back-burner | 12
what is free, will sometimes hurt
PAIRING. min yoongi x reader
GENRE. sister’s best friend!au, best friend to lovers!au, frenemies?to lovers! au, angst, *slow burn*, eventual smut, eventual fluff
WARNINGS. another Yoongi POV!, multiple confrontations, sexist views on marriage and a woman's worth, misogyny, emotionally unavailable parents, toxic parenting, alcohol as a coping mechanism again, misunderstandings, fluffy moments too, further heartbreak, ANGST (sorry loves)
WORDS. 8k
NOTES. yeah this chapter will play with ur emotions bc I was going on a rollercoaster ride while writing it 😩 im sorry babes but...slow-burn must prevail!
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Standing outside a place he’s practically engraved to memory should’ve been easy. The journey through the familiar moss-green trees and the uphill slope was one he’s taken more than enough times to count; years of experience took him down this same road—yet, it feels different. It definitely is.
“You didn’t have to come along.”
Yet, there’s still a semblance of familiarity with the foreign situation. A voice that’s tied to fond memories as he grew out of the lanky body that used to house a more immature version of him; the childish nature that was endearing years ago and unnecessary now. It’s a voice that’s comforting, but the situation wasn’t.
“I did,” Yoongi replies easily, hands stuffed into his pocket. The house is atop of a relatively large hill—your parents were rich, that enough was known. It’s only a given that their home reflected their ambitions in life; mountainous, daunting—almost unrealistic for the average person.
“I could’ve talked to my parents on my own,” Haerin huffs, staring ahead at the king-sized walls. “This is my battle.”
Yoongi looks over to her with a levelled gaze. Her hair is tucked in the collar of her coat, the tip of her nose slightly flushed due to the chilly weather. He’s known her since they were teenagers and much less put together than they were now; so he knows. He knows that the eyes that avoid him weren’t saying that it was her battle.
It was telling him that it wasn’t his.
“You know just because it didn’t work out doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, right?” Yoongi says with a raised brow.
Haerin sighs. “I know. But you know how my parents are and …” her eyes drift to her feet before she peers up to the same doors that separate the unknown and the present, “I rather save you the hassle.”
Yoongi mutely nods his head, not agreeing, just in understanding. Then, he takes in a deep breath and releases it timely as he offers Haerin a gentle smile.
“I’d have to face them eventually,” he points out and Haerin nods. “I rather them find out from me instead of anyone else.”
“Honestly, with how obvious you were, I’m pretty sure they know but chose to pretend that they didn’t,” Haerin snorts, earning a twitch of a smile from Yoongi’s lips.
Truthfully, he was thankful for Haerin. In more ways than one. There were people that entered your life that were there to teach you something, and Haerin was that person to him. It may have seemed obvious to others that he would’ve fallen in love with her; it was natural to romanticise the idea of falling in love with your best friend. He did love her, as far as he could love Jungkook—a young boy turned into a capable man.
There were people in your life that taught you that love was constant, and there were people in your life that taught you love was eternal.
You taught him that love was eternal.
“Still,” Yoongi smiles softly, “I need to do this.”
Haerin nods her head for a few beats before a gush of wind blows against both of them. She jogs on her feet, likely to ease her nerves as Yoongi’s hand reaches out to squeeze her shoulder. A silent declaration of support; an apology; a good luck sign; anything that she needed.
“Yeah,” she breathes, “We need to do this.”
Yoongi takes a deep breath before the door opens, almost as if your parents manifested out of nowhere based on the echoes of his and Haerin’s voices. Your mother is primed to perfect, as usual, with her slicked hair without a stray in sight—Chanel coat paired with matching heels. Yoongi thinks it’s excessive that she was dressed like this for a simple meet—but she was the wife to your father, and only perfection was expected of her.
Your father, despite being the breadwinner and commander of the house, is dressed far laxer than his wife. He’s in a polo cardigan, khaki sweats tying the typical look of a wealthy man as his glasses are perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.
Your mother smiles first, amicable.
“Haerin, sweetie,” she grins, then turns to Yoongi. “And Yoongi. It’s lovely of you to join us.”
“It’s important,” Haerin blurts, uncharacteristic and it’s obvious. Her father raises a brow before she purses her lips, shooting a brief glance towards Yoongi.
“I bet it is,” your mother smiles, then she steps aside before she gestures the both of them in. “Shall we?”
Your father is an intimidating man. In court; outside of court; commanding a room of superiors; when he frowns; simply, his existence is frankly quite overwhelmingly intimidating.
Yoongi’s never been on the receiving end of his intimidation, mostly because he was in good graces with Haerin, and that automatically translated into Yoongi being in your father’s good graces too. Your father had always considered Yoongi a son, treating him more than amicably and welcoming him into your home ever since he was in high school. Yoongi was one of the lucky ones, Haerin would say.
So, this is different. Very different. Because despite his clear aura of intimidation, his face shows no indication of it.
Your mother, however, is baffled.
“You broke up?!”
Yoongi purses his lips, but Haerin is already quick to intervene.
“It was never going to work out,” she says softly, fiddling with her thumbs. “We don’t—we don’t love each other like that.”
“How is that possible?” she shrieks, “You’ve spent every second as teenagers together! He takes care of you and you take care of him! He’s a doctor, Haerin. He’s safe. The two of you—!”
“You can’t force me to love someone I don’t,” Haerin seethes, earning an astonishing gape from your mother. Yoongi’s borderline surprised, too, because Haerin was never the type to speak out to your parents. She had always been the quiet, compliant daughter that did everything your parents asked of her.
“The both of you are successful young adults with a history,” your mother exasperates, “You’re not getting any younger, Haerin. How are you going to get married?”
“Why does that matter?” Haerin cries, “I don’t love him!”
“Do you think I loved your father at first?” The woman before him is absolutely livid, yet Yoongi’s not surprised. Her voice is venomous, the type of venom he’s only ever heard towards you. He’s never liked it; never appreciated the way her voice would curl when her eyes narrow at you. Now, she’s the monster she’s always been. “Do you think he loved me at first? He didn’t. I didn’t. But we had a duty to our families and we carried it out.”
“That’s such a backward way of thinking,” Haerin scoffs. Your father is still silent; lips pursed into a thin line. It’s not a coincidence that the men remain quiet. “I don’t owe you anything.”
“Don’t speak like your sister,” your mother snarls.
“My sister has a name,” Haerin growls back, “It’s ___. It’s goddamn ___ and you should say it because you gave her that name!”
“What has gotten into you?” your mother gasps, turning to Yoongi, finally acknowledging him with a rather pleading stare as if he had the power to placate the anger that boils within Haerin. “Yoongi. You must know, you must talk her out of this—right?”
“We don’t love each other,” he says, calm as ever.
“She’s getting older, Yoongi,” your mother says desperately, “You’re the only man in her life. Who’s going to marry her if it’s not you?”
Yoongi can see Haerin trembling next to him, her fists clenched and he feels for her. His heart hurts for her because the words spat by your mother are nothing short of abhorrent. It’s vile and horrendously insinuative how Haerin’s worth was tied to her eligibility as a bachelorette. He wants to yell, wants to tell your mother that she was wrong and disgusting for suggesting that.
“Someone who does love her,” Yoongi replies, “She doesn’t owe you anything. She owes herself her own happiness.”
“You can’t be serious,” your mother gawks, “Did ___ put you up to this?”
Yoongi clenches his fists under the table.
“Haerin and I are grown adults who are capable of settling our own problems internally. Haerin will always be my best friend, but I do not love her in that way and I cannot force myself to feel something that’s entirely foreign to me,” Yoongi says slowly, enunciating each word as your mother looks ultimately disgusted. Your father is still silent, eyes resting on Yoongi’s figure, unmoving.
“What does she need to do, Yoongi? Tell us so we can do something about it,” your mother begs.
Yoongi fills an acidic taste on his tongue. The fact that your mother was more cross at the fact that Haerin wasn’t enough for Yoongi than Yoongi saying that he didn’t love her unsettles Yoongi. The fact that her own daughter is sitting right in front of her, accomplished and herself—while she berates her in front of her best friend.
Yoongi takes a deep breath.
“Nothing,” he blinks, “Nothing because she shouldn’t change herself for someone to love her.”
“Say something!” Your mother turns to your father, hissing when he remains still. “God forbid your daughter actually—!”
“Shut up!” Haerin stands up, voice booming as her hands slam onto the table. Yoongi’s eyes widen when he turns around, ready to tug her down, but she’s driven by her inhibitions than rationale, and Yoongi knows he can’t stop her.
“How dare—?”
“I have listened to you my entire life,” Haerin whispers hoarsely, “From the very moment I was born I did everything you wanted me to do so you could feel proud of me. I did everything by the book; won awards in my name and doing the best I could in everything,” she exhales, then her eyes are menacing when they rest on your parents. “I have done nothing to wrong you, and this shouldn’t be the first.”
“Why can’t you see that we’re worried about you?” your mother begs, “We don’t want you to end up like your sister—!”
“____ is amazing,” Haerin hisses vehemently, “She’s accomplished, strong, beautiful and goddamn fucking capable. I’ve had enough of you berating her when she’s not here and making her feel like absolute shit when she is. If there’s anyone that I want to be like it’s her.”
“Haerin—!”
“I’ve kept my mouth shut long enough and I’m sick and tired of it,” she spits, inching closer as her body leans forward. Yoongi still can’t get a gauge of your father’s expression, and it’s scarily stoic. For a moment, he’s terrified to wonder that if he even cared. “You’re a horrible person. You mould people into the expectations you expect of them and not what they can truly offer the world. You’re sick, and you’re vile—!”
“Haerin.” Finally, your father speaks up, and the table reigns silent. Yoongi stills and Haerin pauses. “How long have you felt this way?”
Then, Haerin’s dam breaks and she sobs. Her body almost topples over at the force of her weeping; unsteady when her fingers dig into the antique wood of the dining table. Yoongi thinks to reach out, he shifts ever so slightly to do so but Haerin raises a hand to stop him—still shaky, but somehow, Yoongi feels like this is the most assured she’s been.
“Long enough,” she tells him, oddly steadily.
The answer is vague and it displeases your mother who scoffs. But Yoongi gets it. There isn’t a timeline for pain; there is no clear beginning or ending to how one feels the agony—but it’s very much there. No one calculates the intensity of their hurt but it’s present enough to loom over you like a shadow.
Haerin takes a deep breath, before opening her mouth to speak once more.
“I don’t need you,” she declares, and Yoongi’s eyes widen. “I don’t need your approval, and I don’t need you to tell me what to do. Despite how things turned out I’m still grateful for you for pushing me to do my best,” she confesses, soft as if she’s conflicted with her internal turmoil. “But I won’t have it anymore. I want to live my life the way I want to live it.”
“And your sister—” your father starts but Haerin’s quick to intervene.
“___,” she grits, “Her name is ___.”
Your father’s lip purses, and then he takes a tentative breath before nodding.
“____,” he says, rolling his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if he’s familiarising himself with how the syllables of your name feel. Yoongi almost scowls; because what father doesn’t care to say his daughter's name? Utter it to the world as he exclaims his love for her? But Yoongi keeps silent, because while irritation bubbles—it won’t serve his purpose. “Have you spoken to her?”
“Yes,” Haerin says confidently, her shoulders straighter while he avoids your mother’s stare. “She was the first person I went to after I decided.”
Your mother scoffs, but your father is blank and impeccably stone-faced as always.
“Haerin,” he says monotonously, “Your mother and I care for you. We push you to do things that are difficult because you are capable. It’s…nice that you and your sister are getting along but you must not let her influence you like this.”
Haerin’s jaw drops and so does Yoongi. The way your father speaks is nothing like a father to a daughter; more formal and business-like than ever before. It’s almost as if the way of law and the corporate world has infiltrated every fibre of his being and he was incapable of separating the two.
But what fuels Yoongi with absolute anger is the way he speaks about you.
“Stop! God fucking stop,” Haerin screams, tugging at her hair frustratedly, “For once in your life stop being a fucking businessman and start being a father!”
“Young lady,” your father says firmly, though not angry.
“I rather have you scream at me and get angry at me because that shows you actually care but you’re not! You’re stupidly calm and it fucking sucks because you’re everything but a father,” she says through her sobs, “When will you see that you have two daughters who aren’t just figments of your unfulfilled dreams? Huh? When will you see that we’re both so fucking different?”
“Your sister is…” your father continues, still calm, and Yoongi’s fingers are practically digging a dent into the chair with how much he’s restraining himself. “Hopeless. In business terms, that means we’ve let her be because we’ve given up.”
Yoongi freezes, impossibly still.
He hears Haerin’s breath hitch, but beyond that—his ears ring.
“____ is not hopeless,” Yoongi seethes, losing every bit of calm he’s come here with. Your father raises a brow, still in perfect order while Yoongi falls apart right in front of him. “____ is all the things you could never see in her because scums like you are one-dimensional, superficial; and horrible people.”
“Min Yoongi,” your father grits, teeth scraping like chalk on a whiteboard but Yoongi’s long-forgotten to care.
“Sometimes I wonder why some people become parents when they do anything but parent their child,” he chuckles darkly, jaw clenching. “I’ve had enough of the way you speak about ___. You are not going to belittle her in my presence or insinuate that she is hopeless. While you’re here, living your pathetic, conforming lives—____ was out there doing the one thing you think she can’t. Give people hope. She’s not working her ass off for you, for me, or for anyone but those people she’s trying to help and if you can’t see that then you’re the problem.”
Yoongi’s chest heaves in exertion as he stares down the two people he’s reckoned to see as other parental figures his entire life. The same people were nothing but kind to him but were terrible to the person he loved. Yoongi’s had enough.
“Be careful on what you say, boy,” your father hums, amused. And Yoongi needs to remind himself that your father was sick. Not physically but he was vile. Because no one, no one, would find the desperation in Yoongi’s voice amusing given the context of the situation.
“I don't care what you think of me, and I don’t care what you do,” he hisses, “You want to threaten me? Fine, I’ll get my family’s lawyers if that’s what you want to do but I won’t take back my words because I mean. Every. Single. Thing. I said.”
Then, he lowers his gaze to the two adults in front of him, prouder than ever to declare the next words that leave his mouth.
“Just because you don’t love her doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Your mother gasps, as if that was the most unbelievable that was said for the night and Yoongi doesn’t believe in hitting people but God is he angry.
“Yes, I love her,” Yoongi says, calm, “I’ve been in love with her and I’m telling you this because you should hear it from me and not anyone else. But from this point onwards,” he takes a deep breath before finalising his resolute stare. “I don’t want anything to do with the both of you. Thank you for treating me well all these years but I won’t tolerate the way you treat ___ or Haerin anymore. If either of them wishes to keep that relationship with you, I respect that but I don’t stand for anything that you do or say.”
Then, Yoongi picks up his phone from the table before pushing himself off his seat, feeling lighter but equally relieved when your parents’ stunned expression follow his movements.
“And despite everything…” Haerin says, soft after Yoongi’s own words. “I still love the both of you. But I’m done.”
Haerin follows Yoongi, grabs her belongings and turns away before he can say another word. Yoongi refuses to leave shallowly so he bids a final nod of respect to your parents before turning on his feet—and walking away from the toxicity that’s plagued them all.
Coming home almost feels like a chore on most days. It’s the same, bland routine that Yoongi follows when he walks up to his door and keys in his code before dragging his lethargic body through his living room, then to his bedroom before he carries out his nightly regimen.
Undress, shower, grab a drink, sleep. Always in sequence, never out of place. It was one of the things in his life that grounded him in his busy schedules, his jumbled mind.
After the day he had, he needed a sense of normalcy, of routine. The shrill shrieks of your mother’s voice still ring clear in his ears, and the way your father disapprovingly glared at him when he told them that he and Haerin were no longer together.
Yoongi knew how much they adored Haerin, at least to an extent that they portrayed her as this do-no-wrong angel that would never disappoint them. He knew how unfairly they treated you, and there were moments where he so desperately wanted to speak out, to tell them that they were godawful people for saying and doing the things they did do you.
But silence overtook him. Every time your smile dropped, he remembers. Every time you look away, he catches you. Every time you shrink into a shell, he sees it.
It almost felt cathartic, the way the venomous words left his lips.
So, as his feet trawl against the floor of the hallway to his apartment, he’s ready to lift his fingers to do their job at punching in the code to his home—but there’s a bump in his meticulously crafted schedule, one that he’s not expecting, but somehow welcomes.
“____?”
Your body is leaning against his door, forehead pressed against it when he spots you. Fortunately, you hear him, either his footsteps or his confused voice, but you do. Your head lifts, and Yoongi immediately frowns.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” you lie, and Yoongi knows you’re lying because there’s a dopey grin on your face when you blink up at him; clearly drunk.
“You’re lying,” he says blankly, slowly making his way towards you as his arm instinctively wraps around your waist to steady you. There’s a hazy look in your eyes and he knows you’re really drunk. The worry intensifies because what were you doing here? How did you get here? Did you walk?
The thoughts consume him, and before he can open his mouth to query you, words tumble out of your mouth in a slur.
“Don’t ah-cuse me,” you sass, loose-lipped when you open a singular eye to glare at him in a way that was not intimidating at all.
“____,” he sighs, quickly punching in the password onto his keypad while he simultaneously attempts to keep you upright then you decide to rest your entire body weight on him, slackened arms wrapping uncharacteristically tight for a drunk person around his body.
“Yessss,” you drag your words out, “Why do you look like that?”
“Like?” he sighs once more, finally kicking his door open with his feet while he lugs you upwards with his arms, your chest pressed against his when you wrap around him like a koala bear.
You were drunk. Not him. So he feels every bit of your frame mould itself against him and it feels nice, the way your warmth radiates into the seemingly cold depths of his heart. You were touchier than usual and Yoongi wasn’t complaining but he was confused. Especially when you dig your head into the crook of his neck as he attempts to direct both of your bodies into his living room.
“Like you hate me,” you mumble softly, and Yoongi already has a response on the tip of his tongue before your head snaps up, eyes narrowed into a sottish glare. “So why did Haerin say you loved me?”
Yoongi knocks his knee against the wall and curses when the words leave your lips. He feels his heart drop to the pit of his stomach when you continue to glare expectantly at him as if you hadn’t dropped the biggest bomb of revelation onto him within a span of two seconds.
“She—what?” Yoongi’s not pissed. Well, he couldn’t be when you pout at him the way you were. It’s disparate from your usual persona; disposed to your sharp tongue and eyes; unwilling to let yourself appear softer than you’d allow. Someone who was all bite, but Yoongi knew just wanted to be heard.
You were drunk, he reminds himself. You probably didn’t know what you were saying.
“Yeah, stupid,” you scoff as if he was the unreasonable one for being rightfully confused, in his apartment no less. “You—you do this to someone you love, huh? Look like you hate them? All angry and frowny and wrinkly?”
Yoongi knows your drunk. He can see it, he can practically smell the alcohol with how close you were to him, so he chooses to ignore your jibe at him to drag your stubborn body into his living room so he could regain control of the situation.
“Answer me!” you demand petulantly, huffing when Yoongi grabs a hold of your waist to settle you onto the couch while you squirm. “Dummy.”
Some things don’t change, he thinks dryly when you continue to call him names despite your inebriated state.
“Stay here,” he says before he quickly darts into his room to shrug off his coat and dump his belongings onto his bed.
He’s never moved as fast as he was moving right now in a long time. He’s driven by the knowledge that you were an unyielding drunk, ready to snark at him one second and clinging onto him the next. It wasn’t only that, but the fact that he needed answers that only you had.
Yoongi jogs into his bathroom, scrambling for some makeup wipes he remembers having because he anticipated moments like these happening. He never expected them to actually happen, but alas, his forethought served him beneficial when you looked like you had an early night out.
Then, he feels his stomach bubble in irritation because how did you get here if you were piss drunk? Did you take a cab in this state? Clearly too intoxicated to remain vigilant? Or, did someone drop you off—and if they did, how reckless were they in leaving you in this manner when you could’ve seriously gotten hurt?
His eyes meet his reflection in the mirror as he takes a breath, shaking his head to focus on the main matter at hand. After rummaging through some drawers, he finds the brand you like, memorising it one night because you had casually let it slip. Then, he quickly grabs the standby bottle of water on his bedside table before he’s returning to his living room.
In the short span of when he left you alone to now, you’ve managed to sprawl yourself on his couch as if you were planning to take up every inch of space possible with your form.
“____,” he calls, kneeling in front of the couch until he was eye level with your head. “Hey.”
His voice is soft. He knows not to get angry just yet. Even if he was, more so that he was worried, he needed you to cooperate and he couldn’t set you off.
“Wuh?” you mumble, rapidly blinking as you attempt to focus your eyes onto his figure. “Yoongi?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” he offers you a small smile, “Can you sit up for me?”
“No,” you snap indignantly.
Yoongi sighs, fully knowing that it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
“Please? Just this once,” he reasons, “Sit up for me, yeah?”
“Nooooooo,” you whine, “You’re annoying.”
“I’m not annoying,” he murmurs, opting to reach a hand out to brush your hair when your cheek digs into the plush material of his sofa as you glare at him. “Okay. I am. But I promise I won’t be if you sit up for me?”
“Liar,” you sniff.
“____,” Yoongi sighs, feeling like he’s just aged ten years when you refuse to cooperate with his attempts of getting you into bed.
“Yoongi,” you quip back cheekily.
“Don’t Yoongi me right now,” he snaps, attempting to jostle you up by the arm.
Apparently, you’ve decided to make his life ten times more difficult with your refusal to listen to him when you make a home out of his couch. That wasn’t the first thing you’ve done and certainly not the last; because apparently, you didn’t want to listen to him at all.
“Why are you so mean,” you say quietly, timidly, nothing like the fierce woman you’ve grown to become.
“Listen to me and I won’t have to be mean, okay?” he asks softly, still crouched down at your level when your eyes flutter shut. “And don’t you think you’re being mean by not listening to me?”
His eyes trace over your features and even now, he thinks you look stunning. You’ve always been beautiful. It’s an everlasting truth that won’t change no matter how stubborn you’re being. Yoongi would even argue that even when you were unbending you were gorgeous because you were you.
Even now, when your mascara is slightly smudged underneath your eyes and your lipstick is patched, you still carry yourself with a clumsy sense of confidence (and that was only because you were drunk). Your cheeks are blotched red, a pretty shade that Yoongi yearns to brush his thumb over; but you suddenly lean your cheek against his knee.
“But you only pay attention to me when I’m mean,” you pout.
Yoongi raises a brow.
“No, I don’t.”
“Yes you do,” you complain petulantly, huffing as your eyes peer up at him.
From this angle, the two of you are so close. Yoongi can trace each freckle on your face with his fingers if he reached out. His lips were inches away from your face, and he’s hyperaware of the way his breathing begins to become more controlled, less like a bodily function when you blink up at him; innocent and … dejected.
“I don’t know if you realise but you’re kind of always mean,” he says, not unkindly, a small smile on his lips when you gasp.
“M-Mean?” you clutch his calf in despair as if he’d just committed blasphemy. “I’m the nicest person everrrr.”
Yoongi knows you weren't the type that acted cutely; you were far too feisty for that and he's grown to appreciate it. But it was moments like these, where the slightest things you would do would have his heart-clenching, a fond smile slowly making its way onto his face when he observes you silently.
“I don’t doubt that sweetheart,” he hums, softly rubbing circles on your shoulder as you sigh into his touch. The term of endearment slips out against his conscience but you don’t seem to point it out. Thankfully. “You know what’d make you nicer?”
Your eyes immediately snap up, wide and curious as you await his next words. Yoongi tries his best not to let it show that his heart was melting. Thank God that couldn’t literally happen.
“If you sit up for me,” he says.
You frown, unsatisfied with his answer as you shake your head.
Yoongi sighs, disappointed but not the least bit surprised.
“That’s no fun,” you mumble.
“Then you want to stay mean?”
“Mean?” you gasp, “I’m not mean!”
“Hm, you are,” he teases, watching the way your ears turn bright red. “Mean girl.”
It’s the only way he knows how to placate you right now. It’s almost amusing when you look genuinely aghast that he’d suggest you were anything but an apparent angel. He knows not to provoke you, and he finds that he … likes this. Likes the way that you’re soft, almost carefree in the way you were talking to him when sober you would never allow yourself to be the way you were.
“Yooooongi,” you whine, and Yoongi’s never found whining attractive—but there was something about the way that your words slur together, and your soft breath, that made him think that it wasn’t too bad.
“Come,” he encourages gently, pushing himself to stand up as he wraps a tender hand around your bicep. “Drink this and I’ll help you remove your makeup then we can talk, how about that?”
Somehow, that does the trick. You quickly snatch the bottle from him and clumsily uncap it before gulping down gallons of water. Then, you’re immediately on your feet with a beam on your face as you follow him towards his bedroom, then the bathroom, a skip in your step. He almost laughs, even if he feels exhausted. He trails closely behind, grabbing the makeup wipes he’s grabbed from his room on the way to his bathroom.
When he enters, you’re already perched on his sink, legs together with your hands clasped on your lap. You look stupidly polite and Yoongi can’t fight the fond smile that appears on his face.
“Remove my makeup,” you demand, levelling him with a glare that he thinks that you think looks intimidating. It only makes Yoongi hide a laugh.
“Yes, your majesty,” he rolls his eyes, already pulling one out.
Yoongi goes to stand in front of you, your legs parting on instinct to allow him in between the space so he was able to access your face. It’d scarily domestic, the way that Yoongi carefully brushes your hair out of your face and gently swipes the makeup wipe across your skin to remove the makeup adorning your features.
His eyes stay trained on the wipe, practically forcing himself to look anywhere but your eyes that intently follow his every move.
“You have really nice skin,” you blurt.
“So do you,” Yoongi returns, throwing the first makeup wipe away before he’s reaching for another.
He nearly chuckles when he realises that you look even more like a racoon. Somehow, you still look beautiful.
“Nooooo,” you insist, suddenly leaning forward as Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Your skin is so soft. What’s your skincare routine?”
Your hands are squeezing his cheeks, forcing his face to look at you as you inspect his skin like it was your duty. It was comical, really. How loose-lipped and carefree you were. The fire in you was definitely still there, just a little lighter and with a lot more sparks that crackled.
“Drugstore cleanser and moisturiser,” he replies.
You gasp, brows scrunched as you huff, squeezing his cheeks one more time. His lips are stuck in a pout, and his words are muffled but you seem to understand them anyway.
“No fair,” you sniff, “I spend a shit ton on money on skincare just so I can look pretty.”
Yoongi tilts his head to the side when your grip loosens ever so slightly. And before he knows it, the words come tumbling out of his mouth as if he was the drunk one.
“You’re pretty regardless.”
For someone that Yoongi knows is comfortable and proud in her own skin, you flush at his blatant compliment. Even if Yoongi’s intention wasn’t to fluster you, he did exactly that and he can’t lie—but he enjoys your reaction far more than he’d expected.
“Don’t just—don’t say that,” you mumble shyly.
He smirks.
“Flustered?” he teases, quickly taking your moment of vulnerability to swipe the makeup wipe across your face once more.
“N-No!” you deny petulantly, pouting at him as he uses his other hand to hold your face still.
His palm easily covers your cheeks, thumb softly pressing an indent on your skin as he focuses on removing the makeup around your eyes. He didn’t want you getting an eye infection because of his carelessness.
Silence overtakes Yoongi and you, but it’s comfortable. There was no pressure to speak or to fill the void. Your legs swing by Yoongi’s hips as you hum a random tune, eyes filtering everywhere as Yoongi finishes removing all your makeup.
Yoongi doesn’t quite know how to navigate the conversation even if he was hyperaware of your previous curiousities.
“You’re thinking so loudly,” you frown, arms suddenly wrapped around his neck when he mechanically finishes removing your wakeup and throws the last bit of makeup wipes into the bin.
“You a mind-reader?” he snorts, and he notes that you’re pleased when he doesn’t pull your arms away.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
“How did you get here?”
You purse your lips.
“Jungkook.”
“You guys went out for drinks?” he asks with a raised brow.
You nod your head, then his jaw tightens.
“And he dropped you off here? Drunk?”
“Jungkook didn’t drink,” you mumble, “He just—I asked him to drop me off here.”
“And he let you up here in this state?” He’s growing more agitated by the second, wondering how the hell Jungkook thought it was a good idea even with your insistence to leave you here, alone, wasted.
“He said he told you,” you say quietly.
Briefly, his eyes quickly make their way onto the screen of his phone after he fishes it out from his pocket.
From: Jeon Jungkook
___ is drunk
i dropped her off at your place
and before you get mad at me, I think u need to talk to her, hyung. none of this back and forth bs. She deserves the truth
Then, a message that came a little later, split from the rest.
u know why she’s drunk. all i could do was try to support her.
Yoongi sighs, shaking his head before he taps you twice on your thigh, gesturing for you to get down from the sink.
“You should drink some more water,” he says instead.
You don’t budge, and Yoongi isn’t the least bit surprised. He’s dealt with more difficult moments with you.
“Yoongi.”
The fact that you call him by his name makes him freeze, especially when you level him with a far more serious stare—and your sobered face resting on his.
“Why does it sound like you’re about to interrogate me?” he attempts to joke.
“Why did Haerin tell me you loved me?”
Your question nearly causes him to choke on his saliva. He can’t run, or turn around, or deflect because your grip around his neck is tough. As if you’d expected him to flee the moment you caught him in a vulnerable spot.
“You should drink some water and change,” he avoids your question entirely, “Are you still drunk?”
You nibble on your lip, “Does that matter?”
“Yes, because I want to have this conversation with you knowing that you’ll remember what I say,” he says softly, holding your chin in-between his fingers when you frown.
“So you didn’t have this conversation with me when I was sober around you all those other times?” you snap.
“____…” he says hesitantly, hands inching to wrap around your waist but he remains rooted in positive like a stick in the mud.
“Why—why did Haerin say you love me?” you say straightforwardly, and somehow—it isn’t the admission that stuns Yoongi, but it’s the way your eyes avoid his as if you were unsure. “I just … am I not—why don’t you …”
Yoongi’s face softens when you stumble over your words, clearly nervous.
He’s never seen you like this before. He’s seen you angry, annoyed, happy and cheeky. Not unsure. Not ever when you looked like you were doubting yourself because of him.
Somehow, the fact that he knows it’s because of him—makes him feel like shit.
“Hey,” Yoongi calls softly earning your hesitant gaze, “It’s just me.”
You nod your head as if you were reminding yourself that it was in fact—just Yoongi. Not a stranger, but Yoongi. The same Yoongi that you’re holding, and taught you how to drive.
“Why did you choose Haerin?”
Yoongi blinks.
You’re serious, he realises. Your face is tight but it’s trained on his, gauging his reaction. Yoongi’s still blank-faced, even though he’s attempting to gear his brain for a response. An honest one because you deserved nothing less than that, and more than what Yoongi could offer.
“It was safer,” he says truthfully. There wasn’t a hint of a lie in his eyes, or in his words. You seem to realise this, too. “And Haerin was…she came to me with the idea and—it seemed safe.”
He knows it’s a shitty explanation and so do you. You continue to frown at him, eyebrows furrowed when you attempt to absorb his words. He’s half expecting you to come to your senses and realise how pathetic his reasoning was; push him away and leave. But you don’t. Instead, you take a deep breath.
“Why…” you trail off, fingers absent-mindedly trailing up and down on the nape of his neck. He shivers. “Why don’t you want me?”
“You know it’s more complicated than just wanting you, ____,” he says softly.
“So I wasn’t enough for you?” you accuse, jaw slackened when your grip suddenly loosens, realisation marring your features.
“____,” he soughs, “I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re drunk.”
“I’m drunk but I know what I’m saying! Stop treating me like I don’t know what the hell I’m saying!” you hiss.
“Trust me, I know you know what you’re saying but it’s late and this isn’t something I want to talk about in my bathroom,” he says, “Please.”
Before you can pull away, Yoongi’s hand wraps around your wrist to keep your hold there.
“I promise you. We’ll talk about this when you’re fully sober and not drunk,” he reasons once again, slightly more desperate when you scowl. “There are things that I want to tell you that deserve a better setting than this.”
Knowing that you were aware of his feelings didn’t … scare him. What scared him was that you thought he didn’t want you. But at the same time, he couldn’t blame you for feeling that way. Not when all he did never implied otherwise.
What scared him was how things could change.
“How about you tell me why you’re drunk?” He attempts once more, gently, tender; kind. Yoongi wanted you to know that he wasn’t here to fight. “I don’t like seeing you like this, ____.”
“Cause I’m so fucking confused, Yoongi,” you mumble, forehead dropping to his shoulder as he almost flinches at the sudden contact. “You say you don’t like me doing this and that but haven’t you—haven’t you considered that it’s because of you? Huh? Or is it just me? Because I’m so—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he says firmly as you glower. “I don’t like seeing you like this because you could get yourself into danger. What if I hadn’t come home on time? I know I haven’t been the best friend I should have been but I don’t want you doing this to yourself because of me.”
“You don’t control me,” you sneer through a mumble, “Y-You don’t, Min Yoongi. You just—you’re so confusing and it sucks and it hurts and I want answers but you’re not giving them to me because you’re mean. You’re mean and dumb and stupid,” you cry, shoulders shaking as he waveringly rests a hand on your back in an attempt to soothe you.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises, but he knows it’s no use when you sigh.
“Are you,” you say dryly, head still tucked into his neck. He notes you were allowing yourself to remain close, but for some reason, it still unsettles Yoongi. As if you were preparing to pull away anytime soon. “You…why would you do this to someone you love?”
It’s when your voice breaks that his entire heart shatters. He hears it loud and clear. Almost as if you grabbed it with your own hand and crushed it into smithereens. When he feels the dampness on his shoulder, he’s pulling you away in alarm to get a glimpse of your face.
“Please don’t cry,” he whispers, thumb already wiping your tears away.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” you sneer through a sniff, blinking away your tears as you attempt to duck your head away from him. “D-Do you think I want to? Huh? You do all these things for me and then—then you choose everyone but me and…and I-I just wanna know why I wasn’t good enough—”
“Don’t say that,” he interrupts you with a frown, cupping your face in his hands.
“Why? Because it’s true?” you seethe vehemently.
“No,” he snaps, “It’s not. That couldn’t be more false. I told you, I don’t want to have this conversation when you’re clearly not sober. You can sleep here for the night and we can talk tomorrow morning.”
Somehow, that doesn’t do anything to appease you or to stop you from crying. He hates that you are because of him. He hates that the devastation is clear on your face when your expression crumbles.
You push him away with enough force that his hands drop from your cheeks.
“Why do you always push me away? Why do you always keep me at arm's length? Why do you say and do all of these things but not choose me when I was always here! Why? Why?” you cry, slamming your hands into his chest as he takes the brute force of your hits.
Yoongi purses his lips as he hears your cries grow louder. He doesn’t know what to say; at least not something that could explain why he did what he did in a way that was enough for now.
“Please, ____, we’ll talk tomorrow,” he whispers once more, attempting to reach out to you again.
When you dodge his hand, he feels an arrow pierce through his heart.
“You don’t love me,” you whisper quietly, eyes dropping to your lap from where you’re sat on the counter of his bathroom. “How could you?”
Yoongi flinches, then he takes a long hard blink with his eyes trained on your figure. He’s almost appalled at how sure you sounded. As if this was your truth; the one that you’ve deluded yourself into believing when Yoongi’s only ever known to love you with every fibre of his being, albeit in silence.
“Don’t you dare say that,” he says so levelly that it even scares him. “You don’t know—"
“That’s right! I don’t! I don’t know anything because you never tell me anything and the one time I’m asking you a question you’re trying to deflect by telling me that we’ll talk tomorrow. But you had time, Yoongi. You had years and months and days and hours and you didn’t say anything! How—how can I know if you never tell me anything or do anything to indicate that you love me? You don’t love me! You don’t you don’t you—”
Yoongi tried his best to remain collected, receiving your shouts with a brave face—but he couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to you telling him that he didn’t love you when his heart says otherwise; the way that it grows larger in size whenever you were around; the way he finds himself thinking about you at random intervals in the way; the way that you’ve woven yourself into every aspect of his life without him even realising.
He was a patient man, but he had his limits too.
So maybe that’s why he loses it, just for a second. Maybe that’s why he does the one thing he tried his best to avoid, for now, at a time that he knows isn’t right.
Your voice is cut off when his lips slam against yours. It’s desperate. He hears a gasp and it could be either of you. He cups your cheeks in his hands before pressing closer, forcing himself to paint the truth onto each crease of your lips so you’d know. To tell you things in the words that he never said.
You taste like alcohol, but beyond that, you smell like home. Comforting. Present. You. A type of softness he’s only ever had from afar, comfortable enough to be next to you without being with you.
Then, you pull away.
You’re gaping, and Yoongi feels his heart drop.
“Fuck you, Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to hop off the counter as he stops you again.
“Fuck,” he curses, eyes fluttering shut, “I—I didn’t mean to kiss—”
“You didn’t mean to? Did you not mean to choose Haerin either? Did you not mean to hurt me? Did you not mean to love me?” you snap.
“That’s not what I meant at all,” he frowns, “I said we’ll talk tomorrow. I didn’t mean to kiss you now. Not when you’re drunk. Fuck. I didn’t want this to happen like this.”
“Then make it clear! Make me understand!”
“Stop being stubborn and listen to me,” he snaps, finger reaching under your chin so you’d be forced to glare at him straight on.
“Fuck you,” you say hoarsely.
“Curse at me all you want but I won’t talk about this until I know you’re sober and the both of us aren’t exhausted,” he whispers, “This isn’t something I take lightly, ____. I want you to get that.”
“Let me go,” you hiss.
“No,” he blinks. “You can be pissed at me all you want but I’m not letting you out of my sight tonight. You’re drunk. Be pissed at me in my home for all I care but I’m not letting you go. Never.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you spit, and he sighs. His head is light, and he can still feel the slope of your lips on his own. But that wasn’t the point. There was a time and place for everything, and now he needed to ground the both of you.
“I am,” he admits, “But please. Sleep here tonight. I won’t bother you anymore.”
You blink at him multiple times before you’re shoving him aside. This time, he lets you. You’re still wobbly on your feet, and his hands naturally dart out to balance you but you shift away from him.
“Don’t bother me ever again.”
The implication stings and Yoongi can only stare at your back when you reach the door.
Now that hurt.
“You don’t hurt the person you love, Yoongi.”
When you walk away, you leave Yoongi breathless with the potency of your words.
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nsfw a-z JAEHYUK (treasure)
A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
he forgets he even exists until you’re back to your usual, smiley, cheerful self. he becomes your slave and he is prepared to do anything for you, from cleaning you up to leaving you alone (which he never wants to do but if you want to be left alone who is he to refuse). he gets a little worried when you appear down or anxious after having sex with him the first few times but you reassure him that it’s pretty normal and that he just needs to be there for you when you need him.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
he likes his hands. he likes the way they look against your skin when he’s holding your waist and how he can get the perfect grip around your neck. his fingers are long too which makes it very easy for him to reach places 👀🤭
on you he likes your lips. he likes his own lips, sure, lips in general are really nice, yeah, but your lips are something else. feeling them against his own, how soft and gentle they are, he never wants them to leave his. the way you bite down on them when he’s giving you some amazing head too… that how he knows he’s doing something right.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
he’s a cumming inside kind of guy but obviously that’s not always possible so the next best thing is a hot facial. he likes when he’s finished all over your face and then you clean it all off the tip of his dick with your mouth too.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
he keeps a pair of your panties under his pillow for when he’s horny at night without you. you know about it, but no one else does.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
1 sexual partner. i wouldn’t term him a sex god, but he has a general idea of how to make you feel good, he may need a little direction to go off of the first few times.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
as much as he loves seeing your pretty face, hitting it from the back is his favourite position. he has total control of the situation when you’re on all fours without it seeming overpowering or oppressive. you can also get the deepest strokes from him while in this position. sometimes he gets a little shy about his facial expressions but this way he doesn’t have to be.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
you’re both still young and sex is supposed to be fun and so he makes light out of every situation to make it seem less intense. he likes tickling you and making you giggle, he likes just talking about random things even though it’s not the time or place, just to make you both feel more comfortable.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
he will keep it nice and trimmed for the most part but obviously sometimes sex can happen at unpredictable times. in those instances, it’s usually grown out, but he’s not ashamed or insecure about it.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
romance is the only thing on his mind. this guy loves whispering things into your ear, or just telling you how good you’re doing, because he wants you to feel loved and appreciated for all that you’re doing. something romantic that he does that ALWAYS catches you off guard is caressing your cheek with the back of his hand/fingers and then gently pinching your chin with his thumb and index finger to make you look at him and kiss him.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
it actually takes him a while to cum when he’s on his own, and he usually asks for your help before going anywhere else. i see him as someone who likes to feel himself when he’s doing it, like he’ll use oil and drip it all over his naked body while sitting on his gaming chair.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
sensory deprivation (giving and receiving)- it’s rare that you two don’t have vanilla sex, but blindfolds are something that you incorporate into almost every scene. he loves putting them onto you or wearing them to show a trusting relationship between the two of you. although some intimacy may feel lost because you can’t look into each other’s eyes, it means that every little action feels electric, and that is wayyy better for you two in the moment. you know each other's likes and dislikes and use those to THEIR advantage for sure.
breeding- okay i already said he likes cumming inside so there’s that. but it’s also because he’s so possessive. and he wants to hear you beg for his hot cum inside you too. or for you to ride him and not stop until he releases inside you.
praise (giving and receiving)- as i mentioned above he loves to tell you how good you’re making him feel, how well you’re taking him, how pretty you look. he wants you to feel good in the moment because he feels that way too. he also loves when you tell him how good he’s making you feel.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
so it has to be private first of all, i don’t see him getting freaky anywhere that you two can get caught. i’m guessing his ultimate favourite place is just in bed, but he’s not opposed to some action in the kitchen on the counter when he knows no one will hear or interrupt, or even on the sofa when he doesn’t think you two can make it to the bedroom.
he’s also keen to try out a little something special, maybe in the bath. where you two start having an innocent yet romantic bath, that slowly turns into something more. but he spends too long trying to figure out how it would work and decides it is too much hassle than it’s worth.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
as boring as this sounds… the thing that turns him on the most is kissing you. he pulls away from intense kisses with the biggest, hopeful smile on his face. your lips really have that effect on him.
he likes when you dirty talk and when you attempt to take the lead from the get go. the phrase that gets him the most turned on is “i want you in my mouth”. your enthusiasm is SUCH A HUGE TURN ON.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
no hook ups, casual sex or one night stands. he has to be in a relationship with you and you guys have probably been dating for a while before anything happens anyway.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
prefers to receive but is extremely good at eating you out. he’s not shy and will go straight for it after using his fingers just to get you a little wet to begin with. he likes to smile while he’s down there, he knows that you know when he’s doing that and that you like it so of course he’s going to.
when it comes to receiving he enjoys enough to make him want to repay you almost immediately. he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, whether they should be on your head or his, but he can’t control them anyway because he’s so into your sucking his dick.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
more on the fast and rough end of the scale. he can’t bear being slow, that’s just teasing himself really. but usually after he’s cum, he does a few extremely slow strokes, just to make sure his cum is in and that it’s all in there.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
not a fan. at all. doesn’t want to get caught, doesn’t want one person to feel left out of the pleasure bc that’s usually what happens, doesn’t want to rush anything. if he’s feeling horny at an inconvenient time of the day, or if you are, you usually just agree to wait.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
not really. he’s almost always vanilla, with a slight teeny tiny bit of light bdsm thrown in (d/s, handcuffs, blindfolds (occasionally)) and so he doesn’t really like venturing out of his comfort zone. if you share the same wants as him, that’s perfect. if you wanna be a little more adventurous, it’s going to take a lot of convincing and he has to trust you.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
2 rounds maximum. most of the time only 1 because he’s tired and just wants cuddles after releasing a load lol. can go for 2 but it’s very rare and would take a lot of you turning him on to get him to do it twice.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
no toys when he’s around. he does not like the idea of being replaced by a toy, anything that a toy can do, he can do too, that’s his thoughts on the matter. he doesn’t want to use them on himself either, isn’t even willing to try because he’s told himself that he won’t like it.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
he slowly reveals to you that he’s a big ol tease. and you’re not getting away with anything just because you want to, he might have let you before, but not now. he likes to be teased too, but just so you know, you’re getting punished for doing it.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
okay this boy is LOUD. at first, he tries to be real quiet, then once a small whisper espcapes he’s just like fuck it and it slowly starts building up to a very… audible session.
he’s definitely one to talk during sex, not even just dirty talk, he will literally talk about anything lmao. but he always announces before he finishes, he repeats “i’m cumming” or “i’m going to cum” multiple times before actually doing so. you actually start finding it kind of cute and endearing.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
did i mention he’s a big fan of kissing lol. he embraces any and all types of kisses and it’s very gentle and delicate. sometimes (when you’re really taking him there) they become super hungry and he somehow manages to back you into the nearest thing, whether that’s the wall or the bed etc. that’s the first real sign that he’s horny.
honestly, i don’t think he’s that shy about talking about your sex lives with anyone. like he’ll offer advice and share his experiences with anyone willing to listen if you say he can, just because he empathises with those who might be nervous or on edge to try something.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
he’s blessed what can i say? he’s longer than average and thicker than average AND knows how to use it (eventually). every inch of him is perfect and “down there” is no different. of course he’s vvv proud of his dick size and doesn’t hesitate to bring it up, but he actually kind of feels sorry for you having to take it all.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
when you first get into a relationship, although it’s quite high, he can control it so much so that it appears to you that it’s low. but soon you learn that he wants pussy every other day.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
if you let him, he’d be asleep straight away lmao, but only if he could have his arms around you of course. but if you wanna stay up for a bit, he’s down. he hates morning sex because he’s too tired to go a whole day afterwards loool.
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