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Punch Drunk

➭ “Min Yoongi talks with his fists, and the only language he knows is one of anger and pain. He’s damaged, untouchable, a boxing underdog with something to prove. You are the sister of Yoongi’s rival - Jeon Jungkook, the number one elite boxer in your prefecture - and as Yoongi soon discovers, you are also his one and only weakness.”

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: boxer au, smut, angst

wordcount: 33k

❀ 6 / 8 of my oneshot requests ❀

** warnings: violence, descriptions of blood and injury, gambling references, heavy themes, mentions of death, drug references, slow burn, rough sex, breathplay, unprotected sex, cumplay, facial, light analplay, derogatory language during sex

Three seconds of silence.

Silence that stretches out heavy and slow, amongst an audience with lungs squeezed breathless in anticipation. All eyes are locked on the two people facing each other in the centre of the ring.

In these three seconds, all focus is whittled down onto the two bodies circling one another, waiting for the first strike to fall.

Three seconds is what takes for even the most elite to still their shaken thoughts, to slow their heartbeat enough to locate that opening. It also takes approximately three seconds for the gear to make its own assessment of the situation, to lock even tighter around strained muscles and aching bones before it tells the boxer what to do.

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t wait for three seconds to pass. He doesn’t need three seconds.

He lashes forward with enough speed and brutality to catch his opponent completely offguard. The amassed crowd falls apart in roars of shock and excitement, like a fresh buzz of electricity has jolted through them.

Jungkook feeds off of that energy, he recoils, and slams up with an uppercut punch right to his opponent’s jaw. The chrome finish of his gear glints in the bright light of the boxing ring, and it feels as though everybody sitting in the audience is holding a collective breath.

Crunch.

Jungkook’s glove connects squarely with bone. His opponent, a reputable fighter named Kim Taehyung, known for his agility and speed in the boxing ring, collides to the ground with a loud thump.

Three.

The electronic counter rings loud and clear through the ring. The crowd falls into hushed whispers, Taehyung lets out a choked groan.

From your seat in the VIP box, you can see it clearly – Taehyung is struggling to get up. He has three seconds to stand, or the match is finished.

The metallic gear laced over his back is helping him, you can see his arms twitching with effort as he finally rolls onto his side. His face is bruised, one eye already swollen closed, his bruised jaw causing his mouth to loll open. You shudder.

Two.

Taehyung hoists himself up onto his elbows. The crowd falls silent, so silent that you can hear the electronic click and whir of Taehyung’s gear as it forces his muscles to cooperate.

Jungkook’s eyes flicker over to him, his jaw tightens. You can hear Seokjin hiss in sharply, mutter out a brisk, “Jungkook, don’t-”

One.

Jungkook lowers his foot on Taehyung’s back, wedging it between his shoulder blades. Taehyung’s gear cracks under the weight, Taehyung lets out a brief, warbled scream. He swallows it down, his face contorted as he desperately tries to conceal the pain that he is clearly feeling.

In this world, pain is pride. To openly show your pain is worse than any defeat in the ring. Dealing with pain is strength, showing suffering is weakness.

Your hands curl into tight, uncomfortable fists. You want to look away, but you cant – no one in the audience can.

It’s a spectacle. The entire ring that you are sitting around has been designed to cater to the spectacle of the fight. The buzz of the crowd, the bright lights that shine crystalline onto the fighters, the screens hung up on every wall to capture every micro-emotion that flickers over Taehyung’s face while his body is pinned under Jungkook’s foot.

Winner of the Olympia Qualifiers Round Three: Bloodhawk.

The electronic voice calls out, and the silence is finally shattered.

The audience erupts into shouts, the screen switches to Jungkook. His face is blown up on all of the screens as he steps off of Taehyung’s body and walks to the centre of the ring.

All of the lights beam on him, the Bloodhawk. A bloody, vicious, glorified fighter, with gear so expertly fused into his bare back that it looks like a second skeleton.

Jungkook raises one glove in the air, the audience screams in delight. Jungkook is relishing in it, but you pick up on the other details. The way he is exerted, heaving for breath, bruises beginning to blossom on his ribs from the first half of the fight. Taehyung, who has tucked his legs into his chest, the referees and medical staff rushing over to examine him.

It’s a bloody, gory spectacle… and you are in the eye of the storm.

“Your brother is an idiot,” Seokjin mutters to you, sighing heavily as he leans back in his seat. “It doesn’t matter how good of a fighter you are, if you fight like that.”

You don’t respond, your hands still curled into tight fists in your lap.

The Olympia Boxing Championship is held once a year. It’s an event that the annual boxing calendar revolves around, the most highly revered boxing event in current rotation.

Olympia was originally intended to be a celebration of the marriage of boxing and robotics, an avenue for boxers to show how robotic gear enhanced their fighting skill. This meant that Olympia was nearly always a celebration of boxing’s elite class, those who possessed the means to acquire the highest tech and undergo rigorous training. Olympia saw the top of the food chain fighting it out, all to establish the king of the boxing world.

This year however, in celebration of the 100 year anniversary of the Olympia Championship, the qualifiers were opened to anyone. The prize - $1 million bit and a lifetime membership to the Olympia association – attracted fighters from every prefecture.

This year, the hype of Olympia and technoboxing have increased tenfold. It feels like your entire city was crawling with it, a feverish excitement soaking through the bones of your town.

The qualifiers this year are different too. Due to the high numbers of entrants, the qualifying matches have been stretched out over several weeks.

At the very top of the pack is Jungkook, your older brother.

“You were not fighting smart. He got in too many hits at the beginning, and you left too many openings when you went for that uppercut. Not to mention that ending the fight like that is going to deter our sponsors and tarnish your name.” Seokjin is speaking to Jungook now, voice steeped in disappointment.

Jungkook is draped over a chair, the sweat being dabbed off his forehead by one of the many assistants hired by your parents.

Jungkook just grunts in response to Seokjin’s lecture, and the older man lets out a long, defeated sigh. “How’s your gear?”

“Yeah, it’s holding up alright.”

Another assistant is tending to it, examining the robotics carefully for any damage.

It’s one of the key rules of Olympia and technoboxing in general that all fighters are required to be equipped with gear. The gear is akin to a metal skeleton, protecting the most vulnerable parts of the body – the spine, the back of the skull, the ribs – and it has embedded technology that enhances the boxer’s movements and muscular capabilities.

Furthermore, the gear acts as artificial intelligence in several ways, physically stopping boxers from going too far in their fighting, and ultimately preventing in-ring depths and permanent boxing injuries. Gear represents the more economical future of boxing by creating boxing that is more glorious to watch, more extreme to watch, thanks to the gear that pushes the human body to peak performance without the risk of death.

Seokjin sighs heavily.

“Your gear could have gotten seriously damaged with the way you were moving-”

“I won, didn’t I?” Jungkook interrupts, he waves off the assistants hovering around him and stretches out his limbs lazily. Seokjin just lets out an irritated “tch”.

“You didn’t have to step on his gear like that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook just shrugs. “I didn’t expect it to break apart so easily.”

Seokjin opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by a knock on the door. It swings open. A woman dressed in a crisp black suit enters, she nods politely at Jungkook, the grey teardrop etched on her jacket pocket indicates that she is a member of the Olympia Association.

“Mr. Jeon, are you ready for the post match interview?”

Seokjin falls silent, crossing his arms over his chest as Jungkook nods and smiles, standing up and following the woman out of the room. Seokjin follows suit, a few paces behind. You hurry, falling in step with Seokjin as you both enter a busy room filled to the brim with impatient reporters.

Jungkook is ushered to the centre of the room, while you and Seokjin wait silently in the wings.

“He’s pushing himself too hard.” Seokjin sighs out, pinching the bridge of his nose. You glance at him but he isn’t looking at you, eyes focused on Jungkook who is preparing for the interview.

“He’s wanted to win the Olympia since he was a kid, you know that.” You respond softly, looking at your brother.

Your brother has been in boxing gloves for as long as you can remember. The expectation had always been made clear that Jungkook was expected to follow in your father and grandfather’s footsteps.

Your family is boxing blood and Jungkook has always accepted that fate, knowing his purpose was to make full use of that which ran in his veins. As soon as his spine had finished growing, he was already being fitted for his first set of gear, and while you had been in school, Jungkook was training in the ring.

You had been close to your brother when you were younger, always looked up to him in awe, listening to his excited rambles about what he was going to do once he was an Olympia champion. But as time had passed and as Jungkook crawled up the ranks, you had noticed the light fading from your brother’s eyes. The distance between you grew until it wasn’t a crack but a chasm.

You can still pinpoint the moment you realized that Jungkook’s childlike enthusiasm for boxing hadn’t merged with your family’s expectations of him, but had been overtaken completely.

“If he keeps at it like this, he’s going to unravel.” Seokjin whispers to you. “I don’t-”

His sentence is cut off by a reporter, clearing her throat into a microphone. Both you and Seokjin fall silent, attentions piqued by the interviewer who is now turning to Jungkook, a smile pasted on her face.

“Congratulations on yet another overwhelming win, Bloodhawk.” She says sweetly. “The odds were in your favour of course, but to take down a member of the Kim family in just one round is very impressive. Nothing less from one of the top picks of this Championship.”

Jungkook smiles thinly in response. “I’ve wanted to fight one of the Kims for a while, it’s a shame that it ended so quickly.” His smile twists at the edge of his lips, “I didn’t expect to defeat him so easily, so I’m sorry if the match wasn’t as exciting as people hoped.”

The room titters with laughter and you roll your eyes, knowing full well that Jungkook had trained to defeat him in one round, that he had strategized the best way to manoeuvre around Kim Taehyung’s specific fighting style. It was this that gave Jungkook his fighting nickname of ‘Bloodhawk’ –He gripped his opponent with talons and went for the killshot, with no mercy whatsoever.

“Well, like I said, we expected nothing less,” The reporter lets out a soft, tinkling laugh, “Given that you’re a Jeon, and your coach being a former Olympia finalist.”

Jungkook nods his head, but you can see it in the tiniest tense of his jaw that the reporter’s statement has frustrated him. You know your brother well, you know how much he despises it when his hard work and training is talked down as a byproduct of his family ties and connections.

“Seokjin is a great coach.” Jungkook just responds in a slightly strained tone, ignoring the first half of her statement completely. The reporter leans forward, her eyes glinting. You can tell she has picked up on the tension, and you bite your lip, knowing that she is going to tease it out, play on it, stir him up even more.

“It’s nice to hear that you put so much faith in him,” Her tone is syrupy, “Given his history in the ring. He was blacklisted from boxing for life, wasn’t he? If I’m remembering that correctly…”

Jungkook’s mouth tightens into a straight line.

“That’s irrelevant.” He grits out. The reporter leans in even closer, her eyes widening.

“Is it, though?”

Jungkook’s jaw twitches.

You can hear the shutter of cameras capturing the stormy expression on his face. Your eyes flicker over to Seokjin, who lets out a heavy sigh.

“He lets himself get wound up too easily.” He mutters. “And the press knows it.”

You just hum softly in agreement, this is something that often happens during post match interviews with your brother – they find something to pick at, to pull at, to create the construction of Jeon Jungkook, Bloodhawk, as a merciless fighter. This, fused with his tendency for violence in the ring, have earned him countless rivals, fighters desperate to fight and overtake him.

It all makes for better boxing, more betting money, more sponsorship and marketing. You can tell by Seokjin’s grim expression that he knows it too, he knows how easily Jungkook plays into their hands and feeds their narrative – and moreover, that Seokjin feels guilty for being the cause of it this time.

Seokjin was at the peak of his boxing career only five years ago, a finalist in the 95th Olympia. His blacklisting, coupled with an injury that riddled him unable to walk without the assistance of mechanical gear that wrapped around his hips and through his femur bones, had come as a huge shock to the boxing world.

“He was one of technoboxing’s greats,” The reporter continues now, she pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles. “As are you now, Bloodhawk.” Her flattery lingers off in the air. Her eyes narrow. “And by now, I’m sure you’ve heard of another name that has recently been associated with boxing greats such as yourself. You’ve heard of Scorpius? He’s a strong contender to take the Olympia title this year.”

The room falls silent. You nudge Seokjin, voice lowering into a hiss.

“Who’s that?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t heard of him. Whoever he is, he isn’t a seeded boxer.”

Seokjin’s face is apprehensive. The fact that this year’s Olympia is open to all boxers has seen to an influx of names and faces that are unfamiliar, but this is the first you’ve heard of him – Scorpius.

Scorpius. The name is familiar to you, thanks to astronomy classes that you had taken in your school years – from you recollection, Scorpius is one of the constellations of the Zodiac.

“Haven’t heard of him.” Jungkook answers in a brusque voice, and the reporter tuts her tongue condescendingly.

“Well. Now you have,” She leans back on her chair, eyes locked on Jungkook. “He’s an excellent fighter. And he has no high tech gear, no… infamous coach…” Her voice slows. The room tenses, cameras pinned on Jungkook’s face, which is tight in irritation. “…And some people say that even without a boxing legacy backing him up, he might just end up beating everyone. Including you. And you didn’t even know who he was before today. The world of technoboxing is changing.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, but his face is furious. He opens his mouth to speak, but the reporter cuts in, voice gliding smoothly over whatever Jungkook is about to say.

“Anyway, that’s all we have time for today. It was lovely to speak to you again, we’ll see you in the semi-finals.” She stands and raises her hand, offering it to Jungkook.

Jungkook rises, shoulders braced, and turns – leaving the reporter’s hand hanging. She clicks her tongue, you hear Seokjin groan beside you. You both know full well that this is the last thing you need- the press having a field day about Jungkook’s reaction to the mention of this new boxer, his refusal to shake the hand of the reporter who had been needling him for a reaction.

Scorpius. The name is definitely familiar; you are deep in concentration trying to remember the exact story behind the zodiac constellation.

“He did not like what that reporter said.” Seokjin murmurs to you. “He’s probably going to want to go check out one of that Scorpius guy’s matches now, fucking hell.”

“Probably,” You echo.

“Hey, what does Scorpius even mean? Like, a scorpion?”

You blink. The word clicks in your head. Scorpius.

“It’s Scorpius constellation, there’s a whole story behind it,” You murmur. Seokjin glances over at you, an expression of mild interest on his face. “There was a Greek God named Orion who boasted that he was going to destroy every living being on earth. A scorpion was dispatched from the heavens to battle him. It was a fight to the death, and the winner was put into the heavens after his victory.”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow and turns, walking towards the locker room. You follow him, biting down on your bottom lip.

“So… who was the winner?”

As you approach the locker room where Jungkook is waiting, your brother immediately leaps to his feat, furious. He is talking in a fast, angry voice – ranting about the reporter, about how the actual fight hadn’t even been discussed, about why Scorpius was at all relevant to him. Seokjin steps forward, voice flat in intonation as he calmly addresses Jungkook, your conversation about Scorpius forgotten.

Who was the winner of the fight to the death?

Your eyes land on Jungkook, you suddenly feel a knot of uncertainty in the pit of your belly.

Scorpius.

True to Seokjin’s prediction, Jungkook insists on sitting in on one of Scorpius’s matches. The next one is coincidentally the qualifiers for the Olympia semi finals, and after some initial resistance from Seokjin, you, Jungkook and Seokjin set out to observe Scorpius in action.

Jungkook reasons that it’s the best course of action for him as he may gain some information on his potential future opponent, Seokjin reasons that once Jungkook has made up his mind, it’s impossible to stop him.

Jungkook has been wound up tight ever since the interview, ever since that match really. You haven’t pressed the issue, merely observing with watchful eyes. Even now, as you weave your way through the heaving crowd outside the ring, Jungkook is on edge.

This qualifying match is different to any other you have been to before. You had heard that the ring itself was requested by Scorpius, and that it’s actually his training ring.

It’s surprising now that you are in the space – the ring is inside a warehouse, a huge cavernous warehouse structured like a shipping container. It’s dark inside, the light broken with plumes of smoke. It’s a far cry from the polished lights of the training rings that you and your brother had grown up in, and that distinction between the two is evident in the gathered crowd too. This crowd is different – more intense, more frenetic, almost as if there is a different blend of energy that flows through the ground here.

Jungkook is keeping a low profile tonight, clad in a black hoodie. Seokjin too is wearing a cap slung low over his face. You’re feeling overwhelmed by it all – the scent of tobacco that kisses the air, the grittiness of the boxing ring.

“You go ahead,” You reach out, prodding Seokjin, “I’m gonna step outside for a bit before the match starts.”

He nods at you, he and Jungkook slope off to find your seats, talking in low hushed tones.

You carefully pick your way through the heaving crowd, slipping outside. With most of the people waiting to go into the warehouse, there are only a handful of people standing outside, clustered in small groups, chatting around drags of their cigarettes. It seems like every second word in the conversations that you overhear is Scorpius. You wonder idly who exactly he is - the scorpion who in such a short amount of time has already caused such an impact.

You wander until you reach the side of the building, where it is quieter. You don’t have long, perhaps ten minutes, until you have to go back inside.

You lean your back against the serrated metal wall, breathe in deeply. You can hear from here the faint sounds of the crowd from the other side of the wall.

You tip your head back and stare at the sky, exhaling out slowly. There isn’t a cloud in sight, just inky black and the occasional splash of stars. A clear night, a rarity in this city, when so often fumes from the robotic plants pollute the thick velvet of the evening sky.

You hear footsteps and you tear your eyes away, canvassing over to the person who has emerged from a door a few paces down. He stumbles out with a loud, defeated sigh, back crashing against the wall beside you with a thump.

You do your best to hide your stare – he’s frustrated, irritated by something, it’s evident in the way he wrings his fingers out, scuffs restlessly at the dirt beneath his feet. He’s dressed in a white track jacket that’s zipped up all the way under his chin, a bandana is tied around his forehead, a shock of icy blonde hair flopping over it and into his eyes.

As if he’s sensing your stare, his head snaps to the side, eyes surveying you. He has dainty features and pillowy lips, they juxtapose sharply against his eyes which are intense and piercing.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that it’s rude to stare at people?” He asks in a dry voice. His facial expression is even, controlled, and he accompanies his words with a raised eyebrow. There’s something in the huskiness of his voice and the directness of his stare that has you momentarily taken aback.

You don’t respond, his lips curl into a smirk. “Questions usually warrant answers, you know.”

His eyes still are intent on you and you finally feel your mouth catch up with your brain.

“And just what exactly makes you think I was staring at you?”

You just let out a scoff that’s not as derisive as you would have liked. Still, it catches him by surprise, and turns until he is leaning shoulder against the wall, completely facing you.

“Questions usually warrant answers, you know.” You throw the words right back in his face and for a second he looks momentarily stunned. His face splits into a slow smile.

Eyes narrowed, he laughs, a deliberate, throaty chuckle.

“Touché.” He says lightly. He tils his head, then takes a step closer. His face is suddenly closer to yours, and you blink at him.

This close, you can see that his eyes are actually a dark, espresso brown. Your eyes trace over him, the casual, thoughtful look on his face. This close, he smells like bergamot and cedar.

“You know, you look familiar.”

Your nose wrinkles, your cheeks flush in heat under the scrutiny of his stare.

“Yeah? Well you don’t,” You retort, and his eyes crinkle like he’s suppressing a laugh.

“Really, now?” His voice lilts with amusement. He’s still standing close to you, face peering into yours. His eyes are searching and you realize that you are holding your breath.

“What’s your name?” You stammer out, because they’re the first coherent words that fall into your head.

You can see him fighting a smile.

“Yoongi. And you?”

“____.”

He nods, slowly. You are still staring at him. Somehow, you don’t want to look away.

He leans in even closer, and you hold in your breath even harder, your lungs ache but you can’t breathe, your eyes widening. His face dips down. His eyelashes flutter slow, blinking purposefully, lips inches away from yours, arm outstretched on the wall above your head.

He leans in until his body crooked over yours, face a mix of emotions. Amusement, interest, and something else, something fixed and determined that makes your thighs suddenly ache.

“I think I’ve figured out where I recognize you from.” He whispers.

You want him to kiss you. Oh my God, you want this complete stranger to kiss you. You swallow, hard. Your mind wonders fleetingly what it would be like to kiss him. You have the sudden image of him closing the spaces between your bodies by just a few centimetres, enough to have his body keening into yours, pressing you into the cold metal wall.

“You recognize me? From what?” You breathe back instead.

He just gazes at you long and hard. The thought screams louder in your head. Kiss me.

He pushes off of the wall and you release a breath. He shoves his hands into his pockets, assesses you attentively before turning around.

“You’re the Bloodhawk’s little sister.” He muses. He turns his head, catches your surprised expression. He smirks.

“Like I said,” He rests a hand on the handle of the door he had come spilling out of just a few minutes ago, opening it and walking back inside.

“I knew you looked familiar.”

You have a thousand questions swirling in your mind as you find your seat inside the warehouse.

The stranger, Yoongi, he said his name was, knew that you're Jungkook’s sister. The only logical explanation that comes to mind is that he’s a boxer too.

You frown to yourself, reflecting on your initial impression of him – his frame which was slighter than that of all the boxers you knew. He didn’t have the typical build of a boxer.

Maybe he’s a coach or a trainer, you muse silently as you settle into your seat.

Seokjin and Jungkook are still talking in low voices. They are talking strategy, Jungkook staring straight ahead and nodding briskly every now and then. You watch them, Seokjin speaking with his hands in the way he does when he’s enthusiastic about something.

He’s a good trainer, Jungkook says that he’s the best trainer he’s ever had. It’s exactly that which keeps Seokjin around, because you know your father doesn’t like having the weighty presence of a blacklisted ex Olympia finalist associated with the family name.

Seokjin is the very example of how hard and fast someone can fall once they reach the top.

Everyone knows the story of Seokjin, the elite fighter who had taken part in a gearless fight with one of his boxing rivals. Without the protection of gear, and with all of that pent up rage being granted a path to flow freely, the fight had been brutal.

After that night, Seokjin had permanent spinal damage and was partially paralyzed from the waist down.

He couldn’t walk, he couldn’t fight, and news of him committing the ultimate technoboxing sin - defying the invention of gear and fighting gearless - spread like wildfire.

It all happened like dominoes falling after that. His public blacklisting from the Olympia Association, his boxing wins being stripped from him, the ban for life. Seokjin fell, all the way from his pedestal at the top.

He lost the fight.

It’s a surprise to most that your family allows someone with his reputation into their gym, let alone so close to Jungkook, a prized boxer. However, Seokjin delivers results. He knows the business, the knows the fighters, the gear, and most of all, he knows the innerworkings of a boxer’s mind. And as much as your family relies on Seokjin’s cunning ability to draw the very best fighting potential out of Jungkook, Seokjin relies on your family too.

Your eyes tick down to Seokjin’s legs, which are bound in paper-thin needles of metal. His repurposed gear is expensive, and difficult to both obtain and maintain… but it allows him to walk again. Yes, Seokjin definitely relies on your family.

The lights start to dim, the crowd begins to practically vibrate with excitement.

The match is starting.

“Welcome to the ring: Scorpius!” The electronic announcer bellows out, and is almost drowned by the shouts of the crowd.

A figure walks into the centre of the ring. White blonde hair, kept pushed back by a crimson red bandana. A taut frame, a build like a leopard, lean and compact. Two battered black boxing gloves. Gear that is old and outdated.

You inhale sharply.

“That’s Scorpius?” You hear Jungkook scoff.

There, in the centre of the ring, a smirk twisted at the edge of his lips, is Yoongi.

You don’t have time to dwell in your surprise, because the fight starts immediately.

Scorpius, Yoongi, is up against another fighter - a heavyweight boxer who is stocky and tall, all sinewy muscle and leering flashes of teeth. Yoongi’s frame is unassuming beside his, and you watch as he weaves away from the fighter, evading each blow with an airy, unbothered ease.

The fight so far is unimpressive. The beauty of technoboxing is its violence, its gratuity of the extreme. Most fighters go all out, knowing that the gear is intelligent enough to prevent fatal damage from occurring.

They don’t fight like this – eyes watchful and even bored, body darting around the ring as effortlessly as water. That isn’t Yoongi’s gear either, if anything, his gear is holding him back.

Yoongi is just that quick in his defense.

It’s getting on Yoongi’s opponent’s nerves. His punches are getting harsher, the gear hisses as it reins back on the aggression lashing behind his jabs. Still, Yoongi dodges around them effortlessly.

It’s not exactly exciting to watch. It’s not intimidating, either. You can tell by the slump of Jungkook’s shoulders that he’s unimpressed.

Fighters who rely on a strong defense eventually crumble in the world of technoboxing- there’s only so much that stamina and defense can give you, before you fall prey to one particularly ruthless punch.

Yoongi is still irritatingly calm in the ring. He blinks slowly and lazily and you can’t help but feel a little twinge in your stomach from it. Even you are getting frustrated by him, how unruffled his face is even when he dodges punch after punch, missing some by sheer millimetres.

On the contrary, his opponent is getting more riled up, growling and huffing in between snappy movements of his body.

Yoongi doesn’t even seem to be acknowledging the other man in the ring. He is cool as ice, while the other man is uncomfortably flaring with heat, boiling with it. He charges towards Yoongi, his arm lashes forward severe and fast. For a moment, you are convinced that it is going to crash into Yoongi’s nose.

Then, so quickly that you almost miss it, Yoongi ducks. His opponent’s fist goes flying disconcertedly through the air.

Yoongi’s body bobs up behind him, his opponent stumbles forward, clumsy and uneven, while Yoongi is controlled.

Yoongi’s fist recoils.

His eyes, previously so bored and distant, are now focused. They are so sharp, that you feel a chill trickle down your spine.

The realization snaps inside of you like a firecracker. Yoongi has his opponent right where he wants him. And before you can release the breath you are holding in, before the other man can react, Yoongi’s fist connects with a loud crunch into his face.

The angle is just right. The timing is just right. There is a shuddering amount of strength behind the punch, more strength than you had guessed was capable from Yoongi.

The crowd is silent. Time slows. Blood sprays out into the air directly from where Yoongi’s fist connected with his opponent’s jaw and mouth, his body crashes to the floor.

The crowd roars. Time speeds up again, the referee dashes over. The other man is out cold.

“Winner of the Olympia Qualifiers Round Nine: Scorpius.”

The crowd is bursting apart, almost. You understand, because you too feel exhilarated as you stare at Yoongi.

He smirks, he doesn’t raise a fist in the air, announce his victory – he just shrugs off his gloves, they fall to the floor. The crowd rumbles, chants of his name. Yoongi turns and walks away.

He is unscathed. You haven’t seen something like that in all your years of attending technoboxing matches. Y

ou let out a shaky breath.

You realize then that Jungkook and Seokjin haven’t exchanged a single word. They are sitting frozen, staring at the now empty ring. Jungkook’s shoulders are stiff, he has a look on his face that you don’t recognize, can’t fully comprehend.

Is he intimidated by him?

Jungkook senses your stare and stands up suddenly.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is cold, irritated, and Seokjin stands up too. He starts talking, dissecting Yoongi’s fighting style in a rambling voice, but Jungkook isn’t listening, his jaw tensed in annoyance.

You linger behind them by a few paces as they shoulder their way through the bustling crowd. Finally, you are outside, and you gaze up at the sky. It’s as clear as it was before, not a single cloud wrapped around the moon.

“Enjoy the fight?”

You are pulled back to earth in time to hear a familiar slow, raspy drawl. Sure enough, you spot Yoongi, strolling up to your small group. He’s by himself, and you see Jungkook stiffen, Seokjin placing a warning hand on his shoulder.

“That’s Scorpius!”

“What’s he doing out here?”

“Who’s he talking to?”

“I think that’s Bloodhawk-”

“Bloodhawk is here?“

Onlookers start to press in closer, encircling around your group like vultures. Jungkook just meets Yoongi’s gaze.

“Yep.”

His voice is clipped. Yoongi’s face stays passive, unflappable as ever.

“Entertaining?” Yoongi asks, his voice collected. Jungkook’s jaw tightens, and he doesn’t respond. Yoongi’s eyes tick past Jungkook to you, his lips twitch upward.

“Hello again, ____,” He addresses, and you feel Seokjin and Jungkook stare at you, surprised. You don’t answer, averting Yoongi’s gaze and trying to ignore the sudden skip in your throat.

Yoongi steps up closer to Jungkook until they are only a few strides apart.

“I’ll see you in the semifinals, Bloodhawk.”

You’ve put your finger on what makes Yoongi such a potent fighter, what lends him the title of Scorpius. He knows how to push at precise buttons, how to slice cleanly through an exposed nerve, all in the moments before he strikes.

He’s dangerous in his calculated intelligence, his composure, his ability to pick at the tiny threads of weakness and insecurity, before he tugs them out whole.

Your brother doesn’t answer. Yoongi leans in closer, and murmurs something to Jungkook. You don’t catch what he says, it’s spoken too softly, but you see the anger flash over Jungkook’s face before he reaches out and pushes Yoongi, hard. Yoongi stumbles back, deftly catching his footing. Even as he staggers, he’s watching Jungkook closely.

“You fucking-” Jungkook spits out, hand rising in a fist, but Seokjin is already behind him, grabbing his arms and muttering in his ear to walk away.

Jungkook is livid, you can tell in the twitch of his jawbone as he finally relents, allowing Seokjin to pull him through the crowd. Everyone gathered is excited by what they just witnessed, whispering to each other, speculating as to what exactly had just gone down.

You hesitate. You look at Yoongi, who has an indecipherable expression on his face. As if sensing your gaze, his stare moves to you.

You shiver, feeling a prickle of intrigue and uncertainty in your belly before you cast your eyes downward and turn, hurrying behind your brother and Seokjin, walking away from Yoongi.

A week later the Olympia association holds their semi-finalist press conference. It is a requirement of all Olympia semi finalists to attend, as a public display of their sportsmanship.

More discreetly, it is also a way for the Olympia association to see the dynamic between the boxers, to decide the line up of the semi finals and who will be pitted against the other.

You are attending this year’s press conference, along with your parents and Seokjin. The room that the press conference is being held in is small, filled only with select esteemed journalists and reporters. The eight semi finalists are sitting at a long table, all dressed in their training gear. While your parents are sitting up in the VIP box, you choose to stand in the wings with Seokjin and the other trainers.

The atmosphere is tense. The semi finalist press conference is always tense, but this year has kicked it up a notch. There are two unseeded rookie fighters in the mix of semi finalists this year – a young boxer named Jimin who had hacked into his gear’s software to make improvements, obliterating his opponent in the qualifiers, and of course none other than Min Yoongi, the boxer who arose from the concrete.

The addition of these boxers has thrown a spanner in the works and created a clear tension between the elite and the newcomers. They’re anomalies, and their presence is noticeable.

You can practically see the irritation falling off of Jungkook as he sits rigidly in his seat. Jungkook has never been good at concealing his emotions, he’s one to wear every single shade of his thoughts on his sleeve, and you can tell by Seokjin’s fidgeting beside you that he is nervous.

The press conference starts smoothly. Questions are peppered to each off the semi finalists, each answered with no issue.

Finally, a question is directed towards Yoongi.

“You’re a newcomer to the technoboxing scene. I hear you don’t even have a coach. Is this true?”

Yoongi lifts his head, confirms the statement with a nod. There is a slight commotion in the crowd from his affirmation. Yoongi surveys the room, one eyebrow raised before he speaks.

“I have a mechanic who helps me when my gear needs maintenance. I don’t need a coach.”

A stir travels through the room.

“Do you think that even without the experience, without a coach, you can win the Olympia tournament?”

Yoongi takes a moment to consider the question. That, or he purposefully leaves a pause to ensure that everyone in the room is hanging off of the silence and waiting for him to fill it. You aren’t sure when it comes to him. He’s intelligent, assured and cool hearted in a way that as much as you want to pretend it doesn’t, makes you ache with intrigue.

“I don’t need experience or a coach,” Yoongi answers, his voice is like silk, “And yes. I can win.”

His response, calmly confident, sends a louder flurry throughout the room. He has that effect on a crowd, you think. The interviewer leans in, presses further,

“Even against fighters who have been training to win for years?”

Yoongi smiles faintly. “Of course.”

Your eyes are locked on him, even when the interviewer moves on to the next person. Somehow, you don’t doubt his words. You’ve seen him fight, you know that he’s good, but there’s something in the assured tone of his voice, the measured weight in his eyes that makes you think Min Yoongi has been fighting for a long time.

“...I suppose the question that everyone is asking is whether you have what it takes to win the Olympia.”

The reporter’s question tugs you from your thoughts, he’s now turned to Jungkook. You wince, of all the questions, of course they had to start with this one.

“That’s a pointless question. Absolutely, I have what it takes.”

Jungkook’s blunt answer causes another stir to ripple through the crowd. The interviewer nods, absorbing this information, before he clears her throat.

“Make no mistake, you have a very distinctive and aggressive style of boxing. It’s what’s earned you your reputation. I think where the question comes from is whether your way of fighting, and your gear, will be victorious over say… another semifinalist with a very different fighting style. Scorpius, for example.”

The question is asked casually but you know it’s hardly a spur of the moment question. Jungkook and Yoongi have been pitted against each other in the press non stop for the last week. It’s a combination of factors - their opposing fighting styles, their different backgrounds, and of course, their very public moment of tension last week after Yoongi’s match.

“Like I said,” Jungkook grits out, “That’s a pointless question. My fighting and my gear would beat his anyday.”

You glance at Yoongi, who is looking down the line at Jungkook, a mildly interested look on his face.

Jungkook meets Yoongi’s gaze and his eyes darken.

“In fact,” He continues, voice rising, “Even without the gear. If I was to take him on in a fight, gear or gearless, I would win.”

Silence.

The interviewer looks stunned. Your eyes widen, Jungkook has a defiant, angry set to his eyes.

One of the greatest taboos of technoboxing is gearless matches, gearless fighting. It’s the cardinal sin of this world, and even mentioning gearless boxing is seen as deeply controversial.

Yoongi stands up, his eyes are flashing. The sound of his chair clattering to the ground is all it takes, Jungkook too pushes out of his chair and lunges at Yoongi.

The room erupts into chaos, security detail rushing in to pull the two men apart.

You and Seokjin jump up, but everything happens quickly. It’s a rough tumble, and in the commotion, you hear the sound of a fist connecting with bone.

It isn’t until Jungkook is dragged away that you see Yoongi violently shrugging off the security guard, a cut in his eyebrow from where Jungkook’s fist had collided with it.

Yoongi, for the first time since you’ve known him, looks vexed. The composure you’re so used to seeing on him has cracked.

The press conference is effectively over, dismantled by the brief window of calamity.

“Your fucking brother,” Seokjin mutters, pulling his ringing phone out, “It’s your father, Jesus Christ. Just what we need.”

“I’ll go get Jungkook,” You say to Seokjin, who nods distractedly, face curt as he answers the phone.

You shoulder your way through the crowd and beeline to the athlete entrance.

As you hurry down the hallway, you spot Yoongi, who is in an intense conversation with someone you don’t recognize, a guy with round glasses and curly red hair. Yoongi is frustrated, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and you feel a prickle over your skin when he glances up, eyes meeting yours. You ignore him, breezing past until you reach the locker room.

You push open the door to see Jungkook sitting on one of the benches, glowering at the wall.

“What the fuck was that?” You demand. Jungkook’s head snaps up when he sees you, his glare deepens.

“I don’t need to hear this right no-”

“How stupid are you, Jungkook? You punched him?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, he stays silent.

“Why would you do that? Bring up gearless boxing? Make the situation so much worse with Scorpius than it needs to be?”

Jungkook just scowls.

“Look,” You sigh, folding your arms over your chest. “Maybe you should smooth things over with him. Having this, whatever it is, rivalry, isn’t doing anything but add stress and drama-”

“No.” Jungkook bites out the word distastefully and you frown.

“Why not?”

“You don’t fucking get it!” Jungkook suddenly shouts, spinning around, his fist slamming into a locker.

You flinch at the noise, but keep your gaze evenly on your brother.

“I don’t get what?”

Jungkook is breathing in heavier, he doesn’t respond. His fist is still pressed against the metal locker.

“I don’t feel in control.” Jungkook finally says. His voice is ragged, and for a moment you don’t know how to respond. Jungkook’s shoulders are shaking, breath laboured.

He lowers another fist and drives it slowly against the metal, it connects with a heavy thud.

“Do you know how heavy it feels?” He finally whispers. You let out a shaky breath, knowing he’s not talking about gear.

“Jungkook…”

“I can’t lose to him.” Jungkook chokes out. “I can’t. I’m not smoothing anything over. Not over my dead body.”

He lifts his head and stares at you. His eyes are brimming with tears.

You haven’t seen Jungkook cry since he was fifteen, back when he was first getting trial fitted for gear. But these tears are different. They’re simmering in anger, in rage, in hate.

Hatred of the situation he’s in, the gear on his back, of Scorpius, of himself.

“You’ve never learned how to hold back your anger.” You speak finally.

ungkook doesn’t respond, he just turns his head, stares at the two fists he has up against the locker. His left fist is beginning to bleed, the blood trickles down along the grey slate.

“You were never told to hold back your anger.” You continue. Jungkook is silent, and you feel a sudden ache in your chest.

“You need to learn how to do that.”

You words hang heavy in the air. Jungkook is still staring at the ground, and you feel your own eyes prick with tears.

“Jungkook!” Your head snaps up to see Seokjin standing in the doorway of the locker room, “Let’s go..”

Seokjin’s eyes widen as he takes in the situation, his mouth opens and closes. Jungkook stands, blood still dripping from his fist. He doesn’t speak, his face guarded, the tears wiped from his eyes.

He doesn’t look at you, as he squares his shoulders and walks out of the room.

You sit alone on the bench, staring down at your hands. They are smooth, no bruises or cuts or tape wrapped around your fingers. Still, you curl your fingers until they form a fist.

If Jungkook won’t smooth things over with Yoongi, you think to yourself as you rise, then I will.

“Again. Harder.”

Jungkook is heaving for breath.

Seokjin falters backward, lowers the boxing pads, glances behind him where he knows Jungkook’s father, his gear specialist, the vice president of the Olympia association, are all observing. For whatever reason, they insisted on watching Jungkook’s training session today.

Seokjin assumes it’s aftermath from the press conference. It was mostly smoothed over by Jungkook’s father, who assured the press in a statement that it was just a tactic employed by Jungkook to rile up a potential future opponent, and that there was no true intent to harm behind his punch.

Still, the press had a field day with Jungkook, with the punch, his mention of a gearless fight. The media dragged Jungkook’s name and Seokjin’s through the mud, and the Olympia association put a warning under both Jungkook and Yoongi’s names. Three warnings, and they are blacklisted for life.

Since then, Jungkook has been different, unreachable, training with every inch of his spirit, pouring all of him into the gloves and the gear until he resembles a shell.

Seokjin is worried.

“Jungkook, take a rest-”

“I said again.”

Jungkook’s voice rings out clear across the boxing ring, his words hardened at the edges.

Seokjin freezes.

He doesn’t have to look in the direction of the viewing box to know what their onlookers want.

Jungkook is fired up, delivering more punishing punches, feet moving quickly with each powerful slice of his arm. He’s at peak performance, moving flawlessly in sync with his gear. He’s fighting at his prime right now, but Seokjin can feel the anger leaking out of the younger man’s fists, he recognizes that blue black rage all too well.

“Jungkook-” Seokjin murmurs it quietly enough for just Jungkook to hear.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, arm darting out in a punch that almost catches Seokjin offguard. Almost. His reflexes kick in before his mind does, lifting the pad in seconds, catching Jungkook’s fist.

Still, he stumbles, his weight unsupported on the gear that keeps him standing. Seokjin meets Jungkook’s eyes. They are cold, flat. That anger is like an old friend, and that’s what scares him.

The only accompanying sound is a rattled breath, the shuffling of feet, Seokjin straightening. Jungkook, muttering out, “Again.” and then the heavy thwack of a boxing glove hitting a mat, again and again, until the onlookers in the viewing box shuffle out, satisfied with the show.

Yoongi’s gym is dimly lit when you walk in. At first, your eyes strain in the muted light that filters through the room, until you spot him.

He is a lone figure in the middle of the ring, a heavy, old punching bag in front of him. It’s a far cry from how this ring had looked during the qualifying match you had watched.

Yoongi is wearing a black pair of boxing shorts with a maroon red stripe down the thighs, shirtless, his skin gleams with sweat under the light. He doesn’t notice you slip inside, and for a moment you watch him.

His body is tensed, he cuts through the air with a slice of his fist, ducking down and then up quickly. You are mesmerized watching him, transfixed by how he stands still, lazily almost, like he can’t be bothered to put his fists in front of his face, too light to be weighed down even by the atmosphere.

And then he’s striking, fist darting out so hard and fast that the only indication that Yoongi has struck is the loud thwack of his boxing glove against the punching bag.

“What are you doing here?”

Yoongi suddenly calls out, his fists held in front of his face. You freeze, unsure of what to answer, unsure if he’s even talking to you, and then he glances carelessly over his shoulder.

His dark eyes meet yours, and through the veil of the hazy light in the gym, you swallow hard.

“I came to find you. I want to talk.”

You walk up to the ring, Yoongi is still crooked over, his fists held in front of his face. He doesn’t respond, he weaves back and forth, punches the bag again, thwack.

You clear your throat uncomfortably, watching the dust that rises from the bag, floating up into the orange light that hangs above his head.

“About what my brother did in the press conference-”

“I’m not interested in talking about your brother.”

Yoongi’s voice is steely, you see the muscles in his jaw clench.

“Yeah, I get it, I just wanted to-”

“I said, I’m not fucking interested.”

His voice hinges on venomous and you reel backwards, feeling awkward. Yoongi all but ignores you, continuing to jab into the punching bag with angry fists.

Plumes of dust continue to rise from the bag.

“Oh um, okay. I’ll…” You mumble, biting your lip.

Yoongi glances over his shoulder again at you and his face is cold.

“Get out.”

Your shoulders stiffen and a burn of humiliation and disappointment flashes over you, a low burn right in the pit of your belly. Yoongi has already turned his head, no longer looking at you, no longer interested.

You turn on your heel, breath pitched in sharply, but when you reach the door, you pause.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

Your voice rings out clear and sharp across the room, even though your legs are shaking. You see Yoongi pause, and then he lets out a low, disinterested scoff.

Anger sears hot in your veins because of this Yoongi, this cold, mean, flat eyed Yoongi, as unreachable as ever while he is in the ring.

“You can act as pissed off as you want, but you wanted this. You’re the one who’s been pushing my brother, prodding him-”

“Shut up.” Yoongi’s voice is harsh and he straightens, his fists lower to his sides.

He turns to face you, his eyes narrowed in anger. Something switches inside of you, and you step towards him, eyes flashing.

“What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it? It’s true. You know, I actually came over here to try and smooth things over on his behalf, make things easier for the both of you, but you know what? You both deserve it.”

You hiss out the words and Yoongi’s eyes darken, he reaches up and swings his body over the boxing ring’s barriers, drops effortlessly onto the ground like a cat.

He stalks towards you until he is standing opposite you. His chest is heaving, sweat dotted on his bare shoulders and on his pecs, headband pushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Get out. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t get it.”

You let out a loud, bitter scoff. “So everybody keeps telling me.”

Yoongi just stares.

“Get-”

“Get out? Yeah. Got it.” You spin on your heel and feel a wave of emotion cresting up in your chest, disappointment, anger, hurt.

“Hey.” Yoongi’s voice, hoarse and loud, cuts through the air. You pause. “You didn’t have to come here and apologize on his behalf.” Yoongi’s voice calls out from behind you, and you turn your head.

Your eyes meet his, dark, unreadable as always. His chest is still heaving with exerted breaths, red boxing gloves on his hands.

“I know.” You response in a short, abrupt voice. ”I wanted to, okay?”

The two of you stare at each other before Yoongi lets out a dry snort.

“What are you, Jeon’s spokesperson?”

You narrow your eyes but your shoulders relax a touch. “No, I just… he took it too far at the press conference, alright? I felt like I had to say something on his behalf, I mean he is my brother.”

Yoongi just lets out another sarcastic click of his tongue and you roll your eyes.

“I probably shouldn’t have bothered though, I mean you’re being such a delight right now-”

“You really came all this way just to tell me that?” Yoongi crosses his arms, gazes at you, his head cocked to one side.

You bite your lip.

“Mm.” You mumble out noncommittally, and Yoongi just raises an eyebrow.

“Mm?” He asks in a pointed tone and you feel a swell of irritation bloom inside of you, irritation at Yoongi picking up on everything as he always does in the confines of the boxing ring, at how Yoongi manages to read between the lines even though he hardly knows you.

You almost flinch when Yoongi steps closer towards you, crooks his head closer until you can smell him, his dark eyes searching yours.

That same flash of irritation sears inside of you like a white hot flame, and you grind your teeth together, grind them together because you want to grind that smirk on his face with your fist. You think about it, how satisfying it would feel to punch him square in the face, imagining the expression of surprise that would ghost over his features if you really drove your knuckles right into that calm, unreadable face.

Another thought trespasses in your mind - the thought of that same face hovering above yours, those bruised knuckles curled around bedsheets, those shoulder blades dipping your bodies together and the heaviness of his body lurching into yours-

“What’s with you?” Yoongi’s voice, low and slightly amused, cuts through your thoughts and your face burns with embarrassment and you shake your head, trying to distract yourself from the sudden, dangerous heat rising up in your face, in your body, between your legs.

Get yourself together. You chide yourself, your eyes meeting with Yoongi’s yet again, you repeat that mantra in your mind but it doesn’t have much weight when his dark eyes are inches from yours, his skin, glowing with sweat and his muscles shaking with exertion are so close to yours.

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, he leans in closer.

Fuck.

“You’re- you’re bleeding.” You stammer out the words and for a moment the two of you just stand completely still, bodies centimetres apart.

“Oh,” Yoongi finally says. He retreats, and you exhale, letting out a breath you hadn’t even known you were keeping in. “Yeah, that would be thanks to your brother.”

You avoid his gaze, looking closely at his eyebrow. He has the faint marks of a black eye forming there, and a split of skin is slowly bleeding in his brow.

“Have you got a medical kit here?” You ask, and Yoongi just smirks.

“What, you’re a doctor are you?”

You ignore him pointedly. “Do you, or don’t you?”

Yoongi just nods, lifts his eyes. “Mm yeah, I think so. It’s not a big deal-”

“Just shut up and get it, it’ll take two seconds to clean it up and put a bandaid on it.”

Your voice comes out sterner than expected and a smile flickers over Yoongi’s lips before he nods, a bemused, lazy smile dancing over his lips.

“Alright then.”

He retreats into one of the side rooms of the gym, leaving you alone. You shake your head slightly, trying not to think about how close he had been standing to you earlier, trying to ignore the stirrings of want that seem to be carved in your consciousness right now.

You walk over to the boxing ring, which coincidentally, is the brightest lit area in the gym at this time in the evening. Gingerly, you hoist yourself up, ducking under the ropes until you are standing at the centre of the ring. The ground is hard beneath your flat soled sneakers, it smells faintly like chalk and dust in the air.

You hear the sound of footsteps and turn to see Yoongi deftly hoisting himself up and over the ropes, his muscles rippling under his skin as he lands on his feet, a battered medical kit in one hand.

“Here.” He tosses it to you and you fumble as you catch it, opening it up. There’s a small bottle of antiseptic, wrapping tape, ice packs, bandages. You nod, more to yourself than to anyone else, and then you sit cross legged on the floor of the ring.

You glance up expectantly, Yoongi watches you with a slightly bemused expression on his face before he too sits opposite you.

“It’s gonna get infected if you just let chalk or whatever get into it, idiot.” You mutter, and Yoongi doesn’t answer, he just hums in response. You pick up a cotton swab and douse it in antiseptic, it’s sharp and acidic in scent and carefully, you inch closer to Yoongi.

“Don’t move.”

You swipe the cotton over the cut, it’s deeper than you expected, your mind flashes to the silver rings Jungkook sports on his fingers and you wince.

Yoongi however has a completely passive face as you carefully clean out the cut.

“Doesn’t hurt?” You ask finally, breaking the silence. Yoongi levels his gaze with yours.

“I’ve been through a lot worse than this.” He says wryly, and he smirks, but his smirk is split, his eyes a little far away, and you bite your lip.

You rummage in the medical kit until you find a small bandage. Yoongi clicks his tongue, you can feel his gaze heavy on you.

“Not your first time patching up an injured boxer?” He quips in a low voice.

You glance up and you meet his gaze. He is so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, feel the pressure of his stare.

“No,” You say faintly, “It isn’t.”

Yoongi doesn’t reply, he just keeps his eyes on yours and you feel a hum start to race through your body from him being so close, so intense, so focused on you. Clearing your throat, you lift the bandage.

“Stay still.”

Carefully, you smoothen the fabric over his eyebrow.

“Done,” You murmur.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says gruffly, and you know you should shift away, back into your own personal space, but something keeps you there, with your fingertips skimming over his skin, travelling the canvas of his face.

They brush over the swollen bruise on his eye just underneath his eyebrow, then to his jaw, which you can tell has been dislocated in the past, to his nose, which has a tiny crook in the centre.

All the imperfections, up close, marks and battle scars.

You snap out of your reverie, your eyes focus on him. He too, is intent on you, his own eyes scanning your face just as closely as you had been with his. Your eyes find his and you swallow.

“Ah,” He starts, and you’re so close to him that you can feel the hum of his voice, the vibrations of his words. “Seriously… thanks.”

He doesn’t specify what he’s thanking you for, he doesn’t need to, and your eyes widen a little in surprise.

“Um,” You whisper. “It’s okay.”

You’re barely aware of what words are coming out of your mouth, too conscious of how close he is to you, of the electricity that is crackling like a film over your skin, the heat mounting in your chest and spilling up into your cheeks.

It feels like your heart has gone into overdrive, your brain in overdrive too, thoughts and heavy thumps of your heart an incoherent, incorrigible mess.

The thought occurs to you that is isn’t just your heart rate and your ability to form a thought that’s a mess, but rather you- you’re a mess, and it’s all due to Min Yoongi.

He’s still in front of you, body crooked above yours. Your palms are flat on the ground of the boxing ring, it’s the only thing tying you to reality.

Yoongi leans in even closer. His face dips towards yours, his eyes searching the map of your face. His lips hover, inches away from yours, so close that if he leaned forward his mouth would brush a seal over yours.

“Yoongi,” You whimper out his name, and Yoongi doesn’t move.

“Hm?” He murmurs, questioningly.

Impatience and urgency twine together in your bloodstream, and you respond by pressing your lips against his.

Something dark and intense unfurls in your chest when you kiss him, it’s a clumsy collision of your lips against his, your palms resting on his thighs, your body hooking into his. Your hear at the back of his throat, a sound of surprise, a groan, and then Yoongi’s hands are curling around your hips.

He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into your mouth, making you moan. His arms hooked around your lower waist, he tugs you firmly until you are in his lap, you wrap your legs around his waist until you are straddling him, keening your body into him hungrily as his thumbs begin to knead long, teasing circles into the fleshy part of your hip.

He kisses you deeper and harder with every kiss, his mouth dominating, his lips slightly chapped, he barely gives you time to breathe as his hands roam from your hips to the small of your back up to your shoulders.

Your heart is ricocheting in your chest, blood rushing to your face and there, like the staccato of a hummingbird’s wings knotted up in the core of you, a gnawing desperation starts to knock hard and heavy.

His hands knot into your hair, fingertips light on your scalp as he tugs on your hair, your kisses break apart as Yoongi mouths at your jaw, your ear. His breathing is uneven, his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine, you arch your hips into his, grinding yourself into his lap, as he murmurs into the shell of your ear, “I’ve wanted to fuck you from the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You let out a moan at his words, his lips nibble against your earlobe before they start a trail down the slope of your neck. He nibbles at the sensitive skin there, hard enough to elicit sharp breaths from you, he washes over each bite with a swirl of his tongue, sparking heat that pools in your core.

Yoongi is confident, in control, his hand still tugging at the base of your head, hair wrapped around his fingers, his mouth territorial on your neck, his other hand stroking the front of your belly.

You on the other hand feel like you are unravelling, bucking your hips into him, grinding into him deeper and more desperately.

You can feel the erection beneath your now throbbing cunt, and when you hear Yoongi’s breath grow more shallow, the hoarseness in the moan that he lets out against your collarbones, it grants you some relief that Yoongi is growing as feverishly desperate as you.

Yoongi starts kissing you again, messy, sloppy, wanting kisses, his palm intentfully grazing underneath the hem of your shirt and over your belly. You hiss in for breath, whine against his mouth, as the tips of his fingers brush the very underside of your breath, a teasing touch that has you coming undone even more than before.

Yoongi chuckles, a dark laugh against your mouth, murmurs into your kisses, “I love hearing how needy you are for me.”

“Yoongi,” You pant out, “God, I want you.”

Yoongi lets out a hum, drawing one finger up between your breasts, his other hand trailing down from your hair to the flat of your back, holding you close to him.

You arch your back, your hair falls in your eyes, as you meet his stare. His lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dilated with want and you feel a fresh spark of lust as he draws his finger back down between your breasts, his tongue licking his bottom lip.

“Yoongi, please. I’ll do anything.”

The begging words that fall out your mouth are out of character for you but you don’t care, stepping into a new role and a new self as you infuse your words with as much desperation and submission as possible.

“Fuck,” Yoongi groans, “I love hearing you say my name.”

His fingers stop at the bottom of your breast and you pin your hips forward, roll against his erection, enjoy the way his eyelids flutter.

“Yoongi, please.” You murmur.

His groan is hoarse with lust as his fingers trace around your breast, you moan louder, swell your hips upward so that you can feel the friction of his cock against your wet cunt.

You are so wet that you can feel it, the ache throbbing and emanating from your pussy all the way up to your belly.

His fingers finally stroke over your nipple, you let out a staggered, soft moan at the tingling pleasure it feeds you as his fingers deftly pinch your hard nipple. He glides over to your other breast, squeezing hard before he grips the bottom of your shirt.

You hold your arms above your head obediently as he pulls it over your head, you shiver involuntarily when he tosses it to the ground. His eyes lock on you, glossing over you and you watch as his Adams apple bobs in his throat, his jaw twitches, drinking in the sight of you, wrapped around his waist, topless.

You watch, mesmerized, as Yoongi grips the hem of his tank top and pulls it off his head, in one fluid motion, tugging his headband off as well. His hair is messy and sweaty, and you can’t hold the throaty hum that escapes your lips.

The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders ripple as they grip at your waist, his abs are cut and his stomach lean and taut, and there at the band of his boxing shorts you can see angled lines that disappear beneath the fabric.

The thin fabric of his shorts, and the denim of your jeans are the only fabrics in between Yoongi’s hard cock and your wet, throbbing slit and you inhale sharply at that thought.

The thought doesn’t stay coherent for long, because Yoongi’s mouth is on yours again, teasing out long, hungry kisses. He tastes good, he smells good, and you press yourself close to him and shiver at the feeling of his warm skin against yours.

His body is soft to touch, muscles firm and solid beneath you, and your fingers curl at the nape of Yoongi’s neck as you kiss him harder, urgently, communicating to him through ruts of your hips and whines against his mouth that you want him.

Yoongi reads the ministrations of your hips and pulls you off of him, untangling your woven bodies as his fingers unzip your jeans. You feel a spark of eagerness shoot through you as you wiggle your waist, helping Yoongi pull the denim and your underwear off of your skin until you are sitting on the floor of the boxing ring naked.

Yoongi tosses your clothes to the side carelessly, his eyes locked on you possessively. You can see it, there in the glint of his eyes, the lick of his lips, the tent in his shorts, that he wants you and he wants to claim you.

Your tongue darts over your bottom lip shamelessly, the fire between your legs licking hot flames up your thighs as you lower your eyes, stare at Yoongi from beneath your lashes. There is a heavy, all consuming throb between your legs and it’s making you dizzy with need.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper.

Yoongi’s eyes flash, his fingers are tugging off his shorts and then he’s naked.

Your breath ceases into a whine at the sight of his cock, hard and thick, the tip moist with his precum. His blonde hair falls into his eyes as he gazes down at you, swallows thickly.

“Look at you, on the ground begging for me to fuck you,” He murmurs and you nod, feeling anticipation knot inside of you as he lowers his body on top of yours. His arms support him so that he’s hovering above you, the weight of his body restrained and serving a reminder of how strong he is, how close he is to dominating you.

He angles his hips and you feel the tip of his cock brush against your slit, you whine, spreading your legs wider, tilting your hips higher.

Yoongi lets out a growl, and reaches between your bodies, presses his palm against your hipbone and pushes you back onto the ground firmly. You let out a sharp chirp at the feeling of it, the flash in Yoongi’s face and the smirk that flickers over his lips at the sound of your surprise.

“Why should I give it to you?”

His voice is low and confident, syrupy as he slowly rolls his hips. The tip of his cock drags over your slit and you wince at how close he is, how badly you want it. You clench your fists, fight to not rut your hips upwards, feel more of him.

Yoongi smirks and you feel heat flash in your belly.

“I want it so badly, please Yoongi,” You pant, loving the soft hums he lets out at your words, the warmth of his body held over yours, skin on skin.

“You’re such a good needy little slut for me, aren’t you,” Yoongi murmurs and you can hear his breath, ragged, feel his cock twitch as it grazes against your slit. Each touch against you has you growing wetter, your folds getting slicker.

Anticipation is coiled tight inside of you as finally, his eyes locked on you, he pushes in, hard.

Your wetness helps him ease his entire cock inside of you, and you let out a yelp at the sensation of him stretching out your walls, the feeling of his entire length buried deep inside of your wetness.

Your yelp softens into a long, drawn out moan as Yoongi stays still for a moment, adjusting to how you feel. The satisfaction of the feeling of him, filling you, sends a fresh wave of tension and want skimming over your skin, as Yoongi starts to rock his cock in and out of you.

He doesn’t start slow or gentle, riding into you with long, intense, punishing thrusts. The sounds of his hips snapping against your body echo throughout the empty gym, the ground is hard beneath your bare back, your palms are flat on Yoongi’s back, your fingernails digging desperately into his skin, and it feels as if everything is amplified.

The dewy sweat on your skin and Yoongi’s, the complete lack of space separating your bodies, the grunts he lets out as he fucks into you, hard.

The dust rising from the ring, the loudness of your moans and screams of his name, the sound of each, hard, intense thrust of his cock deep into you. It is drawing something deeply embedded out of you, a whimpering, shattering kind of want, a gnawing ache that is slowed and given release with each forceful push of Yoongi’s cock deep inside of you.

Yoongi’s hands flutter at the side of your face, he brushes the hair out of your eyes and lowers even closer, lips at your ear, a growl of “Say my name.”

You gasp out his name, a broken “Yoongi”, and Yoongi lets out a moan that is rough and sends shivers up your spine and makes your core clench hard and tight, as a throb begins to ring hard and fast deep inside of you.

Your body stiffens, your fingers claw into Yoongi’s shoulder blades, your eyelids flutter.

“Yoongi, I’m…” You whimper out breathlessly, Yoongi’s eyes dart down at you and he fucks into you particularly hard, coaxing out a loud cry from your lips.

“Look at me,” He demands in a low, rough voice. “I want to watch you cum.” The feeling is climbing harder and faster, it’s the deepness of Yoongi’s fucking, the intensity, how everything seems to be exaggerated tenfold, the angle of him inside of you.

You are so wet that you can hear the slick sounds of him pushing in and out of you, harder, faster, and you can feel it climbing up rapidly inside of your chest.

The throbbing grows harder, and it feels as if every muscle is locking in place.

“Look at me,” Yoongi snaps out and your eyelids flutter open, focusing on Yoongi’s face. His eyes are dilated, he is staring at you, and he murmurs out, “I want to think about your pretty face cumming around my cock and your lips saying my name when I win my next match.”

His words bring out a cry from deep inside of your chest, your thighs quiver and the throbs heighten until they melt away, they crumble, until you feel nothing but blissful waves of satisfaction that pour over your skin.

You moan, your lips curving around his name, whimpers and mewls of Yoongi spoken out into the thick, heady air as you curl around his cock. You can feel Yoongi’s cock twitching from it while still buried deep inside of you, the pleasure is still cascading inside of you as Yoongi slows his thrusts.

“God,” You whimper out, Yoongi slows down even more when you wince at the feeling of it, the rawness that slightly stings through the euphoric afterglow that is beginning to sink into you. “Wow.”

Yoongi hums, and your eyes focus on him again, on his face which is pleased and self-confident, eyes widened in arousal.

“You’re not actually going to think about that during your next match, are you?” You pant out, letting out a soft, tired moan. Yoongi smirks, you don’t see it but you can feel it in the air.

“Oh, I definitely will be.”

His words send a fresh, muted shiver of pleasure through you and you place your palms on Yoongi’s lower abdomnen, push upwards and he follows, slipping out of you.

The sudden ache of emptiness fills you when he pulls away, and you can see the question forming on his lips but you move quickly, shifting your body until you are on your knees.

Yoongi’s eyes widen in understanding, swallows thickly, eyes searching your face. Your eyes are full of want, your cunt beginning to feel sore, the high from your orgasm still riding inside of you as he stands up, your face level with his hard cock.

You wrap your hand around his length, hard and still slick with your juices, run your hand up and down, pumping his shaft and enjoying the staggered moan that escapes his lips. Your eyes flicker upwards, feeling a rush of satisfaction when you see that he is staring straight down at you with wide, hungry eyes. A flame of heat ignites in your stomach as you continue to glide your hand over his cock in long, teasing strokes, lowering your mouth until it is at the very base of his cock.

You run your tongue flat alongside his length, slowly, shift in place until the tip of his cock is positioned at your lips. You move your hips, your legs tremble with the movement and serve as a reminder of how good he had fucked you, and you feel that carnal need to please him, to submit to him, as you wrap your mouth around the head of his cock.

Carefully, you lower yourself until you are taking his entire cock in your mouth, you gag slightly against his length and then begin to bob your head up and down. You feel Yoongi’s legs start to shake, hear the staggered moan that is drawn out from his lips.

“Jesus fuck,” You hear him mutter, “God you feel so fucking good…” his voice breaks around the words, you feel him tilt his hips against your mouth, slowly, carefully, fucking himself against your mouth.

You moan against it, feel a tingle of satisfaction at the huskiness in his voice as he moans out your name.

His body jerks, you glance up to see him gazing down at you with glassy, fevered eyes. “Fuck if you keep… God I’m gonna…” his voice is stuttered, far from the pieced together Yoongi who had been fucking into you just a few moments ago, and you take him in even deeper, hum against his cock, Yoongi lets out a long, ragged moan and you pull your mouth away from his cock, replacing it with your hand.

You keep your face where it is, continuing to tease his cock with long strokes, staring up at Yoongi from where you are bent on your knees.

“I want you to cum all over my face,” You whisper out the words like they’re a secret, something dark jumps in your stomach. This is unlike you, but there’s something about being with Yoongi that unlocks a part of you that you didn’t know existed, a part that is raw and animalistic and that feels so fucking good that you don’t want to stop feeling it.

“Fuck.” He musters out, and you smile, continuing to tease at him, “Something else to think about in the ring next time.”

He cries out your name, his eyes blown and blackened with desire, his body jerks and as your hand pumps down his shaft, he cums. It hits your face, the ropes of his seed on your cheek and your forehead, and you relish in the sight of Yoongi staring at you with widened eyes, trembling lips, wonder and pleasure and desperation and neediness snapping over his face with the rise and fall of his orgasm.

You memorize it, the expression on his face, his lips curled around your name, the orgasm evident in the shake of his thighs.

You stay still for a moment, the two of you staring at each other, both breathless.

“Hey,” You murmur, to break the silence. It’s the first thing that pops in your head.

Yoongi smiles, and it’s the first genuine smile that you’ve seen on his face - unadulterated, blissful, eyes softening and creasing in the corners, sweaty hair falling in his eyes, head tilting to one side.

“Hey.”

His voice breaks as he sits down, legs shaking. He leans across the floor, grabs his white tank and is in front of you.

His thighs are still trembling as he cups the back of your neck and carefully wipes away his cum from your face. When he’s done, he pulls away, tossing the discarded shirt to the side of the ring.

You sit facing each other for a moment, breathing heavily, and you turn to face him, a lazy smile dissolving over your face.

“How you feeling?” Yoongi asks, he has a lazy satisfaction on his lips, his words drawled out.

You just smile in response, you can still feel the hazy glow from your orgasm in your toes, you nod at him. “Good.”

Yoongi smiles.

“I wasn’t expecting that to happen between you and me.” You confess, and the smile on Yoongi’s face falters slightly, he blinks at you and then he diverts his gaze.

“Yeah,” He mutters. You blink, as Yoongi stands up, his face suddenly closed off.

“Hey, everything okay?” You ask as Yoongi bends, he scoops his shorts off of the floor and slides them on, grabs your jeans and your shirt.

“Uh huh.” He throws your clothes towards you, they land in a discarded pile and you blink. “Thanks, but I’ve gotta go back to training.”

His voice is clipped, distant, his eyes averted from meeting yours. You feel a sting of confusion as you stare blankly at him before you clear your throat, grabbing your clothes.

You stand up, your legs ache but you ignore them as you slide into your jeans, roughly put your top over your head.

Annoyance and hurt mingle with the high you’re still feeling from the sex as you wordlessly walk to the edge of the ring, ducking over the rope and landing neatly on the ground on the other side.

Hesitating, you turn, only to see Yoongi staring down at the ground, putting his gloves back on, an unreadable expression on his face.

It’s like a light has switched, daytime has turned back into night, Yoongi is no longer reachable. If it weren’t for the burn between your legs and the glow from your orgasm, you would’ve been convinced you imagined the whole thing.

Your mouth opens and closes, forming around words that you consider briefly saying. His name, asking him if everything is okay. But you hesitate, your hurt and rejection stops you.

You stare at him, he walks up to the punching bag. You close your mouth, feel a flash of upset in your belly and you turn.

You don’t look back as you walk out of the gym, but you hear it as you push open the door, the sound of Yoongi pressing his forehead against the punching bag and weakly driving his fist into its leather belly.

Logically, you know that you shouldn’t care about Yoongi, about the coldness that had been etched into his features last night when you walked away from the ring. The rational side of you tells you that it doesn’t matter, that what happened last night was just a once off. That you shouldn’t have slept with him anyway, given the nature of his relationship with Jungkook.

But no matter how many times you try to soothe the ragged sting of rejection over with rationality, it fails. You can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop replaying that string of events in your mind as though you’ll somehow find that one loose thread to tell you what exactly went wrong.

You cross your legs, angle your head, wonder idly if it was something you did, something you said, before you tell yourself to stop thinking about him.

You’ve been doing just that on loop for the past two hours. No matter how many times you try to cast Yoongi out of your thoughts, he lingers still, weighing heavily in between the spaces of your heart beat, like he has a finger on your sternum to remind you of him every five minutes.

You let out a restless sigh because this isn’t you. You aren’t the person to be wound up tight with question marks after a one night stand.

This has never been you. But it’s you now – sitting in your room, half heartedly tapping away on your laptop clicking onto links and trying to distract yourself.

What is it about Yoongi? Your fingers pause from where they are hovering above the keyboard, mind racing thanks to that new stray thought that’s flitted, unwelcome, into the forefront of your thoughts.

It’s not just with you – it’s like he knows exactly what buttons to push with all the people that cross his path. He’s ragged around the edges and dangerous too, like the serrated edges of a rusty blade.

Everything in your world is polished. The advancements of new technology and the growing divide between the upper class and the lower class have seen to the wall of ignorance that has divided your world from everything else out there, everything that Yoongi represents.

You grew up blind and oblivious, an outsider floating in the fringes of the boxing world, unsettled and uncertain of your place yet never thinking to look beyond those walls. And why would you? Everything in your life was pristinely kept together. Even the things that were supposed to be messy, broken, violent – boxing, for example – were kept clean and orderly thanks to gear, the metallic skeletons that fused to fighter’s bones and kept them in check.

Now though, you realize that perhaps things aren’t as perfect as they seem. Things are fraying apart, so slowly that an outsider couldn’t be able to tell, seams splitting and cracks fissuring.

Your brother, eyes growing darker and more distant, a storm brewing inside of him like a storm in a teacup.

Seokjin, who pushes down the pain and the loss you knew he feels, because showing pain is weakness.

Even you – lingering behind your brother like another member of his boxing posse because you have no other semblance of identity.

Things have been falling apart, they have been doing so for a long time.

You shake your head. You stand up abruptly, closing the lid of your laptop. You can’t think like this, seesawing in your own mind. You grab your coat from where it is hanging on the back of your door, headed to one place where you’ve always been able to gather your thoughts, a place that as much as you hate to admit it, is familiar to you.

The boxing ring.

Being next to the ring clears your thoughts, or at least, it serves as a willing distraction for them. Seokjin doesn’t say anything when you slip into the large, airy room, leaning against one of the pillars and folding your arms over your chest as you watch your brother train.

As you watch Jungkook drive his fists methodically into his punching bag, Seokjin barking out instructions with each punch, time ticks on.

Eventually, you stretch your body out like a cat, slipping outside of the training gym for a breath of fresh air. You are standing outside, feeling the brisk air kiss your skin, when you hear the crunch of footsteps on gravel.

Something in your head whispers to you that it’s Yoongi. Instinct, hope, rationality - you aren’t sure, you dont have time to dwell on it, eyes carding up to confirm that Yoongi is indeed standing in front of you.

He doesn’t have his headband on, his hair hanging long in his eyes, fine and floppy and damp, he’s clearly just stepped out of the shower. He looks softer than you’ve ever seen him before, and you hesitate.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, blinking once and then again in succession. “You’re not here to get under my brother’s skin again, are you?” Your words are pointed and Yoongi just stares at you, his face blank.

“No, I’m not here to do that,” He responds.

“Really, because that seems to be something that you enjoy doing.” You retort. Yoongi’s eyebrow twitches.

“I’m here to talk to you, actually.”

You expression falters a little under his heavy stare, you shift your weight and wring your fingers together.

“Um. Okay. So then, talk.”

You suddenly feel nervous, you attempt to mask it by folding your arms tight across your chest, but Yoongi’s stare is as intense as ever. Somehow, you have the suspicion that you’re not doing a very good job of acting nonchalant.

“Can we talk somewhere else? I don’t exactly want your brother coming out of practice and seeing us having a conversation.”

He has a point. You glance at the gym, you can hear the faint sounds of gloves against punching bags, before you look furtively at Yoongi. He is still staring at you, and you swallow.

“Yeah, alright.”

Yoongi nods. “I’ve got my car parked down the street. Let’s go for a drive?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and you bite the corner of your lip uncertainly, not sure of what exactly he wants from you, what he’s doing here.

“Er, sure.”

He turns and begins walking briskly in the opposite direction, for a beat you stare at his retreating back before you follow. The two of you walk side by side in silence, the nerves growing in your chest before you finally reach an old, battered grey car.

As you climb into the passenger seat, Yoongi turning the key in the ignition, you sneak a glance at Yoongi. His face is like stone.

“So… where are we going?”

Yoongi looks over at you, he swallows hard and it’s an expression that you’re not used to seeing on him.

Is he… nervous?

“There’s this spot not too far from here that I go to sometimes. Maybe we can talk there for a bit.”

You slowly nod, Yoongi’s eyes are still trained on you, “-If you’re okay with that, that is.”

“Uh huh.”

Yoongi just nods his head, pulls away from the street.

You sit in silence, you fight the urge not to look at him, running through the entire scenario in your head.

The last thing you expected was for Yoongi to appear at your brother’s gym. It was risky for him to be waiting around there, yet, you suppose, it’s the only place that he knew where you might’ve been.

What was it that he wanted to talk to you about so badly? You sneak a glance at him, he has one hand on the steering wheel, face indecipherable as always.

Yoongi? Nervous? The concept seems impossible, but it’s a thought that you have swirling around in your thoughts as Yoongi drives.

He eventually pulls into a side road, car slowing, and he clears his throat.

“Hey so uh…. About yesterday. When you left.”

“Yeah?” You answer, purposefully not looking over at Yoongi.

“I was acting weird and I’m… I’m sorry.”

Your mouth falls open, you can’t hold it any longer, eyeing Yoongi. He has his eyes on the road, but you can tell by the twitch of his lips that he’s paying close attention to you.

“It’s okay.” You respond, your voice a little unsteady. “It just caught me offguard. Was everything alright? We can forget last night happened, if you want. We probably shouldn’t have done it, to be honest.” Your words spill out and there is a moment of nothing, of silence.

“I don’t want to forget about it,” Yoongi finally speaks. “I just… I panicked. You said you weren’t expecting last night to happen.” His words end in a sigh and he shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting things to happen like they did either.”

His voice quiets until it is barely audible. “I guess I was trying to fight it.”

He pulls up at a small lookout spot and turns the ignition. The car lapses into silence and you are aware of the fact that you are holding your breath, uncertain of how to react or what to say.

“Fighting is all I’m good at, after all.” Yoongi tilts his face to you and smiles, a wry, slightly sad smile.

He holds your gaze for a long, heavy moment. “I… If you want to forget about last night we can.” Yoongi stammers out suddenly.

“No, I-” Your voice is shaken, you can’t pull away from Yoongi’s gaze. You don’t know what it is about him, that has you like this - breath held so tight that you can feel it heavy in your chest, pulse thrumming in your veins.

It’s a feeling like nothing you’ve felt before. Yoongi is like nothing you’ve known before.

“I don’t want to forget either.” You finally speak.

Yoongi’s eyes soften.

“Where are we anyway?” You ask suddenly, breaking your eye contact with him to glance around, taking in your surroundings. His car is the only one perched on the edge of a cliff, a makeshift observation deck of sorts.

“We are at my place.” Yoongi says. He sighs, tipping his head back. Your eyes are on him, and you can’t look away.

This, here, him - limbs stretched out in the seat of his car, window rolled down, face tipped up to the night sky. His hair flutters in the breeze, eyes closed, and it occurs to you that all the sides of Yoongi that you’ve seen, you haven’t seen this – his face so utterly serene.

You pull your gaze away from him out to the view in front of you.

“I love it here.” Yoongi says suddenly, his eyes still closed. “The view, you know?”

He opens one eye, reaches out and cards a hand through his hair. “It feels like that, there, is my life. When I’m here I feel like I can see it clearly. The past, the future… all of that.”

You follow his nod to the view stretched out in front of you. You are no stranger to beautiful city views, having one in your living room at home. But this is different – this isn’t the showcasing of the bejewelled, glittery lights of your city. From this spot, sure, you can see the glinting lights and commotion of the inner city, but you can also see the dark patches of the areas that aren’t technologically advanced.

This view is like shades of light and dark. Yoongi’s words, that this is his life – the light juxtaposed so sharply and unapologetically against the darkness, has something inside of you stirring.

“Why do you box?” You ask.

Yoongi clicks his tongue, tucks both legs in and rests his chin on top of his knees. Like this, his frame is smaller, his face pensive as he drops his shoulders up and down in a shrug.

“It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at.” Yoongi is staring straight ahead, at the cityscape in front of you. “Fighting to survive.” The corners of his lips twist up into a wry smile, like he’s thinking of a joke that you haven’t heard the punch line to yet.

“I grew up without a family. I was raised in a home, me in a sea of kids without any kind of real identity, I guess. The only way to get any kind of sense of who you were was to stay alive and figure it out. And the only way to stay alive was to fight. And I mean real fighting. No gear, or any of that.”

You’re staring at him. His words are passive, cool – but you can see it in the barest flicker of his lids and the twist of his lips that there’s something painful buried there, nestled deep under the hard shell he always carries on his back.

“When Father -the guy who ran my home, we had to call him that- realized I was pretty good at the fighting thing, he got me into boxing.” Yoongi’s eyes move over his words, he curls in a little closer into his body. Perhaps without realizing it. “I was practically a kid and he had me in the underground ring.” His eyes flick up to you. “It’s nothing like whatever Championship rings you and your brother are familiar with. The underground ring is different. You wear gear, but it’s modified gear, so there are no other regulations or rules or protection over bodies. Half of the fighters are junked up on all kinds of drugs. Speed, ket, whatever it takes to get the fighters agitated and bloodthirsty. And take it from somebody who knows… that shit is addictive.” He scoffs out an empty laugh.

You don’t know whether he means that the fighting was addictive, or the drugs. Guessing from the faraway look in his eyes, you suppose both.

“Anyway… when he realized there was more money in it for a boxer to throw a game rather than win a game, he had me lose them on purpose. That didn’t exactly win me very many favours with the other boxers, who threatened to kill me if I kept throwing matches. Then there was Father, the fucking asshole, who threatened to kill me if I didn’t throw matches.”

“You threw matches?” You breathe.

You know how professional fighters feel about those who throw matches intentionally – they’re viewed as the worst of scum. While the Olympia Association has strict rules on gearless fights and underground fighting rings, when it comes to the fighters who were ousted for throwing matches on purpose... it's an entirely different story. When their bodies turn up battered and lifeless outside of their gyms, the Association turn a blind eye. It was an unwritten rule of boxing that if you were to throw a match, anything was on the table for you. You had committed a crime, the lowest of low, so you were expected to be willing to pay the price.

“Mm. Didn’t feel like I had much of a choice. I didn’t have anyone. I didn’t have anything. I wanted more drugs, more money, I wanted his approval, God knows why…” His voice stutters and he halts mid sentence. “Anyway. I got out of there. Somehow. Met Hoseok, my mechanic, who for whatever reason, took me in. Beat a few guys who wanted to take revenge for my past, got beaten up bad by a few others. Started fighting for real. And now I’m here.” He stretches out his legs, lets out a sigh, turns his head to you.

You mull over his words for a moment. You have so many questions, but moreover, you can’t get the image out of your head of Yoongi, the impenetrable, unpredictable Scorpius, clawing his way from the shadows to this. The Olympia Semifinals, the gear on his back, the run down gym that he owns and fights in.

He’s worlds away from your brother, from Seokjin, from every other elite fighter you’ve known and witnessed in the ring – but he has that same drive written in the lines of his face.

The drive to survive, to fight, the addiction to adrenaline and victory that you’ve never understood, but can recognize when it’s written all over a man’s face and in his heart.

“So why do you want to win so badly? The money? The protection from becoming a member of the Association?”

Yoongi turns his head fully to regard you. His eyes search yours, you feel your heart skip a beat.

In this limited light, and the complexity of Yoongi’s stare- assessing, soft, contemplative – you don’t know how to think, how to feel.

“The money and the protection are tempting,” Yoongi supplies. It’s true – the amount of money offered to the winner is baffling in it’s extravagance, and the guaranteed status and protection from the Olympia Association is priceless.

Especially to, you muse, a boxer born from the concrete such as Yoongi.

“But actually I want to win because ‘Father”-” Yoongi’s lips twist around the words, “Always said I couldn’t. That I wouldn’t. That I would die young and alone. Winning the Olympia would be my way of winning that fight.”

Yoongi’s face is simmering with anger, with hate.

“He sounds like a prick.”

Yoongi’s face splits into a smile at your words.

“He is.”

Yoongi shakes his head, the laughter dying from his lips. His eyes meet yours, you see hesitation flicker across his face before he swallows.

“I’ve never told anybody all of that before.”

You tilt your head to the side, looking at him, trying to decipher if he’s being serious.

“Wait, really?”

Yoongi just shrugs, and nods. “Really.”

You try not to dwell on what that means, attempt to stop your mind and your nerves from unravelling. You look down at your hands, folded in your lap, try and slow the rate at which your heart is pounding.

When you look up again, you catch Yoongi’s gaze - and whatever conviction you had in keeping yourself locked up tight unravels, spools apart like loose thread, because Yoongi is staring at you with eyes softened and sweet and open.

He isn’t smiling, he isn’t saying anything, he’s just looking at you, and with that look alone, you feel yourself coming completely undone.

You open your mouth to tell him that, tell him something, anything, but all that comes out from your mouth is a soft “Oh”.

Yoongi’s eyes crease, his lips twitch, and he leans a fraction closer - barely an inch, but you notice him closing the distance between you two and your heartbeat, earlier a rapid, terrifying staccato, slows in your chest into a hypnotic languid beat.

Neither of you speak, heads dipped slightly to one another. It’s dark in Yoongi’s car, it smells distinctly like him - like his cologne, like his gym clothes, and most of all like him. Woody and masculine and clean, all at once.

You can make out the lines of Yoongi’s face in the darkness of his car, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the flash of his silver earring when it catches the light.

His entire face is open, a mixture of emotion, so far from the Min Yoongi the world sees that your heart beats slower, deeper in your chest, vibrating through your bones.

The thought flits in your mind that he is possibly the most beautiful person you’ve seen in your life when he’s like this, vulnerable, open, and it feels like you’re part of the world’s best kept secret.

And then he kisses you.

His lips are slow, a touch awkward, uncertainty behind his lips like this is his first time. Your pulse is still slow, stirring in your veins as you let out a small sound of surprise against his lips, your hand instinctively curling around the rest on the nape of his neck.

His skin is warm beneath your fingers and you find yourself pulling him closer into you, your body shifting so that you’re closer to him, nearer to him. Your fingers card through his hair, and you feel Yoongi’s muscles relaxing at your touch, his kiss deepening as his tongue licks over your bottom lip, seeking entrance.

You let out a sigh at the feeling of him lazily, slowly swirling his tongue with yours, his hand reaching out to rest at the side of your neck, fingertips resting on your jaw.

It feels as if your muscles are unwinding, your spine lengthening, your legs melting into the beat up seat of Yoongi’s car. You have felt like you’ve been moving so fast the last few weeks, like everything has been rushing by, blurred faces and moments, but this right here, Yoongi kissing you slowly and deeply like he’s memorizing the feeling of you held against him in his car, your face cupped in his palm, has time slowing down. This was what you needed - things to be slower, easier, for the slip of time to be irrelevant.

Right now, all the matters is this - the boy who is kissing you, the boy who is dismantling your sense of equilibrium and reality with the simple press of his lips against yours, the boy who, right now, pulls away from your mouth to plant a breathy kiss at your ear.

You shiver at it, think distractedly to yourself that you can’t remember the last time you were kissing somebody like this, evenly paced, with no intention other than to kiss. Yoongi plants another kiss on your earlobe.

“I like kissing you.” His voice is low, almost rough with shyness and before you can respond, he kisses against the side of your neck, mumbles something you don’t quite hear against your skin.

“C’mere,” He says as he pulls away, gazing at you.

You move, bringing your legs up and swinging them over until you move, pushing your body off of the seat so that you can slide onto Yoongi’s lap. He’s watching you with a slightly bemused expression on his face, letting out a soft laugh when you fall clumsily onto him.

His palms glide up from your upper thighs, caressing over your hips until they press against your lower back. You oblige, leaning closer to him and lacing your fingers around the nape of his neck.

You kiss him again, Yoongi lets out a husky, barely audible sigh into your lips and runs his tongue across your bottom lip, seeking entrance. His face is tilted up to meet yours, your back arched, his palms gliding slowly over your thighs to your hips.

He kisses you deeper, and you let out a soft whine when his hands curve around your ass, cupping you and pulling you even closer to him.

You break free from his kiss, tilt your head back with shallow breaths escaping your lips as you feel Yoongi's eyes on you, watching you on top of him.

A rush of confidence and exhilaration works its way up your spine as you look down at Yoongi, cheeks ever so slightly flushed, hair messy, teeth biting down on his lower lip as he gazes up at you with a slow, intense expression.

You begin to grind your hips against him, gyrating your lower body as slowly and tantalizingly as you can, feeling a rush when Yoongi's eyes flicker dark, his breath sharpens, and his hands grip at you harder, more desperately.

It occurs to you as a fleeting thought that perhaps this is what has got you so hooked on Min Yoongi - the softness underneath the shell, the hands that betray his attempt to stay tough when they grip at you harder, the eyes that stare up at you wide and full of lust and tinges of wonder.

You roll your hips against him and he lets out another choked moan, you can feel the stirrings of his erection from beneath you as his hands squeeze your ass, massaging the cheeks slowly in circular motions.

Your own breathing is starting to grow stuttered, as Yoongi groans, tilts his head back as you push yourself against his hardened cock.

“C’mere,” he mutters, and you meet his lips in a kiss, satisfying his demands as his hands shift from your ass to your hips, moving you in time as you continue to glide your now sensitive, swelling pussy against him.

The friction is starting to make you heady with arousal, and you suck in for breath when Yoongi reaches up to your neck, his fingers brush down over your lips, pulling the bottom lip down, hands gliding a dangerous, seductive trail from your neck to your throat to the top of your shirt dress.

He undoes the buttons slowly, with each giving of the fabric more skin is exposed, and you find yourself clenching your thighs together, pressing yourself more firmly against him in an attempt to speed it up somehow.

Finally, your dress is off, leaving you all but naked on top of him.

Yoongi lets out a hum, smirks. “Let me look at you.” He says in a soft, husky voice and your cheeks flush with heat as you lean back, feeling the heaviness of Yoongi’s eyes on your bare breasts, your body, before he reaches out and laces his fingers around your waist, pulling you on top of him.

He immediately presses quick, feverish kisses to your collarbones, his tongue and his lips working as they trace a pattern down your clavicles, his tongue lapping at your skin as he reaches your breasts.

You hiss in, as his lips kiss the top of your right breast. Your fingers curl, grasping at Yoongi’s waist, slipping underneath his hoodie until your palms touch his warm skin. You let out a whimper as Yoongi kisses down your breast in a straight line, his lips so close to your hard nipple that every inch of you shakes.

Your fingers keep roaming underneath his hoodie, feeling the hardened muscles of his abdomen, enjoying the way he tenses at your touch.

Yoongi stops, his mouth still so close to you, breathes out, “I’m so fucking hard right now.”

His breath, softly ghosting over your nipple has you pressing your body against him harder, and Yoongi chuckles.

“You like that, don’t you?” He all but purrs, his voice teasing, your breath shaky and broken as he finally, finally presses his tongue flat against your nipple.

You cry out at the sudden feeling of his warm, wet tongue teasing slow strokes over your sensitive nipple. Yoongi is torturously slow, tongue intently and sinfully pulling out and heightening your need, until finally, his lips latch and it, teeth catching on it gently, enough to have your hips bucking forward a fraction, your head jerking forward, a stuttered moan falling out of your lips.

Your core is throbbing so desperately that you press yourself harder against Yoongi, your hand, which was lying flat against Yoongi's stomach, trails down until it finds his erection.

You feel Yoongi stiffen at your touch, Yoongi moves his head and his tongue swirls around your other nipple, starting off slow and languid yet again as you begin to palm at Yoongi’s hard cock from on top of his pants.

Yoongi lets out a growl as he sucks hard on your left nipple, hard enough to cause a bit of a sting, it sends a fiery need coursing through your veins as Yoongi pulls away from your chest, eyes darkened in lust.

“You’re so fucking needy for me,” He whispers in a low voice, you feel completely wound up, hips pressed against him, your cunt throbbing and so in need of stimulation that you feel like you are on the verge of falling apart, your nipples wet from Yoongi’s mouth and erect, Yoongi’s cock hard underneath your palm.

You nod, clamping your lips together because you know that if you speak, a moan will be ripped from your lips. Yoongi pulls away from your breasts, kissing up your neck until his lips catch on your jaw, your ear, finding your mouth and kissing you long and wet and hard. You moan weakly into his kiss, he pulls apart and you whimper.

“That sound drives me fucking crazy,” He mutters in a throaty voice as his fingers hook around your hip, you hiss in for breath as he leans in, his lips hovering above yours as his fingers begin to slowly, torturously trail down to the apex between your thighs.

“Everything you do drives me crazy, you know that?”

All you can do is nod, you are flushed with heat and desperation and so completely aware of Yoongi's fingers lingering on your inner thigh. You meet his gaze, your lashes flutter, your breath comes out softly and desperately in a hushed murmur, “Yoongi, please touch me, please.”

His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers, two of them, brush slowly up your slit.

Your hips buck at the feeling of it, the release of finally being touched. You are so wound up and desperate that even this - the slowest, briefest teasings of Yoongi's fingers against you have your back arching in need.

You hear Yoongi let out a groan, a sound like a ‘tch’ in the back of his throat.

You're so wet,” He moans out, his voice is thick and you hear him swallow as he pushes his finger inside of you.

The feeling of his finger pushing inside of your walls, sliding in without protest thanks to how wet and slick you are, has your back arching, your chest so full of want that it feels like your sternum is going to shatter into pieces.

You are moaning, soft and rushed whimpers of praise and curling around Yoongi's name as he starts to slide his finger in and out of you, fucking you out until you are writhing beneath him.

You can feel it, him pushing himself inside of you until he is knuckle deep, but still, you want more.

As if he is reading your mind, Yoongi pushes in a second finger, eyes latched on you, breathing growing uneven as you hiss out an affirmative cry.

Your hands are shaking, they glide distractedly over the expanse of his smooth skin and unfasten the buttons on his shirt as quickly as they can manage while Yoongi is pumping two fingers in and out of you clean and fast and filling you whole, leaving you wanting more with each ministration of his hand.

Finally, all the buttons are off and you pull the shirt off of him, Yoongi pulls out of you to shrug off the shirt and then his fingers are back, this time teasing and toying with your clit.

You whine out louder, you can feel it climbing inside of you like a wave, Yoongi's body pinning you down, the air in his car is thick and heavy and you can feel your back arching, toes curling.

Lust is thrashing through your blood, as Yoongi's fingers continue to slide in and out of the seams of your cunt, the rhythm intense and pulling every inch of want out of you.

You buck your hips forward, feeling your breath start to tighten, you core start to squeeze, you slant your body upwards, forcing yourself even closer to Yoongi.

Yoongi lets out a choked moan and then you feel it. His thumb, slick with you, brushing over your rim.

You gasp, your breath breaks as it shudders out of you and your eyes widen, a fresh, new flush of pleasure racing through your body.

Yoongis eyes are searching your face, and your fingers slip under the waistband of his pants and curl around his hard cock. You can feel it - the moist precum that is over the tip of his hard dick, the way his body stiffens when you wrap your fingers around him.

You cant focus enough to move your hand, your lips tremble and you whisper, “Again, please.”

Yoongi hooks his two fingers and his thumb brushes again over the edge of your hole.

“God, yes,” You moan out, you see Yoongis eyes widen as you squeeze your eyes shut, and then you feel it, him easing his thumb in until he is just barely inside of you.

You let out a groan as he continues to push, slowly, carefully, until you are full of a delicious heat and your jaw grows slack and all you feel is him.

Its almost too much at once, but then it settles and you start to feel waves of pleasure ebbing and washing over you. It feels good, and you feel good, a wicked kind of good that you feel hooked on and addicted to, and your breath stutters at the sensation of it, of him.

Your eyes flutter open and you see Yoongi gazing down at you, he reaches forward and he kisses you- a breathy kiss that you gasp into, his skin against yours, his fingers stuffing you full and then his fingers hook.

You can feel it - a deep seated, indescribable kind of pleasure, the hum of desire crackling over your skin, because this feels so good and it feels sexy and you feel unbelievably good.

Yoongi pulls away from your mouth, gazes at you and his eyes are full of lust and your breath hitches, your toes curl, and then it breaks apart over you in waves.

You moan out Yoongi's name, it becomes muffled as you bury your face in his neck, you feel Yoongi shaking on top of you as your body twitches with your orgasm. You can feel it, the satisfying, warm glow that seeps over your skin.

“Fuck,” You whisper, as Yoongi pulls his fingers out of you, you cling to him and rake your fingers through his hair, pulling his face towards you in a long kiss that you swoon into, still high off of him and how it he had made you feel.

“You look so hot when you cum like that.” Yoongi sighs, you smile. “Thank you,” you whisper as you pull away and Yoongis eyes crease in the corners, soft and amused, you can practically hear his unspoken response, a dry, light, “Any time,” but you don't give him time to respond, hooking your fingers through his hair, bringing him closer to you.

He lets out a soft growl as you draw his body closer to yours, tightening the space as you pull lightly on his hair, it’s long enough for you to wrap it around your fingers. You gaze at Yoongi, picking up on the flash of his eyes as you let out a soft, breathy whine, right there in the briefest of spaces that separates your lips from his.

“I want to ride you.”

Yoongi's eyes widen a touch, his jaw grows slack and he swallows, you can see it thick in his eyes the arousal as he nods, and then his hands are on your waist, maneuvering your bodies in the small confined space of his car until he is underneath you.

Your fingers skim over the waist of his pants, hearing the hiss in of his breath when the bottom of your palm brushes against the hard tent in his pants.

You grasp at the hem of his hoodie, tugging it off of him. You look down at him, take him in - his hair, ruffled and falling in his eyes, face lit up by the moonlight, the slope of his collarbones, each curve of his abs.

You feel a shiver of desire as your fingers trace over his collarbones. You keep your eyes latched on his as you start to slowly skim your hand down his chest, over his nipples, his taut stomach, down until you are toying with the waistband of his pants.

You can see the flex of his jaw perfectly in this lighting, the bob of his Adams apple as you press your palm against his hard cock. He lets out a tiny moan, a slippery “You’re enjoying this, arent you?”

You flash him a quick, wicked smile to answer that you are, you are enjoying every twitch of his jaw and lustful flash of his eyes, the jerk of his cock under your palm.

You are still wet, you can feel it as you shift your hips and tug his pants and boxers down until they are down at his knees. Yoongi takes over from there, kicking them off until he is completely naked beneath you. Your eyes tick down to the lower half of his body - he has two, chiselled lines like a perfect V sloping in until they meet the top of his thighs, which are strong and muscled, tensed with anticipation.

Your eyes fall onto his cock. It’s hard, so hard that you can see the head of his cock moist with precum, and you feel a hard, heavy knock of arousal sear through your core.

“You look so sexy from this angle.” Yoongi grunts, you feel a hum of pleasure and affirmation at his words as he reaches up, palms cupping your breasts before they loop around the nape of your neck and draw you into him.

Your lips find his, in a messy kiss, his tongue sliding into your mouth and kissing you hot and wet and deep. You settle your palms onto his chest, moving slowly until you are positioned directly on top of him. Your hand reaches behind you, wraps around his length.

You lower yourself until you can feel just the tip against your wet slit, and you can’t help the breath of desperation that races out of you as you feel the tip of his moist cock against your soaking wet entrance.

You can’t tease anymore, prolong it further when you want it so badly. You lower yourself, slowly, until you can feel his cock entering you, stretching you out.

You are slick with wetness enough and you sink lower onto him, until finally, he is all the way inside of you. A tiny mewl escapes your throat as you settle around him, feeling the ache of his cock deep inside of you.

It feels so good to have him inside of you like this, filling you whole, but you dont wait to bask in the feeling - a crimson red lust has begun to lick at your insides and you need more.

Your eyes focus on Yoongi, his head his tipped back on the car headrest, eyes blown out, staring at you with an expression that is completely open, lust traced in his features.

It fills you with a whiter hot sense of neediness, desperation, as you start to rock your hips back and forth.

You are filled with it- a desire to fuck Yoongi. To ride him as hard as he had fucked you the other day in the boxing ring, to render him as breathless as he had made you.

Each of your undulations has his hard cock pushing deeper inside of you, and you hear Yoongi moaning. You look down at him, seeing his hand reach up, he bites down on the flesh of his palm, eyes wide and tracked on you.

You preen, twisting your body a little, fucking against him harder. His eyes are locked on you, hypnotized by the bounce of your breasts, eyes squeezing shut with a muttered fuck as you slide into him deeper.

Your body tips forward a little as you lean closer to Yoongi, palms flat against his chest as you push against him, sliding up until you are nearly all the way out of him.

Yoongi lets out a tiny hiss, a whine, and he buries his face against your neck, his mouth leaving hungry kisses down your collarbone and shoulder, groaning out begging sounds of “please give me your pussy, fuck”, until you sink back down onto him.

This time, a louder whine if pleasure rips out of your throat. Your face is flushed with heat, you are so full of want that you feel like you’re brimming with it.

“You’re driving me crazy,” Yoongi moans, his voice his husky, “God, you’re so fucking good, how…” He stumbles over his words as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hips tilting forward as you grind your hips upward, letting out a broken moan as you feel the contact sting deep inside of you, granting you some release.

Yoongi’s hand cards up, snaking over your spine until it entangles into your hair.

The other hand finds your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he helps you bounce up and down on his cock, fucking yourself against his length.

The car is hot, the windows steaming up, you and Yoongi are both flushed, sweaty, breaths coming out in desperate pants as his hand digs even harder into your hip, fingers pull even tighter against your hair.

“I’m so close,” Yoongi groans out, “Let me get on top of you. I want to fuck you until you can't walk straight, baby girl.”

His rushed term of endearment has you pausing for a moment, you look down at him and he smirks at you. He is all dark eyes and flushed cheeks and blonde hair turning brown with sweat.

You are so wet, so hot with the heat filling his car, so needy for him, and you nod breathlessly as you pull away from him. He weaves around you in the tight space in his car, and before you can settle down so that you are facing him, he pushes down on your back.

Your breath rushes out in a gasp as your belly presses against the back of the car seat, you feel Yoongi’s body curve down around yours, lips pressing at the base of your ear.

“I can’t wait to sink my cock deep into this pretty cunt.”

Yoongi’s voice is low, uninhibited, almost animalistic as he growls around his words. You can feel his palm gliding along the slope of your back, caressing your skin, drawing it all out even more.

It’s heightening inside of you, the desperation and anticipation clustering into an inescapable heat.

“Yoongi,” You breathe out his name, your voice raspens around the word as you feel Yoongi’s skin on yours. The tip of cock grazes over your slit and you hiss in at the sensation of it, the ache between your legs is growing unbearable.

“Yoongi, please,” The words that spill out of your lips are shaken, and Yoongi teases in closer, his cock dragging along your wet cunt. You let out a choked whine, your hands tightening around the headrest of the carseat.

Your breathing is ragged, and just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore, Yoongi’s hips press forward, his cock pushing inside of you hard and fast with no relent.

You let out a cry that quickly melts into a moan, Yoongi’s body presses against yours. The air in the car was warm, crackling with heat almost, and you feel it rolling over your skin - pure satisfaction from finally being granted this release, the feeling of Yoongi’s cock buried deep inside of you.

Yoongi doesn’t give you time to bask in it, letting out a husky purr of dominance before he pulls away, cock sliding out of you, nearly all the way before with a firm, intense snap of his hips, he fucks into you again hard and slow.

It’s like a symphony of moans, yours entangling with Yoongi’s, the dirty, illicit sound of skin slapping against skin, his car almost rocking from the intensity of his thrust.

“Yoongi,” You moan out his name, “God, yes.”

The affirmation spurs Yoongi on, you can sense it in the hum of anticipation, and then he fucks into you again, rocking his hips against you, swelling upwards so that you can feel every ridge of his hard cock.

You preen under it, arch your back so you can feel the sensation of him fucking you long and deep, coy moans falling from your lips.

You’re playing into it, the submissive murmurs of his name falling out of your mouth in an effort to spur him on, get him to fuck you even harder. It occurs to you faintly that this is something about Yoongi that has you so completely fixated, his ability to pull out a side to you that you didnt even know existed.

This - you, legs spread on your stomach against the front seat of his car, begging him to fuck you through your words, the sway of your hips and waist, the flutter of your eyelids.

There is something about Yoongi, his hips snapping into you even harder, thrusting into you like he wants to own you, claim you, that has a hypnotic, dark heat spreading over your skin like melting butter. It entwines with the carnal satisfaction from having him fuck deep into your walls, his body pressed against yours.

“Fuck me, Yoongi.” You breathe out, and Yoongi just lets out a slow laugh, his lips at your ear.

“Believe me, I haven't even started. You’re mine tonight, baby girl.”

He carves his words out by placing one hand at the base of your throat. He is supporting his weight with the other arm, and you can feel his muscles flexing as he holds himself on top of you, the heaviness of his fingers settled right there at the base of your throat.

You are so aroused that it feels as if you are consumed in it, Yoongi’s fingers tighten, just enough to send a thrill rushing through you and a strange noise like a rough moan of pleasure vibrate out against his palm.

And then Yoongi starts to fuck you.

He is almost punishing with his thrusts, grinding his hips upward so that you can feel the friction against your clit, like a teasing staccato rhythm. His palm is still wrapped around your neck, the pressure just enough for you to feel a rush, your voice trilling breathy moans in sync with each of his thrusts.

“You feel so good,” Yoongi moans out, “Your pussy is fucking amazing.” He accentuates his words by holding your even closer, fucking you even deeper.

This time he doesn't tease, he rolls his hips up and you can feel it pressing against your clit, teasing deep inside of you. You tip your head back, relishing in it - and then Yoongi returns to the rhythm from earlier.

Your hands tighten around the headrest, a “Fuck” that is wrapped up in desire and frustration slips out of your mouth. You are a mess, falling apart under each dominant thrust, each powerful fuck of Yoongi deep inside of you, breath quickening under Yoongi’s fingers, pulse racing even faster at each of Yoongi’s praising murmurs, his groans.

You are close. You can feel it, mounting inside of you - each teasing time Yoongi hits your spot you feel it lingering, approaching, the pressure of pleasure that is about to spill over you.

You are all quickened, desperate breaths, Yoongi is all panting moans and ragged grunts, his voice against your ear, lips, littering messy kisses and bites to your cheek and neck in between thrusts of his hips against yours.

The two of you are fevered, desperate for each other, desperate to feel more skin against skin, you desperate to feel the clench of pleasure that is so close you can almost taste it.

Yoongi’s hand falls from your throat to your chin, he tilts your head to the side and his lips connect with yours. He kisses you deep and rough, your tongue against his, gliding desperate and hot.

Your hands clutch at the seat harder, your back arches against Yoongi’s and you whine soundlessly into his kisses with each of his thrusts. You are losing yourself in this, in the feeling of him, it’s like you are about to break apart at any moment. You are helpless to it, the crescendo of desperation, and you kiss Yoongi deeper, hungrier, until finally your core clenches.

You let out a sharp moan, your vision hazes, Yoongi pulls away and presses his lips against the pulsepoint of your neck as you let out a broken moan, he angles his hips up a fraction and fucks you again, this time slow and tantalizing so that you can feel it right there and everywhere.

You can’t think about anything, you are saturated in it, soaked in the euphoric, dizzying pleasure. It’s like you are being devoured by it, and you tip your head back, toes curling as Yoongi moans encouragement against your skin.

“I’m close,” Yoongi murmurs and you can hardly form a response, you just nod, body stuttering forward as you feel pleasure radiating through every inch of you. It’s less intense now but you can still feel it, satisfaction carnal and seared red pulsating through you.

Yoongi starts to fuck you harder and faster, fucking you out as your eyes flutter with pleasure, still high off of your orgasm. You know Yoongi is close, you can sense it in the tenseness of his breath, the guttural whispers of your name. You feel drunk on your orgasm still and you tilt your head back.

“I want you to cum in me, Yoongi.”

You hear Yoongi intake for breath, his hips snapping into you a little harder, a little more desperately.

“Yeah?”

You hum, arch your back coquettishly, vision still hazy from the slowing waves of pleasure that are ebbing through your body.

“Uh huh. I want you to make me cum drunk, baby.”

With your words, Yoongi lets out a tiny yelp, hips bucking as he fucks into you, cum flowing hot deep inside of you.

His head falls forward, face burying into the crook of your shoulder and you can feel his hips twitching. “Fuck,” he groans, his cock still pulsating, still coming, until you are filled with Yoongi’s cum.

Your bodies are still wound together, and you let out a shaky sigh of content.

You stay completely still for a second, the two of you still basking in it, aftershocks of pleasure causing you to press even closer to one another.

You don't speak, both completely drunk on pleasure, strung out on the glowing fire of your consecutive orgasms.

Finally, Yoongi straightens, pushes his body off of you. You can feel it, that you are stuffed with his cum, and you let out a shaky sigh as you shift over.

The seat in his car barely fits the two of you together, but you curl your body into his, he slots his arm around your neck, hand curled around your shoulder as he pulls you in. He presses his lips against your forehead, his face flushed and sticky with sweat.

For a long moment, the two of you just lie there, faces tilted to one another, eyes closed. You are nothing but heavy breaths, slowing pulses, clutching one another and just shivering intermittently as you wind down.

You feel drowsy, so relaxed and heavy and euphoric. Your eyes flutter open, only to see Yoongi’s dark ones staring directly at you.

His entire face is open, soft, and something twists inside of your chest, something sweet and hypnotic. It feels almost dreamlike, your skin glossy with sweat, palms curled into fists that are pressed against Yoongi’s chest, his arm tucked around your shoulders.

He gazes down at you with an expression that is so soft and full of a wry fondness unmistakably Yoongi that you feel your heart start to pound faster. His car’s windows are completely fogged up, the air thick and hazy between you.

You think that you have never felt this before, you have never felt so connected to someone, and then Yoongi leans forward and kisses you so delicately that you stop thinking anything at all.

You lie there until your breathing slows to normal, bodies cooling down. You don’t speak, your body still curled into Yoongi’s. The car seat is uncomfortable, cramped, but neither of you make any movement.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t think this would happen.” Yoongi whispers suddenly. His voice is hoarse and you look at him. He has an expression on his face like something you’ve never seen on him before, features twisted uncertainly.

“Hm?” You respond slowly.

Yoongi gazes at you, shifts his body. This close to him, you can see the flecks of amber in his eyes, the small chestnut brown freckles that dust over some corners of his face. He is staring at you just as hard, like he too is finding tiny features written in the map of your skin.

“I didn’t think that I…” his voice trails off and then he just exhales. “I just…” He breaks off again. His eyes card up to yours roughly. “I’m not good at words, but I…”

His face twists and you wriggle closer, you hear his breath pitch in seconds before you press your lips against his. A kiss like you're kissing glass, careful, gentle. You hear his chest rumbling underneath your kiss, his body relaxing, and then you pull away.

“I know.”

He blinks, hard. He doesn’t respond, he just pulls you in even tighter until your limbs slot together. It’s impractical, it’s uncomfortable, but you press even closer, feeling the tension spooling out of his body as he holds you to his frame.

After a beat of quiet, you disentange from him, craning your head to look at the time on Yoongi’s car clock.

“Hey,” You murmur, breaking the nice stillness that had settled between the two of you, “Don’t you have to train soon?”

Yoongi glances at the clock.

“Yeah,” He mutters, “I do.” You straighten, Yoongi, still lying down, looks at you before he too hoists his body up. His hair is messy, chest bare as he grabs your clothes from where they are crumpled in the front compartment of his car.

“Hey,” He says suddenly, clothes scooped in his arms. “Do you want to come?”

You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. “To your training?”

Yoongi shrugs, passes your clothes back to you.

“Yeah. It won’t be too long, and… maybe we can do something after. Get food or whatever. I’m always starving after I train.”

You are watching him, he speaks as he tugs his shirt over his head, pulls his trackpants on. He pushes his blonde hair off his face as his eyes lock with yours, seeing the hesitation that traces over your features.

“I mean, you don’t have to, it’s not a big deal-“

“No, i...” Your voice trails off and you stare at him, you swallow hard. You aren’t hesitating because you dont want to, you are hesitating because of the feeling that is mounting in your chest and swirling through you.

“I’d love to come.”

Yoongi’s jaw twitches, he nods, a smile fighting at the edge of his lips before he turns his attention ahead of him, turning the key in the ignition.

“Cool.” Yoongi says. The car roars to life and you pull your top over your head, trying to settle the flutter of your heart.

Yoongi is dripping in sweat. His icy blonde hair is darkened with it, pushed off of his forehead with a sweatband.

His chest is bare, his skin glossy with sweat, droplets of it in gathered in the dips of his clavicles and running down the slopes of his abdomen.

It is one of the few indicators that he is actually physically exerting himself - How sweaty he is, that, and the slightly laboured breaths he takes, like he's sipping for air.

If somebody wasn't looking closely at either of those, they wouldn't be able to tell that Yoongi was even pushing himself. He holds his body almost loosely, arms dangling, a light, cocky expression on his lips. There I s no tension in his body, rather, he is completely at ease- relaxed as if he was just standing around, waiting for something to happen.

He stays that way, comfortable, frustratingly calm, until an opening appears and then he strikes. He moves fast, with a deadly kind of precision, calculated and quick and smooth, all at once.

He gives it all with one hit, and it is that one hit that has Yoongi's practice partner stumbling, falling, hand falling to his mouth with a wince and a grimace as Yoongi closes in and double in hard against his ribs, until the other man is splayed on the floor.

It's oddly mesmerising, the way he moves, how each time his partner falls, Yoongi smiles to himself and calls out, "Again."

You pick up on different things about him as you watch - how even though he looks so relaxed, how he's alert, eyes twitching when his practice partner moves a certain way, tongue darting out to lick his lips as if he' starting the changes in the air.

The gleam that flashes in his eyes when a punch lands, the predatory narrowing of his gaze as he hones in and finishes them off. He's so different to what you've grown up around, the way he practices, the way he holds himself, the way he fights - this isn't about accuracy, or technique, or resources. this is all about instinct.

His gear isn't as synchronised to his body and his movement as Jungkook's, or any of the other elite fighters, but it doesn't matter when Yoongi is moving around the ring, slowly and languidly like a panther about to pounce, unreadable and untouchable in every manner of the word.

He is always composed, always stitched together so tightly even on the rare occasion that his practice partner lands a blow, and it occurs to you that the only time you've seen him coming undone is when his body is hovering on top of yours, skin brushing skin and pupils blown, breath heavy with his lips curved around your name.

"He's good, isn't he?"

You jump in place at the sound of the voice, Hoseok's, flushing with embarrassment even though it's not like he can read your thoughts. Yoongi's friend and mechanic has come up beside you, hands shoved low in his pockets, eyes locked on Yoongi.

Yoongi had introduced you to him when you arrived together at the gym, Hoseok’s face had split open in a grin, rushing forward to sling one arm over your shoulder in a greeting. He had wavy, messy red hair and he wore wire frames, he was sunny and optimistic and distracted, and so completely different to Yoongi that you had initially been taken aback. You soon realized though that their friendship made total sense, even in its seeming unlikeliness - there was a deep level of trust and care there.

"He is good," you affirm, turning your eyes back to Yoongi. He zip lines in across the ring, and punches his partner up in a southpaw, so hard that the other man jerks, his body flung to the ground.

"Yoongi, fuck, take it easy man," The other man grumbles, groaning as Yoongi lets out a sheepish laugh, bending down to give him a hand.

"Sorry, Hyungwon. Got carried away."

You watch the exchange, when Hoseok clears his throat, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glance over to him, he's watching you with a thoughtful look on his face.

"You know, Yoongi doesn't let anyone watch him train." He says, "And he's been in a better mood lately, or something. Less 'I hate the world' vibes than usual. Wonder what the correlation is there." He smiles wryly at you and you feel a flutter in your veins at his words, trying desperately not to let yourself wonder what that means.

"Oh?" You respond instead, keeping your voice as without expression as possible.

"Hmm," Hoseok just answers, eyebrow twitching upward, "He didn't even let me watch him practice for the longest time, and I'm his damn mechanic. I fix his gear, for fuck’s sake."

His voice is light, and you turn to him, voice airy and teasing.

"You jealous or something, Jung?"

Hoseok's face melts into a grin as he folds his arms, returning his attention to the ring, where Yoongi and Hyungwon have begun another practice round,

"Naw. I'm just saying, its like a whole different Yoongi. It's nice."

You just hum in response, fighting to control the dusting of heat that wants to spread across your face at the words and the blossoming of warmth in your chest.

You and Yoongi slip into somewhat of a rhythm.

You spend your days apart, and like clockwork, find each other after the sun sinks into the horizon.

Some evenings are spent with you cross legged on the floor of Yoongi's gym, listening to Hoseok lamenting about his haphazard dating life with cups of instant ramen and beers, Yoongi slinking up to you once practice is over, an arm slipping around your waist and his chin leaning comfortably on your shoulder as he listens to Hoseok's stories.

Other evenings are spent differently, you and Yoongi going for long drives, his hand on your thigh and the other on the wheel until he finds a spot with a good view. On those evenings, the two of you sit in his car and talk, sometimes about the most obscure of topics that Yoongi just snorts softly at, others, he slips into a quiet, pensive mood and feeds you tiny tidbits of his childhood, his life, giving you small pieces of the puzzle that make up the enigma of Min Yoongi.

You talk to him about your life too, about your fading relationship with your brother, about the dreams and hopes you harbour, about everything grey and tangled you feel inside of your chest at the bleakest point of lonely nights - and Yoongi listens with those eyes cool and catlike and completely centred on you.

Other nights end up with you tangled in Yoongi's bedsheets, in his tiny flat that is run down and decrepit, but it doesn't matter because you and Yoongi don't leave his bed.

The mattress is lumpy, the springs squeak with protest at every movement and his curtains are threadbare, allowing moonlight to spill mottled and splotchy against his bedroom walls.

Those nights, however, are your favourites - Yoongi with his arm crooked around you, holding your body tucked into his, his face completely unguarded and softened in every corner and edge as he drifts to sleep.

Every morning, you slip out of that world and re-enter yours, sneaking back into your house with swollen lips and a heart so full it feels like it's going to burst out of your chest.

It's a whole different slice of the universe that you didn't know existed- Yoongi is so utterly different to anything else that you thought existed.

It's on one of those mornings when you quietly slip into your house from the back door, closing it behind you, when you find yourself pausing and basking in it.

You feel like you're simmering in warmth, your fingers shake as you think about Yoongi, who tonight, had been a little drunk, tipsy off of beers and one of Hoseok's ridiculous, sprawling stories - and how he had held you close, arms looped around our waist, fingers hooked on your hips, as he murmured in the shell of your ear, "I want to keep you."

You are still thinking about it when a voice cuts through your thoughts.

"What are you doing up at this time?" You jerk in place, blinking before you adjust to your environment - you're in the hallway of your house, wake up, hello - and see your brother squinting suspiciously at you, a towel draped around his neck.

You stutter out the first words that pop in your head.

"I uh, went for a walk. Couldn't sleep."

Jungkook's frown grows steeper.

"At 5:30AM?"

You just nod mutely, wondering if he'll push the issue, press it further when it's so obvious you're lying. Your eyes dart down to his hands, his knuckles are bruised, his wrist bandaged up tightly.

How hard has he been pushing himself?

Jungkook just nods and brushes past you, headed to the kitchen. You stand there numbly for a moment, surprised he let it go that quickly, that easily, before you shrug to yourself and head up the stairs to your room, trying to push down the stirrings of unease in your stomach.

A few nights later, you, Seokjin and Jungkook find yourselves at a match in a gym a few towns over. The semi finals for the Olympia are only two weeks away, and this is the last of the qualifiers - a renowned strength boxer and an agility boxer, both adorning high technology gear, battling it out for the last spot in the semis.

Seokjin and Jungkook are there to observe the competition, and you're there because Seokjin has more or less dragged you out. It's the same as any other match - heaving crowds, a bloodthirsty energy surging through their shouts and cries, all culminating to the final moment when the stronger boxer overpowers his opponent.

Jungkook immediately murmurs to Seokjin, discussions on the techniques on how to get around his sheer strength and power, Seokjin is responding with soft hums of agreement as the winner of the match lifts his gloves in the air, a triumphant snarl ripping from his lips as he turns to his collapsed opponent.

The crowd roars as the stronger boxer goes in for another punch, a kill hit, and his gear stops him, his fist frozen in the air. Everyone can see it- the struggle on the boxer's face, the twitch of his muscles as he attempts to fight the gear, to drive his fist once more into his already unconscious opponent's skull.

The crowd bellows, and both Jungkook and Seokjin still for a moment, eyes locked on the scene.

It's a surreal experience, one you've forgotten - people's enthused, hungry grins as they watch a man attempt to pummel the other to a bloody pulp, the cold, calculating look on Jungkook's face juxtaposed with Seokjin's sober one.

You shiver.

Soon after, the crowds thin out and you follow Jungkook and Seokjin as they walk towards the exit. They're a few paces in front of you, Jungkook has a hoodie low over his head to avoid attention, and you're lingering behind, the bloodthirsty look on the boxer's face seared into your thoughts as you distractedly pick your way through the crowd.

Something feels decidedly off tonight, you can't shake the unsettled feeling that is sinking into your bones. You stare at the ground, the chattering of the crowd around you serving a distraction, brusque voices discussing who the strongest fighters are in your prefecture.

You shudder, you cannot shake it tonight, the prickle of unease, an instinct telling you that something is wrong, something is awry. It had started settling over you in those few seconds of silence before the boxer in the match tonight had crunched his fist into his opponent's face, those few seconds of false, luring stillness.

It's a lake with a surface like spun glass, completely untouched and moving, air still and silent, the calm before the storm, perhaps.

You feel fingers brush against yours and your head jerks up, heart pounding until you see a familiar smirk. It's Yoongi, bandana underneath his signature icy blonde hair.

"Hey you." He says in a low voice. "What are you doing here? Did you come with your brother and his coach? Can't see them anywhere."

He raises an eyebrow at you and you feel your earlier frayed nerves settling as you nod in affirmation. You glance around the crowd, frowning when you can't pick out Seokjin's bulky frame in the mix of people.

"Yeah, I think I lost them though-"

Yoongi's face splits into a grin. "Perfect. Wanna get out of here?"

You look at him, eyes raised, that light smile dancing on his lips. You almost ask him what he was going here tonight, but you know the answer before you can ask the question - he's here to scope out the competition too, to place the man he might be fighting in a few weeks time. The thought makes you feel uncomfortable and Yoongi frowns.

"Hey. Everything ok-"

Before you can register what is happening, a body pushes past you, bumping your shoulder hard.

You stumble, hand instinctively claps up to your shoulder but whatever protests you have die at your lips.

Jungkook, shoving past you, lifts his hands and pushes Yoongi, hard. Yoongi, taken aback, slighter in stature, stumbles on his feet, eyes flashing.

"What the fuck-"

Jungkook doesn't give him time to finish his sentence, his fist withdraws sharp and fast, striking towards Yoongi's abdomen, like a cobra. You hear Yoongi grunt sharply, body doubling over as Jungkook leans closer, uses his other hand to sucker punch Yoongi in the face.

The entire exchange is rapidfire, and the crowd is as stunned as you are, conversations ebbing away as all eyes fall on the two men. It's only when Yoongi's body completely falls to the ground that the onlookers realise what's happening, forming a small exploitative circle, whispering to each other in excitement.

You feel frozen in place, shock rendering you unable to move. The still lake you had been so fearful of from before has now been dismantled, pebbles rippling and breaking through its surface.

You watch as Jungkook draws his fist back, Yoongi is still on the ground, heaving himself up with his elbows. For some reason, he isn’t fighting back.

"Jungkook!" Your voice screams out before you can even tell it to, you rush forward blindly and grab your brother's arms.

He's stronger than you, and he growls in irritation, pushing you off. You catch yourself before you fall to the ground, eyes wide with anger and disbelief as you stare at him. His eyes are flat and black, furious, you glance at Yoongi who has pulled himself upwards. His mouth is bloody, he spits a mouthful of blood out onto the ground and lets out a low, flat laugh.

Jungkook's eyes flash like blackened steel.

"What the fuck are you doing?" You snap at your brother, his eyes pin on you.

You're faintly aware of the jeers from the crowd that has gathered, you wonder where Seokjin is, why Jungkook has taken it upon himself to attack Yoongi like this yet again when he already has one mark against his name.

"He-" Jungkook lifts his hand, jabs a finger at Yoongi, who is wiping a hand across his blood stained lips, "Is fucking my little sister, I think a king punch is more than justified."

You're momentarily lost for words, you begin to stammer out an excuse, a lie, but Jungkook's voice cuts over yours, harsh and unrelenting.

"What, do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

You fall silent, you can feel your heart throbbing loudly in your head, in your blood, your ears. Your mind is racing, thinking of something to say, something to do, to say.

"Jungkook, this is between me and Yoongi-"

Jungkook finally drags his eyes up, meeting your worried gaze with harsh eyes.

"This has nothing to do with you."

His words are stony and you open and close your mouth.

"I-"

"You know he's just sleeping with you to get to me, right?" Jungkook's voice quiet ens into a cold, icy tone. "He told me he was going to do it after his qualifying match."

You freeze in place. It feels like you have been drenched in ice. Your mouth goes dry, your eyes flicker to Yoongi, who is staring at Jungkook with eyes that finally have fire, are finally angry.

"Shut the fuck up, Jeon."

Jungkook just lets out a short laugh. "I can't believe you got her to fall for you too. You really have it out for me, huh, you fucking scorpion? Gotta get to me and take my place at the top at any means necessary, right?"

Yoongi's body darts forward and pummels into Jungkook's frame.

The gathering of people surrounding you burst into loud, hungry roars as Jungkook lets out a grunt of pain, Yoongi's fist landing in a uppercut up on Jungkook's jaw, a loud crack only causing the stirrings of the crowd to grow more frenzied.

You whirl around, eyes frantic, picking through the crowd until you spot him- Seokjin, who has finally arrived at the scene, eyes widening as he takes it all in.

"Jin-" Your voice is high, pitchy, and Seokjin pushes past a few of the gathered men.

"Jungkook, stop it!" His voice is loud, angry, but both Yoongi and Jungkook are blind to his words, you can only see limbs and the sounds of fists crunching.

You hear feet behind you, turning to see two of the neatly dressed official representatives from Olympia running up.

Seokjin pushes Yoongi hard, hard enough for him to topple to the ground, and he turns to Jungkook, punching him in the face. The younger man stumbles back, palm darting up to cover his nose, which has started bleeding.

"What is going on here?" One of the officials, a man in a starchy suit, calls out. Seokjin is breathing heavily, he stares at Jungkook, eyes hard.

"Just a small disagreement." He responds in a stiff, cool voice. The official just raises an eyebrow, eyes traveling from Yoongi, who is on the ground, blood trickling from his lip, hair mussed and eyes cold, to Jungkook, who is still cupping his nose, eyes flashing with heat and fire.

"Do I need to remind you both of the no external fighting condition of the Olympia?" The official's voice is hard and unforgiving, Seokjin nods, "I know, we're sorry for the disruption." He bows, and the official nods.

"Show's over, people." He flits his hands around, eyeing the gathered crowd, who reluctantly, begin to disperse. Finally, the official leaves too, giving Seokjin a warning stare as he walks away.

You breathe out a sigh of relief, knowing how easily they could have dragged the three men in for questioning, placed a second mark against Yoongi and Jungkook’s names.

"What the fuck are you doing Jungkook? You know you could get disqualified from the Championship or get another mark against you for being in a public street fight?" Seokjin hisses, his voice is poisonous. Jungkook finally casts his eyes downward. You can see the twitch of his jaw that he's still furious, like a hurricane, only momentarily restrained.

You glance at Yoongi, who is wincing in pain, he looks up and his eyes meet yours.

"Is it true?" You ask. Your voice is numb, quiet. You don't know how to feel, it's like every inch of you is cold, not working correctly, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Yoongi's face crumples, just a fraction. His mouth opens, and closes, before he whispers out, "Let me expl-"

It feels like a knife has been plunged right between your ribs, through your stomach. You shudder and look away from Yoongi, closing your eyes.

"Yoongi!" You hear Hoseok's voice, you open your eyes to see Hoseok pushing his way through the thinning crowd, reaches Yoongi, who shrugs him off bluntly, eyes tracked on you.

"...Let's get out of here." Seokjin says in a clipped voice, he doesn't acknowledge Yoongi, glancing briefly at you.

You don't look at Yoongi, you turn your body, arms instinctively wrapping around yourself. Your heart is thumping hard in your chest, you feel fragile, cold, like you are wading in a bad dream.

"Jungkook." Seokjin snaps.

Jungkook hasn't looked at you once, eyes locked on Yoongi still, pupils burning with hate.

"Hey. Scorpius." Jungkook barks out, the five of you stop moving. "I'm not finished with you."

Yoongi just ignores him. You see it bristling over Jungkook's face, irritation, but before you can intervene and settle it somehow, Jungkook narrows his eyes.

"How about I take you on in a gearless fight?"

There’s a stunned silence, Seokjin grabs the back of Jungkook's neck, you can hear him swearing under his breath, telling Jungkook to shut up, to walk away.

You can't help it, your eyes flicker up to Yoongi, who is still staring straight at you.

You tear your eyes away from him, feeling a twist in your chest. You turn until you can't see Yoongi at all anymore, your hand claps to your mouth to hold in the sound that wants to come out, something halfway between a sob and a gasp.

You hear Yoongi's voice, resigned, throaty.

"Fine."

You still don't turn around. You don't move, until you feel a hand on your shoulder and you glance up to see Seokjin.

"Come on, let's go."

You still don't turn around. You ignore the heavy, laboured breaths that you can hear and recognise as Yoongi's.

You block out the sound of Hoseok's voice, worried, and Yoongi's reply, saying he doesn't care, he needs to talk to you, saying your name, calling it out.

You close your eyes. You nod, and still not turning around, you follow Seokjin and Jungkook in silence until you can no longer hear Yoongi’s voice.

You feel your heart thumping in your rib cage at an erratic pace as you pull up to Yoongi's training ring later that evening. It is as if every nerve in your body is on edge, tinged and blackened at the edges with fear and impatience.

As soon as your car stills, you are out, slamming the door and rushing to the entrance of the now familiar gym.

The moment you push open the door, it’s like sensory overload - the darkness of the gym, the scent of chalk in the air, and most of all, the silence. It’s unfamiliar, you were so used to hearing the shuffling of feet, the soft sharp gasps of breath, fists against the punching bag that for a moment you halt.

Then your eyes focus on him, Yoongi, who is leaning with arms dangling over the boxing ring ropes.

Fear skips loud in your heart for a minute, thoughts fighting in your mind - telling you that you were overreacting, a creeping, more sinister voice telling you that maybe your brother was right.

There is only one way to find out.

"Yoongi." Your voice rings out clearer and steadier than how you feel. It’s like every inch of you is trembling, the exhilaration of confrontation buzzing through your veins like you have downed six shots of espresso.

Yoongi glances up at you and for a moment your heart tugs painfully. He has a purple bruise blooming down from his eye socket to his cheekbone, his bottom lip cut and swollen.

"I need to ask you something."

Yoongi doesn't respond and you take hisi silence as encouragement to forge on, the words spilling bravely from your lips.

"Why did you sleep with me?"

Your question takes Yoongi by surprise, you can see it in the twitch of his eyes, the melting of the stony, cold expression on his face.

"What-"

"Why did you pursue me? Why did you kiss me? Was it because you wanted me?"

Yoongi's eyes flicker and a shadow of guilt crosses over his face. You feel like you are being plunged in ice.

"I-" He starts but you don't hear him.

"Or was it because you wanted to get to my brother?"

The words slip out and linger in the space between you two. Yoongi doesn't speak but the answer is clear in the way his face cracks, his lips relent in their corners, his hand reaching out to you.

It feels like you can't breathe.

You are being crushed, pressed down into the very earth beneath your feet, your heart has stilled.

Everything is stilled - and all you can feel is the horrible, sinking feeling that you were wrong all along.

"I'm an idiot." you whisper. Tears are pooling in your eyes, your mouth is so dry that you can't swallow. Your eyes, blurring with wetness, focus away from Yoongi because you can't look at him anymore, you can't see that expression on his face- guilt and regret, intermingled with pity and fear.

Your eyes focus on the boxing ring that sits empty behind Yoongi, the same very place where he had kissed you weeks ago.

Your mind flits back unkindly to every moment, every kiss, every touch. Your heart gives in as you think about how you had felt your heart soar an inch at every soft caress of Yoongi's, over the silent celebration you felt when you believed he was opening up.

It was all a lie, you think to yourself, he never really wanted you. He was using you.

You squeeze your eyes shut and tears spill from your eyes and down your cheeks. It's a sting that sears hot into your gut, a lash of rejection, and most of all anger because you have no one to blame but yourself.

"____," Yoongi's voice is tinged in desperation, "It's not like that anymore, I never thought I was actually going to be with you, I was just trying to get under Jungkook’s skin-“

“Don’t.”

“-I got to know you, it became so much more than revenge or a boxing tactic-"

"I said, don't." Your voice is not the ice you try to pull it out as, instead, your voice shakes, your words are thick with tears.

"You have to listen to me," Yoongi's voice is desperate, rushed. "I... I didn't think things would become what they are with us, I didn't think I'd care about you, I didn't think I would-"

"Yoongi, I said don't-"

"I didn't think I would fall in love with you."

Silence settles between the two of you and you look at him. Yoongi, with a bruised face, eyes that are teary. He looks so broken like this, desperation etched on his face, his frame hesitant as he battles internally whether to reach out to you, touch you.

Your arms have curled around your frame subconsciously, holding yourself together and preventing yourself from reaching out to him.

Because, you hate yourself for it, but you so badly want to. You can't stand that even now, with the harsh sting of rejection and betrayal rushing through your blood, your heart sings with hope at his words, you want to fall into his arms.

"I'm so weak." You whisper out and Yoongi's eyes crumble, his mouth opens.

"I don't want to lose you. You're the first... The only person who's made me feel this way."

His voice is thickened and breaking around each word, and you realise with a dulling throb of pain that he's crying too. You wonder why he's crying - whether he's crying for everything in his past, everything he is today that led him to make these decisions and pursue you in the first place.

How can you forgive him? How can you fall back into his arms like nothing has changed, like it wasn't your own brother who drove his fists into his face, it wasn't your brother who spurred him on to use you as a vessel of achieving violence? Hurt is screaming through your veins as you shake your head. You love him, so wholly that it makes this hurt more, because doubt and a horrible, unshakeable feeling of questioning now permeates the future you had longed for with Yoongi.

"I... I need some time."

A stuttering of silence, and then Yoongi, clearing this throat uncertainly.

"Time? How... How long?"

"I don't know."

You feel it, the finality of your words settling between the spaces between you and Yoongi. Yoongi steps forward now, his hands reaching out, desperation infusing his words.

"I... I just... please," His last words are broken and you step away.

Yoongi freezes and you stare at him. You open your mouth, different words and sentences linger at the tip of your tongue - I can't, I'm done, I love you, how could you, I'm sorry. But nothing fits, nothing works, and with that, you close your eyes and turn.

Yoongi doesn't follow you, but you hear it - a sharp, broken intake of breath like the preface before a sob, as you push on the door, leave the darkness of the gym, leave Yoongi's corner.

As you step outside, you let your composure crumble. Tears spill down your cheeks and you clamp your hand to your mouth to contain the keening sounds that fight to escape from your lips.

You are crying for everything, for him, for everything that had built up to this. You tell yourself not to cry, swallow back the sobs and feel your heart beating in your throat.

You can feel it, sinking and settling into the very pit of your stomach. The feeling.

The feeling, of being so desperate for somebody you can't have, that it sears through your skin and your blood.

The feeling crawls over your skin and grips around your heart, holding it hostage, as you walk back to your car, fighting every urge in your body to turn around and walk back into that gym.

You turn the key in the ignition, the car elapses into darkness and you sit there in silence. The silence is deafeningly loud, and you sit there for a moment, muscles locked. Your hands grip the steering wheel until your knuckles are alabaster white, your forearms trembling.

“Fuck,” You whisper, so softly that it wisps into the air and disappears. “Fuck,” You repeat, louder, angrier, untli your body folds over the steering wheel.

Your shoulders are tensed, you feel a rawness in your throat, an ache in your chest so heavy it feels as if an anchor is pulling it down.

Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks, heat and pain welling in the pit of your stomach, but you press it down, refuse to let it take over.

You keep your hands on the steering wheel and grip harder, until your knuckles hurt, you tell yourself to breathe, until finally, finally, it feels as if you are regaining some semblance of self again.

You straighten, your hands relax and then you open the car door. The night air is dewy and fresh, the scent of rain lingering in the air as you walk up to your front door. Your house is still as you quietly let yourself in.

There, standing in the middle of your hallway, bare feet on marble floor, you think about Min Yoongi.

His face flashes in your mind - the plea in his eyes when you had walked away from him, the sense of hopelessness you had felt sitting in your car outside his boxing ring wondering if the shadow of his frame would come spilling out.

You straighten your shoulders and walk down the corridor, through past the kitchen, slipping down the stairs to the basement. Surely enough, a dim golden light spills over the stairs, the soft, rhythmic sounds of leather against leather fill the small space.

“Jungkook.” You reach the bottom stair and call out your brother’s name, he doesn’t respond. He is breathless with exertion, punching into the heavy boxing bag in front of him with careful, precise taps of his glove.

“What?” He finally mutters back, keeps punching, eyes intent and focused on the bag in front of him.

“Can you stop for a second?” You ask, frustration seeping into your tone.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, bounces on the balls of his feet and coils backwards, striking a punch clean and fast into the centre of the boxing bag.

You step forward, saying his name once more, “Jungkook-”

Thwack.

You step forward and place your hand on the boxing bag, palm flattening over it and Jungkook finally freezes.

“Stop it. I need to talk to you.”

Jungkook lets out a long sigh, straightening. He shrugs off his boxing gloves and they fall with a heavy clatter to the ground, he massages his knuckles and lets out another defiant sigh.

“Fine. What do you want?”

For a moment you stand there, palm still flat against his boxing bag, your brother irately massaging his knuckles.

There is a distance between you and your brother, between your brother and the rest of the world. A distance that you’ve never known how to close, a gap you’ve never fully understood.

“Call off the gearless match, Jungkook.”

He lets out a scoff, and you rush in, “Please. Just call it off. There’s no point going through with this-”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, your words die on your lips. “There’s no point?” He repeats sarcastically.

“Yeah. If you go through with this, one of you will end up dead or permanently injured-”

“Good, I hope so.”

Jungkook is as stubborn as ever, his eyes flash with his words and you feel irritation prickle at the tip of your tongue as you speak over him.

“This isn’t a game, Jungkook. It’s serious - it’s not only illegal, but it’s dangerous, you’re a fucking idiot if-”

“Why are you getting involved anyway? Don’t want your boyfriend to get hurt?”

Jungkook infuses his words with a sneer and the words die from your lips as you meet his gaze, narrowing your eyes.

“He’s… he’s not- that’s not the fucking point, and you know it. It could be you that could end up dead or permanently injured, you know.”

Jungkook just rolls his eyes.

“If there’s anyone who should be worried about that, it’s him-”

“Haven’t you learned anything from Seokjin? Do you think he was worried before he entered the ring, gearless? Then left it, unable to walk?”

Your words ring through the room and for a moment Jungkook’s face tightens, his jaw clenches.

“That’s not going to happen to me-”

“Jungkook-”

“Stop it.” He cuts in. “I’m doing this.”

You stare at your brother and feel something pang in your chest. You wonder when this happened, when Jungkook went from being just a little kid with oversized boxing gloves on his tiny fists, to this - a hardened expression on his face, determination and anger flashing in his eyes.

You glance behind him, at the gloves perched on the shelves, the blackboards filled out with words dictating Jungkook’s training schedule, his nutrition schedule, his supplements schedule. You wonder when Jungkook stopped being a part of this world, and when this world started becoming a part of him.

“What is this all about, Jungkook? Getting revenge? Winning? Jealousy?”

The anger has faded from your tone and you meet your brother’s gaze, seeking something in his eyes to pull him back to earth. To tell him not to go through with this, because the thought of your brother, or Yoongi, with mechanic legs or lying in a hospital bed attached to tubes makes your chest constrict.

Jungkook’s face twitches. His lip trembles and he tears his gaze away from you, looking down at his knuckles, at the fading green and purple splotches that paint his skin.

“I’m not calling it off.”

You deflate, step back, feel the tears from earlier crest up inside of you like a wave.

You think about Seokjin, late at night when he takes off the gear on his legs and lies in bed staring at the ceiling with hollow, broken eyes. You think about Yoongi and his voice, raspy and feathery, telling you he loves you. You think about your family, this house, your brother who is standing in front of you now as hard as steel.

You nod, and turn. A tear rolls down your cheek as you start walking back up the basement stairs, and by the time you’ve reached the top stair, the rhythmic beat of Jungkook’s fists against the boxing bag have started again, filling your ears like a deep, inescapable drumbeat.

The next morning, discomfort is still wedged in your chest. You awaken suddenly, your eyes snapping open to stare up at the ceiling you have woken up to every day for as long as can remember.

You lay still under the covers, wondering if it was all a bad dream. You squeeze your eyes shut, so hard that colours start sparking vibrant beneath your eyelids, as if to somehow convince yourself that all of this is just a terrible joke, a figment of your imagination gone wrong.

You open your eyes and for a moment your mind flits to what it would be like if you were in an alternate universe- if you woke up, to this same ceiling, with an arm crooked around your belly and him fast asleep beside you, long eyelashes fluttering with every breath, that jagged scar on his eyebrow quivering as he mumbles in his sleep and pulls you into his arms.

I want you all to myself, I wanna keep you, I love you.

You crook your head to the side. The space beside you on the bed is, of course, empty. Still, you let out a soft, disappointed exhale and pull yourself out of bed.

When you are all freshened up for the day, you make your way downstairs. The house is quiet, a hum of everyday activity and conversations in the air - your father making a business call in his office, the tinkling of laughter coming from the living room where you mother has friends over. It was like any other day, really.

Still, your chest aches because this isn’t any other day and once again it feels jarring how mechanically you are capable of going through the motions.

You walk into the kitchen and for a moment you tense when you see a figure with his back to you, mixing together in a large bowl. His broad shoulders and dark hair deceive you and your mouth curves around your brother’s name before you relax, walking over instead to sit up at the kitchen counter.

Seokjin glances behind his shoulder when he hears the sound of you shifting in your chair, he nods a greeting and you nod one back.

“Want some?” He asks, he’s tossing what looks to be a stirfry. You shrug and let out an agreeable hum. Seokjin pulls out an extra plate for you, piles on the salad.

“You’re up late.”

He pushes the plate across the counter to you, along with a fork. You nod, stabbing into your noodles.

“Couldn’t sleep last night.”

Seokjin leans across the counter. “You and I both.”

For a moment, the two of you lapse into a companionable silence. Just the sounds of cutlery against bowls, chewing, and then Seokjin sighs.

“I tried talking some sense into him last night.” He shakes his head ruefully and clicks his tongue. “No luck. He’s so fucking stubborn.”

You eye your brother’s coach, he has his usual guarded expression cast over his features, a rueful twist on his lips.

“You talked to him?”

Seokjin just nods in response, delicately takes a big bite of his stir fry. Your brow creases as you try and imagine how that conversation would have gone down - mild mannered, perpetually fractured Seokjin confronting your equally broken brother.

“I did too. He won’t… he won’t call it off and I just can’t understand why.”

Frustration rings clear in your words and Seokjin is eyeing you closely, carefully.

“Have you…” His voice trails off and you can hear the uncertainty in his tone before he forges on. “...Talked to him? Scorpius, I mean?”

Something akin to a bitter laugh rises in your throat and you think back on your conversation last night with Yoongi, the words he had left you with, the look in his eyes when you had walked away.

You swallow it down, compress it, and nod.

“And just what exactly is he to you?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you look down at your hands.

“He is… he was… I don’t know.” The words spill out. “It hurts.” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them. That wedge of discomfort shifts under your ribs, cracks at the composure you are struggling to keep over your face.

Because it does, it does hurt. It hurts, to think back on every touch of Yoongi’s, his dark eyes and smile as pretty as the moon, and wonder how much of it was real.

It hurts even more to think about each of his kisses and the words he had whispered to you, that he loves you, and that that right there is real, so tangibly real that you can feel it inside of you like a sixth sense.

It hurts to think that you love him.

“Yeah,” Seokjin says quietly, “I know. It’s hard to love somebody broken.” His voice is calm, and it pricks at you, your eyes suddenly sting.

You push the bowl away, will yourself not to cry, not now, not here.

“You know what I think?” Seokjin begins, he doesn’t wait for a response from you, continuing on. “Your brother and him, Min Yoongi, all they have to live for is boxing. Your brother - his whole life revolves around it. It’s all he knows. He’s been told all his life that it’s all he’s good for. He’s sacrificed everything for it, including himself. And now he doesn’t know if he loves it or if he’s doing it because he doesn’t know anything else.” Seokjin sighs.

“I can’t speak on behalf of your Min Yoongi in that sense but… Jungkook’s there. I’ve been there. When you’re in it, you can’t see out of it. And you’ll keep on going, keep fighting, until you die or until you don’t care anymore and you want to die. You get drunk on the pain, addicted to the feeling of winning, hooked on the ring and the gear and the fame, and the rush you get when you knock out a guy and hear people screaming your name.” Seokjin’s words are infused with a dull bitterness, like the muted edges of an old knife.

“You start to hate yourself for it. For feeling empty and broken when you’re not in the ring. For the times when you want to take it further, when you want to push past the limits that gear sets for you. For when you start losing, slipping from your place at the top. Then gearless fights start becoming more and more of an option, an easy way for you to gain it all back, the rush. Really though, they’re just a way for you to fight against everything you hate about yourself, by channelling it into another person. By beating them the hell up when the person you really want to beat up is yourself.”

You glance up, Seokjin is leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms folded. He has a faraway, distant look in his eyes, when he senses you looking at him, he shakes his head, snaps out of it.

“Anyway, that’s just my take on it, I-”

“Jin…” Your voice is hoarse, you clear it, Seokjin glances at you questioningly.

“Hm?”

“If you could go back, would you do it differently?”

Seokjin looks down. At his legs, which shift in place, creaking the floorboards beneath.

“I don’t know,” He says honestly.

You nod slowly, absorbing that, thinking about his words. About Min Yoongi, who is splintered and broken, bandaged together with boxing tape, hardened eyes that soften when they meet yours.

You wonder if you could go back and do things differently- if you would pull your brother out of the path of Scorpius, if you would knowingly avert your gaze from Yoongi’s that first night when you were stargazing outside of his gym.

Would you have done things differently?

“Are you... coming to the fight tonight?”

Seokjin’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts. Seokjin is placing the question carefully, you can sense it in his words, like he’s treading around you.

He’s good at this, you think - peppering you with questions and conversation masked in a casual tone, trying to ease you to open up. There’s no wonder that most of the time the only person who can reach Jungkook when he’s in one of his moods, is Jin.

You think about Seokjin’s words, about Min Yoongi, the man you love, the man who is drunk on boxing, punch drunk.

You think about the alternate universe you imagined this morning, with Yoongi’s arm heavy around you, his breath slowly and evenly ghosting over your skin, his body warm and huddled beside yours.

You think about that same question, that question of, would you have done things differently.

You look up at Seokjin.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

The gearless fight is being held in a small abandoned factory that has since been converted into a makeshift boxing ring. It’s one of several that are scattered throughout your city, built to be discreet locations for boxers and fighters to engage in gearless fights.

The gearless fights are more often than not self-elected, two fighters sloughing it out until one is crippled or dead, their broken bodies left for whoever is there as their support to drag away and tend to.

Once two fighters have agreed to a gearless match, they have committed, and the match can only be called off if both fighters agree on it. It’s the one and only rule of gearless matches, Seokjin explains to you during the drive, nothing else is off limits. Other times, these makeshift rings are used in illegal gambling matches, or for a sick form of underground entertainment, sometimes even, Seokjin says, people sell themselves to stand in that ring gearless so that other boxers can fight them, pummel their bodies senseless.

Seokjin tells you all of this as he drives, and although his voice is calm, even, you can tell by the tenseness in his jaw and the way he fidgets with the radio that he’s on edge.

You pull up into a parking lot at the side of the factory, Seokjin doesn’t waste any time and is out of the car. You scramble to follow suit, closely behind him as he weaves his way around the back and through a small door that is marked Employees Only.

The space is dark, a few old crates and boxes littered around the room. There, at the centre of it all, is the ring. It’s far from the gleaming, monochrome spaces of the Olympia Championship, instead, pieces of rope and wire mark out a slightly lopsided elevated platform, two stools on opposite corners.

The space is nearly empty, you recognize Hoseok standing to one side of the ring, his lips pressed together in a terse line. There is another man beside him, one you don’t recognize, but at the stiffening of Seokjin’s shoulders, it’s evident that he does.

The taller man glances over at Seokjin and you, recognition lighting up his features as he strolls over. He has long limbs, a lean, tall frame and Seokjin mutters to you that he’s the guy who sets up these hidden rings, somewhat of a business mogul in his own right.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin greets, there is tightness in his voice as the two men speak in low, rushed tones.

You stop paying attention to the two of them when your eyes fall on a man sitting on one of the crates at the sides of the room.

It’s Yoongi. Your breath catches in your throat as you gaze at him.

He’s wearing his usual, thick white headband, his fists curled into balls as he hunches forward on the crate. He looks tired, and you feel something spark in your chest.

“...He tried to talk it out with Jungkook? The Min kid?” Seokjin’s voice rises in disbelief and your head snaps away from Yoongi. Seokjin has an incredulous expression on his face, the taller man, Namjoon, just shrugs and nods.

“Uh huh. He approached Jeon as soon as he walked through the door, tried to talk things out, was talking about working it out outside of the ring or something along those lines.”

Seokjin lets out a soft whistle. You are momentarily stunned.

“And how did the kid take it?”

Namjoon just scoffs. “What do you think? He lost it, was furious. Said there’s no backing out of it now, et cetera… then wanted to start the fight right then and there. I escorted him out of the building, he’s out the main entrance right now if you want to talk to him.”

Seokjin nods, and glances at you.

“Will you-”

“I’ll be okay, Seokjin. Go.”

Your head is still reeling from the information as Seokjin nods tightly and walks away. He’s only a few steps away when Namjoon calls out, “Let the kid know the match is going to start in fifteen sharp.”

You feel momentarily locked in place, and before you can stop yourself, your legs are moving, walking towards Yoongi who is still crooked forward on the wooden crate.

At the sound of footsteps, he lifts his head, his eyes meet yours and you feel all of your reservations, that steely wedge of discomfort locked inside of you, all of it - slip away.

“___.,” Yoongi says your name, his voice is hoarse. He straightens, stands up, his jaw slack, and you swallow hard, suddenly nervous.

“You tried to call it off?” You ask, it’s the first thing that comes to mind, and Yoongi blinks a few times before he nods.

“Why?”

You want to hear it from him, want to know why he tried to talk things out with your brother when they have been like fire fighting fire from the start. Yoongi pauses, his eyes intent on you.

“Why do you think?” He says finally, softly.

It feels as if something breaks inside of you, and tears spring in your eyes, your shoulders slump forward into a sob.

Yoongi’s arms encircle around you, and then you are there, smelling him, he smells like cedar and driftwood, and feeling his arms tight around you, his hands stroking your hair, has you holding on tighter.

Tears spill down your cheeks, and your heart twists so painfully in your chest that a sob arises in your throat.

“Don’t cry ‘kay?” Yoongi’s voice is hoarse, thickened with emotion as you pull away.

You look at him, tears wet on your cheeks and see that his eyes too are glossy with tears.

“Even if… even if you win this fight, it’s not the end of all of this. There’s still the Olympia semi finals. And other boxing matches after this. You know that, right?” You whisper and Yoongi just nods. Tears gather at the corner of his eyes.

“Yoongi, I…” Your voice shakes, “I love you. Don’t do this.”

Yoongi blinks, and a tear rolls down his cheek.

“I have to,” He says in a low voice. Roughly, he reaches up, wiping it away with jerky movements.

“I know, I just…” Your voice breaks off, you press your face into his chest. “I can’t...”

Yoongi rests his chin on the top of your head, holds you tighter to him. His arms are trembling.

“I love you, okay? Just don’t… just don’t….” Your voice breaks off and your shoulders shake, and Yoongi steps back into you and he’s holding you again.

“Okay,” He murmurs, his palm strokes your back, his voice is by your ear, “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

You are crying because of this, how solid he feels in front of you, crying because you don’t want to lose him, you don’t want him to lose himself.

You cry tears for your brother, who you don’t want to lose either.

You cry because you, torn in two different directions, have made your choice. You know whose side of the ring you will be standing on.

“I love you too.” Yoongi whispers it in your ear. “So… so god damn fucking much. Okay?” His voice is fierce, and you pull away to see the intensity in his eyes.

Your lips touch his, he kisses you - slow, sad, sweet, and you can taste tears in your kisses and feel the desperation in his hands, cupping your jaw, his mouth, kissing you tenderly and slowly and with restraint, even though you can feel it beneath the surface, simmering, how badly he wants this, how badly he wants you, all of you.

“Yoongi, it’s time.” Hoseok’s voice cuts in and Yoongi ignores him, you ignore him. He kisses you deeper, more desperate, and then he’s pulling away. His eyes, still teary, are focused on you.

He doesn’t say anything, perhaps because there are no more words to be said.

He turns, faces the ring. You turn too, see Hoseok standing there, watching the two of you with a pained look on his face.

You and Yoongi walk towards the ring, Yoongi continues until he climbs up, deftly ducking over the ring’s barriers until he is there in his corner. You walk up until you are beside Hoseok, who puts an arm around your shoulders for support.

You are crying, open, salty tears trickling down your cheeks.

There, in the ring, is Jungkook.

Your eyes meet your brother’s. He is staring at you with a hurt expression on his face, his body coiled and tensed. He has his gloves on, the same gloves he was wearing last night.

You wonder if your brother will forgive you, for choosing to stand on the opposite side of the ring. Behind him, Seokjin stands still, his arms folded, a stressed expression on his face, eyes locked on the ring.

You stare at them. Two fighters, in their corners.

Jeon Jungkook, the Bloodhawk, shifting slowly from side to side like the hypnotic dance of a rattlesnake, his muscles tensed, his jaw clenched.

Min Yoongi, the Scorpion, standing perfectly still, muscles rippling under his skin, a void, terrifying focus settling over his face.

Orion versus Scorpius.

And then the bell rings.

amynote: *the concept of ‘gear’ and the Olympia Championships, are both loosely inspired by the anime Megalo Box (it’s amazing, btw!) Re: the ending, i wanted it ultimately to be open-ended and up to reader choice who the winner of the fight was. i may write a sequel to this... maybe!!! we’ll see. i sort of like the ending as is, but also, i really enjoyed creating and writing this universe and these characters. so we’ll see!! edit 18/08 - I am definitely writing a sequel to this! stay tuned!

→ Access my moodboard for this fic here. ALSO, check out this incredible fanart by the super wonderful @syukatsu!

thank you for reading! ♡