⟶ title: entangled
⟶pairing: spidey!jungkook x fem reader, venom!taehyung x fem reader
⟶au: marvel au
⟶ rating: 18+
⟶ genre: romance, smut, love triangle
⟶ wc: 7.6k
⟶ warnings: Mnetions of blood and a wound, drinking, Jungkook calls you Data and Taehyung calls you Pigeon, infidelity-ish?? (you'll see), two smut scenes: oral (female and male receiving) mutiple orgasms, overstim, unprotected sex (thats a no, wrap it up) few different positions, making out, sweet kisses, nipple stuff
⟶ summary: Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man.
He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend.
You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well?
Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world.
What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.
⟶ authors note: hello darklings, its been such a long time. I apologize this took so long but it's finally here! I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of spidey!kook and venom!tae, they're truly my babies and I have loved writing them. This is only part one, I make no guarantees how quickly part two comes out, but I'll do my best I promise. I'm thinking probably four parts for this. enjoy! tell me all ur thots! Shoutout to M (@here2bbtstrash), Sav (@jeonjcngkook) and Kay (@tea4sykes) for looking this over and correcting my insanity and also assuring me that it's not terrible lol. Thank you all so much for your patience and help.
“So where is he?” your friend Penny says from across the table.
“He said he was coming.” You sigh, stirring your drink with the straw.
“He said that the last two times we were all supposed to study together.” Hoseok gives you a look that’s part sympathy and part annoyance.
“He’s working three part-time jobs. Not all of us have our parents paying for our apartments, Hobi.” You give him a playful glare and he returns it, followed by a poke of his tongue from between his lips.
Part of you wished you didn’t know Jungkook’s secret. That you could go back to the days where you were blissfully unaware of who he was. But back then, being stood up hurt even more because you didn’t know why.
Now you know. You know that Jungkook is Spider-Man. The infamous superhero with powers he acquired from being bitten by a lab altered arachnid a few years ago.
He saved your life. Twice in fact. Both times it was because you were curious, too curious for your own good, and you had been suspecting something was going on with Jungkook.
You followed him one night and watched in awe as he changed into his Spider-Man suit in an alleyway. And not just because he was Spider-Man, but because he was insanely gorgeous. You were hypnotized by the man who had been sitting next to you as your lab partner for most of the year. Who constantly hid his body beneath baggy clothes and bucket hats.
You had always liked him a little more than you cared to admit. And after you found out the truth about him, your friendship grew into something more.
There weren’t any labels; you didn’t call each other boyfriend and girlfriend, much to your dismay. But Jungkook always told you that if the wrong person found out about the two of you, they could use you to get to him. And he needed to be able to focus on his whole saving the world gig, and not constantly worry about your safety.
You understood. But that didn’t mean it didn’t sting a little.
You manage to study a bit longer with your friends before deciding you were far too distracted. You call Jungkook on your walk back to your apartment, but of course he doesn't answer.
So now you wait. And you worry.
No matter how hot the shower water is as it hits your back, it doesn’t stop the worry. You just want him to be safe, even if he pissed you off by not showing up again.
You wrap yourself in your favorite silky robe and get comfortable on your bed with some of your homework you didn’t finish with your friends, slowly getting immersed in all of the calculations and formulas that you love so much. They were a great distraction.
Not sure how long you’ve been studying, you get up to stretch and make your way to your apartment balcony, opening the doors and stepping outside for a breath of fresh air.
The city is always loud, but up here it isn’t so bad. The traffic sounds far away and the lights are just flickers across the skyline. You might even think it was beautiful if it wasn’t for the constant bad lurking around every corner. Or maybe you had just heard too many scary things from Jungkook.
Sighing when he pops into your head again, you turn around to head back inside only to come face to face with the superhero in question. Seeing him hanging there upside down from your doorway startles you just enough to send you stumbling backwards towards your balcony.
Before you can get too far, or even fully scream, Jungkook is shooting a web at your torso, pulling you back and into his arms as he flips down onto his feet. Your head swims from how quickly it happens.
“Data, look at me.” Jungkook’s voice is slightly muffled through his mask. “It’s just me.”
“You scared me.” You look up at him as he removes his mask and shakes out his hair, eyes finally meeting yours.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve been…noisier.” Jungkook smiles and you almost forget that you’re angry with him. Almost.
“What are you doing here anyways?” You shove against his broad chest and feel his arm release your waist. He sighs, following you inside your apartment.
“I know you’re upset I missed the study session…” Jungkook starts to explain, but you twist back around to face him.
“If my friends hadn’t seen you around campus now and then, they would think I made you up, Jungkook. You never show. It makes me look pathetic.” You cross your arms over your chest and wait for the next excuse.
“You aren’t pathetic, Data. I’m just…” Jungkook winces when he reaches for you, a hand moving down to his ribs in pain. “Sorry, it’s healing, it's just slow.”
“What’s healing? What happened to you?” You let the fight go for a moment, closing the space between the two of you and moving his hand out of the way.
Beneath his fingers is a large cut, bloody but half-hidden by his suit. It looks angry and inflamed. What could’ve made a cut like this?
“It’s nothing. I’ll heal up in a couple hours.” He pulls your hand away, blood stained on the tips of your fingers.
“It won’t matter how quick you heal if it gets infected. Come in here.” Your hand wraps around his and you pull him into your small bathroom. You steady him against your vanity and move to grab your first aid kit from the cabinet above your toilet. “Take that off.” You gesture to his Spider-Man suit.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jungkook teases, gingerly working his top half out of the suit. He hisses through his teeth as he peels the suit away from his ribs and lets it hang at his hips.
You are not the universe's strongest soldier.
Your eyes drift over all the dips and curves of muscle. A perfectly sculpted chest and abs you could literally eat off of are right in front of you, scrambling every sense you have in your head. You need to focus. Stay focused on the task at hand and not his ridiculously toned body.
“You okay, Data?” he asks, humor in his voice. That horrid nickname he had given you in your first year as lab partners is feeling more endearing these days. You clear your throat.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just tending to Spider-Man’s wounds in my extremely tiny bathroom.” You try to laugh but it doesn’t sound genuine.
You take out some bandages and gauze and get to work cleaning him up. But even as you tape down the gauze, you can visibly see the wound getting smaller. Super powers really are something else.
“Data.” Jungkook’s voice brings you back to reality.
“What?” You sigh.
“Please come here.” His hands reach for your hips and you give in, letting him pull you until you’re flush against him, suddenly nose to nose. “That’s better.”
“I’m angry with you,” you whisper, heart pumping a bit faster in the close proximity.
“I know that you are. I’m really sorry…I swear I wanted to be there.” You look down to see him slip his gloves off and sit them on the countertop before his hands come up to cup your face.
“Then what happened? You need to tell me.” Your hands wrap around his wrists.
“There’s something out there, Data. A…monster that we can’t figure out. It’s strong…and fast. Nothing I’ve ever seen before.” His thumbs brush the corners of your mouth.
“What does it want?”
“It keeps breaking into the Lab across the River. It’s looking for something. No one at the lab is being very forthcoming with information.” His forehead presses to yours. “But Mr. Kim is working on that part.”
Kim Seokjin, more famously known as Ironman. He was a mentor and a good friend to Jungkook. He was helping Jungkook navigate the new world of being a superhero and also gave him a job to help him pay for school.
“Hasn’t Mr. Kim told you to call him Jin over and over?” you tease, hands coming up to rest against his chest. Jungkook laughs quietly, pulling you closer.
“He has. Guess it just slipped out.” His hands move down to palm your ass.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” You raise an eyebrow in question of his actions.
“Just feels like I haven’t touched you in so long.” His warm mouth finds your throat and he presses kisses to the skin.
“Two days is a long time?”
“It is when it comes to you. Thinking about how much I want you gets so distracting.” He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, making you giggle.
“So what I did for you two days ago wasn’t enough?” You let your hands slither down from his chest and over the planes of his stomach.
“Never enough.” His nose skims over your jaw until you’re back face to face and his lips are devouring yours. “I’d like to pay you back.”
“How?” You moan when you’re cut off by his tongue sliding into your mouth.
“Let me show you?” Jungkook pulls away from the kiss, taking your hand and leading you out of the bathroom.
Thinking he means to lead you to your bed, you start to pull him towards it, but he seems to have other ideas, walking you back out onto the balcony. He releases your hand momentarily to slide his suit back up over his shoulders.
“What are you going to show me out here, Jungkook?” You start to feel suspicious.
“Do you trust me?” He jumps up onto your railing with ease, still holding your hand in his.
“Not if it involves you swinging me around off the side of buildings.” You start to pull back, but his other wrist shoots a web at your torso; using his inhuman strength, he pulls you up onto the railing into his arms.
“I would never let you fall. Never. Just close your eyes for a few minutes. I promise it’ll be worth it, Data.” He touches your cheek gently, and even though you want to throw up every time he does this, you close your eyes and wrap your arms as tightly as possible around his neck and your legs around his waist. “Ready?” He whispers in your ear, one strong arm wrapping around your back.
You don’t verbally answer, just nod once before burying your face into his neck.
And then the solid feeling of being on the ground disappears and the sickening feeling of free falling is very apparent. You try to breathe, squeezing yourself around Jungkook as you listen to the whooshing sound of his web shooters discharge as he swings you between the tallest buildings in the city.
“You’re doing amazing.” Jungkook kisses your cheek. “Just another minute.”
You keep your eyes clamped shut until the curiosity becomes too overwhelming, making you dare to peek just the slightest bit. You see the sun setting on the horizon, orange and purple hues slowly disappearing beneath the river. As long as you don’t think about how high up you are, it really is beautiful up here.
You soak in the feeling of Jungkook holding you so tightly because you never know when the next time may be. You hate to sound so dramatic in thinking that way, but it really is a guessing game sometimes . Your hands loosen and slide up into his hair, making him look down into your eyes and smile when he sees how fondly you’re looking back at him.
“Kiss me,” you whisper, even though there isn’t a single soul that could hear you up here.
Jungkook kisses the corner of your mouth and then the other before the softness of his lips has your eyes fluttering closed. This kiss is only gentle brushes of lips, noses grazing in the sweetest way you can imagine, all the while Jungkook is still effortlessly swinging you between buildings.
He shoots a web straight up into the air, letting it connect to the side of one of the tallest buildings, slowly pulling the two of you up until he’s reached the highest ledge, tapping your thighs so you know it’s safe to put your feet down. You kiss him once more before you open your eyes and look out at the nearly complete sunset…a thousand feet in the air.
“Why are we up here, Jungkook? You know the heights..” He kisses you again before you can finish the sentence.
“Can we try something?” He smiles, and it’s infuriating. You’re too weak for this spidey boy. You sigh with exasperation.
“I’m already very wary of saying yes.” You look away from the ledge towards the top of the building, taking note of all the intricate filigree and gargoyle statues.
“Let me make you feel good…up here.” His cheeks heat a little when he asks.
“Is this some kind of weird adrenaline thing? Why would you want that?” Your voice cracks and you sputter, disbelief heavy in your tone.
“I think it’ll be intense…feel so good.” His lips move down and his teeth nip at your jaw.
“It’s insane…” You melt into his touch and the way his mouth sucks at your neck.
“If you don’t like it, I’ll take you home. And I’ll get you naked in your bed instead.” He pulls your shirt over your head, fully knowing you’re about to give in.
“Bed sounds so good right now…”
“Please, Data…just try it.” He tosses your shirt to the side, cupping your breasts and kissing the tops of them.
“What do I have to do?” You feel too good to let the fear ruin the way he’s making you feel.
“Lie back on the ledge, with your arms above your head and your wrists crossed.”
You let him lead you down onto the ledge, every nerve in your body hot and on edge. Jungkook makes sure that you’re settled before he stands back up straight, looking down at you while you slowly move your arms above your head the way he asked.
“You’re perfect, Data.” Jungkook stares at you a moment longer before he aims his web shooter and traps your wrists together against the concrete ledge beneath you.
Your chest heaves at the idea of being completely helpless. He’s taken away your control and your ability to touch him as you please.
He makes quick work of the sleep pants you had been wearing, tossing them away to join the gargoyles on the rooftop.
“Jungkook…” you whimper when he lowers himself between your legs and lies down on his stomach so he can be face to face with your heat.
“Relax, okay? I’m gonna make it up to you.” He kisses a path down your thigh, sucking gently and caressing with his tongue.
You arch your back from the ledge when he pushes your panties to the side and his mouth finally makes contact with your pussy. Just a sweet kiss at first, then a deep, swirling lick to your clit. You pull against the webbing trapping you in place, fingers begging to be in his hair.
If only the citizens of his precious city could see him right now. Face buried and tongue lapping just for you. All of it for you and not for them.
You can feel tears start to form in your eyes from the way your orgasm is already so close to crashing over you. Jungkook has spent quite a bit of time getting to know your body and memorizing the things he knows that you like.
“Come on my tongue, baby. I’ve got you.” Jungkook soothes before his mouth is back to devouring you.
One particularly harsh suck to your clit while his fingers finally join in on the fun is what sends you over the edge, clenching around his digits in spasms.
You’re lucky that no one could possibly hear you all the way up here. The moans and groans that you both make while Jungkook licks up every bit of your arousal are beyond obscene.
“Please get this web off of me,” you huff between breaths. Jungkook slowly raises his head and with a smile on his shiny face, reaches up and effortlessly rips the webbing from your wrists.
You jolt upwards, wrapping your arms around his neck and digging your hands into his soft hair. Your mouths mold together automatically, your tongue tasting yourself from his lips.
“Did you like it?” Jungkook finally asks, pulling you into his lap.
“As long as I continue to pretend we aren’t thousands of feet in the air, I enjoyed it very much.” You both smile and you lean in to kiss the corner of his pierced lip. “You can’t always distract me with your extremely talented mouth though. I just…want you to try and be in my life.” You push some hair off of his forehead before he kisses your lips once more.
“It won’t always be this crazy, Data. I promise. I just want to make sure I help Jin as much as I can with this monster.”
“I know.” You want to tell him that you wish you came first. That there’s always going to be another monster keeping you apart. But that’s the price you pay for loving a superhero.
“Let me take you home?” He stands up, still holding you in his arms.
“Maybe let me put my pants back on first?” You laugh as he sets you down to retrieve your pants from a gargoyle statue.
And then you’re back in his arms and swinging back to reality.
The sun is still warm even though fall is almost in full swing. Leaves are starting to change colors and slowly drop off the trees. You love the smell of them as they dance by you on the breeze.
Something you don’t love is the damn pigeons that have made their home in the nooks and crannies of all the old buildings on campus. They fly down from their nests and make nuisances of themselves with the students, trying to get pieces of food.
You’ve been continuously shooing them away as you attempt to do your homework.
Sitting in the courtyard on top of a patchwork blanket, you’re lost in the numbers and formulas that keep you best distracted these days. So much so that you almost don’t see Jungkook before his head is in your lap and his smiling face is looking up at you, pigeons scattering about from his sudden movements.
“Good afternoon, Data,” he says cutely. You set down your notebook and pen, leaning down to kiss him.
“How nice to see you at school for once,” you tease, pulling his bottom lip gently between your teeth.
“Mm, things have been quiet for a couple of days. I got some sleep…and I missed you.” Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to lay down with him across the blanket.
“What are you doing?” You laugh and push against his chest.
“Making sure everyone sees me kissing you.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?” You comb your nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. “If the wrong person sees?”
Jungkook freezes for a moment, his eyes not meeting yours as his face scrunches in concentration. He abruptly sits up on his knees and you follow, looking around the courtyard.
“Something isn’t right.” Jungkook’s voice is low and quiet.
“What is it?” You continue to look around, seeing students walking to class or enjoying the sun in the courtyard like the two of you were.
Your eyes stop when you notice someone by the fountain taking photos with a professional type camera. His head of black messy hair is covered by a backwards black baseball hat. Long legs covered by snugly fit black jeans and his top half in a white button up, sleeves rolled halfway up in the most maddening way.
He must feel your eyes on him, because he’s suddenly looking right at you and you’re able to recognize who it is you’ve been drooling over. You feel embarrassment flood your face and body as you quickly look away, your heart racing in your chest.
Kim Taehyung. A photography student at your university. The best photography student if you remember correctly. You remember having a basic class with him your first year and he had seemed very nice. His smile was sweet, but the two of you didn’t talk to each other much at all.
You did think he was absolutely stunning though, sometimes wishing you weren’t too shy to have spoken to him back then.
Your classes must have all been different after that, but you still see him around campus from time to time. Always taking pictures, but always alone. And last year he seemed to disappear altogether before reappearing when the new semester started.
When you get brave enough to look back up at him, you see he has his camera pointed at you, snapping pictures. You look away again so as not to alert Jungkook of what’s going on. Taehyung smiles when you look up out of the corner of your eye, before moving on to take pictures of something else. Why is your heart beating so fast?
“Everything okay?” Jungkook asks, making you jump.
“I should be asking you that,” you manage to croak out.
“That weird sense of something being off is happening… I should go.” He starts to stand up and you grab his hand.
“What about this weekend? You’re still coming out with us right?”
He bends down and captures your lips in a quick but sweet kiss. “I promise I won’t miss it.” He gently nudges your forehead with his, making you roll your eyes with a smile as you watch him jog across the courtyard.
“Was that Jungkook?” Hoseok asks, sitting down across from you on the blanket.
“Um…yeah. He had to get to class,” you lie. Again. “Hey Hobi?”
“Yeah?” He stops grabbing books from his bag and looks up at you.
“What do you know about Kim Taehyung?” You nod towards the man with the camera, still taking pictures of some angel statues on the far side of the courtyard.
“He’s supposedly the best photography major at this school. He’s also…strange.” Hobi pretends to get a chill.
“Strange? Strange how?” You’re interest even more peaked than before.
“I don’t know, ____. I just heard some shit about him talking to himself all the time, and sometimes he comes to class all beat up.” Hobi brushes it off like it’s no big deal.
You don’t pester him any further, instead watching Taehyung as he takes a seat on a bench and starts scrolling through the pictures he’s taken on his camera.
Maybe people are making things up about him because he’s different. People don’t like different for some reason. But you…you tend to be pulled towards the different. Or it tends to find you when you least expect it.
Saturday night has come and almost gone, and you’re still waiting for Jungkook to show up at Club Onyx to meet up with you and your friends. You’ve been waiting for hours and downing drinks the longer you go unanswered.
You’ve called and texted him over and over with no answer and are finally ready to just give up. Hobi gives you that pitiful look as you slam your phone face down onto the table.
“Fuck this, I’m getting another drink.” You don’t say it to anyone in particular and you don’t wait for anyone to answer before slipping into the crowd towards the bar.
“Can I get a Long Island please?” you ask the bartender when she approaches. You slouch down onto a barstool and see a familiar face on the other side of the bar.
Taehyung. Sitting with a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. The hat you usually see him wear is nowhere to be seen. Instead, his curly black hair has been somewhat styled over his forehead. He’s still wearing a white button up, but he’s left the top buttons undone this time, revealing the smooth skin of his chest.
“Here you go.” The bartender hands you your drink just in time for Taehyung to look up from his phone and see you already looking at him.
“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, taking your drink and making a break for the dance floor as quickly as you can.
The song playing isn’t one that you know, but as you chug down your drink you start to care less and less about knowing the song and just let yourself go. You want to have a good time and not mope about Jungkook standing you up once again.
You let strangers grind against you as you move across the dance floor, arms raised above your head and your hips swaying to the beat of the song. You’re a little tipsy as you place your glass down on the nearest table, but not enough to not know what’s going on.
A slower song starts to play with more of an r&b feeling. You watch as people start to pair off, the movements of their bodies making heat rush through you and settle on your cheeks and neck. You start to turn back to find your friends when you feel an arm slide around your waist, making you jump from the suddenness of being touched.
“Easy there, Pigeon,” a voice as deep as the ocean and smoother than satin says against the shell of your ear.
You twist your neck almost too quickly, eyes landing on the face of Taehyung. Your breath nearly disappears completely seeing him this closely.
“What are you doing?” you ask, but you don’t try to move away from him. God, you should move away but you can’t.
“You need someone to dance with.” He smiles and says the words with a matter of fact tone.
“I should find my friends…” Your brain finally starts to catch up and you move from his hold.
“One dance, Pigeon. Would be a pity to waste such a good song.”
“Why are you calling me Pigeon? I have a name.” You fold your arms over your chest.
“I know your name. But the pigeons at school seem to have really taken a liking to you, I couldn’t resist.” His boxy smile widens.
“You’re not being very convincing about this dance.” You try not to smile.
Taehyung puts his hand out asking silently one more time for you to dance with him. There’s that nagging feeling that you shouldn’t, but there’s a bigger part that says Jungkook isn’t your boyfriend, and he stood you up after he promised not to miss this night.
You take his hand.
Taehyung pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and gently pulls you towards him, spinning you around at the last second to press your back against his front. You gasp when you immediately feel him lean over you and press his face into your neck, his nose skimming your skin.
His big but delicate hands find your stomach, slithering down until they reach your hips, slightly bunching your dress in his fingers.
He gently moves his hips and grinds against your ass in the most tantalizing way, reminding you that you did in fact agree to dance. Taehyung groans quietly in your ear when the pace of your hips becomes quicker with more added pressure from your ass into his crotch.
You let yourself relax against him, head falling back against his shoulder and exposing more of your neck to him. His impatient mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder and he kisses a soft line across your skin.
“Can’t believe your boyfriend would leave you all alone out here where the monsters can find you.” Taehyung's deep voice vibrates through your body and settles into your core.
“I don’t have a boyfriend…or monsters.” The words come out sounding breathless as he continues to press your body closer to his.
“We think you do.” His long tongue traces the shell of your ear.
We? You let it go because your brain is too foggy with lust to wonder what that could even mean right now.
“I don’t,” you repeat, pushing thoughts of Jungkook away for just a night. Taehyung laughs quietly, pulling your lobe between his teeth as his hands move up your chest to cup your breasts.
You don’t even care who sees the way he’s touching you right now. You’re becoming so turned on that you know your panties have to be absolutely ruined at this point.
“Come home with me.” He spins you around to face him just as the song ends, your eyes fluttering open as he cups your face in his hands.
“That…I can’t.” Your eyes search his, hoping it will make you realize that you need to walk away. Instead, there’s something that tells you you’re safe, but that you’re also in for a world of trouble. You don’t know how you know, you just do.
“I’ll make you feel so good, Pigeon.” His mouth is almost on yours, lips just brushing as he whispers. This man is fucking undeniable.
“Okay,.” you cave. You just want to feel wanted. You want to matter more than a stranger on the street. You want Taehyung to make you forget how much it hurts when Jungkook lets you down over and over again.
“Good girl.” His warm mouth slots with yours as he kisses you feverishly. Like he’s been starving for years and your mouth is his only source of sustenance. It’s hot, fiery, and all-consuming.
Not even sure when his lips leave yours, you’re suddenly being pulled by your hand towards the club exit. Your brain clears and you look around for Hobi or any of your other friends but you don’t see them. And honestly, you hope that they don’t. You hope they didn’t see what happened on the dance floor and you hope they don’t see you leaving with someone who isn’t Jungkook. That would be far too messy to have to explain.
“Did you drive here?” You squeeze Taehyung’s hand and he pulls you closer to him.
“I did. I didn’t even finish my drink, I promise I’m safe to drive.” He eases your mind as the two of you push out of the door and turn towards the parking lot.
But your mind is only at ease for a mere minute before you realize that Taehyung is leading you towards what appears to be a very, very fast motorcycle. Everything on it is jet black and ridiculously sexy. You wish you weren’t absolutely terrified.
“I’m not getting on that.” You stop in your tracks.
“Why not?” Taehyung grabs the helmet off the back and offers it to you. “I’ll even give you the helmet.”
“I just…that looks dangerous.”
“It is.”
“Glad you’re honest,” you half-laugh.
“The bike is dangerous, but I would never let anything happen to you, Pigeon.” Taehyung swings one of his long legs over the motorcycle, straddling it as he waits for you to make a decision.
“We hardly know each other, Taehyung.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t keep you safe on my motorcycle, or that we have to know everything about each other to feel something.” He holds the helmet out again and you feel your mouth go dry at his words.
The danger aside, there is no going back if you get on that motorcycle with him. There is no way you would have an untainted conscience ever again. Every time you were with Jungkook from this day on, you would have to think about the fact that at this moment, you also wanted Kim Taehyung to fuck you.
That should terrify you more than it does.
You grab your phone and quickly open it to see no messages or missed calls from Jungkook. Your answer gets a little clearer as you reach out and take the helmet from his hand.
“Carefully,” Taehyung says, taking one of your hands and guiding you to straddle the motorcycle behind him. You settle the helmet onto your head, and Taehyung smiles widely when he looks over his shoulder to make sure you’re ready.
When he starts the motorcycle, the vibrations from the engine immediately flood your body. Your arms instinctively wrap around his torso as tightly as possible, and you wait once again for the world to go past you far too quickly. The same way it always does when Jungkook is swinging you between buildings.
When he pulls out of the parking lot, he doesn’t go too fast like you thought he would. He takes his time weaving between the cars and taxis, making his way through the busy streets and closer to the docks.
You don’t entirely hate the motorcycle ride. Nor do you hate the way Taehyung laces his fingers through yours and holds them against his chest, or the way he brings your knuckles to his lips to brush a kiss against each one while he steers with the other hand. You don’t hate the way he sometimes moves that hand down to tap your thigh to let you know he’s about to make a sharp turn. You wish you hated the motorcycle ride.
Taehyung presses a button on his phone and a door on one of the warehouses starts to lift up. He pulls through it, parking the bike once inside. Your legs feel like jello when you take his hand to try and stand up, stumbling a bit in his hold.
“Okay there, Pigeon?” Taehyung grasps the sides of the helmet and helps you take it off. He sits it on the back of the bike before coming back to help you straighten out your helmet hair.
“It wasn’t terrible.” You smile and so does he, fire moving through your veins the longer your eyes stay locked with his. You quickly clear your throat. “So, you live in a warehouse?”
“I used to live in the city. It was just too…busy. I needed space.” He takes your hand and leads you towards some metal stairs. But before he does, you notice several more motorcycles parked inside the open part of the warehouse. Who is Kim Taehyung?
At the top of the stairs, it opens into a large open loft area that has a surprising feeling of comfort to it. There’s a kitchenette off to the right with just the necessities: a fridge, small table, stove and microwave.
The left side of the room appears to be the bedroom. A big messy bed sits against a headboard with intricate black vines carved into the wood. Soft pillows are haphazardly lying in all directions, some on the floor with their feathers scattered across the room. Taehyung visibly stiffens when he sees you notice them.
“Sorry about those…I think I might have a raccoon stuck in here somewhere.” He laughs and moves to kick the busted pillows under his bed.
Strange. He’s a little strange.
“Do you need something to drink?” he asks.
“Should I be worried about being here, Taehyung?”
“What? No. No, I promise you’re safe.” He crosses the room and comes to stand in front of you, concern evident on his perfect face.
“I just…I don’t do things like this. I’ve never even had a one night stand.” You card a hand through your hair and Taehyung tips your chin up to look at him.
“Why does it need to be just one night?” His face softens and his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.
“Taehyung…I don’t know what I’m doing.” It’s barely a whisper.
His head tilts slightly to the side before it spasms slightly, an uncomfortable look painting his face as he shakes his head and gets the spasm under control.
“Stop it.” Taehyung grits between his clenched teeth, mostly to himself.
“Are…are you okay?” Your worry grows by the second.
“Sorry…I’m sorry.” He cups your face in his hands and kisses you sweetly, catching you off guard. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he whispers against your lips.
“I’m not scared of you.” It isn’t a lie. You aren’t scared, but something is off. And you’re too stupid to leave. “Should I be scared?”
“Not of me.” He speaks as if someone else is in the room.
His mouth finds yours again and lust takes the place of worry and concern. Taehyung easily grabs your thighs and lifts you off the ground as if you weigh nothing at all.
The next moments are a blur of clothing being stripped and bare skin coming in contact with hands and lips. Teeth scrape over nipples and long fingers drown themselves inside your dripping pussy. The warehouse echos with the sounds of your moans and his deep groans.
After your first thigh shaking orgasm, Taehyung sits on the edge of his bed and you kneel in front of him between his knees, taking his far too perfect cock into your mouth. You worship him with your tongue and make him come down your throat, his hands tightly gripping your hair.
Chills run through your sweaty body as he bends you over his bed and eases his cock inside you. Stars explode behind your eyelids while your fingers grip the bed sheets.
“He doesn’t fuck you enough, does he Pigeon? You’re so fucking tight.” Taehyung’s fingers dig harshly into your hips as he mercilessly pounds you from behind.
You can only moan in response, the coil in your stomach tightening and threatening to burst again. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes and stain the sheets you’re so desperately clinging to.
His fingers suddenly start to feel sharper, like they could pierce your skin at any moment, past the point of hurting in a good way.
“Stop,” Taehyung growls and the piercing feeling of his fingers starts to let up. If your brain wasn’t so fogged by your oncoming orgasm you may have questioned who the hell he was talking to.
“I’m so close,” you whine, feeling Taehyung press himself closer to you, one of his hands coming to the back of your head and pushing you deeper into the mattress. The new angle makes you feel him so deeply that even your stomach clenches and the dam finally breaks; you’re falling off the edge of the most shattering orgasm you’ve ever experienced.
Taehyung’s hips stutter as you clench around him, making him moan deep in his chest. When you can no longer hold up your body, he grabs your shoulder and flips you onto your back, then immediately slides his cock back inside your overly sensitive pussy.
You’re so blissfully fucked that it takes you a moment to focus your eyesight on his face. Sweaty black curls sticking to his forehead as you lift your heavy arms and dig your fingers into his hair so you can pull his mouth down onto yours.
“I almost…I almost lost control. You feel so good.” His tongue swipes into your mouth as he angles himself to hit your g-spot with every hard thrust of his hips.
“Please come, Taehyung.” Your nails dig into his back and leave scratch marks across his skin.
“Never wanted anyone as much as I want you…fuck we want you so badly.” He buries his face into your neck as he thrusts once, twice more before you feel him spill inside of you. Hips bruisingly tight against yours as his cock twitches each time more cum fills you up.
“Holy shit.” You move your hands back to his hair and gently lift up to see his face. You swear when he looks at you that all the color has drained from his eyes. They’re solid white.
You gasp and blink once, seeing Taehyung’s pretty brown eyes looking back at you in less than a second.
“Wh-what was that?” You’re still panting.
“What was what, Pigeon?” He smiles and presses a kiss to your cheek before he slowly pulls out and walks to his bathroom, giving you a chance to ogle his perfect little ass and the muscles of his back.
“I just…thought I saw something,” you say when he returns to the bed with a cloth for you to clean up with. You really need to get more sleep if you’re starting to see things.
“Did I hurt you?” Taehyung’s face is suddenly a lot more serious when he reaches out to run his fingers over the apple of your cheek.
You remember the way his hands felt on your hips. How they could’ve been on the verge of piercing through your skin. At least, that’s what you thought when it was happening.
Looking down at your hips, there’s obvious red marks from fingertips, but also scratch marks that just don’t seem like they could’ve come from Taehyung’s short cut nails. What the hell?
“I um…I think I’m okay.” You pull the covers up over your hips a little, hoping he won’t see.
“You should sleep here. I can take you home in the morning, I’m just too sleepy right now.” He pouts his mouth a little and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his side.
“Okay.” You’re admittedly too spent to call an Uber or argue with him about taking you home tonight. You just need to sleep. Sleep will fix everything. Tomorrow you will wake up and not feel like you’re losing your entire mind.
“…don’t ever fucking do that again…” You hear part of a conversation in your half asleep state. “I swear if you would have hurt her…”
Who the hell is Taehyung talking to in the middle of the night?
“She’s with the spider….liability.” A deep inhuman voice fills the empty air. Your eyes shoot open wide and every nerve is suddenly completely wired.
Are they…are they talking about Jungkook?
“She’s not. She said she’s not,” Taehyung’s voice answers, stress evident in his words.
“We should eat her now…”
“No! You’ll have to kill me if you think you’re ever touching her. And we both know you can’t do that,” Taehyung yells.
You wrap the thin sheet around your naked body and slowly move towards the railing that overlooks the open part of the warehouse downstairs. You stay back far enough so not to alert anyone of your presence.
Looking down, you see Taehyung sitting at a table with his back towards you, wearing his black jeans slung low on his hips and nothing else. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration.
And that’s when it seems like the shadows around him start to move and your heart threatens to burst from your chest. Because not only do they move, but they have a face. A terrifying face that is seeping from the back of Taehyung’s neck and moving around him …as it talks.
“You’re weak for her,” the monster growls deeply, its huge teeth and unnaturally long tongue becoming more apparent as it moves into the light.
“We had a deal.” Taehyung seethes. “I’m literally the only person you haven’t killed when you bonded with them. You need me to get your symbiote friends home and I need you to take down that fucking lab.”
You can barely believe what you’re seeing or hearing. Is this the monster Jungkook was talking about? The one breaking into the lab across the river?
“Aren’t we friends?” The monster asks in a condescending way.
“Not if you hurt ____. She has no idea what she’s in the middle of and it should stay that way.” Taehyung holds his arms out straight and the monster starts to wrap its moving pitch black skin around him…its skin becoming his.
You’re so startled by the sight in front of you that you stumble back, knocking over an end table full of magazines and books. Fuck.
“Shit,” you hear Taehyung say before the monster has completely consumed him. What stands in his place is something you will never forget for the rest of your life.
The monster must be at least 8 feet tall, huge bulking muscles made of that inhuman black skin that constantly appears to be moving. Its huge white eyes land right on you immediately, its mouth and teeth pulling into a wicked smile as it jumps into the air and clears the railing in a single leap. You scream as the ground crunches beneath its feet when it lands in front of you.
The monster looms over you and all the breath in your lungs disappears.
“What…what are you?” you croak, fear freezing you in place.
genre: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend
rating: 18+
warnings: semi public sex, blowjob, spanking, jk is truly obsessed w her <3, protected sex, nipple play, jk leaves a hickey n oc gets upset 🙄, spit, dirty talk, his necklace dangling in her face 😋, jk's rejection count: TWO !!!!, pls someone hug him 🫂, fingering, clit play, groping
summary: pov: jungkook dedicates a cute playlist to you and fucks you to it on the balcony.
a/n: ur honour i was forced to write this don't come for me !!! 👉🏼👈🏼 enjoy the filth 😋
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
One of your favourite forms of self-care and relaxation is Pilates.
You love dressing up in your cute gym wear sets – you own countless of them, even though you never actually work out in the gym; they’re purely for the aesthetics – and grabbing a big water bottle along with your laptop for at least half an hour dedicated me-time.
It’s a bright morning and you’re on the balcony. The sun is gently warming the air as you’re following a Pilates video on your laptop, which is propped up on the couch. Jungkook’s playlist, the one he created just for you, is playing softly in the background, providing the perfect soundtrack without drowning out the instructor’s voice.
Truly, nothing can beat these types of mornings.
But of course, something had to interrupt your peace.
While you’re on your hands and knees, your phone vibrates next to the mat. You ignore it the first few times, but it keeps buzzing. With an annoyed huff, you grab it and unlock the screen.
Jungkook’s spamming you with numerous messages.
Jungcock 😋
hi
morning
watchu up to
im taking a run in the park
and im boored
are u up?
entertain me
You
omg did you change your contact's name again
stop doing that
how can you text and run?
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he calls you on FaceTime.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” Jungkook says in a raspy voice, the screen shaking a bit as he runs his miles around campus. “I’m good at everything I do.” His tight black tee clings to his chest, displaying his big pecs. You feel your breath hitch and you’re not sure if it’s from your workout or the sight of him.
“Your ego, Jungkook,” you reply, shaking your head in disbelief. “Too big.” You set your phone down with an exasperated sigh, leaning it against the feet of the couch. His eyes drift down to your cleavage.
“I think my ego is perfectly fine. Flashing his dimples as you roll your eyes at him. “What are you doing?” he asks, sounding a bit breathless – so hot, but you brush it off. You’re a strong girl, after all.
“Was doing Pilates until you rudely interrupted me,” you say skipping back on the YouTube video and picking up where you left off. “Don’t you have other girls to entertain you?”
“None of them are as cute as you,” he replies smoothly, and you can’t help but wish he wouldn’t be so good at flirting. “You look hot in that fit.”
“Thanks.” You follow the instructions on the screen. It turns out to be a bit harder to focus with a sweaty, ruggedly handsome Jungkook right beneath it.
“Are you listening to my playlist?”
“Yeah,” you admit, smiling.
Your thoughts wander back to the time Jungkook made that playlist for you. You had told him you never really listened to playlists, just played one song and let the auto-play feature do the rest. He was so stunned by that revelation that he spent an afternoon creating a cute little summer playlist just for you.
“Good choice,” he grins, clearly pleased with himself.
“I actually really like the playlist.”
“Of course. I make the best playlists,” he boasts, and you can’t help but chuckle at his confidence.
An exhausted sigh escapes your lips. After finishing the set, you change into the child pose and take deep breaths, relaxing the muscles.
“Taehyung’s at his morning class?” he asks.
“Uh-huh.”
“Can I come over?”
You lift your head to look at the screen. He’s running at a more leisurely pace, looking even more irresistible.
“Like, right now?”
“Yeah.”
“But I’m busy,” you argue, teasing him with a thoughtful pout. On the screen, the instructor announces that the little break is over, and you should get ready for your next set, but you’re not listening anymore. What’s happening on the little screen in front of you is far more enticing.
“Busy, huh?” he mocks with a smirk. “Maybe I can help you with what you’re doing.” His eyes light up with excitement as he pushes his hair from his forehead. “Or you wanna get busy together?”
Unfortunately, it seems you’re not as strong a girl as you thought. You’re very weak. His teasing question, coupled with his wicked tongue grazing his lip piercing, has you weak in the knees. You want nothing more than him on the couch and you straddling him.
“I won’t take up too much of your time,” he promises, the sweet smile back on his face. “Unless you want me to.” He raises an eyebrow teasingly.
“Just come over,” you tell him with a hint of irritation.
Jungkook has the audacity to chuckle, and you frown at him.
“Be quick, or I’ll change my mind.”
~
“Hi.” Jungkook pokes his head out from the balcony.
You squeal, placing a hand over your chest.
“Jungkook!” you exclaim. “What happened to ringing the bell like normal visitors?”
“Why did you give me the passcode then?” he retorts cheekily, ogling the snug fit of your gym wear.
“Because I had severe cramps and didn’t wanna get up from the couch.”
Thinking back on that specific day, you feel a spark of giddiness bloom in your chest. You had gotten your period, were battling atrocious cramps, and top of it, you had run out of pads. With Taehyung not home and needing them urgently, you knew Jungkook was always quick to reply to your texts. So, you decided to ask him if he could pick up some pads for you.
Twenty minutes later, he showed up at your door not only with the pads but also with snacks. You could see the faint pink flush on his cheeks when he asked, “Girls like eating chocolate when they’re on their period, right?” and hesitantly handed you the snacks.
And then, you did something that still makes you ponder at night – you cuddled without having had sex before. Oddly enough, it felt more intimate than any sexual encounter. Granted, you did get up to some naughty things afterwards, but still. Jungkook had cuddled you through your cramps and even endured watching reality tv shows he claims to despise once again.
“Well, I didn’t wanna disrupt you.” Jungkook walks over to the couch. He grabs your laptop, settles down, and places it on his lap. “Not now, anyway.”
You shift to sit on your knees. Briefly glancing at the screen where the instructor does the next set of exercises before drifting to Jungkook’s smitten face. His skin glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest still rises and falls a bit faster than usually.
You nod towards him, eyes clinging to his muscular thighs that peek out from his shorts. “How am I supposed to focus when-” When you look like that. But the words catch in your throat.
Jungkook is so shamelessly cocky, he places his hands behind his head. “When what?”
You sigh in irritation, close the video, and slide the laptop off his lap and onto the couch. He opens his legs for you. “Forget this,” you huff, placing your hands on his knees. Jungkook leans in, crashing his lips onto yours, his hand cupping your face.
The kiss is needy and messy. He teases you with his tongue, and you playfully respond until he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, causing you to moan and lose yourself in the feeling of his mouth. In less than a minute, Jungkook has you completely pliant in his embrace.
The balcony is surrounded by tall privacy screens and partially shaded by a large canopy, providing privacy from prying eyes.
Your hands slide up his legs, underneath his shorts. You feel his thighs flex on your palm and you squeeze them back in response.
“Wanna feel your mouth,” Jungkook whispers against your lips, sighing in pleasure when you just barely graze your fingers against his cock that strains against the material of his briefs.
Jungkook impatiently pulls down his shorts and briefs and you help him. His cock springs out and stands prettily against his abdomen. Your mouth waters and you have to tell yourself to calm down – he's just a boy and you’re too whipped.
You spit on his cock and coat his length with it. You twist your hand as you slowly pump him and he grows even harder within your grasp, becoming veiny and heavy. You stick out your tongue and give him a few licks over his tip. Jungkook sharply inhales, a gentle moan following right after when he sees you tapping his dick against your tongue.
“Fuck, babe.” He takes his cock in his own hand and continues tapping his head against your tongue. He runs his tip across your mouth too, watching with keen, clouded eyes as he creates a little mess on your face. When he’s finished, he lets you grab his cock again. You wrap your lips around his dick and start bobbing your head up and down.
“That’s right,” he says, brushing your hair behind your ear. His eyes close as you take him deeper into your mouth and his head falls back. With his palm on the back of your head, he presses your head down. A curse flees his lips as almost his entire length vanishes into your mouth.
Jungkook forces his eyes open and moans at the sight of your mouth full of his cock. He loves watching you suck his cock and you love hearing him moan for you.
You’re a little breathless when you release his cock with a lewd pop sound, and your eyes a bit teary too. You stroke his dick and dip down to suck on his balls.
“So good. Fuck – you know what to do,” he mumbles like he’s drunk and you giggle at his comment.
“You like that?”
“So fucking much.” His hand caresses your head, so soft at handling you, but the way desire pinches his brows together shows how much he is struggling to restrain himself from just shoving his entire length down your throat. “Come here.” His tatted hand glides down your shoulder, pulling you up onto his lap.
He squeezes your ass and delivers it a little smack. “You’re so hot.” He peeks over your shoulder, watching the supple flesh fill his hands completely.
“How can you claim to be an everything guy when you’re clearly an ass guy.”
Jungkook takes offense at that. “I am an everything guy!” His hands quickly move to your breasts and he kneads them through your sports bra. “I love your tits just as much.” The tight material presses them snugly together. “I love every part of you.”
You feel a gentle warmth in your cheeks, but you laugh it off. “That is so playboy behaviour of you, Jungkook.”
A frown spreads on his face, lips puckering the slightest bit. “I’m no playboy,” he grumbles as he plays with your tits. Planting little kisses along your neck as if to add sincerity to his words.
You push his arms away and try to stand up, but Jungkook quickly pulls you back onto his lap, firmly gripping your waist.
“Where are you going?” he asks, his tone almost scolding. You grasp his wrist, but he doesn’t let go, his hands remaining firmly in place.
“Condoms,” you remind him. He lets out a quiet, muffled “oh”, and his grip loosens with a reluctant sigh. “’Cause, you know. We hook up with other people.”
Jungkook scoffs at your remark.
“What?” Tilting your head slightly. “I saw you with Nayeon at the party.” You try to sound as least huffy as you can.
“And you fucked Eunwoo,” he counters.
You actually didn’t – you just made out with him. You deliberately chose a spot so Jungkook could see you from the couch, with Nayeon clinging to his side, just because you wanted him to see you.
“So?”
Jungkook levels you with a piercing gaze but remains quiet. He gives your butt a pat and nods towards the balcony door. “Go get the condom.”
When you fetch a condom from your room and return to Jungkook, you see saliva dripping from his lips and he lubes himself up as his pretty fingers wrap around him and stroke his cock. He looks unfairly hot doing the filthiest things.
“Bend over my lap,” he instructs when you hand him the condom, but he ignores it and drops it next to him.
He helps you settle onto his lap, your tummy pressed against one of his thighs and your ass in the air. Jungkook rolls the tight fabric of your shorts over your ass. He flicks your panties aside and groans at the pretty sight in front of him. Wet pussy peeks out from between your soft thighs.
His finger swipes across your pussy. “So wet for me. Can’t wait to have my dick in your pussy, huh?” He rubs your arousal over your pussy, spreading your folds to spit and make an even bigger mess. He’s having so much fun teasing and rubbing you, playing a little with your clit and dipping the tip of his finger inside you.
“Jungkook,” you whine, looking over your shoulder. “We don’t have that much time.”
“Sorry.” He circles your hole with two fingers and plunges them deep inside you. “Better, princess?” he asks after you choke on a moan, mocking you with fake sympathy.
“Yeah, better.” The words roll off your tongue in a soft whisper. Jungkook curls his fingers and your eyes roll involuntarily. “So good.” His other hand rolls the plump flesh of your ass around his palm, sometimes squeezing and leaving his fingerprints on your skin.
He’s fast in figuring out a rhythmic way to move his fingers that instantly unfurls pleasure all over your body. Jungkook knows your body all too well; he has perfected the art of knowing what you like the most.
It makes you think back to high school when you had the biggest, silliest crush on him and wanted nothing more than his attention. Who could blame you? Your older brother’s hot best friend was the captain of the school’s hockey team and practically lived at your house.
Of course, developing a crush on him was inevitable. But you never showed him that you found him cute – you treated him like your older brother’s annoying best friend who was always around. Bickering was just the nature of your friendship. Sometimes, you’d get annoyed when your dad paid more attention to Jungkook. It wasn’t because he preferred Jungkook over you, but because your dad, a high-profile NHL General Manager, supported the boys on their journey.
Every girl in school was swooning over him – they still are. And you’re not the only girl he’s paying attention to. You have to force yourself to admit that he’s hooking up with other girls too, because denying it would make this seem so serious, and the thought of things becoming serious scares you.
You’re content with how things are between you two – you’re not foolish enough to turn this simple, silly arrangement into something serious when you know it wouldn’t last. Taehyung being the main reason for that. But you don’t want Jungkook in a romantic way anyway, and he doesn’t too.
Jungkook smacks your butt, soothing the sharp hit by running his hand over your burning skin right after. “Want your little pussy to be a mess for me.”
It is, you want to say. You are. But you’re lost in the tingling pleasure that clouds your mind, leaving you with nothing but desperate need for him. Any rational thoughts vanish, replaced by an angelic, repetitive chant of his name. Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.
And with only Jungkook your mind, you cum around his fingers, walls clenching as the rush of your high envelops you completely.
“Good girl.” His fingers lather your slick all over your pussy, marvelling at how much it glistens under the sun, watching how it sticks to the pad of his fingers in little strings. “So pretty.” He discards your shorts and panties before pulling you up and making you straddle him.
Your arms drape over his shoulders as he takes in your weary expression, a small smirk rising on his face.
“So annoying,” you mutter and his smile grows wider. You smooch his dimple and rest your forehead against his neck when Jungkook rolls the condom over his cock and you feel him lift your hips up a little to align his tip with your entrance.
He stretches you out in a familiar, delicious way. Burying himself so deep inside you as you sink down on him. Your nose brushes his jaw and a shaky moan bubbles up when you move your hips and feel the full size of his cock.
Jungkook hands stay on your hips, guiding your movements before they sneak behind you and anchor themselves in your butt and you sniff a laugh, leaning back to peer at his face.
“Why?” he questions, curiosity piqued. Even though he doesn’t know why you’re amused, a soft smile spreads on his face.
“Nothing.” Your fingers gently weave through his smooth hair, playing with the strands at the back of his head. “Just you.”
The corners of his mouth curl upward and a satisfied, cocky glint settles in his eyes.
“Take this off,” you say, tugging at the tight-fitting shirt covering his upper half. Jungkook pulls it over his head, revealing a shiny silver necklace decorating his neck. “Is this new?” You trace the delicate chain with your nail.
“Yeah,” he grins proudly. Setting your laptop aside on the coffee table, he manhandles you onto your back, pushing his cock even further into you as he sits on his knees and leans over you. “You like it?”
The necklace dangles just above your face, its silver chain shimmering and momentarily catching your attention. You pull him closer by tugging on it.
“It’s pretty. Suits you.”
The compliment conjures a boyish smile on his lips, making his face soften with a warm, endearing glow – such a sweet contrast to the way he pounds into you with practised movements, his skin covered in sweat yet again, but not for the innocent reason of keeping fit for hockey, but for the wicked reason that Jungkook can’t control his desire to fuck his best friend’s younger sister and keeps coming back to you despite having so many other options.
Jungkook drags your bra down and squeezes your breast, loving the heavy feel of your supple flesh filling his closed fist.
You throw your legs around his waist to pull him even closer to you, if that’s even possible, and Jungkook deepens his thrusts, leaving you gasping for air and holding onto his shoulders, needing something to sink your nails into.
He dips his head down and catches your pebbled and sensitive nub in his mouth, sucking and licking and making your moans whinier. Jungkook leaves tiny flecks of spit on your skin as he peppers your chest and neck with smooches.
Jungkook’s touches send waves of euphoria through you, leaving your thoughts scattered and your senses heightened by how good he makes you feel, chasing your high as you concentrate on the way he reaches your sweet spot every time his body meets yours, so you only realise Jungkook is nibbling and sucking on your neck when you feel his teeth poke you.
“Jungkook,” you scold him, yanking him by the hair.
“What?” He peers at you through his big, round doe eyes.
“Why would you do that?” Your finger grazes the spot where he was just working hard to create a little hickey. “You know I don’t like that.”
“But you look pretty with it.” His brows raise to make his point clear. “Trust me.” He smiles at you in an annoyingly charming way, giving the freshly created hickey a gentle kiss. “A little love bite.” Love bite. You don’t want to dwell on how those words make you feel.
The only thing you want to think about is how close you are to cumming.
“Don’t do that again.” You avoid his gaze and cast it downwards, where he disappears into you. “Just– just make me cum.”
He pushes your leg up, his palm firmly against the back of your thigh. His sparkly necklace catches your attention, swinging in front your face, and it's the way he looks – his face flushed with desire, eyes smouldering, and every muscle taut with intensity – that makes it impossible to look away, leaving you completely captivated as you listen to his pretty moans that sound even better than the song playing in the background.
Your fingers trail down his chest, brushing over his hard abs as a faint attempt to moan his name rolls of your tongue and you bask in the bliss that floods through you.
“Fuck, ___,” he rasps when he feels you squeezing his cock. “Gonna cum too.”
His thrusts become sloppy as Jungkook loses himself in the feeling of release. His moans are breathy and low and you hear him stutter when he finally comes undone too. The muscles on his tummy clench and you feel his grip on your thigh tighten as Jungkook moves his hips slowly now. With rosy cheeks and a look of deep satisfaction brightening his face, he leans in, and presses a fervent kiss to your lips.
You’d love to stay like this with him a bit longer, teasing and annoying each other until you’re ready for another round. But the reminder that Taehyung’s class will end soon brings you back to reality. You only ever have these secret moments for a limited time before reality comes crashing back down.
“Think we should head inside?” you ask.
“Uh-huh.” He’s busy dotting your neck with gentle kisses.
“You’d have to get off me, y’know?”
He chuckles, and you feel a ticklish flutter in your tummy.
“Just wait a minute.”
~
You step back inside once you’re both clothed again and you managed to pry Jungkook off you after he stubbornly clung to you for what felt like ages. Definitely longer than just a minute.
“We could make this exclusive, if you’d want that,” Jungkook proposes, stepping closer and you feel his heavy gaze lingering on you.
“Huh?” You’re busy with closing the balcony door, cursing the insects that always manage to invade your apartment. Taehyung’s been promising to put up the insect screen for months.
Jungkook helps you close the door with a strong push. “If the condoms annoy you, we could stop hooking up with other people.”
“Oh,” you utter, surprised.
If you’re honest with yourself, you have to admit that Jungkook has ruined you for other guys. No other boy quiet hits the same after experiencing how Jungkook treats you in bed. There is a reason why girls blush and giggle and crave his attention whenever he walks by. He’s just that good.
But being exclusive means spending even more time together, which increases the chance of Taehyung finding out.
You cringe at the thought of that.
“We’d practically be begging Taehyung to catch us like fools,” you tell him.
Just then, you hear someone type in the code and the front door opens.
Quickly, like a practised move, you put distance between you and Jungkook.
“You hungry, ___?” Taehyung calls out, emerging from the hallway. His gaze is focused on his phone as he types, until he notices you and Jungkook and stops in his tracks. “I was just about to call you for breakfast.” He lifts the bag from your favourite bakery. “What are you doing here?”
“I knew you’d invite me for breakfast.” Jungkook beams, reaching for the bag.
Taehyung’s gaze shifts to you, but you quickly brush past him. “I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t wait for me!”
“Did you come from a workout?” You hear Taehyung ask Jungkook.
Jungkook says yes, but he doesn’t tell your brother what kind of workout.
And moments like these are exactly why you want to keep things as they are with Jungkook.
– summary: as if watching the guy you were hopelessly in love with hook up with another girl each weekend wasn’t enough, he also happened to be your best friend, making things extra complicated. and it only gets worse and worse once he finds you crying in the bathroom at a party one night.
– warnings: some angst, some fluff, a lot of alcohol, jealousy, yoongi being a bit of a fuckboy, crying, reader being in an emotional rollercoaster during the whole fic. not proof-read because i am that lazy, i’m sorry.
How the hell did you always end up in the same situation?
It was a reoccurring event by now: You on the dancefloor of some stranger’s living room, a drink in your hand and your friends by your side. That itself didn’t sound too bad, if it wasn’t for the knot you felt in your stomach.
By now it was almost a familiar feeling; the pain and uncertainty have been ruining your last few Saturday nights out.
“What’s the problem?” you almost couldn’t hear Hoseok yell over the loud music but his facial expressions gave away that he seemed worried about you.
“I’m fine,” you promised and gave him a bright smile before raising your cup for him to toast with you – both of you knew you weren’t fine at all but after being your friend for years Hoseok knew better than to harass you into telling what was occupying your mind.
You appreciated your friend very much for that, happy that he would never pressure you into saying out loud what almost everyone assumed anyways.
Though no one knew for sure what the reason for your mood swings was – it was okay for them to assume it, but you would never admit it. If any of your friends found out you knew they’d try to get involved and only would make things more awkward than they already were for you.
☆summary: when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?
☆pairing: Min Yoongi x singer female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI)
☆genre: work collaborators to lovers, idol!au, smut, angst, fluff
☆warnings: alcohol, cursing, OC has family problems similar to those Yoongi went through, financial insecurity, loneliness, cheating but not cheating because they are on a break, sexist interviewer, explicit content: grinding, dom!reader, switch!Yoongi, big dick!Yoongi, oral sex (male and female receiving), jerking off, face riding, tits/nipples play, hickey, fingering, protected sex, choking, clit play, denied orgasms (due to consensual drunk sex), fingering, mentions of anal sex, handcuffs, anal plug, anal fingering
☆word count: 34.9k
☆a/n: it’s so weird to post something other than The Forgotten Spaces :’) I hope you’ll still enjoy this! As per always, thank you to @moonleeai for her incredible work as my beta reader! You’re the best <3
☆Read the other installments in the Life Goes On series here!
Genre: exes to lovers, the babiest angst straight to fluffy smut (they’ve got shit to work out, but they get there!!)
Summary: You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?
Rating: NSFW - minors DNI
Warnings: manbun!yoongi YES THAT IS A WARNING, drinking, language, kissing, breast play/nip stim, fingering, unprotected sex with bc (be safer than this!!!), multiple orgasms (f), penetrative sex, soft idiots in love
A/N: Merry Christmas, Kelly!!!! @here4btsfics I was soooooo excited to pull your name for @bangtansecretsanta because it gave me such a good opportunity to get to know you better and start talking to you! I really, really hope you love this little Christmas fic!
I know you said no angst so just a lil disclaimer, a synopsis I messaged my beta was "it hurts for a hot minute but then they kiss about it and everyone is fine" so I think you'll be okay!!!
Huge thank you to @kookstempo @moonleeai and @cherrysoulth for beta-ing and to @itaeewon for the gorgeous banner!
“Anything new with you? How’s work?”
You plaster on what you hope is a friendly smile and not a sarcastic one. Seokjin’s girlfriend is super nice, you remember her from a party over the summer, but you do not want to talk about work right now. You want to drown yourself in another cinnamon toast crunch cocktail and double-fist those iced, reindeer-shaped brown-sugar cookies.
You admit to being a little bit on edge.
You’ve attended Taehyung’s annual Christmas party every year since you left for college. It’s tradition, and it’s one of the only times each year that the whole group is back together again after you all went your separate ways in the world.
Except, for the last five years, Yoongi hadn’t attended. You never thought too much about why - too busy, other plans, just the fact that he’s an absolute Grinch… or maybe it’s your presence that keeps him away. You didn’t waste too much time thinking about it. You’re just always happy he isn’t there.
Until this year.
No one even had the decency to shoot you a warning text. Hey, heads up, your ex is here, very unexpectedly.
You knock back the rest of your drink and head to make yourself a new one.
You normally attach yourself to Jimin at these, but he’s betrayed you this year by bringing an absolutely gorgeous date. They’re currently hogging the doorway with mistletoe above it. You make a mental note to remind him tomorrow that the PDA thing stops being cute after a while.
“Work’s good,” you say, finally answering the question. “Nothing new. How about you and Jin? All good?”
“Nothing new to report!” she grins. Then, the smile slips off her face a little as she glances at her phone. She notices you watching and grimaces. “Sorry,” she says, “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just keeping an eye on the radar. The storm tonight is supposed to get nasty.”
“Hey! What’s the rule tonight?” a voice bellows from the living room. It’s Taehyung, perched against the back of one of his couches, and he points an accusatory finger at the girl you’re talking to.
She must know something you don’t, because while you’re baffled, she looks chagrined. “Don’t talk about the blizzard,” she recites by rote.
“Don’t talk about the blizzard,” he repeats. “Have another drink. It’s Christmas Eve, we welcome the snow.”
“You’re the only person I know who’s optimistic enough to try to throw a party on a night they’re calling for the storm of the century,” Seokjin tells him, making his way into the kitchen - probably to protect his girlfriend from Taehyung’s scoldings.
“They say that every time,” Taehyung scoffs, waving a hand. Then he’s up and moving, heading towards the dining room, where a spread of food is laid out.
There must be more people in there, you think, because the kitchen and the living room are definitely looking a little less crowded than they were an hour ago. Yoongi and Hoseok are on the couch, glasses in hand, talking quietly. The tv, mounted high on the wall, plays a classic Christmas film in black and white. You stop before the balcony doors, peering out into the night. The lamps that line the parking lot glow orange, and you can see in the lamplight that snow is falling steadily, and it’s starting to accumulate a little on the pavement below.
Jimin comes up beside you. His date’s lipstick is still smudged in the corner of his mouth.
“You’re a hot mess,” you tell him affectionately.
“I think we’re gonna head out,” he tells you, ignoring the jab.
You shake your head, your earrings glittering in your reflection in the glass. “It’s not even nine,” you point out.
“The roads are going to get slick,” he tells you, suddenly serious. “You should think about getting an Uber before too long, too.”
“You’re going to break Taehyung’s heart,” you inform him. “I think he’s starting to catch on that people are leaving.”
“He should have rescheduled the party!” Jimin says hotly; he and Taehyung had argued about this passionately all week, ever since the forecast picked up on the storm coming through. “We could have done this yesterday, no blizzard, everyone would have stayed all night!”
Jimin’s date slinks over and presses her hand to his upper back. “Ready?” she asks, voice like silk.
“Bye,” you tell him sulkily. In the reflection, you watch him pause to tell Yoongi and Hoseok goodbye. They each stand, reaching in one at a time to give him a quick one-armed hug goodbye.
You keep watching the reflection in the glass as Hoseok takes advantage of already being up and heads for the dining room.
You knew it would happen at some point tonight - you’re alone in the living room with Yoongi. You’d just hoped it would happen after you were a lot drunker.
He meanders over. You glance at the drink in his hand - whiskey, neat. You could have guessed that on a gameshow and earned some money.
He’s dressed in all black - down to the chelsea boots. His hair is half-up in a bun that sits just behind the crown of his head. The rest brushes the tops of his shoulders, curling slightly at the ends.
He’d never had long hair like this before. It’s a crime how fucking good it looks.
Your gameplan tonight has been simple: avoid, avoid, avoid. But Yoongi stands close enough to reach out and touch you, sips at his whiskey, and murmurs, “It’s been a while.”
Five years. But who’s counting?
“It has,” you allow. You hate confrontation, you don’t want this to be a thing. You’re determined to be polite, play nice, and hopefully get out of here unscathed. “How have you been? Are you enjoying yourself?”
He wiggles his head. “Eh. You know I’m not into all that holly, jolly shit.”
“It’s a Christmas party,” you point out flatly. “Holly, jolly is kind of the point.”
He shrugs. “The point for me is just to see the guys, catch up with everyone. It’s been a long time since we were all together.”
He means we the guys, not we you and him. But your heart still speeds up at the word, the traitor.
You nod, turning away from him to look outside again. But your eyes stay on his reflection, both of you standing with your backs to the party. He looks down at his drink, swirls the amber liquid around the bottom of the glass.
“You always did hate the holidays,” you observe absently.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, so gently that it shocks you into turning to look at him.
“Do what?”
“Rehash everything,” he says with a shrug. “Talk about everything we remember. Talk at all.”
“If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t,” you snap, suddenly defensive and heated. “You came over here, not the other way around.” So much for polite and non-confrontational. But damn, he has some audacity.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says, a little quickly, holding up his one empty hand like he’s surrendering. “I just meant… don’t feel like you have to, if you don’t want to. Don’t do it for my sake.”
Your temper settles, but you still feel a little… disgruntled, unsettled. “If I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be,” you grumble.
He smiles at this. “That’s right. You never do anything you don’t want to do.”
Maybe that used to be the case.
The liquor takes over your mouth. “I didn’t want to break up,” you say pointedly, “so I guess that’s not true.”
He huffs out a single laugh, shaking his head at your audacity. “You always just say shit,” he murmurs. “To hell with the consequences.”
“What consequences?” you demand, turning to face him fully. “Are you going to dump me more? I fail to see how I could make things worse for us after five years of not speaking.”
He licks his lips, eyes on his glass again. That was the thing about you and Yoongi - he’s right, you did just say shit. And he always just handled it. He always heard you, processed it, and dealt with it productively. He never took the bait and got mad back, never yelled - even when you’d wished he’d yell.
“It’s because,” he’d told you, sometime around seven years ago, when you were together, “when you say absolutely wild shit like that, you always mean something else. And I just happen to be very good at translating you.”
Now, he meets your eyes again, having processed. Having translated. “What I’m hearing you say,” he says slowly, “is that you’re still mad at me.”
That’s all it takes to take the wind out of your sails - that’s always how it worked with you and Yoongi. You blustered and got worked up, and he defused you easily - just by meeting your gaze, just by assuring you that you were heard.
“I think I’m mad at our circumstances,” you correct quietly. “And I think I’ve had too many of these.” You eye the cocktail in your hand with narrowed, accusatory eyes.
He gives you the barest sliver of a smile. “Don’t blame the drinks,” he says, shaking his head. “You never could lie to me - it has nothing to do with alcohol.”
He’s right. For all your faults, for all the negatives you can take credit for, you always told him the truth.
Namjoon appears in the living room, a beer in hand, still in the bottle.
“I’m trying to decide which one of you needs to be rescued from the other,” he admits, looking between you, “and I honestly can’t tell.”
“Rescue him from me,” you say. “He’s been nice and I’ve been prickly.”
“You?” Namjoon says in mock surprise. “Prickly? No way.”
You flip him off, smiling.
Seokjin comes up behind Namjoon, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’re going,” he says, looking past you to the snow outside. “I don’t want to drive once the roads are slick.”
Namjoon sighs, following his gaze. “I was having fun,” he says sadly. “But I’m probably not too far behind you.”
“Nooo,” Taehyung whines from the dining room. “Everyone stop leaving! It’s just a little snow!”
Seokjin’s girlfriend finds him, joining your little circle, her phone still in her hand. “We’re supposed to have almost three inches by midnight,” she says in a whisper, clearly not wanting Taehyung to come after her. “We need to get moving.”
When Seokjin and his girlfriend leave, you float back towards the dining room. Namjoon and Yoongi stay behind, talking quietly. Probably, Namjoon is checking to make sure you weren’t too mean to him. Which… that’s fair.
The truth is, you aren’t mad at Yoongi. How could you be? When he ended things, he hadn’t been cruel, or unfair. His decision had been made logically. You understood exactly why he felt he needed to do it.
That’s where the hurt came from, you figured. You were always led by your emotions - quick to anger, but quick to laugh. Yoongi was always more even-tempered, logical. While you were packing up your life to move away from home for university, he’d laid out the reasons you shouldn’t stay together like they were a grocery list.
Like it didn’t hurt him at all.
None of his reasons were wrong. But would it have killed him to act like he cared? You’d been together three years - and you felt like they should count more, since they were such formative ones. Like dog years - each one should have counted for seven. It had broken your heart to let him walk away - shouldn’t he have felt something, too?
You’d dated plenty in college, a few of those relationships getting serious enough to last a few months. But at the end of the day, nobody compared to your first love. How could they? How could anyone?
No one understood you like Yoongi. No one could translate you like Yoongi. No one knew - or learned - how to settle you down like Yoongi. No one had that mental encyclopedia of useless knowledge like Yoongi. No one else had that perfect blend of dry and earnest like Yoongi. No one else fit to your body like a puzzle piece like Yoongi.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter then, and it doesn’t matter now. Yoongi had left, Yoongi had taken the decision right out of your hands and walked away with it. You weren’t mad at him, but you definitely resented that.
You’d had years to get over it, to forgive him, to come to terms with the fact that he was right about every single thing. But forgiveness and understanding are one thing. Letting go - of him, of loving him - is something else entirely, and you’re starting to think that even a lifetime of years won’t be enough for that.
That’s enough of that, you think, giving yourself a rough mental shake. You set down your drink glass and head for the bathroom, but it’s occupied. You lean against the wall outside, counting your breaths, trying to get yourself back into that holly, jolly headspace.
The door opens and Jungkook emerges, singing under his breath, “Pah-rum-pum-pum-pum!”
“Hi, JayKay,” you say, moving to slide past him into the bathroom.
“Oh, hey!” he says brightly. “I was just about to leave. You have a way to get home, right? It’s getting worse out there.”
“I was just going to Uber,” you tell him.
“Better do it soon,” he warns. “Soon the drivers aren’t going to want to be on the roads.”
“Good point,” you say, and wave a quick goodbye before shutting the bathroom door. You give yourself a stern look in the mirror.
Get it together, please, you think firmly. Seeing your ex - this ex, too, not just a casual one - for the first time in five years earns you a little wallowing, you think, and you fully intend to. At home. Later. Not here, in front of everyone.
Not here, in front of him.
Back in the kitchen, the party has really dwindled down to the last few people. Outside, snow falls as steadily as Taehyung’s guest list.
The peer pressure gets to you, and you pull out your phone and open a ride-share app. It takes a while before a driver connects, but you’re persistent. Once you have a driver, you watch the little image of their car start to head in your direction on the map.
From the dining room, you hear Yoongi make a tch of frustration. “No one is picking up for me,” he grumbles, seemingly to himself.
You go find your coat, slipping your arms into the sleeves and doing up each button. When you return to the dining room, Yoongi and Taehyung are the only ones left. Taehyung is fully, blatantly, sulking, his arms crossed on the table and his chin resting dejectedly atop them.
“Better luck next time, bud,” you tell him kindly.
Yoongi is still squinting at his phone screen, frowning.
You feel a twinge of concern, of the need to make it better for him the way you used to on a regular basis. “Still nothing?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t even see anyone on the map.”
You check your phone again - your car is just up the road. “I have one,” you tell him. “Join mine - we’ll just request the extra stop.”
Yoongi meets your eyes, holds your gaze for a minute. Then, he says, so seriously, “Are you sure?”
You know he means it. You know if you give any indication that you don’t want him in a car with you, he won’t push it.
“Yeah,” you say. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you stranded here.”
“Why not?” Taehyung whines, kicking his feet a little in protest.
“My car’s just here though,” you warn, eyes on your screen, both of you absolutely ignoring the host of the party.
“I’ll grab my coat,” Yoongi says, and heads for the hallway.
“Sorry, Taehyung,” you say sympathetically. “I know you’re sad.”
He refuses to look at you.
After giving over-the-top goodbye hugs to try and un-sulk the whiny baby, you and Yoongi head down the stairs and outside. You don’t look behind you to check that Yoongi is following. The car idles by the curb, and you double-check the license plate against the app.
In the backseat of the car, you slide over to make room for Yoongi. As soon as he closes his door and the car lurches into motion, the vibe changes. You sit stiffly, ramrod straight, eyes on the windshield. Yoongi’s not sitting quite as straight as you, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, like he’s holding himself carefully so he doesn’t touch you by accident with the car’s inertia.
You had put in your parent’s address when you requested the ride, since that’s where you’re staying until New Years’ Day. You and Yoongi sit in blasting, blaring silence as the car crosses the middle of the town you’d both grown up in, that you’d run around in together as teenagers in love. But, past town, towards the quiet neighborhood where your parents’ house is, the car slows to a stop.
“I can’t go through this way, Miss,” your driver says, peering at you through the rearview mirror. “There’s a powerline down up there.”
“Oh shit,” you say, which is probably not very polite of you. You lean forward to look at the same time Yoongi does, your shoulders bumping. You both recoil quickly.
“I think you can get to the development from the other side,” you muse, “but we’d have to backtrack and go around the lake on the other side…”
“Let’s just go to my place,” Yoongi interjects. “The roads are getting worse, and it’s close.”
You frown. Yoongi’s parents’ house - which you’d been to plenty of times as a younger person - is on the other side of town. Not close by your standards, but you aren’t here to argue.
Or maybe you are.
“I don’t know, Yoongi,” you say, uncertainty creeping into your voice. “How will I get home from there?”
“You might have to stay,” he admits, leaning down to better look at the road through the front windshield. The driver sits, watching you debate, waiting for a directive.
You give Yoongi a silent look like, okay, and so you see my problem?
He scoffs at you. “It’s fine. We can handle one night.”
You want to ask, how sure are you about that? Instead, you start to tell the driver Yoongi’s parents’ address.
“Wait,” Yoongi says, putting a hand gently on your arm to stop you. You both freeze, looking at the point of contact. Yoongi shakes himself out of it first, and tells the driver a different address.
The car shifts back into drive and you look at Yoongi quizzically.
“Did your family move?” you ask finally.
Here’s the thing. You know Yoongi, you get Yoongi; five years apart hasn’t changed that at all. So when he licks his lips, shifts his gaze to his feet, and starts rubbing the back of his neck, you know it’s guilt.
“Yoongi?” you prod, suspicious.
He mumbles something, still not looking at you.
“What?” you snap. “You what?”
“I sort of moved back last month…” he repeats to the floor.
“You live here?” you repeat, dumbfounded. “You live in town again?”
“Currently, yeah,” he says, and there’s something in that currently that you’d really like to examine, but you’re still fucking floored.
Yoongi had gone to university in the city - hours away. The distance thing was reasons one through four of his Why We Need to Break Up list. It had made sense, logistically. It made sense when you went abroad for university, and he stayed here. It made sense when you returned and got an internship and then a full-time job in a different city, hours in the opposite direction. It made sense when you managed to go five entire years without being in the same place.
But now he was here. Reasons one through four, moot.
Reasons five to whatever largely revolved around being young and needing to experience the world and figure out what you want in life, that kind of shit. Now it’s five years later and you’ve both experienced plenty of bullshit.
Reasons five through whatever, moot.
You wonder, wordlessly, heart pounding again, if Yoongi knows or cares that every reason he gave you to validate walking away no longer applies.
“You live here,” you repeat. You’re stuck on it, you can’t move on. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah,” he says guiltily. “I know you didn’t. I… was honestly fighting with myself about if I should reach out or not. I guess I ultimately decided not… since you’re in the city, and you have your whole life and everything…”
What life? You wonder.
The car pulls into a small, understated neighborhood. You’ve been here before; your chemistry partner from tenth grade lived in this development, you’d come to do homework more than once.
It’s always so weird to come back to this town, where everywhere you go has memories, secondary definitions. It’s not just a library, it’s the library where Yoongi had kissed you for the first time. It’s not just a park, it’s the park where you’d had your first fight, where you’d screamed at him in front of God and the ducks and all the moms pushing strollers. It’s not just a diner, it’s the diner where Yoongi had told you that it made no sense to try and stay together from different time zones.
Everything came back to him. It always had. It always does. In a lot of ways, you felt like you were fated to be tied to him this way - and you usually didn’t believe in shit like that.
You always break your own rules for him.
The place is small, and not very Yoongi-ish, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as Yoongi slides out of the car and waits for you.
“Get home safe,” you tell the driver before closing the door. Yoongi’s got his house keys in his hand, and he leads you up the walkway. It’s slick, and you try to step only in the footprints he leaves in the inch of snow coating the ground.
Inside, the light over the sink illuminates a small, mostly empty kitchen. That’s not very Yoongi-ish either, you think. You remember him cooking all the time - appliances everywhere, cutting boards hanging, pots and pans stored on hooks.
He passes the kitchen and enters what looks like the living room, reaching to click on a few dim lamps. They cast a yellow glow to the room.
You set down your purse and fold your coat up on top of it. Yoongi waits for you in the living room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the window, watching the snow. His jawline from the side nearly takes your breath away. He’s so damn beautiful it makes you sick.
And he’s back, Yoongi is back.
“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, finally looking at you.
“Whatever you’re having would be great,” you tell him. You settle gingerly on one end of the couch as he busies himself in the kitchen. You shoot your parents a quick text that the roads were too bad and you weren’t going to make it back to their place so they wouldn’t worry.
Yoongi returns with two glasses of red wine. He hands you one wordlessly and sits opposite you on the couch.
“So,” you say. The awkward, hyper-polite vibe from the car is back. Like you’re strangers. Like you didn’t know each other inside and out, once. “You’ve been here a month?”
“Just shy of it,” Yoongi corrects politely. “I signed a two month lease, so… I’ve got a few weeks to figure out my next move.”
“You don’t think you’ll stay?” you ask, then sip at the wine. It’s good - of course it’s good, he’s got great taste. You love and hate that about him.
He shrugs, drinks from his own glass. “Doubt it.”
He doesn’t give you any more information than that - why he’s back, what’s next for him, why he’s here for such a short time.
You don’t press it. He’ll tell you if he wants to.
Instead, you both drink in silence. Outside, the snow seems to redouble its efforts, the wind picking up until it seems to be snowing sideways for minutes at a time before calming into a normal downward fall again.
“I think we made the right choice,” Yoongi murmurs, and it takes you a second to realize he’s talking about the weather and Taehyung’s party, not about your past.
“Mhm,” you nod, as you come back into the present. That’s a problem you have - you’re always looking back. “Imagine if we were just leaving now? What a mess. Thanks for taking me in, I guess.”
“You guess,” he repeats, rolling his eyes, but there’s no ire in it.
You drink in silence a little longer, and then Yoongi rises with a sigh. “I’ll go put clean sheets on the bed,” he says, sort of absently, like he’s both talking to you and also just thinking out loud. “And then I’ll show you how to work the tv in there if you –”
“I’m not sleeping in your bed, Yoongi,” you tell him flatly.
He balks. “I didn’t mean with me, I meant by yourself!”
“No, I know that,” you reassure him. “But I’m not letting you sleep on your own couch because of me. I’ll sleep out here. It’s fine.”
“Absolutely not,” he says, shaking his head vehemently. That long hair swishes. “You’re a guest. I’m not putting you on the couch.”
“Yoongi,” you say sternly. “If I know you’re out here on the couch and I’m in there with your whole friggin bed, I will simply not sleep because I will feel too guilty about it! And I would like to sleep. So, please, put your chivalry and hospitality aside, and let me sleep. Out here.”
He considers this, because he knows you, and he knows you’re telling the truth. “Fine,” he concedes, and disappears into what must be his bedroom.
When he returns, he’s carrying a stack of what looks like linens. He sets down the pile and you spy blankets and pillows. He pushes the pillows aside gently and picks up something else, turning to hold it out to you, an offering.
It’s gym shorts and a large tshirt, and you reach to take them without thinking. Once they’re in your hand, they feel suddenly heavy with meaning. You used to wear his clothes all the time - you might have one or two of his hoodies in the back of your closet at home because you love them and don’t want to get rid of them, even though you feel too weird to actually wear them. You’re not sure how you feel about wearing his clothes again, now that it means nothing. The alternatives are pretty undesirable, though, so you’ll have to grin and bear it.
“There’s a half-bath on the other side, through the kitchen,” he says, nodding towards the bathroom in question. “So you don’t have to feel weird walking through my room to the full bath if you don’t want to. Though... do you need to shower? I can get you towels and stuff –”
“Maybe in the morning?” you say, eyeing the clock on the wall. “Just… could I borrow face-soap? And toothpaste?”
You’ll have to make do without your make-up remover and an actual toothbrush. Finger-brushing it is.
When you emerge from the bathroom, teeth freshly finger-brushed, wearing Yoongi’s clothes, he’s standing at the kitchen sink, rinsing out the wine glasses you’d used.
You brush past him silently, and start setting up the couch how you want it. You hear the sink turn off, the click of the lightswitch as he shuts off the lights behind him. He comes back through the room and pauses in his doorway.
“Do you need anything?” he asks.
“No,” you say, feeling small in his baggy shirt, feeling small in the face of all the feelings you’re swimming in right now. “I’m all good.”
He looks at you for a long minute, searching. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Sleep well.”
He turns into his room, and you watch his skinny wrist turn as he reaches to shut the door.
“Yoongi,” you say, the word out of your mouth before you really know what will follow it. He pauses, peeks his head back into view, raises an eyebrow at you. “Thanks,” you say, meekly.
He nods, silent, then reaches to close his door, gently and effectively shutting you out.
You get comfortable on the couch, bunching the blanket up around your head how you like it. It takes almost no time at all to fall asleep, and when you do, you don’t dream.
You’re awakened sometime later by a noise, and you sit up, your brain scrambling to catch up to the present and figure out where you are.
A couch, it processes. It comes back to you a little at a time. Yoongi’s couch. Yoongi’s house. Yoongi’s house in town.
The noise that woke you must have been his bedroom door opening, because as you slowly get your bearings, you become aware of him staring at you from his doorway.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he says apologetically, then moves across the room towards the kitchen. “I just needed water.” Then, from the kitchen, as an afterthought, he asks, “Do you want one?”
“Please,” you say immediately, mentally cataloging all the effects of dehydration you can feel. Cottony mouth, ringing ears, the tingling beginnings of a headache…
He returns to the living room and stops near the couch. You stretch to turn on one of the dim lamps, casting a quiet yellow on the room. He stands there in too-big pajamas and holds out a water bottle silently.
It’s definitely still the middle of the night. You can’t have slept more than a few hours. Everything feels different, somehow. It was so awkward before; you’d felt the need to be cautious and hyper-polite. Now everything feels blurred, fuzzy with sleep, softer. You’re sitting up, the blanket you’d been sleeping under still over your lap. You reach over and lift the other side, holding it up like a question.
Yoongi pads over and sits on the far side of the couch, but he curls his legs up and slips his bare feet under the blanket. You let it fall, covering him from the shin down.
He taps on his phone and grimaces at the time. “Hey,” he says, a little wry, “Merry Christmas.”
You smile. “Merry Christmas, Yoongi.”
He taps at his screen again and a speaker near his tv comes to life, playing what has to be a Coffee Shop Christmas playlist, pre-curated. You lean your head against the back of the couch, listening to the strum of acoustic guitar and the gentle snare of a drum meander through a mellow, lethargic version of It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.
“Christmas music, huh?” you tease, eyes closed. “That’s very holly, jolly of you.”
“I don’t hate Christmas,” he protests. “I’m not, like, a Grinch. It’s just… another day. So is tomorrow. Why all the fuss?”
You bump his foot with your knee beneath the blanket. “Scrooge.”
Ignoring your teasing, he looks sideways at you, something baleful on his face. “Y/N? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
You’re surprised into silence, looking back at him across the couch. “What? What for?”
He grimaces, like the answer is too big, like he’s got an annotated list of every fault he’s mentally cataloged. “For all of it, I guess.”
You’re not letting him off the hook; this is too important to skirt around. “What are you sorry for, Yoongi?” you ask seriously.
He laughs once, quietly, incredulously, like he can’t believe you. “You really want to go there?”
“You know I do.”
He thinks before he speaks - one of your favorite things about him. “Because for the last five years, I hated myself for leaving you behind. And I wondered every day if you hated me for it, too.”
You sit in silence, feeling frozen. Yoongi lets you - Yoongi waits. Is he admitting regret? Does that mean he’d do it differently, given the chance?
Because here you are - being given the chance, in a way.
“I was never mad at you for going,” you tell him, because you know he needs to know. Yoongi doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, which means he really did wonder if you hated him. You don’t owe him much, but you figure you owe him this truth. Then you admit, “But I was mad at myself for… letting you. Did you… I mean, should I have argued? When you left?”
You’d always wondered. What would have happened if you’d fought just a little harder for him to stay?
He scoots a little closer, tugging the blanket closer to his knees, thinking about your question. “I think part of me had hoped you would… but it wouldn’t have changed my mind,” he tells you honestly. “Just would’ve made it hurt more. The way things happened, I could lie and tell myself you were fine with letting me go.”
You exhale on a note of indignation. “Fine? That was you. You were so… okay with walking away.”
He shakes his head. He must have taken the bun out when he went to bed, and his hair swishes around his shoulders, loose and beautiful. “I wasn’t okay. I didn’t go a single day and not wonder… how you were. I didn’t go a single day sure that I made the right choice.”
You feel, weirdly, kind of pissed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Yoongi? Seriously?”
He opens his mouth to answer this rhetorical question, but you don’t let him. The words pour out of you, unleashed after five years of being held back.
“This is just… unfair. Because normally, in the movies, when you get this moment - the post-mortem - with someone from your past… they always ask why, right? Why’d you leave? But I don’t need to ask why - I know the why, I understood why. I want to know… I want to know if you regret it. If you’d take it back.”
“That’s two different questions,” he says solemnly, “with two different answers.”
You cut your eyes at him. It’s the middle of the night and your brain is mostly mush. You need him to just be forthcoming, just say things plainly.
He knows.
“Of course I regret it,” he whispers finally, as if the words hold too much weight to utter any louder. “I regretted it while I was still saying it. I hated being away from you, I hated not talking to you, I hated not knowing how you were or what you were doing or if you… still cared about me at all.” He pauses, inhales slowly, rubs a hand down his tired face, then exhales with a whoosh. “But would I take it back? I don’t know.”
You exhale, eyeing the ceiling. Who’s the one just saying shit now? God. “You can’t just say things like that, Yoongi,” you tell him, eyes trained on the shitty, popcorn ceiling above you.
He says your name, still so soft, so quiet.
“What?”
“Don’t cry.”
It’s so stupid. You hadn’t cried then, not in front of him. You wipe hastily under your eyes. “Sorry,” you say hastily, trying to save face. “It’s the lack of sleep.”
“I’m not sure I would take it back,” he repeats carefully, and you realize he hadn’t been done before - you’d interrupted his thought, “because when I left… I knew the whole time that it didn’t make anything better. But if I hadn’t… I think I’d still be wondering if I should, if we’d be better apart. I wouldn’t know, so the question would still be hanging over me.”
You think he’s saying something without saying it, but it’s like four in the morning and you just aren’t sure.
“But now?” you prod.
He shrugs, like it’s so simple. “Now I know the answer.”
You want to shake him. You’ve never had a conversation go in circles like this in your life, and you need to get to the center of it. “Yoongi,” you say, your voice tight like a warning.
He knows.
He always knows. He cuts to the chase. “I have a job lined up in the city.”
You almost drop your water bottle. “My city?”
“Your city.”
“Yoongi,” you say again, pleading. “Just say what you mean.” Please.
He smiles your favorite of his smiles - only one half of his mouth lifts at first, cocky, until it spreads the rest of the way and shows his gums in all their glory. “Just thinking about that whole list of reasons we shouldn’t be together… null and void now, don’t you think?”
You feel like you can’t breathe. You’ve both been circling it like predators, and now you’re closing in.
“So what does that mean? For you?” Do you dare to ask it? You do. “For us?”
Someone else, you think, would probably have asked you, what do you want it to mean?
But it’s Yoongi - and Yoongi knows the answer already.
He’s pushing the blanket off of his legs - and yours - and coming to hover over you. Your body responds, laying back against the pillow you’d been sleeping on, making room for him like it remembers exactly how you fit. Your fingers find his jaw like they’re magnetically drawn, your thumb sliding against his cheek.
His hair falls around your faces like a curtain, blocking out the dim lamplight, as his mouth finds yours.
Kissing him again is everything. It’s absolutely everything. He’s home, he’s wilderness, he’s calm, he’s the whole damn storm, he’s undoing every seam you have, he’s stitching you back together, he’s beautiful beautiful beautiful.
His lips are soft but sure against yours, his jaw moving under the press of your fingers. You feel like you’re flying, falling, maybe both, as your eyelids flutter. He’s bracing himself with his hands on either side of you, holding himself over you. You were resting your free hand against his side, his ribs like piano keys beneath your palm, and you find yourself bunching his shirt into your fist, trying to pull yourself up, closer, closer.
You have to will yourself not to babble against his mouth, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you. You could say it six hundred times and it still wouldn’t get it all out of you. You pour it into the kiss instead, straining up to meet him, beating words away from your mouth as you toy with his bottom lip.
He drops his lower body carefully, pinning your hips beneath his own, shifting to hold himself up on elbows instead of hands. The weight of him is welcome; something needs to keep you tethered to this planet.
He licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours, and you inhale sharply against his mouth.
“Yoongi,” you murmur against his lips, and he turns his head to kiss your palm where it’s been resting against his face. There’s something so tender about it that tears spring to your eyes, and you blink them away quickly.
Then he’s leaning down to capture your mouth again, humming a low, happy note against you. You go for the hem of his shirt, pulling until it gets tangled against his armpits. He sits back on his haunches, helping you pull it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Your eyes trace him, over and over, trying to remember every shade and every line, trying to find every difference from five years ago. He’s beautiful, flushing dark across the chest, eyes positively predatory in their focus on you.
“You, too,” he says, sounding a little breathless, and you scoot back and sit up. He goes for your hem before you can, tugging it up and over your head. The cold air assaults you and you shiver. Yoongi makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl in appreciation, lowering himself over you again. His kiss is insistent this time, one hand coming up to cup a breast, fingers deftly rolling your nipple, sending electricity skittering down your spine. You whine, deep in your throat, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile.
“Would you kick my ass if I said ‘I’ve missed your tits’ right now?” he asks, chest quaking as he tries to rein in laughter.
“Yes,” you grumble, reaching to weave your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug him back so you can kiss him again, and he lets out a quiet, breathy moan as you do.
“Okay,” he says, in between kisses, “but I did.” Then he puts his money where his mouth is - or maybe vice-versa - to prove it, lowering his head and taking the other nipple in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue. Your whole body reacts, feet stretching, back arching to push against his body, fingers tightening in his hair as you moan out loud. Each little motion of his mouth ignites sparks that reach every part of you - the pit of your stomach, the base of your spine, clear down to your toes.
It’s honestly embarrassing how turned on you get as he continues, working one side until you’re writhing beneath him, thighs rubbing together desperately, then switching to continue his onslaught on the other side.
“Yoongi,” you gasp, and some absent part of your brain is aware that his name is the only coherent word you’ve said in a while. “Please, you’re torturing me.”
He releases you with a wet pop, grinning up at you deviously. “So pretty when you beg like that,” he remarks, like he’s observing the weather - which is still a fucking blizzard, by the way. Then he’s coming up to kiss you again, deep and slow this time. His hand slides along your bare stomach, around and under your back, and you arch your back partly to make room for his arm underneath you, and partly because you can’t not, as his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
“Please, what?” he murmurs, lips close to your neck, his fingers tracing the edge of the shorts you’re wearing - his shorts. “What do you want?”
“Anything - whatever you’ll give me,” you manage. All you can focus on is his fingers, their circular path along your lower stomach, toying with your waistband.
It must be the right answer, because he slips his hand into your shorts, fingers pressing along your slit, your underwear clinging to you already. He slides his fingers along the slickened fabric, eyes on your face, listening to the tiny moans that escape when you exhale.
He shifts to his side, between you and the back of the couch, and you loop an arm around his neck - half to hold yourself up on the couch, and half because you need to be holding him. You can feel how hard he is now, as his body presses against your legs. He distracts you with a kiss, and slips your panties aside, wasting no time in sheathing his middle finger up to the last knuckle.
You hiss his name, your head lolling back against the couch in pleasure, your neck bared to him. He gives it a quick nip and then a kiss as he adds a second finger, pumping in and out of you slowly. You groan, the sound rumbling from your chest. You could let him do this all night if you had the patience - just this simple act feels so good you think you might come undone.
And if you remember anything about sex with Yoongi, he’s just getting started.
He slips his fingers out of you and brings them up to your clit, circling once, then twice, before going back to where he started, the pad of his middle finger circling your entrance, careful to stay just outside.
Your whole body turns to jelly, everything quivering from head to toe at the sensation. You grip the couch with both hands, digging your fingers in. “Ohhh my god,” you manage, something accusatory in your tone, like you’re asking him how the fuck are you doing that?
He smiles against you, middle finger still running in lazy circles through the wetness collecting there. “That’s right, I know what you like,” he murmurs, smug, his lips tickling your neck, before plunging both fingers back into your heat without warning. He repeats the cycle - in, out, up, down, around, around, in again - until you’re dizzy from it, your fingers clutching the fabric of the couch so hard that you’re sure you’ll rip it.
You have one single moment of clarity that sends you reaching down to where you can feel him hot and hard against your leg, but he shifts away, tutting.
“You first,” he says. “I want to see you make that face you make. It’s been literal years.”
“Oh my god,” you say, feeling yourself flush. “Yoongi! Seriously?”
He laughs, shoulders shaking. “What? I love to watch you lose your shit. What a fucking ego boost.” He punctuates these words with a quick change of wrist direction, suddenly pistoning against your front wall in a way that has your comeback melting right out of your brain.
He’d had you close before, and the sudden switch-up does the trick - you feel everything tighten from your shoulders to your toes, your eyes screwing shut. Yoongi shifts his weight to hold your leg in place so you can’t try to close them on him and redoubles his efforts, humming in pleasure as you squeeze around his fingers like a vice.
You let out a series of wordless cries as the pleasure builds to the point you want to shy away from it, and then Yoongi presses his thumb to your clit just so and you’re spiraling over the edge, your ears filled with a buzzing white noise, your toes curling, your desperate hands leaving the couch and clutching Yoongi instead, trusting him to guide you to the other side.
When you come down, heart hammering in your chest, you bat his hand away, breaths heaving.
“Take those off,” you pant, tugging on the bit of his pants you can reach, and shimmying your own bottoms the rest of the way off and dumping them onto the floor.
“Bossy,” Yoongi remarks, smirking sideways at you as he obeys.
You resituate yourself against the arm of the couch as he comes to kneel near your feet, stroking himself languidly. You both freeze with the same thought at the same time.
“Do I…” he says hesitantly, “do you want me to wear -?”
You stare at him, wide-eyed, mind racing for an answer. You’re tempted to just tell him it’s fine, because surely having a how many people have you been with in the five years since we broke up conversation will absolutely kill the mood right now. But that’s not really safe.
“Maybe you’d better?” you venture. “Have you -? I mean, we don’t need to talk about this right now. But I haven’t been with anyone without… you know.”
“Same here, and I got tested after… the last one. Just in case,” he admits, eyes on yours, and the moment feels heavy. Do you trust Yoongi to tell you the truth?
Of course you do.
“I’m okay if you’re okay,” you tell him. “No pressure.”
“You’re still on -?” he checks, and you nod.
“In that case,” he says, and leans over you to kiss you again. You can feel him, rubbing along the messy slickness, and it occurs to you that you haven’t even touched him yet.
You whine, twisting your shoulders to try and reach him with a hand, but he’s too impatient, lining himself up and starting to sink into you. You groan at the stretch - it’s been a while since your last fling - but the sound that tears through Yoongi’s throat is more like a growl, guttural and animalistic.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls through gritted teeth, as he slowly rocks into you until he bottoms out, his hips tight against yours.
He’s everywhere - caging you in, hovering above you, holding you down, filling you up. He’s everywhere, and he feels both so familiar it makes you want to cry again, and also - somehow - brand-fucking-new, like you’ve never felt him before.
You can feel every ridge of him, every twitch, as he sets a slow but even pace, letting you adjust.
“God,” you gasp when he hits a spot just right. His head had been hanging above you, his eyes watching the place where he disappeared inside you, all that long hair loose, but he smirks up at you at this.
“Good,” he coos, and picks up the pace, hips smacking yours, filling the room with the lewd sounds of skin on skin, his grunts and your whines.
You’re gasping a little at each stroke, that tight feeling bubbling at the pit of your stomach growing stronger with each thrust. “God,” you growl, fingertips pressing into his shoulder blade as you hang on for dear life. “Yoongi, fuck!”
He slows on purpose, straightening up, forcing you to release your hold on his back. He grins at you, that shit-eating, one-sided grin, and then grabs your ankles, maneuvering them both to rest against his right shoulder. He leans forward against your legs and hammers into you, breathing hard, and you swear to god you see stars for a second.
“Ohmygod, yes, there,” you gasp, hands going to the backs of your own thighs to help alleviate the stretch. You need to start doing yoga or something.
The build-up is slower this time, the feeling pulsing through you in waves that strengthen and ebb again. Yoongi can tell when it’s real by the change in your voice - wordless whines rising in pitch, by the arch of your back, by the way you clamp around him so hard that he almost loses it right there.
“Yeah?” he asks, the word more like a gasp for air. “Close?”
“Please,” you beg, the sensation of pure light racing up your legs to your toes, the pulsing starting slow and determined in your core.
“I’ve got you,” he promises, brows furrowed with concentration as he works to keep a steady pace. He grips one of your ankles and switches it to his other shoulder, creating space to reach down and rub gentle figure-eights around your clit.
The wave takes you over, and there’s a long moment where you’re completely devoid of your senses - no sight, no sound, nothing but how tight tight tight everything has gone, too tight to even breathe - and then it breaks and you can hear yourself wailing, eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You clench around Yoongi hard, the aftershocks rolling through you, so hard that he hisses and drops his forehead to yours, his pace slowing significantly as he fucks you through it.
You go boneless as it leaves you, and Yoongi pushes all the way inside you and stills, pressing his lips to your temple.
“You good?” he murmurs, so sweet for someone who just had you experiencing the multiverse.
“Mhm,” you manage to respond, so spent and tired that you can barely form the word.
“C’mere,” he grunts, slipping out of you, and he grips the back of your neck, hauling you upright and falling backwards in the same motion, pulling you over top of him. You loop your arms around his neck, feeling floaty, and he wraps his around your middle. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, his breath loud next to your ear.
“Can you keep going?” he checks. “I know you’re tired. I’m almost there, I promise.”
“M’good,” you assure him against his collarbone, and he gives you one quick squeeze before reaching down to adjust himself. He pushes in and you cry out, the sound muffled as you press your face into him. You’re so sensitive now, the sensation is entirely different.
“You can take it,” he whispers, sliding a hand down your spine. Then, with a grunt of “shit,” he grabs you and jackhammers up into you, his fingers furrowing into the meat of your ass, so tight you think you’ll have five little bruises on each side when this is over.
You feel so close to him - your cheek presses up against his, your arms wrapped tight around him, his hands securing you in place, his heart beating wildly against yours where your chests press together.
You gasp for breath into the crook of his neck, holding on for dear life, just trying to take what he gives you. You can hear his breathing change as he gets close, his pace quickening but his thrusts starting to come less evenly, his grip on your ass tightening just a bit further as he pulls your hips down to meet his every few thrusts.
“Is inside okay?” he asks, the words sounding like they’re torn from him.
“Yes,” you tell him, but it comes out more like a moan.
“God,” he grunts in response to this, and the word tears, ending on a strangled moan as he empties himself deep inside you.
You lay there, gasping for breath, for a long minute. Then Yoongi gives you an affectionate pat on the ass, indicating that it’s safe to move.
“Go get in the shower,” he suggests. “I’ll grab you a towel and meet you in there.”
“I don’t know if I can get there,” you say, joking, but your legs feel like jelly. You grab your phone and make your way, wobbly, through the living room and into his bedroom.
You hadn’t come in here before. It’s clean, but sparse. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel homey. It’s devoid of anything that makes it feel like Yoongi.
You keep going, padding through his room and towards the attached bathroom, fumbling for the lightswitch. You place your phone next to the sink and fiddle with the shower’s knobs until you get a steady stream of hot water going.
It feels heavenly to step under the hot water, your aching muscles relaxing in the steam. But it feels even better when Yoongi wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his lips to the side of your neck.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
“Hi,” you giggle. You might still be riding a little bit of a post-orgasm high.
You both rinse off in silence, and then Yoongi places his hand on the knob, looking at you to make sure you’re ready to get out. You nod, but he hesitates.
“Will you sleep with me?” he asks, a little unsure, leagues different from the cocky man you’d been tangled up with mere minutes before. “Don’t go back to the couch.”
You give him a soft smile, and he turns off the water, reaching for the towels hanging just outside.
“Of course I will,” you tell him before wrapping yourself up in the soft, gray terry-cloth.
You crawl into his bed once you’re dry, and he joins you after making a quick pass through the living room to turn the lights back off and gather up the clothes you’d both tossed around. When he clicks off his bedside lamp and rolls to face you, you feel a fluttering of nerves in your stomach.
You’re not sure where you go from here.
You lay facing each other in the darkness; it’s just too dark to really see much, but you can tell he’s looking at you.
You’re laying there, letting your thoughts spool around you, the what-if’s and what-now’s laying themselves out in your mind, when you realize you’ve reached out without meaning to, your fingers tangling in his long hair, rolling strands between them. You keep playing with it, cautiously, practically holding your breath, waiting to see if he objects.
Instead, you feel him relax under your hand, letting out a long breath. “That feels nice,” he admits, voice breathy with almost-sleep and barely audible.
You fall asleep without any answers, with your fingers curled up in Yoongi’s hair.
You wake up to a warm body behind you, not quite touching. You shift your cold toes a little closer to the warmth you find, smiling when you hear him whine about it. The light outside is white, that abnormal shade of light that comes from sunlight bouncing off of snow and ice. You’re about to close your eyes again when you realize that the warm body behind you isn’t sleeping, because you can hear the incriminating clicking and clacking of a keyboard.
“Are you seriously working right now?” you ask him, rolling a little to look at him over your shoulder. He peers back at you guiltily, his glasses low on his nose, fingers frozen in the air above the keys.
“I just wanted to answer a few -”
“It’s Christmas morning!” you scold.
“I’m aware of that,” he answers dryly.
You narrow your eyes at him. “Turn it off, Yoongi. It’s Christmas and you are in bed with someone. My God.”
He shoots you a defensive look, but finishes whatever he was doing and clicks the laptop closed, leaning over to place it on his nightstand.
“You haven’t changed at all,” you say, a little fondly, sitting up a little next to him.
“Neither have you,” he says pointedly. It’s less fond when he says it.
You consider this. “You want to know something stupid?” you ask. Yoongi doesn’t answer out loud, just meets your eyes and waits. “You’re right. I haven’t changed. I think… I think I’ve been afraid to.”
He turns to face you, sensing how serious you are about this. “What do you mean?” he presses.
You stop to think, the way you learned to after spending years watching him, knowing he did this better than you. “I guess… some little part of me always wondered what would happen if we crossed paths again. If I changed too much… what if I stopped being someone you’d want? What if I became someone so different that your heart didn’t know mine anymore?”
It sounds so corny coming out of your mouth, but the truth behind it is so heavy you can’t hold it up anymore. It was a fear you’d secretly harbored for half a decade - what if fate put Yoongi in your life again, and he still didn’t want you?
And Yoongi does what he’s always done - hears you, understands you, answers you in your own language.
“Impossible,” he says softly, leaning closer to you, eyes combing your face. His voice is like a layer of snow, smooth and clear, full of something unnamable. Or maybe you don’t want to name it. You turn your head, as if that will get you further away. “That’s impossible. My heart will always know yours.”
You look at your hands, feeling a little choked up. Your heart stutters and jumps in your chest. The question you’re holding back churns in a little ball behind your ribs.
“Hey,” he says, softly but intently. You manage to look up at him. “Let’s make breakfast?” He says it like a question.
“Yeah,” you say, able to speak again. “That sounds good.”
Yoongi lends you sweatpants, since it’s too chilly to roam around the house in basketball shorts, and busies himself in the kitchen while you get changed. When you finally join him, he’s plated something for each of you, and he pushes a glass of iced coffee towards you.
You can’t help but smile. “You remember,” you accuse, and he avoids your eyes, cheeks flushing.
“You get a girl ninety-thousand iced coffees, it stays with you,” he defends.
“Ninety-thousand,” you scoff, but you’re pleased. As you eat, you look out the kitchen window. It’s bright outside, but it’s still snowing - tiny, wispy flakes floating leisurely down to join you. The road clearly hasn’t been plowed yet; the snow outside is untouched, unbothered, a perfect sheet of white. You can’t even tell where the road is, except for the mailbox poking up out of the feet of snow on the ground already.
Yoongi follows your gaze. “Looks like you’re trapped here for a while,” he observes.
“A shame,” you deadpan, and he kicks at you playfully beneath the table.
“Well,” he says, thinking out loud, “since you won’t let me get any work done… do you want to put on a movie?”
“A Christmas movie?” you ask, perking up.
He rolls his eyes, but he’s fighting a little smile. “I guess that’d make sense,” he agrees.
He leads you back to the couch, which you eye sideways, remembering clearly what this couch witnessed about three hours ago. Yoongi seems unphased, slouching sideways against some pillows and looking at you expectantly. You join him gingerly, leaning against him, and he drapes a blanket over your legs.
“Pick something,” he asks, passing you the remote - another old Yoongi trick that you remember well.
You take the offered remote, clicking through the holiday options for something that you don’t think will make Yoongi gag. As you scroll, brows furrowed in concentration, he clears his throat beside you.
“So, uh,” he says, and you stop scrolling, because he sounds nervous. “Next weekend I’m supposed to go look at some apartments. Do you… would you want to keep me company?”
You look at him, eyes wide, the remote forgotten in your hand, still aloft and pointed at the tv.
“Why?” you whisper once you find your voice.
He shrugs, wets his lips. “You know the city well,” he says. “You can offer your brilliant opinions - tell me if the neighborhood’s okay… if there’s good take-away… where the transit stops are, that kind of shit.”
“Hm,” you say, a little tightly.
He shoots you a sheepish grin. “I’ll take you to dinner after?”
You give him a look. “Say what you mean, Yoongi.”
He purses his lips a little, disgruntled at being called out. Then, busted, he sighs and tries again. “Can I take you to dinner next weekend? Preferably in the city, and preferably after you help me make some choices about my living situation?”
You grin, unable to hold it back. “Yeah,” you say, trying hard to fight back the smile, to play it even a little bit cool. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” Trying to save your dignity, you turn back to the tv and go back to scrolling until you find a movie that seems like it’s not too over-the-top.
Yoongi reaches an arm around your shoulders, and this time you settle against him comfortably. You can feel him breathing beneath you, can smell that Yoongi smell - clean and alluring, can hear the shouts of some neighborhood kids running around outside. From the tv, tinkling bells and happy strings play a medley of Christmas songs as the opening credits run.
Part of you is already thinking about when the roads are plowed and you have to go home, shower off the scent of him, update your best friend about all of this, miss Yoongi in a much more real way than you’ve had to in about three years. But at least you have the promise that you’ll see him again next weekend. You close your eyes, content, happy to just be right now.
Yoongi feels it too, obviously. He gives your shoulders a squeeze, looks down at you fondly, and murmurs, “You know what? All this holly, jolly shit isn’t so bad.”
“God bless us, every one,” you deadpan. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
He grins at you, gums showing, and you smile back before leaning your head against his chest as on the TV a little girl watches out her window for signs of Santa.
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! My full masterlist can be found here :)
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. A Year, oc's developments!, yoongi is cheeky and we love it!, fluff, more moments of growth and healing, the end...?, a promise 👀, brief smut scene (unprotected sex!)
WORDS. 7k
NOTE. i can't believe we're finally here at the end of back-burner. it feels so cathartic to finally deliver this final piece for our couple, and i truly appreciate every single one of you that has stuck with me and them through back-burners journey! this is a simple epilogue but i think it closes the story quite nicely, and it leaves hope for our couple :) (which is exactly what i want to give to all of you - and them!)
thank you for all the support that you've given me, and back-burner - and i'm immensely grateful for all the sweet words each of you have given me throughout all the chapters! (even when they were heartbreaking 🤣)
even if this is the "end", this won't be the last we'll see of back-burner!oc and yoongi 🤔😉
with that being said, i hope you enjoy the epilogue - and note that i'll be opening an Ask My Muse for back-burner where you can drop asks directed to any of the characters of the story!!!!! go crazy!!!!!! go wild!!!!!! ask whatever you want!!!!!! and they'll answer ❤️
thank you once again, and here is the epilogue of back-burner 💕
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter
You’re fumbling with a bowl in your hands when your laptop chimes, indicating the presence of the person you dialled just moments ago. It’s loud and unobstructed, but very much necessary when you hastily tug your chair out under the table before you’re plopping your butt onto its surface. There’s a curse that tumbles out of your mouth when you try to greet them, and the face behind the screen only shoots you an amused, lazy smile.
“You okay there?” Yoongi rasps, resting his cheek against his knuckle as you scowl at yourself when you drop your fork.
The clang rings rather loudly and all Yoongi can do is laugh at you when you disappear for a split second to retrieve it. You contemplate rinsing it, but decide against it when you realised that you were this far out of your comfort zone—what was an allegedly contaminated fork going to do?
“M’ fine,” you mutter unconvincingly as you spot a twitch of a smile on Yoongi’s lips.
He leans into his seat as you squint your eyes to take in his surroundings.
“Are you at the hospital?”
“It’s late, love,” he smiles, droopy eyes while he slips something into the pocket of his scrubs.
Immediately, you feel guilty. “Sorry,” you wince, “I can call you back—?”
“No,” he shakes his head immediately, resting his head on the palm of his hand while looking straight into the camera. “It’s nice hearing your voice.”
You flush. “It’s really fine. We can talk when you’re free.”
“I am free,” he says pointedly, picking up his device to show you around the slightly dim-lit on-call room, “They can’t starve me.”
You giggle. “Our very own McDreamy,” you sigh, earning an eye roll from Yoongi as you shift in your seat to angle your laptop to capture a good amount of your face and background. “What’s today’s story?”
“Mentoring interns,” he replies, voice slightly in a groan as you stifle a laugh. “God. I was nowhere near as driven as they are. How do they still want to learn when it’s ass o ‘clock?”
“Jimin giving you trouble?” you tease.
He rolls his eyes. “For the last time, it’s Park to you. I can’t believe that brat charmed his with you into getting onto first-name basis with him.”
“Jimin is sweet,” you drag, the corners of your mouth lifting when Yoongi responds with a huff.
“And he probably has a big fat crush on you,” Yoongi says dryly, cracking his neck when he leans into his chair.
“You’re reaching,” you scoff, shaking your head. “Don’t deprive him of knowledge because you’re projecting.”
“I’d never,” he gawks, feigning offence when you giggle. “Besides, he’s way more hard-working than I was when an intern. I don’t see why he needs my help.”
“It’s 'cause you’re a good doctor, Yoongi,” you say.
“Well Namjoon’s a good doctor but he’s chilling,” he huffs.
At the mention of his colleague, a new voice interjects. “Who are you talking to?”
You hear Namjoon's voice, and you’re about to send your greeting before Yoongi interjects before you can.
“The girlfriend,” Yoongi calls out, throwing his head back as your eyes widen comically.
“Are you telling people I’m The Girlfriend?” you gawk.
Yoongi ignores you, and you hear Namjoon’s voice again.
“Tell ___ I said hi.”
Your jaw drops, and Yoongi turns his face back to the screen before giving you a casual grin, one that looks always as handsome as every smile he’s offered. But you’re more curious on the fact that Yoongi had just referred to you as his girlfriend.
“Namjoon says hi,” he reiterates.
“I heard that,” you snap, “But why have you been telling people that we’re together?”
“I didn’t?” he says, confused, deadly serious, with a raised brow. “Everyone naturally assumes that.”
You splutter, cheeks heating up at his nonchalant tone with the knowledge that Namjoon was close enough to hear the words leave his mouth.
“We’re—we’re not together,” you hiss, glaring at him through your screen.
“Yet,” he emphasises, “but we kind of are. Semantics, right?”
“We just—!”
“Well I have the keys to your apartment here, we’ve had sex, we love each other, we argue like we’re married; I don’t know. Are we together, ___?”
You cover your face with your hands with a loud groan, hearing Namjoon’s cackle from the other end as you dream of wallowing into a hole due to your mortification.
“Can you not say that when Namjoon’s literally like two feet away from you,” you say blankly.
“More like three, actually,” he corrects you as your brow ticks. “I’m kidding.”
“You’re so annoying,” you huff, slumping into your seat, blowing a strand of hair away from your face.
“And you look gorgeous,” he retorts easily, eliciting an even more flushed expression on your face. “What’s the plan today, boss lady?”
“I have a meeting with a group of Swiss investors for the upcoming town project,” you tell him, “In like—two hours. I’m just having brunch at home,” you tell him, raising up your bowl of poké into his view. “Doesn’t it look good?”
“Eat more,” he grins, chuckling to himself when you scoop another spoonful of rice into your mouth as your cheeks plump with the food. “I like seeing you eat. Makes me feel full.”
“What about you?” you throw back, more so to ground yourself after how light your heart feels after what Yoongi said, paired along with his warm smile. “What are you eating?”
“An energy bar,” he huffs, wiggling a red packet in front of the screen as you pout.
“You need more than that,” you scold, “You’re working demon hours. You need fuel, Yoongi!”
“I know, you don’t need to worry about me, okay? Worry about your cute self,” he flirts as you gape at his audacity.
“How are you so—forward,” you scoff.
“That implies that it’s unwarranted,” he raises a brow, “I’ve literally seen your—”
“Yeah, no, don’t finish that sentence,” you glare.
He snickers before sighing, eyelids threatening to droop as you find yourself mimicking his actions.
These calls were one of the few things that you looked forward to. Sure, you didn’t have them daily but you still had them. Sometimes you were too caught up with balancing your work life that you did have to reschedule these much-needed calls with Yoongi; and despite his hectic work schedule, he was always making sure that these calls were on the top of the list of his priorities.
At the beginning stages of your new journey in Berlin, you were riddled with anxiety due to a multitude of reasons; from the fact that you were in a completely foreign environment with fresh faces that you had to soon befriend; and to the fact that your feelings for Yoongi were still as strong as ever, and you had hours and a plane ride separating the both of you.
As much as he reassured you, you couldn’t help but think what if. What if your life was in Berlin and he was back home? What if you were meant to love each other but not be with each other? How would that bode for you? For him? What was the point?
But Yoongi was patient. More than you think you deserve, and instead of dropping you when your worries grew tenfold, he showed you just how much he could do with simple voice or video calls.
It’s to a point where your colleagues are familiar with the man you frequently speak to and of, and likewise.
“Hey,” he calls after a brief moment as you ground yourself back to reality.
“Hm?” you hum.
“Two more days and it’ll be a year,” he grins softly, eyes still tinged with tiredness but with a sense of accomplishment, too.
You blink, eyes travelling to your calendar to note that it would’ve been officially a year in just two days when you’ve last seen Yoongi, and when you made your promise. Realistically, you could’ve flown back. You took days off and were offered an extended period of leave, too. But you needed the time. You needed that sense of independence that only came with grounding yourself when your heart yearned for others.
Looking back, time passed as quick as it was slow. When days were difficult, the hours seem to drag; and when the days were enjoyable, time didn’t stop for anyone—and you found yourself wishing that it was the case.
But you were here, almost a year later, and the answer has become clearer to you.
“Yeah,” you exhale.
“I miss you,” he says, and you feel yourself almost break when your heart lurches at his words.
“Me too,” you say softly.
“But maybe I’ll see you soon,” he tells you.
“Another call?” you say with a hopeful voice, already excited in hearing his voice once more.
Yoongi smiles. “Another.”
Happiness is one of the most universal destinations on earth, yet it is the most intangible one. You do not hold happiness in your hand to say you own it; yet once it is yours—you bask in its presence for as long as it’ll stay.
But similar to most things in life, happiness is fleeting and not a constant. The only everlasting constant is the truth that one day you will cease to exist. Happiness comes and goes, and you chase it every step of the way. Think of happiness as a forbidden lover; a taste so sweet that you cannot get enough off—yet once it falls into the palm of your hand, the excitement of what it means to be happy dwindles out like a tame flame.
It is a naive thought to always be happy. Simply because it is quite frankly, impossible. What is it even to be happy? Happiness looked different to everyone. Sounded different. Is different. How do we ever be something that we do not know the true face of?
Yet, happiness is something that we should hold onto. It is not naive to yearn for it because the journey towards happiness could be despairing; angry; tiring; hilarious, and everything in-between. Just like where you start, and where you’ll end—as long as you do not stop, you’ll reach an eventual end.
People expect progress to be an uphill journey. It is not. Progress is a small slope that turns into unexpected waves of obstacles; hurricanes in your way; tsunamis crashing your small town; a drought that takes away the life you ought to have—progress is not a climb. It is expectations met and unmet, all at once.
You, for one, had a dewy-eyed hope for progress. You thought moving to another country meant progress. And it was. To a certain extent. You thought stepping outside of your comfort zone meant progress; that you were taking the first step forward when you’ve been hitting the brake all your life.
But life wasn’t as simple as what our minds would hope it to be. You understood that life was both complex and simple in nature, yet the guileless side of you hoped that it was truly as simple as the optimists said it was. It was not.
And that’s okay.
Because while progress was non-linear, it was something. It made you feel all the things you wanted to feel, and the things you wished you couldn’t feel. It was painful, it was eye-opening and most importantly: it was necessary.
But day’s are still hard, and it never gets easier. You simply learn to grow.
“Maud,” you sigh, dragging a hand across your face as your colleague shoots you an apologetic glance. “I know you don’t have any control over what time the meeting’s being held but couldn’t you have let them know that I specifically asked for an early day today?”
You don’t think it’s sufficient to call Maud your colleague. In fact, she was a godsend. When you first assimilated into the Berlin work culture, you were nervous. It was an entirely different universe from where you were from, with people who were kind yet assertive in their demands—a lax demeanour when they approach socialising that you wished you could have. Maud was the first person that befriended you and made the home away from home, feel safe.
“Sorry, babe,” she says, and she genuinely sounds remorseful. You know it’s not her fault. Associates and investors worked on a specific timezone and it was the audacity. The audacity to believe that everyone had to work around them, and not the other way. “I tried but you know how they get. I’ll try to keep the meeting as short as possible.”
“I just—” you huff, pinching the bridge of your nose before you slump further into your swivelling chair, “—tonight was…fuck. Forget it.”
You’re aware you sound bitter, and you’re trying your best to snap out of it. Maud didn’t deserve your bitchiness over something that was clearly out of her control. Things wouldn’t always work out in your favour; you knew that. If it did, then you simply weren’t living.
“Planned something?” she prompts for the sake of getting your mind off. You were thankful. You shake your head before realigning the documents in your hand.
“It’s nothing,” you say dismissively, “I was meant to get on a call with Yoongi.”
At this, Maud grins. Her ginger hair used to be an eyesore purely because you’ve never seen anyone with naturally vivid hair like hers before you moved here, but now it compliments her features; like it always had.
“Date night?” she teases, walking around the table to pick up some stationery as she engages in chatter with you.
You flush. “You know it’s nothing like that.”
And it wasn’t. Because date night would imply that you were together.
And you weren’t.
You weren’t together. Physically, and—well, romantically.
“Yeah,” she snorts, “You’re not with the guy who sends you flowers halfway across the earth and is even on first-name basis with your boss. Got it.”
You glare at her blatant sarcasm when she sits back down, unperturbed by the daggers you were shooting in her direction. You busy yourself with looking through the project proposals, even if you’ve practically got it down to memory, as you sigh.
“It’s just a special day,” you explain lamely.
“Anniversary?”
“Not together,” you grit.
She smiles, knowing. “Sure, okay. Casual catch up, then?”
You let out a deep breath as you flip through the pages, the ink almost boring into your cornea.
“Something like that.”
Maud pushes herself away from the table on her rolling chair before she’s settled right next to you. Her shorter figure makes it so that you have to quite literally lower your gaze to be in conversation with her, and her button nose only makes her look adorable rather than the intimidation she often attempts to portray.
Her bubbly and soft exterior is contrasted with the suit she wears, a prime example of a woman working in the corporate sector—and someone who was meant to be older than you. You often forget that she was in her thirties, and even if that was young, it was older than your age.
“Do you miss him?”
The question catches you off guard as your fingers still.
Did you miss Yoongi?
The obvious answer would be yes, God, yes. You missed him so much that you don’t even think about him because he’s on your mind twenty-four-seven. You missed him so much that whenever you scrolled through your phone and spotted the pictures of you and him, your heart clenched in yearning.
So, it was obvious, right? That you missed him?
But somehow, you didn’t. You didn’t miss Yoongi because that would imply you wanted to go back to where you were with him, even if you left at a good place. You didn’t.
Because you knew that you were happy, here. Happier than you’ve ever been, even if it was hard. You wanted to be with Yoongi, sure. But you didn’t miss him, and you feel contented with that knowledge.
“Not really,” you laugh softly, and Maud looks rather surprised. You don’t blame her because you speak highly of Yoongi to your work colleague turned confidant. It’s only natural that she assumes you miss him. “It’s nice talking to him after a long day, though.”
Maud smiles in understanding before she rests her chin on her palm.
“Why aren’t the two of you together?” she asks, curiousity tainting her tone. “I didn’t ask before but the two of you just…” she nibbles on her lips as if contemplating her next words. You hold your breath as you wait. “—the two of you just make sense, you know?”
Regardless of the context, that was the first time you’ve ever heard anyone refer to you and Yoongi as a pair that just made sense. You remember times after times where you questioned Yoongi and Haerin, wondering why they weren’t together when they made perfect sense.
Really, it was you and Yoongi that did, apparently.
“I…” you croak, fiddling with your thumbs as you huff. “Long-distance is tricky. You know that.”
She shoots you a pointed look. “Tell our company plants that. Yoongi’s shown on multiple occasions that he can do long distance.” She pairs her words with a wild flail of her arms towards the said company plants, courtesy of Yoongi after a minor complaint from you that your office was too dull.
“It isn’t that easy, okay!” you huff stubbornly, folding your arms across your chest. “We weren’t…I only found out right before I left and it just—I needed the move more than the need to be with him, you know?”
Saying it out loud makes you feel selfish but that was what your actions implied, didn’t it? That what you truly needed wasn’t a relationship per se, but a journey that only you could take.
“So you needed time,” she concludes.
You nod. “I needed time.” A deep breath. Then, you add: “I had things to work on my own before I dived into anything serious with him.”
“You know, when you first told me about Yoongi I thought you were talking about a fiancé,” she muses.
Your jaw drops as your ears flush. “What?”
Maud leans back with a smirk on her lips, shaking her head in amusement at your apparent flustered expression. “When you were video calling him he was doting on you so much that I thought there was no way that these two weren’t engaged. You give off major married couple vibes.”
“We do not,” you hiss vehemently.
“Mhm,” she hums as if she doesn’t believe you. “So imagine my surprise when I asked how long the two of you were together and you said that you weren’t.”
“I needed time!” you whine, dropping your head onto the table as Maud laughs.
You feel a soothing rub to your shoulder, and a rustle next to you before you hear her voice.
“I’m teasing,” she assures. A moment of contemplation before her next words pour out: “Do you think you’re ready?”
You tilt your head up as you meet her eyes. Maud’s expression is gentle, just like a friend and a confidant and not someone expectant of your relationship status. The question was a heavy one, regardless of context. If you asked anyone if they were ready, ten different worst-case scenarios could appear before they gave you an answer.
But you’ve had a year; one that you requested. It was a year of trial and error, learning all about your likes and dislikes over again as if you were taking yourself out on a first date, then a second; and a third and a fourth and a fifth—until you could call yourself a partner you wouldn’t mind being around twenty-four-seven.
So, you tell Maud the only answer you’ve ever worked towards.
“Yeah,” you breathe, and it feels exhilarating. “I am.”
“How’s it like?”
You raise a brow. “Sorry?”
“How’s it like to be in love?”
Another question that throws you off guard, and you realise that Maud has the tendency to reveal thought-provoking questions that should’ve had rather easy or obvious answers.
“It’s…” You’re struggling to find the proper words because how would you describe being in love?
Love was a difficult concept to grasp, yet it was one that you were sure you felt when you were with Yoongi. And much recently, with your life and yourself too. But verbalising this feeling wasn’t as easy as it was feeling it whenever you got back from a day of work to see an update from Yoongi, or Jungkook, or Hoseok, or even Loli who rented an apartment two blocks away.
It was so—large. So whole that the halfness of yourself found it difficult to do love justice. You were still growing into the shell that would house you for the rest of your life; you didn’t really know what it was like being in love except for the fact that you were.
“It feels safe,” you say quietly.
Maud smiles, and you find yourself mimicking her gesture. When she remains silent, you take this as your cue to continue.
“It feels comforting,” you say again, “Almost as if working all your life to one day die is worth it because you have this rush of experiencing how being in love feels like.”
“Sounds enchanting,” she coos.
“Is it?” you giggle, “It almost feels normal. As if this is how I’m supposed to feel, you know?”
“Like we were made to love,” Maud offers.
You pause. Then, you nod. Your hands are still busy with the documents but your mind is busy with thoughts of everything. From how a year ago you were in a place you weren’t happy in, to where you are now. With moments of unhappiness like every other human, but marginally happier than you could ever dream of.
“Exactly,” you breathe out.
“You really do love Yoongi, don’t you?” Maud asks.
You have to keep your smile to yourself when you realise that while you were talking, your mind kept Yoongi by your side.
But it was you in the forefront of your mind.
“I do,” you mumble shyly, “I really do.”
“And you want to be with him now?” she asks softly.
You nod, “I do.”
“Hey,” she nudges you with her shoulder when she notices the tick of your brow. The slight scrunch of your forehead. “After this meeting, you’ll get to talk to him.”
Maud’s read your mind when you drift back to the fact that you had to postpone a call that you were very much looking forward to. You were ready. You were ready to tell Yoongi that you were. And you knew the conversation would happen anyway, but you wanted it fast. You wanted it now.
“I know,” you sigh, shooting her a half-hearted smile. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic, aren’t I?”
Maud waves you off as if you were being irrational.
“Never,” she assures you with a tut. “Hey. Maybe after tomorrow, we can finally go on that double date with Yoongi and Lillie.”
You roll your eyes. “He’d have to be here, Maud.”
When you occupy yourself with dusting your hands on your blazer and pushing yourself off your seat, you miss the way Maud’s lips twitch into a minor smile.
“He would,” she says thoughtfully. “Hm. Shame.”
“Why do you—?”
“Anyway, duty calls!” Maud interjects immediately, picking her documents up as if she hadn’t just offered you a rather cryptic glance. You raise a brow but shake it off once she starts making her way into one of the conference rooms.
You take one glance at the clock, and at your phone as you sigh. You quickly type in an apology to Yoongi before you take a deep breath—and get to work.
Moments like these, you learn to appreciate the small things that somehow become insignificant to you after a while. Like how Berlin’s public transportation system was efficient enough to get you home in one piece—despite it being midnight.
You’re exhausted, and you feel the lethargy slip off your shoulders and onto your feet as boulders when you drag yourself up to your front door. You don’t see the usual peek of your neighbour when you get home after work because he was an elderly man that had a strict routine in watering his plants before dinner.
You don’t think you’ve ever returned home this late because while your company was productive and prestigious on its own, the board of directors also had a rather liberal policy of not overworking their employees to their bones. But, alas, capitalism.
You shake any insignificant thoughts out of your head as you wearily punch in your key code, wanting nothing but to throw off your coat and sink into your bed after a nice, hot shower.
You’re hasty when you push the door open, slamming it shut behind you as you immediately get to kick off your boots. You’re multi-tasking, a hand on the wall to balance yourself as you unlace the now-too-troublesome-but-once-cute boots, and just as you got the first one off—you realise something.
Your lights were on.
You never left your lights open. Did you? Were you that tired? Were you in any particular rush this morning?
“Loli?” you call out sceptically.
That was the only logical option. Only Loli had access to your key code and she often made unexpected visits on her own whim. But your apartment was dead silent, almost as if there wasn’t anyone home.
“Did you drop by when I was at work?” you yell out again, slipping your other shoe off when your brain decides that Loli dropping by was the only logical reason why your lights were turned on. “Wait—I smell jiggae. Are you cooking?”
You slide off your coat, at this point, uncaring if Loli was blatantly ignoring you. You let it hang on your coat hanger before you’re dropping your bag onto the side without another glance. You note that there’s another jacket on the couch, but it doesn’t look like something Loli would wear. It’s a little boxier, a manlier cut.
Maybe she was diversifying her style?
“God, today was so rough,” you complain with a whine, cracking your neck as you shuffle towards your coffee table to turn on your TV to play some music to set the ambience for a restful night. “My meeting was extended by two hours! Two! Usually, Maud’s pretty prompt with these things but she decided to drag it out for soooo long! Like, I love her but—God. I just wanted to go back.”
Once you’re satisfied with the playlist you’ve selected (courtesy of Yoongi’s classical taste), you sigh and make your way towards the kitchen, and towards the scent of jiggae that permeates the atmosphere of your apartment.
You mindlessly scrape the bottom of your feet against the wooden panels of your flooring when you enter the kitchen, and the smell of home becomes all the much stronger when you arrive.
“Anyway, what are you making—?”
All words get stopped in your throat when your head finally lifts from the ground to take in who you thought should’ve been Loli, but wasn’t.
You must’ve looked like a complete fool with your mismatched socks and rather unkempt hair as you gawk at the person before you. Food was being made, and it smelled absolutely delicious. But that wasn’t what stopped you in your tracks.
It was—
“Yoongi?”
“Hi,” he smiles, and you missed the sound of his gravelly voice being right in front of you as opposed to over a video call.
“You—” you choke, blinking up at him when he turns to face you from where your stove is. He’s dressed in a casual t-shirt, and his hair is ruffled with the day when he smiles at you. It’s so warm and you can’t think straight. “What—?”
“Are you going to come over and give me a hug or what?” he muses.
Relishing all control over your limbs, your instinct carries you forward—fast—and into Yoongi’s arms. A year after the last.
You can’t believe he’s here. Or were you dreaming? Even if you were, the dream of his hands that wrapped around your body like comfort was everything you’ve ever wanted and more. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent. He smells like sandalwood and musk, paired with the stale atmosphere of the airport.
“Did you miss me?” he laughs, squeezing you when you refuse to let go of him.
You recall the answer you gave Maud. It was the truth. But now, when he was right in front of you, somehow, you missed him even more.
“Are you stupid?” you gape instead, and Yoongi already has an eye roll prepared for a remark he’s likely expected.
“Glad to see that you’re still the same,” he teases, pulling away from your tight grasp ever so slightly, still with his arms loosely draped over your frame before he grins down at you. “No German dudes?”
“You know there isn’t,” you scowl.
When Yoongi laughs, his shoulders shake with him. You can’t even pretend to be mad when your heart is soaring at how right it feels to be in his arms again as if there wasn’t a year in between the both of you.
“You know you could sound a lot less begrudging with me,” he teases as you feel his mouth press against the crown of your head.
“I…” you murmur, slightly embarrassed when he pokes at your waist. You grimace but Yoongi’s undeterred. As if nothing’s changed, but everything has. “I just—how?”
You pull away, gawking at him and he laughs. You miss hearing it so close to you, without the barrier of a digital device.
“I hopped on a plane, and took a flight,” he says smartly.
You scowl. “You know what I mean.”
Yoongi grants you a reprieve with a tilted grin as his arms remain loosely wrapped around your waist.
“You said a year,” he murmurs.
“I did,” you say breathlessly, “But…I just—you came all the way here? Just for that?”
“You need to stop sounding so surprised when I do things for you,” he says pointedly, “And it’s not just because of that. I miss you. I’ve been counting down the days until I could have you—right in front of me—again.”
“Aren’t you jet-lagged?” you mumble, avoiding his gaze when you feel the same flustered feeling overcome you with his earnest words. You’re fiddling with the collar of his shirt when you feel him inch closer to you, pressing you against the counter of your kitchen.
Your home smells like home. The scent of comfort stains each crevice of what was once a lonely apartment, and you didn’t know it could feel this good. To feel so complete just by having him by your side.
But you know it’s because you were slowly becoming whole on your own, too.
“A little,” he shrugs, unperturbed at your innate need to avoid his gaze. You’re thankful that he understands. Understands that you’re just nervous even if your heart holds the truth. “But I wanted to cook for you. Said you missed food from home, hm?”
“I did,” you say softly, “But you can sleep if you—”
“And what makes you think I want to sleep?”
The way he cuts you off is pointed; his voice planting a thought in your mind that makes your cheeks turn hotter when he raises a brow and smirks at you. Yoongi’s so close to you that you can indulge in every bit of his redolence that was left to souse after hours of travel.
“Well you did say you were a little tired,” you mutter under your breath.
Yoongi smirks, crowding you closer as your breath hitches.
“That’s fine,” he whispers, “But also, did you forget something?”
When you look up with furrowed brows, Yoongi has an amused expression on his face.
“Did I?”
Yoongi leans in close enough that his nose touches yours. You almost yelp at how close he is, especially with the year in between the both of you. It’s been so long and you don’t know what to do when his lips hover above yours.
“You didn’t kiss me,” he murmurs.
You immediately redden. “I’m just in shock—”
“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to,” he grins, right before he swoops in and presses his lips against your own.
You weren’t one for cliches but you were sure that main characters from books would envy you with how gentle Yoongi kisses you. He kisses you with a purpose to prove how much he missed you, each caress of his lip against your own tells you just how much he wants you. Now, and forever.
You melt, hands clinging to his shirt to hold on for dear life because it’s been a year and you’re still weak for Yoongi. No, not weak. You could be vulnerable around him. You could allow yourself to feel so wholeheartedly that it would turn your eyes glassy and hands clammy. You could indulge in his presence even if it scares you how much you feel for him. You just could because this was Yoongi.
The Yoongi who you’ve loved since you were eighteen, and who’s loved you as long, too.
“So,” he whispers against your lips, parting with one last peck, “Are you going to show me your bedroom?”
“Gonna make some noise for me?” Yoongi croons, fingers intertwined with your own when his hips snap into your own. You’re absolutely breathless when he leans forward to capture your open-mouthed gasps in a heated kiss.
His chest is wet with your love, sweat-stained and hot when it scrapes against your peaked nipples. Your legs are trembling with how deep Yoongi’s going, and it’s proven difficult at first when you first took him after an entire year—his thick girth stretching you out in the best way possible.
“Y-Yoongi,” you rasp, tilting your head back when Yoongi punctuates a throaty laugh at your shuddering figure. You feel his fingers squeeze against your own when your heel pressed against his back.
“Missed how you sound,” he confesses, hooking your leg higher up his shoulders as he continues to thrust into your sopping cunt. “You look so beautiful, don’t you know?”
“You’re so deep,” you cry, clutching him so closely as if he’d slip away if you let loose. The sound of skin on skin reverberates through your room, the moonlit night filtering through your curtains as it shadows against both of your bodies.
Yoongi’s thrusts grow harder and more desperate, and your moans increase in tenacity. His hips don’t falter and you feel the coil in your stomach turn and turn and turn, the heat between your legs growing tenfold when he reaches a thumb down to press against your swollen clit.
“F-Fuck!” you sob, clenching around him as Yoongi grunts. He shoves himself impossibly deeper, holding that spot that makes you go delirious as you uncontrollably clench around his length.
“Gonna cum?” he murmurs, fingers releasing your own as you whine in the midst of your face when he replaces his grasp around your cheek, his thumb deftly indenting itself as your teary eyes peer into his own.
“I—I love you,” you gasp, and you feel Yoongi’s thrusts stutter when your words meet his ears. He’s so quick that all you can do is take the force of your love; the way his thumb rubs harder, thrusts get sloppier—and the way that he looks at you.
“Cum with me,” he rasps, forcing you to look at him when you finally feel your body lock up in pleasure.
When you cum, it’s with Yoongi’s lips pressed against your own and your heart soaring at how close you feel to him. It’s more than the physical sense, but with an intimacy that runs as deep as how your blood flows. You don’t quiet yourself, nor do you hide away when Yoongi tells you how stunning you look when you fall apart. You take it all in, bask in his love and the way you feel him cum with you—his seed hot when it paints your inner walls.
He fucks you through your orgasm, your toes curling when the words get stuck in your throat. He lets out a guttural groan when he flops onto his forearms, chest pressed even tighter against your own. Finally, you attempt to catch your breath as your eyes flicker up to the ceiling in complete bliss. Your body is satiated and you feel so light, almost as if you weren’t here. But you’re here, and you’re with Yoongi.
Yoongi hovers above you for a brief moment, eyes soft when they rake over your flushed cheeks and gaping mouth as your chest moves up and down with your breath. You’re about to say something but you stare, too. You let him look at you, unobstructed and with all the potential unflattering angles because what else you could do but allow him further deeper into your heart? Your soul?
“I love you.”
You feel your heart hammer against your chest at his confession, and you’re half-expecting a smart retort from Yoongi that points out your flustered state—but he doesn’t. He looks at you with earnest eyes, a slightly hooded gaze when he allows his fingers to trace over your features before it smooths your hair down.
“I know,” you say softly.
Yoongi grins, so softly that you almost don’t catch it if it weren’t for how hard you were observing him. Then, he rests by your side, proceeding to intertwine your fingers together in a way that was so utterly romantic and domestic.
“I want to give you a ring.”
It takes you a moment—no, two—to process what he said. Your mind is still in its post-orgasmic bliss and your jaw drops when you realise that Yoongi’s dead serious, not a hint of unsureness in his expression.
“What?” you squeak, both dumbfounded and—
Hopeful?
“I want to give you a ring,” he says softly, eyes trailing to your intertwined fingers before his index finger traces over your ring finger as if entranced. “I want to be with you. As partners. To wake up to you.”
You gasp, chest constricting at his brutally honest words.
“B-But I—”
“It doesn’t have to be marriage,” he smiles gently, pressing a kiss to your cheek to placate you as if he’s read your mind at the worry that plagues it. You loved Yoongi, but marriage? You wanted to be with him—you knew that. But you were still so new, so fresh in your journey both individually and together with that it sounded petrifying. “I just want to promise you that I’m here for the long haul.”
“You don’t need a ring to promise me that, Yoongi,” you say quietly, cupping his cheek.
“But I want you to know that I’m serious,” he says with all seriousness, “I know I don’t need a ring but this is my way of showing you that one day, I want to marry you.”
Your eyes widen, and Yoongi leans forward to shoot you a lopsided grin.
“You won’t ever change my mind,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips as you return the gesture.
You’re still riddled with anxiety, unsureness, fear—but it’s only natural, isn’t it?
But when Yoongi’s right in front of you, slipping out of your bed to shuffle through his belongings that was tucked expertly into a corner that looks like his own—he returns with a small box and a promise inside of it.
You thwack his chest, scowling when he laughs at your tears. But when he slips the ring onto your finger, admiring the way it presses against his chest when you rake your hand over the expanse of it—you’ll take being scared one day, for a lifetime of happiness and promises.
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. confrontations, feelings and thoughts will be shared and heard, sweetness, multiple smut scenes, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it!), oral (f receiving, with brief mention of m receiving), fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial?, yoongi is hot, bigdick!yoongi, loads of banter but it's cute, sexual innuendos bc same, it all comes boiling down to this!, growth and healing
WORDS. 25.3k
NOTE. oh my!!!! we're finally at the last chapter of back-burner before the epilogue. i can't believe we've come so far and I just want to say I'm so thankful for all the love and support everyone has given back-burner; especially to our lovely oc! writing her journey and her thoughts have been such a lovely, and eye-opening ride for me as well, and I'm so happy to finally give her this chapter!
the epilogue will mostly be to wrap things up, but the gist of what should happen, happens in this chapter. I'll be opening up the Ask My Muse series for back-burner after the epilogue is posted. As always, thank you so much for sticking with me, and this story ❤️ I hope you enjoy!
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You don’t remember anything from the pitch, but the sounds are still clear as day when the ring continues to echo in your ears. The standing ovation, the claps on perfect rhythm, the unnecessarily loud whoops and cheers from Loli, Jungkook, Hoseok and Haerin—they were the loudest. And you think a sob or two accompanied the cheers from Haerin, but you couldn’t be too sure.
It was too loud to forget, but what you thought was the most important of your pitch—which was basically the presentation—you don’t remember at all. You guess that’s what adrenaline does to you, or perhaps nerves. You don’t recall moments in your life where you were all too nervous and you think it’s better that way. Oftentimes, when you did manage to piece together information, it was too mortifying to ever complete.
The moment the event ended, an ending speech given by Hoseok himself, you found yourself being clambered and approached by investors alike, interested in your idea. Interested in you.
“Would you consider this salary to be sufficient for this position?”
“My boss would love to meet you!”
“That was a phenomenal presentation. Would you be free to discuss further opportunities over lunch?”
“When Mr Jung said you were exceptional, I think he was underplaying it. You are an asset.”
All these words, ones that you’ve unknowingly craved your entire life, seem to do nothing to you. All you could offer was a kind smile and a business card with your email. You knew what you were here for, and you didn’t want greed to blind your direction in life just yet. In fact, you were just starting out.
But of course, you couldn’t turn away the actual boss.
“Come ere’,” Hoseok grins so widely, arms extended to embrace you, that you can’t ignore him even if you wanted to. And despite your embarrassment and the curious gazes that follow, you jump into his arms.
“I’m so glad it’s over,” you murmur.
“Can’t say the same. I didn’t know you were that interesting when you spoke.”
You pinch his side as he snickers, releasing you as his expression is replaced with a softer one.
“You did amazing,” he says.
“Hobi,” you mumble shyly, eyes darting away.
“God. Seriously. I say this with all the love and objectivity but that was really sexy of you,” he whistles, back to his goofy self as you roll your eyes when he wiggles his eyebrows.
“I thought you were decent.” You hear another voice interject, filled with disgust as your eyes look behind Hoseok’s shoulders to see Loli and Jungkook approaching you with wide grins on their faces.
Hoseok turns around to snort while he playfully dodges Loli’s swat.
“I am,” he croons, “Simply telling our lovely ____ how it is.”
“Men,” she scoffs before her eyes flit towards you. “And you, young lady. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Loli,” you say softly, embracing her when her hands instinctively reach out to squeeze your own.
“You are a star; a force of your own; that was beautiful,” she gushes, and you feel your heart soar when she looks at you with a twinkle in her eyes that mimics a proud parent. It’s an unfamiliar look, but not from Loli. Loli always looks that way.
“So you are capable of sounding cool,” Jungkook interjects smoothly, feigning disinterest even if he wiggles his way into the hug to give your hair a ruffle.
“Shut up,” you scowl, pinching his sides when he snickers. “Aren’t you failing one of your requisites for nursing school?”
Jungkook’s jaw drops as he flushes. “It’s hard.”
You stick your tongue out at him when he glares at you. It’s lighthearted, the both of you know this when his eyes soften, digging his fingers against your shoulder as he brings you in to rest your head on his shoulder.
“Proud of you,” he murmurs softly, a little shy when Loli rolls her eyes at his almost silent tone. “You did amazing.”
“What did I say about being stingy with compliments?” Loli scolds, thwacking the muscly man by the arm as he yelps.
“I complimented her!” he huffs.
“I think she meant to not sound so begrudging,” Hoseok butts in with a chirp.
“Who asked you, hyung,” Jungkook scowls bitterly as you giggle at his antics, turning to poke a finger into his cheeks when he attempts to swat your hand away.
“Jungkook complimented me,” you tease in a mocking tone, “You think I did amazing.”
“I thought the lady who spoke about the water pipes did amazing too,” he sneers, the tips of his ears flushed red.
Deciding to provoke him further, you wrap your arms around his neck and drag his head down to your height while he fumbles in your grasp.
“Just say you think I’m cool, Jeon Jungkook,” you grin.
“I don’t lie,” he huffs pettily, sticking his nose up in the air as you let out a bark of laughter.
Loli almost goes to tweak her grandson’s ears again but then Hoseok speaks up, a soft smile on his face when he cocks his head to the side.
“You’ve got other people that are really proud of you too.”
When he steps aside, Haerin appears with a wide grin and teary eyes. Though, it’s not her you’re fixated on.
It’s Yoongi.
He stands somewhat stiffly behind her, the bouquet of flowers an ever imposing presence behind her as he meets your eyes. There’s a tug in your chest when he acknowledges your gaze with a soft smile; the tilt of his lips raising ever so slightly when he nods his head towards Haerin.
You look at her, and she’s already in front of you.
“You—what!” she exasperates, as if frustrated. “How are you so good! You’re so good at public speaking, what the hell!”
“And you are less eloquent than I thought,” Loli adds with a downturn of her lips.
Haerin is still on her toes when she engulfs you into a tight hug.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers into your jumpsuit, her head peeking up to show you how her eyes hold the truth of her words. “I’m so proud to call you my sister.”
You blink, feeling your heart clench in your chest and your throat clam up at how earnest her words are. You’re still awkwardly standing when she hugs you, but it’s a dynamic you’re learning to get used to. Perhaps it’d always be that way, where Haerin radiates life and hope while you were the realistic check and balance that regulated her.
And somehow, the realisation doesn’t burn like it used to.
“Thank you for coming tonight, Haerin,” you tell her honestly, finally reaching out to squeeze the meat of her bicep as she beams at you.
“Why are you thanking me?” she huffs, waving you off before pulling away with a cheeky grin. “What sisters are for, right?”
“What sisters are for,” you murmur, squeezing her hand.
Haerin smiles at you and she looks so sweet like this. She chose to opt-out of wearing heels, and you vaguely remember her never liking them even if they made her taller. Your parents were adamant about her wearing heels though, and when you notice her flats—you smile for her.
“And as your sister, I don’t want to get in the way…” she says, trailing off as she steps aside.
You raise her brow at her words before she steps away to turn around to wildly gesture at Yoongi to step forward with her flailing arms. You see Loli shoot her a dry look and you’re flushing when she doesn’t hide how obvious she is at dragging the older man over to where the two of you were.
Yoongi sighs. There’s not a hint on his face that tells him he was flustered, and you don’t expect him to be. Yoongi was always the perfect combination of calm and collected. He knew exactly what he wanted and what he needed to do. Tonight was no different.
It’s him who speaks first. Or rather, who acts first.
“You have a little…” he begins, softly. Then, the hand that was stuffed in his pocket and not holding the bouquet reaches out, ever so slowly before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
Your face burns, especially when you see Haerin smack Jungkook’s arm with a giddy expression while he jumps at the sudden unexpected gesture.
You ignore them as you duck your head to the ground.
“Thank you,” you say softly.
Yoongi smiles, and you feel your heart spin like it was in the centre of the world.
“These are for you,” he says, holding out the flowers as you look up to admire the beautiful arrangement. It’s all of your favourite flowers, aesthetically because you didn’t really mind. But Yoongi knew; of course, he did. The thought makes your hands feel weak; stomach churning a little funny when he pairs it with that godforsaken smile of his.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you say again, looking up to meet his eyes.
He smiles with his eyes this time, a gentle expression on his face before he tucks his hands into his pockets. You take the time to breathe him in; each other when he unintentionally does the same.
Yoongi looks devastatingly handsome tonight. He ditched the blazer but his dress-shirt was tucked into his slacks, making him look like the competent, successful man that he would always become. There’s a quiet sense of confidence that surrounds Yoongi. He never needed to be the tallest person in the room to command people’s attention, nor did he need to be the biggest to emphasise his strength.
Yoongi carried his confidence in silent struts, the way he’s doing right now when he looks you over, eyes trailing over your figure as if absorbing the way you looked tonight with his eyes. You do the same, and when you reach his lips—you note that his tongue darts out to wet them when his eyes rake over your figure.
“Oh-kay.” You hear Jungkook whistle like the little brat he is. “The sexual tension is through the roof right now.”
You snap out of your reverie with a furious flush on your cheeks, but Yoongi only smiles at you when he meets your eyes, not denying Jungkook’s words.
“Let me take this—” Loli interjects, stepping in between the both of you as she snatches the bouquet out of your grasp, “—and you two can go do whatever you need to do!”
“Loli—wait, where do I meet you after?” you ask with furrowed brows, face still flushed at the fact that all your friends and your sister were looking at you with wide, knowing smiles when they take in you and Yoongi’s stance.
“After?” she raises a brow, “You mean tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” you repeat, confused.
“After doing what you need to do, of course,” she smirks, “If that’s each other then—”
“What she means to say is that we’re happy to take you out for a celebratory lunch tomorrow,” Hoseok intervenes with his charming smile, holding Loli by the shoulders as she sighs.
You knew what she was going to say, but you refrain from acknowledging it so you wouldn’t end up looking like a tomato.
“I—are you sure?” you ask, unsure, turning back to look at Yoongi who has a calm expression on his face, hands stuffed in his pocket.
“Go,” Haerin encourages, reaching out to squeeze your hand as you open your mouth to protest.
Your poor heart wouldn’t be able to survive a moment with Yoongi, alone. Especially knowing what you know.
“I need to tell you something.” You hear Yoongi speak up from behind you, and Haerin shoots you a knowing smile as Hoseeok wiggles his eyebrows at you in a way you know he thought was unsuspecting.
“Okay,” you concede, squeezing Haerin’s hand in return before you step away. You wave to the four people on the other side, ignoring the way Jungkook looks absolutely smug while Hoseok shoots you a thumbs up.
Haerin’s about to open her mouth, but Loli drags her away before she can say anything.
She turns to wave, and you open your mouth to say something before you feel a warm hand on your lower back as you jump.
When your head turns, Yoongi’s right behind you and he keeps his touch featherlight, but enough to leave you burning.
“Is there somewhere quiet we can go to?”
Your eyes finally meet his and Yoongi’s kind enough to not fluster you even further with his staggering stare. Instead, he does what he’s always done and waits until you realise that he was waiting. His hand never waivers, and you wonder just how long he’s waited.
“There’s a nice foyer outside,” you tell him, and he nods, allowing you to lead the way despite the erratic beating of your heart.
A staff member smiles at you when you pass by multiple investors and guests who’ve yet to leave. You force one back to not seem rude, and you hope it masks how nervous you were. The night is dark and cold. It’s one of your favourite feelings when the wind blows against your face. But despite the low temperature, there’s a warmth that you can’t describe that plagues you.
It wasn’t a coincidence that Yoongi’s hand never strays.
The foyer overlooks the vast expanse of water. It’s moonlit and dark, so whatever lays beneath it remains unknown to you but it was still equally as beautiful. Perhaps there was something captivating about the unknown, the fact that you had to wait to be fed its beauty immediately. When the water ripples, it reminds you of a lot of things.
Starting with Yoongi.
“You were amazing, by the way,” Yoongi speaks up in the cold night, smoke permeating the air from where his breath escapes.
“Thank you,” you say softly, “It was…it was nothing, really.”
“That nothing is giving people a chance they never had,” he says in all seriousness, “I’m really proud of you, ___. Even if you don’t need me to be.”
“I—” you swallow, unsure of how to respond as your eyes avoid his own gaze to stare over the ledge, “You know I care about what you think.”
Yoongi chuckles quietly, shaking his head as he stares ahead to where your eyes rest.
“I’m glad,” he nods, “I’m thankful, too.”
You nod your head awkwardly, fiddling with your thumbs. There are not many people by the dock, mostly because it’s freezing and they were sane enough to chase warmth than the bone-chilling atmosphere outside. So, it was quiet. Quiet enough that your thoughts run wild; and you recall the last night you saw him, a good week ago; and since then—it’s been silent.
He hadn’t reached out except for a singular text that said “I’m still willing to talk. I’ll wait” where it was left on read from your end. You wondered why he was here when you acted the way you did, hostile, unwarranted, irrational; you wondered why he was still so—Yoongi.
“You’re a really good person, you know?”
His voice startles you as you jump, head immediately snapping to the left to see that Yoongi’s still staring ahead.
“What?” you squeak.
“When you were speaking,” he starts, tentatively, “You had so much conviction. So much…passion. You spoke as if you were in their shoes. You didn’t have to do what you did, but you did,” he explains, then he turns to you as you feel your heart seize at how earnest his eyes were. “You’re a good person.”
“What—where is this coming from?” you ask with furrowed brows.
“But when you were speaking to the investors, you tried your best to downplay your achievements. Why did you do that?” Yoongi lays out, completely ignoring your query.
“You were eavesdropping?” you gawk.
“You’re pretty loud,” he offers with a soft, tilted smile.
You huff, then you shake your head as you focus your stare ahead once more. There’s a glimmer in the water, the moonlight prettier than ever when it reflects against the surface, almost enchanting.
“I’m privileged, Yoongi,” you frown, “There are layers of privilege that I recognise I have over others and I’m trying my best to do what I can to level the playing field. I’m not a good person because I did the bare minimum with what I have. No one deserves to live in fear—of poverty—or under an establishment that systemically disenfranchises them. I’m aware, not good. That’s why I do what I do.”
You can feel his gaze against your temple, curious. It’s unrelenting, and you shift under his intense scrutiny when he doesn’t look away when you expect him to. It’s almost as if he was attempting to unravel every lone thought in your mind to make sense of your words, to understand the depths of your words in a way that extended from the words uttered into the air.
“You can be a good person and recognise your privilege, you know? Those things aren’t mutually exclusive,” he says pointedly.
You’re mildly dumbfounded at the way the conversation flows. You wonder if Yoongi had decided to drop your unfinished conversation, or if he was waiting for your green light. But you’re not as brave as you wish you were, so you don’t make any exhibition that you were still curious about—still wondering.
“Maybe,” you say slowly, “But they’re relative. I’m good in an objective sense. But when you take context into account and my position in life, I’m nowhere near good. I cannot call myself good simply because I try to give back. That’s why I just sell the proposal and hope the investors invest in the idea because they’re looking for a business opportunity tied to altruism. That sucks. But it’s the most feasible way for these families to get some sort of help.”
“See, a bad person wouldn’t be as conscious about the things you’ve mentioned,” Yoongi argues.
“And this sense of morality isn’t absolute,” you say with an eye roll, “Just because I’m not good doesn’t automatically make me bad. That’s like calling someone who’s unaware a bigot.”
“Are they not?” Yoongi prompts.
“No. Trump is a bigot. Not someone who’s been exposed to a particular ideology and is simply unaware but capable of change,” you deadpan.
A smile twitches on Yoongi’s face before he lets out a huff of a chuckle.
“Well if you’re not good then you’re definitely something else,” he laughs.
“Why are you so insistent on this anyway,” you huff.
“Because you always try to downplay everything you clearly deserve into chance, or circumstances when really, it’s all you.”
“It’s because I’m severely average, Yoongi,” you snap, turning around to glare at him, suddenly frustrated with the conversation. “Just because I did one thing that’s suddenly good doesn’t make me this super-person—”
“You’re not average,” he says firmly, turning towards you as your eyes widen. “You’re the least average person I know.”
There seems to be an underlying connotation that exists in his words. There’s also desperation in his eyes, almost pleading when they meet your own. You don’t quite know what to make out of it, and you don’t want to be naive to assume that Yoongi was trying to say something by saying nothing at all.
“You’re a doctor, Yoongi. You’re literally always surrounded by exceptional people,” you deadpan.
“That’s why you should take my word for it,” he whispers, “You should see yourself the way I see you.”
Your breath hitches and your eyes befriend the ground at how much you’re avoiding his gaze. You’re glad he doesn’t pry or push the limit of the invincible barrier you’ve drawn between the both of you.
“I don’t want to be disappointed,” you say, muted.
You can’t see Yoongi but you can practically feel the way he shifts on his feet. That was something only he could do; take up space even when there were ample amounts of it within the vicinity. He was close, not just physically but he was present. You could feel it, and you could feel your hands clam up while your heart squeezed in your chest.
“Do you remember the time when you got suspended back in high school?”
You flush, ears turning red with embarrassment and with the cold.
“That was nearly a decade ago,” you mutter under your breath.
Yoongi continues. “You stood up for a girl in your grade. She was being bullied by some rich mean girls and you stood up for her despite not knowing who she was.”
“I literally yanked one of their hairs—” you exasperate.
“—I thought you were so cool back then. I heard from Haerin that you got suspended and she was concerned about your grades but all I could think about was how brave you had to be to stand up for a virtual stranger at the cost of your own benefit.”
It’s almost a trivial memory that’s been extracted from you when Yoongi recounts the details of that matter. You don’t really remember the girls you defended her from, but you did remember her. Hana, a soft and quiet girl—a little shy, a little odd—but she was kind. She smiled when she could, and you remembered admiring her for her ability to shine under a cast.
“That was…” you say meekly, trailing off.
Yoongi steps closer, and you take a step back to establish some form of distance, but your back immediately knocks against the ledge as your eyes enlarge when you realise the vast expanse of water beneath you.
“Or when Jungkook lost his father,” he says solemnly, so quiet when the memory surfaces again. Your heart clenches again. “And Loli lost her son. You brought them over to your apartment and made sure they ate. You cooked all of their meals, painted with them to get their minds off the grief—and even spoke to Jungkook’s practitioner to give him an extension for his exam.”
“I was being a good friend,” you explain lamely.
“You were being selfless,” he corrects you, and only do you realise how close he’s gotten.
Now that you were completely sober, the distance—or lack thereof—between the both of you, flustered you. Yoongi didn’t seem perturbed by how close he was getting, if anything, it only seemed to spur the onset of his words.
“I thought you were the kindest person I knew,” he murmurs quietly.
“You don’t know many people then,” you mutter.
Yoongi is dead set on proving you wrong because he ignores you and carries it forward.
“And I’ll never forget when you visited me every single day when I dislocated my shoulder and had my surgery.”
“I wasn’t the only one who visited you,” you remind him exasperatedly. “Your parents were there. Haerin. Jungkook. Heck, even Loli was there.”
“No. But you were the only one that stayed to feed me, cook for me, subject me to your shitty movies and social commentary all while secretly organising my patient files when I couldn’t,” he says blankly, voice pointed.
You gawk, affronted, “Your nurse told you that?!” Internally, you curse at her for snitching on you when you purposely reminded her not to.
“You talk to yourself a lot when you’re focused, you know?” he muses, eliciting a peevish huff from you. “And you should know that I’m a really light sleeper.”
You scowl.
Then, his eyes soften when he takes yet another step forward, body practically keeping you warm in the cold night—all while you stutter at the proximity, mind blanking and almost forgetting just what type of situation you were truly in.
The silence after the storm; the way you cowardly bolted when you were confused.
But Yoongi doesn’t let you dwell on it for too long when he grabs a hold of your hands to engulf his larger palm over your knuckles.
“Yoongi—” you say nervously.
“Thing is, I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” he says softly, “How…loving you are.”
“Yoongi, I’m literally the meanest bitch out there,” you gape.
You? Loving? How could he possibly think that when—?
“You have a big heart,” he says, “And even if you were a bitch—” he says this with a knowing look as you huff, “—that will never change the things you’ve done for others.”
“Anyone could do what I did if they cared enough,” you mumble.
“Anyone can do anything,” he immediately interjects, “But many people choose not to. You chose to do the things you did, and for that reason, you’ve imprinted yourself onto so many people’s lives. That’s who you are.”
Yoongi’s never the person to lie. Not outwardly, not straight to your face, at least. People would call him brutally honest at times; brutal because feelings could end up wounded, but honest because he valued it. But it’s hard to believe the words that leave his mouth when you’ve only ever thought otherwise.
Yoongi squeezes around your hand as you briefly jolt back to reality when your eyes peer up at him.
“As I said,” he says softly, “You don’t see you the way I do.”
“Maybe it’s for the best,” you chuckle softly, shaking your head when your feet become more interesting than the conversation.
It wasn’t, but it was safer.
Then, Yoongi grasps your cheeks in his hands as you jump at the contact. He doesn’t pull away. He forces you to look at him and take the impact of his expression. Your heart stammers against your chest and you feel your cheeks turn impossibly hot, a paradox of this cold weather. Yet, you’re thankful that it’s dark out—possibly shielding any form of mortification that paints your stature.
“You’re not just a good person, ___.” He doesn’t shift away when he says this, eyes blazing into your own as your dart everywhere. You wonder if he feels the heat from your cheeks. “You’re an amazing person.”
“But—”
“And there will be people who don’t recognise that. But there are people who do,” he says. “People like Jungkook. People like Loli. Hobi. Marco from that cafe you like. Your teammates who really look up to you, by the way—”
Then, he presses his thumb against your cheek when you look at him through the wisp of your lashes.
“And me.”
“What are you doing, Yoongi,” you say quietly.
Yoongi purses his lips, then a hand brushes through your hair as you almost melt into his touch. Despite everything, it’s a feeling you bask in. A feeling you always return to.
“Telling you the truth,” he murmurs.
“That’s not—”
“You’ve heard it from Haerin,” he continues, intercepting your words as you feel your throat go dry. “You’ve probably heard it from everyone—”
You try to pull away, squirming under his serious gaze.
“But I want you to hear it from me,” he finally says, and your faces are only inches apart.
“Yoongi…”
“I’m in love with you.”
You feel everything stop. It’s stupidly cliche but it’s the only thing that makes sense. Not even the way Yoongi’s holding you registers in your brain when the words settle into the atmosphere. The way the cloud of smoke from the cold dissipates into the air as he stares at you with devout tenderness—nothing makes sense except for the fact that you feel like you’ve paused.
“You—”
“And you can’t tell me how I feel,” he says in a low whisper, drawing your foreheads together. “I know I’ve hurt you and I know I’ve done things that contradict what I just said but I’ve never known anything truer than how I feel for you.”
Your jaw slackens as your mouth opens and closes in search of words.
You feel—
“I’m so in love with you that it’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” he whispers and you almost squeak at the way he’s practically echoed your own internal thoughts. “I worry for you, I care for you, I want to be around you, I want to see you smile all the time and—fuck. I’m so fucking in love with you that the only thing I can think about is how much I love you.”
Yoongi takes your breath away in all the ways possible. You never fooled him to be the poetic type but his words are honest. And that’s what you realise he’s trying to do.
Be honest.
“But…” you struggle to get the words out, mostly because your mind refuses to submit to the knowledge that Yoongi loved you. Even now, when all but deception paints his tongue—you couldn’t believe it.
“You drive me insane,” he hisses.
“Excuse me?” you gape, “How the fuck can—?”
“You drive me insane but you drive me,” he whispers, earning your enlarged gaze. “Every single day I want you in my life, ___. However I can have you, I'll take it because I can’t picture a life without you in it.” You almost choke at how earnest he sounds, “And just know that I’ve never not chosen you. I just—”
He swallows, then his eyes flutter shut when his forehead drops to your shoulder as you gulp.
“I thought the only way I could move on even if I tried,” he laughs tightly, “And when Haerin brought it up I…” You blink, only realising how stiff you’ve gotten when his hand reaches to squeeze your own. “I was selfish, ___. And I hate myself for it.”
It hurt. It did. But it was the type of pain that you’ve come to terms with; the type of pain that was necessary, you feel. Some pain would help you grow, like a scab from a fall that rejuvenates into new skin to protect your flesh. That was how it felt—it hurt, at the moment—but you grow, just like how you were supposed to.
“Yoongi…”
“I’m sorry,” he says softly, lifting his head up so that you’re now staring at each other, eye to eye.
“Yoongi…” you repeat once more, and for the first time, you return his hold when you wrap your hands around his own.
He’s visibly shocked, especially when his eyes travel south before returning to rest on your face.
“When?”
Yoongi pauses.
You swallow. “Since…when?”
“Long enough that I don’t remember a time where I wasn’t in love with you.”
Yoongi cups your face in his hands as your jaw drops into a gape, stunned to silence at his impassioned claim. Somehow, the knowledge that he’s felt this way for this long, perhaps as long as you have, only saddens you. That all this while—the two of you were there, but not quite.
“What does…what does this mean for us?” you ask tentatively, then you clear your throat when he blinks. “Where does this leave us?”
“Wherever you want us to be,” he replies softly.
Then, your mind travels to a proposition you were suggested with by one of the investors and you feel…conflicted.
On one hand, you felt relieved. That your feelings were reciprocated and that Yoongi loved you. It was hard to believe it, but you spent enough time running away from the truth that it only ended up hurting you more. You didn’t know if it was the pitch, the fact that your parents had sent you a message each detailing an ambiguous apology—or the fact that Yoongi was here, in front of you—and was almost yours—
But you were…content.
“I—” you swallow, “I got an offer.”
Yoongi pauses.
“One of the investors, um,” you stammer, “Really liked my pitch and, well, he offered me a job.”
“That’s amazing, ____,” Yoongi says, cupping your cheeks as you nearly stumble backwards, the ledge stopping you.
“It’s in Berlin.”
A gust of wind blows against your face, the fabric of your coat jostling at the impact. You feel the chill against your semi-exposed chest where your attire doesn’t cover the skin, but that’s minuscule in the grand scheme of things. You fear Yoongi’s reaction, more so because you can’t read him yet again. His face is…indefinite. A blank canvas waiting to be painted.
“And I want it,” you continue, a shaky sense of confidence when you gather the courage to look him in the eye. “I want…I want this for me.”
There’s something oddly belated yet fulfilling about getting that out of the way. You didn’t owe him an explanation, not really anyway. You didn’t owe anyone an explanation.
But having admitted that you were doing something for yourself, your happiness was revitalising. Having known that throughout your entire life you were too busy shrinking yourself to fit a certain mould or expectation, this was cathartic for you. An opportunity to embark on a journey that you never knew you could start.
“I want to look out for myself, for once,” you say softly when Yoongi remains silent, his lips pursed. “I’ve—I’ve spent my entire life feeling like I was never enough…that I wasn’t deserving of anything that came my way and—” you release a breath, and you feel slightly anxious but despite Yoongi’s silence, he squeezes your hand, as if he knows. He knew. “—I’m starting to realise that it was never anyone else but always me.”
“You deserve the world, ___,” he says gently, then his thumb follows up your neck until it swipes at the skin under your eye, featherlight.
“I love you, Yoongi,” you admit, and you feel his thumb freeze in its ministrations when the words settle. “I love you but…I need to love myself, too.”
“I understand,” he murmurs, a small smile on his face.
“I’m taking the job,” you declare solemnly, lips pressed into a thin line, “And—and I understand if you don’t want to wait—”
“I’ll wait,” he interjects immediately, voice firm, “No matter where you are, or where you go; I’ll wait.” Then, he grins at you so earnestly that you feel like, for once, everything could be okay. “I’m okay with loving you from afar, I’m okay with loving you up close. I’ll love you anywhere, and if I have to wait—I will. But don’t for a second think that I don’t want this because I do. I want this. I want it if it’s you.”
Yoongi’s words only earn him a choked response, your throat clamming up at how fervent he sounds. You can’t help the way your eyes turn glassy, feeling both content, and relieved when you feel Yoongi tug you a little closer, a little braver, almost as if the both of you had been waiting long enough to be able to indulge at this moment.
“I…” you swallow, “Haerin spoke to me. The night after you—” Yoongi nods, knowing what you mean. “Yeah. And…I didn’t know she felt that way, but I understand. I understand why she did what she did, and maybe I don’t really understand why you did what you did but…I don’t need to. I thought I needed answers but I don’t think it’ll change anything,” you say softly, eyes meeting him once more. “It won’t change what I need to do.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, committed.
“A year,” you squeak out in a blurt, mind reeling. “Give me a year.”
“What?”
“I love you now, you love me now,” you explain, rather timid, “But a year. Give me a year and—and we can do this. Properly. Or something.”
He smiles affectionately, tilting his head to the side when you feel your cheeks heat up at the way he was staring at you.
“A year,” he nods, “But what about now?”
You blink.
“Now?” you squeak.
He grins.
“Yoongi—” you say through a nervous stammer when he crowds you closer to the ledge, arms gripping his shoulder in alarm. Your head turns sideways and your peripheral vision catches the glimmer of water beneath the bridge, a distance all too close for your liking. “T-The ledge—I’ll fall over—!”
Yoongi’s arms wrap around your waist as your eyes blow out comically wide. All he does is smirk at you, back to his calm, suave self that your heart can’t help but flutter at. Now, somehow, you remember how devastatingly handsome he was in his suit, hair that exposes his forehead in all its glory.
“You think I’d let you fall?” he murmurs, never breaking eye contact with you when you gulp.
He was so close that you were basically perspiring in nerves in the chilly wind. You weren’t necessarily the nervous type but his eyes were so intent on making sure that you never looked away, and when you did, he searched every corner of the world to make sure he found his way back home.
“Can you stop?” you mutter under your breath, palms resting on his chest to establish some distance and control over this situation.
He chuckles a deep rumble that makes your stomach flutter. “Doing what? I’m making sure you don’t fall, am I not?”
“Just tell me what you mean,” you scowl, “And stop doing that.”
“Elaborate, please,” he says smugly, smiling widely as you attempt to muster a glare despite your burning cheeks.
“That!” you exasperate, palms digging into his chest as he offers a devilish smirk. “Stop being so mysterious and looking at me like—like—”
“Like?” he urges.
“Like that,” you supply lamely, voice dropping an octave as your eyes dart to the ground. “It makes me nervous.”
“Okay,” he shrugs, your head whipping up in response as you’re left stunned to see that he actually listened to you.
“What—?”
But this was Yoongi. Unreadable; spontaneous but safe. Confident. And you were so in love with him.
He spins you around so quickly that you yelp, slamming into his chest with an oof until he was the one that was pressed against the ledge while your weight was on him. His arm remains tight around your waist, moulding you to his body as your eyes flutter upwards, dumbfounded, confused and nervous.
“Yoongi, the ledge—!”
“I told you I won’t let you fall,” he whispers.
You smack him on the chest as you glare. “You know if you fall you’re taking me down with you?”
“But you’ll land on me,” he returns smoothly, pulling you impossibly closer until your noses are touching. “So, how about now?”
“What?” you squawk dumbly.
He shows you a lopsided grin, his thumb tilting your chin upwards until he assaults your personal space with his scent and being. It was so…nerve-wracking. Your heart was pounding against your chest, but you weren’t afraid. Not anymore.
“What can I do now if not in a year?” he hums slowly.
“I-I, um,” you stammer weakly, eyes blinking rapidly when he continues to administer a playful grin on his face. “You—now?—uh.”
“Now,” he grins with a teasing expression, “What can I do now?”
“You can—um,” you continue to gawk like an idiot, mind buffering when his confidence oozes out. “Whatever—whatever you want?”
“And if I want to kiss you?”
You squeak.
“Um.”
“Will you let me?” he asks softly, more firm, less teasing, but equally as serious.
“I-I mean,” you stutter, “I-If you want? I guess? L-Like—”
Yoongi shuts you up effectively. In the best way possible. His soft lips press against your own when he pulls your face towards him, all while tilting his own to allow himself to slot himself deeper against your lips. Your eyes are wide open in shock, hands losing feeling when you register what was going on.
A want from years, coming to fruition.
You’re stagnant, and Yoongi has to literally pinch your waist in order for you to fall into the rhythm of the kiss that he leads. Your eyes finally flutter shut, and you relax.
Now that you were sober, you register the plumpness of his lips, how warm it feels against your own, contrasted against the cold weather. It’s everything you’ve ever dreamed of; soft and desperate all at once, especially when he guides your hands to rest on his chest.
His hand cups your jaw and you feel light-headed when he pulls you even closer than before, bodies practically one against the ledge. All the fear of falling dissipates; the only one that remains is how exponentially fallen you were for this man.
You gasp when he provisionally licks the seam of your mouth, enough to insinuate the next move and for you to part your lips for him. All you could think of was Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—completely forgetting that you were in public.
“I definitely couldn’t have waited a year for that,” he mumbles against your lips when he pulls away briefly only to catch the dazed look in your eyes.
“Oh,” you say breathlessly, clutching the fabric of his coat in your hands.
Pressing his tongue into your mouth with smooth finesse, you let out an unintentional whimper as you feel your knees buckle at how good this felt. Then, mortification washes over you when you hear him chuckle.
“So,” he pulls away, licking his lips as his eyes drop to your swollen ones. “What else can I do before the year?”
You let out a shaky breath, feeling unbelievably hot under his gaze.
“I mean,” you start off rather coyly, yet shy. “I know how I feel and I know how you feel so—”
“So…?” he smirks.
“Like,” you wave your hands around frustratedly as he stares at you with an amused grin, “You know! We can do stuff.”
“Hm,” he smiles, “Really? What kind?”
You gawk at him. “You—you know! I don’t need to spell it out for you?”
Then, briefly, you see the way his eyes darken before he’s pressing a hot kiss to your jaw that elicits a breathless mewl from you.
“Yoongi—”
“Just like that, sweetheart,” he croons teasingly.
You’re about to curse him out for making you feel so—so nervous, but another voice hollers out that it startles the both of you. Well, mostly you.
“Get a room!”
You flush, digging your head into his chest as you hear Yoongi rumble in laughter, arms wrapped around your back when he drags his fingertips up and down your clothed-covered spine.
“Shall we?” he says lowly after you’ve somewhat recovered from your embarrassment and pull away just enough to catch his half-lidded gaze.
“Yeah,” you say breathlessly, anticipating what’s to come.
Walking down the same hallway to Yoongi’s apartment has never felt so different.
The air is...heavier. Not in a suffocating way, but in the way that keeps you on your toes. You half-expected gropes in the elevator, desperate kisses pressed against each other’s body when you alighted—but there was none of that. You weren’t sure if Yoongi felt the way you did—like you were vibrating. Waiting for reprieve. Because he was as calm and collected as always.
When he leads you to the door, you stop him with a hand around his wrist, tentative.
He turns around with a raised brow and you swallow, forcing a neutral expression that hopefully didn’t give away your nerves.
“I…”
“You?” he smiles teasingly, twisting his wrist until it was his hand that wrapped around your own, thumb already rubbing a gentle circle to your knuckle.
“What are we…” you trail off, heat rushing to your ears as he waits for you with impeccable patience and an unwavering stare. You force the words out despite your embarrassment. “What are we doing?”
“Entering my apartment,” he replies smoothly, thumbing in his keycode as you scowl.
“I mean,” you swallow, “What are we doing at your apartment?”
Yoongi blinks, head tilting as he observes your face. He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, a soft tilt to his lips before he shakes his head. The door is halfway open and you feel your heart rattling against your chest. There’s something about the way that he’s looking at you that makes you squirm.
Did he always look like this?
“Patience, hm?” he hums, then a hand is loosely wrapping around your jaw so softly that you find yourself captivated with how his eyes lower to meet your gaze. You expect a kiss, a press to your lips, but there’s nothing but a hushed whisper when you clutch the lapel of his shirt. “We have all night.”
Your breath hitches, and then Yoongi’s pulling away all too soon. You find yourself furiously blushing and you almost curse at yourself for being so—pliant. But weren’t you always like this for Yoongi? If he says, you do? If he leads, you follow? Your heart was his, after all. Even in the silence.
You’re eager. More so than you’d allow yourself to be at the risk of embarrassing yourself but Yoongi only laughs when you hurriedly push him into his own apartment.
Something clicks and both of your heads turn to see his neighbour, a sweet old lady, peeking her head out.
You think you’ve been caught, ready to throw an apology but all she does is smile.
“Finally,” she grins.
You blink, confused. But Yoongi wraps his large palm over your own and tugs you in with a knowing smile to the old lady.
“Finally,” he breathes, looking over at you before she’s waving—and her door shuts.
“What was that?” you ask softly.
Yoongi slips off his coat first, throwing a half-lidded gaze at you when you rock on the balls of your feet. This wasn’t like you...being so...shy. But love made you feel and do funny things, didn’t it?
“Mrs Lee is a sweet lady,” he explains, intertwining his fingers with your own as you find yourself suppressing noise of protest. Mostly at how every little thing is making your puny heart flutter. “We’ve had a lot of chats.”
“Oh?” you say dumbly, especially when he crowds into you, the gentle smile of his never leaving his face when all you see and feel is Yoongi Yoongi Yoongi.
“She gives great advice,” he continues, squeezing your hand as your eyes dart to the ground. God, why couldn’t you just look at him? “Told me to stop running away.”
“Oh,” you say again, lamely.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?”
You freeze.
“I’d like to see your face when I’m talking to you,” he whispers softly, and it’s not patronising in the slightest. Only earnest. And you feel your heart seize against your chest when he squeezes your hand again; as if to tell you: he was here.
You force away from the flustered feeling in your chest and look up at him, and you almost yelp at how close the two of you were.
“See? Beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning closer until you were pressed against the wall of his entrance.
“Don’t say that,” you snap weakly, eyes darting away when he smirks.
“Why not?” he taunts, “Nervous?”
“No. It’s weird,” you say snootily, digging your foot into the ground as he laughs. It’s soft, and his body shakes. Then, he finally releases your hand to step away. You think you’ve said the wrong thing until he traces his eyes all over your body—not insinuating anything, but simply observing.
“Nothing weird about a man ravishing a beautiful woman,” he replies smoothly, and your knees almost buckle at the sheer confidence he said it in.
“God, I never knew you were this bad,” you gawk, hiding your blazing cheeks with a scowl as he shrugs nonchalantly.
“There’s nothing to run away from now, is there?”
A smile threatens itself onto your face as you attempt to level your expression as if you weren’t feeling giddy at everything. The way he was looking at you. The air of the room. How he’s gentle when he steps closer. How you love him. And how he loves you.
“So, a year?” he chuckles, multitasking as he has you trapped against the wall in his hallway, practically undressing you with his eyes but with a tone far too casual with what his actions insinuate.
You flush.
“It’s just—you know! Long-distance is tricky a-and I need time to think!” you huff.
“Hm,” he hums, “You’ve got time for this, then?”
You glare at him when he slots himself against your body, hands growing more daring by the second as they slip off your coat until it hits the floor.
“You’re speaking as if you aren’t into this too,” you snap petulantly, albeit breathless when his hands find purchase on the expanse of your waist.
“Oh, I am, love,” he lilts, “I didn’t make the proposition, though.”
“If you don’t want to you can just say—!” you scowl, being interrupted as one of his hands lightly travel up the side of your waist, to the juncture of your collarbone; then finally cupping your jaw until he forces you to peer up at him despite your narrowed glare.
“I’m teasing,” he smirks, “I need to know if you can take it.”
His low, sultry voice knocks the breath out of you, notably paired with his sensuous eyes.
“I,” you stammer, nerves heightened when he leans in even closer, forcing the base of your spine to the wall when his other hand presses your hips backwards. “Um, I—yes?”
“Are you asking or telling?” he asks with a raised brow, the thumb on your hip rubbing circles against your hip bone.
The way he’s touching you makes your mind blank. Your jumpsuit is still intact (unfortunately, but you hope it won’t be in the near future), and Yoongi hasn’t done anything remarkable but you’re embarrassingly worked up. Yoongi doesn’t need to do much to have your breath hitching, and even the most insubstantial contact was able to stimulate the flush of your skin.
In fact, if things were done your way you’d already be in Yoongi’s bedroom and sucking him dry if you could. Whatever position he’d have you in, you’ll mould yourself to be the pretty little thing he wants you to be—but that isn’t the case. The case was: Yoongi’s staring at you, intimately. A tease; gauging your every minuscule reaction as if he was collecting data to bring you to your demise.
You shudder at the thought.
“Asked you a question,” he murmurs, squeezing your jaw ever so lightly that a small gasp gets stuck in the base of your throat.
“Yes,” you breathe, “I can take it.”
“What can you take?” he pries further, and you’re borderline agitated at how his hands are on you but not on you.
(Your outfit should’ve been haphazardly discarded, but here it was—un-discarded.)
“Fuck, just—what’s taking you so long?” you whine, “Everything. Just touch me, Yoongi.”
Yoongi smirks, the corner of his lips lifting into a devious grin that has you preening. He presses his thumb harder into your hip bone, enough for you to be plastered against the wall while his thigh slides in between your ever-slightly parted legs.
“I’m touching you right here,” he muses, rubbing your hip bone once more, and squeezing your jaw.
“You know what I mean,” you say snappishly, hands desperately tugging his shirt in hopes of ripping it off.
His hands stop you before you can get too far, and his gaze a warning.
“Patience,” he says. “I want to drag this out as long as I possibly can.”
“Literally for what. You have a woman in your home and you’re not just going to fuck her senseless? What is the point—?”
“You think I won’t fuck you senseless because I’m taking my time?” he says lowly, hand tracing down your throat as you gulp, eyes following his hand when it travels to your hips. Then, his voice drops another octave that has your legs nearly giving out. “You think I’m gonna rush and not savour Every. Single. Fucking. Reaction I’m going to get out of your pretty little mouth?”
“Y-Yoongi,” you choke breathlessly, baring your neck at him when your head tilts backwards.
“Sound so pretty for me,” he croons. “So yeah, I’m gonna drag this out as long as possible because I didn’t wait for years just for it to end in an hour.”
Your eyes widen at the implication: an hour? That was what Yoongi considered a rush?
“Tell me how you like it, love,” he asks softly, “Slow?” He punctuates his words with a heated kiss to your jaw as you whimper, then: “Hard?” The word is paired with a bite to the flesh before he soothes it with his tongue. If it weren’t for his firm grip on your hips, you were sure you’d drop. “Messy?”
“Please,” you beg, unsure of what you were asking for but that was the only word travelling through your mind.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, softer, hands tracing up to your waist until it reaches right below your ribcage, “As much as I’m loving the view, the wall doesn’t serve as a good spot for what I want to do to you.”
His words are accompanied by a taunting smirk, pulling away as you immediately chase his touch. You’re borderline mortified at how desperate you seem because you’ve never been this way before. So needy for touch that you were on the verge of dropping onto your knees and begging for reprieve.
But despite how much you were secretly enjoying this situation, you didn’t want Yoongi to see you break just yet. So, you do what any sane person (or, insane) would do, and tug him closer by his tie until his chest practically slams against your own before you’re fervently closing the distance between your lips.
You manage to catch Yoongi off guard just a little, ignoring his request as you attempt to break the barrier through his lips with your own appendage.
Then, he pulls away, hand tugging your neck backward until you were practically peering up at his formidable gaze.
“Didn’t I tell you to be patient?” he whispers lowly, threateningly.
“Yoongi please—”
He ignores you by wrapping his arms around your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder with absolute ease as you yelp, hands clambering down to his back as you attempt to balance yourself. If anything, you were expecting discipline, not—this.
“What the—?”
“Knew you wouldn’t give me an easy time,” he scoffs, walking towards—to where you think—his bedroom as you gasp at his jibe.
“Excuse me?” you hiss, “If you’re going to take me home then you might as well do it properly!”
He kicks his door open with his foot before dropping you down onto the surface of his mattress, rather politely despite the mean aura that radiates off of him at this very moment. He’s still caring enough to ensure you weren’t jostled completely, even if you had no qualms with it—but his gaze tells you enough that he wasn’t here to play.
“I’m taking you home, all right,” he says with a raised brow, standing over you as you lean back on your elbows.
“You know, you’re talking a lot for someone who seems to have a problem with the one-year thing,” you say dryly.
Yoongi tilts his head to the side, undeterred, and you realise that he wasn’t like the men you slept with in the past. You didn’t sleep around that much, but you had your own needs. He was confident, assured, and he didn’t need to explain himself to let you know just what he was capable of. It was his quiet sense of confidence that had your belly churning in anticipation, and your core heating up in desire.
“No problem here,” he shrugs casually, a little too casual for someone who you really want to fuck your brains out. “If anything, it sounds like you have a problem with it if you can’t even wait a few minutes.”
You scowl, glaring at him as you shift on his bed. “Are you usually this mean when you’re about to sleep with someone?”
“Only for you, love,” he grins.
The chit-chat is over when he crowds over you, dominance in his form as you gaze up at him with yearning eyes. His hands travel up and down your sides as if memorising you to memory before he leans down to capture your lips in a soft, desiring kiss.
Your arms instinctually wrap around his neck when he presses a hand to the mattress by the side of your head, moving in tandem with him as he guides the kiss. It’s just the right amount of sexy and messy that you adore, feeling the way his tongue teasingly licks against the seam of your mouth to part it. When he breaches that barrier, he kisses with absolute finesse. It’s calculated in the best sense, painting his love in every corner he possibly can.
There’s something oddly erotic about just kissing someone. He nibbles on your lips, eliciting a breathy gasp from you, taking his time before he pulls away—a string of saliva connecting your lips.
“I could kiss you all day,” he says breathily, lips red and plump with the proof of both of your efforts.
“Another,” you echo his breathlessness, and Yoongi shoots you a devastating smile before he’s trailing down your body, hands already working on the side of your jumpsuit where the zip lies.
“Can I?” Ever the gentlemen, Yoongi doesn’t move until he gets a verbal response from you, not enough with the nod of your head.
“Please,” you croak.
Yoongi takes his time in drawing your zip downwards, and his eyes remain on your face the entire time. You feel shy under his scrutiny but his gentle smile comforts you. You still couldn’t believe that you were here, in his bed, not because he was taking care of you (in the PG13 way) but because he wanted you.
Yoongi loved you.
The thought makes your heart soar, and only when he reaches the end of your zip are you brought back to reality.
“Fuck,” he whispers, eyes drifting to your chest when he pulls down the top half of your jumpsuit to expose your—well, nothing.
“Yoongi,” you mumble shyly, hands reaching out to cover your chest when he continues to gape at you with a parted mouth.
“Shit,” he curses, and your eyes briefly fall to his pants and notice the tent in his jeans.
Your eyes widen, but you don’t think he catches it. What you do catch, however, is how massive the outline of his cock was under his slacks. You didn’t even know if he was fully hard yet, but the thought only sends a shiver down your spine if he wasn’t. Because if he wasn’t—then how big was he?
Would you even be able to take it?
God, you really fucking wanted him.
Then, Yoongi leans down and captures a nipple in his mouth before you can protest. You gasp, hands immediately travelling to his hair to tug at it when he doesn’t let up. He flicks and licks against the hardening bud, eager to paint every inch of your skin with his breath and spit as you feel yourself grow even more eager; wetness practically sopping your panties.
“Your tits are a sin,” he growls, massaging the other as your eyes travel to the ceiling, biting your lips to keep your whimpers at bay.
This doesn’t seem to please Yoongi.
“Don’t you dare keep quiet,” he threatens, pulling away with a plop before he gives a pinch to your other nipple, earning a mixture of a mewl and a yelp from you.
“Y-Your neighbours—”
“You sure as hell didn’t mind at the gala,” he snarls.
You blank for a split second, and you realise what he was referring to.
“So you were eavesdropping!”
As you’re topless, wet and unbelievably horny, you would never pass on a chance to call Yoongi out.
Yoongi shoots you an unimpressed look before towering over you with a menacing gaze in his eye.
“And if I was?”
“T-Then—” Then what? The fact that Yoongi had heard your moans only makes the heat in your core grow stronger, your arousal further staining your panties.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, unimpressed before he’s hovering above you and tugging the rest of your jumpsuit down your body, exposing your relatively risqué panties and your legs to him.
Yoongi looks at you with devout hunger in his eyes, tracing over every curve of your body and on the pretty little triangle between your legs. Your chest is still heaving in exertion and anticipation, and you were uncomfortably and embarrassingly wet when Yoongi has yet to truly dive into you.
“What’s your limit?”
The question comes up after his blatant and desirous ogling as you struggle to find your tongue, confused with the question.
“What?”
“What’s your limit?” he repeats, grabbing a pillow from behind you before he’s lifting your hips up and settling it beneath your lower back. The way he handles you; moves you around like you were pliant only makes the desire grow stronger and anxious for more.
“I don’t understand,” you frown.
Then, he drags you to the edge of the bed, hopping off only to kneel in between your legs as your eyes widen. He looks in-between your thighs, licking his lips likely at the dampened patch of your arousal before he’s looking up again, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“How many orgasms?”
You splutter. “W-What?”
“Four? Five?”
You choke on your own spit at his nonchalance. “Five? Are you fucking crazy?”
“So, four,” he nods, then he’s wrapping his forearms around your thighs and spreading your thighs until they are obscenely wide open.
Yoongi’s still fully dressed, his dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves in a way that was unfairly attractive. You were almost stark naked and he was still done in clothing, and you like it. You like the disparity between the two of you that’s somehow always existed. The way he’s collected and calm, while you were collateral in every way possible.
“I can’t do four,” you manage to choke out, deadpanning.
“Cute,” he snorts, as if he doesn’t believe you, “We’ll see about that.”
“Yoongi, you’ll break me,” you breathe.
“That’s the plan,” he says smugly before he’s diving in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your covered clit.
“O-Oh,” you squeak, feeling the way he licks over your swollen clit, ever so lightly, dulled with the barrier of your panties. You don’t know where to look: at the ceiling, or at the mop of hair between your legs.
“So one on my tongue, one on my fingers,” he narrates as if he was listing out his grocery list. You’re dizzy with the way he continues to wet the fabric with his tongue, holding you into place as you squirm at the contact. “One with my tongue and fingers; then finally on my cock.”
Fuck.
“Seems like a yes to me,” he smirks, referring to the way your wetness oozes out at his cocksure tone.
Yoongi presses one last kiss directly onto your clit before pulling away as you whine in displeasure. But he’s quick to placate you when he replaces his kisses with his hands, tugging your panties down your ties and hooking the back of your knees over his shoulders before carelessly tossing the fabric elsewhere.
Then, he has you carnally spread out, cunt on full display as he growls when his eyes divert to between your legs. Flustered, you attempt to clamp them shut, but Yoongi’s brutish strength prevents you from getting any further; only wrapping his arms around your thighs once more and having you splay out for him.
“Yoongi,” you gasp.
“How pretty,” he coos, inching closer as you squirm, both anticipatory and nervous. “And wet.”
“No shit,” you say weakly.
He raises a brow before he looks up to you with a coy smirk.
“Safeword?”
Your eyes bulge out of your sockets.
“Um,” you hesitate, cheeks flushing when his eyes flicker down to your pussy once again as if he couldn’t resist. “Peanut.”
“Peanut,” he nods, “Tap me three times if you can’t speak,” he says easily and you feel the hairs stand on your arms.
Oh, you were in for a ride.
Before you can voice out anything, Yoongi decides to spare you the extended wait as he dives in, licking a stripe up your cunt as you feel his tongue briefly caress your bundle of nerves. A choked gasp leaves your lips, your hands intuitively making a home of his hair as you tug at the strands. He doesn’t seem to mind, in fact, Yoongi seems to revel in the harsh way you jolt in pleasure when he focuses the tip of his tongue in dragging over your clit.
Yoongi licks and sucks on your clit like he was parched and your pussy was the only water source available. He doesn’t tease, which you’re thankful for. Instead, he moulds your pussy tightly against his face until he is practically covered with it—wetness smearing all across his nose, cheeks and chin.
“Taste so good, sweetheart,” he grunts against your pussy, the vibration immediately sending shockwaves up your spine.
“F-Fuck, Yoongi,” you mewl in pleasure, eyes fluttering shut when he relentlessly circles and sucks on your clit. Your mind was completely blank. The only thing you could think about was how good it feels—and you almost curse the heavens above because how dare they make Yoongi stupidly hot and good at head?
The pressure easily builds up in your lower abdomen with the way Yoongi focuses all his effort on your clit. He’s smart and tactful like that, almost as if he knew you were a sucker for clit stimulation above anything else. Or, maybe it was because it was him you were finding yourself unravelling embarrassingly quicker than usual.
“Wanna hear you,” he murmurs against your cunt, obsidian eyes peering up just as you make eye contact with him.
You’re fucked. Absolutely fucked because it’s barely been a few minutes and you feel close, your clit is throbbing underneath his devilish tongue when it flicks at rapid speed against your bundle of nerves. The sound is obscene, the wetness of your pussy against the natural slick of his saliva mixed together echoes against his bedroom walls.
“Oh fuck,” you sob, roughly tugging at his hair when he pulls away ever so briefly to let a glob of spit drop onto your cunt, then diving back in and giving it one, extended suck that has your back arching off the pillow he set beneath you. “Yoon—fuck—oh oh oh I’m gonna—fuck!”
Your legs quiver by the side of his face when he chuckles darkly, pulling you closer until you are barely hanging off the edge of his bed. Yoongi doesn’t stop; doesn’t let you breathe when he continues to suck on your clit while his tongue rapidly flicks over the swollen pearl.
You feel it, you feel so close. You feel your head getting lighter, you feel your stomach clenching, you feel the white, hot pleasure encase your body, ready to snap when your body convulses at how hard Yoongi’s slurping at your pussy—
Then it stops.
It’s a horrible feeling, and you show that. You cry; actual tears form at the corner of your eyes when your head flicks up to see Yoongi’s smug grin on his face.
“What the fuck,” you hiss, blinking through your tears even if the way your wetness is smeared across the bottom half of his face is crazily hot.
“I told you,” he grins, “I’m gonna drag it out as long as possible.”
“Yoongi, please,” you beg, fingers still tangled in his hair as you attempt to push him back to where he was. Now, your pussy only throbs in the aftershocks of your almost orgasm and you were dripping wet.
Your wetness has dripped down your ass, you could feel it. It’s smeared against your inner thighs to a point where the non-contact almost made it feel uncomfortable. You glare at Yoongi, frustrated beyond belief when he continues to drum his fingers against your thighs as if he hadn’t just robbed you from a mind-blowing orgasm.
“Hm?” he hums playfully, squeezing the flesh of your thighs as you whimper, “What was that, love?”
Love my foot, you think to yourself, squirming under his stronghold.
“Please,” you plead breathlessly, “I want to come.”
“But you look so pretty like this,” he purrs, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your sensitive clit as you jump, hips immediately chasing his mouth when he pulls away. “Legs spread wide, pussy dripping; squirming under my touch,” he hums, then he takes one of his hands before spreading your lips open—earning a gasp from you.
“Just make me come!” you demand indignantly, thwarted beyond belief. “Or were you bullshitting that four orgasms bit because at this rate I just think you’re all talk and no—!”
You used to call yourself the Master of Riling Yoongi Up. Because you, in fact, were.
So, maybe you were being a little bratty on purpose. Maybe you were pulling shit out of your ass because you were that desperate to come. But who could blame you when Yoongi looked so damned delectable and was ready to devour your pussy whole?
Yoongi shuts you up immediately when he lifts your bottom half off the bed, earning a squeak from you before he’s burying his head in-between your legs once more. This time, he goes even quicker than before. His nose is pressed tightly against your pelvis as you were almost concerned if it weren’t for the fact that he adds a little nibble onto your clit that has you wailing in pleasure at the sudden contact.
“Y-Yoongi—nghhhhh, y-you’re—oh oh fuck holy shit—oh my—fuck!” you warble absolute incoherencies when he flicks his tongue against your swollen clit, feeling the way the hot appendage attempts to cool the absolute heat the swollen bud was radiating. Your fingers dig into his hair, then into the mattress, then back to his hair—then your tits—everywhere, because you could barely contain your limbs at how fucking good Yoongi was with his mouth and tongue.
“Wanna come?” he taunts, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs as your back arches further than how it’s lifted up in mid-air. “Gonna come for me, love?”
“Yes yes yes, oh God, fuck yes,” you sob, feeling the tears escape your eyes when your eyes roll to the back of your head.
Your stomach is unwinding at a breakneck speed, your legs trembling as your entire body shakes at the force of the pleasure Yoongi gives you. Nothing passes your mind except for coming coming coming when he pushes a bit deeper, sucking your bud into his mouth once more—
Then finally, you come.
You come loudly and messily, body jolting and convulsing as Yoongi continues with flicking his tongue against your clit through your orgasm. Your hearing rings when you come, gasping for air as your fingers clutch tightly around the strands of his obsidian locks. Your orgasm is all too long and all too short and all too good. You can barely catch your breath when it subsides, and Yoongi’s staring at you with a hunger that makes you desire him even more.
When Yoongi pulls away from your bottom half, it’s to admire your panting state, and it’s with your slick smeared all across the bottom half of his face. You can barely look at him because you feel limp, fucked out, and it sends shivers down your spine when you realise he’s just getting started.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve dreamt of this,” he hisses slowly, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh as you jolt, loosely carding your hand through his hair as your gaze meets his own. His eyes are dark when he parts your folds to expose your sensitive cunt to him, lewd when the squelch permeates the air. “Nothing could ever come close to the real thing.”
“Yoongi…” you mumble shyly, attempting to snap your legs shut, but to no avail when he holds it open.
“Another,” he declares, determined. “Another. You can give me another.”
What else can you do, but let him?
Yoongi dives back in like he’s never known another alternative. This time, he takes the first lick as if he was devouring each crevice of your body, allowing the taste of your heady scent to melt onto his tongue. He groans, the vibration sending tingles up your spine and causing your still sensitive cunt to pulse around nothing.
A hand joins in, pulling apart your lips before circling your clit as you gasp. No one has paid this much attention to your body, ever. When you peer down, Yoongi’s gathering your wetness with his index finger and prodding your hole.
“Please,” you beg breathlessly, squirming when he holds you down.
“You’ll get my fingers soon, sweetheart,” he croons, pressing a kiss to the hood of your clit as you jump, a mewl already stuck in your throat.
The only thing on your mind is the way that Yoongi caresses you so...tenderly. Yet, his fingers trace your skin like it was the only canvas he’s ever known. If it weren’t for the expectancy in your belly, you’d shy away under his intent touch—but there was a fire in you that only Yoongi could put out.
Finally, Yoongi breaches the first barrier and you gasp. It’s just a finger yet it has you keen for more.
Yoongi’s a doctor. He understands anatomy both intimately and theoretically. He needed to. But you don’t think they teach med students the art of a woman’s intimates, at least for the bedroom. Yet, Yoongi navigates his way in your pussy with expert finesse, going knuckle deep with no rush on him as if he’s got all the time in the world.
“So warm,” he murmurs, leaning down to suckle at your clit as your legs twitch by the side of his face in oversensitivity. When he looks up with his dark eyes, you feel your stomach clenching yet again. “How do you like it, hm?”
“I-I…” The words die on your tongue because another finger joins the one in your cunt, and it immediately curls upwards, the tip of his fingers dragging against the spongy spot within you. You weren’t going to come out of this alive. “Fuck. I-I don’t—know?”
You did. Whatever the fuck Yoongi was doing—you liked it. And you let him know by clutching his bicep, abruptly sitting up to take the force of the way he pistons his fingers in your pussy.
“Oh oh—nghhhh!” you gasp incoherencies when Yoongi tugs you closer to him, mouth working quickly on your sensitive nub as his fingers never falter.
“Gonna come for me again?” he grunts against your clit, and you nod your head vigorously even if he can’t see it.
Yoongi’s fingers are so long and thick that you feel him everywhere. You’ve dreamt about his fingers many times, the digits haunting your fantasies whenever your brain would trail off elsewhere. They were just so manly. And veiny. And good. And—
“Oh fuck,” you sob, clamping your legs around his head when he gives a hard, purposeful suck on your clit paired with a firm press against your g-spot.
The force of your second orgasm takes you by surprise and you’re practically boneless by the end of it. Yoongi takes everything you give him, the way you cum and the way tears form at the corner of your eyes. Even if he can’t breathe with how hard you’re squeezing around your head, his fingers never falter in their ministrations as he fucks you through your orgasm.
It’s lewd and wet—the way your cunt squelches so loudly with each thrust his fingers take. You don’t think you’ve been this wet in your entire life, but the specifics don’t matter when Yoongi looks absolutely taken with the way you fall apart for him.
You gasp, panting when you come down from your high, your nails unintentionally digging into his shoulder as it leaves crescent dents in the crease of his shirt.
“W-Where the fuck did you learn how to do that,” you croak, earning a laugh from Yoongi when he helps you sit up, his body in-between your legs as he remains kneeled on the floor.
“Don’t worry about it,” he smirks.
In the midst of your post-orgasm stupor, you realise he’s still fully dressed while you were completely bare. His hair is sticking in every direction possible and his lips are flushed red and swollen, the aftermath of how dedicated he was to your cunt.
There was something so sexy about the nonchalance that marks Yoongi. As if he didn’t give you two mind-blowing orgasms in a row that still has your legs and entire body shaking. You needed to do something. To touch him. To feel him.
Before he can say anything, you’re pulling him in by his tie and smashing your lips against his own.
Yoongi steadies the both of you when the force of your kiss almost sends you tumbling backwards. His hand has a tight grip on your waist, squeezing the flesh when you immediately lick into his mouth with a desperate mewl. Catching Yoongi off guard, you tug him up onto the bed so that you were able to straddle him, bare and all.
“Sweetheart,” he laughs lowly at your eagerness, especially when your clumsy fingers tug at the buttons of his dress shirt.
“Why are you wearing clothes,” you grunt, barely able to slip the fabric off. He laughs, again, and then his hand is catching your wrist with an expression of a raised brow.
“Slow down,” he murmurs, bringing your hand to his lips before kissing on your knuckle, the gesture making your heart flutter. “We’ve got all night.”
You flush, and Yoongi only smiles at you in a way that makes you feel assured. When you calm down and manage your eagerness, only do you realise that your hands were mildly shaking—likely out of nerves. If Yoongi notices, he doesn’t say anything. He simply allows you to have your way with him when you’re perched atop of him, thighs by the side of his own with your wetness dripping onto his slacks.
Only when you were properly perched on his lap rather than hovering above it, do you feel the outline of his cock against your thigh. You gasp, finding the instinct to just roll your hips forward to chase that delicious friction of the rough material of his slacks against your core.
But as if Yoongi has read your mind, his hand rests on your hips, fingers digging into flesh: a warning.
“Only my shirt,” he cautions, and you gulp at the tone he takes.
You oblige immediately, unbuttoning each button as his hands rest behind him, watching your every move. You felt so...seen. Not exposed. But seen; with the way his eyes never leave your face despite your body being bare. There’s no rush to his gaze; nothing about it tells you to go faster, or chides on your fumbling fingers—he just stares.
You make your way to the last button, the broad expanse of his chest slowly being exposed to you as you nearly salivate. You felt like you were seeing a man naked for the first time, even if it’s just Yoongi. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him shirtless before because he never liked to get shirtless in front of others.
But when he helps you slip the fabric off his shoulders, you melt.
“Close your mouth,” he teases, finger teasing the underside of your chin as you gape at his exposed upper half.
“You’re so broad,” you marvel, hands shakily trailing over his chest as you see him keep a shudder to himself. “You’re so…”
“Hm?” he hums, wrapping an arm around your waist as he moulds your body against his own, nipples pressed against his chest as you gasp at the intimacy of it all.
“You’re so fucking hot,” you blabber, words failing you when you blink up at him. Then, like a woman possessed, you take the first grind against his slacks, hips already stuttering when the fabric drags across your clit.
“Two orgasms not enough for you, sweetheart?” he chuckles deeply, drumming his fingers against your waist as you groan into his neck.
“You promised me four so I want four,” you demand indignantly.
“Be nice,” he tuts and you pout. Then, feeling devious, your hand reaches down to cup him over his slacks and you feel his entire body go rigid.
“I said be nice,” he grits out, warning you with a tick to his brow as you smirk at him.
“No fair,” you complain, though it’s mostly teasing. A ruse to rile him up. “I wanna touch you too.”
Expecting something similar to a frown, or a displeased expression that excites you more than you’d like to admit, all you’re met with is a soft expression, and his gentle hand moving you away from his pants.
“I want this to be about you.”
Your breath hitches, and you feel Yoongi’s hand bring your chin closer to his face before he’s giving you another soft, slow and gentle kiss. You immediately melt to him and you feel your heart explode in your chest. It’s almost as if your heart had a mind of its own and it belonged to Yoongi. Every little action or reaction was because of him—for him.
When he pulls away, there’s a small smile on his face when he traces over your features.
“I promised you four, didn’t I?” he murmurs.
Before you can respond, his hand trails down your neck—featherlight—before cupping your tits in his large palm, squeezing the flesh as you gasp, feeling the goosebumps rise. He’s both gentle and rough when he tugs on your nipple; his mouth quickly occupying your other tit as you arch your chest into his awaiting mouth.
“Y-Yoongi—” you mewl, arms wrapping around his neck as you hold onto him for support. The only way you weren’t a pile of mush on the floor was because of the firm and strong arm wrapped around your waist for support.
“I love every single part of your body,” he whispers onto the flesh of your breast, his tongue darting out to drag over your sensitive nipple as your breathing gets more laboured.
“Stop making…” you protest weakly, “Stop making me feel this way.”
“Like?” he smiles, fingers pinching your bud as you let out a cry of pleasure. Your words fail you, and Yoongi’s there to save you. “Like you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted?”
You shiver when his hand leaves your breast to trail down your stomach, painting each quadrant of your skin with a light-fingered touch that sets you ablaze.
“Like you’re the centrepiece to a museum?” he continues, and his thumb is rubbing against your hip bone again. Your mind is reeling and the night is nowhere near over. God, how would you survive? “Like this is everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more?”
“Yoongi…” you stammer shyly, “I-I…”
“Just because I never said this before doesn’t mean it was never true,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss right over your heart as you feel yourself hold onto him tighter. “There’s nothing else truer than this.”
Finally, his finger reaches your folds yet again, tracing a digit through your wetness as he tuts, almost mocking. His sweetness is replaced with a taunting smirk, but you don’t feel berated. You thrive off the look Yoongi’s giving you. As if he wanted you to ravish you whole—and he does.
“Gonna make it fit,” he whispers against your neck as your eyes widen.
Without another second wasted, he plunges two fingers into your sopping cunt, already relatively prepped as you fall into his chest and hold. You gasp when he immediately starts thrusting into your pussy, unrelenting when he moulds you impossibly closer.
“F-Fuck Y-Yoongi!” you cry, “I-It’s too—much!”
“That’s the only way I’ll fit, sweetheart,” he explains through a grunt, proving his effort in battering your pussy raw. It was all too much, but it was so so good.
“W-What kind of monster cock are you hiding?” you hiss, earning a laugh from Yoongi when you let out a strangled moan as he hits your g-spot, over and over again.
“Just let it happen,” he coos softly before he slips the third finger in.
Fuck. It burns. But it burns so good. The way the girth of his fingers was already more impressive than anyone else you’ve been with but also because this was Yoongi.
“FFffuuuucccckkkk,” you groan, feeling your pussy clench unrhythmically around his digits.
“You’re soaking my pants, love,” he chuckles darkly, his other arm pulling you so close that it was hard to breathe in all the right ways.
“I-I’m gonna—!” you cry, falling limp into his grasp as he has you rutting into his hand, chasing your orgasm like it was the only thing you were made to do.
When it hits, you practically drop into his hold, the only thing keeping you upright is his grasp. You cum, wet and loud as you let out a moan so unfamiliar to your own ears. Your head is spinning and Yoongi leaves his fingers in you for you to ride your orgasm out yourself. You barely register the praise that leaves Yoongi’s lips when you do, more focused on how fucking good and much it feels.
“I…” You’re loose-lipped and exhausted. But you remember. The night wasn’t over, and when you blink wearily at the man above you—he’s only smiling.
“You good?” he asks, softly.
“N..Never better…” you croak, telling the complete truth. You were always a little touchy after your orgasms and Yoongi just gave you three. So, you wrap your arms around him and give him a wet kiss to his neck, toppling the both of you onto the bed as you hover above him with dreamy eyes.
“We can call it a night,” he says gently, hand tracing up your spine. You almost gawk at him because you felt every inch of his hardness pressed against you, and you know it must’ve been painful. But Yoongi’s self-control wasn’t anything new, and if anything, it only made him so much more attractive that he’d been holding out for this long.
“No,” you say with a vigorous shake of your head, “I want you. Please.”
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” he says with a soft grin, “We can go to—”
“Yoongi,” you say seriously, cupping his face in your hands as his eyes widen. You take a deep breath before the next set of words come pouring out of your mouth. “I’ve waited years for you to tell me you loved me. I don’t want to wait for another second for you to fuck me.”
He gawks at you, and you raise a brow as a challenge. You would never not rile Yoongi up.
“Or was that talk about four orgasms all bullshit?”
Yoongi stares at you. Hard. He doesn’t push you down onto the bed like you expected he would. Mostly because he’s Yoongi. He’s calm, collected—unperturbed. He has everything planned out in his head and you were the pawn in his game.
And oh, how you loved it.
Instead of anything else, he asks: “Are you clean?”
“Am I—?”
“Because if I’m going to fuck you I’m going to make sure it ends with my cum stuffed in you,” he says darkly, crowding closer to you as you remain perched on his lap, his arm squeezing around your waist in a warning.
You feel your pussy flutter awake yet again, and you think it’s a new record with how willing you were to go about these four orgasms. You never thought you could because even now, you felt exhausted. But there was something about the determined glint in Yoongi’s eyes that made you want to do it. For him.
“I am,” you say with an impressive amount of balance despite your erratic heartbeat. “I have an IUD so…” Your fingers trail down his chest as he watches the digits stop right in between his pecs. “Go for your life.”
“Get on the bed,” he demands, brow knitted and jaw clenched.
You hide your cheeky grin, excited as you immediately get onto your knees, sticking your ass up in all its glory for Yoongi. You hear some shuffling behind you and you turn your head out of curiousity because you didn’t want to miss seeing Yoongi’s cock out.
When you do, you see him gripping his length in his hands, and his hands have the audacity to look small in comparison.
You pale, “Oh no fucking way.”
He raises a brow.
“You didn’t tell me you had a third leg!” you cry.
“I told you I’d make it fit, didn’t I?” he responds calmly, jerking himself off so slowly as he lets out a hiss under his breath. It was so hot that you were distracted by the monster in between his legs as you found your cunt pulsing around nothing.
“I’m not going to be able to walk,” you say breathlessly as Yoongi crowds closer.
“Again,” he says with a low baritone, “That was the plan.”
You feel him drag his cockhead against your slit as you gasp, fingers clutching his mattress cover before it nudges against the tip of your clit, earning a mewl from you.
Just as you think Yoongi’s about to slip in, a hand rests on your hip, ever so gently, before he turns you around so that your back was pressed to his bed.
“What—?”
“I wanna see your face,” he whispers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips at the same time his cock is hotly pressed against the slick on your thigh.
The gesture is a slight juxtaposition to your previous motions, especially when his kiss was driven by tenderness and fondness when his eyes trace over your face.
“Didn’t take you for a missionary guy,” you say, breathless in a way to mask the butterflies in your stomach.
“It’s just a position,” he tells you with a roll of his eyes.
“Just a position,” you snort, eyes glinting with mischief.
Despite the clear wetness in-between your legs, you appreciate that it feels the same with Yoongi. That there’s no tiptoeing or carefulness between the two of you. There’s a little recklessness, a little spite—and everything you’ve always loved about him.
“You don’t think so?” he murmurs lowly, peppering kisses against your jaw as you sigh.
“Don’t guys do better from the back?” you say off-handedly.
Yoongi stills, mouth hovering above your collarbone when your lax words settle into the air. There’s a challenge in your eyes that he readily accepts with a slight tick of his jaw.
Instead, he says: “Do they?”
“Yeah,” you insist, drawing him closer by the chain around his neck. “They do.”
“Well, you’re not wrong,” he agrees and you’re surprised that he isn’t putting up a fight. Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, and then Yoongi leans in. His mouth is precariously positioned above your ear, and you feel goosebumps prick at your skin.
“Never been with a guy who’d admit that,” you giggle nervously.
“You know why, love?” he smirks, and suddenly his voice is much lower; deeper.
“Why?” you exhale, barring your neck when he nips on the lobe of your ear.
“It’s because…” he purrs, “It doesn’t matter what position I have you in. I’m going to make you cum all over my cock like it’s the only thing you were made to do.”
Oh.
“When I sink into your cunt, it’s gonna be better than good,” he smirks as you gasp, fingers tightening around his bicep. “All those boys before me? They only knew how to fuck you one way,” he murmurs. Then, his eyes are dark when he looks at you and you feel your throat go dry. “Not in the way you deserve.”
“Yoongi please,” you beg, lips inches away from his as you muster your doe-eyes to plead with him.
“You know I love you, right?” he says suddenly as you freeze at the sudden confession.
“I...yes,” you say with a slight tilt of your head.
“Then just know that I’ll fuck you as hard as a man loves a woman,” he grins, and before you can say anything else, his cockhead is prodding at your hole.
“F-Fuck,” you gasp.
“Ready?” he whispers, brushing a hair out of your face while the other hand prepares itself in-between your legs.
“I’ve never been more ready in my life,” you say earnestly.
When Yoongi slips in, you hear the slight pop that it makes when your wetness encases him. You gasp, and he grunts, both your eyes never straying the way your pussy begins to fit snug around his cockhead. But God was he big. And thick.
So thick that you haphazardly grab onto his shoulders to neutralise the burn.
“Y-You’re so big,” you choke, still moaning when Yoongi slowly pushes the rest of his length into you with a disgruntled moan of his own.
“Gonna make it fit, yeah?” he grunts, “Gonna fuck you the way you deserve.”
“O-Oh my God,” you gasp, eyes unable to stray away from the way his cock splits you open, “Y-You’re gonna kill me.”
Yoongi laughs, deep and earthy when he spots a lone tear leaving your eye. He presses a kiss to your cheek, and to your lips when you pout at him.
“Don’t die on me yet,” he teases before he’s placing an open-mouthed kiss on your jaw. “You okay, sweetheart?”
“Just give me a moment,” you say breathlessly, shifting your hips ever so slightly to adjust to his size.
You whimper into his neck, fingers pressed tightly against his back as you stare your glassy eyes straight into his own.
“You can move,” you inform him hoarsely, “P-Please.”
Yoongi pulls out just until the tip of his cock remains, testing the waters as he gives an experimental thrust. It’s nothing much, yet you moan like you’ve hit euphoria, your fingers biting into his skin.
“S-Shit—fuck, oh,” you cry as Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure.
Yoongi had a dick and he knew how to use it. How was that even fair? He was handsome, kind, the right amount of mean-to-caring ration and a doctor. And he was here, all yours. You were delirious.
It’s even better when you clench around him, urging him to continue as you peer at him through your eyelashes, stained with tears of pleasure.
“Fuck me harder,” you whisper into his ear, “Or was that just all talk?”
Yoongi growls, leaning up until he’s got both your legs are thrown over his shoulder in a swift motion. Your eyes widen when you take in his expression, tight and dark, ready to fuck all the words out of your mouth.
“You want hard?” he spits, “You’ll get it.”
It was as if Yoongi had been holding back the entire time, even though all the dirty talk had made you drench yourself more than you ever had in your entire life. Now, Yoongi pounds into you, precise and sharp as your body jostles with every snap of his hips against yours.
He does an impeccable job at building his pace, from sharp and angled thrusts into your cunt and with erratic beats that match your heartbeat.
“Where’s that mouth of yours?” he growls, “Does this seem like just talk to you?”
He punctuates his words with a grind of his pelvis against your clit, the tip of his cock brushing against—
“F-Fuck! Oh oh, fuck, please—right there, oh my God don’t stop, please don’t,” you sob, blinking away your tears as you tighten right when he grinds his cockhead against a spongey area in your pussy.
“Look at you,” he smiles wickedly, balls slapping against your ass as you scream in pleasure. All you cared about was him and his perfect cock. “So perfect for me.”
“F-For you,” you mewl, “Shit—Y-Yoongi—!”
“How’s this for a teenage dream?” he smirks, leaning forward as he practically folds you in half to gain leverage to pound into your battered cunt.
“S-Shut up,” you snap, even if your words are choked in your throat when he hooks your knee over your shoulder so he could rub vigorous figure eights onto your clit.
You’re so wet that you’re ruining his sheets. He has no complaints, especially when the squelches of your pussy are more than audible in his room. It’s lewd and vulgar, and he never knew a pussy could get this wet but here you were, continuously proving him wrong.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts.
“Y-Yoongi—” you croak, eyes blinking up at him as one of your hands searches for his wrist.
He raises a brow at your actions, especially at how limp your movements are with the way he doesn’t falter in his pace to brutally fuck his cock into you, reaching places that have you catching your breath with a high pitched moan.
The only time his hips stutter is when you bring his hand to your neck, wrapping his long fingers around your throat with a fucked-out expression, smiling up at him as if he was doing you a favour.
“You’re a minx,” he says through a dark chuckle, fingers still loosely wrapped around your throat.
“For you,” you pant, hips chasing his thrusts. “Yoongi.”
He curses underneath his breath before he’s returning to pounding into you with reckless abandon, his cock brushing against all your nerves as you wail in ecstasy beneath him. The fingers around your throat give an experimental squeeze as you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, “My beautiful girl, hm?”
“Yours yours yours,” you chant, gasping for air when he presses lightly against your airway.
“Will you cum for me? Show me how much you love me?” he croons, leaning forward as he snaps his hips forward roughly, brushing against your bundle of nerves.
“Y-Yes! Oh God, I’m gonna cum again, shit,” you sob pathetically, “P-Please, l-let me cum.”
“Hold it,” he grits, as he loses his rhythm the closer he reaches to his own release.
“Y-Yoongi please,” you cry, “I’m gonna—!”
“I said hold it,” he snaps, pressing his thumb against your throat in warning as he chases his high like a mad man.
It’s not until you desperately grind upwards, your cunt clenching around his length that he lets out a guttural growl that he gives you your command.
“I lo—I love—” you cry desperately, feeling your heart constrict in your chest in an overwhelming way that has your tears freefalling down your face.
Yoongi grins at you and all you do is want to have him close to you.
“I know,” he whispers, grinding harder as you cry in pleasure. “I know. Me too. Me too.”
“I’m—!” your voice hitches, digging your arm around his neck as he buries his head into the crook of your neck, his breath painting your skin.
“Come for me?” he asks so sweetly that you can’t even dream of denying him.
You do, and it’s so fucking loud that Yoongi has to swallow your screams of pleasure with his mouth.
“Where can I—?”
“Inside me, inside me,” you blubber, sobbing as you continue to moan while you ride out your orgasm.
He spills inside of you, mouths still attached as you desperately lick into his mouth in search of more warmth in Yoongi. You’re shaking beneath him, your body attempting to lock up at the intensity of your orgasm.
“Fuuuck,” Yoongi groans, feeling your cunt tightening around his cock with a vixen grip.
You’re recovering from your blinding orgasm, your chest heaving up and down as you lay limp beneath him. You’re absolutely boneless, and you only manage a small whimper when Yoongi slips out of you with a hiss of his own.
There’s nothing that keeps his cum in you as it immediately oozes out with how all of the muscles in your body are loose in exhaustion.
Yoongi bites his lips when he sees the way your legs shake and his cum leaves your lips, pooling on the bed.
He crawls up to you, fingers already brushing away the sweaty strands of hair from your face as you blink up at him like you’ve just woken up.
You’re deeply satiated and the stickiness in-between your thighs is a testament to that fact. Sex has never felt this good; this fulfilling. You never thought sex was inherently romantic but there was something about being by Yoongi’s side that made you loose in all the right ways.
“Hey,” he whispers when you all but come back to reality.
“H-Hi,” you croak, cheeks flushed with the exertion of your previous activities.
“You okay?” he laughs softly, brushing a gentle hand over your forehead to get the matted down pieces of hair out of the way. He’s so irrevocably gentle that all you want to do is hold him.
“Can you…” you mumble softly, “Can you hold me?”
Yoongi blinks, taking a brief pause before he’s letting out a huff. He shakes his head, and you wonder if you’ve said anything wrong. Before you can ask again, he’s leaning forward to press a tender peck to your forehead and shooting you a calm grin.
“Be right back,” he says.
You squeak, a hand immediately reaching out to him as he shuffles out of bed. Despite your dismay, you admire his broad back and feel yourself smile a little woozily to yourself. God, you were so...whipped. Was this normal? To want someone this much? To feel so whole? So scared? Why did everything feel like nothing’s ever changed when in fact, nothing was ever the same?
You can barely move with how much your muscles ache, both in your throat and in all of your limbs. You feel gross mostly because there’s sweat sticking onto your back that makes contact with the mattress beneath you. You try to lean up, wanting Yoongi back with you—but then he returns quite promptly, a pair of loose sweatpants around his waist, a towel in one hand and clothes in the other.
“Slow down,” he chides, amused when you can barely hold yourself up, “Here.”
You didn’t notice the bottle of water, and you realise just how parched you were when Yoongi feeds you the drink. He’s gentle and patient when you gulp everything down in one go, feeling your thirst immediately being quenched.
“Thank you,” you croak.
He waves you off before he gently nudges your thighs open with the towel. It’s warm when it makes contact with your skin. Yoongi’s so gentle with you that you can barely control the way your heart pounds so loudly in your ears. When he makes contact with your folds, you flinch at how raw it feels; absolutely battered (and pleased).
“Sorry,” he murmurs, and much to your surprise and pleasure, the apology is paired with a kiss to your collarbone.
Despite how intimate it is when he wipes at your folds to clean up the cum that he left, you don’t feel judged. Sure, it’s still a little embarrassing mostly because his eyes zero straight onto your cunt with immense focus. But it’s mostly heartening when he smiles, as if proud with his handiwork.
He tosses the towel aside, quick to grab at the shirt he brought along with him. It’s silent when he lifts your hands above your head to dress you with the large t-shirt. It smells like him, like comfort and home—and you immediately rest into the fabric like you were made to.
“Let me help you,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist, “You need to pee.”
“I’m so tired,” you whine softly, but you lean into his touch regardless.
Yoongi laughs. “You don’t want a UTI, don’t you?”
You pout before you allow him to carry you to the bathroom. It’s not awkward at all when he lets you do your business after helping you (with a few shared laughs). He waits outside and you find enough strength in your legs to pull yourself up. When you push the door open, Yoongi’s already waiting for you.
As if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you, his arms immediately dart out before you could drop to the ground.
“That good?” he asks cockily, and you smack him on his chest.
He doesn’t reply to that but presses a kiss onto your lips as if it was second nature to him. He leads you back to his bed where you note there’s a towel on top of where you carried out your...activities, and you feel your heart grow ten times more in size.
The kiss doesn’t lead anywhere. It’s slow and tentative when Yoongi breathes you in and vice versa.
You pull away first, breathless and so overwhelmed.
“Yoongi…” you mumble, resting your palms against his chest.
“Hm?” he hums, smiling.
“Thank you,” you say quietly, “For...coming tonight. I was—really happy when I saw you.”
Yoongi looks at you, a slight furrow to your brows before he lets out a deep exhale.
“You really…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “God, what are you doing to me?”
Your brows knit in confusion.
“When you say things like that...you have no idea what it does to me,” he says earnestly, “I just can’t let you go like this.”
You flush, hiding your face into his chest.
“I would never have missed it for the world. Even if you paid ten different Black Ops to keep me out,” he says seriously as you burst out into laughter at his deadpan.
You feel so light, and it’s a great feeling. “You’re so stupid.”
“And you’re the only one that gets to see it,” he replies.
“Stop,” you whine, “You’re making me nervous.”
“It’s just me,” he smiles so wide that you find yourself mimicking the action.
“It’s just…” you trail off, feeling so tired when you feel the touch of his arms wrapping around your waist.
“Go to sleep,” he urges gently.
“But…” you protest weakly.
“I’ll be here,” he murmurs, “I’ll always be here.”
And you believe it.
When you wake up, the first thing you see is Yoongi. His tousled hair, his slightly parted mouth; the way his eyebrows furrow just a little as if to indicate a rather active dream.
"You know I can feel you staring at me,” Yoongi hums, eyes still shut as you stifle a laugh when the hand loosely wrapped around your waist squeezes it.
“Impressive,” you snort, “You can see with your eyes closed now?”
He opens one, shooting you a relaxed glare before he sighs, rolling over and pulling you with him until you’re squished against his bare chest.
It’s comfortable and innocent enough; you indulged in his touch as you dug your chin into his chest while he drew faint circles against the skin of your back. In fact, you’ve never pictured it to feel like this.
You’ve shared beds with people before, bare and vulnerable. But you wouldn’t consider yourself to be that much of a sentimental person to fully appreciate the luxury of mornings with your bed partner. Yoongi, however, was much more than just a bed partner. He was someone, until recently, you’ve loved from afar—where your heart has always laid. And how he was here, lying next to you.
Your eyes slowly flutter shut at the comforting hold he has on you, ready to fall back into slumber but Yoongi seems to have other plans with the way one of his hands trickle down the side of your waist, caressing your abdomen until they find purchase in-between your thighs.
“Really,” you say dryly, even if your voice is pitched with a slight breathlessness when Yoongi casually rests his palm over your pelvis, unmoving but very much insinuative.
“Hm,” he grins when you glare up at him. There’s no malice in your expression and he knows that, which is why he parts your legs with his hands and you follow his guidance without any complaints. “Really.”
“Your eyes are barely open,” you point out when he traces his fingers against your inner thighs, your developing wetness betraying the aloofness you attempt to display.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t get you off,” he retorts smartly. Then, without warning, he drags a lone finger up your folds until it circles your clit as you gasp, still sensitive from last night.
“C-Cocky much?” you scoff.
“You say that yet—” he smirks, his other arm pulling you snug against his chest as his other works around your clit rather than on it, eliciting more wetness oozing out of you, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” you huff indignantly, feigning disinterest. Your stomach is already clenching in anticipation and you’re sure Yoongi’s fully aware of that despite his rather groggy state.
“You are,” he says confidently, then he drags his finger up your slit and presses his thumb against your clit as you jerk at the stimulation.
“Oh,” you say breathlessly.
“Oh,” he mocks, before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.
You stop him with a finger to his chest as he raises a brow at your unimpressed expression.
“Morning breath,” you deadpan.
“My mouth touched practically every part of your body and you’re turned off by a little morning breath?” he blinks.
You flush. “I don’t want you breathing in my morning breath.”
“Love, you could keep it in a jar and I’d still wanna kiss you,” he says dryly as you grimace at the visual.
“God, you’re so disgusting. Can’t you just—?” Your words are immediately cut off when he deftly swirls his finger around your clit in a reminder that he was still working the tune of your body. You choke, head digging into the crook of his neck when he prods at your lubricated hole.
“Can I just what?” he says, and you hear the smugness in his voice, his finger stalling in its ministrations.
“Don’t be a bitch,” you hiss weakly, shifting your hips before he smirks at you.
“Let me kiss you first,” he says.
You gawk.
“Are you threatening me with an orgasm?” you say, baffled.
“No, I’m threatening you with my love,” he says pointedly as you feel your heart flutter at how easy it was for him to proclaim that. “An orgasm is just a consequence.”
You scoff. “Can’t you just—I don’t know. My neck’s right there! Just—mouth at it or something.”
“You make it sound so unsexy,” he says with an eye roll as you gasp, affronted. “Let me kiss you, woman.”
“Yoongi,” you whine, squirming.
“Just a peck,” he promises as you narrow your eyes at him.
“Promise?” you say sceptically.
He shoots you an unimpressed look, but you glare at him and he lets out a sigh before nodding his head with a sardonic half-smile.
“Promise,” he assures.
You nibble on your lips before huffing, “Fine—”
Before you can finish your sentence, Yoongi’s already pulling you in with the arm around your waist for a kiss. And he lied. That goddamn man lied to you because it wasn’t just a peck.
Yoongi’s kissing you like he’s wanting to paint your mouth with his tongue. The musky scent of both of your morning breaths mixed together should’ve thrown you off or dried you up—but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because you love him and you want him in every way you can get him. And you fear it’ll throw him off, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because he wants you in every way he can get you.
“Yoongi—!” you mumble against his lips, but he ignores you to smile. Then, without warning, he plunges his finger into your cunt as you let out an audible gasp where he takes advantage of to lick his tongue into your mouth.
“So wet, sweetheart,” he croons, curling up his digit until he expertly nudges the spongy nerves in-between your walls. Your body was still in its relaxed mode because it was so early so you were extra sensitive.
There was a time where pet names or terms of endearments threw you off. You never found them particularly enticing nor enjoyable. In fact, your past experiences only reminded you that pet names were usually used more in mockery of your femininity than anything else.
But you like how it rolls off Yoongi’s tongue; it was natural. It wasn’t going to be used against you. It was for you.
“F-Fuck,” you whimper into his mouth, clutching onto his shoulders as he drags the tip of his finger against your walls as the pressure continues to build.
You were wet, undeniably so and it’s almost embarrassing how fast you’ve gotten to this point with just Yoongi by your side. Yoongi pulls away from the kiss to shoot you a smug grin that has your belly churning in anticipation, and before you can nag his ear off for breaking his promise—he’s slipping in another finger and curling it up with a sniper's precision.
“Knew you were gonna say something stupid,” he snickers, and you can’t even find it in you to get annoyed when he speeds up his fingers, prolonging the drag of his fingers against your walls.
“Y-You’re so annoying,” you huff, panting when he plunges his fingers deeper as your mouth drops open into a silent gasp when he finds your g-spot like it was easy.
Yoongi was good with his hands. Fingers. He was just good. You’ve slept with men that thought shoving their fingers into your cunt and slamming it home was enough to get a woman off. It wasn’t. But Yoongi reads your body like he’s read it for years, and he knows that it’s not how fast he goes—but where he reaches.
And he reaches it, all right. Yoongi curls his finger every time he drags it against your g-spot as you’re full-on mewling at this point. Your legs begin to shake and it’s stupidly annoying how he gets your body to convulse like this with just his fingers. The stretch is delicious and you love the way his eyes grow darker when he watches your face contort in absolute pleasure.
The squelches from your pussy grow even louder, and Yoongi tugs your body until it is pressed firmly against his own. He quickly lifts your leg to gain more access and throws the duvet off your body so he could get a better view. When his eyes drop to in-between your legs where his fingers continue to disappear into, he growls.
“So fucking wet,” he snarls into your cheek as you sob in pleasure, shaking at each snap of his wrists against your swollen clit. “Fucking love seeing you like this, all for me.”
“C-Conceited ass,” you struggle to form words, and even now, you don’t lose your tongue. Yoongi tongues the inside of your cheek in a way that was both unnecessary and hot. Unnecessarily hot.
“This conceited ass is gonna make you cum so hard you see the stars,” he growls, and another finger joins the other two as you squeal at the intrusion.
It burns ever so slightly but less than it usually does with three fingers. You know it’s mostly because you already took Yoongi’s cock and he was larger than the average large penis—so your pussy somewhat accommodated to the girth. Yoongi’s fingers were thick and long, and you were high-key obsessed with them, especially when he hooks his fingers up, pressing against your g-spot to stimulate you even further.
“O-Oh oh oh, oh my fuck—Y-Yoongi!” you warble, eyes fluttering shut as your head tilts back in pleasure. The pressure in your stomach is growing and you feel your pussy uncontrollably convulsing around his digits. You’re so wet that it drips down onto the sheets.
Yoongi digs his palm onto your clit, giving a reprieve to the poor bud as you sob in pleasure, desperately clinging onto his bicep as he continues to rail his fingers into you with a set goal in mind. Your body is so sensitive from last night and since it’s in the morning so you’re already approaching your high—but it feels different.
“Y-Yoongi—something’s—!” you gasp, and then his other hand grabs the back of your neck to force you to look him in the eye while you watch the animalistic desire paint his face.
“Don’t you dare look away,” he warns as you gasp.
There’s something extremely erotic about looking someone straight in the eye as your body locks in pleasure, especially when they grin at you, as if proud, that they were the one’s responsible for your bodily reactions. You grow even wetter when you register the hardness against your thigh as Yoongi speeds his fingers up, ferociously prodding and dragging his fingers against your g-spot to get you to nirvana.
“S-Somethings—f-fuck, Yoongi—!” you choke, clutching his arm desperately as you maintain eye contact.
The pressure is exponential, and it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before. Your entire body is hot and you’re in desperate need of a release, filled to the brim with his fingers and ready to let go.
“Cum for me, beautiful,” he murmurs, and then he hooks his fingers up once more—and holds it against your g-spot as you let out a sob of pleasure as you cum.
But you don’t just cum. There’s wetness everywhere, the sound exacerbated by the way Yoongi fucks his fingers into you through your orgasm. Your thighs clam shut around his wrist because it’s too much but you want more. You force your eyes to stay open as you stare at him through it all, indulging in the way Yoongi looks absolutely taken with how your mouth can’t keep shut or that your eyes are threatening to roll to the back of your head.
You don’t know how long you’ve come for, but you still feel like you’re coming when Yoongi pulls out of you to vigorously rub at your clit. Your body jerks at the overstimulation but you revel in the way Yoongi lets out a deep groan at your reaction. It’s so wet and it’s so messy but you can’t even focus on how it’s getting everywhere when the pressure is so intense that tears form in the outer corners of your life.
“Fuck,” he groans, “You’re so fucking stunning.”
As he pulls his fingers away to pull your legs apart, his eyes darting to the mess in-between your legs as he bites his lips to appreciate the view—you feel deeply satiated. Your mind is blank and you can barely register any sounds. Your legs are still shaking despite you riding out the full waves of your orgasm—or at least you think it’s over because the post-orgasm bliss is real.
“What the fuck,” you croak, eyes blinking as you stare at the ceiling.
Your legs are still spread wide and you feel Yoongi dig his fingers into the meat of your thighs. Even with an action like that, you jolt at how sensitive you were.
“___,” he calls your name so earnestly that you try your best to turn your face to him. When you see it, he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “You just squirted.”
Silence.
Then it settles.
Then, you’re mortified.
“What?!” you shriek, voice hoarse as you try to clamp your legs shut. Yoongi, as always, doesn’t let you.
Yoongi ogles your post-orgasm pussy as he tongues the inside of his cheek as if admiring his work. You flush, deeper than how flushed you were when he finger-fucked you into ecstasy when you notice the way he grins so widely.
“Yoongi,” you groan, covering your face with your hands in mortification, “I’m so embarrassed!”
“Love,” he laughs, helping you close your legs and even that was a feat because your pussy was practically battered raw, and any contact made you shudder. “It was sexy.”
“I basically pissed on you!” you whine, digging your head into the crook of his neck as he lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. The type of laugh you loved from Yoongi.
“We’ve already exchanged our morning breaths, a little pee is nothing,” he assures you as your jaw slackens even further.
“Min Yoongi!” you scold, thwacking him on the shoulder as he snickers.
Then, he’s rolling you under him as your eyes widen. He hovers above you, in-between your legs as you already recognise the devious expression on his face.
Yoongi dips down, mouth ready to devour your pussy as you tug him up by the hair, earning a grunt from him.
“Don’t you dare,” you warn him menacingly as he blinks at you, “Don’t even think of breathing near my vagina!”
“Come on,” he sighs, “You gave me four last night. Two is nothing.”
“Nothing—?” you gawk, pinching his neck as he hisses. “You put my pussy out of service! This is your fault.”
He sighs, rolling his eyes before he’s falling on top of you with his entire body weight pressed against your body.
“Not my fault you’re so delectable,” he says as he nibbles against the flesh of your boob.
You roll your eyes, even if you feel yourself ooze a little more wetness in interest. Damn you, Min Yoongi.
“Brush your teeth,” you sneer snootily, attempting to push him off you. Yoongi doesn’t even budge at all.
When you turn, it’s rather silent. You wonder if you’ve offended him. But Yoongi’s staring at you—lovingly. Gone was the sex God that made you see the seventh heaven with his fingers alone and the playful banter that the both of you always engaged in—but replacing him was another Yoongi your heart adores.
“Hey,” he says softly as you feel your breath hitch. Then, he intertwines your fingers together as you feel your cheeks heat. “It’s really nice waking up to you.”
“Where is this even coming from,” you huff, still shy to express how giddy that made you feel.
He smiles. “Dunno. My heart feels funny when I’m with you,” he says, mirroring your actual thoughts as you avoid his eyes. “I like this feeling.”
“Go brush your teeth,” you mutter, changing the subject as he chuckles.
As always, Yoongi doesn’t listen to you as he swoops down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss, hands cupping your cheek as you relax into his hold.
“Did I tell you look really cute in the mornings?” he mumbles against your lips.
“Loser,” you mutter.
You don’t care that the aftermath of your morning breaths still lingers; or that the wetness between your thighs was getting uncomfortable; you don’t care because Yoongi’s here. He’s warm, and he’s with you.
And you’re in love.
“I’m going to miss you,” he says softly after the two of you exchange breathless and ardent kisses.
Your heart clenches, softly dragging your fingers through his hair as he stares at you, cheek pressed against the pillow.
“I’m going to miss you too,” you echo quietly, nibbling on your lips.
“I’m really proud of you,” he says, smiling softly as his fingers trace the base of your spine. You shiver when he presses a kiss to your cheek, a gentle peck that speaks louder than words could offer. “I’m really happy you’re doing this.”
“You won’t…” you start off hesitantly as Yoongi listens intently, face kind, “you won’t move on?”
You say this unsurely. You trusted Yoongi. Before and after everything that’s happened. Yoongi was someone you trusted with your entire heart and soul. But you also couldn’t control him. You almost wanted to curse the timing that everything’s happening in.
If the love was revealed earlier; if you were a little less afraid; if you were a little braver; if—
“Look at me,” Yoongi says, voice stern.
You hesitate.
Then, he lifts your chin up with his index finger as his brows furrow.
“I understand if you...you wanna mess around,” you stammer, looking away, “I can’t—I can’t stop you. And we’re not really together anyway. So—yeah. But if you move on then—”
He smashes his finger against your lips to stop you from rambling as your eyes widen. Yoongi has an unimpressed look on his face and you pout when he doesn’t release his finger. Instead, there’s a brief silence that fills in the space where your words could never fill.
“I don’t want to,” he blinks seriously, “I don’t want to move on and I don’t want to mess around. I want you.”
You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. So, you blush. You cover your face with the pillow as you groan, frustrated at yourself and the timing of it all.
Yoongi’s a little forceful when he pulls the pillow from under you as you yelp. When you look up with hair on your face, you glare at him as his blank face returns. It serves to comfort you that your dynamic with Yoongi hasn't changed. And you wondered just how oblivious were you to all of his love?
“Rude,” you scoff.
“And you don’t think it’s rude to suggest that I want to sleep with other people when you know how I feel?” he raises a brow, tone pointed.
You respond with a meek expression as Yoongi sighs. He takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together as a prompt to get you to look at him. When you do, Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of earnest.
“I told you that I’m fine with waiting,” he says softly.
“That’s what everyone says and then they realise how much time apart sucks,” you sniff, grumbling ever so slightly.
“Well lucky for you I’m not everyone,” he retorts, and you know that this is a way of Yoongi understanding you. You couldn’t help the snark that unintentionally filters into your words; that was an inevitable part of you. But Yoongi’s here, patient, and willing. “I want you. Whenever. Wherever. I’m not moving on even if God wanted me to.”
“Yeah but you’re a hot doctor,” you say huffily, “And you’ve got a bomb dick game. That’s not saying anyone’s not going to fall in love with you.”
“You think any of that matters to me when you’re on my mind twenty-four seven?” he whispers.
Your cheeks blaze.
“If I could fall in love with someone else then it would’ve already happened,” he explains softly, eyes never leaving yours. “You’ve got me wrapped around your finger and I’m never turning back.”
You whine, covering your face with your hands at Yoongi’s honest words. You knew him to be honest but this is different. The way his words are uttered so ardently; the syllables only meant for you while he holds you like you were everything to him. It’s a fantasy you never knew you wanted, but was served to you on a silver platter.
“Don’t say it like that,” you mumble.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, tugging you closer by your waist as he manually rests your head against his chest.
“Would you prefer me to tell everyone that looks at me that I already met the love of my life?” he offers dryly.
You knee him in the shin, grumbling into his chest before he snickers at you. His hands play with your hair, casual and as if time didn’t exist. But you knew that soon, you’d have to wait until he could hold you like this.
But this was your choice. This was something that you needed to do for yourself before jumping into something with Yoongi. You wanted him, God, you did. But you had things to work on, to learn, to discover about yourself before you entered that stage with him.
“A year is a long time,” you murmur.
“But it’s time you need,” he returns gently.
You nibble on your lips. “Yeah,” you breathe, “It is.”
“I’ve waited longer for this,” he says and you can hear the smile in his words. “You think a year is going to ward me off?”
“I just—” You stop yourself before any more negative words pour out. It started now.
For now, the warmth is consoling; and the future is a reminder.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you say softly.
“What are you thanking me for,” he laughs quietly, chest rumbling as you squeeze him a little tighter when your arms wrap around his broad chest.
“Everything,” you mumble, “Everything that you do for me. Have done for me. And what you’re doing for me.”
“God, do I still need to remind you, hm?” he scolds lightly, flicking your forehead as you scowl. “I want to do these things for you.”
“I know,” you admit quietly. You look up, and Yoongi’s already smiling at you.
“Then don’t doubt for a second that I don’t want to wait for you,” he whispers, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
You take a deep breath, enjoying the hours that you’re left with before you embark on an entirely new journey of your own.
“I won’t,” you say, and you believe it.
You lean up, initiating the kiss as you make sure to tell him everything you’ve felt with your lips. He cradles your cheek, and your palms rest against his chest. Kissing Yoongi was no longer a distant dream that you had, but a present reality that you were partaking in. Yet, nothing could quite explain how right this feels.
When you pull away, a string of saliva is what connects your lips.
You push him back down to the bed, crawling in-between his legs as his eyes widen, hands instinctively travelling to your hair.
“We didn’t have time to test my gag reflex last night,” you say coyly.
“Devil,” he grunts when you lean down, hand already wrapped around his erect cock.
You take him in your mouth like it’s the last, and it’s history from there.
Being at the airport usually meant change. Whether or not it was a student leaving for university; a couple travelling to their honeymoon; a business trip—anything, really, the airport signified a change of scenery. It was both beautiful and terrifying to realise that fact.
You’re donned in a large hoodie, the scent of someone comforting permeating your personal space in the way you like the most. You instinctively reached out for this particular one because you knew you were going to hold onto it for a long time. A year, specifically.
“You’re not leaving because of me, right?” Haerin pouts, arms clung around your figure as you laugh.
“I would’ve left a long time ago if that were the case,” you muse.
You remember the conversation, and how it went. How happy Jungkook, Hoseok, Loli and Haerin were for you. Enough that Loli declared she needed a change in scenery and booked herself the same flight that you were taking.
You were nervous, but change was a daunting feat, wasn't it?
Haerin’s lips wobble and you find yourself feeling a little bad. But she doesn’t burst into tears as you expect. Instead, she pulls you into a tight hug that has your eyes widening.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispers.
You hide your smile because somehow that’s what you’ve always wanted to hear.
You pull away to offer a lopsided smile, a little look but kind nevertheless. You couldn’t undo years of distance, but you could start closing that gap now. Haerin accepts because she’s come to understand a new side of you, seeing you in a light she’s longed for but finally put into action.
“We’ll call, right?” she asks nervously, and you know what she means. You think this is a step forward to the sister telepathy thing you’ve always heard about.
“We will,” you smile at her, hugging her by your side. “I’ll tell you all about Berlin and my new job once I get there.”
“And your meals,” she adds excitedly, “I wanna know what you eat too!”
You laugh, nodding your head with a fond gaze. “Only if you tell me too.”
She pulls away for Jungkook to step closer to you, a soft expression on his face. Somehow, you feel the lump in your throat grow when he extends his arms wide, making space for you to hold.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says softly into your hair as you sniffle pathetically.
“Thank you for everything, Jungkook,” you sniff, “For being my best friend.”
When you look up, Jungkook’s eyes are slightly red as he looks away, blinking away the glassiness in his eyes.
“You’re not dying, aren’t you?” he mutters, even if he holds you a little tighter to tell you it’s okay.
“Who’s going to tell me I’m being a brat now?” you cry.
Jungkook grins. “I don’t have to be right next to you to do that. No one is going to replace me.”
You laugh croakily, nuzzling your head into his chest as he rubs your back.
“I love you,” you say so quietly that Jungkook barely catches it.
“Love you too, dumbass,” he says fondly. “Tell me all about Berlin, okay? I want to know if their steak is good.”
You laugh through your tears, shaking your head at the boyish grin Jungkook shoots you.
“Come on, don’t deprive me!” You hear Hoseok whine, as Jungkook finally pulls away.
Jungkook pulls away before giving you one last smile, and a ruffle to your hair that you deeply appreciate. It’s like seeing your partner-in-crime accept that it wasn’t going to be the same as usual. And despite the tug at your heart, you know he’s rooting for you as much as you were rooting for him.
You jump into Hoseok’s arms this time, nearly sending the two of you flying to the ground as he cackles animatedly. Despite your tears, Hoseok has the ability to make the worst situation seem bright.
“Gonna miss you,” he says, patting your head.
“Thank you, Hobi. For everything,” you murmur, “I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”
“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” he corrects, squeezing you so tight as he lifts you off the ground while you squeal. “Go make Berlin your bitch.”
“Totally,” you grin.
“Right when he’s there?” you whisper conspicuously, earning a snicker from Hoseok.
“I’m kidding,” Hoseok emphasises, right before he places a slobbery kiss on your cheek. “There. My parting gift.”
Yoongi sighs when Hoseok ruffles your hair affectionately, the sentimental part of him smiling a little fondly when you sniff into the other man’s chest.
“Go make yourself proud,” Hoseok whispers into your hair as you nod your head with teary eyes.
You pull away, and it’s bittersweet when you catch the faces of the people in your life. It’s almost like a montage playing right before you with the lessons you’ve learnt from the people that were by your side. Each of them served a purpose, some hurt, some were exhilarating—but all equally as necessary.
Yoongi stands a few metres away from you, hands in his pocket while the two of you face each other like you’ve got a hundred different unsaid things to say. Maybe you do, maybe he does—but it doesn’t feel all that painful. Almost as if the worst had passed, and all that you had was now.
He walks towards you, slow steps that you memorise while he offers you a small smile.
“Never thought you’d go this far to get away from me,” he says through a grin.
“You’re always up in my business so this was my only choice, wasn’t it?” you retort sassily, huffing.
Yoongi keeps his smile, yet there’s something sad about it. You know exactly why. The both of you do.
“I’ll still be looking for you. In people and in places,” he admits quietly as you feel your heart clench. You knew it wasn’t easy. “Wherever I can, I will.”
“Don’t look too hard or you’ll find someone better,” you attempt to joke, throwing a small punch to his shoulder as he continues to stare at you.
His state is a lot more resolute, the same one you’ve always known, The same one that he had when you met him all those years ago, his head buried in a book when Haerin introduced him to you. The same face that you saw the night in your home. The same face you’ll always remember this way.
“You’re quite the character,” he laughs softly, “I don’t think I’ll ever find someone else alike.”
You grin at each other from ear to ear. There’s something oddly bittersweet about this goodbye. A farewell that promises change and growth instead of heartbreak and erasure.
“Good,” you say, taking a step closer until your chests are nearly pressed up against each other. “I know I’m halfway across the world but my crazy knows no borders.”
Yoongi laughs, his shoulder shaking and you briefly see Haerin looking at the both of you with fond eyes. For a while, you don’t shy away when she shoots you a knowing look, happiness behind her irises as she stands with Hoseok and Jungkook. All three of them looked happy—for you.
You were lucky, really.
“Berlin would love you,” he says softly, finally reaching out to brush a hair away from your face.
You lean into his touch, allowing yourself to trace each slope of his expression to memory.
“That’s why I chose her.”
“Would she love you as much as me?” he murmurs, and you feel your heart stop.
You know. He’s told you this. Said he’s felt it longer than he’s said it. But there’s something about his gentle tone whispered amongst the bristling passengers alike that make this moment all the more intimate. The way he doesn’t pull away but indulges in your stunned expression—and the way he tilts your chin upwards.
“I’m proud of you too, you know? I’d never stop you from doing what you need to do,” he says softly, a murmur in thin air. “But why does this have to suck so much?”
“Yoongi…” you say quietly, hand wrapping around his wrist as he rubs a thumb over your cheek with a pained expression. Despite that, he smiles when you whisper his name.
“I know it’s been hard for you and I’m going to do everything in my power to make up for a lost time,” he murmurs. “So I guess it’s my turn to suffer, huh?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” you huff. “You’ll survive. I’m still a call away.”
“But I want to hold you,” he whispers, voice dropping an octave lower. “Kiss you. Touch you until you’re—”
“I get it,” you say quickly, cheeks flaring as he smirks at the way you avoid his gaze.
Yoongi doesn’t seem to care that your friends were witnessing your interaction because even then, it was just you and him in the vast world. He pulls you closer, lips precariously positioned over your own as your breath hitches.
“Do you? Get how much you mean to me?” he asks softly, “How much I wish I was less of a dumbass all this time?”
You hold a giggle, “You were pretty dumb.”
He gently flicks your forehead as you whine, pouting up at him. Suddenly, his face morphs into a solemn expression, a gentle yet sad smile marring his face.
“Don’t fall in love with a smart German dude. I don’t think I can fight,” he jokes, hiding the hoarseness of his voice.
“Berlin isn’t for me to fall in love with people,” you remind him as he nods. “It’s a place for me to fall in love with myself.”
Yoongi smiles so widely that you find yourself mimicking his actions. Your heart aches so much, but it’s a necessary step that the both of you recognise you need to take. You don’t scream, you don’t jump to conclusions—you don’t fall back just yet because you know Yoongi’s right here.
“As much as I’m glad you finally chose me, I need to choose myself too,” you say quietly.
Yoongi nods in understanding, and he looks genuinely at peace. You don’t know what he feels in this exact moment per se, but if it’s anything like how you feel—you want to hold him. To allow him some warmth before this temporary cold takes over.
You memorise him all over again. Relearn his expressions even if you’re intimate with them. You fall for the curve of his lips, the wisp of his dark eyelashes and you make another home out of the edge of his jaw.
You do it all in the minutes you have left, and for all the time you’ve spent waiting.
“I gotta go soon,” you murmur, eyes briefly glancing back to catch your flight details blinking on the screen.
“I know,” he sighs, “Let me do this first.”
Your brows furrow, and before you can ask him what—he slips a second closer and presses his lips against yours.
You gasp, and even if you’ve got to know the taste between his lips—it feels like the very first time when he cups your face in between his large hands, tilting it to press his lips harder against your own.
It’s years of feelings, memories and unintentional heartbreak. It’s every spite you threw at him for him to shield it with his tenacity, and you feel it all pour through the seams of his mouth.
Your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the feeling, uncaring if people wonder what the two of you were thinking or feeling. If it was lovers who were parting, unsaid words that were left to dissipate—or was it just an unnecessary act of affection—you didn’t care.
You don’t care if Haerin sees. Or Jungkook. Or Hoseok. Or anyone. Because it wasn’t them who was in front of you. It wasn’t them that you needed to focus on now.
It was Yoongi.
He pulls away, breathless and eyes trained on your face.
“You’re so fucking cheesy,” you croak.
“Cheesy?” he says with a raised brow, right before he pulls out the final stop and dips you downwards, earning a shriek from you.
It’s absolutely embarrassing, the way he’s playing the very role of a Disney Prince when he stares at you with the warmest set of eyes you’ve ever seen.
But you bask it in.
“I won’t be able to do that for a while,” he says with a tilted grin, pressing another kiss to your lips as you feel your own lips begin to wobble against your own will.
“I hate you,” you whisper, forehead pressed against his chest as he wraps an arm around your shoulder when he brings the two of you upright while you embrace all the warmth you could get.
Before the temporary cold comes, you remind yourself.
“That’s too bad because I’m so in love with you,” he declares tenderly.
When he pulls you upright, you’re dizzy and absolutely taken with him. Yoongi’s dressed casually, his hair swept and ruffled in the morning-style you adored on him. He smiles, so soft and honest when you feel your lips wobble despite how happy you feel.
“Don’t cry,” he laughs, swiping under your eyes as you scowl.
“I can’t control my tear ducts you dick,” you snap.
“Come here,” he whispers, pulling you close until you are pressed against his chest. You hear his heartbeat and for a moment, you allow yourself to bask in the warmth that he provides you and your space with.
“I…” you start off hesitantly, voice timid.
“Hm?” he hums, rubbing gentle circles on your back as you clutch him tighter.
“I love you,” you mumble, so softly that he probably didn’t catch it.
“What was that?” he teases, pulling away just to see the embarrassed scowl that makes its way onto your expression.
“You heard me,” you hiss petulantly.
“I want to hear it again,” he says with a lopsided grin, “Didn’t you know it’s my favourite thing to hear?”
You flush, then you clear your throat as you attempt to neutralise your expression.
“Iloveyou,” you mutter quickly.
“Sorry, what was that?” he grins.
“I said Iloveyou,” you mumble again.
“I’m sorry but my hearing is—”
“I said I love you, you idiot—!” you snap, slapping his chest before his hand catches your wrist and you spot the fond expression that marks his face. It’s the same one he’s always had when he looks at you.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Your heart soars, and you shake your head in disbelief at how smooth Yoongi was, and how easy it was for him to capture your heart with just a sentence or an act.
“I’m going to miss you,” you say quietly.
“Me too,” he says, then he brushes a hand over your hair. It’ll probably be the last time he can do that for a while. “A year.”
You nod, determined.
“A year.”
“I hate to break up this love fest but we’ve got a flight to catch,” Loli interjects the conversation with her bright pink puffer and large framed sunglasses. She smiles knowingly at the both of you, and you feel Yoongi squeeze your hand once more with a wistful gaze.
“Go,” he encourages with a smile.
“I—” you stammer.
“Technology, kids,” Loli tuts teasingly, and you know it’s her way of comforting you. “You can even sext!”
You groan at her suggestion and Yoongi only laughs heartily, helping you with your coat once more before his eyes rake over your entire frame.
“We can do that,” Yoongi jokes.
“Don’t encourage her,” you say dryly.
“It’s time,” Hoseok comes in, a small smile on his face as he pats Yoongi on the back.
Haerin and Jungkook stand right behind him and they’re smiling at you. You’re smiling back and you feel yourself welcoming the change, despite how scary it feels. You hear the chatter of passengers and staff, some laughs and some tears—and you note that everyone’s on their own journey to their own places.
Some use a car; some use a plane. Whatever it is, they’ll eventually get there.
“Let’s go,” you exhale.
“Come on,” Loli grins, and you finally make your way to the gate that separates the drop-off point and immigration.
You grasp your passport in your head, eyes beaming when you spot your flight details on the LED board.
Berlin, 10:30 AM.
Haerin gives you one last hug and she bawls this time. You laugh even if you feel yourself tearing up too. Jungkook refuses to let you see him cry but you feel the dampness of his tears reaching the top of your head. Hoseok tries his best to keep the mood light, but you know his touch says more than his words ever could when he squeezes you with his arms.
You stand before Yoongi one last time, a twinkle in your eye when he returns the expression.
“Bye, Yoongi,” you say softly.
“Call me when you board,” he reminds you, adjusting your coat. “And when you land. I’d like some pictures, too.”
“Of course,” you giggle.
When you turn, Loli’s waiting expectantly for you as you take a deep breath and take the first step back. Yoongi has a proud look on his face, and his eyes tell you he’ll miss you. Of course, because you will too. You’ll miss this city; this place, but you’ve outgrown it. You needed a space to grow further, and Berlin was it.
You wave at the people you love, seeing their bright faces as the officers check your passport.
A voice breaks your thoughts just as you’re about to slip over the barrier.
“For the record,” Yoongi shouts through his cupped hands as you gawk at his blatant display. “I’ve always chosen you!”
You roll your eyes but your smile gives your true feelings away. You shake your head, smiling over at him one last time; he knows. And you do too.
Loli extends her arm for you to link yours with hers, and she grins.
The officer smiles, “Mother and daughter trip?”
Loli cackles, sharing a look with you before she turns over to the officer.
“You can say that.”
You pass the threshold, and you let out a deep breath.
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. feeling your feelings, healing, self-actualisation, Loli being the best person ever, Hobi also being the best person ever, JK also being the best person ever; a much-needed chapter for our oc!
WORDS. 6.4k
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“I thought we were doing something fun!” you whine, complaining as Loli drags you through the exhibition she had surprised you with. And surprised you were, especially when you were under the guise that the pair of you were going to be going out to get drinks and get drunk (yes, getting drunk with an old lady was weird in itself but Loli was oddly disciplined when it came to alcohol. It was mostly for you).
“This is fun, child,” she says with an eye roll as you sniff petulantly while she snatches the tickets from the frontman and gives him a less than amicable smile before she practically shoves you into the compound.
You yelp, nearly tumbling into one of the pieces before turning back to give Loli a vehement glare.
“You manipulated me!” you accuse, loud enough to catch the attention of a hipster couple who side-eyed you and your loudness. “I did not consent to this!”
“Stop being dramatic and appreciate that I lied to Jungkook saying that I had an appointment with an old friend so I wouldn’t have to help him with his weird anatomy flashcards,” she snaps.
“You lied to your grandson?” you balk, “For this?”
“This is more important!” Loli retorts, yanking you by your elbow before linking your arms together. Her grip is iron against your own as you surrender to the brute strength of a nearly seventy-year-old woman.
“Loli,” you whine, “I really wanted to hang out with you—but why at an exhibition? You and I are the last people that would ever be here!”
“I have a purpose for everything I do, okay? So don’t fret.”
While Loli was a character of her own, she did in fact have a set of morals that you deeply respected. You knew, from experience, that it was easier to judge someone based on the persona that they displayed to the world as opposed to understanding the core values of an individual. People would call her weird, freakishly active for an old lady—but they didn’t see the kindness that Loli displayed to the people she loved. Like you.
“And what exhibition is this anyway?” you mumble. You were aware you were being a brat but you really just wanted to shit talk people with Loli over alcohol. At least you weren’t alone, this time. “Mirrors? Is this what you wanted to do? Be vain?”
You just wanted to forget for a while.
Loli rolls her eyes, “It’s for you,” she tells you before spinning you around to face a particular mirror.
It’s a mirror that enlarges your entire figure, and you look somewhat distorted behind the iridescent glass. It’s an amusing sight if it weren’t for the fact that Loli had dedicated this to you. You could appreciate the arts, you really did. But you were particularly grumpy because you had essentially been scammed to free drinks and good company.
“You know I’m not that type,” you say dryly, “I don’t like looking into mirrors.”
You really didn’t. And it wasn’t to say that there was a type of person that enjoyed looking at themselves in the mirror, but if there really was—Loli was one of them. She was unapologetically herself, and she was confident in her personality and appearance. That was one thing you really admired about Loli. It was the fact that nothing anyone said about her could deter or diminish the worth she saw in herself.
“I know, love,” she says, a little softer before she rests a palm on your shoulder. “Just look.”
You stare at her weirdly, wondering what exactly she was playing at before you stare at yourself. You wince, automatically regretting it when you see a version of yourself that you’ve decided you didn’t like today. She looked a little tired, and you reason it due to the fact that you were tired. You were barely getting any sleep with the upcoming pitch you were working on for a group of potential investors and you needed it to be perfect.
(What was perfect, anyway, if not imperfectness covered? Were you really doing yourself a favour by attaining perfection to only find yourself disappointed in the outcome?)
“Loli,” you say, beginning to feel uncomfortable with how long you were staring at yourself. You seem to catch a little more that you didn’t like, see behind your eyes and into your brain. The irrational thoughts, the mind that didn’t work as innovative as Haerin. Or had the gift of understanding medicine like Yoongi or Jungkook. Or even had the oratory skills to carry out a conversation as seamlessly as Hoseok. “I don’t—”
“Can you do something for me, sweetheart?” Loli only takes this tone with you when she’s serious, or when she’s concerned. Right now, she’s both.
“Whatever it is, can we—?”
“Continue looking in the mirror,” she encourages, standing right behind you as you swallow, eyes fitting back to your reflection. Distorted, but you regardless. “I want you to repeat something for me.”
You feel your ears burn, realising that you were in public and simply just staring at yourself. Did you look self-absorbed? What if you were hogging the space and someone wanted to make a complaint?
“Loli, what are you even—?”
“I’m ____,” she begins to say as your eyes widen. “I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, and I’m capable.”
“Loli, there’s no way in hell I’m saying that in public and in front of a mirror at an exhibition,” you deadpan.
Loli ignores you. “I’m loved; worthy of being loved—”
“Loli …” you frown.
“I’m intelligent, kind and respected. I deserve good, and rest, and love.”
You find yourself reeling back a little, especially with how her words pierce straight through your heart. They’re simple words, you’re sure a kindergartener would know them. But why were they so difficult for you to understand? To repeat? To believe? They were just words that describe people—but not you. Not you, for you to repeat them in front of a reflection that was you, but wasn’t.
“Loli,” you snap, turning to face her as you break out of your trance with your own reflection. “What are we doing?”
Loli looks up at you, eyes gentle in a way so maternal that it has your heart clenching. You feel like a child, young and berated when she grabs a hold of your hand and covers your knuckles with her other palm. There are wrinkles against her skin, skin rough from years of living and experience—and you feel warm. You’re confused, scared—but warm, nevertheless.
“I want you to look at yourself and believe that,” she says softly, “That’s why we’re here.”
“So I can do this weird manifesting shit?” you scoff. “Loli, cut it out. I’m not doing it. Why in public?”
You sound sour, but Loli’s undeterred. She’s more used than anyone to your animosity, the refusal to do things that people told you to do. She knew your stubbornness more intimately than most but learned where it came from, and when it comes.
“You’re unhappy,” she tells you and you gape at her bluntness. “You’re here, but you’re not. Your mind is far away and it’s an unhappy place.”
“Oh, and you know so much to psychoanalyse me, right?” you say bitterly.
You acknowledge you’re being extremely bratty but you couldn’t help it. The entire situation was off-putting as it was because you weren’t used to just...staring at yourself, especially in public. And now that you were here having Loli unravel the pent up apprehension in your chest, you were even more thrown off.
“Your heart hurts,” she says, placing a hand on your chest as you nearly jump back at the impact. “I know you’re hurt, sweetheart.”
You refuse to show her you were, but you feel your lips tremble when she says the words so truthfully as if it was a truth you were condemned to accept. That you were hurt, and unhappy.
Confused.
“So?” you sneer, “Was this out of pity? That Yoongi loves me but ended up with Haerin? I told you this from day one.”
Loli doesn’t even frown, all she does is smile.
“Do you think he chose her?”
No fucking shit, Loli, you wanted to scream. But
But you schooled your face and gave her a pointed expression.
“They were together, Loli,” you say, “Do you know what that means? It means they both consented to it—wanted it to happen. Made that decision for both of them.”
“He chose you that day, didn’t he?” You aren’t sure what Loli is referring to, but something tells you that she knows something—as always, but is refusing to tell it to you point-blank.
“He got me pastries, Loli,” you exasperate frustratedly, “I get Hobi and Jungkook food all the time!”
“It’s not my position to hypothesise or say anything,” she tells you, “But you need to understand that people love very differently. The way we express our platonic love and romantic love is vastly different from what one may typically expect.”
Now, you were even more confused. Was Loli implying that he did that out of love? You nearly scoff. That could never be true. If anything, it was out of obligation.
“So? What is the point of all of this, Loli?” you sigh, “I’m not hurt. I don’t care. It was bound to happen and I was bound to—” you were immediately about to contradict yourself. I was bound to get hurt, you wanted to say. But you catch yourself and purse your lips, but the look on Loli’s face tells you she knows.
“Did you let him love you?”
You pause.
“What?”
“Have you ever stopped, and wondered, if you’ve ever given that man a chance to love you?” Loli repeats, tone still gentle but plagued with a sense of pointedness that you’re realising was firm.
“Why would I—?” you huff, shaking your head. “Why would I do that? I never knew!”
“So, you haven’t?” she says, raising a brow.
“Loli, what?” you exasperate, “No. I didn’t. Can we go now if you’ve got your—?”
“I’m a firm believer that you are more in control over how you feel than you actually think,” she says with a raised brow. “You’ve always loved Yoongi but have you ever taken a step back to let him love you?”
“And what, Loli?” you frown, “Get myself hurt?”
“You’re hurting yourself, ___,” she says seriously as you gape at her. “I don’t know Yoongi the way you do but I’ve never seen that man do anything for you that wasn’t out of love.”
The admission silences you; makes your throat dry. You blink up at her with widened eyes and Loli only looks at you with a softness paired with a rough edge that tells you that she was not joking around.
“Things have been difficult for you,” Loli says quietly, “As someone who was—” she corrects herself before she continues, and your heart clenches for her. “As someone who is a mother, and a grandmother—I cannot fathom how your own parents can treat you the way they do. But despite the well-deserved hatred I have for them, you cannot change people who don’t see a fault in themselves.”
You purse your lips.
“You were unlucky with your parents,” she says softly, “And I understand that. But you can’t spend the rest of your life sabotaging your happiness just because your parents failed to recognise the wonders you’re capable of. I know it’s going to be hard to unlearn this headspace but you are deserving of love; people do love you.”
“It’s not easy, Loli,” you croak, eyes fluttering shut, refusing to see the person in the mirror.
“It’s not,” she agrees, “But it’s necessary. You don’t need to get it right the first time but you need to try.”
“I just—” you sigh, “why wasn’t I enough for him?”
Loli reaches out to hold your hand, and her slightly wrinkly hands squeeze your youthful ones. The world between the two of you was vast, but with Loli, you always felt like you were right next to her.
“You always were,” Loli murmurs, “It’s you who doesn’t believe that. Everyone else sees how he feels about you.”
“Then—then why…” you huff, “God. Loli. This is pointless.”
You’re quick to throw yourself under the bus because things were getting a little too emotional for your liking, especially in a public setting. No one even batted an eye at the pair of you, but you were hyper-aware of the people around you.
Why was the world so loud when no one was looking?
“Seeing your worth isn’t pointless,” she scolds, yanking you by the arm as you huff, blowing your hair out of your face as her tough-love returns. “You can moan and complain about being hurt all you want about how you think Yoongi doesn’t love you but the truth is, he does. He loves you. God, this old lady sees it, your best friend sees it; the man you slept with sees it—if you don’t believe it then it isn’t true for you.”
Loli’s voice echoes in your mind despite her taking a relatively soft tone.
“If Haerin didn’t tell me he loved me then would’ve we spent the rest of our lives not knowing?” you murmur, fingers digging into your sides as Loli offers you a soft, wistful smile.
“There’s no point in discussing the what-ifs,” she tells you, “Why dwell on something that hadn’t happened instead of what did?”
“Because if Yoongi didn’t do it himself then we would’ve—”
“—and you know I’ll never make an excuse for a man but God, baby,” she signs, running her hands through her hair when her maternal tone arises. “Yoongi is stubborn. He needed the push and he got it. He’s there, so why are you holding back?”
“Because what if he realises that what he feels was a mistake?” you exasperate.
Loli’s lips purses. “Why are you worrying about something that never happened?”
You go silent, and you wonder.
Why did you worry about something that never happened?
“Do this for me,” she urges, smiling at you before gesturing to the mirror.
Your jaw ticks, face returning to a scowl. “Loli, we’re in public. I’m gonna look like a fucking maniac mumbling to myself in front of a mirror.”
“If you learn to love yourself in public then loving yourself in private won’t be so difficult,” she murmurs.
“Can we just, I don’t know,” you mutter in embarrassment, “I’ll record it at home and send it to you.”
Your attempt at negotiating is fruitless, especially when Loli barely budges.
You sigh, shifting on your feed before you’re practically glaring at yourself through your reflection.
You open your mouth, wracking your brain in an attempt to recall the exact words Loli wanted you to utter. You may never believe it, but Loli didn’t seem like she was backing down. This was for her.
(Even if you secretly wanted to believe in yourself, too.)
“I’m beautiful. I’m worthy, I’m incapable—”
“Capable,” she corrects with a jostle to your body as you scowl.
“I’m capable,” you huff, staring straight into the mirror and seeing someone almost unrecognisable. She was still you. She had the same hair, same face, same scowling expression; but there was something distinctly different about your reflection and you couldn’t quite point it out.
“Do I really have to do this?” you mutter, tapping your foot against the ground as your eyes dart everywhere. No one was looking but why did you feel watched? As if voyeurs found your weak declaration of self-love interesting enough to glance at.
“I can’t force you,” Loli says seriously, “No one can force you to love yourself, ___. You need to do that yourself. All I’m pushing you to do is to try.”
Loli’s grasp on your arm is featherlight, almost as if she was slowly detaching herself from you to allow yourself to roam free. You look back into the mirror, and it’s almost as if you were watching every bit of your life on replay.
From the moment you were first compared to Haerin; from when you realised your parents’ aloofness was more than being emotionally unavailable but because of the fact that they didn’t love you; from when you first met Yoongi; from when you learnt how to drive; from when you got suspended in high school; from the moment you realised you were in love with Yoongi; from the moment you lost your virginity in a drunken haze because you heard Yoongi kissed someone else; from every. Single. Moment.
You feel yourself grow emotional, though there were no tears. You’re looking at yourself and you recognise why you don’t recognise the person you’re looking at.
The person staring back at you was a hollow shell of who you could’ve been; all the beautiful possibilities that you would have achieved if it weren’t for the person that sabotaged you the most; that stabbed you in the back more times than you could count.
Yourself.
Your throat feels dry, and suddenly, looking in the mirror didn’t feel so debilitating anymore. Loli’s grasp is no longer there and you feel like you’re floating. It’s the most cliche moment of your life but something clicks; maybe it was the exhibition photographer that captured your stupefied expression. But it’s as if all the burrows that made the skeleton of your body were filled with realisation. A moment of calamity turned calm.
Loli’s no longer holding you and it’s just your reflection accompanying your physical body. The reflection is getting closer and closer to you; you realise that you were taking a step forward. Your finger reaches out, it caresses the smooth surface of the mirror. It’s plain. It’s a mirror. But you were behind its reflection. It was you, who touched the tip of your finger on the other side.
There are no words that you can utter at this moment. Silence is all that overcomes you. But it feels...it feels. And for the first time, you look yourself in the eye and you see someone worth taking time for. Someone who was very much human; very much fragmented like the rest of the world was—but alive.
And she’s staring at you.
“Yoongi loves you,” Loli murmurs, and another reflection joins you.
A hand enters first; resting on your shoulder. Then, Loli’s shorter frame comes into your vision. She looks like your family with the way you subconsciously lean into her hold.
This time, you don’t deny her words.
People usually say that things in life happen for a reason, to give you meaning to an already mundane lifestyle or to teach you a lesson that you could reflect on as years pass by.
You didn’t think so. Not absolutely, at least.
Things in life didn’t always happen for a reason. Sometimes things happen without any concern for structure or order and don't have any intrinsic value tied to those moments. Not everything that happens in life is a direct result of a grand scheme that the Gods or entities above set into place to teach humans a lesson.
Sometimes things just were. And you were the person that was in control of the meaning behind happenings and occurrences.
Working on the pitch alongside your team as moral support taught you a few things but you don’t think the act in itself had any value if it weren’t for how you weighed its importance in your own life. You could’ve taken it, prepared a pitch, delivered it and called it a day. It would’ve been another speck in your memory.
But it wasn’t. You spent hours upon hours perfecting every finite detail of your presentation. You engaged with officers and professionals to gain insight on academic knowledge that you didn’t have regarding the systemic issues that you were trying to solve. Or trying to better. You were firm in your stance when certain members were iffy on your rather self-denying clauses, but empathetic enough to consider varying thoughts.
You gave meaning to the work that you did, and you learnt from it.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt as fulfilled in your life as you did when you finalised the final pitch. You thought you were going to cry, to celebrate with a bottle of wine, to call Jungkook or Hoseok or Loli to tell them that you were done.
But you weren’t really done, and it hadn’t truly hit you that you had in fact, completed a huge project.
Until now.
“Hey, superstar.” Hoseok manifests out of nowhere, his suave self navigating his way through a few business associates or investors before he reaches right in front of you. Your mind needs a distraction, and it somehow goes back to the first night you’ve properly talked—or—yeah. “Looking good tonight.”
“I’m going to fucking puke,” you say instead of a greeting, ignoring his compliment.
“Medicine,” he smirks, patting his pocket as you let out a sigh of relief before sticking your palm out invitingly.
He laughs, a comforting feeling, before reaching into his pocket to retrieve the key to ease your nerves (or at least you hoped would) and drop them into the palm of your extended hand. Then, he squeezes your shoulders when he realises your eyes remain faraway and glazed.
“You’re gonna do great,” he says softly, rubbing your shoulder as you let out a shaky sigh.
“This is terrifying,” you mumble, eyes drifting to the side when you catch sight of a rather tall man who looked like he had no remorse for anything but business. “Fuck, Hobi. Why did I do this to myself?”
“Because you care,” he answers easily, another hand reaching out to your other shoulder before he’s practically cornering you like a football coach to their players before a big game. You suppose the nerves were similar.
“You didn’t tell me there were gonna be this many people,” you whine.
Hoseok rolls his eyes. “And run the risk of you rejecting the idea completely? No way.”
“So you manipulated me,” you gawk.
“I strategised, sweetheart,” he winks, tapping his temple as you scowl at him.
The short banter manages to ease your nerves ever so slightly, but the sense of trepidation returns when an investor walks past the two of you to offer Hoseok and yourself a brief nod of acknowledgement, reminding you why you were here—and your role for the night.
“Girlfriend?” The man laughs in passing.
As he disappears into the bodies, is when Hoseok calls out, equally as amused.
“Can’t a beautiful woman and a beautiful man be friends, Derek?”
A few people laugh and it’s instantaneous the effect that Hoseok has on people. You suppose that’s why he’s so successful, or why he makes anyone around him feel all the more comfortable in a frightening situation.
“I still think I’m going to puke,” you mutter.
Hoseok laughs, loud and jubilant before he’s encasing you into a deep hug that has your face mushed against his chest.
“You have me as support,” he comforts you as you sniff.
“If only you could give the pitch for me,” you mumble.
“I could never serve the pitch its justice,” he points out, ruffling your hair. “It’s all you.”
“And me!”
Another voice enters, and your head tilts up to see Loli skipping over towards the two of you, dressed in a beautiful red dress that made her look more stunning than she already was, and not her age—while Jungkook trails behind her with a small smile.
“Loli!” You throw Hoseok off you in exchange for the old woman’s embrace, already feeling the warmth of a maternal figure in your life when she presses a kiss on your forehead.
“You haven’t even given your pitch yet and you’re out here canoodling with this handsome bachelor?” she taunts.
You roll your eyes. “For the last time, Loli, it’s not going to happen.”
“God forbid you to have taste,” she jibes as you giggle at her faux disgust. “And this—I will say I’m surprised. I thought you’d end up looking like a dumpster truck hit you tonight.”
“Do you have no faith in me?” you pout, glancing down at your attire.
It’s a nice sleeveless jumpsuit that fits snug around your waist and elongates your legs. The white corset-like top forces you to keep your back upright so you don’t run the risk of flashing anyone if you slouched while your tits fell out, and the black length of your pants only tied the look together.
It was a little out there for a pitch presentation session but it did wonders to boost your self-esteem, and that was all you needed right now.
“She has an extra dress in my car just in case,” Jungkook finally speaks up, and it’s a snort when he catches your dropped jaw at Loli’s poor faith in you.
She grimaces. “I love you but you wish you had half the style I have in my left pinky.”
“I do not dress that badly,” you cry.
“Give it up,” Jungkook snickers, right before he raises a fist to give you a fist bump and a fond ruffle to your hair. “Good luck. You got this, champ.”
You scrunch your nose up. “Please don’t call me champ. It makes me sound like a greasy jock in high school.”
“I was a greasy jock in high school,” he pouts.
“Case in point,” you say with a raised brow as he sighs.
Hoseok, Loli and Jungkook are here, looking at you fondly with proudness in their eyes as you feel yourself grow ten times more with the support that they provided you with. It’s moments like these that you’re thankful, and that you feel full. Because you have people you love, and that love you, here—for you.
“Even if you were dressed in a trash bag I’d still be proud of you,” Hoseok butts in as you offer him a meek smile as thanks.
Your eyes search the crowd, and another figure enters your vision, one that you weren’t quite expecting but equally as pleased to see.
“Haerin?”
Haerin has a lot of energy for someone relatively tiny, especially when she practically bulldozes through the crowd to make her way towards your group. A large grin is etched permanently on her face when she finally overcomes the hurdle of people, and she jumps straight into your arm without a care that she nearly knocked Loli over.
“Jesus Christ,” you wheeze when she wraps her arms around your shoulders so tightly that you almost couldn’t breathe.
“I’m here! I’m not late, right? It’s not over?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Loli says with an eye roll.
Haerin, still rather oblivious to the slight distaste in Loli’s tone, only beams at the older lady.
“Looking lovely as always, Loli,” she chirps.
“Your dress is tasteless,” she snaps back.
Haerin is undeterred and Jungkook has to elbow his grandmother in the rib in warning, eyes narrowed as the older woman’s expression is snooty while she shrugs.
“You came,” you say dumbly.
“Of course,” Haerin smiles, “It's my sister’s big project!”
She says this with a nudge to your shoulder as you blink down at her.
Sister.
Right, Haerin was your sister. You were sisters.
When the thought settles, you smile back.
“Thank you,” you say quietly.
Haerin gets it. She does, somehow. Maybe it was truly her sisterly instincts, the fact that you shared the same blood. Somewhat the same genes. Sister’s just knew, right?
An announcement is made via the PA system, asking for the presenters and guests to take their positions as you feel the cold sweat return.
This was it.
“You got this,” Jungkook says, rubbing a circle onto your shoulder as people start filtering into the auditorium. There’s chatter amongst the guests, curious on what was to be presented tonight at the Jung Corporations investors gala. It’s a highly anticipated event, and you feel even more pressure to uphold its prestige as a presenter, and as someone who Hoseok trusted with his entire heart.
“We’re so proud of you,” Loli smiles softly, her wisdom filtering through the slight wrinkles by her eyes when she grins at you. “Whatever you do, we’re all here to support you. Right?”
Haerin, Hoseok and Jungkook nod their heads, beaming up at you. There’s a man who calls for Hoseok—but all you can see is the trust in their eyes when their gaze rests on you.
“Thank you guys,” you say, feeling your throat clam up as you envelop all of them into a wide hug.
Yet, with all the love and support you feel, there’s still disappointment in your belly when you realise there’s a missing face.
Though, you don’t expect him to appear at all.
You did, in fact, leave. You were—confused. Hurt. Afraid. You were also mortified, knowing that your drunken stupor didn’t leave your sobered state when you woke in his home the next morning. You braced yourself, ready for the tense atmosphere but thankfully (or not), Yoongi was asleep.
You bolted, and you felt like a coward.
“Go get them!” Haerin cheers as she gets dragged by Loli towards the entrance of the auditorium. You smile sheepishly at her as you wave her down.
A frown meets your expression, and Jungkook, who still lingers as if needing to say something, recognises it immediately.
“He’ll be here.”
“He won’t,” you sigh, “We…”
“He said so himself, _____,” he says softly. “No matter how angry you are with him, or he is with you, he’d never not be there for you. Yoongi wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jungkook squeezes your shoulder one last night before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His gaze is enough to somewhat soothe you, and you force a scant smile when he gives you one last thumb up.
You’re left alone, and an usher recognises you before he directs you to the presenters’ room while your thoughts marinate.
You can do this, you tell yourself.
Yet, your eyes look back in search of a familiar face.
“____ ____?” An usher calls your name as your head swings back and away from the cue cards in your palm to greet the voice.
“Here,” you respond.
“You’re up in five,” he nods towards you as you nod back, swallowing while you feel the nerves rise all over again.
What nobody told you about anxiety was how much you relied on it to keep you upright. To keep you going when things were difficult and when life was more debilitating than usual. There is a universal understanding that anxiety takes away your energy that leaves you crumbling before you get to a job; that is actually preventing you from completing tasks due to the fear of not reaching the milestone right before the plateau.
But the nerves reminded you that you were alive and that you had a duty to fulfil. However small, however large, however insignificant, however relevant—that you were alive and breathing, enough for you to take that first step forward before it consumed you whole.
The anxiety fuelled your sleepless nights but also pushed you to slumber; also kept you away from people in the fear of unsaid critical comments while needing their validation. It was a tiring push-and-pull, and you knew that your anxiety was rather superficial than most—but it still roughened up your nerves when it counted—and doesn’t that mean it counts for something?
A few strangers, friendly faces, give you small thumbs up when you unconsciously make your way towards the slit that soon would reveal you to the auditorium of people that were quite literally there to evaluate you and nothing else. Your feet feel featherlight, and it’s a paradoxical feeling to the weight in your stomach, threatening to escape your throat while you tried to focus on your breathing and your planned bullet points for the pitch.
You weren’t a natural speaker like Haerin was, you didn’t possess half the articulation she had when it came to delivering her points across, and for a moment—you wished you were her all over again. Almost makes you feel like you were back to square one where you were thought to resent her, to want to be everything that she was and you weren’t.
But then you reel back as quickly as you left and remembered that it wasn’t Haerin who was delivering this pitch, who tirelessly prepared for it—it was you.
This was your child, your creation, the work that only existed because of your brain and your fingertips working against the keyboard of your laptop along with a few other teammates that offered you support. Haerin didn’t do this—you did.
And you almost laugh because it felt free to realise that.
That Haerin would’ve never been here, and that you were.
“Point is, we’re all driving to our own destination points, and each journey is unique to each person,” he says softly as your breath hitches.
“But I’m no Haerin,” you mumble quietly, finally speaking and finally understanding what Yoongi was getting at.
“You aren’t,” he concedes as you feel your heart drop. But he picks it up immediately with his reassuring grin and the hand that smoothes over your hair comfortingly. “And Haerin isn’t you.”
Somehow, Yoongi’s words ring clearer than ever and you miss him. You missed him because he wasn’t here but you wished he was. You wished you didn’t say the things you did, pushed him away from the way you did.
But you did, and you had to deal with the consequences of your own actions.
You take a deep breath, and you take that first step into the spotlight you never thought you deserved your entire life.
It’s odd to hear claps that were meant for you and you only. There was no one else on stage with you, and it was your presentation pitch that was projected onto the screen that you stood in front of—there was no denying—that this, the recognition, the earnest grins, were for you.
And damn, did it feel good.
“Thank you,” you begin, voice shaky because you still couldn’t believe it but you could try. “Hopefully I’ll be hearing more of that throughout my presentation.”
The crowd laughs, and you keep your smile minimal even if you felt your nerves nearly exploding from the reaction. At least your humour was still intact.
You take another deep breath, press the button on the prompter and direct the laser towards the screen—most eyes following you.
Briefly, just for a split second, time stops in your own world where you try to take in your surroundings to ground yourself back to reality. While you were weightless, you lost some form of control and you needed all the control you could get at this point.
Your eyes fall into the crowd, and it’s like a scene straight out of a movie where they land on Loli.
She beams at you, blows you a kiss through her reddened lips before offering you an expression that you could only think of as motherly. Like a mother cheering her child on.
You’d like to think she was.
Then, next to Loli was Jungkook. Your found family, your brother that wasn’t blood-related but you sure as hell couldn’t imagine a world without him in it. He grins that boyish toothy grin of his and offers you a raised fist as if you could reach it. The fist resting by your side sees it, fist bumps it from where you stand.
And then there’s Hoseok. He’s smiling, of course, he is. When didn’t he smile? Even if it wasn’t you on stage, he’d still be smiling and showing support to whoever owned the platform at that very moment. But it was you, and you knew that because it was you his smile looked ten times wider than it usually was.
He shoots you a double-thumbs up, giddy in his seat before he cups his hands around his mouth and lets out a whoop that echoes in the auditorium.
You flush while some of the investors laugh, a man turning his head to the source of the voice and is more than amused to see that their apparent boss was the one that bellowed that loudly.
And of course, you couldn’t help it, but your eyes fall to the empty seat next to Hoseok. And you feel your heart drop even if you’d expected it.
You said so yourself: you didn’t want him here. You told him that at the fair, and that damned night. You did this.
Haerin’s screams echo in your mind again.
But it still hurts. It still confirmed your deepest insecurities and you think you’ve lost Yoongi for good. That he’s out of your life. You were going, and he was gone.
And then, what felt like hours but was an actual split second—the doors to the auditorium open. It’s quiet, and no one catches it except for you because of where you stand and where the spotlight stands.
Yoongi.
Your jaw drops ever so slightly and you lose all train of thought just for that split second because the first person he sees isn’t the usher at the door, or the guest that walks past him to exit, likely to the toilet—but you.
There are flowers in his grasp, a large and bountiful bouquet of gorgeous flowers that nearly cover his face, and you feel your throat clam up while you internally scold yourself to get a grip. But you couldn’t believe it: Yoongi was here.
As if he senses your blanking mind, he raises the flowers ever so slightly—and offers you that God-forsaken smile of his, never too wide to look eager, but gentle enough to be present.
And you feel it. You feel the rush, you feel the anxiety—you feel human. Like you were always meant to be.
You giggle to yourself, head dropping to your feet when you realise how insignificant that empty seat was even if it had your heart dropping when you caught a glimpse of it.
You could look and look and search and scour—but if you were looking only where you wanted, and not where you should—you’d never find what was looking for you.
And finally, Yoongi slips into his seat, offers an amicable nod to Hoseok who looks elated to see the older man—
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. another Yoongi POV!, multiple confrontations, sexist views on marriage and a woman's worth, misogyny, emotionally unavailable parents, toxic parenting, alcohol as a coping mechanism again, misunderstandings, fluffy moments too, further heartbreak, ANGST (sorry loves)
WORDS. 8k
NOTES. yeah this chapter will play with ur emotions bc I was going on a rollercoaster ride while writing it 😩 im sorry babes but...slow-burn must prevail!
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Standing outside a place he’s practically engraved to memory should’ve been easy. The journey through the familiar moss-green trees and the uphill slope was one he’s taken more than enough times to count; years of experience took him down this same road—yet, it feels different. It definitely is.
“You didn’t have to come along.”
Yet, there’s still a semblance of familiarity with the foreign situation. A voice that’s tied to fond memories as he grew out of the lanky body that used to house a more immature version of him; the childish nature that was endearing years ago and unnecessary now. It’s a voice that’s comforting, but the situation wasn’t.
“I did,” Yoongi replies easily, hands stuffed into his pocket. The house is atop of a relatively large hill—your parents were rich, that enough was known. It’s only a given that their home reflected their ambitions in life; mountainous, daunting—almost unrealistic for the average person.
“I could’ve talked to my parents on my own,” Haerin huffs, staring ahead at the king-sized walls. “This is my battle.”
Yoongi looks over to her with a levelled gaze. Her hair is tucked in the collar of her coat, the tip of her nose slightly flushed due to the chilly weather. He’s known her since they were teenagers and much less put together than they were now; so he knows. He knows that the eyes that avoid him weren’t saying that it was her battle.
It was telling him that it wasn’t his.
“You know just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, right?” Yoongi says with a raised brow.
Haerin sighs. “I know. But you know how my parents are and …” her eyes drift to her feet before she peers up to the same doors that separate the unknown and the present, “I rather save you the hassle.”
Yoongi mutely nods his head, not agreeing, just in understanding. Then, he takes in a deep breath and releases it timely as he offers Haerin a gentle smile.
“I’d have to face them eventually,” he points out and Haerin nods. “I rather them find out from me instead of anyone else.”
“Honestly, with how obvious you were, I’m pretty sure they know but chose to pretend that they didn’t,” Haerin snorts, earning a twitch of a smile from Yoongi’s lips.
Truthfully, he was thankful for Haerin. In more ways than one. There were people that entered your life that were there to teach you something, and Haerin was that person to him. It may have seemed obvious to others that he would’ve fallen in love with her; it was natural to romanticise the idea of falling in love with your best friend. He did love her, as far as he could love Jungkook—a young boy turned into a capable man.
There were people in your life that taught you that love was constant, and there were people in your life that taught you love was eternal.
You taught him that love was eternal.
“Still,” Yoongi smiles softly, “I need to do this.”
Haerin nods her head for a few beats before a gush of wind blows against both of them. She jogs on her feet, likely to ease her nerves as Yoongi’s hand reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. A silent declaration of support; an apology; a good luck sign; anything that she needed.
“Yeah,” she breathes, “We need to do this.”
Yoongi takes a deep breath before the door opens, almost as if your parents manifested out of nowhere based on the echoes of his and Haerin’s voices. Your mother is primed to perfect, as usual, with her slicked hair without a stray in sight—Chanel coat paired with matching heels. Yoongi thinks it’s excessive that she was dressed like this for a simple meet—but she was the wife to your father, and only perfection was expected of her.
Your father, despite being the breadwinner and commander of the house, is dressed far laxer than his wife. He’s in a polo cardigan, khaki sweats tying the typical look of a wealthy man as his glasses are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.
Your mother smiles first, amicable.
“Haerin, sweetie,” she grins, then turns to Yoongi. “And Yoongi. It’s lovely of you to join us.”
“It’s important,” Haerin blurts, uncharacteristic and it’s obvious. Her father raises a brow before she purses her lips, shooting a brief glance towards Yoongi.
“I bet it is,” your mother smiles, then she steps aside before she gestures the both of them in. “Shall we?”
Your father is an intimidating man. In court; outside of court; commanding a room of superiors; when he frowns; simply, his existence is frankly quite overwhelmingly intimidating.
Yoongi’s never been on the receiving end of his intimidation, mostly because he was in good graces with Haerin, and that automatically translated into Yoongi being in your father’s good graces too. Your father had always considered Yoongi a son, treating him more than amicably and welcoming him into your home ever since he was in high school. Yoongi was one of the lucky ones, Haerin would say.
So, this is different. Very different. Because despite his clear aura of intimidation, his face shows no indication of it.
Your mother, however, is baffled.
“You broke up?!”
Yoongi purses his lips, but Haerin is already quick to intervene.
“It was never going to work out,” she says softly, fiddling with her thumbs. “We don’t—we don’t love each other like that.”
“How is that possible?” she shrieks, “You’ve spent every second as teenagers together! He takes care of you and you take care of him! He’s a doctor, Haerin. He’s safe. The two of you—!”
“You can’t force me to love someone I don’t,” Haerin seethes, earning an astonishing gape from your mother. Yoongi’s borderline surprised, too, because Haerin was never the type to speak out to your parents. She had always been the quiet, compliant daughter that did everything your parents asked of her.
“The both of you are successful young adults with a history,” your mother exasperates, “You’re not getting any younger, Haerin. How are you going to get married?”
“Why does that matter?” Haerin cries, “I don’t love him!”
“Do you think I loved your father at first?” The woman before him is absolutely livid, yet Yoongi’s not surprised. Her voice is venomous, the type of venom he’s only ever heard towards you. He’s never liked it; never appreciated the way her voice would curl when her eyes narrow at you. Now, she’s the monster she’s always been. “Do you think he loved me at first? He didn’t. I didn’t. But we had a duty to our families and we carried it out.”
“That’s such a backward way of thinking,” Haerin scoffs. Your father is still silent; lips pursed into a thin line. It’s not a coincidence that the men remain quiet. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Don’t speak like your sister,” your mother snarls.
“My sister has a name,” Haerin growls back, “It’s ___. It’s goddamn ___ and you should say it because you gave her that name!”
“What has gotten into you?” your mother gasps, turning to Yoongi, finally acknowledging him with a rather pleading stare as if he had the power to placate the anger that boils within Haerin. “Yoongi. You must know, you must talk her out of this—right?”
“We don’t love each other,” he says, calm as ever.
“She’s getting older, Yoongi,” your mother says desperately, “You’re the only man in her life. Who’s going to marry her if it’s not you?”
Yoongi can see Haerin trembling next to him, her fists clenched and he feels for her. His heart hurts for her because the words spat by your mother are nothing short of abhorrent. It’s vile and horrendously insinuative how Haerin’s worth was tied to her eligibility as a bachelorette. He wants to yell, wants to tell your mother that she was wrong and disgusting for suggesting that.
“Someone who does love her,” Yoongi replies, “She doesn’t owe you anything. She owes herself her own happiness.”
“You can’t be serious,” your mother gawks, “Did ___ put you up to this?”
Yoongi clenches his fists under the table.
“Haerin and I are grown adults who are capable of settling our own problems internally. Haerin will always be my best friend, but I do not love her in that way and I cannot force myself to feel something that’s entirely foreign to me,” Yoongi says slowly, enunciating each word as your mother looks ultimately disgusted. Your father is still silent, eyes resting on Yoongi’s figure, unmoving.
“What does she need to do, Yoongi? Tell us so we can do something about it,” your mother begs.
Yoongi fills an acidic taste on his tongue. The fact that your mother was more cross at the fact that Haerin wasn’t enough for Yoongi than Yoongi saying that he didn’t love her unsettles Yoongi. The fact that her own daughter is sitting right in front of her, accomplished and herself—while she berates her in front of her best friend.
Yoongi takes a deep breath.
“Nothing,” he blinks, “Nothing because she shouldn’t change herself for someone to love her.”
“Say something!” Your mother turns to your father, hissing when he remains still. “God forbid your daughter actually—!”
“Shut up!” Haerin stands up, voice booming as her hands slam onto the table. Yoongi’s eyes widen when he turns around, ready to tug her down, but she’s driven by her inhibitions than rationale, and Yoongi knows he can’t stop her.
“How dare—?”
“I have listened to you my entire life,” Haerin whispers hoarsely, “From the very moment I was born I did everything you wanted me to do so you could feel proud of me. I did everything by the book; won awards in my name and doing the best I could in everything,” she exhales, then her eyes are menacing when they rest on your parents. “I have done nothing to wrong you, and this shouldn’t be the first.”
“Why can’t you see that we’re worried about you?” your mother begs, “We don’t want you to end up like your sister—!”
“____ is amazing,” Haerin hisses vehemently, “She’s accomplished, strong, beautiful and goddamn fucking capable. I’ve had enough of you berating her when she’s not here and making her feel like absolute shit when she is. If there’s anyone that I want to be like it’s her.”
“Haerin—!”
“I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough and I’m sick and tired of it,” she spits, inching closer as her body leans forward. Yoongi still can’t get a gauge of your father’s expression, and it’s scarily stoic. For a moment, he’s terrified to wonder that if he even cared. “You’re a horrible person. You mould people into the expectations you expect of them and not what they can truly offer the world. You’re sick, and you’re vile—!”
“Haerin.” Finally, your father speaks up, and the table reigns silent. Yoongi stills and Haerin pauses. “How long have you felt this way?”
Then, Haerin’s dam breaks and she sobs. Her body almost topples over at the force of her weeping; unsteady when her fingers dig into the antique wood of the dining table. Yoongi thinks to reach out, he shifts ever so slightly to do so but Haerin raises a hand to stop him—still shaky, but somehow, Yoongi feels like this is the most assured she’s been.
“Long enough,” she tells him, oddly steadily.
The answer is vague and it displeases your mother who scoffs. But Yoongi gets it. There isn’t a timeline for pain; there is no clear beginning or ending to how one feels the agony—but it’s very much there. No one calculates the intensity of their hurt but it’s present enough to loom over you like a shadow.
Haerin takes a deep breath, before opening her mouth to speak once more.
“I don’t need you,” she declares, and Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I don’t need your approval, and I don’t need you to tell me what to do. Despite how things turned out I’m still grateful for you for pushing me to do my best,” she confesses, soft as if she’s conflicted with her internal turmoil. “But I won’t have it anymore. I want to live my life the way I want to live it.”
“And your sister—” your father starts but Haerin’s quick to intervene.
“___,” she grits, “Her name is ___.”
Your father’s lip purses, and then he takes a tentative breath before nodding.
“____,” he says, rolling his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if he’s familiarising himself with how the syllables of your name feel. Yoongi almost scowls; because what father doesn’t care to say his daughter's name? Utter it to the world as he exclaims his love for her? But Yoongi keeps silent, because while irritation bubbles—it won’t serve his purpose. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes,” Haerin says confidently, her shoulders straighter while he avoids your mother’s stare. “She was the first person I went to after I decided.”
Your mother scoffs, but your father is blank and impeccably stone-faced as always.
“Haerin,” he says monotonously, “Your mother and I care for you. We push you to do things that are difficult because you are capable. It’s…nice that you and your sister are getting along but you must not let her influence you like this.”
Haerin’s jaw drops and so does Yoongi. The way your father speaks is nothing like a father to a daughter; more formal and business-like than ever before. It’s almost as if the way of law and the corporate world has infiltrated every fibre of his being and he was incapable of separating the two.
But what fuels Yoongi with absolute anger is the way he speaks about you.
“Stop! God fucking stop,” Haerin screams, tugging at her hair frustratedly, “For once in your life stop being a fucking businessman and start being a father!”
“Young lady,” your father says firmly, though not angry.
“I rather have you scream at me and get angry at me because that shows you actually care but you’re not! You’re stupidly calm and it fucking sucks because you’re everything but a father,” she says through her sobs, “When will you see that you have two daughters who aren’t just figments of your unfulfilled dreams? Huh? When will you see that we’re both so fucking different?”
“Your sister is…” your father continues, still calm, and Yoongi’s fingers are practically digging a dent into the chair with how much he’s restraining himself. “Hopeless. In business terms, that means we’ve let her be because we’ve given up.”
Yoongi freezes, impossibly still.
He hears Haerin’s breath hitch, but beyond that—his ears ring.
“____ is not hopeless,” Yoongi seethes, losing every bit of calm he’s come here with. Your father raises a brow, still in perfect order while Yoongi falls apart right in front of him. “____ is all the things you could never see in her because scums like you are one-dimensional, superficial; and horrible people.”
“Min Yoongi,” your father grits, teeth scraping like chalk on a whiteboard but Yoongi’s long-forgotten to care.
“Sometimes I wonder why some people become parents when they do anything but parent their child,” he chuckles darkly, jaw clenching. “I’ve had enough of the way you speak about ___. You are not going to belittle her in my presence or insinuate that she is hopeless. While you’re here, living your pathetic, conforming lives—____ was out there doing the one thing you think she can’t. Give people hope. She’s not working her ass off for you, for me, or for anyone but those people she’s trying to help and if you can’t see that then you’re the problem.”
Yoongi’s chest heaves in exertion as he stares down the two people he’s reckoned to see as other parental figures his entire life. The same people were nothing but kind to him but were terrible to the person he loved. Yoongi’s had enough.
“Be careful on what you say, boy,” your father hums, amused. And Yoongi needs to remind himself that your father was sick. Not physically but he was vile. Because no one, no one, would find the desperation in Yoongi’s voice amusing given the context of the situation.
“I don't care what you think of me, and I don’t care what you do,” he hisses, “You want to threaten me? Fine, I’ll get my family’s lawyers if that’s what you want to do but I won’t take back my words because I mean. Every. Single. Thing. I said.”
Then, he lowers his gaze to the two adults in front of him, prouder than ever to declare the next words that leave his mouth.
“Just because you don’t love her doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Your mother gasps, as if that was the most unbelievable that was said for the night and Yoongi doesn’t believe in hitting people but God is he angry.
“Yes, I love her,” Yoongi says, calm, “I’ve been in love with her and I’m telling you this because you should hear it from me and not anyone else. But from this point onwards,” he takes a deep breath before finalising his resolute stare. “I don’t want anything to do with the both of you. Thank you for treating me well all these years but I won’t tolerate the way you treat ___ or Haerin anymore. If either of them wishes to keep that relationship with you, I respect that but I don’t stand for anything that you do or say.”
Then, Yoongi picks up his phone from the table before pushing himself off his seat, feeling lighter but equally relieved when your parents’ stunned expression follow his movements.
“And despite everything…” Haerin says, soft after Yoongi’s own words. “I still love the both of you. But I’m done.”
Haerin follows Yoongi, grabs her belongings and turns away before he can say another word. Yoongi refuses to leave shallowly so he bids a final nod of respect to your parents before turning on his feet—and walking away from the toxicity that’s plagued them all.
Coming home almost feels like a chore on most days. It’s the same, bland routine that Yoongi follows when he walks up to his door and keys in his code before dragging his lethargic body through his living room, then to his bedroom before he carries out his nightly regimen.
Undress, shower, grab a drink, sleep. Always in sequence, never out of place. It was one of the things in his life that grounded him in his busy schedules, his jumbled mind.
After the day he had, he needed a sense of normalcy, of routine. The shrill shrieks of your mother’s voice still ring clear in his ears, and the way your father disapprovingly glared at him when he told them that he and Haerin were no longer together.
Yoongi knew how much they adored Haerin, at least to an extent that they portrayed her as this do-no-wrong angel that would never disappoint them. He knew how unfairly they treated you, and there were moments where he so desperately wanted to speak out, to tell them that they were godawful people for saying and doing the things they did do you.
But silence overtook him. Every time your smile dropped, he remembers. Every time you look away, he catches you. Every time you shrink into a shell, he sees it.
It almost felt cathartic, the way the venomous words left his lips.
So, as his feet trawl against the floor of the hallway to his apartment, he’s ready to lift his fingers to do their job at punching in the code to his home—but there’s a bump in his meticulously crafted schedule, one that he’s not expecting, but somehow welcomes.
“____?”
Your body is leaning against his door, forehead pressed against it when he spots you. Fortunately, you hear him, either his footsteps or his confused voice, but you do. Your head lifts, and Yoongi immediately frowns.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” you lie, and Yoongi knows you’re lying because there’s a dopey grin on your face when you blink up at him; clearly drunk.
“You’re lying,” he says blankly, slowly making his way towards you as his arm instinctively wraps around your waist to steady you. There’s a hazy look in your eyes and he knows you’re really drunk. The worry intensifies because what were you doing here? How did you get here? Did you walk?
The thoughts consume him, and before he can open his mouth to query you, words tumble out of your mouth in a slur.
“Don’t ah-cuse me,” you sass, loose-lipped when you open a singular eye to glare at him in a way that was not intimidating at all.
“____,” he sighs, quickly punching in the password onto his keypad while he simultaneously attempts to keep you upright then you decide to rest your entire body weight on him, slackened arms wrapping uncharacteristically tight for a drunk person around his body.
“Yessss,” you drag your words out, “Why do you look like that?”
“Like?” he sighs once more, finally kicking his door open with his feet while he lugs you upwards with his arms, your chest pressed against his when you wrap around him like a koala bear.
You were drunk. Not him. So he feels every bit of your frame mould itself against him and it feels nice, the way your warmth radiates into the seemingly cold depths of his heart. You were touchier than usual and Yoongi wasn’t complaining but he was confused. Especially when you dig your head into the crook of his neck as he attempts to direct both of your bodies into his living room.
“Like you hate me,” you mumble softly, and Yoongi already has a response on the tip of his tongue before your head snaps up, eyes narrowed into a sottish glare. “So why did Haerin say you loved me?”
Yoongi knocks his knee against the wall and curses when the words leave your lips. He feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when you continue to glare expectantly at him as if you hadn’t dropped the biggest bomb of revelation onto him within a span of two seconds.
“She—what?” Yoongi’s not pissed. Well, he couldn’t be when you pout at him the way you were. It’s disparate from your usual persona; disposed to your sharp tongue and eyes; unwilling to let yourself appear softer than you’d allow. Someone who was all bite, but Yoongi knew just wanted to be heard.
You were drunk, he reminds himself. You probably didn’t know what you were saying.
“Yeah, stupid,” you scoff as if he was the unreasonable one for being rightfully confused, in his apartment no less. “You—you do this to someone you love, huh? Look like you hate them? All angry and frowny and wrinkly?”
Yoongi knows your drunk. He can see it, he can practically smell the alcohol with how close you were to him, so he chooses to ignore your jibe at him to drag your stubborn body into his living room so he could regain control of the situation.
“Answer me!” you demand petulantly, huffing when Yoongi grabs a hold of your waist to settle you onto the couch while you squirm. “Dummy.”
Some things don’t change, he thinks dryly when you continue to call him names despite your inebriated state.
“Stay here,” he says before he quickly darts into his room to shrug off his coat and dump his belongings onto his bed.
He’s never moved as fast as he was moving right now in a long time. He’s driven by the knowledge that you were an unyielding drunk, ready to snark at him one second and clinging onto him the next. It wasn’t only that, but the fact that he needed answers that only you had.
Yoongi jogs into his bathroom, scrambling for some makeup wipes he remembers having because he anticipated moments like these happening. He never expected them to actually happen, but alas, his forethought served him beneficial when you looked like you had an early night out.
Then, he feels his stomach bubble in irritation because how did you get here if you were piss drunk? Did you take a cab in this state? Clearly too intoxicated to remain vigilant? Or, did someone drop you off—and if they did, how reckless were they in leaving you in this manner when you could’ve seriously gotten hurt?
His eyes meet his reflection in the mirror as he takes a breath, shaking his head to focus on the main matter at hand. After rummaging through some drawers, he finds the brand you like, memorising it one night because you had casually let it slip. Then, he quickly grabs the standby bottle of water on his bedside table before he’s returning to his living room.
In the short span of when he left you alone to now, you’ve managed to sprawl yourself on his couch as if you were planning to take up every inch of space possible with your form.
“____,” he calls, kneeling in front of the couch until he was eye level with your head. “Hey.”
His voice is soft. He knows not to get angry just yet. Even if he was, more so that he was worried, he needed you to cooperate and he couldn’t set you off.
“Wuh?” you mumble, rapidly blinking as you attempt to focus your eyes onto his figure. “Yoongi?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he offers you a small smile, “Can you sit up for me?”
“No,” you snap indignantly.
Yoongi sighs, fully knowing that it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
“Please? Just this once,” he reasons, “Sit up for me, yeah?”
“Nooooooo,” you whine, “You’re annoying.”
“I’m not annoying,” he murmurs, opting to reach a hand out to brush your hair when your cheek digs into the plush material of his sofa as you glare at him. “Okay. I am. But I promise I won’t be if you sit up for me?”
“Liar,” you sniff.
“____,” Yoongi sighs, feeling like he’s just aged ten years when you refuse to cooperate with his attempts of getting you into bed.
“Yoongi,” you quip back cheekily.
“Don’t Yoongi me right now,” he snaps, attempting to jostle you up by the arm.
Apparently, you’ve decided to make his life ten times more difficult with your refusal to listen to him when you make a home out of his couch. That wasn’t the first thing you’ve done and certainly not the last; because apparently, you didn’t want to listen to him at all.
“Why are you so mean,” you say quietly, timidly, nothing like the fierce woman you’ve grown to become.
“Listen to me and I won’t have to be mean, okay?” he asks softly, still crouched down at your level when your eyes flutter shut. “And don’t you think you’re being mean by not listening to me?”
His eyes trace over your features and even now, he thinks you look stunning. You’ve always been beautiful. It’s an everlasting truth that won’t change no matter how stubborn you’re being. Yoongi would even argue that even when you were unbending you were gorgeous because you were you.
Even now, when your mascara is slightly smudged underneath your eyes and your lipstick is patched, you still carry yourself with a clumsy sense of confidence (and that was only because you were drunk). Your cheeks are blotched red, a pretty shade that Yoongi yearns to brush his thumb over; but you suddenly lean your cheek against his knee.
“But you only pay attention to me when I’m mean,” you pout.
Yoongi raises a brow.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes you do,” you complain petulantly, huffing as your eyes peer up at him.
From this angle, the two of you are so close. Yoongi can trace each freckle on your face with his fingers if he reached out. His lips were inches away from your face, and he’s hyperaware of the way his breathing begins to become more controlled, less like a bodily function when you blink up at him; innocent and … dejected.
“I don’t know if you realise but you’re kind of always mean,” he says, not unkindly, a small smile on his lips when you gasp.
“M-Mean?” you clutch his calf in despair as if he’d just committed blasphemy. “I’m the nicest person everrrr.”
Yoongi knows you weren't the type that acted cutely; you were far too feisty for that and he's grown to appreciate it. But it was moments like these, where the slightest things you would do would have his heart-clenching, a fond smile slowly making its way onto his face when he observes you silently.
“I don’t doubt that sweetheart,” he hums, softly rubbing circles on your shoulder as you sigh into his touch. The term of endearment slips out against his conscience but you don’t seem to point it out. Thankfully. “You know what’d make you nicer?”
Your eyes immediately snap up, wide and curious as you await his next words. Yoongi tries his best not to let it show that his heart was melting. Thank God that couldn’t literally happen.
“If you sit up for me,” he says.
You frown, unsatisfied with his answer as you shake your head.
Yoongi sighs, disappointed but not the least bit surprised.
“That’s no fun,” you mumble.
“Then you want to stay mean?”
“Mean?” you gasp, “I’m not mean!”
“Hm, you are,” he teases, watching the way your ears turn bright red. “Mean girl.”
It’s the only way he knows how to placate you right now. It’s almost amusing when you look genuinely aghast that he’d suggest you were anything but an apparent angel. He knows not to provoke you, and he finds that he … likes this. Likes the way that you’re soft, almost carefree in the way you were talking to him when sober you would never allow yourself to be the way you were.
“Yooooongi,” you whine, and Yoongi’s never found whining attractive—but there was something about the way that your words slur together, and your soft breath, that made him think that it wasn’t too bad.
“Come,” he encourages gently, pushing himself to stand up as he wraps a tender hand around your bicep. “Drink this and I’ll help you remove your makeup then we can talk, how about that?”
Somehow, that does the trick. You quickly snatch the bottle from him and clumsily uncap it before gulping down gallons of water. Then, you’re immediately on your feet with a beam on your face as you follow him towards his bedroom, then the bathroom, a skip in your step. He almost laughs, even if he feels exhausted. He trails closely behind, grabbing the makeup wipes he’s grabbed from his room on the way to his bathroom.
When he enters, you’re already perched on his sink, legs together with your hands clasped on your lap. You look stupidly polite and Yoongi can’t fight the fond smile that appears on his face.
“Remove my makeup,” you demand, levelling him with a glare that he thinks that you think looks intimidating. It only makes Yoongi hide a laugh.
“Yes, your majesty,” he rolls his eyes, already pulling one out.
Yoongi goes to stand in front of you, your legs parting on instinct to allow him in between the space so he was able to access your face. It’d scarily domestic, the way that Yoongi carefully brushes your hair out of your face and gently swipes the makeup wipe across your skin to remove the makeup adorning your features.
His eyes stay trained on the wipe, practically forcing himself to look anywhere but your eyes that intently follow his every move.
“You have really nice skin,” you blurt.
“So do you,” Yoongi returns, throwing the first makeup wipe away before he’s reaching for another.
He nearly chuckles when he realises that you look even more like a racoon. Somehow, you still look beautiful.
“Nooooo,” you insist, suddenly leaning forward as Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Your skin is so soft. What’s your skincare routine?”
Your hands are squeezing his cheeks, forcing his face to look at you as you inspect his skin like it was your duty. It was comical, really. How loose-lipped and carefree you were. The fire in you was definitely still there, just a little lighter and with a lot more sparks that crackled.
“Drugstore cleanser and moisturiser,” he replies.
You gasp, brows scrunched as you huff, squeezing his cheeks one more time. His lips are stuck in a pout, and his words are muffled but you seem to understand them anyway.
“No fair,” you sniff, “I spend a shit ton on money on skincare just so I can look pretty.”
Yoongi tilts his head to the side when your grip loosens ever so slightly. And before he knows it, the words come tumbling out of his mouth as if he was the drunk one.
“You’re pretty regardless.”
For someone that Yoongi knows is comfortable and proud in her own skin, you flush at his blatant compliment. Even if Yoongi’s intention wasn’t to fluster you, he did exactly that and he can’t lie—but he enjoys your reaction far more than he’d expected.
“Don’t just—don’t say that,” you mumble shyly.
He smirks.
“Flustered?” he teases, quickly taking your moment of vulnerability to swipe the makeup wipe across your face once more.
“N-No!” you deny petulantly, pouting at him as he uses his other hand to hold your face still.
His palm easily covers your cheeks, thumb softly pressing an indent on your skin as he focuses on removing the makeup around your eyes. He didn’t want you getting an eye infection because of his carelessness.
Silence overtakes Yoongi and you, but it’s comfortable. There was no pressure to speak or to fill the void. Your legs swing by Yoongi’s hips as you hum a random tune, eyes filtering everywhere as Yoongi finishes removing all your makeup.
Yoongi doesn’t quite know how to navigate the conversation even if he was hyperaware of your previous curiousities.
“You’re thinking so loudly,” you frown, arms suddenly wrapped around his neck when he mechanically finishes removing your wakeup and throws the last bit of makeup wipes into the bin.
“You a mind-reader?” he snorts, and he notes that you’re pleased when he doesn’t pull your arms away.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
“How did you get here?”
You purse your lips.
“Jungkook.”
“You guys went out for drinks?” he asks with a raised brow.
You nod your head, then his jaw tightens.
“And he dropped you off here? Drunk?”
“Jungkook didn’t drink,” you mumble, “He just—I asked him to drop me off here.”
“And he let you up here in this state?” He’s growing more agitated by the second, wondering how the hell Jungkook thought it was a good idea even with your insistence to leave you here, alone, wasted.
“He said he told you,” you say quietly.
Briefly, his eyes quickly make their way onto the screen of his phone after he fishes it out from his pocket.
From: Jeon Jungkook
___ is drunk
i dropped her off at your place
and before you get mad at me, I think u need to talk to her, hyung. none of this back and forth bs. She deserves the truth
Then, a message that came a little later, split from the rest.
u know why she’s drunk. all i could do was try to support her.
Yoongi sighs, shaking his head before he taps you twice on your thigh, gesturing for you to get down from the sink.
“You should drink some more water,” he says instead.
You don’t budge, and Yoongi isn’t the least bit surprised. He’s dealt with more difficult moments with you.
“Yoongi.”
The fact that you call him by his name makes him freeze, especially when you level him with a far more serious stare—and your sobered face resting on his.
“Why does it sound like you’re about to interrogate me?” he attempts to joke.
“Why did Haerin tell me you loved me?”
Your question nearly causes him to choke on his saliva. He can’t run, or turn around, or deflect because your grip around his neck is tough. As if you’d expected him to flee the moment you caught him in a vulnerable spot.
“You should drink some water and change,” he avoids your question entirely, “Are you still drunk?”
You nibble on your lip, “Does that matter?”
“Yes, because I want to have this conversation with you knowing that you’ll remember what I say,” he says softly, holding your chin in-between his fingers when you frown.
“So you didn’t have this conversation with me when I was sober around you all those other times?” you snap.
“____…” he says hesitantly, hands inching to wrap around your waist but he remains rooted in positive like a stick in the mud.
“Why—why did Haerin say you love me?” you say straightforwardly, and somehow—it isn’t the admission that stuns Yoongi, but it’s the way your eyes avoid his as if you were unsure. “I just … am I not—why don’t you …”
Yoongi’s face softens when you stumble over your words, clearly nervous.
He’s never seen you like this before. He’s seen you angry, annoyed, happy and cheeky. Not unsure. Not ever when you looked like you were doubting yourself because of him.
Somehow, the fact that he knows it’s because of him—makes him feel like shit.
“Hey,” Yoongi calls softly earning your hesitant gaze, “It’s just me.”
You nod your head as if you were reminding yourself that it was in fact—just Yoongi. Not a stranger, but Yoongi. The same Yoongi that you’re holding, and taught you how to drive.
“Why did you choose Haerin?”
Yoongi blinks.
You’re serious, he realises. Your face is tight but it’s trained on his, gauging his reaction. Yoongi’s still blank-faced, even though he’s attempting to gear his brain for a response. An honest one because you deserved nothing less than that, and more than what Yoongi could offer.
“It was safer,” he says truthfully. There wasn’t a hint of a lie in his eyes, or in his words. You seem to realise this, too. “And Haerin was…she came to me with the idea and—it seemed safe.”
He knows it’s a shitty explanation and so do you. You continue to frown at him, eyebrows furrowed when you attempt to absorb his words. He’s half expecting you to come to your senses and realise how pathetic his reasoning was; push him away and leave. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath.
“Why…” you trail off, fingers absent-mindedly trailing up and down on the nape of his neck. He shivers. “Why don’t you want me?”
“You know it’s more complicated than just wanting you, ____,” he says softly.
“So I wasn’t enough for you?” you accuse, jaw slackened when your grip suddenly loosens, realisation marring your features.
“____,” he soughs, “I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re drunk.”
“I’m drunk but I know what I’m saying! Stop treating me like I don’t know what the hell I’m saying!” you hiss.
“Trust me, I know you know what you’re saying but it’s late and this isn’t something I want to talk about in my bathroom,” he says, “Please.”
Before you can pull away, Yoongi’s hand wraps around your wrist to keep your hold there.
“I promise you. We’ll talk about this when you’re fully sober and not drunk,” he reasons once again, slightly more desperate when you scowl. “There are things that I want to tell you that deserve a better setting than this.”
Knowing that you were aware of his feelings didn’t … scare him. What scared him was that you thought he didn’t want you. But at the same time, he couldn’t blame you for feeling that way. Not when all he did never implied otherwise.
What scared him was how things could change.
“How about you tell me why you’re drunk?” He attempts once more, gently, tender; kind. Yoongi wanted you to know that he wasn’t here to fight. “I don’t like seeing you like this, ____.”
“Cause I’m so fucking confused, Yoongi,” you mumble, forehead dropping to his shoulder as he almost flinches at the sudden contact. “You say you don’t like me doing this and that but haven’t you—haven’t you considered that it’s because of you? Huh? Or is it just me? Because I’m so—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he says firmly as you glower. “I don’t like seeing you like this because you could get yourself into danger. What if I hadn’t come home on time? I know I haven’t been the best friend I should have been but I don’t want you doing this to yourself because of me.”
“You don’t control me,” you sneer through a mumble, “Y-You don’t, Min Yoongi. You just—you’re so confusing and it sucks and it hurts and I want answers but you’re not giving them to me because you’re mean. You’re mean and dumb and stupid,” you cry, shoulders shaking as he waveringly rests a hand on your back in an attempt to soothe you.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises, but he knows it’s no use when you sigh.
“Are you,” you say dryly, head still tucked into his neck. He notes you were allowing yourself to remain close, but for some reason, it still unsettles Yoongi. As if you were preparing to pull away anytime soon. “You…why would you do this to someone you love?”
It’s when your voice breaks that his entire heart shatters. He hears it loud and clear. Almost as if you grabbed it with your own hand and crushed it into smithereens. When he feels the dampness on his shoulder, he’s pulling you away in alarm to get a glimpse of your face.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, thumb already wiping your tears away.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” you sneer through a sniff, blinking away your tears as you attempt to duck your head away from him. “D-Do you think I want to? Huh? You do all these things for me and then—then you choose everyone but me and…and I-I just wanna know why I wasn’t good enough—”
“Don’t say that,” he interrupts you with a frown, cupping your face in his hands.
“Why? Because it’s true?” you seethe vehemently.
“No,” he snaps, “It’s not. That couldn’t be more false. I told you, I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re clearly not sober. You can sleep here for the night and we can talk tomorrow morning.”
Somehow, that doesn’t do anything to appease you or to stop you from crying. He hates that you are because of him. He hates that the devastation is clear on your face when your expression crumbles.
You push him away with enough force that his hands drop from your cheeks.
“Why do you always push me away? Why do you always keep me at arm's length? Why do you say and do all of these things but not choose me when I was always here! Why? Why?” you cry, slamming your hands into his chest as he takes the brute force of your hits.
Yoongi purses his lips as he hears your cries grow louder. He doesn’t know what to say; at least not something that could explain why he did what he did in a way that was enough for now.
“Please, ____, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he whispers once more, attempting to reach out to you again.
When you dodge his hand, he feels an arrow pierce through his heart.
“You don’t love me,” you whisper quietly, eyes dropping to your lap from where you’re sat on the counter of his bathroom. “How could you?”
Yoongi flinches, then he takes a long hard blink with his eyes trained on your figure. He’s almost appalled at how sure you sounded. As if this was your truth; the one that you’ve deluded yourself into believing when Yoongi’s only ever known to love you with every fibre of his being, albeit in silence.
“Don’t you dare say that,” he says so levelly that it even scares him. “You don’t know—"
“That’s right! I don’t! I don’t know anything because you never tell me anything and the one time I’m asking you a question you’re trying to deflect by telling me that we’ll talk tomorrow. But you had time, Yoongi. You had years and months and days and hours and you didn’t say anything! How—how can I know if you never tell me anything or do anything to indicate that you love me? You don’t love me! You don’t you don’t you—”
Yoongi tried his best to remain collected, receiving your shouts with a brave face—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to you telling him that he didn’t love you when his heart says otherwise; the way that it grows larger in size whenever you were around; the way he finds himself thinking about you at random intervals in the way; the way that you’ve woven yourself into every aspect of his life without him even realising.
He was a patient man, but he had his limits too.
So maybe that’s why he loses it, just for a second. Maybe that’s why he does the one thing he tried his best to avoid, for now, at a time that he knows isn’t right.
Your voice is cut off when his lips slam against yours. It’s desperate. He hears a gasp and it could be either of you. He cups your cheeks in his hands before pressing closer, forcing himself to paint the truth onto each crease of your lips so you’d know. To tell you things in the words that he never said.
You taste like alcohol, but beyond that, you smell like home. Comforting. Present. You. A type of softness he’s only ever had from afar, comfortable enough to be next to you without being with you.
Then, you pull away.
You’re gaping, and Yoongi feels his heart drop.
“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to hop off the counter as he stops you again.
“Fuck,” he curses, eyes fluttering shut, “I—I didn’t mean to kiss—”
“You didn’t mean to? Did you not mean to choose Haerin either? Did you not mean to hurt me? Did you not mean to love me?” you snap.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he frowns, “I said we’ll talk tomorrow. I didn’t mean to kiss you now. Not when you’re drunk. Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen like this.”
“Then make it clear! Make me understand!”
“Stop being stubborn and listen to me,” he snaps, finger reaching under your chin so you’d be forced to glare at him straight on.
“Fuck you,” you say hoarsely.
“Curse at me all you want but I won’t talk about this until I know you’re sober and the both of us aren’t exhausted,” he whispers, “This isn’t something I take lightly, ____. I want you to get that.”
“Let me go,” you hiss.
“No,” he blinks. “You can be pissed at me all you want but I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight. You’re drunk. Be pissed at me in my home for all I care but I’m not letting you go. Never.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you spit, and he sighs. His head is light, and he can still feel the slope of your lips on his own. But that wasn’t the point. There was a time and place for everything, and now he needed to ground the both of you.
“I am,” he admits, “But please. Sleep here tonight. I won’t bother you anymore.”
You blink at him multiple times before you’re shoving him aside. This time, he lets you. You’re still wobbly on your feet, and his hands naturally dart out to balance you but you shift away from him.
“Don’t bother me ever again.”
The implication stings and Yoongi can only stare at your back when you reach the door.
Now that hurt.
“You don’t hurt the person you love, Yoongi.”
When you walk away, you leave Yoongi breathless with the potency of your words.
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. YOONGI'S POV!!!!, angst, internal conflict, emotional cheating (?), kind of soft if u think about it but it's still sad D:, a confession (SORT OF NOT REALLY), hobi being the best tho
WORDS. 5.6k
NOTE. well....it's finally here! yoongi's pov! this is the real slow burn bc .... we'll only get to see yoongi and oc's interaction after ch10 in ch12 so........🤣anticipate it well, loves! and my apologies for the late update 😓
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There’s a weight in his stomach that Yoongi’s only felt a grand total of two times in his life prior to this moment.
One, was when he had dislocated his shoulder after a pay-per-work job. Along with the dread that consumed his entire being, the shadow of the skid marks that have disappeared from his skin but remained clear in his memory—was a socket left empty where it should be whole. The emptiness consumed him, almost as if his arm was all that he was. Surely, being a med student at that time meant that his arm was all that he was or all that he could be.
Two, another monumental day that he’d often look back and laugh at. The second after he took his boards, the anxiety in the pit of one’s stomach that indicated how hard he’d flunked. Back to interning? Delaying his residency? Growing older before he propelled forward? The thoughts of the future defied Yoongi’s sense of calm, and he’d never forget the way his stomach churned when he looked back at each question, wondering how he could’ve not known.
Well, Yoongi passed. He laughs now. But the weight was heavier than what his body could handle, and his body remembers.
Yoongi never thought he’d feel this way again; believed that he was above the unsettling anxiety of the unknown, of the debilitating fear that leaks into every corner of his mind while he attempts to ground himself back to reality.
But he believes that this is worse.
“Where the fuck is she?” Yoongi hisses, already starting the ignition of his car as Hoseok’s voice hurriedly attempts to diffuse the situation, as if Yoongi wasn’t a second away from telling the man to shut the fuck up.
He’s sent numerous texts and called you more than he’s counted before he hastily picked up the phone once more to dial Hoseok, impatient when the other man took a second too long to send him your location.
“At the bar downtown, the one where her dad used to—” Hoseok doesn’t need to finish his sentence before Yoongi feels the weight grow heavier, almost rooting him in position as he aggressively turns on the speaker to his voice before tossing it onto the passenger seat.
“You’re telling me she went there. Alone. And you fucking let her?” Yoongi sneers so lowly that he has half the mind to stop the car and yell obscenities at the receiver.
But he doesn’t.
Because you were somewhere, drunk, and alone. And Yoongi’s never felt this way before.
This terrified.
“I didn’t know! She literally just texted me to ask if I could get her but I’m out of town and you’re the only person I could think of—”
“Fuck,” Yoongi swears, already speeding out of the carpark of his apartment as he digs his foot into the accelerator even harder, the entire car rumbling along with the engine as it takes his faster and faster to where he’s set on going.
“Don’t be mad at her,” Hoseok says over the phone and Yoongi is seriously this close to telling him to shut the fuck up.
“Don’t—? What she’s doing is fucking reckless!” Yoongi practically yells, chest heaving in anger. But he knows that his rage is rooted in fear, and that’s the only thing that plagues his mind when he cuts lanes like nobody’s business.
“She’s … she’s going through a hard time,” Hoseok says quietly, sounding almost unsure.
“And that means I can’t be worried? Hoseok, you try being in my position and get told that the person you—”
Yoongi stops himself before he says anything that his impulsive mind tells him to. But the silence is loud and it tells him more than he needs to. Tells Hoseok what the word unsaid was, and Yoongi knows that he knows.
The person you love.
Because it’s always been true.
“I’m not saying that, hyung.” Yoongi can hear the frown from the other end; almost pictures the way Hoseok’s heart-shaped lips stretch to an unfamiliar territory as Yoongi’s words give both men something to think about. “All I’m saying is that don’t be too hard on her. She’s probably terrified.”
Yoongi scoffs, the sound barely being picked up by the phone.
“Like I’m not scared shitless at the fact that I don’t know how the fuck she’s doing right now,” he snaps, irritated.
He wonders if Hoseok worries as much as he does. Maybe he did; after all, he did call Yoongi. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that you called Hoseok instead of him. When did that change? When did you start seeing Hoseok as someone you could rely on instead of himself?
“I know,” Hoseok says and Yoongi wants to ask him—really? Did he know? Did he know how his heart dropped when the words first left his lips? Yoongi doubts it. “But—just don’t fight her. She just … she just needs support right now.”
“And she calls you,” he says dryly, “Calls you when I’m right fucking here,” he continues to mutter.
Another beat of silence and Yoongi clenches his jaw when he realises that he was running his mouth.
“You did seem mad the last time you two talked,” Hoseok says after a while.
Yoongi’s jaw hardens even further, remembering every emotion that went through his mind when he recalls that exact moment that Hoseok was referring to.
Not just that moment, the one when he saw Hoseok attached to your side during that brunch with your parents while he laughed and mingled around with them like he belonged.
Like he belonged with you.
But the moment at the gala, too. When his heart searched for a home in a place so foreign, unknowingly bringing him to a place where the answer lays—with another man.
He remembers so vividly, the way he unintentionally memorised the slope of your swollen lips, blotchy cheeks, the slight staccato of your panting breath—everything that was so forbidden to him, and Hoseok was deserving of. He hated it. Hated that when he closed the door with gritted teeth and a pounding heart that he couldn’t un-hear the way your voice gets a little lighter when you’re with Hoseok; the way it loses the natural edge it had whenever you were with him.
Or, the way that he felt sick that he couldn’t walk away after one door closes. Just like every time he’s tried to, he’s failed. Because he couldn’t just walk away from a place he’s called home to seek an adventure elsewhere when there were so many things left unsaid; so many things that were felt all too intensely.
Yoongi remembers, and he hates that Hoseok’s reminding him of it.
“Fuck you, man,” Yoongi says belatedly, hands tightening around the steering wheel when he somehow returns back to the reality on the road.
“You know, you could just be honest with her,” Hoseok offers, voice knowing and as if he weren’t a city away, or as if he had all the time in the world to be discussing whatever the fuck they were discussing over the phone. And as if, Yoongi hadn’t just cursed him out.
“How about you do that first and not string her along?” Yoongi snaps.
Silence.
A sigh.
“Hyung. It’s not like that,” he says slowly.
“Then tell me what the fuck is it then? You fuck every girl you see at her dad’s gala? Go out to brunch dates with her parents? Fuck, Hoseok. I’m not stupid. Don’t fucking toy with her like this if you aren’t—”
“I’m telling you to be honest with your feelings.”
Yoongi just about pulls up to the bar, and it’s a packed night. He’s speechless, baffled at the way that Hoseok returns his rage with nothing but calamity and balance. It’s almost laughable; that the only time he’ll ever lose his cool—is when you were concerned.
“Me—? Excuse me?”
“You asked me to try imagine being in your position when you get told that the person you love could be in potential danger, right?” Hoseok continues, posing the same question left unfinished back to Yoongi as he splutters for a response.
“What—?”
“The thing is, I tried, hyung,” Hoseok chuckles softly, “I tried to and I can’t. Because I don’t love her the way you do. Because no matter how much you want to try to convince yourself that she and I are together so you can avoid acknowledging your own feelings for her, you’re still at that bar at nearly 3 am in the morning because you’re worried sick. You do that when you’re in love.”
Yoongi wants to hang up. Wants to grab the phone from the passenger seat and curse some more at Hoseok. Not because he hated him. He and Hoseok were good friends, but his mind was muddled and nothing made sense right now. He was still terrified because you were somewhere in that bar, yet Hoseok had laid out the truth to him that he was all too afraid of admitting.
Even if it had always been true.
“Hoseok,” Yoongi says calmly, instead of the curses he planned. He picks up the phone and brings it to his ear, letting the hum that Hoseok lets out to settle before he takes a deep breath of his own.
“Fuck you for sleeping with her,” he whispers.
“Never again,” Hoseok replies, and Yoongi can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face before he hangs up.
Yoongi hasn’t been here in a long time. And the last time he had, he remembered the vile aftertaste it left in his mouth when he was forced to watch the way some of the directors of the hospital ogle the women here like they were commodities and not human. Yoongi was a principled man, he detested men with no morale—but he was selfish, and he was human. His throat would clam up before he could call them out, divert their attention to how disgusting they were being—but he remembers their power, their ability to take his livelihood away from him in the form of his job.
But Yoongi’s tired of being silent, in fact, it’s not so much that he’s tired right now; it’s because he’s fucking livid. And a hair breadth away from bashing someone’s face onto the bar top.
He hates that he recognises the face of the man immediately. Oh Sungyeon. Frankly, he wished he hadn’t because he would’ve had way fewer reservations of beating him to a pulp for what he was forced to witness.
And that’s the second thing he hates: the fact that you were wincing, in pain, because of that man.
Hoseok would bail him out, right?
“Leave me alone!”
Your voice is enough to ground him, to tell himself to be realistic. He couldn’t end up in jail. He wouldn’t be able to give Sungyeon hell for what he was doing to you. His grimy, sick, vile hands wrapped around your hair while you struggled in his grasp.
Yoongi’s nails are digging almost painfully into his palm.
Sungyeon says something but Yoongi can’t hear with how fucking angry he is. At him. At you. At Hoseok. At this situation. At himself.
“Get your hands off her now.”
Yoongi sounds all too composed for a man that’s picturing several different ways to end Sungyeon’s life, in graphic detail, especially when your body locks and Sungyeon’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“And who are you, pretty boy?”
It’s no good, that his hands are still wrapped around your hair.
Only when Yoongi talks a threatening step forward does his fingers loosen. And when it does, you immediately stumble into Yoongi’s arms, his hands immediately finding their way around your waist to steady you—to keep you close.
Finally, he thinks, you’re safe with me.
Then he remembers, you weren’t with him. Not like that. Not like how he so desperately wants.
Yoongi says something else, voice menacingly low and he feels you tense in his grasp—but that only makes his grip tighten around you. Yoongi can’t picture himself letting go, not now, when the fear still consumes him and anger drives the venomous glare he was levelling Sungyeon with.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Sungyeon fumes like the piece of shit he was, and Yoongi can only think of how he was going to ruin this man’s life.
“You laid a hand on her. You pay,” Yoongi threatens lowly.
He feels your body shift into him when Sungyeon makes even the slightest of movements and he hates it. He hates how scared you look despite the brave facade you attempt to put on. He knows it’s all an act because your eyes didn’t glimmer in the way you did when you were challenging everyone around you in the way that he’s grown to adore. Or how the sharp tip of your tongue was now left blunt when you attempt to open your mouth to say something to only snap it shut when your eyes drift downwards.
He hates it even more that Sungyeon did this to you—took all the little things that made up everything he’s ever loved about you—and crushed it with just his presence.
Yoongi is running on pure rage at this point. He echoes the scums name as if it burned his tongue, the man shocked that Yoongi was able to identify him; called him out for being a piece of shit and unfaithful to his wife—and the fact that his father was nothing like the sorry excuse of a human that stood before him.
“If I ever see you lay a hand on her or any woman ever again—” Yoongi pushes you behind him, making sure to never let go of your waist even as you stand behind his back—as he lowers his voice when speaking to Sungyeon. “I’ll get you fired.”
Yoongi laid everything out, made it clear that if Sungyeon ever dared to ever so look at you, that he’d pay. Hell.
“You think I give a shit bout’ if I have my job or not, asshole? One call and I’m back in, baby.”
He hears your breath hitch and the way your fingers clutch against his shirt even tighter. That’s enough to make Yoongi take a threatening step forward.
“You better thank your graces out there that I’m only threatening your job, Sungyeon.” And not your life. You better be grateful that I’m not bashing your head into the ground for touching her.
“What power do you have?” he scoffs, all too lighthearted for someone who’s on thin ice with a man who’s only out to make his life hell.
“The power of a very pissed off man,” Yoongi says lowly, tone a warning.
Yoongi betrays himself and you for a split second, the image of your petrified eyes behind his eyelids when he lets go of your waist to step even closer to Sungyeon. His fist raises, and he thinks it’d be so easy to just swing—and feel that sick satisfaction of his busted lip, or nose, or anything—
But he doesn’t.
Because you’re still scared.
And you’d never want him to do this.
So, he rests his hand on Sungyeon’s shoulder with a sense of vigorousness that startles the other man. Yoongi’s jaw is clenched, and he takes a deep breath to level his thoughts out before he did anything that would take away from what he was here to do—to keep you safe.
“Leave before I lose it,” Yoongi says when he leans into Sungyeon’s ear, squeezing his shoulder extra roughly before shoving the man away from him with enough force to have him stumbling ever so slightly.
Only then does he feel your shaky hand on his elbow.
He almost holds it, as if on instinct. Almost turns around and wraps his arms around you as he whispers into your hair how fucking glad you’re safe. Almost kisses you on the lips because that’s all he’s ever wanted to do.
But he doesn’t, because he can’t.
And he’s angry. Not because of anything but this entire fucking situation. And how much he wants to be there for you without all this ambiguity. All this fear. All these thoughts but no action.
“Yoongi …”
Your voice. He wants to tell you that it’s okay. That he’s thankful you’re here, well enough to talk. But he thinks it’s a shitty situation, so instead, he says:
“Don’t fucking talk to me right now.”
Because I might just say something I’ll regret.
His back is turned towards you and that’s all Yoongi can offer for now. It’s a paradox between his innate desire to reach out to you, to tell you that he doesn’t quite know what he’d do if anything happened to you—and the safety net he’s created for himself as he takes a step further away from you.
Yoongi hates that he can feel the way you shrink into yourself, small. Terrified. Nothing like the louder than life character you were and Yoongi’s grown to learn about more and more every single day.
“I’m—”
Your voice is enough to have his eyes flutter shut because it’s only a reminder of how distant the two of you really were even if you were right behind him.
“I said don’t.”
Yoongi turns, and he tries his best to keep his eyes trained straight ahead. But it’s no use, not when your eyes remain trained to the ground as he spots the way you nibble on your lips out of nervousness.
It’s only when he allows himself to really look at you is when he stiffens further.
You were gorgeous. And he felt sick that he still felt this way despite how the night unfolded. Even when you were unsure, when you were happy, when you were angry; when you were irritated; when you were cackling until your lungs gave out—Yoongi’s always found you captivating. A force to be reckoned with, a force that pulls him in.
But he understands the context of your outfit. It’s risqué. Yoongi feels his fists clench then unclench, his mind blanking then going at a hundred miles per minute.
He didn’t have the right to feel this way. You weren’t his. Neither were you an object. You were a human, a woman, an empty canvas painted with all the colours of your life. A beautiful opus of all his deepest desires that was so out of reach but right in front of him. He couldn’t feel this way.
“Or I’ll say something I regret.”
His voice betrays him before he can think twice, and before you can react, or even look up—Yoongi knows—he grabs your wrist, fingers unconsciously tightening when people stare at your bodies while you exit.
The natural warmth of your body radiates from your skin and against his back where you’re pressed relatively tight against. Yoongi isn’t giving you a chance to slip away; he won’t let that happen. Not when he’s seen what he never wanted to—felt a way that he never wants to relive.
His feet are quick, and before he knows it, the two of you were at his car.
“Yoongi, my phone—“
Not unswearing, Yoongi opens the door for you with a clenched jaw and guides you inside. He still can’t look at you because it hurts. It hurts that you’re here, with him—and you weren’t really with him. The realisation returns all at once and he hates it. Hates that you’re rendered silent when he basks in your jibes and retorts even if he’d roll his eyes at them.
He drops your phone onto your lap without another word.
Yoongi climbs into the driver seat like he was programmed to, mutely revving up the engine while you mimic his actions, only by peering down at your phone. He wonders if you’ve seen his texts, and if you did—did you know how terrified he was? Did you know that despite his anger, all he wants to do is hold you?
Did you?
Noticing the way you were shifting uncomfortably, and the way your dress hikes up your thighs, he wordlessly drops a blanket onto your lap in the terse silence. There’s no radio to act as a buffer and he doesn’t make an effort to create one.
Yoongi drives the two of you in silence, but his thoughts run wild.
“Yoongi …”
Yoongi didn’t want to lose his temper. Frankly, it wasn’t so much his temper but the fact that he didn’t know how to navigate this feeling. An uncomfortable sense of inadequacy when his mind managed to relax after a while as he wonders. Why were you there? Why were you drinking? Why were you alone? What happened that prompted you to do something as reckless as that?
It was also the fact that you looked like a kicked puppy, eyes wide in guilt as if you did something wrong. Yoongi knew that the way he was acting implied that you did, but he didn’t know how to verbalise his worry—or manoeuvre the fact that you couldn’t even bear to look at him.
“Drink and eat up,” he repeats calmly, palm digging into his thigh when you shift in your place, the farthest one from where he sits.
“Yoongi, you’re clearly pissed. I’ll just catch a cab home or something—”
He was pissed.
You were right.
But oh, how foolish you were to think that he was pissed at you rather than this situation.
“Are you serious?” Yoongi snaps, feeling all the strings unravel within him when he feels his chest heave. “You think I’m going to let you take a cab at 3 a.m. in the morning when you’re in the state you are?”
And risk that fear of something happening to you? Never.
“I-I just …”
“You think because I’m pissed I’d let you put yourself in danger?” He’s running his mouth but he can’t stop. Even if something comes out of it that he may regret. “You went to a bar where rich men literally go to take advantage of unsuspecting women like you.”
Stop, Yoongi.
“And you do what is possibly the most reckless shit you can do there. You drink—no—you get drunk—without an actual ride back? Alone? What were you thinking?”
Why were you blaming her? Why aren’t you being honest with her? Why can’t you just tell her?
“I know,” you mumble so softly that Yoongi barely catches it. He feels his heart clench when he catches a glimpse of your glassy eyes. “I know, okay? You don’t need to yell at me.”
Yoongi almosts holds you. Almost reaches out for the umpteenth time to tell you that all he wanted was you being safe. That he wanted to hold you until the morning came and until you forget Sungyeon’s face and name.
Instead, he replaces his desires with a safer option.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
You visibly pause.
He calls your name, strict, to mask the ache he’s been trying to ignore the entire night. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Yoongi sees you hesitate, already ready to reach out for real this time—until your lips part.
“I … we—” you stumble over your words while he frowns. “…I thought you were mad at me. About Hoseok.”
What?
Yoongi takes a second to process it, and then the feeling of irrationality returns.
“So I had to find out that you were at a dangerous place getting wasted from Hoseok?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you—”
Yoongi stiffens.
You thought you were a disturbance … to him?
Yoongi almost scoffs, as if he wouldn’t put himself through hell to make sure you were okay.
“Didn’t you consider that it would’ve disturbed me a hell of a lot more if something happened to you and I couldn’t do anything?”
You don’t respond and Yoongi takes a deep breath to collect himself, a million thoughts racing in his mind as he attempts to ground himself.
This isn’t about you, he reminds himself.
“And you decided to take a chance with Hoseok? What if something happened? What if Hoseok didn’t have the sense to call me? What if I didn’t get here on time? What would’ve fucking happened?”
Yoongi knew that there was virtually no point in his questions. They were redundant because you were here, safe, with him. But the irrational part of him still wonders: what if? Not just about tonight, but what if he wasn’t so afraid? What if he had been honest all this while? Could this situation have been prevented? Would it change anything? Would he be able to hold you right now like he wanted to instead of throwing words at you as if they’d change anything?
Would it?
Before he knows it, his hand is reaching out to grab your wrist on instinct. He needed to hold you, however way possible.
“Look at me.”
I want you to be okay.
He calls your name when you don’t.
“I’m sorry,” you respond instead.
Yoongi feels his heart drop once more, and he can never get used to this feeling. He wasn’t unfeeling per se, but he had impeccable self-control. Yoongi was rational, everyone knew that. But there was something about you that made him irrational; that brought out the ugly human in him that he tried to suppress to fulfil this perception that people had of him.
Only you’d evoke this feeling from him.
“I don’t care if you think I’m pissed at you or if you’re pissed at me. You call me if you need me. I’ll get you.” And he would, anywhere, always. If it was you—he’d be there.
You apologise, again. But he barely catches it when his mind runs faster than his mouth.
“No matter how angry I am at you I’d never leave you in danger, you get that? I’d be angrier with myself if anything happened to you.” Yoongi can’t help but squeeze harder around your wrist, shifts a little closer just so he could take an invincible leap of faith that he wished he had the bravery to fully execute.
Immediately, he sees the tears well up in your eyes and he’s already acting before he can think twice.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs softly, hand reaching around your chin so you’d look at him. You’re already fighting against him, and it only makes him want to hold you, even more, to tell you that you didn’t have to fight. That no matter how much you tried to pretend that you were okay, or push him away—he’d be there, waiting until you were ready. “Shh, it’s okay.
Yoongi can tell you were trying to hold back your tears, but he doesn’t comment on it. You try to pull away when he finally gives in; he holds you tight like he’s always wanted to. It could be disguised as a concern but he knew it was more than that. Yoongi hates that it’s a shitty situation but he was human, and he only had so much self-control left when it came to you.
Yoongi knows that this—how it feels so right to have you against him despite the context—was wrong. You weren’t his. You weren’t his to hold. There was a boundary that he recognised and he was overstepping it. He was with someone. Haerin.
Even if she and him both knew where he’d rather be.
Here.
“Stop apologising,” he says firmly when you continue to mumble apologies through your tears. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
With me, is what he wanted to say but he keeps his mouth shut.
When you blubber incoherencies, Yoongi holds you tighter on instinct. You don’t fight him, and your tears stain his t-shirt. It’s damp and hot, but he can’t be bothered by how it feels when he presses you tighter against his chest, fearful that you’d disappear. His own eyes flutter shut for a split second, and even then, when he loses you for that moment—he realises how much he couldn’t live in a world where you weren’t there.
“Thank you.” He hears you say quietly. “For—for…”
“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing over your hair. He wonders if it’s as comforting for you as it is for him.
“My scalp hurts.”
He feels the anger boil again and he’s rethinking a million ways to detach all his limbs from Sungyeon’s body and making sure that he never lives a good life after he crosses the path with Yoongi’s wrath.
“M’ gonna fucking kill him,” he snaps mindlessly.
“You scared him off,” you say softly.
Yoongi laughs, and it’s semi-genuine. Only because it seemed like you thought that was enough. As if Yoongi’s job stopped there just because he managed to scare Sungyeon away. He almost wants to laugh harder; you didn’t know half the things he’d do for you.
“You think that’s enough? He deserves more than me just scaring the shit out of him for laying his grabby hands on you.”
“Don’t do that,” you scold softly, but it’s weak.
“He hurt you,” he returns firmly.
“Yeah, b-but—”
Maybe Yoongi was the drunk one. Maybe he didn’t have that much self-control as he thought. Maybe he had enough. Maybe this was it.
“I’m not going to let anyone get away with hurting you.”
It’s the truth, but it’s not all there is to it. Yoongi knows the absolute truth. The one he’s always known. From the moment you almost crashed his parents’ car when he was teaching you how to drive. From the moment you ate all his ice cream in spite of him not letting you go over a particular speed. From the moment he’s known the one truth he’ll find true for the rest of his life—Yoongi knows this.
Maybe, he’d take the chance.
Then, a beat. Silence; and your eyes drop to his lips. He wasn’t hallucinating, right? Your eyes shifted? Because he was peering into them; he thinks they’re beautiful. Just like the rest of you. Just like you’ve always been.
“Yoongi …” Your voice is breathless, and Yoongi thinks that this is when he loses it. When he decides that he’s waited long enough—even if it’s wrong. That he wasn’t in the position to do anything.
Maybe, he’d finally learn the taste of your lips.
“Hm?” Is all he says, and there’s a hair in your face that he brushes away. He feels you shrink, but not in the way that makes you look small. In the way that makes you look … flustered.
Were you?
Just do it.
His eyes drop to your lips. You’re so close.
This is all you’ve wanted.
He shifts, his hand cupping your jaw as you melt into his touch. It feels … right. Like you belong; as if every part of you was the missing piece to the space he’s always had for someone that was right there all along.
Kiss her.
Yoongi decides fuck it—
And his phone rings.
It’s a horrid reality check because he realises that as much as his impulse tells him to go for it, that he couldn’t. No, he shouldn’t. Even if that was the only thing he can ever think of when he was around you.
Yoongi jumps and you shift backwards. Suddenly the force that once pulled him to you is now reversed; the two of you avert your eyes as Yoongi scrambles for his phone. He already knows who’s calling. The person he selfishly put below his own yearning.
“Hello?”
“Yoongi, oh my God,” she lets out a sigh of relief on the other end and Yoongi immediately feels himself grow guilty. “I was trying to get a hold of you but you weren’t answering. Is she okay? Is she with you right now? How is she?”
“She’s okay,” he clips, “She’s with me.”
“What happened? Are you sure she’s okay? Can you tell her that I hope she’s okay and that I’m always here to talk. You know. As a sister,” Haerin says hesitantly, and Yoongi grows even guiltier because was he really going to be that person that wedged himself in between a sibling relationship?
“Yeah. I’ll deal with it. I’ll tell her,” he says quickly, and Haerin says her goodbyes before the call ends.
The silence is … awkward. And it only reminds Yoongi of what he had almost done; how he almost took this situation and made it about him when it was about you.
“Haerin says she hopes you’re okay, and if you need to talk then you can call her,” he says, hoping that he masks his unease.
“Right,” you say tightly, a stiff smile forming on your face that Yoongi immediately sees through. “I’ll just …”
“Take my bed,” Yoongi says quickly, “The guest room’s a mess.”
He’s glad you don’t fight him, and you retreat into his room without another word as Yoongi’s left to marinate in his thoughts.
What was he doing?
You’re fast asleep, duvet tucked under your chin as your brows furrow. Yoongi almost feels like a creep, but it’s also instinctual how he immediately checks up on you when he couldn’t catch a wink of sleep, the thought of you floating in his mind.
Then, he leans down, his hand brushing the crown of your head soft enough so that it doesn’t wake you—and he brushes his lips against it.
“I—“ he swallows, still not brave enough to utter it out loud even if the night knows the truth as much as he does. He retreats his hand, and his eyes flutter shut as he takes a deep breath before he follows up with a step back.
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies2lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fuff
WARNINGS. angst, explosive fights, lots of crying, new revelations that break hearts, implications of poor mental health
WORDS. 6.4k
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
You couldn’t keep your promises, you realised as you take a brief glance at your wall clock. It’s nearly two a.m. and your eyes are strained with the number of hours you spent in front of your laptop screen. But you suppose that what Jungkook and Yoongi don’t know, won’t hurt them. You were feeling fine, a little drowsy—but more accomplished than anything as you stare at the final draft of the proposal stare back at you when you stare down.
It’s a little rougher than you’d like, but you’d take it. It was months of hard work and persevering, even dealing with overly compassionate friends who wanted you to take a break, so you were relieved that the bulk of it was done. You could think about editing it tomorrow.
You stretch your limbs, craning your neck as you wince at the loud pop it makes. Your cup is empty, and your dining table is strewn with documents and papers like you were back in university. The visual almost makes you smile, the fond memories of pulling all-nighters for assignments and essays returning to your mind.
Then you remember how much you hated what you were studying, and how philosophy was never your thing—but Haerin’s.
You shake your head, standing up and closing your laptop as you approach the kitchen.
But your relatively quiet night (morning), gets disrupted with a rapt knock on your door.
Now, you freeze.
You rarely ever had visitors, and even if you did—they came over at socially acceptable hours, not at demon time. You think the worst for a split second, prepared to grab a knife to defend yourself in case the person behind your door decides that they were too impatient to wait for your greeting and break it down instead.
But you were tired, and lest you don’t necessarily make the best decisions when you were drowsy, so you head to your door, weaponless as you decide to take the risk by piquing your curiousity and opening your door.
Your guest surprises you more than an intruder.
“Haerin?”
“Hi,” she says meekly. She’s dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, more unkempt than you’ve seen her in a long while. “Can I come in?”
You falter, eyes blinking as she nervously rocks on her heel. Only when your eyes refocus onto the figure before you, which was your sister, do you step aside to allow her entry to your apartment.
“Sure, I mean …” you gesture her in as she mumbles a soft thank you under her breath. You’re sleep-deprived and confused. “Is everything all right?”
“I had nowhere else to go,” she murmurs, plopping onto your couch as you shut the door behind you.
You weren’t sure if you were hallucinating because of sleep deprivation, but you were still extremely confused. The tone which Haerin takes is one you’ve never heard her adopt before, making you even more perplexed and worried, especially when she pointedly ignores your question for her vague responses.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone—?”
Haerin looks up, and you’re alarmed to see her red-rimmed eyes and sunken dark circles. “Did you know I was scrolling through my contacts and I realised I had no one to call? No one that I could reach out to?”
“Haerin, you’re scaring me,” you say with a frown as you take a seat next to her. Her eyes are … empty, and it terrifies you because Haerin’s always smiling. She was the bubbly sibling, the one that lifted moods with her presence. The person before you is a reflection of the person you thought you were. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
You repeat your question because she doesn’t seem to be responding to it, but Haerin’s eyes drop to her lap as she fiddles with her thumbs.
“I’m sorry. I just—I had no one else I knew that I could go to and you were—”
“Haerin,” you say curtly.
Her face darts up, and her eyes are wide. She looks so vulnerable that your heart aches for her. If anyone were to see the two of you, it’d look like she was the younger sister and not you, especially with the way she hunches herself into a shell you never thought she had.
“What happened?” you ask softly.
The tears in her eyes are what alarms you even further.
“We broke up.”
You take a second, no two; to process her words, and the way that her lip begins to wobble after the words have settled into the air. Your brain attempts to rationalise her statement, recalling the context of her words as your mouth falls open.
They broke up.
“Oh my God,” you say breathlessly, and you have no idea what to think or say. You wanted to be selfish but Haerin looked distraught, and you couldn’t be that person. Not when she was here, vulnerable and open. “Are you okay?”
You repeat your question, again, because you had no idea what to say or do.
Her reaction slightly frightens you, but you keep your composure.
“We broke up,” she repeats with a tight laugh as all you can do is stare at her. “Were we even together?”
“Haerin …” you say quietly, reaching out to grab her hand in a manner that was so uncharacteristic for the both of you that she seems to jump at the contact. But the lifelessness in her eyes only causes you to encase her smaller palms with your own. “I know it must hurt—”
“Is this what I’m feeling?” she asks, “I don’t know how I feel and I’m so—I’m so scared.”
She sounds so distant, and you can’t imagine the thoughts or feelings that run through her mind. You’re too preoccupied with the fact that Haerin is in front of you, confiding you when your dynamics were never like that.
So, you bring her into your arms, the only way you know how to for the time being. It felt awkward and slightly stiff when her chin meets your shoulder, but you pat her back softly in an attempt to comfort her in a way you know your words can’t.
“I thought …” she says shakily, “I thought it was the right choice. That we were going to work out. I mean, we were friends basically our entire teenage to adult life. And … it just—”
She pulls away, eyes wide when she looks at you as if you had answers.
“Why didn’t it work out?”
You say the first thing that comes to your mind.
“Sometimes, it’s easy to conflate platonic love and romantic love.”
Her eyes drop to her lap once more as you squeeze her shoulders.
“Did I?” she asks quietly.
“Sorry?”
Haerin looks up, and she looks visibly deflated as if she had failed herself. You wonder if this was her first failure, in life. One that didn’t necessarily constitute her intellect, but represented her emotional connections with people that weren’t theoretical studies in the philosophy books she loves.
“Did I get it confused?”
“I don’t know,” you reply honestly. Then, feeling like a horrible confidant, you continue, “I’m sorry.”
She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You don’t need to apologise. I just—I don’t know. I don’t know how to feel.”
“There isn’t a proper feeling you need to feel,” you say. “How do you feel?”
Haerin blinks, taking in the weight of your words as you return her gaze. The silence is suffocating, maybe only for you. You never did well in extended periods of silence because your thoughts ran wild. It allowed things to happen even if they didn’t, and your rationality to turn into irrationality. Silence was dangerous for people like you, while it allowed people like Haerin to bloom.
“I broke up with him.”
This makes you still.
“You must think your older sister is crazy, right?” she laughs, falling back into the couch as you stutter in your movements to take in her expression. Her eyes gaze up to the ceiling as she sighs. “I come to your apartment at midnight in tears about my breakup and I was the one that initiated it?”
You find your tongue after a while, shaking your head before you’re shifting closer. “No, I mean … I’m confused but your feelings are still valid. It takes a lot of courage to walk away.”
You mean it. You really do. You know that better than anyone else, yet you never found yourself practising that knowledge.
You were the coward for staying to hurt yourself because of familiarity.
She scoffs. “It sure doesn’t feel that way.”
“Can I …” you swallow, “Can I ask why—?”
“I’m a coward,” she tells you so vehemently that you nearly get whiplash. “I’m a coward, ____. I’m a coward because I walked into something fully knowing it wasn’t my place to arrive at.”
“Haerin, hold on,” you say with furrowed brows, “What do you mean?”
“Do you want to know why we broke up?” she asks softly.
“I-I mean only if you’re ready—”
“Imagine being with someone you’ve known for most of your life, thinking that he should’ve been the one only to realise that perfect utopia was an imagination crafted by your own delusions,” she says quietly.
Your breath hitches.
“Imagine being so scared of being alone that you jumped into a relationship with someone who’s familiar to you. Just because it seemed right.”
You can’t bring yourself to respond because Haerin sounds so—tired. Her words ring louder despite her tone being soft, and you can’t draw your eyes away from her. She looks so different like this, and you wonder if she’s ever allowed herself to be vulnerable—to be a step lower than perfection.
“You know he’d never hold my hand?” Haerin says.
You blink.
“What?”
Like thunder, your memory cracks back to the day at the fair. The words you heard leave Haerin’s mouth in a manner that was unlike her at all. Similar to the woman in front of you, she was frustrated, borderline frantic, but she was Haerin. The Haerin that always had her head up high, back straight and face preened to perfection.
“I thought it was just because the transition must’ve been awkward and all,” she chuckles humourlessly. “Going from a best friend to a lover. It’s weird, I get that.”
Your heart unconsciously clenches at what she referred to him as, but you purse your lips and tell yourself to not be selfish—that this wasn’t about you.
“But he’d never touch me,” she whispers, “He’d never look at me differently. Just the same way he always has.”
“That’s because he’s always loved you—” you begin to say, spewing the truth that you’ve told yourself to be true from the very first day you saw him in your home.
“—Does he?” she spits, as your eyes widen, “Do you stiffen up when the person you love tries to hold your hand? Tries to hug you?”
“Haerin …” you say slowly.
“No,” she snaps, and you see her slowly losing it. She laughs, nearly tugging at her hair as you flounder in an attempt to reason with her. “You don’t do that if you love someone, ____. You know what you do?”
“I …” you choke.
“You drive at godspeed to a place even if it’s ass o’clock to make sure that they’re safe,” she says, and you freeze. Your body locks up and you can’t say anything. You’re stunned to absolute silence but Haerin isn’t. “You buy them their favourite treats because you were thinking of them.”
You don’t know why, but your throat is dry, and Haerin looks—menacing. Her eyes are wide and frantic, and you unconsciously lean back into your sofa when she inches forward.
“You look at them like they’re the only thing you ever see,” she whispers harshly, and her forehead drops to your shoulder as you exhale shakily, her fingers are digging almost painfully into your bicep while you hold your breath. “You do all of that when you’re in love with someone.”
“H-Haerin, you need—”
“I tried to kiss him and he pushed me away,” she croaks, and there are tears in her eyes. You hear the shatter of her heart instead of seeing it. “Do you push the person you love away, ____?”
Unintentionally, you think.
“I-I—”
“And the worst part,” she says vehemently, “Is that I don’t even love him.”
Your chest constricts, and the atmosphere is heavy. Haerin is breathing heavily, chest heaving as you can only stare at her. Your mind is running at a hundred miles per hour, endlessly trying to make sense of her words—to understand why they felt so familiar and to understand why you were so intent on denying them to her face.
There was something about her confession that makes you breathless. Dizzy. She didn’t love him. She broke up with him. Why? It didn’t make sense. Nothing about this made sense—they were supposed to stay together. They were supposed to be endgame. He chose her. So why—?
“Yoongi and I were never meant to be together,” she says, laughing softly. “I’m not heartbroken,” she tells you. “I’m hurt.”
You have nothing to say, too stunned to silence.
“I’m hurt because I thought I needed to be with someone to fill this loneliness in my heart.” You hear her cry, loud and unobstructed when she basically falls into your arms. Haerin doesn’t keep her facade up, and the tears keep flowing like her dam was broken.
You don’t know why but tears well up in your eyes too, and you try to blink them away mostly in confusion but the first tear falls and you wonder how long has it been.
How long has it been since Haerin felt this way?
Since you’ve resented her for doing everything right when it seemed like she was falling apart right in front of your very eyes?
Haerin sobs uncontrollably, blubbers nonsense into your shirt while holding onto you like a child. She’s vulnerable and feral right now, uncaring of whether or not her sobs are louder than the clamour in your chest—or the thoughts that run through your mind. No, she’s uninhibited when she clings onto you like she never wants you to let go.
You won’t. Despite the hole in your chest that’s aching for answers, you don’t push Haerin away.
Because this is the first time she’s felt like a sister.
“I’m so lonely,” she whispers, “I thought—I thought being with Yoongi would fix me …”
“You don’t need to be fixed, Haerin,” you tell her honestly through your own shaky voice.
“Yoongi’s my best friend, ____,” she whimpers, “H-How could I do this to him? Be so selfish?”
“People make mistakes and that’s okay,” you say softly, wiping under her eyes to remove the flow of tears that escapes. “Yoongi would never hold this against you.”
“B-But I got in the way of what makes him happy,” she wails, clutching you harder.
“You didn’t—” you attempt to say, but she shakes her head frantically, eyes darting up so that you’d look at her desperate gaze. As if to tell you that you didn’t know what she was saying—what you were implying with the words that were better left unsaid.
“It’s because I see the way he loves and I wished it was me,” she croaks, “Not because I love him but because I’m selfish.”
“It’s not selfish to want to be loved,” you whisper.
“But it’s selfish to want that for me when it was never mine, to begin with,” she whimpers.
You don’t know what to say. You don’t understand the implications of Haerin’s words, and you think she’s blubbering nonsense in her hazy state. For a moment, you pity her. The weight of the world expecting her to be perfect all the time finally crumbling down her facade—and you wonder if the two of you shared more in common than you thought.
“You’re human, Haerin. You make mistakes, you may end up hurting people, and that’s okay. You can’t control the aftershocks of your actions,” you say softly. “No one’s going to hold being human against you. You’re going to do things right and you’re going to do things wrong. But never blame yourself for wanting to make yourself happy.”
“You know,” she suddenly chokes, “I really wanted to be close with you.”
Your heart seizes.
“I really wanted to be your older sister,” she confesses and you feel your eyes well up with tears. “I wanted to be someone you could confide in, to talk to whenever you were stressed. I wanted us to have sister fights and make up in twenty seconds. I always thought you were amazing. Just being who you were—I wanted to be your sister so badly.”
“Haerin …”
“But I was so caught up in the world that mom and dad threw me in that …” she sniffs, “That I prioritised myself and neglected you.”
“Haerin—”
“—I let mom and dad treat you the way they do even if I knew you didn’t deserve that,” she rambles on, unfiltered and loose-lipped. “I let them celebrate me when you were all alone.”
Your lips wobble as you tilt your head up to stop your tears.
“I had the world and you only had yourself.”
“I had Jungkook,” you say weakly through a smile. It was the truth. Things were tough—but you weren’t really alone, were you? “And Hobi. And Loli,” you tell her before cupping her cheek. “But now I have you too, right?”
Her lips wobble as her face crumbles.
“You have me,” she whispers, “And you have Yoongi, too.”
You smile sadly. “Yeah.”
“I mean it,” she exclaims, eyes wide, begging you to believe her with her body language. “You and Yoongi—you have each other.”
Do you? Have him? It seems like things were settling, and a selfish—human—part of you is relieved that Haerin and Yoongi were no longer together. Even if she claimed that they were never together in that way.
But if he chose her even for those moments, who were you in the grand scheme of things?
“I know,” you say, and it’s a ruse to convince yourself too.
“I’m serious,” she says manically, sitting up so abruptly that you fall back onto your elbows. Your eyes remain wide but your heart is beating rapidly against your chest. Her face is exasperated. Desperate. As if there were words too heavy that lay on her tongue, ready to propel forward like ripples of water. “You—he—you know? Right? You must know!”
“You should—”
“Yoongi doesn’t love me,” she whimpers, and you feel the sadness in her voice. Though it’s not quite heartbreak, it’s very close. It’s the sound of a lonely woman trying to navigate the world that thinks the best of her. A lonely woman on a path crafted by others while others watched. “He loves—“
“He loves you, Haerin,” you say quietly, squeezing her hands. “He loves you. Can’t you see?”
You don’t know who you’re trying to convince. Her, or yourself—even if your heart crumbles at the very thought of Yoongi being so in love with her.
“He doesn’t! Not in that way!” she roars, pushing you back as your eyes blow even wider. She’s practically on top of you, pinning you down with her tiny hands while you grab her forearms in alarm.
“Haerin—!”
“He doesn’t love me! He doesn’t,” she hisses, shaking her head, “He—”
“Haerin, stop,” you say shakily, “You don’t know what you’re saying—”
“I’ve been expected to know a lot of things in life, ____ and I never actually did. But this is something I know with my entire heart and soul,” she chuckles humourlessly.
When her eyes drop to your own, her grip loosening before she practically falls on you as if she lost the fight to keep her upright, metaphorically and literally.
Her mouth opens, and her next words make your ears ring.
“He doesn’t love me because he loves you.”
There’s silence. It’s raining now. A thunderstorm in the middle of the night and you almost want to laugh at how perfect the timing was. The lighting of your living room is dim, with the shadow of Haerin’s fatigue apparent on her face when her eyes blaze towards you. She’s breathing heavily, panting with exertion as if she ran a marathon.
But it’s deathly silent on your head. There’s no breathing. There’s no movement. There’s nothing to indicate that you’ve heard what she said. But when you register her words, and the magnitude of them—
You shove her off you, her body falling onto the plush surface next to the both of you.
“Don’t lie!” you shout, “Fuck you, Haerin!”
“Why would I lie to you!” she exasperates desperately, trying to grab your hand when you pull away from her, mind reeling at the remnants of her words.
“Why would he—why would you—? He—” you stammer, eyes rapidly blinking when you feel the tears win the flightless game as it runs down your face.
“Yoongi loves you,” she whispers vehemently, her swollen eyes glaring at you when she manages to pin you down again.
It’s almost comical. How the two of you were in tears, tired, in your apartment, fighting each other in a way that’s never happened before. Interacting with each other in a way that you could only hypothesise. You’ve never gotten mad at Haerin, and neither has she. It was because while the two of you shared the same blood, you were distant throughout your entire life.
This—your panting breaths, manic eyes, and desperation—was the closest you’ve ever been.
“He chose you!” you scream, “How could he love me when he chose you? He always chose you! He never chose—!”
“Then you’re stupid!” she screams back, equally as loud. You wonder if your neighbours were going to report you to management for a noise complaint but you couldn’t care less. “You’re stupid and you’re dumb and I hate you! I hate you because you can’t see anything that’s in front of you!”
You gasp.
“I hate you because you have everything I’ve ever wanted and you don’t see it! You don’t see how much I want to live like you! To be close to you! Why can’t you see?” she cries.
You shove at her, her eyes widening before you’re clambering on top of her with your hands on her shoulders as you use all the force you have to keep her in place.
“I’m stupid? You’re stupid!” you seethe, “You’re stupid because you have everything you could ever want and mom and dad’s validation and you think Yoongi doesn’t love you? You think I’ve got everything you want? Try being me and see how fucking shitty it is.”
“You think that matters to me? You think any of that matters to me when I’m so fucking lonely?” she sobs, trying to fight your grasp off. “You’re so fucking dumb! Yoongi never chose me! Never! If you looked close enough then you’d see!”
“See? All I saw was how he treated you,” you hiss venomously, “How he looked at you like you were his world—that he would do anything for you—!”
“Shut the fuck up!” she screeches, whining in frustration while she thrashes in your hold. “Yoongi’s so in love with you and you refuse to see it. You did this! You did this!”
“Did what?” you scream.
“This!” she wails, and you don’t even fucking know what was going on anymore when she finally kicks you off of her, as your butt lands on the floor.
She’s towering over you now. Her cheeks are blotchy and red, and so are yours. You didn’t realise how hard you were crying until the brief silence forces you to acknowledge it. To acknowledge the way your heart feels both heavy and lighter at the same time. The way Haerin is catching her breath. The way you balance yourself on your elbows.
The way how fucking stupid this all is.
“I know you love him, too,” she says softly, after too long of a silence.
Your breath hitches as your eyes dart to the ceiling.
“Fuck you,” you whisper.
“He loves you and you love him,” she hisses, “You’re so stupid.”
“He doesn’t love me, Haerin,” you seethe, tired when your eyes flutter shut. “If he did then he would’ve chosen me.”
“He chooses you. Every single day,” she sobs, “When you were stuck at that bar. When you were sick at the fair. When you needed someone to teach you how to drive. When you just wanted to hang out. When you call. If it’s you—he’ll always make that choice. Why do you refuse to see what’s right in front of you?”
“Then why did he …” you whisper.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” Haerin sobs, and she falls. She falls on top of you with her arms wrapped around your shoulder as you fall back to the ground, allowing her body to crush you. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry—”
“Stop fucking apologising,” you grit.
“I never should’ve brought it up—I never should’ve asked him if we should give it a shot. I should’ve never—”
“And what good will that do to us now?” you snap, “Huh? Tell me. Tell me what fucking good will apologising to do us now?”
“I don’t know!” she wails. Her eyes are so fucking swollen that it’s almost painful to look at. There’s not running down her nose and she’s unobstructed when she attempts to blubber her next set of words. “I don’t know anything anymore except for the fact that I’m so fucking lonely and I’m so fucking confused and nothing about this makes sense—”
“Nothing about this makes sense,” you repeat, eyes blinking slowly.
“Yoongi loves you,” she says defeatedly.
And somehow that makes you feel worst. Because he loves you and chose her. He loved you not enough to pick you, to try, but to want to forget. To remove the feeling of love he allegedly has for whatever fucking reason.
And it hurts. It burns. It consumes you whole.
You feel like your heart is about to give out. There’s nothing stopping you from curling into a fetal position and crying until the week ends but the fact that your sister is sobbing her eyes out in front of you. You don’t understand. You didn’t expect the night to end this way.
You didn’t expect anything.
Yoongi still chose Haerin.
He never chose you.
“Please,” she croaks, forcing her swollen eyes to peer up at you while you feel everything in you crumble. All the moments you tried to pretend that seeing Haerin and Yoongi together didn’t crush you. As friends and as more. The moments that you had to hear your parents coo over something Haerin did while silence overtook you. It all came rushing back in. And it hurts. You’re no longer numb. Now all you could do was feel and it fucking sucked.
“You don’t do this to someone you love, Haerin,” you say shakily.
She grabs your shoulders desperately, expression falling into one of anguish.
“I know he loves you. I know,” she cries, “He—it’s my fault—it’s all my fault—”
“Stop blaming yourself,” you rasp.
“You love each other,” Haerin sobs. And you really wished you could tell her to shut the fuck up. Not because you hated her. You don’t think you ever did. You don’t think you ever could. But it was hard to think. It was hard to breathe.
You don’t do this to someone you love.
You don’t want to say anything but you see her eyes droop, indicating her fatigue.
“You and Yoongi,” she mumbles, “I’ll make sure of it.”
You sigh, coming back to reality.
“Get up,” you snap.
She remains put.
“Haerin,” you scowl, “Get the fuck up.”
“No,” she huffs, “Not until you believe me.”
Your eyebrows tick in annoyance. “It’s late and I’m exhausted and everything fucking sucks right now so please—for the love of God just get up and we can talk about this tomorrow.”
“Why won’t you believe me?” she whines.
That was it.
“Because he doesn’t love me, Haerin!” you scream, yanking her up until she was eye-level with you as her eyes widened. “Because it doesn’t make any fucking sense! Because Yoongi can never love me! Because he’s meant to be with you! Because mom and dad think so too! Because of this—this fucked up situation that we’re in and how this is the only time I’ve ever felt close enough to tell you this!”
Haerin sobs, crumbling in your hold even as she tries to keep herself upright. You’re crying now, too. Loud, unobstructed. Ugly.
Maybe you were really sisters.
“You’re lonely and I get that,” you whisper. “But you don’t know how it feels like to be me. To be the other sister. The other person. To have to fight for every place in my life because there wasn’t enough space for the two of us. You don’t fucking know any of that. You want to be me? God—I wish you could. I wish you’d try living in this body and this life to see things the way I do. Then you’d know—know how fucking shitty it is being the other.”
Haerin stays silent because she can’t say anything. You don’t expect her to. You wouldn’t know what to say either. You were word-vomiting; the words that have been locked and compartmentalised in a part of your brain you never thought you’d unlock in front of anyone—especially Haerin.
"You have no idea what it's like to fight for my place in mom and dad's life when I shouldn't have to. You have no fucking idea how it feels like to never be able to amount to anything—just because my older sister is a damn prodigy. You have no idea. So yes. You're lonely—that's sad. But you never had to wonder why the fuck you weren't enough to be loved by your own damned parents."
"Mom and dad are assholes," she says weakly.
"But they're my parents," you hiss as your eyes flutter shut. "They're assholes but I want them to fucking see me. I just want to be fucking seen and—and this—all of this—doesn't make any sense. You being here. You breaking up with him. You claiming he doesn't love you. All of it! Nothing—”
“You’re free,” she interrupts you in a tiny voice. “You want validation but you’re free from it. You don’t need validation.”
“Don’t tell me what the fuck I need or don’t,” you hiss.
“And don’t tell me that you’d rather be controlled for the rest of your life!” she roars loudly, the tiny voice reaching decibels that shook your core. “That you don’t love this freedom—as fucking shitty as it is—more than the reigns that mom and dad would have on you.”
“You think I’m free?” you laugh bitterly, “You think this is freedom? Being trapped in my own thoughts? Unconsciously comparing myself to you every single fucking day of my life because that’s all I’ve been conditioned to do? You think freedom matters when I’ve lost to you in every single aspect?”
“This isn’t a competition!” You hear Haerin exasperate, tugging at her hair in frustration when her eyes blaze at you. “Why—no one wants you to compare yourself to me!”
“No one wants to but they do,” you sneer venomously, “Oh they fucking do Haerin. And I do too. And it sucks. Because when I’m safe from them I’m not safe from me.”
“You—I …”
“This shouldn’t be a competition but it is,” you say despairingly, “I hate that it is but it is. And as fucked up as it sounds you and I both know that you and I were destined to compete with each other because we’re sisters.”
“You think I’ve won this shitty competition but I feel like the biggest fucking loser,” she laughs in a self-deprecating tone, “Mom and dad only love me because of what I’ve done. Not because—not because they do.”
“At least they love you, Haerin,” you say quietly, “At least you’re loved. By them. By people—by Yoongi—”
“When will you get it through your fucking head that Yoongi doesn’t love me? Not in that way!” Haerin snaps, “We’ve been best friends for years and you think I don’t know how he looks like when he’s in love or not?”
You take a deep, shaky breath to regain balance before you're letting out an exhale.
“Yoongi doesn’t love me. He can’t. I’m—” you choke, eyes fluttering shut in defeat. “I’m unloveable—”
“Don’t you dare say that,” she hisses venomously, cupping your cheeks in her hand as you flounder back as you lose your balance. “Don’t you fucking say that.”
“You’ve always been loved!” you sob, tears soaking her fingers as she tries her best to not let new tears flow.
“And that doesn’t fucking matter but don’t you for a second think that you’re unloveable,” she snaps, “You’re not unloveable. No one is unloveable in this damned world and if there was someone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be you.”
“Stop fucking—!”
“I love you!” she screams, “I love you! I love you as your sister! As your friend! As your family!”
“You don’t fucking love me!” you scream back at her, and you’re sure your neighbours were wondering what the fuck was going on.
“Just fucking believe me! Please,” she begs, shaking you desperately as you shake your head in return. “I love you!”
“You can’t love me!” you cry, and it’s so fucking loud. It’s loud and annoying. And it still hurts. It hurts so fucking much that all you can do is cry. "Yoongi can't love me!"
“I can and I will and I do,” she whispers, “I know I’ve been a shitty sister but I’ve never not loved you."
She's forcing herself to look at you and you're forcing yourself to try. Your breathing mixes together, shaky, confused, tired.
"And Yoongi loves you no matter how much you want to deny it because no one does the things he does for you if they weren't in love."
You cry. You break down. You were crying but now you’re crying harder. There was no flow or structure to the screaming fest you just had. But did pain ever have a linear sequence? It didn’t make sense to have your sorrows be chronological.
This was pain. Years of hurt. It’s ugly and truthful, and it does not hide from the strongest. In fact, it comes at you full force. Knocking the wind out of you while you try to catch your breath in a race you were bound to lose.
Haerin holds you. You don’t know when she’s wrapped her arms around you but they’re suddenly there. The both of you are sobbing like little bitches and it’s kind of funny. But you can’t think of the finer details when she squeezes you so tightly that you can’t breathe.
Is this what having a sister feels like?
The calm after the storm is an illusion. You know this. But you’ll take it, for now.
“It’s not Yoongi’s fault,” Haerin says softly.
Your eyes are shut.
“I know.”
“It’s not your fault either.”
You clench your teeth.
“I know.”
“It’s my—”
“And it’s not your fault either,” you interject softly.
Haerin opens her mouth to say something but closes it when she realises you didn’t have the strength to continue.
“We’re fucked up humans aren’t we?” she chuckles humourlessly.
“Isn’t that just being human?”
You look up, and you’re so tired.
Haerin blinks. A smile twitches on your face for some fucked up reason.
And the both of you laugh. You laugh so hard that you’re crying again. You’re cackling, and you hear a series of bangs against your wall that you laugh even harder. You somehow ended up on the floor, staring at the ceiling while you laughed like maniacs at nothing and everything and the in-between.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
“Me too,” you reply. “For screaming at you.”
“I’m sorry for calling you stupid.”
“Me too.”
“Did we just have our first sister fight?”
You purse your lips. You turn around to see her sitting up, your night light dimly illuminating her face.
“I guess we did,” you say.
"I wished it was about something different," she says quietly.
You pause.
"Like boys?"
She looks up and there's a tilted smile on her face. Her eyes are hilariously swollen that you can't help but let out a snort through your blocked nose. Haerin almost rolls her eyes, but instead, she reaches out—she holds your hand.
And you hold hers.
“Please talk to him."
You stay silent.
“____,” she calls your name gently. Like she cares about you. It’s a tone you’d adopt with a child, a younger sibling when you were a child. It almost feels as if she was trying to speak to you as an older sister, and not just Haerin. “I don’t want you and Yoongi to be on weird terms.”
“We’re not,” you say quietly.
“But you’re thinking. Hard. And not in the good way,” she points out as you sigh, “Don’t blame him.”
Did you? Blame Yoongi? Or did you blame yourself for being this way? For feeling the way you did?
Even if Yoongi seemed like the perfect person to hate, to blame, to back into a corner and scream at him like you did to Haerin—you knew that wasn’t the truth.
Yoongi had always been himself. And despite his fleeting relationship with your sister, he’d never treated you differently. He’d been there for you in moments of true weakness.
It was you who pushed him away from him all this while.
Did you do this to someone you loved?
“I don’t.”
“Talk to him,” she encourages again, gentler. “He loves you, ____. He’d never push you away.”
Your throat hurts but you still want to scream.
He loves me but not enough to try? To ask? To hope?
"And ..." she says slowly, as if contemplating her words. "I'd never push you away. Anymore. Never. Not again."
"Okay," you say quietly.
"And you can talk to me. Because—because we're sisters, right? We're sisters aren't we?"
For the first time, in a long time, from when you knew what sisters were and were meant to be—you can agree.
"Yeah," you laugh quietly, "We are, Haerin. We are sisters."
She gives you a gentle smile, and it returns to relative silence. There are still so many things to say even after all that you've screamed. But you guess that's always going to be the case. Not everything will always be said, and that's okay. You'll grow, you'll have more things to say, to be hurt about, to be annoyed about, to laugh about—and that's only natural.
"Talk to him, ____," Haerin says through a soft mumble. "The two of you deserve to be happy."
You purse your lips.
“If you can’t believe me,” she murmurs. Then she looks up, and it’s the most earnest you’ve seen her all night when she says:
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies2lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fuff
WARNINGS. mentions of poor health, implications of under-eating, mentions of fainting, jk is a little harsh but it's justified, hospitals, sexual tension and the presence of a banana (it's exactly how it sounds like), more softness gets unveiled?, slight fluff towards the end :#
WORDS. 4.2k
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“Jungkook, for the last time, I can walk fine on my own!” you hiss, attempting to shove his stupidly strong arms off of you.
“You passed out from a five-minute walk to our favourite bar. Do you think I’m stupid?” he snaps, “Get your ass back here right now before I cause a scene!”
You grimace, fully knowing that Jungkook would most definitely cause a scene at a hospital despite it being nearly midnight. Doctors and nurses were fatigue with their day, and you don’t even know half the battles they fought within the hour itself.
Frankly, you felt a little dumb here. More so than the fact that biology was your most hated science and subject in school, but the fact that Jungkook’s overwhelming presence only draws more attention to the two of you when it usually wouldn’t.
You think he’s overreacting, but he says he isn’t. You were a little woozy earlier, which resulted in you passing out.
(Sure, you were pulling all-nighters back-to-back like nobody’s business and weren’t eating as much as you should—but you were so close in wrapping up the proposals for an educational institution for women in lower-income groups that you couldn’t pass the opportunity up!)
Really, it was nothing to be worried about. But despite Jungkook being an annoying brat ninety-nine per cent of the time, he had a big heart. He cared and he worried a lot. So when you nearly face-planted onto the concrete pavement, you knew that he was bound to freak out.
“I told you. I’m fine. I just need to sleep—”
“Exactly. You need to sleep and you need to eat. I don’t want to comment on your appearance but I’m worried. Nothing about passing minute after a five-minute walk is normal,” he frowns.
You sigh. “I promise I’ll take care of myself.”
He shoots you a dry look.
“Will you, though?” he says blandly. You stick your tongue against your cheek as you huff. “You overwork yourself all the time and for what? If I didn’t call you out for drinks tonight then you would’ve cooped yourself up in your apartment for the next month.”
“I was almost done!” you exasperate defensively.
“At what cost?” he whispers, “Your health? Is that something rational that you do?”
“I don’t need you micromanaging me either, Jungkook,” you scowl.
Jungkook knew how much you hated being told what to do. It was a byproduct of the fact that your parents had attempted to mould you into a person you could never become and only shoved you aside when they came to that realisation on their own. He always did his best to allow you autonomy over your decisions and you appreciated that.
“This is not me micromanaging you and you know it,” he snaps. “No one’s asking you to burn yourself out, ___.”
It’s an odd conversation to be having in the middle of the hospital, but his words wash you over like cold water.
No one’s asking you to, but when you had the world to live up to—a lifetime to prove yourself?—this was your only option.
You could never be Haerin, or do the things that she did. But this was something you wanted to do. The one place that you felt was as close as it could be to your calling. Activism and social work was emotionally taxing but it was rewarding. It was a selfish aspect of the job that you allowed yourself to indulge in every once in a while.
So no, no one ever asks you to burn yourself out, not now at least—because they never thought you could do anything to amount to much.
“I appreciate you looking out for me, but I promise. It’s a one-time thing,” you reason.
A one-time thing is something that Jungkook knows is a lie. His face tells you everything and his clenched jaw indicates that there are words he’s attempting to swallow to not progress your conversation into one less appropriate for a hospital setting. So, he sighs, looking away before levelling you with a serious gaze.
“You know I’m always here for you, right? Even if I’m busy?” he asks, eyeing you as he holds onto your shoulders.
“I know, Kook,” you sigh, squeezing his hand. “I really appreciate it but I don’t need you looking out for me all the time. I can take care of myself.”
“Do you? Is pulling all-nighters and neglecting your health called taking care of yourself?” he snaps as you wince. “I don’t want to do this either—I don’t like seeing you like this. And it’s literally against my conscience to just let you do this to yourself.”
“A few nights won’t kill me—”
“You can always talk to me, you know?” he says softly, “I understand it must be difficult—”
“Do you, Jungkook?” you whisper, eyes lifting upwards to meet his own. “Do you understand?”
His jaw hardens.
“This is the one thing that I can truly call my own. My project. My calling,” you say quietly. “I don’t think you understand how it finally feels like I’m proving something.”
“I’m not just talking about your pitch. I’m proud of you, I really am. I’m always rooting for you, and I always want you to win,” he tells you seriously. “I’m talking about your heart. Whatever you have in there, whatever you’re feeling—don’t keep it to yourself. I’m here.”
He was. Jungkook was always there for you. In-between his exams and the stress of a med student, Jungkook was always there. But you couldn’t find the courage to burden him with more of your own thoughts that could barely be contained in your mind. If it suffocated you, it was bound to tire him out, too.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Jungkook,” you mumble. “I just don’t want to. Okay?”
Jungkook purses his lips, opening his mouth to say something before he stops himself.
Maybe you were being difficult. But this feeling was itself, a difficult one to comprehend. How could you verbalise the innate need for you to work on hours till no end? To achieve something you never thought you could—by yourself and the people around you? Would Jungkook understand?
Maybe he would. Just as much as a best friend could understand the turmoil of their best friend. But he would never understand your heart. Not at its core, at least.
“We’re going to get you on IV drips and admitted for a day or two, okay?”
Your jaw slackens.
“Jungkook, there’s no way I can do that,” you deadpan, frustrated. “I need to finish the last—”
“You’re in no condition to be working anymore,” he hisses, “So, please. For the love of God, listen to me, your best friend’s who’s slaving away to his medical degree instead of your stubborn brain cell.”
You scowl at him. “Can’t I just get some prescription and—?”
“Jungkook? ____?”
Your body jumps at the new voice, especially since you and Jungkook were tucked in a relatively secluded corner to ensure that you didn’t get told off for whispering harshly at each other at a hospital.
“Hyung,” Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, too quick to abandon your side for someone who was insistent on having you admitted into a hospital for passing out. Instead, he slides right next to your new guest, and you already feel the hair on your neck. “Thank God you’re here. You’re the only one that’ll convince her.”
Yoongi’s in a pair of scrubs, dark circles relatively prominent as he tucks his clipboard under his armpit and looks between you and Jungkook with a raised brow.
“What’s wrong? Why are the two of you here?” He steps forward, expression frowning as worry lines paint his face.
You open your mouth to interject before Jungkook can say anything because you know if he told Yoongi the truth, there was no way you’d be leaving the hospital tonight.
“She passed out while we were walking to the bar next to Marco’s cafe,” Jungkook explains, beating you to it as you scowl. “She’s been pulling all-nighters and I don’t think she’s in the best state—mentally and physically.”
“I’m right here you asshole,” you snap.
Jungkook ignores you to give Yoongi a pointed look.
But Yoongi has a tight expression on his face, his eyebrows scrunching together as he stares at you. He observes you so closely that you look away, ignoring the fact that his eyes scrutinise you from your head to your toes.
“You—” he begins as you await the berated tone he’d adapt with you. But Yoongi only sighs before he clips his mouth back shut.
He drags his gaze from your face to your neck, then all over your body as if you were meant to be inspected. You feel your cheeks inevitably heat, as you duck your head down to shield the instantaneous effect he had on you.
“Let me get you checked up,” he finally says, and you see Jungkook visibly relax.
“Let me know,” Jungkook says softly, squeezing Yoongi’s shoulders. “Force her if you have to, okay?”
You gape at the two men. “I’m still here, asshole!”
Jungkook rolls his eyes before giving your hair a ruffle as you attempt to dodge his gesture.
“Listen to Yoongi, okay?” he says softly.
“I told you, I’m fine—!”
Before you can finish your sentence, Jungkook envelopes you into a tight hug that has your eyes widening. It’s brief and quick, but when he pulls away you can see the worry behind his eyes.
“Just accept the help.”
Jungkook leaves, not allowing you to get another word in as you stare helplessly at his back as he dashes out the doors of the hospital.
You sigh to yourself, fully aware that you succumbed to the only option you had.
Listening to Yoongi.
“Come,” he demands, turning on his heel before speed walking down a hallway.
Maybe you could run when he wasn’t looking—
“Don’t even think of running because I’ll haul your ass over my shoulder myself,” he warns.
You grumble before begrudgingly trailing behind him, head still relatively light.
“Name?”
“You know my government name, Yoongi,” you say dryly.
“It’s a standard operating procedure,” he scolds before tapping you on your knee. “Name.”
You repeat your full name with a grumble, looking away as he jots it down.
Yoongi continues acting like a professional, treating you like you were his patient rather than someone he knew for over a decade. You answer as if you were berated and you were a petulant child, but he doesn’t get annoyed or irritated with you as you expected, so you don’t bother prolonging this either.
He checks your vitals, does his usual procedures and even attaches an IV drip to you before he leaves the room for a few moments, leaving you in complete silence with your own thoughts.
Now that you were alone, you felt the exhaustion creep up on you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you threaten to keep them open so you wouldn’t look like a goddamn idiot when Yoongi returned. But your body fights against your instincts to stay away from when you feel the hospital bed call for you.
You’re just about to surrender to sleep when the door swings open, and you see Yoongi return with some things you can barely make out in your groggy state—and what you think are some dates and a banana.
“Hey,” he says quietly, sitting on the edge of your bed as you blink. “You okay?”
“Mmm,” you mumble, cradling your head in your palm as you feel your eyelids grow heavier.
But you feel Yoongi’s hand rest on your back, slowly guiding you to properly lay back on the bed as your hand reaches out to wrap around his wrist, startled at the gesture.
“Don’t,” he says softly, “Lay back for me, please?”
He sounds so nice. Or maybe you were hearing things, but he almost sounds desperate.
You comply, only because you were too tired to fight.
“I’m okay,” you slur, covering your eyes with your forearm as you feel the bed dip further next to you. “Good. M’ good.”
“No you’re not,” he sighs, “Your blood sugar levels are ridiculously low.”
“Your stats are wrong,” you mumble as you peek through one open eye. You see Yoongi shoot you a pointed look. “I’m okay.”
“___, you’re not,” he deadpans. “I’m the doctor here.”
“So? Doctors are assholes,” you grumble, “You’re an asshole.”
“Because I’m trying to tell you the truth?”
“Because you’re a know it all,” you say petulantly.
“I know you don’t like this. Trust me, seeing you here isn’t something I like either,” he frowns, “But you need to start taking better care of yourself. What if Jungkook wasn’t with you and you were alone?”
His tone is familiar, and you vaguely trace it back to the night as the bar. Yoongi’s stance is almost protective when he leans towards you as he speaks, and it’s one that you recall. It’s almost as if the relative softness on his face was an indication of the lesson learnt that night, with his cross features and silence that perturbed you—it was as if he was treading lightly, carefully.
“It's just all-nighters,” you mumble pathetically.
“And not eating well?” he points out tightly, brows scrunched.
“I just—” you begin to insist as you deflate after catching the unimpressed look on his face. “I didn’t feel hungry.”
You didn’t. Because you were far too distracted by work and the desire to prove yourself that hunger wasn’t something you considered. Or, maybe you were. You were starving, and rather for food it was for something else—something less tangible than a meal, and more daunting.
“I don’t want to see you here,” Yoongi deadpans as your eyes widen, almost flinching at his snapped tone. “It kills me to see you like this. But I understand.”
Your eyes widen.
“Y-You do?” You’re shell-shocked because you expected a lecture, some snappish words from him while you retort with every fibre of your being that was left.
But Yoongi still looks frustrated. It was almost as if he was convincing himself than he was to you. You don’t know if it’s your groggy state that tricks you, but you think that Yoongi’s holding back—something.
“I don’t like it, but I understand,” he says softly, “But I don’t want you to do this to yourself anymore. If you want to work, work. But eat. Sleep when you have to. Don’t neglect your health just to prove something.”
Your breath hitches.
“I …”
“Please,” he pleads, almost desperate when his eyes bore into your own. “I don’t want to fight. And I don’t want to force you but I don’t want to see you like this even more.”
You purse your lips as your eyes drop to your lap.
He sighs when you don’t say anything, shaking his head before reaching over to where he placed the things he brought with him to grab a banana.
He peels one open and hands it to you.
“Eat.”
You blink groggily at him.
“No.”
Yoongi glares at you.
“Eat.”
“God. Can’t you sound less demanding?” you mutter.
He rolls his eyes. “Eat it or I’ll shove it down your throat.”
You gape.
“I’ll just take it, then.”
A beat.
“I don’t have a gag reflex, anyway.”
Yoongi freezes, and you freeze as well. You don’t know what demon possessed you to say that, but you did. You definitely just told Yoongi, the person that makes your heart race, the person that looks frozen, that you didn’t have a gag reflex.
You know damn well what that implied, and he does too with the way he clears his throat, schooling his face before he shoots you a stern stare you know only comes out when he’s about to get his way.
“I’ll feed it to you.”
“Yoongi—” you begin with a whine.
But then he brings the banana to your lips and pulls the bottom of your lip open with his thumb.
Your eyes widen, and your brain short-circuits at the gesture despite your mouth parting with his guidance. He slips the banana past your lips, and you feel yourself reel back into reality a little—
And you look up.
That was the first mistake.
Yoongi’s eyes are dark, and they’re staring at your face so intently from where he sits above you. You’ve yet to take a bite of the banana so your mouth is still enclosed around the tip. Your eyes are wide and doe-eyed when they stare back up at him like you’re lost.
It’s unintentionally erotic and your mind can’t help but trail into dangerous territory. Especially when Yoongi’s gaze is fixated on your lips, his thumb still pressed against the plush of your bottom lip.
You swallow, and you’re unsure if you heard it correctly—but you swear Yoongi’s breath hitches. His thumb presses a little harder, and your mouth parts a little wider on command.
It’s only when the door slam opens again, that you bite down on the banana, along with his thumb as he yelps.
“Oh—well—”
You hear another voice, and your face is burning. You’re still exhausted but your mind is working overtime when you recall the past few seconds with mortification.
What the fuck. Did you really give him fuck-me eyes while he was feeding you a banana?
“Namjoon,” Yoongi says as he clears his throat. “You need anything?”
“Um—well, I just wanted to pass her some medications for the night—”
“You can leave it on the table,” Yoongi says gruffly. “I’ll handle it.”
You swallow, and your eyes briefly land on the doctor who had just entered. He’s tall and handsome, and large. He’s larger than Jungkook, which says a lot. He has ashy blonde hair with shaved sides that you’d normally swoon over if you were more aware of your surroundings. But he’s eyeing you and Yoongi—and you have the feeling he may have seen what had just happened.
“Okay …” he says sceptically, “I’m Dr Kim,” he introduces himself with a slight bow. “If Yoongi’s not free then you can get the nurses to page me, or do it yourself.”
You nod your head mutely before he excuses himself with a bow, smiling over to you and Yoongi—his grin lingering a beat longer on Yoongi.
It’s quiet again, and you’re about to apologise for whatever the fuck happened before Yoongi returns his gaze onto you.
“You need to start taking better of yourself.”
“I’m fine—”
“You know, I can’t help but worry about you—or think about you, all the time,” Yoongi says, suddenly shifting in his position so that he’s facing your direction.
His confession leaves your jaw slackened and your eyes widened.
“I really want you to take care of yourself, ____,” he says softly, boring a serious gaze into your eyes. “This isn’t healthy. And it’s happening too frequently.”
He’s referring to the night at the bar. You know the wonders why you were there in the first place, yet he’s never asked. Even if he did, would you have told him the truth? Would you have told him that the implicit reminder that he chose Haerin after all this while was what pushed you there? Would he understand—that being second to her, even after telling yourself that was where you belonged, was what made you want to forget? Would he acknowledge that you were working, just so you could dissipate the obvious ache in your heart?
“I …”
“I know you don’t like me doing this,” he sighs, grabbing a hold of your hand as you nearly flinch at the sudden contact. “But I really do care about you, and I don’t like seeing you like this. It makes me feel—“
Yoongi pauses, squeezing your hand before he sighs.
“It makes me feel like a horrible friend.”
And there it was, that word that you hated—but was set upon you as a default reminder.
“I’m okay, Yoongi,” you tell him, and even you call yourself out for the blatant lie in your voice.
He frowns. “It’s okay not to be. But I meant what I said that night.”
You still.
“If you called me, I’d drop everything to be there, you know that right?”
“You’re a doctor,” you mutter, “I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“If I wanted to, I will,” he says.
You sigh. You can’t find yourself to believe him, to—want him.
“Thank you, Yoongi. I’ll … I’ll take care of myself, okay? You don’t need to worry about me,” you smile tightly, and it feels forced.
Yoongi takes one hard look at you before he exhales, nodding his head tightly.
“Come on,” he says levelly, unlike the man who looked disgruntled earlier. “Finish this up and you can go to sleep.”
You open your mouth to say something but decide against it when Yoongi looks—normal. As if you hadn’t almost laid your heart out on the table, told him the truth and the weight of your emotions. As if you hadn’t suggestively followed his directions and stared up at him with the tip of a banana in-between your lips. You wondered if it was just you, or your sleep-deprived mind—but you don’t wonder for long before he’s waving the fruit in front of you.
You take it from him, mumbling a soft thank you before you’re munching on it. Yoongi stares for another second as if something plagues his mind before he turns away, busying himself with your records while you eat in silence.
You finish it quickly. You underestimated your hunger and how much that banana managed to revitalise your energy within a short period of time. Yoongi helps you discard the skin before he sits back onto your bed, gesturing for you to lie back again.
“I’m okay, Yoongi. I swear. You can go attend to other patients,” you mumble.
“I’m on ____ duty tonight,” he informs you.
You raise a brow. “Says who?”
“Says me,” he returns easily, right before he gently helps you fluff the pillows, his palm caging the back of your head to lift you up as he adjusts your head into a more comfortable position.
He’s so close, and the gesture is so domestic that your heart slams against your ribcage. You have to suck in your breath because you didn’t know what you’d do if you released it, especially when he remains so tender with his actions.
“Do you still need something to hold when you sleep?”
You flush. “Don’t say it like that …”
A small smile quirks on his lips.
“So you do?”
You grumble as you nod, bringing the blanket up to your chin as he shakes his head softly in amusement.
“Here,” he says, and extends his arm out.
You blink owlishly at him.
“What.”
“My arm,” he shrugs, “You can hold onto it to fall asleep.”
“Yoongi, that’s going to be uncomfortable,” you say with a frown.
And weird. You’re trying the dating thing with my sister—and you’re offering me your arm like it was a bolster.
“If that helps you fall asleep,” he says like it’s obvious. “Hurry.”
You know there’s no room for argument because you knew that Yoongi wouldn’t leave you until you did.
So you do. You grab onto his arm, and it’s warm. It’s thick in your grasp and it feels comfortable. You don’t think it is for him, but Yoongi just offers you a neutral expression that you can barely pick up on. You snuggle into your pillow, eyes fluttering shut as you try to sleep.
But when you’re hyperaware of Yoongi’s presence, that makes it a little difficult.
“I can’t sleep if you’re staring at me.”
Yoongi snorts.
“Do you want me to massage you?”
You splutter. “W-What?”
“You used to like it when we stroked your hair.”
You did. When you were younger, Haerin used to stroke your head to help you fall asleep—and somehow Yoongi picked up on that too. You remember times where you’d fallen asleep on his couch, near his lap as his fingers traced your scalp.
But it’s been years. It was when things were—less complicated. When your feelings didn’t eat you whole and threaten you to stay away while you craved him every day.
“I mean …”
“Sleep,” he urges, and then his fingers from his free hand finds their way to your scalp, immediately rubbing soothing circles as your eyes flutter shut at the sensation.
“But it’s gonna be tiring—”
“Shh,” he whispers, lulling you as you feel your eyelids grow heavier when his fingers trace down your scalp and to the nape of your neck. His fingers are so gentle, featherlight as if he was barely putting any weight into the action. “Sleep.”
You’re still clinging onto his hand, but you feel your own grip getting lighter—and the last thing you hear before you drift into peaceful slumber is:
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. puking, overthinking, some tension!!!, arguments but not between the usual pairing 👀 , hobi is a great friend, things get ... dare I say .... softer?, hope?,
WORDS. 6k
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
“How’s my favourite girl doing?”
You yelp when another body slides into the booth, thighs knocking against your own as you hastily attempt to slam your laptop shut. Only when you realise it’s just Hoseok beaming at you with his contagious smile, do you let out a sigh of relief before shooting him a dry glare.
“Nearly got a heart attack, that’s how I’m doing,” you mutter, eyes lifting back to the screen of your laptop while your fingers return to work.
As always, Hoseok is a curious, wide-eyed grown man that you’ve learnt to placate with gentleness and patience. This time around, he’s no different.
“Oooh, is this what you’ve been working on?” he wonders out loud, chin resting on your shoulder.
You turn your laptop away from him while your eyes narrow in his direction.
“No peeking!”
He pouts. “But _____,” he whines, knocking his shoulder against your own as you grunt grumpily. “I’m curious!”
“You know what it’s about!” you huff at his obstinacy, especially when his lips form into a deeper pout, the one that you know you can’t really say no to—or anyone really. Saying no made you look like the asshole even if you both knew that you had every valid reason out there to want to keep this to yourself.
“Yeah, the gist of it,” he shrugs, “I just want to know how you’re coming along so far.”
“It’s good, Hobi,” you sigh, “It’s just—it’s awkward. It’s not really completed yet and I don’t want you to—”
“Hey,” he says softly, immediately resting a palm on your shoulder when you feel yourself begin to enter your rambling state. Your eyes slowly meet his and he’s smiling amiably at you when you fawn back into your shell. “There’s no pressure.”
You feel yourself relax a bit, but then you’re on guard all over again.
No pressure.
Realistically, there wasn’t any. There was never really any pressure. It was an impalpable concept, rather than one that existed physically. No one ever truly saw pressure, but most received it on a day-to-day basis over the most mundane things. Pressure was an elusive concept as far as you were concerned, and even you knew that it was redundant to fixate on things that were very much out of your control.
But you felt it. It wasn’t physical, nor tangible, nor something that you could hold in the palm of your hand to show the world and say hey, this is pressure—but you felt every inch of its shrewd claws sinking into your flesh and keeping you afloat.
Keeping you alert. Almost apprehensive.
But you don’t know how to verbalise that to Hoseok. Hoseok who’s been kind to you from day one, more than you ever deserved really. You know he’s felt pressured in some way too. Being the only son to a corporate mogul and the only feasible heir to the family fortune (you only found out that while Hoseok was as open-minded as one could get, his parents still upheld stiff traditional values)—he’s definitely felt immense pressure to carry out the legacy, and more.
But he hasn’t felt the pressure that you have. It’s not a unique feeling, but definitely, one that is in-between the both of you. He was always enough. Always had a place made for him. Always had people respecting him out of obligation and because he earned it. The pressure came from the attention, the need to uphold that image.
Yours was because you didn’t.
“I know.” You do, but you don’t tell him that you’ll still fret about the finer details anyway. “But I want it to be perfect before you see it. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
This time, the frown on Hoseok’s face is visible. Every time he frowns, you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something completely wrong to make someone as bubbly as Hoseok looks at you like you’ve kicked a kitten to the side of the curb.
“You know that’s not why I vouched for you and your team,” he says pointedly. “I pushed for you because I believe in you. Not the idea of perfection in you.”
You sigh. “I know,” you repeat, a mantra as if to convince yourself rather than him. “And it’s not something I take lightly. I’m grateful, so grateful that you trusted the team and I enough to have us present this to your group of investors. I just—I don’t want you to feel underwhelmed with what I’ve got so far.”
Hoseok’s frown deepens when your words pour out. “I bet your team are a group of wonderful people, and I bet you think it’s because I brought it up to the investors, but it’s your idea that sold it to them. That’s why they want to hear more—an actual proposal rather than an outline.”
“I wasn’t the only one that worked on this pitch, Hobi,” you sigh.
“You weren’t. But yet you’re here, at a fair with your laptop out looking like a grouchy corporate slave when we both know that that’s my role in this friendship, typing away on a proposal document that looks—impeccable by the way—while other people have fun on rides,” he says all in one go.
You flush. “It’s a weekend. They deserve a break.”
“And so do you,” he emphasises, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he tugs you into his grasp. You never were the affectionate type, but Hoseok was all but unaffectionate with the people he cared about so you learnt to indulge him in his touches. “And you also deserve people telling you how great of a job you’re doing and how proud they are of you.”
“Hobi …”
“If it wasn’t clear enough, I’m super proud of you, ____. For taking this opportunity for working so hard for the people even if you don’t really get anything in return for it. It takes a lot of altruism to do the things you’re doing and you should be proud of that, too,” he says kindly, pinching your cheeks as you whine.
“It’s nothing,” you insist, sighing when he hugs you tighter, cooing when you glare at his incessant display of affection. “God—if I let you see my proposal will you let go of me?”
He immediately releases you, cheeks rounded and eyebrows lifted as you roll your eyes.
You pull your laptop towards the two of you, the document staring back at you, now with two pairs of eyes staring back.
You swallow. You’re nervous. It’s the first time that someone who wasn’t the two other activists in the grassroots you were working at was looking at your proposal—pre-presentation and pre-official pitch.
“Here. You can just scroll through. Don’t mind the gaps because I’m still working on it,” you yap, words essentially travelling out of Hoseok’s ear when he already has his hands on your laptop and eyes glued to the words.
The next few minutes are experienced in relative silence beside the occasional chatter you hear from the people around you. In fact, everyone but you was lively and making noise. Even Hoseok, letting out a hum of approval every once in a while. The anxiety is familiar to you but it’s never any easier to deal with, especially when you anxiously await his opinion on your approval—and his approval, telling you that he had no reason to doubt you as the best choice he put forward.
But the realistic side of you tells you that Hoseok is a businessman, a person who’s ventured into business proposals and pitches in a month far more than you have in your entire life so he’s bound to be critical. You won’t create a pitch in this state enough to please him, you remind yourself.
The silence is all too consuming and you’re just about to ask for your laptop back before he’s turning to you, an undecipherable expression on his face as you avoid his eyes to save yourself from witnessing his expression turn into one that was disappointed.
“_____,” he calls your name.
You let out a choked hum, shaking your knee anxiously.
“I want you to know that everything I’m about to say is my objective opinion. Not only as your friend but as someone who’s seen it all when it comes to pitches and proposals.”
There it was. You wince, bracing yourself.
He grabs a hold of your shoulder so that you’re forced to look at him, and you shut your eyes and scrunch your face to let the constructive criticism come through.
Hoseok isn’t malicious. He would never intentionally hurt you. Whatever he tells you is because it’s in his expertise, not because—
“I’m impressed.”
Your eyes snap open, and you see Hoseok’s wistful look.
“Honestly, I knew I could trust you. Especially when you first told me about the vocational programme you were working on for the kids. But your proposal …” he trails off, eyes softening when you continue to stare at him.
“—you’re an amazing person, ____. That proposal was good—great, and you say it isn’t completed? If that isn’t completion then what is?”
“Hoseok,” you say embarrassedly, eyes looking anywhere but his grinning face.
“I’m serious. That proposal was straightforward and easy to comprehend. No fluff and consisted of what is needed to ensure that your investors understand what you’re standing for, all while you indicated to me how much this project means to you,” he says seriously.
“Hobi, it’s not completed yet so you—”
“This isn’t just a proposal, ____,” he says softly, rubbing a thumb across your shoulder. “This is someone’s future—someone’s hope and dreams, and you’re here making it come true.”
You blink, noticing the way that Hoseok’s eyes are boring a soft gaze through your soul. His words are gentle, so soft that you almost miss it if it weren’t for the way that he’s close enough to you that you feel the authenticity behind his claim. There was no reason for you to distrust Hoseok, no indication that he was lying to you to make you feel better.
For a moment, you felt accomplished. That this. Tirelessly working on a proposal to uplift underprivileged communities with the resources that you had, the access to privilege that you possessed and they didn’t—was wholly worth it.
This was someone’s hope and dreams, and you had every intention of giving everything to them—and even more.
“It really means a lot to me that you said that, Hoseok,” you mumble softly.
“I mean it,” he hums, “That? That isn’t just something you’re about to present to investors, ___. And I can tell. The detail you put into considering their socioeconomic backgrounds, their religious or cultural beliefs—and how this school could accommodate the most people possible while allowing them access to the best facilities that you can offer—it’s not easy to propose something like this to investors.”
“I know, that’s why I’m worried,” you sigh.
“But ____,” he calls your name as you meet his gaze. “The fact that you took up this challenge knowing that it wasn’t going to be easy just shows how much you deserve this. Deserve the praise. You’re doing amazing things with what you have, and you’re going to one day change someone’s life—and their families just because you have a good heart.”
Hoseok sounds earnest. And it makes your heart swell with a sense of pride you’ve never allowed yourself to feel, ever.
Activism was a tiring world to venture into, especially when most activists fight endlessly for a cause without ever being compensated for their time, their effort and their mental aptitude when it comes to advocating for what’s important to them.
You never really enjoyed subjects in school, the traditional syllabus at least. You always thought that it was redundant that you were forced to regurgitate information onto a piece of paper to determine your intellectual capacity when there were so many factors that played into the part when it came to accessing one’s intelligence. The ability to memorise and vomit was not the best measure.
There were people who had a vision for the world that other’s didn’t. Who saw the world beyond its 3D structure and at its core. The constructs that seal society together, the colours that vividly make up people and their experiences, the sounds that remind individuals of a memory—the type of things that you’d never learn from in books but in people and your own interpretations of humanity.
Then you met a friend in college, someone you’re eternally grateful for bringing you into the world of activism that was simultaneously exhausting and so rewarding. Especially when you advocated for political literacy for the youth to empower them in voting for elections.
You remember facing backlash from your parents, purely because they were affiliated with a political party and your involvement in an advocacy group that fervently emphasised the freedom of the media and press, which directly contended against the suppression that your parents were implicitly forced to go through. They told you that politics was unnecessary for you, that you didn’t need to care. That you could simply abstain from voting and let the older people do their thing.
Do what? Allow their biases and prejudices to hold legislative power? To allow bigotry to drive thought and rhetoric? To disempower the youth who were the sole victims of their clumsy voting during elections?
Political literacy, along with the education on how and why one should vote—is what makes a nation a democracy, more than just being able to vote. But considering the weight of a vote, and what that means.
From then, they stayed silent when you didn’t quit. You wouldn’t allow them to take this away from you. The fulfilment you had when you organised a webinar or seminar for the youth, even some adults who wanted to better themselves intellectually. To bring people together in a world that was destined to be polarised.
You may not have been academically gifted like Haerin, but this was your calling.
And the fact that Hoseok, a person you deeply respected and cared for, looked genuinely proud of you—makes your eyes water.
“Hey, oh my God—did I say something?” Hoseok asks worriedly, grasping your shoulders and searching for your gaze when your head droops downwards to shield your tears and sniffles.
“N-No,” you stammer, wiping your tears with your sleeves before you’re looking up and smiling at him. “Thank you, Hobi. That—that means so much to me that you have no idea.”
His face relaxes, and his eyes soften. “I’m not only saying this. I mean it. I’m so proud of you and I hope you know that what you’re doing is necessary and important. The world needs more people like you.”
You can’t help it, and you jump into Hoseok’s arms, enveloping him in a tight hug that leaves you breathless. He yelps, but his arms automatically wrap themselves around you as he comfortingly pats your back when you dig your face into the crook of his neck.
You felt this way a few times.
When Jungkook lost his father, and Loli her son—you tried your best to be there for them. Even if it was difficult to navigate loss that wasn’t your own, you wanted to be there for them. For the people that you loved and loved you. You cooked, you cleaned, you entertained, you cried. You did whatever you could. Argued with Jungkook’s professor to give him some time off even if med school was demanding and dressed up in vibrant colours to bring life back into Loli’s eyes.
You thought it was okay—and when Jungkook revealed that you were the reason he kept going, you felt an inexplicable sense of fulfilment that you’ve never felt before.
And you remember, you recall, the moment of Haerin’s graduation. A time where you should’ve felt the worst seeing your sister do things you could never dream of doing. But then you remember Yoongi. His kind, quiet self, who told you that you were doing just fine, going at a pace on your own to a place where you belonged.
Your heart clenches, remembering why you were at a carnival in the first place, even with your laptop out.
Just as you were about to pull away, you hear a feminine voice call out your names.
“Hoseok! ____!”
You slowly pull away, and you’re mortified to know that your eyes are slightly swollen. When you turn, Haerin is animatedly waving her hands at you, Yoongi trailing slowly behind her.
“You okay?” Hoseok murmurs, rubbing your shoulder as you peer up at him in his grasp.
You nod, smiling at him. And for once, the sight of Haerin and Yoongi together didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would—even if you wished you were in her position.
“Good,” you murmur, “Thanks, Hobi.”
“What time did you guys get here?” Haerin chirps, hopping over to your table as you sit up, patting Hoseok’s hands as thanks as he smiles at you.
“Not so long ago,” you tell her, offering a small smile. “Just arrived?”
“Yoongi insisted to pick up some motion sickness medicine on the way here,” she gestures to Yoongi who huffs. “Do you still get sick after rides?”
You realise she’s talking to you, and the admission that Yoongi took the time out to get you medicine makes your heart clench in a way that’s absolutely devastating.
“Uh, yeah,” you say, looking over to Yoongi who has an unreadable expression locked onto the arm loosely wrapped around your shoulder. “Thank you, Yoongi.”
“Here,” he says as he offers the medicine to you in a bag. “Do you have water?”
Haerin is still smiling, and she looks in-between the both of you with a sense of warmth you could only wish you had in yourself.
“I—”
“Wait here! I’ll go get some water and our tickets, all right?” Haerin chitters before she quickly darts off before you can say anything.
You’re blinking at the space that she once occupied, confused at how fast she took off. Just as you were about to turn to Hoseok, he stands up from his seat and dusts his hands on his pants.
“Gotta piss,” he declares as your jaw drops.
“What—?” you say, bewildered when he slides to your side and gives you a fond peck to the crown of your head before shooting a beaming grin at you and Yoongi.
“You’ll be okay,” he whispers into your ear, right before he quickly heads into a direction that you sure wasn’t the toilet.
That betrayer! He left you alone with Yoongi!
You sniff to yourself. Men, you couldn’t trust them.
Now that you and Yoongi were alone, you feel yourself grow more alert, more aware of his presence as you turn to face him while you clear your throat.
“You didn’t have to get me this, by the way,” you say, wiggling the medicine. “I’m pretty sure they sell some over here.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” he deadpans, “I told you. I do it because I want to. Now sit and scoot over.”
You stammer for a response before Yoongi gently nudges you with his hip as you plop down into the booth, doing exactly as he says as the two of you sit side-by-side, shoulder-to-shoulder as you people watch.
It’s a comforting silence and one that you usually only get to experiment with and appreciate with Yoongi. He was a quiet person by nature, not because he was shy, even if he was slightly, but because he was generally just a relaxed person. Someone that received energy from doing the most random things, going along with people because he was that pure and not because he actually felt that way.
“You didn’t have to come, you know. I know you don’t do well with amusement parks,” he speaks up after a brief silence.
You snort. “Haerin invited me out. What do I say? No?”
Yoongi blinks at you, “Yes. You say exactly that.”
“I’m not a douche, Yoongi. She seemed really excited,” you say with a roll of your eyes.
“But you don’t need to do things for people because they want you to. You should want and enjoy the things you do,” he says pointedly.
“Yeah, well at least Hobi’s with me,” you shrug.
“He’s literally the one other person that detests these rides as much as you do,” Yoongi says blankly.
“And we’ll suffer together,” you snicker, “You don’t need to worry. I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”
“Are you okay?”
Yoongi’s question catches you off guard as your eyes widen when you see that he has a more serious expression on his face, especially when he turns to face you, body so close to yours.
“We haven’t gone on a single ride yet, I’m fine,” you insist.
“I’m not talking about the rides,” he clarifies. “When we got here. Your eyes looked swollen. Are you okay?”
You tense.
“It was nothing,” you lie.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he frowns, folding his arm across his chest. “You don’t have to tell me anything but if Hoseok’s not treating you right—”
You huff, waving him off. “God, no. When will you get that we’re not together?” you exasperate. “Hobi and I are friends. Trust me when I say that, and trust me when I say that I’m fine too. It was just about the proposal I was working on.”
Yoongi eyes you sceptically, opening his mouth to say something before he closes it, reconsidering it completely. He sighs, leaning back into the booth before his head trains forward.
“It’s the end of this month, right?”
You nod your head.
“I should be able to make it. Just text me the time and place and I’ll be there.”
“Yoongi, you’re a literal doctor. You don’t have to come,” you point out.
Yoongi looks over at you with an unimpressed look. “I want to come.”
There it is again. Want. He wants to do things for you. Wants to come to your pitch. But he doesn’t want you? At least not enough to be with you instead of Haerin?
“It’s nothing important,” you mutter, “I’ll just send you a video.”
“It is important,” he says, “If it’s important to you then it’s important to me. Isn’t that enough of a reason for me to want to go?”
“I know you’re busy so you really don’t—”
“And? Just because I’m busy doesn’t mean I can’t make time for you,” he says with furrowed brows.
You flush. “You really don’t—”
“I’m going for you,” he deadpans, eyes boring a straight stare into your own eyes as you swallow. “Do you not want me to go?”
“I never said that!”
“Well you’re trying really hard to make sure I don’t,” he blinks.
“Because it’s not that big of a deal!” you retort, “Yoongi. You really don’t have to. Jungkook and Hobi are already going to be there. I have all the support I need.”
Yoongi grabs a hold on your wrist, turning to face you with a serious stare that has your eyes widening. When you peer closer, you see a flash of hurt cross over his expression
“For the last time, I don’t have to do anything but I want to,” he says lowly, enunciating every word as you hang onto his tone. “So everyone gets to support you but me? You’re okay with them being there but not me?”
You frown. “Yoongi—”
“That’s not fair,” he whispers, “I want to support you but you won’t let me?”
Yoongi genuinely sounds hurt and you immediately feel bad. You purse your lips, eyes dropping to your lap when he squeezes around your wrist to catch your attention again.
“I-I do, Yoongi,” you say quietly, “I just don’t want you to purposely make time for this event when you could easily watch a video presentation of my pitch. You’re busy.”
Your excuse is lame at best and you know Yoongi knows it. He frowns, opens his mouth to say something before he sighs.
“I will make time because I want to,” he says, “Text me the details if not I’ll get it out of Hobi. Either way, I’ll be there even if you try to kick me out.”
You huff, “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
“Only around you,” he muses, ruffling your hair as you bask in his little touch, the way his fingers softly drag over the nape of your neck before it drops.
You gaze at him, eyes slightly hooded and it’s another moment you feel enraptured by. The chatter sings as the background music, and your knees are pressed against each other. Yoongi feels so close, but so far away.
“I—”
“I got our tickets and your water!”
You immediately jump away, turning your head to the side as you clear your throat when you hear Haerin’s voice break you out of your trance.
“Here,” she offers you your drink along with your ticket as you weakly smile at her. “You okay?”
You nod your head tightly, and finally, you spot from the side of your vision that Hoseok is beginning to make his way towards you. Before Haerin can pry further, you meet him halfway, looping an arm around his elbow as you turn your back towards Yoongi and Haerin.
“I hate you,” you hiss lowly while Hoseok blinks at you.
“What’d I do?” he asks cluelessly.
You roll your eyes, and you completely miss the way Yoongi’s expression drops into a frown when you hike forward with Hoseok on your arm.
“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”
“You okay?”
You were in fact, not okay.
“I’m puking my fucking guts out, does it look like I’m okay?” you snap weakly, unable to even shoot Yoongi a glare as he holds your hair back while you crouch over a drain outside the compound of the rollercoaster ride you just took.
“No, you don’t,” Yoongi offers unhelpfully as you grunt, feeling your stomach churn further. “But I asked out of courtesy.”
“Fuck your damn courtesy,” you grumble, feeling another wave of nausea hit you.
Immediately, you fall back onto your knees as you feel Yoongi’s grip around your hair loosen in replacement of his free hand reaching out to balance you, fingers squeezing around your bicep as you groan.
“At least you’re aiming well,” he supplements.
You almost turn to hurl on him instead of the drain, but you hack out another glob of vomit that felt worse than the last as you sniffle in irritation.
“Don’t make me puke on you,” you threaten.
“Aw,” he coos, rubbing your back in circles as you nearly jolt at the tenderness of his fingers drumming against your spine. “Like a baby.”
“I hate you,” you spit.
“No you don’t,” he snickers, and you finally feel relatively better, even if Yoongi refuses to let you go when you attempt to shrug him off. You fall back onto the heels of your feet, nearly knocking into his crouched body when you wince at the taste of puke in your mouth. He extends his arm out to offer you water as you immediately gargle it in your mouth before spitting it out.
“Did Hobi go and get some food?”
He nods, “And Haerin’s probably somewhere not trying to see puke.”
You roll your eyes, going to swipe at your mouth with the sleeve of your shirt before Yoongi stops you with his own hand.
What he does next should’ve realistically disgusted you, or anyone, really. But your eyes blow out wide when he takes the sleeve of his own sweatshirt and wipes at the corner of your mouth, making a pointed effort to squeeze your cheeks to face him.
Instead, you feel your heart stutter against your chest when he doesn’t look the least bit perturbed as he wipes your literal puke off your face with the fabric of his own apparel.
“Y-Yoongi that’s fucking disgusting—!”
“You say that as if I didn’t just see you hurl the contents of your breakfast and lunch into a drain,” he tacks on dryly.
“I could’ve done it myself!” you hiss, snatching yourself away from him.
“Babies need to be taken care of, don’t they?” he teases.
“I’m—not—a—baby,” you cry, swatting him on his arm as he snickers at your clear exasperation.
“You are—”
“Uh, bad time?”
Your hand pauses in the air as your head turns comically slow towards the introduction of a new voice. Hoseok stands there with food in his arms, and frankly, your stomach was still a little too weak for you to be considering gorging yourself with more food to puke.
“I’ll go check on Haerin,” Yoongi says as he clears his throat, nodding his head towards Hoseok before he gives one last squeeze to your shoulder.
You blink, attempting to process what happened with your nauseous state just as Hoseok stalks towards you with the food.
You finally turn to watch Yoongi’s back, and his hands are in his pockets.
He’d always return to her, you remind yourself.
“Food?” Hoseok offers.
You feel sick again.
“Where are they?” You’re tapping your foot against the ground impatiently, eyebrows furrowed in irritation as Hoseok attempts to dial the two missing people.
“They probably have a reason,” Hoseok reasons.
“They’re probably fucking in some public restroom or something,” you mutter dejectedly, kicking a pebble with your feet as you lean against a pillar.
“Haerin doesn’t seem the type,” Hoseok says.
“So Yoongi does?” you say with a raised brow.
“You said that, not me,” he says defensively, raising up his hands.
You sigh, eyes squinting as it travels through the crowd of people before you turn back to Hoseok.
“Okay, how about we split up and find them? I remember seeing Yoongi head that way,” you point to the right, “You take left and I’ll go here.”
Hoseok nods, squeezing your shoulder before you finally part ways.
Once you see Hoseok’s blend into the crowd, you allow your shoulders to droop while you avoid thinking about the worst possible scenario.
It’s almost like an uphill battle with Yoongi whenever you were with him. You know that night changed a lot of things between the both of you, both because of your reckless behaviour and the unadulterated rage you saw behind his eyes when they laid on the man. Yoongi was a quiet person by nature, and most would assume that he was cold. While he did appear cold, you knew that was a front of the warmhearted person he truly was.
You appreciated him, in more ways than one. You were somewhat the same in the sense that you weren’t great at expressing your feelings. It was easier to snap at someone than tell them how much they meant to you, and it was definitely marginally less mortifying to keep someone thinking that you were sharp-tongued and feisty than soft-hearted and vulnerable.
But Yoongi takes care of you. He always had. And it was only natural for you to feel the way you do. Frankly, you don’t blame Haerin either. Yoongi was kind, gentle, respectful even if he was sometimes irritating. You frown to yourself as you mindlessly trail through the fair, head lolling to catch a potential glimpse of where the couple was—and you feel your heart crash all over again.
Maybe they just wanted privacy, you think.
Maybe they just wanted to be alone, you remind yourself.
Maybe they just wanted to bask in each other’s presence without—
“Is it me?”
You barely realise you’re in a rather secluded area of the fair where voices echo against bannisters and posters of games that were left abandoned by their vendors. But you catch the sound of a familiar voice as you open your mouth to call out her name.
“—God, no. Haerin, I told you. It’s nothing.”
You pause, and you see a partition between a store with space in-between in. You hear Yoongi’s voice, hushed and sharp as your brows furrow in confusion. You decide against speaking because, for the first time in your life, Yoongi sounds less than pleased—with Haerin, and that says a lot.
“Then what is your deal? Do you know what we are?” she hisses.
Your eyes widen at the venomous tone that she adopts.
“You’re my best friend—!”
“I’m not just your best friend anymore, Yoongi!” she exclaims while you watch her throw her arms up in frustration through the slit of the partition. Yoongi is standing a good distance away, and it’s clear by his body language that he’s establishing that boundary with her while she curls into herself too. “When we said to try this out that means we’re allowed to see each other as more than that, Yoongi …”
“I do,” he clips, and it sounds rough even to you. As if the words burned his throat, was forced out of obligation than sincerity. It only makes you more confused. “Do I need to hold your hand to prove that?”
“No! That’s not the point and you know it,” Haerin snaps, “It’s not about holding about my hand but about the fact that nothing’s changed.”
“You said to take it slow!”
“I said to adjust to it!” she returns vehemently, “You’re not adjusting. You don’t even try. Why is it so hard with me if it’s so easy—?”
“Don’t,” Yoongi snaps, eyes glaring into Haerin who stands equally as tall. For a moment, you realise how alike they are—silent ruminators with tongues sharper than a knife. “We’re not talking about this here.”
“Then when do you want to talk, Yoongi?” she says quietly, “You don’t want this.”
“You don’t know what I want,” he deadpans, brushing his hand over his pants before he sighs.
“Maybe I don’t but it’s clearly not me,” she whispers.
“Don’t say that,” Yoongi hisses.
“Don’t this, don’t that. Then what do I do, Yoongi?” You hear Haerin exasperate, equally as frustrated with the man before her as he keeps his gaze unreadable on her figure.
“We’ll talk later,” he sighs, and you see Yoongi offer a consolatory pat to her shoulder. It’s an odd gesture despite their status, but you don’t question it when your mind is already reeling. “Hobi and ___ are probably waiting for us.”
“When are you going to acknowledge it, Yoongi? Let’s address the elephant in the room because you and I both know the truth even if you’re not admitting it. I can accept it, but you need to tell me if—”
“Haerin, please. I don’t want to talk about this here,” he begs, voice tinged with a form of vexation you rarely hear directed towards Haerin, ever.
Haerin frowns, and her polished face looks frustrated. It’s a stark difference from the character she holds to the world, well-kept, polite and soft. This version of her is more human, unfiltered and the type of person you’d see and turn your head away at. You don’t know how to feel.
You’re confused. You don’t know what Haerin’s implying, nor why Yoongi was so adamant to drop the subject. Were they fighting? You thought they were perfect for each other. It made sense, you repeat like a mantra to yourself.
“____?”
You lose yourself in your thoughts that you don’t realise Yoongi and Haerin are no longer hidden behind the partition and standing right in front of you.
You blink twice, ready to come up with an excuse.
“There you are,” you say, hoping your voice wasn’t a dead giveaway to the fact that you were eavesdropping. “Was just looking for you.”
“Did you hear anything?” Haerin asks, eyebrow raised.
You stammer for a split second before letting out a tight laugh, “What? I just got here.”
Haerin looks at you for a split second, then to Yoongi, who refuses to meet her gaze as he keeps his eyes trained forward. It’s not malicious. But it does scream, not now.
You think Haerin’s about to call you out, but instead, she wraps her arm around your own and peers up at you with the slight height difference.
“Can we walk together?”
You blink, shocked, briefly meeting Yoongi’s eyes before you’re looking back at her.
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. introduction of a new character!!!! she is a menace but so so lovely, some revelations, words of wisdom, impeccable timing & coincedences!
WORDS. 3.3k
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
“Loli?”
“Oh sweetheart, look at you,” she coos, practically shoving the muscly boy next to her aside in exchange for reaching her arms wide open for you. “You look like death.”
You scowl. “You came back to take a piss on my appearance?”
The old lady only snickers, and frankly, if you didn’t know her—you would’ve thought she was no older than fifty years old. But Loli took care of her skin like nobody’s business, and she was definitely young at heart—younger than you, probably.
She’s dressed in bright pink, a little too bright for a Sunday morning that you wince at the reflective light of her jacket. Her hair is dolled to perfection and her sunglasses do anything but shield the sun from her with how thin they were. You scrunch your face—was this what fashion was?
“No more golden showers from me,” she chirps and you literally gag.
“Jesus Christ you’re disgusting,” Jungkook speaks up after he’s recovered from Loli’s brutal shove. For a man so big, only someone as uninhibited as Loli could take him, old age and all.
“Don’t talk to your grandmother like that,” she snickers, ruffling his hair while he shoots her a dry stare.
You look behind him and note that there are way too many pink luggages for someone who was allegedly here for the month.
“In all seriousness, though,” Loli turns to you, “You need to start giving a shit about how you look. You don’t need to look as gorgeous as I do, obviously—but a shower wouldn’t hurt.”
You roll your eyes but still snuggle yourself against her warm chest as her arms gesture you closer. As blunt as Loli was, you loved her. She was the maternal figure in your life that you never could’ve gotten with your own mother. And you wouldn’t want her any other way.
“Things have been busy,” you sigh.
“You’re not the nursing student,” Loli points out.
“Exactly. You’re just dramatic,” Jungkook says.
You scowl at both of them. No wonder they were related.
“Whatever. Are we gonna get lunch or what?”
Loli immediately smiles, linking your arm around hers while she immediately starts strutting forward. You turn to catch a glimpse of Jungkook with the mountainous pile of luggages and a gaping face. You don’t feel bad for him, so you give a little wave to which he returns the gesture with his longest finger.
“Your treat?”
“I didn’t marry a rich old man for him to die early for nothing!”
“Holy fuck is your stomach just endless?” Jungkook wheezes, attempting to make sense of how Loli manages to scarf down everything in her line of vision.
You can’t lie, you mirror his sentiment.
“Listen here you brat,” she seethes, “I was on a fifteen-hour flight so forgive me if I’m hungry.”
“Loli, you’re eating like it’s the end of the world,” you blink.
She scoffs, wiping the corners of her lips with her fifth tissue as she glares at you.
“And it may as well be! You never know when you’re gonna die so you gotta make the most out of your time right now.”
Of course, you understood her intent clearly. But her words ring true, and you sigh before resting your chin against your palm, offering her a tired smile as she continues eating you and Jungkook’s leftovers, and the other dishes she added onto the bill.
“Every time you visit I need to lie to my classmates and say you’re the crazy lady my parents have an IOU with because there’s no fucking way they can know we’re related,” Jungkook says with a scrunch of his nose.
“Child, do you think I go around telling people that you’re my grandson,” she scoffs, and you snicker when Jungkook gawks at her. “You’re lucky you’re friends with her because if not I would’ve totally removed you from the family tree.”
You lean onto her shoulder, sticking your tongue out at Jungkook.
“I’m her favourite.”
“Seriously. What sins have I committed to having the both of you in my life?” he blinks.
“Nothing. This is God’s blessing,” you retort, high-fiving Loli with a wide grin on both of your faces.
The restaurant is relatively silent, mostly because Loli was filthy fucking rich and demanded that your group be the only patrons indoors. You knew the owner pretty well, only due to Loli’s secret connection with everybody and their mother’s in this place. Also, it was likely because Loli could be super fucking intimidating when she wanted to.
Loli leans back, sighing in content as she finishes the last bit of her chowder and pushing the dish forward. From the corner of your eye, you see a few staff ogle Loli like she was an extraterrestrial creature. They must be new, you muse—since you’ve never seen them before.
“You think they’d prepare me another?”
“Loli, you’re gonna milk them dry—”
As you’re speaking, your phone abruptly rings as you jump.
“Sorry,” you wince, fishing it out from your pocket as you stare at the caller ID, caught off-guard.
Loli looks over your shoulder like the busybody she was.
“Ooh. Daddy’s calling?”
You scowl, glaring at her when the nickname she coined for Yoongi pops up.
Yoongi was calling. And he had been more frequently ever since the incident a week ago. You don't quite know what sparked the change, and the sudden incessant need for Yoongi to spontaneously inquire on your whereabouts but you accepted it.
(A part of you that yearns, enjoys the fact that he calls so often if you were able to hear his voice.)
That night imprints itself into memory. The way you foolishly allowed yourself to look more vulnerable than you already were in front of him, the vehement words that left his lips when he spoke of the man that assaulted you, the gaze in his eyes when he looked at you and told you that he'd always be there.
How could you forget? In fact, how could you not feel when this was Yoongi?
Often, you try to paint him to be the bad person. Someone that doesn't care, that didn't mean half the things that he did but you knew that was a lie. You knew that it was a defence mechanism you adopted so you could somehow convince yourself that you could move on—that Yoongi wasn't someone that cared.
He did, and you did feel cared for. But at what cost?
The approval of your sister? The smile that she sends him when he reports back to her on your whereabouts like the good friend he was?
That night shifted something between you and Yoongi, but yet—the reality was that he wasn't yours.
“Hi,” you greet, finally answering the call.
“Hey,” the voice returns, and you think it’s a sin for him to sound so good over the phone. “Where are you right now?”
Your brows furrow and you note that Loli’s attempting to mould herself as close as possible to you to get a listen.
“Boy! Is this a booty—?”
You chuck a tissue at her as she snickers at you. Even Jungkook can’t be bothered to stop his grandmother.
“I’m with Jungkook and Loli. Why?”
There’s a slight pause before you hear his breathing.
“Loli’s back? I should really take her out for the meal I owe her.”
You snort. “You’re the only person that would voluntarily meet up with her.”
“Honey, I will expose you,” Loli says with a frown.
You ignore her.
“She’s lovely. I don’t know why you say that,” he chuckles.
“Lovely isn’t what I’d use to describe her …” you mutter, “Unhinged, maybe?”
“Did you tell him—?”
Another tissue.
Yoongi laughs on the other end and you have to stop yourself from reacting too much. There’s something so comforting about the way he chuckles. It isn’t obnoxious. Nothing like the way you laugh—unfiltered and doubled over. His laughter is gentle, much like himself. It almost makes you want him to lull you to sleep.
“I’m on my break and I got you some pastries from the bakery you liked,” he explains. “Will you be home anytime soon?”
You pause, and you want to slap yourself for being so weak. It’s normal, you tell yourself. Yoongi is nice—too nice that your poor heart can’t differentiate between being wanted and being treated.
"Do you think I don't have food at home or something?" you sigh, "You didn't have to do that, you know."
"Microwaveable food doesn't count," he says pointedly. "And for the last time, let me just do nice things for you, okay?"
You wonder if he knows what he's saying, how it makes you feel. How you can't help but have your heart beat a little faster when he does.
You sigh. “We’re just about done. I’ll probably be back in the next half hour or so?”
There’s a slight pause before he speaks up again.
"Are you at her favourite place?"
"You know she only eats here, Yoongi," you say with an eye roll.
“I’m about ten minutes away. I’ll pick you guys up.”
“Don't you have a shift—Yoongi—?”
He hangs up before you can say anything.
You sigh to yourself, staring at your phone screen as Jungkook raises a brow at you.
“He’s coming over?”
Loli squeals as you scowl.
“He just bought some baked goods for me …” you mumble off-handedly, waving her enthusiasm.
"Wow," Jungkook whistles as you glare at him when he shrugs. "I mean, look—your entire relationship with him is a little odd but who am I to judge?"
"Literally no one. And I don't need the two of you butting into my business, okay?" you say with narrowed eyes, looking at both Jungkook and Loli.
"You mean you haven't done anything about your feelings?" Loli gawks.
"No, she hasn't," Jungkook sighs, leaning back, "Did we expect her to? You should've seen the stunt she pulled with him at her dad's gala—"
"For the last time, I was drunk," you hiss defensively.
Jungkook looks unimpressed. "Okay, and drunk words are sober thoughts, right?"
You sigh, "Look," you say seriously, "I don't need to be lectured about what I did or didn't do. My feelings are my own to deal with, not yours, okay?"
"I literally don't know who told you that but that's not true at all," Loli says with a frown. "You know you can trust us, right?"
You could, and you did. You trusted Jungkook and Loli with your life. But some things were hard to say, even harder to admit. And you've already allowed too many things to the surface when you didn't want them to. From Hoseok catching up on your helpless gazes, Jungkook trying his best to support you emotionally true your distress—and the ever confusing situation with Yoongi from the night you got drunk—
You trusted them, it was you who you couldn't trust.
"It's not that easy," you say softly, "I really appreciate you guys. But—there are some things you just won't be able to understand."
"Just because we don't understand doesn't mean we can't be there for you, ____," Jungkook says firmly, "The longer you keep these things to yourself the longer—"
"And then what, Jungkook?" you snap, "What will be confiding in you do for me? Will it change anything about this situation? Will it change the way I feel?"
"No, and I never said that!" he exasperated, "You're not listening—"
"Okay, break it up, you two," Loli frowns, glaring at her grandson and you. "God. The two of you fight all the time."
"It's cause he's annoying," you say, sticking your tongue out at Jungkook who shoots you the middle finger.
"For wanting to be there for you as your best friend?" he retorts snappishly.
You baulk, eyes dropping to your lap as he scoffs, as if to say that's right.
It wasn’t always like this. You weren’t always prone to random outbursts or your emotions getting the best of you—with Yoongi either. But the older you grew, the more tired you got. When you were younger it was easier to look up to him with wonder in your eyes as the older boy-friend you had. He was always doing cool things, albeit with Haerin—the fact that he was always so kind, so present—made your teenager, now adult heart, soft.
"Let people be there for you," Loli says softly, "You don't have to deal with things alone."
Yoongi picks the three of you up shortly after the mini debacle with Loli and Jungkook.
She’s uber pleased to see him, going as far as to call dibs on the passenger seat as she blabs his ear off. Yoongi’s patient, listening to every word she says with the occasional nod and ‘really?’. You and Jungkook are tired, mostly because Loli was quite the character, and dealing with her took a toll on you no matter how familiar you were with her.
You reach your apartment in no time, and Loli complains about the fact that your interior was horrendous to look at. You can’t be bothered to placate her, especially when she demands you revamp your entire couch because it didn’t fit her aesthetic.
You wonder if she was really biologically, seventy years old.
"Make sure you finish them before the weekend," Yoongi says as the four of you make your way up to your apartment.
"I know," you groan, "Jesus. You're such a dad."
"I'm really not trying to be your dad, ____," he deadpans.
"Maybe another type of—" And before Loli can say anything, you're nudging her in the rib.
"I don't even eat that much, to begin with," you mutter off-handedly as you finally reach your apartment, scanning your thumbprint as your door opens.
"I can help you!" You hear Jungkook chirp from behind you.
You ignore him, while all of you pass the threshold of your entrance and into your apartment.
“So, Yoongi,” Loli begins, and you recognise the tone in her voice. You don’t like it, and you and Jungkook share a look as you tensely await her next words. “The baked stuff was a really kind gesture.”
Oh, no.
Yoongi smiles, rolling up his sleeves as he does the one thing that's both unnecessary and hot. Unnecessarily hot and bad for your heart.
Yoongi moves you out of the way from the cupboard with his hands on your waist as he slips behind you.
You feel your cheeks heat, especially when you make eye contact with Jungkook and Loli who was already sat at your counter.
Was this even appropriate? He was with your sister, for God sake! You didn't know what giving a shot entailed but you knew that it was exclusive enough to serve as a reality check to you.
You can’t help but ogle him, seeing the way he looks so utterly domestic and at place in your kitchen.
“She likes them,” he says easily before looking over at you. “Here, take a bite.”
Yoongi offers you a piece from his own hand as you blankly stare at it as if it would attack you. You stutter for a good few seconds until Loli's nudging you with her shoulder as you blink up at Yoongi, who has an expectant look on his face when the piece of pastry still remains in his hand, held to your mouth.
"I can eat on my own," you say weakly.
"Just take it," he sighs, and you swallow before you lean forward and take the pastry from between his fingers into your mouth.
“How sweet of you,” Loli coos, and you really wished that hitting an old person wasn’t socially unacceptable in society.
Loli wasn’t an old person. She was a menace.
“Not really. Like I said, she likes them,” he shrugs casually as if he hadn't just fed you a pastry right in front of Loli and Jungkook.
Loli clicks her tongue, shaking her head before shooting you a mischievous look. You immediately retract, and even Jungkook looks ready to intervene.
“So are the two—?”
You’re about to lunge at her, but your door rings—and your brow furrows.
Who could that be?
“Were you expecting anyone?” Jungkook asks.
“I—? No?” you say, confused before pushing yourself off the stool.
You give Jungkook a look which essentially tells him to ensure that Loli doesn’t say anything that would absolutely ruin your life. He immediately understands, giving you a curt nod before he expertly strays the conversation to his medical exams and throwing in jargon that only Yoongi would understand.
You head to the door, and you don’t bother looking through the peephole before pulling it open to be greeted with—
“Hobi?”
He beams at you, swinging a bag in his hand.
“I have chicken!”
You blink.
“What are you … what? Where did this come from?”
Listen, you and Hoseok were friends. Sure, you slept with each other after a few casual conversations but he was a nice person in general. You liked him as a person, and the two of you got along with each other. And sure, he was a flirt—but it was all in good faith. Hoseok was naturally flirty like that, and if you were anyone else, you would’ve probably fallen in love with him too.
You’re surprised, but not too surprised.
You are, however, concerned.
“For not being able to pick you up that night,” he pouts as you wince at the memory, immediately knowing what he was referring to.
“Hobi, I told you it was okay,” you complain, "You called Yoongi anyway."
"Yeah, but he was pissed, and I basically left you to deal with his wrath," he sniffs, "By the way, what happened—?"
“Oh? And who is this?” You hear Loli perk up, and you instantly feel your shoulders droop in defeat.
Hoseok looks over your shoulder, unbothered to wait for you to let him in as he beams at the source of the voice. You had a feeling that Loli would really like Hoseok.
“Hi Ma’am!” he greets as you catch him in a bow after you closed the door behind you. You see Jungkook stifling a laugh, and you note that Yoongi’s face is blank again.
“___?” Loli pries, raising a brow.
You sigh, slipping back into your stool while you set the chicken on the table. Yoongi stares at it longer than one would ogle chicken, and you’re wondering why.
“Hobi, meet Loli,” you gesture, “Loli, meet Hobi.”
“Hoseok. But you can call me Hobi,” he smiles. “Love the outfit, by the way.”
Loli gasps, extremely pleased. “Oh you are a keeper,” she grins before turning to you. “So you got two of—?”
“Hobi is a friend, Loli,” you grit.
Hoseok senses your dismay as he chuckles, nodding his head. He briefly looks at Yoongi to shoot him a wide smile as a greeting, and the older boy only returns it with a curt nod before he’s turning his back to him and rummaging through your cupboards.
The plates were already on the table.
“Yep,” Hoseok says, popping the ‘p’ before he wraps an arm around you.
Loli looks between the both of you, then to Jungkook who’s already forking down a pastry, then back to your face.
“You definitely slept with each other.”
You choke, ears flushed.
“Loli!”
Jungkook’s trying his best not to swallow from the wrong hole as he digs his face onto the table, and you also note that Yoongi makes his way to Loli’s side with an impassive expression, handing you a plate of the strudel without a second glance.
“What? The body language, the chemistry. It’s so obvious!” she says, waving her hands around.
Hoseok is undeterred, as always.
“Who knows?” he shrugs, coyly sending Loli a wink.
“Did you know about this?” she asks, turning to Jungkook who blinks at her owlishly.
“I—well … she doesn’t indulge me in her sex-life …” Jungkook begins to say. He’s … right. You don’t. Instead, you indulge him in your unrequited feelings.
“You?” She turns to Yoongi, and you feel a cold shiver wash down your spine when his gaze hardens against your temple.
Hoseok still has his arms around your shoulder.
“Vaguely,” he curtly responds.
Loli turns to you, smirking as you feel the oncoming headache.
“Interesting,” she hums, then she’s turning to Yoongi. “What about you?”
Yoongi pauses by the sink just as he washes his hands. You freeze as well, and Hoseok freezes, too. Jungkook only can witness the tense atmosphere—and it’s all too awkward. For you, at least. Four out of five people knew of your feelings, two knew about Yoongi’s status—and well, now five were going to be severely enlightened.
“Me?” he says calmly, wiping his hand down before slipping onto the stool. His eyes briefly flicker onto the arm around your shoulder before he looks back to Loli.
“Yes you, doctor,” she snorts, “Have you managed to find a love life?”
You find yourself wincing before he answers and you hate that you still feel this way. You wonder if it’ll ever get easier.
“Well …” he says hesitantly, “I’m seeing someone—”
You can’t hide your face, but thankfully Yoongi doesn’t see it. Hoseok does, and he frowns at you. He rubs a soothing thumb against your shoulder before patting your head. To anyone, it looked like a friendly gesture. To you, you knew it was a silent form of comfort.
“Who?” Loli pushes, and you wonder how did you go from eating baked goods to this?
“Uh, Haerin—”
“Haerin? As in her sister Haerin? The really boring one? You got the boring sibling?” Loli cries.
You thwack her shoulder.
Yoongi blinks, and Jungkook nearly chokes.
“What? Did your sisterly instincts kick in?” she sneers, fully aware of the feelings you harbour towards Yoongi and the emotional tussle that you feel towards Haerin.
“Stop interrogating him and eat your damn bread, lady,” you scowl.
“It’s not that serious,” he shrugs, and you’re surprised he’s actually explaining himself. “We’re just seeing how it goes.”
Loli sniffs, unimpressed.
“She’s too boring for you. Pretty girl, super smart too—but you’re young and handsome! You need a wild ride—”
“Loli, not everyone wants to live life like you,” Jungkook says dryly, intercepting as you silently thank him.
“I’m offering a perspective!” she says defensively.
You loved Loli, you really did. You knew that under her wild and rambunctious exterior, was a woman that was there for you when you had no one else. She was the one person that navigated the years of teenage angst with you despite having no biological relation with you. She cooked you hearty food on days where you felt sick, not physically, but due to your mental strain. She accompanied you to the first online forum you hosted with an NGO you were working with, cheering the loudest when you spoke.
She was there for you to confide in when you started feeling less than Haerin, unsure of who you were and where you were going. She was there for you when you realised you were in love with Yoongi—and her arms served as a home, her shirt as a towel to dry your tears.
You know she’s vying for you, and you feel immensely grateful. But the reality is that Yoongi is Yoongi, and Haerin is Haerin, while you were you.
You were never part of that equation.
“Not sure if the wild life would accept me, though,” Yoongi muses.
“Hey, you’ll never know,” Hoseok says, offering a nudge.
Yoongi blinks, blankly staring at Hoseok who's all smiles when the older man shakes his head, a small smile on his face before his gaze briefly falls onto your own.
“Easy for you to say,” Yoongi throws back, taking a bite of the strudel.
You meet Jungkook's gaze, and he's desperately trying to tell you something with his eyes. You can't read what, but he's staring hard.
You can't read Yoongi, either. It's as if he was programmed to be unreadable, simply aloof and impenetrable whenever you'd try to get a gauge of what he was thinking about.
Loli is simply observing Yoongi with a wistful smile.
“Sometimes, boy,” she sighs, leaning back as Yoongi listens intently. “You need to take the first step before you decide that the door isn’t your opening.”
"I agree," Jungkook interjects, pointedly looking at you as if he was telling you to take the advice. You scowl.
Yoongi’s hand stops, the baked good idle on his plate. You keep your eyes focused on your plate, mutely nodding when Hoseok and Jungkook steals a piece each.
“Maybe,” Yoongi finally says, eyes momentarily locking with yours when you involuntarily look up. “But I’m not sure if I’m ready to take that risk of losing.”
Loli snorts, shaking her head in a wistful manner.
“Life is a losing game,” she grins, looking over at you. “So why not lose with dignity?
you were a fire, and you burnt anything that came in your way
PAIRING. min yoongi x reader
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. sexual harassment, alcohol as a coping mechanism (she gets drunk), anger ... simmering, something ... more?, *feelings*, again: ANGST!!!!
WORDS. 5.7k
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
You hated alcohol.
It was funny, wasn't it? You hated it, yet you're here, throat on fire and it's searing. The burn that runs down your throat is severely unpleasant, and anytime it slips past your oesophagus and into your stomach—you feel bits of yourself get stripped away; both literally and figuratively.
The haziness is all that you feel and everything is a blur. It’s unnervingly terrifying when you lose the sense of your surroundings and self when all you are in the liquid courage that you consume. People turn into walls and sounds turn into suffocation—everything felt all too heightened and not there at all.
Nothing made sense when you were drunk—maybe that’s why your thoughts barely contain themselves. Your body feels heavy. Like it wasn’t your own—was it ever? Or were you simply living in a vessel that was given to you from birth? You didn’t choose this body—this life—to exist. You were thrown into the real world with tears, and soon you learnt that the world was meant to tear you apart.
The peach soju tastes sweet against your tongue, but you know it’s foreshadowing your potential demise. You were intimate with the aftereffects of downing soju like it was water—it was dangerous. You suppose the sweetness was what you chased for, to cover the bitterness of reality.
The bar you’re at is new. To you, at least. Your bartender tells you it’s been a while since it was established—you don’t ask him to elaborate. A ‘while’ could’ve been a decade. A ‘while’ was also how long you’ve gone without thinking about—
A ‘while’ was ‘now’.
“Fuck,” you hiss, wincing at the hammering between your temples. Your forehead drops forward as you cradle your face in your hands.
You should’ve thought twice—thrice, an infinite more amount of times before you came here. You stumbled across this place, it looked quiet enough. Not many people were here, but it looked like a posh place. Rolex’s and AP covers the wrists of men and women alike, and subtle flexes of their wealth cover their tabs.
You were practically an eyesore in a place where so many people were dressed to impress. You were also apparently one of the few people that couldn’t handle their alcohol that well.
The dress you were wearing was also unnecessarily flashy—at least for what you were intending on doing at the bar, anyway. You were here to drink, wallow and drown in your thoughts. But you were dressed rather provocatively, the square neckline exposing most of your collarbones and chest. It’s not boastful, just tantalising.
The hem of your dress is also more than generous with revealing your legs, it reaching just below your butt.
But you were growing tired, and the alcohol has done more than enough to make you want to tap out for the night. You were on the verge of dropping your head, and you scarcely made out your surroundings.
You bring your phone out, squinting your eyes to get the time and note that it’s an ungodly hour. Were you drinking for that long? How did time pass so quickly?
You contemplated hailing a cab, but you remember the last time you took a cab alone after midnight—and you immediately shiver. It was an experience you didn’t want to relive, and you ended up having the driver drop you off six blocks away from your actual apartment because he was making you uncomfortable.
You were drunk, but you still had some form of rationale in you. You didn’t want to bother any of your friends—especially Jungkook, knowing that he’s in the middle of his nursing exams.
You couldn’t contact Yoongi because …
Who would contact their sister’s—
You didn’t even want to think about it.
You nibble on your lips, head pounding before your fingers hover over a chat.
To: Hobi
hobiiriew
M rly drunk lol
sry to distubr but i need a ride
im sosry
itsok if u can’t :)
hhhhhhhhhh ppl are weird here :;:(99
[Pinned location]
“You okay?” A voice slurs and you blink rapidly to make up the blob in front of you.
It’s a man—relatively older than you. Probably in his late thirties. He looks rich. Though, you can’t tell because you barely can make out his face.
“M’fine,” you grunt. “Thanks.”
“Need some company?” he asks, and you hardly pay him any attention when he doesn’t bother waiting for your response to take the empty seat right next to you.
“No,” you slur.
“Why not, sweets? You look lonely,” he says in a sleazy tone, leaning his elbow onto the countertop before he’s shooting you a smirk that you know he thinks is attractive.
“Firstly, don’t call me sweets,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Then, you’re levelling a glare at him through shaky ministrations. “Secondly, haven’t you considered that I wanna be alone right now?”
The man looks undeterred, and you note that the bartender isn’t even in sight so you can’t tell him to get the man away from you. He draws uncomfortably closer, his hand inching closer to your stool as you shift away.
“I can show you a good time,” he winks as you literally gag at his attempts. His face shifts, and there’s a tick to his brow that you can hardly point out with how everything blends together.
“You?” you scoff, looking him up and down with a disgusted expression. “Hard pass.”
He scowls. “Better watch ya’ fucking mouth, sweets.”
“Told you not to call me that, dumbass,” you slur snappishly, “Take a hint.”
The man burns bright red, and you don’t know if it’s because of the alcohol he’s consumed. You know he’s drunk because he’s intolerably close and you smell the familiar scent of whiskey in his breath. He’s large, larger than you but you’re sure he has a tiny dick. His hand reaches out and grabs your thigh as you jump at the sudden contact.
“Don’t be a prude,” he goads, rubbing a circle against your skin as you try to shake him off. But his hands are rough and firm, and you feel so lightheaded that you can’t muster up the strength to push him off.
“Are you that conceited?” you gawk, “Can you really not believe that some women have standards and don’t wanna sleep with you, you fucking weirdo?!”
“You think you’re better than me?” he fumes, “Ya’ just a tight pussy—need me to loosen it up—?”
You throw your drink at his face, your expression absolutely disgusted as he splutters. People stare, but they don’t do anything even when you visibly look uncomfortable. His hand leaves your thigh only to swipe at his eyes, and you think you can make a run for it until he’s grabbing you by your hair.
“What the fuck—?”
“You fucking bitch,” he seethes, “Who do you think you are?”
He yanks your hair towards him as you stumble on your feet as your back smacks into his chest. Your heart is pounding but you can barely make anything out. You can’t feel for your phone so you can’t even call your emergency contact. The man spins you around with his grip still tight against your locks as he levels you with a sinister expression.
“Leave me alone,” you hiss, shoving at his chest.
“You think you can fight me?” he sneers, pulling your hair towards his face as you yelp. He gives you a smile so evil that you gulp, fear threatening your entire body. “I’m gonna have my way with you, sweets—”
“Get your hands off her now.”
You freeze, body locking when the man before you furrows his brows at the source of the new voice.
“And who are you pretty boy?” he snorts.
His grip loosens, and you immediately stumble out of his grasp. Your feet are clumsy, but you come into contact with another firm body, whose hand wraps around your waist to steady you.
Immediately, your body relaxes—but then you realise who it is.
"Get your hands off of her," Yoongi repeats, so low that even you shudder. "Now."
The man before you fumes. “Who the fuck do you think you are—?”
“You laid a hand on her,” Yoongi blinks, eerily calm. “You pay.”
The man visibly stiffens.
“What?”
“Oh Sungyeon.” The moment those words leave Yoongi’s lips, the man in front of you jaw drops. “This wouldn’t be good for your company. Would it?”
“H-How the fuck—?”
“And your wife,” Yoongi says blandly, “She knows you’re here assaulting young women when she’s six months pregnant?”
“Are you crazy?” the man shrieks, and you’re still horribly confused and dazed.
The grip on your waist never loosens, in fact, it only grows tighter when the alleged Sungyeon, grows livid.
“No. But your father is my colleague so I put a name to the face I've seen from the pictures on his desk,” Yoongi says pointedly. “Now how surprised do you think I felt when I see that his son is nothing like him?”
Yoongi loosens his grip ever so slightly to push you behind him, his frame covering your body as he takes a step towards Sungyeon. Yoongi’s not that tall, but his presence is commanding. He’s in nothing but a t-shirt and sweats with his hair flopping against his forehead, but even then, he’s intimidating.
“If I ever see you lay a hand on her or any woman ever again—” he lowers his voice, eyes boring a menacing glare to the man before him, “I’ll get you fired.”
"Oooh. I'm so scared," the drunken man snorts, scoffing at Yoongi's threat. "You think I give a shit bout' if I have my job or not, asshole? One call and I'm back in, baby."
You want to vomit. Sungyeon is your nightmares personified, and the vile way the words roll of his tongue only tells you that it wasn't his first time getting into situations like these.
Yoongi takes another step forward, one that's definitely more intentional and exponentially more menacing.
Sungyeon looks rather taken aback, likely not expecting Yoongi to not back down.
Yoongi doesn't look scared, not one bit. In fact, he looks angrier. The subtle flare of his nostrils, the clench of his fists and the tightening of his jaw. All subtle movements, but you know Yoongi as the level-headed man that's stolen your heart.
The man in front of you is more man than Yoongi.
"You better thank your graces out there that I'm only threatening your job, Sungyeon," Yoongi snarls, crowding the drunk man as he stumbles backwards in alarm.
"What power do you have?"
"The power of a very pissed off man," Yoongi says.
Your eyes widen, especially when Yoongi's fist raises. You think he's about to swing and your hand reaches out before you can even think.
But you should've known Yoongi better. He'd never stoop that low.
Sungyeon looks scared shitless, and you know it's not because Yoongi could potentially take him down in the fight, but purely because of the unadulterated fury in his eyes.
"Leave before I lose it," he whispers into the man's ear, and only then do you return to reality just a bit to realise that you have a shaky hand on Yoongi's elbow.
Yoongi squeezes Sungyeon's shoulder, nothing too much, but you swear you see the drunk man shudder when he does so.
The drunken man curses, waving Yoongi off even if you knew that his expression revealed how scared shitless he was. The bystanders simply gape at the scene, likely impressed at the way that Yoongi managed to swoop in at impeccable timing and ward the shithead off.
But now that he was gone, and you’re faced with the slope of Yoongi’s back—you’re marginally soberer, but equally as scared shitless. For an entirely different reason.
You feel oddly berated when you stand behind Yoongi, watching the way his back moves rhythmically as if he was taking large breaths. His fists are balled up at his sides, and he doesn’t turn to look at you. His physique is loud, an imposing presence in your wake. You want to speak up but your voice is obsolete. Your head still hurts. Your heart does, too.
“Yoongi …”
“Don’t fucking talk to me right now.”
You wince at his harsh tone. It’s clear that he’s pissed. He doesn’t hide it like he usually does, doesn’t mask in under stoicism or his impressive level-headedness. No. Yoongi is fuming, and he wants you to know. His body language says it all, the way when he turns to finally face you and all you see is fire shows you. You know he’s pissed.
“I’m—”
“I said don’t,” he snaps, eyebrows stiff when he walks towards you. Your eyes dart to the ground, but you barely catch the way his eyes linger on your attire before he’s releasing a deep exhale.
He doesn't even look at you when he says: "Or I'll say something I'll regret."
You fiddle with your fingers, an apology on your tongue, but before you can get it out—his palms wrap around your wrist before he’s dragging you out of the bar. The club—whatever the hell this place was.
You squeak when you attempt to keep up with his quick feet as he drags you towards his car. His sleek car is parked rather recklessly by the curb, evidently showing that he was hastily trying to rush against time. He doesn’t release your hand when he unlocks it, and despite the quickness of his actions—you find some air to wonder how Yoongi knew where you were.
And you remember the text you sent Hoseok.
Your eyes widen in alarm. “Yoongi, my phone—”
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you when he opens the passenger door and wordlessly guides you inside. You don’t dare to say anything else—and it hurts even more when he doesn’t even look at you when he drops your phone onto your lap.
You sit as still as a statue, too afraid to do anything else. All the fiery on your tongue is dwindled out, the energy in your body slowly dissipating the more you sit in silence. Yoongi takes a while before he slips into the driver’s seat, and it’s still silent with the exception of the rustling when he adjusts himself.
You take a brief look at your lock screen, and your heart stops in your chest when you see the number of texts and missed calls you received in a rather short period of time.
From: Hobi [02:23AM]
___????
Shit. I’m out of town. Is there anyone else you can contact?
From: Hobi [02:25AM]
Why aren’t you replying me?
Did you get a ride?
Are you okay?
From: Hobi [02:27AM]
I swear to God why aren’t you replying me
I’m calling Yoongi
What the hell are you doing????
[5 missed calls from Hobi]
From: Yoongi [02:30AM]
___. are you there?
I’m on the way.
From: Yoongi [02:31AM]
Hello?
From: Yoongi [02:32AM]
Are you crazy? What are you doing??? why did you think it was a smart idea to go drinking to a place I sure as hell know you’ve never been before??? ALONE??
[16 missed calls from Yoongi]
You swallow, sensing the urgency and anxiety in the texts. You almost cower at Yoongi’s last message, head dropping to your lap when the car finally pulls out of the sidewalk.
He doesn’t bother turning on the radio like he usually would whenever you were in his car. In fact, he always gave you free rein to pick the songs even if he didn’t particularly like them. Now, it was terse silence. Your dress shifts uncomfortably around your thighs, hiking up whenever you keep moving your legs that you find yourself nervously sweating.
You squeeze your legs together, hoping that’ll mitigate the riding up of your dress—and then a blanket drops onto your lap.
You pause for a split second, eyeing the piece until you realise that Yoongi was the one that dropped it onto your lap.
You look over at him and his jaw is still clenched, eyes on the road while he keeps on hand on the wheel. His brows are furrowed and it’s a reminder that he still doesn’t want you to talk to him. You finger the blanket in between your fingers before you drape it over your thighs, unsure whether to thank him for it or not.
The situation was embarrassing as it is. You were still slightly dazed and overwhelmed with what had happened. Your scalp mildly hurts at how hard the man yanked at it, and you want to massage it just to alleviate the strain but you know that’ll only make Yoongi madder.
You hated it. He was a silent ruminator. The type of person that lets his anger speak through nothingness. The simmer of a burn that’s hotter than the sun but quieter than the night. The complete opposite of you. You spewed out the first thing that came to mind, acted erratically and never thought twice of the repercussions. All you wanted to do was release your rage.
Yoongi unintentionally made people suffer.
You stare out the window, your heart rattling in the chest. You wondered if he was awake when Hoseok called him. What he was doing—who he was with?
You wince, eyes fluttering shut when you unknowingly dug another unpleasant thought into your mind.
The pavements change and streetlights become taller the closer you get, and despite your sluggish state—you note that it’s a familiar enough road, but not to your apartment.
To Yoongi’s.
“My apartment—”
“Do you think I’m gonna leave you alone after seeing what happened tonight?” he snaps.
It’s the first thing he says after a while, and you immediately snap your lips shut. All your ripostes are gone, no retort on your tongue. Yoongi knows this, and the silence is only a reminder of it. He sighs but says nothing more as he pulls up in his apartment complex’s carpark.
He quickly parks in his designated spot, seamlessly within the box before he pulls the handbrake and turns the engine off. He quickly grabs his car keys before stepping out, and you remain seated in place, rather unsure if he was going to get you himself.
Thankfully, he does. He opens the door and waits for you to step out. He averts his eyes out of respect when you tug on your dress to preserve your modesty. Your cheeks are blazing, both because of the aftereffects of the soju you drank and in embarrassment. Being close to him. Everything.
The two of you walk in silence, Yoongi staying close enough to you to ensure that you didn’t trip and fall, but far enough to tell you that he was—well, angry.
Once you reach his apartment door, he scans his thumbprint and pushes it open, revealing his living room to you. You awkward hover by the entrance, feeling out of place. But Yoongi’s hard glare mobilises you as you duck your head and enter his home.
You’ve been here enough times to know your way around his place. You spent movie nights here, snacking like crazy or just crashing on the couch when it got too late. You know his place intimately.
But it’s different now. It just is. With the knowledge of him and Haerin, the nature of your friendship from the past few months—it’s different. And you don’t know what to do.
Yoongi disappears into his room, and you awkwardly stand by the couch. You feel so stiff, and your head is threatening to give up on you. You almost contemplate just sprawling on his couch and passing out, but even in your drunken state, you know that it isn’t a good idea.
You take out your phone, noticing you’ve got new texts from Hoseok.
From: Hobi
Jesus Christ ____ please tell me you’re okay
Yoongi isn’t replying to me
CALL m
ME
You rub a hand over your face, wincing at how sticky and gross you feel.
You press the call button, and after a few rings—he picks up.
“YOU’RE ALIVE!”
You wince. “Yes, Hobi—I am.”
“Dude. I was worried sick! What happened? I was so close from calling the cops!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I’m with Yoongi now.”
“Thank God,” he exhales through the phone, and there’s a brief silence before he speaks up again. “Just thought you should know but—he’s pissed.”
You roll your eyes. “I know. He isn’t talking to me.”
“Can you blame him? What you did was reckless, ____. What were you thinking? What if Yoongi couldn’t make it?”
“Well he did,” you snap, immediately feeling guilty when the other line goes silent. “Sorry. I just—there was this guy and he … yeah.”
“What? Who? I’m gonna kick his ass!”
You laugh softly, plucking at a stray thread from your dress.
“Yoongi dealt with it,” you mumble, “He was just being a douche. Yanked my hair and stuff.”
“Oh, I’m so gonna beat his ass.”
“Thank you, Hobi,” you say softly, “I just wanted to call you to let you know that I’m okay. Sorry to worry you.”
He hums. “Please, if you go out next time—let someone know. Or have someone accompany you. Especially to places like that. Imagine my surprise when you sent me your location.”
Your brows furrow. “What? It’s just a random bar.”
He snorts. “No, it’s not. Why do you think Yoongi’s so pissed? It’s not a place for you to be going alone. To drink.”
Just as you’re about to ask him why Yoongi returns with some clothes in his hand and his blank face. But there’s still a hardened expression on his face that you know won’t be going away anytime soon.
“I gotta go,” you say quickly, “Thank you again, Hobi. And I’m sorry.”
He says to not mention it before hanging up on you, and you’re left with a semi stare-down with Yoongi as you eye the clothes in his grasp.
He hands you the clothes in pure silence as you meekly accept them with your hands. You purse your lips, feeling exponentially worse when he doesn’t even look at you as you retreat to his guest bathroom to change.
Yoongi wasn’t talkative, to begin with, but the people that he did talk to—were people that he selectively allowed into his life. It was a silent declaration that he cared enough to engage in a conversation with you.
The fact he’s silent only kills you inside.
You lock the door behind you, taking a deep breath before you take in your expression through the mirror. You grimace at how your mascara was smudged underneath your eyes, the patchy spots on your lips and the way that your skin shines with oil. Your hair’s a mess, mostly due to how hard the man yanked it—making you look a little all over the place.
You sigh to yourself, slipping out of your dress, shivering when the cool air hits your bare skin. You throw on Yoongi’s shirt, nearly melting at his scent mixed with the detergent he uses, as well as the boxer shorts he handed you. You note that there’s nothing in the bathroom to wipe your makeup off with, so you make an effort to scrub at your face with pure water—cringing every time you come across a particularly chalky spot.
You blink at your reflection once you're done, and you look … better. Not good, but enough for you to turn off the tap and turn away. You fold your dress neatly and hold it against your chest before you take a deep breath and step out of the bathroom.
When you do, Yoongi’s sat on his couch, arms folded—with water and some food placed on his coffee table.
He hears the click of the door behind him and turns around. His eyes drift across from your torso, down to your pants—and then to your face. You don’t know what to make of it, but his jaw clicks.
“Your dress and undergarments.”
His voice is gruff, stern—telling you that there’s no room for argument.
You flounder, startled by his voice. “I—uh …”
He raises an unimpressed brow. “What? Do you need me to do it for you?”
"W-What ...?"
He sighs, frowning at you before he levels you with a hardened stare.
"Your dress and undergarments," he repeats. "I'll throw it in the laundry."
You shake your head, pinching the dress between your fingertips as you swallow.
“I just—it’s just the dress …” you say awkwardly, voice barely audible.
Yoongi furrows his brows. “What? Do you think I'm a teenage boy who'll jerk off to a pair of bra and panties?”
You flush harder, ears absolutely burning when you avoid his gaze.
“No, I’m not—I didn’t …” you stutter, eyes darting everywhere. “Well … I didn’t need—?”
“Spit it out,” he deadpans.
“I didn’t wear any,” you blurt, and his eyes widen. Your cheeks are undoubtedly on fire right now. “I didn’t need to … with the dress …?”
You trail off, unsurely, and you see Yoongi’s gaze harden. His eyes linger a second too long on your face, then it drops ever so briefly to below your chin as you gulp. It’s embarrassing enough that you were in this position, but admitting it to Yoongi, who genuinely looks affronted, was just the cherry on top.
"You—" he begins to say, voice tight as you see him take a deep breath to level his temper. You can't bear to look at him, especially when he drags his hand across his face and looks away. “Just your dress, then,” he grunts, gesturing you towards leave your dress in the basket as you mindlessly comply.
Once you do, you awkwardly waddle back to the living room, taking the farthest seat away from Yoongi to pointedly avoid any direct confrontation with him.
You sit on your calves, hands fiddling with your fingers as you avoid his gaze.
“Drink and eat up.”
You sigh.
“Yoongi …”
“Drink and eat up,” he repeats.
You finally look up, and you frown.
“Yoongi, you’re clearly pissed. I’ll just catch a cab home or something—”
“Are you serious?” he blinks, all too calm for someone who looks absolutely livid. “You think I’m going to let you take a cab at 3 a.m. in the morning when you're in the state that you are?”
“I-I just …”
“You think because I’m pissed I’d let you put yourself in danger?” he hisses, and you immediately cower. “You went to a bar where rich men literally go to take advantage of unsuspecting women like you.”
You wince at his blatant words.
“And you do what is possibly the most reckless shit you can do there,” he seethes, “You drink—no—you get drunk—without an actual ride back? Alone? What were you thinking?”
“I know …” you say quietly, “I know, okay? You don’t need to yell at me.”
You sound so … soft. Unsure. It’s unlike you. You have different personas when you’re drunk, and being a much softer version of yourself was one of them. The fact that Yoongi was looking at you like you were the mistake only tugs at your heart even harder.
You can’t see Yoongi’s face, and you don’t want to. You feel mortified, your eyes feeling hot.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
You freeze.
“____.” His voice is firm when he calls your name. When you struggle to meet his gaze, his face is firm. A little kinder, but still impassive. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Your lips part, your words get stuck in your throat.
He continues to stare at you, frown etched on his face.
“I … we—I thought you were mad at me. About Hoseok,” you mumble.
Yoongi blinks; gaze unwavering on your fidgety figure.
“So I had to find out that you were at a dangerous place getting wasted from Hoseok?”
You grimace.
“I didn’t want to disturb you—”
“Didn’t you consider that it would’ve disturbed me a hell of a lot more if something happened to you and I couldn’t do anything?” he snaps.
You look at your lap.
“And you decided to take a chance with Hoseok? What if something happened? What if Hoseok didn’t have the sense to call me? What if I didn’t get here on time? What would’ve fucking happened?” he snaps, suddenly standing up from his seat as your eyes widen.
He plops down next to you, hand reaching out to grab at your wrist. You stare at the place where your skin meets, and you gulp.
“Look at me.”
You hesitate.
“____.”
“I’m sorry,” you say softly.
He frowns.
“I don’t care if you think I’m pissed or you or if you’re pissed at me,” he whispers, “You call me when you need me. I’ll get you.”
“I’m sorry,” you repeat, softer.
“No matter how angry I am at you I’d never leave you in danger, you get that?” he says harshly, but it’s juxtaposed with his desperate tone. His fingers squeeze around your wrist as you feel the heat from his fingertips. “I’d be angrier with myself if anything happened to you.”
Your lips wobble, and you’re appalled when you feel the tears pool at your waterline. Yoongi catches the glassiness of your eyes, especially when you duck your head to hide your face in the crook of your neck.
“____,” he says gently, hand inching up to hold your chin as you fight against him. “Hey, hey …”
It makes you feel worse. Especially when you feel the first tear slip out of your eyes.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispers, bringing you into your arms as you suck in the tears as much as you could. You never cried. You never cried in front of anyone—and for Yoongi to see you like this after everything just makes you feel humiliated. Like you were necessarily vulnerable.
“D-Don’t—”
“Don’t fight it. You went through something no one should tonight.” He’s referring to the man, and you vividly remember the fear that bubbled in your stomach.
What if Yoongi didn’t turn up? Where would you be? Would you be crying for a different reason?
“S-Sorry for—waking you up,” you mumble, shaking all thoughts away. You already showed too much.
“Stop apologising,” he snaps as your lips snap shut. “I’m glad you’re safe.”
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For—for …”
You struggle to find your words, but Yoongi just holds you tighter to his chest. Your tears stain his t-shirt, dampening the fabric but you can’t think straight to rationalise anything. You were tired, eyes straining to keep open as your limbs mindlessly hang by your side. You can’t bring yourself to wrap your arms around him—it feels so far away. Like he was here but he actually wasn’t.
“You okay?” he murmurs, hand brushing over your hair gently. He doesn’t push you to say anything you can’t. You’re thankful. You relax into his hold.
“My scalp hurts,” you mumble.
“M’ gonna fucking kill him,” he grits.
“You scared him off,” you say quietly.
He laughs, a quiet sound before he shakes his head. He pulls away to wipe under your eyes. His face still looks rather tense, but the way he’s treating you is irrevocably tender. It makes your heart yearn, grow ten times more. But it wasn’t your position to feel this way.
He was being there for you as a friend.
“You think that's enough?” he asks. “He deserves more than me just scaring the shit out of him for laying his grubby hands on you.”
“Don’t do that,” you frown.
“He hurt you,” he says, blank-faced.
“Yeah, b-but—”
Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face as you nearly double over at the sudden touch. His palms are large against your cheeks. They’re warm, too. You immediately melt into his touch, finding the way his fingers brush over your cheekbone a comforting feeling.
“I’m not going to let anyone get away with hurting you."
The atmosphere grows—quiet. A reflective moment while you gape at him. His eyes rest on your face and you see the pores on his face. For once, you’re close enough that you see the worry lines. The bags under his eyes that possibly carry more than just the weight of his concerns. It’s a part of Yoongi he never reveals, but you wish to know. You wish to be there for.
Suddenly, your eyes flicker to his lips before you can think twice. He notices. Your mind is still relatively hazy, but your heart feels so impulsive.
"Yoongi ..." you whisper, and your voice is so soft that you think he barely catches it.
He does.
"Hm?" He brushes a hair out of your face and you melt. Your heart can't take it. This.
His eyes drop to your lips too, and it’s warmer. You continue to ogle, and you feel Yoongi shift in his seat. It’s a similar look to that night at the gala—when he dragged you away from your eyes and levelled you with his gaze.
You wonder if he’ll—
His phone rings.
He jumps away, blinks his eyes as you shift backwards too. Your cheeks are flushed red, and you barely catch Yoongi scrambling for his phone. You catch the name on his phone, and it’s like you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water.
Haerin.
“Hello?” His voice is hoarse, and you have to avert your eyes from him when he runs a hand through his hair.
“She’s okay. She’s with me,” he explains, and you know he’s speaking about you. “Yeah. I’ll deal with it. I’ll tell her.”
The call ends relatively quickly, and it’s a reality check on who you were.
No matter how much you tried, how much you wished—you’d never be Haerin. No matter how much danger you were in, he’d see you as you. Not Haerin. Not the person he thought was enough to give dating a shot.
You feel all the more tired, and you push yourself off his couch before clearing your throat.
“Haerin says she hopes you’re okay, and if you need to talk then you can call her,” he says, slowly. Yoongi’s never awkward. He always manages to catch himself in any situation and you hated it.
“Right,” you nod your head, averting your gaze. You offer a tense smile before you shift on the balls of your heels. “I’ll just …”
“Take my bed,” he says, “The guest room’s a mess.”
You stand up, brushing your hands over hos boxers that you were wearing as you clear your throat, cheeks aflame at your previous position.
Just as you were about to turn your back, his hand captures your wrist.
His fingers are tight as if he wanted you to stay. But you doubted it. It was just wishful thinking, especially when your eyes peer up to meet his own.
"Take the food and drink," he says after a beat of the silence of just the two of you staring at each other—awaiting the other to make the first move. "Please."
You don’t argue, you simply nod and make your way into his room with the water and food he prepared you—ignoring the way his stare remains on the side of your face.
When you slip into his sheets, you’re washed over with his overwhelming scent and you feel like you’ve never moved. You’re back in square one, your heart is still tired and so is your mind.
You go to sleep with the vivid memory of Yoongi’s eyes darting to your lips, hands on your cheek.
But only the ring of Haerin's call sounds clear in your world.
you give and you give until you have nothing left for people to take
PAIRING. min yoongi x reader
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, sorta frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, fluff
WARNINGS. toxic parents, heart-aching heartbreak, misunderstandings and arguments, some news that breaks oc :(, oc only knows how to react, but she has hobi to make up for the shittiness ... kind of :(
WORDS. 3.7k
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“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
Frankly, Hoseok’s voice was doing no good for you. Not when anxiety was already riddled in your stomach, threatening to escape the confines of your throat in screams of anguish. You were jittery, panicked and highly strung. Not a good combination for someone whose family enjoys eating fresh oysters for brunch when you didn’t do good with seafood.
“Holy shit, what was I thinking,” you hiss, immediately turning to him as he takes an alarmed step back, eyes wide when you grab at his elbow. “Who the fuck invites the guy that they’re fucking to a family brunch?”
“Um. Technically we haven’t had sex since—“ you know what he’s about to say, but that doesn’t stop the venomous stare that reproaches him. His lips snap shut, his head nodding slowly as you impulsively decide to make a run for it.
“Okay, they’re not here yet so maybe we can just leave and I’ll tell them that you got a little handsy—”
“—why do you have to make me the bad guy—?”
“Jung Hoseok.”
A gravelly voice cuts through, and you immediately recognise the voice despite it sounding so far away. It always has. Growing up, people said you would remember things that were constants in your life just because you were impressionable. You knew that was true, people were products of their environments and that naturally meant you would get used to your surroundings.
But his voice, the one that you secretly wished was a little kinder—especially to you—was something you could never get used to.
“Sir,” Hoseok swoops in, suave as always as he shoots your father a wide smile before he bows ever so slightly out of respect. “It’s lovely to see you. Ralph Lauren?”
He’s referring to your father’s dress shirt and blazer. It’s apparel that screams old money, and you knew that your parents were loaded with that. Apparently, and thankfully, Hoseok fit right in with the type of people that your father mingled around with because your dad smiles. A feat that’s especially rare to you.
“It is,” he nods, albeit gruffly, Hoseok is undeterred. “Are you accompanying her?”
Her.
Her sounds so distant. As if you weren’t his daughter. As if you weren’t half of him. As if he didn’t pick your name.
Her was a placeholder for Haerin.
“Sure am,” Hoseok grins, wrapping a friendly arm around your shoulder as you tense under the act. “She was helping me with some business pitches so I had to return the favour.”
He wasn’t lying, but your father looks surprised. As if he hadn’t expected you to be able to do anything but exist. You knew he wasn’t interested in your work with NGO’s while you helped activists with the money that you had.
Even if your parents were detached, they knew better than to cut you off completely. But you knew, that deep down, it was only to keep you from asking for more.
“I see,” he says slowly, barely passing you a glance. You offer him a tight nod.
His stare is uncomfortable, and it’s the same one he uses whenever he was picking you apart bit by bit. It’s never obvious to the rest because he’s mastered the art of doing enough by saying absolutely nothing. You grew up between four walls with him, so while his voice is unfamiliar—you’re more than familiar with his habits that come out in your presence.
“Father,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t nod, simply clasps his hands behind his back before he looks behind his shoulders. You let out the sigh you didn’t know you were holding, while pointedly ignoring Hoseok’s gaze. You didn’t need to unpack that interaction with him yet. He’s nice enough to stay close to you, a friendly arm still resting on your lower back.
“There they are,” he says, and you follow his line of vision.
You knew, but a slap still hurts even if it’s planned.
Your mother walks through the entrance first, poised and clean with her purse resting with refined purpose against her hip. Her back is straight and her makeup clear. Not too little to seem au natural, but not too much that it’d look overbearing. She was primed to perfection.
And Haerin was a mirror of her.
She comes next, back as straight like your mother if not more. They’re dawned in matching attire and you know it’s completely coincidental. Your mother always loved to say that Haerin just knew her. It was common dinner talk, especially when you would return home after the academy with your clothing torn while Haerin remained unscathed.
But it’s not them who makes you lose your breath.
It’s Yoongi.
He walks in, right behind Haerin in a gentlemanly manner. His attire is modest, a white button-up tucked into white slacks. His hair is brushed back and he walks with a quiet sense of confidence that you know only he can pull off. Even Hoseok whistles lowly, muttering something about Yoongi’s aura. You can’t deny, because your eyes are locked on him.
It’s another meeting with him after a rather awkward last, and the fact that you had Hoseok by your side made you feel queasier.
And yes, maybe you did invite Hoseok as a smokescreen. But you did truly enjoy his company, and he did say to call him whenever you needed him.
Maybe you invited him so you wouldn’t feel that alone with Haerin and Yoongi.
Your mother strides confidently to your father’s side, slightly taller than him in heels as she presses a peck onto his cheek. She looks over at you in a small greeting, somewhat kinder than your father.
You return the gesture, and Hoseok beams for the both of you.
“Looking gorgeous, ma’am,” he compliments.
“What a charmer,” she coos, “How did she convince you?”
You recoil ever so slightly at her words. They weren’t malicious. They never were. The thing about your parents is that they’re never intentionally malevolent so you could never truly hate them. But you resented him. God, you did. A deep, brewing and bitter boil of resentment that bubbles over and dies every time you’re reminded of why you do.
“By being her,” he says smoothly, knocking his hip against your own as your parents, along with Haerin, laugh.
Yoongi is impassive, his eyes briefly resting on the man next to you before they flicker away like it never happened.
“How sweet!” Haerin chirps, and she’s suddenly by your side, stealing you away from Hoseok by wrapping an arm around your elbow. She lowers her voice conspicuously as you attempt to loosen your tense muscles when she grins at you. “You need to tell me everything.”
You almost frown because you remember that it was you. You were the one that held the animosity. You were the one that was tense. You were the one that was different. Not your parents, not Haerin, and not even Hoseok because he got along well with them.
It was you.
“There’s … nothing. We’re friends,” you tell her the truth and she seems disappointed.
Her eyes narrow at Hoseok’s figure playfully, and you wonder if he’ll fall in love with her, too. “I have my eyes on you, mister.”
Hoseok laughs. “And I have my eyes on her.”
He’s so smooth that you nearly gag. You know he’s only doing this to ease the atmosphere, but your parents look convinced. You know better. You know it’s just Hoseok’s personality to be outwardly flirty. He just has an aura that made people comfortable.
“So cute!” she squeals, shaking your arm as you offer an awkward smile at her.
Yoongi’s yet to say anything to you, but he’s already greeted Hoseok. The two men share a smile, one more amicable than the other. You don’t need to say who.
“Nice outfit, man,” Hoseok says, patting Yoongi’s shoulder in good nature. “I like the pants.”
Yoongi looks down for a split second before he looks up with his infamous blank stare.
“Thanks,” he says, not unkindly, “You too.”
Hoseok takes it because he’s probably incapable of seeing the worst in anyone. You’d call it naive, but you know it’s just Hoseok.
“Our reservation’s waiting for us,” your mother says, smiling over all of you.
You feel Haerin release your arm, and you feel all the more relaxed.
But when she slips to Yoongi’s side like second nature, smiling up at him as he allows her to see one of his small grins that he rarely lets anyone else see—the tenseness returns.
“Come on,” Hoseok murmurs, slinging his arm over your shoulder again as he shoots you a smile that should’ve comforted you. “You mentioned oysters?”
“So,” your father drawls, chin resting in his hand while he stares you and Hoseok down like you were in an interrogation room. “How did the two of you meet?”
You almost roll your eyes. “Your gala.”
“Which one?” he asks, and it’s a valid question.
“Ooh, did you see her and get blown away by her astounding beauty?” Only Haerin would use astounding as an adjective to describe you, and you visibly wince at that.
Hoseok smiles kindly. “Something like that.”
Haerin nudges your shoulder and you’re too tired to respond.
Your mother looks sceptical, probably wondering how Hoseok would look at you and go—hey, this is the sister that I want. It’s not unwarranted, and her confusion is anything but out of place.
“It’s nice of you to accompany her today,” your mother says, “She never brings anyone over.”
“When you look at the options it’s hard to,” you mutter under your breath, and despite you thinking it was quiet—everyone picks up on it.
Your parents are unamused, Haerin looks rather shocked, Yoongi barely moves an inch—but Hoseok laughs.
“Well, he picked you, didn’t he?” your father points out, and you freeze.
It’s not malicious, you remind yourself. It’s not—even if your ears burn and your heart constricts. Even when you feel the anxiety in your stomach, the hyper-realisation that everyone at this table looked at you and wondered why you had Hoseok by your side. You weren’t together—but the visual didn’t make sense.
But there was only one of Haerin and none of you.
“We’re not together,” you clip tightly, fingers tightening around your fork as you shove a piece of smoked salmon into your mouth.
Your mother raises a brow. “Then why did you bring him here?”
Your jaw clenches.
“The same reason why Haerin brings Yoongi.”
You don’t mean to say it. You’re usually a lot more careful. But recently, you find yourself a lot more loose-lipped than you’d like.
Your parents' eyes harden, and you note that Haerin flushes next to you. Yoongi?
He’s staring straight at you with an unamused stare.
“Listen—” you sigh, ready to call it a day when you note Hoseok’s concerned stare.
“They’re different. They’ve known each other forever,” your mother huffs, “And besides, it makes sense. They complete each other, don’t you think?”
It makes sense.
What did that even mean? To make sense? So the alternative of them not knowing each other didn’t make sense? You wanted to scoff because that’s what your parents think. It was either that they were each other’s pair or wasn’t. Nothing about anything made sense. It just was.
“A-Actually,” Haerin interjects softly, sharing a nervous look over her shoulder to where Yoongi sits. “I have—we have something to tell you.”
You freeze completely. Your head feels hot, heavy. There’s something on your knee—you think it’s Hoseok’s hand but you can’t tell. Your eyes glaze. Why did that send a shiver down your spine? Haerin always has something to tell your parents.
It wasn’t her—it was them.
“Oh?” your father hums.
Haerin turns to Yoongi, and you don’t even want to look at his face. You feel a heavy stare against your temple but you don’t dare acknowledge anything but the erratic beating of your heart.
“Well,” she starts with a mumble. She’s nervous. You are, too. “You know how we’ve known each other for a long time?” Everyone knows. But somehow they forget that you knew him equally as long. “We know each other inside out.”
You don’t want to consider the implications of that.
“And … I guess what I’m trying to say is …” she mumbles, “We’re giving it a shot.”
What?
“Dating, I mean. Getting to know each other that way,” she says and you hear her smile.
You were going to puke. The smell of oysters makes you feel sick, the news making you sicker. You were supposed to be happy—no—you expected this! You expected it. You always said so, thought so. So why were you so shocked? Why did your ears ring? Why was your face getting hot?
What happened? What changed? What made them decide now? What had crossed Yoongi's mind when the conversation came up. Did he smile? Did he allow her the indulgence of his occasional gummy grin, the one that tugs at your heartstrings despite it being a rarity?
Or, did Haerin pull him close—faces inches apart while she holds the weight of your feelings in her hands? Did she see the specks that you do that hides beneath the layers of his eyes—more than the cornea but deep into the window of his soul?
Did she? Did he?
Did they?
“That’s lovely!” your mother cheers, clapping her hands. “Oh, Yoongi. You know we love you.”
Your mother's voice rings, but you can barely pay attention when your heart's at your feet, laid out for everyone to stomp all over. You think you see the excited patter of Haerin's heels against the tile, easily stabbing your heart with every content giggle that leaves her lips.
“You’re practically family, anyway,” your father grins, and your vision barely makes out the oyster platter in front of you. “It was bound to happen.”
It was—you kept telling yourself that, didn't you? That your feelings were a ticking time bomb that'd blow upon you.
It did—and it's horrid.
“Ah, I mean, we’re just trying it out,” he explains, but Haerin looks over at him softly. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Your mother waves him off. “It seems odd because you’ve only ever remained friends, but we all saw it coming. Didn’t we?” She looks over at your father and he nods. “It’ll be perfect.”
Of course, it was. Haerin was nothing short of perfection.
You see from the corner of your eyes that Haerin reaches for Yoongi’s hand.
He takes it.
“Hoseok, huh?”
You stop, fingers halting halfway as you reach for the door. Hoseok’s in the bathroom, your parents have already taken their leave and you know Haerin’s taking a phone call somewhere. You thought you could make a run for it, get to where Hoseok's car is parked before Yoongi sees you.
But he’s quicker than you’ll ever be.
“We’re not together,” you say curtly.
Yoongi snorts. “Didn’t seem that way that night.”
He’s referring to when he caught you and Hoseok sneaking away like a bunch of teenagers.
You narrow your eyes at him.
“It’s casual,” you explain.
Yoongi looks unimpressed. “You brought him over for brunch.”
“So?” you sigh.
“You never bring anyone,” he reminds.
“Yeah, well, there’s a reason why I didn’t, okay?” you snap, the news from earlier still lingering in your mind. It hurt to even look at him. “Drop it.”
You don't think you can stomach a conversation with Yoongi without the smell of oysters returning. Or the sweet smile that Haerin gave him. Or the fact that—
“You’re always so defensive, did you know that?” he muses.
“It’s 'cause you’re always interrogating me!” you say with a roll of your eyes, “You don’t see me meddling into your business.”
“Sorry for wanting to know how you are,” he shrugs, “Besides. I was going to tell you, anyway.”
You stop fiddling with your fingers. You look over at Yoongi and he has his face trained forward. He has an impeccable side profile, and you hate how devastatingly handsome he looks. He’s pale, and the white should’ve washed him out but he looks … he looks like Yoongi.
He was going to tell you?
As if that mattered when the truth would only scar you.
“Sure you were,” you mutter.
He looks over at you with a raised brow.
“I was,” he says slowly, “You weren’t really responding to my texts.”
“I was busy,” you lie. You were avoiding confrontation after that night, the embarrassment still lingering. Maybe it was your sixth sense kicking in—telling you that the distance was necessary. That whenever you came close to Yoongi your heart would drop and your mind would turn hazy.
“With Hoseok,” he deadpans.
“With work,” you hiss.
“Look, I don’t know the details of your and Hoseok’s relationship but you should think twice before you do anything.”
You freeze.
“What?”
“Hoseok’s a nice guy. Nicest guy I know, probably,” he says, “But if it’s just ‘casual’—” he air quotes it as you continue to stare at the side of his head, “don’t get yourself into a situation you can’t get out of.”
You blink at him, noting that he was dead serious.
“Does it matter?”
Now, it was Yoongi’s turn to look confused.
“Yes?” he says sceptically, “You never indicated to anyone that you were interested in him, let alone in dating, so forgive me if—”
“Are you stupid?” you hiss, “Why does that matter to you? You never indicated anything to me either!”
You weren’t sure why you were getting so defensive, but the fact that he was telling you to watch out while he could just—could shatter your heart unknowingly like that—made you delirious.
“Tone,” he warns, eyes narrowing at you as you roll your eyes.
“Are you talking to a dog? Fuck off,” you scowl, “What I do is literally none of your business. Just like how you and—”
Yoongi looks at you with an unplayable expression, the corners of his lips turned downwards in a half-frown. You catch your tongue when he turns to you, arms folded across his chest.
“It isn’t,” he says lowly, levelling you with a pointed stare. “But I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
It's funny—Hoseok seemed like the person that should've hurt you in this situation.
So why did looking at Yoongi hurt more?
“Hoseok’s a nice guy,” you grit out immediately, done with the conversation.
“A nice guy wouldn’t have fucked you in a place where anyone could’ve caught you.”
Your eyes widen, cheeks aflame when Yoongi doesn’t look away from you at all. His gaze is heavy and pointed, and you feel your chest constrict when his eyes harden.
“W-We didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he warns, “I know.”
You gawk at him. “H-How—what? Were you fucking listening?”
Somehow, the idea of Yoongi hearing whatever you and Hoseok had done makes you … it makes you feel confused. There’s an unknown expression marring his face, but his overall expression remains impassive. He inches closer, a forewarning in his step.
“You deserve better,” he says quietly, wrapping a hand around your wrist as you blink.
You’re speechless, and you feel your throat clam up when you stare at him.
“Like you know what’s good for me,” you snap softly, snatching it away.
“I’m your friend,” he tells you, and you hate that reminder. You hate that word. That title that was placed upon you without a choice while you were forced to develop feelings and watch him and Haerin jump around together like you weren’t a part of the equation. You never were. You were in the ensemble, quiet and unimportant.
“Just because you are doesn’t mean you know a damn thing about me,” you hiss. “So what if he fucked me at the gala? I liked it. And if you were really listening then you can tell just how much I—”
“Watch your mouth,” he growls, stepping forward as you feel his body crowd you. He’s not threatening, but his face is. It’s blank and blazing.
“What? Did you get off to that? Listening to us fuck?” you goad, mocking him as you roll your eyes.
You’re trailing off into a dangerous tangent and you know it.
“Watch it,” he warns, and his hand wraps around your wrist as you shoot him a dry stare.
“There you go,” you scoff, “Acting like my dad again. You should be into that, right? Maybe you should get Haerin to call you dadd—”
“Stop acting like a fucking brat.”
His voice is low, nearly a hushed whisper but you hear it loud and clear. Your anger blinds most of your rationale, but there’s something oddly powerful and freeing about pushing Yoongi’s buttons until he breaks. Especially when you were always on the brink of snapping.
“Make me,” you sneer.
Yoongi’s darkened, and you feel so much hotter. The room gets stuffier, and his eyes become clearer to you. You see the way a familiar expression returns, the one from the first night where you blew up during the gala.
You feel—
“Guys—oh—”
You immediately snap back when you hear Haerin’s voice shatter your reality. You realise just how close you’ve gotten, and you remember where you were.
Who he was. Who he was with.
“Is everything …?” she trails off, looking in between the both of you as you shake your head.
Hoseok comes in at an impeccable timing, looking in between everyone with a wide smile, unaware of the tense atmosphere.
“Yeah,” you grit stiffly, looking over at Hoseok. “You ready?”
He nods his head, smiling at Yoongi who has his jaw clenched, and Haerin who just looks concerned.
“Nice seeing you guys!”
You begin to drag him away, wanting to distance yourself from Yoongi and the way your heart only drops further when Haerin genuinely looks confused.
They were giving it a shot.
How literal, that was—when your heart was pierced by their arrow.
Before you could leave, a hand stops you by wrapping around your wrist.
Yoongi’s staring at you with a serious expression.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” he says softly.
His eyes briefly flicker to Hoseok as your gaze hardens.
You snatch your hand away.
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
Because you can't control the pain, unfortunately. You can't control the way your hand burns when you retract it—the lingering aura of Yoongi's grip sizzling into your flesh as he scars himself onto you.
You leave, feeling your chest get heavier. Once you reach Hoseok’s car, you sink into the passenger seat with your head cradled in your hand.
“I didn't know ...” Hoseok supplements, softly and carefully.
“Fuck,” you laugh tightly, “It happened.”
Hoseok can only pat your back when you struggle to keep your tears at bay.
GENRE. sister's best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, sorta frenemies?to lovers!au, angst, *slow burn*, smut, fluff
WARNINGS. an intervention, bad decision making and justifications, longing, sibling jealousy, implied smut, public sex-ish?, fwb-situation, introducing hobi!!!, jk trying to be a good friend :(
WORDS. 3.8k
back-burner masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter
“You know what I need?”
“What?” Jungkook replies dryly, face sour when you dragged him out of his apartment at seven am in the morning on a weekend.
You were an early riser! And, Jungkook did say that he was your best friend even if that title was heavily self-proclaimed. You were simply making use out of the resources that were bestowed upon you, even if said best friend looks anything but friendly when he glares at you through his puffy eyes.
“An intervention,” you deadpan, leaning forward whilst you slide him a green juice that you ordered on his behalf.
He grimaces when he ogles the glass, glaring at you even harder if that was possible before he slides it back to you.
“Couldn’t this intervention wait till it was a socially acceptable hour?” he mutters under his breath.
“You know for someone who’s meant to be supporting me, you’re being really unsupportive right now,” you blink.
“You know my brain doesn’t operate before 12 PM on weekends so whose fault is that?” he sneers patronisingly, simultaneously releasing a sigh of relief when your food finally arrives.
A familiar face serves you, and you smile when Marco greets you and your companion with his signature grin.
“Nice to see you so early,” he chirps before his head is falling on Jungkook. “Boyfriend?”
Jungkook literally gags. “God, no. Please.”
You ignore him before shooting Marco a sweet smile, one that you usually reserve for people that weren’t the bane of your existence.
“He wishes,” you hum and Jungkook kicks you in the shin.
Marco leaves, telling the both of you that he hopes you’d enjoy the food. You will, obviously, this cafe was your favourite for a reason and you needed that douse of serotonin after the events you were put through the night before.
Even recalling what had happened, how you felt and the bitter tang that it leaves in your chest is enough to turn your face tetchy. Jungkook, despite his half-asleep state, picks up on your change of expression.
“Spill before I leave,” he sighs, and you know that even if he feigns disinterest, he was more curious about your life drama than anything else. Only Jeon Jungkook would live off your life crises.
“That’s what I need,” you say in all seriousness.
“To spill?” he asks with a raised brow, visibly confused.
“A boyfriend,” you say, eyes wide as if you’ve just hit a revelation.
Jungkook blinks.
“A man is literally the cause of all your problems and you want a boyfriend?!”
“A man, not men,” you sniff pathetically, “And okay. Maybe not like a boyfriend. But a boy-friend,” you attempt to explain as you gesture your arms.
Jungkook only stares at you like you’ve grown another head. And you don’t think it’s unwarranted. You’re aware you sound a little insane, but Marco triggered something in you that you didn’t realise could be an obvious solution.
A boyfriend wasn’t what you were looking for, it was a—
“Distraction. I need a distraction,” you declare.
“That is the worst fucking idea I’ve heard coming from you and you’re a bottomless bit of horrible ideas,” he scowls.
“Excuse me? How dare you!” you hiss, “This is not a bad idea.”
Jungkook gawks at you in disbelief, exceptionally more awake when he leans forward with a stern glint in his eyes.
“Do I need to remind you that you’re literally in love with someone?” he exasperates.
“Geez, I said I needed a distraction, not a reminder,” you mumble bitterly, folding your arms across your chest as you stare at your food.
“Listen, I know I condemn half the shit you do because it’s you but I’m really drawing the line at a boyfriend,” he blinks.
“What, are you like in love with me or something?” you snort.
Jungkook blinks at you. You stare.
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
“I’m leaving.”
Before he can abandon you, you’re tugging on his sleeve with a whine. “Okay, okay. Too far, I know.”
Jungkook glares at you as if to say damn straight before he settles back onto his chair with his stance more confrontational than you’d appreciate it to be.
“Look. This is a bad idea,” he says seriously, “You tell me over the phone that you almost told Yoongi you were in love with him in the same hour you accused him of being friends with you only to sleep with your sister. How did you suddenly jump to the conclusion that a boyfriend would solve all of your problems?”
You knew Jungkook was serious. And deep down, you knew he was right. But it wasn’t a matter of who was right or wrong, but the quickest form of conciliation that you could obtain before your heart dug a deeper hole that it couldn’t crawl out of.
The longer you think, the more you know that you and Yoongi were never going to happen. You see Instagram story updates from your sister and it’s always with him. Always with him showing his rare smile at her like it was only reserved for her. He was a busy man, a doctor, and yet—he always made time for Haerin.
It sucked to know that you were there only when he remembered you were.
“I need to move on, Jungkook,” you blink. “I know it isn’t the best idea but I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Distance yourself from him,” he hisses like it’s obvious.
It is, isn’t it? Pulling away from Yoongi to give yourself time and space to allow your heart to breathe. To stop wishing that you were your sister, to stop wishing that you were his.
But you don’t know if you had the strength to do that on your own. You weren’t disciplined. You knew what was good for you but that didn’t mean you sought for it. You were human, a vastly average human that did average things. Sometimes things were below average, too. And that meant sometimes you fell into unhealthy mechanisms, enough to allow yourself to feel something else but dread.
“Won’t this help? Meeting a new guy?” you reason softly.
“And that’s fair for the other guy? To be your rebound?”
You flinch.
“If you’re doing this to get over Yoongi, then I’m against it. As your friend I can’t just let you do this to yourself and someone else,” he says sternly.
“I’m not going to jump into marriage with him, Jungkook,” you frown, “All I’m saying is that I … start putting myself out there, you know? I’ve stayed away from dating because I didn’t want to date anyone apart from … yeah. This isn’t about me finding a rebound. It’s about me allowing myself to move on.”
“And what’s going to happen then? You drop your entire friendship with Yoongi?” You know it’s a valid question, but you haven’t thought too far. You didn’t know if you were able to bear being friends with Yoongi even after everything. But your heart and mind were tired. You couldn’t rationalise anything anymore.
“No. Do I always need a plan?” you snap, rather irritated. “If something happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. That’s life, isn’t it? Why do I need to rationalise and conceptualise all my decisions?”
Jungkook frowns, unimpressed before he’s levelling you with a serious stare.
“I’m not telling you to plan ten or fifteen years down the road. I’m telling you to think. You’re … hurting. And you’re less likely going to be making decisions that you won’t regret in the future now,” he says.
“I appreciate it, I do. But I think I know what’s best for me,” you say stubbornly, poking into your food as you peer up at him. Jungkook looks annoyed, that enough is obvious when you recognise the tick in his jaw. But what else did you do bother than vex the people around you? It was your character. A character that was hard to understand, even harder to like.
You swallow.
“I don’t need your permission,” you say quietly, “I just needed a friend.”
Jungkook’s face softens, even if you know he still disagrees.
“And you have one,” he replies, right before he slides one of his side dishes towards you. He raises a brow when you eye it sceptically.
“I’m not going to poison you, relax,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “So, who did you have in mind?”
You blink, and a small smile makes its way onto your face.
“No one. I’ll just go with the flow.”
Jungkook snorts.
You’ve met Jung Hoseok a few times.
It was hard not to notice him, really. He was either the loudest person in every room in the best way possible, or he was mingling with everybody and anybody that would take him.
You remember when you first were introduced to Hoseok, a few years back when you made your necessary appearance at one of your sister’s charity events. You were relatively young, and equally as scorned so you were huddled in your own lone corner before you were greeted with a burst of light.
“___!”
He knew your name. Of course, he did. Besides being friendly, Jung Hoseok was strategic. He was good at his job, and you suppose that a businessman meant that he needed to network as much as possible, and essentially—kiss ass.
You remember being confused, but Hoseok was so nice that you couldn’t do your usual thing and awkwardly excuse yourself to the bathroom.
You were friends. And that was only your first meeting.
But now, you think Jung Hoseok could be a little better than a friend, especially when you don’t hind your intent behind your gaze when you lock eyes with him from across the room.
Another event, you don’t know what for. You just know that your mother told you to lay low, as usual. Let your sister do the talking. You’re just here for formality.
You didn’t need to be reminded.
You sip on your drink, virgin because you wanted to be sober if anything happened.
(The last time you drank at an event didn’t end so well for you.)
Hoseok shoots you a wide smile, already excusing himself from the group he was a part of before he makes his way through the crowd, filled with intent when he raises his class to greet you.
You grin, stifling a giggle when he nearly bumps into one of your parents’ colleagues. His smile is enough to alleviate the situation, the man patting him on the back good-naturedly rather than curse him out if it were anyone else.
“Jung Hoseok,” you greet sweetly, smiling up at him with a purposeful flutter of your lashes when he finally reaches right in front of you.
“And ____,” he smirks, “You look beautiful.”
Another thing about Hoseok was that he wasn’t shy with his compliments. He was extremely generous, and he was genuine.
“Well, I’d tell you you look great but I’m pretty sure you’ve heard that a hundred times already,” you say.
“True,” he agrees easily, earning a snort from you right before he levels you with a flirty wink. “But not from the person I wanted to hear it most from.”
“Did my mother deprive you of her coddles?”
He laughs, loud and contagious. He earns a few eyes, but when they realised it’s just Hoseok, the guests go back to their conversations. That was how easy it was with Hoseok. He was a ball of contagious energy, wherever he went.
“Her daughter did,” he throws back easily.
“So, Haerin?” you tease and saying her name doesn’t feel so bad when Hoseok sighs deeply, as if bothered.
“You, sweetheart,” he corrects, leaning closer.
You’re against the bar, usually where you reside at these events. And Hoseok has you pressed ever so slightly in a way that makes you feel the heat, but not insinuative enough for anyone to frown at.
“Should’ve said so earlier,” you grin, right before you place a hand on his chest to rub down the lapel of his collar. “You look good.”
“Just good?” he pouts, pulling away ever so slightly, allowing you some space as you roll your eyes.
“Don’t want to stroke your huge ego,” you tell him, lowering your voice into a husk as you see Hoseok swallow.
Hoseok has always been handsome. His sharp features drew the attention of anyone in the room, and his impeccable style. It was both because he was rich and stylish that made him look immensely better in clothes that you were sure would look ordinary on anyone else.
He was in a simple black and white ensemble, forgoing the traditional bowtie or tie by leaving his neck bare. The top few buttons were unbuttoned, leaving the delicious expanse of his chest exposed. His hair was slicked back, revealing his forehead which made him look infinitely hotter than he actually was.
Maybe that’s why you take your leap of faith. When if not now?
“Could stroke something else, though,” you hum.
Hoseok freezes, the hand that rests on the counter behind you stilling as you swallow your pride to shoot him a demure grin.
“So now you’re looking my way?” he whispers softly, grinning from ear to ear.
“Just for tonight,” you shrug, leaning closer as you feel your chest pressed against his.
He feels unfamiliar, and that’s exactly what you needed.
“I’m a busy man, sweetheart,” he says with a raised brow.
You smile.
Perfect.
“That’s exactly what I need.”
That’s enough for him to be dragging you out of the hall, uncaring if people were staring or hypothesised what the other daughter of your family was doing while Haerin did her thing. There was a thrill in being so … careless so purposefully.
You’ve just made it out, the lobby completely empty as Hoseok navigates his way through the venue with expert precision. You were sure he had this place memorised like the back of his hand, having his own events hosted here being a successful entrepreneur himself.
He’s leading you to a room you’ve never seen occupied but was vast enough to fit ten people. You feel a tingle down your spine at the implications, and before you can think twice—you pull his arm back with force as his eyes widen, and kiss him.
“Woah there,” he chuckles, low and deep when his hands sneak around your waist before they trail to the plump flesh of your ass, squeezing them.
“Sorry,” you say breathlessly, pulling away with a cute grin. “Wanted to do that.”
His eyes darken, and he’s pulling you in, pressing you against the wall as you gasp.
His thighs dig in between your legs, firmly pressed against your mound as you whimper. He’s so quick. So agile that your head is spinning. You almost forget that you were still out in public, especially when his hand trails up to cup your tit.
“So fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs.
“Just pretty?” you throw back, head following your words as he presses hot kisses against your jaw.
“Greedy,” he grins, right before you feel his hand trail underneath your dress through the slit.
Your hands find their way towards his crotch, already palming his hardening member as he grunts.
“I think I’m pretty generous,” you say coyly, emphasising your point with a squeeze.
He narrows his eyes at you before crushing his lips against yours again with a dark, hooded gaze.
“I’m gonna have fun with you sweetheart,” he growls.
“I’m all yours—” you begin to say breathlessly, and the door to the room slams open—cutting you off.
Your reflexes aren’t fast enough, but Hoseok’s ones are. He immediately covers your body with his, preserving your modesty with the way your dress was hitches around your thighs, and the collar of your dress that threatens to expose your free nipples.
“What the fuck,” Hoseok exhales, and you feel him relax ever so slightly. But you’re tense.
“Hoseok,” the voice says blankly, and you feel the blood drain from your face when you immediately recognise it. You feel his stare next. “___.”
“Jesus Christ, would you knock?” he laughs tightly, pushing you behind him as you take it, digging your head into his back in mortification. “Sorry. I got—uh … a little …”
You get a peak from Yoongi, and you notice that his eyes are hardened. And he doesn’t bother hiding his gaze when he rests it directly on Hoseok.
“This is a public event …” Yoongi trails off, and you feel his eyes suddenly drop onto your figure behind Hoseok. You immediately duck your head, rubbing your lips to remove any sign of saliva. “Just—lock the door.”
You freeze.
“I—well …” Hoseok stammers, shaken by Yoongi’s clipped tone.
“We will,” you cut in, eyes firm even if you feel your body shaking.
Hoseok’s eyes widen, and when you finally reveal yourself from behind him, you see Yoongi’s gaze only fixed to your face, his jaw hardened. You don’t know what to make out of his response, but he doesn’t look the least bit moved. Eyes never straying away from beneath your face.
He stares at you, and you’re staring back at him with a sense of determinacy and a refusal to back down. Your heart still rattles against your chest, and you feel Hoseok’s soft touch against your lower back.
“Don’t take too long,” he says, tone suddenly returning to normal as his eyes drift to Hoseok’s. “Her parents will start wondering where she is.”
“I can take care of myself,” you snap.
Yoongi looks at you, and it’s just empty. Completely blank. You can’t read him yet again and here you were being riled up simply by his presence. You hate it.
But you can’t stop the way your heart wants him to show you something. So you know that he feels. That he’ll react or overreact.
Yoongi doesn’t. He never does when it comes to you.
He just nods his head slowly, before he reaches for the door again, back turned to the both of you.
“You can,” he says in response, right before the door shuts.
You just realise that you’re breathing heavily, and Hoseok’s hand shakes you out from your daze.
When you turn around, you see his face morph into a look of concern.
You don’t want pity.
You want to forget.
“Well—”
“Fuck me, Hobi,” you whisper, pulling him by his blazer as his chest slams against yours. Your voice is tinged with desperation.
“___ …” he says, suddenly hesitant. You wonder if he sees it too. The way you always reach out for a man that never quite accepts your grasp.
“Make me forget,” you whimper.
You don’t know if Hoseok thinks you’re referring to the embarrassment of almost being caught, or if he knows what you feel on a deeper level. But his gaze drifts to your lips.
As if sensing his hesitancy, you smash your lips against his own.
“Make me forget,” you repeat, already slipping off your dress.
His eyes darken, and it’s a blur from then.
You remember the squelches permeating the air, loud and lewd when he had you pressed against the door as he slams his deft fingers into your sodden cunt. You remember the way he had your legs wrapped around his head as he laps you dry. You remember the way you tugged his pants down and gagged on his cock as far as it goes, tears dribbling down your cheek. You remember the way he fucked into you, promising to make you forget with every grind of his hips.
You scream and moan his name, and the two of you don’t care that anyone could hear. You cry his name more times than you can remember in an attempt to replace the one that continues to plague your mind.
Even as Hoseok has you locking up in pleasure on his cock, cunt squeezing tightly around his shaft—you can only think of the fact that Yoongi had left.
Like he always had, to return to the person he really wanted. The person that didn’t make bad decisions. Who wasn’t selfish.
The person who wasn’t you.
You’re breathless and well-spent. Your body is satiated but your heart still hurts. And as if Hoseok senses this, he speaks up as the two of you recover from your high.
“We should do this again.”
You pause.
“Hoseok … I’m not—I don’t think …” you say softly, stammering as your eyes avoid his.
You couldn’t.
“Sweetheart, as amazing as you are, I’m not ready for that either,” he says with a tilted grin, buttoning his shirt and zipping up his pants before he helps you on your wobbly feet.
You flush. “I mean—I just … sorry,” you finish lamely.
He laughs, brushing a hair away from your face. Your heart clenches because the act is so familiar yet so distant. It wasn’t the touch you’ve always known.
“Whenever you need me,” he murmurs, “As a friend or as a relief, I’m a call away.”
Your eyes widen.
“Really?”
“Babe, as great as that was, I value you as a friend too,” he snorts as you roll your eyes at him. “Besides, you seem like you have a lot to say.”
It’s obvious that he knows, and you feel defeated, thinking that you were able to full him and yourself.
“Was I that obvious?” you mumble.
Hoseok tilts your chin up to offer you a small smile. “I got that from him, ___.”
You freeze, stunned. But before you can say anything, Hoseok is wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulders.
“Say, let’s ditch and get some food,” he offers, “This event is boring anyway.”
You flounder for a moment, but Hoseok easily as you on your feet again, animatedly discussing drive-thru options as he swings his keys around. You stare at the back of his head when you walk, and you wonder if this was enough of a distraction.
