HUSH | MYG - THREE
pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?)
premise: in which you work for your brothers band by day and accidentally anonymously sext his bandmate on the regular by night! whoops !!
chapter wc: 8k
for more details, pls see the master list (x)
note from holly: better late than never?? i recently was telling someone irl about this plot line and they were baffled by it all so i fear i have no choice but to see it through!! also excuse any typos, i've abandoned my trusty spell checker cause they've gone AI crazyyyy and wanna give me a bazillion suggestions that i simply don't want!! go away!! okay anyway, hope u have fun mwah xx
warnings: tipsy people doing as tipsy people do, foul language, sexting, the night that never was lore, yoongi tattoo reveal, arguments??, emotional hurt no comfort!! our main couple have some unresolved issues! quelle surprise!! (1) Pavlov mention, (4) voicemails that should really be deleted, mentions of sex toys, jimin is sexy, yoongi is mean (but i promise it will be worth it!!)
the app (x) | the band (x) | part one (x) | part two (x)
minors dni!!!
04:06AM
D4m0cl3s:
lemme know when you get home safe x
Cl3m3ntin3:
omw x
can’t stop thinking about the photo you sent
pls still be that hard when i get home xx
have busted my phone tho :((((
D4m0cl3s:
nooooooo
how badly?
Cl3m3ntin3:
front camera is fucked 🙁
everything else is kinda okay tho
D4m0cl3s:
what about you?
you okay?
Cl3m3ntin3:
i’m all good
well
no
yeah
i’m good
D4m0cl3s:
good
missed you tonight, clem
you’ve no idea how badly i just wanna say fuck it and invite you to mine
Cl3m3ntin3:
you’re literally the only person in your way
just do it
D4m0cl3s:
i cant
Cl3m3ntin3:
can’t or won't?
D4m0cl3s:
both
Cl3m3ntin3:
why?
you already take a girl home tonight?
D4m0cl3s:
why would i?
so i could fuck her and think about you the whole time?
accidentally call her clem and ruin the experience for both of us?
Cl3m3ntin3:
idk
you tell me
D4m0cl3s:
got an attitude tonight, don’t u?
i told some girl tonight that i had to leave to get home to my girl
my girl, clem
Cl3m3ntin3:
your girl must be lucky
D4m0cl3s:
nah
she’s a fuckin’ dummy
cute tho
and has a really nice pussy, even if i’ve only ever seen it through a phone
clem ur all i think about
you know this
Cl3m3ntin3:
yeah well
i’m sure you’ve got loads of girls sending you stuff all the time
so it’s whatever really
D4m0cl3s:
what are you on about?
have i done something?
i don’t get why you’re giving me the third degree?
Cl3m3ntin3:
im not
just not sure i like being a dirty little secret
D4m0cl3s:
goes both ways
Cl3m3ntin3:
does it?
D4m0cl3s:
i dunno who pissed in your cornflakes, but my nights been ass, clem
i wanted to speak to you ‘cause you always make things better
but whatever’s going on with you tonight??
yeah, count me out
Cl3m3ntin3:
well forgive me for not wanting to be an emotional booty call for someone who doesn’t value me enough to make them an actual booty call!!
D4m0cl3s:
so… you’re mad i’m not just using you for sex?
right
have a little simmer on that one, clem.
Cl3m3ntin3:
have a little simmer on this
Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!
D4m0cl3s is offline
GENIUS LAB
Big Hit Ent, Yongsan-gu
Yoongi scrunches up his face almost as tightly as he pressed the lock button on his phone. He considers throwing it on the sofa on the other side of the studio, so he can focus on his music again, but apparently he's developed separation issues in recent weeks.
You can’t have everything. He’s learnt this lesson once before. He’d do well to revise his notes and retake the exam.
Tapping his desk as if he’s too scared to make contact with his keyboard, he looks up at the tracks in front of him. The layers you muted remain that way, and while the song feels less cluttered sonically, it’s still just as muddled in his mind.
Yoongi purses his lips as he tilts his head, dark eyes vacant as he tries to reconcile with the fact that the one thing he used to understand better than his own body doesn’t seem to make sense anymore.
Seems like a pattern. He used to understand the girl on the other end of the phone, but has somehow fucked that up.
Used to understand you, too.
He barely recognises you anymore. Occasionally there’s a glint in your eye that reflects a younger version of Yoongi back at himself, but more often than not, you don’t even give him the time of day. He can’t blame you, but he also doesn’t blame himself for what happened. It needed to happen.
Well, that’s not entirely true. If the night that never was never happened, then things could have remained as they always were.
Regret becomes Min Yoongi. It stiffens in his veins until his blood ceases to flow. His extremities become cold and it only spreads. Like a disease, there’s little warmth left in him now, he thinks. Can’t help but give you the cold shoulder, for cold is his only default.
Your perfume is still lingering in his studio. He can pick out the notes. Knows theres vanilla and sandalwood in it’s base. It was spliced with warm cedar on the night that never was, and is muddled with booze now, but he recognises it nonetheless. You linger, even when you’re not there.
He wonders if the boys showed up now, would any of them would realise?
He thinks Jungkook would. Like a bloodhound, he’d know you had been there. Never vocalises it, but all that teasing over the years about something between you two has Pavlov'd Jungkook, Yoongi reckons.
Territorial, is Jungkook, just like a damn dog. Bark is far worse than his bite, though. Ain’t nothing to be scared of.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Yoongi sighs. Realises that if Jin learns of you getting sent off into the night alone that he’ll have slmething to actually be scared of.
“Shit,” he curses, grabbing his phone, slipping it into his back pocket, and quickly grabs his bracelets to put them back on his wrist.
You wouldn’t think they were the kind of bracelets to come off, mostly string, but he’s got a knack to it. Curls his thumb into his palm and scrapes them up against his skin, until they’re secure in place once more.
He knows better than to be sending pictures of his hands with anything that can be tied back to him. There are instagram accounts dedicated to finding his outfits, and he knows for a fact they’ve already figured out the backstreet independent stores all of these bracelets come from. Wouldn’t be worth one of the pictures he’s sent on that damn app getting out if he had them on still.
The door clicks shut behind him as he heads to the elevators, agitated, jittering as he waits. It’s taking too long, though, coming from the ground floor up. His eyes shift across to the fire escape doors, then back to the number slowly rising above the elevator doors, and thinks fuck it.
He bolts down the stairs and into the cold of night, only for you to be gone without a trace.
“Shit,” he says once more, digging into his back pocket to grab his phone. Notices no new notifications from the app he’s borderline addicted to but ignores the disappointment. Pulls up his contacts. Scrolls to a number saved under a single full stop. No name, no emoji, just a full stop right at the bottom of his contact list.
It’s been like that for a while, since before things ever went wrong. Made it less tempting to text you when things used to be good. Also hid the fact he used text you like crazy right in front of Jin’s face.
So yes, Min Yoongi is full of regrets for many things he’s done in life, and you’re the biggest one. Not because of what happened, but because of all that he lost in doing so.
And so as the phone dial rings out in his ear, Yoongi stops breathing. Forgets it’s something he even needs to consider.
“Heya,” you softly greet him through the speaker. He’d been expecting rage. A ‘What?’ or ‘Fuck off’. He’s confused, but calmer, now.
“Hey-”
“Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now. Don’t leave me a message, I won’t listen, send me a text instead. Byeeee!”
Brilliant. There’s a beep through the speaker, and even though you said not to leave a message, Yoongi’s had too much whisky to comprehend this.
“Uh, I just, uh-wanted to check that you got home okay? I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. Jin will kill me. Just uh… Just let me know when you get home? Okay? That’s it. Alright…bye.”
Across town, with your phone pressed to your ear as you traipse up the hill leading to your apartment building, you listen to your voicemails option menu.
“To listen again, press 1. To delete, press 2. To save, press 3.”
With a scowl on your face, turning the corner to your entryway, you press down on your phone’s keypad, then hold it back to your ear.
“Message saved. You have 4 voicemails saved from this number. To listen—”
You don’t need the options. Already know. For reasons you can’t seem articulate, you tap one a number you really know you should.
“Voicemail received 672 days ago, at 17:51PM: Hey Fizz, I’m just on my way into the studio—I was wondering if you were around today? I’m gonna order from that Thai place you like and their minimum order is like, waaaaay too much for just me. Yeah, just uh, just give me a text or something? Gonna order in about an hour. That’s it. Okay, bye.”
Your hand is heavy on the bannister, legs all clunky and unable to walk with their usual grace. The perils of one too many is finally starting to kick in. Reaching your front door, you jam your doorcode in the keypad as the second voicemail plays.
“Voicemail received 497 days ago, at 01:32AM: Just a heads up, Jungkook’s looking for you. Saw him when I was leaving, and he asked if you were around. Anyway, I said no, so if he comes up and you’re in my studio it’s gonna be sus so either manually lock the door—he’ll think I’ve just changed the code again—or scarper while you can. Probably best you hide regardless. Especially with your hair like that. Not in a weird way. Just like, that and the outfit you’re—Well, yeah, no that sounds weird too. Whatever. Just, uh—Jungkook is looking for you. That’s it. Bye.”
Your door clicks shut behind you. There’s always the option of hanging up before the next message plays. You don’t have to listen to it, especially not when you need to take your shoes off. Bad choices seem to be in abundance tonight, for you switch the phone to loud speaker and pop in on your console table while you wrestle with the straps of your shoes.
“Voicemail received 435 days ago, at 21:39PM: I, uh, I don’t really know why I’m calling. I guess I’m just sorry about what happened. Sorry that it happened altogether. Crossed a line there, and, uh, yeah. Not proud of it, won’t happen again. I know you never listen to these, but I think this is the only thing I’m not blocked on, so it is what it is. Yeah. Sorry. Uh, that’s it, I guess. Bye.”
Cutting the voicemail call off before it replays tonight's message, your frown is fragile. There’s something so deeply pathetic about that recording. You pity him when you listen to it; but you pity the younger version of you that first listened to it even more.
She didn’t deserve to feel the way she did, sat in her bed, chewed up and spat back out by someone she trusted. There’s a silver thread that ties her to you, and the grief in her heart tugs on the string coiled around yours.
“Cunt,” you curse, hoping he feels your venom across the frequencies of the city; that a shiver will run down his spine like his grave is being walked upon.
If anyone were ever to ask you why you kept that voicemail, you’d tell them you don’t know. You’d think it to be true.
But that voicemail is the only evidence of the night that never was. That, and some bottle caps of your favourite orange in the bottom drawer of Yoongi’s studio—but you don’t know they’re there and he doesn’t ever really plan on telling you.
All the voicemail does now is prove exactly why a stupid fuckin’ anonymous app is the only place you’re willing to put yourself out there.
Deep down, you know you were only such an asshole to your Damocles Boy because of Yoongi. That the rejection from him felt like the recoil of Yoogni from way back when.
Poor guy has been nothing but an angel, really. Is far kinder to you than Yoongi ever was.
So a message is sent to him; a simple apology. The promise of a proper chat tomorrow. The assurance that you didn’t mean to be awful to him, and that you’ve just had a few too many.
It’s a rubbish excuse, but it’s the truth—and that’s as much as you can give him. Sort of. Your secrets guard the thing you’ve grown to enjoy so much.
And you know he’s right. It only works because of that. He’s not the love of your life. He’s company. A companion. Someone to look forward to. The promise that there are good ones out there, even if he isn’t your ‘the one’
Leaving your phone on your bed, you grab a towel from the clean laundry pile and saunter to the bathroom, discarding your clothes as you go. Your hallway becomes a runway for your evening; your bathroom a sanctuary to wash it all away.
Main light off, you pull the extractor cord on and flick the mirror lights into action. You need reprise. To be washed anew. Cleansed of your sins.
They wash down the drain with your makeup from the evening, eyes like a Panda and skin free of the drink splashes that had turned sticky.
It’s as you’re softly wiping the mascara way that you realise how awfully chipped your varnish is. Was only a couple of coats, quickly chucked on ‘cause you hadn’t had time to get them done properly, so it’s no surprise. You hate the way it looks though, so open your cabinet to find your bottle of polish remover and absolve them of the nights sins, too. No makeup, no nails, no clothes; a self-care hattrick.
Retracing your steps, picking your clothes up as you head up the hallway to your bedroom, a knock sounds on your door. A towel is wrapped around your body, and your hair is scrunched up in a towel, but that Dutch courage hasn’t left you yet.
You head through to the lounge, tossing your clothes on the armchair and through to the front door. Flick the lock and wait for the mechanical whir indicating it’s open.
Min Yoongi’s only ever seen you like this once before and he damn near lost his mind.
Standing before you now, your hallway light haloing around his angelic face, he’s right back there in that sauna; lakeside, hot cedar and red wine. A cigarette on the dock, shared. An innocence, lost. A friendship, irrevocably ruined.
He remembers what it felt like.
His fingers come to push the sensation off his lips as his jaw tenses, because to remember is to relive, and he cannot do that. Not now. Not here. Not in front of you.
And despite the droplets of water still trickling south down your neck to your shoulder, you feel all sticky, too. Dirty, despite being pristinely clean. You know it’s not, but it feels just like the sweat on your skin from the night that never was.
His eyes are wide, lips gently parted as he just simply says, “Oh.”
Like his shadow, you echo him, unable to say anything else but “oh” right back.
A good thing never lasts long with Yoongi, mind you. The white towel you’re sporting becomes a red flag and he becomes a bull; a fight surely about to ensue.
“What are you doing?” He scowles, walking past you and into your home, pulling the door shut behind him.
“Sorry?” You practically shriek as he walks straight on into your apartment, shoes kicked off by the door, your living room apparently his to parade around in.
“I could have been anyone and you just opened the door in a towel?” He scoffs, looking around, taking note of the fact you’ve rearranged since he was last in there. Kept those fluffy pillows he liked, though. If he notices your underwear on the armchair, he doesn’t mention it. Turning to face you, he shrugs, a look of sheer disbelief on his face. “What if some fuckin’ creep had followed you home?”
“Oh, you mean like you’ve just done?!” You scoff right back. “Pot, kettle, black. Creep.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. Tries not to smile when he notices the picture of you and Jungkook from high school framed on your wall. You’re both covered in paint, on your way home far later than you should have been to account for the detention you’d had to complete first.
Jungkook had been late for band practice that night. It was in your parent’s garage as usual, and is what sparked a near decade-long in-joke about you and Jungkook dating to piss Jin off.
You’d all been kids back then. You and Yoongi hadn’t ever really spoken. He wasn’t interested in hanging out with Jin’s kid sister—Jungkook was bad enough as it was, but the kid was fuckin’ talented. You were just annoying.
“God, you never grow up, do you? Use your brain for once,” he says, stern as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I was literally just coming to make sure you got home safe, ‘cause your fuckin’ brother would have me for breakfast if I didn’t.”
You’re not those kids anymore. You don’t need a baby sitter.
“Again, Yoongi,” You take a step towards him. His eyes remain trained on yours. Another step is taken, and he finds his gaze has to shift on account of how close you’re getting. He doesn’t think it’s wise. “If you really gave a shit about what Jin thinks, you wouldn’t have done half the things you have.”
He stays silent, and you know it’s because whatever he wants to say is mean. You smirk.
Pressing your index finger into his chest, nail free of the red varnish you had been sporting earlier that night, you make sure his eyes focus back on yours as you say, “You’ve no authority to speak to me like you do. Who even are you, huh? You’re my brother’s co-worker. That’s all you are. You’re nothing. So don’t pretend like this is all for my own good, when you don’t know the first fuckin’ thing about me anymore.”
You press your nail just a little deeper, his body swaying ever so gently as he lets you have this command over him. He doesn’t stop looking at you. Not for a second. Only when you go to leave, does he speak up.
“So, you’re just gonna leave me in here while you go to your bedroom?” He snorts, almost as if he finds this whole thing funny. “Not even kick me out? Wow, for someone who is adamant about how worthless I am, why aren’t you taking me out like trash?”
You pause by your door frame. Hold onto it. Tap it once, twice, then turn around. There’s still a little fire in your eyes, but it seems feeble now, like the flames have been deprived of a little oxygen.
“You’re my brother’s co-worker, and it’d really fuck up his job if anything happened to you,” You say, apparently jumping through hoops to make it all make sense. “So just say here, ‘cause I can’t be arsed trekking over town in half an hour to make sure you got home safe, too.”
It sounded bolder in your head. When you say it out loud, it delivers a little lackluster. Somewhat pathetic. You’ve said it now, though, so you’ve gotta commit to it. Yoongi pretends not to notice the way you grimace at your own words.
Expecting you to carry on, Yoongi says nothing. Just gives you that cold, vacant stare you’ve grown so used to.
Predictable, is Min Yoongi. He can let the silence sit with most people, but finds it quite uncomfortable with you. Eventually says, “I’ll be fine. Look, I’m just gonna go, ‘cause this is, like, weird.”
He doesn’t move mind you. Say’s he gonna leave and stays still.
Rolling your eyes, you shake your head. “Look, Yoongi, I’m shattered. Stay, or don’t, I don’t care. We both both know my couch is just as comfy as your bed. Don’t be difficult.”
It’s easy to miss, the slight beat in both of your hearts as you acknowledge that you know how comfortable his bed is. It’s not for any nefarious, illicit reason; no midnight tete e tete or midday rendevous.
You just went bed shopping with him when he moved into his first ‘grown up’ apartment. You’d been bored and he’d offered entertainment in the form of trying every single mattress within a 15 mile radius. Things had been easier back then. Just as weird, though, in retrospect.
Yoongi dismisses it. “Moved since then. New bed. That one’s in the spare room.”
It’s not a new discovery. He moved probably six months ago or so. Was on tour at the time and had to keep flying back between stops to get things sorted. Ran himself rugged. Rumour on the street (twitter, that is) was that he was going back to visit a girl.
You’d scoffed at the idea of it. Min Yoongi would be the last man to actually give a shit enough about a girl to commit like that.
“Right,” you nod, not really caring to learn any more intricacies of his life. “Well, you know where everything is. There’s filtered water in the fridge and bedding—”
“Bedding in the trunk,” he nods, remembering that all your spare pillows and sheets are in an old tea shipping trunk you got from a flea market when you were still in Uni. All sorts of nicknakcs have been hideen in over time; alcohol, birthday surprises, even people for various reasons or another. Now, it’s taken on a more boring vocation. Seems like life is heading that way generally. Nights out are ending sooner, and bones are getting achey. You’re not sure you like this change. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Yoongi has a few years on you, and you take great pleasure in this. His bones must ache, too. Moreso, even. Your sofa won’t be as comfy as it once was. A small win.
With a curt nod and a stiff smile that doesn’t meet your eyes, you turn your back on him and head to your room. There’s no point showing him around. He knows this place as intimately as he knows his own studio, even if it all feels foreign to him now.
Once you’re in your room, you flop onto your bed, head in the pillows, all air ehaling from your lungs. Hadn’t realised you’d been holding your breath throughout the entire conversation.
Pulling your phone from it’s hidden spot beneath your pillow, you frown to see no new messages, ignoring the fact it is ass o’clock in the morning. Your Damocles boy is probably fast asleep - and could you blame him? After the way you flipped out at him for no good reason?
You scroll through your app folders until you find Hush tucked away, hidden in amongst ones you seldom use so as to not draw suspicion.
It opens up on your chat thread, and you find your frown threading itself even deeper into the lines on your forehead when you see he’s been active since then.
If you’re not careful, those lines will become so deepset that everyone you ever meet will be able to decipher the clamamities they chronicle.
Look at her, strangers would whisper. She definitely fell for someone on Hush who turned out to be a weirdo.
Thing is, no one would look at you and say that. No one would even think that the reason you look so tired is because you’re up all hours on hush. They’d just think you were burning the candle a both ends.
Part of you wishes you were. Or at least wishes that it was a Babylon candle you were burning; you could think of Damocles, and you’d be right there with him. That you could just put it all to bed and see exactly who he is. Give him the chance to decide if he’d wanna make it work. If it’s a risk worth taking.
Your nails tap against your screen, typing faster than you think. Almost as soon as you press send, you exit the app. Check your phone is on silent mode, ‘cause you can’t have Yoongi hearing the vribrate tone of the app incase he knows it, too. You doubt he does. Too old fashioned for the modern conventions of dating—and anyway, he told you he was seeing someone. Hush should be the last app he should be familiar with.
Locking your phone, almost scared to get a response, you toss it down beside you, a small glimmer of hope that he’ll be awake.
Your daydreams of Damocles are interrupted by Yoongi coughing all rather onbnoxiously from the other room. No one coughs like that. He definitely spluttered. You scowl at the thought of it. He’s a walking, talking, coughing ick.
And yet you forget all about him as you unlock your phone to see a new notification waiting for you. A white flag is being waved and it’s suddenly your favourite colour.
04:52AM
Cl3m3ntin3:
i know ur mad at me </3
but i have a question
babylon candles
the ones you light and think about where you wanna go, then get magically transported
if you had one, what would u think of
where would u go x
D4m0cl3s:
evil
this is a trick question, isn’t it?
Cl3m3ntin3:
is it? :(
D4m0cl3s:
Clem
be so for real rn
if i say anything that isn’t you, you’ll block me
Cl3m3ntin3:
maybe
wouldn’t it be so fun to find out tho???
D4m0cl3s:
no
absolutely not
the concept of being blocked by the one thing i can’t stop thinking about is genuinely vomit inducing
i would throw up
BE SICK
literally think i would fall apart
Cl3m3ntin3:
omg shut up no you wouldn’t you big babyi missed u
glad ur up
but answer the question dummy
D4m0cl3s:
missed u more
sorry for fighting
and for the record ur a big baby
Cl3m3ntin3:
answer the question omg
D4m0cl3s:
it’s up for debate!! i’m not sure!!
i think maybe my hometown
haven’t visited in ages
think you’d like it
am gonna take you there one day, show you all my fave places
tell you what tho, clem i think i’d mess a babylon candle up
think i’d think of you regardless
think i’d end up at your door looking incredibly sorry for myself
Cl3m3ntin3:
you wouldn’t even know it was my door
just be disturbing all my neighbours smh
and who’s to say i don’t have roommates? you might be greeted by someone else
you might not realise it isn’t me
what if you gave them a kiss thinking it was me </3
D4m0cl3s:
i’d know it’s you
god, i would know
you have any idea how many times i’ve thought of showing up at some nondescript door, greeting some nondescript girl?
i never really imagine you physically
you’re just like… an entity???
i’d just feel it
if you opened up your door for me, i’d feel it
Cl3m3ntin3:
what’s ‘it’, huh?
what would you feel?
D4m0cl3s:
salvation
Cl3m3ntin3:
you’re so dramatic
D4m0cl3s:
im not
i’m honest
i genuinely think meeting you will feel like the weight of the world is lifted
and then i’ll be horny but idk how relevant that part is
Cl3m3ntin3:
i think i’d be offended if you weren’t x
D4m0cl3s:
i get hard every time hush sends me a notification
only cause i know it’s you
you’ve corrupted me
i used to be a good
a gentleman
and now i’m some fiend who doesn’t know his heart from his dick
Cl3m3ntin3:
you can still be good, babe
just good for me xx
D4m0cl3s:
you know i always am
should see me in clubs
the self-restraint is saintly
Cl3m3ntin3:
you need restraint?
so youre tempted to stray???
D4m0cl3s:
No
god no never
the real restraint is not picking you up on your offers when you ask to see me
cockblocking myself
Cl3m3ntin3:
well you’ve missed you shot for the night
one of my friends is crashing here
i can’t leave and you can’t come
RIP ur hopes n dreams </3
D4m0cl3s:i
can’t cum??
even if i send you a video of it???:((((
Cl3m3ntin3:
not like that, dummyy
ou know i alwaysss want you to cum for me
what’s gonna make you cum tonight, huh?
how are you thinking of having me?
D4m0cl3s:
on a couch
hmmm yeah, big comfy couch
Cl3m3ntin3:
for my potential, totally real housemates to walk in on?
gasp
he’s an exhibitionist
D4m0cl3s:
you’ve told me you live alone a million times when youre trying to convince to come over, dummy
and yeah, couch
i mean it
if i showed up at your door, we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom
Cl3m3ntin3:
you think i’d be that easy????
Wow
thanks a lot!!!!
blocked!!!!
D4m0cl3s:
i don’t think you’d even say hello
i think you’d be too busy kissing me to show me around
i think you’d wrap your arms around my neck
and i’d pick you up, legs around my waist
one of my hands on your waist, the other on your ass
keeping you supported, like a gentleman
duh
Cl3m3ntin3:
so courteous of you babe
would the bulge in your pants be gentlemanly, hmm?
cause we both know you’d be rock hard
D4m0cl3s
:you’re imagining it aren’t you, baby?
how i’d sit down on the couch, you straddled ontop of me?
i know you well enough now to know that you’d be in some big old t-shirt
with underwear thats so tiny it may aswell not be there
Cl3m3ntin3:
so i’m half naked in this little dream of yours, but you’re fully clothed?
that hardly seems fair
D4m0cl3s:
nah
i’d have just showered
would have pulled sweats on with no underwear
you’d feel how fuckin’ hard i am as you grind on me
you’d be so wet it would be seeping through
grinding on my thick, throbbing cock
fuck
i’d wanna fuck you so badly
would you let me?
Cl3m3ntin3:
would you ask nicely?
D4m0cl3s:
No
probably not
i think i’d probably mumble it into your mouth while i was kissing you
tell you how badly i wanna be inside you
then i’d let you make of that what you will
Cl3m3ntin3:
god, i’d wanna be mean soooo bad
would wanna leave you hanging but fuck
i know i’d want you too
even thinking about it is getting me all wet
i’d show you if i was home alone
buttt i’m not
so i wont :*
D4m0cl3s:
god i gotta get myself a babylon candle
Cl3m3ntin3:
think of me in my bed when you do
don’t bother fucking around with the front door
this is where i want you
fuck the couch, fuck all of it
just be in my bed
D4m0cl3s:
god, i’m so fuckin’ hard
such much precum
it’s literally begging to be inside you
wouldn’t last a minute, i swear to god
Cl3m3ntin3:
lucky me ;)
you’d waste a babylon candle on a single minute?
you must be desperate
cute
D4m0cl3s:
shut up
it’s cause you’re too hot
you think i wouldn’t make up for it huh?
you think i wouldnt eat that creampie right from the chef’s table?
fuckin’ gourmet
and you think i wouldn’t share it with you?tl
think i wouldn’t go back down and eat you till your legs are fuckin’ shaking?
babe
do you even know me at all? ;)
Cl3m3ntin3:
god i’m close just thinking about it
D4m0cl3s:
get closer
keep playing with yourself
i’m stroking myself
wish you were here so bad
Cl3m3ntin3:
just close your eyes babe
pretend i am
D4m0cl3s:
if i close my eyes i can’t message you </3
Cl3m3ntin3:
my camera’s fucked
but this is from a couple days ago
Cl3m3ntin3 added new media to the chat!
this is what you do to me each and every time
i’m even wetter now than i was then
D4m0cl3s:
Jesus
you’re so fuckin wet
look at that pretty pussy
soaked just for me
i gotta get you one of those remote control vibrators, i swear to god
it’s not enough, being the reason you cum mentally i gotta make you cum physically
fuck
babe keep going
keep touching yourself
Cl3m3ntin3:
i wish i could call
🙁
D4m0cl3s:
i know, babe, me too
just keep playing with that pretty pussy for me
get yourself creaming for me
i’m so close
so fuckin’ close
Cl3m3ntin3:
me too
Fuck
god i want it all inside me
i wanna cum around your cock so bad
D4m0cl3s:
babe
fuck
Cl3m3ntin3:
oh god
i’m there
D4m0cl3s:
fuck
clem
Cl3m3ntin3:
fucking hell
Hehehehhee
you good?
D4m0cl3s:
yeah babe
all good
fuck i miss finishing on call, but fuck
Yeah
came so hard
Cl3m3ntin3:
what were you thinking about?
D4m0cl3s:
i wasn’t
i was looking at that picture
you’ve no idea how perfect you are
do i even wanna know what you were thinking about?
Cl3m3ntin3:
my default closing scene
us
my bed
missionary
weird enigma where you should be ;)
D4m0cl3s:
i’m worried now
what if you can’t cum with me in real life cause i’m not an enigma?
Cl3m3ntin3:
i’ve seen your cock
there’s no way i’m not cumming
perfect
fuck a vibrator
get one of those dick moulds
at least that way i could feel you
D4m0cl3s:
it’s just for you babe
all yours
and that’s actually not a bad idea
think i’d be scared of breaking my dick or something with it tho
Cl3m3ntin3:
as it should be ;)
hold that thought x
Cl3m3ntin3 is offline
“Oh, Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You shriek as you step into your hallway, only to be greeted with a dark figure leaving the bathroom. It doesn’t take any time at all to figure out who it is, in part aided by the light pouring in from the living room doorway.
“Shitting hell,” Yoongi hisses, the bright smile he’d been mysteriously sporting evaporating as soon as his eyes land on yours.
You’re so overcome with your surprise that you almost don’t notice his attire, or lack thereof.
He’s in a pair of boxers. Black. Branded, probably, but the light is too low, and your aversion to anything below his naval prevents you from staring. His hair is dishevelled, but there’s a lightness to him. Relief, perhaps.
It’s a lightness you haven’t seen in a while. A lightness you’ve only ever truly seen once, but that memory is tucked so far away in the depths of your mind that you can’t recall it, now.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You ask, as he’s not clearly going back to the living room after going to the bathroom. His phone is in his hand, locked, but gripped so tightly he’ll snap it right in half if he isn’t careful. Would send the glass shattering, impaling himself with the shrapnel. He’d do anything to keep his secrets safe. Would self-sacrifice before he admitted anything to you. Already said too much earlier this evening. Knows he’s one false footing away from falling over entirely.
“Baking a cake?” He sarcastically sneers. “The fuck does it look like? God forbid a man needs a piss.”
“Yeah, well, go outside next time,” you huff in reply, as if that's a reasonable or functional thing to request. You live in an apartment block. A man pissing outside would definitely get you a strike against your tenancy agreement.
He just rolls his eyes, and continues towards the lounge. Signs off with, “I wanted to leave. You told me to stay. This is your own damn creation, Fizz.”
He stops in his tracks, just shy of the doorframe. His broad shoulders barely fit through, muscles strong and defined. The valley of his spine is a dangerous path to follow, yet your eyes stalk down it like a deer in headlights.
He’s gained a tattoo since you last saw his bare skin. Between his shoulder blades rests a sword. It’s delicate. Deadly, no doubt.
It reminds you of your Damocles boy, and almost distracts you from the fact he called you by the nickname he gave you a million moons ago. The rest of the boys still call you it, but you don’t think you’ve heard it come from his mouth since the night that never was.
He closes the door behind himself, knowing that there’s nothing else left to say. He’ll rest until dawn, then will be gone before the recycling truck comes to pick up the trash ahead of the day. There’ll be no goodbye, but that's not unusual for him.
Threading the lock of the bathroom door through the latch, you take a deep breath. Look at yourself in the mirror. Your furrowed lines of frustration have all but gone. It’s funny, how similar to Yoogni you can be; how a little time with your phone can lift a weight.
You suppose he was maybe speaking with the person he’s seeing. Cherry, you name her in your head, thanks to the drawings in his notebook.
He’d suit a cherry. Cherry red lips, cherry cola hair. Bright red lollies, glasses of merlot and bloody knees after a piggyback gone wrong. Maroon nails stroking against that sword he’s adorned himself with. Sanguine in his security; Min Yoongi wouldn’t rush into anything he wasn’t certain of. Rosy noses in the winter, flushed cheeks in the elevator as his hand tangle in her hair, the most cardinal thing he’s ever known.
So yeah, you think. He’d suit a cherry.
Not the fizz of fuckin’ orangade. So fuckin’ immature. You’ve always been and will remain to be his best friend's younger sister. And that’s fine.
He doesn’t even look that good under the orange glow of dimmed streetlamps, and he definitely doesn’t look phenomenal in firelight. Fuck no. And he looks like a tit when he peels oranges. In fact, you hate going into his studio after he’s had a clementine, and he’s always fuckin’ eating them these days. You love the scent and he is actively ruining it.
You lift your head. Meet your own gaze in the mirror. Furrow your brows once more, ‘cause why does any of this matter?
If anything, it should be a relief to hear him call you Fizz.
So lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t notice your phone light up, Jimin’s face in the caller ID.
It’s not unsuaul for him to call, but it is unsualf for him to call so late. Or early, really. You figure he’s just making sure you got home safe. He’s good at that; checking in. Does it with all the boys, too.
Jimin is your friend. Has been for years.
Park Jimin, Chief Artist Liaison Officer of Big Hit? Senior Tour Manager?
Yeah, he’s a different entity entirely.
Park Jimin has a job to do, and that job is to ensure The Scouts are as profitable as can be for the label. He knows damn well the importance of keeping the ‘assets’ safe. You included in that, whether you like it or not..
Have you all on his ‘find my friends’ app. Has done for years. You’ve pretty much all forgotten.
You see, the truth of the matter is that you and Yoongi aren’t the only ones who don’t speak about the night that never was. Jimin’s never told a soul, either. Not even you.
He knew damn well the repercussions of telling anyone that he’d seen you and Yoongi driving out of the city together on a weekend he was supposedly ‘visiting family’ and you were seeing ‘friends from uni’.
When he had checked back in on his app later that afternoon, just to see if Yoongi had dropped you off in your uni city on the way down to Daegu, he’d paused. Frowned. Searched the forums to see if there were any active glitches or servers down. Found no evidence that there were. Instead, he just found that for some unexplainable reason, you’d been in the same remote location for 3 hours.
He had half a mind to call you both. Ask what the hell you were thinking. What the hell you were doing. Decided against it. Just spent his weekend quiety observing.
Come Monday morning, your little avatars on his screen were miles way, different parts of Seoul. He held his breath. Knew if he saw you together again, for any unexplained reason, he’d have to hold an intervention.
But you were never together again. Sure, sometimes at work, but never outside of it. Whatever happened during those 44 hours you were locked in on the side of a lake with nothing around it for miles, he didn’t need to know.
All that he knew was Yoongi threw himself into writing the next batch of tracks for the album, and you bleached your hair, so it must have been pretty fuckin’ brutal for you both—and that was music to his ears.
Not ‘cause he didn’t love you both or want what’s best for you, but because he did and continues to love you both all the same. He wants what’s best for you—and your brother's oldest friend is not what’s best for you.
Your brother fighting his oldest friend because of you? Also not good. Would cause irreparable damage to the band, and Jimin cannot afford that.
So he’ll take Yoongi as recluse and you as a fried blonde if it means The Scouts remain as bulletproof as they always were.
But you’re not blonde anymore and Yoongi’s got writer’s block. Quelle surprise, your avatars have been stapled to your apartment block for the last two hours with no sign or movement.
He is not letting it happen again.
Especially not with the shitstorm you’ve ‘caused tonight.
“Can I help?” You answer with a smile, anticipating a drunk Jimin on the other end of the line.
Instead, he’s direct. To the point. “Is Yoongi there?”
“Uh…”
“Fizz, I know he is.”
“He’s on the couch?” You half question as if it isn’t true. The issue is, the rest of it is all a little messy, so a white lie is told. “He walked me home, so—”
“I don’t wanna know,” Jimin interrupts, as if he knows you’re bullshitting him. “Just get him out of there. The internet is going fuckin’ crazy and I can’t have him getting papped leaving—”
“Sorry?” You ask, utterly bemused, leaving the bathroom and heading across to the living room to get Yoongi up. Whatever had a bee in Jimin’s bonnet like this would have to be serious. He wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t. “Yoongi—”
Already on his own phone, Yoongi greets you with dark eyes that practically scream: We’re fucked.
“Yeah, I know Kook,” Yoongi stresses down the line of his phone. Eyes on yours, he’s panicked. Like dark cherries almost, glinting in the light, his eyes are sweet in their distress. “No, no it wasn’t like— Fuck. How many? 56 thousa– Oh Jesus. Okay. Yeah. Fuck. I’ll be at the studio in 15.”
“Gotta go,” you say to Jimin, hanging up as Yoongi does the same to Jungkook.
“Fuckin’ intenret weirdos,” he hisses, tossing his phone down into the sofa. He reclines back with a sigh, raking a stressed hand through his hair. Explains, “Someone took a picture of us grabbing a taxi, and apparently twitter is in a meltdown.”
Your heart is beating so fast you can practically taste blood. You’re crimson in your surprise. Fitting, really, that the panic of getting caught up with Yoongi would turn you such a shade.
You remember what happened with Tae, though, when innocent pictures were misconstrued and he almost lost the love of his life as a result of it. If Yoongi really is seeing someone, and the internet is playing cupid without his consent, it could be detrimental. You’d sneered at the idea of his cherry girl earlier, but you feel sick now at the idea of being ‘that’ girl. The other girl, even if you’re not.
Pulling his trousers on, Yoongi continues to curse. Says some shit about knowing better than to get caught up in a situation like this.
“Oh, give over,” you almost laugh, knowing how damage control works in this industry. “You’ll be papped with a girl next week; everyone will forget about it. Some influencer or something. Or better yet, why not a contestant from singles inferno? That seems to fit your modus operandi.”
Yoongi pauses, jaw slack before it tenses. He scoffs. Shakes his head. Barely remembers doing that pap walk. Doesn’t get why it’s something you’ve clearly got a gripe with. Was just business.
“Yeah, maybe,” he bites back. “And maybe you’ll bleach your hair so no one fuckin’ recognises you—Oh wait, no they will! ‘Cause it’s the world’s worst disguise, and then maybe the fuckin’ fans will see you on back-to-back nights out and find the LinkedIn accounts and grandparents of every single man you’re seen making out with and then Hoseok will have to pull you in for another meeting about keeping a low profile so Jin doesn’t have to publicly deal with having harlot for a sister? Maybe? Hm? How does that sound?”
So turns out Yoongi knows exactly why you’ve got a gripe with that pap walk, ‘cause he seems to have a pretty big gripe with your crash out as a result of it.
It wasn’t your finest hour, you will admit. The blonde was good. The nights out? Yeah, low point.
But Yoongi’s weekend bag was still in the boot of his car when he drove some girl from the most recent series of Singles Inferno to a restaurant for some ‘mutually exclusive deal’. He knows there was a receipt from your favourite Thai place in the passenger side door and the cap of one of your orangades in the cupholder.
“We both know the blonde was hot,” you childishly retort. “And if you can fuck around with Z-listers from dating shows, then who gives a fuck who I’m seen with? I’ve got girls with smartphones following me around; you’ve got paps with professional cameras. Bit different. If I’m a harlot then what the fuck are you, Yoongi? At least I don’t get paid for mine.”
He was never seen with her again, in all fairness. He’s never seen with the same girl twice. Ever.
It’s all part of the ‘image’. Even if it hadn’t been you tonight, it would have been some other girl that his Cherry lady would have had to see all over socials. It’s a sad way to live.
“Look, if anyone asks, it’s exactly as it was,” Yoongi tells you, not caring to carry on the bickering. He doesn’t really think you're a harlot. Quite the opposite, actually. He isn’t so sure you’d say the same about him. “I made sure you were home safe, then I left.”
There’s nothing more to say. Nothing left worth fighting about.
And so you let him disappear into the night. The streetlamps will tarnish him in orange, but his fury at how this has all gone down will paint him red regardless.
With a sigh, trying your best to ignore the slight scent of his aftershave in the air, you plonk down onto the sofa. Flick up twitter. Scroll for approximately 2 seconds, and then you see it.
“Shit.”
It’s really not that incriminating, you think as you scroll. An easy mistake. Might not even be you! You can barely see—
Oh.
No.
There’s another picture of you in the club. Okay, so yeah, it’s not deniable. But it’s fine! You’ve known him for years. Of course you hang out. It’s fine.
The pictures repeat and repeat and repeat. Different angles, different saturation, different contrast. There are edits already. Occasionally there’s cries of fans telling other people not to spread them, which do you appreciate it.
But then there’s another picture.
Daylight. Pixelated. Far harder to decipher. Insane zoom and crop of a much larger picture. The caption makes no real sense to you. It declares you as a couple. Declares #FIGIISREAL. Boasts that they were right. That you and Yoongi have been together for years.
And once you realise what it is—where it is—you gasp.
There’s no way.
It can’t be.
But it is.
The morning after the night that never was stares you in the face; Yoongi’s expression pained as a kiss is pressed to the side of your (pre-bleached) head, waiting in line at the gas station convenience store.
“Fuck.”
end of part three
