#reader x myg

[mrworldwideshoulders]

all the wrong places || reader x myg

After getting separated from your friends during a night out, you get stuck with a hefty bill – one that you can’t pay. So when a handsome, emotionless stranger covers your tab in a random act of kindness, you’re determined to track him down and pay him back. inspired by 24K Magic by Bruno Mars.

‣ Pairing: reader x yoongi (dual pov; feat. JK and Jimin) ‣ WC: 6.1k ‣ Genre: slight angst, fluff, strangers to lovers ‣ Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader and jimin joke about her being an alcoholic 🤪 (psa fr tho, please drink responsibly), credit card debt, yoongi (gently) manhandles the reader, bouncer!jungkook and his tattoos, jeon jungkook being freaking annoying, unrealistic scenarios that could only happen in a fic (is it fate, or is it just fanfiction?), reader in her dumb bitch era (said lovingly) ‣ a/n: same yoongi from my fics bang bang and give me novacaine; different y/n tho. i’d def recommend checking those two out first (though for this one i don’t think you really have to unless you’d like more backstory). i like this fic a lot and i think it’s cute so i hope you enjoy it too! as always, bannered and beta’d by the amazing april aka @onmypillow-onmytable​, plus credit for the general idea of this story! 😘 thx! ly – robyn ‣ P.S. I do not own BTS, their likenesses, or the music of Bruno Mars, they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

This might actually be the worst night of your life. Or at the very least, one of the most embarrassing ones. 

Your friends, who were supposed to be splitting the bar tab with you, have all but evaporated into thin air, and you’re so far gone you can’t even remember when you saw them last. And it’s starting to dawn on you, as your credit card declines for the third time, that you may have overdone it – in more ways than one. Declining once, that’s normal. Two times, that’s just bad luck. Three times declined, however, that’s just embarrassing. If there were ever a time you wished you were more proactive about budgeting and keeping your credit card paid off, it would be now. It’s not the end of the world, of course. You just won’t get your credit card back tonight, and you’ll have to come all the way back over here to retrieve it at some point – after you go home and recover enough of your senses to pay off some of the balance on your card. But going without your credit card for any length of time makes you anxious for some reason, and having to come back over here just for that doesn’t particularly fit into your already busy schedule. 

“Are you sure you don’t have another card?” The bartender that’s trying to close out your tab looks at you pointedly as you’re rummaging through your bag. You can feel the weight of his judgmental gaze all over you.

“No, but, listen,” you ramble, face hot with a mixture of shame and too much alcohol. “I wasn’t supposed to be the one paying for everything. My friends, they stuck me with the bill, and I really need—”

“Sounds like you don’t have very good friends.” He stares you down unsympathetically. “Either cough up or get out.”

“Can’t you just…give me my card back?” you manage helplessly. You feel tears of frustration starting to form behind your eyes. “I’ll come back and pay you tomorrow. I’m good for it. Really. I just have to—” Rearrange my entire bank account, pay off my credit card, reevaluate my whole life, and promise to stick to a budget from here on out, no matter how much Jimin and Nayeon want to go out drinking. Yeah. That’ll last about a week.  

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” grumbles a low, irritated voice from behind you. You turn to find a man dressed completely in black, with dark eyes and an expressionless face shrouded under a heavy curtain of black hair. He hands the bartender a sleek black card. “Here. Will you leave her alone now? Go back to pretending to do your job or something.” Your eyes widen. Who is this guy? And what is he doing? 

The bartender eyes you sullenly and hands you back your card. You turn to the man to thank him, but he’s already walking away, being swallowed up by the crowd. “Hey!” you call. “Wait up!” You push clumsily after him, jostling people left and right as you try to catch up with him. He’s at the front door before you’re finally able to tap him on the shoulder. 

“Now what?” he snaps.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you say breathlessly, taken aback by his brusque reply. “For what you did back there. I can’t even tell you how much I appreciate it. I was about to cry because of that guy, and then you just appeared out of nowhere to save the day. You must be my guardian angel or something.” 

He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Trust me, I’m no angel.”

Your cheeks seem to flush all over again and you almost forget the other reason you chased after him in the first place. “Oh! Money! I can repay you.”

His face doesn’t change. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.” 

“But…it’s money.” Your face falls in disbelief. “Of course it’s a big deal. And I don’t like owing people anything. Especially money.” 

“Well, I’m not big on people feeling like they owe me anything either.” He shrugs. “So consider it forgotten. And stop following me.” He pushes through the front doors and out onto the street. 

You start after him again, but you stumble on your way out the door, falling almost directly into the bouncer’s well-muscled arms, one of which is adorned in a full sleeve of tattoos that recedes under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. “Careful,” he says, steadying you on your feet. 

“Um – thank you,” you manage. “That guy I was following. Did you see where he went?”

“Down there.” He points you toward the taxi stand. “He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No, it’s just – I need to talk to him, but he keeps running away from me.” You march wobbily toward the man from before. “Hey! You!”

He sighs resignedly and turns around. “Do you make a habit of following random men out of nightclubs?”

“Only when they do me favors and won’t let me pay them back.” You plant yourself in front of him, arms crossed. 

“Look, I told you not to worry about it.” He scowls. “Do you really want to do something for me? Go home, pay your credit card bill, and forget you ever met me. You’ll only hurt yourself if you don’t.” 

“Suppose I don’t want to.” You gaze defiantly into his eyes. “Is that a threat?” 

“No. It’s a warning. I’d listen if I were you.” A taxi pulls up, and he grabs you by the arm, firmly, but loose enough that you could break away if you needed to, and pushes you inside. “Go home.” The door slams, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk. 

“Well?” says the driver impatiently. “Where to?”

You stammer out your address, still too stunned to think about anything else. Who was that guy? And what was that about a warning? He doesn’t seem like a bad person – why else would he have paid a stranger’s bar tab? 

Forget you ever met me. You’ll get hurt if you don’t. 

Why did he say that? You don’t know why, and you’re still far too drunk to figure it out tonight, but one thing is for certain. 

You’re going to track him down. And you’re going to pay him back.

Jungkook whistles as Yoongi heads back toward him. “That was a close one.” 

“Too close,” mutters Yoongi. “She could have blown the whole thing.” 

“What did you do, anyway? Weren’t you supposed to be blending in?” 

Yoongi shrugs. “The bartender was harassing her about her tab and her card wouldn’t go through, so I paid it for her. She wanted to repay me.” He thinks back to the look on your face, like you were about to burst into tears at any moment. A strange, unfamiliar surge of protectiveness in his chest, one that he hadn’t felt since he’d recruited Jungkook all those years ago. ”I told her she didn’t have to, but.”

“Aww.” Jungkook slaps Yoongi good-naturedly on the shoulder. “See, hyung? You’re a good guy after all.” 

“Hah,” he scoffs under his breath. “No. I’ve just gotten soft, that’s all. I’ll probably regret it in a day or two. No good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

“You say ‘soft’ like it’s a bad thing.” 

“Maybe not, maybe so.” Yoongi sighs, running a hand through his hair. “We should get back to work. We’ll stick around here until closing, then debrief in the morning.” 

“All right.” Jungkook nods, resuming his post near the front doors, despite the sidewalk in front of the club now empty at one o’clock, an hour before closing. “I’ll be here.” 

Yoongi heads back inside, his head still filled with thoughts of you, that defiant expression on your face when you’d asked him what would happen if you refused to forget him. Anyone else would have just accepted this good deed and carried on as if nothing had even happened, or worse, they would have screamed at him, told him he was overstepping and a creep, to fuck off and leave them alone. Why hadn’t you screamed at him? He’d even grabbed you, a stranger – and a woman – by the arm to push you into the cab. Yoongi knew for sure he’d overstepped there. You just didn’t do that when you were a man, not in this day and age – especially not when you were a man with a past like his. Even someone as supposedly stupid as he was knew that much. Why, he wondered, were you so intent on repaying him? Had no one ever done anything nice for you before? Purely for the hell of it, never expecting anything in return? The two of you must have something in common, then. No one had ever done anything like this for him – with the exception of Hoseok – but that was different. Hoseok was his friend, for one thing, and didn't understand the concept of taking no for an answer. At least Yoongi knew to just say thank you and get on with his life, instead of trying to push it. A chuckle rises in the back of his throat before he can stop it, and he swallows it down almost as quickly as it came, shoving aside the thoughts of you along with it. 

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he forges back into the depths of the club. There was something about you, something that made you want to insist upon repaying a random man that had just done you a favor, something innocent, idealistic, even, that made him want to protect you. Something that made him want to know you, even if it was only as friends, to explore your thoughts, to live inside your head for just a day, to find out just what, exactly, was going on in there. But he would never allow himself to get close enough to discover what that was – or risk you doing the same. Someone like him and someone like you – that could be dangerous. 

Especially someone like you. 

As it’s beginning to turn out, tracking down your angel in black – that’s what you’ve been calling him – is far easier said than done. Somehow you’d stumbled up to your apartment after the cab dropped you off, and from there you’d somehow managed to let yourself inside and fall face-first into your bed, where you’d slept soundly until late the next morning, awakening with a pounding head and a foggy recollection of the man from last night, convinced the whole thing had to have been a dream and that your credit card, at this very moment, was probably stashed behind the counter of that bar. Or so you thought, because it’s definitely there when you go to check your wallet. That man, the angel in black – he was definitely real – and that means his warning was real too. The only problem is…you don’t have his name, and the only thing you can remember was that he was dark-haired and wearing all black – which could be literally any man in Seoul. Now it’s Wednesday, a week later, and you’re staring at your screen, open to a browser window that’s now littered with the failed remnants of your search, and rest your chin on your hand with a sigh. Ugh, what was I even thinking? How am I going to find some guy on the internet when I don’t even know his name and I can barely remember what he looks like? Talk about a needle in a haystack. You’re supposed to be working, as in, doing your actual job, but you haven’t been able to focus all week, and you've been off your game since that night. 

“What are you so laser-focused on over here?” comes Jimin’s lightly chiding voice from over your shoulder. His sudden appearance makes you jump and knock your hand into your half empty mug, causing a small wave of tepid coffee to slosh onto your desk. 

“Damn it, Jimin, you scared me!” You hurriedly reach for the wad of napkins you keep in the top drawer of your desk. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You know I startle easily.”

“Sorry.” Jimin grins mischievously and leans in to take a closer look at your screen. “Y/n, are you seriously still looking for your mystery man? It’s been a week. You know, if he wanted you to find him he would have at least told you his name. Or slipped you his number. He was probably just being nice. People do that sometimes. Like on those hidden camera shows where little kids will ask you to help them cross the street or tie their shoes. Just accept it and move on already. He’s clearly not that worried about it. You said he had a black card, right? That kind of money is probably nothing to him.”

You finish mopping up the coffee and heave another sigh, sitting back in your chair. “I know It’s stupid. And I’m definitely wasting my time. But he saved my ass in a really big way. I can’t just move on like nothing happened. There has to be some way for me to pay him back. And besides…” You debate whether you should tell Jimin what he told you before he shoved you into a taxi. “He told me to just forget I ever met him, that I’d get hurt if I didn’t. I know it’s a bad idea to keep looking at this point, but you can’t just say something like that and expect me to forget about it. It only makes me want to find him even more.”

"That’s a weird thing for anyone to say," says Jimin, leaning against your desk, "but I suppose that's your choice, even if I do think you’re only setting yourself up for disappointment." 

"Thank you for the vote of support." You run your hands backwards through your hair and hum thoughtfully. "I guess I could always not pay my credit card bill and hope that it summons him out of the abyss to save my ass again." 

"Then he'll think you're trying to scam him instead of repaying him.” Jimin pats your shoulder. "Cheer up, y/n. Maybe you'll find him. Maybe you won't. But we've got a meeting about the new skincare line in about…" He checks his watch. "...two minutes? And they'll kill us if we're both late so maybe put a pin in that for now?" 

Of course, your actual job, the main reason you're able to have a credit card in the first place. "Shit, you're right. I completely forgot about that." You stand and gather your meeting materials into your arms. "What would I do without you, Park Jimin?"

"Mm, probably lose your job?" He straightens up and smirks. 

"Mean." You slap him lightly on the arm. "I wouldn't even be looking for this guy if you and Nayeon hadn't ditched and left me with your billion dollar bar tab." 

Jimin chuckles. "Okay, true, but need I remind you that you were responsible for most of it anyway?" He makes a tutting noise as you're walking down the hall. "Honestly, it's unnatural how much alcohol you can put away.”

"Please," you scoff, pushing open the door to the conference room. "I just have a high tolerance. It takes practice. You’ll get there one day."

“God, I hope not.” Jimin looks horrified at the prospect. “No offense.”

The meeting drags on, well into the afternoon, and your mind continues to wander in the direction of your angel in black, no matter how hard you try to pay attention to the subject at hand. Normally you’d be rapt with attention – skincare is your area of expertise, after all, and it’s been your dream to work at a cosmetics company ever since high school – but for the life of you, you just can’t seem to shake him from your memory and focus on your work. 

Wait. The bouncer. He was standing there the whole time you were arguing with the guy. That sleeve of tattoos was pretty distinctive-looking; you’d definitely remember it if you saw it again. It would be way easier to find him than the guy in black. And he works there. He’s more likely to be there than the other guy. Maybe he remembers something you don’t. 

As soon as the meeting ends, you hurry back to your desk, intent on getting all of today’s work finished by the time it hits six o’clock so you won’t have to work late, and spend the rest of the afternoon in a state of hyperfocus, only noticing that time has passed when you see that most of your coworkers are getting ready to leave. “Jimin.” You sidle up to him as he’s shrugging into his coat. “What are you doing tonight?” 

“Probably just going to head home and—” He stops and narrows his eyes. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Is this still about that guy?” 

“I was thinking we could go back to that club,” you say earnestly. “There was this bouncer outside, and – well, I don’t really remember what he looked like either, but I’d know him if I saw him. I’m sure of it. I want to ask him if he remembers anything from last week. Maybe he knows something about this guy.”

“Y/n, it's Wednesday." Jimin says. “That place is going to be dead. I doubt anyone will be there, let alone your mystery man.” 

You make your best pouting expression. “You’ll come with me, right? For moral support?” 

“Fine.” Jimin sighs. “If it'll get you to stop fixating on this guy, I'm all for it. But you're buying me dinner.” 

You throw your arms around him. "Jimin-ssi, have I ever told you you're my favorite person in the whole wide world?"

"On multiple occasions.” He smirks. “This is the first time you've ever been sober, though." 

“Wow. See if I ever buy you dinner again.”

The club, as Jimin predicted, was nearly empty, with only a few clumps of people dancing here and there, a handful of people at the bar, and a completely different, tattoo-less bouncer working the front door, who seemed to think the man with the tattoos was a temp. 

“There’s nobody like that working here!” he bellowed back to you, over the thumping music. “Your guy’s probably a temp!”

“No, I’m positive!” you shouted. “It was here. I tripped going out the door and he caught me. I’d know him if I saw him. Are you sure?”

“I’m sure!” he said. “Would you mind stepping away from the door? People are trying to come inside.” You didn’t hang around much longer after that, figuring that if neither the bouncer nor your mystery man were there now they probably wouldn’t be there later either.  

“Well, that was a bust,” comments Jimin, once you’re back in a cab on the way home. 

You blow out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. Sorry to drag you all the way over here for nothing.” 

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he says. “That’s what friends are for, right? At least I got dinner out of it.” 

“Ha, ha, ha.” You roll your eyes. “I knew I should have just waited ‘til the weekend. I was just so excited to test my theory that I jumped the gun a little.”

Jimin frowns. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on making another special trip back over here to look for this guy.” 

“Well…I was.” You turn to look at him, taken aback. “Why shouldn’t I?” 

“Y/n…” Jimin sighs. “I'm your best friend and I love you, but…don’t you think you’re going too far with this? You don’t think maybe it’s time to move on? I mean, what if this guy really is dangerous, like he said? What if you get hurt?”

You scoff a little. “Would a dangerous person really come right out and say they’re dangerous?”

“Yes. That’s absolutely what a dangerous person would say. Please let this go, y/n. I’m begging you. For your own good. The universe will forgive you this one time for not paying that guy back.” 

"I know, but…" I won't. You sigh. "One more time, Jimin. I have to try one more time before I can tell myself I did everything I could."

"Okay. One more time." Jimin's face softens. "But I'm going to hold you to that. No more midweek club nights, internet searches, whatever. You have to let this go because it’s weird that you’re still hung up on this."

"I promise. One more time, and then no more. If I don't find him this time, I'm done."

"Good. Be careful, okay?"

"When am I not careful?" Your best friend raises an eyebrow and squints at you with the most skeptical of sideways glances, probably armed and ready with at least a dozen examples of how you’ve most decidedly not been careful in the past few years you’ve known each other. "That was rhetorical, Jimin. Drop the judgy look, please."

“What judgy look?” he demands. “This is just my face.” 

“Uh-huh. Sure.” 

If Wednesday night’s visit was bad, then Saturday’s is even worse. It’s crowded, almost as crowded as it was the very first night the man in black saved your ass, with barely any good vantage points to park yourself and people-watch in hopes of catching a glance of your mystery man. You should have taken the other bouncer’s inability – or reluctance – to tell you anything about his tattooed coworker the other night as a warning – because it’s obvious that no one else is going to tell you anything about him either, for one reason or another. You’ve asked bartenders, waitresses, anyone who looks like they work there, and all that’s gotten you is in trouble with management. 

“We’re not allowed to give out that kind of information about our employees.” The manager’s eyes narrow. “Stop nosing around before you get yourself banned. Permanently.” With one final scowl he stalks off.

I guess that’s it, then, you think. You let out a sigh as you sit back down at the bar. God, what was I thinking? I never had any chance of finding this guy, not in a million years. Jimin was right. Why did I drag this out so long? It's time for me to move on. As soon as I finish this drink, I’ll walk out of this club and I’ll never think about him again. I’ll go home, and I’ll catch up on all that work I’m behind on because of him. No, I’ll get ahead. Yeah. That’ll show them. Part of you wants to feel relieved, but the realization only makes you feel dejected. Damn. I really wanted to meet him. You get to your feet, and collect your things, taking one last glance around the room. 

That’s when you see him. 

Your angel in black, drinking whiskey in the corner. Same black suit, same heavy bangs, same blank expression. Right as you’re about to leave and never look back, you just happen to see him? It’s too coincidental to be anything other than fate.  

You draw a deep breath, steel your nerves, and march up to his table. “And to think I was just going to walk right past you and out of this place forever. It's almost like the universe wanted us to meet again." You pull out the chair across from him and sit down. “You know, I never did catch your name.”

“That’s because I never dropped it,” he says dryly. “What are you doing here again? Didn’t I tell you to mind your own business?” 

“What, can’t a girl drink where she likes anymore?” You lean in. “Who says I’m here to mind your business? I’m busy minding my own. Which, as it turns out, happens to involve you – and making sure you get something in return for covering my ass that night. Thank you, by the way. You barely let me get it out last time.” 

He scoffs, sitting back. “I told you to forget about it. I didn’t spot you because I expected you to pay me back.” 

“Why did you do it, then?” You cock your head to one side. “There must have been some reason you felt like rescuing a damsel in distress. Nobody does anything without a reason.” 

The question seems to catch him off-guard for a moment, before he quickly regains his composure. “Why does it matter?” He stares down into his glass. “You don’t know anything about me. I could be dangerous for all you know. Like I've been trying to tell you this whole time.” Dangerous. There’s that word again.

“Well, you can’t be all that bad, or you wouldn’t have helped me out. And besides,” you muse, “if you were going to do anything to me you probably would have done it already.” 

“Suppose that’s true.” One side of his mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly. 

“Then again, maybe it is like you said. Maybe you aren’t a good person. But I don’t think that necessarily makes you a bad person. And I don’t think you would have done anything to me, even if you did have the chance. Which you did, the other night.”

A hard laugh escapes from his lips. "Clearly you haven't been listening to anything I've been saying. Because you definitely wouldn't be saying that if you really knew me.” 

You purse your lips thoughtfully. “Well, you know, I have this theory. Everyone has a color, right? Some people you can just tell whether they’re one way or another, black, white, whatever. But you…well, I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Hah. I’ve heard that one before.” The man avoids looking at you and stares down at the table, features set in an unreadable expression. “So, what color am I, then?” 

“Mm.” You grin. “First impression? Silver.” 

“Silver, huh?” He smirks. “Why silver?” 

“On the surface you’re a very gray person. Kind of an enigma. You’re not black and you’re not white, you’re somewhere in between, which makes you gray. But on closer inspection, anyone can see there’s something different about you that sparkles a little bit. Something that shines.” His face doesn’t move. “It’s just a theory, anyway,” you say hastily. “I’d have to get to know you a little better before I could really say for sure.” 

“What makes you think that’s going to happen?” An eyebrow quirks just slightly.

“Hm. You seem like the type who would have gotten up and left already if you weren’t at least a little bit interested in me, even if you came off as rude. And you’re still here, so you must be somewhat intrigued, right?” 

“That’s a compelling theory – but you're wrong. I might be an asshole but I'm not that kind of asshole.” He leans back, an arm draped over the back of the booth. “Anyways, before I answer your question, let me ask you one of my own: why are you so hellbent on paying me back to the point where you thought you had to track me down?” 

“You know, I’m not sure myself.” You rest your chin in your palm. “It just feels like the thing to do, that’s all. Most of the time strangers tend to either ignore me or glare at me when this kind of thing happens. You probably think I’m a mess. I know I do. I also know from experience that I can only ever count on my friends to have my back, so imagine my surprise when you, a random stranger, had my back the other night. You did something only my friends ever do for me.” You shrug nonchalantly. “And I always repay my friends.” 

“All right,” he says after a moment. “I won’t say I’m not at least a little impressed that you even found me. And now that you have…I’m guessing you’re not going to leave me alone until I give you what you want.” The whiskey swirls in his glass, resting in one long, slender hand. “Which is?”

“Dinner,” you say, boldly, without hesitating. “Or drinks, at least. I know I probably can’t afford what you’re used to. Obviously, considering the other night…but let me treat you sometime. Just to say thank you. Honestly, I’m a great date. Really. Or I should be." You sigh. "I've been on a lot, so I've had plenty of practice. But I promise I’ll make it worth your while. I even paid off my credit card. Just for you.”

He releases a resigned sigh and sets his glass down. “Okay. Say I agree, even though you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into and I definitely shouldn’t indulge you any further than I already have. Will you stop following me around if I do?”

“That depends. Are you going to ghost me as soon as it’s over?” 

“Now that,” he says, “depends on whether or not you’re as good of a date as you say you are.” 

“Oh, I’m positively delightful. Excellent conversationalist. Top-notch table manners. I won’t even stick you with the check this time. Best night of your life, guaranteed. Or top-ten, at least.” 

He pauses, looking like he might regret what he’s about to say. “Fine. We can have dinner. On one condition.” 

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You really have to stop following me around.” His expression turns dark. “It’s not a good idea for you to get involved with me. You could get hurt.”

“This again?” You sigh. “Let’s just see how dinner goes, and then I’ll decide if you’re worth any more of my time.” 

“You’ll decide, huh?” He eyes you. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t know your name yet,” you correct him, “and that’s only because you haven’t told me what it is.” 

“Yoongi,” he says finally, after a moment of hesitation. A tinge of amusement plays across his features. “Min Yoongi.” 

“Yoongi,” you repeat. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Yoongi. I’m Y/n. Y/n L/n.” You extend a hand across the table. 

“Y/n,” he says, giving your hand a firm shake. It’s cool and dry, and you spot the barest remains of a scar on his palm as he pulls his hand away. “Only time will tell whether I’m going to be able to say the same for you.”

“Mm.” You shrug. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

“Like I said.” Yoongi gets to his feet, taking his glass with him. “Anyway. I have some business to take care of. Can you get out of here on your own, or are you going to be needing my help again?”

“I’ll be fine, but – wait, I didn’t give you my number. How are we going to get in touch?”

“Don’t worry about it.” He looks down at you and smirks, the unmistakable hint of a sparkle somewhere in those soft, dark eyes. “You seem to think we’re fated, so I’m sure we’ll run into each other again if we’re really meant to. We’ve exchanged names now.” Yoongi raises his glass slightly. “You can find out a lot about a person from just a name.” 

“Hey, wait a—” Yoongi is gone before you can finish your sentence, swallowed up by the dense crowds of the club. “He still didn’t answer my question,” you mutter. 

But despite all that – you have a hopeful feeling about the whole situation. 

"Yoongi," you repeat. "Who are you, Min Yoongi?"

The silence in Yoongi’s office the next morning is nearly palpable, the air between him and Jungkook filled with the sounds of clicking keys as they’re finishing up their paperwork on the case at the club. Even without looking he can sense the younger man eyeing him over the top of his laptop screen. Yoongi heaves a resigned sigh. “Spit it out, Jungkook. I can practically hear the gears grinding inside that giant head of yours.” 

Jungkook stops typing and leans forward, grinning in a suspiciously sunny manner. “I was just noticing how good of a mood you’re in today, boss,” he says. “Better than you’ve been in months.” 

"Bullshit I am." Yoongi’s eyes don’t move. “You're imagining things." 

“You are too!” Jungkook insists. “I told you good morning on my way in and you didn’t even tell me to stop bothering you and get to work.” He squints at Yoongi. “You said it back to me. And you weren’t even being sarcastic about it.”

“So I said good morning to you. Once. Big deal. I’ve been known to be cordial every once in a while, haven’t I?” 

“But you’re never cordial with me,” insists Jungkook. “You're cordial with clients. And people who are gonna give you money. Normally it’s all grunts and scowling when you talk to me. Something good happened last night, didn’t it? I saw you chatting with that girl, the one you paid the bar tab for last week. She managed to track you down, huh?” He’s not going to let this go easily. He’s like a dog with a chew toy whenever he finds an interesting enough tidbit to hang onto. 

Yoongi suppresses a sigh and presses his fingers to the sides of his temples. “Yeah, and? What are you getting at?”

“Oh, nothing.” He plasters an innocent-looking expression on his face. “She went through all of that trouble to track you down when most people would have just let it go. She must like you. Seems like you like her too.” 

Yoongi snorts. “Y/n? Flighty, irresponsible, doesn’t even know her own limits, so impulsive that the first thing she thinks of when a man does something nice for her is to follow him out into the street y/n? No way in hell.”

“And you, a guy who’s so cautious, practical, and down to earth that he never does anything without thinking about it for weeks?” notes Jungkook. “All I’m hearing is that you’d be perfect for each other. Opposites attract, you know?”

“The worst thing she could do would be to get involved with me,” Yoongi scoffs. “Trust me. It’s not happening.” He rolls a pen back and forth in his hand. “It’s not like that, anyway. She said she’d leave me alone if I let her do this. She doesn’t like me, she just feels like she owes me. That’s all. I’m just humoring her so she’ll leave me alone.”

“Uh-huh.” Jungkook smirks. “You do like her, don’t you?” 

“I didn’t say that,” grumbles Yoongi. “Why don’t you mind your own business for once?” 

“In case you’ve forgotten, hyung,” says Jungkook, still grinning, “you left me in charge of minding your business for the past six months. You know, while you were off the grid camping in the middle of nowhere?” 

“Yeah, and I’m starting to regret it,” he mutters. “Humor me and let it go. It’s too early for this shit.” 

“All right, fine.” Jungkook turns his eyes back to his screen, but it doesn’t last for long. “So when are you going to see her again?” 

“We didn’t set a firm—” Yoongi’s eyes narrow, pinning Jungkook with a searing glare. “Hey. I’ll fire you if you don’t watch yourself.” 

“Ah, go ahead and fire me, then,” Jungkook says cheerfully. “I’d like to see how well you manage without me covering your ass.”

Yoongi flings the pen in his hand across the table, aiming for Jungkook’s head, who easily dodges it. “Aish, you’ve gotten cocky since I left. I managed just fine on my own before you got here, thank you. You were the one who came bitching to me about how much you needed me to come back, weren’t you? This case that you just couldn't handle by yourself, even though you've probably handled about a dozen of the exact same type of cases all by yourself?”

“Come on!” snorts Jungkook. “We both know you were ready to come back. I just needed to make you feel good about yourself so you’d actually get off your ass and do it. You should be thanking me, hyung.”  

“Thanking you?” demands Yoongi. “What the hell should I be thanking you for?”

“I think you know.” Jungkook’s eyebrows dance suggestively, eyes twinkling. “Y/n – she’s pretty, isn't she?”

“That’s it. You’re getting demoted.”

“Okay, okay.” Jungkook falls silent suddenly before he speaks again. “I missed you, boss. Good to have you back.” 

“Ah, shut up,” Yoongi snaps. “And get back to work. These reports aren’t going to write themselves, you know.” 

Jungkook turns his attention back to his computer screen again, eyeing Yoongi’s scowl with a knowing smirk. Yeah. He totally likes her. 

©2023 by mrworldwideshoulders || series masterlist || collection masterlist || my masterlist ||

[httpknjoon]

love is... on tour | myg; masterlist

synopsis | Tell everyone you know, Love Is... On Tour! Popstar!YN is set to start her sophomore world tour with her new hit songs, sparkly outfits, and talented live band. There are 352 days of this tour, which means 352 days of YN and her new bassist, Yoongi getting on each other's skin in every way possible.

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers

note | for requests, feel free to send a song from the playlist and i’ll make a drabble out of it!

main masterlist | spotify playlist | requests are open!

FIRST LEG: ACROSS THE US

DAY 32: mister cute guy with the white jacket

that one time popstar yn surprised everyone by inviting her live band’s bass guitarist with her on stage for a performance.

DAY 53: have you ever tried this one?

that time popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi had a very intense staring contest throughout the whole concert.

DAY 60: from your point of view

that time bassist!yoongi thinks popstar!yn is not that versatile when performing her songs. (alternative: that time bassist!yoongi made popstar!yn cry— unintentionally!)

DAY 64: an awful good girl

 that time in december of their tour where popstar!yn sang while sitting on santa’s lap. (but who’s santa anyway?)

cont.: santa, tell me that time in december when popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi agreed to do something.

DAY 67: what do the lonely do at christmas

that time when popstar!yn found herself on bassist!yoongi's bed on a cold December morning.

THE LATE LATE SHOW TAKEOVER

that time in december where popstar!yn takes over the late, late show along with her band to celebrate her ep’s release. (alternative plot: that time yn interviewed her bassist, yoongi live)

AFTERPARTY: quite an impression

 that time when the afterparty left quite an impression on the not-so-friendly relationship between the popstar and her bassist.

SECOND LEG: ACROSS ASIA & AUSTRALIA

DAY 93: say goodnight and go

that time when everyone seemed to be doing something on valentine’s day and the popstar and her bassist have all the time with their single asses.

THIRD LEG: EUROPEAN TOUR

DAY 283: the boy is mine

that time when rumors about bassist!yoongi went around that popstar!yn cannot really stop herself from addressing it.

posting more soon

LATEST POST HERE

NEWS ARTICLES, TWEETS, etc ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

For One Night Only! Pop Star YN to Host The Late, Late Show

#LoveIsOnItalia tweets and IG stories

RELATED TAGS ‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋

love is... on tour: ask | love is... on tour: media

SERIES TAGLIST (OPEN)

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts @jalexad @ryryvna @kiki-zb

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: Sex. Minors DNI. Also, barely proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.8k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Sorry it has taken me a while to get this part out. But I think you’ll like it. *fingers crossed* FULL TAGLIST TO FOLLOW. Sorry, I'm in a rush today. This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part 4.5 | Part Five | Masterlist

A fancy hotel takeout sits untouched on your kitchen counter, the smell of roasted garlic filling the small space. You glance at the clock—6:47 PM.

Yoongi promised to take you to dinner, but given the circumstances, a quiet night in felt more appropriate. Safer for him. After all, the media has been relentless since the Dispatch scandal dropped close to midnight like Cinderella’s kitten heel at the ball.

You’re kind of pissed, actually. Scratch that—you’re furious. Just when it felt like you finally had Yoongi—finally had the chance to explore whatever this was between you—this bullshit had to rear its ugly head. A photo of his kind of ex leaving his building was enough to set the internet on fire, and now it felt like the flames were creeping dangerously close to your life.

You’ve talked to him once today, and even that conversation was clipped. A text from him at 5 let you know he was about to leave HYBE and swing by his place first. “Be there by 7,” he’d said.

You stare at the pristine takeout containers, willing yourself not to spiral. You’re not that person anymore. You’re not the insecure girl who lets her emotions run wild over things she can’t control. You’ve done too much good work to let this unravel you.

“You’re fine. You’re fucking fine,” you mutter under your breath, pacing the kitchen.

Your phone vibrates on the counter. Namjoon. Always coming to your rescue at the right time.

“Hello?”

“You doin’ okay?” Namjoon asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Define okay,” you quip, though your voice wavers slightly. “It’s been a lot.”

“I figured,” Namjoon says gently. “That’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to check in. Yoongi’s been swamped today, and I know how this stuff can mess with your head.”

You exhale slowly, grateful for the concern but also acutely aware of the simmering emotions just beneath the surface. “I’m trying, Joon. Really, I am. It’s just… exhausting. The waiting, the overthinking, the noise. I just want to know where I stand with him, you know?”

“He’ll tell you,” Namjoon assures you, his voice steady. “Just… don’t let the noise get to you.”

You swallow hard, his words striking a chord. “Thanks, Joon. Really.”

“Anytime,” he says warmly. “And hey, take it easy on him tonight, okay? He’s under a lot of pressure, but trust me, you’re his priority.”

“Will do, dad,” you tease, and for the first time all day, you feel a flicker of lightness.

“Bye.”

You set the phone down, Namjoon’s words lingering in your mind as you glance at the clock again. 

You think about Yoongi and the kind of pressure he must be feeling now. You can take care of him tonight. He deserves it.

You’re rearranging the pillows on the couch, trying not to glance at the clock again for the hundredth time. It’s not even about tidying the place anymore. It’s about occupying your hands, distracting yourself from the swirling mix of emotions in your chest.

Then, the doorbell rings.

7:01pm. 

You take a breath, smoothing your sweater. Calm. Casual. You’re fine.

You open the door.

And there he is. Yoongi stands in the dim light of the hallway, a dark jacket zipped up to his collarbone, a black mask shading his face, somehow directing the focus on the exhaustion in his eyes. But what caught your attention is his hair—slicked back with a little sprout of inky locks on top.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking bashful at the heat in your gaze.

Christ. He looks good. Criminally.

He steps in. “Hi,” he says softly, his voice carrying that calm rasp you’ve missed.

Your heart clenches. “Hi,” you reply, your tone quieter than intended. You clear your throat, stepping back to let him in. “Come in.”

He steps inside, pausing in the entryway as he glances around. 

You then notice the bouquet in his hand—gorgeous white roses and baby’s breath wrapped in brown paper. 

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes flick over your face. Something in your expression must’ve softened, because he quickly averts his gaze.

“I brought these,” he says, holding them out a little awkwardly.

Your chest tightens, a strange warmth spreading through you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

When you reach out to take the bouquet, your fingers graze his, and the contact lingers for just a second too long. Impulsively, your free hand rises to cup his cheek. Maybe it’s too much for whatever the hell this is between you, but the moment feels too honest to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Yoongi freezes under your touch, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, as if the tension in his shoulders breaks all at once, he leans into your palm, just a fraction, and the smallest, most heartbreaking smile tugs at his lips as his eyes flutter close.

“I am now.”

You head to the kitchen, busying yourself with a vase to give the flowers the best chance to survive. You do not have a green thumb, so you pray to the gods the beautiful arrangement does not wither overnight.

“Hungry?” you ask, not turning around. “I bought chicken, shrimp fried rice, and some random banchan.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Yoongi replies, his voice closer than you expect. You glance back to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You place the vase on the counter and fold your arms. “So,” you start, forcing lightness into your tone. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” he admits, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. “Had to dodge more cameras than usual. Sat in meetings for a couple of hours. Si-hyuk personally called Sung Kyung’s agency. They assured me that they will investigate thoroughly. I couldn’t eat. I get home and there’s still press camping out. So yeah, shit day and I almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“That’s the longest response I’ve ever gotten from you.” You tease. “You really must be stressed out.”

Yoongi chuckles and for a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been hanging over you both all day melts away. 

You go around the counter and stand facing him where he’s sitting on your bar stool. He parts his legs and you immediately take that space, crowding him a bit more by placing your hands tentatively on his shoulder.

His eyes, warm like molten chocolate, meet yours. “How about you?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “I’m fine,” you say, though the tightness in your chest betrays you. “I mean, it’s not like this is new territory for you, right?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Yoongi says quietly. “And I don’t like that you’re sort of affected by it.”

“I can handle it,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel, projecting strength since he looks a little broken right now.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, like he’s not entirely convinced. 

“I kinda knew what I was getting into when I knocked in your studio yesterday,” you say softly. “And I’d do it again. For you.”

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face at your admission before it softens into something else. Something deeper. “For me?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Yeah. For you.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then he straightens up from his slouch, taking one of your hands from his shoulder, pressing his lips softly against your pulse point.

“Dinner first,” he says. 

“Then what?” you challenge.

Yoongi just grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

As you sip the last of your drink, you steel yourself to ask the question that’s been bugging you all day. “So,” you say finally, broaching the topic. “Sung Kyung.”

Yoongi pauses mid-bite, his eyes flicking to yours. He sets his chopsticks down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “What about her?”

You take a steadying breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “Namjoon told me you’re co-parenting. But I need to hear where you two… stand?”

Yoongi exhales slowly. “Yeah, we’re co-parenting. That’s it. I don’t have any intention of getting back together with her. At all.” His voice is calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want Haneul to know his biological mom, but she and I—we’re done. That’s been over.”

Relief washes over you, but before you can fully settle into it, you notice the shift in his expression. His jaw tightens, and his eyes dart briefly to the table before returning to yours.

“There’s something else,” he says quietly, the words heavy with hesitation.

Fuck. You don’t like the sound of it, but you ask anyway. “What is it?”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A few weeks ago… she kissed me.”

Your stomach twists, and the room feels suddenly colder. “What?”

“I put a stop to it immediately,” he says quickly, his tone insistent. “I told her it couldn’t happen again, that if she wanted to keep seeing Han, she had to respect that boundary. And she has. She knows where we stand.”

You don’t respond right away, staring down at your plate as you try to process his words. 

Oh my god. This is so fucked up. You knew Sung Kyung’s reappearance wasn’t as harmless as it seemed, but hearing it confirmed still stings.

“I just thought…” you start, but the words trail off.

Yoongi’s voice is soft but steady. “You have every right to be upset.”

“Do I?” You think out loud. “We’re not…” You nod slowly, pushing your chair back. “I… need a minute.”

When you get to your bathroom, you release a long steadying breath. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, hands gripping the counter tightly. Fuck. You’re okay. This is–

A knock sounds at the door, startling you.

Yoongi’s voice is muffled as he says your name, but it’s gentle as can be. “Can I come in?”

You glance at the lock and realize, too late, that you forgot to turn it. The door creaks open, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and something softer.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him and his arms immediately slide around your waist. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, and you meet his gaze through the mirror.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You lean back against him, the tension in your shoulders easing but just slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“That’s fair,” he presses his lips to your temple. 

“But I need you to know–” presses another on your cheek.

“That I don’t want anyone else–” presses the last where your neck and shoulders meet. 

“Just you.”

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice, and when your eyes meet again in the mirror, the tenderness there leaves you so breathless.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you turn in his arms, your hands sliding up to his face as you pull him down for a kiss. His fingers tighten on your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

You walk back to your bed, lips fused with his, your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The urgency between you grows as you push him down onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets with a quiet thud. You follow immediately, straddling him, your body molding against his as you capture his lips again. The kiss is deep, consuming, his hands gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

You stay like that for a while, tongues teasing, breaths mingling, drunk in the taste of each other. Then, a sharp pull of his lower lip between your teeth has him groaning into your mouth.

You’re driven by lust, and something else. A possessive demon seems to be overriding your better judgment, thinking you’ve been timid with your feelings for long enough. No woman, not Sung Kyung, even if he is Han’s mom, can take what you and Yoongi have been building up to for so damn long.

“You’re in your head,” Yoongi says, nudging his nose against yours.

“Did she kiss you like this, huh?” The words leave you before you can stop them. Your lips return to his, sucking greedily, staking your claim.

Yoongi’s breath shudders as you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, baby.” His voice is rough, lips pink and swollen.

Your fingers slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head, tossing it aside before your hands explore the newly exposed skin. He’s warm, toned beneath your touch, and the way his muscles tense under your fingertips only spurs you further. You lean down, lips dragging along his jawline, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his throat. He tastes sweet, salty, and entirely intoxicating.

“Did you fuck anyone else when I left?” you mumble against his skin, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

His breath hitches, “No, shit. No.”

“Good boy.” You hum in satisfaction, your lips venturing lower, your tongue flicking against the hollow of his throat. He groans, head pressing back into the pillow.

“Baby, you’re making me lose my shit right now,” he grits out, his voice strained, desperate. His hands now get braver, sliding underneath your top to fondle your tits. 

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe you’re too turned on to think straight. Or maybe—maybe this is exactly what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him again.

Your hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of his hard length through his trousers, feeling the way he twitches under your palm. 

“You’re mine, okay?” you whisper, nipping at his bottom plush as your fingers give his dick a squeeze.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his lips curving under yours. “Yours.”

He lets you revel in your greed for a few moments, allowing you to do whatever you pleased as you lose yourself in the heat building between you.

He ruts up towards your hand, grunting slightly. Honestly, he’s so hard, it’d be a mercy to release him from the confines of his jeans. So you do, helping him unbutton, unzip, and undress, until his cock springs free and flops on his stomach.

What a pretty dick. Literally lickable—solid, girthy, veiny, a bead of white pooling at the slit. You take him in your mouth, tracing the tip with your tongue, the taste of pre-cum coating your throat. You let drool cascade down his length, slick fingers pumping his shaft while your mouth suctions his mushroom head.

His hand goes to the back of your neck, guiding you in a bit more. “Mmm… that’s it, baby.” 

Yoongi moans your name as you go faster. You feel him twitching inside your mouth. He’s so hard but you don’t want him to cum yet. You pop him off to lap at the base, before your tongue travels upward to trace the thick veins on the underside of his cock. 

Jaw slack, his eyes are dark, dark as he observes you while propped up on his elbows. “Come up,” he says when you reluctantly pull away. “Wanna eat you out.”

Your clothes are yanked off your body as you take his place on the cushions, not a single piece of fabric now separating your skin. He takes you by the hip and adjusts your position so he can get his face close to your mound. Before you can mentally prepare yourself, he shoves his hot tongue against your folds, locating your clit in 0.001 seconds and you know you’ll be careening off a cliff in no time.

“I—Yoongi, that’s… shit that’s nice.” You can’t help it. It does feel nice.

You reach for the little ponytail on his head, gripping it for dear life. He hums against your bud when you pull, the vibrations only driving you more insane.

“You taste so good baby,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“I can eat you out for days, make you cum,” he vows, delirious just like you are. “Over and over… my favorite fuckin’ snack.” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi…”

He feasts, and feasts, and soon enough, you’re shuddering in ecstasy, hips bucking in the process, as he slurps all you give him. He wears your cum like a gloss as he comes up for air, a lazy but proud smile on his face.

You reach for the drawer on your nightstand and pull out a new, sealed, and unopened box of condoms shoving it on his chest. He holds it in one hand, nose scrunching as he suppresses a laugh.

“Someone prepared…”

You shrug as he plucks one and unwraps it quickly, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re too cute for me.”

“Shut uppp.”

He rolls the condom on his dick, propping one hand by the side of your face as he uses the other to rub his blunt tip against your entrance. Your pussy is drenched and he slips right in and bottoms out with a grunt against your ear. He’s thick and big against your walls.

A smack against your ass cheeks makes you clench. “Ah, shit.” And another one lands before he soothes it with a gentle massage. 

You’re going crazy but you need him deeper. Sensing your needs, Yoongi pushes the back of your knees higher and snaps his hips with more force, pounding your pussy as your bed creaks against the wall. Your lids are heavy but you keep your eyes open long enough to see how fucked out he looks, cheeks flushed pink with a coat of sheen on his forehead, teeth caging his lower lip.

“You’re so hot. I wanna ride you,” you declare, stuttering a bit from his thrusts.

“Yeah?” He pants, slows the roll of his hips, waiting for your confirmation. 

When you nod, he slips off with a wince and you feel your juices trickle down your skin. You reverse positions, mattress dipping as you shift your knees on each side of his hips. 

“Do your thing, baby,” he urges, lacing his fingers behind his head, elbows bent outward in a relaxed pose.

Your smile is watery as you use his tip to prod against your clit one or twice before you sink him inside your wet heat. You moan in unison when you're fully seated, the feeling of him snug and warm and so full inside you driving you mad.

You tip your head back, palms planted against his chest as you swivel your hips in a slow dance. 

You look down on him, hair cascading over your shoulder, and you think how much you like this view. And how you won't mind this view everyday, actually. Seems the possessive streak from earlier still has not satiated. 

“Shit—you’re so hot like this.” 

You rock against him, clit stimulated deliciously as you ride his cock. He’s got a cocky little grin as you use him. You throw your ass back, and he has a front row seat and VIP access to your bouncing tits, his tongue slack on the side of his lips. He cups your tits with both hands, the wet pads of his thumbs rubbing against your nipples.

“My turn,” he grabs hold of your waist and thrusts upward so roughly your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He pistons into you, finger digging on your skin to keep you in place and a long moan rips from your throat when he jerks up particularly hard.

Your hands slip to his shoulder as your body bounces by the force of his movements, tits sliding against his chest. His thighs must be burning and when he slightly lets up, you dip your head, shamelessly to lick the side of his face, moaning his name against his ear. 

“Baby—” you beg, not really saying what you need, but he knows.

He uses a sweaty hand to guide a tit in his mouth, suckling at it with a bit of teeth. 

Not a moment later, he’s fucking you again from below, deeper, faster, and when rapidly presses into your sweet spot, you’re a goner.

“I’m close, Yoongi. So close…”

“Me too, baby,” his voice is rough as he lets go of your bruised nipple, brows furrowed in concentration like he is fully intent to give you the orgasm of your life. He pushes into your depth relentlessly, 

White hot heat is blooming inside you, and you feel his cock throb, abs tightening, before he spills his seed in the condom, groaning with his eyes shut to savor the intensity of his release. It’s the pure unadulterated pleasure painted on his face and his deep delicious moan that tips you over the edge, too, clenching against his solidness as you slip into the sinful pleasure of your orgasm.

Chest to chest, you rest your full weight against him, softening dick still nestled inside you. You press your lips against his neck, feeling the vibrations of his throaty chuckle. Then he asks, “Was it good?”

“So good.”

“Mm.” He hums, nosing the side of your face so you’d look at him. “Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

“Which one?”

“That you, uh, despite everything, you’d do it again, for me.”

You start to feel a bit shy, but then you remember you’re literally naked. On top of him. And he is still inside you. The point of bashfulness is long past. It’s time for the truth. “Yeah.”

“Bold of you, no?”

“Dumb, too.”

He pushes an errant hair behind your ear, eyes still glazed from the sex, but fond. “You know I really like you, right? If it isn’t painfully obvious.”

“Me too, Yoongi. Since Stan. Maybe even earlier.”

“Will you be my girl, then?”

Yoongi watches you carefully, waiting for your response. The earnest curve of his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, the way his fingers still rest on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away—it’s all so achingly real.

You study him for a moment, letting yourself take it in. Everything about him—his caring nature, his tenderness, his immense love for Han, his ability to drive you absolutely insane and still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The outside world is still in chaos. The scandal, the noise, the questions that neither of you have all the answers to yet. But here, in your little apartment, wrapped in the warmth of him, none of that feels as important as this.

“I will,” you finally say, voice steady.

His breath catches, just for a second. Then, his lips spread into the softest, gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, almost like he’s making sure he heard you right.

You nod, “Yeah.”

Your lips meet for a gentle kiss that feels like a promise and the rest of the world falls away. For now, no matter what comes next, it’s the two of you—finally honest, finally sure, and finally together.

:]

A/N: YASSSS. Our babies have finally figured it out. How do you feel right now? Would love to hear your comments! 

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

P.S. Am gunning for 1,000 followers before Yoongi’s birthday. :) I think I’ll get there with your help. Feel free to reblog the story if you like, and that can help more people find our lovely L&L couple.

Love you!~

Permanent Taglist (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

The rest to follow in a reblog.

[hoseoksluna]

PROMISES | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x f. reader

genre: fwb au / angst, smut

word count: 9.3k

summary: when you needed your social battery recharged by your fuck buddy yoongi, you didn't expect to have your undiscovered feelings for him reciprocated. 

pin: promise / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: strong daddy issues, slight dd/lg, manipulation, tiny rough treatmeant, edging, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), teasing, mixed feelings, oc is confused abt her feelings and the whole situation, fight, yoongi counts down, unprotected sex, pussy spanks, nipple play.

note: this has to be my worst work in the whole hoseoksluna universe. i'm terribly upset, disgusted, unmotivated. i wrote this all week, hated every second, and i'm sorry to say this is my last smut for a while. i'm really struggling mentally, i'm struggling with writing, and i don't know what to do anymore. i'm posting this a day early because i can't stand this fic anymore. i can't stand smut. you're free to skip this one until i get better.

You were a folded swan, drifting upon the smooth, glittering surface of a river that led nowhere—a dead end, bearing the face of a man you’ve been casually seeing for the past few months. A man that clutched adrenaline and tenderness in his fist like a bouquet of the prettiest woodland wildflowers, on top of which perched a note signed in your name. Scratchy Latin letters, doused in ebony ink, they had more life than you did at this moment; poetry-woven experiences that had you feeling life like life should be felt—drastically, enthusiastically and delightfully. Every vowel depicted the closure of each night you spent with him: mouth parted agape, through which the sweetest moans would erupt and saturate him in a certain kind of fatherliness, pride and manliness. 

It’s what you need, laying as you are on the linen sheets of your bed, dressed down to your lacy underwear that you thought would make you feel better, somehow would recharge your dead battery that was stuck on zero percent for longer than you care to admit. Father issues, dissatisfaction at your workplace, at your home life, at life itself. You were tired, your concentration running thin as you were watching your well-loved K-drama that you have seen a hundred times before. Through your vision, your own non-romantic interest would fly by, smiling down at you in your dejected state and form. Your body knows him more thoroughly than your heart, stirring erratically at the memories that would begin to flood your system. Tongue, lips, hands. His cock that he would tease you with, giving it to you and not giving it to you purposefully because he enjoyed the sight of your desperation for someone like him—a person who has seen the worst of life, its characteristics engraved upon his skin, and yet you still yearned for him, yearned for those scars. You didn’t have to tell him, but he knew. 

He knew by the way you would so very often trace the scar upon his shoulder, either with your fingertips or your lips. You were friends, fuck-buddies to be more precise. You were aware that someone entangled in a special friendship such as this shouldn’t do something like that, but you couldn’t help it. Yoongi taught you many times to listen to your body and you were doing just that. 

Following your body’s inclination to sink into his soul that he wasn’t too scared to let you inside of. 

He allowed you to do it to such an extent that the threat of his quick orgasm would appear and he would slip out of you, distract himself between your legs, make you come twice in a row—perhaps as a playful punishment, or perhaps as a reward. 

He saw you—and right now you need to be seen, folded in your forest-scented exhaustion while the river flows on, the trees sway on and everyone else passes by while you remain fixed on the same spot, stooped in your ungratified, seemingly unnamed problem. 

You can text him, ask for a quick fuck, something he’s very well acquainted with, used to at this point—so much that everytime you leave his place stuffed full of his cum, he stuffs you with something else as well. 

A promise for the next time.

A package of something to make you look forward to your tight-knit time spent with him. The last time, he had promised to take you to a running sushi restaurant, where you didn’t linger for long because you got fed up with the way other people would steal the sweet plates you wanted to try. He had fucked you in his car to make you feel better about your innate misanthropy and while he was balls-deep in you and you struggled to catch your breath, he promised you ice cream. With each thrust that squeezed your soul, he described how you’d enjoy each lick, the details of the flavor and how he’d buy you any ice cream you wanted. You hadn’t realized it then, within the stupor of your mind-numbing pleasure, but now as you are recollecting it, you perceive how bothered he was by the way other people ruined your night with him. 

And that rips open the restraints around the butterflies in your stomach. 

You want some ice cream—and more than that, you want to see him. Close your mouth around the adrenaline he’s always so willing to fill your life with. 

You don’t know what he’s doing at seven PM on a Thursday night. You usually meet him on Fridays or during the weekend if he’s working the day before. You’ve never shown him your neediness—and there’s a certain dangerous feel to it, baring yourself naked in this way, despite the fact he’s seen, touched, and licked every inch of you. And it’s hard for your brain to comprehend that you yearn for him when your social, emotional and physical battery is dead. If anything, you should be resting as you are, get right in order to be at your best for the next time you see him. 

But alas… 

With a sigh, you turn to your other side and reach for your phone that you’ve been charging, gliding your hands down the cable, imagining it’s his arm. And with a frustrated furrow of your brows, you tap on the circle above your messages. A pinned picture of him that you took, his face caught in his gummy smile against the dark backdrop of his car interior, filtrated with the twinkling lights of Seoul’s city buildings. Another sigh leaves you, one that exasperates you because why are you so needy for him? Why can’t you be a normal girl, independent, okay with your own company shared with the fictional people that you love? You’ve spent your girlhood like this, and happily so. Why does growing up mean you need the male energy more than your own? 

Biting your lip, your anxiety spikes up, but your desire for Yoongi overwhelms it, wins. And that settles a layer of calmness over it, gives the command to your fingers to type what they need to type. 

hi

what are you doing 

The bubbles don’t emerge from the dark motive of your chat until a few minutes later, the green of his message brightening up your phone—and your life, too. 

About to have a concert. Having a shot right now for your health. 

Oh, shit. A strange concoction of disappointment and a deep, low, murmuring stimulus rises in you. The swan in you elongates her neck, interested, but still dispirited considering her options. She will have to fold back into her form, and continue on her long, somber voyage back from the dead end, dwelling on the thrill of the flirtation of the man that she likes a little bit too much. 

Staring at the thick canvas of trees and shrubbery that aren’t letting you in to see him, you think about what to type, your thumbs hovering in the air. Life dislikes you; life wants you to suffer—

A ringing tone of your phone tugs you away from your distressed thoughts. The Latin letters of Yoongi’s name expand across the screen behind that picturesque and private shot of him, enlarged, stirring your heart. Silence spreads through your mind and your thumb quivers as you slide it across the bar to accept his call, placing the device against your ear. 

It feels as though you’re pressing the side of your head against his, especially so once you hear the warmth of his raspy voice pronouncing your name in his accent, marked by the liquor he drank prior to your messages. 

Enlivened, your body is. Just from that. 

“What’s up with you?” Yoongi asks, and the swan sails a little bit more swiftly, her tucked-in wings fluttering against her feathery body. You play with your necklace, your trembling so, so terribly evident. You’re glad he didn’t video call you, but the phone call is much more intimate and pleasant. 

You huff out a noise of desperation without meaning to and cringe at yourself, crunching up your features. Yoongi calls you by your name with a tiny hint of alarm and you curse yourself, silently. Your misanthropy gets pointed at you. 

“Noth—”

“Should I cancel my concert right now?” he suggests, cutting in, and you can hear the drunken playfulness in his voice, the one you have enjoyed on many occasions. Even acted out on your pleasure from it by making him, physically, feel good about it. You wish you could suck his dick right now, right before his concert, so he gives out his best for his fans. 

The sighs are ceaseless and you don’t bother to stop them at this point, your enlivened body soaking up in a swelling, unmet desire. 

“You’re sighing,” he notes, and you discern a cube of ice clinking in his glass, then a swallow of his throat, as if the indication of your yearning got him going, got him needing that burning liquid. “Are you horny for me?” 

Enlivened, your butterflies are, starting a war just from that sole question: desire versus your mental health. 

And using the vanilla scent of their wings, they remind you of the fact that you’re an adult woman and that you’re allowed, and more than allowed, to do whatever your body asks for. And if it’s asking for Yoongi, you’re going to go the extra mile to get him. 

Brazenly and femininely—and a little bit slyly. 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m really craving that ice cream you promised me,” you say, lowering down your tone, and you play with the lacy lining of your bra. Think you can tease him with it for a good effect. “I’m wearing a nice lacy set right now.” 

Yoongi sucks in a breath and lets it out in a sigh that is entirely redolent of you, making your mouth curve in a soft smile. “What color?” 

Your expression of a muted joy expands as you tell him. “Red.” 

He swears, raspily, and the shade of your lingerie becomes more vibrant in the dimmed yellow light of your bedroom. And there you feel it—a more intense tendril of lust slithering down your sternum, moving your body side to side against your sheets in need. And the whimper that comes out of you is more primal than it is forced. 

At the sound, Yoongi pauses. You imagine him biting his lip, the gears in his brain turning, and he doesn’t disappoint you. He never does. 

“Do you have a dress of the same color?” he asks, small pants escaping his mouth, and you smirk. 

“I do.” 

He chuckles in personal delight. “Wear it for me. The set, too. I want to see it. I will pick you up after the concert and get you that ice cream.”

Your butterflies spring to your lungs, making it hard for you to breathe. And you don’t know whether to be glad, to be happy, to jump on your bed or to get ready. All those emotions simultaneously gather in you, spreading sparks of excitement down your nerve endings. And most of all, you want to hug him. 

You want to hug your adrenaline-infused angel. 

“Okay,” you agree, prolonging the vowel, the muscles in your cheeks aching. “How long is the concert?”

His delight leaks out through a deep hum, one that causes you to tense your body in feverish eagerness. “Two hours. Can you wait that long for me without touching yourself?” 

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip. Think you can wait however long for him, just as long as you get to see him. “I can, but my panties will be ruined. Sticky and uncomfortable.” 

The hum is strangled by his strained intake of breath, turning you woozy, your fingers itching to slide beneath your said panties, knowing his noises alone would make you come in seconds. You weren’t wet before he called, but now you can feel the center of the fabric dampening the longer you talk to him. 

“I’ll take them off as soon as I can. I promise. Hold it out for me.” 

And you believe him. You compress that promise into your hand, warming it up with your body heat before you tuck it safely into the chambers of your heart—and you wait. 

You wait for him to fulfill the myriad of his promises. 

You did hold it out for him, and brilliantly so. You watched one episode of your drama with a little bit more vehemence, despite the fact Yoongi swam past your thoughts more times than you can count. You’ve never watched him perform in real life as his own private life was always kept in secrecy from his fans, but your curiosity led you to search him up online and watch a playback of one of his more upbeat songs. Dressed in a long black coat, white shirt and a tie, your mouth was wide open, as well as your eyes, as you took in his ferocious energy, enhanced by his passion, and you never looked at him the same as before. He became someone else, a figure of brutal yet tender power and it made you want him even more zealously. 

The memories of that performance resurfaced in your mind every now and then, and his Agust D persona would melt into the male interest of the show, deepening your desire for him as you dreamed. 

Dreamed of reaching different highs with him. More profound, more devastating. 

A dream that could never come true. A promise that would never flow past his mouth. 

You didn’t let that ruin your night, however. As the second hour wrapped around you and your body lacked the heat it needed, you shut your laptop and stood up to your feet, walking over to your closet. Your fingers found that red dress you had spoken about first before your eyes did, silky and sleek amidst the thick, woolen fabrics of your winter clothes. It was the only nice dress you had, one you haven’t worn before, and you were thrilled you got to wear it for him tonight. 

It fit you like a second skin, hugging your curves just right, fading into the lacy linings of your lingerie. One would have to sharpen their gaze in order to notice it—and you wondered if Yoongi was going to scout it with his eyes first or with his fingers. 

The unknown excited you, so much that your panties gained that stickiness you mentioned in the phone call. And when you sat down to slide your feet into your black strappy heels, the feeling was so intolerable that you cringed—and your brilliancy ended there. 

How were you going to sit against your cold arousal for another hour? 

The awaited text didn’t come through until you were dousing yourself in your vanilla perfume. Yoongi was downstairs, waiting for you in his car. Left my lights on for you, he had typed to reassure you because he knew how anxious it made you, looking for his parked car in the dark when you couldn’t see anything. 

Your heart blossomed two times bigger when you checked it from your window. Yoongi in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, the headlights filtering through the mist of the deep of the night. You smoothed a hand down your tummy, calming your butterflies, and, reapplying your lipstick, you grabbed your coat and went outside to meet him. 

He spotted you long before you lifted your head to smile at him and he reached over to the side and opened the door for you. The motor was running, keeping the warmth intact for you, and you sighed in relief when you entered it—only to realize that Yoongi had turned on the seat heater for you. 

You melt into the leather, closing your eyes, the ambience of the present moment nestling upon you like the most delicate layer of snow that dissolves when you feel a swift breath along your neck and it’s Yoongi, lengthening his arm and closing the door while keeping his twinkling gaze on you and giving you a pleased smile. 

The butterflies kick against your stomach. 

“I was going to do that,” you say because you truly were—it’s just that the snug, comforting heat he prepared for you made you want to stop and bask in it as the short walk from your apartment building to his car numbed your bones to such an extent that you needed the time to defrost. And he quickened the process by placing an even warmer hand upon the nylon of your inner thigh that the slit of your dress and your trench coat exposed. “It’s just so cold.” 

He fondles the fabric of your tights on the top of your thigh with his thumb. A gesture of comfort that diffuses life down your legs and colors your cheeks in a shade of pink that irradiates the subdued atmosphere of the car. It’s hard to breathe—and it’s hard to resist him, keep yourself cool and not swing your leg over. 

Fuck the ice cream. You want something way creamier. 

“It’s only right I close it for you after I opened it,” he reassures, the deep tenor of his voice puncturing right through you, looking for your core, and you shift your hips, the discomfort of your wetness not allowing you to relax as much as you need. Yoongi’s eyes flick down to your movement and he parts his mouth as that distinctive smirk of his divulges his enjoyment in seeing you so horny for him. “Are you still sticky for me?” 

It’s now that you take the time to fully look at him. There’s a certain glossiness to his long hair that tells you he went home and took a shower before he got inside his car and drove through the quiet night to meet you. You can smell the rosemary of his shampoo and the usual minty aroma of his body wash, blended with his natural musky pheromones and the wood, the tangerine of his perfume. He’s the synthesis of your internal woodland, the breath of the trees that your swan inhales and a punishment, all in one; and you’re not sure if you can hold out any longer. Both emotionally, both physically.

“Very sticky,” you say, wrapping your hands around his arm, descending your fingers down the bulky, wooly material of his winter jacket like you were touching your charging cord—a temporary dream come true. You enclose your palm around his knuckles, think that if he feels how wet you are, he’ll realize that you sentimentally require more than he normally gives you—that your flesh will somehow tell him and give him the bravery to do so. 

But Yoongi doesn’t move an inch. His fingers remain fixed on the inner of your thigh, digging dents into the skin as you feel the bulging of his bicep the more you push his hand towards your wetly clothed cunt. His smile falls, his eyes droop—and the energy is charged with such unnamed intensity that you let go of your pursuit, slipping your fingers beneath the edge of his sleeve as a sign of your submission. 

That quickly. 

“You promised to hold out for me, didn’t you?” he asks, waiting for your agreement, and you nod, feverish, dripping with perspiration, with this great need that towers over you. “Then, be like Daddy and keep your promise or you’re not getting anything.” 

A shiver cascades down your spine—not merely from his authoritative voice, but from the role he dipped into that immediately puts you into yours. You begin to giggle, palming your mouth as the blush in your cheeks bursts and tears of overwhelmingness add a certain glint to your eyes that sparkles beneath the yellow-tinted car interior lights. And using this fatherliness of his, he interweaves your arousal around his long, piano fingers, announcing he’s its King. 

Your essence trickles out of the confines of your panties. 

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you whine, still giggling, you can’t help it. Yoongi takes after you, blessing you with that gummy grin of his that you adore so much. Your heart enlarges. 

“What exactly am I doing on purpose?” he challenges, kneading the flesh of your thigh, and he senses his answer right away. Your essence travels to his hand, stopping there, and once again Yoongi’s smile falls, eyes plummeting to it, hand lifting—and fingers gathering that warm slick. 

And it drips onto his own pants-clad thigh when he plunges his fingers into his mouth, shocking you to your core. 

“Yoongi��”

He hums in titillation, interrupting you, and smacks his mouth. For a brief amount of time, he seems to be in his own world as he tastes you on his tongue. And then, he takes those same fingers, turns the key in the ignition, moves forward the shift stick, and without sparing you a glance, he drives out of his usual parking spot and doesn’t hesitate to correct you. 

“Not Yoongi. Daddy.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. Think you need some kind of plug to stop your arousal from flowing down your thigh. Yoongi doesn’t mention what just happened throughout the whole drive, but you do notice his semi-hard manhood poking out of his groin area. You salivate, but don’t tempt him, squeezing your thighs together so tightly that your muscles cramp. 

You’ll save it for later. 

You listen to him talk about his concert experience of tonight while the drum in your clit matches the beat of the songs of his playlist. He speeds down the road, keeping his hands on the steering wheel and the shift stick, and he doesn’t look at you until he halts the car at the first red light. 

He smiles at you, knowingly. A dirty, dirty smile that turns your world upside down, vexes you deeply—enough for you to swivel your head in the other direction to ignore him because if you looked at him any longer like that, you’d be unbuckling his pants. But Yoongi does what he pleases. With his index finger, he whips your chin back to him, leans over and grins before he presses his lips against yours. 

A gentle, gentle kiss. One that does not mirror his demeanor. 

Your walls flutter, your whole body, too. Shock seizes you in its grasp at that gesture of affection and you can’t breathe—he’s stolen all of the oxygen in your lungs. The trees sway and bend, the swan in you dances quite buoyantly, despite the fact that a storm is coming. 

A storm of your emotions. 

He’s never kissed you like that—out of the blue, at the red light. He kisses you when he’s drunk, handsy and touchy-feely as he everlastingly is, but he doesn’t kiss you just like that when he’s sober. 

“You doing good?” he murmurs against your lips, ripping away the fingers of your shock, and it feels as though you’re waking up from a dream—only to glide, boundlessly, into another one. Yoongi waggles with your chin before he pulls away, the yellow light bathing him in its shade momentarily before the green blinks and he jumps back into his own world. 

Does he really think you won’t erupt in this storm? Disintegrate into smithereens and wipe everything clean that he is? 

“What was that for?” you ask, softly, your lips numb and aching for more of his tenderness, one that you would, in all honesty, die for. You trace the print of his own lips on yours, feel its heavy warmth, and you might as well be drunk just from that. 

You need a shot. And not just one. 

Yoongi bites his bottom lip. “You’re holding out so well. I thought you deserved it.” 

You roll your eyes back—not from raw annoyance, but from the pristine pleasure you receive from the dominant, fatherly energy of his words. Suddenly, you don’t know what to do with your hands, what to say, what to think. What you do know is that you surely will be crying into his pillow by the time this night is over and he’s fast asleep. 

But you can’t cry much. Can’t wake up with puffy eyes. Can’t reveal to him the gravity of your feelings. 

You don’t even remember the moment you realized you loved him. Think you loved him the first time you laid your eyes on him, but you buried it deeply in you—so deeply that you didn’t even recollect your feelings when Yoongi told you, straight away, that this was just a friends with benefits kind of arrangement. Truth be told, this business is the sole kind of relationship you can give him as you hate men. Always hated them. But you don’t hate him. 

He’s not them. He’s different. 

You may have wanted adrenaline and joy tonight, but as you dwell in this state of mind of yours, you slouch deeper into the leather and come to a heartbreaking understanding that you’ll never be happy in this life. 

The night-clothed streets pass by you in soft shapes in colors, disappearing instantly out of your view. And the woodland, the trees and the swan, they disappear, too. Shrouded by the fog of your abysmal sadness. 

***

Yoongi took you to such a small hotel that its luxuriousness pierced your eyes with its glorious light. You thought you were dining and ending the night at his place, but once Yoongi ordered your favorite shots of sweet rum with cocktail cherries, you perceived you were staying here. Perceived he was unknowingly giving you the opportunity to drown your feelings in alcohol as well. 

You almost didn’t wait for him to take his own shot before you downed yours, but hearing the click of his tongue, you stopped midway. And to make sure you did wait, he placed his palm upon your wrist, bringing your arm down onto the table as he ordered your dessert. 

Chocolate ice cream, just for her. Thank you. 

He made everything worse. 

You weren’t sure why you wanted to be so good for him, listening to every order of his that came to his mind. Why you wanted that validation, that praise. You could just do whatever you desired—it wouldn’t scratch your relationship with him. You could be bad and he wouldn’t mind. Hell, you think he would even enjoy it. But why is it your inert yearning to please him so much? It’s devastating—and it’s your personal ruination. Because the more you do things that caress his ego, the deeper the abyss of your feelings for him goes. 

You shouldn’t. Not in the construct of your friendly relations. For the sake of your well-being.

You pry his fingers away and take that shot, watching his eyes grow large in their surprise. You never slide the cherry along with the liquor into your mouth, so once you swallow it, you open it wider and begin to chew it. His brows twitch, his own mouth parting at the sight and he leans back into his chair, completely submitted and enthralled by your act of defiance. 

And it feels good, going against him like that. Living your life by your own decided rules, and not his. 

You don’t hesitate to gulp down the other shot, but it’s not the slight burning of the liquid that gives you the buzz. It’s the way he seems to be completely pleased by your self-will, smiling lazily at you with his head tilted to the side. It propels you to steal his shot, too, and the brief facade of his pleasure collapses. A dark tendril of concern lines his eyes and those brows that twitched furrow, casting a dusky shadow over those slits. 

Now he’s aware of it, the tornado that spins within you. But he doesn’t know the cause of it, the decadent poetry verses that cover it. 

And he’ll never know—he’ll never read them. Because you’d much rather keep it in secrecy than risk losing him for all eternity. Feelings can be hidden, feelings can wander off, lose their bearings until they no longer remember that your body used to be their home. But Yoongi… he’s a person that you meet once in a lifetime. And losing him would mean that you lost not just your life, but the blood pumping in your veins as well.

It’s wrong, being attached like that to someone, regard him this way. And you’re cognizant of the fact it’s temporary—and for that sole reason, you bask in it. Because your life would be prosaic, and not poetic, if you didn’t. 

That is the motto you carry in your pathetic, but strong heart. 

And the darkness of his concern, it intoxicates you more than the last shot you take. 

The backdrop of dining and chattering people sway, just like your past trees, behind him. Manifestations of foreign lives you’ll never witness twice in your life, that are a part of you today and will part from you tomorrow. Yoongi, in the middle, remains stable. A beacon of light, unmoving, a great pillar of fixedness and steadiness. He peers at you through the thickness of his eyelashes, his aura solemn, no longer playful. Your sighs emit out of you in a constant stream while your eyes roam at everything in motion but him and he seems to strongly, strongly dislike that. 

“What’s up with you?” he asks for the second time around this evening, but the question has a loftier ring of seriousness to it. It passes through you, puncturing you until it pokes out of your back and transforms into a pair of monumental wings. Ones, upon which your feelings are mockingly hung, for his eyes to see, but not to recognize.

And the swaying of your body brings forth wetness to your eyes, for it is an anamnesis of the inner world you lost due to the comprehension of your feelings. 

“Nothing,” you say for the second time around, too. A hefty blanket of silence is thrown across the table, scattered with empty shot glasses that were meant to be shared between the pair of you. Unable to look at him, your eyes drop to them, count them—one, two, three, four—and then your irises wind up at his clenched fist. At the white valleys of his knuckles that are composed only when his fingers are wrapped around a microphone. And the blanket of the silence is warmer than the warmth he has given you—a sweltering layer of heartsickness that you can’t bear. With your drunk brain, you think you should pierce it, as if with a needle, with a response to a question he didn’t ask you. “I haven’t eaten much today, that’s why I’ve gotten drunk so quickly.” 

Yoongi runs a tongue down the inner flesh of his cheek. Ponders the information you have given him before he scolds you. “You didn’t eat and you drank four shots in a row. You won’t tell me what it is, fair enough, but I know you’re hiding it behind the pretense of you being horny.” 

His head swivels to the side, sensing a presence. And he watches as the waitress puts down an ornamental plate of two scoops of chocolate ice cream in front of you. You don’t pay her a second of your time. You set your eyes on Yoongi, on the darkness of his energy that you are ever so slowly and magnetically pulled to. 

Yes, he sees the problem, but doesn’t recognize it. He sees the shape of your wings, but he can’t recognize their color. 

The solidness of his call-out quivers. You’re not sure if you’re hiding it; you’re no longer sure about anything at this moment, but you don’t care. You have to stick to your secrecy, you have to keep your feelings safe and tucked away, no matter how far on the edge of the cliff they are. 

“I’m not hiding anything. I was horny,” you retort, not caring that the waitress is still present, picking up your shot glasses. Yoongi gives you a look while you tip your chin down and gaze at him through your long lashes—just like he did. A taste of his own sweet poison. And then you lift your foot and rest it between his outstretched legs, the sole of your stilettos pressing lightly against his soft groin. 

This is fun. This is the adrenaline you were seeking. Who would’ve thought you would be your own provider of that. 

Surprised by the abruptness of your act, he doesn’t let it show on his face, but his hands drift upwards from his thighs before he settles them around the bridge of your foot. He waits for the waitress to finish her job and, sensing the pressure, she scurries away without asking if you wanted to order another round. 

And in her absence, Yoongi begins to touch you. 

He sails his fingernails from your toes up to the thin strap of your shoe, wrapping them around your ankle. He squeezes your limb once, warning you about something you don’t know, his eyes tiny, tiny slits. Perhaps if you keep up with this, the night won’t end so prettily like it normally does. 

But you don’t believe it. You refuse to. And to be frank, you can’t. 

You shall have your fun. 

“Eat your ice cream before it melts,” he orders like the father he is, pointing at the dessert with his irises. 

You look at it, at the bits of the chocolate bars jutting out of it, then back up at him. “Feed it to me.” 

The slits break, his eyes enlarging. His reaction spreads all across his face—brows curling upwards, mouth parting, his thumb absentmindedly swiping across the skin of your shin, exposing how much he liked your request. Such an intimate place for that to happen. 

Then, he examines his surroundings. Then, he gets up from his chair and sits next to you on the booth, taking a hold of the spoon and your leg simultaneously, hooking it over his thigh. Scoops the ice cream and turns to you, his arm suspended in the air. 

“Open,” he rasps, and your eyes wet first before your mouth complies, opening wide for him. Yoongi slides the spoon into your mouth with expert gentleness, careful not to hurt you, and your first tear of the night cascades down your cheek when your mouth closes around the silver, your tastebuds cheering due to the chocolate flavor that overwhelms them. 

Yoongi, the man that could never disappoint you. Yoongi, the man who has given you more fatherly love than your own father ever did. 

How could you not love him? How could you not want more from the casualness of your relationship with him when he treats you like this? When he prepares a warm faith in men within your chest, a wet soil—out of which the tenderest sprout of joy shall grow? 

The second tear cascades down. The ice cream melts on your tongue. You swallow. 

Yoongi sighs, dropping his hands, the corners of his eyes rounding in an emotion you’ve never seen upon him. “You have to tell me what’s going on.” 

Your wings, swan-like, flutter behind you, ruffling the hair on the crown on his head. “The ice cream tastes good.” 

You brush away your tears, lamenting your foolish mistake, and fold your hands on your lap. Give him a teary smile that you can’t hide and open your mouth for him again. Yoongi doesn’t say anything as he continues to feed you and frown at you, not until another waitress comes and asks if you wish to order another round. His anger is evident in his voice as he turns her down, stating you won’t be drinking any more than you have. 

And again, he makes everything worse when he wipes your mouth clean after you finish the dessert. Pats your head to reward you. 

You hold your tears, watch him pay for you, give him your hand when he leads you towards the elevator up to the room where you’ll be staying tonight. 

Him, completely sober; you, drunk out of your mind. 

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even as you and him stand side by side, the silence as thick as death. You can’t stand it, can’t do anything else but to break it all over again. Though this time, you don’t do it with words. 

You do it with your actions. 

Stumbling on your feet like a freshly-born fawn, it’s only then that Yoongi looks at you. Holds you steady as you move in front of him to face him. He doesn’t swim along the current of all these brown shades of the elevator, but you can see a deep emotion waving through his ice-cold eyes that heat up, melt and droop when you envelop your arms around his neck and press your face against the side plane of his, kissing him there a hundred, a thousand times. You sink your fingers into the hair at the nape, tracing circles along his scalp and Yoongi shudders, breathes evenly against you, and it reminds you of the wind that swept past your woodland—the one that made your trees sway. 

All of that is gone because of your mistake. 

And something tells you that nothing will ever be the same. That something groundbreaking awaits you once these elevator doors open. 

And they open too quickly. 

Breaks your wordless actions that speak your gratitude for his fatherly behavior by gathering you into his arms, carrying you out of the elevator. Doesn’t let your aching feet touch the ground until the snugness of the tiny room welcomes you in. A queen-sized bed, a mirror across the wall that faces it, a round table by the balcony. It would be stifling if you were here alone, but Yoongi, somehow with his domineering energy, enlarges the room—makes it his. 

He empties out his pockets. Phone, wallet, keys. A white lighter and a pack of cigarettes. His jacket follows next, hooking it around one of the chairs, and once he notices your wavering feet, he sits down at the edge of the bed and sheds your trench coat, throwing it over his own jacket. Bends at the waist and takes off your heels, one by one. Only then, when you’re comfortable, does he set you down in the center of his lap. And you realize that the mirror is right in front of you. 

You watch him through it. Watch his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck; watch your own form disappear into the buffiness of his body as his hands begin to roam. His watch glints in the dim light of the room and his own being coalesces, becomes one with the murkiness. 

You want to do that, too. Forget who you are. Forget what you’re feeling. 

Tears prick at your waterline and you let out a pained sigh. Another foolish mistake of the night, one you’re about to pay for. 

“Talk to me,” he begs, a wisp of a tiny whiny weaving into his voice inconspicuously, but you catch it—and it vibrates through you, weakening you. It makes it so much harder for you, his unyielding need to know what’s troubling you, but how can you tell him? How can you risk never seeing him again? 

You remain silent, painfully so. 

Yoongi lifts his head from your neck and stares you dead in the eye through the mirror, chilling you down to the bone. 

“You truly think I’m just a guy you fuck?” he spits, his anger on full, unabashed blast that you should’ve seen coming with your restrained behavior, but it’s better to take his anger than to take his absence—and you shall devour that emotion of his. His question causes a hiccup to ensue in your chest, the secrecy of your feelings leaning over the edge of the cliff. Dangerously, dangerously close. “That you can’t confide in me? You think I’m just gonna fuck you and pretend I didn’t see you cry?” Your eyes dart away, a heavy load of agony settling over your heart, but Yoongi prevents you from looking away. Makes you look at him by grabbing your chin and keeping your head still, facing the mirror. “Is that what you want? You want me to be this kind of asshole?” 

You bite your lip, not knowing what to say, not knowing who you want him to be, not wanting to be in this situation at all. But Yoongi can’t stand your silence. Can’t stand the privacy of your trouble, as if he inertly knows that it has something to do with him. 

He softens his touch, but he doesn’t do the same with his voice. 

“Answer me.” 

You cry out in unnamed desperation, which propels Yoongi to lift your head up to him, so you can look at him—so you can see how much this matters to him. The emotion in his eyes vivaciously thumps, urging you to speak to him. He holds you to him like this, gripping your cheeks with the littlest amount of pressure, sucking in small breaths and you can’t. You’re going to explode if he keeps at it, and you’re going to die.

“Yoongi,” you whisper, tiny cries emitting out of your throat, and it’s almost a cry for help. You bunch up his T-shirt in your trembling fist, seizing the solidness of him like your fear seizes you, and you don’t know whether to run or stay put on his lap like this. You’re appalled about where this is going and you’re certain that the same dead end is impatiently seeking you—

Yoongi shushes you. Averts his hand and caresses your hair down. Kisses your forehead, where he lingers a few long seconds that subdue the expression of your storm. Waits until your breathing evens out, so he can unravel the words swelling in him. 

“Even if you asked me, I couldn’t be this kind of asshole to you,” he reveals against that plane of your face, punctuating his sentence by pressing his nose against yours. And you can’t believe his actions, you can’t believe the kind of affection he’s bathing you in; it lessens your fear, slashing it apart until there’s nothing left of it. “Something is hurting your heart and that bothers me. And what pisses me off most of all is that you think I can’t help you.” 

You sniffle and slide your hand upwards to his neck. Try to memorize every inch of this paintwork that your life is graced with as tomorrow won’t have the same paints, the same brushstrokes—

“I’m not gonna fuck you. If you want to be touched, I’ll touch you, but don’t think for a second you’re coming tonight, not if you won’t talk to me,” he murmurs and you gasp, lowly, your wings slumping limply.

The promise of him fucking you was your only salvation for tonight. You gaze up at him with wide eyes, your mouth falling agape, unbelief clutching you at the intensity of his stubbornness. 

And you want to know the meaning behind it. 

“Why?” 

He scoffs, kissing your cheek as if you were a baby he’s cradling, and you can’t take it anymore. You untangle yourself from his grasp and stand up to your feet, your back against the mirror. Yoongi peers at you disapprovingly and then he shakes his index finger at you. Your legs mimic the same movement, trembling, weakening at that. 

“You need to be taught a lesson,” he says and flattens his lips, pauses before he opens his mouth again, but you stop him, despite how much you like it. 

“No, Yoongi. Why are you treating me like this?” 

He props his knuckles against his thighs. A powerful, powerful stance. Curls his lips around his teeth. “Like what?” 

You reflect him. “Like I’m something more.” 

Yoongi chuckles, humorlessly, at that. You spewed it out so rapidly that you don’t realize what you said until he lets out that noise that returns the drum to your sensitive parts. And briefly, as if you uttered something stupid, you grow smaller and smaller—until his following words change your life once and for all. 

“Because you are and because you always have been,” he rasps, the corners of his mouth downturning for a split second, exposing his own secrecy that brings you to your knees. They scruff against the white carpet, stained by time, and Yoongi’s eyes flash with light to see you in this position. 

Your heart hammers with more life than it ever had, with a kind of adrenaline it never felt before, and wetness clouds your vision, misting this situation in a cloud of disbelief. Your lungs fail you, shuddering underneath his hard gaze, and they swell greatly when Yoongi clasps your face in his hand, the one that pointed at you so fatherly, so devastatingly. 

“You’re not just a girl I fuck and I know I’m not a guy you fuck. What we have is irreplaceable, what we do has always been something more, beyond the label we gave it and I regret it,” he lets out, a pained sigh—just like yours—wafting over your features, and Yoongi leans over, propping his elbows on his knees, his other hand joining your face, fingers gripping your hair on each side. “I should’ve treated you more properly, with respect. Take you out on dates. Get to know you. Wait before you let me touch you… because that is what you deserve. You’re not a girl to mess around with. You have a dignity that needs to be taken seriously, that needs to be respected and I wish I had done that. I wish…” he trails off, clicking his tongue in ultimate regret, and you break. You break, break, break. Sob in his hands that hold you so steadily, that give you life, adrenaline and a new meaning to your whole being. Suffocate under his watch, the earth-shattering notion that this has changed the course of your trajectory of your relationship with him forever constricting your throat. “I wish I had allowed myself to court you like you deserve. I wish I had been better mentally, but I’ll make everything right if you want me to. If you want me as much as I want you, I’ll make it right. I’ll try my hardest.”

Your own words, your heartstrings tangle up in a complex manner. Your tongue twists, your speech held back, and you have no control over what comes out of your throat. You’re crawling through a limbo that has no end and each movement you make, the way back gets erased. You need to keep going before it swallows you, but you need him to lead you. You need him inside your skin, inside your heat, inside your mouth. You need to be connected to him in a way you’ve never been connected to him before. You need his breath in your lungs—and your attachment to him bursts in flames. 

Sated, elated, magnificent. 

“Fuck me and make me yours, Yoongi.” 

He sucks in a breath as if he didn’t expect you to accept his favor. The light in his eyes soaks his irises in wetness and his mouth trembles in a tender emotion before he smashes it against yours. And within that lip lock, the swan in you is reborn. 

A baby swan, learning how to sail upon this new, new river—needing her father more than ever before. 

The kiss is hard and the kiss is catastrophic. Yoongi moves his mouth against yours, sucking every bit of your old life out of you to fill you up with newness. Lifts you up and sits you back on his lap. But the kiss is too brief and you soon perceive that his anger hasn’t been shunned out. 

Wet and blue flames lick over his black pools. 

“Not until you tell me what’s bothering you. What I said still applies.” 

The zipper slides down, the straps follow suit—and your silk is ripped away from your body that Yoongi turns over and moves to his preferable position, cradling you sideways like a child. And there—as he gives you a once over, studying the red lace of your lingerie, the swell of your breasts, the little valley of fat upon your tummy, the ruination of your panties and the stickiness of your thighs—there you realize that he’s as punishing you as much as he manipulating you into telling him. 

And it’s as arousing as it is bad. 

His free hand begins to roam while the other one holds you close, wrapped around your back, preventing you from running away. It ghosts over your breasts, causing your spine to arch into his palm and his throat to emit a delicious groan that drenches your panties. His fiery hand ventures down, his tongue gracing you with little praises of how beautiful you are, and when he reaches the V-line of your private parts, he discovers how much his deep voice and his touches affect you. 

He lifts his fingers and catches them glistening in the orange light. And this time, he doesn’t plunge them into his mouth. No, he sinks them inside your own. You swirl your tongue around them, coaxing that throaty noise of his that makes your hips buck up. Your tangy sweetness stupefies you and your so-loved woodland is remolded by that intimate act. By your connected gaze that could start a foreign war and bring the world down. 

“Suck on them,” he orders, and you comply. Hollow out your cheeks, make sucking noises as you find everything you ever searched for in his eyes. Stability, warmth, a father. Switch, cutely, between sucking them and dancing your tongue around them. His index and pinky fit just right between the elongated clefts of your cheeks and he coos, grows hard underneath you, kisses the tip of your nose, onto which he whispers: “Such a good little girl.” 

You moan and he reacts so trenchantly fast, withdrawing his fingers and using them to slide your panties to the side, placing them on your clit and not moving. 

“So swollen,” he comments, kissing you for a beat of time without closing his eyes, without missing this moment. “I like it when you’re like this. Swollen, dripping and so horny for me. Like I’ve never taken care of you before.” He glides his fingers down, past your lips to your hole before going back up, rooting on your throbbing clit before starting over. He etches desperation into your veins, stirs your butterflies to madness, and you breathe heavily. “No one will ever see you like this. No one, you hear me?” 

Your nod is automatic, thoughtless, and he’s pleased to the core. Enough that he begins to massage circles on your clit, your wings fluttering, no longer limp, but full of zest. And he can sense it—and it touches him so much that he deepens the pressure while the circles remain agonizingly slow. Your body writhes. Yoongi smirks down at you, grins fully when you clutch the nape of his neck and make little noises into his T-shirt. And just as soon your vision begins to blur and you reach the cusp of your orgasm, he stops.

“What’s hurting you?” 

He reciprocates your feelings, so you have no reason not to tell him. It’s more of a problem with your speech. You’re so fucked out that you can’t speak. 

Yoongi waits for a few seconds before he spanks your pussy. Maneuvers you so you can look at yourself in the mirror, your back against his chest, and he collects your arousal while he pins back your thigh, drifting all four of his fingers along your femininity, stimulating you and punishing you at the same time. Then, he lets you see your slick trickling out of his digits. 

“Look how wet you are, don’t you want to come?”

He’s a dark figure behind you while you are a small creature, spread wide, drooling, dressed in a sinful shade of red that doesn’t indicate her purity, whose smeared red mouth leaks loud, whiny whimpers when he sticks one of those fingers inside your heat, adding another one right away once you accommodate around him. He fucks you with a force that reverberates throughout your whole body and his name that pours out of your mouth like a prayer is a cry for help all over again. He pumps his fingers and pulls away, edging you in such a sinister way that drives out your tears. 

He worsens your condition—like he invariably does. But the rapidness of his pace, it unlocks your mouth, it untwists your tongue, and you begin to babble. 

Incoherent words, nonsense noises; sounds that blossom in volume when he withdraws ultimately, pushes the lace of your bra away from your breasts and kneads them with wet fingers. 

And you erupt, at last, when he flicks your nipples. You flood his pants-clothed thighs and knees, your slick streaming all the way to the carpet. And the river continues on with his words.

“I know you want this cock. I know you want it deep in you. But you’re not getting it if you don’t tell me right now what it is you’re using me to forget about,” he whispers into your ear, tweaking your nubs, his hands descending down your body and pinching your clit. You cry out, the aftershocks of pleasure dizzying you, his manipulation technique in full effect, and you’ll give it to him. Because of his cock, because of his affection. “You have three seconds. One, two, three—”

“I love you,” you confess, screaming it out of your lungs, and his eyes enlarging and his mouth parting in shock is all you see before you’re thrown on the bed.

Before your panties are ripped in half and flung behind him. 

Before your pussy is eaten and fingered in a way that makes you come in four heartbeats. 

Yoongi’s skilled tongue flicks your clit, his fingers curl in that special spot that bespeckles your vision with the stars of the night sky beyond the hotel room window. And you don’t latch onto the fact you’ve drenched him with your juices until he straddles your thigh, arches over you and kisses you with love-drunkenness, his fingers sliding back inside. 

And he doesn’t start fucking you until he confesses something, too. 

“I love you, too.” 

His digits drill you, his eyes pierce your soul and your orgasms are countless like this, not bound to time, not bound to anything at all. You squirt on him, bathe him in the newness of your relationship, cleansing off the old. And then he’s inside of you, murmuring reassuring words against your mouth about how that shouldn’t be troubling your heart. And you cry, you sob, you scream, overtaken by it all, your mouth numb by his constant hard kisses and if you ever belonged to him in the past—you didn’t. Because at this moment, as he stuffs you full of his cum, you’re interwoven into his DNA for all eternity. 

One that he nurtures as he holds you in his arms and asks you about how long you’ve loved him. And he in return tells you that he loved you the moment you first had a taste of what he could give you—laughter, guidance, and orgasms. All from the first date. 

And when you kiss him for the last time before sleep steals you away, you know that you’ll never lack adrenaline in your life ever again. As long as you’re with him, you’ll be on the receiving end. And his unchanging promises will make you look forward to each day, your batteries charged and green—like your blooming woodland.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave you (Pt.79)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: It's Hoseok's turn to breed you through your heat, but Namjoon won't let him have it easily.

Tags: Group sex, Sub! m/c, Dom! Namjoon, Sub! Hobi, d/s, threesome, comparing knots, Cumplay, size kink, big dick Namjoon, womb fucking, belly bulge, slight inflation kink, breeding kink, clit torture if you squint, overstimulation, voyeurism, exhibitionism, inspection kink, humiliation kink, implied cuckolding, very brief human furniture, puppy play, puppy space Hobi, collars, dominance displays, brief angst, filthy sex becomes lovey dovey, porn without plot.

W/c: 12.0k

A/n: ahhhhh here it is <3 the second part of last chapter that i split last minute <3 more filth but at least it's Hobi filth <3 keep your eyes wide open on the ending! this one is a bit of a cliffhanger <3

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Namjoon doesn’t stop fucking you for most of the second day. It’s kind of…eerie, the quiet that takes over while the pack alpha takes you apart.

Jin and Jungkook got fucked through the night while you slept but now that you’re awake and the others are asleep, Namjoon tends to you diligently. Possessive. It is in the nature of any alpha, under the effects of their instincts, to covet an omega.

That doesn't make it any easier for the other alpha's to sit aside and wait.

It would be easier if they could sleep. But the alpha’s can’t, kept awake by your hormones on the air, the sensitive heat hush that covers them thick and sweet. They almost circle you like prey.

Namjoon is not entirely heartless. He lets Jimin lick and lap at what you can’t keep in between your second and third knotting (if only because Namjoon can't knot you and devour you at the same time). Namjoon cums a lot when he knots, a hot flood that leaves you feeling warm and claimed. Cozy even. Sticky and wet and hot soaking your insides until you’re full.

Namjoon’s knot is so big and you are so tiny. None of them are surprised when your stomach starts to look a little bloated. A little pregnant already.

The whole pack can't help but salivate after it, your tummy bulge. hands roaming, appreciative and gentle.

What can't fit slides out after Namjoon knots. Big globs of it, spilling and squishing regardless of your panic. Your instincts tell you that you can't let any of it go to waste. But it's inevitable. You can hardly clench down anymore. It turns your your lap sticky and messy when he fucks you. Trails of cum sticking to your ass when Namjoon presses flush. So much cum, so much spend that it leaves you ruined.

Tae is unapologetically into it, petting over your stomach and cooing at your mess any chance that Namjoon lets her. Any time he lets her get near. A little territorial. Growling at her when she gets a little bit too much.

“Look pup, alpha’s already gotten you pregnant, so fucked up you’re already swollen. How about here?" She paws at your sensitive chest, and you are too weak to push at her. perilous against the lightning bolts of pleasure that zing through your being as she plays with you. Hobi still holds your hand and feels your heartbeat, bunny fast against his fingertips.

He’s doing good, waiting for Namjoon to give him the go-ahead. (Waiting for his master to give him his turn. Staying like a good puppy.)

“Should we try and see if you’re already making milk?”

You whine as Tae bites and sucks at your chest and Namjoon keeps fucking you. Until your nipples are pink and bitten and swollen from the attention. Nipples harder, whole chest looking bigger than usual.

It must just be the heat, surely.

Tae likes to suck. It soothes both of you while the pack alpha knots you, his knotting long and drawn out. Your hormones are thick and heady on the air. Hobi's pretty sure they're all close to knotting, will knot the air if Namjoon doesn't let them have a turn soon.

But Namjoon is greedy with you in heat. Let's the others stew and wait their turn. Neither Jimin nor Tae touch so Hobi doesn't touch either even though he's straining at the fabric of his boxers.

No sooner has his knot gone down than is he fucking you again. Cock never flagging, even if Namjoon is ever so slightly starting to look tired. You stay like that, a willing doll.

You like being the pack's little omega doll, their nest warmer, their breeding bitch (not that Namjoon would ever call you that, and any alpha that did would get the punishment of the lifetime) But you take all of it, all of his cum. Let him put you through your paces no matter how full you get.

Your entrance is pink and wrecked when he does bother to take it out and show the rest of the pack how he’s bred you. Putting his fingers in and showing them how pink you are on the inside. The way his cum gushes out, especially when someone bothers to pay attention to your clit or ghost their fingers lower over your other hole.

You let them touch you, let them explore. Cuddled up on Hobi's chest. His arms around your back, protecting you a little, soothing your little whines as you teethe on his scent gland as gently as you can. You seem to like doing that. Fixating on Hobi's scent when the others are being particularly mean. Like you need something to settle you. His cock pressed between your stomach and his, close just like you need.

Without Yoongi awake, Hoseok is the next best thing. You wish you could speak; wish you could tell him that. Hoseok is not small but compared to Namjoon… it couldn't hurt anymore right?

You wish you could talk, wish could tell Namjoon that you could probably fit both at once! You're a good pup! And you like Hobi…and Taetae and Minnie and Joonie. It's hard so hard to choose.

It's a good thing you're not in control right now or else you might try and do something stupid like take all of them at once. You have three holes and 4 alphas; the math doesn't really work. You have approximately 3 fully functional brain cells right now. (For all you know, two plus two might as well equal Noodle.)

Your belly bulge is especially noticeable when they shift you onto your hands and knees, Sloshy. Dripping out loud and messy whenever Namjoon pulls out. You can’t keep it all in no matter how hard you try and clench but...namjoon's broken you a little. You tremble, clenching wildly, your body overstimulated and twitchy from so many orgasms.

"Ah poor little pup, did alpha give you too much? Are you too full pup?" But you always shake your head, whining for more.

Thank god for contraceptives. You’d actually get pregnant, no way around it. If Namjoon ever fucked you without one during a heat. Whenever you do decide to have pups it will probably only take one try, Namjoon will probably pup you just because of his length alone, will beat out all the others.

The heat fever gives you amazing daydreams; especially when it spikes particularly high and your brain goes hazy. You imagine it; you on a breeding bench, heat warm and needy just like now. Tied up with pretty little ribbons to keep you still and settled. Yoongi, and Jinnie and Jungkook talking you through it. Each of the alpha is lining up behind you to breed you.

Maybe they'd play rock paper scissors to see who got to go first. To see who got the best odds. They might not even knot you to make it fair. You imagine wearing a plug after to keep all of it safe and snug inside. You imagine the others treating you gingerly and Jinnie petting over your stomach telling you you did a good job, yoongi ducking low to sniff at your stomach and check if you're pupped already. jungkook whining that he wants to be next.

You imagine them cradling you for the next few hours, so gentle and delicate with you, just like they are now (none of what Namjoon does to you is mean or hurts, it feels so good you feel like you're going a bit insane is all, a bit fucked dumb) just to make sure it takes.

Getting pupped outside of a heat is pretty unlikely. You might make them roleplay that with you in the future. Just because you like the idea of it so much. Your brain goes dizzy, and suddenly in your fantasy, it's Jinnie tied up and not you. He'd look so pretty pupped. you'd make him the best best nest.

Namjoon keeps fucking you, nosing at your throat where your purr comes from, loud and rippling. The picture of a satisfied omega, stuck on a half popped knot, heavy with cum and purring.

"Having sweet dreams pup?" He teases. His shoulders feel puffed up, his ego substantially stroked.

Namjoon is a little torturous with the way he keeps the alphas a bay, the way he bends and puts you through your paces. Your heat does not strain Namjoon in the slightest.

He tugs out of you, sitting on his heels. His cock is pink-tipped and wet, hard and big. You are close to sleep, Namjoon can smell it on the edge of your scent. He's just about to turn, just about to ask hoseok if he wants to fuck you to bed when you whine and dig your heals into his hips, urging him back in.

But thats all your capable off. You're so tired. Exhaustion makes you feel like you're going to pass out. But you still want a knot, still need it.

He pulls you up, your body is so limp, so limp, but you do drag yourself onto your knees, hands demurely supporting you between your legs, a universal 'good pup' posture that Hobi finds himself mirroring, watching and waiting. You put your hand to your stomach and hiss at the full feeling. Between your legs, you drip.

A look to the side says and Tae and Jimin are similarly posed. The three of them waiting and at attention. Waiting for the pack alpha to give the others permission. Waiting to see which one he'll select to fuck you next.

But not yet, the pack alpha isn't done with you yet.

He stops for a moment, feeling your forehead, cupping your cheek gently. humming low. You still burn with fever, too high, too much, body not quite there yet. This patch of your heat will probably be the worst, probably be the hottest you'll get. Namjoon can't imagine you getting much warmer to the touch.

If you do. He doesn't want to think of taking you out of this room let alone out of the den. But he will if he has to. They have fever stabilizers and banana bags for hydration at the hospital. You probably need both.

You squirm, and Namjoon's instincts flare.

"Maybe I really have spoiled you too much pup, If you don't want to sleep yet and say you've got enough energy for another knot-" Namjoon taps his thigh. “Why don’t you take your seat little omega, show alpha how much you want it."

You start to whine, to protest as he pulls you up. You are terribly sleepy, and really! too small to take him on your own! But Namjoon's glower is threatening enough that you don't really try to fight it. Your pout cute and your whines go unheard.

You teeter over to him, and he turns you, making you face the rest of the alpha's. He sits back and you hold yourself up on shaky knees, his thighs parted so that you can get close enough that your back is pressed to his chest. Hot and big and powerful behind you.

He's hardly even helping you guide yourself. You hesitate, reaching back blindly for his length. Your hand can't even wrap around it all the way. You teeter, trying to figure out how you want to sit. Holding yourself up just barely, how should you-

Namjoon nudges his cock forward, just barely pressing against your hole, parting you ever so slightly. You gasp, chest heaving. It's just as big and thick as ever. The three other alphas watch you with beady eyes, Jimin jerks in your direction but holds himself back just barely.

Namjoon wiggles his hips, his hand splaying on your hip, gripping the soft swell of your body there. Making you feel his girth, his thickness. His breath is hot on the back of your neck. “Sit on my knot like a good girl now, you liked it so much when Alpha was doing all the work. Come here. Show me how much you like it."

You shuffle, gingerly sitting back and He presses forward. you don't fuck like this like ever. Never are you really in control. Never are you on top, not even with yoongi. you don't know how to set the pace.

When you sit back namjoon's cock doesn't go in like you intend, it slips out and up. Sliding up past your open entrance and up through your messy pussy to nudge your clit and rub. Coating his cock in a mix of slick and cum while he tuts.

You hiccup and settle your hands on his shoulders, trying again and using them to guide you. You find the right position and actually do sit down. Lowering your body onto his cock until your ass hits his thighs.

You shake through the last inch, knees to your chest, and you can't even breathe. Namjoon's so big, it takes your breath away.

Being sat on Namjoon’s cock like this makes your whole body tremble. Full body shudders. He’s so deep like this, so deep that after a few shaky tries, a few moments of trying to grind. You fall, setting your full weight on it, pushing him ever deeper.

You pause, hesitating, crying, breathing.

Namjoon lands a swat over your behind and you jump, whole body shaking. "Move omega,"

"I can't, I can't alpha!" you sob, hands on the nest infront of you, unsure if you're about to start sobbing or squirting or both.

"Poor little dumb puppy, can't even fuck right, I'll show you." Namjoon holds you under your thighs and lifts you up a little, the whole room spins.

"you go up" the nest disappears from underneath you. "and then you go down."

A broken moan shatters from your throat as he lowers you onto his cock. Pleasure hits you like a punch to your gut. A physical blow or an anchor that pulls you under. Makes you sob. It's so much.

But it can't be too much, Namjoon would never give you more than you could handle. Your hole is sensitive but you're not in pain, just desperate to soothe the ache inside of you, an ache that only Namjoon can fix. If alpha's not stopping, then you're alright. You're fine. you repeat that to yourself like a mantra and you find it's mostly true.

Namjoon picks you up and puts you down on his cock a few more times. Then he looks to the others. he summons jimin with a jerk of his chin and the other alpha all but rushes over.

"Jiminie will help you, since you're too far gone to fuck Alpha like you want to. It's my fault, I should have made you learn before I fucked you dumb."

Tae and Hobi almost look scolded at not being chosen. Tae lets out a whine, but a soft growl from Namjoon has her falling quiet. They fight for the opportunity to do this; to help the pack alpha fuck the omega they all want. All of this- every second reinforces the fact that they all know, they all feel in their chests and instincts.

Namjoon's on top. Namjoon's the alpha, the one they all have to listen to. They won't get anything, not a drop of your slick or an inch of relief inside of you- not if he doesn't say so. Not if he doesn't allow it.

You knew Jimin was strong, he carried Jungkook earlier so you shouldn't be so surprised. But you hiccup and try and protest as he picks you up so easily under your thighs, forcing you up and down on Namjoon’s knot like you weigh nothing.

Jerking you close to his chest to get a better grip, altering the angle. You claw and paw at Jimin's shoulders, the back of his neck, his collar jingling against your cheek. Clanging against yours.

Namjoon pauses for a second, there is a latch on the front of jimin's collar and a loop on the front of yours. Namjoon's deft fingers lock you together, keeping you anchored to Jimin.

You are face to face with him as he does it, you feel jimin's deep growl against your front, watching his pupiles dilate. His hands fist in your thighs, holding you hard, holding you steady. You have a feeling you'll have bruises in the shape of his hands on you after this. 

He picks you up, bringing you off of Namjoon's cock, just far enough that his heat hovers just inside.

And then places you back down. Sheathing him inside you in one smooth movement. Letting your body's weight push you down on him. You hiccup and Namjoon feels it from the inside.

It goes like that for what could be minutes or hours, days or seconds. He picks you up and puts you down, fucking you up and down like you're little more than a fleshlight for your alpha.

Maybe it would feel that way if it wasn't for how he kisses at your brow and laps away your tears, mumbling out "Good omega love you so much, love this, so pretty and good for us, so perfect. Our perfect knot slut." Your belly bulge pressed to his stomach, his cock nudging Namjoon’s where it’s inside of you. Not pressing in, but Jimin feels it, the bulge in your stomach pressing against his cock. It's so filthy. The way your eyes roll back.

You don't notice, but Jimin cums against it, from the friction or from everything else. Marking your tummy. Too eager too turned on to stop himself.

"Good pup" you're not quite sure who namjoon's talking too- but it makes you feel warm regardless.

Namjoon guides you to wrap your arms around Jimin's neck, and you rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder. You close your eyes and let the world disappear around you. Narrowing down to the sensations in your body.

The feeling of strong arms holding you. Namjoon's teeth scruffing you dumb. Pleasure bursting like fireworks behind your eyelids. toes curling and head lolling. The hot pain pleasure of his cock splitting you open. The husky words Jimin whispers against your ear.

“That’s it pup just take it, that’s it, I've got you- we’ve got you.”

~-~

When you come too next, you are being absolutely smothered. First by the bodies around you and then by the affection.

Yoongi is running a brush through your hair, detangling it so gently that you hardly feel the tugging, the body in Infront of you is warm and feverish, and the body behind you is strong and muscled.

You pick your head up from Jin’s chest and behind you Jungkook groans. Arms around your waist going tighter. Reluctant to be parted from you.

You want to tell him that there's no one taking you from him, that you are so tired that picking up your head takes a tremendous herculean effort. But you're too tired to speak let alone soothe him. You can taste the fever on the back of your throat and you know you're not out of the woods yet.

Jin was? Feeding you? Licking your face? Grooming you? It's hard to tell just what kind of care he was giving you only that your chest feels open, less tight, less frantic. You feel sore but sated, damp faintly all over. Although you can tell by the way your thighs feel when they move against each other that it's soap, or something sudsy and not slick and cum anymore.

“Ready to join the land of the living pup?” Yoongi teases, fingers running over the nobs of your spine possessively, it’s a bit abnormal for Yoongi. It must be your heat slick making him act like that.

There is also a faint fullness, a plug snug in your hole, keeping what's left in your tummy from spilling out. It's a big plug, you can feel it as you squirm. When your heat fever spikes, you clench down on it and the thickness settles you. It makes you feel stretched out and relaxed, and simulates a knot that never goes down. thats so thoughtful, your pack are so thoughtful cleaning you up but keeping you full.

You lick your lips and rub your nose against Jin's neck. Pressing closer. There is a hand on your chin, making you look up, prying you away from the safe hollow of his throat. Yoongi's eyes are melted chocolate. You rest your cheek against Jin's bare chest and look up at him.

"You kept whining for it."

"I did?" Yoongi kisses your brow.

"Yup. Practically milked Joonie dry, looked like a shriveled old rasin. He needs a good hour but then his dick will stop being broken. You need to eat next, before you take any more." Yoongi's no-nonsense tone is one you're intimately familiar with.

"Okay." You say, feeling small. Voice quiet. Yoongi tugs the brush through your ends.

Speaking of Namjoon Where are the alphas?  You don't feel them next to you, it's not them cuddling you- just your omegas and Yoongi.

Distantly you realize you can hear the alpha's- they're still in the nest, they're just not paying attention to you. You rub your face, your lips against Jin's shoulders. A whine building.

“Tae, no fair! You’re pushing out your hips!”

“I don’t think It works that way Minnie. I've been longer than you for like 10 years-”

You peak over jin's shoulder, tentative, and yoongi sighs. Hormones no longer cloud the air. You must all be between spikes at the same time. You duck back down behind the covers quick. You don't like that your alpha's are arguing, not quite sure what it means.

Both Jin and Yoongi look from them to you.

“Oh my little puppy.”

You sniffle, overwhelmed as Jin bundles you close to his chest. Behind you, Yoongi hums, as close to a purr as his beta body is capable of mating. Jungkook continues to nuzzle into your back completely asleep.

Omega cuddles are exactly what you need. They're so warm. So soft around you. You missed your omegas. You might have been barely a few feet apart from each other. And you’re pretty sure you demanded to hold hands with Yoongi the last time Namjoon knotted you. But you missed them.

You’re not quite sure why you’re crying only that it’s mostly a happy cry as you nuzzle and push your face into his throat. Hiccupping until you calm down. Heats are- intense, but Jin doesn't seem like he's having as much difficulty as you are. 

He's older. He's more experienced. Jin just shushes you. But you can tell he knows it's a good sort of crying, the kind that gets any lingering yuckyness out.

Jin shushes you tucking you under his chin and urging you to press your nose to his scent gland. You rub your lips and nose there over and over again. side to side. Up and down thoroughly covering his skin with your scent. Once your hiccuping, has subsided, and your face has been whipped free from tears. You turn and look.

Your alphas are- maybe they’re wrestling? Their hair certainly looks all messed up, if Tae's hair looks so much like a bird's nest you don’t want to imagine what yours looks like- or looked like- until Jin commanded Yoongi to give you a good ol' omega brushing.

“Was I good? Am I being good?” You ask, Jin pecks your nose, you can tell the heat still isn’t over, a haze on the edge of your vision. Making your words slow and small.

“The best” Jin nuzzles. “Your cute little cunt squirted every single time Joonie knotted you- made the others feel a bit competitive- Jiminie tried to fuck you to get you to do it and only got it half the time. They’re comparing knots now.” Jin says it with a vague tone of annoyance. Crinkling his nose at it.

Yoongi huffs behind you, putting the brush down. “They do this every heat. I don’t know why they expect it to change.”

Your alphas kneel in a circle, each of them standing hard and proud, the knots at the base of their cock’s explored with a giggle. Big hands wandering, knuckles rubbing, grabbing. Hobi sags against Namjoon’s shoulder as the alpha explores him, checking his knot with hungry hands. Did Hobi fuck you? You can't remember. You shift, feeling slick gathering between your thighs as you look.

You think you'd remember it.

You bury your face in Jin's chest again to try and calm your racing heart. But he just hums. "Oh? Getting worked up puppy?" You pick your head up and nod, propping your chin on Jin's shoulder, and go back to watching.

Behind you Jungkook shifts in his sleep his soft omegan cock squishes against your backside, strangely soft. It's comforting to cuddle with them nude like this. To do it without any worry or nagging sense of inadequacy or insecurity. They like where you're soft, it makes you a good cuddler, a good nestmate.

Yoongi does not watch the alphas, Yoongi continues to pet over the top of your head, watching just you.

“Hyung- hyung don’t-"

Namjoon laughs, and Hobi's cock slaps against his stomach. The head of Tae's cock presses against Jimin's in a weird almost kiss, her dress brought up draping Roman-like over her length.

“Let me touch it-“

“If I let you will you promise not to pinch?”

“But you just feel so squishy.”

The head of Hobi's cock bumps against Namjoon’s all pink and velvety. Namjoon’s cock looks impossibly large in Tae's hands. What you can see through their bodies makes your stomach swoop and your scent spike.

Jin noses into your neck, scenting you back until you're trembling and above you, Yoongi watches on hungrily, Jin's teeth nip at the shell of your ear, and your whole-body jumps.

“Should we compare tummies and make them pay attention to us?” Jin offers.

Your answering chirp in approval has 4 heads jerking in your direction.

~-~

Hoseok gets his chance with you when he least expects it.

All of this is routine, the fucking, the food, the love. But challenging Namjoon is not something Hoseok usually does. Not unless he wants to be drawn over the pack alpha's lap for a forceful settling.

Hoseok's settling looks a little different today.

Jimin and Tae finally have something else to fixate on when Jungkook wakes and demands a knot for his hole and another one for his mouth (as cutely as you can picture it). Yoongi of course has a different need of yours that he aims to fix, feeding you sleepy bites while you’re knotted to Namjoon, happy and full in every way with a warm alpha back inside of you. Sitting on Namjoon’s knot easily now that you’re used to it. the plug had done its job of keeping you open and full.

He keeps you stuck there until it goes down, scented dumb and satisfied for now. It’s the perfect time to convince you to eat. You can't fuss too much down in omegaspace, eager as always, to be good for your pack alpha.

"Good pups eat their food, or else alpha can't pup them right, have to stay healthy for alpha." You nod, mouth going slack, opening obediently. It's stunning that thats all it takes.

Namjoon asks and you open, Namjoon asks you to sip and you do, Namjoon tells you to breathe, and you gasp.

Hoseok sits beside you, holding the tray of food for Yoongi, he keeps it straight, keeps it from tipping. An unusual amount of effort goes into doing that small task. Hoseok treats it like he's holding a nuclear bomb. Eyes going from every bite of food as it travels from the tray to your mouth.

Hoseok doesn't mind, it's a good task, good to have something to focus on.

The subspace haze makes Hobi just as good of a pup as you are. Namjoon even lets Hobi feed you too! Your tongue slides against his fingers, licking up sweet strawberry juice. Lapping at them lewdly.

"Good puppies. kiss hobi in thank you pup."

Your kiss is soft and sweet, a little open mouthed, a little pupish. Hobi resists the animal part of him that wants to lick into your mouth for strawberry sweetness and puppy kisses. He laps once, twice, and there is a hand in his hair pulling him back with a tisking noise. Yoongi, looking down at him with a dark indecipherable look in his eyes.

Then he looks at Namjoon, a passing glance and subtext that Hoseok misses, too busy biting back a whine and Yoongi's grip goes slack in his hair. The moment passes without comment or verbal command.

Yoongi's delicate hands scratch behind Hobi's ears and he makes a soft happy sound in the back of his throat. Soft little chuffs.

You stare at them, each of them, wide bunny eyes blinking slowly. eyes glassy. Not saying anything. Shaking your head when they ask questions or nodding cutely. A bit non-verbal.

It's a bit harder to hide when you're verbal. When you decide you do want to babble.

Hoseok is glad for the tray, his cock hasn’t gone soft, not at all, after basically being edged all morning. it's harder to ignore when you go mouthy.

It’s cute, even you chew and accept sweet bites from your fingers, your eyes remain fixed on Namjoon. Babbling around the sweet nibbles. “Love Alpha so much, knot so big and puffy! Love his knot wanna kiss it, wanna eat it-”

Yoongi shoves a piece of bread at your lips to make you stop babbling out your filth. You chew, eyes fixed on him with wide eyes. “Joonie needs to last for the rest of your heat- you can't eat him yet. preferably never but-”

"But- but-" tears dance treacherously on your waterline, threatening to spill.

Namjoon pipes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting a protective and possessive hand on your stomach. Nibbling at your throat, your neck. "I'll eat you first." You giggle and push at him, but it's halfhearted.

Hoseok's eyes remain fixated on you. Hands tight on the tray. Canine hooked over his lower lip. Hobi holds the tray so steady that it doesn't even bob and dip with his breathing.

Once Namjoon’s knot has gone down again, he hisses. The skin around the base of it is going sensitive but you're still needy. You wiggle your hips and whine but Namjoon sets you back into the nest on your side. So careful with you that it makes Hoseok ache.

Your sensitive tummy is protected between your body and the nest. Namjoon lies you out so gently, careful with you. You have bruises everywhere; on your chest, your neck, your thighs. Hand shapes and hickeys. Even a heart shaped one because tae decided you deserved one.

Maybe they haven't been as gentle with you as they think.

If you're strained at all you don't show it, sighing into the nest, gripping handfuls of it in your fists, clinging to it. Kneading the fluff of it a little before your body goes boneless.

Yoongi ducks in close and kisses Namjoon, you, then Hobi, before he takes the tray he shuffles to the other side of the nest the tray of food in hand, intent on also convincing Jin and Jungkook to at least take a nibble.

You whine. High and petulant. Nuzzling into the nest, trying to sate this feeling in your chest.

A warm palm flutters down your spine, comforting. “Ah, my cute needy little pup, what are we to do with you huh? Still insatiable after all of that? You still need more?”

Yes, yes you do. The fire is still burning through you, you’re still in heat. Namjoon is a good alpha (Even if honestly- he’s getting a little tired)

Hobi takes his usual position, holding your hands while Namjoon has you. Sliding between your legs. You're belly down, not even holding yourself up. But you deserve to have it like this, no work, just Namjoon's weight behind you and his knot in your hole.

Hoseok feels a nagging worry in the back of his mind. it's barely been what- two seconds? Since he pulled out. You can't be having another heatspike so soon.

You're about 18 hours in already. Probably nearing the middle of your heat and the worst of it. But then again- maybe you have your worst spikes near the end like Jungkookie. Maybe you're just warming up- making up for lost time.

Hobi holds your hands through it, through this breeding session too. just like he did with Yoongi and Namjoon's first few bouts.

Hobi keeps you from scrabbling, trying to claw yourself away from too much pleasure. It still gets to you- the panic. It's always immediate. Whenever you feel Namjoon prod. Some hidden animal part of you that wants to resist, that like him, needs to be settled.

Hobi holds your hands, looking down, transfixed by the way your body moves. Hoseok is very very good at holding things, isn't he? He's being a good puppy. The best puppy.

You squirm, and Namjoon's instincts flare.

Namjoon leans down, pressing a kiss to your nape, meanly pressing in further, harder. You are so hot inside, the heat fever tearing through you now that you have a little food in your stomach and more energy to burn. Warm and wet and tight. Your eyes roll back and Hobi can do nothing but watch.

But Namjoon's pace stutters.

It's understandable. This is the 5th knot he’s given you in as many hours. It's sometime after mid-day and it's been probably around 30 hours since he's slept. Namjoon's only human. He can't last forever. Hoseok's honestly a little surprised that Namjoon hasn't tapped out yet, that his knot isn't ready to fall off.

But Hoseok watches his pace falter and his lip lifts. It's an instinct to growl. Namjoon spies it, hackles raising.

Alpha instincts are a peculiar thing.

“You think you could do better?” Namjoon taunts, a little playfully. Arms bulging as he holds himself up, trusting harder into you. Almost in retaliation. Hobi blushes, looks away, successfully chastised.

Hoseok shouldn't be intimidated, Namjoon might be the pack alpha, but Hobi has still seen him put his shoes on the wrong feet before and leave the house- too many times to count.

The growl comes out of his mouth before he thinks better about it. Loud. Across the nest. Jin lifts his head, woken up by it, hair all fluffy. Yoongi combs over it to settle him.

Namjoon stops moving.

Hobi clamps a hand over his mouth in surprise and the snarl becomes a whine. “Yes! No! Maybe- I think I-.” Hobi hovers unsure, bashful at being caught snarling at the pack alpha.

Namjoon is not one to let this kind of thing slide especially not during a heat.

Namjoon slides out of you, long and hard and hot, you whimper. You don't like feeling empty. You try to push back on him but are stopped by a hand pressed blank your pussy, Namjoon's fingers brushing your hole, fucked open and messy. Gaping just a little, dripping a bit of cum onto the nest until you tighten up.

You whine. Loud and grating. Hoseok's instincts make him want to gnash his teeth. It sets him on edge. Across the nest, Yoongi turns, distracted from his task of trying to convince Jungkook to suck on a straw instead of trying to suck on his dick, Alarmed at the sound of your whine. The desperation in it.

“Alright alright, calm down,” Namjoon says, kind of laughing through it, kind of high. Namjoon is the picture of restraint, he's not a knothead, not like Hobi. He doesn't snarl and push and fight at another alpha challenging him. No- Namjoon looks at Hobi, a mean glint in his eye.

Namjoon can get a little scary when he's got something to prove, even scarier when he's got a job to do.

Your collar is there by the edge of the nest, taken out when Jimin put on his, black with a golden puppy tag, the twin to Hobi's red one. Your pink one is showing its wear; worn at the hole in the buckle, the one that fits you nice and loose. Perfect as a handhold.

Namjoon points and Hobi gets it before he's even registered that he's following a nonverbal order. Flushing as he takes off the bell and then tries to hand it over.

But Namjoon just eyes your throat expectantly.

Making one sub-collar another is- well-

Hobi's hands stutter, shaky with anticipation as he tries to fit it around your throat. It takes him several tries to get it latched properly. Namjoon’s cock twitches as Hobi looks up for his approval. You push into his hands, purring loudly. No longer displeased at not being filled if you can teeth at the scent gland on his wrist.

Namjoon pulls back and away from you. Heavy cock throbbing, pulsing dully- but in all reality- edging himself will only help everyone in the long run. You’re already so wet on the inside, full of Yoongi and Jimin's and Tae’s cum not just Namjoon's.

But not Hobi's, not yet. Namjoon should fix that.

Namjoon reaches for Hobi's collar and puts it on him, testing the give, pulling him this way and that until he’s satisfied with it. Hoseok whines at being pushed around, tugged almost until he falls over, but he lets Namjoon do it. Obedient.

Namjoon pulls him over to where he sits, behind you, almost between your legs.

There is a bit of whiteness, leftover cum, covers Namjoon’s cock, milky at the tip. You drip slick a little, your pussy lips red and a bit inflamed from the ceaseless friction of his balls flopping forward and hitting where you’re sensitive. Namjoon palms blatantly between your legs checking with a dimply smile to make sure Hobi's watching. you mewl. But Namjoon just grins at Hobi. His fingers still hooked in his collar.

You mewl loudly and Namjoon puts his fingers back where you want them. "Oh don't be a brat, alpha's right here pup."

Hoseok's cock twitches at being manhandled, especially when Namjoon slides that hand down Hobi's midline, feeling him up and Hoseok lets him. Hoseok would let Namjoon do anything. He doesn't even flinch or growl when Namjoon pushes his thigh apart and pushes down his boxers. Palming his knot, examining him. Wrapping his big hands around it and testing where his knot will form. Rubbing at the sensitive skin with talented fingers.

It gives Hobi no small amount of pride that his hand does not cover all of Hobi's cock. He's still sizable. still long even if he's not nearly as thick as the others. Hoseok's scent fluffs out a little stronger at that.

Namjoon has one hand in you, hooked into your hole to soothe you, and the other wrapped around Hobi's cock as he says it.

“Show me then, show the pack alpha that you know to breed.”

Hoseok tries to pull back pull away, saying “But one of the others might want- I don’t need-” as if Hobi hasn’t been hard and trembling since the early hours of the morning, as if he hasn’t been edged by the ceaseless lewdness of you.

Namjoon does not take Hoseok’s excuses, tugging him by his collar “Oh, do you not remember puppy? Don’t worry, alpha can show you how to knot.”

Hoseok knows better than to protest, lets Namjoon lead him to you, lets him tug until Hobi is in between your legs. Namjoon close behind him. Guided by the pack alpha. Namjoon takes his hands in his and places them on your hips, the round fat of your behind. Hands smoothing up and down your sides.

Tentative and shy. Namjoon doesn’t allow him to pull his punches, holding his hips first, then your cheeks apart. You nuzzle forward into the sheets, completely lost to the world. But you start to push back into their hands. Peering up at Hobi shyly.

“Oh? You want to watch me show puppy how to knot you?” You turn your cheek, resting it against the nest so that you can peer back at both of them.

Hobi’s so pretty. Pretty alpha, want to see your pretty alpha with his pretty little knot, wanna kiss it cuz it's pretty and he's pretty and you love Hobi-

Beside you, Jin looks over and grins. There you go, talking out loud when you think you're not again. Hoseok's face is as red as the aburn in his hair.

Namjoon’s dark chuckle makes Hoseok’s cock twitch. Jumping. dripping just a little. “Puppy only knows how to breed like doggies do l sweet thing, don’t you want to show him how well you can present? Go on, show alpha.”

Hobi wants to say that he knows that he knows how to fuck, he does, he's fucked you before and you've liked it, he swears he knows how. But maybe breeding and fucking are two different things? Surely Alpha knows. Namjoon's hands are hot and greedy, touching Hobi's hips, his chest, and the narrow plane of his hips. Hoseok has always been a slender alpha and behind him Namjoon feels impossibly big and strong.

Steadying.

The thrall of sweet submission bleeds down Hobi’s back at odds with the humiliation. The tingle of not being the one in charge right now, the one not being in control is so alluring that it’s hard to resist temptation.

Hoseok has not slept either, Hoseok has stayed up with Namjoon and you through it. Just incase. Just incase anyone needed him.

Hobi doesn’t want to resist. At the pack alpha's laughter, he shuffles forward, blushing hard, cheeks red. "I can do it, I know-" how to knot. Gets caught in his throat.

Namjoon pecks the nape of his neck. "I'm sure you do pup, but alpha can show you anyway."

Descending down into subspace with you while you’re in heat might be exactly what he needs to overcome all of this- the lingering tension and fear. The impossible ache of things that Hobi cannot fix alone. But there are others here to reassure him. Across the nest, Jin lies on his side. Watchful and careful.

You arch, twisting half onto your back and thinks he might come undone just at the sight of the mess on your stomach. You blink lazily up at him, utterly boneless- utterly at the mercy of the pack alpha’s touch.

Hobi watches as Namjoon holds your ruined hole open with two of his thumbs. Namjoon’s voice is on the shell of his ear, hot breath tickling his skin. “See how she’s open already, don’t you want to feel how warm and hot she is inside?”

Namjoon shuffles forward until his cock is poking at Hobi's behind, flush between his back and Namjoon’s front. A reminder against his spine. Namjoon’s hands go south, and all Hobi has to do is let Namjoon push, let the pack alpha guide his cock inside you below them, a more than willing omega.

“Oh!”

You let out a little shocked sound, cute, halfway between a word and a chirp as Hobi pushes in, through Namjoon’s spend, through the heat of your body, fucked open not quite loose but-

You are not as tight as you could be especially immediately after taking Namjoon’s cock and knot- at least double in with to Hobi’s (Hobi doesn’t feel that insecure about it. Namjoon could make a porn star feel inadequate) and he’d never guess that you found him unsatisfying from the way you gasp, scent going syrupy pleasure sweet. It's so good it makes Hobi's hands shake.

But there is a deeper warmth and wetness. Hoseok is the last alpha to breed you, going after even Yoongi, and the others. The others have filled you up so well. Hoseok can feel it. You're soaked from the inside out. The mess that spills is only half of it.

Hobi doesn’t think about his submission in concrete terms. At least not the way that you and Jungkook do.

But he’s the last to knot you, you’re sloppy and wet and warm around him. He has their cum frothy and foamy on his dick right now, making the slide of his cock so slippery he pops out on occasion- only to be guided back in by Namjoon’s hands. It makes humiliation light- hot and delicious- a phantom heat- down his spine.

Namjoon holds Hobi's hips and guides him into a sloppy grind, mouth running wild, face drawn in a half snarl. “Gonna give her all of it aren’t you alpha? Gonna knot her little hole and breed her with all of us, alpha knows you can, can you be good and pop a knot for me? Can you be a good puppy for the pack alpha?”

Namjoon digs his teeth into the nape of Hobi's neck, and the hot clench of your cunt, looking up at them, almost makes Hobi lose his shit.

But then you reach for his hand, tangling your hand with Hobi's. Blinking away tears in your eyes, cheek lying agianst the nest, staring up at Hobi with that same look of pure adoration. The same way you looked at Namjoon.

"love you."

You close your eyes, blinking slow, sighing. Hoseok's pace stutters. Namjoon throbs against his backside. Across the nest, Yoongi says something to Jin, and Jin smiles. Tae giggles. Jungkook cum's loudly. hoseok doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until he opens them. blinking slow like you.

“Oh pup, does Hobi-alpha feel good?”

“So good alpha, can feel him in my tummy, can feel him next to you. Love Hobi alpha- love him lots and lots, like being close to him. like this cuz-cuz-” you struggle, words are so hard in omegaspace.

"Because you're as close to him as you can get?"

"Yeah. Smell like him too." You purr, eyelashes fluttering. Hoseok's breath hitches.

Namjoon lets go of Hobi's hips and Hoseok is so far down that he stops moving. Namjoon lands a slap on Hoseok's behind a punishment for stopping.

“I’m not really convinced Hobi wants to fuck you pup-” Namjoon says with false sincerity, the same tone he uses when he's teasing Yoongi.

“No, I do! I promise I do!” Hoseok hardly recognizes the panic in his own voice. The desperation that only comes with an approaching orgasm. He grabs your hips, pulling you back onto him, showing Namjoon.

“Huh really? Aren’t you gonna show it? Can you fuck her harder for me pup?” Hobi does, the pace so quick that it makes sweat bleed down his back. and the slap of skin on skin becomes a beat, becomes a melody.

Now this is fucking. Not the slow but thorough taking apart that Yoongi and Tae lavished you with. This is not how Namjoon fucks; gentle because he needs to be or else risk hurting you. No- this is slaps of Hobi's lap against your hips, turning your skin red like you’ve been spanked, his cock sliding in and out, curving up to kiss that spot inside of you. Quick and rabbit fast.

Hoseok is sure he’s doing a good job until Namjoon stops him with a hand on his collar. The twinkle in his eyes makes Hoseok feel so small he averts his gaze.

“Hang on, I want to see something.” Hoseok does pause, simply a puppet for Namjoon to push around when he wants to. hoseok is obedient, a good puppy.

Namjoon pulls Hobi away from you by his collar and Hobi pops out of you with a broken whine. Cock heavy and twitching, knot half popped at the base. But he’s a good puppy, a good puppy he swears, if the pack alpha needs to check the omega below him is alright then Hoseok will trust him.

Hoseok is kneeling there, heavy cock wet between his legs as Namjoon shuffles forward, taking Hobi's spot. One alpha taking an omega from another in the middle of the heat, in the middle of breeding- would be a challenge to any alpha’s ego.

But Hoseok just feels like he's going to cum. he's going to cum and namjoon is going to let him if he's only good. Hobi's cock just twitches. Wet with cum that isn’t his. White and translucent against where his skin goes darker and pink. Dripping a bit from the tip.

Namjoon pulls you onto him in one smooth movement. Putting his cock all the way in, you gasp, eyes going wide, lips sack. And a noise rises from Hobi's throat, not a growl but a whimper. Namjoon holds your wrists, forcing you back on his cock once, twice, grinning at Hobi all the while. Taunting him in a way that makes Hobi melt.

“Alpha alpha alpha please-” falls from your lips. A plea unanswered.

Namjoon pulls back just as quickly. Sliding out, and leaving you empty. Hobi watches as you struggle to clench. To breathe after that. Namjoon lands an open palmed slap over your hole, loud and wet. And you collapse back onto your hands and knees. So, limp you can’t hold yourself up. Sobbing dry.

“That’s what I thought pup.”

A small film of slick and cum comes away on his hand. Namjoon wipes it over Hobi's hip, hot as a brand before he guides him back between your legs. Hooking his chin over Hobi's shoulder to watch. Hobi doesn’t even fight- just lets Namjoon put it in and then guides his hips into a sloppy grind. Faster and faster.

He’d never admit it, and it’s embarrassing. But for a second after taking Namjoon’s cock- all Hobi can feel is wet.

He lets out a broken sound when you finally close around him- somehow tighter after being stretched around Namjoon’s gargantuan member. Your orgasm is fast approaching. Barreling towards you. Will the rest of your heat go this way? Traded from alpha to alpha, from knot to knot?

“Pups nice and open for you this way, you won’t have a problem knotting, even if you pop one outside, I can just push it in.”

Namjoon’s not wrong, Hoseok’s knot is adequate- he knows this. But- but-

Namjoon’s cock, it’s almost the same diameter as his knot normally. You’re so open, so gappy, that Hoseok could probably knot you and keep fucking you. Jimin will definitely do that just to make you squirt and get more of your slick.  It’s fun. The other omega’s don’t squirt, at least not the way you do.

Your tongue lolls out a little. Lost to the heat fever, cute enough that Namjoon presses a thumb to your lips and wipes the saliva down your midline. Pausing to tease at your sensitive nipples, Namjoon doesn't really ever give them too much attention- Hobi has noticed.

Maybe because there's just so much more to pay attention to.

Like the fullness of your stomach, the cute pout to your cheeks while you gasp, the hazy way you look at them both above you, fucking you up, breaking you a little. That has the power to make them come undone with a single look. You lie your cheek on your hands and stare up at them. Gasping every time Hobi pushes flush.

"Want puppy to make me messy, want knot, please? Please alpha? can i have it? i've been so so good."

"of course you can pup. hobi..." namjoon trails off, and hoseok's orgasam is right there, right on the edge, waiting for namjoon's say so.

He doesn't give it. doesn't give Hoseok permission. hoseok's body can't with out it, tense down to his core, like a live wire prepared to snap with electricity.

Your clit twitches and your pussy clenches wet as Namjoon rolls your nipples between his thumbs and forefinger. Hobi whines, high and lupine, alarmed. If you keep doing that, then his knot is going to pop, and he wants- he should at least make you cum once. The others will never let him live it down if he doesn’t.

“How much do you want it pup? Can you show him?”

You whine, confused with the question, confused further when Namjoon’s hand snakes between the two of you, holding Hobi's cock as it goes in and out, prodding gently at the sensitive skin around the base. Exploring and checking, Hoseok honestly almost pops a knot right there, out of your hole, and lets all his cum go to waste. “Yes- yes I’ll-”

Namjoon's breath is hot on Hobi's ear, his lips brushing the Shell of it. "puppy, knot."

Namjoon strokes down Hobi’s peritoneum as he knots and Hobi honestly to god thinks he might see white for a moment, something pure instinct gripping him as he ruts forward, breeding without care for your comfort.

He pops his knot. Fucks it in once, then out, then back in. Relishing in the wetness as you squirt, turning the inside of your thighs glossy and speckled with droplets. Hobi doesn’t mind, he knows that one of the others- probably Jimin because he’s a little obsessed with your slick honestly- will clean both of you up later.

Namjoon takes Hobi’s hands and presses both of them to your stomach, small, a little soft normally but now…looks a bit bloated. “Do you feel that alpha?” Namjoon says, husky in his ear, and yes. Hobi can, he can feel the warmth there. Especially once you start to purr, eyelashes fluttering, obviously fucked to sleep. Something tugs in his gut and Hobi whines. High-pitched and lupine.

"Good puppy, so good for alpha. Good boy."

Hobi feels a bit like he might laugh, a bit like he might cry. (The cutest puppies are always a little extra fragile after knotting and Hobi is no different), Namjoon presses him closer pulling at the collar. Presses him down until you’re all cuddling. You on the bottom, Hobi in the middle, and Namjoon on top.

It's easy to help you move your leg and turn the full way so that you can burrow into Hoseok's front. Hiding from the world in the safety of your alpha. Your packmate.

Hoseok doesn’t even register that there’s wetness on his back, that Namjoon maybe rutted against the cleft of his ass, and came a little too. That the pack alpha got worked up enough by his pups being good and all the heat hormones on the air. That revelation can wait for a bit later when Hobi's not feeling quite so fragile.

In the meantime, Namjoon has pups to take care of.

“How did Hobi do omega? Do you feel nice and bred and full?”

You babble, eyes already half closed. Nodding cutely. “Best alpha, love Hobi alpha so so much, nice knot- best knot.”

Namjoon’s husky laugh conceals the sound of Hobi’s sniffles, and he’s intensely glad that he smells as happy as he feels- that you don’t open your eyes and see. He’s still breathing too heavily. Brain awash with happy hormones.

Hobi just successfully helped you through a wave of your heat, he didn’t fuck up, he didn’t do anything wrong-

Namjoon made sure of it, Namjoon made sure that Hobi had everything he needed, and you did too. He really is a good pack alpha. There is a lump in Hobi's throat that just won’t go away, even through his orgasm. even as he releases a bit more inside of you. Hobi's knotting is always a bit drawn out. You clench, milking him of as much spend as he has.

“Better than mine?” Namjoon teases.

You shake your head petulantly, you’re scent marking him everywhere, running your wrists clumsily over his sides, his shoulders, up his back. “Don’t wanna choose, want all.”

Jin huffs from across the nest. "We all know Tae has the best knot."

Jimin pops up from between Jungkook's thighs. Slick on his pudgy cheeks. "Hey! What about me!"

Namjoon strokes down Hobi's cheek, wiping away his tears. “We’ll give you all of them pup. Don’t you worry your pretty little fuzzy head at all.” Hobi has a feeling that the last sentence is more for him than for you. But you settle and huff. Really. You are close to sleep. Hobi is the one that finally made your fever quiet. Finally made it go down.

You smack your lips, “feel fuzzy, feel soft and good and full.” Hoseok is trying to reply, trying too. But behind him, Namjoon’s voice goes soft.

“And you want Hobi in your nest, right?”

Horror and terror fall on Hobi like a wave, almost making him drop, a swooping in his stomach so complete at the idea that you might- that you could-

Hoseok tries to pull back, pull away-

But your body goes firm, wrapping around him so quickly and pulling him to you with such a force. Offended by the very notion of what Namjoon insinuates. All but hissing at the pack alpha. One second Hoseok isn’t being hugged, and the next, your whole body- pussy and all, is clamping tight around him, holding around his neck.

“No! My alpha! Can't take him! Has to stay in the nest forever and ever and-"

“Shush I’m just teasing, no one’s going to take your Hobi from you.” Namjoon grins, but a look over his shoulder tells Hoseok that Namjoon wasn’t teasing, not at all.

Namjoon knows exactly how to settle the pack, exactly what they need and when. Hobi's body is completely relaxed now, completely at ease. No vague fear or anxiety in him. he'll have those words replaying in his head later, he knows he will.

My Alpha.

you'd snapped at the pack alpha for him, and you're still clutching him close, like hoseok is as vital to you as air. You want him. You want him in your nest. You want his scent. You want all of him, not just the parts that are convenient to use.

You settle, rubbing your head against Hobi's throat, like you want as much of his scent on you as possible. Still a little put out by it. A little angry at Namjoon. But your anger is just like Noodle's; more fluff than threat.

You do it again and again, scent marking Hobi until your breathing evens off. And you fall asleep like that, sandwiched under Hobi and Namjoon’s bodies. Hoseok between the two of you.

Hobi is a little too far gone looking down at you, a tear or two slipping out of his wet eyes. Namjoon guides him, hand in his hair. Pressing his nose into your scent gland and pinching at his scruff until Hobi's legs turn to jelly.

Hoseok sets his ear against your heart to hear it’s melody. the thump thump thump, and closes his eyes.

~-~

When you wake, the world is hazy.

Sensations bleed into each other neither real nor fake, the gauzy feeling of fresh flower petals, the sweetness of ice cream on your tongue, the dewy softness of a peach- your lover's skin plush beneath your teeth.

Each moment becomes another, each orgasm blending with the next until you’re not sure what day it is, whose fucking you, or who around you is asleep or awake. There's this pressure between your legs, a pressure that brings with it tingling pleasure and wetness.

There is hair on the inside of your thighs—no, not hair but someone's head. You blink awake among the sounds of sighs, slaps, and moans, making a soft noise in the back of your throat.

"Sorry pup, you started grinding against my thigh in your sleep."

You smack your lips together. Your body feels so good, so yummy. Yoongi pulls himself up from between your thighs, hands touching over your legs your stomach your everywhere. His chest is ruddy and sweaty, in just his boxers.

Everything brings a bone-deep pleasure, everything makes you feel soft and sleepy. The hungry roam of Yoongi's hands, possessive. The way he nuzzles into your throat, a little harder a little more aggressive than he usually would. Panting open-mouthed to breathe in your scent.

You're in heat. You can be forgiven for not noticing.

His eyes are dark pools when you look up at him. Pupils dilated. "I did?" Yoongi ducks low to kiss you, mouth salty and sweet, you sigh, still sleepy. Settling back into the nest. Yoongi's rubs over your side, needy, possessive. It's like his hands have a mind of their own.

"Mhmm, turned my pjs into a fucking state."

"Oh" you sigh, sort of out of it, already parting your legs, routine, all instinct. "Sorry."

Something gnaws at the back of your head, there is a glint in Yoongi's eyes that usually isn't there when he touches you. His heartbeat is rabbit-fast.

Huh.

Your lips smack together and you grind back against the hardness between his legs, the front of his boxers are soaked, and the fabric feels nice against your entrance. One of the others can probably deal with whatever that is. You have more important things to do. You are too small to handle whatever it is.

Yoongi gets his cock out, and tells you that you can close your eyes again if you want to. You can't really tell if he's fucking you awake or fucking you back to sleep but you do like it. Beneath you, Hobi slumbers. A warm body. You're still guarding him.

There are moments of lucidity, moments of clarity brought on by pain or pleasure. But the moments between the lucidity bleed into each other.

Beside you, Jin rides Tae’s cock with ruthless efficiency. Never one to be forced to present. His thighs move as he rides, straining. Jin is so big and strong looking and Tae lies below him still in her pretty pretty dress, torn at the waist from where Jungkook got a little too rough hours ago. You'll be upset about that later because you like that dress on her.

Tae has no right to look so good in her dresses with her cock out. Especially when she looks up at Jin, hand behind her head, settling back to let the pack omega take what he needs. Her fingers twine through the end of a leash almost lazily wrapping it over her knuckles and letting it go loose again. Jimin's collar at the other end of it, the other alpha diligently fucking Jungkook in a presenting position. The slap of skin on skin is an echoic melody.

You are close besides, close enough that if you really reached, you might be able to hold Tae's hand, or maybe Jinnie’s. You'd really really really like to hold Jin's hand.

But holding Hobi's is more important at the moment. Hobi slumbers beneath you. Yoongi must have been cuddling both of you. Must have been guarding both of you through sleep to make sure nothing disturbed you. Maybe you started grinding into Hobi first and Yoongi detangled you. You're glad he stopped you, Hobi's too sensitive, too puppy to do that kind of thing to without asking. Even inside of a heat.

Yoongi is a good mate, above you, he breathes heavily, chest straining.

His hair is sweaty and shaggy in his face, swaying as he works his cock into you so good you can hardly speak. Can hardly form a coherent thought.

But he pauses when he sees your tears at your waterline. He doesn't need to ask you what's wrong, you just tell him.

“I wish I was an octopus.”

“To hold everyone's hands?”

“Yes.” you sniffle, and Yoongi’s eyes furrow.

“Are you honestly crying because you can’t hold all of our hands right now? While I'm inside you?”

“No” you lie, pouting at being found out. Yoongi just takes both of your hands in his, locking your fingers together, and keeps fucking you. Harder this time, like he has something to prove. Something to distract you from.

Gone is the slow and gentle. Yoongi fucks forward into you like he needs you. Quick and efficient.

On the other side, Jimin is taking Jungkook apart under Namjoon’s watchful eye, fucking him hard and fast even though his knot is already half popped. The pack alpha has his thighs splayed, and Jungkook is kissing up and down his cock. He tries to take it in but even if he were to unhinge his jaw, it still would be too tight of a fit.

He sates his need to suck by licking up and down. Lapping at Namjoon's knot, the furrow of his head, it's veiny girth. All of it explored and kissed. Jungkook's eyebrows drawn together, looking angry. Ignoring Namjoon's chides of "gentle omega, gentle."  (He'll probably get a hole spanking if he's not careful, but maybe that's what Jungkook really wants.)

Hobi sleeps below you, his breath even and measured. Your face still resting on his chest. He's resting soundly even though the whole room is full of the sound of moans and pleasure, skin slapping against skin. You try and untangle one of your hands from yoongi's to stifle your own sound but.

But Yoongi doesn't let you. you squeak, loud, and Yoongi grins, fucking faster, competitive with it. Across the nest Jimin fucks Jungkook faster. Tae looks over at the two of you and grins. An alpha expression, bearing his teeth at the show of Yoongi's dominance.

Hoseok's upper lift lips in a soundless snarl. still completely asleep. He's the closest one to you and Yoongi. The first one who notices. close enough to scent it on the air.

The pheromones from the others are a haze on the hair, hot on the back of Yoongi’s tongue joining the taste of your slick. He’d cleaned you up after Hobi knotted you, the two of you cuddled and close and giggly, both pupish underneath the gently watchful eye of Namjoon, dolling out praise and sips of water and corners of chocolate in equal measure. you'd fallen asleep mostly, mostly accept for the way you'd ground back against him after Hobi had slipped out, soft. and you- still insatiable.

Now, it’s Yoongi’s turn again, and thank god for that. There has been this almost ticking in the back of his mind, not a fever spiking, not quite like that, more drops into a bucket of water that now threaten to overflow. Yoongi's body trembles. And he can't stop himself from sneaking a hand down between your legs.

He's already pretty worked up from eating you out while you slept, and you're close too. Even if he cums he can just play with your clit like this until he's ready and hard again. It's a good thing that Yoongi doesn't have a knot, that he doesn't have to wait really to fuck you as the others do. He can just keep going, can just ignore the discomfort of overstimulation to avoid a deeper discomfort.

Yoongi hates disappointing his mate.

So he works his cock back and forth, nudging little sleepy moans from your throat. Your body is boneless below him just how he likes it.

Your slick is so good, it calls to him like alcohol must call to a drunk, like cigarettes to a smoker. Neither drug nor addiction can describe it perfectly. Yoongi presses his thumb against your clit, and you gush around his cock. clawing at his hand blindly. Sensitive, so sensitive after being fucked for so long. But better for him, more. Yoongi wants more. Wants as much as you can give him.

more more more, more and more more. That's what Yoongi needs.

He guides it up to his tongue sweeter than honey, than ambrosia. It makes his mind quiet, and his instincts tug deeper and deeper until he's practically buried by them.

Yoongi’s mating mark is so sensitive he can hardly touch it without his cock jumping. Whatever it is, whatever this is he thinks it comes from there.

He holds your hands so that you’re not tempted to abuse your clit any longer. He’s so good in the way that he works his cock back and forth, just perfect, just right in the way that he knows the movements of your body, the feeling of you, hiding your face in the pillows because you're shy.

Yoongi is watching you. Yoongi is hardly even blinking.

“Oh, is my little sweetheart shy again?”

Yoongi is going to cum after this next thrust, he can feel this orgasm building, hot and bleeding down his back. Yoongi tries to thrust forward, and you let out a small squeal- a sound of pain.

Every alpha in the room jerks hard.

Even Jin and Jungkook. Everyone, eyes directed to you and Yoongi. Hobi's body all but flinches, lifting his head up. Starting even though he's only half awake.

No sooner has Yoongi registered that and started (in both equal panic and dismay) Does the pain and discomfort erupt from between his legs. Something very very hot and sensitive there, something stretching him so so tight.

“Ow ow ow ow ow what the fuck- what the actual fuck”

It feels like denial, like his approaching orgasm has disappeared replaced with a feeling like he's burning. A pressure and an ache so firm that it feels like he’s bursting from the inside out. Pleasure unfulfilled, orgasm right there but impossibly out of reach.

Yoongi's hands cover his cock, wet with your spend, but even that almost feels like too much.

It's a bit comical. How quick the pack panics.

Namjoon is up on his feet faster than anyone can blink, cock flailing a little. Even Jimin pulls out of Jungkook, as gently as he can but still apologizes, "Sorry, Koo sorry sorry-"

You're still not too sure exactly what happened only that you can feel a bit of an ache in you, not like you're torn but- Sort of how it felt when Jimin dragged his knot in and out of your cunt earlier, back when it was half popped.

Your scents shift from sweet and happy to scared and in pain. The scent of panic is all but a collar around your packmate's necks. Pulling them closer. Making them forget about the pleasure hanging hot and heavy in the air. All needs are superseded by two packmates in pain.

The worst is Yoongi, gone is the chocolate sweetness. His happy pleasure-ridden scent. Now sour with fear and pain.

Namjoon stands, jerks, and slips in the nest after stepping on a slippery waterproof blanket, he falls flat on his ass. He's up before anyone can say anything before anyone can get to Yoongi.

The pack descended, sudden shouting, raised voices, half-nude bodies up and moving when they should be resting. Tae has you, drags you close, searching between your legs for blood, thankfully finding none, when her fingers come away.

Unfortunately- pinches and accidents happen but she’s eternally glad that you haven’t- her breath comes out short- that you're not torn.

If it didn't happen with Namjoon, then why did it happen with Yoongi?

You look over at where Yoongi’s crouched, cursing dully. “Mate? Broke mate?” You mumble, upset. You cling to Tae's front, crying, big tears dripping down your cheeks. Trembling.

“It’s okay pup shh shhh.”

Yoongi swats at Namjoon still holding his cock, big hands covering all of it gingerly. Hissing through his teeth. “fucking hell Joon- just give me a goddamn second.” But Namjoon’s hand is on Yoongi’s wrist between his thigh, pulls his hand away gently.

“Let me see let me see- Yoon, I am a doctor; I promise you it’s nothing I haven't seen before- Just-"

Yoongi whimpers and pulls his hand away from the bulge at the base of his cock.

Namjoon pauses, blinking. Face to face with it. And he realizes, no, he actually has never seen this before. Namjoon’s eyebrows all but disappear into the atmosphere.

"What the fuck?"

Only some truly devastating circumstances can bring an in heat omega into lucidity. You come back to yourself. "What's wrong? what's wrong with my mate?"

The rest of the pack stare dumbly. Ringing your mate just staring. Unsure what to do.

Because Yoongi, Beta Min Yoongi- your mate- full-blooded beta-

Has just popped a knot.

~-~

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Notes:

namjoon at the very begining of bily does say that he wants to spoil the m/c, it's in his internal monolouge but now she is substantially spoiled. and he is a happy little alpha about it.

taetae is sucking so much, poor little pup is gonna lactate the second her heat is through 🥺 what a mean mommy for turning her pup milky, what do we think? do we want the change to be permanent?

namjoon: baby i am /tired, mc: you motherfucker, making me do all the work- (she's such a bratt i love her)

very vauge implied human furnature hobi? why am i kinda a little weirdly into hobi being a very very obedient sub. he's such a good boy hold the tray so well! i love the idea of him getting praised for very simple things and getting hard over it. maybe i am...not as submissive as i thought.

when hobi is fucking the m/c i struggled alot with seeing if like- i wanted it to be soft or horny. but i truly think namjoon just realized that hobi needed to be in puppy space for it and also that the m/c needed to hear that hobi wanted her after him kinda...avoiding her for the first part of her heat. namjoon is aware that the m/c does not know that hobi's place in the heats and that he's slightly less active than the rest of them because of his trauma.

yoongi *suffering the effects of slick intoxication* m/c: i am just a baby,

do you like the suprise???? was it a good cliffhanger???? did you like it????????????? 😈 i'm so evil for giving you guys yoongi knot angst last chapter and actually giving you yoongi knotting this chapter llasjdlfjaslkdjflakjf but what you gonna do spank me?

[moonchild1]

min yoongi fic rec list (Ⅵ)

she's back bet you didn't think i'd post another list this quick but since they've been building so much i figured why not soooo this week is yoongs and next week with be taehyung i've been reading alot lately so i wanted to share them asap so before my week gets hectic again i thought i'd post it, i honestly loved these ones i am exploring a little bit for with certain genres and i must say it like a whole new world i'm enjoying it and i hope you like them too. remember too always show lots of love and support to these amazing writers they dedicated so much time to writing these fics and they are absolute geniuses and deserve the world for sharing them with us so please follow them and take a look at their masterlists cause i will 100% guarantee that you will find your very own favourites there as well, leave the a little comment i know they will appreciate it so much and send them all the love in the world... i will reblog these through out the week and as usual minors do not interact i will block those who do.... happy reading everyone see you next week with taehyung's list and if you have anything you would like to share with me or you just wanna ramble about a fic you loved my asks are always open i love hearing from you🖤✨

a- angst s- smut f- fluff

series

stalemate by @shina913 f s a

↬"The truth is, I'm not afraid to take that gamble anymore...in the off-chance that I get lucky again and feel the way I felt when I was with you. I'd happily make that bet over and over."

oh, my darling by @yoongiofmine f s a

↬ starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you've held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought?

little bit of your heart by @/yoongiofmine f s a ft. jjk

↬You had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with Min Yoongi. You knew you and Yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything Yoongi couldn’t. Will Jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten Yoongi enough to do something about it? 

sinful lust by @oddinary4bts s a ft. jjk

↬ in an attempt to spice up your bedroom life with your boyfriend Min Yoongi, you suggest bringing another man into the action. Yoongi seems reluctant at first, but when you mention his friend Jeon Jungkook, he can’t deny his attraction. All that’s left to do is to convince Jungkook into participating...

after hours by @archivedkookie f s a

↬ staying after hours with Yoongi for months proves to be a mistake when your heart falls for him.

Vows by @hamsterclaw f s a

↬ You're five years into your arranged marriage with Min Yoongi, and he's never once retaliated for anything you've done to him. One day you realise you've lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

sutures by @farfromsugafanfic f s a

↬ There was only one thing you and Min Yoongi had in common that night. You were both brokenhearted. You only intended to be together for one night, but when you both end up in the hospital the next day you discover that you are soulmates. It could kill you to be apart. As you and Yoongi attempt to sever the bond between you, will another be formed?

and so it goes by @prodagustd f s a

↬ You and Yoongi have been hooking up, having dates and spending most of the week together for almost seven months. He was comfortable without a title, until the last two weeks, when you couldn't see him because of your busy schedule, Yoongi can't understand why he misses you so bad if your relationship is just sex to him. Or maybe he does, but he's too much of a coward to admit it.

collateral by @theharrowing f s a ft. jjk & knj

↬ Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

till death do us part by @colormepurplex2 s a

↬ Marital bliss isn't always a guarantee, especially when you find yourself marrying into the family responsible for your own family's demise. Sometimes, marriage is just a game of kill or be killed. Even when there is love involved, bullets still hurt.

grey area by @blushoseoks s a ft. jhs

↬ you spent the days staring at your wrist and tracing the skin where your soulmate’s name would one day appear. the nights were for telling your wrist about your day, as if the person whose name would one day stain itself there, like red wine to a dress, could possibly hear you. for years you thought up countless scenarios, imagined numerous possibilities, formulated conversations and rehearsed them over and over, until your mouth ran dry. outcomes and conclusions performed in your head on a repetitive loop. but out of everything you thought up, out of all of the time spent towards thinking about your soulmate, about what could possibly occur, none of it could ever prepare you for what would actually end up being. none of it ever came close to the way it happened when you finally met him. and now, after it’s all been said and done, you were left asking yourself one thing, and one thing only: “was it really worth all of this in the end?”

isn't it romantic by @jeonqkooks f s a

↬ Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

Flux by @yoonia f s a ft. jjk

↬ One of them is your longtime secret crush, while the other is the man with whom you had shared many heated nights filled with lust and forbidden desire, forever kept as your biggest secret of all time. You had sworn that those sinful nights would end, and that your secret crush would remain a secret. (poly au)

mean yoongi by @jjkpls f s

↬ Min Yoongi asks you to take care of his plants when he’s gone. It doesn’t go as planned and well, he has to deal with your misbehaving ass.

pretend by @gimmesumsuga s a

↬ “You know what they say: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” idol au infidelity

naughty little kitten by @jungkooksxo s a ft ksj

↬ Jin figures out that you’re super into the idea of Yoongi listening in on you two having sex. Yoongi is super into listening to you and Jin having sex. Jin invites Yoongi to come play with his naughty little kitten.

babydoll by @jungcock s a

↬ Your childhood crush, now famous and successful, comes to visit you while you’re drunk and have a lot to prove.

eleven months by @bratkook f s a

↬ it’s been years of yoongi living his routine life, accustomed to his pace of living, going with the flow and simply existing. until you come along. yoongi absolutely can not see the logic in the way you live, but he weirdly craves it. craves the feeling of not being afraid of not knowing what's coming, being able to just let the cards fall wherever they land. and maybe you can help with that.

pause by @whatifyoulivelikethat s a

↬ Life is like a cassette tape. It seems like it’s constantly repeating, flipped from side A to side B, and the songs can’t be skipped. You can only pause, rewind, fast forward, play after you’ve already heard the song. After you’ve already lived it. All Min Yoongi knows is his own tape, until it smashes right at his feet, and then he has to learn to dance to a different beat.

darksided by @eoieopda f s a

↬ It all started with a bad joke and a bottle of Tanqueray.

three squeezes by @nomnomsik s a ft jhs

↬ Yoongi is notorious for his grumpy and emotionless behavior as director of an upcoming company. Yet, it’s a mystery to everyone how manager Hoseok always seems to soften him up. The truth is that the two are actually engaged. Unknown to this fact, you happen to take an interest in Hoseok… and he does too. 

one-shot

bad decisions by @jjungkookislife f s

↬ Jimin is desperate to get his apartment back to himself. He’ll move hell and earth, and even drop to his knees to beg you to take his brother, Yoongi, out of his hands. Who are you to say no to that pretty face and sinister grin?  

breakfast in bed by @joonbird f s

↬ “Min Yoongi, a grumpy Ikea employee, is wondering who you are and why exactly you’re sleeping in the display bed at his Ikea.”

Tricks of the Trade by @stutterfly f s a

↬ The convenience store across the street from your apartment carries your favorite energy drink. That's why you frequent it. It's definitely not because you have a big fat crush on the owner you've been flirting with for the better part of a year. Of course your brand of flirting can also be misconstrued as bickering. When a strange man wanders into the store, he thinks you need a little nudge to embrace the strings connecting you. Next thing you know you're waking up in a body that definitely doesn't belong to you. You can't decide if it's the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you.

threads by @yoonia s a ft. knj

 ↬ Life is full of surprises, just like how people are full of secrets. Just when you had thought you have been lucky enough to have your life figured out, life decides to throw you a curve ball when you least expect it. And there is nothing you could do to avoid it, except to hope that you could hold your secrets as tightly as you possibly could before everything blows up into smithereens.

under the willow tree by @orchidyoonkook f a

↬ The town outcast shows up in the one place you find solace from it’s residents. The people you force yourself to fit in with, even though you never want to be anything like them. Will he ruin your only place of salvation, or become the most unlikely friend?

mami by kithtaehyung s ft. knj

↬ you somehow have a conversation with yoongi, and you tell your roommate about a date date.

the devil wears valentino by @orchidyoonkook f s a

↬ Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm. 

angel by @sailoryooons f s

↬ Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences

a boy like you by @cinnaminsvga f

↬ for whenever you are feeling low, always remember that there is a boy you know who would lift the sky for you. {or alternatively: Min Yoongi loves you, though he never says it. He’s always been a firm believer in that actions speak louder than any words ever could.}

last nite by @tayegi s a

↬ This is a zombie apocalypse AU based on The Walking Dead, The Stand, World War Z, and elements of Attack of Titan

zombie bites by @luffles424 f s a

↬ Your friends have always been willing to assist you when you need a model to practice makeup on. And with the upcoming zombie film on campus is no difference. But something feels different this time, can a zombie movie be more than just a zombie movie? 

heaven's winter by @jksangelic f s a

↬ your duty as the village daughter places you in line for the season’s Offering; a tradition not to tread lightly upon. as the snow falls slow and heavy, and the seraph awaits in the shallows of the mountain, you fail to realize what the winter has in store for you.

heavy sugar by @kinktae s

↬ The Roaring Twenties were a time of great economic wealth and social change. But beneath the jazz music and colorful speakeasies were mafia led organized crimes and bloodstained cash. You knew this well, but try as you might, you just couldn’t ignore the dark and enigmatic gangster whose eyes lingered on you from across the room.

all that holly, jolly shit by @daechwitatamic f s

↬You haven’t seen or heard from Yoongi since he broke your heart five years ago, laying out a logical list of reasons why you were better off breaking up. When a Christmas Eve blizzard traps you together for the night, you have no choice but to examine how few of those reasons are still true. And if they’re not… where does that leave you?

calling the shots by @chans-room f

↬ College basketball captain Yoongi

until death by @kpopfanfictrash s a

↬ Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan.  When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.

whatta catch by @aredheadedmess f a

↬ One, two, three strikes you’re out. When opposing opinions find you roughing it up with the university’s star pitcher, he makes it his mission to show that you’re wrong about college sports—and maybe your feelings about the player himself.

shatter me, embrace me by @95rkives s

↬you longed for him, yearning for love, yet all that awaited you was heartbreak.

you're losing me by @/archivedkookie a

↬ ❝ He’s losing you, and yet, he lets the flower die in front of his eyes instead of doing everything to save it. Alternatively, Yoongi and you are losing your love toward each other. ❞

spotlight by @back2bluesidex f a

↬ No matter how much you run away from Yoongi, Yoongi always comes right back to you.

all the wrong places by @mrworldwideshoulders f a

↬ After getting separated from your friends during a night out, you get stuck with a hefty bill – one that you can’t pay. So when a handsome, emotionless stranger covers your tab in a random act of kindness, you’re determined to track him down and pay him back. inspired by 24K Magic by Bruno Mars.

now we reign by @/oddinary4bts f s a

↬ when working on a collab together makes you and Min Yoongi seek comfort with the other, you discover there’s more to life than loneliness. Only, hurdles mark your path in Min Yoongi’s life, and it’s unclear what the outcome will be. Will you be destroyed by him and his world, or will you learn to reign over it, together with him?

stay by sugarwithtea f s a

↬ what happens when you get stranded in a remote town with no place to live except for a lodge owned by a dangerously handsome but annoying man? yeah, a lot.

when the stars align by @itskimtaehyung f

↬ With cuffing season approaching its end, you thought you had escaped the pressures of finding a boyfriend for the holidays. That is, until your friends set you up on a blind date that goes horribly wrong. This prompts you to enlist the help of your roommate, Yoongi, to fake a relationship so your friends will stop meddling in your love life. And it turns out Yoongi is a lot better at this romance thing than you originally thought...

egotstic by @pasteljeon s a ft. knj

↬ The timing was never right. He loved you when you were kids, knees scraped and cheeks red. You loved him when pimples bloomed across his skin, voice cracking and he found solace in the scribbled lines in his notebook. The stars never seemed to align for the two of you, but perhaps it was because you were meant for someone else.

on the court by @centerhaechan f

↬ As captain of your school's winning women's basketball team, it is only understood that you despise the men's basketball team and their captain. Your main rival, Min Yoongi, enjoys testing your patience while he attempts to lead his own team to a championship victory. Your coaches believe you both have problems with teamwork, and insist that working together will produce a promising solution.

sugar by @zehakoo f s

↬ desperately in need of sugar to make coffee in order to ease down your headache, you find yourself knocking on a strangers door who happens to be your best friend’s friend and the finest man you’ve ever encountered.

from the ashes by @fortunexkookie s a

↬ Someone is sobbing ugly, wrecked sounds that shatter the silence in the room. You need them to stop; it’s distracting and you need to focus. You need to clean the ash from his skin. You need to comb the knots from his hair. You need to dress his beautiful body in something befitting the king you know he is… but the sobbing is too loud, and your vision is blurry. It takes Yoongi wiping your tears away for you to realize that the gasping cries echoing off the stone are coming from you.

the dark by @/bratkook s

↬ your small town thrives on the occult, luring tourists in with endless themed festivities, but the only place you’re determined to see is the mysterious club that comes to life the week before Halloween. what makes The Dark so exclusive, and what secrets are they hiding behind closed doors?

Triplicity by @kainks ft. jhs

↬ Distance is a cruel thing, and when you find yourself going astray, they are there to help remind you of just where exactly you belong.

fermata by @jeongi f s

↬ fer·ma·ta: from fermare, it means to stay or to stop. min yoongi teaches you exactly how to let go.

private lessons by @dntaewithluv f s

↬ Your little sister finds it odd how you’ve been taking private lessons from her piano teacher for over a month now, but she hasn’t heard you actually play even once…

first love by @geniuslab f s a

↬You learn a lot of new things in your first year of university, including what it feels like to fall in love.

↬looking for other myg fics or the other bts members check out my library

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You’d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[angellekookie]

Always Been There | MYG - PART 1

Summary: Ever since the new kid moved into your cousin's old house, your life has been different.

Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers AU, (half-sided) Academic Rivals to Lovers, it's romance- fluffy romance, maybe cliché (this is a warning)

WC: 5.1 K

Other Tags: Friend! Teahyung (mentioned), Cousin! Seokjin (mentioned)

Warnings: Brief mention of alcohol consumption, Idk if I missed any, but let me know.

Pairings: Min Yoongi x F! Reader

Read also on Ao3!

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

You never perceived yourself as a competitive child. You were usually quiet and reserved, often opting to be engaged in any book, watch television or play the occasional video game with your older cousin, Seokjin, who lived just down the street. This all changed one summer when your uncle got a new job in Seoul and had to move. Obviously, you missed him, he was your favourite cousin, your best friend. So every day you’d walk to your uncle’s old house hoping he’d come back from his new job and bring Seokjin home with him.

Days melted into weeks and the “For Sale” sign on the gate seemed to get bigger and bigger as if it existed solely to mock you. Or maybe it only appeared ten times the size because you stared at it so often, studying it, willing anything to change.

Summer's end brought you an initially pleasant surprise. This time, when you walked to Jin's house you saw people going back and forth taking boxes from a moving truck. Obviously, you thought that the day couldn’t get any better, your young mind not even considering that it could actually get worse.

Excitement led your feet through the gate and inside the yard where you saw a boy with his back turned to you. He appeared a bit shorter than how you remembered your cousin, but excitement didn’t let you think on that too much. Besides, surely you grew in the last few months, of course Jin wouldn’t look as tall to you any more.

The next five seconds happened both breathtakingly fast and painstakingly slow. The next five seconds changed what you thought was the best day of your life to the single worst day of your entire existence.

One second you were running towards your “cousin,” the next second you were making an unplanned descent, landing at the feet of who you later discovered was the son of your new neighbours.

At eight years old, maybe you still believed that kindness was the default setting of the world and expected the same from the boy looking down at you with his pale, chubby face. But whether it was disgust on his face, disdain—or maybe perhaps you were lucky and he just didn’t care—you didn’t know. What you did know was that you had to leave and you had to leave immediately.

That evening your parents barely managed to console you after you came home crying with a bruised kneecap. You were silent all through dinner and hardly gave any attention to what they were saying about inviting people somewhere and someone close in age. You had enough on your plate already with trying to forget the sheer embarrassment you had endured earlier in what you had once considered a safe space and the brussels sprouts your mother had insisted you eat tonight.

After that day, Min Yoongi became a constant in your life.

As luck would have it, your parents were speaking about your new neighbours that night. About how they meant to introduce themselves to them so they would feel welcomed to the neighbourhood. About the son they had who was around two years older than you, and how you both could be great friends.

You never anticipated that your mother would become best friends with Yoon Misook, which meant that you would come to spend a lot of time with the Mins. Birthday parties, holiday celebrations, family get-togethers… if you can name it, you had to be there and you had to be there with him.

Min Yoongi loved being right. There was always unmistakable joy present on his otherwise expressionless face when he knew he was right. Like when he beat you at chess, or told you that tomato was actually a fruit- it didn’t matter because you still didn’t like eating them anyways. You enjoyed wiping the smug little smirk right off his face. The thing was that you loved being right too, or rather, you greatly enjoyed telling Min Yoongi he was wrong. Enjoyed telling him that the sun was in fact a star, feeling higher than any sugar rush could take you when you let him know that acetic acid wasn’t technically vinegar- just a part of it. This was much to the dismay of both your parents, your friends, teachers, and anyone else who had the pleasure of having you both around at the same time.

Although maybe you should thank him.

During the school year, some time after your first meeting with Yoongi, you were sitting in his living room completing homework. His brows were furrowed in a delicate mix of concentration and confusion. You had stretched over to his side to see what was the matter, to see if you perhaps needed to ask his mother or older brother for help. “Yoongi-oppa, what’s wrong?” He didn’t look at you, for a second you wondered if he even heard you. You were going to nudge him with your pencil until he said your name. “Don’t worry about it. You won't understand it anyways.” His brows furrowed even more as he continued to work on his assignment.

Now you weren't planning to help him by any means. He was older than you and you were sure his fifth-grade math would give your third-grade math a run for its money. But him implying that you couldn't even understand it struck a nerve in your young brain. “Lemme see it, please, please, pleasee. Yoongiii-” he released a heavy sigh and turned his workbook towards you. Of course you were pleased with getting your way.

There were shapes, you definitely recognized the triangle and other shapes. You also knew about perimeter, but as you read further down the page admittedly some of the questions you didn’t quite understand just how they expected to get all those answers from a few shapes. It was your turn to have your brows furrowed in confusion.

Noting the shift in your facial expression, Yoongi took his workbook back. You looked up to find him looking at you with one eyebrow raised and a smug little smile on his face. He was daring you to say something, anything. You knew that, but you had nothing to say. “I told you.” He’d said, and hearing your silence, Yoongi knew that he was in fact right and a chuckle managed to escape him. You only huffed and returned to your seat, barely managing to finish the last question of your own assignment.

That night you swore it would be the last time you’d let Min Yoongi look at you like that. Call it your villain origin. Sheer spite, divine motivation, whatever it was and whatever it took you knew you just had to be better than you were, better than him eventually.

You had spent even more time with your face buried in books than you used to. If you were an academic weapon before, you made it your mission to become an academic armoury now. The next few years saw you move from just being at the top of your class, to being the top of the school- overtime skipping a grade and ending up in the same class as your favourite neighbour.

You still remember how he was laughing with his friends, completely unaware of your presence until the homeroom teacher called you up to the front to introduce you to the class. He was surprised, you’d hardly ever seen him surprised by anything, much less anything you’ve done. He often had little to no emotions on his face and after eight years of knowing him, you’d come to know that any emotion outside of his usual scope of nothing was absolutely monumental.

As much as possible, you tried to steer clear of Yoongi while at school except for some instances where a teacher thought it a good idea to have you both working together (that mistake was hardly made a second time). You’d quickly learn that in his first year of high school, Yoongi, who lacked any decent manners and people skills, was somehow popular among the students. You noticed how girls often giggled with their friends when they passed him, or how you would see him laugh more with his own group of friends than he ever did with you back home. This was understandable as the both of you only ever really managed to get on each other’s nerves.

Despite all this, he’d hardly ever let you walk home alone even when you insisted that you could walk home with literally any of your other friends, anybody but him. He says it's because he knows you enjoy his company though you refuse to admit it. “As if,” You would tell him. “Personally, I have better things to do than pretend to enjoy spending time with the likes of you.” You ignore the voice that tries to tell you that it's a good thing he’s here with you and not with one of the girls in his little fan club. You ignore the same voice as it tries to tell you that you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Instead, you swat his hand away when he attempts to flick your forehead. Instead, your laughs echo through Daegu streets as you run from him. There's no point in running. Of course, he'll catch you, just like he always has, and maybe he always will. So even though your lungs burn, and Min Yoongi is annoying, and you're not even close to being the prettiest girl at school, there's a big grin on your face. This moment was yours, yours alone.

Once as you were preparing for your last lesson of the day, Yoongi sat down beside you in the empty classroom. Before you could comment on it, other students came in and started filling up seats one by one. Throughout the class, you noticed that Eunji had taken the seat to his left. That’s no problem, she and her ponytail could sit wherever they wanted. If only she didn’t keep asking him things every five minutes or so. You weren't counting. But you wondered if he could ever learn anything with her practically in his ear the entire time, you wondered if she knew she was distracting the entire class trying to breath down Yoongi’s neck.

You felt sick, maybe. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach and it felt just a bit difficult to breathe. But you also felt like you could burst. You weren’t sure if you liked it. Thankfully, class had finally ended and students began leaving as quickly as they came in. You wouldn’t have to endure... whatever that was any more.

You were just packing up when you heard a deep voice beside you, “If you stared any longer, given your track record, I’d have to believe you had a crush on me or something.” He makes it his mission to ensure you never forget the one time you tripped and fell to his feet when you were children. Due to either mild irritation, embarrassment or something else you could feel the blood rushing up to your face, so you decide to slow your movements in hopes that he wouldn’t see it.

“Please, Yoongi. Do I look like I'd want to waste my intelligence on harbouring romantic affections for you.” You hear him scoff behind you and you turn your head just enough to see him raise his eyebrow, looking at you incredulously.

“’Yoongi?’ We dropped the honorifics now?”

“We’re classmates, I didn’t think it was necessary.” You decided to face him, mirroring his raised eyebrow with your own, challenging him. “Is there a problem, Yoongi? I mean, if it’s so important to you I could always just start calling you ahjuss-”

"Yoongi, is fine." For the second time today there's a hint of surprise on his face, and the ghost of a smile that you weren’t quite sure what to make of it. You wanted to smile too, but suddenly you remembered Eunji beside him in class and the smile never came to be. You didn’t want to tell him that he had all the girls in the school to call him whatever he wanted them to, that perhaps you felt a bit intimidated by the older, more mature girls that he had around whenever you saw him. You didn’t want to tell him that because you’ve been actively avoiding feeling that way for some time. You didn’t want to tell him anything like that for fear of him actually laughing you to scorn, for fear of him hitting you with his infamous blank stare. You’ve had your fair share of first-hand experiences with it.

Instead of all the things you weren’t ready to face, weren’t ready to say, you tell him “I can’t walk home with you today. Me, Taehyung and Ara have uhmm, something. I’ll see you later.” There was nothing. But you left to find your friends before he could have a chance to say anything else to you.

It’s been a year since you graduated high school. Summer brought you back to your hometown for the first time since you moved in with your uncle to be closer to university in Seoul. You weren’t the only students home for break so naturally, you ran into a few of your old classmates. Some of them mentioned a get together on the field behind the school that was coming up. You couldn’t not know about it. You remember barely stepping off the bus with Yoongi when Sooyoung greeted you both and first suggested the idea. That’s how you found yourself on the field with him (and the drinks) waiting for the others to show up.

Soon everybody that could make it sat down on the grass and Sooyoung started pouring out the drinks in cups and passing them around. The first taste is... bitter. You try to drink more, you’ve heard a few people say it's an acquired taste.

The night went on, conversations eventually straying away from the generic “How are you” and “what are you up to now.” to be more meaningful (as meaningful as it gets when alcohol is involved.) Socially, you were there. You contributed to the conversation occasionally- laughing when something was funny, nodding if you agreed with something, sprinkling in a “nah” when you didn’t agree with something else.

Occasionally though, you would stare at the amber liquid in your cup. It was taking everything in you not to gag when you took yet another sip. The cup is put down beside you, you don’t think you’ll be acquiring that taste anytime soon. Said cup gets to sit there for approximately thirty seconds before it finds residence in Yoongi’s hands. He’s drinking your drink. Yet you can’t find it in you to complain because you really, really don’t like it. You decide to leave well enough alone.

It’s not until a new cup is placed before you by the drink thief himself that decide to look at him. He’s not looking at you, of course he’s not. He never looks at you when he’s with his friends. Not that it matters, not that you care. At least it was nice of him to get you a new drink, maybe he’s a semi-decent human being. Your thoughts momentarily pause when instead of an involuntary gag, a pleasant, surprised hum escapes your lips.

His eyes have crinkled at the corners because someone just said something funny. He’s using a single hand behind him as support and is nursing a drink with the other. He looks as carefree as ever. You can’t imagine that he’d take note of something so small, something like that- even if you grew up together. You'll try to brush it aside, though you doubt it's something that you’d be likely to forget about anytime soon. There’s a warmth blooming in your chest, you’ll blame it on the alcohol from earlier.

Christmas was just around the corner. The crisp, chilly air and stressed college students cramming for finals were more than enough to let you know the festive season was upon you. You sat in the new sandwich shop that you believe was strategically nestled between the library and the café. A cup of coffee remained untouched to your left and sandwich in hand, you were currently with your friend, Hyewon, who was not so subtly trying to get you to agree to go on a blind date. She's been trying ever since she found out your last date was almost a year ago, that it never ended well romantically, that you and Hoseok decided to become friends and still are today. "I'm telling you, he's really handsome and smart," said between a mouthful of her sandwich and a sip of her coffee. "My sister said he graduated from Yonsei this year with like, first class honours in economics or something."

"I'm just... still thinking about it."

And the truth is, you were. Ever since the topic came up nearly a month ago after one of your shared classes. After Hyewon got over her shock because "A girl like you should have dates every weekend," she took it upon herself to find you a date.

It's not that you were against dating, and relationships. During your earlier college years you tried a few times. Your first date tried to explain the basics of aerospace engineering to you, the thing you were majoring in. He was a history major, said he couldn't believe a girl could actually study something like that and asked how much your parents paid to get you in the program. You laughed it off and attempted to push it aside, that date ended early. You went on a few more dates after that but it always felt the same, like you were trying too hard to impress your date, like they weren't trying hard enough to get to know you. You decided to just focus on your studies. At the very least, you knew you were good at that.

“Please tell me yes- there’s a drone show next Friday at the Han River. You guys could watch it.” Hyewon looked so excited you promised to let her know by Monday. She squealed and you were sure you would have seen your ancestors if she had hugged you any tighter, told you not to forget to call her as she bounced off to her last final.

You remained in your corner seat. Unsure why you didn’t just leave with your friend. A couple of girls sat at the table behind you. While you were nursing your now cold hot chocolate you were hearing bits and pieces of their conversation. It’s not that you wanted to eavesdrop, but you couldn’t help the way your ears perked up when one of them mentioned ‘medical student from Yonsei’ and ‘date’ in the same sentence.

“I’m telling you he’s pretty quiet, and cute. I don’t even know how they got him to agree.”

“Ugh! I’m so jealous... should I transfer?”

“Shut up and look at the picture Kangchul sent me.”

“People like this really study medicine? If he looks like this, what will you wear on the date?”

“I dunno, it’s next Friday. You should come over and help me get...”

You didn’t stay to hear anymore.

Hours later you lay wide awake in your bedroom. Sleep has been evading you. It’s not like there was only one medical student at Yonsei. There were hundreds of medical students. It didn’t have to be the one you were thinking of. The odds were... low. You paid no mind to the tiny voice that was telling you that “the odds are never zero, though.”

You reached for your phone, surely you could always text the person in question, it’s not like you think he would hide it from you but in the same breath, it’s not like he has any reason to tell you if he were going on a date. Why would he? Your fingers hovered over his chat until the screen finally timed out. This seemed to wake you from your daze, the phone was tossed to the side. Why were you thinking of him anyway? If it were him, if he was going on a date, it definitely wouldn’t affect you. It shouldn’t, you won’t let it.

It was 8:44 am the following day when you texted Hyewon that she could arrange the blind date.

A week and a half later you found yourself standing outside of a restaurant in Hongdae. Your date was to meet you there so you could have a meal then head over to the drone show your friend mentioned. You’ve been waiting for... a while. Yunseo was running late and to make matters worse, when you pulled out your cell phone you found it was dead. It was cold, and you were cold, and maybe you were just stood up for this date. You wanted to cry, you thought it probably wouldn’t be that bad if you just broke down on the streets. Probably no one would notice if you did anyway.

Slowly, white flurries started falling from the sky. Couples started walking even closer together, some laughing at whatever they found funny. They all looked really cute. You really hated the cold, maybe you should have just stayed home. “You know,” came a familiar, deep voice breaking through the frigid atmosphere. “In my experience, standing in the cold like this is a sure fire way to catch a cold.”

You don’t need to turn around to know who that deep voice belongs to. You couldn't help the scoff that escaped you. Of course he would appear at a time like this. Why was he there and why did he have to show up just now when you were on the verge of a mental breakdown, probably. Your thoughts couldn't even spiral too far because now you were genuinely fighting back the tears that really, really wanted more than anything to be free. “Shut up, Yoongi. I don’t—” You couldn't help the way your voice wavered, or the sniffle, all things considered. “I can’t deal with this right now.” You didn’t hear a response from him, so you assumed that he had left. You didn’t expect him to be in front of you, slightly bending his head to meet your eyes with his brows furrowed. You hated when he looked at you like this. Like he could see right through you, like he knows things even you don't. You hate it, so you look away from his curious gaze. You didn't want him to find anything in yours.

It felt like hours before he gave up on his one sided staring competition. He released a sigh while undoing his scarf that was neatly wrapped around his neck. You shook your head, wanted to tell him it wasn't necessary, you didn't need his scarf- that you were fine. The words never even got to leave your mouth before he started putting his scarf on you anyway. “Don’t even right now ___, you’re cold.” It wasn't a question. He said it like he knew, he said it while he took his time to wrap his scarf around your neck, making sure to cover your nose. You think you’ve seen this film before.

《Some years ago》

You have been walking for quite some time now. Quiet footsteps crush dead leaves and twigs a small distance behind you. You’re not afraid, mildly annoyed maybe. But you’ve no need to be afraid because you already know who’s behind you. He’s been trailing after you in silence since you stormed off the campsite earlier in a desperate attempt to cool off. It was too much. The woodsmoke, the cheeriness, the ever persistent Song Eunji and her effortlessly beautiful messy bun hanging off the side of your neighbour, on your family camping trip. It was one thing to have to endure her incessant hovering while at school, but you’d think that at least your weekend far out of town would have been peaceful. Turns out that the universe had other plans for you. Not only did you have to endure Min Yoongi, but you also had to stomach having the president of his fanclub- whose family just also happened to plan a camping trip at this spot- here too. How fantastic.

You hold your thin jacket tighter against your body as you make your way deeper into the forest. Every step you took only seemed to strengthen the already growing irritation inside you. You longed for the warmth of your bed, the comfort of your home. Surely there would be nothing there to upset you this much. “Yoongi, either catch up or leave. You’re smart enough, I’m sure that you’re at least a little aware how strange it is to stalk after a woman at night.”

“Yn, you’re smart enough, I’m sure you’re aware that this is hardly considered stalking.” Still, his footsteps carried that steady pace and you could almost hear the smugness in his voice as he continued. “I’m simply taking a walk, I’d be more than happy to catch up if you’d let me.” You could almost imagine how his face looks right now, a raised eyebrow, his (annoying) little smirk, maybe his head was even tilted to the side. You hoped he could see your eyes rolling from behind you. All of that didn’t matter though, cause either way the chill breeze took the challenge in his tone and brought it straight to your ear.

“Yeah, well you could walk somewhere else.” He certainly had no issue being other places before, you thought. You didn’t see why he was being so difficult. Although, you’ve known Min Yoongi for what feels like your entire life. If he did have a middle name, perhaps it would be something along the lines of annoying, stubborn-

“It’s fine.”

Wind came dancing through the trees and brought not just a disturbance to your quiet surroundings, but also a drop in the already cold temperature you’ve been trying to ignore since you left the warmth of the campfire. Involuntarily, your body shivered. Though it was only trying to warm itself up, you suppose.

“Here, put this on.” He was shrugging off his own jacket. You hadn’t realised you’d stopped. Hadn’t realised that Yoongi found his way beside you. Maybe your middle name is stubborn too, because you were already shaking your head and pushing his hand and his jacket away, wanted to tell him he could keep his jacket, that you would warm up just fine on your own soon enough. It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Would you stop pretending like you’re not literally freezing cold right now,” He just puts the jacket over you anyway. “Just take it.” With no other choice (you were freaking freezing), you begrudgingly put your arms through the sleeve. You watched as he proceeded to fasten the buttons with what you’ll assume resembles care on his face- no sign of displeasure anywhere.

“You do this after school too, why?” Memories all bleed into each other from all the times he’s placed a jacket round your shoulders, or a scarf round your neck. The few times he’d given you gloves to wear. You know he knows what you’re referring to.

“Because,” He’s fixing the jacket collar around your neck. “Your mom would kill me if I let you catch a cold.”

He couldn’t be serious. To think that was the reason... “You don’t need to do it anymore.”

He hummed in response. “Yeah? Stop leaving your jacket and I won't have to give you mine all the time, deal?” His left hand ruffled your hair all while you glared at him. Oftentimes, despite your extensive vocabulary, you find it hard to find words to describe Yoongi and just settle for thinking that he’s so him. Right now, he was being very much him, even more so than usual.

A sudden high pitch screech pulls you out of your brooding and launches you into Yoongi’s arms, a scream escapes you. Surprised, his arms wrap around you while he looks around. “What was that?!” You were whispering, screaming, a unique mix of both things.

“I don’t know.” Your companion sounded as calm as ever, you weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing. But you couldn't focus on that right now.

“Will it kill us?”

“I don’t know.” You felt him shrug. Your annoyance from earlier resurges, but with a new friend along with it, fear.

“Well Yoongi, what do you know exactly, hmm?”

“I know the way back to the campsite.” You looked up at him, seemingly just realising you were quite cozily nestled in his arms. You jumped back, almost tripping on a rock, or tree root, you couldn’t tell as it was dark. But what you could see was the gentle look that remained on his face as he steadied you, you weren't sure how it made you feel. All you did know was that it was too much.

“Well, um…” You decided to turn your head away, clear your throat. Yes, that was a good idea. “Lead the way, I guess.” Yoongi chuckled, and soon you felt a warmth enveloping your hand. Similar to the warmth simultaneously growing in your own chest. This was the first time he’d ever held your hand. You stood shocked, frozen, unable to move. Unable to ask him why.

“Come on, so you don’t fall again. This just like the day I just moved int-”

“Oh my gosh, shut up about that will you!” That seemed to do the trick. Just when you think he’d give that story a rest, he’d find a way to remind you again. How infuriating. Still, you both couldn’t help the laughs escaping your lips as you head back hand in hand to your loved ones who were probably waiting for you at the campsites. Maybe you shouldn't have stormed off, but as the moon started peaking through the clouds lighting up your rugged path, you were glad he came to find you.

《Present day》

When he gently took your hand in his, your mind found itself back to the present where you stood in snowy streets as opposed to the serene forest. Was he really always like this? “C'mon.” He'd turned towards you, his head motioning in a general direction. Your mind wanting to stay lost in thought for a bit more, feet remained planted on the ground for a minute, maybe longer. Yet Min Yoongi remained a perfect picture of patience. Maybe it was his lack of frustration, or the fact that you didn't not trust him. But you let him lead you down the Hongdae streets, you follow with your hand in his.

Masterlist || Next 》

AN: Thanks for reading this far! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now, I had every intention for this to be a tiny lil one-shot but the story clearly had other ideas in mind. I'm working on part 2 as we speak so hopefully I can share it with you all soon.

That being said, Special thanksies to my mooties @livingformintyoongi and @moochii-daisies for their encouragement and for accommodating my yapping 🥹🩷 and not to mention @oddinary4bts when I felt stuck and was at the brink of putting this fic to the infinite sides.

This, as well other fics that I'll post in the future will be cross-posted to Ao3 because of popular demand (1 person suggested), but yes it was by popular demand 🤭

Taglist

@livingformintyoongi @moochii-daisies @abcdefghilovejk2121 @ktownshizzle @peoniesnro

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 6

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 6.4K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: some angst, but this is a fluffy chapter so not much to say

Author's Note: hi everyone, i hope you're all well! sorry it took so long to get this out, i was really going through it and didn't have a lot of motivation to write, but this is finished now!! it's a lot shorter than i wanted it to be, but i decided it didn't matter and wanted to post anyway, so i hope you guys enjoy it despite the length (or lack thereof). thank you guys again so much for being so patient and understanding, you all are so amazing and i couldn't ask for better readers. i hope you enjoy the newest installment!

TAGLIST CLOSED [follow asingledaffodil tag for all notifications]

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandyrecs @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @pastelpeachess @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @kooklovee @whoa-jo @familiarlikemymirror3 @blueberriesm @llallaaa @purpleheartsandarock1 @lillmeowmeowsblog @this-most-assuredly-counts @kayleefriedchicken @ur-grandmum @sylviamuela @notarshia @minghaosimp @ilikekpop-c @maynina @rinkud @jesshujk @kimsaerom @suker4angst @mar-627 @maynina @pitchblack0309 @wobblewobble822 @praetae @yoongibaybee @weareatthebadlands

previous / masterlist / next

Walking through the lobby of Yoongi’s apartment in what was essentially a morning after look left you with a new sense of embarrassment you hadn’t felt before. You pointedly avoided eye contact with the security guard as you beelined to the elevator, hoping he couldn’t make out the outline of a crumpled dress and lingerie in the bag hanging from your fingertips. The elevator takes what feels like an eternity to open its doors and once it does, you quickly ducked inside, repeatedly hitting the close button so no one else can enter. 

Once you reached Yoongi’s apartment door, you breathed deeply, trying to calm your nerves before entering. You punched in the passcode, hearing the lock click and slowly turned the handle to crack open the door, seeing if you could catch a peek of Yoongi in the living room. Luck seemed to be on your side as the couch was empty, and you darted past the door, speed walking to the stairs to get changed. Making it to your room felt like winning a marathon as you shut the door behind you and chucked your plastic bag at the floor. You didn’t know what you would’ve done had you run into Yoongi dressed in nothing but Jaehyun’s shirt, missing even undergarments. 

While you showered and dressed yourself in comfier clothing, making a mental note to wash and return Jaehyun’s shirt as soon as you could, you contemplated how you should approach your conversation with Yoongi. You hadn’t talked to him since Friday night when you’d caught him on top of Jimin. You ran multiple scenarios of how a conversation with him would go as you entered the shower, wondering how he would react to you saying that you had feelings for him. 

Wait, is that what you were going to do? Confess to him? You weren’t sure about that. You knew you wanted to be honest with him but not that honest. But…if you asked him to remain exclusive or said that him seeing people other than you bothered you, wouldn’t he be able to put the pieces together from that? You sighed, letting the warm water trickle down your face, pushing your hair back against your scalp, at least not confessing would save you an iota of embarrassment. 

You finished showering rather quickly, a bit too quickly for your own taste, you wanted to delay this inevitable conversation as long as possible. Picking your clothes was simple enough, aiming for a comfy outfit with a simple sweatshirt and leggings, noting the chilled air in the house. 

Finally, you were ready. Physically, at least. 

Emotionally? You wanted to crawl under your bed. But that wasn’t an option, or so you told yourself, as you combed your hair and stared yourself down in the mirror.

You could do this. How hard could it be? 

A glimmer of gold caught your eye on your desk and made you hesitate, seeing your ring sitting patiently on the flat surface. You reached for it, reasoning that if you wanted to commit to Yoongi, you should be wearing it. The cool feeling of the metal sliding onto your finger was grounding, something you needed for the conversation you were about to have. 

Reaching for your door handle, you worried your lip over the fact that you still had no idea what you wanted to say. Should you wait until you’d formulated a plan? Or until you felt properly ready? No, you’d never talk to him at that rate. 

As you opened the door, you stumbled back in shock, seeing Yoongi already standing there, looking disheveled and exhausted. He seemed equally surprised that you’d opened the door, showing in his slightly open mouth and wide eyes. You noticed the dark circles sinking in under his bloodshot eyes and messy bangs adorning his forehead, his lips were chapped and parted. Was he alright? But that’s not what was important right now.

“Yoongi-ssi,” you stuttered, caught off guard by his sudden appearance, “What are you doing here?”

Yoongi sighed, running a hand through already messy hair, before looking at you directly, “I wanted to talk to you. About Friday,” he paused, “About everything.”

Great.

“Oh, okay, I actually wanted to talk to you too. Why don’t you come in,” it felt awkward gesturing for him to enter your room but he looked like he was about to fall over any second and you didn’t want to risk him getting a head injury. Guiding him to your bed, you watched him sit before pulling your desk chair up so you could face him. 

“Would you like to start,” you asked, trying to meet his downcast gaze.

“No, no, I want to hear what you have to say first,” he said quietly. 

“Okay, well, firstly, I wanted to apologize for how I reacted on Friday,” you started, holding up your hand when you saw Yoongi begin to protest, “I’m not apologizing for being upset, I’m apologizing for taking it out on you. In our agreement, you were allowed to pursue other people and I shouldn’t have reacted that way, at least, not externally. You didn’t really do anything wrong. But, to clear the air, I want to explain why I reacted the way I did.”

This was going well so far, or at least, that’s what you were telling yourself. Yoongi seemed surprised but only nodded for you to continue, so you did. 

“To be completely honest, I’m not really okay with us having an open relationship, I don’t like the idea of you with other people or me going out with other people, it feels,” you weighed your words carefully, “It feels disrespectful, at least, that’s how I see it. But, I should’ve made that clear when it was first brought up, so that’s on me.”

Yoongi shook his head, but you continued on, feeling like you were unable to stop talking now that you’d started, “Honestly, this entire relationship has felt kind of one-sided. I don’t like how you get upset at random things or draw a line between us so harshly. I understand that this wasn't ideal for you, I’m not asking you to fall in love with me, but I do want us to work together.”

“I want us to try and at least be friends to start, I think we started off too hostile,” you continued, feeling like you were building to a crescendo.

“To be totally transparent,” you took a deep breath, was this really what you wanted to do? There could be devastating consequences, but you felt in your bones that you wanted to be completely honest with him. You satiated your nerves by reminding yourself that you had your own apartment to go back to should Yoongi’s reaction be extremely negative.

“Even before we got married,” another deep breath, you could do this. This wasn’t such a big deal, you didn’t even have very deep feelings for him, they felt superficial. So with that logic, you told yourself, a rejection wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

“I’ve had a sort of crush on you,” there was no turning back from here. You had told yourself you weren’t planning on confessing, yet here you were, baring your soul. Your eyes were turned downward, afraid of seeing Yoongi’s reaction, the only thing you heard being a surprised exhale at your statement. Your fingers entangled with one another in a nervous tic as you slowly lifted your gaze to meet Yoongi’s. 

His eyebrows were knitted together, in what expression, you weren’t sure. His eyes held an emotion you couldn’t read. His mouth was pursed in a sentiment you couldn’t decipher. Why was he so difficult to read? Why couldn’t you tell what he was thinking? It only made you more nervous. You had tried to quell your fears by telling yourself that your feelings were too shallow to warrant being so upset at a rejection, but you knew that it would still be devastating to you. When did your heart ever listen to logic?

As you sat in a silence that felt like it lasted minutes on end, Yoongi finally opened his mouth. 

“I didn’t know,” he stated, you still couldn’t read his expression. Was that all he had to say? You could feel your heart sinking into your stomach and your eyes begin to well with tears. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly want to announce it,” you retorted, feeling exposed and upset. You had confessed something of this caliber and that was all he could say in response? It was angering and you could feel the control you had over your expression slipping from your grasp. You turned away from Yoongi, attempting to steel your outward appearance, not wanting to let him see how much he affected you. 

A hand caught your arm that was reaching up to run a hand through your hair, making you face Yoongi once more. His eyebrows were more scrunched together than before, making him look upset, but you couldn’t be sure. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I want to say more, it’s just a lot to process,” he said, biting at the chapped bits of his lip, making your eyes catch on the movement. You quickly averted your gaze back to his own, waiting for him to speak. 

He released your arm, leaning back in his position on your bed, letting out a sigh, “I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff the past few days, and I want to apologize, for a lot. It was shitty of me to try to sleep with someone else, it was shitty of me to do a lot of things. You didn’t deserve any of it. I should’ve tried to get to know you better before we got married instead of imposing stupid rules, I should’ve been nicer to you during the whole process, and I shouldn’t have been so back and forth with how I acted towards you. There’s a lot I wish I had done differently, and I want to apologize for all of it.”

His words left you silent, mouth slightly parted in shock, not having expected such a genuine apology from his lips. 

He took your silence as a sign to continue, “I’ve probably been really frustrating to deal with, with how I’ve been handling this, but I want to make things clear, I definitely feel something for you too.”

Your ears felt like they were ringing, was this really happening? You hadn’t even prepared yourself for this type of outcome, you weren’t sure how to react. 

“It took me some time to actually come to terms with that because I didn’t understand what I was feeling, but I can confidently say that I like you too. I want to make this work, I want to do this together, with you,” Yoongi finished, running a hand through his messy hair before looking at you once more. 

You weren’t sure of what to say exactly, your palms were growing sweaty and your mind felt blank. But you couldn’t leave Yoongi hanging, you had to say something, anything. 

“We shouldn’t try to start a relationship,” you blurted out, surprising Yoongi and yourself. But it was true to how you felt, with how things had progressed so far, you absolutely did not feel ready to jump into a relationship with Yoongi. The power imbalance felt too great, despite him just confirming that he had feelings for you too, you knew he could ask anything of you and you’d oblige. That wasn’t a healthy foundation. 

In addition to that, you didn’t feel like you knew him well enough. You liked to be friends with people for a little bit before starting to date them, it allowed to get to know them without the pressure of a relationship, and usually only aided in your feelings towards them. Right now, you knew what you felt for Yoongi was too shallow to start a relationship that you would enjoy. 

And the most important, you wanted to make sure you had an out. If a relationship between you and Yoongi didn’t work out, you couldn’t just stop seeing each other, you’d still be married. You’d still have obligations to each other. You wanted to make sure that you and Yoongi could function as friends first, roommates at the least, before you jumped into a relationship that had the potential to end badly. If you knew that you’d be able to have a fall back plan with him, you’d feel much more comfortable going into this. It was a bad habit of yours, though, looking for a way out of situations before they had even come to fruition. You had tried to shake it, you really had, especially at the advice of your college counselor back when you actually got therapy, but it had creeped its way back into your routine. 

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrowed, “Why?” 

Biting your lip, you made sure to take an even breath, “With how everything has been so far, I feel like it’d be better to start as friends. It feels too fast to jump straight into a relationship.”

Yoongi nodded slowly, “Okay, that makes sense. How about a compromise?”

Your attention quickly drew to his face, your eyebrows scrunching together in confusion and intrigue, “What do you mean?”

“Let me take you out on dates every now and then, we can go slowly so you’re comfortable,” he stated, sharp eyes carefully gauging your reaction. 

You could feel your mouth open slightly in shock at his proposition, but your mind raced to consider the options, would you be able to handle dates with him? Would you even survive?

A new thought entered your mind, slightly unwelcome, but the fact remained that you didn’t have to restrain yourself anymore. You didn’t have to be concerned with whether you would survive dates with Yoongi anymore, because Yoongi liked you. It was mutual. There were no consequences to worry about, no reason to catch yourself, to monitor your feelings.

Because he liked you. 

You silently nodded, still processing the entire situation, barely registering Yoongi’s returning nod. 

“Okay,” he stated, a little breathlessly, “I should really go shower, so I’m gonna do that.” He stood quickly, nodding at you, before rushing out your door. You weren’t quite so far gone that you didn’t notice his burning red ears, making you smile softly. 

Hearing the door shut gently, you leaned back in your chair, exhaling loudly.

None of this felt real. 

Did that really just happen?

You had spent so long pondering the possibilities and endless realities of Yoongi rejecting you, being disgusted, upset, or divorcing you that you didn’t know what to do in the situation where he felt the same. Your mind was spinning and you felt yourself rise from your seat only to fall back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

It felt like a dream, almost.

But the slight chill in the air, the feeling of the comforter beneath your fingertips, the distant sound of the shower running proved to you that it was real. A smile grew on your face as you sat in your thoughts, wasn’t this the best case scenario? And it was truly happening.

Turning your head to the side, you glanced at the clock sitting on your bedside table. It was only around noon at this point, plenty of time left in the day. Noting the time made your stomach growl, berating your choice to have not eaten until now. You sat up, deciding to cook, leaving your room to head to the kitchen. 

Cooking was a hit or miss for you, it really depended on what mood you were in, if you felt like cooking. You were in a great mood today, though, and it showed in your enthusiasm at wondering what you should make for lunch. Something light and easy, shareable. Because you wanted to share it with Yoongi. 

You settled on kimbap, finding the necessary vegetables in the fridge and starting to chop them. When you were happy, you made spam kimbap, so that’s what you made. A small little hum started up in you, influenced by the music flowing through your headphones, inciting a sway in your step and a tap in your foot. You hadn’t been this content in a while, but it felt achingly familiar, a fond tug in your heart. You almost didn’t know what to do with yourself without the lingering sadness or restriction on your feelings toward Yoongi. 

You weren’t sure if it had truly set in yet, the reality of the situation, but while it hadn’t, you were going to enjoy the honeymoon phase of just having confessed to each other. 

Flipping the spam on the stove, you quietly sang along to your song, using your chopsticks as a makeshift microphone in your muted movements. The last time you were able to relax like this, you recalled, was before you moved out of your apartment, after getting off a call with Hoseok and Joohee. The call had been a regular check in between the three of you and had left you in an exceedingly good mood and aggressively singing in your kitchen while making dinner. Your movements slowed and voice died as you thought about the past few months and how you had rarely had a moment of true content. 

Your thoughts were constantly plagued by Yoongi and later, his actions toward you and what they could mean. You felt a wave of emotional exhaustion hit you now that your brain wasn’t in overdrive trying to regulate your feelings and decipher Yoongi’s. 

A glance down at the spam told you it was done and you quickly moved it to another plate. Turning around to retrieve the veggies, you were met with Yoongi standing silently at the edge of the kitchen, leaning against the pillar, making you stumble back.

“Oh, Yoongi-ssi, you surprised me,” you breathed, pressing a hand to your chest before reaching for the veggies to lightly stir fry. 

“My bad, I should’ve said something. What are you making,” he asked, walking over to you. 

“Just spam kimbap,” you said shortly, keeping your eyes trained on the pan in front of you. You weren’t used to him being this casual with you. 

“Y/N,” he called, drawing your attention to his form now leaning against the counter, “Shouldn’t we be more casual with each other? You still call me Yoongi-ssi.”

“Oh,” you stuttered, “I suppose so.” This was maybe too much too fast. 

“How about it, Y/N-ah,” he said, a teasing lilt to his voice.

“Um, sure, Yoongi,” you said, trying to turn your gaze back to your vegetables, how did he switch up his attitude so easily?

You heard him chuckle quietly before you transferred your veggies to another plate.

“Is there any way I can help,” you heard him and you had to stop yourself from automatically rejecting his offer. You could change your attitude too, it couldn’t be that hard. Hopefully.

“Sure, would you mind taking the rice out of the cooker and into a bowl on the counter,” you asked, to which he quickly obliged. 

This all felt a little too domestic, you weren’t ready for this level of familiarity. It was a difficult transition, to say the least. You were used to maintaining apathy toward Yoongi, at least, externally. Your body’s natural instinct now was to turn away from him and mind your expression, it was tough to turn that off. 

“Why don’t we both roll, it’ll get done faster that way,” Yoongi suggested, innocently looking at you from the other side of the counter, unaware of the turmoil brewing inside you. Why couldn’t you just relax around him?

“Sure,” you stuttered, making your way to the table so you could sit and roll. Yoongi sat down next to you, not a care in the world it seemed, and began expertly portioning ingredients and rolling the kimbap. 

You looked on in half-awe at his skill, your own hands slowing in their motions. Yoongi paused before looking at you, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, feeling heat flood your face, “I didn’t expect you to be so good at this.”

Yoongi only chuckled slightly before resuming his task, “Yeah, Jin hyung and I used to make these during the holidays, Jeongguk too once he was old enough.”

The fondness in Yoongi’s voice made you smile, “That sounds really nice. I can imagine Seokjin oppa being pretty strict in the kitchen.”

Yoongi laughed, a sound that was warm and pleasant to your ears, “Yeah, I always thought he’d grow up to be a chef.”

You nodded, you thought so too, having witnessed the way he forced the kitchen staff at their home to let him join in the cooking and play expeditor whenever you visited Joohee. 

You and Yoongi worked in a comfortable silence, entering a smooth rhythm of making the kimbap, ending with being delegated to slicing the rolls that Yoongi formed. Once you were both finished, you dug in, savoring the comforting flavor of the spam and stir fried vegetables. 

Yoongi sighed into his meal, eyes closed, “It’s been so long since I’ve had kimbap, especially homemade.”

Your eyes traced down his side profile, noting his rounded out cheeks from food and contented smile, “Yeah, it’s nice every once in a while.”

Yoongi opened his eyes, looking at you, “Yeah, it is.”

You felt embarrassed as your cheeks warmed from his eyes on you, but you tried to maintain composure. It was clear, you decided, that his effect on you had only increased since your conversation. 

It would be difficult to remain just friends, but it felt a little easier now that you knew you weren’t alone in your feelings.

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

Joohee and Hoseok’s voices blended together as they shouted over each other on the video call. You giggled, shaking your head, “I still can’t believe it either.”

“That’s great, though, right,” Joohee asked, spooning another mouthful of noodles into her mouth, muffling her voice, “This is what you wanted right?”

The million dollar question. It was, wasn’t it? You felt content, and you were confident in that feeling for the first time in a while.

“Yeah,” you smiled, “It is. I’m happy that we’re starting as friends.”

“Y/N-ie,” Hoseok said softly, “You look so happy. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, squeezing the Pokemon plushie in your arms, “It feels really nice.”

Joohee sighed, “Damn, you’re making me feel really single.”

Both you and Hoseok laughed, making Joohee choke slightly on her ramyeon. Even while you were telling your friends, it still didn’t feel real. Your head felt foggy almost, like you were in a dream, but you’d pinched yourself multiple times since this morning to confirm your consciousness. 

“So why did you decide to just be friends? Wasn’t being together for real the whole point,” Joohee said after swallowing her noodles. 

You paused before answering, unsure of quite how to phrase it. To say you thought it through extensively before you’d proposed only friendship to Yoongi would be a lie, it came out of you before you could stop it. It was something you knew you needed to do, to make sure this was going to last, relationship or not. You hadn’t thought it out beforehand mainly because you hadn’t considered this outcome a possibility.

“I needed an anchor, I guess. I needed to know that this could work even if we didn’t get together, because we’re still married. And, I won’t deny it, I wanted to take it slow. I guess my feelings for Yoongi have been really shallow and I want them to be a bit more before we jump into a relationship,” you said, “I don’t know. Maybe that was the wrong move.”

“It absolutely wasn’t,” Hoseok said, sending you an encouraging smile through the screen. You could see the moving boxes piling up behind him now that he’d finally found an apartment he liked and was close to his future studio.

Joohee nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s better to start off as friends and work your way up. This relationship is already so unconventional, it’s good that you guys will be starting in a more grounded way.”

You smiled, the feeling of your friends backing up your decision made you feel more confident. 

“Are you feeling ready to go back to work tomorrow?”

Your smile slowly faded, thinking about the pile of work awaiting you after two weeks of absence. 

“Yeah, I’m excited to have something to do,” you started, fiddling with the pen at your desk, “But our main project got delayed by the devs again, looks like some performance issues after beta testing. We still have to move ahead so we’re in the late promotional phase now, looking at some influencer endorsements. I was thinking of asking Jeongguk, actually.”

Joohee grinned, “Yeah, that rascal will totally say yes. He’s smitten with you!”

You felt heat take over your face as you stared incredulously at Joohee, “What do you mean?”

“He just really likes you! I don’t think he has a lot of gamer friends, at least that he knows in person, so I think he’s just really excited to have you as a friend,” she explained, pushing her bowl to the side. 

“He told me he likes older women,” Hoseok said bluntly, making you choke on your sip of water. 

“What,” Joohee exclaimed, bringing her face much closer to the camera, “When did you talk to him?”

“We talked a bit at the wedding, he heard me mention the dance studio so we exchanged contacts because he was interested,” Hoseok detailed, “I mentioned offhand that it was hard to find a date in Seoul and he asked what my type was. Then he just said that he liked older women when I asked him the same.”

You stifled a laugh while Joohee didn’t hold hers back, making Hoseok join in too.

“Looks like Yoongi has some competition,” Joohee giggled.

“As if! I’m not into younger guys,” you wrinkled your nose.

“Except for that one hookup in our fourth year,” Hoseok interjected, “Wasn’t he a first year?”

You groaned, covering your face, “I didn’t know! He looked a lot older, and I thought we agreed not to mention that anymore!”

Hoseok and Joohee continued laughing, and even though it was at your expense, you couldn’t help but join in. The weekend had certainly been eventful, but closing your Sunday afternoon with the comfort of your friends left you feeling quite pleased. 

After ending the class with Hoseok and Joohee, you scrolled on your phone for a bit, catching up on unread messages and emails. 

Jimin’s apologetic message stood out to you and you finally typed out a reply, quelling his concerns and promising that he had done nothing wrong. You hadn’t mentioned the incident to Hoseok in case Jimin felt uncomfortable with it, so you were confident that the two of you could move past this easily. You also didn’t want things to get awkward between him and Hoseok right before they started up the studio.

A soft knock on your door drew your attention and had you get up from your relaxed position on your bed, opening the door up to Yoongi’s form.

“Hey, I just wanted to see if you had any plans for dinner,” Yoongi said, biting his lip and knitting together his eyebrows. If you didn’t know any better, he almost looked nervous. 

“No, I don’t, did you have something in mind,” you asked, inviting him inside your room. 

“Oh, well, there’s a nice restaurant that I like to go to for some good comfort food, if you’re good with that,” he said, fingers playing with the thread on his black pullover, distracting your gaze. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” you smiled, “I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Okay, great,” he said, a tad too loudly, before relaxing in his posture, “Great. I’ll meet you downstairs when you’re ready. You can dress casually, by the way.”

“Will do,” you smiled, why did he feel so awkward? Maybe he wasn’t as good at this as you had thought earlier in the kitchen. 

He quickly left, nodding a short goodbye before entering his room and shutting the door. You did the same, turning toward your closet entrance, pondering what to wear. Casual, right?

Your finger dragged along the hanging clothing in the closet, brushing the different fabrics. You picked out a soft cotton t-shirt that you got from a work event and some jeans, settling on the simple look with a comfy oversized jacket. 

Giving yourself a once-over, you deemed yourself presentable. You weren’t sure if Yoongi was already ready and waiting downstairs, so you left and made your way down there.

Yoongi was waiting in much the same outfit as he was in before, but switched out his sweatpants for some dark, straight legged jeans and put on a black snapback. He looked far more casual than you’d ever seen and it was a welcome sight. 

He smiled softly at you before tilting his head, “Ready to go?”

You nodded, slipping on your shoes by the door and walking out into the main hallway. Yoongi and you were silent on the elevator ride down to the garage. It felt a little awkward, but it was a different type of awkward than before. Where before you both didn’t know what to say to each other, now it felt more like you didn’t know how to say what you wanted to. You weren’t sure if that was better.

When you got down to the garage, Yoongi led you to a sleek black sedan, opening the passenger side door for you. You sent him a slightly confused smile as you got in and he clarified, “This is my personal car. I don’t use it that much daily because parking can be a hassle at the office, but it’ll be fine where we’re going.” 

“Oh, okay,” you responded, this mystery destination had started to feel a little bit ominous. As he walked around the car to the other door, you clicked in your seatbelt, wondering where exactly you were going. Yoongi slid into the driver seat, seamlessly starting up the car and clicking in his seatbelt. You saw him turn towards you, hand outstretched for a moment, before glancing down and retracting his hand.

He cleared his throat before switching gear and pulling out from his parking spot. Yoongi’s driving was smooth and relaxing, making you melt into the leather seats and stare out the window at the sun beginning to set. Yoongi had started up some soft jazz on his speakers making you further enjoy the quiet ambiance of the evening drive. 

After a little while, Yoongi pulled into a small parking lot, next to an empty grassy lawn near the Han river. Shutting off the engine, he quickly exited, speed walking around the car to open your door for you barely after you’d finished unbuckling. His dedication to chivalry made you chuckle softly, thanking him with a nod as you got out of the car. 

While you were distracted by the sight of city lights reflecting on the Han river in mesmerizing shimmers in time with the water current, Yoongi gently led you to an outdoor eating area with some plastic covers keeping out insects and smoke rising from the kitchen near the back. Delicious smells of cooking meat and seasoned vegetables filled your nostrils and you inhaled gratefully. 

Yoongi led you inside, nodding at the older woman by the counter and guided you to a two seater table in the corner. The older women quickly brought you drinks and side dishes, affectionately ruffling Yoongi’s hair before he prattled on an order of meats and veggies, letting you do the same after him. 

While you waited for your food to arrive, you took a moment to observe your surroundings further. It wasn’t what you were expecting, when Yoongi said he wanted to take you to dinner, but it was certainly welcome. The loud chatter and laughter from other tables fed into a cheerful environment and the gentle smoke from meat cooking made your stomach growl. 

Yoongi seemed to be quite familiar with the staff as well, leading you to question him, “Do you come here often?”

He smiled, shrugging his shoulders, “Not as often as I’d like to anymore. In college, though, I’d come here all the time with Namjoon and Jin hyung. The ahjumma there has been running this shop for over twenty years, I think, and she knows me fairly well by now.”

The thought of a college aged Yoongi sitting at these tables with his friends and enjoying charred pork on top of a bed of perilla leaves, laughing at something Seokjin said, made you smile. 

“Are you okay with coming here? Instead of a classier restaurant,” Yoongi asked, though he didn’t seem to be afraid of your answer. 

You shook your head anyway, “Of course I am, I’ve been craving some barbeque actually. Joohee, Hoseok, Mina and I used to go to these all the time in college too, but those were much closer to campus. The view is nicer here,” you finished, looking out onto the river through the almost see through plastic sheets.

“Mina,” Yoongi questioned, looking at you.

“Oh,” you stuttered, inwardly cursing yourself for letting that slip, “She was my ex, back in college.”

Yoongi nodded, not seeming too taken aback, “Makes sense. Those kinds of meals always made those college exams worth it.”

“Definitely,” you laughed.

The older woman approached your table balancing multiple trays and expertly set the food down in front of you. You didn’t have to cook your own meat here, so you and Yoongi immediately dug in and began wrapping the meat and vegetables in lettuce and cabbage. 

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence while you ate, too preoccupied with the food to really focus on conversation. As you both eventually slowed your eating, Yoongi began asking you basic questions, wondering about your work, friends, and hobbies. You happily answered him, returning the favor by diving into his own interests and life. It felt natural, like two people just hanging out and getting to know each other. 

You found that this was the most relaxed you’d felt in Yoongi’s presence so far, and it was definitely something you could get used to. Watching his cheeks puff up when he ate, his eyes close as he savored the flavor, and his smile as you answered his questions made you feel warm and lucid. 

You soon finished up and Yoongi stood to go pay, even though you’d offered.

“You can get it next time,” he’d said, smiling down at you. That made your cheeks flush and you had to look away from his gaze. 

The drive back to the apartment was calm and serene, the scenery of the river blowing by through the window. Your arm rested on the surface between the two front seats and you flinched slightly when you felt Yoongi’s elbow touch yours. His eyes remained forward but you spotted the red tinge to his ears, betraying his indifferent exterior. 

It was cute, you decided, chuckling quietly. You left your arm in its position, pressed against Yoongi’s. 

It was nice. 

Yoongi collapsed onto his bed, breathless. Had this weekend even been real? The rollercoaster of emotions he’d experienced had left him reeling, from unimaginable guilt and self hatred to elation that you harbored feelings for him to a calm and quiet first date with you. 

He flipped over in bed, sighing into his pillow. It felt unbelievable what had happened in the past two weeks since he’d gotten married. He’d been so headstrong in protecting himself and drawing harsh boundaries, dealing with the confusion of growing affection for you from when your families had dined together all those months ago to now. 

As he donned his clothes for bed, he recalled your earlier proposition. To start as friends, he mused. It didn’t seem like a bad idea. Yoongi was well aware of the wrongs he’d committed against you and he was determined to make up for them. 

He wanted to take the opportunity to show you that he was a good person, despite how you two had started off. 

It wouldn’t hurt, either, that it’d give Yoongi the chance to get to know you better, something he was desperate for. He thought back to your dinner by the river, the way your skin glowed in the soft yellow lighting, tendrils of smoke framing your face, and the flush of your cheeks due to the warm atmosphere. 

You’d looked ethereal. 

He’d thoroughly enjoyed your conversation, reveling in being able to learn so much about you. You were slowly opening up and it was exciting, he’d been craving getting to see more sides to your usually stoic nature. 

Earlier that day, after your climactic conversation, he’d spotted you in the kitchen after his shower. You were humming along to a song he’d assumed was playing in your headphones, your hips were swinging gently, and your foot was tapping along to the beat. He’d stood there for a while, admiring your form loose and relaxed in front of the stove. 

He’d never seen you like that before, but he decided right there it was a sight he wanted to come back to every day.

It would a lie to say Yoongi wasn’t nervous about how quickly his feelings for you were developing. He had felt them building up during the wedding preparations, especially so during the rehearsal dinner and ceremony itself. But the way he was becoming overcome with fondness and affection for you was maybe a bit concerning. 

Another reason why your decision to start as friends was probably the right one. Yoongi wanted to savor every moment of falling for you, and you falling for him. He wanted to catch your eye from across the room and make you smile, he wanted to bring redness to your cheeks and make your eyes dart away, he wanted to feel his heart race when you smiled at him, cuddle with you on the couch during a movie, and feel your palm against his as you walked the streets of Seoul. 

As Yoongi fell asleep that night, he dreamed of a sweet and slow romance between you two and of daffodil petals in your hair. 

previous / masterlist / next

[casuallyimagining]

Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days. 

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified. 

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…” 

I want to apologize. 

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise. 

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone. 

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering. 

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger. 

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up. 

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you? 

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left. 

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic. 

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees. 

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables. 

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too. 

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled. 

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors. 

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park. 

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died. 

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert. 

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism. 

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it. 

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him. 

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them. 

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know. 

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in. 

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday. 

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel. 

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand. 

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward. 

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue. 

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom. 

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick. 

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room. 

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty. 

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly. 

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter. 

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets. 

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see. 

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face. 

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading. 

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent. 

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.” 

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar. 

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you. 

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform. 

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you. 

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for. 

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting. 

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him. 

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?” 

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers. 

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause. 

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space. 

At least, you think you are. 

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable. 

Oh no. 

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again. 

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger. 

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest. 

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…” 

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed. 

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing. 

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand. 

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response. 

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy. 

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him.  “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible. 

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone. 

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh. 

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings. 

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful. 

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him. 

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch. 

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden. 

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring. 

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you. 

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms. 

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

[back2bluesidex]

Misconception - MYG ft. KSJ

Pairing: Yoongi X Fem!reader X Seokjin

Theme: Angst, friends to ? au, cheating

Wordcount: 1.2k+

Summary: You and Yoongi have been friends for nine years, you have loved him for five of those. But reciveing nothing but pain from his end you decide to move on only for Yoongi to come breaking down your resolve.

Warnings: Jealous Yoongi, bad decisions, kissing without permission, cheating

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Just a little piece from Six Degrees of Separation.

Read the full Series here

Yoongi knows it’s unfair and childish but he doesn’t like this Kim Seokjin at all. 

For one, he is unbelievably handsome. 

For two, he seems to really like you. 

And Yoongi never liked the guys who liked you too much. While back then, he never acted upon his disapproval because he was sure of his irreplaceable position in your life, now he is not sure anymore. 

His eyes land on you with every little chance he gets tonight. He is aware that he is staring at you much more than it’s socially acceptable but honestly, he doesn’t give a damn. 

While staring at you, he had made a couple of eye contacts with Seokjin, which really pissed him off. 

He doesn’t like being caught red-handed. 

“Can you show me the way to the restroom?” Seokjin’s voice is as sweet as his face. Yoongi absolutely hates it. 

“Sure. That door.” he vaguely points towards the washroom. Seokjin leaves but not before giving him a cryptic glance. 

As soon as the man is inside the restroom, he finds his feet working on autopilot and in moments he is standing before you. 

“You look good.” he says shamelessly as if he didn’t burn you with his cigarette just a year back. Your face morphs into hurt, then sarcasm all within a second. 

“Thanks.” avoiding looking at him, you take a large sip from your glass. Your ignorance stings him like a freshly injected needle. 

“Have you eaten anything? Or are you drinking again on an empty stomach? You know you don’t do good-” it’s his habit to babysit you and old habits die hard.

“The Yoongi that pushed me that night at Jimin’s place and the Yoongi before me are completely different. Why are you pretending so hard, Yoongi? Are you afraid I might step in between you two? If you are then don’t worry. I am not as bad as you think of me. Chill.” you cut him off, try to leave him behind but he stops you. His hand holds you in place and his heart thumps from the skin-to-skin connection. 

“I am not pretending. I am repenting. I- I am extremely ashamed for the way I behaved with you that night. I regret everything. Every single thing, Y/N.” so many unsaid words threaten to spill out of his throat. He is not sure about anything anymore. 

Not about himself, not about Hyeri, not about you. 

“I don’t know how that matters anymore. You can’t take back what you said and did and I.. I can’t go back being your friend. So, let’s just stop here. Congratulations on taking your relationship with my cousin a step ahead. My good wishes will always be with you two.” you smile but it falters. 

“Y/N, please-” he tries to say something, anything that will make you listen to him. But fate has different plans. 

“Yoongi, what are you doing here?” Hyeri butts in and the only chance Yoongi could get with you, slips away right through the gaps between his fingers. 

“Attention everyone.” Hyeri claps her hands, “thanks for joining us this evening. As you know me and my boyfriend finally decided to move in together after dating for five years. But there is more to it. Not only did we decide to move on but also to finally put a ring on each other as the first thing in the new year. So, today also serves as the official invitation for you all to our engagement ceremony which will be held sometime next month. Please bless us with your well wishes. Even though we have fifteen minutes left, a very happy new year to you all!” 

Yoongi’s blood boils. He sees red. Hyeri has truly crossed the line now. They have no fucking plan of exchanging any kind of rings for at least six more months. She is all over the place with her lies, competition to walk over you - It was the last nail in his coffin. 

He will have to take a step now. 

“What do you think you are doing?” he seethes, anger pours through his eyes. 

Hyeri acts all innocent again, “what?” 

“You know what I am talking about.” 

“Oh that? I just said it on a whim. Chill, it’s just rings. Let’s get it in installments. We can invite only a few people and get done with the engagement ceremony-” “You know what? Fuck you.” Yoongi cuts her off and leaves for the balcony. 

It’s already past midnight, a new year, a completely new day. And he will make sure to make it a new beginning for him. 

His heart drops to his stomach when an unexpected sight unfolds before him. 

Your lips are lost in Seokjin’s mouth. He is holding you by your waist, while you wrap him by his neck. He has draped his blazer on you to keep you warm. 

You two kiss and kiss and kiss not giving a damn about being caught by anyone in the action. Unbeknownst to Yoongi, his teeth girt with each other.  

This. this could have been him and you only had he not have Hyeri - wait. What is he even thinking? 

He clears his throat to break through the troubled thoughts that have clouded his mind and reduced visibility to zero. 

You two part your mouths being alert of the presence of a third person. 

You look at him, he looks at you. So many things remain unsaid, unchanged but at the same time blooming into existence. 

“I think it’s time we leave. I will get the car ready.” Seokjin announces, sounding breathless due to the kiss. 

“I will quickly see Hyeri.” You nod. 

“I will walk you out.” Yoongi joins even when he absolutely didn’t have to. 

You two get into the elevator after you exchange a quick bye and a hug with Hyeri. She had pinned him down with a glare but he didn’t care. He needs to talk to you, even when he doesn’t know what he should say. 

“Thanks for coming.” he starts. 

You scoff, “Are you mocking me?” 

He turns his head to look at you. Your lipstick is a little smeared around the small of your mouth - it’s Seokjin’s doing, he wants to rub it off, preferably with his tongue. 

Fuck! No! He scolds himself before opening his mouth to offer an explanation, “No. You joining us tonight have been fruitful to me. I got answers to so many of my questions.” 

“What?” you chuckle humorlessly, “what question? That you are finally ready to tie the knot? That you-” 

Yoongi grabs you by the lapels of your winter coat and crashes his lips on you. Later, he will blame it on his intrusive thoughts. Now, he will let himself enjoy it. 

He kisses you with intent, sucks your lower lip as if it’s his first meal after days. You stay unmoving, not kissing him but not pushing him away either. 

He bites on your lower lip, asking for entrance. You put your hands on his chest and push him away lightly. 

Your pupils are blown out. There are so many questions dancing around your eyes. Yoongi is sure he has answers to none of it. 

Your face remains blank. 

“I won’t ask you what the fuck was that. Guess we are even now.” you say. The elevator dings as if to rescue you from him. You walk out without glancing at him again. 

He remains in the elevator, watches as the door shuts, cutting you off of his line of sight. 

Yoongi really fucked up a big time.  

Read the full Series here

[dollfaceksj]

the pink pill | myg version (m) — “no one else”

➥ banner by @jkndigo.

➥ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.

➥ GENRE: smut ⋆ porn with plot ⋆ exes

➥ CATEGORY: one-shot [part of the pink pill series]

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, angst, exes but also idiots, degradation kink, unprotected sex (dont be like them), rough sex but also love-making??, did i mention a bit of angst, multiple positions guys yoongi is catching up for missing u all those times likeee, spankingggg, making out w tongue, overstimulation, claiming/possessiveness, multiple orgasms for reader, extremelyhorny!reader, cocky exboyfriend!yoongi…. yeah., hes a sick son of a bitch but thats why we like him besides he’s pretty tame in this i have worse yoongi’s up my sleeve this is nothin, neither of you have moved on, mutual pining but mutual STUBBORNNESSSSS for fucks sake, filthy words, creampie, oral sex (f. rec), embarrassingly quick climaxes likeee, minors DNI

➥ WORDCOUNT: 9.8k

a/n: and at last, yoongi’s ver of the pink pill is finally out!!! thank you for loving jk’s version! i hope you enjoy yoongi’s. beware of a bit of angst and complicated feelings<33

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

⋆ MASTERLIST & CONCEPT VIDEO ⋆

Your trembling thumb hovers over the blue arrow next to your unsent message, eyes scanning over the message over and over again. Your heart might implode in your chest the moment you hit send, which is why you’ve been staring at the message that would cause more cons than pros for the past 5 minutes.

Well, would it, though? It’s just a favor. You need a favor.

It’s like your brain is talking directly to your heart. Your brain is telling you how bad of an idea this is whilst your heart is just rolling its non-existent eyes at the nagging, as if your heart isn’t about to slide up your airways into your esophagus, travel straight up your burning throat and launch out of your mouth. You need to calm down.

The aggravating lump in your throat doesn’t let up.

And that’s when the pad of your thumb impulsively hits the damn blue arrow that’s been mockingly staring at you for the past few minutes.

[11:12PM]

from: You

to: Ignore

can you come over

Once the small letters that say ‘delivered’ pop up under your blue message, you internally scream into the void. Your eyes stay glued to your phone, the back of your phone is becoming slimy in your grasp due to the sweat your palms are rapidly producing.

You barely blink as you stare at the screen, your lips twitching as you wait and attempt to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest.

Your gaze slowly shifts upwards on the conversation, rereading old messages. The last you heard from him was 4 months ago. The two of you broke up around 9 months ago but still slept together for a good 2-3 months after.

The last message between you two from 4 months ago was you asking him when he could come pick up the rest of his shit. He came, picked up his shit and that’s when you last saw him. You barely exchanged any words. You had anticipated having sex one last time but he just wordlessly collected his stuff and left.

So, it’s understandable why you’d be so worried about asking him to come over and… well, ask him if he can fuck the shit out of you.

Your heart plummets into the pit of the earth when you notice the ‘delivered’ has turned into ‘read 11:13PM’.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He’s not responding.

Why is he not responding?

One minute passes. Two minutes pass. Three minutes. Four.

You’ve been staring at your phone the entire time and not once did the bubble that indicates he’s typing pop up.

What if he doesn’t even want to talk to you?

Fuck.

What the fuck were you even thinking?

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

After cleaning up the coffee table that was covered in snacks and empty cans that you used to take your mind off the excruciating arousal pooling in your core, you start heading into your once-shared bedroom with your head held down. It’s been 12 minutes since you sent that message and you haven’t gotten a response.

You’re a damn loser.

You plan to start slipping out of your plain shirt and shorts, cringing when you realize you’ve completely soaked through your cotton shorts. How fucking embarrassing. What the hell is in that pill?

Right as your fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts to pull them down your legs, you hear a rhythmic knock on your front door.

What? Who could…

Wait.

It possibly couldn’t be.

The lump returns to your throat at lightning speed as you start heading down your corridor, sluggishly dragging your feet across the floor.

You press your hand flat against the door in an attempt to gather your thoughts and collect your breath before you slowly start opening up, his familiar feline eyes staring at you with an agitated look pooling in them.

“What do you want?” He doesn’t even have the decency to greet you, he just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You quietly swallow as you cross your arms over your chest, stepping to the side to wordlessly invite him in. When he gives you a raised eyebrow in confusion, you say, “I don’t need my neighbors hearing my business.”

The exasperated sigh he lets out slightly stings but he walks in nonetheless. You close the door behind him but he’s showing no intentions or moves to take his shoes off. He just stands in front of the door, annoyance draped over his features.

You silently stare up at him, hoping he doesn’t notice your strange demeanor.

“So? Are you gonna tell me what you want or are you just gonna stare at me and continue to waste my time?” His words are blunt and brutal—the bitterness that he still holds in his heart for you hasn’t left him, it seems.

You finally find the courage to speak up and quietly say, “I need a favor, Yoongi.”

He blankly stares at you for a few moments. Humorlessly laughs at your request. Drops his head. Shakes it from side to side in disbelief.

You can’t help but glare at his reaction, fighting the urge to roll your eyes and spew insulting words at him. This is kind of selfish of you.

“Why would I do you a favor?” he asks once he’s stopped laughing, staring you down with hooded eyelids and no traces of mock amusement left on his face.

“I’ll owe you,” you say, failing to hide the clear annoyance in your tone. You want to strangle him.

“You already owe me.” His response is almost immediate, leaving you speechless for a few seconds as you stare up at him with a frown etched onto your brows.

“Excuse me? What the fuck do I owe you?”

He tilts his head to the side with an irritated look on his face before he says, “I don’t know, you wasted 3 years of my fucking life?”

You exaggeratedly roll your eyes at his words, shaking your head in exasperation. “I could quite literally say the same to you.”

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, his intense stare down never letting up.

He decides to ignore your remark and repeats, “What do you want, Y/N?”

You swallow again, looking to the side to avoid his penetrating gaze as you think about how the fuck you’re going to ask him what you want to ask him.

How do you even begin to ask?

Hey, you haven’t heard from me in months but could you fuck me real quick?

“What? Do you need money?” he asks in a neutral tone, although you can sense the concern tinged in his words.

“No,” you mumble, the collar of your shirt is starting to feel like it’s closing in around the perimeter of your neck with the goal of suffocating you.

He continues, “Then what? An alibi?”

You throw your head back in exasperation as you groan, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

It’s quiet for a moment and it makes you look at him. You notice he’s staring straight at you like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on and what you aren’t telling him.

“Need some lovin’?” he asks with a certain humorous tone, the joke causing you to glance up at him through your lashes with big eyes.

It seems like only then that he takes notice of your swollen lips, your dilated pupils, the thin layer of sweat on your forehead and the quickened breathing with the way his eyes scan your entire face and the frown on his brows slowly disappearing when the realization dawns on him.

He narrows his eyes at you and his hands leave his pockets, swiftly moving to cross over his chest as his lips twitch, something you can only describe as him trying to stifle a smirk. “You actually asked me to come over so I could come fuck you?”

Your mind travels at incomprehensible speed to come up with an answer, leaving you scrambled and almost stuttering. You blurt out, “It’s your fault.”

This makes his brows pinch together in utter confusion. “How the hell is it my fault?”

A deep sigh pushes past your lips as you drop your arms from your chest, hands resting on your hips as you look at the floor in shame. “I was cleaning shit up and I came across that dumb pink pill you bought that you wanted me to try but never got the chance to,” you explain, peeking up at him through your lashes momentarily before averting your gaze again.

“Pill? What pink pill?” he repeats, the frown on his face deepening further as the word leaves his mouth.

“Yes, that stupid pink pussycat pill, Yoongi. We bought it as a joke to try on our anniversary but then we had that stupid fight.” You try to get him to recall the events of a year ago, the quick wince on his face at the mention of your anniversary fight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “Anyway, I didn’t want it to go to waste and I was wondering what it might feel like or if it even works. So, I took it earlier today, for shits and giggles.”

He slowly nods to your words as the memories come back to him, seemingly remembering how excited he was for you to take that pill. “So, I reckon the pill is doing what it said it would?”

You merely grunt in response.

He’s silent for a few seconds before quietly chuckling, shaking his head. His chuckle is so deep and sultry, it shoots a tingle right down your soaked panties.

You huff, “What’s so amusing, you dickhead?”

He glances at you through his brows for a moment before averting his gaze, his eyes roaming his surroundings as he looks around your once-shared home. “I’m just flattered, is all.”

“Flattered?” you repeat, a disapproving frown on your features. He’s turning this entire thing into a compliment for himself.

You really can’t fucking stand him.

“You could’ve flaunted that pretty face out at some bar and gotten someone to fuck you without needing to offer any favors,” he explains, giving you a glimpse of his thought process, those words making your body heat up all over again.

Damn him.

You know Yoongi has always found you insanely attractive but him so nonchalantly reminding you has set your insides aflame.

“You know I don’t do that stuff,” you mumble with a shake to your head.

His bitter, humorless chuckle booms in your ears. Why does it sound like he’s literally inside your head? “That’s exactly how we met, you dirty liar.” He reminds you of how his hips were slamming into yours an hour after you met him and no rebuttal comes to your mind.

You silently stare at him, bringing your hand up to wipe some of the sweat off your hairline with the back of your index finger.

“Yeah, you know what? I don’t know why I even texted you. You can leave,” you say, a surge of anger coursing through your veins as you reach for the door handle but Yoongi is quicker than you.

His hand quickly reaches for yours, fingers wrapping tightly around your wrist. “I can tell you why you did,” he quips, cockily.

You glare up at him but make no effort to remove his hand from your skin, the single touch of his skin against yours sends lava down all your veins and every single one of your nerve-endings. Fuck, you wish you could pounce him right fucking now. You finally gather your thoughts and say, “Oh, please, do enlighten me.”

“You asked me here because you don’t want all that arousal to go to waste on someone that doesn’t know your body like I do.” He starts closing the gap between you two, face closing in on yours. “They won’t do the things you like.”

Your throat tightens at his proximity and his words, your lungs seconds away from imploding in between your ribcage.

“And you’re too shy to tell them because you know you like filthy things.” He moves his other hand up to trace the shell of your ear with the tip of his index finger, his eyes glued to how his finger glides down your skin.

If he noticed his touch instantly awoke the goosebumps on your skin, he doesn’t comment on it and continues to play with your ear, fingers coming down to rub your earlobe in between the pads of his thumb and index finger.

“No one knows your body like I do, no one else.” He drops his hand from your ear to trace the collar of your shirt, the tip of his finger occasionally grazing your neck. “No one knows how filthy you are. How needy you are. How you like to be touched and kissed. That’s how I know,” he concludes.

He adds, “You clearly haven’t moved on.”

He was doing so well, too.

Haven’t moved on? Son of a bitch.

“Yeah, well, what about you?” you blurt out. You watch as his thick eyebrows scrunch together in smug mockery.

“What about me? Don’t turn this on me, sweetheart. You’re the one asking me to come fuck you.” He starts to take off his shoes, kicking them aside like he used to do.

Cocky asshole.

“You showed up 10 minutes after a simple ‘come over’ text, no questions asked.” You remind him of tonight’s events and his face slowly turns into a scowl, his usual quick witty comebacks suddenly nonexistent.

“So what?” he mumbles, not in the mood to fight you for this any longer because he knows he’ll lose.

“Just admit you want this as bad as I do instead of being smart about it,” you say, rolling your eyes as you take a step back to create some more distance between you two. You hadn’t realized he’d gotten that close.

He shrugs his shoulders with an air of nonchalance, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I wouldn’t say as bad as you.”

Right, because you took that pill and your arousal is off the charts.

He must think he’s sooooooo funny.

“You’re a lia–”

Before you can even finish speaking, he takes a step closer and it inevitably traps you in between his body and the wall behind you. He arrogantly adds, “Want me to push my fingers into your panties and check?”

Fuck.

He shouldn’t still have the ability to knock the oxygen right out of your lungs with just silly words. He shouldn’t.

You stare up at him with a furrow in your brows, eyes wide and lips almost quivering, simply at the thought of him touching you. Damn him.

And he knows.

Because his gaze drops to your lips before back to your eyes, the corners of his own lips curling up at something he’s thinking about.

“What?” you grumble, your voice barely coming out and leaving you for dead in your time of need.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and adds a shrug to his shoulders for extra nonchalance. “I just think after you ran your mouth like this, it’d be more fun to make you beg for it.”

Your hands come up to his chest, pressing flat against him to push him back but he doesn’t budge an inch because there’s no real strength behind the push and he knows it.

“I hate you,” you quietly say, hands still pressed up against his chest with the tiniest bit of pressure to make it seem like you don’t want him.

Unfortunately, Yoongi knows you too well.

“That’s fine, as long as you’re good to me.” The words leave his mouth in a breathy chuckle that drapes over your lips as his face closes in on yours, plump lips grazing the skin of your jaw. “You were always so good to me.”

“Why did you leave me, then?” Your voice comes out a bit choked, a big gulp following your question and it’s almost like you’re attempting to swallow the words back down. You can’t believe you just blurted that out. Is one of the side effects of that dumb pink pill being emotional as hell?

He freezes for a few seconds before pulling away and searching for your eyes. His expression is decorated by a frown and his pretty lips are pressed into a thin line.

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets the deafening silence settle around you. Stares at you as if one of the world’s greatest unsolved mysteries is being revealed to him and the answer is in your irises. Watches as you idly blink at him and it makes his lips twitch. Seems to be in deep thought and you can’t figure out what’s going through his mind for the life of you.

Then, he speaks.

“Why didn’t you stop me?”

His words paired with his intense gaze sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving your legs to wobble like they’re made of jelly.

You both stare at each other for a while in complete silence. His familiar, black, feline eyes staring into yours so intimately summon a vine that wraps around your heart, digging its sharp thorns into your most beloved organ until it bleeds out all over your insides.

He’s right.

You clearly haven’t moved on.

“Let’s just,” you pause and shake your head free of those thoughts. You don’t bother to finish your sentence as you wrap your fingers around his wrist, leading him toward your once-shared bedroom and he simply lets you.

As soon as you walk in, you let go of his hand and reach for the hem of your shirt. You yank it off your body without a second of hesitation before tossing it somewhere on the floor and it makes him chuckle for some reason.

You turn to glare at him. “Something funny?” you snark, arms crossing over your chest like a child that wanted the purple lollipop instead of the yellow one.

He stares at you from the entrance of your room, an amused smile still on his pretty lips. His eyes scan the walls and the furniture as he slowly makes his way in, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I see that you’ve changed the entire room.”

Your eyes follow the direction of his gaze, scanning around the room as if you’d forgotten what you changed about the place. “Yeah.”

He struts toward you, getting so close that he’s practically pressed up against you. His onyx eyes stare you down, one of his infamous unreadable expressions plastered on his face. “Trying to act like I never existed?” he asks, hands still buried in his pockets and fuck, how you wish he would just give in and touch you.

You simply blink up at him, your eyes pingpong-ing between his eyes from left to right continuously as you try to think of a way to answer.

Should you lie? Should you just be honest?

As if on cue, your question is answered when he lazily places his right hand on your hip, pulling you even closer to him.

Be honest.

“No.” You shake your head slightly, never breaking eye contact with the enticing man in front of you. “I was never going to forget about you if everywhere I looked just reminded me of you.”

His hand tenses on your hip, a muscle in his jaw tenses up and your eyes are just in time to catch the way his Adam’s apple bounces up and down.

You shift your eyes back up to his, blinking your eyelids at him so innocently yet so full of temptation. He slowly starts nodding his head as if he just had an epiphany and then moves his hand from your hip to your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, thumb rubbing circles onto your bare skin.

You shrug your shoulders smugly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He doesn’t need anything else. His lips are on top of yours the moment the words leave your mouth, teeth clashing at how quickly he lunges at you.

His mouth devours you like a man starved as his other hand grips the back of your head to keep you in his grasp, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

Several soft moans resound in your throat that he simply swallows, hand balling into a fist on the back of your head, gripping your hair at the root.

You mewl, your hands coming up to squeeze his biceps as you try to grind your hips into his. Fuck, you’re like a fucking animal in heat.

“Fuck, I’m barely touching you and you’re this needy,” he whispers against your open mouth before shoving his tongue back in.

Your insides are set ablaze when he starts pushing you backwards with his own body until your calves hit the mattress and automatically makes you fall backwards, dropping onto your bed.

He wastes no time climbing on top of you, lips leaving a trail of wet kisses down the column of your throat to the strap of your bra as he gently starts tugging them off your shoulders.

You automatically arch your back off the mattress, encouraging him to unclasp your bra and he does.

Whilst he unclasps your bra, he coats your collarbones in soft kisses and absentmindedly throws your bra to the side as he brings his hand back up to fondle your breast in his large hand.

“Fuck,” you whisper, every single inch of his touch electrifies your body and sets your soul alight. Damn, you’ve missed this.

His thumb gently teases your erect nipple, rolling it around whilst he continues to nibble on the skin of your neck.

Your hips involuntarily buck upwards into nothing and you almost flinch at the way his breath grazes your neck when Yoongi softly chuckles, clearly finding your extreme level of arousal amusing.

“Can you just stop teasing me?” you whine, legs spreading wider and wider without a second thought.

“You’re gonna have to ask a lot nicer if you want me to do that, sugar.” He lifts his head off your shoulder and closes in on your other breast, wrapping his lips around it whilst his hand slowly travels down your stomach to your clothed sex. He starts sucking on your nipple and the effects of that pill makes it so it feels like he’s touching you all over, on every part of your body, on every inch of your skin. Causes you to squirm and moan under him like a fish separated from a body of water.

“Fuck,” he chuckles, “I should’ve made you take that pill so fucking long ago. Look at you.”

You simply grumble, “Fuck you.”

He lifts his head off your breast to stare at you directly in the eyes and you instantly regret running your mouth. “Yoongi, I just want–”

Smack!

“Ow!” you cry out, the warmth of the slap on your pussy spreading through your skin like wildfire. You instantly whimper, “I’m sorry.”

The apology means nothing to him, though.

He shakes his head. “Always running that fucking mouth of yours.” His fingers tuck under the hem of your shorts and he slides them down your legs before tossing them aside like he has personal beef with the article of clothing.

“Holy shit,” he whispers as he glances at the massive wet patch on your panties and all the slick smeared around your inner thighs, eyes practically bulging out of his eye sockets.

You can’t help but frown, though. “What?”

“No wonder,” he says, seemingly answering his own unspoken question. “You are completely soaked. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this fucking horny.”

You whine, tucking your thumbs under the hem of your panties to drag them down your legs and he doesn’t even try to stop you, just simply stares at you in awe but your panties don’t budge an inch when you stop and decide to just give in, in hopes he’ll fall for your tricks.

“Please, just,” you yelp, “fuck me. Please. I think I’ll die if you don’t.”

He throws his head back as he laughs, his gorgeous neck on full display for you. “Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Yoongi,” you pause, “I’m so fucking serious. I’ve been thinking about you fucking me all day. I need you to. Please.”

He searches your face and seemingly takes note of the desperation and earnestness in your eyes. Shortly after, he drags his gaze down your exposed body, simply staring at your naked figure.

Sprawled out on your bed, lips swollen, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin, pupils dilated, breasts bare with nipples standing at attention and your arousal that has already started dripping onto your sheets.

He slowly starts to nod his head and in the blink of an eye, he yanks his own shirt off.

The view of his bare chest brings back so many memories, all the times he fucked you good come rushing back to you and it isn’t fucking helping your case.

A persistent lump forms in your throat that refuses to disappear but that’s when you realize that it’s not just a lump but words. The words ‘I miss you’ are forcing their way to the tip of your tongue, threatening to spill.

But you absolutely refuse to let that happen.

Just bite your tongue.

“All day, huh?” he muses, talking more to himself. He quickly ditches his sweatpants in the meantime and tosses them off the bed. “What took you so long to text me?”

You silently watch as he crawls back over to you in just his black boxers, settling right next to your body and supporting his own weight with his elbow while his other hand returns to your panties. Teasingly plays with the hem. Presses his lips against your neck. Inhales your scent.

You stay quiet for a few moments, eyes shut tightly at the tip of his fingers brushing against your pelvis. So close yet so far. “My pride,” you finally reply.

He simply chuckles at your words and slowly tucks his fingers under the hem of your panties, groaning when the back of his knuckles brush against the sticky patch of your arousal on the inside of your panties. “I don’t think I’ve seen this amount of wetness. Not even in porn.”

His skin finally makes contact with your sex, running right up your wet slit and collecting all of your arousal on the tip of his finger. “Holy fucking shit, Y/N.”

You mewl, hips already thrusting up into his hand but he simply uses his palm to press down on your pelvis.

“Stay still.” The demand makes your insides twist into a wringed out shirt and makes your pussy clench around nothing.

“I can’t,” you whimper, legs shaking at the simple touch of his fingers smearing your arousal all over your sex. “I’m trying to but I can’t.”

It’s like you have no control over your body whatsoever. You just want to be fucked.

“Why can’t you?” he quips as he plunges two fingers right into you, groaning when your slick walls tightly hug his fingers. He already knows, he just likes to push your buttons.

“Because I want you,” you breathe out, moaning at the sensation of his fingers slowly pumping into you. Your sensitivity is off the fucking charts, just his fingers being buried in your pussy without any movement whatsoever could have you cumming in no time.

“I can tell,” he cockily chuckles. His sultry laugh is so full of mockery, the type that would usually piss you the fuck off but in this moment turns you the fuck on. “I just need to prep you, baby. Can’t be hurting you simply because you’re writhing like an animal in heat.”

You quickly shake your head. “I don’t need any fucking prep,” you moan as his hand picks up in pace. “Please, just fuck me. I’m already wetter than I’ve ever been. You literally just said it yourself.”

He lifts his head off your collarbones and searches your eyes for a moment, a stern frown on his brows. “Are you sure?”

Yoongi’s always been into manhandling you and being rough but only when it’s pleasurable for you. He’d usually go down on you or work you towards an orgasm using just his fingers, in hopes it’d have you ready to take him.

So, no, he’s not used to just jumping in and fucking you.

You quickly nod your head. “Never been more sure.”

He stares at you for a moment longer but the sincerity in your eyes is prominent. He then simply spreads your folds with his sticky fingers, smearing your arousal all over your sex before pulling his fingers out of your pussy, the sounds leaving your sex almost embarrassing you.

He slides his hand out of your panties and glances at his hand, eyes scanning his fingers coated in your pussy slick.

“Fuck, look at that,” he whispers but doesn’t even grant you the time to look when he immediately shoves his fingers into his mouth, sucking all your arousal off his digits.

“Yoongi,” you whine, clenching around nothing as you watch him.

“Fuck, princess,” he grunts as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. “It’s been too long. I’m gonna need to eat that.”

You want to protest but he’s already pulling you toward him by your thighs, settling in between them as he’s now face to face with your slick-covered panties.

“I want to be fucked,” you whine, staring down at him between your legs but his eyes are just focused on your panties.

He replies, “And I want to fucking eat you out so you’re gonna have to be patient, you little brat.”

You don’t have the time to whine any more when he pushes your panties to the side and the single action could have you coming undone, right here, right now.

He idly stares at your glistening pussy like he’s Monkey D. fucking Luffy and he found the One Piece after years of venturing the seas.

“Why are you staring like that?” you quietly ask, unfortunately not possessing enough strength to close your thighs out of self-consciousness.

With a simple shake of his head, his face closes in on your sex and he licks a long stripe up your pussy, collecting a great amount of your arousal in a single swipe of his hungry tongue.

But you’re oozing so much wetness that he simply keeps going, licking all around your sex before focusing on your swollen, angry clit. He wraps his lips around your sensitive pleasure nub and starts sucking, coating his entire chin in your juices.

“Fuck!” you cry, reaching over to pull on his roots, fingers tangled in his soft black locks.

The sensitivity you’re experiencing is too much. “I’m gonna fucking cum, Yoongi.” You’re not even joking.

“Already?” he hums in mockery before wrapping his lips around your clit again and sucks some more with no regard of overstimulating you.

You quickly nod your head and within the next few seconds, you’re cumming all over his tongue and around his mouth. A cry rips through your throat and you’re sobbing at this point, pulling so hard on his roots that it causes him to hiss in pain.

Grinding your hips up into his face, into his nose, into his mouth. You can’t believe how quickly that stupid pink pill has you levitating off the bed, it’s like you don’t even belong on Earth anymore.

The orgasm hits you like none ever before, leaving you even more sensitive. You came within barely, what? A minute of stimulation? Two? Oh, you’re so done for.

You push against Yoongi’s head in hopes he’ll stop and he does—after giving your swollen clit one last slurp.

“Holy shit.” You can’t believe that just happened.

“That was really fast. What was that? A minute? A minute and 30 seconds?” he laughs as he sits up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s that fucking pill,” you mumble defensively, trying to catch your breath.

A low chuckle leaves his mouth before he glances down at the bulge in his boxers. “Well,” he pauses, “you should take that pill more often.”

You roll your eyes with all the brattiness you can muster, hoping it annoys him as much as he annoys you. “This is the last time I’m even letting you in here, I hope you know that.”

His eyes shift back up to yours and he tilts his head to the side in question, blinking at you with a glimmer in his eyes that you can’t quite describe.

You stare back, trying your best not to look fucked out right now but you know you’re failing horribly at it when he simply shakes his head and lets out a bitter chuckle.

“You just wanted to use me one last time, hm?” he scoffs as his fingers tuck under the hem of his boxers, sliding them down his thighs and tossing them off the bed.

A surge of guilt spreads through your chest when you realize how that must’ve sounded to him. “You know that’s not what I meant, Yoongi.”

“No?” he muses, placing his hands on the back of your thighs before pushing them all the way against the mattress on each side of your body. You know your body isn’t supposed to be able to do this, apparent by the strain in your inner thighs but for some reason, it doesn’t bother you as much.

“No,” you whimper as he uses his own weight to keep your thighs spread, sliding his rock hard dick in between your folds handsfree, but not entering you just yet. It has you squeezing your eyelids shut, trying to focus on the feeling of his rock hard cock—all the ridges and veins on his dick—rubbing so good against your swollen clit.

“I don’t believe you,” he says, watching as you squirm from the slightest bit of friction that he has full control over. It makes you want to smack that grin right off his face.

“I swear,” you sniff, not even being able to thrust your hips up for more friction because Yoongi’s weight and strength keeps you restrained.

He simply hums in response, continuing to slide his dick over your slit, completely coating his shaft in your slick. “If you want me to believe you,” he pauses as his eyes shift up to yours, “you’re going to have to beg and convince me. Tell me how what you just said isn’t true.”

“Please,” you say, no hesitation. “Please, I didn’t mean that. I–just fuck me. I swear I don’t want anyone else to be in your position right now, I only want you. No one else knows me like you, no one.”

He continues to simply watch your face twist in borderline agony from the lack of friction, the sensation you so desperately crave.

“That so?” His tone is filled with so much arrogance that it makes your veins burn with lava.

You merely hum in response and finally crack your eyelids open, just to see him staring into your eyes with that familiar glint in his. Fuck.

“Ready?” he whispers, lining his tip up with your hole and cockily chuckles when you eagerly nod your head.

He abruptly freezes. “Ah, fuck, wait.” His dick is not on your slit anymore and it makes you frown at him.

“What?”

He groans, “I have no condoms.”

For fuck’s sake.

“I mean,” you start, “you’re the last person I had sex with. Did you have sex with anyone after me?”

You’re not sure you even want to hear about it but in this moment you’d do anything to just have him finally fuck the shit out of you.

He avoids your gaze as he keeps it glued to his dick sliding up and down your slit. “I have.”

Oh.

“But it was protected, always,” he adds with a quickness, tone calculated and quiet.

Oh.

Okay.

That’s good but it doesn’t make you feel any better.

You have to swallow your emotions at this moment because your pussy is basically screaming at you to just swallow your pride. “Okay, then just do it without.”

He peers up at you through his thick brows with a frown. “Are you sure?”

You mumble, “For fuck’s sake.” Your hand quickly reaches for his shaft but he slaps it away just as quickly.

“I know you’re horny as fuck but I need you to be 100%,” he pauses when he sees you glaring at his dick. “Look at me, dammit.”

Your eyes shift to his and you childishly groan. “Yes, Yoongi, I 100% consent to letting you fuck me raw. Now, will you please just–”

He doesn’t even let you finish talking as he slides his dick right into you, bottoming out completely. You yelp at the intrusion, your slick walls stretching around his shaft so well, like it always has.

“Holy shit,” he whispers with closed eyes, the disgusting squelching coming from your sexes is proof of your arousal and the moans falling from his lips as your pussy tightly hugs him sounds like a choir of angels sustaining a high C.

You try to keep quiet, you try not to squirm, you try not to say the craziest things right now. Like ‘I love you’, or ‘I’ve missed you so much’ because you’re just horny and dumb.

“Move,” you whimper, needing more than he’s giving you right now. He hears you loud and clear, sliding out of you and right back in. The disgusting squelching reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to care at the moment, not when Yoongi finds it hot and throws in occasional ‘fuck, listen to that’s and ‘you’re so fucking wet’s.

You cuss, eyes rolling to the back of your head when your sensitivity reaches its peak. A few more thrusts will already have you cumming, you’re sure of it.

He continues to thrust, slowly starting to pick up his pace and he finally cracks his eyelids open. His eyes find yours as he stares at you—scanning your pretty face that he loves to look at—especially when it’s twisted in pleasure like that.

Brows furrowed, lips swollen, pupils dilated, mouth agape, a thin layer of sweat draped over your forehead and building up in your hairline.

Somewhere along the line, the eye contact becomes too intense for you. Your hand snakes around the back of his head, closing the distances between you two by pulling him closer to you, licking and sucking on the honey tinted skin of his neck.

After a while of sucking and nipping at his neck and his thrusts never coming to a halt, your orgasm starts approaching you rapidly again. “I’m gonna cum,” you cry, tears pricking in your eyes from the pure pleasure that’s setting all your insides ablaze.

“Already?” he murmurs as he leans down, kissing away the tears that have subtly started rolling down your temples. “But I have yet to ruin you.”

Fuck.

“Whatever, though. I guess you’re just going to lose count of the amount of orgasms I’ll fuck you through.” He states it so nonchalantly because he knows only he could ever make you feel like this, make you desperate like this, make you a needy mess like this.

His hips continue to harshly snap into yours, the indescribable sensation of being fucked at this angle and pace has your thighs clenching. Unsurprisingly not long after, your orgasm hits you full force once again.

A sob rips through your throat, your trembling hands grab at his shoulders, nails painfully digging into his skin as he fucks you through your high. His low chuckle rings in your ear, breath hitting your throat as he lowers his face into the crook of your neck.

“Cumming all over my dick and sucking marks on my neck. Are you trying to claim me again?” he whispers, knowing how possessiveness was big a turn on for the both of you back in your relationship.

You simply cry under him, the orgasm lasting longer than any you’ve ever had before. His dick kisses your cervix repeatedly, your breasts bounce continuously from the momentum of his thrusts and the sound of his skin slapping yours only increases in volume the longer he fucks you.

“I asked you something,” he says, lifting his head off your shoulder to stare down at you. “Where’d that bratty mouth that I love so much go?”

You simply grunt in response, teary eyes glaring at him as you slowly come down from your high. The corners of his lips curl up in a twisted smirk at the sight in front of him, you know he enjoys seeing you in this state and him being the sole cause of it pleases him greatly.

The overstimulation is starting to catch up to you. Your hand basically moves on its own, pressing flat into his lower abdomen in order to get him to slow down.

However, it means nothing to him. He simply continues to thrust into you like he’s got something to prove. “Answer me, Y/N. Do you want to claim me again?” he repeats.

You mewl, sinking your cranium further into your soft pillows, exposing more of your throat and neck to him as tears continue to pour out of your eyes.

“Fuck you,” you whimper, digging your nails into the skin around his belly button but it doesn’t elicit a single reaction from him.

He simply chuckles at your snarky comment as he lowers his lips onto your throat, sucking and nipping at it. You know he expected you to say that. No one else knows you like the back of their hand like he does.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbles against your skin. His words paired with the simple act of kissing your neck has all your insides clenching and twisting with something you can’t quite describe.

Butterflies?

Something you’re not going to admit out loud.

“I don’t appreciate you talking to me like that, though.” With one more thrust, he pulls out of you and harshly flips you onto your stomach. You don’t even have the time to react when he gently grabs your hips yet roughly hoists your ass up off the mattress.

A sharp sting spreads through your asscheek and that’s when you realize his rough hand came down on your bum, spanking you hard.

“Ow!” you screech in pain yet pleasure, every vein in your body pumping blood faster and faster as you anticipate exactly why, of all people, you called Yoongi over.

He doesn’t even give you the time to come down from that spanking before he gives you another one. And another one. And another one.

“You ask me to come over after not talking to me for months, then beg me to fuck you. I give you what you want and you still have the audacity to be so rude to me?” He clicks his tongue loudly and immediately after the scolding, spanks you yet again. “Biting the hand that feeds you. Tsk. I should cum in that filthy mouth of yours for talking to me like this.”

He shoves his dick back inside without a warning and continues to assault your poor asscheeks, rough palms continuously coming down to your ass in loud smacks.

You hoarsely cry out under him, most likely from the embarrassment because thanks to that damn pill you might cum from just being spanked at this point.

As if he heard your thoughts, the spanking comes to an end and his hands are now flat on your back, keeping you pressed into the mattress with his weight while he starts fucking into you again. “You like getting fucked from the back, right?”

Your ass bounces back against his hips with each thrust, adding more and more sensations to your body. You’re not going to last for very much longer.

He mumbles, “No, that’s not it.” He leans forwards, pressing his chest into your back, lips grazing the shell of your ear and he places his hands against the mattress on each side of your waist, supporting his own weight. “You just love being fucked like a slut.”

Fuck.

“Isn’t that right? You don’t care in what position you get fucked in, as long as you’re getting fucked, hm? Like the horny slut you are.” He remembers exactly what you like and it’s embarrassing. “My slut, though. No one else’s.”

And you admit that yes, you wouldn't just want any stranger to talk to you like this.

It only works with Yoongi because he knows you. Because he understands you. Because he loves you.

Or he did once, at least.

But him showing up at your front door, no questions asked, 10 minutes after you asked him to, might be proof of something you both are trying to deny. Not like it matters.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you moan. You’ve already lost count but it doesn’t matter, not when he’s fucking you so good.

“Cumming so quickly from just being talked to like this. I bet you’ve missed my filthy mouth just as much as I missed yours,” he whispers into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin in a way only a lover should. “I fucking love it.”

The soft kissing and the low volume of his voice are a stark contrast to the rough pounding of his hips and the degrading words leaving his lips.

And you can’t help but love it.

“Tell me I’m right,” he demands as he picks up the pace, snaking one hand around to wrap around your throat and pull you up until the back of your head collides with his shoulder. “Tell me it’s true.”

Now with your orgasm approaching, he knows you’d do anything to get there.

He knows you too well.

“Fuck, I love it!” you cry as your nth orgasm washes over you, your body violently jerking under him from the overstimulation you’re experiencing.

“I know you do,” he chuckles as he fucks you through your orgasm. “That’s my girl. My fuckin’ girl.”

Fuck.

He has no idea what those words do to you.

Well, it’s Yoongi. He definitely knows what it’s doing to you.

Because you are not his girl. Not anymore.

But you don’t have the energy to correct him nor do you want to. Because at this moment, it feels like the two of you never separated. Like you never spent a day apart. All of the nostalgia, love and hate comes rushing back to you. Surely it’s that stupid pink pill’s fault.

He pulls out in a swift motion and turns you onto your side before he lies down behind you on his side as well, chest pressed into your back as he pulls you closer.

Fuck, how many positions is he going to fuck you in? Is he making up for all the time you spent apart?

Now that you’re in spooning position, he gently places his hand under your thigh and lifts it up to spread your legs. His hand leaves your thigh as he uses the same hand to guide his dick to your pussy again.

Your thigh almost wants to give out and drop, your chest still dramatically rising and falling as you chase your breath.

Another cocky chuckle rumbles in his chest at how you struggle to even move now, his hot breath draping over your neck and his hand returning to the same spot on your inner thigh as he lifts your leg again and pushes into you.

Your head falls back, falling deeper into his embrace and he welcomes that by pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. “I don’t know how I survived all those months without y–” he pauses, “your pussy.”

Hmph. He’s the pussy if he doesn’t want to admit he misses you.

But then again, he was never that type. Yoongi was never the type to show his love through words but rather through actions and services, he had difficulties expressing his affection with words.

Like when it took him a year to say ‘I love you’ yet everyday after he came home from an exhausting day at work, he’d pull your feet into his lap and massage them in hopes of offering you some kind of relief.

Or when the topic of wedding vows came up and he said he finds them useless yet he’d buy you a fresh set of bouquets every week until down to the very week you broke up.

Or when he’d place a glass of water on your nightstand everyday when he left for work, whether he fucked the shit out of you the night before or not.

Yoongi always just showed you.

And now that he’s balls deep in your pussy, now that the effects of that pill are clouding your mind, now that his proximity is distorting your mind and setting all your nerve-endings alight again, you have to consciously stop yourself from asking him to come back home—back to you.

Your mind is so distorted that you don’t even recall the bad moments or the reason for your break up right now. You just miss him.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers in your ear, thrusting his hips into you at a considerably slower pace but by no means lacking in strength and passion.

“Like I’m fucking floating on a cloud,” you mumble back, body almost falling limp at his proximity and his dick rubbing your walls so deliciously.

He simply chuckles, “That’s what I like to hear.”

He continues to fuck into you, occasionally groaning and fondling your breast. “Fuck,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to the back of your neck.

“Yoongi, I–”

“I know.”

You don’t even know.

You don’t even know what you were going to say.

But his confident ‘I know’ proves to you that he knows.

Thanks to his slow pace, it takes your orgasm a little longer to approach and thank fuck for that.

“I’m gonna cum soon,” he tells you, rubbing your tummy from the back. “Where do you want it?”

“I don’t care where you cum as long as you kiss me during it.”

Damn. Why the fuck would you say that?

Great. He just abruptly stopped thrusting. You’re such a fucking idiot.

You would have never been able to admit this if you didn’t take that stupid pill or even if you weren’t facing him with your back.

He swiftly pulls out and wraps his fingers around your bicep to turn you around, making you face him now. Still in spooning position but this time facing each other, he pulls you close, lifting your leg onto his hip as he guides his dick back into you and propping your head up on his bicep.

His hand finds its way back to your asscheek and squeezes the soft skin in his rough hand as he pulls you even closer, pressing your chest right into his.

“Cum with me, baby. You’re doing so good.”

He’s so mean for doing this. So mean for the things he says, so mean for fucking you exactly as you like it, so mean for making you feel like you still belong to him. Like he belongs to you.

He thrusts his hips into you faster and sure enough, the effects of the pill get to work because your stomach starts twisting from the inside immediately after the change of pace and his request of cumming together.

Your fucked out eyes meet his determined ones, staring into those black bottomless pits of his as he chases his own release.

He simply stares back, eyes occasionally dropping to your lips. In this moment, his eyes are everywhere you look, his breath hits every inch of your skin, his hand on your hip holds you so tightly that you think be might crack your hipbone. He’s inside your head. He’s everywhere. He’s everything.

It seems like he wants to say something but his attention gets disrupted by the sound of something buzzing on the nightstand behind you.

It’s his phone.

He tears his eyes away from yours, reaching for it whilst still being inside of you and by the guilty look on his face, it doesn’t take a genius to decipher it must be someone whose arms and bed he found comfort in after separating from you.

When he thinks you must’ve realized, he tosses his phone off the bed and returns his attention to you.

But he doesn’t owe you anything. Not an explanation. Not an apology. Not even love.

It’s quiet for a few moments, just your occasional soft moaning and his heavy breathing as you close your eyes to avoid his gaze.

Until you crack your eyelids open again and find out he’s been staring at you the entire time. Your walls tightly clench around him again, indicating your orgasm is close. “Just call me your girl again,” you whisper, allowing the vulnerability to escape your system once again.

Dumb bitch.

“You are. You are my girl,” is all he says before pressing his lips against yours as promised, grabbing a handful of your asscheek as he snaps his hips into yours and forces his tongue into your mouth.

You let his tongue force itself past your swollen lips, crying into his mouth as another orgasm sends electricity down all your limbs, making your brain explode with ridiculous amounts of dopamine and launching you straight to your Utopia.

You murmur some shit into his mouth that even you don’t understand, voice coming and going whenever it pleases, more and more slick gushing out of your completely drenched pussy. Tears continue to escape and roll down your temples, your nose is runny, your voice is hoarse.

A soft moan resounds in Yoongi’s throat when his own orgasm hits him, thrusts getting inconsistent and rough as he starts painting your walls with his warm cum, groaning loudly into your mouth which you happily welcome.

This is otherworldly.

Nothing will ever feel like this moment right here and you’re not sure whether you’ve accepted that yet.

He fucks both of you through your orgasms, pumping his load into you like it belongs inside of you and fuck, have you missed the feeling.

With a few more sloppy thrusts, creating a mess everywhere, his thrusting comes to a halt yet he never stops kissing you.

He curls his arm so your head shifts on his bicep even closer towards his face, keeping his dick buried in you, eliciting a simple sigh in content from the ex-girlfriend in his arms.

After an extra few minutes of nonstop making out with a man that was once yours, you’re the one that pulls away. Your stomach clenches with something you can’t describe when you watch him still chase your lips until he realizes you’ve pulled away, making him slowly open his eyes.

Is it guilt? Is it desire? Is it regret?

Fuck. Fuck. This whole idea just wasn’t smart.

You did your best to rid yourself of the stain he planted on you, closing the mark where he sunk his fangs so deeply into your skin, into your soul. You’re letting him reopen it and you’re so damn fucking stupid for it.

And you don’t understand why he’s the only one you want. No one else.

He stares at you for a moment before pressing his forehead against yours, still trying to catch his breath.

You stay unmoved for a few more moments before he delicately pecks your lips again and gently pulls his softening dick out of you, your nose scrunching when his load starts to leak out of you and onto your sheets.

He doesn’t say much else as he gets up from your bed, eyes searching the floor for something before he hunches over and slides his boxers back up his legs.

He leaves your bedroom without another word, making you simply frown at the ceiling but he quickly reappears with a glass of water and a damp towel.

He hasn’t changed a bit.

He takes care of you like nothing’s changed, cleaning your body up, changing the sheets while you don’t move a muscle, tucking you under the fresh covers and making sure you drink your water before opening the windows in an attempt to get some fresh air after you’ve fogged up the windows in the room.

He sits at the edge of your bed, gently tracing your hairline with the tip of his finger. “How are you feeling?”

If only he knew.

Your mouth slightly curls at the corners, a lazy smile plastered on your lips. “I feel amazing.”

Another sultry chuckle leaves his mouth as he nods his head in agreement.

This is nice.

But your mind changes when you silently watch him rising to his feet and slowly reaching for his clothes.

Ugh.

You’ve been vulnerable enough.

You asked him to come do one thing and he did it. You can’t ask much more of him.

But your heart works faster than your brain.

“Can you stay the night?” you quietly ask, fidgeting with your fingers under the sheets, relieved that he can’t see.

He glances at you over his shoulder, a frown on his brows. It seems like he thinks about it for a moment before parting pretty his lips to say, “What?”

Fuck.

Your voice goes even quieter, thinking of a way to reformulate the question. “Do you want to stay the night?”

He idly blinks at you, eyes staring straight into your soul as if you just asked him the most absurd question that you could’ve asked him. “Do you want me to?”

The neutral tone of his voice simply makes you shrug your shoulders in response, avoiding his intense gaze that always makes you feel like no one else exists in his mind but you.

Stupid.

“Y/N,” says Yoongi, quietly. Your eyes twinkle up at him, the clear look of a dilemma plastered on your face. He closes the distance between you two, hovering over your body before repeating his question with a bit more bluntness. “Do you want me to?”

Your swollen bottom lip is trapped between your teeth, veins pumping with anxiety and anticipation.

You sniffle a bit in hopes that it makes the tension and silence less awkward. “Yeah.”

Your eyes trail his features, remembering how gorgeous he actually is. How could you ever forget? His thick brows, his sharp eyes, his plump lips, his soft nose, his beautiful hair.

The next few words that leave his mouth rip you right out of your thoughts.

“Then I’ll stay,” he pauses, “for however long you want me to.”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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[httpknjoon]

santa, tell me | myg

plot | that time in december where popstar!yn and bassist!yoongi agreed to do something.

w.c | 3.3K

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers

note | thank you for the lovely @marblemoonstones for sending this request. sorry it took so long. i hope you'll love it.

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

cont. of DAY 64 of Love Is... On Tour

"You didn't think that was all, right?"

Fans cheered for the last time, assuming that you just played your last song for tonight. But suddenly, a familiar tune plays in the whole arena. They cheered as the lights slowly turned up. The live band plays a prolonged intro to your famous holiday song. This time, Yoongi is back on his spot with the band, playing his guitar. You are now sitting on the throne with your candy cane.

"Alright, I need everyone to be honest right now. I have to ask y'all something." you begin, standing up. "What's your Christmas wishes to Santa?"

The fans from different sides of the arena shouted their individual wishes one by one. You walked to various parts of the stage to hear out some of their answers. As expected, you hear funny and crazy wishes.

A big dick!

"A what?!" you stopped at one's answer, eyes widened for a second.

The band and some members of the audience, who also heard that, laughed.

"I mean, that's a little naughty. But I'm sure Santa won't mind that one. List that down!" you turned your head to Yoongi, still in his Santa Claus suit. He played along, nodding his head with a thumbs up.

You were about to continue your fan interactions when you spoke again, "Oh, make that two! She isn't the only one wishing for that tonight."

The camera caught your playful wink, making your fans laugh and cheer. If a non-fan is in your show tonight, they will find your humor a little too sexual. Just like some people online who have big opinions about you and your ongoing tour, where a lot of suggestive stuff happens. But your latest album literally had a "Parental Advisory: Explicit Content" sticker on it when it was released since some of your songs were, again, sexual and included adult words. So, it is totally expected of you to have that kind of joke in you. And gladly, your fans were on the same wavelength.

My ex!

"Oh, your ex?" You repeated that one answer. You spotted that fan nodding. "Well... That's... a waste of a wish."

Your fans laughed, knowing that there was something behind your statement.

"An ex is an ex for a reason, love. Had to learn that in a very obvious way." You chuckled at your own mocking comment. "Anyway, any more wishes that Santa can list down?"

From the left side of the stage, you see a cardboard sign with a big statement written on it. Cute doodles related to Christmas and a few cutout pictures of you were added to the sign.

You read slowly, "We... want.. a... Christmas album?"

The arena was filled with cheers after you read that, agreeing to it. Your heart skipped with that reaction. Almost everyone in the venue knows that there is an ongoing rumor of you releasing one. And you don't where that came from but it was true.

It has been so long since you released a holiday-themed song. You only had one or two while a couple have been leaked before. But currently, you already have a collection of lyrics written in your notebook. But you need a little help with some melodies. With December already starting, you are now unsure if you should even release it.

"I don't know about that. Feels a little late to release that right now," you said, making your fans react with a loud boo.

It's only the first week of December!

Someone screamed so loud and clear, it was audible in the whole arena. Everyone agreed and cheered your name over and over again as a way to encourage you.

"We'll see about that." you smiled cheekily. "We'll see if Santa is listening to everyone's Christmas wishes tonight. Because for me, I feel like Santa and I don't really get along that much."

Yoongi hears his friends laugh next to him. He ignores them, waiting for how you will going to introduce this next song.

"But wasn't I a good girl this year, Santa?"

Unexpectedly, you turned to him for an answer. Yoongi shrugged his shoulders as a reply, making you roll your eyes. He tried not to smile, knowing that he successfully countered your attempt to get a reaction from him.

"See?" you looked back at your audience. "Anyway, I need to make sure Santa will hear my wishes tonight. So can you all sing with me for this last song?"

You smiled as the fans replied with a very loud and clear yes. Nodding to the band, they began playing louder and you started to sing,

"Santa, tell me if you're really there..."

Your hair bounced to the rhythm as you danced along with your dancers. It was your official last song of the night after an hour and a half of songs and dance. But you still performed like it was just the start of the night.

"True love, that he thinks of..."

Just before the second pre-chorus ends, you strut down the long way to the wider stage where the band performs. You did not rehearse anything with Yoongi to this song since Santa did not plan to do anything in it. But Santa is here anyway, why waste his presence?

"Santa, tell me if you're really there. Don't make me fall in love again if he won't be here next year..."

As expected, Yoongi knew he was your target. You stood next to him, leaning your back to his side, while he played the guitar. You turned to him and poked him to get his attention like you were really talking to Santa.

"Oh, I wanna let him unwrap me, like, oh-ooh-oh..."

Yoongi finally looked at you when you turned around, showing off the fluffy white bow Paul had sewn behind your red dress. It took your fans a few more seconds to realize that you modified some lyrics the song had years ago.

"Get on top of him, by that fireplace, oh-ooh-oh..."

Singing the line, you dropped down quickly and popped back up. You looked over your shoulder, immediately winking at the first set of eyes you met. He looked away, making you laugh while still singing. Twitter will definitely eat up this short interaction.

"But I don't want a new broken heart. This year, I've got to be smart. Oh, baby..."

You strut joyfully all over the stage, swaying your hips to the song, while you sing some vocal runs. White confetti, mixed with red heart-shaped ones, began falling all over the arena as the song and show neared its end. Some fans also began throwing their small gifts on the stage.

"If you won't be, if you won't be here- Thank you all so much for coming tonight! Have a happy holiday!"

You let the background vocals sing in the background as you waved goodbye. As the lights dimmed down, you blew kisses on the cameras. The band freestyles, but remains in tune with the song.

"Do you think I can still release a holiday EP before we take a break?"

On your way back to the hotel, half an hour after the show, you asked Cal. The idea of releasing new Christmas songs excites you and makes you wanna start recording your self-written songs immediately. But with less than two weeks left and a tour happening, you wouldn't want to hassle everyone.

Cal nods, reaching for her phone to look at her Calendar app, which its mostly filled with your agenda than hers, "Yeah, you absolutely can. We can talk to the label about it, so we can get things approved right away. But you are their favorite right now, they'll let you do anything you want."

You laughed at that, shaking your head even though that was true. Your assistant continued, "Just let me know your plans. Like, do you want to do some promotional stuff?"

"Seems nice. Does that Late Night gig still stand?" you asked, referring to a hosting offer you got a few days ago from the producers of a known show.

"Yep, they said they can wait until the day after tomorrow."

"So, I still have two days to finalize?" you asked.

"That's right." Cal replied.

You nodded, leaning on your chair more, forcing it to be your makeshift bed in the meantime. A checklist began forming in your head. You were done in the first step: writing the songs. Now, you just need someone to help you with producing it. Usually, you would call up your friends to collaborate. But with you touring around the country, you know that it will be hard to communicate with them at the same time.

Yoongi produces.

A thought comes into your head, but your eyebrows furrowed. He will not get your ideas like your past producers. You feel like you two have the most different perspectives on things that you will just end up scrapping the whole thing.

But I want to release this EP.

Cal, who was sitting next to you, heard you let out a deep, heavy sigh. Your back was facing her, but she could see you staring at your phone lock screen. After working for you for almost five years, she knows that you are probably just swimming in your thoughts right now. You often do that, especially when making big decisions. Once again, you let out a big sigh, nodding. Cal will not tell you, but her eyebrows raise when she sees you typing a message to someone.

"I told you I was on stage earlier, I can't answer your calls."

Yoongi just arrived in his hotel room when he got a call from Sara, his ex-fiancee. It took him a minute of staring on his phone screen before deciding to accept the call begrudgingly. He has been avoiding to talk with her after they went on separate ways six months ago. But when she reached out to him the other day, he knew he won't be able to avoid her easily. A four-year relationship, with a year of being engaged, is not a light thing to bury down.

"God! This is why I don't want you doing tours. It's harder to communicate with you when you're on a different timezone." She grumbled.

The time difference is not even that much. He thinks she's just making a big deal out of something. Yoongi is on Boston, while she's on LA. He knows she probably just got home from her office just a couple of hours ago.

"Can we just talk about what we need to talk about?" Yoongi sighed, wanting to end the call as soon as he can.

"Fine." Sara sighed. "So, about the house. We decided to just keep it. It will be just easier for me and the baby since we already turned one of the rooms into a nursery."

He hates that it's a "we" decision. That there's another person involved in a conversation that's just meant for him and her.

"I told you to do whatever you want it, just give me my money back. I am not interested to know your plans with it." Yoongi almost spat the words out with disdain.

He is trying to remain calm and mature with everything about their past relationship. But again, it's hard, especially when Sara got herself pregnant with another man, who was her ex, while they are still engaged. Just recalling it back makes his blood boil.

"Yoongi."

She called him in a way that supposed to calm him down. If she did this a year ago, it would have worked. But hearing her calling him with her soft tone, just brings more resentment.

"Sara," Yoongi sighed.

Knowing that she's probably in her last trimester of pregnancy, he hate to bring stress to her and her baby. But man, it's hard to balance gentleness with hurt.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before walking out to the balcony to get some fresh air. He inhaled while feeling the coolness of the weather. He spoke,

"Just... just do whatever the fuck you want with our house and update me once you decided to pay me back. Okay?"

"Okay." She mumbled. "Yoongi, I'm so—"

He ends the call before she can say that familiar yet useless word again. Turning off his phone, he just rested his arms on the balcony railing while silently gazing on the distant city lights. His sweatshirt is nothing compared to the chilly weather, where light white snow falls on his jet black hair. But he doesn't mind, it makes him feel numb for a moment.

He really needs a distraction right now before he ends up smoking again.

"Hey."

Suddenly, Yoongi hears a small whisper. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked to his right, instantly spotting you in your usual oversized sweatshirt and plaid pajamas. You stood on the balcony next to his. A thin smoke from the cup you were holding slightly covered your face, but Yoongi still recognized that gentle smile that curved your lips.

"'Sup, Santa?"

"So, this is your hot choco."

Cal placed the cup on a small table in your hotel room. You were still a little groggy when you woke up from your quick nap in the van. But now, after choosing to release an EP for the holidays, you want to stay up all night to work on it.

"Thank you, Cal. I love you so much." you told her, hugging her.

She smiled, "I love you too, hon. Don't force yourself to work more tonight."

You hummed in response while choosing more comfortable bottoms to change into. Cal took one last glance at you, making sure you were okay, before saying goodbye. Left alone, you changed into your red plaid pajama pants, perfect for the cozy weather.

Although you only had a few minutes of sleep, you are ready to take more steps for your plan. You messaged Yoongi earlier after getting his number from Fred. But you noticed you got zero replies from the messages you sent.

Maybe you should just talk to him in person?

Or you should just look for another producer?

The second option seems easier than talking with him directly.

You find yourself walking out to the balcony, swimming in your own thoughts while being engulfed by the chilly air. You keep your warm cup in both of your hands while thinking of how you can find someone to work with for your songs.

Back then, you used to have your then-boyfriend around to help you with such things. Theo is a musician too and plays a lot of instruments other than his bass guitar. So, he's been a great and quick support if you have unexpected ideas or melodies in your head. Since he also led the band before, he can easily call them up for a quick record session. But now, things changed. The cheating happened, followed by the break-up. To top it all off, your ex literally brought the band with him (except Noah, who insisted on staying with you) while you still have an ongoing world tour.

Asshole. You cursed in your head again when you remembered that time you were panicking after learning what Theo and the band did. Fucking asshole, you hissed.

Shaking your head, you try to get back on planning. You were sipping in your hot chocolate when you heard someone speaking.

"Just… just do whatever the fuck you want with our house and update me once you decided to pay me back. Okay?"

You see Yoongi next to your balcony with his phone next to his left ear. Blinking, your eyes observed him quietly. This may be the first time you saw him angry. He sounded aggressive to whoever he was talking with. Although inaudible, you know that the person on the other line was still talking when Yoongi abruptly tapped on his phone, ending. Your lips formed into a small 'o' before you took another sip of your drink.

You probably should have just gone inside and left him alone. Maybe it was just a fight with his fiancee, that he briefly mentioned in one of your quick conversations.

But after seeing him look out the night city view while his fists were clenched, you thought maybe you would let your presence known.

"Hey..." you almost whispered with how you tried to be careful with your tone as if you were stepping on a fragile glass floor.

Even though he was glaring when he turned his head at you, you tried to smile at him. Just a soft, friendly smile. But when the mood felt heavier, you made an attempt to lighten it up.

"'Sup, Santa?"

His tensed shoulders slowly dropped back into a more calm position before he shifted to face you.

"What are you doing there?" he asked, removing the snow on his hair.

"Oh, I didn't know I needed to have reasons to be on my own balcony."

You don't know why but that was the first sentence you thought of, but did not think through yet you let it slip out your mouth. It sounded defensive like you were picking a fight again. Tired of starting another dumb fight with you for today, Yoongi rolled his eyes and was ready to go back to his room.

"Wait! Wait I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that." you stopped him, spewing out your apologies. Fuck, you didn't know you can be this bad in handling such moments like this.

"I actually want to ask if you have checked your messages?" you asked, changing the topic with the idea on the top of your head.

He squints at you, "Why?"

"Uh... I actually sent you a text earlier," you replied, scratching the back of your head.

"Again, why?" he asked one more time, sounding more uninterested. Even though, he was already wondering why would you message him and how you even got his number.

"Can't you just check your phone right now?" you asked.

Seeing you having trouble saying whatever you texted him made Yoongi even more curious about what you texted him. He shook his head at you.

"Actually, I can't." He tried not to smile when he noticed your nostrils flaring. "So can you tell me what you texted me?"

Your chest rosed when you exhaled heavily, aware of what he was doing. You were finishing the chocolate in your cup when Yoongi clicked his tongue,

"Well, I think I should go-"

"Yoongi, hi! This is YN. Got your number from Noah. I was wondering if we could collaborate on something that I'm planning to release this holiday season. Please, let me know if you're interested. x YN." you spoke so quickly yet clearly, reciting the exact text message you sent him before. You had it memorized because you kept reading it earlier while waiting for his reply, biting your nails. "Is that good?!"

Your irritation simmered down when you saw Yoongi biting his lower lip, stopping himself from smiling. But he already is.

"A little too fast for my liking. But, okay," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay?" you asked for clarification.

"Okay, I'll be your producer," he answered.

Even though you won't show it, Yoongi noticed you smiling before behind your cup. And yes, you know your cup was already empty. But you hate to give Yoongi more satisfaction after he made you recite your message to him.

"Can we start tomorrow?" you asked.

"Sure, come to my room."

You leaned forward with lines in between your brows, "Excuse me, what?"

"What? I already have my stuff set up here. I don't want to move again." he explained before smirking. "What were you thinking, YN?!"

Feeling the blood rushing to your cheeks and ears, you turned away, "Ugh, whatever. Let's just text."

"But my phone is turned off!" Yoongi teased you as you walked inside your room.

"Not my problem! Charge it or something. See you tomorrow!" you spoke hurriedly before closing the sliding door.

Yoongi laughed at your flustered reaction, shaking his head.

note | random question... do u guys have any favorite youtube video segments where you would like the series characters to participate in? if yes, feel free to let me know! send me an ask or comment it. but anyway, thank you so much for reading <3

taglist rules

SERIES TAGLIST

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PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

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[ktownshizzle]

Honey & Citrus | an myg drabble

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Meet-cute coffee shop!au, to be confirmed if Yoongi is an idol or not

✎ ˎˊ˗  Summary: You haaate your job, but at least there’s this sexy eye-candy at your favorite cafe to distract you from your miserable 9 to forever grind. Your simple, casual nods with him turn into a silent caffeine war when, after his small act of kindness, you buy him his coffee—and he refuses to let the favor go unanswered. Suddenly, you’re locked in a daily battle of who pays first, and just when you think you’ve reached a stalemate, fate (and a very nosy barista) throws in a twist you never saw coming.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: None ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 1.6k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 13, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Welcome to another unplanned story. Just a little something I whipped up for the boss babes and corporate girlies working in their city's business districts, desperate to find a semblance of happiness in their robotic working days–did I mention this was really self-indulgent? I am not sure if this stays as a one-shot or a series of drabbles? Idk. Anyways, enjoy!~

Series Masterlist | More Yoongi stories this way > Masterlist

There’s a rhythm to your mornings. The kind that makes life feel like a well-oiled machine—predictable, efficient, sharp. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway, as you sidestep a finance bro barking into his phone to push open the door to Honey & Citrus cafe.

Not Coffee Bean. Never Starbucks. Not even Compose—even though Kim Taehyung’s face could certainly make you wanna come (in).

But you don’t need the soulless corporate grind in your caffeine routine when you already live it from 9 to god-knows-when. Honey & Citrus has the good beans, the real baristas who actually know your order and don’t try to be fake-friendly with you, and the quiet that lets you inhale a moment of peace before stepping into the battlefield of bullshit board meetings.

And then there’s him.

“Iced Americano for Yoongi…” 

He’s always there at the same time as you. Every. Single. Day.

A handsome stranger with sharp, feline eyes and an ever-present air of quiet confidence. The very first time you see him, he was wearing a suit. A medium gray set with an interesting burgundy tie. He held a small suitcase, fit for a macbook air, maybe a thin stack of paperwork. Definitely some VC vulture or hedge fund guy, gifted with the face of a luxury brand model.

But then one day he was wearing… a hoodie and black slacks with headphones slung around his neck, the expensive kind audiophiles swear by. 

Hmm. With this look, your previous assumptions did not add up. Now, you couldn’t quite place his profession. 

Since then, it becomes some sort of game you play in your mind. To discover what this dude’s job is.

One day, he holds a notebook filled with messy, poetic scrawls—you catch a glimpse as he flips the pages, and your mind spins wild theories. Another morning, he reads a printout of a Shareholder Meeting report as he awaits his coffee. Then the next day, you spot a vinyl tucked under his arm, and something about that sends your curiosity spiraling further.

Music Executive? Writer? Producer? Who is this mysterious artsy type in a sea of wolves? But maybe is a wolf. Lawyer, City Prosecutor, some Start-Up Founder… who likes to dabble in poetry?

You’re fascinated. Man has aura. And on top of that, he sure looks like he can fuck.

Unlucky for you, your interactions so far are limited to polite nods, the occasional small smile exchanged as you both wait for your respective coffees. Maybe the universe has a sense of humor, slotting you into the same ten-minute window every day with a stranger who intrigues you far more than your own coworkers do. But of course, he is not interested in you.

You wake up with a migraine, and instantly, you know—it’s a morning from hell.

Your alarm didn’t go off. Your inbox is already on fire. Your boss sends a cryptic “let’s talk” email before you’ve even left your apartment, which is never a good sign. You forgot about the afternoon presentation you’re supposed to give, and your deck isn’t even half-finished.

The thought of quitting—of walking into that glass tower and tossing your resignation onto your boss’s desk like a dramatic K-drama lead—has never been more tempting.

This morning has no rhythm. More out of tune than drunk-you in a Coin Karaoke.

By the time you drag yourself into Honey & Citrus, it’s already a god-forsaken Friday. You’re barely holding it together, probably leaving a trail of smoke in your wake. Your hair is frizzy, your face frazzled—it’s just a fucked-up day all around. And it’s barely 8 a.m.

You’re so deep in your own misery that you don’t even clock the fact that your favorite stranger has been looking at you since you walked in.

Not until—

“Fighting~”

You blink.

He’s looking right at you, his dark eyes warm with quiet amusement as he mouths the word again, this time with double closed fists, like a cartoon character summoning energy. And then, just for good measure, he smiles.

A real one.

The disbelief must be all over your face because suddenly, you’re giggling—actually giggling, something you didn’t think you were capable of before noon.

Yoongi—the mysterious, unreadable stranger you’ve been quietly fascinated with for weeks—just gave you the world’s softest pep talk.

And then, as if realizing what he’s done, he quickly looks away, pulling a face mask over his mouth, his pink-tinged cheeks disappearing behind black fabric.

A second later, he’s heading for the door, stepping out into the cold like he didn’t just single-handedly save your morning.

Your eyes follow him until he disappears around the corner, but the warmth he left behind lingers in your chest.

Maybe because you needed to hear it. Maybe because no one’s said it to you in a long time. Maybe because he said it.

You take a deep breath, square your shoulders. And somehow—somehow—you make it through the day.

You survive. Without handing over your resignation letter.

Small wins.

The next Monday, you get to Honey & Citrus first. You don’t even think about it—you just do it. You buy his coffee.

And then you sprint out before he can react, because suddenly, the idea of watching his expression feels too embarrassing to bear. You tell yourself it’s just a small gesture. A thank-you for a kindness he probably doesn’t even think much of.

The next day, though, he beats you to it.

You walk in, and the barista just hands you your usual order with a knowing smile. “It’s covered.”

You blink, turn, and find him already at his usual spot, sipping his drink like he didn’t just declare war.

Because it is so obvious he did this just to one-up you.

You narrow your eyes. He lifts his cup in a silent toast, eyes glinting with something dangerously close to amusement.

And so it begins.

For a week, you play the game.

One morning, you bribe the barista to let you pay first. The next, he somehow convinces them to refuse your card. 

You show up earlier to get ahead, but the next day he shows up even earlier.

Your schedule is screwed. You’re suddenly up way earlier than you like, but you like it.

It’s ridiculous. It’s fun. It’s completely unlike anything else in your day.

Until, finally, one morning, you both arrive at the exact same time.

You grab the door handle—he does, too. His palm brushes against your knuckles. Both of you freeze, eyes locking, realizing at the same time:

Shit. No winner today.

You swear you see his lips twitch, like he’s holding back a real smile. And then—before you can overthink it—you finally, actually, talk to him.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “we could just both buy our own coffee like normal people.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” His voice is deep, lazy, laced with amusement.

“Are you always this competitive?”

“Are you?”

You huff, trying to suppress the warmth creeping up your neck. He leans in slightly, and it’s the first time you’ve really, truly studied him up close—the sharp cut of his jaw, the quiet intensity behind his eyes, the scent of something subtly musky clinging to his coat.

“Since we’re doing introductions before the next round,” he says, “I’m Yoongi.”

Of course, you already know it. You give yours in return, and he nods like it makes sense. Like he already knew it as well. Which makes sense.

As you walk in, the barista snickers, clearly entertained by whatever weird silent war you and Yoongi have been waging for the past week. You’re about to step back, let him go first when the barista clears her throat.

“Actually,” she says, way too pleased with herself. “It’s on the house today.”

Both you and Yoongi blink in unison.

“What?” you ask.

“Why?” Yoongi adds, looking just as skeptical.

The barista leans on the counter, grinning like she’s been waiting for this exact moment. “Valentine’s Day promo.”

Your stomach drops. Your brain stalls. You look around and Honey & Citrus has little cherubs hanging from the ceiling.

“First couple to walk in together gets free drinks,” she further explains.

You feel the heat crawl up your neck, your face burning so hot it could brew the damn espresso yourself. Beside you, Yoongi makes a tiny sound—like an exhale caught in his throat—and when you turn your head ever so slightly, you see it.

His ears are bright red.

The barista just smirks. You are going to die here.

You should correct her, actually. You should explain. But words? Language? Coherent thought? We don’t know her.

But that’s when Yoongi does something absolutely insane.

He clears his throat, thanks the barista, and then—looking at one of the booths of the cafe, still not looking at you—he says, casually, like this isn’t the most absurd moment of your life,

“How about we have that first date right now?”

Your head snaps toward him, and he finally meets your gaze, and oh, he’s serious. 

Your heart stumbles over itself, but you manage a tiny, shy smile, and a quip, “…you mean this coffee? Here?” Because that’s all your pea brain can compute.

His lips twitch. “Mm. Unless you wanna go somewhere else?”

Huh.

You hate that he’s smooth about this. You hate that you kind of really, really like it. 

You swallow hard, shifting on your feet. “This place is fine.”

His smile curves, small but victorious. “Good.”

The barista practically vibrates behind the counter as she hands over your drinks, joyful even though two drinks are getting docked from her pay that week. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”

With Yoongi, it feels like it's definitely going to be...

:)

A/N: To you, my dearest reader. I hope your heart is filled with joy today and forever. You deserve it!

Want more for our coffee shop couple? Let me know if you’re interested in me turning this into series of drabbles?? Look at me adding more stuff into my WIP list.  Caved! Here's the H&C masterlist

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human! xo

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Divider by: @cafekitsune (thank you!)

[hoseoksluna]

CENTURY | myg

pairing: boyfriend!idol!yoongi x f. reader 

genre: smut

word count: 3.6k

summary: when yoongi needs inspiration for the song he's been working on, you're not hesitant to help him.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: idol yoongi working in his studio being all stressed out is a warning on its own, he's also immensely hot and calls himself oppa (god help me i am a weak girl), mentions of a nasty punishment, yoongi is kinda mean, and a little bit horny, clit spanking *heart eyes*, oral sex (f. receiving), praise kink—usage of stickers, raw sex.

note: my god, this was a drag at first but because i feel sm better today, i finally finished this and i feel myself returning to the hoseoksluna that i was before i got sick. :( this was fun to write today omg. yoongi is absolutely delicious in this and i can't wait to start writing smoke 3 after this. my babies, enjoy this smutty one shot. i love you. spam my inbox, i miss you! give me a warm welcome, please. MWAH.

Habitually, singing for him was your escapism. You’d close yourself up in a bubble, withdrawing from the surrounding gray world, and you’d slink away to a realm brimming with vivid colors. In his songs, you could be anyone. A figment of his imagination that had more life in its veins than you ever had the taste of. You’d forget, for hours upon hours, about the anguish of your daily life and mental issues that would trouble you and, taking his hand, he would take you to Neverland, watch over you, then take you home. 

This time, however, he didn’t take you to that fantasy land. 

He took you somewhere darker. 

The energy in his lab was potent with something that tickled you ever so gently when you stepped inside. A dusky room with an even heftier, crepuscular layer of vexation. You could feel it thumping beneath your skin after it grazed you with its fingertips, weaseling its way in, settling, stilling. Your boyfriend didn’t turn around when he heard you shut the door, nor when your tights-clad feet paddled on the floor, as absorbed as he was in his work. No shoes inside the Genius Lab—that was the first rule, one you were disciplined enough from him to remember, even if someone woke you up in the middle of the night. 

You paid a great price, once upon a time. 

You had walked in with your Nike’s when he called you over, wet and smeared with the snow from the winter’s artwork outside. Despite the fact you rubbed the soles on the mat in the building of his workplace long before you strutted all the way to his studio, there were still little snowflakes that clung to your sneakers. It was your first time there and Yoongi seemed to have forgotten to let you in on the rules. And once he saw the mess you made, he told you off. 

Kissed you quite roughly. 

Made you promise to never do that again, playfully. 

Sank you to your knees and bent you over those melting snowflakes. Spanked you so hard that he engraved the first rule of the Genius Lab into your system. 

No shoes inside. 

Then, he patted your head. 

Gave you a silver star sticker, resembling the snowflake, for being such a good girl that learns well. 

You had stuck it on the table right beside his laptop, an etched memory that you recollected every time he’d invite you over. 

It’s what he’s mindlessly rubbing with his fingertip as you walk over to him, another winter later, embedding your digits into the ebony night of his hair, the long strands so satiny and sleek. Yoongi gazes up at you from his computer, pale violet flecks adorning the skin beneath his weary, yet ever so trenchant eyes, and you pout at the sight of him. There must be something wrong with the process of his album-making and he’s determined to fix it. 

Yoongi takes off his headphones, wraps an arm around your waist. You’re wearing a little black dress for him with a low neckline that uncovers everything private as he leads you to sit down on his lap, greeting you with a raspy hello and a kiss that tells you he needs you more than his own countenance lets on. 

You linger in the close proximity, peppering his mouth with tiny kisses that make him visibly relax—his shoulders slump against his chair and he lifts your knees, placing them in the snug crook between his side and his arm, his hand spreading forest fire down your calf, stopping at your ankle, swathing it with those flames. 

You cease your kisses, overcome with his body heat, and butterflies zap you in your tummy when he continues to kiss your mouth with those sweet little pecks. 

Prolonging the last kiss, he peers down at you with the world’s most affectionate adoration and you blush. You’ve tasted the dulciness of all the seasons with him, and yet it feels as though you’ve just started dating. His love has long made its home within you, but you can still sense its freshness in your bones. 

It will never get old. 

“I love these, baby,” he husks, his eyes growing more lidded in the heated, cozy atmosphere guarded by the fire of his body, and he drags a hand up and down your leg, spreading his admiration on the nylon of your tights that he speaks of. “You came just at the right time.” 

He nuzzles his face in your neck while he paws at your feet and you soften, brushing your fingers through his hair. You think he needs to get out of this place and breathe in some fresh air for his brain to recuperate and be filled with the flimsy, ivory sparks of inspiration. 

It’s snowing outside. 

It always seems to be when he invites you to his secret spot during the winter months. 

“What’s wrong, hm?” you ask, requiring the specifics in order to help him as much as you can. “What is it this time?” 

Yoongi grumbles nonsense in your neck, the sound muffled and indecipherable, and you laugh, softly, lifting his head. 

“I literally didn’t catch a word you said,” you whine, squishing his cheeks, and Yoongi feignedly sobs, scrunching his eyes shut. You laugh, wiggling his head, encouraging him to tell you what made him darken the energy of his studio so devastatingly. 

He inhales a deep breath in and takes his hand to your bum, fondling it. “I miss your pussy.” 

You burst out into obscene laughter, wiping a hand down his face. “Be fucking serious.” 

Yoongi chuckles, but then breaks into false little sobs all over again. “The melodies aren’t working together, I can’t transform the ideas in my head into this song and I just miss your pussy so bad. I wanna eat it.” 

So that’s the source of that dark energy in the lab. 

He’s horny. 

He wails into your bosom, deepening your laughter that melts into an endearing coo. One that lifts his head and makes a grin blossom on his pale face, a dab of color rushing to the surface. 

A pretty lotus flower, opening for you. 

You poke a finger into his cheek, your heart constricting at the cute way your nail makes a round dent in that flourishing flesh. “I thought you called me over because you wanted my vocals.” 

Yoongi squeezes your bum, sucking in a breath. “I did. I wanted to finish the melodies so I could record your voice, but shit fucking happens. I thought we could write the lyrics together.” 

You bite your lip, finding the idea mesmerizing, and your chest clenches, a certain longing for it forming inside. A light flickers in Yoongi’s abysmal eyes at your reaction—and you wish you could fix this situation for him, remove the block and replace it with a creativity of your own. 

An idea pops into your mind, abruptly. 

You widen your eyes, your smile growing, little by little. Yoongi straightens, his features mirroring yours, and the picture hope paints upon his countenance only drives your idea forward. 

“What?” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi.” You clasp a hand over your mouth. “What if we write the lyrics first and just hum random melodies, see what fits best?” 

He thinks about it, tilting his head. And then destroys the realm that your little idea created. 

“I’m sorry, baby, but that never works with me. I know artists that do that, but whenever I tried, I just reached a dead end,” he mutters and you pout, furrowing your brows. He lets you soak in it for a little while before he shakes his head. “I have a better idea.” 

Yoongi pushes his laptop to the side and lifts you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing, setting you down in place of it. He moves his chair forward. Spreads your legs. Kisses the inner of your thigh and you fall back, your palms landing on the ivory keys of his keyboard and creating a soft music that raises his brows. 

“Do that again.” 

You smile and lift your hand, dropping it on the same notes that you did by accident. He looks over to see which ones you played and he kisses the front of your thigh before he reaches over for his notepad and pen, writing it down. 

“You’re my little angel, I swear,” he says without taking his eyes off of his writing, then he extends an arm behind you and finishes the melody with a certain ease that causes him to relax even more—and your smile to deepen in your face. 

You blush, feeling like that winged creature—assigned to his side to help him. 

“I brainstormed some lyrics the other day,” Yoongi mumbles and begins to stare you down with an intention that coils in your gut, your heart quickening its rhythm. “How about you bounce off of it, make up some lyrics while I eat you out? I can play the melody for you that we just made.” 

Your mouth parts, your throat drying. Warmth pools in your core, the idea of Yoongi playing on the keyboard while he does something so intimate to you bringing you down to an abyss of madness. He hands you his notepad after he flips to the page with the lyrics he mentioned. Your eyes skim over his neat, black handwriting, the random words that could string together a sentence if there was a little work put in it. 

But how are you supposed to focus in those circumstances? It’s not just his dick that makes you braindead—it’s his tongue that does it in the first place. 

“What do you say, baby?” he persists, dipping down and scattering kisses along that sensitive part of your thigh, his breath wafting over your core as he switches to the other one, spoiling it with those same wet kisses. 

You catch a glance of his shining tongue and that does it for you. 

Your heart thumps, violently—and your pussy drools. 

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

That does it for him, too. 

He goes to rip your tights right in the middle, but you yelp, stopping him. 

“No, don’t rip them. They were expensive and they’re my only pair for the winter.” 

Yoongi gives you a look, cocks his brow. “Why didn’t you say? I could buy you some.” 

You clamp your mouth shut. You don’t like to use his money to buy yourself personal stuff because you have a job of your own and you’re able to take care of yourself, but lately, with prices rising and the rent growing more expensive, there’s little from your paycheck that you could spend on things like these. And you still need to save up for way tougher times. 

“I could never ask you to do that, are you kidding?” 

Yoongi’s gaze darkens. “Who said you couldn’t?” 

You open your mouth to argue with him, but only a yelp comes through when he swiftly tugs the waistband of your tights over your bum and up your legs, lifting them in the process and folding you in half. 

You’re sure he’s ripped them. 

You’re fucked. 

You lean back, landing once again on his keys and at this point he laughs, darkly, telling you which notes to write down and with a shaky hand—you do. 

“You’re getting so many fucking stickers today.” 

Your heart stops its feral beats and you gaze down at him with a tormented look, your brows furrowed, eyes lidded and cheeks flushed. Yoongi bites his lip and gets his sheet of silver little stars. 

He peels one out. “This one's for you coming at the right time.” He sticks it to that one side of your inner thigh that he left unkissed, the sticky part latching to your skin without a hint of a problem. “And this one’s for your smart little brain.”

He sticks it to the bone right across your cunt, smoothing it out with his thumb that then begins to travel and crosses the distance to the soaked center of your panties. Yoongi sucks in a breath as he peers down at the outline of your flesh, parting your thighs a little to gaze up at you through his lashes. “You have two tasks,” he rasps, brushing his lips across your clothed, dampened flesh. 

You grip the table beneath you, letting out a whiny sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“Pay attention.” 

A simple, low order and you pop them open, breathing out in staccatos. He runs that thumb over your clit, puts a little pressure over it. You bite your lip, straining your ears, but the faint pleasure makes it a little bit difficult for you. 

“I’m gonna rub this clit and you don’t get my tongue unless you tell me the name of the store, where you’re getting new pairs of tights from today.” He focuses on your nub, circling it with soft grazes that he knows they get you riled up nice and fast, needy and drenched. It’s what he does when you’re watching a movie together and wind up not knowing how it ends. “And once you come for me, you get another sticker for being such a good girl. Is that clear?” 

Your lungs heave and your mind spins, your brain cells shrinking with your arousal. You lick your lips. Wetness stains your panties even more. “And the other task?” 

He slaps the side of your thigh, making you jump. “I asked you a question, did I not?” 

Such abrupt meanness. Other times, it would get you going, but today it’s not something that you’re really feeling. Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’re ovulating and you need the gentleness that he’s more than capable of giving you. 

You drift a hand down his face, stopping with your thumb at his lips, tracing the upper line. So soft, so puffy. “Be nice to me, Yoongi.” 

His eyes round and a glint perches itself on the top of his chocolate irises. Yoongi sets your feet on both of his armrests. Leans his head against your thigh, looking up at you with a tender half smile. 

“Is that an order?” he asks, flattening his fingers across your clit and strumming it, the pleasure heightening and you sink your teeth into the bottom pillow of your mouth, your body following the wave of the delight he provides you, rolling. 

“Yes. Be nice or no pussy.” 

He gasps, lowly, his smile transforming into that smirk of his that has the tendency to weaken you through and through. “You wouldn’t do that to me.” 

Your heart throbs and you love it. “Yes, I would.” 

You go to close your legs and sit up, but he stops you. “Okay, fair enough.” 

Oh, that solid calmness of his, perfumed with his horniness. You grin, pleased. “Will you be nice?” 

Yoongi licks over the bare skin of your thigh, rubbing his face in it. “I’ll be an angel like you if you do the tasks.” 

You roll your eyes. A quid pro quo. Fair enough. 

“Okay, be an angel to me then and come here,” you purr, aware of the fact that he got you into this mirrored maze of his horniness and you love it, delight in it, which is the sole, unabashed reason why you tug the back of his head down to your cunt, holding him to you. 

Yoongi opens his mouth just at the right time, licking over your clothed clit and moaning. But then he fights against your hold and spanks your pussy, smiling playfully up at you while biting his lip. 

You jump, whimpering. 

“I didn’t hear you say the name of the store,” he retorts, rubbing, properly, your bedewed nub with slow, agonizing circles. 

Fuck. 

Your breathing quickens and you scramble your blank brain to remember any store that has the least expensive tights. You say the name of the first one that pops up. 

Yoongi doesn’t like your answer, though. 

He spanks your clit, gently. 

“Think again. I’m not buying you anything that will last you for a day. Don’t play me.” 

You can’t help the heavy smile rising on your face, your cheeks heating up so much that they ache. And it helps you, his bull-headedness on buying you high-quality garments that are worth the money, to fight—like he did against your hold—your deeply imprinted independence and utter, shyly, with little hiccups, the name of the store that will keep your legs warm throughout the unforgiving Korean wintertime. 

“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Let Oppa take these off now.” 

Your stomach flips at the title. You’ve always been obsessed with it—as it, without fail, provoked your independence and slowly transformed you into the mindset of a little girl, taken care of by someone stronger, smarter and older than her. All while keeping it intact. 

Yoongi knows you can do everything on your own. And he supports it. But it doesn’t mean he’s not willing to give you a hand. 

The same hand he now uses to bring your panties to the waistband of your thighs near the back of your knees, dragging it down that skin. He spreads your cunt with both of his hands, gasping lowly at the sheen that greets him and magnetically pulls him in. 

He kitten licks your clit and your elbows tremble, giving out on you—another melodies wafting through the air that make him chuckle into your pussy, engraving vibrations that encourage you to lean back all the way and take what he gives you. 

“Write that down, can you do that?” he asks, and when he hears you clicking his pen, he tells you which notes those were. You scribble it down, messily, your hand quivering and painting an obscure picture in his notepad as he begins to suck on your clit in intense waves. You shudder, terribly, the lines of his own pen dark, long and disordered like you. 

You give in, moaning so loud that he intones with you. 

And what you never expected—the tones of your noises provide him with an inspiration he cannot miss. Withdrawing with a wet chin and stealing his pen from you, he jots it down, propping the notepad on your thighs, smiling at the picture you painted. 

Writes something else down, too, while you quiver for him, waiting for his tongue. 

He kisses your thigh, ravagedly. “Sing these lyrics.” 

Taking it from him, the words blur on the paper because he sinks a finger inside your heat, curling it to that spot that he favors, fucking you with a fast motion that unables you, completely, to let out a sound colored by his geniality. 

“Come on, baby. Sing for Oppa.” 

You cry out, clenching your muscles—scream as he latches his mouth to your clit, flicking it with the tip of his equally genius tongue. 

The lab spins, not just your mind. 

“I can’t—I can’t. Oh my God, Yoongi, fuck,” you drag out the curse word, the notepad falling out of your hand and plopping onto the ground. 

Yoongi hums, delighted, sucking on your nub so vivaciously that your orgasm nears. As if sensing it, he adds another finger in. Validates the incoming of your splendid explosion by making quick, little, deep sounds that lead you to that peak. 

You grasp his hair, tightly, humping his mouth. From your own spill screams that fade into soft moans, resplendent of the notes he liked so much and he fucks your hole faster. Pulls out his mouth just a little, flicking your clit from side to side—and you realize he did it so he can watch you come for him. 

Come for your Oppa. 

And you do. With a squeak, one that fades to a legato, tender moan of his title. With an eye contact that freezes time for a century. And, suddenly, just like that—it’s just you, him and the winter. 

Snowflakes that ache to seep into yours and his cheeks. 

Yoongi growls. His male pheromones spill out of him like liquid that washes over you and you get a sticker. 

Right in the center of your mound. 

And he fucks you into wintry oblivion, a snowstorm that swaddles you closer and closer to him. The table rattles, key notes sound out, the slapping of skin conjures ideas in the magnificence of his brain. And then he comes. 

With a final stroke and a rope of his cum all over the sticker near your pleasured cunt, he resumes the time. 

But both you and him are newly constituted by that winter-kissed century, chiseled by it and irrevocably changed by it. 

Yoongi cleans you up and dresses you. You find out he didn’t rip your tights and you give him such a soft, endeared look for it that he coos, chuckling, and pats your disheveled hair, smoothing it down. He kisses you once he fixes you up and, grabbing his keys, phone and wallet, he drives you to the mall, to that exact store you mentioned, to buy you a myriad of tights to last you for a half of a century, grazed and fondled by winter. 

And he leads you back to the studio, besprinkled with the snow’s affection, where you watch him create a song out of your pleasured voice, sampling one of your favorite oldie’s tunes that you end up yanking him up to his feet to dance with him to it. The raspy voice of Ray Charles envelops Yoongi’s hands as he guides your hips and he kisses you until the late night hours. 

And in those late night hours, he watches you, like the angel you are, as you sing the poetry he wrote with your help. 

Neverland doesn’t exist anymore. Not for you at least. 

The darker place he took you to is one breathing with the gesture of helping your lover. Warm, moody and timbered. The licks of flames and the earnestness of a love that depends, without fear, on the other person. 

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ divider by kthice ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.81)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your heat is oh so close to breaking, but first, you need your whole pack even closer, but nothing seems close enough…

Tags: Heatsex, Dumbification kink, Dacryphilia, Crying during sex cuz its so good, overstimulation, fucking in omega space, mind break, Double penetration, Two Knots one hole, sope x reader, settling spanking, dumbification, lactation kink, omegan milk and talks of triggered ruts, breeding kink, implied/referenced somnophilia, rough sex, squirting, Subspace, dom! Namjoon, Dom! Seojin, jin refers to himself as daddy exactly one time, size kink, seokjin calls the m/c a slut but it's loving, overstimulation, voyeurism, Holecheck, fluff, Comfort no hurt,

W/c: 11.8k

A/n: wow last heat chapter!!! honestly i did not anticipate this taking so fucking long and for that i'm sorry (i'm not sorry at all).

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

The truth is heats aren’t all just fucking and getting fucked. Slick and knots, Alpha’s and Omega’s. Hierarchy and settling. There are also some sweet moments that exist independent of its raging and hunger. Moments of domestic bliss that find you like a shot of sunlight during a rainstorm:

The thrum of instinct is heavy, like an anchor pulling Namjoon up from sleep. His consciousness bubbles up from somewhere in between a very very happy dream involving the pack and a can of whipped cream and a feeling like he vaguely should eat something.

The first thing he registers is that he can taste cream on the back of his throat. Probably Jin's slick. And the second thing is that there is someone- an omega moving around the nest.

A bad thing, a thing that his instincts, primed and ready to protect, are all loud over.

Jinnie is pillowed on his chest, hole slick and open around Namjoon's knot, resting just inside the comforting familiar warmth. Knot warming to soothe his pack omega who had been quite distressed when he woke last and was unfilled. But Namjoon has fixed that. Good, Namjoon is doing a good job, of keeping his mate and packmates happy.

But that is Neither insistent nor very important at the moment as Namjoon subtly shifts the omega closer to him. Going into guarding mode, on alert the second he wakes. Eyes flicking from the window to the door, a growl already building to ward off potential predators.

But there are none here in the quiet room, nothing besides the cool blue light of the moon slipping through the window. Jin nuzzles into his neck, whining low at the sudden burst of angry alpha on the air.

Namjoon’s arms tighten at the sound of movement. Thumb rubbing at the dimple of Jin’s spine. But when he looks- eyes flinty in the darkness- it’s just you.

He watches as you move, instantly fully awake, waiting and seeing if you'll trudge too close to the edge of the nest and if you'll need him to manhandle you (albeit gently) back into your place among the other soft and sleeping pups here. Safe, where you belong, where you should be sprawled and ready to take any of the sensual delights that Namjoon's alphas have in store for you.

Namjoon is patient, like a cat watching a mouse, waiting to see if you like Jinnie earlier, need to be caught.

Namjoon hadn’t let the pack omega fuss over the food for too long without herding him back inside the nest. The distance between Jin and its safe walls is the mental equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. Namjoon had all but nipped Jin at the scruff- something that the pack omega only sometimes allows. But if Namjoon feels the need to get all his omega’s safe and in one spot then Jin feels it tenfold.

It's a good thing that they both get each other like this. Namjoon will never take it for granted, and will never not marvel over his soulmate.

Namjoon scans the nest, counting bodies and measuring breaths. Every pup is where they should be, snug and sated. Well, almost every pup. But Namjoon is inclined to watch and wait and see if you come to him.

Your cheeks are round looking, eyes barely open, blinking blearily, wearing only a large dark t-shirt- because you complained that the nudity was bothering you earlier. It was an easily fulfilled request although the alpha’s might have bickered a little bit over whose shirt you wore. Jimin had won out and you smell like him, like vanilla and alpha musk.

Although that might be due to the state of the shirt. The black shirt you wear is crisscrossed a little grossly with near-translucent evidence of Jimin's cum and your and Jk’s rubbing. But messiness and a lack of hygiene kind of goes hand in hand with heat and maybe he'll remember to think it's gross tomorrow.

But now Namjoon breathes in deep a barely there warning growl on the exhale, luxuriating in the scent of all of you combined- in more ways than just the shirt indicates. Even from here, he can smell how bred you are. The underlying sated current to your scent tells him he's done his job and done it well.

For a moment Namjoon lets himself imagine that he's actually pupped you (all three of you at once, but who’s really measuring Namjoon’s fantasy here) and that soon you'll start to swell and sweeten. You'll be as adorably dependent on them as you are in omega space all the time. The fantasy is so heavenly that Namjoon’s eyelids begin to grow heavy.

Jin is going to absolutely go to town with you and Jungkook later. God, Namjoon would kill for a shower. Maybe in the morning when he's not so tired.

Namjoon watches, mouth dry and knot sore. Namjoon is just detangling his thoughts enough to try and ask you if you need another breeding or perhaps growl at you in warning, when you get to where Yoongi’s slumped. Knees to the side, body half propped up in a mess of pillows.

His pj’s are pulled low, the same flannel ones that Yoongi always likes but that Jungkook complains feels too scratchy. But you don’t seem to mind, immediately snuggling down into your mate. Your legs and Yoongi’s legs immediately tangling.

Namjoon has never asked what it feels like- your mating mark, beyond the barest scientific-driven questions. But sometimes he wonders- is Yoongi your north star? Is he the taste on the back of your throat? The face you see behind your eyelids as you dream.

Namjoon’s hands tighten around Jin’s body instinctively. He's been looking at the pack omega's throat a lot more this heat, appreciating the musculature, the vein that Namjoon can see pulsating. They've been together now for what- 6 years? Almost 7? How much longer should they wait?

Yoongi wakes when you fall into his arms. A little thump, A little oof. Namjoon hears it from across the nest. In the quiet soft hum of dreaming bodies, Jungkook’s soft snoring and puppy twitches make a blanket rustle.

Yoongi doesn’t look upset at being woken up so abruptly, blinking as you duck low and nuzzle into his jaw, whining softly. Needy. Lying your body weight over him and instantly limp.

Namjoon's instincts resettle themselves.

“Hey little honey,” he says softly followed immidatly by something barely intelligible. Brushing your tangled hair back from your face, ducking low to bump his nose against yours before he kisses you, soft and slow deep.

Namjoon hums, pleased.

You only squirm in reply, shuffling closer to Yoongi, like just getting your body next to his isn’t enough. Isn’t close enough for your mate. Namjoon feels his heart pang.

"Did you need it? Do you want it?” He trails off, and Yoongi’s flush is a little noticeable even if the half-darkness. You just shake your head. Namjoon can tell by the way your cheeks, look- flushed but not sweaty- that this isn’t another spike of heat.

This is just you; this is just you needing to be close to Yoongi. Namjoon’s mouth goes a little dry and he doesn’t speak, doesn’t say a word for fear of interrupting you.

Words have been hard for you in heat, more often than not communicating with one-word answers or a shake of your head, but you scrape together your words for Yoongi now. “Just cuddle? Just wanted to cuddle with you.”

Yoongi hums deep and gravely. And opens his arms, pealing back his covers because with you there- he won’t need a blanket, burning hot as you are. You settle in around him. Hitching a leg over his hip that Yoongi adjusts pulling you closer.

You press your face to Yoongi’s throat and Namjoon sees him swallow. Sees your mate wrap his arms around you, hand skimming up and down your back, endless trails until you fall asleep. He thinks Yoongi might whisper something to you in the darkness.

After counting the bodies once again. Namjoon tucks Jin's head back under his chin and shuts his eyes. Listening for seven heartbeats beating in rhythm before his instincts let him rest.

The pack all need it after the heat, Namjoon thinks it must be close to ending now, but it’s hard to tell for sure.  

~-~

There are other soft moments too, as the spikes between your heat truly start to petter off later that evening. It's not over yet, but it's getting there. When you're lucid enough to speak, you and Jungkook complain that your bodies feel awful.

The stickiness between your legs, the dewy space under your breasts (that Hobi is kind of obsessed with nuzzling into but whatever, boobs are great, you're obsessed with tae's and he's obsessed with yours, you can both be casual about it), and the other countless little messes that you and the other omegas have made on them and the nest.

The last layer gets peeled back after the alphas detangle you from the nest one by one whisking you away upstairs to deal with some of that mess. Revealing a clean layer of nest below. The nest is not nearly as plush as it was at the start of the heat. Too many soiled blankets have been removed and too many rutted against pillows have been judged too dirty to sleep against.

Your heat fever quiets just before you get into the bath and Jimin turns you knotted and sleepy. Reclining against Tae's chest while Yoongi gets wet up to his upper arm. Teasing Jimin for turning lazy after a knot. But it’s all false and fondly put upon. Yoongi doesn’t mind washing your hair and Jimin’s. Both of you are sudsy, enjoying Jin’s nice-smelling shampoo that leaves both of you speckled with pink bubbles. Sighing and purring at every lingering rub.

You nuzzle into the crook of Jimin's elbow. Seeking out something intangible. Jimin smells so good. Musky alpha, happy alpha, your alpha. He laughs, a high-pitched sweet sound. It sounds so good against the tall ceilings. echoic, nearly melodic.

Yoongi is very very careful to rub behind your ears. Firm fingers massaging out the knots in your neck until you’re turning limp against Jimin’s front. In this position, Tae can poke and prod and count the freckles on your back.

“You know, if you connect all of these, they sort of look like a bunny,”

Yoongi peaks over your shoulder, “or a frowny face.” You whine, and your mate changes his tune, “Definitely a bunny.” He pecks your forehead and your eyelashes flutter.

"My perfect bunny, so good after your first heat with us. You just have to be like that- you just have to let us take care of you. Can you do that for me huh? Can you be good for us?" Yoongi says it as if he can hardly believe it. 'First heat' is said with such a reverence that it makes you just a little more lucid.

Tae goes quiet, in the way that she does when you know she’s thinking through something- some aspect of her story or a poem, a particular way to word things. And things are calm enough that Jimin can answer her sleepy request for a bit of paper and a pen.

"Minnie. If you’ve got a moment."

Jimin gets up and out of the tub. Disappearing from your front after he drapes you over the side of the deep tub. The porcelain is deliciously cool against your front compared to the hot water. Should you respond to Yoongi? Do you need to?

He prods at your mouth, and you open obediently, eyes closed. Happy to taste- water? Electrolyte? He guides you to sip and you do. Barely conscious as he rubs the water from your lips with a thumb, chiding you gently for being messy.

If Jin were awake, he’d be sudsing up your hair and using some of Tae's expensive leave-in conditioner, he’d section and detangle each strand with a gentle tug. He would use the sugar scrub and then the body wash and then lather you down with body oil leaving your skin shiny and hydrated.

If Jin were awake and it was time for a good grooming session the pack omega would catalog each of the bruises on your body and dispense a pea-sized amount of the soothing cream that he always uses. The bite marks on your neck might need something a little more heavy duty. Jimin has been a little more nibbly than usual.

Jimin pauses before getting back into the tub, staring down at you and Tae for a moment, taking a second to appreciate the vision you paint. Both of his girls in the bath together. Everything slow and comforting and normal.

It's so normal here. Between you four. Tae, Jimin, Yoongi, You.

There are no lurking thoughts or anxiety over hidden things. No secrets- delightful or scary, lingering on the edge of Jimin’s mind. When he looks down at his hands they are not blood-stained or holding a gun.

He just has the pen and paper for Tae, a sheet of paper ripped out of the notebook she keeps next to the nest upstairs. The journal exists only for scrawling and mumbling through Tae's jumbled thoughts, not sacred like the ones downstairs that only see a finished product. Jimin didn’t think Tae would want to risk dropping her whole notebook into the bathtub.

Yoongi takes a big dollop of suds and pops it onto the end of your nose, you go cross-eyed trying to look at it, pouting. Jimin can't help his smile.

Tae's chestnut hair is half a wreck but she’s still the most beautiful thing Jimin’s ever seen. (This is not to be confused with jimin putting you in some sort of hierarchy- you firmly hold the spot as the cutest thing that Jimin’s ever seen. He uses a different word to describe each of the pack this way. Jimin has no second favorites or best favorites).

Jimin’s cheeks look a little…moisturized probably from all the time that he’s spent buried between your thighs during this heat. His skin glows. Radiant. Although heats usually leave the alphas looking a little bit ragged and worn out that hasn’t been the case with this heat.

All of them prowl about like predators turned fat and lazy from domestication. Sleepy but not exhausted. Worn but not at the end of their ropes. Instincts a heavyweight that sings like a low drone. White noise. Like the mental equivalent of a weighted blanket.

Even for Jimin who usually gets out of heats so on edge from all the hormones, usually so worn down by the end that his skin turns hypersensitive and his words get chopped and simple. Overstimulated, that's the word for it.

But not now, there’s not an ounce of tension in Jimin’s body as he watches you and Tae in the bath. He watches Tae wipe a bit of soap from your cheek and Yoongi shields your eyes from the water as he rinses out your hair. Your purring ripples out into the open air, deep and luscious like velvet. When Jimin looks down at his arms- there are goosebumps there.

Yoongi looks up at Jimin, still bare, still dripping water onto the floor, and smiles. Jimin can’t fight his flush.

It's probably your slick and milk that has Jimin feeling so tamed. Probably.

Jimin always has time for you and Tae. That’s sort of one of his rules; that he will prioritize you no matter what he’s doing. That even when things are bad or scary or you’re in heat he will make time to indulge you both. Indulging you both is what Jimin lives for.

(How lovely it might be to be loved that way, a simple concession but not one that is given easily. I’ve been writing this story for so long that I’ve forgotten how people fall in love. Could it be like this? I want it to be like this).

Jimin returns to the tub and bundles you back against his chest, his feet nudging against Tae's knees as he gets comfy in the hot water. Tae stretches and turns her body to reach for a towel, wiping her hands to dry them so she can grab the paper. Yoongi continues to wash you smiling down at your fingers limply curled into a fist, taking a brush to them and the dirt under your nails. Jimin’s arms loosely wrap around your back to keep you in place.

You roll onto your tummy or try to. You're awfully wiggly and sleepy like this. it's almost like you're trying to nest in the water.

"No no no pup, you can't present here." You pout at that. The ball of Jimin's knee rests against your stomach. On your belly- you have to get onto your belly.

Water sloshes against your face, Yoongi's hand goes harder, more dominant, threading through your hair and holding your head up. "Pup, you cannot breathe underwater."

You grumble like you wish they'd let you try, but stay put when Yoongi picks you up and rests you across Jimin's lap. Half draped over Tae, half over Jimin. Utterly boneless.

It isn’t the first time Tae has used your bare back as a rest for her notebook. The feeling of the paper against your bare skin is comforting and familiar. Her non-dominant hand tickles over your shoulder as you doze, not fully asleep lazing in the water.

Yoongi leans his cheek against the ball of Tae's shoulder, nuzzling briefly. He peeks over her shoulder as she writes and scrawls and she tilts the paper so that he can see better.

Occasionally hands grip under your arms, readjusting so that you don’t actually drown as you sort of fall asleep. You’re so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that cannot be roused.

And it's so warm, the places where they touch you blend and move, sudsy and slippery.

Your face gets gently washed, gentle fingers in smooth circles and when Yoongi tilts your chin, you notice that his fingers have already gone pruny from how they’ve sudsed you up between your legs to your knees, every inch of you clean. Even the hem of his pushed-up sleeves are damp.

When she’s done with her little poem, Tae recites it for you three. The steam turns the air hazy. It sort of feels like a love letter that turns into a poem. You’re distantly aware of it as always, that this poem is about you.

But then again most of the time when Tae writes it’s about you. (Jimin too, but mostly- you).

You think when she finally lets you read her book you’re going to see little bits of your love story in between the pages. You’ll notice flashes of you and things that are references to the way that you love her. Sweet reminders that you are loved and treasured just as dearly as one of Tae's characters. That you live in her head just like they do.

8 months ago she would have never shared a poem with any of them so soon after it popped into her head. She’d at least have edited it a little and let the words linger for a day or two. Tae's words used to be kept under lock and key. But you have made Tae into someone brave now. She is not so scared of showing the delicate parts of her. You curl your hand around her thigh in response. Cheek resting on her knee as you listen to her voice. 

“I long to be careless with my heart, to not know what it feels like when it burns. To give it thoughtlessly again, so that I might prolong those firsts with you."

There is a lump in her throat, you can hear it as she says the words. it makes them come out hushed like she is close to crying. The ending of these firsts has never bothered you. First kiss, first date, first heat. All crossed off a list. Maybe when you're more lucid you'll tell her you can play pretend and go on as many first dates as you need to to get it right. Until she stops feeling this way.

"As the firsts become fewer and fewer, I find myself pausing, making it last, savoring it.” You rub your cheek into Tae's knee, and Yoongi’s hand runs through your hair, then Tae's.

“A bite, a blush, a secret shared.” Jimin’s hand lingers around the curve of your shoulder, holding you out of the water.

“The love on the blankets, your kiss ruddy on my hands. The feeling of your knees between my knees, Your heart and other banquets. we feast upon the plenty. Pomegranates. Figs. Milk. Honey.”

Tae's hand thumbs over your lip, and when you look up at her you find her watching you. Reading off the words without looking at the paper, like she’s already committed it to memory.

“A first meal or last like any other. Regardless, I eat.”

~-~

With a little bit of prodding and a bit of encouragement, Hoseok gets quite confident towards the end of your heat.

It's either from your moans or the increasing vulnerability and laconicness of your body. Nothing makes an alpha doting and possessive like a vulnerable little omega. One fucked quiet and soft. Completely pliant and boneless in the nest, unable even to reach for them as your body gets softer and softer with heat.

The fever rages through your body, turning you docile and out of it. Even when your packmates try to prop you up for a bite to eat, a bit of water, or a wipe to your face- you cannot seem to hold yourself up. Body limp, bones like Jello. Eyelashes fluttering and whining. Fucked so good that you can hardly open your eyes.

You whine through the overstimulation of another orgasm. But your hands feel so heavy you can't even push their hands or faces away when it gets to be too much. You are truly fucked up. Truly gone from all their attention.

Like with most omega's, your heat gets very very bad before it breaks. An increasing spike that foretells the ending. Nothing is enough, not even overstimulation makes your heat fever quiet.

Both Yoongi and Namjoon bury their faces between your thighs. Cheek to cheek, finger fucking more slick out of you that they lap up eagerly. And you cum until your toes can't even curl. Until your clit twitches, sucked pink and puffy, and you can't even squirt anymore.

Sweat beads at your temple and your body begins to tremble. And Hoseok can tell from the pinch in Namjoon’s face and the slightly stressed sour note in his scent, that things are not good. That the pack alpha is worried- more worried than usual.

But Namjoon has a lot to balance, between Jin sleeping through the night on the other side of the nest and measuring his other half’s breaths. deep and gentle, counting the minutes until he wakes. And Jungkook who seems to have stolen your energy and all but needs to be dragged back from the edge of the nest at every available opportunity.

He squirms, making a game out of it. A game that Tae and Jimin do not enjoy in the slightest. “Kookie don’t-“ “I swear to god if you bite me again I’ll-“ “behave omega”

But their threats land on deaf ears. Jungkook just giggles and rolls away. Leaving their muscles straining, arms bulging as they hold him down by the wrists as the omega rolls, mouth open, teeth bared. But Jungkook always did like to be held down when fucked, restrained, and made to take it until that feisty edge in him is dulled into something docile.

But you? You continue to cry.  

You just can't recognize what it is you need, frustrated, endlessly frustrated. Maybe you got a taste of it when they realized you were leaking milk; all of them close, all of them around you. You want that back now. Your packmates under your teeth. You need all of them, right now.

Or at least more than one. Yoongi and Namjoon between your legs was half of it but they didn't touch the ache in you. The burning need to be full. To feel full.

One knot just won’t due.

Luckily, Namjoon has prepared you well for it.

Your tits are bitten and puffy looking. They'd spent several hours draining you dry. You barely have a few drops when Hobi leans down to check (to make sure really- he’s not behaving like a milk-drunk pup- he swears). You only sigh gently at the closeness, his hair brushing your skin, nuzzling into his hairline as his mouth goes where you’re tender, a few mouthfuls, the sound of gulping and Hobi.

Hobi. You cling to him and whine when he moves away. Distantly through the dripping and the trembling you’re aware that he’s trying to say something to you. He sighs when you stay silent, hand listlessly tangling in the nest. Needy for something you can’t say, words that just won’t come to your lips.

You want that closeness back, You want them near again- you just can't figure out how to say it.

The first thing that indicates you're nearing the end of your heat is the tears; constantly your eyes are glassy and your scent is sour no matter how many times you cum. You're sniffly pressed to Tae's shoulders while Jungkook latches. Little tears on your cheeks while Yoongi knots you.

Every single moment you're awake, you're weepy. No matter how many times the pack tries and soothe you; you are wet-eyed and sniffly. Broken somehow.

“You don’t want us to stop fucking you right?” Namjoon asks after you cry and whimper through another knotting. Relieved when you shake your head almost angrily, eyebrows pinching together like you're angry he even suggested it. Tears threaten to spill as you lock your ankles around Namjoon’s back, pushing all of you closer to him, Your stomach brushes his. The dewiness is faintly gross but faintly hot too.

"Alright pup, don't worry, no one is gonna take me from you." Namjoon means it. Even if you probably won't remember it later. His hand settles on the back of your neck and guides your face to his scent gland. He's not surprised that you bite down, the sigh slips from his lips and his thumbs rub and roll your scruff to soothe you. “Ah pup, alpha isn’t going anywhere.”

They try not to let it affect them, how you cry.

Crying can be hot sometimes, making a sub cry because they’re feeling too good well. Jimin might give you exactly that demonstration when he mounts Jungkook, finally turning the other omega docile under the weight of his knot. The dominance in the air like a fire threatening to spark.

But you remain bundled from Jinnie’s chest to Namjoon’s, to Yoongi’s, “I’ll take her.” he says. An edge to his voice that Namjoon might not have taken as a threat to his dominance before Yoongi had a knot.

Namjoon clenches his teeth. Everyone is a bit on edge with you crying.

“Can you tell us why you’re crying little pup? Does something hurt? Are you achy here?” Jin very very gently cups your chest. You're sat half sideways in Yoongi’s lap, peaking out at the pack omega from Yoongi’s neck, shaking your head slightly. Jin’s hands move south. thumb rubbing up and down the chub of your thigh.

During any other post-heat Jin would be sleeping soundly through most of the following day, but not now, not with you like this.

Jin's hair is so tangled it nearly stands up straight, his cheeks are so puffy and his lips are so swollen from kissing and biting that they look a bit like a beak. But besides the fact that his body just won't stop slicking up- Jin's fine. His skin is no longer flushed, he can blink back the last little bit of haze and consider himself ludic. His heat is over. fucking finally.

So when he wakes to find you crying, he doesn't hesitate to help, to slip his hands between your thighs. “How about here? Does this hurt? Is that why you're crying? Did we break your little hole?”

You tremble a little bit as he strokes, finger pads rubbing in what he hopes is soothing circles. But when he stills you shake your head and Jin sighs, removing his hand from you with a barely there cobweb of slick that Namjoon almost immediately eyes.

You tuck your face back into Yoongi’s throat, sniffling renewed as he moves away from you to say something quietly to Namjoon, your mate's throat vibrates against your cheek as he speaks but you can't make sense of the words.

"Joon, don't be gross."

"Sorry." Namjoon doesn't sound sorry at all.

Some of the alphas like it a little bit too much. The crying. Jimin laps at your cheeks and teases you for it, calling you a soggy little puppy. Everything, tears, milk, slick. All wet and messy for them. Stretched to your breaking point. All burned up.

But Yoongi is more gentle, more routine, slower and sweeter. It's late at night when they finally figure out what you need. The lamp in the corner is on and your body is shrouded in shadow. Sweaty and achy.

You’re no longer able to move so much, so exhausted that you need your packmates due to every little thing for you. You need Jimin to guide bites to your lips and need Namjoon to brush your teeth when it comes time for bed. Mouth open and eyes closed, so trusting as Namjoon tilts your head and praises you. 

You're wearing pj's, little pajama shorts pushed to the side, a button-down shirt in front that has most of the buttons undone. It makes you feel so much better, being taken care of like this. But still. You cry.

And you need Yoongi like you need blankets, warmth, he'd offered to fuck you to sleep and you'd nodded your scent. And now Yoongi is trying really- he's doing his best.

But still, you can't seem to stop crying. He presses his cheek along yours crouched low so that your bodies touch everywhere. Your heartbeat next to his heartbeat. Your cheek against his cheek as his hips move in small little circles. His knot is just barely starting to grow sensitive and taught. That new feeling that Yoongi is starting to recognize as a warning.

You’re warm all the way to your temple. Yoongi has realized that it’s more the emotion that’s making you cry and less his dick, but still-

He juts his hip forward, working his knot into you. And you sniffle against his throat.

Yoongi finds it hard to remain undistracted with you crying. Maybe that’s just because your crying is the exact opposite of a turn-on for him. Yoongi’s lips glide across your forehead, feeling something like an apology. He stops thrusting and instead rests inside of you, warm and wet and tight.

You tremble. Hands brought up to your chest like you need to hide your heart from him. Yoongi tries not to be hurt by that. Yoongi rests his forehead against yours and nearby Namjoon perks up a little, watching and waiting.

Yoongi wishes Namjoon would just rest.

“Little honey, will you tell me what’s wrong? What’s going on in that fuzzy head of yours huh? You can tell me.”

You tip your chin down, voice oh so quiet, oh so fragile when you finally speak. “Won’t be angry?”

“Not gonna be angry. Promise.”

You glance sidelong, not at Namjoon, but to where Hoseok is eating a late dinner, trying not to look like he’s watching (He was definitely watching.) But Jin has an arm wrapped loosely around his waist, a little possessive, a little protective. But Yoongi knows that like you Hobi likes a physical reminder to stay put and rest, a reminder that he’s exactly where he’s wanted at the pack omega’s side.

“Wan' Hobi alpha.”

Yoongi kisses your brow, never one to be hurt over you choosing someone else. Your tears are more important than his ego and what his mate wants in heat is infinitely more prescient than his newfound knot and the needs that come with it. But you whimper, clinging to him as he starts to pull out. Tears once again build at the edge of your eyes and threaten to spill.

“No! Don’t go!”

“Honey, I don’t understand, you can’t have both of us at once…” Yoongi trails off as you sniffle.

"Want both!" You cry, petulant. Yoongi looks up making eye contact with Hobi (flushing desperately) and then Jin (looking curious and sort of impressed at your level of bratting. Any other day talking like that would get you drawn over either Jin or Namjoon's lap for a spanking).

There is a single moment where everyone waits. Jin’s eyebrows go from raised into his hairline to down, staring at you like you’re going to send Jin into heat again. Can one omega even trigger another’s heat? If they could, you would certainly trigger Jin’s.

Jin has that dark look in his eye that Yoongi has learned to be a little bit afraid of. The same kind of look he gets when Jungkook asks to be have his hole slapped. When Jimin asks to be pushed around. When Namjoon asks for his collar. A dangerous look.

The pack omega is in post heat, he's not supposed to be doing any of the helping and yet- Jin shuffles over to where you and Yoongi recline in the nest.

You can't possibly be asking for that. For two knots at once. You’ve never broached that kind of play; anal, with Yoongi. and he thinks this is hardly the time to do it when you’re already not communicating well- when you’re in Omegaspace and even the slightest hurts and aches can feel mountains high. You are so sensitive when you are like this, in heat and in Omegaspace.

And yet you reach down, palming blindly where you and yoongi meet. "Want Hobi here, want both please? Good pup?"

You can't possibly understand what you're asking for. It's too dangerous. Stretching you out like that. You couldn’t possibly take two knots in one hole, right?

Only, could you?

You’d taken Namjoon barely an hour ago, and the pack alpha had slid in like it was nothing, fucking a fresh wave of slick and a few dribbles of squirt out of you. Knot tugging at your entrance until Yoongi could see where you went pink. You’re… stretched a little, dilated, fucked open enough to take Namjoon’s cock, usually a gargantuan task but-

You’d half slept through the last time he’d knotted you. namjoon is at least twice as thick as yoongi, and hobi is only a little bit girthier. yoongi's knot would be small if he was an alpha. hobi's always been average.

But togeather... could they fit?

It’s Jin who checks, shuffling up to get behind you. Sneaking his hand first under the hem of your shirt to stroke at your hip lovingly, and then down the edge. Lower. Yoongi doesn’t slip out, and you continue to nuzzle into the column of his throat, sniffling.

“Wan Hobi, want- hng.”

Jin’s fingers prod, and it’s almost exactly how Namjoon guided Hobi earlier only it’s Jin doing it this time, all snug up behind Yoongi. He smells like heat and like alpha cum, like he’s been bred himself. It’s doing things to Yoongi’s self-control, that new tight edge to fucking. Being surrounded by two omega’s in heat, sandwiched between them.

“Calm down babypup, you’ll have your Hobi, just give us a moment.”

Jin is tired but lucid. Pretty soon he’ll cajole one of the alphas into letting him sneak upstairs for another bath. Jin can only handle the tacky feeling of slickness between his legs for so long. But the prospect of re-grooming himself alone after a heat doesn’t appeal to him nearly as much as making sure you and Jungkook are tended to.

It can’t be much longer now, there can’t be too much more to your heats, maybe another 6 or so hours. You're both so tired, and the alphas are too. Jimin is sleeping barely a few feet away, heaping over a clean pink and purple checkered blanket. His generously sculpted ass shows two neat little rings, teeth marks.

He rubs slowly at where your entrance parts are around Yoongi’s cock and then more insistently until you let him in. He has to use a bit of force but it’s easy. His fingers slide in next to Yoongi’s cock.

You hiccup and cry, this time because it's good, it's exactly what you've needed and Jin doesn't stop.

Namjoon has done a good job of fucking you open and sloppy. You quiver but stretch easily. Jin’s second finger goes in with little more than a hiccup, his third too, almost holding around Yoongi’s cock, making the stretch tighter. Your trembling increases when Jin turns his wrist over to press up against your spongy g-spot. And Seokjin watches your clit twitch in response and you cry out.

One day, one day soon he’s going to test how much that little nub can take, it going to make you cum until you can’t even squirt anymore. You can hardly handle this with more than a dribble now. Just a drop or two that hits Jin's wrist in a slight brush of warmth.

You pull your knees up to your chest obediently, and Yoongi holds you under your knees. Jin grabs one of your ankles to keep you still, to keep you from squirming for more fingers.

There you go, stretched again, more. You want more. Two packmates close and your instincts tell you that's good. Your instincts start to recede just slightly. Not enough but getting there.

Jin’s cock twitches, still soft.

Hobi lounges not far away, his chest dotted with bite marks and pretty marks, bruised looking in the shadow, sharp eyes watching him. Hobi's eyes close slightly. But stay open. The eye contact he makes with Jin is tentative at first, but Hobi doesn’t blink or look away first, he doesn’t back down.  

Perfect.

Jin’s teeth ache, Hoseok shies away from Jin’s becoming hand but not for long. Namjoon has been watching the whole time while reclining, looking big and protective. Watching Jinnie do his work as pack omega with a domineering glint in his eyes that Jin almost wants to purr at.

He watches Jin with heavy-lidded eyes an apex predator full and happy letting his prey walk close without hunting. Jutting his chin as if to say “Go on, give me a show.” 

Jin fits three fingers into your hole next to Yoongi’s cock, each trust earning him a whimper before he pops them out and lands a spank over your clit, both you and Yoongi jump. Jin’s hand comes away wet.

Jin has Hobi by the back of his neck, quicker than he can think to reign in his instincts. There is no squirming or pleas for justification. Hoseok just tips his throat and lets Jin sniff at it, snuffling up and down his throat.

“She wants you Hobi puppy, don’t you want to feel Yoongi’s knot my sweet pup?” Hobi blushes but relents, letting Jin guide him closer.

Earlier, pillowed in the nest after knotting, you’d watched your mate and Hobi. Watched as Hobi got down to look, whispering quiet and fond words with his hands wrapped around yoongi's knot. You'd watched Hobi's long hand's birdlike drift down Yoongi's chest to go between his legs.

Yoongi had let the other alpha explore him until he'd gone taught and sagged. "Ah really- fuck"

"Like this, it feels good when it's like this. wrap your hand around your knot like this and tug-"

His touch is both experimental and familiar. You'd watched them press their knots together, glossy with omega slick, rutting and rubbing and laughing.

And now you’ll get to have both, both at the same time. You chirp, needy, bratty. You don't want to be denied it for another moment.

You squirm, Hands opening and closing in the nest. Looking up at them, Hobi's eyes are dark with such an unabashed show of wanting that behind you, Yoongi sort of laughs, a pitch too high. A little unhinged. A little pussy drunk.

Hoseok is beginning to get back his confidence, the frantic fear of the heat wearing away. It always goes this way; Hoseok is always just thinking he’s finally adjusted to all the scents when the heat ends.

Jin’s job is done now, and he shuffles across the nest until he’s near Namjoon, flopping onto his side so that he gets to be the little spoon. The pack alpha instantly ropes an arm around his waist and pulls him in, close. Nosing along the side of Jin's face.

Yoongi guides you to lie on your side so that he can spoon you and Hoseok can be at your front through this. It reminds you a bit of how you and Hoseok first fucked, blankets all around, warm through it, your leg hitches up around Hobi's waist. Urging him closer.

You're still wearing your shorts and your pajama top, and your top at least- gets easily unbuttoned. Yoongi gets frustrated with the bottoms and with a brief tear- Hobi grips one side and Yoongi the other. Your bottoms truly fall away in tatters.

You make eye contact with Hobi and for a second, he swears you get more lucid, reaching out your hand. His breathing calms. Had it been ragged? Hobi hadn’t noticed.

Yoongi slows his pace from behind you. Hobi’s voice sounds rough even to his own ears. “You really need it huh?”  

You whimper and nod, looking up at him still weepy. Yoongi coos and wipes your tears away. You hardly seem to notice. "Please only if-" you moan, and Yoongi shoots Hoseok a winning grin, still working behind you. Starting up his pace again. He doesn’t pull out all the way but pushes in a bit deeper. grinding against the spongey sofness, the place that namjoon reaches and fucks, turned sensitive from so many knottings.

"Only if you-" Yoongi doesn't let you continue, hitching up your hip showing Hobi where both of you meet. Showing Hobi how he’s fucking you.

Hoseok shuffles close as if it's even a question of whether he wants this still. You should be able to tell by his scent alone. His eyes stay locked to the space that Yoongi has made in you. You and Yoongi, his best friend and his sort of soulmate.

Hoseok’s knees brush Yoongi’s and your feet press to his stomach until he takes you by the ankles and puts your legs on either side of him. Fumbling to get his cock out, to kiss the inside of your knee as he looks down, muscles straining biting his lip. It's frantic but it's loving all of it.

Hoseok watches you as he guides his cock close.

Yoongi feels velvety and soaked against Hoseok’s head. Wet and slick and so fucking hot to press up into that seam where you close around him. The head of Hobi’s cock nudges against Yoongi’s knot before he starts to press inside.

Hoseok is dimly aware of Yoongi inhaling jagged, pressing you just a little closer against him. Your head falls back against Yoongi’s shoulder, mouth open, hand suddenly fisting in Hobi's red t-shirt, not pushing him away, pulling him closer.

“Oh, do you like it?” He teases. The way that only Hobi can. Teasing you for how much you want it, how much you need both him and your mate in one hole. he's going to tease you so much for this later- you already know it.

It takes some pressing, some force behind it, and you stop squirming, going rigid. Mouth going wide in an overwhelmed 'oh' without a sound. and suddenly you're not having any thoughts about it at all. You couldn't, there is nothing in you but the feeling of the stretch.

Your scent goes so sweet on the air that across the nest, Namjoon's growl almost goes violent. He and Jin are rocking and rubbing but neither of them pay much attention to each other, too busy watching you.

hobi feels a hot flush of pride down his spine as namjoon gives him an encouraging smile.

Yoongi curses, hands hard around your waist keeping you in place. You're half lying on top of Yoongi half spooning. Hoseok’s hands fist the sheet by Yoongi’s head, and Hoseok puts just a bit more force into it.

You tilt your chin and bite the scent gland at his wrist.

Hobi feels the zing of pain the same moment that he feels a shot of ecstasy as you start to part enough to let the head of his cock in, the space instantly flooded with slick and cum.

He pops inside, warm and thick, sliding past the sensitive skin of Yoongi’s proto knot, sliding up and in alongside Yoongi’s cock. A broken sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan gets forced from your throat and your body goes truly limp, teeth popping as you let go of Hobi's skin. Eyes so wide and open as you stare blankly ahead of you. Breathing heavy.

Hobi knows he'll bruise and that he'll get turned on every time he looks down at it for the next week. knows that the others will tease him for it by pressing against it too.

This is so different from taking Namjoon's cock. You're stretched but almost more because they're both pulsing, both moving independently from you and each other. Stretched so wide, so full. You feel stretched to the breaking point. Fucked dumb already.

And Hobi hasn’t even moved yet.

Yoongi and Hobi are forced close next to each other by how hard you clench down. You hug both of them dribbling squirt out a little pathetically, it gathers around the base of their cocks. They pause a little, breathing heavy. Feeling it, making eye contact over your shoulder.

They’ve done this before- not exactly this but a rendezvous in the record shop years ago back when Hoseok first became a part of the pack. Hobi remembers Yoongi’s big hands, both of their cocks next to each other, the slide of precum slick tangled with one fist to fuck.

Hoseok’s the one who moves first, more used to the feeling of almost knotting than Yoongi. He takes a minute to settle down. His expression is a little stricken, a little panicked, but Hobi doesn’t mind. If Yoongi needs to pop a knot he can and Hobi will just keep fucking you. With his chest pressed to yours, he can feel your heartbeat rabbit fast.

“Fuck- fuck- please- fuck” Yoongi is nearly unintelligible, but Hobi just laughs and keeps going.

With Yoongi against your back, you are dizzy with sensation. Too much is happening. The feeling of your pussy stretched out, the feeling of them sliding across each other and the sound they make is so much. Both of them moving in tandem. Both of them fucking you at once. It burns but it feels so good that you never want it to stop.

This is different, now you clench down around both of them and hiccup, adjusting. Your head lolls to the side, eyes blinking once, twice, then again as you stop crying. Jin coos and moves closer. Namjoon sighs and lets him so that the pack omega can run his hands over your hot cheeks. His skin is cool. So cool against the fire raging inside of you.

“Oh, little pup can’t handle two cocks in her little hole? Too bad honey, you asked for it. Now take it.” Jin is mean when he’s lucid. pulling your head to the side to prod at Yoongi's mating mark.

You clench at that, Yoongi twitches too. Hobi gasps.

Fuck, every time Yoongi moves, Hoseok feels it, every time he twitches, he feels it too. You are so warm and wet inside. Slick flooding the space between them and turning the rub even more heavenly. It won’t be long for any of you.

Hoseok looks down at Yoongi, hair shading his eyes as he works diligently to fuck you. Yoongi grins up at him, looking victorious and his while you stay like that, pliant and spacey, blinking and whimpering, eyes unable to focus on anything. Hobi takes your hand and holds it, pressing you into the bed.

Jin shuffles forward until he's close enough to touch, to feel. Namjoon settles back behind him. His hand reaches over to feel your stomach. The place where both of them are. You don't have a belly bulge- they're not long enough for that. But it still makes you blink and shiver.

There's the tacky rub of one cock against another, the terrible all-consuming tightness of your pussy stretched to the breaking point. Your eyes pupils dilated, resting against Yoongi’s chest, fucked so good that you are boneless. Yeah lolling utterly limp as Jin moves your head from one shoulder to the other. Laughing as he goes. "So good you can't even hold your head up?”

“Good pup? Does that feel good?”

You can't respond, fucked dumb. You can’t clench, you can hardly even cum. Or maybe it’s that you can’t stop cumming. One spike of pleasure blends into the next. your body is so sensitive, everywhere they touch your feels like too much, feels too sensitive.

Yoongi's voice goes rough, "look at me Hobi, look at me, I wanna see it while you fuck her, I wanna see it when you-"

A bead of sweat drips from Hobi's nose onto your shoulder, Yoongi laughs and laps at it. Pausing to nibble at your mating mark. You mewl, and one of Yoongi's hands finds Hobi's. It goes like that both of them fucking you, Hobi holds one of your wrists to keep you steady in a sea of pleasure, Yoongi holding the other.

Hobi's not quite sure who cum's first. Whether it's the feeling of Yoongi's new knot expanding against his that has him coming undone or the way that you tighten around his that has them both spilling inside of you. You squirt again, this time more than you did earlier.

A hot gush against Hobi's stomach and drips down the line of his cock onto Yoongi’s happy trail. But the flood of sticky cum around both of their cocks is so good, so wet that neither of them stops fucking you for long.

You can take it. Their knots rub against each other as they pause, kiss each other, and then you, and then keep fucking you.

Besides you three in the nest, Jin and Namjoon giggle and cuddle close. Namjoon leans close and nibbles at Jin's jaw. Their whispers are not so secret. The pack omega giggles in response. Despite his earlier complaints of soreness, Namjoon is hard and achy against Jin's lower back. The pack alpha shouldn't need to mount Jin again in his heat, but they might just for fun.

Just for fun Jin teases, "Do you think she'll be able to take you and Tae next?"

Namjoon growls and grins, allowing Jin his fantasy. They tilt their heads, peering down at you to see how taught you are around both of them. The bulge faints. You look- you look-

Wrecked. Claimed.

Namjoon can hardly say that he doesn’t think about it. How good it must feel to have one knot pressed against the other. Yoongi and Hobi clearly look like they’re enjoying the feeling. and you're still dripping into the nest too so-

The sound of your purring lulls the whole pack to sleep. Across the nest, Tae, Jungkook, and Jimin all sleep through it. Namjoon knows they’re going to be upset that they missed it, that they’ll probably demand to see a reenactment.

"Would it really hurt to try?" 

~-~

When you wake up on the 4th morning after your heat begins, you are no longer sweating although you do feel disgustingly sticky.

There is laughter going on in the hallway, sweet, the sound of Jimin and Jungkook’s giggles as they roughhouse on the stairs and light streams through the cracked window. Letting in the sweet smell of spring.

Someone is trying to take the blanket that’s on top of you gently, but after a questioning hum on your pack alpha’s part, a hushed whisper comes.

“This one’s covered in slick Joonie. Come on.”

Namjoon is big behind you, pressed along your spine, when you open your mouth, you have that vaguely tacky feeling between your lips that says you've been asleep for many many hours. When he pushes his face into your throat, there’s stubble there.

Huh- icky.

You feel hazy and fucked good, content, no fire permeates your chest, only a little bit of wanting, the usual amount. Your fingers tangle loosely with the fabric in front of you, attached to a chest, and a familiar husky laugh.

When you open your eyes you blink. Yoongi’s looking at you with that same soft fond look in his eyes. Peacefully blinking at you slowly the same way Noodle does.

But you slam them shut. Blushing furiously.

Oh my god, you really let him and Hobi, they both really-

You can’t look at him, can’t open your eyes as you fight down the flush. But neither of them seems to mind your sudden shyness. You feel a hand combing through your hair as you piece through it. Both of them laugh at you.

"Don't get shy on us now."

You feel more lucid than you have in days, is your heat done? Yes, it must be, because Namjoon’s scent does not smell as alluring as it used to. You feel the soreness between your legs. The ache in your whole body. Bone tired. Really- you feel like you could sleep for the next week.

“Ready to join the land of the living pup?” He teases, pressing kisses to your eyelids when you don’t respond and instead shake your heat. the warmth gets guided off of you regardless of your whines. but it’s just Jinnie. Just Jinnie smiling down at you.

“Hobi’s making breakfast.”

You grumble and try to burrow back into the nest unsuccessfully. Jin huffs and gets out of the nest, satisfied that you’re awake and that your heat is finally finally over. They expected yours to last a little longer but still.

Jin holds a soiled blanket out at arm's length. Maybe it's glad that your heat didn't last longer. He's not sure the nest could have handled it and they're already going to have to replace a good number of blankets. Jin's heat has already been over for almost a whole day and he's no longer feeling the exhaustion. No- Jin is wide awake and cannot wait to clean and nest and clean you again until you're sparkly. He's already eyeing your greasy hair with a glint in his eyes. Yoongi holds you firm to his chest like that will keep Jin from removing you.

But Jin sighs, settling his instincts down. It's easy today without the heat clouding his judgment.

“Coffee?”

“Yes please,” Namjoon stresses.

The nest is a little bit less orderly than it was when you first made it, the walls look like they’re about ready to collapse, and it’s not nearly as soft- after having the blankets being torn away from it. You try to squirm away when Yoongi and Namjoon guide you gently into a sitting position but instantly Namjoon’s hands dig into your sides.

You try and roll away.

“No no no, up. You need food.” You roll over onto your tummy, giggling and trying to squirm away.

“No! wanna nest!” Namjoon grabs your ankles and pulls you back and you giggle as he tickles up your thigh. When you open your eyes, Namjoon is looking down at you so tenderly it takes your breath away.

“Missed that.” He whispers. “that sound.”

Your body feels tired but you feel happy. You can tell the shirt you wear has pulled up around your ribcage and Namjoon’s thumb rubs up against your side.

You’re sore and worn, you’ve slept for what must have been more than 10 hours and you have this terrible feeling in your chest achy and needy. Anxiety. Anxiety at leaving the nest.

Your heat is over but your instincts still need settling. Your hand fists around Namjoon’s thigh as you turn over onto your stomach, draped across his lap. Huh, his thighs are so muscly, you understand why Jungkook’s sort of obsessed with them.

Namjoon pets gently over your spine. Letting you knead and manipulate the muscle and fat there. When you peak up at him, he’s raising his eyebrow at you.

“What do you need?”

6 or even 2 months ago you might have struggled to say it. To confess your needs to Namjoon. But now you only ruminate on exactly what it is you need. What will make you feel better?

Yoongi is close folding up some of the bedding on the edge of the nest, sorting through what’s soiled and what isn’t. What needs immediate washing and what can wait until tomorrow.

As long as whatever he brings back still smells like them you think it will still be safe, still be fine. You blink and a second later you realize that of course Yoongi has to take it away. You can’t exactly leave it here all fucked through.

You’ve left more than a few blankets squirt-stained. And you know that if he doesn’t handle them now when Jungkook is out of the nest the other omega might grow a little too attached to them because of how much they smell like you. His…less hygienic nesting habits aside.

You nuzzle into Namjoon's thighs as you watch him. Namjoon waits patiently for you to think through your thoughts.

Namjoon is not hairy, not really, but his hair is just a bit courser on his legs. You feel it, teasing your fingers through it draped over his thighs, hands holding around the meat of them. It’s an oddly childish gesture, an omega stimming. When you turn, you can see his smile out of the corner of your eye.

From the doorway Tae hums, toothbrush in her mouth, pink and sparkly. She’s just passing through to check on you. You flush and look away from her too. Remembering all the times she teased you, her reaction to your chest.

Speaking of that, what the fuck?

Your chest feels heavy just thinking about it. Your nipples feel sensitive just from rubbing against your shirt. You're not exactly surprised because you had heard that could happen but-

You cover your face. Namjoon lets you, recognizing that you're still processing everything that's happened.

Did someone…feed from you while you slept? You think they must have because your chest doesn't feel swollen and achy yet.

She grins when you peek at her like she knows what you’re thinking about.

“You should let us shave your legs Joonie.”

Your pack alpha huffs, and still smiling, says, “You can shave any bit of me you want if it makes you happy baby girl.”

She comes closer and Namjoon sets a hand on her thigh treading dangerously close to the hem of her pink silk robe (the one with the little gold butterflies) feeling her own freshly shaved legs. Her hair does look a little wet. Tae must have just taken a shower.

“You’re always so soft” Tae makes a noise in her throat and you tip your chin, looking up at her. Blinking slow.

Namjoon continues to pet down your spine with one hand on you and the other on her thighs.

Tae leaves to spit and there’s a lump in your throat that maybe has nothing to do with the heat- pre or post and everything to do with this being the first time you’re coming out of it with them. The last few days were- this was- so much. But they handled it so well and really you don’t know why you’re suddenly feeling so overwhelmed now when everything is over.

“I need,” you lick your lips. Thinking through your words before you say them. Namjoon waits, a patient pack alpha. He is endlessly patient especially when his pups are trying to be brave.

“A settling.”

When you tentatively glance back at Namjoon he’s smiling like it's nothing serious. Even though you can feel the hot flush of embarrassment on your cheeks. To ask for more sexual attention after all of that feels like maybe you could be asking for too much but-

It's not really sexual, is it? Intimate sure. But a spanking doesn't need to be sexual to give you what you need.

Namjoon tugs at your shorts- a pair of Hobi's? Jin’s? Boxers that they’d dressed you in. You blush when you think of that- of them guiding pants up your legs when you were prone. Although you’re sure they must have dressed you and undressed you multiple times through your heat.

Namjoon strokes up and down the skin of your behind, your thighs can't separate with your shorts still half on and you rest your face on a pillow, Yoongi tilts your chin up to his, checking, but you just smile at him.

“Gentle,” he asks.

Namjoon raises his eyebrow like he’d never be anything but (maybe he’s rough with you if you asked for it, but gentleness will always be his default). He looks down and laughs when his fingers press into you again. There is a deeper ache under his finger. A bruise?

“A bitemark.” He says when you ask, “probably one of the other pups.”

“Probably Jungkook” Yoongi says. He laughs and you do too.

On the stairs in the hall jungkook calls out. “Hey! I heard that! That one's from Yoongi!” and youdevolve into giggles again. When you peek up at him again Yoongi’s red all the way to his ears.

“Really hyung?” Namjoon teases, but Yoongi throws a pillow at him, it sort of lands on you- but you don’t mind at all as the feathers flutter down around you. Gentle.

The first spank Namjoon lands is that. Gentle.

His big hands hit with more of a thud feeling than a sharp sting. The sound is louder than the actual sensation. It forces a quiet hiccup from your throat. And your hand grips his thigh under your chest, eyes wide. Legs splaying as far as they can,

“There you go pup, let alpha give you what you need.”

Namjoon doesn’t make you count through it, petting over your skin for several seconds after every gentle spank. You’re sighing and going boneless by the last one, and Namjoon pulls up your waistband and lands one final one over the fabric. “There, better?” you nod and let him slip from underneath you and begin to untangle you from the nest.

But still, you’re no less boneless. No less able to stay awake, the spanking might have settled your nesting instincts, but you’re still too tired and too well fucked to move around on your own.  

But that too can be fixed- You demand to be carried to the kitchen and Namjoon happily obliges. There Tae has already picked out your favorite coffee cup, the pink one with the pearlescent flowers even though you’re a little too wobbly to hold onto it properly. It sloshes with decaf coffee as she hands it to you or tries to before she obediently feeds you a sip. The last thing that the pack needs is you getting dehydrated.

She looks gorgeous in another one of her flimsy night dresses, everyone is lounging in their pajamas, you might not even change into normal clothing today because you might not need to.  

Hoseok is there, with his sunny smile and hair- less greasy, drying curly. Wearing your frilly pink apron flipping pancakes and starting on the scrambled eggs, cracking the eggs in one hand, bacon frying, hair half awry.

You don’t say that it’s already noon, that it’s already time for lunch. It’s heat rules. The time doesn’t matter.

He spots you and tosses a grin over his shoulder. You tuck your face into Namjoon’s throat and whine. Namjoon (rather obediently for the pack alpha). Walks you over to him so that you can kiss his cheek. 

“Morning,” Hobi says all husky and rough but smiling. You can feel it pressed to your cheek. Namjoon hums in front of you, the purr-like growl vibrating.

“Wanna shower now or later pup?” You don’t like the idea of being separated from them, and you can tell from the vaguely clean feeling between your legs that you’ve at least been whipped down recently. Your tummy still feels…strange but good. You shake your head petulantly. Arms wrapped loosely around Namjoon’s neck. 

Hoseok turns back to the burner and you realize that he's not wearing anything under your apron besides a tiny tiny pair of boxers.

His body is… a little distracting. You don’t know who it was- you, Jin, or Jungkook who mauled him but Hoseok is bitten up. long scratches line his back all the way down to the little dimples at the base of his spine.

Every available inch of his body from his hips to his throat covered with rings of purple bruises, claiming marks, there’s even one on his knee, one closer to his feet. You sit across Namjoon’s thigh. Watching Hobi over the edge of your cup. Looking away whenever he turns around.

Upstairs, the sound of the shower gurgles and Jin’s shouting makes for some pleasant white noise. Jungkook’s hassling giggle as both of them get in. And your mates brief “yah don’t splash me-”

Who knows what they’re doing, wrestling or fucking or just being them. The omegas left to groom themselves before breakfast. You’ll join them after you’ve gotten a bit of food in your tummy. Tae disappears upstairs when Jin shouts at her for her blow drier.  

Hoseok's whole body is covered with bitemarks and you can sense from the vague soreness in your skin that you- like Hobi- bear the visible burden of their loving. You can’t find it in yourself to mind. You know you smell like them and you like that. 

after your breakfast, they're probably going to make you shower.

You’re so sleepy that you can’t even think about standing for a shower let alone walking. You still can’t really feel your legs beyond a vague hum that says your body has enough energy to move.  You just shift your legs up back and forth, swinging them sideways in Namjoon’s lap, fidgeting.

“You sure you don’t want to drink your coffee? Your water?” Namjoon prods.

“Wanna watch Hobi cook,” you say in answer. 

Yoongi hums, coming down the stairs wearing a dark splatter across his grey shirt as both of them laugh at you. Your blushing face gets tucked along Namjoon’s throat to hide again. Seriously- you're having a hard time looking any of them in the eyes.

Noodle makes an appearance, yowling loudly at you like he’s missed you and is letting you know. He circles your feet and presses up into the arch of your foot. You giggle, ticklish and Namjoon leans, extending a hand to scratch between Noodle's ears in hello. His hiss is only half hearted. Namjoon’s big hands on your waist remain firm so that you don’t slide right out of his lap.

“Didn’t starve with us neglecting you eh Nu?” He says, your feet continue to move fidgety. The backside of your omega zoomies who knows. All of the omegas are bound to get zoomies after so many days cooped up inside.

Who knows, maybe the whole pack will take a walk later, maybe to the beach. All of you will pile into two cars and drive out to the edge of the world and linger there. And you’ll sit in the sand and Hobi will search for more sea treasures. And Jimin will pick dandelions from the seashore, the only flowers really growing this early in spring. And you’ll tie one string around Tae's ring finger and one around yours.

You’ll walk with a happy few feet between all of you, the wide-open space calling to your instincts and settling them under the oncoming weight of spring. The sunshine streaming through the open window leads you to think that it’s warm outside, you’d like to be out there too.

Namjoon and Jin will spend half of the time bickering and kissing but after, there could be pizza or sandwiches or takeout, and maybe once you get home, you’ll eat it all on the floor of the living room after you admit that really- the nest room needs to be entirely disassembled. You’ll go to sleep smelling like sea salt and love. Bodies aching in that good way that lets you know you’ve been loved that day. And you’ll wake to another morning just like this one, where the light is in your eyes but at least it’s yellow and golden.

A fleck of sunlight lingers on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you nuzzle into it.

Behind you, Hobi starts humming a song, it’s not your favorite- but it’s Yoongi’s. His voice is so pretty, deep rough in the morning.

You’ll offer it up as an idea later when your mouth decides it wants to cooperate, pressed against the skin of Namjoon’s neck and shoulder, that space where his collar bones sit.  

Hobi flips the bacon and asks if Yoongi will turn on some music, your mate obliges. From upstairs Tae calls, “Tell the pup she needs to do a facemask with me and Minnie later! And a hair mask! And a-” A loud thud sounds, some grumbling then. “Ew slick does not count as a facemask Jungkook- ew-”

Namjoon’s arms are the safest place in the universe. You can’t help but think that you’d be happy in them forever as you cuddle up on his chest.

“Pup, no sleeping, you have to eat something-” his chides break off as you hum.

“Just a minute Joonie.”

You rest there, listening to the sound of Hobi's humming and Noodle meowing for bits of scrambled eggs as Tae and Jungkook bicker upstairs. Jimin says something to Jin on the stairs and you can hear the sound of them kissing. You can hear it all the way from here.

Yoongi comes close to you and says something soft to Namjoon that you can’t hear as Hobi begins to sing and the oil starts to pop.

You listen to them all and close your eyes against Namjoon’s throat.

~-~

Notes:

I needed to take a bit of a break from writing because i felt like my words were getting a little too repeditive- this probably has alot to do with writing 4 back to back smutt chapters but! in that way i think this chapter feels alot more organic and sweet. and feels a little new to me in terms of wording and writing in a good way, i hope you won't begrudge me when i need to take periodic breaks if i'm capable of giving you something you'll enjoy.

i'm going to ignore the fact that during the bath scene that water is probably SO FILTHY i did not say it in the chapter but they lowkey probably had to drain the water a few times and finger fuck the cum out of the m/c before she got clean. wow it's hot when i say it like that why didn't i write that???

it's a small change but- tae tilting the paper so that yoongi can see better?? when before she would have never let him see??? thats growth baybeee

listen i know the words "little hole" can be a squick for some people but tbh, when it's jinnie saying it and like- another omega my brain kind of malfunctions like a boy alpha saying that? ew ew ew, an omega or a female alpha saying it thought????? 🫦 gonna admit that i love it a bit too much.

ugh i love omega on omega stuff, litterally...if i talked in any more detail over how much i love it i'd have to put it over on my smutt blog.

in my mind when hobi says 'his best friend and his sort of soulmate' he's talking about both of them in each roll like- they're both is best friend and his soulmate. they're the golden trio

honestly i love fucking with clothes on like to me it feels much more intimate than having sex completely nude because it's like "i want you enough even with your clothes on

the end of this chapter was very inspired by that one tweet that goes "oomf fucked me so good i can't even look at him.

the reference to hobi's feet is specifically for one person out there.

so did you guys like it??? the heat chapters??? did it live up to the hype of the whole series? did any parts of it make you cum? let me know in my askbox!!!