You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.
Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down. But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.
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OR
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How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.
Rating: Explicit
Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | Pt. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14 | Pt. 15
Summary: Your father has always instilled in you the ideas of what a good, God-fearing woman should be. Humble. Steadfast. Pure. A beacon for lost souls. You knew that going to a secular university would bring temptations, but you were adamant that you would not stray from the path.
That is, until your father had you witness to campus delinquent Kim Taehyung. Charming and devilishly charismatic, Taehyung makes you question everything you thought you knew about what a “good” woman should be.
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OR
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Purity culture created an unhealthy relationship with sexuality for me and Now I Have Feelings About It.
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Religious indoctrination, religious trauma, kink.
"Some storms you see coming. Others hit you before you can even smell the rain. But the deadliest ones? Those are the ones you walk into willingly, knowing they'll tear you apart."
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next | index
⚔ chapter details ⚔
word count: 4.2k
rating: mature
content: first mission, casino infiltration, unexpected encounters with deadly chiefs & that moment you realize your mouth might get you killed
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☠ author's note ☠
Welcome to my personal descent into madness, also known as "that gang AU that literally no one asked for but here we are!"
Quick heads up—this fic goes places. Dark places. Like, we're talking psychological warfare levels of mess here. Everyone's got more baggage than an international airport and exactly zero healthy coping mechanisms. There's violence, mature themes, explicit content, and enough moral ambiguity to make your therapist weep. If that's not your jam, might wanna hit that back button now. (⌒_⌒;)
Full disclosure: this is my pandemic baby. Started writing this during lockdown and oh boy does it show. We're talking 250k words, 30 chapters, and we're only halfway through this trainwreck. My writing style has evolved more times than Jungkook's hair color at this point, and you'll definitely notice the difference between early chapters and recent ones. Am I gonna rewrite the whole thing? Absolutely not, I choose sleep. But I will edit! Just... don't expect miracles. (￣▽￣*)ゞ
P.S.: No beta we die like my sleep schedule at 3am writing this nonsense. ψ(｀∇´)ψ
Special shoutout to my emotional support iced americano, without whom this chapter would not exist. And to Jungkook for living rent free in my brain and forcing me to write this at ungodly hours. The audacity of this man, I swear.
Anyway! Buckle up buttercups, this is gonna be a wild ride. Prepare to scream, cry, throw your phone, and possibly question your life choices. I know I did! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
Much love,
Kiki
P.P.S.: If you spot any typos, no you didn't. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
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⚔ socials ⚔
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Chills.
That's the feeling that washes over you as you stare at your reflection in the mirror. Three months ago, if someone had told you that you'd be standing here, in this moment, about to head into your first real gang mission —you would've laughed in their face. There's just no way.
But now, looking at yourself, you barely recognize the person gazing back. The stylists have done an incredible job with your hair and makeup. You look radiant, confident, dangerous. Like someone who could actually pull this off.
And the dress — god, the dress. It's a masterpiece of black satin and lace, with a single long sleeve that leaves one shoulder daringly bare. The asymmetrical neckline draws the eye to your collarbones, while the skirt flares out dramatically to just brush the floor. You shift slightly, feeling the whisper of fabric against your legs, the pinch of the sky-high stilettos that you still haven't quite gotten used to.
But discomfort be damned, because these are honest-to-god Yves Saint Laurent Opyum sandals on your feet right now. You still can't quite believe it.
A soft knock at the door jolts you out of your reverie. "You in there?"
You angle your body slightly to face the newcomer, a smile already curving your lips. Chaewon returns the grin as she steps into the bathroom, coming up behind you to rest a gentle hand on your cheek.
"Aww, look at you!" she coos. "Absolutely stunning. I'm going to have to fight people off left and right." She narrows her eyes in mock ferocity. "Just point 'em out and I'll kick their ass for you."
You laugh. "Isn't that kind of our job description though, chief?"
"Well, yes," Chaewon admits with a chuckle. She meets your eyes in the mirror, her expression sobering. "But tonight, ensign, your only job is to look pretty and smile. No engaging, no distractions. Leave everything else to me and the girls."
The lighthearted way she says "ensign" takes any real bite out of it. You know she hates the formal ranking terms, at least within the Seduction Division.
"What, the boys aren't going to pitch in at all?" you scoff as Chaewon takes your hand to lead you out.
"Ugh, don't even mention them," she groans without looking back. "Let's just pretend they don't exist while we still can."
You can sense the atmosphere shift as you step into the elevator. Chaewon's playful persona drops away, replaced by steely professionalism. It's impressive, how she can flip that switch so easily. She's not someone to be messed with, your leader. More like someone who messes with everyone else.
You take up your position beside her, waiting as the elevator slowly fills with the rest of your team - Sakura and Kazuha on the 45th floor, Yunjin and Eunchae on the 42nd. You flash them a quick smile before fixing your gaze forward, willing the elevator to hurry up and get to the casino level. Get to the target.
"Took you ladies long enough," V's voice sudden crackles to life in your earpiece, nearly making you jump out of your skin.
Shit, you'd forgotten you were wearing one of those. You're not the only one — the whole team is wired up, the tiny devices nearly invisible to the naked eye.
"V, kindly fuck off," Chaewon grits out through a very fake smile. She makes a show of rolling her eyes at all of you.
"Can we please keep the comm line clear unless absolutely necessary?" The next voice that comes through stops you cold.
Jeon.
It's the first time you've ever heard him speak.
Of course you know who he is — everyone in Kkangpae does. He and V are the top dogs of the Assassination Division, the gang's most feared enforcers. But your paths have never crossed before. In the three months since you joined up, you've been too busy training your ass off to go poking around, trying to get the dirt on the higher-ups.
But there are always rumors. Whispers. And the whispers say that V is a loose cannon, barely leashed chaos in human form. That Jeon is cold, controlled, brutally efficient. That the two of them are constantly at each other's throats, locked in an endless game of one-upsmanship.
Like now, apparently. You'd never really believed the gossip, but here's the evidence, coming through loud and clear. You're torn between fascination and thinking this is so far above your paygrade it may as well be in outer space.
Yunjin leans in close, her breath soft against your ear as she murmurs your name. "You've got this," she assures you, sensing your nerves. "We all do."
You shoot her a grateful look, beyond relieved to have a friendly face by your side. Yunjin's only been with the Seduction Division two months longer than you. She gets it, the pressure of being a newbie, constantly feeling like you're two steps behind and one mistake away from disaster.
Especially on a mission this high-stakes, with the chiefs themselves listening in. Your job tonight may be simple on paper — look hot, bat your eyelashes, keep the marks distracted while the real action goes down — but the cost of failure is unthinkably high. One slip, and months of careful planning go down the drain, along with who knows how many lives.
Lives that will be on your head.
The elevator dings cheerfully, doors sliding open to reveal the casino floor in all its glittering, deafening glory. You follow Chaewon out into the crowd, eyes immediately skimming the room even as you paste on a vacant-but-sexy smile. The place is packed with Seoul's rich and infamous, everyone dressed to the nines and dripping jewels.
You don't recognize a single face.
Somewhere in this sea of tuxes and ball gowns are the men (and they are always men, in this world) at the top of the food chain. Men like J-Hope, RM, Jeon, V. You can't help but wonder what they look like. What it would feel like, to have that kind of power. That much blood on your hands.
You shake off the thought. Now is not the time for wool-gathering. You have a job to do.
A tall, blandly handsome man in glasses approaches your group and bows deeply to Chaewon. "Miss Kim, Mr. Han is waiting for you in the VIP lounge. If you'll follow me."
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"Oppa!"
You barely stop your jaw from dropping at the dizzying shift in Chaewon's demeanor. One minute she's the cool, unflappable professional — the next she's squealing like a starstruck teenybopper, hands fluttering excitedly as she practically skips over to the man holding court in the center of the room.
"Angel!" Said man rises to his feet, arms thrown wide in welcome, a megawatt grin aimed directly at Chaewon. "I swear you're prettier in person. Instagram doesn't do you justice!"
Wait. Instagram?
"Oh my god, stop!" Chaewon giggles, swatting playfully at his chest. "You're the one who's even more handsome in person, Hanjun-oppa!"
Hanjun.
Han Seung-jun.
Heir to one of the largest fortunes in South Korea. Scion of the most notorious human trafficking ring in East Asia. The man you and your team have spent three months training to deceive, distract, and discredit.
Your target.
He's so enthralled by Chaewon that he barely seems to register the rest of you as more than an attractive blur, his eyes sliding right over you to focus on your leader's adoring face. Chaewon meets his gaze with wide-eyed innocent, but you catch the way her eye twitches with the strain of maintaining this act.
The other men scattered around the VIP room are much less subtle about ogling you and the other girls. They're clearly already several sheets to the wind, roaring with laughter and egging each other on as you carefully pick your way through the detritus of empty soju bottles and overturned snack bowls. Hanjun's entourage, his nearest and dearest.
What absolute c̶r̶e̶e̶p̶s̶ gentlemen.
Kazuha spins gracefully past the velvet loungers, flashing what looks like an innocent peace sign to Sakura. Two guards by the main entrance.
Eunchae pauses to check her lipstick in a compact mirror, pressing two fingers to her lips in a cute smile at her reflection. Two more by the private exit.
Yunjin brings up the rear, pressing one finger to her lips in an exaggerated shushing motion at the hooting boys. Single guard by the restroom hallway.
You stretch languidly, raising both thumbs up in an exaggerated "fighting!" pose. Last two flanking the VIP section.
Seven total. Your shoulders relax slightly. You've handled worse odds.
The odds aren't great, but if your coaching has taught you anything it's that Chaewon can swing a bad hand like nobody's business.
And this crew? This crew is aces, every damn one of them.
Still. It's a razor's edge you're dancing on, and the cost of a slip is...well. Unthinkable, is what it is.
Not that you have time to think, with the way Hanjun is swaggering over to present Chaewon to the crowd like a kid showing off a shiny new toy.
"This is the goddess I've been telling you guys about!" He waggles his eyebrows with a shit-eating smirk you'd just love to punch right off his smug face. "And look, she even brought friends to share."
Okay, wow. You officially feel dirty just breathing the same air as this creep. But a job's a job, so you choke back your gag reflex and paste on a vapid smile as Hanjun's cronies swarm eagerly around your group, spouting the kind of cheesy pickup lines that would make a romance novel writer cringe.
You try to angle yourself behind Yunjin, hoping to avoid the worst of the slobbering, but no such luck. One particularly bold asshole actually reaches out to stroke your bare arm, his fingers clammy with sweat.
"Don't think I caught your name, beautiful," he slurs, blinking at you with piggy little eyes that rove lecherously over your body.
You grit your teeth behind the beauty-queen smile.
You tell him a fake name. Maybe if you keep your answers brief and boring, he'll lose interest and wander off to bother someone else.
No dice. If anything, your standoffishness only seems to encourage him.
"A pretty name for a pretty girl," he leers, moving in closer. "You live around here? Maybe we could go get a drink sometime, just the two of us."
And maybe you could stick bamboo slivers under your fingernails, because why not?
You open your mouth, scrambling for some polite way to tell this guy to fuck entirely off, when Chaewon's voice cuts through the chatter.
"Oppa, we're empty over here!" She pouts, holding up her tragically empty glass. "Be a dear and flag down the waitress for us?"
Bless her, your glorious leader.
Hanjun pauses for a second, something ugly flickering across his face as his eyes dart to his shitheel buddies still prowling around you and the other girls. But then the smarmy grin is back and he's reaching for his wallet, whipping out a black credit card and brandishing it like a scepter.
"Anything for you, my angel," he purrs, signaling languidly for service. "Nothing but the best for my--"
"Oh my god, is this your ID?" Chaewon squeals suddenly, snatching the wallet right out of his hand. "How are you so cute? I look like a bridge troll in mine!"
"What can I say, the camera loves me," Hanjun preens, taking his wallet back with an exaggerated wink. "Just one of the many perks of being this handsome."
"Sooooo funny, oppa!" Chaewon trills. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, but you know her well enough to see the genuine smile dancing at the corners of her lips.
She's got the card. She freaking did it.
Your heart rate kicks up a notch as Chaewon begins to rise from her seat, some flimsy excuse about freshening up already forming on her tongue -- when her arm swings out in an artfully clumsy gesture, sending her untouched glass of soju splashing all over your lap.
The yelp that bursts out of you is only partly for show. That shit is COLD, soaking through the thin fabric of your dress in an instant. You shoot to your feet, hands fluttering uselessly as you survey the damage.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" Chaewon gasps, the picture of mortified contrition. "Here, let me-"
"It's fine, I got it," you assure her, a little more sharply than you'd intended. Ugh, you reek of cheap booze now. Hardly the seductive image you're meant to be projecting. "I'll just... go get cleaned up."
"Of course, of course," Chaewon says quickly, already rummaging in her clutch. "The room key should be in my bag."
You bite back a tiny smile, inclining your head as you reach out to take the proffered purse. Your fingers close around sleek leather and you turn to head for the door, pulse thundering in your ears.
The first part of the plan went off without a hitch.
Chaewon pulled off the lift flawlessly, snagging Hanjun's key card right out from under his nose. And yeah, the spilled drink thing was a total improv, but that just goes to show how in sync your team is. You all know the dance by now, the steps flowing seamlessly even when the music changes.
But that was the easy part. The real test is still to come, and it's all on you.
The elevator ride seems to take forever, each cheerful ding as you ascend another floor ramping up the tension knotting in your gut. You've been over the plan a million times, drilled every step until it's burned into your muscle memory. You know this, you're ready, you've got this.
So why can't you stop your hands from shaking?
The doors slide open on the 52nd floor — two levels above the VIP lounge, just like you'd memorized. You take a deep breath, squaring your shoulders as you stride purposefully down the plushly carpeted hallway, the very picture of a woman who knows exactly where she's going and what she's about to do.
Never mind the fact that your insides feel like they're about to shake apart at any moment. Never mind that the walls seem to be closing in, the air too thick to pull into your lungs. You've got a job to do, and you'll be damned if you're going to let a little thing like pants-shitting terror stop you.
The carpet muffles your footsteps as you navigate the empty floor. Something feels off. The evacuation should've cleared this level completely, but—
There. The soft scuff of rubber soles behind you.
Your muscles tense, but you force yourself to maintain your pace. Fuck. This section was supposed to be clear of civilians, guards, everything. Could be one of Han's goons. Or worse—a cop. If your cover's blown...
Get it together. You're Kkangpae. Act like it.
The footsteps draw closer. Three paces back now. Two. Your mind flashes to the training room—bruised knuckles, split lips, Flower's approving nod when you finally nailed that counter.
You pivot sharply, leg already sweeping up in a perfect roundhouse. The satisfaction of imminent contact floods your system—
Until a hand catches your ankle mid-strike.
"Now, now, love." The voice drips with amusement. "At least take me to dinner first."
You stare up into a pair of glittering hazel eyes, your chest heaving as the adrenaline crests and crashes through your system. Holy shit. That was close.
And also, holy shit. This has to be the most beautiful man you've ever seen in your entire life.
His eyes. It's a penetrating gaze that exudes an infuriating level of confidence as he pores over your face, a lopsided smirk never leaving his lips. This man with curly hazelnut hair radiates a chaotic aura—like red roses with razor-sharp thorns that slice through your chest and settle there, suffocating you, clawing at your lungs, twisting your throat until you feel like you can't fucking breathe.
Jesus. Get a grip.
The grip of his fingers on your ankle suddenly eases, letting it drop as you regain your balance and ̶n̶o̶r̶m̶a̶l̶ ̶totally-dignified-and-not-at-all-flustered posture. You don't know if it's because this asshole parried your kick without breaking a sweat or because of his oppressive aura—probably both, if you're being real with yourself—but it's crystal clear that the smug jerk in front of you isn't your average dude.
Who the hell is this?
"Are you two finished?" A harsh voice cuts through the tension. "V, cut the bullshit."
Your stomach drops.
V.
Oh shit.
Your mouth falls open before you can stop it—a tiny 'o' of surprise that makes his eyes light up with sadistic delight. He mimics your expression with exaggerated precision, mouth forming a perfect circle as he widens his eyes in mock shock.
Asshole.
The man—V, holy fuck that's actually V—catches every micro-expression that flits across your face, drinking in your reaction like fine wine. His gaze lingers, savoring your discomfort, before sliding lazily to somewhere behind you.
"You're such a killjoy, Jeon."
Your breath hitches. His eyes snap back to your face immediately, watching with predatory focus as that second revelation hits. His smile grows impossibly wider at your barely-concealed shock.
Two chiefs. You just tried to roundhouse kick the Chief of Stealth Assassinations, and the Chief of Tactical Assassinations is standing right behind you.
Fuck your entire life.
V's amusement rolls off him in waves, thorny vines constricting tighter around your ribcage as he drinks in your mortification. You refuse to give him more satisfaction, schooling your features into careful neutrality even as curiosity burns through your veins.
Don't look back. Don't you fucking dare look back at Jeon.
"Let's get this shitshow over with." V stretches languidly, like a cat contemplating violence. "Before I murder this jackass."
"V." Jeon's voice is a warning, but it's not directed at you. Still, you feel it rattle in your bones. "You know RM's orders."
V clicks his tongue, scowling like a petulant child who's been told he can't set something on fire.
You finally let yourself glance at the other presence in the room, morbid curiosity winning out—and when you do, your breath snags in your throat.
If V is a red rose, Jeon is a s̶t̶o̶r̶m̶ goddamn hurricane.
A whirlpool. A typhoon. His ink-black hair is a little longer than V's, and his eyes are just as dark, but there's an intensity to them—a pitch-black emptiness that promises danger where V's spark with mischief.
His aura immediately engulfs you, swift and brutal. It feels like a punch to the chest. Where V's presence crept in slowly, thorny vines curling around your ribcage, Jeon's slams into you like a tsunami. It rattles you to your core, a violent cyclone that sweeps you off your feet. Your heart feels like it's being ripped in a thousand directions, and the shock of it makes your lungs seize.
Fucking breathe. In. Out.
Your eyes flick from his to the piercings in his eyebrow and lower lip, then down to his arm where the edge of a tattoo peeks out from under his sleeve. It's all too easy to picture the ink snaking over corded muscle, and—nope, not going there.
You wrench your gaze away, but not before taking in the unquestionable menace he radiates.
Lost in your o̶g̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ totally professional assessment, you almost miss Jeon's eyes darting up and down the corridor. He beckons you and V to follow, steps quick and purposeful as he strides towards a coded door. His fingers tap his earpiece twice.
"AD. Jeon. Unlock door 2A4B on floor 2."
The curt command makes you bristle. Wow, not even a 'please'? Dickhead.
The nickname 'AD' sounds vaguely familiar, but you can't place it. Probably someone in security, if he's unlocking doors. You don't have time to dwell on it before the lock chirps and Jeon is shoving you both inside.
It's only once the door snicks shut behind you that you realize how miniscule the room is. How i̶n̶t̶i̶m̶a̶t̶e̶ fucking awkward the proximity is. You're not quite touching, but in a space barely two meters square, crammed with shelves and cleaning supplies, there's not exactly room for activities.
Jesus, is that his breath on your neck? Or are you just losing it?
You scan the room, more to avoid eye contact than out of any real interest. Mops, buckets, spray bottles—yep, definitely a janitor's closet. Cozy.
"Your name."
Jeon's voice barely registers, lost in the dissonant symphony of your racing thoughts. It's only after an expectant beat of silence that you turn to face him. He stands there, eyes narrowed, one eyebrow cocked in obvious impatience.
"I said, your name." The words are harsher this time, bitten off like he's speaking to a particularly slow child.
"Ask nicely if you expect an answer." You shoot back, any sense of self-preservation drowned out by the flood of annoyance.
Where does this prick get off, barking orders at you like some kind of dog? Sure, he's your superior—the Chief of Tactical fucking Assassinations—but that doesn't give him the right to be a condescending dick.
And yeah, you're aware that mouthing off to him is a spectacularly bad idea, but you'll be damned if you're gonna let him treat you like something he scraped off his boot.
"You—" He cuts himself off, pressing his fingers to his mouth like he's physically holding back a torrent of abuse. His jaw clenches. Releases. "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation. You almost blew the entire mission because you're too fucking oblivious to realize you were being tailed."
"Jeon," V warns, but there's a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, "reign it in."
"Don't." Jeon snarls, rounding on V. "RM's whole plan nearly went up in smoke. Months of work, almost fucked—because of some bitch who doesn't know to watch her six when she's in the field." His voice is controlled, but the fury simmering beneath is unmistakable.
"Jeon." V's eyes flash, but before he can continue, you cut in.
"Are you for real?" You scoff, locking eyes with Jeon, a defiance you didn't know you possessed surging through your veins. "Yeah, I'm a gang member, but I'm a fucking ensign. This was my first mission, you absolute prick. Isn't it your job to watch out for the newbies, chief?"
When his gaze snaps back to yours, you feel it in your marrow—that damn hurricane zeroing in on you, coiling around your body like a constrictor ready to squeeze the life out of you. The gale-force winds flay the skin from your bones, the emptiness in his eyes threatening to pull you in and drown you.
But you refuse to be cowed. Not by this storm. Not by him.
You know you should shut your trap. Keep your head down. This is your superior, the fucking Jeon—but the vitriol is rising in your gorge and it's all you can do not to spit it in his face.
"It's real rich, you sitting here bitching about an ensign when you dropped the ball. Some leader you are, huh?"
V's eyes ping-pong between the two of you, his eyebrows climbing towards his hairline with every word out of your mouth. When you finally clam up, chest heaving, he looks at you and nods slowly.
Approvingly.
"Well damn, girliepop. You've got balls." He snickers, and the glee in his voice makes it clear he's enjoying the show. "As much as I'd love to help you annoy the piss out of Jeon, maybe save it for when we're not ass-deep in enemy territory, yeah?"
Jeon, for his part, is utterly stone-faced. He doesn't so much as twitch. But you can see him tonguing the inside of his cheek, his eyes burning with the kind of contempt that could strip paint.
He spins on his heel, stabbing at his earpiece.
"AD. Jeon again. I'm with an ensign and V. Tell us when the coast is clear."
"You got it." AD's voice, made tinny by the earpiece, sounds in your ear.
Crossing your arms, you gnaw on the inside of your cheek and glare a hole into the wall. You're not really seeing the shelves of industrial cleaners—your mind is too busy reeling from what just happened.
You'd like to say Jeon's little tantrum didn't get to you, but fuck, it stings to hear your superior rip into you like that. You can't decide what's worse: his scathing assessment of your skills, or the fact that you care.
"So... anyone wanna play truth or dare to pass the time?" V grins, hands behind his head, eyes glittering. "We could make out. Start a fight club. Maybe a little light stabbing, nothing fatal—"
You tune him out, knowing full well he's not joking. Yep. He's a psycho. You're pretty sure V would chuck you both out of a plane if he thought it'd get a reaction.
"He's gone. You're clear." AD's voice crackles over the earpiece.
Your hand is on the knob before either of the men can bark an order. Not today, Satan. You slip out into the corridor, already rummaging through Chaewon's bag for the keycard.
It only takes a second to swipe into room 2A1A—which, of course, is packed to the gills with terrified women.
Christ, it never ends.
You can feel V and Jeon lurking behind you, but you don't spare them a glance.
"I'll get them out. Handle your business and call the cops."
With that, you step into the room, already running through evac procedures in your head. This shitshow isn't over yet—and you'll be damned if you're gonna screw up again.
You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You'd sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn't want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.
Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you'd allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down. But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.
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OR
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How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic
Masterlist
A/N: It's here! The final chapter! I can't believe it's taken so long, but honestly it was a journey for me too. Please let me know your thoughts at the end. Did you like how it ended, or would you have preferred something else?
As always, thanks to everyone who has stuck with this story, even when they had to wait months between chapters. I appreciate each and every single one of you and I hope I did this story justice.
Without further ado,
_____
Jungkook kept his distance.
It had been a month since you’d left. You couldn’t remember a more difficult month. During the first few days, several people had tried to contact you. Hoseok tried first, then Namjoon and Jin. All to ask if you were okay. It was kind of them, but the messages sat in your inbox for weeks, unanswered. You’d asked Yoongi to pass on the message that you were fine, but you needed to take some time to yourself, which he did, dutifully.
Jimin reached out last week to tell you that he was sorry for anything he did that may have contributed. To him, you said honestly that you appreciated him reaching out, but you had no hard feelings towards him. He tried to ask you how you were, but you stopped responding.
How were you?
You supposed you were okay, in that you knew you were coping with everything the best you could and you were being as kind to yourself as possible, but at the same time, were you okay? What did okay mean?
You were surviving. And there was something to be said for that, but holy hell, were you in a lot of pain. Everything hurt, both physically and metaphorically. Your muscles were starting to atrophy. Your body was stiff from having spent the last month on the couch, and you didn’t have any plans in the near future to get off it. Your energy was at zero. You could do nothing. Accomplish nothing. Some days, even feeding yourself seemed almost impossible. Ramen and spoons of peanut butter were just about all you could make for yourself.
Most of the time, you’d order out. The containers piled up and you had no energy to clean them. No energy to wash yourself or your clothes. You felt horrible every time you had to leave the house because you knew how you must have smelled.
Worst of all, this was literally the best you could do. When you cried, you couldn’t tell if it was because you were processing what had happened, or because you felt completely incapable of pulling yourself together.
You remembered all the times you’d judged others for walking around looking unkempt, or for not getting up and working out, or for eating too much junk food, and here you were, doing all those things.
You wish you’d been a kinder person. Your whole life, you thought you’d been so nice. So holier-than-thou, but you’d actually just been an asshole.
No. You weren’t entirely an asshole. Yes, you had your struggles, but you’ve also achieved a lot, especially considering where you’d come from. Neither of your parents had shown up for you the way they should have, and you’ve had to pull yourself up by your bootstraps your entire life.
That had to count for something.
Yes, you’ve made your mistakes. Your moral compass hasn’t always pointed North, but god damn it, you were trying, and you had to give yourself credit for that.
And even though you weren’t capable of fixing everything right away, you knew you were going to try.
“Slow, measurable steps,” you told yourself. And you got up off the couch to fetch a spoon of peanut butter.
_____
From: Son
Sent: March 7th:
I don’t know what you’re going through, but I know it must have been bad for you to leave like this. Can you talk to me about what happened? I feel like it was my fault for putting you in that situation.
We don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready. Just let me know if you’re okay. We’re friends first, colleagues second. Remember that.
The email had been sitting in your inbox for the last three weeks, gathering dust. Today, you were determined to respond. You’d typed up several half-responses before deleting them, finally settling on something simple.
Son,
I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. And thank you for everything else.
In time,
Rookie.
You’d forgotten the name he’d given you when you first started your internship, but it popped into your head as soon as you went to sign off. He’d only used it for a couple of months before he switched to your given name, but it was his way of establishing a rapport. At the time, it felt like teasing, but you realized eventually that it was his way of making you feel included.
You wished you could tell him more. You weren’t ready to talk about it. You hoped he’d understand.
It was Son. He’d give you the time you needed.
----
That was the last anyone other than Yoongi had tried to contact you. On the one hand, you were happy they respected your boundaries, but on the other hand, you missed them. Even if you couldn’t respond right now, knowing they cared enough to reach out had been comforting.
You got it, though. You didn’t have the capacity to be a good friend to them, or to anyone at the moment. And it was you who had walked out on them. That probably hurt a lot. They had every right to be angry with you for the way you had acted, and frankly, the thought that they might be angry with you motivated you to get better.
Rebuilding these friendships was going to have to be your responsibility. And you were determined to get make it right.
As soon as you made things right with yourself.
-------
*BZZZZZZZ*
The sound only half-registered in your sleep state, briefly rousing you before you fell back into deep slumber.
*BZZZZZZZZ*
It rang a second time, this time fully registering. You scrubbed a palm over your face and threw the blanket off you, simultaneously knocking last night’s empty takeout box off your couch and on to the floor to join the rest.
“Who is it?” you asked over the intercom.
“Yoongi. Let me up.”
You pressed the button to unlock the front door, eager to see him but wholly unprepared for company. Groggy, you slumped over to your armchair, which held a pile of your clothes. Picking up a bathrobe to sniff it and determine it was clean enough, you wrapped it around yourself and tied it snugly in the middle.
Your apartment was in a very sorry state, you observed. You’d already been aware of that, but you were looking at it with a new lens, now that you had company.
Sheesh.
Take-out boxes littered the floor, the coffee table, and the sofa. Empty wine bottles and plastic cups were strewn about—clothes, tissues, candy wrappers, bags of chips, and an open jar of peanut butter with the spoon sticking out. Not to mention the layer of dust that had been gathering on almost every surface.
You heard a knock on the door.
“Just a minute!” You called, rushing to gather up as much of the trash as you could and stuff it into a bag. It was a mild improvement, but only just.
It had been almost three months since you’d last seen Yoongi. He’d visited once after coming back from the last leg of the tour, but shortly after, he embarked on a “creativity journey,” he called it. He’d been traveling around, looking for inspiration for his music and collaborating with artists all over the world.
You opened the door and greeted him with a hug.
He wrinkled his nose after pulling away.
“Really?” you said. “I thought for sure this was clean.”
“I don’t think you can smell yourself anymore, babe.”
“Fair enough,” you said. “I don’t think I have anything clean. Mind if I do laundry while you visit.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
You grabbed a trash bag (all of your laundry baskets were already full) and started picking out the highest priority items. Sweatpants, hoodies, and underwear were the main articles, but you threw in a towel as well.
You should probably shower, too, while you’re at it.
“How long can you stay?” you asked.
“I’m free all day.”
“Awesome. How was the trip?”
“You know? I expected it to involve a lot of writing music, but it was actually the opposite.”
“Oh?” you asked, gathering up more items to take to the laundry room downstairs.
“Yeah,” he said, following you around as you picked at and sniffed different clothes around your living room. The bag was already pretty full, but you wanted to make the most of this load. “I mostly just ate, rested, and hung out with other musicians. I don’t think I finished a single track while I was there, other than the few collaborations I did.”
"I actually love that for you," you said, opening the door and walking down the hall. Yoongi followed, his energy bright.
“Weirdly, it was just what I needed.”
He continued to tell you about his trip as you threw the load of laundry in and proceeded back upstairs. He’d gone to the US to visit some of the artists he’d previously collaborated with, catch a few NBA games, and visit some of the landscapes, his favorite having been the Grand Canyon.
“It’s huge!” he exclaimed. “I mean, I knew it’d be huge, but like, you can’t even fathom how big it is until you see it in person.”
“I’m so happy for you, Yoongi,” you said, and meant it. “Keep me company while I shower?” you asked.
“Oh?” he asked, eyebrows disappearing up into his hair.
“Not like that.”
“Oh.”
He followed you into the bathroom, kindly not commenting on the soap scum stains on your sinks and the pile of dirty underwear in the corner and took a seat on the lid of the toilet, while you got in the shower and removed your bathrobe, dropping it on the floor on the other side of the curtain before turning the water on.
“Hungry?” you asked as you struggled to find the right temperature.
“I was until I saw the state of your apartment.”
You opened the shower curtain and flicked some water at him.
“Fair enough. Want me to order something while you shower?”
“Something with pork belly please?” you called out as you began to shampoo your hair, noticing just how many knots were in it. You really needed to stop falling asleep with your hair in a bun. It was getting harder and harder to untangle and the breakage was now significant.
For some reason, self-care tasks became much easier with Yoongi around. Things that seemed almost impossible on your own were suddenly within your grasp in his company; you were grateful for his presence, though you tried hard not to become too dependent on him. It wasn’t fair to him, after all.
“Ordered,” he said. “Should be here in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you,” you said, now trying in vain to comb conditioner through your mats. “When did you get back?” you asked.
“A few weeks ago,” he said.
“Really?” you asked, surprised that you hadn’t heard from him. “How have things been at the house? Also could you hand me the comb on the sink over there?”
“Complicated,” he said. You heard him rifling through the assortment of brushes and ointments sprawled around the edges of your sink until his hand appeared through the curtain, holding a wide-toothed comb.
“Thanks. Go on.”
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Why? What’s up?” you asked. The comb continued to stick in your hair. At this rate, you’d have to cut your hair short to get rid of all the damage.
“Well, as you know, things are still tense within the group. A lot of us aren’t talking to each other.”
“I actually didn’t know that,” you said, finally managing to comb through the biggest knot. You placed the comb back on the shelf and switched over to scrubbing your body with the loofah, hoping to give the conditioner some time to work.
“Really? I thought I told you.”
“We didn’t talk much about the group when you were here last. I think I was still avoiding the subject.”
“Oh, well are you still or can we talk about it now?” he asked. You heard a faint trickling sound coming from outside the shower.
“Are you pissing right now?”
“Yeah.”
You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back a smile at just how comfortable the two of you had become.
“Don’t get it on the seat.”
“What and ruin your pristine bathroom?” he said.
“Ass. Anyway, yeah I suppose we can talk about it now. I’ve had enough time. Just don’t say his name.”
“Noted. So everyone’s all weird around each other now.”
“What exactly happened after I left?”
“After you walked out, Namjoon called you-know-who out in the hallway to talk privately. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it must have been bad because he came back in with his tail between his legs and he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye. Only talked to Joon for the rest of the tour.”
“Damn,” you said. It was cathartic to hear that he had at least some degree of shame. You just wished you could have heard what Namjoon said to him.
“Yeah. Then he asked to talk to both Tae and Jia privately, and they came back looking pretty similar to Jun—I mean you-know-who. He must have given them a real tongue lashing.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Then he talked to me.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah.”
“How’d that go?”
“It…,” he began, “…wasn’t exactly the best moment of the tour.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at how delicately he phrased it. “Go on,” you said, scrubbing at your scalp. The conditioner had done a decent job of masking some of the damage, but you’d have to visit a salon at some point to truly fix it. Another item on the long list of things you needed to take care of.
“He was angry with me for not communicating how I was truly feeling about everything. He said he’d have gladly stood up to the label and advocated for me if I would have said something to him. And if they still didn’t listen, he would have helped me find an appropriate way of coping. Or at least help cover for us if that’s what we needed to do. And he was disappointed that I didn’t trust him enough to care about what I was going through.”
“Fuck,” you said, turning off the water.
“Yeah.”
“Hey could you hand me the towel hanging on the door?”
He did, handing it to you through the curtain without looking. For some reason, you were feeling a bit more shame about being naked around him than you had in the past. Wrapping yourself up in the towel, you stepped out of the shower and truly looked at him for the first time since he’d arrived.
He looked so tired.
“How are you holding up?” you asked.
He shrugged.
“Anything I can do?”
“Honestly just your company would be great.”
“That I can do.”
You toweled off in your room and changed into a sweater you’d found in the back of your closet and a pair of sweatpants that you’d only worn a couple of times. Yoongi accompanied you while you finished your laundry and worked on tidying up your apartment. He relaxed on the couch, smoking a joint you’d given him and watching mindless reality television until the food arrived, when you took a break and sat next to him, exhausted from all the effort you’d spent, but grateful for Yoongi’s presence.
“Thank you for coming over,” you said, taking the first bite of noodles. “And for not judging me. And honestly, for everything else you’ve done. I don’t know how I’d get through this without you.” You finished the rest of your sentence with your mouth half-full of food. Yoongi had the kindness not to comment on it.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, taking a bite of his own. “I needed to get away from the dorms. It was nice to have somewhere to go that wasn’t my studio.”
You both ate in relative silence, save for slurping noises and the occasional clearing of a throat. Once your hunger had been sated, you turned on the couch to face him and leaned your head against the back, once again taking him in.
“What?” he asked when he noticed you staring.
“Do you think sleeping together was a mistake?”
“Wow, you’re just gonna hit me with that out of nowhere.”
“Loaded question, I know,” you said, biting back a grin. “Humor me?”
He sighed, contemplating his answer.
“No? I mean, there definitely were consequences to it. And Namjoon was right. I should have talked to him about what was going on. But at the end of the day, I still really wanted to do it. And, for some godforsaken reason, I still think I benefitted from it more than I suffered.”
“I feel that way too,” you said, grateful that he shared the sentiment. “I regret how I went about it, but I don’t think I regret doing it. I loved every second.”
“Even though it ruined things with…him?”
You barked a bitter laugh, which dissipated into a sigh. “I think things were ruined with him from the moment they started.”
“What makes you say that?”
“We were just kids,” you said. “Or at least it feels like we were. Neither of us was mature enough to enter into a sexual relationship. We handled it so poorly.”
“That may be true, but then again, you grew a lot through the experience. Sometimes you have to figure out what not to do before you can go about things the right way.”
“Maybe,” you said. “I still struggle to feel at peace with it.”
Yoongi was silent for a moment. “Do you miss him?”
You nodded, unable to speak as the words caught in your throat. You didn’t want to miss him. And you didn’t want to acknowledge that you missed him, but you did.
Your eyes stung with the grief.
“It’s okay to miss him,” he said.
“It hurts,” you said.
“I know, baby. I know,” he said.
You reached your hand out. Yoongi took it and pulled you into a bear hug. You couldn’t help the sob that left your mouth and got muffled in his chest.
“Shhhh. It’s okay,” he said, rocking you back and forth, kissing the top of your head.
You needed this. It was impossible for you to get through all of it alone. And perhaps you weren’t meant to. Perhaps connection was the missing piece. The thing that gave you the energy you needed to heal. You’d been so alone for so long, and while Jungkook had satisfied the physical need of skinship, he couldn’t offer the connection that you really needed. Neither could Jimin. Or Jia. Or Colin. Or any of the other people who’d had access to your body. It was something only Yoongi had given you so far. And maybe, in a way, Son. Though his connection had been an energetic one rather than physical.
Conflicting needs are hard. Everyone has needs that they're trying to get met. Sometimes those needs don't align. Sometimes we look for the wrong people to meet them.
The company needed to make money and keep a clean image. Son needed to take care of his mother. Jungkook needed to feel secure. Jimin needed to feel good enough. Yoongi needed to feel heard. You needed to heal.
It’s great when things work out and everybody gets their needs met—but life doesn’t always work out that way. And sometimes the process of getting one’s needs met is messy and painful. Sometimes you have to hurt someone else in order to take care of yourself.
But people heal. We grow. We learn from our mistakes and find better ways to get our needs met. We're never the bad guy forever. And every once in a while, we get it right. We cause more good than harm. We help someone heal from their wounds, rather than cause them. When that happens, there's a purpose to the pain. A reason to keep healing. Love blossoms where wounds existed, and eventually, with time, they don't hurt so much anymore.
_____
Son looked as if he’d seen a miracle.
“You came.”
“Of course I came. I’d never let you do this alone. Though from the looks of it, you wouldn’t have had to.” You gestured out the window to the full parking lot. People were still clearing out a full twenty minutes after the service ended.
He hugged you with as much strength as he could muster, and you hugged him back just as tightly.
“Can you stay? I want to catch up.”
“Absolutely.”
You had sat in the back row and watched as Son gave a heartfelt eulogy honoring his mother’s life. The funeral was beautiful. Everybody you’d worked with from the past had showed up to support Son as he gave tribute to his mother’s life.
Afterwards, you all went back to his mother’s house and drank together like old times. Son got entirely too drunk while going through photos and ended up bawling his eyes out while the group gathered around him. He ended up passing out on the couch not too long after. You stayed the night to make sure he was okay, having been the only one to not partake so heavily. You’d quit drinking about a month ago, deciding it was time to get healthy.
The next morning, Son made breakfast while you helped clean up after everyone. It felt almost like you were freshly graduated again, interning at Son’s old company before he’d been hired at the record label.
“This feels familiar,” Son said, echoing your thoughts. You laughed, continuing to shove empty beer bottles and solo cups into the black trash bag you were holding.
“Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“I missed you.”
He said it softly into the pan of eggs he was frying up. Almost too soft for you to catch, but you did.
“I missed you too. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
He stopped frying to look up at you.
“What happened?” he asked.
“You really want to know?”
“I do.”
The time had come to tell him your story, and you did. You relayed absolutely everything. From your father’s affair with your childhood dance teacher, to your mother’s disapproval of your career choice and subsequent excommunication of you, to the incident with your professor. And then to the events of the tour (which you censored a bit. He didn’t need to hear absolutely everything.) And then why you left. Son listened intently, nodding where appropriate and giving you the focus you needed to get through the story.
“I’m sorry for leaving,” you finally said. “I just couldn’t handle that environment anymore. I had to get away for my own mental health.”
“Don’t feel sorry. You had every right to leave. I’m sorry for asking so much of you without giving you enough preparation. Ideally, your first tour would have been alongside me. You’d have been able to watch how I operate for the first few weeks before slowly taking on more responsibility. It wasn’t fair to just shove you out there like that.”
“You had such a valid reason though,” you said. “I wanted you to be able to take care of her. She needed that. And so did you.”
He nodded. You saw in him an echo of the grief you’d only just learned how to process.
“Thank you for giving me that time. I’m so sorry that it came at such a cost,” he said.
“I grew through it.”
You sat in comfortable companionship for a few moments before Son turned to you.
“About your professor…,”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you said, brushing the memory away as soon as it arose.
“Can we?” he asked, grabbing one of your hands and holding it in his. The gesture was so sincere that you couldn’t help but humor him.
“I don’t want you to think that you somehow weren’t good enough to get that internship based on skill alone. That man conned you. And last I knew, he was dismissed from the university for having done the same thing to another student.”
You hadn’t kept up with any university news, wanting to leave the memory behind you, but this was an unexpected turn of events. You couldn’t say you were surprised to hear that he’d done it to other students, but it hadn’t occurred to you to come forward about his behavior. You were relieved to hear that others had, and that he’d faced consequences. Still, you were ready to put the memory behind you.
“I guess…I always knew that I had some level of skill, because you took me on as your assistant even after the internship, but I had always wondered if it was just because we were friends.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “I mean, I definitely enjoyed having your personality around, but I wouldn’t have offered you the job if you didn’t also have the skill.”
Son’s words meant a lot to you, but you still couldn’t help but feel a sense of loss over everything. It wasn’t fair that you were robbed of the joy of having made it based on your hard work and dedication. You were ever afforded the confidence. Your position was always tainted with the bitter knowledge that you’d done things you weren’t proud of to get there.
“You know,” he began, hesitant about his next few words, “your old spot is still open for you. If you want it, that is. I’d love it if you came back.”
His words were tangibly hopeful, and the offer was tempting. It would be nice to get back on good terms with everyone you’d left. Still, you knew your answer.
“Son,” you said, heaving a sigh. “I can’t go back. I appreciate the offer, but I just don’t think it’s the right fit for me anymore.”
“Ahh, I suppose you’re right,” he responded. “Worth a shot.”
“I’d still like to stay in touch though. Maybe work on some independent projects together.”
He offered up the best smile he could muster under the circumstances. “You know I’m always down for a collab. Just say the word.”
“I’d like that.”
He turned again towards you. “What will you do now?”
“I have a few things I want to work on.”
-----
Your feet fell to the pavement with heavy thuds. The air burned your lungs. Your ankles were sore and unstable, aching from the extra weight they weren’t used to carrying.
It had been a year since you’d left the company, and this was the first time you’d worked up the energy to go for a run. Almost immediately, you were out of breath. Your limbs no longer worked together the way they had before. They were stretched, as if the threads that had once held you tightly together at your seams had been pulled loose.
You were a stranger to this body.
You slowed down to a light jog. It had been less than five minutes and you were already sweating.
This had never happened to you. You’d always had expert control over your body and its movements. The solid connection between your mind and your muscles was something you’d taken so much for granted that you never even knew it was possible to lose.
Energy had once flowed throughout your body, all the way to your fingers and toes, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. Your movements were sloppy. Your pace was inconsistent, like your body was short circuiting.
This was going to be harder than you thought.
You stopped your movements altogether.
This was the part of healing nobody told you about. You didn’t have the luxury of running in private, so you had to settle for letting out a silent scream. Going through the motions was a trick you’d only recently learned.
You turned around. Your body wasn’t ready to run yet, so you’d have to deal with just walking.
You took one step. And another. Eventually, you found the pace for your body.
So this was rehabilitation.
-------
A month later, you signed up for a gym membership. It had become clear during several ineffectual runs that your body had completely atrophied after spending over a year on the sofa eating nothing but takeout and ramen.
You started with your legs. You were wobbly in your joints and your balance was all over the place. On top of that, you now had almost forty extra pounds you were carrying around.
Rebuilding your strength was slow, but it was also a necessary step if you ever hoped to get your strength back. You were tired of being tired and you knew that the only way to attain energy was to earn it.
On top of that, you were nearing the end of your savings and had to find a job soon or else you’d be kicked out, and you were in no state to work.
Working out became your primary form of meditation. It was a way for you to connect with yourself on a deeper level than you had in a long time.
You had a feeling that this kind of solitude, while painful, may be the best thing for you. You’d spent the year before chasing attention, never once questioning where the craving had come from. Clearly you had some sort of neglection wound from your parents, but superficial sexual attention wasn’t going to fix that. That’s why you kept chasing even after receiving it. It had provided a temporary dopamine hit, but never addressed the root of the problem.
It wasn’t until you had begun paying high-quality attention to yourself that you even became aware of this.
The root of the problem, you thought, as you strained your leg muscles under the weights and stood up, was that you neglected yourself.
------
“I think I was taught to,” you said.
You sat across from a middle-aged woman wearing a cream-colored sweater and thin-framed glasses. She held a clipboard and a pen in hand and scrawled down a note.
“Who do you think taught you to do that?”
“My parents, for one.”
This was your second therapy appointment. You called and scheduled the first once the gym alone was no longer enough to keep the spiraling thoughts at bay.
“What did they do?”
“Well, my dad abandoned us for that dance teacher, and then when that happened, my mother just couldn’t keep it together. It felt like every conversation we had was just an opportunity for her to complain about what my father did. I had to stop talking to her after a while.”
“So she forced you to be her confidant and emotional support system when you were a child, while simultaneously neglecting your own needs.”
“I don’t know. It’s hard to say. It’s possible she just wanted to connect over the fact that he had abandoned both of us, and expected me to be just as angry as she was.”
“Were you?” she asked.
“At first. But after a while I was just tired. I wanted to move on with my life, but she stayed stuck in the past.”
“So you had to fend for yourself.” It was a statement, rather than a question.
“Yeah.”
“What do you think that girl needs to hear right now? If she were with us in the room?”
You thought about that for a moment. What would you have wanted your mother to say?
“I guess, I’m sorry that he left us. That wasn’t fair, but I’m going to make sure we have a good life regardless.”
She smiled and nodded. “Good. That’s what I want to hear. Now is that a promise you’re intending to keep?”
“Yes,” you said firmly.
“What do you need to do?”
“I need to make amends with the people I’ve hurt.”
-------
“I guess I was just blindsided by everything, you know? I wish you could have confided in me. I don’t know why you didn’t.”
Hoseok sat across from you, teacup in hand, a look of sincerity in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Hoseok,” you said. “I don’t know why I did the things I did. I judged myself so heavily for what I was doing, and I guess I was just afraid you’d judge me too.”
He grabbed your hand. "I'd like to think I've proven myself to be better than that."
“You have,” you said. “And if I had my head on straight, I would have known that from the start. I just. I don’t know. I didn’t want to disappoint you. And in doing that, I ended up disappointing everyone, myself included.”
Hoseok looked at you with the utmost sympathy. “Please come back. I miss you. We all miss you.”
“Hoseok…,”
“I know,” he said, “It’s just that I really miss having you around. I know things got weird and you got hurt, but you and I had so much fun together. Not everybody enjoys dance the way you and I do, and I miss having your energy around. Plus, we’ve all grown so much since you left. Even Jungkook has been working on himself.”
Your heart shot to your throat at the mention of his name.
“Sorry,” he said when he caught you wincing.
You wanted to ask more questions about him, but couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Apparently, that specific wound remained open.
“I can’t,” you said. “That’s just not who I am anymore. But we can still hang out and collab sometimes. Just for fun.”
He sighed and nodded. “Promise me you won’t go another year and a half without talking to me?”
“I promise. I’m sorry I took so long. I needed time, but I’ve finally got my head on straight.”
“Doubtful, knowing you,” he teased and you had to smile. “What will you do now?”
“Well,” you began.
------
You entered in the combination the owner had given you. The keypad lit up green and the lock released with an audible “click.”
There was a small foyer with a desk and a short hallway ahead. At the end of the hallway, a restroom on the right, and to the left, a wide open space.
You removed your street shoes and padded across the hardwood, dropping your gym bag on the far corner next to the stereo system. After connecting your phone, you pulled up one of your old playlists and hit ‘select.’ The music echoed through the empty space and you made your way to the center.
Your body was tired and slow. Some of your joints were still stiff and calcified, but your workouts have helped loosen them up. Still, you needed to be extra thorough with your warmup routine and easy on your ankles. You’d lost a fair bit of weight, but you still had about twenty extra pounds weighing your movements down. Some of the fat had been converted to new muscle, though.
Son had put you in touch with the owner of a local dance studio. He’d worked with her on previous projects and gave you a good reference. She agreed to let you rent out the space a few times a week for a very reasonable price (you had a sneaking suspicion Son had something to do with that, too).
The savings you’d built up before you quit had all but run dry. It had been eighteen months of living off ramen noodles and paying your electric bill and rent in installments, but you’d survived. Occasionally, you’d try to pay a bill only to find out that it had already been paid for.
Yoongi swore up and down that he hadn’t done anything, but you had a hard time believing that, considering he knew how much you were struggling and he regularly pressured you into accepting charity, often citing that he had more money than he could ever hope to spend. You were far too proud to accept his donations openly, but you were still grateful for every single utility bill he went behind your back to cover.
Your savings and his generosity had allowed you the time and space you needed in order to heal and get back on your feet. It was time to return dance floor.
You were rusty, but it wouldn’t take long for you to build your basic skills back up. Soon enough, you’d be able to start offering classes.
“Just like riding a bike,” you whispered to yourself as you pushed up off the floor and swung your legs overhead in an aerial. The landing was clumsy and it hurt your knees, but it was a landing, nonetheless.
“Yes, Seul-ki , give it some attitude,” you shouted, praising one of the students who had shown significant improvement over the last several weeks. She’d started the class later than the rest of the women, but had picked up on it quickly. There was a determination within her that reminded you of past versions of yourself.
The music ended. The women hit their final pose. They were all very much amateurs and it showed in their dancing, but you had a special place in your heart for this particular class.
All of the other classes were paid. You taught children up through teens after school on weekdays, but Sunday afternoons were your favorite, because you got to give back to your community.
The class was made up of survivors of sexual abuse and harassment, and you teamed up with the local women’s services nonprofit and a few trauma-informed therapists to put together this class.
The goal was to help women reconnect with their bodies through movement. This was the second group of women you’d taught. The first class, while it had its growing pains, was such a success that it had garnered local attention and had been offered a grant from a few other agencies looking to get involved.
You’d already been approved for a business loan, and next week, you had a meeting scheduled with a real estate agent. You were about to begin the process of looking for properties to purchase. It was time to open your own studio.
“Okay, good work everyone. Remember, next week we’re off for the holiday, but we’ll be back the week after that. Enjoy your time!”
You said goodbye to each of the women individually, thanking them for coming and wishing them well as they cleared out.
Once they were gone, you sat in the middle of the floor and massaged your ankles. They’d never been the same since you took so much time off. You’d built up enough ankle strength over the past few years to support them most of the time, but every once in a while, you had to take some time to rest them or else they’d get inflamed again. You were glad you had the next week off.
Shuffling through your phone, you put on of your favorite playlist. You’d created it almost ten years ago, but each song reminded you of the early days of your dance career, when you and Son were at his old company, partying weekends away and never taking life too seriously.
You went through your post-dance stretching and cooldown routine, working on a few moves you wanted to incorporate into your Reconnection class after the break.
You were midway through the move when you looked up and saw a familiar figure leaning against the doorway, softly smiling at you.
Your heart leapt up to your throat. Fight-or-flight kicked in, and you immediately ran over to the speakers to turn the music down and give yourself a chance to catch your breath before turning back around.
“Hey,” he said when you finally did.
“Hey,” you echoed, voice coming out a little breathy. The space between the two of you stretched across the room, filled to the brim with words unspoken. The silence that fell was thick and heavy. Your skin prickled as hairs on your arm stood up.
He was different. More grown up. He had a lip ring now. Beneath his oversized black tee, you could see a full sleeve of tattoos. You knew he’d gotten them. It was impossible to avoid any mention of him in the news, but it was still jarring to see them in person.
“Uh…Yoongi said you’d be here.”
Why Yoongi wouldn’t give you a heads up about this was beyond you.
“Yeah, I, um. I teach a class.”
“I saw.” His voice softened with layers of humility it had never before held.
“Can I come in?” he asked. There was such hesitation in the question, like he was tip-toeing around a land mine. You supposed in a way, he was.
“Sure.”
Slowly he stepped forward.
“It’s a nice space. I read in the news you were offering—,”
“You're here," you interrupted.
"Um. Yeah."
You were still processing that fact. The words had come out of your mouth without you consciously choosing to speak them.
"I didn't expect you to be here," you continued, your brain only being capable of observing the obvious at that point.
"I...well, no. I suppose you wouldn't."
You were still registering his appearance. Had he always been this tall? Or was it just the boots he was wearing? He was in all-black, save for a dark gray beanie he wore on top of his head. You couldn't read his expression.
“I uh,” he said, clearly struggling with how to approach this. “I wanted to make amends, I guess.”
You blinked a few times.
"...And I guess that's probably not something you're—,"
“—Do you want a cup of tea? I have an electric kettle in the back,” you cut in.
He let out an audible breath of relief, face finally ligtening up into an expression you could read. “Sure.”
He followed you to a small break-room-slash-utility-closet in the back of the studio where you kept a stack of yoga mats, extra dance shoes, and all the cleaning and restock supplies you needed. It also had a small bistro table with two chairs, a microwave in the corner, and a tea kettle on top.
You busied yourself making tea, back turned towards him. It was still tough to look directly at him for more than a second or two, you found.
“How have you been?” you asked, looking down at your hands as they worked.
“I’ve been okay. You?” he said.
You finished filling the cup with hot water and turned back towards him.
“Feel free to sit,” you said, noticing he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway. He paused for a moment and then helped himself to a seat at the table. You set two cups of tea down in front of each seat.
“Sugar?” you asked.
“No thanks,” he said and waited for you to sit. When you finally did, you still found it hard to look at him and settled for staring into the cup between your hands.
“You were saying,” you said, hoping for him to take the lead.
“I had asked you how you were.”
“Oh. Right. You did. I guess I’ve been good? Better than I’ve been in a while, at least.”
“Good,” he said. You glanced up to him and caught a small smile on his lips. “I’m glad.”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s amazing what you’ve done in the last few years. I always knew you were a great dancer, but I didn’t realize you had such a philanthropic heart.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. I suppose I didn’t know that about myself. The idea just kind of appeared out of nowhere, you know?”
He nodded, struggling to hide a smile. You felt a blush creep up on your cheeks.
“So,” he said.
“I saw you released a solo album.”
“Yeah?” he asked. “Did you listen to it.”
“Um. No, actually. Sorry.”
He chuckled. “No need to be.”
An awkward silence fell between the two of you once again.
“Jungkook, I—,”
“I’m sorry,” he cut you off.
“Okay,” you said.
“I just had to tell you. I hate the way I treated you. I hate the way I acted, and you never deserved any of that.”
“Okay.”
“And I’ve spent the last four years absolutely appalled with myself. I hate that I pushed you away, and that I lashed out at you, when you were just trying to figure things out, the same as the rest of us. I put so much pressure on you to fill a role in my life. You didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
A rush of emotion hit you all at once and you hadn't realized just how much you'd been waiting to hear those words. You'd already come to terms with the idea that you'd never get an apology, and you were okay with it. Now that it was here, it was almost overwhelming, but you had to store that away for now, because you had something else to say.
“Jungkook, you weren’t the only one who messed up. We both did. I’m just as responsible for what happened as you are.”
“I don’t think that’s true. That last day, I treated you so much worse than you ever treated me. I had no right to say those things to you. It was despicable, and I am so ashamed. I’m sorry.”
His words were still sinking in.
"I mean, I slapped you."
"I deserved it."
"Debatable."
Truthfully, you’d dreamed about having this conversation with him for the last four years. You were never sure how it would go, but now that it was here, you weren't sure how to process it.
“Why now?”
He looked down at his teacup. When he spoke, his voice was strained.
“I’m leaving for my military service soon. I didn’t want to go without making amends.”
“How soon?” you asked.
“Next week.”
“Oh shit,” you said. He removed the gray beanie he’d been wearing to show a freshly shaved head. Now, looking at him was almost surreal. He barely looked like the same Jungkook.
"Yeah," he said.
"Are you scared?"
"Yes and no. I think it's time I had a challenge like this. It's been so long since I've had to do real grunt work. I could use it. And maybe I need a break from being famous. Just be another soldier in the ranks for a change. Just like everyone else."
He'd never be just like everyone else, but you didn't want to spoil this for him, so you held your tongue.
"If I told you I forgave you, would it help you go into this with a clear conscience?"
He chewed on his lip ring in an effort to hide his smile, but it didn't quite do the trick. "Yeah."
“Yeah. I mean, what you did wasn’t cool. It really hurt and I had a hard time getting over it. But at the same time, it was kind of the kick in pants I needed. I don’t know. It gave me a good enough reason to leave a toxic situation,” he grimaced as you said it, knowing he was partly at fault for its toxicity, “and I feel like I was able to really start living for myself after that. It sucked at the time, but it was a catalyst for a major chapter of growth.”
“So...does that mean there's no hard feelings?”
“Jungkook," you said "you broke my heart. That’s always going to sting a bit. But I’m not going to hold on to any resentment. I know you were acting from a place of pain.”
“I was,” he said. “And thank you for understanding that. I'm sorry for what I did when I was hurt, but I’ve been working on healing, for what it’s worth. Getting famous at such a young age affected me more than I realized. I won’t go into it now, but I know what you mean when you talk about a growth chapter. I’ve been kind of going through one of those myself.”
“I’m glad.”
The conversation trailed off, but you could tell there was something else on his mind by the way his tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek. It warmed you to know he still did that.
“Can I ask you something?” he said, sincerity on his tongue.
“Do you think, like when I get back from war,"
"You're not going to war, Jungkook," you deadpanned.
"You don't know that. War could break out at any time. You know they're running missile tests in the North."
Even if war did break out, they'd never put him on the front lines. He brings in too much money for the country, but you humored him.
"Okay, sure. When you get back from war."
"When I get back from laying my life on the line in a very dangerous war for the sake of our country," he continued and you couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face, "do you see a future where we could ever work on things? Or have I permanently messed up my chance?”
At that, you had to laugh. “Get back from your military service and we’ll talk.”
“Please? Another chance? I’d love to make it up to you. I could make it up to you before I leave, even.”
"Are you seriously trying to get laid right now?"
He smiled, bunny teeth sticking out and suddenly he looked like old Jungkook again. Your Jungkook. “I would never.”
“I cannot believe you! You are such a little shit,” you said in amusement. You got up to rinse your tea cup in the sink in an effort to shut the conversation down, but he followed you.
“One kiss,” he said. "I'll change your mind."
“Go away, Jungkook,” you said, snatching his half-finished tea from him.
“I could die! I could be killed on the battlefield!” he exclaimed, following you to where you stood.
“I would be grieving with the rest of the female population. I’d be first in line, even.”
“A hug then?” he said, catching you by the arm. Your skin burned where he touched and you almost dropped the cup you were holding. You forgot how affected you were by him.
You turned to face him. He was close now, staring down at you. His doe eyes held a familiar intensity that made your stomach flutter.
"Please?" he said again, voice low and soft.
When you finally awoke, it was nearing eleven o’clock. You didn’t have to be at the venue until two, though part of you wished you could just get the whole thing over with. Rip the band-aid off before you had a chance to let the anxiety fester. You weren’t going to be that lucky though.
You stretched your arms out in a yawn, hand brushing over Yoongi’s in the process.
“Morning,” he grumbled, turning over onto his side and throwing a pillow over his head. You could just barely see his mouth poking out from under it.
“Morning,” you said. You sat up, quickly realized you were not ready to get out of bed yet, and immediately laid back down.
You knew by now that Yoongi was not a morning person. Trying to strike a conversation with him at this time would be futile. This left you with a lot of time to let your mind wander.
At first, you replayed your actions last night. Did you regret what you and Yoongi had done? Certainly not. In fact, you were grateful for the experience the two of you shared.
That being said, you wished it hadn’t played out the way it had.
Hearing Jungkook at the door had been rough. You hated hurting him, but you were also angry with him for letting his jealousy get out of control again. Of course, you understood why he was upset. He was totally within his right to be angry, but causing a scene in the middle of the night like that was too much.
You knew what you were risking when you went to Yoongi’s room last night. You knew this was a possibility, but you also thought he’d been better at handling his jealousy recently.
Evidently not.
You groaned internally and ran your hand over your face. This whole thing had turned into such a mess. And it was about to get so much messier.
There was only one week left of the tour. You were confident you’d be able to make it through this last week, so long as nothing else major happened.
You knew tensions would be high with Jungkook, and he’d probably give you the cold shoulder all week, but you were prepared to deal with that.
What a mess.
Something about last night had done the trick, though. You felt oddly reinvigorated. Definitely dreading seeing Jungkook again, but you finally had the energy to handle that.
There was no point staying in bed. It’s not like you were going to get any more sleep in this state.
Dragging yourself out of bed, you trudged to the bathroom. You didn’t even bother asking Yoongi whether or not it was okay to take a shower. He’d have just chastised you for waking him up with such a stupid question.
The water was nice. You adjusted it so that it was near scalding, which was perfect for a second but then it was way too intense and you had to fiddle around with the settings for several moments before finally landing on the right temperature.
Standing was just not something you were interested in doing at all, you determined. No thank you. You sat in the tub and let the water tumble down over you, finding only the smallest amount of amusement in the drama, before acknowledging that you were indeed about to face probably your biggest challenge yet on this tour.
Fuuuuuuck.
Why?
You knew why, realistically. You had nobody to blame but yourself. And maybe Jungkook a little bit, but honestly this was your own fault, and you knew that your decisions would have consequences you’d have to face one day. You just thought you’d feel more ready when that time came.
You stayed in the shower for at least thirty minutes, if not longer. In that time, you contemplated running back to Korea no less than twelve times.
By the time you got out, Yoongi was awake, and had ordered room service for you both. You poured yourself a coffee and picked at a bowl of fruit, but you weren’t particularly hungry.
Yoongi noticed.
“Worried about today?” he asked. You nodded, not looking up from your coffee.
“Me too.”
“What do you think could happen?”
“For me? Probably an official reprimand. They’ll probably dock my pay. It’ll be a slap on the wrist, if anything.”
“And for me?” you asked.
He didn’t answer, but the look on his face told him he was thinking the same thing you were.
You could get fired for this.
It wasn’t just a distant possibility this time. Jungkook had alerted the entire hallway about his suspicions. Word was bound to get back to the label somehow, and when that happened, you knew the consequences would be severe.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing your hand, “no matter what happens, I’m going to be there for you. You know that, right? You’re still important to me, whether we work together or not.”
You had a hard time swallowing the lump that had risen in your throat. Coughing to clear it, you squared your shoulders and held your chin high.
“I knew what the risk was,” you said, more to yourself than to Yoongi. “I’m prepared to accept the consequences.”
“You tell ‘em,” he said.
You contemplated going back to your room, but by that point, the hallway was already bustling with activity, and the risk of you being seen and further incriminating yourself was high.
That meant having to borrow yet another pair of nondescript sweatpants and a plain white T-shirt from Yoongi and hoping nobody would notice you were in men’s clothing. Not that it was too big of a deal, since you regularly wore oversized clothes to rehearsal, but it still had you on edge.
“I honestly don’t know how I could ever repay you,” you said, thanking him. “You’ve done so much for me.”
Yoongi said nothing in return, but let his gaze drop to your chest and bounce back up again. He raised his eyebrows for effect.
You looked down to where his eyes had fixated and realized what he meant, flushing.
“You’re an asshole,” you said, but nevertheless, lifted your shirt. The look of glee on his face was most endearing as he bounded forward and cupped your breasts in his hands.
“I will never get tired of these,” he said, leaning down to nuzzle his face against them.
You moved backwards in unison until your knees hit the back of the bed and you both fell onto it, Yoongi still fully enraptured by your breasts.
“So you’re a boob guy, then?”
He nodded. “At your service.”
He wrapped one of his arms around you while the other massaged the soft flesh. Leaning over you, he took a free nipple in his mouth and began to suck.
You were still sensitive enough that it began to perk up immediately under his touch. You arched your back to give him more access, enjoying the warmth of his mouth.
It was almost enough to prevent you from hearing the knock on the door.
Your eyes widened in alarm. Yoongi held a finger in front of his lips, signaling you to be quiet.
“Are you expecting anyone?” you mouthed as the knock sounded again. Yoongi shook his head no.
“Yoongi?”
Namjoon’s voice.
“What are you going to do?” you asked, voice barely audible.
He paused for a moment, contemplating how he wanted to handle the situation before nodding to himself and pulling you close. Yoongi began sucking a bruise into your shoulder.
“This,” he said.
Your neck flushed, head blooming upwards. You tilted your head to the side to give him more access.
“Yoongi, open up. We need to talk about this.”
“Mmmm, I’m busy,” he whispered into your collarbone. You ran your nails softly over his back and arched into him.
“Look,” Namjoon’s voice came through the door. “I know you’re upset. The label’s been screwing you over again and again, and you’ve been putting in more work than you should have to, but this isn’t the answer.”
“I think it is,” he hummed softly to the air around him, now taking the skin of your neck in between his teeth. You chuckled at his antics.
You knew Yoongi well enough by now to understand that the more he was pushed, the more defiant he’d become. Yes, he probably still wanted physical touch, but this was also very much about him asserting his autonomy, and with the way he was worshipping your body right now, you were more than happy to assist.
“Trust me, I’ve been stressed too. This tour in particular has been stressful, but we have to work as a team.”
At that, somewhere inside Yoongi, a line had finally been crossed. He brought his mouth up to yours and sucked your bottom lip in between his teeth, pressing his whole body into yours. He raked his fingers through your hair, releasing a low groan. His hands roamed down your body, clawing at the soft flesh of the back of your thigh.
“Yoongi,” you breathed across his tongue. It had begun roaming across your bottom lip. He released it from between his teeth, leaving a stinging sensation from all the blood that had rushed to the surface. “You’re not worried about Namjoon?”
“Namjoon’s full of shit,” he whispered, nibbling your earlobe and cupping your breast with his hand. “He talks about working as a team, but,” he said pausing his lips near your ear to nuzzle along your jaw, “what he really means is that I need to do what I always do and,” he planted a kiss, “bend over backwards again because it’s easier to get me to,” he nipped at your skin, hand snaking down your waist, “swallow my feelings than to ask Jungkook to deal with his.”
It made sense to you then, why Yoongi was so eager to break the rules with you. He was tired of the injustice of it all. He could handle his feelings better than Jungkook because he had to. And rather than making Jungkook learn how to deal with frustration and anger in a constructive way, they asked Yoongi to take it on. Because it was easier.
It wasn’t fair to either of them. Not only were they failing Yoongi, but they were failing Jungkook. Neglecting healthy emotional development in favor of keeping the peace.
Namjoon must have given up, because he didn’t say anything after that, and it wasn’t long before one thing led to another, and the two of you were undressed once again, Yoongi unrolling a condom onto his hardened shaft.
He entered you slowly, taking his time since the two of you still had a couple hours to kill. There was no point in denying yourselves any longer, and you wanted to get as much as you could out of the time you had left before you had to face the consequences.
The second time was just as good as the first, though less suspenseful and with less crying. This time, you came while straddling his lap, rocking back and forth with his arms around you. Once you’d come down from your high, Yoongi repositioned you so you were face-down, ass up. There, he gripped the back of your neck and pounded into you with as much force as he could muster, until he too came with a whimper.
You collapsed back onto the bed, kissing lazily as you both returned to your bodies. The simple skin-to-skin contact was almost enough to make you feel whole again.
Almost.
You stayed in bed for another twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s touch. Eventually though, you both knew you had to face the world again.
You left thirty minutes earlier than you needed to so that you could hopefully avoid anyone in the hallways. You and Yoongi opted to take the stairs to the first floor and out a side exit where Yoongi had a driver waiting to take you to the venue.
Upon arriving, you spotted a few crew members, but nobody spared you a second glance—they were all too busy with tasks.
You made a beeline for the makeup room and found it mostly empty, save for a few of the stylists. Jia was there setting up her supplies. You tried to strike up a conversation with her, but she wasn’t very responsive, offering only single-word replies when necessary.
After a few tries, you gave up and went back over to Yoongi, who was sat in a makeup chair in front of an empty counter.
“Jia’s not speaking to me, apparently.”
“Any idea why?” he asked. You shrugged. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”
“You think word has spread that fast?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Jungkook was pretty loud. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in the hall heard. If she was with Taehyung last night, it’s more than likely she did.”
You sighed.
“Great.”
“Hey,” he said, touching your hand. “It’ll be okay.”
Yoongi’s touch was warm and comforting. Subtle enough to not be noticed by others, but tender enough to do the trick.
The brief moment you shared together was suddenly cut short however when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.
Raised voices, talking—shouting over each other. They grew closer.
“I am begging you, don’t!”
Taehyung. He was shouting at someone. Deep in your gut, you knew who it was.
Jungkook stormed into the room, his energy consuming it. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked up at him. He was headed straight for Yoongi.
“What did you do,” he snarled, halfway across the room and getting closer.
Without thinking, Yoongi held out an arm to block you, half-stepping in front of you.
Namjoon jumped up from where he sat. Hoseok surged forward. Both men tried to hold Jungkook back but could only slow him.
“Don’t do this Jungkook,” Yoongi said quietly.
“What the fuck did you do?!” he shouted, voice in hysterics.
You couldn’t move. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you could only watch.
Jungkook’s fingers curled into fists, right arm halfway in the air, cocked and aimed at Yoongi’s jaw. Yoongi’s eyes widened, knowing what was about to happen.
Before Jungkook’s fist could connect with its target, Taehyung, Namjoon, and Hoseok had jumped into action. It took all three of them to wrestle Jungkook to the ground.
“Jungkook! Stop. This is an order.”
Jungkook continued to struggle under the weight of the older men. Yoongi’s hand went to his face, wiping off the spit that Jungkook had lodged at him.
“Did you fuck her?!” Jungkook shouted up at him from where he had been wrestled to his knees.
“We will discuss this when you’ve calmed down,” said Yoongi.
“No! We’re discussing this now. Did you fuck her?!”
Yoongi clenched his jaw, refusing to speak.
“You did. I know you fucking did. I heard you! Admit it, you coward!”
Jungkook’s words were like a knife through your gut.
Yoongi was silent. That was more than could be said for you. In your rage, you marched up to Jungkook and slapped him hard across the face. It echoed around the room, and for a brief moment, Jungkook stilled.
When he finally looked back up at you, his face was stone cold, until the whisper of a grin ghosted across him.
“You know,” he said, voice low. The entire room hung on his words. “I’d expect nothing less from a slut like you.”
Mere weeks ago, Jungkook’s words would have cut into you like a knife, but after everything you’ve dealt with, they held no weight. This was just him throwing a tantrum.
“Jungkook—,” Namjoon started, voice low and laced with warning.
“Enough. You can’t talk to me like that,” you cut in.
“I’m just stating facts,” he replied. “The whole tour already knows. Want to tell everyone how you got this job?” Jungkook continued.
Your heart leapt to your throat.
“What did you just say?” you asked.
“You heard me,” he said, voice filled with venom. “The only reason you’re here is because you fucked way into this role.”
You looked at Yoongi. He seemed just as surprised as you did. You scanned the room, spotting Jia in the far corner. She stared at Taehyung, who stared at his shoes.
“Jungkook! That is a serious accusation. You need to stop right now,” said Namjoon.
But it was too late. You looked back once again at Yoongi. He held your gaze for a few moments while the single thread that had been holding you together finally snapped.
“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, more to yourself than anything. The realization washed over you like a warm, gentle wave. Sad, but freeing. There was nothing tethering you here anymore.
Yoongi took your hand in his, squeezing it, before nodding in understanding and letting go.
The room was silent, except for your footsteps.
You were calm as you caught the shuttle back to your hotel.
Calm as you packed up your bags.
Calm as you hailed a taxi to the airport.
Calm as you purchased a ticket back to Seoul.
Calm as you composed your letter of resignation.
Calm as you hit send.
*****
It was three days before you allowed yourself to feel anything. You’d returned to your apartment, the energy within it stagnant from it having sat empty for the last few months. You’d gone grocery shopping, purchasing as many ready-to-eat meals as possible, along with your favorite snacks.
You’d gone to the liquor store, purchased several bottles of bottom-shelf whiskey, along with some wine and a few cases of beer.
You’d done all your laundry and fitted your bed with fresh sheets. After five minutes of laying in it however, you realized it was far too big, and moved to the couch instead.
You put your phone on “do not disturb” indefinitely.
You changed into sweatpants, climbed onto the couch, and curled yourself up in a blanket.
It came on slowly. The tightness in your chest expanded enough to allow the first trickle of tears.
It took ten minutes for you to reach the point of sobbing. Thankfully, you’d stocked up on tissues.
You’d known rock bottom was coming. You’d felt it approaching for a long time, but you’d been putting it off as long as possible.
It had finally arrived. And it was all-consuming.
*****
It was a week before you changed your clothes. Even then, you only changed into a different pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt.
Most days, you slept until late in the afternoon.
You’d wake up on the couch, find something easily accessible to eat (usually a spoon of peanut butter and some ramen), and then take a nap. When you could no longer sleep, you distracted yourself by marathoning seasons of sappy dramas. Sometimes you’d switch it up with reality television. Every once in a while, when you were least expecting it, the group would be referenced on television. They truly were everywhere.
Whenever it happened, your chest would seize up and you’d have to take several deep breaths to calm yourself.
The mess piled up. You had no energy to clean it. You resorted to disposable plates and cutlery, feeling mildly guilty about the waste, but not having enough willpower to do something different.
Once per week, you would go through your living room and bag up all the trash, but that’s as much housekeeping as you could manage.
You didn’t cry every day, you noticed. It was about every three days. You’d cry, and then you’d spend the next few days in an emotionless haze, recovering until you had the energy to cry again.
It was old pain. Deep pain. Pain you’d repressed as long as you could, but no longer had the energy to fight—the only way out was through.
***
After the tour finished, Yoongi came over about once a week to check on you. He was careful not to mention anything about the rest of the members, save for regaling you about how Hoseok had taken over for you during the last week of the tour and had done a phenomenal job.
For the first few weeks, his visits were usually accompanied with weed and sex. Sometimes whiskey, though you found you weren’t drinking quite as much as you had expected to.
After a month or so, sex just wasn’t doing much for you, and you settled into a comfortable companionship.
It was easier to see him when they were on break from the tour, but eventually, his schedule picked up again, and he couldn’t come over as often, which left you with a lot of time to be alone with your thoughts.
You spent a lot of that time reflecting—trying to figure out what factors were at play that had gotten you to where you were now.
You’d made some poor choices, that was for sure. But why? What motivated you to behave the way you did?
Why couldn’t you get it right?
Whenever the tears came, you leaned into them. Whenever you felt like screaming, you didn’t hold yourself back.
You’d spent your entire life working up to that job, and you had failed spectacularly.
You lost everything.
Not because you didn’t care or didn’t take it seriously. But because you simply could not live up to the expectations that were placed on you. You tried as hard as you possibly could, and yet you still fell short.
You failed the moment you let your guard down around Jungkook.
You failed as soon as you accepted the job.
You failed the day you slept with your professor.
Was it possible that you’d failed the moment you wanted to become a dancer?
Was your mother right? Should you have gone to school for business instead of chasing some pipe dream?
You thought that when you landed such a prestigious position, it had meant that you’d proven everyone wrong. You’d succeeded. Everything you’d been through, all the trauma you’d endured had been worth it because you finally made it to a professional dance career.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader | Yoongi X Reader .
Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)
Warnings: *deep breath* angst, smut, protected vaginal intercourse, blowjobs, eating out, emotional outbursts, post-coital emotional flooding, more angst, choking, scratching, biting, kissing, marijuana use, drinking, playful roasting, holding hands, and did I mention angst? Seriously your heart breaks a little for each of them.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.
Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.
But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.
________
OR
________
How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.
A/N: *sings* who is ready for things to get SO much more complicated? Me! I’m ready! This might be my favorite chapter I’ve ever written. Wooohooo! Let’s gooooooooooo!
The lights of the arcade flashed all around you—magenta, tangerine, and turquoise took turns in your periphery while you chewed on your straw. Rum and coke. It had been your go-to since before you were old enough to legally drink.
It had been three weeks since Jungkook had left your room. You’d just flown to Osaka. This was the second-to-last stop before Shizuoka, and then finally home to Seoul. You couldn’t wait for this godforsaken tour to be over. Once in Seoul, you’d have an entire month off to rest and recuperate before you had to head back out, and were singularly focused on getting through this tour so you could spend the next month doing absolutely nothing.
You and Jungkook hadn’t spoken to each other at all since that night, save for overly-polite greetings whenever you had to save face in front of staff and the other members.
Despite the time, it hadn’t gotten easier.
You took another sip of your drink and savored the carbonation that prickled on your tongue.
“Babe! Over here!”
You looked over to see Jia. She stood beside a large arrangement of dance-based games and waved you over.
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader | Jimin X Reader (a little) | Yoongi X Reader (a little).
Rating: Explicit (not for this chapter though)
Warnings: None for this chapter. It’s mostly fluff before we get back into the thick of it.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.
Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.
But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.
It was difficult to not want to throw in the towel. Really difficult. And at times, you still wondered if you were making a mistake, but you were determined to see the rest of the tour through.
You knew that if you let everything set in—let it tear you down—you’d be of no use to anyone, and what you needed most right now was to feel like you were actually contributing something of value to the tour.
Summary: As the assistant choreographer for BTS, you are often responsible for helping the guys rehearse. Professional and courteous as you try to act on the job, there is no denying that deep within you lies a sexual deviant, dying to come out. Everyone knows scandal would cost you your job, but sometimes the tension can become unbearable.
It’s too bad. But it’s too sweet.
Rating: Explicit
Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11 | Pt. 12 | Pt. 13 | Pt. 14
Pairing: Jungkook X Reader (With some Jimin X reader and Yoongi X Reader, but mostly JK).
Rating: Explicit (not so much in this chapter, but in others)
Warnings: Drinking, mentions of past drug use, mentions of past threesomes, mentions of past sexual assault.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BTS tasked with taking over for the lead while on tour. You’d sacrificed everything for this job, and you didn’t want to risk it, but the temptation has proved to be too sweet.
Now you have to juggle the social, physical, and emotional consequences of your affairs. Jealousy between the members, social isolation, and potential feelings? No, that last one was not something you’d allow. You already had enough on your plate. You had to squash that down.
But feelings demand to be felt. And you cannot run away forever.
—OR—
How I dumped all my trauma into a single fanfic.
Masterlist is here
_______
A/N: I promise the chapter after this won’t be so heavy. I’m going to add in a lighter and fluffier filler chapter for a nice break before we get back into the heavy stuff. It’s nearing the end of the story now. I can’t believe we’ve come this far. This has been three years in the making.
THIS IS ANOTHER SAD ONE. Please, please, please do not read this if you aren’t in a great place mentally. I don’t think absorbing more sadness will help. We relive some of her past trauma in this one and it doesn’t necessarily end on a positive note.
This character will be happy again soon, I promise.
_________________________________________
Chapter 12:
The numbness carried over to the next morning, when you arose to a sun that was far too bright and skies that were much too clear.
You had to face him again today. You didn’t know if you could.
The temptation to leave had reached a crescendo last night. This level of moral perfection was too much to ask of anyone. You’d had rough nights before, but this was getting to be too much. How much more would you have to give to this company? You barely had anything left.
You’d sacrificed far too much to be here, though. You couldn’t let that be in vain.
You arrived at the venue early. Jia was already there, setting up her station.
She took one look at you and rushed over to wrap you up in a hug.
“Are you okay?” she asked. You buried your face in her shoulder. “What happened?”
You shook your head against her collar, unable to form words. Tears threatened to spill over at her kindness. One of them actually did.
You sat in Jia’s makeup chair while she brushed your hair for you and did her best to conceal the dark circles under your puffy, red eyes.
“Are you sure you don’t need me to kick someone’s ass?” she asked.
You gave her the closest thing to a smile you could muster. “Thanks, Ji. That would be great.”
She seemed satisfied enough with your answer to drop the subject. She didn’t even ask who. She didn’t need to.
It was a while before the guys all strolled into the makeup room. When they did, you immediately faced forward and averted your eyes. You couldn’t chance looking at him.
Yoongi made a beeline over to where you and Jia were setting up.
“What happened to you?” he asked, loud and brash as he always was.
“Real nice,” Jia spat.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” you said and got up so he could sit in the makeup chair. He plopped down as Jia began arranging her brushes on the counter before him.
“If it makes you feel any better, I had a shit night too,” he said.
“I can see that,” said Jia as she began to dip a brush into a palette. “How many sets of dark circles am I going to have to cover today?”
“Why’s that?” you asked him.
“I got an email from the label. They’re pushing the release date back another month for my mixtape.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were.”
“How can they keep doing this to you?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “There’s nothing I can do about it though. They have the final say.”
“That sucks, Yoongs,” said Jia. “I’m really sorry.”
“You told them about the mixtape?” Hoseok asked, walking up to where the three of you were conversing. “Bullshit, isn’t it?”
Jia nodded.
Your heart sank. Yoongi had been working so hard on that mixtape. You sensed that he was losing hope. You would too if the thing you really wanted kept getting dangled in front of you, only to be snatched away again and again.
In a way, you supposed that’s exactly what had happened to you.
You chanced a look over at Jungkook. He was joking around with Jin, all smiles and laughter.
“Someone looks like they’re in a good mood,” you muttered to Jia.
“Oh Jungkook?” said Hoseok. “Yeah, I’d be too if I’d gotten head from Yeona last night.”
The brush Jia had been holding clattered to the floor. “Sorry,” she squeaked and ducked down to retrieve it. In the mirror, Yoongi’s eyes flicked up to meet yours.
“Oh?” you asked, throat seizing up.
“Yeah,” said Hoseok. “She’s been after him since the beginning of the tour. Good thing, too, because he definitely needed it. He’s been unbearable lately.”
You exhaled a shaky breath. “Oh.”
“To be honest, I’m surprised it took him as long as it did to taker her up on it. I know I wouldn’t have held out that long. Have you seen the body on that woman?”
Yoongi winced. “Hoseok,” he hissed exasperatedly, “shut the fuck up.”
Hoseok’s brows knitted together as he gaped at Yoongi. The silence between the four of you grew painfully awkward.
“Hey, so did Hanyuel tell you that he’s planning a massive party while we’re in Japan?” Jia cut in. It came out a little louder and faster than normal. Yoongi continued to watch you intently while Hoseok, still looking puzzled, merely shrugged and shifted his focus to Jia.
“That’s awesome,” you breathed, feigning excitement while your insides turned to liquid. You dug your nails into your palms and gritted your teeth to keep your cool until you could get out of there.
“Yeah,” it should be a lot of fun,” she replied. You took a step backwards. Then another.
“Do you think he’ll rent out a movie theater again like he did last year?” Hoseok asked, unaware of the devastating blow he’d delivered only moments ago.
“I don’t know,” answered Jia. “He was talking about go-karts last I knew.” She said this while still watching you over Hoseok’s shoulder. You wanted to tell her you were fine, but you’d be lying. Her face grew more and more concerned as Hoseok’s words blended into the environment. You crossed your arms tightly in front of you, holding your ribcage together.
You were okay. You’d be fine. You knew this was a possibility. Jungkook was just trying to get his needs met.
Isn’t that what all of you were doing? Just trying to get your needs met? How could you fault him for that?
Your stomach lurched. You needed to get out of there.
“I should probably get out of your way,” you said, more people trickling into the room. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
You didn’t even think Hoseok heard you. He was still talking excitedly to the room about the party. Jia and Yoongi watched as you backed away, turned, and rushed out the door.
Turning right, you worked hard to steady your breath as you searched for anything that would do.
You passed several locked doors along the mostly-empty hallway, offices of stadium managers, locker rooms, and storage areas. It stretched on and on. It felt like it would never end. Like the walls were closing in. You quickened your pace.
You found an unlocked supply closet and wrenched the door open, darted inside and, trying to not draw any more attention to you, shut it as softly as you could. Shelves of various cleaning products and cans of paint lined the small area. Several brooms leaned haphazardly against the wall. A large automated floor scrubber took up most of the space, and in the corner sat a lone empty bucket.
You shook your hands, trying to rid yourself of excess anxious energy.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
You hummed through the exhale, trying to regulate your breath as tears spilled down.
This was okay. You’d be okay. You knew this could happen. Jungkook didn’t owe you any loyalty, especially after last night.
Scanning the room, you found an empty mop bucket. As quickly and silently as you could, you flipped it over and sat down on it, clutching your chest while you rocked back and forth.
You were okay. You didn’t need him. It was fine. He could be with other women. He could be with Yeona and her amazing body.
You noticed your breath hitching on the intake. You pursed your lips to slow down your exhale and keep yourself from hyperventilating. Your eyes stung. You tapped your chest with your hands, fighting to stay in control.
The air inside the closet was thick and warm. It weighed down your chest, making it difficult to fill your lungs.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
You bit down on your knuckles to muffle the strangled noises now escaping from your throat.
You were spiraling.
The door swung open, startling you. Yoongi peered around it.
“Shit,” he said, closing the door behind him and making his way past the scrubber. He knelt beside you and took your hand in his. “You okay?”
You nodded, bouncing a leg up and down, continuing to rock back in forth. You couldn’t meet his eyes.
The tears continued to pour out. Hot and wet against your cheeks, they slid cleanly down your face and collected at your chin before falling onto your hoodie in fat drops.
“I know that must have been rough to hear,” he said, thumb stroking over yours. “Do you need anything?”
You shook your head no, continuing to stare straight ahead, jaw clenched tight.
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked. You nodded.
“Okay.”
He sat down on the floor next to you—his presence calming you down enough for you to process.
As much as you couldn’t fault Jungkook for taking care of his needs, you weren’t prepared for this.
It was just sex, you reminded yourself. It’s not like he had feelings for her. And he had come to you first.
“You know,” said Yoongi softly, “when I first heard the news that my mixtape was delayed again, I threw my phone across the room.”
You looked not quite at him, but your eyes moved slightly in his direction.
“I think I dented the wall. Some poor underpaid maintenance guy is going to have to fix it,” he said.
You didn’t quite laugh, but you exhaled through your nostrils a little faster than normal, knee still bouncing up and down rapidly.
“And that’s not even the worst part,” he continued. “My screen shattered because I was too lazy to buy a screen protector.”
You wouldn’t necessarily agree that him not being able to see his texts was worse than an underpaid maintenance guy having to fix the aftermath of Yoongi’s tantrum, but you didn’t voice that.
“Where are you going with this?” you asked.
“I don’t know,” Yoongi said. “Just thought you might find it amusing.”
“My deepest condolences for your screen,” you said, flatly.
“Yes, I am suffering more than anyone else in this world, thank you for noticing,” he said.
At that, you managed a chuckle.
“I know you’re going through a tough time right now,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks,” you said, offering up a small smile. “I’m sorry for you, too. I know how much you had your heart set on a spring release.”
“Ahh,” he said. “I’ll be okay. I might just have to write a really angsty track and include it, now that I have the time.”
“I hope you do,” you said.
“You going to be okay?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I’d like to think so, but I’m not even sure how I feel.”
“I understand,” he said. “Truly. It’s okay to not be entirely sure. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”
“Will I?” you asked.
“Yes. And even if you don’t, that’s okay too.”
A knock sounded and the door opened. You didn’t bother looking up to see who it was.
“How is she?” you heard Jia ask.
“She’s okay. I’ve got her,” he said.
“Thirty minutes until the run-through,” she said. “You’ve still got to get your makeup touched up, Yoongi.”
“Okay thanks,” he said, taking out his cell phone. “Do you think you can make it through rehearsals? If not, I can call one of our drivers to come get you. Hoseok and I can lead the run-through.”
“You, lead a run-through?” you asked. “You hate dancing.”
“Can’t you let someone do something nice for you without sarcasm?”
“Sorry,” you said immediately. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Yoongi turned back to his phone, but flicked his eyes back up. “Jackass,” he muttered under his breath. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. His eyes screwed up in concentration. You looked down and saw that his phone screen was indeed brutally shattered.
The short drive to the hotel passed by in a blur. You probably could have walked, but it was nice to have someone drive you.
Once in your hotel, you threw yourself back on to the bed and stared at the ceiling. When that didn’t work, you rolled over and screamed into your pillow. After that, you tried punching it several times in your rage. Over and over again, you slammed your fists into the soft down, finally picking it up and throwing it across the room. It hit the beige wall beside your bed and fell to the floor with an unsatisfying plop.
And when that didn’t work, you rolled off the bed and slid onto the floor to join it.
That worked. The floor was exactly where you were meant to be at that moment. You knew for a fact.
You ran your fingers over the rough material of the carpet. It was scratchy. For as nice of a hotel as it was, they sure didn’t break the budget for their carpeting.
“They probably figured their guests wouldn’t be the floor-dwelling type,” you muttered aloud.
Fuck.
Jungkook and Yeona.
You tiled your head backwards on the carpet, hair bunching under your skull, and looked back at the nightstand, observing how odd it appeared from this perspective.
What even was your life right now?
Were you okay? Really?
Yes, you supposed you were. But you weren’t sure how much more you could take after this. You weren’t happy with the level of work you’d been performing. You could feel your energy steadily going downhill, and you hated doing a sub-par job. It wasn’t fair to you or the company.
But you couldn’t exactly quit right now. There was nobody to replace you. A sub-par job would have to do, because you definitely didn’t have the energy to do a thorough one.
That was probably the only concession you could take. The guys were pretty capable of handling themselves. There wasn’t much you had to do by that point anyway. They’d hit their stride and were making far fewer mistakes than they’d made at the start of the tour.
You heaved another sigh.
If you had any sense, you’d quit. You probably should have given your two-weeks notice two weeks ago.
If it weren’t for the damn promise you made, you’d be long gone.
You thought back to Son and wondered how he was doing.
It can’t be easy losing a parent slowly like that. Not one as kind and loving as his.
You flipped on to your side and tucked your arm under your head. As much as you’d like to empathize with Son right now, you had to reserve your empathy for yourself.
What were you going to do?
“Nothing,” you said to the empty room.
You were going to do nothing. There was nothing you could do, anyway. You didn’t have the energy.
You stayed that way, laying on the floor in various positions for most of the night until you couldn’t stand it anymore and had to move.
You only got as far as the bed, however. And with nothing left to do, you turned the TV to a random channel, and dissociated in front of it for the next few hours. You ordered room service again, treating yourself to more than one dish, because that was about all you could do to console yourself at the moment.
Even then, you didn’t have much of an appetite and had to force yourself to eat.
This had to be the worst you’d felt on the tour. Possibly the worst you’d felt since you were still living at home with your narcissistic parents.
You thought you’d escaped these feelings when you left. You thought you wouldn’t have to deal with shit like this anymore once you got out. That your internship had saved you from ever having to feel this trapped in your own life.
You’d worked so hard to be here. Done things you were so, so proud of, as well as things you weren’t.
And for what? To be locked away in a lonely hotel room? Isolated from everyone? No support system outside of work? No life outside of work?
Was this really what you wanted for your life?
At first, it had been. The prestige that came with being a choreographer for a massively successful group made you feel like it was worth the effort. All the pain and hardship and struggles you’d endured. But prestige was only so rewarding after a while.
You thought back to your dream of opening your own studio one day. A dream that you’d pocketed as soon as you’d gotten this gig.
Did you make a mistake accepting this job? Should you have followed through with your original plan and opened your own studio? It would have been difficult, but would you be any better off?
You decided not to follow that train of thought, knowing it would only lead to feelings of regret. You couldn’t handle those on top of everything else. Not right now.
______________
It was approaching midnight when a knock sounded at your door.
You looked out the peep hole before answering. Yoongi was there, holding a bottle of liquor.
“Password?” you asked.
“Eat my ass,” he said. You chuckled and opened the door for him to enter.
His hair was damp and he smelled strongly of hotel soap.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he said, entering your room. “I had to shower and eat.”
He slipped his shoes off and made his way over to the desk, where he found two glasses. He wasted no time pouring two fingers of liquor in each glass, turning to you only when he was ready to hand you one.
You took it gratefully and clinked your glassware with his.
“How’re you holding up?” he asked.
You shrugged, “I’m about here,” you said, gesturing over to the mess of plates piled up on the nightstand next to your bed. “How was the show?”
“It was fine. Jungkook kept his head down. I think he knew he was the reason you weren’t at rehearsal today.”
“And the others?”
“I just told them you weren’t feeling well and needed to rest. They seemed understanding.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking a sip of the liquor.
“Thanks,” you said. He peered over the glass still touching his lips. He must have sensed your earnestness because he swallowed thickly as he brought the glass back down to his side.
“Drink,” he said, letting his gaze drop from yours to the glass in your hand.
You followed his lead, sipping on the amber liquid. It stung your mouth. You weren’t used to drinking straight liquor unless it was in the form of a shot and you had a chaser.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked as you meandered back over to the bed.
You shook your head and took another sip.
“Fair enough,” he said, sitting at the opposite end of the bed and facing you. “For what it’s worth, Hoseok’s an idiot.”
You snorted, because as well-meaning as he was, Hoseok really could be an idiot sometimes.
“He really has no idea when to keep his mouth shut, does he?”
Yoongi’s eyes crinkled, and he flashed that gummy smile. It was infectious.
“In Hoseok’s defense, he didn’t know anything about you and Jungkook,” Yoongi said.
Your face fell once again at the mention of his name. “No, I suppose he didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” said Yoongi. “You said you didn’t want to talk about it.”
“No, it’s probably good to talk about it a little.”
“What exactly happened between the two of you?” Yoongi asked seriously. “All I know is that you two had been involved, but then you weren’t, but then maybe you were again? I’m not sure.” Yoongi trailed off.
You took a deep breath.
“He came to my room last night.”
“What?” Yoongi interjected. “What did he want?”
You stayed silent, partially because it was hard to relive, but also because you figured Yoongi could infer it, which he did after a few quiet moments.
“Ah,” he said. “And I’m guessing you turned him down.”
You nodded.
“Which is why he then…,” he tactfully decided not to finish the thought and instead winced. “Yikes.”
You sipped your drink.
“That sucks,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
You closed your eyes and exhaled through your nose, trying to expel the anger that had once again risen up.
“Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
You raised your glass and jiggled it a bit. “This is helping.”
He scooted closer to you, hugging your calves and resting his chin on your bent knee.
You pressed your toes into his outer thigh and wiggled them affectionately.
He pressed his lips to your knee. “I’m sorry,” he said again.
You held eye contact with him, and from the look on his face, you knew he could see the grief on yours. You shared a quiet moment of understanding, aware that he, too, probably often wondered whether or not he’d made the right choice in coming here.
He squeezed the back of your calf, letting you know in his own way that he was here for you. You had half a mind to say ‘fuck the rules’ and plant your lips onto his, but you knew it would be putting a band-aid over a broken arm at best.
Besides, you couldn’t turn Jungkook down and then immediately hook up with Yoongi the next day. Even if Yoongi would be healthier for you, it would make you just as bad as Jungkook, if not worse. And you were tired of self-destruction.
Yoongi stared at your thigh, the grip he had on the back of your calf tightened infinitesimally and you got the sense he was thinking the same thing.
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and you felt your resolve waver. You had a feeling that even if you did make this mistake, you’d somehow find it in you to forgive yourself.
You shifted the slightest bit closer to him when there was another knock on the door.
Your heart jumped to your throat and you and Yoongi both moved away from one another.
It was just as well. Best not to poke the bear.
“Coming,” you called, tearing your eyes away from Yoongi. You got off the bed to answer, this time forgetting to check the peep hole and just answering. It was Jia.
“Hey,” she said, marching past you and into your room, two bottles of wine and two wine glasses clutched in her hands. She took one look at Yoongi, who was straightening the legs of his dark jeans nervously, and glanced back to you. “I see someone already beat me here.”
“He wanted to see if I was okay.”
She nodded, “Sure.”
You could tell she didn’t quite believe you but chose to hold her tongue. She was right not to. If she hadn’t shown up, you couldn’t honestly say with complete certainty that nothing would have happened.
“So, I was thinking maybe you could use some company to get your mind off things. Anyone up for a drinking game?” she asked.
You looked back at Yoongi and he shrugged. “Why not?”
“Okay,” she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. “It’s like ‘put a finger down’ except it’s ‘take a drink if’. We’ll go around the room. I’ll start.”
She took a drink. You narrowed your eyes. “I thought you weren’t supposed to drink unti—,”
“—Take a drink if you’ve ever fucked on a boat.”
After a few moments without any movement, Jia took a drink.
“When was that?” you asked.
“I had this rich friend in college who liked to have yacht parties,” she said with a shrug and offered no further explanation. “Your turn.” She gestured at Yoongi.
“Okay, uhhhh…,” he said, looking off to a corner of the room. “Let’s see. Put a finger, I mean take a drink if you’ve ever done coke.”
You and Jia both sipped. Yoongi looked at you incredulously. “Once,” you said.
“How was it?” he asked.
You shrugged. “Meh.”
“She’s lying, it’s awesome,” said Jia.
Jia could think that if she wanted. It probably was awesome for her. For you, it just made you paranoid that you were about to have a heart attack and unable to shut your brain off. You were perfectly fine never touching the stuff again.
“Okay, take a drink if…,” you trailed off, trying to think of something. “If you’ve ever flashed anyone in public.”
Both Jia and Yoongi took a sip. You expected this from Jia, but you were surprised by Yoongi’s confession.
“Back when I was in high school. My friends and I were driving around downtown Daegu and I pressed my bare ass against the car window at a traffic stop.”
You snickered.
“Mine was for free drinks at a bar one night during last year’s tour.”
“That sounds like you,” you said. She grinned, holding up her drink in cheers before taking another sip.
“Worked like a charm.”
Yoongi snickered.
“Your turn,” Jia said to you.
You thought for a moment.
“Take a drink if…,” you trailed off, “…if you’ve ever been arrested.”
Jia sipped from her drink. “Shoplifting once when I was eighteen,” she said, with no further explanation.
You continued to go around in a circle, taking drinks here and there for things like getting black-out drunk, hooking up with a stranger, skinny dipping (that one, Yoongi had given on purpose, knowing full well what you and Jia had done in LA).
“Okay, my turn,” you said. “Take a drink if you’ve ever had a threesome, and no that one doesn’t count,” you said, as Jia opened her mouth to speak. She quieted and took a drink.
You weren’t surprised, considering how she and Taehyung had been so casual about it with you. You’d pretty much forgiven her by that point and it was water under the bridge for the most part. At least with her. You and Taehyung still weren’t speaking very much.
You were, however, surprised when Yoongi did the same.
“No way,” you said. He simply nodded.
“What was the dynamic?” Jia asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Was it two girls, or two guys…or three guys?” she asked.
Yoongi scoffed. “It was with two guys.”
“Ooooh,” she said. “Interesting. How was it?”
“It was good,” he said, and left it at that.
“What about you?” you asked, turning to Jia.
“I’ve had several threesomes. Usually with another woman, though I’ve been to the Eiffel Tower on a few occasions, if you know what I mean.”
Yoongi smirked.
“My ex-girlfriend and I used to invite men into the bedroom pretty often, actually.”
“I didn’t know you dated women,” you commented.
“Oh yeah. I actually prefer women, but every once in a while, I’ll have the misfortune of falling for a man.”
Yoongi snorted. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Did your ex also like men?” you asked.
“Yeah. I’m bisexual. She was pan. She liked men a little more than I did. We really enjoyed exploring different aspects of our sexuality together. We didn’t like the idea that we had to close off those sides of ourselves just because we were in a relationship.”
“Did you ever get jealous?” you asked.
“Of course,” she said. “You can’t avoid feeling jealous sometimes. It’s natural. You just have to work on managing those feelings. I wasn’t very good at first. I still sometimes struggle with it, but I’ve gotten a lot better.”
“I get that,” Yoongi chimed in. “I’ve struggled with it in the past.”
“How did you handle it?” she asked.
“I had to work on building trust. Not just with the other person, but with myself.”
“Oh?” you asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “It was way back before I had even joined the group. I was in a long-distance relationship with a girl. Those kinds of things often lead to jealousy, especially because she had a lot of guy friends.
“With something like that, you learn pretty quickly that you can’t control the other person. Trying to just pushes them away.”
You thought back to how you had immediately run to Jimin as soon as Jungkook had exhibited the first sign of jealousy.
“You have to come to terms with your fear of getting hurt. Trust that if they really love you, they’ll do their best not to hurt you, and if they don’t, you have to trust yourself to be able to handle that pain.”
“How did it turn out?” you asked.
“She cheated on me.”
“Are you serious?” Jia asked.
Yoongi shrugged. “I survived,” he said. “I won’t say I didn’t develop some major trust issues for a while after that, but I’ve let it go for the most part. Long distance is really hard. Neither one of us was getting our needs met. Some people can make it work, but we just couldn’t.”
“I’m so sorry,” you said.
“I was mad at her for not communicating how unhappy she was to me at the time, but to be honest, I could tell she wasn’t happy, and I didn’t really do anything about it. I wasn’t happy either. In my own ways, I was selfish. I definitely wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, so it was unfair of me to expect that of her. Sometimes things just don’t work out.”
“Do you ever regret trusting her?” Jia asked.
Yoongi paused to consider the question.
“No,” he said. “Because what’s the alternative? Not trust her and demand to know her whereabouts all the time? Constantly accuse her of stuff? That would have only pushed her away faster and would have made me an even bigger asshole than I already was. I mean yeah, I got hurt. But I’d rather be the one getting hurt than the one needlessly hurting someone else because of my own trust issues.”
You frowned. You could have used that wisdom earlier on. You and Jungkook had both hurt each other because of your own trust issues—more than once. How might things have played out if you both approached it from Yoongi’s perspective? Would you be together?
Unlikely, given your jobs, but it still would have turned out better than what you were dealing with now.
“Okay my turn,” Jia said. “Take a drink if you’ve ever had sex in exchange for something.”
Your stomach dropped. You waited for either Yoongi or Jia move, and when neither of them did, you hesitated.
Did you really want to spill your darkest moments?
It was only fair. Both Yoongi and Jia had volunteered very personal information. After what Yoongi had said about trust, it seemed like the right move.
It was time to tell someone what had happened.
You sucked in a breath and bit the bullet.
You took a drink.
“No way,” Jia gasped.
“Can I ask what happened?” said Yoongi.
You nodded, but paused for a few more moments to consider just how much information you really wanted to divulge.
“I slept with my college professor to get an internship with Son.”
Jia’s mouth fell open. “No way,” she said.
You nodded.
There. It was out in the open. You refrained from going into much detail about it, still not sure if you even wanted to revisit those memories in front of the two of them, but you were glad you had finally said it.
“No offense, but I never would have suspected you to be the type,” Jia said. Yoongi stayed silent.
“Well, I guess I am.”
“Shit. Do you regret it?” she asked.
You shrugged. You didn’t see the point in thinking about whether or not you regretted it. It was in the past. There was nothing you could do to take it back.
The game went on for a few more rounds before Jia yawned. It was nearing two in the morning by that point.
“I’m going to head out,” she said. “I have an early schedule tomorrow. The stylists are all meeting to discuss some changes they want to make to the looks.”
“Thanks for coming over,” you said. “I really needed this.”
She raised her arms above her head in a cat stretch and then gave you a hug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the least I could do.” Then she turned to Yoongi. “You coming?”
He looked at his glass, which still held a few sips of whiskey.
“You go ahead. I’m going to hang back for a bit,” he said. “Still working on my drink.”
She fixed the two of you with a skeptical glare.
“We’ll behave, I promise,” you assured her.
“Okay. See that you do. I don’t want any more drama in my life right now. No more drunken hookups. No more jealousy. Nothing.”
“Promise,” Yoongi said.
She surveyed you once again before nodding and making her exit.
Yoongi scooted closer to you on the bed. You rested your head on his shoulder, glad for some non-sexual physical intimacy.
“So,” you said. “A threesome? With two men?”
“Indeed,” he said with a small chuckle. “With Jimin, actually.”
“What?” you asked, lifting your head off his shoulder and turning to face him.
He tucked his lips between his teeth and nodded. “He would kill me if he knew I told you though, so don’t say anything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you asked. You were in shock. Jimin and Yoongi in a threesome? You never in a million years would have suspected.
“It never came up. Besides, I’m not one to brag about my sexual exploits unprovoked,” he said.
“How was it?” you asked.
He chuckled to himself for a few moments, amused with how enthralled you seemed.
“It was a long time ago, before we had really made it big in the US. The group was on a month-long break after we’d gotten back from our first tour. Jimin and I had gone out to a nightclub in Busan with a few of our friends.
“There was this this one woman, who I think Jimin had known for a while. They’d fucked a few times before. He knew I was in a bit of a dry spell. I was dealing with some major writer’s block when it came to my music and had been feeling down and out for weeks by that point, so he convinced me to come out.
“She started flirting with me about halfway through the evening. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but in the cab on the way to the next bar, she started making out with me.”
He looked right at you as he spoke.
“Mind you, it had been so long since I’d had any sort of action, so my self-control had gone out the window as soon as she started kissing me.”
“Wow,” you said. “Was this in front of Jimin? Was he upset?”
“I think he was the one who put her up to it, to tell you the truth. Not that she wasn’t already interested. The three of us went back to his hotel room for an after party, but things started heating up once the others had left. We ended up with her sucking me off while Jimin fucked her.”
“Shit,” you said, sounding rather impressed.
Yoongi nodded.
“I thought it would be awkward, but honestly, it kind of brought us closer together. We crossed into new territory that night, and it forced us to have clear and open communication with one another. That’s the only way you can stay good friends after something like that happens. You grow as a person.”
You understood, then, why Yoongi had been so concerned for Jimin’s feelings that night in LA when he had turned you down, and why he was so insistent upon boundaries. You’d learned that lesson for yourself over the last few weeks. At the time, it had made you upset, but you’d developed a newfound respect for the rapper.
“And what about you?” he said.
“What about me?”
“Fucking your professor for an internship?”
You tensed.
“I’m guessing there’s more to that story.”
You nodded, taking a beat to figure out where to start.
“It was back before I had graduated from dance academy,” you began. “I went to this prestigious school on a scholarship—not a full ride, but enough that I could afford it with some loans. I thought I was real hot shit at the time. I’d been a prodigy growing up, and that carried over into my attitude. But when I arrived there, I was…let’s say I was humbled.
“Everyone there was just as good as I was, if not better, and I was under a lot of pressure to prove myself. Especially to my mom. She really disapproved of my career choice. She wanted me to go into something more respectable, like finance. Ever since my dad left her for my old dance teacher, she was really jaded about the whole thing. Called it a whore’s profession.”
“Oh my God,” said Yoongi. You nodded.
“So I was in my final year, and I was really overwhelmed with all the work. I had gotten sick that year and had missed a lot of classes, so I was falling behind and my prospects weren’t looking very promising for when I finished school.
“There was this internship opening up, though. It was with a dance studio in Seoul. I knew it was going to be my only real chance at landing a decent career after graduation, otherwise I’d have to go back to living with my mom while I paid off the rest of my student loans.”
Yoongi intertwined his hand with yours and stroked his thumb over your knuckles. You took a deep, steadying breath. Emotions you’d long repressed started to well up. You shoved them down again, determined to finish your story.
“The internship was through this one professor—Dr. Leung. He was the one who decided who would go. Kind of acted like the studio’s liaison. He was a real asshole. Was constantly tearing people down.
“He was never really terrible to me, though I thought I was lucky to escape his brutality. He wasn’t the most encouraging professor, but I was always quick to defend him when people complained because I saw him as tough but fair. He had really high standards, and rightfully so. He was quite the accomplished choreographer in his day.
“So I signed up for the audition. I practiced for months, even working with an adjunct professor to make sure the routine was really, truly flawless. I danced until my toes bled. And when I auditioned, I executed it perfectly. Not a single mistake.”
“And?” Yoongi asked.
“He tore into me. Ripped me apart. Everything from my song choice, to my form, to my choreography. He even hated the outfit I’d chosen.”
“Seriously,” Yoongi said.
You swallowed back the lump that had grown in your throat and nodded.
“I was devastated. I met with him after class the next day. Asked him what I could have done better. He said that he really liked me as a student, but doubted whether I could make it in the industry if I relied on my talent alone.”
“You’re kidding,” he said. “But you’re an incredible dancer.”
“Thank you,” you said. “I really appreciate that.” You got the sense he was just trying to be nice and supportive in whatever way he could, but you still appreciated the sentiment.
“What happened next?”
“Well, he said that he knew how hard I’d been working, and that he’d be sad to see someone as…,” you had to pause when your stomach churned, “…attractive as me fail.”
“No,” Yoongi whispered.
“He said that there was still a…a chance that I could get the internship if I…,” you paused again as your voice began to wobble. You swallowed hard and pushed it down again.
“Apparently it’s a common thing in the industry. A lot of people use their other…assets to get ahead if they can’t rely on their talent alone. So long as they’re bold enough.”
He stroked your hand again with his thumb.
“It was just the one time,” you said. “The whole thing was over in less than twenty minutes. And I don’t regret it. Lots of people have to sell their bodies far more than I ever did.”
“Did you ever tell anyone?” he asked. “Before now, that is.”
“No,” you said. “But word got out anyway about what I’d done. The entire senior class was pissed at me. Everybody wanted that internship. When my roommate heard, she stopped talking to me until the end of term. Didn’t even say goodbye at graduation. It was probably the loneliest I’d ever felt.”
“I’m so sorry,” said Yoongi. You shrugged.
“It’s in the past. Besides, I went on to get the internship and I met Son, and he helped me get to where I am today. I never looked back.”
“What about now?” he asked. “Do you still think it’s been worth it?”
You squeezed his hands. “I’m not sure anymore. It used to be. It will be again once I get past this tour and can go back to being the regular assistant choreographer.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here,” he said.
At that, you softened. “Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really glad you’re here too.”
You left it off there. You didn’t want to go into too much detail beyond that. You didn’t even remember much of the actual incident. All you could recall was staring at the maroon walls of his office and waiting for it to be over. You’d had the foresight to get drunk beforehand so that it would be easier to go through with.
Yoongi didn’t stay much longer after that. When he left, he gave you a kiss on the forehead and told you to hang in there. You assured him you would. You’d been in shitty situations before and had made it work. You’d do it again.
That night, you tossed and turned.
You hadn’t thought about what happened with Dr. Leung in a very long time. At least not in that much detail. The fallout from your peers afterwards had almost caused you to drop out of school, but somehow, you had survived.
You felt better after having finally gotten that secret off your chest, but something was still bothering you.
Had it been worth it? Or was it all for nothing?
When you’d first made the decision to go through with the act, you figured you would be happier. You’d proven your mother wrong. You’d secured one of the most prestigious internships offered by your dance academy.
And now, you were working not just for the top K-pop group, but the world’s biggest boy band. Surely that had to count for something, right?
So why did you still feel so hollow?
_________________________
A/N:
I am aware that this story has reached a pretty dark place. I’m very protective over the mental health of my readers. All of this empathy work is mentally and emotionally taxing, so make sure you’re taking care of yourself while you read this. I’m not going to leave this fic open-ended. I will finish it and I will make sure I handle the ending responsibly so that it was worth the dark places that we’ve visited while reading this story.
Right now, the reader is depressed. She’s caught between a rock and a hard place, but she will find her way out of it. She just needs a little more time.
Please make sure you aren’t absorbing her emotions and carrying them with you into your day-to-day life. Hold space for her, and then let it go. Don’t become her feelings. It’s easy to do that when you’re left on a low note without any resolution, but the resolution is coming. Hang in there.
I’m saying this as much to myself as I am to all of you lol.
Nobody tells you that 90% of being a fic writer is telling yourself sternly that you CANNOT start a new wip until you finish one of the old ones, and then failing to write anything at all as your brain sulks like a toddler.
Summary: As the assistant choreographer for BTS, you are often responsible for helping the guys rehearse. Professional and courteous as you try to act on the job, there is no denying that deep within you lies a sexual deviant, dying to come out. Everyone knows scandal would cost you your job, but sometimes the tension can become unbearable.
It’s too bad. But it’s too sweet.
Rating: Explicit
Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt 7.1 | Pt. 7.2 | Pt. 8 | Pt. 9 | Pt. 10 | Pt. 11.1 | Pt. 11.2
Jungkook x reader - poly! bts x reader in future chapters.
Summary: You are the assistant choreographer for BTS. You are responsible for teaching Jungkook the choreography for his new solo number. The tension becomes too much.
Pt. 1| Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7
Word count: 4.5k
“Okay, once again. 5, 6, 7, 8…” you said and watched Jungkook as he performed the combination you had just taught him.
“That part needs to be sharper!” you called out over the music. “Again!”
Jungkook let out a disgruntled sigh—one that was all too familiar to you. Having been brought on as the assistant choreographer a little over two years ago, you had gotten to know each of the members and their mannerisms fairly well. You could tell he was getting frustrated.
Jungkook, out of everyone, was the most hard on himself. He always wanted to be perfect, especially for a solo number like the one he was learning. He also didn’t handle constructive criticism well. But for all of that, he really did work hard, and he was a phenomenal dancer.
Mildly irritated, mostly with himself, he repeated the movements, that time flawlessly.
“Good, good,” you praised, and he flashed a handsome smile. “I think you pretty much have it down. Just keep practicing that one move to make sure it stays sharp. I think we can move on to the chorus.”
He stood behind you to watch as you demonstrated the next bit of choreography. His eyes widened slightly when you did the last move—a sensual body roll that ended in a hip thrust.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS.
That was before you and Jungkook hooked up.
Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.
Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself.
You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.
How will you handle the pressure?
Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage.
Author’s Note: Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys.
Masterlist is here
There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.
And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon):
________________________________________
The days blurred together.
Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.
Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.
Even then, it wasn’t always effective.
Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.
Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.
Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.
That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.
Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.
When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.
And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS.
That was before you and Jungkook hooked up.
Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.
Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself.
You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.
How will you handle the pressure?
Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage.
Author’s Note: Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys.
Masterlist is here
There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.
And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon):
________________________________________
The days blurred together.
Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.
Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.
Even then, it wasn’t always effective.
Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.
Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.
Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.
That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.
Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.
When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.
And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS.
That was before you and Jungkook hooked up.
Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and discover your own emotional needs.
Tensions have grown higher than ever and you can no longer ignore the ripple effect your actions have had on the group as a whole, not to mention yourself.
You’re between a rock and a hard place. On the one hand, Jungkook is everything you wanted. On the other hand, it’s the worst possible timing for the two of you to get involved, and it’s not just you who could be affected if word got out.
How will you handle the pressure?
Warnings: Angst, smut, self-medication with weed and (very brief mentions of) alcohol. We are going to be unpacking some trauma here, so find yourself a cozy place, put on your feelings playlist (use ***this*** if you don’t have one. It’s what I listened to while I wrote), and grab your favorite comfort beverage.
Author’s Note: Everything in this story is fictional. While I like trying to make it look as realistic as possible, this story lives entirely in my head. I talk a lot in it about industry toxicity, but I have no actual facts to base it on and as far as I know, the label has been really kind to our boys.
Masterlist is here
There may still be some grammatical errors I missed, but just ignore them.
And, with no future ado, Chapter 11.1 (part 2 coming soon):
________________________________________
The days blurred together.
Wake up. Rehearse. Make corrections. Sleep. Repeat.
Self-care was a balancing act. You had to take it where you could get it. Five extra minutes in the shower one morning. A salad here and there to counteract all the takeout. You relied heavily on coffee in the mornings to wake you up and weed in the evenings to help you sleep.
Even then, it wasn’t always effective.
Sleeping had become a new challenge. As exhausted as you were every day, by nightfall you’d be wide awake, tossing and turning for hours on end.
Your brain refused to shut off. Every night, it would replay each interaction you’d had with Jungkook, without fail.
Why? What was the point? The more distance and space you could get from him, the better.
That wasn’t the reality you lived in, though.
Instead, you had to see his face all day, every day. You had to interact with him during practices. You had to watch footage of his performances in the evenings to fine-tune the movements during practice.
When you came down to the hotel restaurant in the mornings for breakfast, there he would be, shoveling eggs and sausage into his mouth. When you had some free time and went to the fitness center for a workout, he’d be on the bench press, lifting more weight than anyone needs to be lifting.
And at night, whenever you closed your eyes to sleep, there he would be, eyes locked on yours, hands on your thighs, whispering his praises into your skin.
Jungkook X Reader (ish? With guest appearances from Jimin, Yoongi, and Taehyung. Also Jia. )
Summary: You were the assistant choreographer for BigHit, tasked with covering the lead choreographer’s position while on a world tour. Your contract is clear, under no circumstances are you allowed to engage in inappropriate sexual behavior with any member of BTS. That becomes a problem, however, when you and Jungkook end up hooking up one night. Now on a worldwide tour, isolated from your friends and family, you have no choice but to deal with the repercussions of the affair, as well as your growing feelings for Jungkook, all while trying to maintain your professional responsibilities and control your impulses. Yet temptation lurks around every corner.
How will you handle the pressure?
Contains: Smut, angst, and some woman-on-women experimentation.
!!!Trigger Warning!!!: Slight non-consensual (dubious consent) sexual activity ( I’ve added three bold asterisks *** before and after the scene for those who want to avoid this. It’s not violent, but more of a misunderstanding and careless/irresponsible mishandling of a situation. Still serious though.)
Masterlist is here
_____________________________________________
Things had gotten progressively worse over the next week. You had stayed in bed all day on Monday, but that hadn’t helped much. All it really did was cause you to feel sore from staying in the same position all day and bloated from eating a bunch of carbs without doing any activity.
On Tuesday, you somehow woke up more tired than ever. Slugging your way to the airport at 4:30 in the morning, it was a cramped two-hour plane ride from Chicago International to Newark Airport, a long wait for your luggage (the boys were having theirs delivered to their rooms), and a bumpy, crowded van to the hotel before you finally got to rest again.
This time, the guys were staying on the penthouse floor, while you and the rest of the crew were on the lower floors. While it made sense to you, it still pissed you off. As if you needed reminded of your lower status.
You shooed the thought away as soon as you caught it. At this point, any clean room with a bed would do.
You finally got to your hotel room around noon. It was decent enough. You started to unpack, and realized you’d completely forgotten to do laundry. Irritation erupted once again in the pit of your stomach.
“Ugh, fine!” you said defensively to the empty room. You don’t know why you got so angry. It was nobody’s fault but your own.
And you knew that. You really did. But you also needed to cut yourself a break. You were doing the best you could.
Sighing, you loaded up a mesh laundry bag with all your dirty clothes. You made a compromise with yourself. You didn’t have to do all your laundry. You would do one load and that was it. Then you could go back to your room and sleep the rest of the day. You just needed to make sure you had clean clothes for tomorrow, and then you could finish the rest another day once you felt better.
