutters eventually, nodding toward the living room.

You follow him deeper into the apartment, eyes trailing after the broad line of his shoulders as he strolls toward the massive couch like he doesn’t realize how unfair he looks in soft pants and that stupid tank top.

He gestures casually toward the sofa. “Sit befo—”

Before he can even finish the sentence, your hands are on him.

“You have no idea how hot this is,” you inform him seriously, shoving lightly at his chest.

“Yah—”

He drops onto the couch with a startled laugh, and you immediately climb into his lap, your knees sinking into the plush cushions on either side of his thighs. His palms slide instinctively up your bare legs, settling at your waist before dipping lower, squeezing at your ass like he can’t decide where he wants to hold you most.

“Why are you wearing this?” you accuse, tugging lightly at the neckline of his tank.

“Why are you wearing that?” he accuses back.

You blink innocently. “Wearing what?”

“That.” He gestures vaguely toward your mouth, already looking annoyed. “The lip thing.”

Oh. You smile slowly. “You like it?”

“Hate it,” he deadpans immediately.

Which means you’ve already won.

You drag your bottom lip between your teeth before licking over the stain deliberately, just enough for it to catch the light, glossy and wet.

“Mm,” you hum. “Tastes good, too.”

Yoongi’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His hands tighten slightly on your waist. “You know what.”

You tilt your head, pouting playfully now. “No, I don’t think I do.”

His gaze drops to your lips again like he can’t help it. Like he’s actively losing a battle with himself.

“Y/N,” he warns.

You lean closer on purpose, close enough for him to smell the sweet strawberry tint on your mouth. “What?”

He exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darkening in that way you’ve become very familiar with. “I need to fuckin’ do something with my mouth.”

“Is that your way of asking if you can kiss me?” You laugh softly, pleased with yourself, as you deliberately grind down against his length, just once. “You’re so romantic.”

A groan. A slap on your ass. Then a long, suffering sigh. “What if I say please?”

“Oh wow, big bad Agust D wants to say please?”

“Y/N.”

“You know you can’t kiss me, Yoongi.”

Another sigh. Deeper this time, just like the slow drag of your clothed cunt against the ridge of his cock.

His head tips back slightly against the couch like he’s asking the universe for patience while your smile grows impossibly smug.

“Fuuuuck,” he curses. “You’re evil.”

“Just suck on my tits. I don’t care.” 

His brow quirks. “You don't care?”

You shrug dismissively.

You don’t know it then, but he bookmarks that as a challenge. Not for tonight, though. He’s already so worked up. 

“Lie back,” he smacks your ass again and maneuvers you towards the couch cushions, already halfway peeling your shorts and panties off your legs.

“Show me your tits. Wanna see them while I eat you out.”

You comply, promptly pulling the zip of your hoodie down, showing you’re bare underneath. His eyes bug out temporarily before he shakes his head and drops his gaze between your legs.

He presses his lips to the soft inner flesh of your thigh, inching up to your core. He switches to the other leg, pressing butterfly kisses there to drive you insane.

Then, his tongue darts out to part your folds, gently, shallowly, wiggling it as if to make room.

Your hips arch off from the cushions, chasing his wet muscle immediately. But he holds you down, soft thighs locked against strong arms as he tsks a warning for you not to squirm too much.

He lifts his head and grits, in mock seriousness. “Can I have my meal in peace now?”

God, what the fuck is he saying? No matter, it got you clenching around nothing.

Yoongi lowers his chest further where you’re spread open for him. The warm air from his nose tickles your skin before letting his lips touch yours.

What he does next tracks, because he’s a little shit. 

Yoongi makes a show of making out with your puffy lips as if it was your mouth. You prop yourself on elbows to watch him do it, applying the faintest pressure before pulling it with a gentle suck. He licks and suckles noisily and you whine as his tongue snakes between your slit to flick against your clit. Just the first swipe almost breaks you. 

Yoongi doesn’t really talk much when he gets into a flowstate. Not before he props a pillow behind your head because he knows you love this show. 

“Watch…” he instructs, before your eager nod makes him smirk.

He keeps it soft, steady at first, his fat tongue sliding up and down your aching nub. He takes his time with this, just gives you maddeningly slow, torturous flicks at a glacial pace. The heat pools low on your belly, gradually increasing in intensity as he shakes his head against your mound, tongue zig-zagging against your clit. 

You run your fingers through his short hair, scratching his scalp. He purrs when you do that and the vibration makes you shiver.

This is the view you retrieve from your mind palace on nights you’re alone. Yoongi’s dark hair and even darker eyes between your legs. 

Fuck. He’s so insanely good at this. He moves lower to lap at the trail of juices leaking from your hole. You moan helplessly when he fucks you shallowly with his tongue, the sharp tip breaching your entrance but just barely.

“God… Yoongi, what the fuck?”

As if he wants to drive you even more insane, he adds pressure to your clit with his thumb and you’re just moaning and panting haplessly now, mind going numb.

Just when you’re about to—

Of course, of fucking course, he pulls back. You tip your head back, chasing the breath that has left your lungs.

“Look at you, baby.” Yoongi admires how his spit and your juices make your pussy all shiny and pretty. Eyes full of stars, he breathes out, “this perfect fuckin’ cunt…”

“Yoongi,” you squirm, biting your lip as he continues to just ogle at you. “Stop teasing…”

“Okay, okay…” he chuckles, giving your clit one quick swipe.

Yoongi takes your hand on the back of his neck and swallows two fingers, wetting the pads. He bites it playfully before telling you to “play with your tits...”

You pluck at your right nipple, swirling his spit around it before pulling it taut and releasing it with a jiggle. You didn’t realize your eyes fluttered shut until you feel the moist heat of his mouth envelop your other nipple, sucking at it greedily to force your eyes open.

“You ready to come?” he mumbles against your chest, kissing the sweat off your sternum.

“Please…” you scratch the tufts of his hair behind his ear, earning you another deep groan as he nuzzles his cheek against the softness of your tits.

He trails gentle kisses down your body as he goes back to his previous position. And you gasp when he does the thing for you. The finishing move. It’s when he sucks your clit in between his soft, pink lips and the tip of his tongue circles it while inside the warmth of his mouth.

“I love it when you do that… shit…” 

His brows are furrowed while he hums against you, still suckling like he’s addicted, even moaning indulgently for you.

“Yoongi, please. Don’t stop…”

And just like that…

“Not yet.”

He smirks as he withdraws just enough to look you dead in the eye before stuffing two fingers right through your cunt without warning.

“Fuck!” you cry out, walls clamping tight at the intrusion.

God his fingers. They’re moving so fast and it feels impossible. You’re too close to hold back.

“Not yet,” he snarls, fingers moving rapidly in and out of your sopping hole now. “Not until I say so.”

Everything feels fucking lit. Your skin is burning up, electricity running up and down your veins.

But this is where he likes to play, because Yoongi enjoys edging you. Works you up, but forces you to control yourself as if it doesn’t take every ounce of willpower not to explode. He’s a fucking problem.

“Don’t act like you don’t like this,” he mutters, almost to himself, as he watches you tremble. “I know you do.”

You loathe to admit that you like that sadistic grin on his face when he knows you’re close, but even better, the tiny tilt of his brow when he finally tells you to let go.

Your fingers curl against his bicep, grounding yourself as you start to grind against his fingers. You meet his every thrust, the noisy squelches of your pussy filling the room. You’re writhing, desperate, mouth hanging open to take every ounce of pleasure seeping into your bones and dribbling down your thighs.

There’s something glinting in his eyes when he asks. “You let anyone else see you like this?”

You’re still hyperfocused on rocking against him.

“Answer me,” he says, adding a third finger now as he scissors your gummy walls open.

You roll your eyes, even as your pulse races. “You’re the only one stupid enough to deal with me.”

That seems to satisfy him.

“Good,” he smirks. “Come for me.”

Your brain seems to respond to his voice because suddenly you’re shuddering as your orgasm racks your body, spine bowing towards him, while he continues to piston his fingers inside, your cunt weeping violently in surrender.

His fingers slow, helping you ride out the wave. You sink back into the couch cushions, smiling a little dopey as you stare at the ceiling above.

“I’m not done with you…”

“I’m not done with you, either,” you reply, more breath than your actual voice, still heaving from your release.

He grins all big and cocky, licking your juices clean off his bony digits and you feel another twitch right in the spot where he just left.

You move to stand up, jelly legs still a little wobbly. He catches you by the ass, and you shove his cheeky face back, giggling.

An equal opportunity lover he maintains, but you suspect deep down he’s an ass man.

Yoongi licks his bottom lip while you shrug off the hoodie, eyes on him. He looks chuffed as hell as he palms his crotch, the stiff one underneath the thin material already making itself known.

“Pants off,” you say sweetly, sliding your hands from your sides to cup the underside of your breasts.

A sharp inhale mixes with the shuffle of pants and briefs as it joins your hoodie in a messy puddle.

Yoongi is big. You already know he packs a wallop, but it still surprises you every damn time.

He tugs at the velvety shaft languidly, a tiny bead of white pooling at the tip.

You bite your lip, heart racing, as you watch him spread his cum around his cockhead with his thumb.

The grin he has on his naughty, just one corner lifted up, eyes shining with mischief. “Sup?”

The fucking audacity.

So tonight, you decide to lean into every unfair advantage your years of dancing gave you. You know exactly how to move your body to elicit the right reactions and bring Yoongi to his demise.

You turn around, gathering your hair on one side, then glance at him from over your shoulder as you throw your ass back, just once. Okay, maybe twice.

Yoongi groans appreciatively. “You’re so sexy. So fuckin’ sexy.” He combs his hair back, eyes glued to the soft jiggle of your behind as he gives his cock a few more pumps.

You spank your bum playfully, a pretty shade of red blooming on your skin, before spreading your cunt open for him as you bend forward.

“Holy fuuuck.” Yoongi slurs. “I gotta–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, just presses his face against your ass so suddenly that you almost tip forward if he wasn’t gripping your hips. Then, you feel him trail his tongue from your glistening hole and up towards the rim. That makes your knees buckle but thankfully he catches you by the waist and plants your ass firmly against his cock.

Yoongi’s already so hard against you and that just makes you want to tease him a bit more. You shift a little so his thick cock sits snug between your cheeks. He huffs a satisfied chuckle at the feeling, rutting up once to stuff himself even deeper into the soft squish of your ass.

You hook one hand around his neck, pulling him forward to kiss the underside of his jaw, tasting his clean sweat as you move your hips in a slow swivel.

“Fuckiiiin’ hell…”

The groan you pull from his throat with each calculated roll gets lower and a little more wrecked with each pass. But when you drag your tongue slowly along the shell of his ear, the sound he lets out is downright nasty. A low, desperate rumble that went straight to your pussy.

Wetness spreads along his cock as you continue to rub against him, a little faster, panting sweet sighs against his ear. You flick your warm tongue along his lobe again, licking along the cartilage before capturing it inside your mouth.

“A-ahhh,” Yoongi chokes out a shudder like he was caught off-guard. “Shit, baby, that’s…”

“You like that?” You hum and continue to lick and suckle, the sensual noises making his dick twitch. It’s the first time you pulled this move on him and you’re satisfied with his reaction. 

Hands sliding up to make your breasts spill from his hands, he grits. “I think you need to get fucked hard.”

“Can you do that for me, Yoon?” you mewl as he pinches your nipples between his calloused fingertips, pleasure pricking at your chest. “You wanna fuck me hard?”

“You know I do.” he rasps, voice an octave lower. “Bend over the arm rest, baby.”

You rearrange yourself on his utterly debauched couch as he rolls a condom on himself that he grabs from behind a lamp like he has it at the ready. You can’t even clock him for that because you’re desperate to have him inside you.

Thighs still burning from your little performance, you rest your weight on your belly.

Yoongi stands behind you, lining himself up on your entrance as he lets his fat cock be swallowed inch by inch.

“Fuck, baby. It’s so tight.” he groans, as your pussy flutters all over him.

You moan when he finally pushes himself to the hilt, crescent shapes blooming on the soft skin on your waist.

“Yoongi…” You call his name like a broken plea.

His pelvis bounces against your ass as he thrusts his dick in and out of you at a ruthless pace. There’s no show build up here, just a quick ascent to the top. You claw at the cushions finding something to grip as he slams against you, rough and unrestrained, and you’re reduced to a wailing mess.

He bucks his hips even harder, faster, working himself stupid. You know he’s fucking gone, you can feel it.

“Touch yourself, baby. Fuck, I’m so close…”

You slip your index between your battered cunt, your clit so slippery it doesn’t take much for you to reach your peak for a second time.

You rub quick finger eights and reach cloud nine even quicker, shaking as you cum, your walls pulsing against his cock.

“Where?” he asks when he knows you’ve finished.

“Back.”

He slips out of you so fast, and before you can whine at the sudden emptiness, you feel the warm ropes of Yoongi’s gooey cum splash against your spine as your name leaves his lips.

[Madrid, June 2026]

You should have known that of all the girls it would be Rei who clocks you first.

You’ve barely stepped out from behind the dim green room partition when she narrows her eyes at you. You shift your slightly twisted top and wince as it chafes against your too-sensitive nipples.

After challenging Yoongi with making you come from just nipple stimulation, you found yourself on top of spare music equipment as he decided to grant your wish like some fucked-up genie.

Behind you, he walks out a beat later.

Rei’s lips part, then press into a thin line.

“Wow,” she mutters, low enough that only you hear. “He looks like an evil king.”

You look at Yoongi over your shoulder—and yeahhhh. There’s no denying what just happened. His lips are red, slightly swollen, and his hair? God. You shouldn’t have tugged that hard. It’s sticking out every which way.

“I know Mujin don’t do hair like that,” Rei comments.

You’re still mute, refusing to meet her eyes as she falls into step beside you.

“You doing hair now, sweets?” Rei teases. “I didn’t realize glam was short-staffed.”

“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, already walking faster.

She cackles, not convinced in the slightest. But it’s fine. If there’s one person you can trust here it’s Rei.

“Adios, mamacita,” she calls out as you round the corner to find the nearest bathroom.

⊙⊝⊜

Rehearsal runs late. But the minute it’s over you return your eomma’s call.

Your dad and your mom got into a fight.

Something about his pension. Something about the trash. Something about him never listening to her needs.

Rei looks over to you, a silent question if she should hang back. The hotel is 10, maybe 15 minutes on foot, so you wave a dismissive hand. You don’t want witnesses to this. Not for this. You can make your way back easily. You just need to get through this phone call.

You let your mom spill her guts to you. You know love is there. But you also know how something can be real and still not work.

At some point, your legs just give out. You’re slumped on the floor, the base of your spine against the worn walls of the dance studio as you control your breathing. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Your heartbeat hasn’t fully come down yet, still knocking against your ribs, and this news isn’t doing you any favors.

By the time the call finishes, your skin is no longer tacky with sweat, but your limbs still feel heavy. You think about what your mom said. Not everything, just the last part. That love isn’t always enough. 

You drag a hand down your face, pressing your palms into your eyes until you see white. After a few minutes, you push yourself up, roll your shoulders. You don’t want to cry over something you can’t control.

You’re locking up behind you when you see him.

Yoongi’s leaning against the wall like he’s been there a while, arms crossed loosely, gaze unfocused as he chews on the skin on his bottom lip. 

“You waiting for someone?” you ask, keeping it light, like your pulse is not racing.

“Mm.”

“…who?”

This time he looks at you properly. Just for a second. You look away, not wanting to show him truths buried beneath your lids. You dig through your bag for your pepper spray, something to keep in hand for the walk back to the hotel.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You scoff softly. “Okay.”

As you start heading out, he pushes off the wall like he’s been waiting for that exact moment, falling into step beside you like it was always the plan.

“My car’s still outside,” Yoongi says, like you should already know what that means.

You hesitate for half a second. But your tired legs are screaming hallelujah as you follow him out.

⊙⊝⊜

Inside the SUV neither of you says anything at first. Personally, you don’t know what the hell you’re doing here. Maybe he wants to fuck in the car? You really don’t know…

You glance over to where he’s seated. The city moves outside in streaks of gold and shadow, streetlights slipping across his profile in intervals. He also looks worn, tired. 10% battery life. 

So you let your head fall back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, letting your body finally start to come down from everything.

“Is it okay if we stop somewhere?” he asks when the driver nears the hotel cul de sac.

You turn your head slightly. “Where?”

“Place I heard about.”

You study him for a second. “What if I say no?”

There’s no hesitation. “Then it’s a no.” He sounds serious.

“Relax. I’m kidding.” You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Just pretend I’m not here, I’m wiped.”

He leans over and presses a small button on your armrest, the recliner whirring quietly as it tilts back, letting you sink into the seat a little more.

“Thanks,” you mumble, curling a little to the side away from him, so you can watch the view from outside.

⊙⊝⊜

Tucked into a narrow street, the shop is easy to miss. You never would have gone here not with how small it is, how unassuming. It’s like a Spanish deli. A butcher shop and a little restaurant rolled into one.

You step inside and the smell hits you. Salt, cured meat, something rich and fatty and indulgent, layered over the faint tang of wine and old wood.

Yoongi steps towards the till, pointing to something in the menu. You don’t hear what he communicates except for the faint “Gracias.”

You couldn’t help but snicker at how he said it so cutely.

“I got this for us,” he says, showing you a picture of an open sandwich called bocadillo de jamon.

You raise a brow. “You ordered for me?”

He smirks playfully. “Got a problem with it?”

“Why do you keep bossing me around?”

He shakes his head, a tiny grin playing in his lips, before he tsks. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

“Wha—“ a puff of air escapes your gaping mouth. How dare he.

⊙⊝⊜

Back in the car, the wrappers crinkle softly between you as you take the first bite, grease soaking faintly through the paper, the taste immediate and overwhelming in the best way. It’s salty, rich, and so indulgent.

“Wow,” you gush. “This is so fuckin’ good.”

He nods, a lump on the side of his cheek as he chews thoughtfully.

You glance at him. “You been there before?”

“No,” he says simply. “But it was on the Michelin Bib Gourmand.”

Honestly, you have no idea what that means. But Yoongi is always researching random shit, his knowledge running weirdly deep in ways that constantly catch you off guard, so you assume it’s basically the equivalent of five stars on Yelp.

Yoongi tells the driver to head back to the hotel, but not before he also hands the man a sandwich of his own.

Then, he reaches into the bag and pulls out two tiny bottles of red wine, twisting one open with ease before handing it to you. 

“Yay,” you smile, oddly delighted by the unexpected treat.

You glance back toward the little jamon spot as the car pulls away, the warm glow of the restaurant fading slowly into the Madrid night. “That’s the kind of place you see in movies, y’know?” you muse lightly. “Somewhere people accidentally fall in love on the first date.”

Yoongi takes a slow swig of wine, thumb swiping across his bottom lip afterward. He doesn’t reply with words. Just a tiny wine-stained smile.

You take another crunchy bite of your sandwich then take your phone out to snap a quick pic. God, it’s amazing.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks after a while.

“It’s my off,” you say, leaning your head back again. “So, nothing. Sleep. Maybe walk around if I feel like being a human. I know the girls wanna hit the beach.”

He nods. “Mm. You like the beach?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“Nah, I hate water.”

You smirk. He is never beating the catman allegations. “You got plans tomorrow?”

“Sleep,” he laughs.

You snort softly. “Of course.”

The rest of the ride is quiet after that. You part ways at the lobby drop off, where you go down, while the driver takes the private entrance for him as per protocol.

But later, in your room, the silence feels different. You catch your reflection in the mirror as you take the day off with a makeup wipe. 

Your mom’s voice echoes faintly in your head. You sigh. You need to call her back in the morning. See if she changes her mind.

You peel your lashes away, letting your eyes revel in relief for a second.

You lick your lips and still taste the wine, the salt. You remember the quaint restaurant. 

And Yoongi. The way he waited for you outside the studio. The softness in his face inside the car. The baby-sized bottle of red. Then shake your head lightly.

Was it a–? No way. 

That couldn’t be what it felt like. 

That couldn't have been a date.

A/N: Hehe <3

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[minyoongiss]

BUSINESS PROPOSAL | jeon jungkook | series masterlist

you were supposed to sabotage your best friend's blind date. make him lose interest. scare him off a little, maybe accidentally insult his ego enough that he'd go home and tell his parents there had been "no chemistry." you were absolutely not supposed to make him want to marry her. or technically you in her form.

pairing: ceo!jeon jungkook x you/reader

warnings: none

word count: tbd

authors note: after rewatching business propsal for the hundred time i had a little idea about a series. of course with jungkook as the ceo? (hello??) this will most likely be published when i’m nearly done with maybe. (hopefully soon..)

and also new theme. do we like it?? i’m not the best in making/editing covers so bare with me. :/

introduction: how to accidentally tease you guys with a sneak peak. - publish date: 30. May

one: how to accidentally be the best friend ever. - publish date: tbd

summary: when your best friend comes to you asking for a favor, always say no. especially when that favor somehow involves a blind date, identity fraud, and pretending to be her in front of a man neither of you have ever met before.

two: how to accidentally ruin a blind date - publish date: tbd

summary: when you’re on a date pretending to be your best friend, the goal is simple: sabotage it. ruin the vibe. make it awkward enough that he starts questioning his entire life choices. what you are not supposed to do is accidentally sit across from your boss halfway through dessert.

three: how to accidentally not reveal your real identitiy - publish date: tbd

jsummary: when you suddenly receive a sms from your blind date while literally sitting next to your boss, well your blind date, don’t panic. that’s what bathrooms are for.

four: how to accidentally date your boss (as someone else?) - publish date: tbd

summary: when he offers to drop you off at home after the fourth date, get out of the car early. or risk him finding out where you live. or worse realizing who you actually are.

five: how to accidentally get a happy ending - publish date: tbd

summary: when he finds out who you really are, don’t scramble for excuses, just tell him the truth. no damage control, no clever lies, no last-minute improvising. simple. or not?

taglist: open! if you want to be tagged for updates, let me know in the comments.

[dxsbeauty]

oh yk i’m tuned in.