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taegularities · 1 year ago

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colour me in: redraft | jjk (m)

Summary: The calm is more appreciated after a storm. Life with Jungkook proves to you that sometimes, joy can, in fact, overshadow grief. Yet, not without confronting and removing all hurdles standing in your way once and for all.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some tame angst, sooo much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: new relationshippppp, so much hugging and kissing, yoongi!! tae!!, tears, abandonment issues, talk about social anxiety (just briefly and nothing serious!), jungkook drops a big question :'), a surprise in the middle, a surprise near the end, and then a SURPRISE at the end lol, many surprises, they're so crazy for each other it's gross; explicit sexual content: okay – kook is wearing a chain.. this vibe :'), making out, showering together, shower sex, spanking, biting, oral (f. & m. receiving), fingering, mouth/face f*cking, mirrorssss, he likes her ass and tiddies, tears, choking, v brief ass stuff, rough and soft sex, dom and big cawk jk, vocal jk, multiple orgasms, they're simps; ALSO YEAH THE ENDING :') ➳ word count: 25.3k ➳ a/n: so when i said this chapter would be shorter… welp lol. but i still think it introduces the next arc really well. i kinda love the ending!! .. and the next part will be </3 :'''') as always beta'd by my lovely @missgeniality 🤍 i hope you guys like this one a lot. worked my ass off for this fr :') if you do, please do support the chapter and interact with me, too, it makes my day <3 ➳ listen to: i need u by yaeow | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

Monday morning’s breakfast is awkward. Or at least, the very first minute of it.

The hands of your watch drift to 9 AM; you should’ve expected you wouldn’t be occupying the dining table alone. Your parents, sipping the last of their coffee, aren’t that much of a surprise after all.

You breathe a quiet breath of relief when their eyes dart towards your timid forms at the threshold, then back to the table. And a moment later, they’re pushing their chairs back across the marble floor before they clear the path to breakfast for the two of you.

Your father acknowledges you with a brief, polite nod on his way out, even flashing a similarly quick smile. Ingenuine, because his glance, fleeting when directed to you, is as disappointed as your Mom’s behind him.

Today, you understand. Somewhere in the depths of your recovering mind, you feel upset about shitfacing yourself so thoroughly, too.

You haven’t seen your mother in over two days. Jungkook’s post-showcase confessions brought you to Eun, and the next morning you barely scanned your room before you left for her place again.

Guess the momentary encounter in the hallway doesn’t quite count; you could hardly crack your eyes open. Combined with half the dozen naps you took in your locked room the very next day, you won’t exactly expect pride from her right now.

Until now, as she advances towards your body, you didn’t consider much of her side; you stayed focused on the other occurrences passing after sunset. Moments whose scent your sheets still carry.

As your mother comes to a stand, you prepare your vocal cords, breathing in to explain yourself until you realise that she isn’t looking at you at all. Her eyes are firmly glued to Jungkook’s face, devoid of enmity for once.

Instead, she flattens her dress, sighing through her red-tinted lips before she nods towards him and simply says, “Thank you.”

And that’s it. A little breathtaking, entirely new.

You’re dumbfounded when she leaves; Jungkook doesn’t manage a single word. You imagine that if you’re baffled, he’s probably rethinking her words to assure he didn’t hallucinate them.

But neither of you did. And the silence lingering for a couple more seconds proves the depth of reality; not that you’ll change your mind about leaving your place. But the hint of appreciation, shot directly at him is a pleasant first nevertheless.

Breakfast is patient but fast. The quiet atmosphere doesn’t derive from the night before or what your mother just left you with, but from the emotional fatigue slowly dropping off your shoulders.

Jungkook lets you feast in peace, a soft palm rubbing over the back of your hand every now and then to assure you’re okay. And you are. You’re getting used to these changes.

To this alternative to whatever you feared before. A chance to erase all words and start on a blank page; a white canvas, waiting for vibrant colours instead of monochrome gloom.

Yet, despite the tranquillity last night, still present in the air and in your aching limbs, you don’t understand the sincerity of all the confessions he uttered until you leave.

Because breathing in your car isn’t as suffocating as it was the last few weeks. Back when you’d navigate through the town alone, the passenger seat empty. Or when you plucked up the courage and drove to the showcase numbly.

Or when the pain pierced through your chest; when your drunk ass thought the world would remain blue forever.

All of it is gone when you buckle up, shifting in your seat as you announce, “Okay. Let’s finally get you home.”

The engine roars for a moment, the car trembling, but you only register the knot in your throat when he says, “Feels so unfair of me. Having my girl drive me around so much.”

You don’t miss the endearment; neither the way your heart skips a beat.

Incapable of a proper reaction, you clear your throat and stutter, all at once and oddly in succession until you settle on a weak, “Why unfair?”

“Because. You do it a lot.”

You really do not. The night the museum closed and you dropped him off at your place was one of a few times; besides, he’s operated your vehicle more than enough before, too.

But you don’t contradict him, instead lightly suggest, “Well, you can drive if you want.”

You’re relieved when he joins your smile, dimples ever-so-sweet and genuine as he promises, “It’s fine. I’ll just stare at you.”

The shudder along your spine is delightful — relentless, he keeps your nerves alight. Perhaps he’s back to the self you knew pre-broken-hearts, playful and teasing, but the effect of his words curses through your veins hotter than ever.

“That’s creepy,” you still retort; you’ll gladly keep fighting this sweet, awkward battle against compliments for life, unaware how to handle them. “And it makes me nervous.”

“Sorry.”

Jungkook laughs, the back of two fingers reaching to your cheek to graze it featherlightly. Maybe he feels the heat beneath your skin, enhanced through his touch.

By now, you’ve spent a year with him — as a party fling, a class frenemy and a blue flower. But each second ticking away brings a new wave of soft, shy speechlessness. New honeymoon emotions.

The certainty of his reciprocated feelings, the fact that you’re finally on the same page, makes you rethink his tender confessions and touches differently. Makes you navigate the relationship differently.

His eyes drift back to the quiet, narrow street, surrounded by houses and blooming gardens. Probably as tired of the idyllic utopia as you, he doesn’t spare the suburban setting any more attention.

He only lets a flat hand rub against his thighs, nipping at his clothing as he says, “God, I can’t wait to get out of these damn joggers.”

Right. While not a main focus, you did find the special attire at breakfast today quite amusing.

“Did you even get to shower since picking me up?” you ask.

“Yeah. When you were napping again yesterday. Just gotta wash my hair later tonight.”

Hmm. You spent half your day knocked out; Jungkook could’ve circled the world and you wouldn’t have known.

“Oh. Good.”

The road proceeds straight, emptier near the suburbs. You allow a reckless glance before tackling busy streets; his eyes meet yours in curiosity, hair even messier than the night he met you in front of the bar.

When he left his apartment in joggers and an old shirt, mane untamed and no extra clothing at hand, he probably didn’t expect to abandon his place for so long. It gives you solace that he doesn’t regret it.

You drop the million memories of yesterday’s sunset burning into your eyes and everything that introduced it. The drunk words and the begging.

And then drop everything that followed afterwards; more pleading, more touching, more confessions that were in no way uttered through inebriate but not quite through sobriety either.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks.

You drop all the remembrances to focus on the moment; just to make sure that it’s real. So you ask, “Why didn’t you wash your hair there, too?”

For a moment, you see a flicker in his eyes, short-lived and quick; and his answer shoots out even more rapidly, “Just so.”

He emphasises his admission with a shrug of his shoulder, but it’s not nearly as convincing as he anticipates. Not buying a word, you push again, “C’mon.”

“I swear.”

“I’m curious now, though.”

There’s a momentary drop of silence before Jungkook hums, thinking as though he’s crafting a plausible excuse. Then, he says, “I didn’t wanna be away for too long.”

“…Why?”

“Why would I want to be?”

Ah…

Hmm. Well, maybe that’s enough for now.

Maybe he’s still not used to laying his secrets open. Maybe you need to practise patience, too, and stop digging like that.

You know that’s not all there is, but you certainly understand that it’s not a lie after all. Despite the pause and the obvious way his brain racked for a reason, his tone is genuine. You’ve experienced his insecurities before — that’s not what it was this time.

So you focus on the steering wheel instead, turning it left and away from the truck you drove way too close to. Your distraction might kill you — right there, next to you, clearing his throat and sitting up.

“Oh,” he says, segueing, and you let him, “wait, I forgot. Could we stop by at Yoongi’s for a sec? I wanted to see how he’s been doing.”

An abrupt change in topics, but not too abstract. As someone merely acquainted with the man, you’ve been collecting info on his state from Jimin; of course Jungkook would drop by personally.

You take a look at your digital watch; it’s barely ten and you don’t need to get away before 10:45. Taehyung agreed to meet with you to accompany you to your new potential flat again, so you should have time for a detour.

But.

“Is he…” you start, “gonna be okay with me being there?”

“Why?”

“I mean, just ‘cause… You know. We weren’t the closest for a while.”

Jungkook’s forehead wrinkles in new perplexion, muttering a few words. It takes a couple seconds — but eventually, he figures out that you’re not referring to Yoongi and yourself, and his expression changes immediately.

To subtle pain, you’d guess, like he doesn’t want to relive the memory. Like it never happened; like you weren’t two pieces of the same shattered heart this entire time.

But then he sighs, a hand wandering to your thigh. He kneads it softly, as a reminder to himself and to you that the past isn’t transpiring right now; that you’ve finally breathed and waded through it.

His optimism is encouraging when he says, “Nah. He thinks you’re cool.”

“I guess,” you mumble. You tap the steering wheel nervously, lips in a thin line before you add a hushed, “And if not, that’s alright, isn’t it? Like, hey, as long as you like me? Yeah, I shouldn’t overthink it…”

Jungkook releases air through his nose. You perceive a subtle shake of his head, as if to scold you, hear him say earnestly but gently, “Don’t worry about me. I don’t just like you.”

And whether casual or not, his words engulf your body immediately, like a soothing warm touch across your chest, yet effectively freezing your beating heart in place.

You can’t pinpoint whether the weight of his own words ever affects him as much as it affects you, or whether harbouring these emotions has become a familiar habit to him. At least to you, his tone is conversational and promising, perhaps even subliminally reassuring.

“At the very least,” he continues, “he’ll never disapprove of you the way Jimin disapproves of me.”

Which… snaps you back into reality for a second.

Your friend’s name is connected to more than mere dislike for the man next to you; currently, you think of dark nights and lamp-lit streets. After-midnight shenanigans and near tears in your own car, driven by the man who broke and mended your heart.

It reminds you of a blurry picture; two guys standing near an entrance, the older of them patting the other’s shoulder; smiling at him.

You do wonder if it was a fabrication of your mind.

“Forget Jimin,” you tell Jungkook, speech broken when you take another left and resumed when broader streets start. “Also. He did say he’s growing fond of you.”

“Because you like me. I still need to prove my worth to him.”

You tut.

“Kook, you don’t need to do anything. He’ll come around eventually. Just be you.”

“It’s fine, honestly.” He leans in, nudging your elbow, echoing you with a teasing undertone as he says, “As long as you like me.”

You love it when the initial nature of your relationship breaks through the mist of newfound passion; when you find the foundation of what you were, remembering how you landed here.

Which is why you bite back a laugh the moment you suppress a sassy, teasing remark, as if on reflex. One steer shy from pulling into a parking lot, you breathe out. If you halted here now, you’d kiss him, you’re sure.

But you merely laugh, squinting your eyes as you say, “You’re okay.”

Yoongi’s apartment, now inhabited by only one instead of two people, lies a couple miles from the campus. Jungkook guides you through the streets, jumping from one harmless topic to another — you reach his friend’s place a lot faster than you expected.

The building stands at a quiet place, surrounded by mid-high trees that give the grey colour of the complex a bit of liveliness. You walk to the entrance laughing about something stupid, a subtle nudge of his shoulder here, you pushing against his arm there.

But despite the familiarity and whatever occurred last weekend, it’s still odd jumping into the girlfriend role just yet. The word itself won’t even roll off your tongue very easily so far because you can’t believe a thing about this new reality.

So your hand dangles next to his awkwardly. Your thoughts keep drifting, registering half his sentence at times. What-if situations of gentle kisses and upcoming nights spent together tighten your chest.

Jungkook’s speech is clear and fluent, so you don’t know what your impact on him is exactly. At least he’s made sure you do have one on him — but you still wish you had a map through his mind to understand every thought he houses for you. Every emotion.

On the way up you feel a little dizzy; whether it’s due to the circular shape of the staircase or his proximity, you don’t know. You only realise that something’s still bothering you when you’re halfway up, coming to a halt with one foot on the next step.

“Okay, seriously,” you say, and he turns to you immediately, puzzled as he drops to the same level as you. Close to you.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t wanna leave,” you repeat, still stuck on the hair washing and staying longer thought, “why not?”

The answer could be simple. Could be rooted in emotions and the confessions you later uttered — but there must be something more. You saw it in the brief feeling flashing across his eyes, sitting in the passenger’s seat with silence sealing his lips.

Maybe something happened… because something always happens.

“You’re still thinking about that?” Jungkook questions, eyes wide in disbelief; lips pouting.

“No secrets, right?”

This seems to snap him out of all mysteries, last night’s conversation travelling to the forefront of his mind. But something about your curiosity amuses him. He wraps the fingers of his left hand around the staircase reeling, head dropping with a delicate smile.

His hair hides his eyes, but you know they’re sparkling; voice a mild drizzle when he starts, “It’s…” He draws in, inked digits touching your elbow before moving up your arm absentmindedly. “Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing harmful at all.”

You wait. Let his thumb graze your neck, up to your chin.

He sighs, almost exasperated in a way. “You speak in your sleep, you know?”

Wait. What?

You blink, thoughts disoriented. The staircase is dimly lit, but you recognise the slight upward curve of his lips; more empathetic than teasing.

So you still do?

“Huh?” you make.

“I think you dreamed of waking up a couple times? You hadn’t, though, and it’d always be something about being alone again.”

Again.

The word reverberates through your mind, dragging and stretching. Didn’t you once read that a broken heart is akin to serious rehab, accompanied by withdrawal symptoms and slowly healing scars?

You guess your heart was hurting more than you already knew.

“Okay,” you say, nodding when he does, thumb lifting your head when you drop it. You swallow thickly. “What did I say exactly?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know anymore. Something about me leaving. And I was scared of waking you up while gone ‘cause you’d actually think I’d left.”

You hum. Allow yourself a moment to process the info; you seek out fragments of your dreams, but you draw a blank. You feel guilty about his concerns, yet relieved. Vulnerable. And somewhat reassured.

“I’m sorry,” you finally say.

Your voice is barely above a whisper — less because of the conversation. More because of the touch on your cheek. It’s soft against your skin, and you shiver. The flutter in your chest is only just bearable.

That’s the thing about falling in love. It’s sweet — so much sometimes that it twists your guts. You’re in so deep, you could hurl.

“Nah. You don’t need to worry about this anymore, okay?” he murmurs.

His eyes dig into yours. Dark and shiny through his healthy tresses, livelier than ever. Sincere.

You, on the other hand, must look unconvinced without intending to, because his mouth aligns with yours soon after.

He exhales, tilting his head, and says, “Look,” leans in, leaves a featherlight kiss against your cheek, right next to his thumb, “I mean it.”

Guess being with him comes with occasional mental blackouts. And regular arrhythmia. The palpitations behind your ribs are almost ridiculous; instead of gripping your own chest, you grasp his shirt immediately.

Lightly, as if you could collapse without this anchor.

He lets you pull him closer just a little, whispering as if someone could hear, “What’s wrong?”

Vulnerability hidden, you blink again, and joke, “Nothing. Just thought you were gonna kiss me.”

Jungkook smiles. His nose brushes against yours, toying a bit, and his bunny teeth make him look somewhat younger when he voices, “You want me to kiss you?”

“I always do.”

Your grin is playful, but your heart is pounding in your chest. Who would’ve thought the journey from a car to an apartment could be so long, so thrilling?

His snicker is gentle and canorous, knees careful against yours. Your heartbeat accelerates some more, rose-tinted lips opting towards their goal. You part your mouth, ready with a deep breath.

But the two of you are always subject to disturbances — so you’re disappointed but not surprised when you hear rushed steps on top of the staircase, strolling down and crossing your path just when Jungkook backs away.

The stranger passes by you with initial surprise in his eyes, not expecting you, but soon gets over it and drops his gaze again. And once he’s gone, Jungkook winks, a hand on your back pushing you forward gently.

“Later,” he says.

You know as you ascend the stairs.

Know that with the ease with which you handle your feelings for each other, you’ll strive towards a future where you won’t be haunted by dreams of being alone. Where you won’t fear his departure, and where his kisses won’t be interrupted by this cruel world.

The building reminds you of when you’d frequent the dorm you used to know. The walls and hallways are similarly built, narrow and somewhat cheap. They look like most buildings from the inside do, honestly, but you like the pleasant illusion the nostalgia brings.

Even the bathrooms are located near the end of the hallways; Jungkook once told you that Tae and Yoongi have their own kitchen, unlike him back when he still housed his dorm. But there’s a communal bathroom here, too; allegedly one reason why Tae moved out.

The only thing that separates this place from Jungkook’s old dorm is the subtle difference in scent. Not pure testosterone.

You smile.

The mood doesn’t match with what you felt back in June at all.

Back when you stomped to Jungkook’s dorm, furious about yet another insignificant issue, you didn’t think your fingers would ever be brushing his like they are now. Or when you escaped the rain and entered the building’s warmth, your umbrella leaving behind a trail of raindrops.

Your relationships, your priorities, your emotions. Your universe changed faster than the seasons.

As you walk past a random door, Jungkook cranes his neck, staring as if he could x-ray-glare a hole into it and glance at what lays behind it. Perhaps he’s thinking back, too.

You don’t know about all the things he experienced throughout the years there. Part of your heart stings because you remember you weren’t the only girl who ever frequented his place.

But you still left an impression — if the current status of your relationship isn’t proof of it, then the sudden touch along the back of your hand certainly is. A thumb following a vein blindly, opting to grasp your palm into his, yet retracting when you finally come to a stand.

The digit caressing your skin lifts to the door, and his knuckles knock three times, rhythmically. Your chest constricts as you jump back into the moment, probably half as nervous as you’d be if you met Jungkook’s parents.

A moment stretches as you wait for Yoongi to open, allowing yourself just another spiralling thought as you imagine actually daring a meeting with Jungkook’s parents. It’s too early to think about it, isn’t it?

It’s just.

Since yesterday, you’ve created a dozen different scenarios in your head, ranging from a civil, calm conversation with his father to a full snap. Half of you wants to know his genuine thoughts on his son’s sorrows; the other half wants to rage and then bolt away.

Ugh.

When the door swings open, your hand flashes to Jungkook’s. A startled instinct, even though nothing about the action was surprising or scary. But he doesn’t mind — of course he doesn’t.

His eyes rush to yours for a second, warm and somewhat thrilled, his smile permanent. And then he looks back at his friend, quietly squeezing your palm, the shy smile soft as he greets, “You’re walking without clutches, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t respond right away. He looks from Jungkook to you and back. His gaze isn’t very telling, but you find amusement in it. If you weren’t so ridiculously and inexplicably nervous about his upcoming statement, you’d laugh.

Intently, he grants a peek at your entwined hands, and when he looks at the two of you again, he starts…

Smiling.

Gummies all out, a tiny laugh thrown in between before he says, “Ohoho. You’re here, too?”

The smile turns into a sly grin, a hand clutching the frame of the door. You guess he’s not as balanced after all. Possibly just abandoned his clutches for the short way from the couch to the door.

“I can totally go,” you tell him, the teasing tone missing; soft and small instead.

“Why in the world would you?” Yoongi steps aside carefully, nodding the two of you inside. You oblige, hearing his voice behind you jest, “Now, would you look at that. Did I do that?”

Jungkook automatically drops on the chair at the tiny dining table, like he’s arrived home, and you follow; make yourself comfortable on the seat next to him. There are three chairs, as though carefully chosen for the pair of friends who used to live together and a guest.

Next to you, Jungkook huffs, leaning back as he watches his friend plop onto the chair in front of him, and asks, “How would you’ve done that?”

“Well, you guys gathered at the hospital because of me.”

Right. Good point.

If he just knew how that night played out. Actually, you think he just might, yet not quite aware of its severity.

“Not because of you,” Jungkook promises, “I just charmed her again.”

You laugh. So does Yoongi.

He isn’t irritated or taken aback by the younger’s boldness; in truth, he seems entertained. Arms crossed, eyes small and grin wide. He half mocks, “The young ones are charming for sure these days.”

“Spoken like a true Grandpa,” Jungkook remarks. You press your lips into a thin line, but with a faint smile. You only listen; you’re in the territory of two friends who spend their time roasting each other. You’re not on that level yet, so you observe. “But I had to.”

“You had to, huh?” you joke. Okay, observation broken. Your body tilts towards him. “You didn’t need any of your charm for… this. But still good to know.”

Because you would’ve been putty in his hands, no matter what — charm or not.

"Can confirm," Yoongi agrees, nodding towards his friend, "that he was also a proper mess the last couple weeks. Very out of character."

Your eyes roll to the side to catch a glimpse of him, but the moment you detect the rosy dust on Jungkook's cheeks, you avert your gaze immediately.

Admittedly, the guilt in the middle of your chest is undeniable. But there's comfort in knowing you were never the only half who was deeply, perpetually falling.

Yoongi scratches his temple, doesn't meet your eyes; possibly shy when it comes to conversations like these. But he sounds warm and gentle when he says, "I'm really glad you guys are back."

You’re similarly timid, feeling strange. As if someone’s congratulating you on a fresh marriage. Or maybe that’s just the emotion you want, need to feel.

You say, “Thanks.” And then, ever-so-terrible with compliments, add a little, “Let’s say it was you. Double thank you to the man of the hour.”

Yoongi pulls a grimace hitherto unseen; it doesn’t faze Jungkook, but the Joker-esque grin and wide-eyed nod have you bursting into laughter. His friends are pleasant, you think.

If there was a way to lure Jimin in and convince him of this group’s collective appeal, you wouldn’t hesitate. There’s only a limited time you want him to play the petty, protective friend.

“So, how have you been?” Jungkook eventually asks.

Yoongi rubs the corner of his eye, stretching his injured leg under the table, “Never better. The bank is surviving without me. Besides, I haven’t gotten around to making some music in a while.”

“Tae did tell me you were enjoying your days off.”

Jungkook reacts with a tiny chuckle, but your eyes widen. You let him finish his sentence, and then spit, “Wait, wait. You make music?”

“Oh, I mean… I’m not any good,” he explains, wiggling a hand, a little startled as if he forgot you didn’t know yet. “I just. Make a few beats every now and then and write my own bars and stuff.”

“Wait, rap?” You stare between the boys, to and fro, only a little offended that you didn’t know you had a brooding future musician in your midst. “Can I hea—”

“No.” The answer is immediate. You pout. “Before you ask, I am way too much of a coward.”

“He’s amazing,” Jungkook intrudes.

And you whine, “Unfair, Yoongi.”

He imitates your expression, leaning back, copying your stance, and answers in the same childlike tone, “Warm up to me first! I’ll show it to you one day.”

“One day I’m gon’st hear it,” you declare, overly dramatic with your chin up, “you have my taste in music, you know? I know I’ll like it.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“I can try.”

Yoongi blows a raspberry. You’re not sure what you expected; maybe subtle hostility. But the sense of casual camaraderie is refreshing; lounging comfortably in his living room was a picture far from your mind until now, and you think he enjoys the unforeseen gathering, too.

Because after a moment of stillness, a faint smile touches his lips, his voice back to normal and deep as he remarks, “It’s nice that you guys came. I get bored here a lot.”

Right. You kept wondering.

You don’t dive into the matter immediately, instead drenching your voice in a teasing lilt, “Even though Jimin visits you?”

“Shut up.” Mock exasperation rolls his eyes as Jungkook appreciates your joke, one foot pressing against yours under the table. “No. It’s just been lonely since Tae moved out. It’s a two people thing with two bedrooms.”

He shrugs his shoulders, attention fully on you. Jungkook either doesn’t have much to say or doesn’t want to interrupt. Only listens.

“Living here alone feels like I’m wasting space and money,” Yoongi finishes.

Curiosity piqued, you probe, “What did Tae say when he left?”

“He offered to let me move in with him. But that’d be pointless.”

“Why so?”

“He’s awesome for offering, but I think he wanted his own place, you know? Why would I intrude then? But I did tell him I’d look for another place.”

“Have you been?” you ask. You still remember how happy Taehyung looked last time you met him alone.

How he spoke so highly of a life on his own, gladly interrupted by the occasional visits Eun granted him. Yoongi, you think, would probably benefit from acquiring his own place, too — one that doesn’t remind him that someone left him behind, inhabiting a vacant space thought for two.

“Every now and then,” Yoongi admits. “Will think about it some more once my leg’s healed.”

You nod in understanding, a thoughtful hum escaping your lips. Yoongi soon leans forward, naked arms on top of the table, and delves into a discussion about the rising costs of rent.

He outlines the challenges of finding the right place in the bustling city, and explains his worries about the empty space in a too-large apartment. And you listen intently.

But as minutes pass, you can’t help but notice the contemplative silence Jungkook has fallen into.

It’s always the same with him — thoughts you can’t read, questions you need to postpone.

Because you do glance over at him, observe the distracted furrow of his brow, the distant look in his eyes. You understand he’s once again lost in unknown thoughts, and you sense how jumbled his mind must be.

But you still decide to hold off for the moment, out of respect for the ongoing conversation. You don’t focus on addressing his apparent preoccupation until it keeps going until later, way after you’ve bid Yoongi goodbye.

“Why do you seem so reserved?” you ask in the car, his home your new destination.

It must be around quarter past ten; you should still be able to meet Tae within half an hour. Yet, despite the brooding rush, you can’t help but wanna drag out the ride, finish this conversation.

“Hm?” he voices.

Did he not hear you? Maybe.

You sigh, seeking an available parking spot. You’ve already turned into his street, way past the park, halting close to his entrance. The engine dies, sudden silence inside the vehicle.

“Okay,” you turn towards him, forearm against the wheel. “You’re a lot less enthusiastic now. What’s up?”

He looks distracted. Drags his teeth over his full, pink lower lip hard enough for you to repeat, “Hey. What’s wrong?”

“Uh.” Cue big boba eyes flitting to you. “I was just. Thinking about something.”

“Wanna share?”

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm. I swear I’m not trying to be mysterious, just. Not sure how to phrase it.”

He’s easing himself into this whole thing. The entire opening up act and being fearless with his feelings. So you don’t push him, but encourage, “Try. If not now, then maybe later, though?”

“No, no. Now is fine.” He frees his eyes off the dark bangs when he shakes his head a little, preparing to voice his hidden thoughts. Then, he breathes, “Yeah, so…”

One more second.

And.

“What if you dropped your plans of moving into that apartment?”

Oh. What?

Does he mean what you think he means…

There are only two options, right? And you choose to go with the one that would embarrass you less if it turned out wrong.

“Should I… do you think I should stay with my family?” you ask, your voice cautious.

But when his hands shoot up, immediately denying your assumption with round eyes, you breathe out through your nose. Relieved when he clarifies, “No, not at all. I mean, it’s up to you, but that’s not what I meant.”

So then…

“So you’re saying—”

He interrupts, rushing before he can back down, “Move in with me. And Yoongi could take the apartment you were considering.”

Fuck.

You didn’t expect your heart to jump up to your throat like that. It’s a day full of brief heart failures. You barely know how to react anymore.

You stare. Then stare a bit more. And eventually, you simply ask, “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He gulps, averting your gaze all of a sudden before it lands back on yours. You chuckle quietly, unprompted, and it boosts his confidence. “You stayed at mine for days and it worked. It could… you know— keep working.”

The suggestion lingers like a fresh breeze, grazing your cheeks and twirling around you like a soothing force. He beams — though subtle, he seems to interpret the simultaneous rise of your eyebrows and your lips immediately.

Still, he inquires, “I don’t know… too soon?”

Technically yes. But then again, no. Because he’s right — you’ve already experienced a piece of heaven, tasted the bliss of domesticity with Jeon Jungkook.

“You really are serious about this, yeah?”

“Only if you want me to be,” he counters, less tense than before, but a hand rubbing in nervous circles over his knee, “if not, then I was absolutely joking.”

An awkward, little chortle fills the small space of the car; you shake your head, teeth out and smile bright. There’s sweetness in knowing that his affection is real. That the thought of shared future pains, joys and days — that it’s all actually become so unbelievably real.

The car is cool in the shadow, but you feel a strange heat coursing through your body. At the end of the street, you see the sunlight brighten the moment he laughs. Fitting.

The crinkly eye smile softens when he reaches for your hand, pulling it off the wheel and wrapping it in his. There’s an automatic reaction in your chest, a constant racing when he says, “I mean it, though.”

Brief pause. He looks down to your fingers.

“I think I got used to having you there. And then, at Yoongi’s I had this… I don’t know, overwhelming urge to tell you. That,” his teeth worry his lip, releasing it softly, “I want you next to me for as long as possible.”

You understand.

He means every minute that society and norms don’t force you out of the house. At nights and in the mornings, on off days and holidays. To fall asleep next to his presence, to wake up on the same mattress, too.

And the longing is undeniable; you know that it is. But you’re already swamped with decisions as it is — could you call off the apartment right here, right now? Rethink all you discussed with the landlord, Taehyung or yourself?

Life decisions are harder than that, and despite all the wants infiltrating your body, you can’t dive into this without a couple more following thoughts.

You keep gazing into his smouldering eyes, more intense when he looks up. Let their effect send a thrill down your spin, a surge of yearning through your veins.

And then, you acknowledge the need for prudence. You savour the moment, let the anticipation built, and flash a sultry smile to ensure that, yes, if not now, then one damn day, I’ll be yours entirely.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything to work more than this,” you admit, “but I need to—”

You halt. Words come hard to you these days; and the two of you are sensitive. It’s not easy to reunite after weeks of overthinking and distance; and you don’t want to provide more reasons to overthink.

But you forget that as sensitive as Jungkook is, he’s just as understanding and gentle, too.

Because he says, “You need to think. And I know you can’t just pack your things and move over, I just— I wanted it out there.”

“I know. I know.”

“And I,” he continues, “I actually thought you were gonna say no right away since you’re getting out of your childhood home just now, so naturally, you would wanna be alone for a while and—”

You lean forward, pulling your hands out of his grip. His eyes shoot down, baffled and confused, but you don’t give him a second to think or speak. In a moment’s notice, his cheeks are squished between your palms, his bunny face now akin to a duck.

“I don’t want to be alone. I’ve been alone all my life,” you tell him; Jungkook eyebrows furrow in empathy and worry, but you smile, “I don’t wanna be anymore.”

His expression and voice are dorky when he speaks, first words incomprehensible. You let go, watching the red splotches on his cheek, and he repeats, “Is that a yes?”

“It’s… I don’t know. A to be continued.”

“I’ll live with that.”

You don’t know if it’s the electrifying prospect of a life together or the confidence he follows his statement up with, but the insanity burns wild in your head. Untamed and dizzying.

“And I’ll wait for however long.”

“I didn’t even ask, I’m sorry… but are you starting work later today?”

You stand in the middle of Taehyung’s living room, a hand over your eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. He’s busy piling the saucers and the cups, and you wait as he drags a vocal in thought.

“No, no. I’m off today.” He stands, and you automatically walk the short distance to the kitchen, lingering at the door frame. “Need the afternoon for an appointment at the doc. So yeah.”

“Oh. Everything okay?”

He doesn’t speak yet, dishes in the wash basin too loud. They clink and rattle; the moment you’ll move to an apartment by yourself, you’ll have to wash them yourself, too.

Maybe you can make your place as aesthetically pleasing and beige as Taehyung did. You don’t know — you couldn’t imagine much today nor discuss further details about the contract and rent and general house rules.

The landlord bailed on you last second. And Taehyung sacrificed over an hour that he could’ve spent keeping Eun company between her morning lessons.

You apologised the second you entered his apartment instead, thankful for the invitation to tea, yet harbouring guilt for wasting his time. But Taehyung proved incredibly kind, waving off your concerns immediately.

He asked, playfully offended, “So you’re saying a tea party with me is a waste of time?” And then he laughed, immediately shaking his head, “Nah. It’s fine. Am glad someone finally prefers tea over coffee, too.”

So now you’re here.

“Yeah, just a check up,” Taehyung answers, “vamps drew my blood and will tell me today if it’s good or not.”

“Interesting way to refer to doctors,” you admit, backing away when he leads you to the exit. You need to be at work in forty minutes tops. “Good then.”

He hands you your blazer, silent for a moment before he says, “Talking about feeling unwell.” You look up, arm halfway through the blazer’s sleeve. “What were you doing getting shitfaced like that?”

“Uhm…”

Word travels fast. Your cheeks heat up, fingers curling into fists. You smack your lips, letting out a tiny laugh, and ask, “Eun told you, huh?”

“Mhm. Scolded her for taking you to the bar and leaving you alone.”

You sigh.

You should’ve guessed that she’d tattle. And of course you might appear like the helpless, heartbroken girl, seeking comfort in alcohol, dark clubs and blue neon lights. It’s a little embarrassing, actually.

“Kook was there, though,” you defend.

“I know. I called when he was still at your place.”

Huh? What else did he do when you were asleep? Painted a Louvre-ripe masterpiece, probably.

Taehyung decodes the dozen questions in your stare, tumbling until his back leans against the wall. He explains, “We just talked for a sec. He sounded worried, so I didn’t prod too much. Just don’t do these things anymore, okay?”

Huh…

You can imagine it well. Partly because you remember the way he looked at you that night: distressed beyond belief, giving you soft orders, insisting on help everywhere — the car, the shower, the bed.

But also because you know him.

And you don’t think you needed to see him in those very moments to know he must’ve brushed through his silky hair. Must’ve looked through your room, gaze stopping over your sleeping figure.

Voice strained on the phone, yawning, shaking his head because he must have been a little mad at you, but comforted that you were resting, too.

You remember the tone of his voice, soft as a piano tune but saddened nonetheless.

”What did you drink? You’re… in such a bad state.”

You shake the words off. God, he was there for you more than you’ll ever know.

You say, “That’s nice, though, Tae… I didn’t think you’d ever get so worried about me.”

“Hey. You’re still my friend,” he promises.

He’s possibly been the only person throughout this entire ordeal to not be pissed at you or annoyed by you. You never doubted that he still liked you.

“I might not know you inside out like Eun or Jungkook do, but you’re part of this group. So naturally, you’re important, too.”

You push your hands into the pockets of the blazer, gripping the car keys inside. Bashfully, you smile. His sincerity pumps warmth through you; it’s crazy how good belonging somewhere, to someone, can actually feel.

It’s refreshing. New.

“Wow,” you murmur, shuffling your feet, “thank you.”

“You’re glowing, you know. That’s nice.”

“Am I?”

He nods. “I can’t wait to see him glow either. A couple weeks were a couple too long.”

Those couple weeks felt like someone ripped out the hands of time, keeping them from moving. Your brain aged faster in that time, deep in a bottomless abyss. You don’t want to experience it again.

And you don’t want to imagine Jungkook in the same pit again. Looking for you, but bumping against walls, painted with his past that made him stumble back instead of pulling him forwards.

Your eyes trail down the hallway, looking at the small paintings and decorations on the wall. You take in the furniture, inhale the pleasant colours. Imagine his living room in its entirety, the sunlight seeping through the windows. Curtains pushed aside.

Your apartment could be like this, too.

But.

“Tae,” you begin. You wrap your fingers around your rattling car key; lick your lips. “Do you think I’d like it here?”

“Hmmm,” he voices, gazing down as if he could look past the parquet floor and to where your potential apartment stands nearly empty. “Yeah. I mean, I like to think so, because I’m very happy here.”

He stops abruptly, the tone of the last syllable not matching a sentence’s end. You wait as he smiles a little, creating a thought, “But you could be happy somewhere else, too. Happier even.”

His words hang in the air, a sense of both possibility and uncertainty tangible. You were wanting to venture into this new chapter of your life with hope, but also with trepidation.

Suburban areas are nice, but you opted for the heart of the city — the vibrant tapestry of dreams and opportunities. You didn’t expect the journey to be fraught with sudden doubts.

The best thing, however, is that doubts and dilemmas never seemed this… tempting.

You tell him, “There’s always a place that makes people happier, for everyone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice tinged with wisdom. “Only, some people already know of it, and some keep searching for it.”

“And I am—”

You pause, anticipating for him to finish the sentence; he responds, “You gotta know.” There’s a playful twinkle in his eyes, support and acknowledgment hiding right behind — matching his words, “I’d be bummed if you didn’t become my neighbour, but. Also just happy you guys are happy.”

Too kind for this world.

In your endearment, you laugh, suddenly stepping forward for a brief, thankful hug. A silent gesture of gratitude for his friendship, no matter how shallow or new.

The people you surround yourself with offer endless reassurance, and you’re lacking the words to express your appreciation.

“Thank you, Tae. Eun’s right when she praises your constant respect for other people, you know?”

Taehyung, maybe a little perplexed, brings a hand to your back, patting gently as he states, “No worries. The worst is over.”

You hope so. God, you genuinely hope so.

You pull back, tucking your hair behind your ear and bid him goodbye with one last nod. Taehyung closes the door behind you with a humorous thumbs up, and you grin before it’s silent in the hallway again.

There’s a tiny window outside, overlooking the street down there and the cars flitting by. The area isn’t as peaceful as Jungkook’s — more lively and noisy. You can see the city’s river if you look far enough.

And as you step closer to the glass, you envision your own apartment again. You imagine the soft glow of the lamp before you go to sleep. The comfortable couch you want to plant in the back of the living room, curling up with work or your laptop or a cup of hot chocolate.

You picture the view of the city as you step to your open window, glancing out as the steam of your beverage swirls in the evening air. Contemplating the world outside.

But then you start rethinking Jungkook’s words, too. The idea of belonging and happiness, of domesticity and what could be.

And at last, you visualise what it’d be like if you didn’t see any of this — the lively street, the river in the distance. Wonder how you’d feel if the horizon looked different.

If you stared out and saw a different canvas instead.

The changes in your life are drastic in some way, but Jungkook always stays the same.

Your house lies quiet most of the time; as days pass, you frequent your room, then drop by in the living room, greeting the staff, grabbing dinner and retracting back to your beloved bed.

Jungkook’s apartment, baby-sized compared to your place, allows a much livelier atmosphere. Maybe because you don’t need to yell for him to hear you from another room. Or maybe because it’s just the two of you.

Perhaps even because you find solace in the couch, in the smaller smart TV in front of it, the glass table, the carpet, the homely furniture in general. The scent reminds you of wood, but you connect it with him, too.

It’s different from the room you grew up in. Different from the luxurious chimney and marble you’ve seen all your life. And you must admit that you enjoy it a lot more, too.

One of the few reasons why your mood changes from exhausted to merry the moment you knock at his door on Thursday. He was expecting you, because when he opens, he beckons you inside immediately, pulling you in and planting a generous kiss on your cheek.

A smooching sound accompanies it, his foot closing the door as he suggests, “Dinner first or TV?”

“Shoes.” You laugh. You slip out of your thin jacket before tackling your snickers quickly, your clothes suddenly itchy and uncomfortable. “Shoes first, and then shower? Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.”

It’s not the first time that you’d be doing it. But there’s still something new and pure about this new chapter of your life; one that comes with polite questions and reinventing reality, apparently.

Redrafting life as you knew it and striving towards something better.

“I knew it, actually,” he says, forefinger wiggling, “I put a fresh towel on the washing machine. Also had a handful of your shirts here, so there’s one of those on the towel, too. And my joggers… Sorry, you left none of those, uhm—”

He’s started walking ahead, scratching behind his ear, but when he notices you not following, he looks over his shoulder. Blinks at you, staring into his living room and back, innocent voice unsure, “Come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just— you didn’t have t—”

“I know,” he interrupts, breathing a sigh in faux frustration, “I know I never have to. But I figured you’d wanna shower.”

“…Thank you, Kook.”

You wish you could say more; express your gratitude the way you want to. At least your body is jubilating, craving the hot steam of the shower. Starving further for some peace when you step into the bathroom and detect the neatly placed clothing.

Jungkook halts at the door, gripping its frame, a little shy as if you didn’t breathe each other in for the last couple of weeks and months. He’s looking at you, waiting for something, and when you raise an eyebrow in curiosity, he snaps out of whatever daydream he was in.

“Oh. Right,” he mumbles, cheeks flushed, “sorry. I’ll leave. Can heat up the food. Or, or do you wanna order in?”

“Anything’s fine.” He nods. Opts to walk away, big hand flattening his hair at the back. It takes a moment for your heart to riot as you watch him leave, immediately babbling, “Actually. I was—”

Returning within a moment, he looks alarmed. Less so when you point a thumb to the shower and suggest, “Do you wanna join?”

“You in the shower?”

No, doofus. Join to watch the washing machine unsoil your sweaty clothes.

You clear your throat. “Yeah?”

“I uhm… Is that okay?”

Goddamn. Redrafting life as you knew it, you said.

You just didn’t expect the two of you to still tip-toe around each other. Seems you still have a lot of adjusting to do.

You try to break the ice.

“Acting like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“No, I know,” he responds, “I was just thinking that you…”

You can’t quite decrypt what he’s trying to say, but you do perceive the flash of concern in his eyes. It’s a tiny glimpse, barely there; but you see it. And you think about it.

Try to understand, let moments pass — until you’ve grasped his thinking.

The night he helped you clean up was the last time you stood under a showerhead together; maybe he thinks you’re still connecting it to the night’s trauma or borderline dangerous intoxication. And perhaps you’re wrong.

But you still take a breath, and then segue, “Already took a shower, didn’t you?”

You know he did. He’s addicted to cleanliness, sensitive to scents; he hoards diffusers, skin care products and new underwear like a treasure. And showering is always the first thing he goes for, a beeline to the bathroom after work out sessions and intense summer days.

You follow up with, “It’s okay, if you did. I’ll just go alone and hurry to dinner, then?”

“No, no… No, it’s fine.” He starts his sentence fast, but slows down halfway through, awkwardly. “Of course I can join. What’s some extra refreshment, right?”

“That’s the reason, huh?” you mock, laughing when he shrugs his shoulder. “Keep acting like you’re not the biggest simp around.”

Your confidence boosts his own, too. The signature smile is soft, lips curved gorgeously, but the subtone of his words is teasing, and even a little cocky.

“Of course. I know, I know.”

“Come then.”

You offer a stretched hand, curling your fingers in and outwards, and he places his warm palm into it like a key to a lock. Albeit tense and nervous, your body feels good next to his. The telltale awkward signs of a new relationship don’t deter you from indulging in its sweetness.

So you’re not surprised at how quickly you undress, throwing each other’s clothes at the back of the washing machine and planting kisses whenever one of you bares their shoulder. Eyeing each other from bottom to top.

You think you ogle for a moment too long, though — and how could you not with the freaking silver chain dangling from his neck?

An exciting evening lies ahead, you can already tell.

It’s fresher now outside, and all of Jungkook’s windows are open. Despite the cosiness of the bathroom, you rush under the hot shower stream.

Only, it’s not as boiling as you’d like it to be. Jungkook starts and finishes his showers ice cold, so you screech when you meet water from the Antarctic. You jump on your spot, arms around your torso.

And when you allow yourself one single glance at him amidst the breathlessness, you notice that the asshole is doing it on purpose. Same old. Rouses core memories.

Jungkook wipes over your hair and your face, drenching them thoroughly. You only realise he’s smudged your mascara when he starts rubbing underneath your eyes gently, managing to get some of it off.

“Fuck,” you curse, “I forgot about that. Should I take it off first?”

The intention is to slip out, use one of his cleansing skin products and get the mess out of your face before stepping back to him. But you don’t make it far anyway; he yanks you back before your foot can even touch the mat.

And then, the moment passes in a blur.

Tense body back against his, he tugs you close. Holds both your wrists in front of your breasts, leaning in without a warning, and then — connects his dripping lips with yours.

If there was any space to gasp, you would. Instead, your fingers instantly dig into your hand, sharp nails scarring the skin. You move your fists, trying to touch him, but he holds you in place firmly.

That is, until his digits relax, trailing up your shoulder to your neck, jaw and then to your cheeks. Face in your grip, you let him control the pace. You find an anchor in his bicep, holding on; kissing isn’t enough.

You wish he could eat you up. Wish the tongue finally touching yours, swirling around it, was everywhere on your skin at once.

You feel a slight twitch underneath, right against your body; ready to devour, hopefully soon to explode. But Jungkook gasps for air when his lungs give out, allowing a break, backing away with your face still between his hands.

And then, he utters something surprising — something you didn’t expect in the heat of the moment at all.

“I was meaning to tell you something.”

“…Oh?”

“I’m uh. I’ve been meaning to tell you for days. I just never quite got around to it and we were so busy and tired all the time and—”

“What is it?” you break in, heart pounding at an unnatural speed. “I’m here now, so…?”

For a second, you expect this to take a whole different turn.

The database in your brain empties the moment you scour it for an answer, preparing yourself for molten knees and dissolving hearts. Or maybe, it’s already clarifying to liquid, jumping out of your chest and flowing down the drain along with the water.

But he doesn’t say what you anticipate. Though, what he does admit has your nerves glowing neon white anyway.

“So— the first night of my showcase. On my birthday?” he starts. You feel the muscles of your face change, and he sees it, immediately assuring, “No, no. Don’t worry. I was just gonna say that a guy came to me by the end of it? And—”

He lets all of it sound like an unsure question. But you think you know where it’s going — you hold your breath under the already suffocating water.

“And?” you prod.

“And turned out Namjoon invited him, and he’s kiiiinda a big shot in the art business? Like, he’s a gallery collector, he said. He’d invest in my art and acquire it and have it showcased in bigger museums for more recogni— I know!”

Your mouth and eyes opened halfway through his quick explanation, fingers back in fists, pressing against his solid chest and then moving up to hook in his silver chain. You’re restless in the congested space, suppressing the high pitched sounds.

He puts his hands on your hips, snickering in joy as he says, “Be careful before you slip.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Thankfully I’m not, angel,” he shakes his head, bangs sticking to his forehead, “not this time, at least.”

You raise a hand to his pec, tapping against it, “Wait. So just so I understood correctly — they’re gonna put up your stuff there for an even bigger audience to see, yeah?”

“I mean, the gallery is definitely far bigger than the exhibition I participated in.”

“Oh my god, Jungkook, the exhibition already had a shit ton of visitors!”

He nods, proving a point.

You feel an electric current in your blood. Pride, that’s what it’s called, too. You sling your arms around his neck recklessly, nearly falling, but you can’t be bothered as you exclaim, “This is so— I don’t even know how to react, Kook!”

And who could convince a big-shot art connoisseur so quickly after graduation anyway? Jungkook’s god given talents are never praised for nothing — you knew it. Fucking knew it.

Won’t make it anywhere, your ass.

“That’s so fucking awesome.” You stare, out of breath all of a sudden. God, if there was a way to express your delight. “When is it happening? Are you selling the one you showcased?”

“I don’t know yet. And no. That’s too… personal to me.” You blink, nodding. Still overwhelmed with how his pieces made you feel — of course they’d hit even harder for the artist himself. “He wants something in a similar style, though. I’ll make something new for him.”

“What’s it gonna be?”

It’s a simple question. You swear it’s nothing too deep.

But Jungkook’s gaze changes. An amused, delighted expression replaces a neutral one, head tilting to the side just a little. His lips, already slightly swollen from the kiss, move up, eyes kind and sugary.

If you only knew how your small details affect him, too. How you looking at him like this, expectant eyes split wide, innocent and gentle, shoots an arrow to his heart.

You just don’t know.

He brushes the hair sticking to your cheek back and tells you, “You’ll see. I’ve been working on it these days, but. Will show it to you when it’s done.”

You can’t even be mad. If it was up to you, you’d probably wait for the big day, too — can’t spoil the surprise, need to cry tears of pride and joy in public.

So all you say, deep from the heart, is, “You’re the fucking coolest person I know.”

“Nah—”

“The coolest.”

“Funny,” he retorts, as bad at compliments as you; throws them back like a boomerang, “thought the same when I met you at the party last year.”

“…Gross.” That’s what you say. But you still shake your head; overwhelmed, smile plastered to your face and cheeks hurting. “God, Kook.”

And that’s all.

You keep holding his stare, finally too tired of the distance to endure any longer — and then lean in. You stop a couple inches away, watch his head angle more, mouth steering towards yours. The smile is mutual, fingers seeking a spot to settle on on each other’s bodies.

Your heart monitor would be wilding right now — the effect of your lips meeting clear as day behind your ribs. And this time, you don’t stop.

The push against his chest is immediate, his feet slowly tumbling backwards. His tongue burns hot against yours, your lower lip fitting perfectly in the gap between his lips. There’s a sharp hiss when his back finally touches the tiles, mouth open but not leaving yours.

Teeth soon clash, and you opt for more of his taste, well aware that you just cannot kiss more than you already are. His hands move up and down, never settling, both your lips harsh and impatient. Your tongues keep moving in patterns, thirst never quenched.

You break the kiss solely for oxygen purposes, but he uses the moment to let his palm wander from your face to your hair, grabbing a patch. One hand pushes against the small of your back, though soon dropping to your ass, fingers between your ass cheeks, teasing the clenching hole.

Fuck.

The moan isn’t intended, but very welcome — you love the sound of it as much as he does, followed by his own. An automatic reaction. His hips indulge in the tiniest movements, length jerking against your body; no more than an inch of his fingertip pushing into your ass.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you breathe, eyebrows furrowing, mewling against the corner of his lips. “More, now, please.”

It’s an attempt. Of course he won’t act that fast — you know him well enough. He’s been a soft gentleman often enough; but after holding back the past few days, missing it for weeks, you know it won't be easy on him either.

One of you will be on the brink of tears soon; until now, it’s usually been you.

You take a deep breath, agitated when he laughs. He retracts his hand, smoothing back his chaotic mane before leaning in for another peck. And that’s all it remains — interrupted immediately, saliva mixing with the shower water.

“I’m so fucking crazy for you,” he confesses; the shiver doesn’t hesitate crawling down your spine — neither does Jungkook, peppering your neck with kisses.

His actions are smooth — you let him do anything. Like, explore every little spot of your skin. From the softness of your face, down to the flesh of your ass, echoing hard when a flat hand slaps it out of nowhere.

You propel forwards, barely aware of your surroundings. The shower raining onto you is the only indicator of where you still are.

So when he turns you carefully, 180 until your back touches the tiles, you don’t realise his intentions for a moment. Only when he changes his approach, digging your shoulders hard into the wall, knocking you out of breath.

“Are you trying to—” you ask, but he interjects right away.

“Don’t question it this time, okay?” His face inches close again, teeth suddenly pulling and nibbling at your lip. “Just let us do. Lemme do, yeah?”

His chest presses against your tits before he backs away and palms your mounds, squeezing nearly painfully.

For only a heartbeat, though — he doesn’t stall further. Because another second passes before you’re turned in his grip, chest not touching his anymore, but the wall now. From behind you, he grasps your hips, dragging you back just a couple inches; enough to sneak his hand through.

“But whenever things get too much, you…”

You nod. Promise, “Will tell you. I will.”

“Good.” His cock pokes between your ass, and he spreads its cheeks. Lets the hardness rest between them, sliding up and down. “Gonna make you feel so good, though. Wanna make you feel so fucking good.”

Wow… wow, f—

Not that you were ever interested in it before, but…

Part of you wants him to shove it in anywhere. Wherever the fuck he wants. You’d endure all hour-long foreplay and pleas and tears for him.

And perhaps he’s thinking the same. Perhaps you even spoke it out loud — you wouldn’t be surprised if you did. But you choke on your spit when he says, “Missing the sex toys. Like… What do you think of new ones, hm? Someday, maybe. Like— like an anal pl—”

“Please,” you beg, “I’ll do fucking anything for you.”

Break in conversation. Then, “Holy shit.” He chuckles. Fuck — his voice is deeper now, isn’t it? “You’re being whiny. I thought you’re a badass business woman, but you’re so whiny.”

“Because— I can breathe when I work.”

“Ohh. And now,” he whispers, close to your ear, hand moving. Up and further up, stopping around your throat, as if he’s testing your statement. As if he could tell him anything about the state of your lungs. “Now we’re not as focused, right?”

“No thinking when I suck your dick.”

“Dammit. Really don’t wanna wait to fuck you numb.”

You’re shamelessly jittery, patience out the window. “Don’t then. Get to it now.”

“Nope. I know you’re not ready yet. And I’m not either… so—”

He steps closer, forcing your body further forward until your cheek is squished against the wall. His fingers leave your throat to find another target; something far more south, a lot more dangerous.

One small circle drawn around your clit, you gasp, hearing him ask, “You think you can come with just my fingers?”

“I don’t know. I honestly think I need—”

He chuckles, and you can’t help but laugh, too. You’re hilarious sometimes.

“You think you’re so smart. But we can still try, though.” He says it casually, as if the two of you don’t exactly know that he’s perfectly capable of pulling through. But his voice still softens when you don’t answer, “Hey. You wanna try, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Anything,” you convince him, “anything, Kook.”

“Good girl. The best, always.”

His touch vanishes. You let out a mildly confused sound, observing with an unfocused vision how he opens the shower door a little. He reaches for the towel on the washing machine, drying his fingers, other hand moving the shower head until it’s mostly wetting his own back.

It’s a tiny detail, really. You only told him once how action around the clit might become uncomfortable with hands priorly washed or wet, and it seems he remembered.

Your eyes shut when he returns to your bundle of nerves, massaging gently, skilled. It starts slow at first; you feel the hot wetness build in and around your entrance, the line between the shower water and your arousal fading.

Jungkook’s movements, calculated and systematic, only spur your body on. He’s always known what he’s doing; has analysed and explored what you want. How you want it.

It’s true heaven to you: the way he kisses your cheek. The way he draws moans out of you, the motions around your swollen bud rhythmic. Your back and limbs tingle; you don’t know what to do with yourself.

And when you can’t stand still anymore, Jungkook orders, “Stop that. You’ll break my jaw.”

“Sorry.”

Your apology is timid, tiny; he laughs. “You cutie… you’re adorable even in moments like these.”

You throw your head against his shoulder as if to oppose him, opening your eyes, looking straight into his eyes. Your eyebrows are kissing, tension between them, mouth agape.

And he adds, “Or maybe not.”

He lifts you up a bit, dragging your body along the wall — you didn’t even notice that you slid down this much, angled, ass darting out like this. But you also don’t mind the arm that rounds your torso, just underneath your tits, keeping you steady when he takes it up a notch and—

“Oh my god,” you squeak when he pushes two fingers in. “Yes, yes, please—”

The incoherent, random requests are his favourite. Most of the time, he knows better than you what you’re pleading for. Which is why he doesn’t stop this time; probably more in the mood to please you than tease you.

From this position, he can’t reach knuckles deep, but just enough to brush the walnutty spot inside. And to your surprise, the orgasm builds up fast; the first quiver takes over your knees, but you understand that this is nothing compared to what’s to come.

You press your hands to the wall, holding onto remnants of your sanity when he kisses your neck, and along your damp shoulders. His mouth is hot against your pulse, wet hair tickling under your jaw. He bites lightly; soothes the fleeting sting with his tongue. Vampiristic.

Like a sensual massage, well thought out, pornographic.

And then he picks up on pace. Whispers, “That’s right— we got this—”

He starts pumping into you; relishes your incomprehensible curses. The thumb over your clit and the impatience of his fingers inside are a dichotomy, and you don’t know what to focus on. Which is why you stop thinking altogether.

Jungkook takes a sharp breath, quiet whistling sounds included, and then groans into your ear when you do. He keeps his motions up diligently, fingers a bit deeper with each time your ass moves back an inch.

As an aid, he shifts his arm, too, pushing forward, palm pressing against your clit now.

And when you come, you melt. Nearly collapsing, you keep moving, on edge, every spot of your body in tremor. You can barely breathe; you’ve been nestled in the heat of the shower for way too long.

He notices your tremble in an instant, encourages, “Got it. Got you. Keep going, baby, c’mon.”

The peak is blissful; you don’t want to ever fall off the edge again. Want to remain in this starry, gorgeous ache. Your eyes could stay in the back of your head; the world may keep fading. And you don’t need to know where you are.

All you know is that your voice sounds odd, high when you pant, “Don’t go away yet.”

“I’m right here. Right here, got you,” he repeats, holding you upright.

Jungkook knows — knows how to get you from lowest lows to your highest highs. Today was as pleasant as a day at work can be; but if he’s ready to do all this to you on any other, worse day, too, you might never encounter grief again.

He scatters kisses all over your jaw when you’re done — busies himself as you catch your breath, swallowing, eyes closed. Once you’ve caught yourself enough to utter fragments of sentences at least, you tell him, “Something not human about you, Jeon.”

“Oh. Are we back to surnames now?” He cackles, soothing motions along your arms. “Are we gonna shake hands, too, once we’re done? Bow and say thank you?”

You shake your head, though the stupid smile doesn’t wait to spread on your face.

“You’re dumb,” you say.

“You make me dumb.”

He drops his touch, brushing your pussy again — maybe as a test. But you’re sensitive and vulnerable, closing your legs and opening your mouth in response. He’s sly; uses the moment to push two fingers in right away, pressing your tongue down.

And you, as challenge-accepting as ever, start sucking, tasting some of yourself. You wrap your hand around his, moving your head, chest still heaving from the exhaustion. Your eyes close slowly enough for him to see them roll back, a reaction to the images your brain creates.

Like, the thought of the member currently poking you replacing those digits. The prospect of emptying him entirely.

“Fuuuuck— wish my brain could take a picture of this and save it forever,” he says, voice strained.

You open your mouth, licking a strip along his finger, past the tattoo. “What’d you do with it?”

“Would… would bring it to the forefront of my mind,” Jungkook begins, reclaiming his hand and dragging it down to your waist, “and use it whenever you’re away.”

“Hmmm… and then?”

“Would just…”

He doesn’t continue. Only shakes his head, lifting his shoulders, stance desperate and wanting; maybe he’s even a little out of his mind.

You egg him on, “Show me if you can’t say it.”

It’s a surprise that he obliges, but then again, it’s not. You always forget just how weak he is — that his heart sits right there in your palms, his body a magnet to yours.

So you’re endlessly pleased when your eyes flit down to a hand around his dick. Stroking slowly, its head hard against your pelvis. And you manage to watch a tiny second longer until the floor beckons you towards it, down to your knees.

It’s uncomfortable immediately; slick and odd. But you’re distracted by your dry tongue, thirsting, ridiculously hypnotised by the cock dangling in front of you. And then his thighs… muscular and thick. You reach out to them, holding them, steering forwards.

Despite his delicate frailty, you don’t fare any better. Ready to bruise your knees like an obedient doll, eyes wide when you look up at him. You grip him softly, urging him to remove his hand, stroking in his stead.

You pass all pleasantries and hesitations, and dive in immediately — leading your mouth to the tip before wrapping your lips around it delicately. Determined, you let only a second pass, eager as you start moving right away.

Bobbing your head, you take him in as much as your gag reflex allows. He’s too big — it’s impossible to ever swallow him fully. But no matter how greedy you are, that’s it.

You don’t give into it all the way just yet.

Instead, you back away after another lick. Straighten your body, drawing in and repositioning until you can push your tits together around the stiffness.

His groan tumbles out of him broken, choked, a hand against the wall. His abs are rippling, bicep bulged, nipples tiny and perked. Dark brown. Eyes hazy.

You want to do so many fucking things to him — want to mount him. Pull his head back by his long strands. Want, need to kiss him, rub yourself on him, back and forth along his cock until his moans become uncontrolled. Sticky white cum sprayed over his tummy.

Your nails in your skin, yearning for more — that’s one of your billion thoughts.

Instead, you summarise your wants, whispering a single, simple, fucked out, “I…” You gulp down the knot. Shiver at your position, craving the hot water a little now. Then command, “Fuck my mouth.”

His eyes threaten to fall out of his head; like they always do. He knows it’s a constant reaction, too, it seems, because, “God. I’ll never get used to you saying this.”

“You better, though.”

“Right. Right…”

He caresses your face, pushes your hair back. Perhaps he’s had enough of the pace; because he soon reaches for your arms, compliant deer kicked out of his head as he forces your wrists up and crosses them against the wall.

One hand is all he needs to hold them in their place. One hand gripping them hard, disabling any movement of your arms.

You let out a strange, obscene sound, finding utter liking in this gesture.

But despite your pleasure, he still eases you into the process, the heart tattoo grazing your cheek. A touch so soft that you think he’s praising you, wordlessly and gently. Making sure you’re absolutely okay with whatever he does to you.

And you confirm it with another blink, stretching out your tongue, ready. Holding his gaze. Mesmerised and frustrated, he says, “You’ll kill me with the way you look at me.”

Jungkook fuels your confidence with vigour each time, eloquent through scorching heat, too. Because you don’t think you’ve ever smiled this self-assured before you knew him; or been certain about your power over others.

You used to be far more insecure than that, feigning ignorance and carelessness, but reevaluating your decisions every step of the way. Months ago, you could’ve never predicted such a shift in conviction towards yourself.

So it’s new to you, but invigorating at the same time, the grin you sport, the words you utter, “Killing you isn’t my intention,” when he doesn’t, you move your head towards the leaking head of his cock, awaiting destruction, “wanna make you feel more alive than ever.”

The breath tumbling out of his mouth is ragged, pinky finger twitching a tiny bit when you wrap your lips around the tip and then let it go with a plop again; like it’s a lollipop to you.

Your knees move closer to his feet, and he stretches his one hand to your shoulder, making sure you don’t get hurt on the slippery ground. But you’re far too distracted to appreciate the gesture just yet, even though you feel the faint tickling along your limbs.

“I got it,” Jungkook then says, back in charge, hands back on the protruding, thick veins.

He moves his hips forward, testing. You roll out your tongue once more, closing your eyes. Try to make more room in your mouth, despite knowing it’s a thing of impossibility. And to your chagrin, it takes only a few more seconds for you to be full already.

Taking in as much as your throat allows, you gag when you reach your limit, letting out a tiny cough, salivating. You still can’t move your arms; his fingers are like chains around your wrists.

“That enough?” he asks. “I’ll stop here, okay?”

You nod. Wait. When he doesn’t move, you start pulling back, and then push forward again immediately. Your tongue is drenched in absolute filth; the spit trails down your chin, and you wish it was his.

But that’s not the point of it all — you’re not supposed to comfortably bop your head back and forth, are you? Despite the daily softness between the two of you, you want to be used. Want all his greed.

And he knows. Asks, “What do you need?”

Of course you can’t speak. He’s aware of that; stares down at you as you breathe heavily around him, mouth stuffed to the brim. Cheeks aching from the circumference.

You moan around him, parting your lips, moving your tongue from under his dick to swirl it around it a little. You move back, tasting the liquid minimally dripping out of his slit. Fuck, you want all of it, in thick, sickening ropes, in loads and buckets.

“Won’t even back away to speak,” he teases, words contradictory, because he won’t allow you to take a break either. Shoves himself inside again; you’re embarrassed that you only manage half of his length. “The dedication is hotter than it should be—”

Full, coherent sentences. How?

But even his string of thought breaks when he starts in earnest. Filling up your mouth once more, as much as he can and then a bit more for good measure. You adjust to his movements, suck down immediately.

You don’t care about the loss of voice later; you want to eat him up entirely.

His strokes grow harder by the second, rock hard inside you. You move your head until the head pokes against the inside of your cheek, and the tight wetness affects him, his knees buckling by one single inch.

“Easy…” he whispers, shaking his head, water drops landing on your face. “Fuck. Wanna have you hanging off the bed one day. Wanna see my cock ram your throat…”

Easy, he said. He’s definitely not being easy on you, though. Not with these admissions. Not with his motions.

The thrusts aren’t just hard, but deliberate and controlled, too. Your head keeps pushing back, lightly touching the wall. You’re far over sucking his dick, way too obedient and submissive to define it like that.

No, you’re being fucked. Gagging and choking around him, sucking in the spit whenever only his tip remains inside, sounds lewd and specific. Coming from the back of your throat, wet, hot and bothered.

God, you wish you were strong enough to take him all the way down to the base, licking at his balls, feeling his twitching dick thumping at the very far back. But you guess this is more than enough for him, too.

Because he holds your wrists harder, a rope around them, digging into your skin. The free hand wipes your hair away again, your body sweat-soaked while the shower water still trickles down his back.

He holds you there; then reaches for your nipple; pinches it hard over your heavily heaving chest, pleased when you open your eyes and look up at him. Waterline damp — the dangling chain might just be one of the reasons for that.

“Bit more,” he mumbles, and you think he’ll surrender right there, inside your mouth.

Which is why you sit up straighter, more determined, licking at the underside of his cock when he drags it out a little. His balls hang in your face and you reach for them, tongueing, hungry, not wanting him to move away now.

He doesn’t. Not yet. Relief courses through you, swallowing around his thickness again. Rolling your eyes back, hearing subtle “Doing well, so well, angel”s, ignoring the pain in your arms as he holds them upright.

You hollow your cheeks when he buries himself in deep, struggling when he stops right there. He doesn’t move; your eyes well up harder. All air enters and escapes through your nose, and you’re shaking, holding his stare as he keeps his cock in place, absolutely still.

That is, until you can barely breathe anymore, nails digging into your palms, arms trying to escape. He doesn’t say a word yet, only lets your hands drop. Your shoulders crack a bit, and you shake your arms, filling up your lungs, your palms next to his feet.

His cock is covered in your spit when you look again; your gaping mouth and chin similarly drenched.

And only when your head stops spinning, does he hold his hands towards you, urging you to take them as he says, “Sorry, baby. You did so well, I…”

You grip his fingers feebly, getting up on weak knees. Instead of holding onto your hands, he soon wraps an arm around your body, pulling you up before he asks, “Less next time?”

“No,” the word comes out as a squeak, throat already affected, “I’ll always tap if I feel it’s too much. I promi— promise.”

“Good,” he praises, a kiss to your damp forehead. He turns the water off. “That’s all I want, baby. Look at me.”

You’re already exhausted, staring down, fatigue fuelled by the hot water. Your eyes flutter open as you meet his gaze, and he puts a hand to your cheek, thumb on your swollen lower lip.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he compliments; his hand must be heating up under your touch, “did you know? So sweet and stunning. It makes me sick.”

“Thought I was the only one. You…” He looks at you, and you hold him tight, smiling about your joke in advance. “You have such an effect on me, it makes me wanna throw up.”

Right. So in love, it makes your stomach turn.

“Please don’t,” he pleads, conjuring a tender eye smile. The wide grin is unreal. “And let’s get out of here. We can’t keep standing here.”

“Waste of water.”

“Yes, waste of water. That, too. And I should have some lube in the bedroom.”

Of course he’s as impatient as you — although you’re almost a hundred percent sure you could do without that stuff easily. The insides of your thighs are slippery, and you’re certain the shower wasn’t the sole reason for that.

Your legs feel weird, your body heavy when you finally get out. The cosy bathroom is filled with steam and heat, but at least you can breathe easier here than under the piping hot water.

The mirror is fogged up; you glance into it to check your state, but recognise nothing but your vague form. You wipe a stripe the size of your hand along it as you walk past, halting at the door. And when you look back, Jungkook is making quick, brief work on picking up the clothes you haphazardly threw to the side before.

“You don’t wanna do this later?” you ask, still fond.

It’s just him cleaning up the floor, but… you enjoy watching him do mundane things. You might never be able to explain why, but you do.

“Just throwing them into the washing machine. Will turn it on later,” he answers.

He straightens his body with a sigh when he’s done, sniffling as he usually does. His eyes are hidden behind his long hair, so he lifts both his hands to brush the soaked tresses back. The muscles of his arms are mountainous and firm. Tattoos ending at his shoulder.

He’s indescribably pretty like that. Looking up, lips parted, jaw chiselled.

You observe him for a bit longer, gaze trailing down his body. Small nipples, broad and sculpted pecs, six painfully visible rectangles of abs. Cock still mostly awake.

Fuck.

Crossing your legs, you bite your lips, one hand on the door handle. You take in the domesticity. The moment might be subtle and casual, but something about it is incredibly homely.

How you speak to each other, and how his washing machine is cleaning both your clothes. It’s the little things, isn’t it?

Your eyes are fond when you say, “Whenever it does happen… I can already imagine all of it clearly.”

“Hm?” He blinks at you. “All of what, baby?”

“Of being here with you. All the time.” His motions stop. He drops his arms, a strand falling back into his face, but he doesn’t care. Glances at you for a couple seconds until you smile and nod towards the door. “Let’s go.”

But it seems he changed his mind in this split second that you turn to the exit.

Because all of a sudden, just as he did before, he tugs you back. And just like before, you land against the wall, having him staring at you as if he’s seeing you for the first time. His voice is a whisper, enchanting, “Okay… you know what. Forget it.”

“Huh?”

“Fuck lube, okay?” His eyes are glued to your lips. Then to your pupils. He looks lost. “We can manage. Don’t need the bedroom… just you. Want you right now.”

“Jungko—”

You don’t anticipate it — so it draws a small moan out of you when his fingers suddenly graze between your legs, digging in for just a moment. Fingering you for a split second as you gasp — and then they disappear again.

He moves in to kiss your cheek. Just a peck first. Then his lips open against your neck, hand moving up your body and pushing your tit up. His tongue soon joins the fun, darting through his parted lips, sucking your tits hard. Biting, groaning, moaning.

“Jungkook.” You push your touch through his hair as he kisses his way further down, nibbling at your sides, and you whine, “Don’t wanna wait, Kook…”

His eyes are closed and his voice hushed, raspy and deep as he says between kisses, “I’ll be gone for a moment, baby. You’ll barely notice, I promise.”

Strange how he means distanced from your kiss, not from your body. Strange how you miss each other while in the same room, but not melted into each other.

You’re losing your mind. Throwing your head back, ruining your hair against the tiles. Eyes droopy and hazy, mind turning in various directions as you relish each touch and peck. Your body relaxes; all the weight of the world off your shoulders.

Jungkook fondles your body, caresses all of you, planting kisses on your tummy, your waist, your pelvis. Continues to tug at the flesh of your thighs with his lips. It feels like a massage, not painful but gentle. Careful as he hoists up one of your legs, throwing it over his shoulder.

And then… he starts.

His tongue flashes out to your clit. Parts your folds. It’s difficult from this position, but his pointy wet muscle paints patterns over your pussy. And you reel.

Jungkook truly is an artist. Knows to make you mewl, turns your breaths laboured. You move your hips, guiding his face closer with your hand in his hair, slowly riding it. The French kisses, the brush against your thighs… he’s…

God.

“God,” you echo, “I love this, I—”

He’s feasting. Letting out alluring sounds, spurring you on, and you almost topple over the edge. But Jungkook knows what he’s doing — leaves you yearning, moving away and up to you.

When he said he’d be gone for a moment, he truly meant it.

Your lip quivers when he looks at you, ordering a soft, “You’ll come together with me.” He raises your chin. “Okay? You and I together. Always.”

Must be a hidden message. He’s not just talking about sex anymore, is he? But him and you in one bubble, separated from the world. Nothing but you, you and you.

You barely wait another second. Instead, you immediately lurch forwards, initiating a kiss beyond sinful from the start. Teeth clashing, tongues feral. For a couple seconds you breathe into each other, letting out odd noises, his hand pulling your leg back up again and pinning it against the wall.

You’re on your tippy toes when his cock teases your entrance, his lips soon on your shoulder again. Cold chain brushing your skin. He’s sucking harshly, guiding his dick inside with determination. Sheer impatience is palpable in his touch and audible in his sounds.

The head of his dick parts your folds, diving in; and you let out a moan so lustful that he grows downright desperate against your shoulder. Standing here like this is hard, too; so he puts his palms on your ass, commands—

“Jump once.”

“What?”

“Jump,” he repeats, “I’ll hold you. Want you, please.”

“Okay…” you mumble. You put your hands on his broad shoulder, readying yourself, “Okay.”

And then you do — immediately wrapping your legs around him. And he lets you fall slowly, body pressed against yours, so you’re sandwiched between him and the wall; so he can guide his hardness back to your cunt.

You drop onto it slowly, carefully. Impaling yourself on him, inch by inch penetrating your insides. The more you take in, the deeper the crease between your eyebrows. And when he’s bottomed out, you feel like… yourself again?

Because what moment is more intimate than this? What moment allows you to crawl out of your shell more than this?

Even if in a crude sense, this is yet another definition of home. And every definition can be traced back to him.

“You feeling alright?” he asks, and you nod immediately.

“Is a bit weird, but…” you hold onto him, one hand moving to his face. You don’t finish your sentence; only nod, exhaling against his lips.

“Can I start?”

Another nod; and then he starts pumping in. Slowly in and out; you’re firmly in place against the wall, slipping just a little. His hands engulf your ass again — his strength is mind-numbing, and his sounds loud as he splits you in two.

Your eyes shut for a mini moment, and when they crack open again, they’re met with the still mirror. It’s fogging up again, yet still clear enough to make out Jungkook’s back; the form of his body. Your thoughts tangle up.

You’ve seen him shirtless a million times before, fully bare — but it might be the first time you’re enjoying this very perspective. And the entirety of him… leaves you gasping. Butt naked, ass muscles flexing, the triangle shaped back smooth. Where do his guts even fit?

They’re a blessing, those reflections, catching the way he’s standing, ramming into you. And then you, burying your nails into his shoulder blades, expression fucked out, body moving up and down the wall. Having things done to you by him.

You’re so fucking lucky.

You mutter, “Kook…”

“Yes, baby.”

“You look so good… so…”

“Mmmh, you do, too,” the sentence starts in a clear tone, but morphs into a whisper, “just… can’t see enough of you… shit, babe—”

He leans in, parting your lips with his, your tongues touching as he delivers a rough jab just once. And that’s when things stop working for you.

Because soon enough, you’re swaying to the side, nearly falling; as his protective instincts kick in, immediately holding you, his cock jumps out. And he shakes his head, pecking your temple once, and then deducts, “Okay. This won’t do.”

“Hmmm,” you hum in agreement, weak on your legs, “bad idea for sure.”

“Hold up.”

He’s quick to turn you around, thoroughly in charge of your body tonight — you’re fully under his mercy. Ready to kneel and bend for him. And Jungkook, understanding your boundaries, gives you all you need — knows what to do, knows when to stop.

And you keep handing over control; more so when he pushes you over the sink, stating, “Okay. Looks easier.” A pause. “Looks so much fucking better, too.”

Wish you could see. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you’re tense.

He leans down to kiss your back. His dick pokes between your ass cheeks again, slipping down and further down until it makes itself home between your nether lips again.

It falls into it in one fell swoop, swiftly, as if it’s no effort at all — guess it never is.

And god, does the position feel heavenly.

Balls deep inside; the first angle that allows full unhinged, animalistic mode.

But he still starts out slow; with long strokes and a hand in your hair. You tumble backwards a little, urging him to move too, lifting your ass higher and pushing your legs together for maximal effect.

Allowing more tightness for him; more friction for you.

“I… missed fucking you so much,” he says between thrusts. “You feel unreal.”

You guess you do. He does, too. Maybe the two of you need a reminder that this is all too real; perhaps a tantalising equivalent to a wake-up-pinch.

So you suggest, “Fuck me harder, Kook.”

“Hmm… want that?”

“Been waiting so fucking long.”

And while a lover of patience and anticipation — who is he to reject your wishes after the entire ordeal occurring in this room? The two of you have dragged out this moment plenty.

So he listens fast; soon using your neck as leverage as his inked fingers wrap it smoothly. Agreeing, “It’d be my literal pleasure, babe.”

God, he’s a dumbass — but you can’t physically react. Too caught up in something else; storing the laughter and jokes for later.

Because he picks up on pace, not too much right away; but enough for his hips to slap against your ass. Enough for you to be catapulted forwards with a whine, cheek pressing to the glass.

You lift your hand, accidentally wiping again, but only manage a trail, hand sliding down. From behind, you hear a hoarse praise, “Looks so fucking hot,” he draws a sharp breath, nearly hissing, “I promise I’ll be careful, just…”

He pulls at your hair. Shoves his cock inside rougher, face closer to you, lips to your cheek. Swallows hard enough for you to hear, and then, “Tell me if it’s too much. Am careful until I can’t be, baby.”

Until he loses control. He says it right before he drops all inhibitions and — goes feral.

You squint your eyes shut, calling out his name; the word echoes in the small room, and for just a second, you worry the neighbours might hear. And then right away, you stop caring again.

Because you want this man. Now and later and forever; want him like this, want him in any way. This isn’t just sex to you — if that’s what you wanted, you’d download an app like your freshman self used to.

No.

No matter how obscene, there’s meaning in every one of your touches; in every stroke, in every word, in every single time you lose yourself in him.

Your stomach twists as he jackhammers into you; you’re craving proximity, craving all his attention. Want all of his emotions and touches raw and merciless. Want to see him.

Although, when your shut eyes open, you only see blurry forms in the mirror moving, him behind you. He squeezes your neck; you see that much before he slides it down your body, straight to your clit, no detours.

He pushes his knee up for a second, touching the edge of the sink and balancing on one leg, but drops it again soon. The white painted, stainless steel of the sink, previously cold on your tummy, burns against your skin now. A chafing feeling.

Jungkook draws more forms against your clit, but then retracts his hand; instead, squishing your tits, indecisive where to touch. But it’s the last move he makes before he straightens his body, palms on your ass until he spanks just once and…

Pulls out again.

What?

“Look at me, sweetheart,” you register.

You pant, fingers clutching the sink and gulping down the tiredness before you manage a turn. Your eyes land on his dick first; it’s fully drenched in your arousal, so unbreakably stiff.

He whispers again, “Look at me,” but the moment you do, he doesn’t withhold your stare for too long. Instead, his hands are back on your cheeks, drawing you close, seeking your lips. His never-satisfied thirst matches yours; you want to remain here and freeze time.

With your arms around his neck, he guides you towards the washing machine, pushing the clothes further aside. He helps you get on it, but you argue immediately, “This could be dangerous, right? Shouldn’t sit here, I think… might break…”

“It’ll be okay,” he says, making himself comfortable between your legs, pushing them apart with his thighs. Two fingers hold your chin, lips ghosting over yours. “Is a cheap ass thing… want a new one anyway.”

You wonder if he’ll say that about all the furniture he’ll fuck you on. Because observing his eyes, you know that he will — will soil every inch of his apartment within, what you anticipate, a short period of time.

But unfortunately for the washing machine, you’re too weak to reject the offer.

So you hold him tight, jostling him closer to you as you ask, “Yeah?”

“Mhmmmm.” The word drowns in your moan when his cock glides back in; when will you ever get used to this? “Don’t worry… won’t break as badly as we will.”

Well, fuck.

The ridges of his cock drag just right along your walls, the angle making your mouth water. Your cunt is burning; and he still dares to ask, “Okay like that?”

“More than okay, Kook… more than—”

He always screws you numb; barely ever lets you finish your sentences. Your moans have become a constant interruption, along with the goddamn things he says, “Your pussy is so good. So, so good.”

And then he’s back making out with you, sweatier than before. His body is enticingly warm, muscles working on you. Both his and your hair sticks to the nape of the neck or your back, and you hold onto him, keening against his lips.

Then, you lean back for a second, keyed up as fuck, propping up your body with your arms. Your palms press against the back of the machine, and he inches close to explore the bare skin of your torso. His chain skims your nipples, as if on purpose; and he kisses you here, there, everywhere.

Neck, clavicles, tits, jaw.

Perspiring without an end, all of this could be gross. But instead, you feel hyped up, sexy as never before. Dizzy at the sight of his golden skin, the small beads of sweat spreading on it.

It takes one or two more minutes of this insanity until things come to an eventual end. A glorious end, that is — filled with deep moans, squealed calls of names, unrhythmic thrusts that fasten for the finale.

“I’ll come,” Jungkook states, and you shoot back up to him, holding his head against the mounds of your tits. He kisses between them, breathing irregular, words muffled, “Gonna come so hard, what the f—”

And when he does, you lose all coherent thoughts immediately. Not that you could think before — but his uncontrolled exclaims already make you wish for a whole new round. Nevermind that your pussy is wrecked and beaten.

Vocal as ever, he finishes with deep shoves, slowing down with each second. His lips remain open between your collarbones, and you feel his eyebrows draw together. Thick strings of hot cum filling you up, your cunt tightens.

And somehow, after all this, he still finds the energy to sneak his hand between your bodies, blindly seeking your clit until he finds it. Familiar circles render you breathless, even though they’re lazy — but picking up on intensity when he leans back, still breathing hard.

He looks absolutely done — still fucking the rest of him into you. But you’re moaning and groaning, and he’s far from giving up as he says, “Come with me, baby.”

Honestly, he doesn’t need to tell you. You’re already calling and blurting out random words, already limp. Wrapping your legs around his torso with the tiny remaining energy you have left, absolutely insane.

Jungkook kisses you one last time. And you let the build up in your lower tummy and pussy proceed; up and up and up to the peak — until he delivers one last stroke, cock already softening, finger on your nub diligent and…

You milk his dick in its entirety. Your pussy clenches and unclenches. Random figures swim in your vision, flashy behind your eyelids. Limbs trembling, body a mess and fingers hooking into his chain, you only notice now that you’re repeatedly whispering his name.

Winding and crying. Trying not to tug too hard, to break the jewellery, but still urging him closer, closer.

You’re shivering, surviving the vertigo, breathing stagnant. Trying to control it. Quivering like fucking crazy, not feeling your legs.

Also hating how his cum is dripping onto the damn washing machine. In your hazy mood, you laugh a little.

It takes a bit of time for the two of you to calm down, to dim the adrenaline in your nerves. Your chests rise and fall in unison, still clutching to the embrace. His skin is flushed, yours hot, skin tingling with the lingering heat of the passed passion.

And when he finally moves back, looking at you, you see half a dozen things in there. Satisfaction and vulnerability among them. Maybe even a hint of mischievousness, proud of whatever just happened; happy with the emotions it conjured.

Stars in his eyes. Contentment, composure and affection at last.

A pleasant stillness follows, the world outside the bathroom nonexistent. The aftermath of the steamy encounter lingers until you break the silence after all.

“When the hell,” you start, throat dry, “did you get so broad?”

“…What?”

“You just. You looked endless in the mirror. You’re so—”

Amused, he displays a grin as sly as you adore. He tsks and then mocks, “Stop drooling.”

“You first.”

His chuckle is throaty; a result of the constant exclaims and the absolute dehydration. You give the two of you a moment to collect saliva on your tongue, to swallow and wet your cords.

Your fingers paint an invisible, light pattern on his skin; tracing his tattoos is one of your favourite things to do. You jest, “That’s a good way to destress.”

He arches an eyebrow, then rolls his eyes — but the devotion towards you behind the gesture is irrefutable. It carries into his words, no matter how playfully mocking his tone or his sighs, “Everything for the princess.”

“So,” you pause, lips curling into a soft smile. “Is this what I’m gonna be getting for the rest of my life?”

You see it immediately. The explosion in his eyes; the burst of stars in the depths of his pupils. Clear as the night sky, fond and sweet and magical. Guess you spoke big words for sure.

“…The rest of your life, huh?” he asks.

“No?”

“Is that what you want?”

Ever-the-boomerang, you gauge his reaction, closing the distance between you. Lips barely apart, you throw back again, “Don’t you?”

You don’t need to glance through his ribs, lungs, blood and skin; you see the swelling around his heart. Emotions swimming in it in abundance. You see all of it right in his eyes.

And his voice proves it; delicate and quiet, “Baby… you make my heart drop to my stomach all the time. Do I not look at you like I want a rest of my life with you?”

Gosh. You’re too weak for this.

“Look at me like that more often,” you answer, breathing against him, eyes dancing with delight, “maybe I’ll believe you then.”

“Huh,” he makes, letting out an entertained huff, “brat. Maybe later. Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for now, alright?”

Right. You forgot you’re still here. Snapping back into reality is always a task.

Of course it is.

Because your world is a cocoon; you don’t want to leave it just yet. And maybe, somewhere in the near future — you won’t have to anyway.

Jungkook and you don’t waste minutes doing formalities tonight. No flickering candle flames; no organised set up of your table. You dim the lights, snatching a lamp from his bedroom and rely on it along with the TV’s brightness.

You filled your plates and stomachs with a dish he’s wanted to show you for a while. It’s some special Jeon recipe — limited to him specifically, not his family. The brief cut in your relationship kept you from the meal, but watching him fiddle with the pots and cutlery was worth the wait after all.

He’s still proud of it; you’re filled to the brim, sick to the core, but the noodle-Buldak-mayo-perilla-oil-combination introduced the night just perfectly.

Your body is limp against his after dinner, bloated. A mutual agreement concluded that watching a movie might be the easiest activity you could indulge in to further destress. So you cuddle up, eyes droopy as you wait for the Netflix logo and thump to subside.

You let the username float by, though unable to suppress your giggle. Your back shakes against him, his hand halting mid-air, remote control in it, and you comment, “Letjungcook7. You’re such a dork.”

“Why?” You look back, met with raised eyebrows and round eyes. “Do you not like it?”

“I love it. Don’t you ever dare change it.”

He tuts, trademark smirk tilted; responds, “And don’t you ever change your Sunny Baudelaire icon.”

“God, she’s an iconic baby,” you groan, enthusiastic; your hands gesture to the TV, Baudelaires nowhere in sight, “I will never shut up about this show.”

“That’s why you’re not allowed to change it. Kinda cute how much you love it.”

“Jungkook,” you tug at his unoccupied arm, placing his wrist and palm over your belly button, “would you ever rewatch it with me?”

His hand rubs gently over your shirt, and then drops until his fingers are toying with your — his — jogger’s strings. “I’m a pro at rewatching. I’m down.”

You whisper a dragged celebratory word, eyes back to the screen. He’s scrolling through the genres fast, barely inhaling the titles and summaries. And when he skips three more of the stuff you’d usually settle on, you say, “Don’t think you’ll find anything on there.”

Ironically enough, he answers, “We’ve barely looked. Look. Knives Out’s second part is on there.”

“I just watched it recently. Hmm, what about that Poe movie with Christian Bale?”

On cue, he passes it three seconds later, only stopping on it for a moment before he voices, “Hmm…”

You wait. Drag out another second. Then conclude, “Okay, you’re not feeling it. Got it. Something else?”

“What about Disney?”

“What about scrolling until we fall asleep?”

The hand still busy with the strings moves up to your sides, pinching you lightly. You flinch, hard enough to nearly break his nose, overdramatic by nature. Amidst your commotion, you hear him say, “Don’t mock me. I’ll kick you from the couch.”

“I’ll just stay on the floor then.”

“Angel, I swear.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry.”

But you’re not.

Because the bicker continues for another ten minutes, remote control snatched every now and then, ideas suggested and immediately rejected.

Jungkook admits his guilty pleasures merely a couple minutes later, and you conjure all your patience and discourse abilities to explain why you can’t watch The Notebook or Titanic anymore.

But once Dion’s soprano voice builds a nest in a lobe of your brain, you give in, half laughing, half agitated as you tackle the 90s classic — only for Jungkook to click out again.

“It’s no fun when we’re not both ready to watch it.”

“Dude…”

More scrolling, you guess.

Five more minutes pass — and eventually, Titanic deserted, you sing the songs of Coco instead. You expect Jungkook’s attention and lips to shift halfway through the movie, tracing down your neck or along your sides – a standard for a weekday movie night.

But to your surprise, he powers through it with minimal dialogue and wide, focused eyes. Palm above your ribs, moveless under your shirt and his cheek pressed against your heartbeat, you assume he’s fallen asleep by the time the credits roll.

Until – you feel warm liquid wetting your shirt, a sniffle combining with his shaky breath before you ask with your own damp eyes, “Babe— are you crying?”

His answer is delightfully unashamed and immediate, “I’ve never watched Coco without crying.”

The soft strains of the movie’s soundtrack won’t let your eyes dry either; but Jungkook seems far more into it than you. Adoration burns hot in your veins.

“You never told me that!” you exclaim.

“Because it’s not worth telling. Should be a given — these movies are made to cry to!”

You giggle through your tears. Jungkook’s mind works in miraculous ways — non-judgemental, yet probably flashing a side-eye to those who do not partake in a sob fest during Coco or Encanto.

“I honestly love how you’re not a toxic male at all, you know?” you point out; you feel a huff against your chest.

At least he’s smiling through the brief sadness, too.

You crane your neck, not quite turning around just yet, and watch him rub his cheek clean off the tears. Not that his eyes have stopped welling up, though.

For a moment, you observe, staring at the swollen, pouty lower lip. His pupils glimmer in the TV’s light, long locks brushed back; half of them tied in a tiny ponytail.

You could overthink every detail of his face. Tell him all about his everlasting elegance. Instead, you only lower your voice, soft as you say, “You look pretty even when you cry.”

“Thank you,” he returns, though fingertips still work at the liquid, and you can’t help but laugh.

You can barely believe that’s the same confident beast who was pressing you against cool tiles just an hour ago. The stark contrast baffles you.

You’re amused when you question, “It really affects you so much?”

“Everything about it!” he immediately argues. You expand your eyes. “The way Coco looks at Miguel at the end. And that freaking moment when she meets her parents at the end. Does it not affect you?”

“Oh, of course it does,” you defend, “I’m a story girl. I’ll cry reading and watching these things, for sure.”

“And then the lyrics,” he continues, in his element a hundred percent, “the thought of remembering someone even after they’re gone and far away…”

The further his sentence progresses, the more the words blur. His voice is feeble, hoarse when he gets to the final syllables. When he pauses between his rambling to draw a breath, you hear a heartbreaking shake in his inhale.

And the exhale sounds like a quiet sob.

You turn back immediately, pressing onto the pause button, remote control still in his hand. The credits darken the room as opposed to the movie’s colours before. You see a damp trail along his cheek, eyelashes wet.

Your smile vanishes as you stare a little longer. The blanket falls from your chest into your lap when you lift your arm from under it, hastily drying his tears with your thumbs. Just slightly, he leans into the touch, but his face soon falls, an attempt to hide.

You ask, “What’s wrong?”

Jungkook isn’t embarrassed of tears — you figured this out without him admitting it to you. But he’s embarrassed of the guilt he feels; acknowledging it when he speaks.

“It’d just be nice,” hands holding his face drop; you touch his chest, “to make up with the family like this. They made it look easy.”

You keep looking. Bewildered, unable to answer for seconds too long. You blink until the words sink in properly, incapable of more than, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“No, no,” he argues, shaking his head, “I mean. Who am I to tell you something like this?”

“It’s okay. Your worries are legit worries, too. Look at me,” you reassure, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You’re not a bad person. Okay? It’s… so terrible that you think you are.”

“I fucked up.”

It dawns on you once more that he firmly believes that; causes a searing sting. The process is neither a smooth nor a quick one — you know it’ll take a while for him to convince him otherwise. To drop his current beliefs about himself.

“You didn’t,” you refute, firm certainty and conviction in your voice. “That’s not how a fuck-up is defined, I promise you. And those who are actually wrong probably know, too.”

“It’d just be nice,” he starts again; the shrug of his one shoulder doesn’t distract you from the misery and self-loathing in his eyes, “if he called at least.”

“I know. I don’t know, I… do you think you could call instead?”

Jungkook’s lashes brush his skin, the apples of his cheeks not as round and squishy as usual. Yet, the sadness makes him look younger, softer.

You sigh; a warm blanket isn’t enough anymore. You need to wrap him in the comfort of the world — ideally, in his father’s care.

Jungkook opens his mouth for another argument, but then holds it in, says after another moment of contemplation, “Actually… There’s a gathering coming up. I’ll see my people there, so… I don’t know. Trying won’t hurt, right?”

“It never does.”

His eyes start unfocusing. You recognise it in the way he glues his gaze to a point on the glass table, unblinking, staring nowhere in truth. You keep your attention on him for another second, hoping he’ll look at you, even if forlorn.

But when he doesn’t, you wrap your arms around him instead. His chest is calmer against your head now, breathing as soft as the palms that find your back. He presses you into his body by mere inches; you barely notice.

Your fingers draw shapes on his arm, a subtle consoling gesture. In the background, you hear the song fade, volume lower now. The movie soon transitions to something else; you don’t pay any mind to it, drowsy and distracted in his embrace.

But then your mind wanders; to the man keeping Jungkook’s thoughts hostage. You remember the conversation the two of you had last Sunday. You recall the way your hand held his broken heart together.

You wish it was as easy as a small scar — an echo of whatever once transpired, but also a reminder that it healed.

Then, for a second, you think of your own wounds. How they still need to be cured, too. How years and time alone won’t fix issues; you need to tackle them actively — maybe at some point, the two of you can.

You laugh softly against his shirt, burying between his pecs; joking, “We’re perfect for each other. Dysfunctional families and whatnot.”

His chuckle is still a light tremble, but genuine enough for you to celebrate. His hands push a little harder into your back; your body shifts up his lap, butt half on his thigh. Eyes shut, still sniffling.

Jungkook wraps around you like a soothing force, an invisible bubble. A bandage despite carrying all bruises. You sigh in contentment, head dizzy from exhaustion; waking up just when he blurts a question again.

“You really think that, right? That I’m not a bad person.”

You crack your eyes open a slit.

You understand. Someone who overthinks needs multiple repeated reassurances — you’re the same.

So you nod against him, guaranteeing, “You’re… kind of ridiculously amazing. You’re someone who gives all those people hope who don’t believe in humanity anymore.” Pause. “And I admire you in every way. So much.”

He doesn’t respond. You wait. Further dead silence, interrupted by the soft sounds of the TV. You lick your lower lip, dropping your gaze to where your thumb rubs his wrist. Tracing a vein.

His mellow voice reverberates, a melody to your eardrums when he whispers, “We’d do this so much if you were here all the time.”

“Crying in each other’s arms, huh?”

He clicks his tongue, accompanied by the grin you’re certain graces his face, even if you can’t see. You hear it in his voice all the more, “Sure. Also, have dinner together. Shower and watch movies together. Laugh and cry.”

You smile. “I still can’t believe it, you know? That you want this… and me at all.”

“You feel that, too, yeah?” Fingertips move up your spine, between your shoulder blades and then to the nape of your neck. Tickling, grazing gently. “I promise I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly feel all that, though.”

“What’s all that?”

“Just.” His chest rises. Then falls. “Everything.”

One of your heartbeats freezes, you’re sure. And when it comes back alive, you think — maybe he doesn’t need the world’s comfort after all. Or his father’s care. Maybe yours is enough right now.

But then again.

You’d be damned if you kept your traumas intact. Or his. You took each other as you came long ago — as vulnerable human beings, with a whole lot of baggage. With all the injuries on your heart.

Yet, this isn’t a state you want to accept. For neither of you.

Your unwavering belief remains steadfast — that one day, things need to become… okay.

So you gulp down all the pain, lighting a candle in your chest, and say,

“It’s not over yet, baby.”

Zara keeps yelling orders around. Her voice, usually collected and tender, is agitated today. You can barely imagine how many little tasks, how many stressed phone calls must be overrunning her.

You establish a distance between your device and your ear, protecting your hearing with one eye squinting shut. And when she returns to the conversation, you exhale through the nose.

“Sorry. You were asking—”

“How’s it look?” you repeat.

“I mean, everyone’s stressed,” she responds, clearly frustrated; as if it should be obvious to you. And it is; but you’ll spiral, too, if you don’t keep your calm, at least. “A lot to do.”

“You’re sure you don’t need me to come earlier?”

“All good, love. You’re not a manager yet,” she stops her speech to mumble something to another co-worker, imaginary hands jam packed with preparations for the press conference. “But when you are, you won’t know what to do with all the stress.”

“Great outlook into a potential future.”

“I just mean you should enjoy things while they last.”

Zara isn’t the only one wandering up and down the building to assure perfection. She’s only one of the big mentors, managers to handle everything; responsible for the catering and content to be presented at the conference.

Her team stands firmly behind her, but you don’t blame her for still allowing her head to steam. Of all busy people in their blazers and slacks, however, she’s been the only one to spare some time for you.

You’re grateful for her enthusiasm and support. You smile as you ask, “Do you think I can answer everything the way I intend to?”

“I think so.”

“It’s so new to me.”

“Yeah, but you’re a natural at this stuff. And also,” she speaks slower now. The chaos behind her has calmed a little; her voice echoes off somewhere. Perhaps a restroom. “Things are looking good.”

You stop sauntering through the room, pausing in front of the bed’s corner before dropping onto it. Dragging your tongue over your lower lip, you blink, and then ask, “You’re sure?”

“We had a couple conversations over here. Made a few more phone calls, and I think you don’t need to worry about a thing. We’ll come up with something if things derail, though, okay?”

You’re uncertain, still anxious. Should this afternoon flop, you’ll be screwed.

You need it to succeed. You can’t afford misfires. Ugh.

Restless, your foot taps against the floor. You try not to think of things going astray; try to think of a smooth progress, not precarious in any way.

Yet, you ask doubtfully, “Can we do that?”

“We always can. That’s business.”

Guess she’s right. Your mother has saved you one too many times — from stupid things you did as well as from things you never needed saving from.

A rich human being’s power over the media — and frankly, the world — is unbeatable. Barely to be underestimated.

“Okay,” you mutter, “thank you.”

Despite only hearing her voice, you imagine her nod, the way she often does. You miss the warm, promising palm on your shoulder. Appreciate that she’s still here instead of dropping you to the side; leaving the call to handle more relevant issues.

No, she lingers there; you hear her breathe until she asks, “Are you bringing your man, too, by the way?”

Your man.

You straighten your back in pride, bright smile back, “Yeah! He said he’d come and support me. But he’s not home yet.”

“Oh? Well, you gotta be here in three hours. Where’d he go?”

“God knows. But don’t worry about punctuality.” You hear a hum, glancing up at the clock. Past noon. “Hey, also. My parents are definitely gonna come, right?”

“Babe,” she drags the word a little, and you can almost see her side-eyeing you, “journalists will be present. Cameras everywhere. At least your mother would never miss such a thing.”

Right. Cares about that company too much.

You remember the times she proved it to you. When you’d come home from middle school, eating some extravagant lunch while watching her talk on TV. Conversing with your staff.

“Okay. Good,” you say, happy about that very answer for once.

Outside, a door creaks. Steps echo through the hallway, a soft call of your name following as you hear the jingling of keys stop.

He sounds joyful.

You get up, phone halfway off your ear as you say, “Hey, I should go. I think that he—”

And the moment you look at the open door of the bedroom, your heart stops. For a second, you fear an intruder at his apartment, but the longer you look, the more your brain gives out.

The black-white-red jacket hugs his broad shoulders comfortably, the thin white sweater underneath it nearly transparent enough to reveal his tiny nipples. But despite his stature, it’s not his body that kills the power in your head.

It’s the—

You murmur last words into the phone, making out a goodbye that doesn’t reverberate as much anymore. She’s probably out of the restroom again; too distracted to give your mumble any attention anyway.

You place your phone where you previously sat and inhale his appearance carefully.

First off — you can see his ears. Can see most of his eyes. His forehead.

His hair is still dark, but it’s tamed. The wild locks, usually a feature you’ve gotten used to over the span of that one year, lay comfortably on his head. In fact, most of them are gone.

You feel a needle in your chest, but one of the surprising sort. Not painful at all.

“Wow,” you only say.

He reaches to the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing the hair there. “Yeah?”

You move towards his body, eyes fixated on every hair strand. Then, close enough, you state the obvious, “You cut your hair.”

“I… yeah. Is it terrible?” he asks, round eyes meeting yours. He raises his hand again, to his ear this time, scratching behind it for a second. “Not used to it at all. But I figured I’d look a little more serious as an artist like this.”

Really? Most artists you knew cared the least about a fancy appearance.

Then again, Jungkook doesn’t look fancy. He just looks different. Breathtaking, more mature, older.

His cheekbones look more chiselled now, his eyes wider. You could pass out right here, right now, and he still wouldn’t know how relentlessly he affects you.

“More serious?” you ask, less because you need an explanation. More because your mind keeps wandering, and you can’t fathom a word he’s saying.

“Just. Needed a change, I think,” he admits, “and wanted to adjust to a press conference’s typical look, too.”

“You did this for the press conference?”

“I wanted to look put together.”

Your heart dissolves and dissipates. His voice is soft as a petal, tender like the colours on his arm. The expression he sports is unsure, like he wants to hide — waiting for your opinion.

He really put thought into this. Woke up this morning and set a goal with purpose, not uttering a word to you to surprise you a couple hours later.

You don’t know what to say. You barely know what to feel, except this unbearable urge to ramble down every piece of tiny emotion he’s ever made you feel.

You want his body wrapped around you, engulfed in a blanket, head on his chest and slumbering for the rest of your life. Want to mumble little confessions, shiver when his lips touch your scalp.

Overwhelmed — that’s what you are.

“I loved the long hair,” you finally admit, “I guess I got too used to it, so I need to adjust, but. But… this is so… It… it suits you.”

You’re stumbling over your words, suggesting doubt. Not the way to go. Perhaps they shouldn’t have chosen you as one of the press conference speakers after all.

Jungkook’s concern grows visible in his big, round pupils; expressive, a true glimpse into his heart. You feel bad because you’re not as good with words as he is, and because he seemed so happy about his choice.

You just can’t fucking express yourself — even though you’re melting inside, falling harder. And maybe he notices your awkwardness, because he tries again.

“You’re uh— sure you don’t hate it?”

“No! God, no. It’s different. You look amazing, Kook. You look like…”

He swallows. “Like what?”

“You’re so pretty, Jeon Jungkook.” You say it with genuinity this time. He closes his lips, blinking, and while he attempts to veil his relief, you still see the high rise of his chest. “You look fucking gorgeous, no matter what you do. I… I mean it.”

The answer satisfies him. His risen shoulders drop a little, tension falling off, and he fixes the already perfectly sitting collar of his jacket before he smiles. Just a little, a subtle twitch of the corners of his lips.

As soft as his response, “I always aim to reach your level, you know?”

You roll your eyes. Partly to keep them from watering because your heart is bursting. Splintering like every morning and every night; you wonder if you’ll ever get used to it.

A couple gentle words lie heavy on your tongue, pressing against the muscle to let them out; but at the prospect of actually uttering them, your guts twist. You don’t want to throw up before the meeting.

So you remove the tightness from your chest with a deep exhale, nearly until your lungs are dry, and say, “Shut up.”

Playfully, you deliver a soft push against his chest, laughing when his dramatic ass stumbles backwards. Submerged in those goddamn dimples, you immediately grab the hem of his jacket and before you know it, you’ve taken a step forward and landed in his arms.

You sneak your arms underneath the leather-ish material, not hesitating for a second before you’re squeezing his torso. He lets out a choked sound, groaning, but reacts similarly fast as you.

His heartbeat accelerates for a moment, right against your ear as you make yourself small. The sweater smells like his favourite detergent and him; musky, fresh. Your palms, flat against his back, crave deeper touch.

Nothing crude; just an afternoon on the bed behind you, limbs entwined, laughing about things that probably aren’t that funny anyway.

For a moment, the silence transcends words. You inject the blend of gratitude and affection through your touch, ensuring he understands.

But when it’s not a testament to your emotions enough, you speak against his chest, voice very likely muffled, “You didn’t have to do this for me… you just. You never have to do anything for me, but you still do.”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

Immediate and sincere. Voice unwavering.

God, you’re not his strongest soldier.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you chide, "Stop that."

"What?"

"If you keep saying these things," you continue, a frisky lilt in your voice, "I'll die. Do you want me to die?"

Jungkook chuckles. Always a soothing melody in a hushed room. He remarks, grip still wrapped around you securely, "Acting all innocent now."

You don’t understand right away what he means — but then you hear his heartbeat, picking up on pace again.

Makes you want to squash him harder. Melt into him further.

“Shut up, Jeon,” you respond with a nudge, cheek pressed against his shirt. Just a moment longer — just a couple more seconds to inhale the solacing scent.

Your heart is unguarded; he could sever it if he wanted to. He’s proven that he has the power to. Yet, you keep fuelling it, vulnerable in his warmth as you say, “You’ve no clue what you mean to me, Kookie.”

Your vivid imagination might be forcing things upon your mind that aren’t actually there, but you do think you perceive the way his entire body melts. Nearly limp, in a state so relaxed and peaceful that you have only experienced in the mornings before.

Waking him up for work, feeling weightless limbs wrapped around you, passed out.

His fingers trace patterns on your back lightly, stirring from bottom to top and back. They first stop at the small of your back, then lift off your body, hands suddenly on your shoulders.

He pushes you off him, your movements reluctant, and looks at you with profound sincerity. His voice matches his expression, gentle and adoring, “Will you tell me how much I mean to you?”

Amidst the delicate minutes you spend standing between the bedroom and the living room, you almost forget that there’s a world outside. It’s a little more grey than before, similar to the suit you’ll be wearing in a couple hours.

You remember the prospect of an audience, the answers you’ve prepared, to questions they probably will ask. Zara told you they wouldn’t hold back — they’d phrase their inquiries friendly, but still keep the intentions devilish.

Right.

The world is still turning out there. You want it to stop for the two of you — frozen moments. But it can’t, at least not yet. Right now it’s too real; and you guess that the worst part is that in your line of business, it will keep revolving around people like you.

Whether you want it or not.

So maybe, if it truly needs to keep spinning and can’t halt for you, keeping you in the centre, you should give it something to talk about, too.

Something crisp, something new. Without a care for it, but all the care for you and the man in front of you.

Which is why you spare him another fond smile, forehead calm and your demeanour confident — and tell him, “I’ll do my best to let you know."

The audience stretches to the far back. All the rows are filled to the brim with reporters or guests. The shutter of the cameras and the flashing lights are agitating.

You look down.

Nervously tapping your feet on the stage, you shrink into yourself inch by inch. Your seat is uncomfortable, though padded, a little too warm against your ass right now. Zara notices your tick and puts a steady hand to your knee, repeating for the millionth time today, “Stop. It’ll be okay.”

“It’s just dawning on me though, Zara.”

“What is?”

You nod faintly towards the mic and the attendees, tell her, “That I was actually chosen to speak. They shouldn’t have chosen me.”

“You asked for it.”

“Yeah, but there are more important things to discuss.”

Zara’s lips form a circle; she shakes and lowers her head, sending out a beam of air that you feel on your wrist, blazer sleeves rolled up. You’ve been like that all evening.

“You can do it,” she repeats patiently, “you’re the boss’ daughter and they want your opinion. You’ll hit them hard with yours.”

You suck in a breath, leave the air in your cheeks, and then puff it out again. “I want to. I hope to, I just— never thought it’d be this nerve-wracking. Don’t wanna say anything wrong.”

The subtle shake of her head continues — or reemerges —, lips in a thin line, eyes slowly blinking, “Mh-mh. We talked about it, okay? Practised all the questions they could ask. You’ll be good.”

“You gotta promise.”

“As much as I can, babe, it’s up to y—” She takes in your falling face, holding back with a sigh when she sees the dread in your pupils. “I promise. Of course.”

She taps your knee, softly and lightly, and then says, “I’m so curious about everyone’s reactions. Like. Gosh, just look at those people.”

You understand what she means. “I know.”

Zara places a manicured thumb on her matte red lips, mumbling, “Here for entertainment. At least a third of them will add their own fantasies to the articles they’ll write. Hypotheses and manipulative, neutrally phrased thoughts. Cockroaches.”

Funny. That’s what you call them, too. A collective understanding, you see.

But.

“Shhh,” you voice, “they—”

“It’s fine. They know it, too. Like lawyers do.”

Can’t refute. Eun told you one too many times how unfair the law business usually is, and how she’ll strive to not have anyone ever manipulate her. To remain genuine.

“Yeah, but,” you still argue, “I imagined they’d be listening in all the time. Don’t they do lip reading and stuff?”

She nods, a finger still on her mouth, smiling, “Mhm. I also feel like I could say whatever, but it’ll be you they’ll focus on today.”

Your heart drops, an uncomfortable twist in your guts adding to the stress. Might have to dash to the bathroom at the very last minute. You curse, “Shit, Zara… I should fucking ru—”

“Stay. You can do this. I promise.”

“Okay,” you take another deep breath, helping your oxygen-lacking, spinning head, “okay.”

You look back to the media present, ready to survive questions; prepared to provide answers. The moderator is talking to your mother at the front, covering the mic with a hand.

They gave you around five minutes to speak, and in that time, you need to answer everything. How you do it is up to you, but the pressure to perform in a certain way, accordingly, weighs heavily on you.

But it’s alright.

You’ll just need to stay confident. Stick to your message. They’ll have things to say anyway — and you’ll make the best of them.

You stare past the lights, squinting to find him, raking your neck. His figure towers in the back, easy to detect, and once he meets your eyes — or perhaps never having averted his from you — he lifts a hand to wave in tiny motions.

Then, he drops his fingers again, entwining them in front of his body. He isn’t necessarily allowed here, but you were able to sneak him through in advance. So now he’s a couple feet from the wall, choosing to stand rather than sit, so you find him easily.

So you seek his eyes for comfort if need be.

Before you parted near the entrance, he said, “I’ll be offering a dozen thumbs up like a fool if you need me to.”

You chuckled — but maybe he meant it. Because his smile and nod undoubtedly dispel your fears; as if he can see you struggling.

The seconds drag on, and the conference begins seven minutes later. Your mother is the first to talk, outlining a general overview of what’s to come. Of Charmante’s philosophies, of its success, praising the team.

Then, she forwards to important employees like Zara, letting them ramble about launches or ideas in depth. Business strategies, partnerships, bringing across points that you usually don’t get the chance to share.

This is legit press; even though out for a loophole, they won’t follow you around or hide in the shadows. Incessant and vexing, but at least they’re allowed here.

Conversations about new collections, store openings as well as expansions and customer engagement pass in a trice, and at some point, another coworker is uttering last words to a last question.

And you realise — that you’re next.

The moderator introduces you with pride; everyone applauds, smiling at you fondly despite all the controversies. ”Controversies.” Under quote marks, as Zara pointed out, because you never committed an offence.

You stand on weak knees. Trembling when you grip the podium. It’s like the sound in the room fades, a single peeping tone overshadowing all noise. You barely blink anymore; not even the flashy white can shut your eyes.

And god, you can hear your breathing. Your damn heart. Your nose sucks in all the air available in the room, or at least in the building, and then you open your mouth to speak.

a/n: this is not a cliffhanger!! tumblr just doesn't allow to drop looong posts anymore, so here's the rest of the chapter lol, keep reading and enjoying, i love you and will see you on the other side!! and don't forget to support this chapter, folks 🥺 <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fics #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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back2bluesidex · 3 months ago

Text

Slide - The Other Side - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.6k+

Summary:

I shot back, then she told me I should speak up "I can't even hear you through the speaker"

Alternatively,

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

Warnings: angst, yoongi is a dilemma, he is suffering quite a lot too.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

A/N: Very first Yoongi's POV.

Taglist requests are closed for now

Read the next chapter

It is a human instinct to seek for what we don’t have and try to get our hands on it.

Be it tangible or intangible - human beings will always run after what they don’t own and what they think they need.

Yoongi is a human.

So he, too, ran after everything he is not, everything he thought would fill the gaps of his soul, fit like a missing piece of a puzzle and make him whole.

Hence, he fell in love with Lee Gyuri.

Given the fact that Gyuri is everything he is not, he thought she would make him a perfect sphere. He thought his imperfectly titled earth would stand straight and spin round.

However, alarms of his mind set off very loudly whenever Gyuri brought forth the topic of marriage and kids and living together.

He himself came from a broken family. He witnessed how his father and mother were once so in love but then suddenly they were drifting apart.

A part of him believes that marriage ruins love. And he wanted to stay in love, without having to exchange vows and reproduce another life.

But to his dismay, Gyuri thought his idea of love was absolutely absurd and it doesn’t make any sense. In the end, she decided to leave him, saying that his cold shoulders are hard to take, his distant persona hurt her beyond measure and that she thinks she’s the only one who is keeping this relationship alive.

Hence, his four year old relationship came to an end just like that.

Gyuri walked away and she took the larger part of yoongi with her. The part that was left, was unable to fall in love, unable to feel anything concrete, just unable to process human connection anymore.

If Gyuri thought he never loved her properly, she should have seen him after her departure. Yoongi was devastated, broken, shattered beyond repair - and you only fall too hard when you climb too high, you only break too much when you love too hard.

Yoongi wished Gyuri knew.

For once Yoongi wished to be seen.

And Yoongi felt seen.

Yoongi felt the feeling of being seen in every corner of his skin, deep in his bones each and every time you looked at him with those knowing eyes.

Ever since that night you picked him up, you have always looked at him with kindness. There was no pity, no curiosity in your eyes to unsettle him.

If he dares to add then he has perceived affection in those eyes of yours. And by some magical force, you made him open up - something even Gyuri couldn’t do.

If he is honest enough to admit then he would say that he was afraid of opening up to his former girlfriend, what if she ran away (which she did regardless).

But somehow you felt like a safe space - he could show the real him, the one that is scared and weak, and you wouldn’t judge him, you would embrace him (which you did every single time).

And that is what kept him coming back to you again and again.

Those quiet nights of shared understandings soon turned into something more - skin on skin, hands on body, mouth on mouth. Yoongi hated none of it.

Yoongi started liking it all way too much.

Soon enough he realized, it’s not always important to fill up each gap, to seek for a person who is everything we are not.

Sometimes peace comes from alikeness.

Sometimes peace comes from someone very much like you.

And you are very much like him.

Just like him you, too, belong to a broken family, prone to close yourself up around people, you don’t laugh too loud, talk too loud, you don’t say things you don’t mean.

You like maintaining a distance.

You like to hide behind a facade.

Again, you are just like him.

Even after knowing his views towards commitment, you never questioned him once. You never asked why he thinks what he thinks. You never once asked for anything more than what he could offer. You never demanded recognition from him.

You never said anything but still Yoongi knew that you were falling in love with him.

And right on that moment he knew - you would have been the one for him. Only if you two could travel to a parallel universe, where he wasn’t so pathetically in love with Gyuri, he would allow himself to fall for you.

That day when Gyuri came back, when she gracefully stepped into his life again as if nothing happened - he didn’t know what to feel or what he was feeling.

He didn’t know what if he was more happy or more regretful that the sand castle he built with you was about to tumble down sooner than he expected.

He always feared waves but Gyuri in the shape of a wave - he both feared and loathed it.

His sense of fear and resentment heightened when he felt you touching his knee under the table. You are just too kind, way too kind for your own good.

You stayed in this arrangement even after knowing Yoongi wouldn’t be able to return your feelings and you were still trying to comfort him when you yourself knew things were coming to an inevitable end.

At that moment Yoongi wished he never loved Gyuri to begin with.

“I will not force you to do anything you don’t want, Yoongi. I promise, I will not fight. Let’s give each other another chance please. I- I have been missing you terribly.” Gyuri had said standing behind the closed wooden door of the meeting room.

Yoongi’s heart lurched inside his chest a bit.

But it’s not the flattering kind.

When he looked into her eyes, he found sincerity but he couldn’t see himself reflecting in them.

That is why he said, “I don’t know, Gyuri. I don’t think it will be ideal for us -”

“I know the damage is done. But please please let’s try once more. Three months, let’s try for three months, for the sake of old times, our memories, for our love. I love you, Yoongi. And I know you love me too. So, please.” Gyuri had cut him off desperately.

Yoongi thought then. Getting into this trial with Gyuri would mean leaving you behind. Leaving you behind would mean setting you free from his grasps.

If Yoongi sets you free, you can move on and find everything that he can’t provide you with - love, a lover, maybe even a home.

So he had said yes.

“I love you so much.” Gyuri murmured on his chest.

“I love you too.” Yoongi didn’t mean it.

“.... but the lyrics just won’t come out. I have been trying to write ….”

For a fleeting moment, Yoongi heard Gyuri saying something about the lyrics but his brain didn’t register anything solid.

He had been zoning out, staring at the door, waiting for you to come in with your notebook and ipad, give everyone a tight-lipped smile and a muffled greeting and settle somewhere near him. But you were nowhere to be found.

When the door creaked open, his heart creaked too, only to be disappointed when Namjoon slipped in.

A moment later his heart creaked and cracked even more when Namjoon announced you had withdrawn from the project.

He should have felt relieved then. This is what he wanted, he wanted to set you free from his painful grip.

But that didn't mean he wouldn’t feel an unexplainable pain in his chest.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t feel something important sliding through his fingers.

At that moment Yoongi realized, he did the forbidden.

He got attached to you.

Every pore in Yoongi’s body oozed relief when he saw you for the first time in a month.

You look distressed but you look beautiful regardless.

He tried his best to appear nonchalant, stoic so that you don’t get a hint of the tempest that had been raging inside of him.

No matter how much he had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you - how you silently cried with him that night, how you didn’t hold him back when he left, how you didn’t object when he ended it all.

For once he wished you wouldn’t be so much like him.

For once he wished for you to ask something more from him.

“I can take care of it myself, Yoongi. You have a life to lead, you have better days ahead now, why would you even care about me? I was just a fleeting chapter anyway. Please- please don’t act like our time together meant anything to you. Please, I beg.” you broke down right before his eyes.

If he is reading between the lines properly then is that animosity?

Are you angry with him?

If he riles you up more will you confess? Will you ask for more?

Will you… will you ask him to come back? His thoughts swirled inside him making him feel dizzy.

“wasn’t it a given? A silent agreement that our time together wouldn’t mean much to any of us?” he pushed you more, even though he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say but he tried to pull the truth or the demand or whatever might it be, out of you.

And he didn’t even know why?

What does he even want?

Does he want you? Even the thought of wanting someone other than Gyuri scared him to death.

You nodded, “Yeah. You are right. Forget I have said anything. Bye.”

And with that you were gone.

For the second time in life Yoongi faced a loss.

However, unlike the first time, this time it was his fault. This time, he knew, a second chance would probably never come by.

He should have felt relief.

He felt a prospect of quiet, peaceful love sliding through his fingers instead.

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evangelical04 · 9 months ago

Text

A Single Daffodil || 3

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: 11.9K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut, body image issues

Author's Note: is this being posted over a week late? yes but I'm in the middle of exams at the moment eek! on the bright side, I'll be able to work on this more often after this week since most of my exams will be done! and then I have about a month until my job starts so I'm planning to grind!! all that aside, we get to see them get married here, so exciting!! yoongi seems to be having second thoughts hmmm interesting. let me know what you guys think! i love to hear your feedback <33

Taglist:

@yoongisducky @kam9404 @sumzysworld @tarahardcore @viankiss @babystarcandylovejk @ktownshizzle @futuristicenemychaos @igot7fairlyoddparents @baechugff @pb89nv @peachytokki @ratherbfangirling @themwordsblog @daisies-and-dandelionpuffs @kimmalik @honeyypages @captainchrisstan @khaimahfe @yoongibaybee

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You nervously smoothed out the skirt of your dress in an effort to calm your nerves but found little success. The day of the rehearsal had come and in less than twenty-four hours, you were to be married. Your hands shook as you grasped the door handle of the entrance to the banquet hall. Hoseok laid a comforting hand on your shoulder before shooting you a reassuring smile. He had decided to attend the rehearsal at your insistence, citing seeing Joohee again as the reason, though you knew he could tell how worried you were.

Mustering a small smile in response, you pushed open the door to see the ceremony space set up with nauseatingly bright flowers and ornate, crystal-laden light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The chairs were decorated in satin sashes with gold embroidery and the altar was woven around with glittering flowers. Your mother was standing at the edge of the aisle, speaking to the catering service employee. She was dressed impeccably as always, her commanding presence demanding that you look at and respect her. Your father was sitting in one of the satin chairs, scrolling dully on his phone. Your mother noticed you standing by the door and quickly beckoned you over.

As you approached, Hoseok following close behind, you noticed something at the end of the room. Standing at the end of the aisle was Yoongi, clad in the normal black suit you’d seen him in thus far, with his tie loosened and hair ruffled. He was speaking to his mother, who was adjusting his blazer, and his father, who stood off to the side, distantly nodding along. He had yet to notice your arrival, but you were fully enraptured by him. This was what you had been dreaming of since you’d met Yoongi outside that party so long ago, walking down the aisle to see him at the other end, promising your lives to each other in an act of fierce and nurtured love. But that wasn’t what was happening. Hoseok’s grip on your shoulder grounded you as you approached your mother. You could feel his arm laying across your shoulder blades and hanging loosely, but comfortingly, in an effort to brace you for your mother.

“Nice to see you finally made it. You must’ve been in a rush if you only had time to choose that outfit,” your mother stated, not bothering to properly greet you or acknowledge Hoseok. She knew who he was and she didn’t approve of your close relationship with him, but she knew that she couldn’t say anything out loud lest her image be tainted, which is what you were banking on.

Feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten at your mother’s careless words, you tried to subtly placate him, “Hello, mother. I’m sorry I’m late. Will we be starting soon?” Your mother only nodded curtly before turning away to speak to more of the venue employees. You let out a heavy breath before sitting down at one of the nearby chairs, not making an effort to try and greet your father. It’s not like he’d acknowledge you anyway.

“God damn, you need therapy,” Hoseok whistled lowly.

You let out a tired laugh, pulling him down to sit next to you, “Yeah, but we knew that already. Are you sure you’re up to face these guys? It can be a lot.”

Hoseok nodded, smiling kindly at you, before squeezing the hand you pulled him down with, “Of course, I am. I said I was here for you and I meant it.”

You grinned, having missed his fervent support and soothing touch, “Thanks, Hobi. You’re the best.” Hoseok only gave you another squeeze in response.

“Wow, I’m offended,” came a voice from behind you, “I thought I was the best.”

You and Hoseok turned to find Joohee in a simple dress, hands resting on her hips. Smiling up at her, you nodded, “You know you’re in a league of your own. Hobi can’t even compare.”

Hoseok scoffed incredulously, “You’re so fickle, how could you call yourself my friend.”

Sticking your tongue out at him, you leaned back in your chair with Joohee joining, sitting on your other side. Your eyes drifted back to Yoongi, and you startled, finding him looking right back at you. He casually shifted his gaze back to his mother, who was still speaking to him, not sparing you another glance.

“So, that’s him?”

You turned towards Hoseok, whose gaze was pointed at Yoongi’s form. You nodded, “Yeah, that’s him. My…fiance.”

Hoseok studied your sullen form for a moment before grabbing your shoulders and giving you a friendly squeeze, “At least he’s hot!”

Joohee and you laughed at his antics before hearing the large, wooden doors to the entrance open once more. A group of handsome men entered, about four, only one of whom you recognized as Joohee’s older brother. The group approached, laughing together while walking towards Yoongi. Joohee stood, shouting Seokjin’s name, calling him over to your small group. Kim Seokjin smiled at the sight of his sister before breaking off from the group, one of the men following after, while the others continued to Yoongi.

“Hey, Joo, how’s it going,” Seokjin smiled easily, ruffling his sister’s hair. She swatted at him before answering, “Good, but mom’s been on my case lately to come home.”

You looked on in envy, wishing you had a similar, friendly relationship with your own brother. Kyungsoo was nice enough to you, when he cared to acknowledge you. He had been primed by your parents to take over their company since he was young, but they’d made sure that the two of you had stayed competitive academically. Even though you were younger, you tended to do better in your studies, something your parents never let Kyungsoo forget. As a result, he’d grown extremely distant with you and you rarely spoke now. Actually, you weren’t even sure if he was coming to the wedding.

“There’s the bride-to-be! How are you feeling,” Seokjin’s voice boomed, snapping you out of your daze.

You smiled politely at him, “Hi, Jin oppa, it’s nice to see you. I’m feeling alright, as well as I can.”

Seokjin nodded sympathetically, “I know Yoongi hasn’t been the best, but give him some time to adjust. If he’s still an ass after that, let me know and I’ll beat him up.”

You laughed as he puffed out his chest and raised an arm to display his muscles. Joohee rolled her eyes before punching him lightly in his side, “Oppa, no one wants to see that. Here, let me introduce you to Hobi.”

Hoseok stood to greet the older man, no longer obstructing your view of the other man who had followed Seokjin out of the group earlier. He was quite tall, though not as tall as Seokjin, and well built, with tattoos flowing down his hands, curling around the small wrinkles of his fingers. His shaggy black hair framed a boyish face that wore a polite smile. Why did he seem so familiar?

“Jeon Jeongguk,” you blurted out, almost stumbling to stand and confirm your suspicions. He turned to face you, with you now realizing that it was, in fact, the same streamer you’d been following for the past few years. You hadn’t recognized him immediately without his usual garb of sweatshirts, headphones, and piercings littering his face.

“Hi, you’re Seo Y/N, I assume,” he smiled, eyes crinkling. Feeling slightly starstruck, you nodded dumbly.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, Kook, she’s a big fan of yours. She watches your streams all the time,” Joohee interjected. Your gaze shot towards her, sending her a silent message.

You know him? And you didn’t tell me?

Joohee only shrugged sheepishly, Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind.

You gritted your teeth, I’m so interrogating you later.

Jeongguk’s voice called you back to him, “Really? That’s cool, I always love meeting fans.”

Feeling your cheeks redden, you stumbled slightly over your words, “Yeah! I love all your videos, you got me into a couple of new games I didn’t think I’d ever enjoy,” you finished, laughing awkwardly.

Jeongguk took it in stride, bashfully scratching the back of his head, “Thanks, I appreciate that. So you’re into a lot of games, yourself?”

Seeing an opportunity, you relaxed, feeling yourself brighten at the chance to talk about your favorite subject, “Yeah! I actually work for O.K. Gaming in their planning team. I’m not really into MMOs, but I like a lot of RPGs and platformers, my favorite right now is actually this indie one from the U.S. that’s been out for a couple of years, Celeste, it got put on the switch but I played it on my PC. But I’ve been branching out, thanks to you! Watching you play all the old Zelda games made me want to get into it too, but I ended up starting with Breath of the Wild because it looked so pretty, the graphics are just amazing! So are the mechanics, I was really impressed with how-”

“Woah, there,” you heard Hoseok, laying a hand on the small of your back, “You’re gonna scare him away.”

You laughed awkwardly, noticing the shocked expression that painted Jeongguk’s face, “Sorry, I tend to get over-excited when it comes to that stuff.”

Jeongguk seemed to snap back into the conversation, shaking his head wildly with a large grin, “No, that’s great! It’s been a while since I’ve been able to geek out with someone. We should totally hang out, what’s your number?”

You felt yourself slip back into a comfortable smile before taking Jeongguk’s phone to put your number in while he excitedly mentioned the games he was thinking of streaming next. Handing his phone back, he glanced at it before looking back up at you, “Hey, is it okay for me to call you noona? I do the same with Joohee noona.”

Slightly surprised at his forwardness, you nodded, “Yeah, that’d be nice. I don’t think I’ll call you Kook though.”

He laughed brightly, “We’ll work our way up to that.”

One of the other groomsmen called both Seokjin and Jeongguk back to the altar, leaving you to bask in the feeling of having met one of your favorite content creators and becoming friends with him, ignoring Hoseok’s quiet teasing at your geeking out. The bliss didn’t last long though as you heard your mother clap her hands and ask everyone to sit near the front. Hoseok’s hand slipped into your own, giving it a gentle squeeze, along with an encouraging smile, before letting you and Joohee join the others at the front. You’d wished that you could put Hoseok in your wedding party, but you knew your mother would never allow it. You were grateful already that he’d come to the rehearsal despite not being able to do anything the entire time.

You and Joohee took your seats at the front, sitting next to some other young women you recognized from your mother’s galas, likely the rest of your bridesmaids. Your mother had been kind enough to let you choose Joohee as your maid of honor, but you knew she’d only allowed it because Joohee’s family was high up enough according to her standards.

Your mother positioned herself at the altar, addressing everyone with a confident tone, “Now that everyone’s present, I’ll let Mrs. Shin go through the itinerary for today.” Your mother then stepped aside, joining your father on your family’s side of the aisle.

A small, stout woman with her hair in a tight bun and a string of pearls adorning her neck took the stand, “Hello, I’m Shin Miyeon, the wedding planner for this event. For today, we’ll start with a rehearsal of the entrances and ceremony, which will be followed by the entrances for the reception and a run-through of the timings for the dances tomorrow. We’ll end with a joint dinner, and then we’ll be done. Let’s get started.”

Mrs. Shin immediately started directing people, the bridal party being the first, and pairing them up by height to walk together. Joohee was quickly whisked away, leaving you shaking nervously, as this was all beginning to feel a bit too real. The thought was suddenly occurring to you that you really were going to be marrying Yoongi and he absolutely did not want it to happen. Sinking further into your seat, you sent an encouraging, but wavering, smile to Joohee who was paired with her brother due to their similar heights. Your eyes drifted towards Yoongi, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the aisle, swiping through his phone with an unimpressed expression. How could he be so nonchalant about all this?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the entrance,” Mrs. Shin’s voice called out, making you raise your head in her direction. You felt your heart rate speed up and your hands clench, you weren’t ready for this. Your vision almost seemed to cloud as it felt like a hand was closing in around your throat, and your breath started to stutter. You absolutely were not ready for this. Your life was about to change, arguably for the worse, and you had to spend it with someone who wouldn’t even acknowledge you. You could distantly hear Mrs. Shin calling your name once more but it felt like you couldn’t move, your body didn’t feel like your own. Gaze lowering to the ground, it seemed like spots were taking over your vision. Your breath continued to quicken and you could feel yourself beginning to fully lose control of your breathing.

This can’t be happening.

You needed to get ahold of yourself, there were people all around you, not to mention your mother and Yoongi. But no matter how hard you tried to ground yourself, the control you had over your body kept slipping away, and it only caused you to freak out further. A pair of smart, black dress shoes came into your view and you lifted your head to see Yoongi looking down at you with a raised eyebrow through your blurry vision.

“Are you coming?”

You forced yourself to hold your breath, letting it out slowly after counting for a few seconds, before nodding and standing on wobbly legs. You didn’t have time to break down, you had a job to do.

Following Yoongi and Mrs. Shin to the entrance doors, you pointedly avoided eye contact with your mother while sending shaky smiles to Joohee and Hoseok. You had to get a grip.

“Alright, let’s go through the order we’ll be going down the aisle. Can the rest of the wedding party please come down here?”

You were squished up against the door with Yoongi at your side as the wedding party took their places to arrive at the altar before you. Setting your eyes straightforward, you resisted any temptation to glance at Yoongi to see his expression. You couldn’t face him after he’d witnessed you almost experience a full-on panic attack. Focusing in on Mrs. Shin’s firm tone was an easy distraction, as you watched her guide your wedding party down the aisle and to the altar. Slowly but surely, she made her way to you and your groom, with Yoongi being directed first.

“You’ll walk before Ms. Seo and take your place next to Mr. Kim at the stand,” Mrs. Shin said, guiding Yoongi toward the other end of the room. You watched as he gracefully strode down the aisle, casually stopping next to Seokjin and turning to face your direction. The action made you pause, almost breathlessly, as your gaze connected. However, his eyes didn’t last long on your form, as they slid over to Seokjin and Yoongi began conversing with him.

You couldn’t help the disappointed feeling in your chest, despite knowing full well you had no right to suffer it. Yoongi wasn’t yours, he would never be, something he had made quite clear in your limited interactions. Yet, you couldn’t help but feel a tugging in your stomach, a pain in your forefinger, at his blatant dismissal of you. Biting your lip, you cursed inwardly, now was not the time to fall even deeper for your husband-to-be.

“Ms. Seo, please follow me. You can hold this in place of your bouquet,” Mrs. Shin said, handing you a nondescript water bottle. A quick glance at Hoseok’s form turned to face you had you confirming that he was making fun of you as you had suspected. You brushed off his giggles and stepped in what you hoped was an elegant manner after Mrs. Shin, following her down the aisle.

You deliberately avoided looking at Yoongi’s face, knowing that he wouldn’t be watching you. Did you want him to?

Yes.

You almost scoffed. What a ridiculous notion. What you were in need of was a good, old reality check, not playing into the fantasy of marrying Yoongi for love. As you passed Hoseok, he whistled wolfishly, earning a disapproving frown from your mother. It was exactly what you needed though, pulling a laugh out of you before discreetly flipping him off from behind the water bottle. You felt the tension leave your body at Hoseok’s familiar antics, finally feeling relaxed for the first time that night. Maybe you could do this, after all.

Reaching the altar, Mrs. Shin proceeded to give minor notes to the rest of your wedding party as you stood awkwardly next to Yoongi. You could hear his soft breaths as he waited patiently for Mrs. Shin to address you both, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at or try to start a conversation with him. Yoongi seemed to be doing the same, keeping his eyes forward and occasionally glancing at his watch.

You felt lonely. You were standing next to the person who was going to be your partner for the rest of your life and yet, you felt a deep and painful distance from him. You could feel his warmth, hear him shuffling beside you, but you deliberately shied away from brushing elbows to solidify the separation between you. Yoongi seemed so calm and indifferent, it made you feel a troubling combination of envy and anger.

Why couldn’t you be as blase as him about this? Why was he so apathetic in the first place? Didn’t he care about you at all? Was he judging you for not being aloof yourself? Why didn’t he want to engage with you at all?

It hurt, to say the least, but the rational part of you annoyingly came to his defense. Realistically, you knew he had no obligation to try and converse with, or even care about, you. So why were you still so hurt?

“Mr. Min, Ms. Seo, please join me at the doors. We’ll run through it again.”

Mrs. Shin’s voice put a halt to your spiraling thoughts, making you register Yoongi turning around beside you. Following suit, you joined behind him, taking a glance at your watch. Only about thirty or so minutes had passed.

You sighed, this was really going to be a test of your endurance.

The cushioned chair felt welcoming, even though your company did not evoke the same feeling. Your mother was sitting across from you and her cold stare made you shrivel into your seat. Hoseok was placed on the far end of the table with Joohee, making them achingly far from you. Yoongi was next to you in a performance pretending this was a willing marriage. Not that the restaurant staff would care.

You scowled internally, lamenting the fact that you couldn’t even eat dinner comfortably. Your mother was sending you cursory glances while talking to Yoongi’s mother, and your dad was talking business with Yoongi’s father, and with Yoongi conversing with Seokjin, you were painfully lonely. You resorted to quietly playing with the napkin in your lap and staring at your empty plate and wine glass in front of you, desperately wishing you could drink to make the dinner easier but you knew your mother wouldn’t approve.

“Y/N noona?”

You looked up, making eye contact with Jeongguk, who was sitting next to you, previously talking to another groomsman with stunning dimples next to him.

“Oh, yes,” you responded, straightening in your chair.

“I wanted to talk to you some more about the games you mentioned earlier since we didn’t get to finish,” he responded, a bright, bunny smile decorating his face.

You felt yourself smile warmly in response automatically, his joy and bubbliness seemed to be contagious, “Yeah, I’d love to. What would you like to know?”

The conversation with Jeongguk proved to be your oasis in the desert of the stale and stiff conversations happening around you, especially between your parents. His encouraging smile put you at ease and made the tension flow out from your fingers. You were grateful that he was so engaging, keeping you distracted from the shifting from the aloof and dominating presence you felt beside you.

Yoongi had remained relatively quiet throughout the whole evening, only having spoken to you when you were on the verge of breaking down. He spoke quietly to his friends, not bothering to introduce you to them, and had barely looked in your direction. Part of you couldn’t deny it upsetting you, but you constantly reminded yourself that this was to be expected.

The both of you had made no commitment to each other outside of appearing as a couple when it mattered, he had no obligation to be friendly towards you. It felt like your mind was going in circles continually trying to keep your emotions in check and avoid crossing the boundaries Yoongi had so clearly laid out.

The thought entered your mind once again, Is this what the rest of your life is going to be like?

It certainly felt that way.

You felt Yoongi shift beside you once again, making you flinch. Thankfully, Jeongguk didn’t seem to notice, too engrossed in describing his most recent gaming obsession with you. You felt hyper-aware of Yoongi’s presence, whether he was right beside you or at the other end of the room. It bothered you how much he affected you, but you almost enjoyed it at the same time.

There was something pleasant about the feeling of falling in love with someone, regardless of whether it was a tragic infatuation or not. The rush of your heartbeat whenever you caught a glimpse of him, the way your breath hitched when you accidentally brushed shoulders, the way your fingers itched to grasp his hand, it all felt so romantic in a way.

Where it all came crashing down was the reality that Yoongi didn’t feel a semblance of the same way. Your spiked heartbeat was met with his indifferent exterior, your hitched breath with his calm and even exhales, and your twitching fingers with his clenched fist. It was detrimental, damaging even, and it was taking a toll on, not only your emotional wellbeing but your self-confidence as well. You were so swiftly rejected by him that it was a blow to your self-esteem. You hadn’t felt particularly great about yourself prior to his crushing dismissal, but you had certainly been in a downward spiral since then.

Too often now you were scrutinizing your appearance in the mirror, choosing baggier clothing while hating the silhouette, and catching yourself while speaking. It wasn’t logical or warranted, but that didn’t stop your overactive mind from whispering your insecurities quietly every day. Maybe Hoseok had a point. You really needed to look into therapy.

“Noona?”

“Oh, sorry, I was just zoning out,” you blinked, tuning back into Jeongguk’s honey-sweet voice.

He smiled sympathetically, something you seemed to be on the receiving end of a lot lately, “That’s okay. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded, not wanting to divulge the cacophony of thoughts swimming around in your head, “Please, continue with what you were saying.”

Jeongguk’s energizing smile made a reappearance, making you relax further into your chair. You let his dulcet voice lull you into a comfortable conversation for the rest of the dinner, trying not to react whenever you felt movement beside you.

“Thank you all for coming, we appreciate your being here. We’ll be meeting at the venue tomorrow at nine, so please be sure to be on time,” your mother concluded, your group standing outside the restaurant. With that, the crowd slowly dispersed, your parents speaking to Yoongi’s at their cars and the bridal parties filing out into respective vehicles as well. You leaned back into Hoseok’s firm torso, letting his arm encircle your waist and his chin rest on your shoulder.

You didn’t often let people touch you, but Hoseok was a rare exception, having broken your barriers down in college, and served as a comforting touch whenever you needed it. It evolved into more casual affection, a similar version being displayed between Hoseok and Joohee, and you accepted it as just part of his personality. You knew how it looked to people around you but you simply didn’t care, Hoseok was a good friend, and you’d be damned if you were going to refuse the little human contact you allowed.

Joohee was talking animatedly to Hoseok about something or other, you weren’t really paying attention. Hoseok’s warmth soothed you, making your eyelids fall in the exhaustion from the day’s events. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught your mother frowning at you, but you paid no mind. For the first time since the announcement, you wondered if she’d finally leave you to your own devices now that you were doing the ultimate show of subservience to her.

Kim Seokjin’s booming voice startled you from Hoseok’s grasp, making him switch to leaning against your car door. You spotted Seokjin’s tall figure making his way over to you, the other groomsmen following behind. Yoongi was also tailing Seokjin, making you stand up straighter and try to steel your expression.

“Joo, Y/N, we’re gonna go for some drinks to celebrate Yoongi’s bachelordom ending, want to join? You’re welcome too, of course, Hobi,” Seokjin smiled kindly. You almost flinched at the mention of Yoongi’s bachelor lifestyle ending, apparently, he hadn’t told his friends about the rules he’d set.

Joohee’s face hardened towards Yoongi, apparently realizing the same thing you did, before turning sickeningly sweet towards her brother, “No thanks, oppa. We’re gonna head back to Y/N’s.”

“Oh, c’mon, noona,” Jeongguk looked at you imploringly, eyes shining, “It’ll be fun! We can hang out more!”

You smiled apologetically as you felt Hoseok wrap a protective arm around you, noting that he was probably on the same page as Joohee, “Sorry Jeongguk, maybe next time.”

Jeongguk shrugged, turning to the other groomsmen, the dimpled man with tan skin and a model-esque-looking man with dark eyebrows and lighter hair. Seokjin furrowed his eyebrow slightly, mouth upturning into a small frown, “Well, okay, but I’ll be taking you out to celebrate at some point, Y/N. Mark the date!”

You laughed quietly, waving him off with an acquiescing nod. The men filed back towards their respective cars, heading to bars or someone’s house, you assumed. You began turning further into Hoseok to face your car before realizing that Yoongi was still standing there.

Pausing, you looked at him questioningly, feeling Hoseok’s grip tighten. Yoongi’s dark eyes narrowed at your intertwined forms.

“Do you need something, Yoongi-ssi,” Joohee asked in a clipped tone. You almost cringed at the blatant contempt.

“No,” Yoongi responded quietly, “I don’t. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” He nodded politely in your direction before turning to walk back to his car, pausing for a last glance at your bemused face.

“What was that,” Joohee scoffed, flipping off Yoongi’s silhouette.

You shrugged, not knowing what to make of it either, “C’mon, let’s just go home. I need to get drunk.”

Joohee entered your car and you were just about to follow before Hoseok pulled you back, making you almost stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” he sighed, looking into your eyes, “Are you really okay?”

You pulled your hand out of his, tired of being treated in such a fragile manner, “Yes, I’m fine. As good as I can be. I just want to go home.” You felt bad for snapping, but you were irritable after a long day and you wanted to get out of your dress and wipe off your makeup. You turned back towards the car before Hoseok spoke again.

“I know,” Hoseok said softly, “But there’s something off about him. I can’t place it. It was the way he looked at you, especially when I was hugging you.”

You twisted your head in his direction quickly, “Stop. Seriously, Hoseok, I really don’t need to be thinking about that. The last thing I need for this stupid infatuation is to think that there’s something there when there isn’t. I don’t need you putting those kinds of thoughts into my brain.”

Hoseok recoiled before scratching the back of his head and shooting you an apologetic glance, “You’re right, sorry. Let’s just go home, yeah?”

You both entered the car, Joohee leaning forward from the backseat to glance at the both of you.

“Is everything cool with you guys,” she questioned, likely having witnessed the scene outside the car.

“Yeah, just fine,” you said bluntly, gripping the steering wheel. What were you doing? Hoseok was just expressing concern. You didn’t have a right to get so worked up and take out your anger on him.

Sighing, you let yourself relax into your cushioned car seat, turning towards Hoseok who was in the passenger seat, “Sorry, Hobi. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s totally fine,” Hoseok smiled comfortingly, “Don’t even worry about it. I know how stressed you’ve been.”

“No,” you protested, “That isn’t an excuse. You were just looking out for me.”

Hoseok laughed jovially, “Hey, it’s fine, I promise. If anything, I’m glad to see you letting out some emotion, I was beginning to get worried that you didn’t get angry anymore.”

“Oh, she can get angry, alright,” Joohee mused from the backseat, “You’re just not around to see it anymore.”

You laughed, feeling relief at Hoseok’s easy acceptance of your apology. You started up your car, pulling out into the street.

“Let’s go get shitfaced in your living room,” Joohee cheered from behind you, Hoseok laughing along loudly.

A smile formed on your face, making you chuckle at Joohee’s exclamations. You were lucky, luckier than you thought initially. Even with everything going on, you felt your heart fill at your friends’ gracious and kind attitudes toward you. You continued driving to your apartment, feeling a touch more confident about your ability to get through tomorrow relatively unscathed.

Your dress felt constricting, but not in a way that a seamstress could fix. Despite your unfounded confidence the night before, standing behind the closed doors of the aisle sent a fresh wave of anxiety through your veins.

How were you going to get through this? Yoongi was waiting on the other side, at the end of the aisle, about to become your partner for life. Except, you weren’t going to be his partner in the same way.

Initially, Yoongi was supposed to walk down with you, your entourage partnered up like you’d practiced at the beginning of yesterday. But Mrs. Shin didn’t like the visual, making her change it to a more traditional style ceremony. Go figure that she wouldn’t think the sight of you and Yoongi walking together

A sick nausea curled in your stomach, making you clench the audacious bouquet, letting a few petals fall to the floor. You felt a hand clasp your shoulder, making you turn, seeing Joohee’s concerned frown.

“Hey, it’ll be okay, I’ll be right there. You can do this,” she squeezed your shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I can do this,” you repeated, attempting to calm your nerves. A small voice in the back of your mind whispered, wondering if Yoongi had the same nerves.

The thought almost made you scoff, there was no way. Nothing much in his life was changing other than getting a roommate he had to take to galas.

You knew that wasn’t a fair sentiment. Yoongi was as negatively affected by this arrangement as you were, he was just taking a more emotionally removed approach. Maybe you should learn from that.

Mrs. Shin appeared next to you in a flurry, “We’re about to open the doors. Are you ready?”

You nodded stiffly, knowing the answer was that you’d never be ready to marry Min Yoongi.

Hearing the muffled piano begin to play, signaling the start to your bridal party’s entrance, you released a heavy breath, trying to paint on a passive exterior. Joohee whispered some small last bits of encouragement your way before taking her place in front of you.

The doors slowly opened, letting your bridesmaids walk down before you. You could feel your hands trembling.

Hidden from the audience’s eyes beside the door, Mrs. Shin gestured at you, mouthing that you were up next.

Taking a moment to close your eyes, you steeled your nerves and took a step forward. You could do this. It was just a walk, that’s all it was.

You repeated the mantra in your head as you took more and more steps down the aisle, focusing your gaze on the ornate carvings above the altar. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed your mother gesturing for you to smile, and you responded automatically, letting a small smile adorn your mouth. It felt hollow, but that wasn’t what mattered.

As you approached the altar, your gaze naturally shifted down to Yoongi, who was poised in a statuesque manner. He looked radiant, the black suit fitted perfectly to his chest and tapered at his waist. His charcoal hair was styled, showing his forehead, displaying his clear, smooth skin. His hands were clasped in front of him, your eyes tracing the outlines of his fingers, and his aura exuded confidence. You purposefully kept your gaze away from his face, not wanting to see the expression that he wore.

Reaching the steps up to the altar, you carefully climbed each one, making sure not to trip over the hem of your dress. You took your place next to Yoongi, feeling him turn to face the officiant. As the officiant began speaking, you felt yourself breathe out slowly, trying to recover from the initial stress. You had the first step done, the rest wouldn’t be so hard.

Thankfully, you could zone out for most of the ceremony, with the officiant droning on in your ear. Most of this was for show anyway, you didn’t really need to seem present. It was lucky that you were facing away from your audience, allowing your eyes to glaze over and subtly stifle yawns.

You barely processed Yoongi’s presence throughout the ceremony, trying not to glance in his direction. He hadn’t really acknowledged you, but it didn’t surprise you. In a way, it almost pained you that you were getting used to his apathy this quickly.

Another blessing came in the form that you didn’t have to recite vows. The attendees of the weddings had seen far too many arranged marriages to sit through another cycle of canned and rehearsed vows. It felt especially lucky to you as well in that you wouldn’t have to look into Yoongi’s eyes as you declared your devotion to him.

The ceremony itself quickly came to an end, and you were forced to turn to Yoongi, making eye contact accidentally for the first time that day. It sent a rush of heat to bloom in the apples of your cheeks and the pace of your heart quickened. It felt pathetic, really, to let him have that effect on you.

You extended your hand as Yoongi gently took it, sliding the cold metal of the ring onto your finger. Your hands felt numb from staying in place so long during the officiant’s speech, but Yoongi’s warm touch sparked new life in them, making them tremble in his grasp.

Letting out a shaky exhale, you took Yoongi’s hand in your own, noting the smooth planes of his palm and long digits. You internally cringed at your quivering fingers as you slid Yoongi’s own obsidian wedding band onto his finger. Letting go as soon as you were done, you let your hands fall back down to your sides. You pointedly avoided any eye contact with Yoongi, knowing what was next.

“I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

It felt like the air was sucked from your lungs. You knew this was coming yet it still scared you. You weren’t so much afraid of the kiss, you’d kissed plenty of people, but you were afraid of what it would ignite in you.

Yoongi left you no room to hesitate as he grasped your cheeks and gently tugged you toward him, almost making you stumble. Your eyes widened as he leaned it, his own closed. Reflexively, you almost pulled away.

“Relax,” you heard him whisper, too quiet for even the officiant to hear, the warm breath from his words gently caressing your mouth. But you couldn’t stop shaking. You clenched your eyes shut as he leaned in closer before feeling the skin of his thumb covering your lips. His thumb pressed against your lip for just a second before he pulled back entirely, dropping his hands back down to his sides.

You hovered, unsure of what just happened. Did he cover your mouth for the kiss? You weren’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, you were admittedly relieved, not wanting your first kiss with Yoongi to be under these circumstances of obligation, and it certainly spoke to his respect for your own consent. Even though you were sure there wouldn’t be any more chances for a kiss anyway.

But a more sinister and greedy part of you wished he hadn’t shielded you, craved the soft touch of his lips against your own. You, ashamedly, wanted to share a romantic moment with him, even if it was a guise for a happy marriage. Just feeling his slightly calloused fingers grazing your cheeks was enough to leave you wanting more.

Applause startled you out of your trance, making you turn towards the audience and plaster a smile on your face. Scanning the crowd, you spotted Hoseok clapping, sending you an encouraging smile. You breathed out, feeling minutely comforted by his sweet smile.

Yoongi took your hand, holding it, as you began walking down the aisle. You’d practiced this yesterday, so your body was almost numb to the situation of his thumb rubbing against your forefinger.

Almost.

A nasty thought slithered its way into the forefront of your mind.

That was the same thumb that he covered the kiss with.

As you walked down the narrow pathway, making sure to smile at the sea of guests your mother had invited, you could feel your gaze growing hazier. This was all getting to be a bit overwhelming. Your feet were hurting in the heels your mother had made you wear, the jacquard of the dress was starting to dig into your skin at the bust, the hairpins lining your hair were hurting your scalp, and the scent of Yoongi’s cologne was intoxicating.

You and Yoongi reached the end of the aisle, walking past the doors and letting them close behind, leaving the both of you a few minutes to catch your breath before you were whisked away from the reception. Yoongi quickly separated from you, taking a water bottle from an attendant and downing almost half of it. Your hand felt cold suddenly.

Another employee offered a water bottle to you as well, and you gratefully accepted, taking a swig immediately. The cool liquid soothed your scratchy throat, feeling it go down with it being the only thing you’d had today by way of food. The attendants then gestured for you to follow them into separate changing rooms, preparing hanboks that your parents had wanted you to wear during the reception.

Letting the attendant dress you in the hanbok gave you time to process what had just happened. You were now married to Yoongi. You had filled out the paperwork about a week prior, but the bells and whistles of the ceremony made it feel much more real. Sighing, you took solace in the fact that the hardest bit was done.

But was it really?

Now, you had to sit through a reception, thanking guests for coming and pretending like Yoongi actually liked you. Exchanging recycled pleasantries and fake smiles with your parents’ social circle and business partners was less than appealing.

The employee quietly told you that she was finished and moved aside to let you look in the mirror.

You tried to be happy about how pretty you looked, but all you could see were your bloodshot eyes and the slightly cakey makeup trying to hide your eye bags. At least the hanbok wasn’t as tight as your dress.

Exiting the dressing room, you caught sight of Yoongi in his dark blue hanbok with white pants. He looked striking, as always, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be starstruck at this point in the day. You just wanted to go home and lie down. You were led to the reception hall where guests were already mingling for cocktail hour while the food was being prepped to be served.

A man whose name you didn’t know announced your arrival and the guests turned in your direction and began to clap. Yoongi grabbed your hand in his once more, the suddenness of the action making you flinch. You entered the hall, smiling and greeting guests politely. You couldn’t even recognize anyone staring back at you.

Yoongi led you through all the guests expertly, exchanging greetings and small talk smoothly like he’d done this before. You felt like you were in a trance, repeating the same pleasantries and shallow questions. How was he so good at this?

You finally reached the end of the guests, moving to your bridal parties. You hadn’t even seen your parents, your mother was probably talking to guests herself. Joohee pulled you into a tight hug, holding it for a second longer before releasing you with a comforting smile on her face and sympathy in her eyes. The other bridesmaids didn’t bother going beyond quick congratulations, which you were grateful for. You didn’t know them anyway. Hoseok was next to Joohee, also immediately encasing you and attempting to ruffle your hair, but you moved your head out of the way. He stepped back, taking a moment to look at you before speaking.

“You’re doing well.”

Your eyes became watery as you mustered up a shaky smile, something about him praising you for what felt like thankless effort almost pushed you over the edge, “Thanks, Hobi. Love you.”

“Love you too, always.”

“Hey, I love you too,” Joohee protested, making you bark out a laugh.

“You’re my number one, Joo,” you smiled, taking her hands and squeezing them. She grinned widely in response before punching Hoseok in the arm.

“Ow, what the heck,” he grumbled.

“Because I love Y/N more than you,” she responded petulantly, leaving Hoseok to only roll his eyes in response.

The antics made you smile, giving you room to breathe in the stifling room of business partnership discussions.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s deep voice rumbled, making you freeze before turning to face him. His eyes laid on your figure in what felt like a scrutinizing manner, making you squirm under the heavy gaze.

“I’d like you to meet my groomsmen,” Yoongi stated, gesturing behind him, “You already know Jin hyung.”

You nodded mutely, sending an unsure smile in Seokjin’s direction. Why was he doing this? He hadn’t bothered to introduce you to them before, why did it matter now? Were you supposed to introduce Hoseok too, then?

“This is Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi continued, moving his hand to clap the tall, dimpled man’s shoulder. The man smiled politely, the dimples faint with the minute movement, and stepped forward, putting out his hand, “Hi, I’ve known Yoongi since college. It’s nice to meet you.”

You shook his hand, feeling quite exposed under his dragon-like eyes, “Nice to meet you too. I like your hair.” It was a rule that you’d made with yourself, to try and give at least one compliment to each new person you met. You found that it made them much more open and friendly towards you, and it didn’t hurt to receive compliments in return.

“Thanks,” Namjoon said, smile widening and deepening his dimples. His firm grasp on your hand grounded you, but you still felt your cheeks grow hot at the contact. Why were all of Yoongi’s friends so hot? “I like your hair too,” he finished. You smiled in response, pulling your hand away before your blush became too obvious.

“This is Kim Taehyung,” Yoongi’s voice pulled you out of the stupor Namjoon’s visual put you in, “I met him a bit after college. He’s a pretty famous jazz performer.”

The model-esque man from the previous day stepped forward, rendering you speechless. Seriously, what was with this friend group? His elegant cheekbones and narrow nose perfectly complemented the kind eyes that adorned his face, and the sandy blonde hair that fell on his forehead. He quickly took your hand in his, kissing the top, making you gasp in response.

“You have beautiful eyes,” Taehyung said, his voice was a smooth baritone that sent shivers down your spine. He looked up from your hand, eyes hooded from his brow bone, making you quickly pull away at the stunning visual.

“Thanks,” you stammered, trying to collect your thoughts, “You have a pretty smile.”

Taehyung’s face broke out into the aforementioned expression, an adorably contagious boxy smile, as he straightened up, “Thanks!”

“I actually listen to some jazz myself, though not that much,” you mentioned, wanting something to connect over, “I’ve been very into Kenny Garrett recently.”

Taehyung’s smile brightened, letting out a low chuckle, “Yes, he’s pretty great. You should come to one of my shows then, I’ll send you a ticket.”

You heard Yoongi clear his throat.

“You and Yoongi hyung a ticket, of course,” Taehyung finished, winking at you before turning away to greet Hoseok.

“And, lastly, this is Jeon Jeongguk. He’s the son of one of my father’s friends, so we grew up together,” Yoongi concluded, but Jeongguk interrupted.

“Hi, noona! You look so pretty,” Jeongguk smiled, excitedly hugging you. You laughed in response, patting his back before retorting, “Thanks, you look pretty too.”

Jeongguk pulled away, laughing jovially, “Thanks! I told Yoongi hyung we already talked but I don’t think he believed me.”

You stiffened, glancing at Yoongi, whose face was impassive, “Oh, I see.”

Yoongi stepped forward, blocking Jeongguk from your sight, “And who’s your guest?”

“Oh,” you stuttered, flustered by his closer presence, “This is Hoseok. We met in college, but he lives in Busan now. Well, not for much longer, he’s looking to move here,” you rambled.

Hoseok chuckled before placing a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I’m Jung Hoseok. It’s nice to meet you.”

Both men shook hands before Hoseok returned to your side, “I’ve been by Y/N’s side ever since our first year, it’s a surprise I’ve lasted this long,” he finished with a short laugh.

You elbowed him in the side, only making him grimace and slip his hand down to your waist for a teasing squeeze, “I work a dance studio in Busan but I’m planning on opening my own here.”

“Impressive,” Yoongi stated in a monotone voice, “You two must be close.”

“The closest,” Hoseok grinned, pulling you flush to his side, causing you to struggle, “We’re very familiar.”

Oh no.

That’s Hoseok’s shit-stirring voice, you knew it well. One glance at his sardonic grin had you wrestling out of his grip and trying to move on in the conversation to avoid whatever Hoseok was planning, “Yeah, we and Joohee are all really good friends. We were practically inseparable until Hoseok moved. We should all get lunch together sometime so you can get to know them better.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Yoongi said, almost eerily calm, eyes set on Hoseok’s impish smile.

You deflated at his words, forgetting for a moment that Yoongi didn’t want you to mix personal lives. It was embarrassing to say the least, and you felt like you came off as desperate. You felt yourself curl inwards before muttering a quiet, “Sure.”

Yoongi sent a curt nod in Hoseok’s direction before turning away to return to his own friend group, leaving you flustered and disconcerted next to Hoseok. He grinned triumphantly before noticing your abashed state, quickly pulling you into a soothing hug.

You pulled away, not wanting to be embarrassed anymore tonight, and reached for a passing waiter’s tray of champagne. You didn’t usually drink at public functions, but you felt like this was a worthy exception. The bubbly liquid felt necessary to get through the rest of the night, and you welcomed the warming sensation enthusiastically. You didn’t catch Hoseok’s concerned gaze nor the other stare that fell on your form from a far darker pair of eyes across the table.

You were exhausted. Every limb in your body and your brain itself were screaming out with soreness and fatigue. It felt like a light at the end of a tunnel when guests began filing out and the party came to a close.

You were decently buzzed, but still sober enough to be aware, from the multiple champagne glasses you drank. Joohee had made sure to keep you well hydrated, somewhat numbing the effects of the alcohol on your body.

The rest of the reception had gone by quietly, with you and Yoongi separated for the majority of it, greeting what guests you hadn’t and barely talking during dinner. You were conflicted, somewhat grateful for the ease the lack of Yoongi’s presence gave you, but also finding yourself missing his confident aura.

You waved the last guest out, before letting yourself collapse on a nearby chair. Joohee patted your shoulder and Hoseok wandered off to grab your belongings so that you’d be ready to go. Your mother closed the door to the room before approaching you, Yoongi’s parents in tow.

“Yoongi,” his mother called, pulling him away from his friends who were seated at another table. He approached, arriving at your seat at the same time as your mother.

“You’ll be going home in the car we’ve called for you,” your mother stated, leaving no room for argument. You were going to stay in Yoongi’s apartment now, “I assume your things are already there?”

You nodded timidly.

“Right, well, we’ll leave you to it. Would you like to join me and Woohyun for some drinks,” your mother asked Yoongi’s parents.

“Yes, of course, we’ll have a driver take us to your home. Yoongi, be good now,” his mother said, patting Yoongi’s shoulder and giving you a polite smile. You mustered up what you hoped was a smile in response, but you wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a grimace instead.

Your mother offered you no goodbye and instead gathered your father and gave some closing instructions to the cleaning staff, before swiftly exiting. You were left looking at Yoongi, who was mouthing something to his friends, waiting to see what he would do.

Joohee squeezed your shoulder before leaving you to help Hoseok with your bags. Hoseok didn’t really need help as you didn’t have much except the clothes you’d arrived in and some electronics, but you could tell Joohee wanted to escape the tense atmosphere. You couldn’t blame her.

Yoongi turned toward you, making you stand automatically to meet his gaze, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes, let me just,” you started before being interrupted by Hoseok arriving with your bag. You chuckled awkwardly as Yoongi’s eyes narrowed, watching you take the bags from Hoseok. Joohee was next to him, fiddling with her phone in an effort to not engage, you assumed.

“Are you leaving,” Hoseok asked, to which you nodded in response, “Well, have fun. Call me anytime, I’ll always be there.” He pulled you into a hug, making you melt in his embrace. You soon felt Joohee’s arms wrap around you as well, “Me too, we’ll talk later.” They released you before giving you encouraging smiles. You couldn’t say you felt the same level of confidence.

Facing Yoongi, you gathered your bags, noting his one bag at his side, likely containing his suit. He nodded curtly at Hoseok and Joohee, who waved in response, before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. You stumbled after him, waving a messy goodbye to Hoseok and Joohee, and finally catching up to Yoongi holding the door open for you. You tried to muster a grateful nod, but seeing his cold expression, you moved quickly to get out the door.

Awaiting your arrival outside was a sleek, black car, with a chauffeur standing patiently holding the door open to the backseat. You took a quick glance at Yoongi, who gestured for you to enter first, so you did, leaving your bags sitting outside. Yoongi climbed in afterward, quietly asking the driver to put the luggage in the trunk. The two of you sat in silence, waiting for the driver to finish packing the luggage away.

It was finally over.

Somehow, it didn’t feel that way. The relief you’d hoped to feel was nowhere to be found and you were left with only the biting anxiety that Yoongi’s silence incited. You played mindlessly with the seams of your hanbok, finding it slightly uncomfortable to sit in the backseat with. Yoongi didn’t seem to share the same discomfort, scrolling idly on his phone and not acknowledging your presence.

You wished you could do the same, but you’d left your phone in your bag after not having used it all day. Instead, you turned to the scenery outside your window to keep yourself occupied. The driver soon started up the car and began heading to Yoongi’s apartment. Watching the scenery fly by gave you time to think about what was waiting for you there.

You hadn’t visited Yoongi’s apartment yet, too afraid and uncomfortable to set foot inside a space so truly and specially his. Most of your things from your own apartment were apparently already set up, courtesy of his maid, Mrs. Lim, whom you had been in contact with when you first dropped off your things. You had been in a rush, trying to get to a dress fitting, and Mrs. Lim had insisted that you give everything to her and that she would make sure it would be ready for you when you came.

You supposed now was that time.

Yoongi was still silent beside you and you weren’t sure what to say to him. You hadn’t really spoken for the rest of the night after his odd introduction to Hoseok. It frustrated you how the little things he was doing kept messing with your head.

You weren’t an idiot, you knew that his actions could point toward jealousy, but you refused to consider that as a possibility. Not only would it contradict his entire attitude towards you, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel even a sliver of hope that Yoongi might harbor feelings toward you. The constant self-regulation was taxing and you dreaded the idea that this would be your future, constantly reminding yourself that your husband doesn’t love you and to not get confused.

Your thoughts halted with the car as the driver pulled into the entrance of the large building that housed Yoongi’s apartment. It was dark, so you gladly accepted the help of the chauffeur in getting out of the car. He kindly handed you your bags before bowing and driving away. You didn’t have access to the building yet, having called Mrs. Lim for your past visits, so you looked helplessly at Yoongi to unlock the door.

He didn’t spare you a glance as he punched in his code and stood aside to let you in. You nodded in thanks anyway and shivered at the cold nipping at your cheeks. Yoongi led you to the elevator, pressing the 9th-floor button, silently standing in the opposite corner from you.

Sighing internally, you almost laughed at the blatant display of the contempt he held for you. For the first time, you thought of him as slightly immature.

The elevator doors slid open and Yoongi led you to a hallway with only four doors, each housing a penthouse apartment. The farthest door was Yoongi’s, you learned, as he held his thumb up to the pad before hearing a click and pushing the door open. Mrs. Lim was immediately there to greet him.

“Mr. Min, let me take your things. Oh, Ms. Seo! Here, I’ll take your bags to your room. Wait, should I call you Mrs. Min, now?”

You smiled at the sweet, older woman, nodding your greeting, “Hi, Mrs. Lim. Please, just call me Y/N.”

She smiled at you, taking your things and rushing off to the upstairs portion of the apartment. It left you standing awkwardly next to Yoongi, who was typing something out on his phone. You took the moment to let your eyes wander around the sparkling apartment. It looked straight out of a catalogue with cool tones and neat furniture with an open concept. He had smooth, black leather couches surrounding a large TV with a path into a dining room that housed a large table and comfortable-looking chairs. That was next to a large kitchen with a wide counter in the middle and a sleek, silver refrigerator and oven. It looked nice, but not welcoming. You preferred warmer lighting and more touches of color, with some plants, but you reminded yourself that this wasn’t your space to customize.

Or was it? You weren’t really sure. It felt like you were invading Yoongi’s home, but wasn’t it your home now too? Should you be able to decorate it to your liking as well? Or at least compromise? The thought of addressing that now felt too overwhelming and you didn’t want to piss off Yoongi so early into your stay.

“You can go change and get ready to sleep. We can discuss the ground rules now or tomorrow morning, your choice,” Yoongi said, snapping you out of your observation of the apartment.

You nodded absently, wondering what other rules he had, “I can come down after changing.”

Yoongi hummed in response before taking off to the stairs, evidently going to change himself. You stood awkwardly by the entrance, not knowing exactly where your room was, and decided to take hesitant steps toward the stairs.

“Oh, Ms. Seo, let me help you to your room,” came Mrs. Lim’s comforting voice from the top of the stairs. You gratefully accepted her help and followed her through the halls as she gave you a tour.

“Over there is Mr. Min’s office, and just next to it, his bedroom. He has another office downstairs for his work, this one is more for personal use. There’s a bathroom here, but you have an en-suite bathroom in your bedroom anyway. There’s an extra room downstairs that I’ve fashioned into a bit of an office for you if you’d like to use it. That’s the guest bedroom there, the hallway bathroom is mainly for that one. Sometimes Mr. Min’s friends will stay over if they’ve drunk. Ah! Here’s your bedroom.”

You entered, enjoying Mrs. Lim’s chattering as she gave you a mini tour. Your bedroom was large with a queen-sized bed and soft-looking sheets with a fluffy comforter. There was a desk in the corner and a vanity in the other. You noted a door on the side that must lead to the bathroom, and your bags sitting on the floor by the desk.

“Through that door is your closet and bathroom. I’ve set up your closet for the most part and tried to make it homey, but please feel free to decorate it to your liking! I’m so excited to have another woman here long term, Mr. Min doesn’t always make for great company. Oh, but don’t tell him I said that!”

You giggled, enjoying the motherly presence Mrs. Lim provided, and began unpacking some of your bags from the day, “Thank you, Mrs. Lim. I appreciate you doing all this for me. And please, call me Y/N.”

“Of course. Do you need assistance getting out of your hanbok?”

“No, I think I’ll be alright, thank you.”

“Right, then I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be off shift now so I’ll be heading home, but please feel free to call me if you have any questions.”

“Of course, thank you, Mrs. Lim. Have a good night.”

She bowed before exiting and you breathed out, sitting on the plush bed, making the comforter balloon around you. The room was nice, definitely, but it felt a bit stale and unwelcoming. At least you could customize this area without having to worry about Yoongi. You opened the door to the closet, marveling at the size and open entrance into the bathroom with a large tub and shower. Your clothes were nicely organized and you had no trouble finding some pajamas to change into with an old shirt you’d stolen from Hoseok and shorts.

Quickly undressing, you neatly hung up your hanbok and slipped into the shower, grabbing the necessary toiletries from your bag. You relished in being able to wash the hair spray out of your hair and loosen it from your scalp, glaring at the pile of hairpins that sat on the granite counter you’d spent upwards of five minutes removing. The warm water soothed your aching legs and the soapy bodywash felt rejuvenating.

You swiftly finished showering, not wanting to keep Yoongi waiting, and wrapped yourself in a towel before loosely drying your hair. You preferred to let it air dry, so you only lightly patted it with a towel. Drying off the rest of your body, you donned new undergarments, pausing on whether or not to put on a bra. You usually didn’t wear bras to bed, but you didn’t want to go down to meet Yoongi braless.

You almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation and pulled on a comfortable sports bra, before slipping on your shorts and t-shirt, finally feeling comfortable. Quickly checking your reflection in the massive mirror, you headed down the stairs to meet Yoongi.

He was sitting on the leather couch in a loose white t-shirt and black sweatpants, almost taking your breath away at how beautifully casual he looked. You’d only seen him in suits so far and seeing him in loungewear with wet hair and a towel around his neck left you flustered. He noticed your presence, eyes running over your form making you feel embarrassed.

He gestured for you to join him on the couch, setting aside his phone to lean forward on his knees. You sat on the loveseat across from him, not quite sure what the etiquette was at this point.

“Okay, so I’ve already told you the general rules I have. Basically, don’t enter my space without knocking and please, do not go into my upstairs office. I’ll do the same for you. You’re free to set up your rooms however you like.”

You nodded, all of this seemed pretty fair so far.

“You can use the kitchen however you like, just let Mrs. Lim know what groceries you want. If I have guests over, I’d prefer if you stayed in your room, but I won’t force you. This space is as much yours as it is mine, now.”

You continued nodding along, making some notes of getting a TV for your room so you could properly entertain yourself when his friends were over. You wouldn’t exactly want him coming into the room when you’re with Hoseok and Joohee either.

“You can invite your friends over whenever you want, just let me know in advance. I’ll be sure to do the same for you. Also, if I have any of my own partners over,” he continued, the last words causing you to flinch, “I’ll make sure to let you know. Please just give us some privacy and try not to be out in the common space when they’re here. Of course, I’ll extend the same courtesy.”

The harsh reminder of the openness of the marriage left you squirming in the chair. You didn’t want to remember that Yoongi would be fucking other people in the home you shared.

“We can add things as we get used to living together. Anything you want to add?”

You shook your head quickly, just wanting to go to bed as soon as possible. Yoongi nodded, rising, before sparing you one last glance.

“Alright, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight,” you squeaked, watching him ascend the stairs. After his form disappeared into the hallway, you leaned back on the loveseat, exhaling harshly. What a conversation. You’d have to take some time to get used to this. You returned to your room feeling heavily conflicted. As you set up your phone and watch chargers, you thought over the conversation.

Objectively, Yoongi was being relatively fair, letting you exist in the space in the same capacity as him. Yet, you still felt unhappy. You knew why. You wanted him to be only yours, to have the same exclusive outlook you did on the relationship. You were upset with yourself more than him.

He had made this clear from the beginning, that he had no intention of stopping any partners outside of the relationship. He clearly didn’t want to have a relationship with you, sex or not, so what he was doing now was completely fair.

You couldn’t turn the emotional part of your brain that craved to have a real romantic relationship with him. It was almost annoying and you were frustrated at yourself for continuing to feel this way.

Climbing into bed, you continued wallowing, deciding that you’d pity yourself tonight, but the next day, you’d have to pull yourself together. You’d taken a couple of weeks off at the insistence of your boss, even though he knew you weren’t going on a honeymoon, and you wanted to enjoy sleeping in.

It was time to adopt Yoongi’s approach and try to remove yourself emotionally from the situation. How hard could it be?

Yoongi couldn’t focus on his book, ultimately setting it aside on his bedside table. He furiously rubbed at his eyes, feeling frustrated.

His eyes hadn’t been listening to him lately. They seemed to constantly wander after your figure, finding your face and curves at every corner. The past couple of days, they had barely strayed from you, watching as you cuddled up to that man, Hoseok.

Who was he? Were you two together? Was Hoseok in love with you? More importantly, why did it bother Yoongi so much?

He groaned, feeling annoyed that your relationship with Hoseok was getting to him so much. He had been the one to set the boundary of it being an open relationship, so why did it bother him so much that you seemed to be employing that? Yoongi knew that he had no right to feel this way and was only further annoyed that he continued to do so.

And what was with your budding friendship with Jeongguk? When did you two become so close? Yoongi buried his head in his hands, shouldn’t he be happy that his friends and wife are getting along?

Wife. It felt odd to say, or think, that. You were his wife now. Except he’d made it clear that the title didn’t change anything between you, nor would it change his actions. Despite his earlier resolve to not let this marriage affect him, you seemed to be having a great effect on him.

He’d followed your form and mannerisms throughout the past couple of days. He’d noticed your trembling hands and avoiding eye contact. When the two of you had been about to kiss, he could feel your body shaking beneath his hands, prompting him to cover your mouth for the kiss.

He hated how tempted he’d been to fully kiss you.

Throughout the rest of the ceremony and reception, you’d been largely withdrawn, until you’d met with Hoseok. Yoongi was frustrated that you didn’t seem to be able to stand up for yourself, that you played so well into the role of a trophy wife, but he’d been even more upset at your close contact with Hoseok.

The man had laid his hands on you so easily and seeing the way Hoseok’s fingers curled around your waist and your smile when you talked to him made Yoongi’s blood boil. Why hadn’t you smiled at him like that?

Yoongi bit his lip, he knew that wasn’t your fault. He hadn’t been welcoming at all to you, he’d barely given you a chance to talk to him. Yoongi was just steadfast in his mission to continue on with life as normal, he didn’t want this marriage to change anything. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to be upset with you going along with his requests.

You were dangerous.

You were dangerous in the way that you nodded along to everything Yoongi asked, in the way you refused to let your mask slip and show any emotion, in the way you smiled so brightly with Hoseok and Jeongguk, in the way your cheeks tinged pink when Taehyung kissed your hand and Namjoon smiled at you, and in the way you looked so comfortable and natural in your pajamas.

Yoongi had to suck in a breath when he saw you entering the living room with your freshly washed and damp hair, falling in wet curls strands around your shoulders, making a wet spot on the oversized dance team t-shirt.

That was another thing. Where had you gotten that shirt? It was far too big for you, Yoongi knew that well. It was obvious in the way it fell past the hem of your shorts, tantalizing his eyes to rake down your legs, and it was for a college dance team. Were you on one in college?

Or, Yoongi’s mind raced, was it Hoseok’s? Hadn’t the man said he worked in a dance studio? The thought made Yoongi fume, just how close had you two gotten?

But he paused, what right did he have to feel upset? Yoongi had been in bed with another woman just days ago, it wasn’t fair of him to judge you for doing the same. He’d said that you were allowed to sleep with or date whoever you wanted, so why was he so angry at the idea of you and Hoseok?

Another sigh escaped him, he didn’t have it in him to deal with this tonight. Just the idea of you a few rooms down in that too-big shirt and too-short shorts was enough to drive him crazy.

He reached over, turning off the lamp next to his bed. He’d unpack his feelings in the morning. Yoongi turned over, settling into bed, ignoring how empty and cold his hand felt without your warmth.

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chimivx · 2 months ago

Note

Im so happy that you are accepting vegas scenarios. Thank you so much 💗

Can it be like a lazy fluffy family day, just them enjoying their day with Dae.

Actually, am ok with whatever you write lol I just miss them. They are my comfort place 💕

Have a great day ✨️

...dads and their toddlers -> vegas!yoongi/vegas!couple <3

moms and their infants, dads and their toddlers… i enjoyed writing this. i miss them with all of my heart. trust they are happy & taken care of.

wc: 2.5k. warnings: f l u f f. vegas masterlist.

“No, no, no!”

Feet thundered on the hardwood floor, startling you where you stood at the counter slicing up fruits, tossing the pieces into a little pink bowl. Pressing a hand to the stretchy cotton wrapped around your front, your shoulders and your back, you curled a finger over the fabric and peeked inside, hoping tiny fluffy eyelashes were still laying over round, chubby cheeks. Taking the smallest breath without disturbing the little one, though she was used to everything by now, you cover her back up and finish chopping up the apple your three year old asked for ten minutes ago.

“No!”

Yoongi’s shout carried through the living room, echoed into the hall and found you in the kitchen. The sound of his voice alone, though he seemed like he was fighting a battle, brought you comfort. His voice and Dae’s maniacal giggles. Inseparable, the two of them, since Yoongi’s been able to live back at home with the three of you. Your girl, your Dae, an exact replica of her father, she adored him.

And she had him wrapped around her finger.

Wherever Dae went, Yoongi was behind her. Whatever Dae wanted, Yoongi gave her. All it took was a little pout and the blinking of her lashes and he melted into a puddle on the floor. The subtlest slouch of her shoulders and he would give in, even if he’s said no many times before. So many times you’ve mumbled what trouble she got him in, but with one tip of his chin, glare of his eyes and smirk of his lips, he told you she got this from you.

Truthfully, Dae’s fixation with her father made it easy to bring her sister into the family. Though you sometimes wished she’d ask to lay with you at night instead of Yoongi, or that she wanted you to read her a book instead of Yoongi humming her songs, you were burdened with glorious purpose.

Hyejin came into your lives around the end of August, right when things flipped upside for you and Yoongi for a bit like life normally would. Everything happened at once, that’s how things went around here, new baby, private life media breach, something of a public scandal that you’ll fight till your last breath defending- Nine months pregnant, heavily exhausted from mothering a two year old at the same time, every reporter, every nonsense human being who came around looking for their fifteen minutes, they didn’t stand a chance.

Not Yoongi nor Jin could stop you. If you caught someone's ear, if they dared to step up to the woman in sweatpants with her belly popping out of a cropped sweater, that was their own fault. Neither man could tell you to lay down, eat something, or sleep. It was your second rodeo and you knew what you were doing. Pregnant with Hyejin, you could take on the fucking world, you were invincible, you were fearless. Every worry you had the first time around with Dae, gone. Every precaution you’d take, every cautious step, every jump at every single subtle sound, gone.

You weren’t sick like you had been throughout your first pregnancy, you weren’t drowsy and fatigued, you didn’t have the need to lie down or sit down often- You were exhausted, yes, but not because of Hyejin. Dae kept you on your toes, especially on days when Yoongi had to work, or Sunny had to fly to LA, or Jin had to also work. When it was just you and her, she ran the show, but as she should. You soaked in as much time as possible with her, your first baby, the girl who changed your life for the better.

Time spent with Dae healed you in more ways than one. You worked hard to be the best mother you could be for her, and Yoongi the best father. A promise you kept with one another, for your children.

The two of you went on mother daughter dates appropriate for a two year old. Getting your nails painted, shopping for clothes and toys, letting Sunny cut and style your hair together, making art with her, dancing around her bedroom with her. It’d been your favorite time with her, the best time, and now with a baby strapped to your front, it was Yoongi’s turn.

The nights he’d lay with Dae were nights you spent nursing Hyejin, something you never go to experience with your first born. She was an entirely different child, but that didn’t mean you loved either one any less. It’d been scary the first time around, a lot of things did not go how they were supposed to, how you and Yoongi wanted them to go. After Hyejin’s birth it felt as though you both needed to relearn how to be a new parent.

She grew quickly, she ate when she was supposed to, she made it past the one month and two month old check up without having to be readmitted to the hospital. Getting her to sleep was a breeze, but she was sure to let you know when she was awake and ready to be fed. Hyejin became the boss in the sweetest way, and you and Yoongi both know that Dae had paved the way.

Where your first born was kind, charming and gentle, Hyejin was already fearless, confident and headstrong. The day she starts walking is the day Dae’s life changes. You couldn’t wait for the two of them to grow up together, two tiny best friends.

“Min Dae,” you called out, turning your chin out the archway into the hall so your voice would carry to the little one probably pinning her father to the rugs in the living room. Slicing another apple for you and Yoongi you tossed it into another bowl and slid it onto the island counter behind you. Grabbing the already full bowl of grapes and tangerines, you slid that over as well. Spinning around, you grabbed onto Hyejin and gasped aloud.

“Hey, D, can- Oh my god!”

Dae sat on top of his shoulders, her pink pajama pants bringing a pink tinge to Yoongi’s cheeks. Holding onto her ankles, Dae holding onto the top of his head, they both wore the same tight lipped smile and broke into the same fit of giggles when they successfully scared you. They snuck in while you were situating the snacks, Yoongi still standing on bent knees he tiptoed into the kitchen with.

“I told you we’d get her,” Yoongi looked up at Dae who gave him an upside down smile as her dad shook her where she sat.

“We scared you,” Dae said, proud as ever, hands gripping at the dark strands of her fathers hair.

“Yes,” you breathed, giving her a smile. “You scared me,” you said, giving Yoongi a look, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he crooned, coming to your side with a kiss for you. Taking a hand to his cheek you pulled at it and curled your lip.

“Almost peed,” you mumbled, and Dae thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Falling forward over her fathers head her hands dropped to his shoulders and she almost slid off his back. Reaching his hands backward he grabbed her under her arms and maneuvered her around to prop her on his hip. “You think it’s funny Dae-sy!?”

“Yes, Mommy,” she giggled, “Don’t pee your pants!” Yoongi clenched his jaw, his smile unmatched, trying to withhold his laughter.

Leaning in toward her, you tapped the tip of her nose and said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Snacks in hand, everyone acquiring a bowl, your little family ventured back into the living room, taking to the floor, the fruits living on the wooden coffee table between the couches. Dae, to your surprise, cozied up on your lap, or one of your thighs rather, her sister took up most of the room.

“What do we say to Mama?” Yoongi asked Dae from your left, raising his brows into the hair that was slowly starting to grow longer over his forehead.

Your three year old looked over her shoulder with a mouthful of grapes and smiled. “Tank you,” she said quietly, not every letter quite making it out with the words.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, you said, “You’re welcome, my baby.”

Yoongi danced a hand over your back, scooting even closer to you on the rug. His legs pressed into your hips, if they were stretched out they’d be able to wrap around you and you’d fit perfectly between his hips. Sliding his fingers down your arm reaching for a tangerine, he took it, tossed it into his other hand, laced his fingers with yours and pressed his lips to your ear. “How’s my baby doing?”

Warmth burned in your cheeks as you smiled back at him, catching his lips in the quickest kiss. “Good,” you whispered. He leaned forward and laid his head on your shoulder, both of his hands wrapping around your front, just over where Hyejin slept. “She’s tired today.”

“You’ve got her all warm and snuggly, I’d be tired too,” he said quietly. His hands held her, his fingers smoothing over her back through the fabric of the wrap around you. “Wish we had this with Dae.”

“She would’ve hated it, D,” you half laughed. “She’s so nosey, imagine trying to keep her in here.”

He pursed his lips and nodded, looking down at his first born watching the two of you intently with her cheeks puffed out, full of fruit. “That’s why you’re so smart.”

You poked her nose and she giggled. “‘Cause you’re so curious.”

“Yeaaah,” she tried to sing, and the two of you laughed aloud. Dae grinned wide, proud of herself.

“I told Jimin she’s a Shawol, he didn’t believe me,” Yoongi said. “We have to get that in a video.”

Taking Dae’s cheeks between a finger and your thumb, you squished them, turning her smile silly. “One of her dancing, too. Taemin can take her on tour.”

Yoongi furrowed his brow. “She could probably handle that, put Guilty on the TV.”

“Gui-tee!” Dae leapt to her feet, stomped in place, eyes wide, then rushed for the flat screen on the wall.

Scrambling to find the remote, Yoongi shot you a look. “You tell Kook she’s no longer obsessed with his song anymore?” Pressing the power button the TV lit up and Dae shrieked, making Hyejin stir.

Placing a hand over her back, you pouted. “I don’t have the heart, D, what the hell am I supposed to say?”

Yoongi, now leaning over the coffee table, his eyes fixated on the TV like his daughters, searched up Taemin’s music video, and the moment Dae saw the thumbnail she babbled something neither you nor Yoongi could make out.

“That she likes this shirtless guy now instead of him,” he joked, snickering as he clicked play, giving you a smile.

The music started and you couldn’t help it as your eyes slid over to the screen. The beat of the song, the sound of his voice, the artistry of the entire piece, you longed to know what went through his head when he came up with these concepts. Helping the guys with theirs before their enlistment, keeping the spark alive while they did their mandatory service, it was exciting- but nothing quite like this. Taemin had a creative brain you yearned to pick. The choreography, the music, the passion…

“See, you like him, too,” Yoongi teased, pulling you from the daze as Taemin pulled his hand out of his shirt.

Nearly breaking your neck you shot him a glare, the smile evident on your lips.

“For your information, I was admiring the art,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Mhm,” he smirked. “If he released this a few months earlier he’d be responsible for that one,” he mumbled, glancing down at Hyejin.

Clicking your tongue, you slouched over defeated, smile playing at your lips, arms wrapping over Hyejin who made some noise. “Is it so horrible it’s a tragically sexy song?” Supporting your baby you began to maneuver yourself out of the wrap. Yoongi moved to your side and helped, one hand beneath yours to keep Hyejin safe, the other untangling you from the fabric.

“It is tragically sexy,” he whispered, taking the wrap from you, smiling down at Hyejin who had opened her eyes. Free from her cocoon of warmth she stretched out her arms and wiggled her head, her legs kicking forward one by one. Her fluff of dark hair was cradled in your elbow. “I like the video too,” he whispered, meeting your eyes with the tiniest smile, “Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I know you do,” you whispered back, kissing him when he tilted his head. Twirling behind the two of you, Dae sang along, or tried, and danced to the rhythm, following Taemin and his team of talented dancers. Hyejin let out one whine and you laughed against his lips. “Our kids don’t let us kiss.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes and looked down at Hyejin and her pastel purple long sleeved footed pajamas. “It’s a wonder we were able to have her.” Catching his eyes for two seconds, heart sinking a smidge, he placed a hand to your cheek, his thumb dragging beneath your lashes. It wasn’t what he meant, he was adding to the joke, not making light of what you both went through last winter. Almost a month away from the date.

Hyejin whined once more, her arms and legs going astray, pulling your attention toward her.

“Are you hungry?” you asked softly, reaching between you and the baby to set her up for her own lunch. Yoongi moved behind you, helping you situate yourself, your shirt, the baby, giving you a place to rest while you fed her.

Taemin ended, and autoplay gave your daughter the greatest gift ever. The BigHit intro played, and she froze. She knew this intro. It was either her father, or BTS themselves, or someones solo stuff. You’ve given her a taste of Tomorrow X Together, some days she’d beg for Chasing That Feeling. The scream that rung through the air when Jungkook appeared, tattoos on display in his sleeveless vest, hair hanging over his forehead, it made you and your husband laugh.

“Kookie, Kookie, Kookie!” she shouted again, and again, and again, running in circles as she did.

Leaning your head back on Yoongi’s shoulder, you looked up at him and gave him a tight lipped smile. “She’s still obsessed.”

“Of course she is,” he mumbled. The smell of fresh, sweet citrus filled the air. He pressed a small tangerine slice to your lips and slipped it inside your mouth when you parted them. “Uncle Kookie gives her whatever she wants.” Kissing you any way he could, he smiled and fed you another piece of tangerine, making sure you were taken care of while you took care of his daughter, your daughter.

“She misses him,” you whispered.

Yoongi bobbed his head. “Yeah,” he sighed, looking at Dae twirling to the music, then at you with a pout forming on both your faces. “We all do.”

you do not have permission to copy or translate my works.

#vegas #yellow #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #bts x reader #bts x you #i miss them so bad #bts #yoongi #dad!yoongi #dad!bts

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prodagustd · 5 months ago

Text

the road not taken 04 | myg

part four: a wish

Summary: Were you about to go crazy if you started to consider that Yoongi felt something for you?

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, FLUFF ❤️‍🩹, eventual smut, angst, sexual tension!!!!! flashbacks, ANGST!! mentions of sex 👀Btw english is not my first language!

—words: 9.6k

—a/note: hiiii friends!!! i'm glad to say that it didn't take me six months to post this :D. I genuinely went through the most stressful two months of my life so I'm really proud that I could finish this chapter while trying to survive this thing called being an adult!! Anywayy, I’m excited for this chapter but I’m MORE EXCITED FOR THE NEXT ONE… 👀 so please have patience with this story!!! I promise it’s worth it hehehe. As always, you are more than invited to discuss this chapter in the asks, feedback is always welcomed <3 this one is very fluffy i hope you enjoy ittt. (Also if you read a typo, no you didn’t)

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Four years ago

Seven days before New Year’s Eve

Were you too naive to still believe your father when he said that you were granted a wish every Christmas? He used to say that every year when he was still around and you were still a kid, when the clock struck twelve you could wish anything you wanted, as long as it wasn’t something material or more presents, you had to wish for something special, something that made you happy.

The last Christmas before your father passed away you were seven years old and still believed in Santa Claus. That year, for some reason, your wish slipped your mind, you forgot about it completely. You stayed at your house, watched movies the whole day in your pajamas and at midnight your parents let both you and Simon open only one present before sending you to bed. You remembered how your father chased you to the stairs to tickle you until you cried of laughter and how good the cookies your mother made that night were, perhaps that year you were too happy to remember making a wish, perhaps what you had was enough. When you woke up the next morning, you were sad that you had wasted it, but your father, wise as ever, told you not to worry. He said that it was like you were saving your wish for the next year — maybe then it would be stronger, and maybe, since you waited, you would have a better chance of it coming true.

By the time Christmas came the following year your father was already gone, and with him all the magic of the world. You had to grow up, you stopped making wishes and tried to stop believing in stories, but it was difficult when his words were still at the back of your mind like some sort of tradition every holiday season. Despite knowing that magic didn’t exist and perhaps not a single wish of yours had ever come true, you still couldn't help but believe you still had your last wish, and everytime the idea of finally making it crossed your mind, you stopped to tell yourself you could still wait another year, just to be sure.

That morning you saw Yoongi leaned over his car, adjusting his cap as he saw you walking over to him and you thought about your saved wish for the first time this year. And then again when he grabbed your hand to drag you out of the room, or when he waited for you at the bottom of the stairs before leaving the house, but you wouldn’t admit it, not even to yourself.

He dragged you all across your grandmother’s hometown as if you didn’t know it like the palm of your hand, as if the streets weren’t filled with kids running and whole families doing last-minute gift shopping, but he didn’t seem to care, so for once, you didn’t let it annoy you either. You observed the happy families and the kids playing in the snow, and sat in the park for as long as the cold weather allowed.

It was like you entered a trance, you tried to fight the urge to snap out of the moment and talked and talked the whole afternoon about everything and nothing at the same time, Yoongi listened and laughed while playing with the ends of your hair, pushing you closer to the edge of illusion. If you weren’t so adamant to stay in that blurry haze, you would’ve done something to stop him, you would’ve push his hand away when he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, you would’ve hated how easy it was for him to play dumb, how natural it was to touch you without feeling something was wrong. You ignored it instead, you ignored him and his wandering hands and the fact that he didn’t dare to mention the moment you shared in the closet, nor the way your noses brushed together, or how his fingers hugged your waist as if you weren’t just friends. Even if you would’ve died for him to say a word about it, to tease you, to attempt to make fun of you just to know that what happened was real and not something you dreamt last night.

If you were really dreaming, you held on to your sleep for a while. When Yoongi found that secondhand bookstore five blocks away from the park, he grabbed your hand when you ran across the street before the traffic lights turned green and stayed inside wandering the aisles with him, you let him lean over to whisper jokes in your ear and you punched his arms when he made you laugh a little bit too loud. You tried to keep your voices low and made a list of books to read the following year. You didn’t buy any of them but you read the prologues and the author’s biographies like it was the most interesting thing in the world. You waited for Yoongi when he started to talk with an old man about a book he needed for college and, when he felt you drifting away, he hooked one of his fingers on the belt loop of your jeans and pulled you close to him again. You felt his hands on your waist, keeping you pressed against the side of your body while he pretended to be focused on the conversation, but he was focused on something else. His long fingers played with the waistband of your jeans as your chest felt tight and your breath felt heavier. Maybe you were beginning to go insane, maybe you had a fever and everything was just a product of your imagination, but a tiny voice inside your head quietly suggested that maybe this time you weren’t insane, maybe it was just him.

It was getting dark outside, and you were supposed to be home anytime soon, but he turned his head to you and whispered in your ear that you should save a seat at the coffee shop next door and wait for him while he paid for the book. Even if it was cold and snowing neither of you wanted to return home yet, so you agreed. You made your way to the cute little coffee shop adorned with Christmas lights and sat on a table to wait for him to arrive at the table, until you saw him entering the shop with a book wrapped in brown wrapping paper in his hands.

You observed him approaching with your face on the palms of your hands, you watched his eyes scanning the place until they found you in some poor illuminated corner. He smiled, his eyes never left yours as he made his way to your table, and when he sat in front of you, he slid the book towards you.

“This is for you.” He simply said, crossing his arms over his chest like it was no big deal.

You frowned, confused. Did Yoongi get you some lawyer book? You didn’t know, you grabbed the wrapped book in your hands and scanned it as if you were able to see through the envelope. “The book you needed for college?”

“It’s not that.” He huffed. “It’s a present.”

You tried to bite back a smile, but you failed. “Is this your way to tell me you forgot to buy me a Christmas present?” You joked, making him roll his eyes.

“C’mon, you know me.” He said “I would never give you a Christmas present before Christmas, are you crazy?”

You laughed “So is this not a Christmas present?” You inquired, teasing him.

“It is a Christmas present, but not the Christmas present that I got for you.” He tried to clarify, and it sounded confusing but you understood him anyway.

You nodded, tearing the wrapping paper to reveal that Yoongi just bought you an Anne Sexton poetry book, the title “Love Poems” shinned in red on the cover, making you hold your breath for a second.

You raised your gaze from the book to find his eyes, which were looking at you expectantly, the same way someone looked at the moon, yearning. The same way you were looking at him.

“How did you know…?” The question died in your lips.

“I just know.” He cheekily said, and that was enough.

You know me, he said, and you felt your heart aching when you realized that Yoongi knew you too, and it was becoming impossible to escape from it.

You spent these past weeks trying to make it disappear, but there it was again, that strange feeling you felt in your chest, like something tugged from a string tied to your heart to try and steal it away. You were sure Yoongi thought he had his ways with you, that he was some kind of genius that knew exactly what to say and what to do to erase the frown from your face and make you laugh, but the truth was that he didn’t need to do much effort to win you over, the truth was that he already had you. He had you then, and he had you now and you weren’t sure if that was ever going to change, but today you didn’t care, you let him walk you home as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like that warm wouldn’t chill you to the bone when he left.

You had successfully gone through dinner without having to answer questions about college, or your future, or anything about yourself at all, part of it was because your grandmother didn’t ask any questions to begin with. Maybe you were a bit jealous that she seemed more interested in Eva, your cousin, who was a biochemist and just got engaged, or Aidan, your other cousin, who was just admitted into college, or even Yoongi, who was about to graduate, however, you felt relieved that the attention was not focused on you. You were used to your family thinking that you were a thirteen year old teenager and not a twenty one year adult, the attention was never really on you, sometimes it bounced on you accidentally like a ball and, from time to time, you got to share a glimpse of information about your life, but most of the time your mother answered for you as if you were a kid in the hospital room, trying to include you in conversations and talking about your own projects, and that was enough for everyone.

In the past, your mother had sat you down several times to explain that your grandmother was never an easy woman, she reassured you that her judgmental behavior was a reflection of herself, not of you. She always offered to let you stay at home if you wanted to, but you refused only for the rest of the family, you could stand being with your grandmother if that meant being with the rest of them. And you learnt to endure it all: your grandmother’s judging look, all the talking about your cousin’s achievements, their goals, projects, flawless record, and the fact that everyone seemed to be finding their paths except for you. You had to learn to pretend you were happy for them and not jealous, you took several breaths and moved on, and for a while you thought that after two decades of your life you had finally mastered the art in not giving a fuck about what your family thought about you, until today when you ran to hide in the closet so they wouldn’t find you.

You had to work on that, you knew that, but at least for now the blatant disinterest for your life spared you from having to explain your life crisis, at least Yoongi was by your side, redirecting attention to him and the real question everyone wanted to ask but no one dared, a question that eclipsed any other topic of conversation: what was happening between the two of you?

You looked at him next to you, charming as ever, talking with your uncle across the table. He decided to put on his glasses, his cheeks were pink and the sleeves of his blue sweater were rolled up to his elbows, his arm was casually resting on the top rail of your chair and every time he made a joke he looked at you to check if you were laughing. Every attempt he made to try to make you part of the conversation made your heart swell, but you were more than happy just observing him blending into your family as if he were part of it; you wanted to be as clueless as everyone on the table and believe that Yoongi could be sitting next year at this very same table to be there for you, for a moment you allowed yourself to dream of a reality where he saved you from every family gathering like he was doing tonight.

From the tip of your nose to the tip of your toes you felt warm, almost as if you had a fever. It was probably because you were still wearing your black sweater inside the house or because the memory of the book Yoongi gave you kept your cheeks burning red, or maybe because when dinner was over and your family lingered over the table for the longest time they could, you saw Yoongi tilting his head towards the stairs, meaning it was time to go to bed.

There was a couple differences between this weekend and the night Yoongi slept with you after coming back from The Alley, that night you wouldn’t have ask him to stay over if you were sober, and he most likely wouldn’t have stay if he wasn’t high, tonight you had to share the room, but it was impossible for you not to be dramatic and always make big deals out of small things. Unlike you, Yoongi didn’t flinch when you told him you were going to sleep in the same room, you failed to remember that you were the one who had a decade-long crush on him and not the other way around.

Now the house was quiet and everyone was scattered around the floors, your cousins were in the living room with your uncle, your grandmother was already in bed, your mom was in the kitchen washing the dishes and Yoongi was upstairs, waiting for you. Before going with him, you changed into your pajamas and went to the kitchen to steal a few cookies that your mother cooked for tomorrow morning. You could wait a few hours more to eat the cookies, but you were desperately trying to look for an excuse to prolong the moment you entered the room you were sharing with the man upstairs.

You entered the kitchen, making your mother turn around from the sink to take a quick look at you before coming back to the dishes. “Are you already going to sleep?” She asked, a curious tone on her voice.

“Yeah, but I wanted to grab a few cookies first, is that okay?” You inquired, already opening the cabinet above her head to grab a big plate.

“Just a few, remember they’re for everyone.” She warned, and you hummed in response, knowing that you were going to grab more than just a few.

The room fell silent for a moment, you heard the water running and your dragging feet making their way to the cookies on the counter before she raised her voice again. “Are they for you and Yoongi?”

You hummed again “Yes, just a few, I promise.” You said, grabbing what it seemed to be a whole batch of cookies to put on the plate.

You tried to be quick, putting an extra cookie for the road between your teeth and turning around to escape from your mother before she could see you and scold you for stealing way too many cookies. Trying not to make any noise, as if that could make you invisible, you made your way towards the door to escape, but when you thought you were about to succeed, you heard the nickname your mom used for you from the corner of the room, stopping you in your tracks.

“Wait, darling.” You heard her tone of voice, surprised that it wasn’t annoyed, but rather motherly.

You turned around slowly with your guard up, as if in that way she wouldn’t notice the cookie between your teeth. You took it out of your mouth, hiding it behind your back.

“Yes?” You answered, remaining calm. You would not give yourself away when you already made this far.

She closed the faucet, turning around to face you. Her eyes fell upon you, offering you an apologetic smile, which was weird, it was the kind of smile she gave you when she knew she was about to upset you. It wasn’t the kind of face someone who was about to scold you would make, she looked hesitant, almost worried.

“I wanted to-... I mean, I wanted to ask you about something.” She said, stumbling with her own words. Her eyes were not focused on the plate on your hands, not even in your face completely, like she was trying to avoid your eyes. You felt a rush of nervousness running down your body and quickly dissipating, you didn’t know why.

“About what?” You inquired, wiping the crumbs from your mouth.

She sighed, playing with the towel in her hands to keep her hands busy. “I know you don’t want me to be all over your business, and I’m aware you are not a teenager anymore, but I can’t help worrying a little bit.” She explained, or at least she tried.

You frowned, more confused than ever. The conversation seemed to be taking a completely different path than you thought five seconds ago.

“What do you mean, mom?” You said, taking a step forward, what did this have to do with the cookies?

Your mom pursed her lips, hesitating for a microsecond until the words finally came out of her mouth. “You are already a woman, darling, so I wanted to know if you are… cautious.” She pronounced, making emphasis on the last word and letting it sink in the air, but you still didn’t understand what she was talking about.

“Cautious with what?” You must've looked like a total fool, asking once again what she meant, but your mother seemed to want you to understand without having to explain.

She shifted in her place and you saw a flash of embarrassment in her eyes, but it quickly disappeared. “With Yoongi, I mean.” She said, making the name resonate in your ears “I know you’re both adults and you can do whatever you want, but I wanted to make sure that you are using protection.”

The realization fell upon you like a ton of bricks, each word she uttered felt like a different punch to your stomach. You opened your eyes widely, almost choking with your own spit. “What? No, mom-” You wanted to interrupt her, but she was quick to talk over you.

“I just want to make sure!” She said like she was apologizing “I don’t mean to be invasive, but it’s important to me that you’re being safe.”

You winced, feeling your face burning as you began stuttering “Me and Yoongi…-We are not, I mean-”

“Honey,” She stopped you, looking at you like she was a sex education teacher trying to explain why you should use protection. “I was not born yesterday, I see things happening, and believe me, I have no problem with you sharing a room, but I can’t help but ask.”

You were left completely speechless, and her constant interruptions while you were trying to finish a sentence were not helping. You racked your brain to find a logical explanation, but you were incapable of forming a decent sentence when she was looking at you like she was a doctor. The fact that your mother thought that you and Yoongi were having sex made your stomach squirm, and how she stated that it was obvious left your head spinning. Did she see you today in that closet and immediately assumed you were… fucking? God, that sounded so bad, so incredibly embarrassing. You still felt yourself blushing when you thought about that moment, you couldn’t even fathom the idea of seeing him without a shirt, less alone having sex with him.

“Mom, please. You don’t have to worry, really.” You tried to explain, but that was not enough to leave your mother content, by the look on her face you knew she didn’t believe you one bit.

“I know I don’t have to worry!” She defended herself “Yoongi is a great boy, and I trust you… But you know, if things get a bit too frisky...”

You closed your eyes shut, trying not to picture that in your mind, “God, mom, don’t use that word!”

“Sorry! I mean… You know what I mean! I hope you’re using protection, no matter the circumstances.”

You took a deep breath, ninety percent sure you were about to die of embarrassment, but with your last breath you made sure to be clear with your mom so tonight she would sleep peacefully “Believe me, mom. You don’t have to worry, nothing happened between Yoongi and me, I mean it.”

You could see it in her eyes, she was not convinced, and she was right to be so. That was a lie, and she knew it. What happened today was not “nothing”, and your mother knowing that only made your cheeks burn.

“Fine.” She said, struggling to let the conversation go “But if something does happen… Be safe, okay?”

You nodded repeatedly, trying to end the conversation as soon as possible. “Yes, of course.” You promised, but the idea of that ever happening sent a chill down your spine, you tried to shake that thought as far away as you possibly could.

Your mom smiled and you took it as your cue to go. You tried to walk away, but before you reached the door, she spoke again.

“And darling?” She said, making you turn around to see her. “I know you don’t like coming here without your brother, so thank you for coming anyway.”

“It’s fine, mom.” You said, and it was true. “At least Yoongi made up for it.”

She smirked, suppressing a laugh. “Oh, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes, in disbelief. “Yup, I’m going now, goodnight!” You said, finally escaping from the conversation. You heard your mom’s laugh in the distance as you closed the door behind you to run upstairs.

Present

When you visited Simon’s apartment for the first time you could clearly notice it was a boy’s apartment from the lack of decoration, the lack of food in the fridge and the amount of boxes still unpacked weeks after moving in, but after you entered through the door tonight you saw a completely different version of it. It was a part of him that you missed out when you were gone, now there were plants on the living room and traces of Florence all over the place, like her purple slippers on the door and the purple toothbrush on the bathroom, her scrunchies on the entryway table and the framed picture of her beside them. You found it endearing, it was like a secret world made just for the two of them, a proper home.

“When is Florence coming back?” You asked, leaving your bag on the couch.

Simon took off his shoes, wandering through his house as he turned all the lights on “On Monday.” He replied.

You made a mental note to leave on Monday, even if Simon repeated a thousand times that it was okay for you to stay there on the way here, you didn’t want to intrude in his life. Instead you decided it would be easier to intrude in Minnie’s life, who’s apartment was big enough for the two of you, the only person she shared her apartment with was not an actual person, it was just her orange cat.

“I was supposed to go with her.” Your brother kept talking “But me and Yoongi are behind on some work and I had to stay… Well, I’m the one who’s behind, really. Yoongi is just helping me.”

You did not forget that Simon and Yoongi worked together at the same law firm downtown ever since they graduated. You knew that Yoongi got the job as soon as he graduated and then he was followed by your brother, after years it was still impossible to keep them apart, which had become a problem for you.

You nodded but didn’t say anything about it, you reasoned that Yoongi was still working before arriving at your house, that explained the clothes, the shoes and the messy hair. You sighed just by thinking about it, at least dinner was over, at least your first encounter with Yoongi after four years wasn’t the worst thing that happened tonight.

It was impossible, but you tried not to think about it too much. Yoongi’s presence was some kind of collateral effect that came with your life, it was too late to detach him from it, but you still tried to run away from it for years and years, only to come back and still find him here, talking to you like nothing ever happened, like you were still friends.

Yoongi and you were always on different stages of your life, on different places, on different paths, but you seemed to agree on one thing: keep everything secret, no one needed to know what happened between the two of you, that was why Simon was always talking about Yoongi when you called him, that was why he couldn’t stop talking about it him now, he didn’t realize that you didn’t want to know anything about his best friend, you could never told him why.

You followed your brother to his guest room as he talked and talked about how smart Yoongi was and how he was capable of taking so many different cases and not dying in the process, how nice it was to work with his best friend and blablabla. You swore that if you heard the name one more time you would explode, so you decided to drastically change the subject of the conversation, you were willing to say anything to take his name out of your brother’s mouth. It took a second, but when the room fell silent, you looked at your feet, a bit unsure, gathering enough courage to finally say what you’ve been meaning to tell him since you arrived home.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about the proposal.” You softly spoke, and Simon, who was looking for a blanket in the closet in the corner of the room, turned his head to look at you. “I wanted to tell you in person, but I wasn’t planning for that article to come out, I didn’t want the whole world to know.”

Simon left the blanket on the bed, turning his body to look at you more clearly. “Mom told me that you think Ian leaked the news” He mentioned, and you nodded, at the risk of looking crazy.

“Sally suggested it.” You confirmed, sitting on the bed “And if he didn’t, he’s fine with it anyway. He doesn’t care if people see me as this bitch who broke his heart, I might as well be.”

He looked at the wall behind you, confused. “I think I missed a chapter here.” He said, sitting on the edge of the bed “Maybe more than one. Weren’t you in love with him?”

You wanted to grab a pillow, bury your face on it and scream as loud as you could, but for the sake of looking like a sane person you contained yourself. “I thought I was.” You said sincerely. you believed there was a time when you were sure you were in love with Ian, there were moments you thought that the good things about him could outweigh the bad things, but deep down you knew that if you were really in love you wouldn’t have to do all that math, you wouldn’t have to fight to ignore his arrogance and his big ego.

“And when did you realize that you weren’t?” He continued to ask “Or when did you realize he was a jerk?”

You scoffed, bitterly. “I guess I always knew both, I tried to make it work regardless. I enjoyed being with him for some time, but then he planned an engagement party full of people I didn’t even know. He didn’t care to call any of you and expected me to say yes… Does that say more about him or me?”

He kept quiet, not knowing what to say, but you already knew the answer.

“Ian was an asshole, kid. He was jealous of you, of your family, of your job, none of us understood why you were with him.”

“That was not what I asked.” You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Ian was a prick, I get it, but I wasn’t much better either.”

“You can’t make me think you deserve each other, are you kidding?” He said.

“I can’t blame him for everything, I made my own bed.” You huffed “I was terrible and it took me almost four years to snap out of it, that was not his fault.”

“You are right, but you’re here now, aren’t you?” He reminded you, calmly. “Isn’t that what’s important?”

You began to become exasperated “C’mon, Simon, don’t try to be nice, you’re supposed to be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you.” He corrected you, sending a chill down your spine “You’re working all the time, you never call, never text back, we barely see you and the only way to know about your life is when we read some article saying you broke up with your boyfriend because he proposed to you, are you kidding? Of course I am mad, but because I miss you.”

You felt a wave of regret hitting all your senses, suddenly your eyes were burning with tears and you are not supposed to cry, you knew that, but the single tear that slid down your cheek was quicker than any thought that could cross your mind. Somehow, you wished your family hadn't noticed how absent you'd been these past few years, that they just shrugged and said “that’s just her” and forgot about it, it was not necessary to look at Simon’s face to know that he couldn’t just forget about it. He loved you, your mother loved you too, you didn’t have a family that you would want to run away from, but you did it anyway,

“I’m sorry…” You murmured, looking at him with eyes full of regret. “It wasn’t you, it wasn’t any of you, it was me. I was so angry when I left, I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You wouldn’t trade your career for anything, it was one of those few things that made you happy, but after years of trying to convince yourself that every decision you made for the last few years was the right choice, this was the first time that you admitted that maybe you weren’t thinking clearly when you decided to move to the city and never look back.

Simon frowned, thinking about it twice before asking “Were you angry, bug?”

You tilted your head, giving him a sad smile, hoping that it could explain everything.”I was quite angry, yes.” You answered “Not at you, though.”

“At mom?”

“Maybe a little bit at mom, yeah.” You laughed, shaking your head. You sighed deeply, letting the silence sit in the room for a moment before you could put in order all the things you wanted to say. “I remember when I told her I left college she looked at me like I finally lost my mind, it was like she saw it coming, you know? Me, again, being lost, it was not a surprise, but rather something she would expect of me. I know she was just worried and I know I can be a lot sometimes, but it hurt anyway. I don't blame anyone, Simon, but all I needed was someone to believe in me and no one did. I had to leave.” Something ached inside your chest because that was not the whole truth, but it was all you could say tonight, you couldn’t say that Yoongi was also one of the reasons. “I’m not trying to justify myself.” You mumbled “I’m just saying that I was so angry that I didn’t realize how many mistakes I made.”

The silence that took over the room was so strong it made your stomach squirm. You shifted in your place, but Simon stayed there, with his gaze lost somewhere in the room as he processed what you just said.

“I always believed in you, you know that?” He spoke, causing your head to snap up towards him. “I know a lot of people tried to tell you that you weren’t, but you’ve always been special and I’ve always seen it.”

“I know you did.” You sighed. “But I was being so stubborn, I walked away and I’m so sorry.”

“I know you think you’re too much, but you’re not.” He continued talking “Maybe mom just wanted everything to be simple, for her kids to go to college, graduate, get a job and a home and never have to worry about whether they are choosing right or wrong ever again. But you’re not simple, bug, you’re extraordinary and talented and too brilliant to stay still, but you’re not too much, not for me.”

You held back a sob, feeling ridiculous. “I’m sorry.” You said, once again, because you haven’t said it enough times.

“It’s okay now, I mean it.” Simon reached for your hand to squeeze it tightly.

You sniffed “God, I should be comforting you for being a bad sister, not the other way around”

“I don’t need to be comforted, I’m okay as long as you’re here.” He tried to cheer you up. “And you were not a bad sister, you were sad and acted shitty.”

You smiled, because you told Simon that you were angry but instead he heard that you were sad, you didn’t feel like correcting him because he wasn’t so wrong about that.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated once again like a scratched record, making him laugh. “Are you still mad at me?”

“No.” he replied, “But only if you promise not to disappear again.”

You raised your hand, extending your pinky finger in front of his face. “I promise you, Simon, I will not disappear again.”

Simon tangled his pinky with yours, making your promise impossible to be broken, and your soul felt at ease for a moment.

“Fine, good enough for me.” he said, throwing himself back onto the bed. “Now I want to hear everything about the proposal, and I want you to describe to me exactly the face he made when you said no.”

You laughed, throwing yourself on the bed the same way he did and tried to summarize the last three years in just one night. Only for today, your body did you a favor and your head stopped spinning at least for now. Something began to feel right.

Four years ago

Seven days before New Year’s Eve

You could hear the radio at the end of the hallway in your grandmother’s room, softly playing jazz to cancel out the outside noise. Not everyone in the house liked the radio, your cousins always said that it was annoying and kept them awake, but it was still one of those old habits of your grandfather that remained in the house even if he was no longer here, so you liked it. The music inevitably seeped under the door of your room, Yoongi hummed some Frank Sinatra song as if he knew the lyrics to it, making you laugh and beg him to stop.

You know it’s almost midnight, as your roommate just informed you, but you didn’t want to turn the lights off yet. All of the cookies already disappeared from the plate, Yoongi was laying on his side the same way you were and the lamp on the nightstand warmly lighted up his brown eyes, you couldn’t help but feel you were not supposed to be in such presence, his messy hair and the loose white shirt he wore to sleep, his sleepy eyes, his pink lips; it looked just like the kind of view that was bound to haunt you forever.

The nightstand that separated you was not far enough to stop that pull from the string in your chest, not when he was looking at you like that, his gaze fixated on yours like he didn’t want to leave you awake alone, and neither did you. You felt yourself shaking because, what was the version of you that existed when you were asleep? And what happened inside his head when you were not there? What was happening inside his head right now?

Did you cross his mind the same way he crossed yours? When you finally fell asleep, would he remember that moment in the closet or would it be just water under the bridge? Did he spend every waking second of the last seven hours thinking of that fleeting moment when you could almost feel his lips on yours?

Or was that just you?

The night was fading away, your eyelids were getting heavy but you still couldn’t find the will to sleep.

“I’m sorry for today.” You almost whispered, gathering enough courage to mention the little accident “I’m sorry for dragging you with me to the closet.”

He smiled softly, closing his eyes for a second. “It’s okay, it was cozy.” He teased you, making you groan in annoyance. He laughed loudly at your reaction, annoying you even more. “I’m serious, it was okay.”

“Was it really?” You asked him “Wasn’t I being silly?”

“It's okay being silly sometimes.” He assured you, but that did not ease that anxious feeling in your stomach. He seemed to see it in your face. “What’s wrong with being a little silly? I would’ve run from your grandmother, too.”

You bitterly laughed, covering your face with the palms of your hands “Stop, I’m being immature.” You groaned “I’ve got to get my shit together.”

“C’mon Pinky, you have to stop with that.” He said.

“I would if I could.” You remarked.

“Didn’t you say you were going to get your shit together after the holidays?” He reminded you “Why are you worrying right now?”

Yoongi was right, that was the initial plan, but ever since you came back home everything was pointing in different directions and it was beginning to drive you crazy, it was like the universe was forcing you to think about it, it was not letting you run away from it, not even temporarily. First, it was Yoongi, showing up every few days at your doorstep, grabbing your hand, squeezing your legs, whispering things in your ear like he wanted you to go insane, it was Minnie, offering you a job, talking about The Alley, saying you were supposed to be on the big screen, and then it was your mother, expecting you to make up your mind once for all. And still, you had your whole life ahead, why were you worrying right now?

“I don’t know…” You sighed “What if I come back next year and the plan was not good enough? What if I end up hiding again from everyone?”

Yoongi shifted in bed, curious “Do you have a plan, Pinky?” The nickname rolled off his tongue softly, you swimmed in the tenderness of his voice, something about it made you want to tell him everything.

“Not really, I mean… It all sounds so bad.”

“You have a plan.” He affirmed, smiling “I want to hear it.”

“It’s not a plan.” You contradicted yourself “If it were a plan, it would suck.”

Yoongi hummed “It’s something like a plan, then.”

You scrunched your nose, unsure. “Yeah, but not quite like a plan, something like a…” You said, but the words died on your lips before you got the chance to finish.

“Something like a dream, then?” He continued to ask, but you shook your head.

“Something close.” You expressed, unable to find the right words to explain your thoughts. You stayed silent for a second, believing he was beginning to lose interest in the topic, until the words slipped past his lips like a spell.

“Something like a wish.” He pronounced, and he was not asking, it was almost like he knew.

You thought there was not much difference between a dream and a wish, but in this case, there was.

You smiled at him, nodding, somehow you felt you could trust him with all your secrets “Yes, like a wish.” You affirmed, and it felt like a confession. “I don’t know Yoongi, have you ever stayed up late and planned something but when you woke up next morning you felt it was stupid? Well, I do that every night.”

“I’m sure that whatever it is, it’s not stupid.” He said, making your heart swell.

“I would like to believe you…” You murmured “Do you have a dream, Yoongi? Something you’re too scared to wish for?”

You could see him think about it for a moment, but his eyes were still connected with yours. Oh, how you wished to be inside his mind right now, read his thoughts, witness his dreams, know all his secrets.

“Yes.” He confirmed, “But I can’t talk about them out loud right now.”

You laughed, biting your bottom lip. “Okay, fair. What about those you can say out loud?”

“I’m not going to tell you because you’re going to laugh.” He pouted, making you frown.

“Laugh?” You repeated, sounding more offended than you actually were. “I would never, c’mon.”

He raised an eyebrow, testing you “You sure?”

“Of course, don’t piss me off.”

“Fine, fine.” He let out a long sigh, believing you. “My wish would be… to stop time for a while. Sometimes I believe I can’t think when time’s running, all I do is study and come home to my mom, there is very little time that I have for myself.”

You felt your chest tighten, but it didn't surprise you that Yoongi felt this way. He already mentioned to you that, even if taking care of his mother didn’t feel like a burden, he still felt he was missing out on so many things.

“And what would you do if time stopped right now?”

Yoongi shifted his eyes for a moment, and you almost missed it but you saw it, the urge to hold back and the words getting stuck on his throat.

“Mmm…” He hummed, “I’ll go to the beach.”

“In winter?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t care.”

“And where else?” You continued to ask.

“Honestly? I’ll go anywhere but home.” He confessed.

“What’s wrong with home?” You of all people knew exactly what was wrong with home, but you wanted to hear why he thought that.

“Home it’s okay,” He waved off. “It just feels like I spent my whole life there. I went to college expecting something to change, and a lot of things did but I still feel like something else is supposed to happen, like there's something else for me to see.”

It was looking in a mirror, it was the same thing you’ve told him a few days ago but in other words, in another tone. Yoongi sounded resigned, like his wish was clearly something that was not meant to happen and he needed to come to terms with it, nothing could ever make you more sad.

“There’s plenty for you to see, Yoongi, are you kidding?” You chuckled “You’re twenty five, you’re barely grasping life.”

He scoffed, bitterly, “It’s not that easy.”

“Of course it is easy, do you know it’s not necessary to stop time to go to the beach?”

“I know, Pinky.” He agreed, “But what does it feel like running away?”

“Running away would be so bad?” You asked, hearing the question echoing in the room, letting you know that maybe it was something you weren’t supposed to wonder out loud. Yoongi didn’t dare to ask such a question, but you seemed determined to make his wish come true, maybe you were the only one who could do it.

“Don’t ask me.” He said, looking at the ceiling to avoid your gaze. “Don’t act like running away isn’t your wish as well”

You snorted, immediately grabbing a pillow and threatening to punch him in the face with it, but Yoongi is quick to cover his face with his arms.

“Don’t!” He protested, laughing.

“Don’t expose me like that!” You whined, embarrassed.

“What, am I wrong?”

“Maybe you’re not…” You dared to answer, leaving the pillow on the bed again “But how do you know?”

“I told you, Pinky.” He murmured “I just know.”

You shook your head in denial, how could it be? Were you really that transparent or Yoongi really just knew?

“What else do you know?” You continued to ask, curious.

He pretended to think about it, pouting his lips and looking at the ceiling as if the answers were to fall from the sky. His eyes shifted towards yours, tilting his head “I know that you would run away to the beach with me if I asked you to.”

A giggle was built in your throat, you laughed nervously as you tried to decipher if he was joking or not, even if Yoongi could see right through you, it was a bit difficult for you to do the same with him.

“I don’t know about that.” You said, ignoring the way your heart was beating against your ribcage. “Do you mean in… an hypothetical scenario?”

“It’s a hypothetical proposal.” He answered.

“I’ll have to check my schedule first.”

A smirk tugged from the corner of his lips. “What about… two weeks away from now?”

You did the calculation in your head, but you already knew that by then Yoongi would have to go back to class, so you doubted. “What about the semester?” You asked, trying to be the voice of reason. “Your last semester, might I add.”

“That could wait.” He did not hesitate “Isn’t it part of running away? Leaving things behind?”

You laughed “And what would people say about me, then? That I made you leave college, nuh-hu.”

“Here we go again with that.” He rolled his eyes “I don’t care what people say and, besides, I’m not leaving college, I’m… postponing it.”

That didn’t sound like the Yoongi you knew at all, but then again, this whole conversation didn’t sound like anything Yoongi from the past would say. A thousand questions crossed your mind, like what do you do on the beach in winter? Wouldn’t being alone be a problem? What are you going to talk about, where are you going to stay? If you say yes, would he grab your hand when you crossed the street, would he try to kiss you again?

You crossed your arms, thinking about it, not daring to agree right away, but how could you say no? When he was looking at you, convinced that you would say yes.

You opened your mouth, not sure what you were going to say but still ready to answer, and before you could utter a word, he interrupted you. “Run away with me to the beach, Pinky.” He asked in a soft tone, looking at you with warm eyes and warm words, making your heart shake violently in your chest “Only for now, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

You smiled, ignoring that little person inside you that tried to warn you about something, but you weren’t sure about what because all you could feel was your heart racing. “Fine, I’ll follow you for now.” You simply said, trying to sound as cool as possible “Let’s run.”

In that moment you forgot about years and years of disappointment and failed dreams, failed wishes, you ignored the reality, deciding everything was false and true at the same time. You didn’t need to look at the clock to know that it was midnight, something inside your chest sparkled and told you it was time to make your wish, and for some reason, you listened. It echoed in every corner of your mind, your wish was the beach in winter.

Four days before New Year’s Eve

Two weeks ago, when you bought Yoongi’s Christmas gift, you thought about it like a farewell. You stood in the shop and talked to the tall man with the long face and chose the gift as you tried to convince yourself this was a way of saying goodbye to him.

That Christmas morning Yoongi tore the brown wrapping paper and opened the long box to find that you decided to give him a red tie. It wasn’t bright red, it was deep dark red, red like a rose. It came with a notebook and a pen with his initials on them. In your mind, you were giving away that version of him that lived in your head and clung to your thoughts and clung to your heart, that version of him you could never let go. Yoongi was about to graduate, he was about to become officially a lawyer, an adult, a man, he wasn’t that boy you fell in love with years ago, he was a wish you had to let in the past and your gift was just a way to remind you of it. You had a purpose, a plan, you had everything figured out until he decided to ask you to run away with him, until you said yes.

His gifts for you were a vinyl copy of Is This It by The Strokes, two tickets to watch When Harry Met Sally at the Alley the following week and a pair of red gloves for the rest of the winter.

Yoongi looked at you and smiled like you both knew something everyone else in the room didn’t. “The gloves match with the tie.” He had said.

So now you had no plan, what you did have though, was a bunch of pictures of several locations Yoongi thought of booking for your trip to the beach. You were doomed.

You thought the only person in this town who could possibly understand what you were going through was Minnie, the only person in the world who knew about your feelings for Yoongi, and the only person who you could call a friend at the moment.

You weren’t expecting to see Minnie again when you saw her at The Alley a few weeks ago, but she had different plans; it was like she forced you to be her friend again. You tried to stop thinking you didn’t deserve it, you had to swallow your guilt and accept her friendship, and after a few five hour calls filled with gossip, you ultimately decided not to be against it, even if she called you everyday and still talked nonstop about that audition in the city, talking with her felt like you were still fifteen, and you liked it.

That night, as she raided her closet looking for a dress for you to wear at the New Year’s party at The Alley, you sat on her bed and gave her a run down of everything that happened with Yoongi since you came back home, it didn’t take her much to get you to admit that you were still in love with your brother’s best friend, so you might as well be honest and tell her everything.

“You’re being stupid right now, sweetheart.” You heard her muffled voice from inside her closet. The next thing you saw was a piece of fabric flying in the air and landing at your feet. You grabbed it, putting in front of you to reveal a short pink dress that you would never, ever wear.

You snorted, leaving the dress on the pile of clothes that you already rejected. You seemed to forget that Minnie was not the most adequate person to talk about “boy stuff”, perhaps because she was way too honest. You didn’t know whether it was a mistake or not to tell her about the trip to the beach, because all the questions she was asking and all the things she was stating to be true were thoughts you were desperately trying to avoid.

“He wants to fuck you, I don’t know how else to tell you this.” She said, walking over the clothes to make her way to you. You threw yourself on the bed, covering your face with your palms “I mean, I wish I could only tell you that he’s head over heels for you, and honey, that he is, but he also wants to fuck you.”

You groaned, kicking your feet. “God, you make me want to throw up.”

“Of excitement, I’m assuming.” She affirmed “I’m telling you, there’s no way you’re going on a trip alone and come back without having fucked.”

You looked at her, begging her to stop talking, but she was not finished. “Stop!”

“Picture this.” She ignored you, forming a rectangle with her fingers and looking right through it as if she was directing a scene from a movie “First scenario, a storm causes the power to go out, there’s no electricity, you have no way to be warm so you sleep in the same bed to warm up, there’s tension, you look at each other and kiss, you fuck.”

“Okay, I don’t see that happening.” You shook your head.

“Second scenario, you just finished showering, you go out of the bathroom wearing only a towel because you think he’s not there, but he is! He sees you, you kiss, you fuck.”

“That’s not�� That sounds like porn.”

“Third scenario!” She exclaimed.

“Fine, that’s enough.” You stopped her, waving your arms in the air.

“No, you have to prepare! And when it happens you will know that I was right.” Your friend insisted, but you refused to let any of those ideas in your mind.

“What if you’re not?” You wondered “What if he just wants to be my friend and I’m just imagining everything?”

“But you are not, are you kidding?” She laughed “That man is clearly in love with you, why are you convincing yourself otherwise?”

You felt Minnie’s body sitting right next to you, causing you to sit back on the bed to look at her face to face. You were sure you were about to start crying out of frustration. “I don’t know, what if I get hurt?”

Minnie pursed her lips “Baby, I can’t answer that question at all, but you have to take the chance.”

You groaned, annoyed. “I don’t want to take the chance.” You whined “I was fine before seeing him again, I wasn’t even thinking of him.”

“That is a lie,” She laughed, mocking you. “We both know you never stopped being in love with him, now you have him in the palm of your hand, do something.”

Minnie stood up again, looking for another piece of clothing on the floor as you kept silent, wondering if any of that could be possible. Did you really have him in the palm of your hand? Was he in love with you and you were being stupid for believing that he wanted to be just friends?

“What should I do?” You asked her, hoping that the redhead in the room knew all the secrets of the universe.

“Invite him to the New Year’s party and wear a hot outfit, how about that?” Minnie offered, like that could answer all your prayers.

“Would that resolve all my problems?” You joked, talking to the sky.

“C’mon, he literally asked you to run away with him, don’t you find that a little bit hot? Don’t you really think that was not code for ‘I want to fuck you’?”

You laughed “Yoongi is not like that!” You protested.

“I hate to break it to you, but you are hot.” She insisted, throwing another piece of clothing at your face. “And if Yoongi is not blind, he knows that, and let’s not forget the most important fact here.”

“Which is…?”

“He’s in love with you, let’s start wrapping our heads around that.” She simply said “Once that’s done, you invite him to the New Year’s eve party at The Alley, you wear a hot outfit and confront him about it, tell him to stop playing around.”

You grabbed the dress Minnie just threw at you, which was another short dress, but this one was actually cute. It was black and was covered in black sparkly sequins with thin straps, you were definitely going to freeze to death if you wore that, but you were sure this fitted the description of “hot outfit”.

Minnie was right, you couldn’t keep running away from the facts, everything was laid on the table, you didn’t need more proof to know that Yoongi felt something for you, even if you weren’t sure if it was the same that you felt for him, you needed to gather enough courage to find out what it was.

You grabbed the phone in your pocket and opened Yoongi’s chat, you decided to invite him to the New Year’s party.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls @overtherainbow35 @namin13 @p34rluv @moonchild1 @yoongisoftface @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts @yoongisducky @bangtansmauyeondan @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater

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btsfests · 11 months ago

Text

Daddy's Home Fest

There's no better time than when daddy is home.

DILF BTS is coming to a Tumblr near you Spring 2024!

♡ Title: Before, Now and After

♡ Pairing: Alpha Gang Boss!Yoongi x Omega Maid!Seokjin

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: gang au, dead dove, parent au, a/b/o | angst, fluff, smut

♡ Summary: As the leader of the infamous Bangtan, Yoongi is untouchable and lives life as he pleases. He thinks he has it all until the tall and broad shoulder omegan maid, Kim Seokjin walks into his office and makes Yoongi second guess what he wants in life.

by @sweetestofchaos

Daddy Yoongi and Daddy Seokjin came home June 2. Read Here

♡ Title: Daddy, Daughter, and Dewey Decimals

♡ Pairing: Single Dad!Namjoon x (f)reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: Parent AU, Fluff, Smut, Mutual Pining

♡ Summary: I adored the daddy and daughter duo that came to visit me every week at the library. Sunhee was cute and vivacious and her dad was every single woman's dream. A simple request, one late night, and a slip of the tongue revealing it wasn't just one-sided attraction.

by @remedyx

♡ Title: Dirty Laundry

♡ Pairing: Seokjin x f. reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: Slice of life, established married couple, PWP

♡ Summary: When you come across your daughter and Seokjin having a princess-themed tea party, you can't help but fall in love with your husband a little more. It helps that you find him absolutely ravishing in the little pink dress he wears too.

by @sailoryooons

♡ Title: Love Blooms

♡ Pairing: Jin x Hoseok

♡ Rating: MA

♡ Genre: Divorced, single father AU | angst, fluff, smut

♡ Summary: Summary: Divorced and lost, Jin grapples with self-discovery and single fatherhood. Then, sunshine arrives in the form of Hoseok, helping him explore his desires and build a found family. Their love faces challenges - ex-wife drama, societal disapproval - but together they prove love and acceptance can bloom even in unexpected gardens

by @downbad4yoongi

Daddy Hoseok and Daddy Seokjin came home April 26. Read here!

♡ Title: Lose You to Love Me

♡ Pairing: Yoongi x f! Reader

♡ Rating: 🔞

♡ Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

♡ Summary: Yoongi thought he had everything. The woman of his dreams whom he gave everything for. The sweetest Princess who became his whole world the minute she was born and a career he can say he's happy in but what happens when it all comes crumbling down when one small secret blows his marriage open?

by @jmvore

♡ Title: Off Limits

♡ Pairing: Female Reader x Seokjin

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: smut, porn with very little plot

♡ Summary: You are visiting your family over spring break and discover that the family you used to babysit for are separated. Does this mean Mister Kim is no longer off limits?

by @theharrowing

♡ Title: podcast

♡ Pairing: single father!Namjoon x f! reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: single father AU | fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

♡ Summary: You and Namjoon keep bumping into each other at multiple instances, as if destined to. In a world where past loves and current responsibilities intertwine, Namjoon navigates the complexities of single fatherhood, cherishing the moments with his daughter, Nari, while reflecting on lost love through his popular podcast, "A Loveless Lover." A chance encounter at a daycare center brings him face to face with you, sparking a connection rooted in compassion and shared moments of vulnerability. As their worlds collide, the possibility of new beginnings looms, challenging Namjoon and you to confront the past and consider the future with newfound hope.

by @hobipaint

♡ Title: sakura 🌸

♡ Pairing: king!yoongi x (f) reader

♡ Rating: 18+

♡ Genre: mature, fluff, angst, pining

♡ Summary: yoongi could never figure out how could a sakura tree bloom right on his son’s seventh birthday. logically, atleast, for his kingdom’s soil wasn't blessed enough for beautiful flora; however, when his inspection rounds reveal a trip totally unexpected, and in a crescendo of buried memories, his love for the tree gets as bright as the petals of the blossom.

by @liveyun

♡ Title: Shatter With Me

♡ Pairing: Model!Jungkook x Surrogate!f.Reader

♡ Rating: MA 18+

♡ Genre: Best Friend's Husband, Surrogacy AU | heavy angst, smut, mild fluff

♡ Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.

by @colormepurplex2

Daddy Jungkook came home April 24. Read here!

♡ Title: Since Day One

♡ Pairing: teacher!jimin x teacher! f. reader

♡ rating: 18+

♡ Genre: enemies to lovers, coworker au, single father au

♡ Summary: Being a Pre-K teacher is no easy feat, but Jimin is always up for the challenge. However, on his first day on the job, he makes an enemy in the parking lot before he even sets foot inside the building. Looks like this school year won’t be all sunshine and rainbows after all.

by @jjungkookislife

Daddy Jimin came home April 6. Read here!

♡ Title: baby fangs

♡ Pairing: Jimin x Jungkook

♡ Rating: Explicit/18+

♡ Genre: Urban fantasy, vampires, strangers to lovers, angst, smut

♡ Summary: As a human, Jungkook thought life was meaningless. It isn’t until he dies that he finds something worth living for: the family he never had.

by @gimmethatagustd

#bts fanfic #bts fic #namjoon fic #seokjin fic #hoseok fic #jimin fic #taehyung fic #jungkook fic #bts collab #bts smut #bts fanfiction #bts fests #bts #daddys home fest #dilf bts

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margotw10bis · 1 year ago

Text

Boss Me Around. KNJ [m]

boss!namjoon x assistant!reader

Genre: smut; office romance

Words: 13.9k

Synopsis: You have been Namjoon's assistant for four years but something changes the day Namjoon tells you he is going to get married.

Warnings: sexual content; unprotected sex; public sex; sexual harassment (not from Namjoon); oral sex (f. receiving)

You try your best to smile through the unpleasant glance that is set on you. You can't say it's the first time you experience it but it doesn't mean that you're used enough to simply not care. Even if it were true, you don't want to 'don't care'. When you arrived at the office and saw Mr. Choi's name on the schedule, you knew you'd have a bad day. Every single time the forty-year old man — an important partner of the firm you work in — has a meeting with your boss, Mr. Choi always finds a way to flirt with you. You keep a professional behavior but his lewd eyes and disgusting smirk are hard to deal with.

Of course, you could tell your boss but you know that this business partner is crucial for Kim Electronics. So you get a grip on yourself and pray for your boss to come soon. A relieved sigh escapes your lips when you notice Kim Namjoon through the glass walls of the meeting room. However, your reliever doesn't last long: Namjoon's face is tensed and his clenching jaws are a clear sign of anger.

You've been his personal assistant for four years and a single gaze is enough for you to know what's going on in his handsome head. You mentally go through his appointments to guess what happened but you can't find anything that could make him angry. Moreover, he is not really the type to get angry easily. You look at him with a questioning glance but Namjoon is fully focus on Mr. Choi, so you leave to give them privacy while they talk business.

When you reach your desk, you look at the different things that are planned for today but nothing could get your boss in this grumpy mood. You can't help but worrying about him. You attempt to let that aside and do your work, waiting for Namjoon to come back so you can ask him properly. That might be weird for some people that you two talk about non-work related topics but you think that your relationship with your boss contains some kind of friendship too.

You were 23 years old when you started working at Kim Electronics. You were so excited to have your first real job and were willing to be the best you could. At that time, and even if his dad was the CEO of the company, Namjoon needed to prove himself to the board. He needed someone hard-working, dedicated and that wasn't afraid of working overtime — the exact description of you — to assist him. You feel proud when you look back: you helped him get promoted to Finance Director five months after you arrived, and, recently, CFO. It's crystal clear that when Namjoon's father retires, the board will elect him CEO. A warm feeling of pride fills up your chest when you think about it because, for you, Namjoon is a great boss and an even better human being. However, you can't help but wondering if he'll keep you as his PA or if he'll choose that Min Yoongi weasel who is currently his father's PA.

Lost in your thoughts, you haven't noticed Namjoon coming back until he slams his office door. You jolt and basically run to him. You don't bother knocking and enter. You see Namjoon, in his leather chair, elbows on his desk and his head in his hands. You get closer and pat his large shoulder — did he get buffer?

"What's going on?" You ask him gently but Namjoon only growls in desperation

Your heart squeezes to witness him being so distraught. Of course, in the past four years you've seen him in all kinds of mood: angry that an important contract was cancelled; sad when his granddad died; embarrassed when his legendary clumsiness made him spill his wine glass all over himself during a launch party; and so much more. But it's the first time that he just shut his mouth, not confiding to you. You frown when you can't find what to tell him. You don't��like seeing him like that.

"I don't know what to do" He eventually whispers with a broken voice that actually breaks your heart, but you stay silent, waiting for him to keep going "You know that this company is my whole life. It's my family heritage and I've always worked my ass off for it... But I don't know if I'm willing to sacrifice my love life for it"

Your brows furrow at the last sentence. Is Namjoon seeing someone? He never mentioned something like that. Honestly, you don't even know how he finds time to date. You're with him all day, and some nights too when you're working overtime — which happens more often that you'd wished. Your job is the main reason why you're single: further than spending most of your time at the office, when you're free you're too tired to go out. And you know that Namjoon works even more than you.

"What do you mean?" You finally ask when you recover your mind

"My dad came to see me this morning. He wants me to marry Lee Ji-Eun..."

"Lee Ji-Eun as Lee Jung-Hwa's daughter? From TalkTive telecom company?" Your voice is higher pitch than usually from the surprise

Namjoon nods, defeated. It's no secret that arranged marriages happen in the Korean high society. Big firms tend to consolidate their business by marrying their children. However, since Namjoon is almost 31, you thought that his parents were going to let him decide who he wanted to marry. You thought wrong. That's when something like that happens that you're glad to be born in an average family.

"She's... pretty" That's all came to your mind to confort him and that's not brilliant

Namjoon scoffs and looks at you, raising one brow that says 'Is that supposed to make me feel better?'.

"If you want to marry your girlfriend, I'm sure your parents won't force you to be with Ji-Eun" You try with an unsure tone

"Well, I don't have a girlfriend. That's the problem. My dad asked me if I were dating someone. When I said no, he came up with Ji-Eun"

"I'm sorry, Namjoon" You gently tell him, and you're sincere

Your boss gives you a weak smile, appreciating your solace.

"I guess c'est la vie like the French say"

You wince as he does the same. You both know that it's not what Namjoon imagined for his future. Actually, you've never thought about him being with anyone because he hasn't had a girlfriend during the four years you've worked with him — occasional hook-ups with random girls met at clubs or fancy events don't count as girlfriends. Is that why some weird feeling you can't seem to identify presses your chest? It's definitely more than worry about Namjoon but what is it precisely?

————

Knowing Namjoon like the back of your hand, you knew exactly what he needed: to keep his mind busy. That's why you've added more appointments for him this week. The side effect of it? You working overtime to support him. As the days of the week went by, Namjoon grew more irritated, knowing that on Friday he'll have to meet the girl. Oddly enough, you went grumpier yourself too. You tried by all means to schedule something for that night but Mr. Kim father made sure to cancel everything last minute.

So, here you are, in Namjoon's office, facing a defeated Namjoon, a few hours before his date with Lee Ji-Eun. He is just sitting in his chair and you feel bad for him. He truly is a nice guy: always smiling, caring, protective towards his employees. He is strict, which makes him a little bit intimidating sometimes, but he's right. You are very lucky to have him as a boss. Honestly, you wouldn't work for anyone else, especially when Namjoon is also your friend. But right now, it's like all his positive energy ran off.

"Should I call you in the middle of the date, pretexting an emergency?" You propose and you feel lighter when a small laugh — the first of the week — comes from Namjoon's beautiful lips

"I don't think it's a good idea, you could have some trouble afterwards. However, keep your phone close because I might call you to get wasted"

You offer him a genuine smile. Namjoon has always made sure to give you some credits when he succeeded at the firm, and he's always invited you to celebrate it with alcohol. Some kind of 'blow off some steam' thing as he calls it. It's not something awkward or a way to get inside your pants, but more like a team celebration. To be true, your relationship with Namjoon has never been ambiguous: he is your boss and your friend, nothing more.

Of course, you're not blind and you can see how attractive he is — and if you were in fact blind, your female colleagues have made sure that you know he's hot. However, you never felt any sexual tension between you, maybe because you've never set the right mood for that, and not that you're willing to set the mood. But why do you keep looking at his buff chest tightened in his white shirt right now? Your body heat increases when your brain drifts away towards some filthy thoughts about the softness of his lips and the hardness of another part of him. You need to escape his office to prevent yourself from marking a huge mistake that would consist of you kissing and fucking your boss like there were no tomorrow.

After you make sure Namjoon doesn't need anything, you leave the office, promising to support him after his date. But now it's 3 am and you still don't have any sign from your boss. To be honest, you thought that he would call you at 9 pm, cutting short his unwanted date. But you have seen 9, 10, 11 pm and so on passed in silence. Does that mean that Namjoon got along with Ji-Eun? It's a good thing, right? But you can't help but feeling an unpleasant pressure in your chest at that thought. Your brain is working like hell to make up every single scenario possible of the night. You sigh every time you imagine your boss kissing Ji-Eun. What the heck is wrong with you?

————

Namjoon hasn't contacted you all weekend and you're kind of mad. You don't know the exact reason but you guess it's because he told you he'd call you but didn't. Yeah, your pride definitely took a hit. That's why you arrive all grumpy at your company building. You even feel more irritated when you see Namjoon's office door open. Even if you have mixed up feelings — for undetermined reasons —, you can't act unprofessional. That's why you make some coffee and knock before greeting your boss.

Namjoon's smile has returned but you are not as happy as you thought you would be. In fact, you frown when you notice his cheerfulness.

"Y/N, hi!" Namjoon welcomes you, taking the cup of coffee with thankfulness

"Hi. Did you have a good weekend?" You ask but you don't know if you really want to know the answer

"It was nice. The date with Ji-Eun went great. She is amazing: super smart and funny. And the rumors didn't lie, she is gorgeous" Namjoon gets all excited and his eyes sparkle when he talks about the woman he is supposed to marry

You stay silent for a moment, trying to prevent a grinning. Is this because of what he is saying? Or because of your weird feelings? You've never felt like this around Namjoon. You don't really like feeling like that. What kind of friend is not happy when their friends' date was 'great' ?

"Great" You finally say but there is no excitement in your voice "I have to meet the new interns so I've sent you your schedule by email"

It is quite a lame excuse to get out of Namjoon's office because, even though you actually have to meet the new interns, you still have a good 30 minutes before that.

Are you jealous? No, it can't be. Namjoon is your boss. Yes, he is friendly but nothing ever happened between the two of you. And nothing can ever happen. You can't have feelings for him. You don't. But the itchy feeling in your chest could say the opposite... You shake your head to push away those ridiculous thoughts and make your way to the lobby.

Once again, you sigh — maybe the hundredth time this morning — when you notice Min Yoongi. Of course, this louse is here. As the personal assistant of the big boss, he'll make a feedback on the new recruits to Mr. Kim who will decide if one of them will be offered a permanent contract. Even though you understand why Yoongi has to be here, you're annoyed. A sudden urge of murder titillate your fingers. There is no secret that you two don't get along. At first, you didn't have anything against him but then, you noticed how haughty he was towards you. Is it because you're a woman? Or just because you're working for a less important member of the firm? You don't know but it doesn't change anything.

You roll your eyes, passing in front of Yoongi, not greeting him. Why would you when you know that he'll blow you off. It's kind of a shame because the man is surely charming physically. His raven long hair makes him charismatic and creates a real contrast with his white skin. His features are delicate but his dark eyes are a little too beady not to be scary. Perhaps it's also because he never smiles.

Some other employees are here to welcome the interns, too. You look at them with kindness: all those five young people are stressed but willing to do a good job, just like you four years ago. You still remember clearly your first day at Kim Electronics and your first encounter with Namjoon. At the time, you weren't used to wear feminine cloths and usually put on some jeans with a t-shirt. But your job gave you the confidence you needed to wear cloths that suit you, not afraid anymore to be noticed. Sure, your first day was full of mistakes from you, so much that you were afraid that Namjoon would fire you at the end of the day — you even spent your lunch time crying in the restroom. But Namjoon smiled at you and told you 'I hope we'll get to know each other better, then we'll be the best team work of the company'.

Your boss, who was 27 years old, was way more mature and intimidating than you. His charisma made you blush and stutter, and it didn't help that he was extremely attractive. When you started working with him, he was not as brawny as he is today and his hair was blonde and long while it's now short and in a beautiful brown cinder color. However, his smile has always been perfect with his cute dimples, making him less daunting. Actually, his smile is the thing that you love the most about him, not only because it makes him so goddamn handsome but because it's always sincere, almost loving.

The five young and enthusiastic people in front of you bring back all kind of memories to you. Among them, you spot a guy with a very unique style: he is tall and very handsome with his black hair and eyes. His features are so perfect: doe eyes, cute big nose, plump lips with a little silver ring matching his eyebrow piercing. But what catches your eyes is the black tattoos escaping from his cream-color suit. His right hand has some inked patterns and you can easily imagine that the rest of his arm is no different. If he weren't wearing a classy suit with a light blue tie, you'd think he is a rockstar. More than his unique look and handsome face, he has a strong aura. It's hard to get your eyes off of him.

"You're going to sexually harass the interns now?"

Yoongi's annoying voice and comment reach your ears and a shiver of disgust runs though your back.

"What kind of sick fantasies fill your brain?" You bark at him

"I'm not the one literally eye-fucking them"

"Don't you have someone else to bother?" You ask while rolling your eyes

"You get so easily annoyed, why would I look for a better prey?" Yoongi smirks

Honestly, you want to slap him in the face but you're not sure that your bosses will appreciate it so you just take a step away from him, hoping that it will make him forget your existence. It does someway since the little fucker—you mean Yoongi stops talking.

————

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, they told me I'll be with you this week"

The handsome intern you noticed earlier is standing tall in front of you. His sweet voice and his bunny smile are the opposite of his look. He seems kind despite his intimidating piercings and tattoos. As they say, never judge a book by its cover...

"Hi, Jungkook! I'm Y/N, Mr. Kim's assistant. How are you? Not too nervous for your first day?" You tell him with a genuine smile

"I'm okay, I'm actually eager to know more" Jungkook responds, scrunching his nose

Cute. You instantly grow soft on him. Something about him really reminds you about your old self, at the beginning of your career. Namjoon has guided you all the way through it and you perfectly know that things would have been way harder without him, so you are willing to do the same for Jungkook, hoping that he'll feel as untroubled as you when Namjoon was around.

"Let's introduce you to Mr. Kim then"

You knock on Namjoon's door and enter with the intern by your side. You're surprised to see your boss on the phone but not for a business call. You tense when you hear Ji-Eun's name. You grow even more annoyed that Namjoon has a bright smile on his face. What the hell? They've known each other for five minutes! You wish you could roll your eyes but don't. So you just clear your throat, making Namjoon finally realize that you're here.

He straightens on his chair and hangs up. He looks at Jungkook with a questioning look so you take on yourself to introduce them. Some mundane civilities are exchanged and you can finally exit Namjoon's office. The good thing about having Jungkook working with you is that you don't have time to question your weird feelings. Jungkook is actually pretty good and works with his heart. You'll make sure to talk positively about him at the end of the month when Mr. Kim decides which intern should work at Kim Electronics. You spend all week explaining to him how things work and doing your usual job as Namjoon's PA. You don't have an extra minute to think.

Well, that's what you thought until Friday afternoon. In twenty minutes, you will eventually be able to enjoy the confort of your couch, doing nothing but binge-watching Netflix's new series. Your mood is a little lighter than the rest of the week — maybe the new light pink blouse you're wearing is helping too?

You're humming while entering Namjoon's office with a new hot cup of coffee for your boss. Even though you'll clock out soon, the same thing cannot be said for Namjoon who still has to meet a business partner tonight. You see him standing up, a file in hands and his brows furrow. You love seeing him like this: it's his 'work face'. The one he is making when he's fully focus on his job. His whole energy changes, making him a true successor for the CEO post. You could even say that he is more handsome like that.

Namjoon is so focus that he hasn't noticed you yet. You step closer to him but it is a really bad idea because at the same time, Namjoon raises his hand to push back his brown hair. As a result, the whole cup of coffee slashes your — unfortunately new — pink shirt. Thankfully, Namjoon doesn't like boiling hot coffee so you don't burn yourself. However, you're completely stained in brown color liquid and the fabric sticks to your bra and skin.

You wince and Namjoon's eyes widen. You don't really have time to feel embarrassed, even though Namjoon is clearly aware of your curves right now.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N! Let me help you" Your boss exclaims, already grabbing some tissues on his desk.

"Namjoon, it's okay, don't worry" You try to stop him but he is already wiping the liquid off of your shirt — or trying to

Actually, he is making things worst, the tissues crumble in small white particles on your shirt without even absorbing the coffee out of you. The gesture might be kind but Namjoon's movements are nothing like gentle. He is pushing hard against your chest, almost painfully. At every wipe, your shirt is stretched. He is definitely not aware of his strength...

"Namjoon, be gent-"

Your sentence is cut off by a loud noise of ripping fabric. You look down to measure the disaster: your pink shirt is totally open, result of all the little buttons popping. Your white bra is now visible for everyone and especially for Namjoon.

His red cheeks clearly acknowledge that your breasts are right in front of him. But you're blushing too. Your skin is burning and it's not because of the coffee spilt on it. Namjoon's glance and fingers on you cause a wave of arousal washing off all over your body. His eyes even seem to take his dragon shape, intense and darker. Maybe you're going crazy because for a second, you feel Namjoon caressing your boob with the tip of his long fingers — which causes a sweet moan to escape your lips—, right before he removes his hand like he has burnt himself.

He immediately turns to give you some privacy and you feel disappointed—No! You feel relieved that your boss didn't look at your breasts. What the hell is wrong with you?

"I, uhm, I have a spare shirt. Let me grab it for you" Namjoon embarrassedly says with a raspy voice

He grabs a light blue buttoned up shirt from his office cabinet. You know he always keeps one of them, just in case his clumsiness puts him in a difficult situation. Like right now. Except that you're the one in the difficult situation. Namjoon gives you the shirt without looking at you and exits his office to give you time to change.

Namjoon's shirt is bigger than you thought. The bottom hem covers your hips and butt entirely and the sleeves are so long that you can't see your hands. You decide to roll them up to your elbows and tie a knot to shorten the shirt. It will be enough to go home. You're not sure it's your best look, it's surely not flattering but, oddly, you feel good in it. The shirt smells like Namjoon: a light scent of lemon mixed with woody smell. Your insane mind wonders how it would feel to be hugged by your boss. You shake your head to get rid of those ideas. Lately, your brain is going crazy and imagines Namjoon in unprofessional ways.

A light knock on the door helps you to stop thinking non-sense and you informe Namjoon that he can come in. When he opens the door and his eyes meet your features wrapped in his cloths, his mouth opens. He has inappropriate thoughts about you. You look hot and cute at the same time. He can't deny a strange feeling of possessiveness towards you, definitely accentuates by you wearing his clothes. He is somewhat glad that other men will see you like that. He someway wishes to see you more often with his large shirt on your body. More than that, he wishes to see your body without his large shirt on. He has to gather all his strength not to let his dick get hard.

But then, he remembers your gorgeous boobs delicately held by your white bra. So pure and so erotic. Fuck, he wanted to touch you so bad, to feel the softness of your skin, to taste you, to mark you even. He has never had this kind of thoughts and desires about you. Not because he thinks you're not pretty — because you're fucking beautiful — but because Namjoon made a pact with himself: you're too attractive for his sanity so he'll stick to a professional behavior with you. He can't let his tantalizing controlling him. Namjoon is your boss, he can't abuse his power like that. But on the other hand, it's hard to resist, especially when he got a peak of your body.

Namjoon's eyes on you make you blush. You can't say what he is thinking. A tiny part of your brain wishes he finds you good. Once again, what the hell is wrong with you? Namjoon is your boss, period.

"I should run for Chanel's fashion show, right?" You joke and Namjoon chuckles

"You should" He says with a smile "But I'm a bit offended, my shirt looks better on you"

You cheeks redden harder and you look down. Why does your heart beat faster?

————

Three weeks have passed since the shirt incident. Namjoon and you haven't talked about it, not that there were anything else to say. You're back at your professional relationship — a small part of you feel strange about it — and Namjoon had two more dates with Ji-Eun. Every time Namjoon says her name and his eyes sparkle, you get annoyed. You try to convince yourself that it's because he is less focused on his job — although he's not — but you start to understand what is truly going on. You know damn well that you're beginning to have feelings for your boss. But your jealousy — that easily turns into pain — is suffocating. Namjoon is your boss and he is going to marry another woman. That won't be good for you and your little heart. That's why you're trying your best to keep your feelings as far away as possible from you and your overthinking brain.

Anyway, you have to be totally focused on your job, especially when you have to deal with Mr. Choi. Indeed, Namjoon and you have a business lunch with Mr. Choi and his own assistant. You try not to pay attention to Mr. Choi's disgusting smirk every time he looks at you. You can't even smile at him fearing of him misinterpreting it. Unconsciously, you get closer to Namjoon.

You let the three men discuss business while you mentally take note of the details. You have a good memory which is a big benefit for your job. You're good at writing the minutes of the different meetings that Namjoon attends, formal and informal.

At the same time, you enjoy the delicious lunch payed by your company. You can't afford it with your wage but one of the bonuses of being Namjoon's PA is that you are sometimes invited to business luncheons in fancy restaurants. The starter was a tasteful cold tomato soup with parmesan cheese chips. And you're about to take the first bite of your steak with roasted vegetables puree. The presentation of the dish is so delicate that it breaks your heart to sink your fork into it. You hum in delight when the first savors spread under your palate. But you frown immediately. Sesame. There is sesame in the sauce.

You turn your head as fast as you can towards Namjoon. Your heart stops when you see his fork getting closer to his mouth. You scream 'Stop!' and harshly push his hand. His fork lands on Mr. Choi's shirt, staining it but you don't care.

Namjoon looks at you with big surprised eyes. And surely, the rest of the table has the same expression on their faces. You can't mind about it because you are completely panicked. The idea of what could happen drives you crazy.

"Are you okay? You didn't eat it, right?" You ask him, alarmed, checking his face and throat to detect any sign of swelling

"Don't worry" He answers gently, taking your hands off of his face but still holding them

His big palms feel warm around your small fingers. You look into his eyes and you're destabilized to see what looks like affection. You get lost a moment in his beautiful dark brown eyes. The intensity of his glance on you cuts off your breathe. Your eyes move by themselves to set on Namjoon's lips. You automatically lick your own. A not-so-new wave of arousal caused by Namjoon shakes your pussy, painfully clenching around nothing.

A clearing of throat tears you off of your thoughts and you step away from your boss's face. You look around and yell a waiter close by.

"Could you change his plate please? He's allergic to sesame"

"Sure, no problem" The waiter responds, taking the plate that could have killed your boss.

Now that the adrenaline goes down and you're getting aware of what just happened, you feel embarrassed. It's worst when you see the disaster on Mr. Choi's shirt.

"I'm sorry" You apologize to him with a small voice "I'll pay for the cleaning"

"Seo-Joon, go buy a new shirt. Quick"

His assistant wastes no time and basically runs to accomplish his fashion mission. It's the first time you hear Mr. Choi talking with such a harsh tone. He is looking at you without his usually lewd eyes but angry ones. You shiver, unpleasantly, under his threatening gaze.

You're feeling ill-at-ease and it's worse when Namjoon excuses himself to use the restroom. An embarrassing one-on-one with Mr. Choi begins and you instantly regret his severe eye. Yes, his salacious face has returned.

"Aigo! I can't wipe my shirt. Could you help me?" Mr. Choi smirks

As disgusted as you are, you can't say no while you're the cause of his stained shirt. You carefully stand up and get closer, your napkin in hand. Slightly bended over, you try to wipe off but it doesn't seem to do anything.

Your hand halts when you feel something against your butt. No way, it can't be. However, you do clearly feel a caressing movement on your ass. Your blood runs cold. Is Mr. Choi — this disgusting pig — touching your butt? You look up at him and notice his pleased smirk. You want to puke, preferably on Mr. Choi. You are completely paralyzed by horror. You can't move one bit. You feel disgusted by Mr. Choi's behavior but also by your body that has been soiled.

Namjoon stops his steps when he witnesses the worst scene of his life. Mr. Choi, one of his most important business partners, is sexually harassing you. His disgusting hand is caressing your bump in the middle of a restaurant. Namjoon has never felt this angry. He swears he could kill this yucky pig. He clenches his fists and runs to you to harshly push Mr. Choi's palm away from you.

"What the hell is going on?!" Namjoon yells, making few people around looking at your table

Your and Mr. Choi's eyes widen in surprise. You feel relieved to see him but also... ashamed? Why? You didn't do anything wrong, so why do you feel guilty? You look at your feet.

"I said, what is going on?" Namjoon asks again with a harsh and tensed tone which makes you jolt

"Mr. Kim, I think you misread the situation" Mr. Choi responds with such confidence that you could believe him if it weren't your ass he was touching

"Really?" Namjoon's jaws clench in rage "We're leaving. And let's cancel our partnership, Kim Electronics won't be associated with a sexual offender" Then Namjoon gets threateningly closer to Mr. Choi and speaks with a deeper and more intimidating voice "Let me tell you that you're lucky we're in public, otherwise, you'd be on the floor begging for forgiveness"

Namjoon grabs your hand and your bag and drags you out of the restaurant. He is walking so fast with his long legs that you have a hard time following his pace, especially with your high heels. However, he suddenly stops, making you bump into his back. He turns around to look into your eyes. Your boss's face is so tensed with anger, you've never seen him like this in the past four years.

"Has this son of a bitch ever touched you like that?"

"No, it was the first time" You confess, looking down

"Did he ever make you feel uncomfortable?"

You don't think like lying would be a good idea, that's why a weak 'Yes' escapes your lips with a murmur. Even though Mr Choi didn't touch you — until now —, he did ask some kind of personal informations about you, mainly when you were free, or if you were single. If these questions could have been innocent, the tone he used was more than suggestive and the way he sometimes got closer to you was not appreciated. But now that you've told Namjoon, you have hope to not have to face it again.

Namjoon nods like he is trying to internalize the information, gritting his teeth. He truly wants to punch Mr. Choi in the face. Actually, he wants to kill him. Rage makes his blood boil in his veins. How could he have worked with such a piece of shit? Putting you in danger? He is your boss but also your friend. He should have protected you. He should have seen the signs of the sexual harassment that you were undergone. He feels so fucking guilty.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N" Namjoon speaks again with a softer voice, a culpable voice

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong" You immediately say, the last thing you want is him to feel bad

"I should have known, I should have noticed. Fuck, I'm so dumb-"

You cut him off with a hug. Your arms merely circle his large torso and you can feel how brawny he is. You hate seeing Namjoon this devastated while he is not responsible one bit. And maybe you do need to feel safe and protected by someone you trust after what happened. Namjoon is this person. Your heart breaks to see him this guilty but also speeds up to feel him in your arms. That's when you know. You have fallen in love with him.

Namjoon freezes one second before hugging you back. His strong arms totally wrap around your frame. You seem so small and delicate between his arms. It feels right. You're so beautiful, so smart, so funny, so kind to everyone. You don't deserve to be treated like that by a fucking pervert. You deserve to be cherish every single day and the man you'll choose to be with will be the luckiest bastard in the world.

"Stop apologizing, you didn't do anything wrong, Namjoon" You say in his buff chest "I should have told you how I felt"

"No, you have nothing to feel guilty about. He's a fucking asshole. I swear, I won't ever let something like that happen to you again. If someone touches you, I'll take care of them personally"

It's not only a promise he is making to you, but to himself too. You're too precious in his life. The alarming tsunami that shakes his heart at the idea of you being hurt leads him completely lost with his feelings. Why does he feel this moved by anything that happens to you? Why does he feel his heart trying to escape his rib cage to enter yours?

————

You put aside what happened at the restaurant with Mr. Choi for the rest of the week. It's not really hard not to think about it when you have so much work to do. However, it's when you're home alone and have more time to think that it gets harder. Namjoon made sure you were okay and kept telling you that it wasn't your fault. It's still a little bit hard to believe but you know that, with a little more time, you'll truly understand it. Your boss also kept his promise and cut off all business ties Kim Electronics had with Mr. Choi's company. Thankfully, it didn't affect too much the firm you work in since others business partners virtually begged to take Mr. Choi's place.

You gather your documents and head to the board meeting room. Today is the final day of the interns and several employees — including you — are invited to present a report on their work. You didn't change your mind and think that Jungkook should be the one to get a job offer from Kim Electronics.

The atmosphere of the room suddenly changes when Mr. Kim, the CEO, enters, followed by Yoongi. Namjoon looks so much like his dad: tall, dragon brown eyes, charismatic aura. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree like they say. You bow at your big boss like your other colleagues and the meeting starts. Even if some employees defend other interns, most of them praise Jungkook's work. He was enthusiastic and motivated with everyone and showed a real willing to learn the job.

"I kept a report that I asked him to write at the end of his first week. As you can see, he has done a very good job at it and I'm sure that, if we give him the opportunity, he'll be an important element of our team" You end your presentation, glad of how it turned out

Well, that was before the little brat of Yoongi. The second you set eyes on him, you notice his mischievous smirk. Even before he opens his vicious mouth, you want to slap him in the face.

"You seemed to get along with Mr. Jeon. I even think you're the one who got to know him the best. Maybe you could tell us more about his personality? Is he nice?" Yoongi's voice is jeering and a little condescending but you're sure that no one gets it

You know damn well what he means by 'nice'. Yoongi hasn't stopped implying that you had a crush on Jungkook. His sick brain is obsessed with the idea of you having a relationship with Jungkook for whatever reason. But is he really willing to discredit your judgment in front of your boss? You swear you could strangle him right now.

"Jungkook seems to be loyal. Like I said, he is cheerful and motivated. These are the qualities we should look for in a candidate, don't you think Mr. Min?" You answer and internally jump in joy when you witness Yoongi's face turning red in frustration

"Sure" He simple replays, jaws clenched

A few minutes later, a vote designates Jungkook as the intern who'll get the job offer. The good news make you happy. Jungkook truly deserves it after how hard he has worked this month. You can't wait to tell him. You feel like a proud mom, maybe because you see Jungkook as your protégé.

On your way back to your desk, you encounter Jungkook. His all back suit and tie enhances his charisma but the big bunny smile and scrunching nose he gives you make your heart melt in cuteness. You exchange few civilities.

"We just had the meeting regarding you guys" You tell him at some point

"Oh really? How did it go?" He genuinely asks, without even thinking about him in particular but about his four colleagues that became his friends

His sincerity moves you. He looks so much like you four years ago.

"Can I tell you a secret?" You ask with a smile and he nods

You step closer, stand on your tiptoes — Jungkook shouldn't be this tall — and whisper in his ear.

"You're the one who'll get the offer"

Jungkook looks into your eyes, surprise painted on his face. It just lasts a few second because he soon blushes hard.

"Really?" He says with a small voice, just like he was afraid to wake up from a dream if he speaks too loud

"Yes, congratulations!" You tell him

He gives you a big hug, his body completely controlled by his euphoria. You giggle and hug him back. Seeing his reaction proves you once again that he deserves it.

However, in this moment of ecstasy, you didn't notice Namjoon. He, on the other hand, is clearly aware of what's going on. He looks at Jungkook hugging you and a heavy pound is drawing down his heart for an unknown reason. When did you get this close to this intern? He knows you were in charge of him at the beginning of the month but did you keep in touch? Your bright smile caused by another man's embrace irritates him so much. What the hell is going on?

He doesn't think too much and walks — would he dare to say run? — to the two of you and clears his throat. Your pretty eyes land on Namjoon's face and you step away from Jungkook. The young man greets your boss but Namjoon doesn't really respond. Yet, he addresses you:

"You didn't forget our tryst, right?"

What?

Yes, you have planned to grab a drink with Namjoon tonight to wind down all the stressful events of the week, and it's not the first time, but it surely is the first time your boss refers to it as a 'tryst'. It's not a business meeting but it's nothing like a romantic date so why would Namjoon use such a confusing word?

"I-I didn't" You stutter, not sure what else to say

"Good, see you later then, Y/N" Namjoon replies with a bright smile that shows his dimples and leaves as fast as he has arrived, leading to an awkward silence between you and Jungkook

————

You don't know if that's because of Namjoon's words earlier but you do feel nervous while waiting for your boss. You do as always, that is to say you're standing at your desk, right in front of Namjoon's office. You know that he'll join you in a few minutes and your heart beats irregularly. You try some breathing exercices to calm you down. It works — until you heard Namjoon's steps getting closer to you. You're sure you're blushing facing his handsomeness. God, this cream-color suit with his white shirt are too perfect on him.

"You're ready?" He asks you with a smile

You nod and you two exits the building. You're heading towards your usual spot: a lounge bar not so far away from Kim Electronics building. It's not really your style, the bar being attended by rich business men and women, but you know that Namjoon likes it. It's not at all surprising since he grew up in the social elite. However, he is not haughty. He treats people right and never thinks he's superior just because he has money. To be honest, his parents made sure to teach him values and he is so thankful of that when he sees other chaebol, sons or daughters of the rich industrial South Korean conglomerate, being total dicks.

Your nervousness fades with the glasses you swallow. Four glasses of wine later, you're a little bit more than tipsy. In fact, you've drunken faster than you usually do because you didn't know how to act with Namjoon. You're now fully aware of your feelings for him but you can't say anything when he is getting married to someone's else. You sigh at that thought and drink another sip of alcohol.

"Are you okay?" Namjoon asks, worried that you haven't spoke much tonight

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" You answer but not looking at him, he knows damn well you're lying

"You know you can tell me anything, right?"

The softness of his deep voice and the sudden coming closer to look at you in the eyes are a threat for your weak heart. Fuck, he is even more handsome at close range. You loose all your determination and allow yourself to get lost into his beautiful eyes. Your owns slowly make their way to Namjoon's full lips, dying to taste them. You can clearly depict his little mold under his lower lip and you crave to feel him. A fire sets up inside you and goes right between your legs. You press your thighs together because of your pussy wetness. It enhances when Namjoon pokes his tongue out to moisture his lips, making them juicier.

"Don't marry her"

What the fuck are you saying?! You didn't even realize your words until it's too late. You wish the ground below you could open and swallow you.

"What?" Namjoon's high pitch and gulp say much about his surprise

"I was joking" You attempt, faking a little laugh — you don't even believe yourself

Namjoon doesn't say anything and you feel worse. He is your friend but he is also your boss. You can't tell him not to marry Lee Ji-Eun while you know that they — unfortunately — get along and that their marriage would have such a good and big impact on Kim Electronics. You're ridiculous if you think, just for one second, that something could happen between you and Namjoon. He is way too handsome, way too important to be interested in you. You're just a mundane person. The only reason you're talking to him is because you work for his family's company.

Even though you've been knowing this harsh reality for a long time, it still hurts to remember it. Water fills your eyes and you turn your head to prevent Namjoon from noticing it. But it's too late. You feel two big and warm palms on your cheeks, gently making you look at him. A worried expression is painted on his handsome face.

"Hey, tell me what's wrong" He speaks softly, his heart breaking a little when he remarks the pain into your pretty eyes

You can't tell him the whole truth but you can say a part of it.

"It's just that... I'm afraid things will change between us, at work" Your voice breaks at the last word

It's crystal clear that everything will change after Namjoon's wedding. Would you be strong enough to see the man you love with someone else? To suffer in silence while he'll look at Ji-Eun with love eyes?

"Nothing will ever change between us, Y/N. You're not just my assistant, you're my friend" Namjoon's soft tone is supposed to release you but his words are another dragger in your heart

It's even more painful when his hands caressing your cheeks — now soaked by the tears you couldn't hold — are nothing like the sense you would like them to have. He is doing that by friendship, and you would like him to do it by love.

"I have an idea" You gulp since you have a bad feeling about what Namjoon is going to propose "Let's go hiking, with Ji-Eun. You'll see you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure you'll get along"

Fuck, that hurts. The light of affection in Namjoon's eyes when he talks about Ji-Eun is painful to watch. Even his gorgeous smile and dimples look like a deadly weapon when they're for someone's else. You swallow the lump in your throat and agree. What else could you do? So you drink more than you should to forget that you made a pact with the devil.

————

You thought about all kinds of excuses to cancel the hike but you're a terrible liar and Namjoon would have read right into your lies. For the first time in your life, you pray for a rainy day in May. However, stepping out Namjoon's car — he came to pick you up while Ji-Eun uses her own car to meet you directly at Bukhansan National Park —a bright sun is shining high in the sky on this Saturday morning. You sigh while Namjoon grabs your two backpacks with water, snacks and first aid just in case. He helps you wearing it and adjusts the straps. The brief contact of his hands on your shoulders doesn't go unnoticed by your heart. Why are you sensitive when it comes to him? You can hear your heartbeats in your ears. You're so stupid when you're in love.

"Great!" Namjoon exclaims, finding you very cute with your white cap on and your pouty face

You take a few seconds to appreciate Namjoon without his working clothes. He looks so different with his tight dark blue tank top and his black shorts, with a white cap just like you. You can clearly see his muscles flexing every time he moves. His biceps are huge, way more that you could imagine when they wrapped under the fabric of his shirts. His tank top molds his buff chest so well, you can practically count his abs. You can't deny that he's hot like that, so fucking daddy material. Imagining him being your baby daddy and the process of making it raises a wave of arousal in you. Okay, you're officially crazy...

A horn stops your fantasy. You look up to witness a big red Range Rover getting parked. It doesn't take long for Ji-Eun to step out and meet you. You put a smile on your face while your whole confidence crumbles down. Ji-Eun is so gorgeous, way more than the photos you've seen of her. Her fair skin compliments her dark eyes and hair. Her features are delicate, she looks like a china doll. Just as if wasn't enough for her to have a perfect face, she is wearing a way more appealing outfit than you. Ji-Eun could be a model for a sportswear brand: her adjusted white fake-skirt and her fitness tank top hugs her small frame perfectly.

You look down at your own cloths and frown. You should have picked something more complimenting than some oversize shorts — they actually once belong to your dad in the 1980s — and an old t-shirt from your university. You have no style. Hopefully, your hiking skills will give the change. To be true, you like hiking and since Namjoon discovered your taste in common, he has often invited you to go on a hike with him. You quite love those moments with your boss outside the office. You get to forget everything and breathe pure air for a few hours, and you talk about anything except work. You also do think that this kind of activities deepen your connection with him.

However, his fucking I'm-stupidly-in-love smile has returned and Ji-Eun blushes. You want to slap them both in the face. A burning jealousy builds inside you and you hate the feeling. It hurts to see the man you love loving someone else.

"Namjoon! I hope you didn't wait too long for me" Ji-Eun says with an annoying honey voice

Yeah, just like you weren't here.

"Not at all. Let me introduce you" Namjoon turns towards you "This is Y/N, my assistant and good friend. Y/N, you can officially meet Ji-Eun after hearing so much about her"

"Nice to meet you" You find the strength to lie

"Me too" Ji-Eun offers you a shy smile

Actually, Ji-Eun has heard of you too. Namjoon often talks about you, rather because it's related to work or — something she doesn't like much — unrelated to work. When he offered Ji-Eun to join you for hiking, she accepted thinking that she'd feel less threaten by you. However, it's worse now. She expected you to be less pretty. Ji-Eun is pretty confident about her look, that's why she didn't suggest a one-on-one date with Namjoon today. But now, she knows that it's impossible for Namjoon not to find you attractive. Maybe she should allude for Namjoon to put you in another service after their wedding? Just to keep you away from him.

"Alright" Namjoon claps enthusiastically in his hands "Let's go!"

Your little group starts hiking. At first, you cursed at yourself for wearing an ugly cap but when you see how Ji-Eun is slowly melting down under the sun, you're pretty glad with your choice.

After a few minutes, the rail gets more inclined since the Bukhansan Mount starts. The park is an attended spot of Seoul people willing to go on a trek. It's not an easy one but the delightful tensing in your legs as you feel your muscles working is a great reward. The nature, the trees, the flowers and the butterflies around you clean your lungs from the pollution of the South Korean capital.

"One step further—" Namjoon starts suddenly

"One less step later" You fill, and you both laugh

It's something you've kept saying the first time Namjoon and you went to hike. Namjoon was so tired that day that he was complaining non-stop. So you came up with this sentence to keep him motivated.

"You remember when we went to Geumjeongsanseong Fortress, in Busan?" Namjoon asks you

"Of course I remember! I thought I was going to kill you" You joke

Your hike to Geumjeongsanseong Fortress is definitely one of the most memorable moments with your boss. It was two years ago when Namjoon was assisting a major event with the main industrial firms of South Korea. Since you had one day off, you'd decided to go for a trek. You knew this trek was one of the most difficult ones: nine miles with huge stones path, almost climbing parts. The point was to visit the famous fortress. However, nothing went as it was supposed to when it started raining. Or more like pouring. You had no other choice than to keep going, careful not to break an ankle on a sliding rock. You remember damn well asking your boss if he had checked the weather and his positive respond, while he actually didn't do it.

"I've never seen you this mad" Namjoon continues

"I was but, I have to say, the path was beautiful. I don't regret it"

"I'm glad to hear that" Namjoon gives you a bright smile, remembering all the hardships you both went through to see the goddamn fortress

If you and Namjoon are sharing a good laugh, full of different memories and private jokes, Ji-Eun is boiling in rage. Namjoon used to give her his loving eyes and his genuine smile. So why is he giving them to his assistant? Ji-Eun loves to be the center of attention and right now, it's like she isn't even here. More than jealous, she feels attacked in her pride. She and Namjoon are definitely going to get married so she has to get rid of you. You're just a stupid assistant. Your family is not rich, has no relations with the social elite. In other words, you're nothing.

"Namjoon, do you have some water please?" Ji-Eun asks with a fake weak voice

She is planing to fake a weakness so Namjoon worries and focuses on her.

"Of course"

You stop so Namjoon can dig into his backpack and pull out a fresh bottle of water. Ji-Eun takes it delicately and only drinks a sip. You frown, finding it suspicious. If she were really thirsty, she would have drunk more than this.

"Could you walk next to me? I didn't take a hat, but you're tall enough to be my personal parasol" Ji-Eun giggles

She. is. fucking. annoying.

"No prob" Namjoon's usual cheerfulness shines through his sincere smile

He has no clue of Ji-Eun's deceit. You, on the other hand, are clearly aware of it. Especially when she gives you a cold glance.

You're concentrated on internally bitching on Ji-Eun, walking faster than the couple. The sunny weather is the complete opposite of your grumpy mood. You let your inner negative feelings take over you and you rip on a small rock. A vivid pain immobilizes your left ankle and you harshly fall on the ground. If your ankle weren't so painful, maybe you could have felt the hardness of the ground against your kneels and palms, causing small drops of blood forming on your freshly bruised skin.

"Arg!" You hiss when you try to stand up

"Y/N!" Namjoon exclaims as he runs to you

Worry is all over his face but it's nothing compared to all the emotions shaking his chest. He is panicked that you've hurt yourself. The little traces of blood on yours hands and knees makes him wince.

"Where are you hurt? Is it your ankle?" He asks with urgency

You nod, your eyebrows furrowing in pain. Namjoon palpates the source of the pain. He concentrates to feel anything that it's not at the right place but, thankfully, no broken bones is detected. He takes off the first aid kit off of his bag and tightly bandages your ankle.

"I think you've have sprained it" Namjoon says softly "Get on my back, you're going back"

You wince at the idea but when you're up, you quickly realize that you can't walk. You're so fucking stupid. You should have been concentrated on your steps rather than on your jealousy. Actually, more than jealousy, it's pain that you've have felt when you saw how good Namjoon and Ji-Eun looked together. They are both so beautiful and their smiles are so wide when they look at each other.

Namjoon gives his backpack to Ji-Eun who takes it reluctantly. Then, Namjoon kneels down, and you get up on his large back. He secures his forearms under your knees and stands up with no difficulty, just as you were as light as a feather.

"You okay?" He asks you as he starts walking

"Yeah, don't worry about me. Are you though?"

"Of course I am, I get to show my muscles to a pretty lady" Namjoon jokes

Your hearts skips a beat when you wonder if he meant Ji-Eun or you. It isn't really important because you feel your cheeks redden — hopefully you can blame it on the weather — and your heart enhances its pace. When you get to fill Namjoon's neck between your arms, you forget all the pain in your ankle. You love the sensation. You love his scent. You love how his big frame fit in your smaller one.

Namjoon, even if he tries to stay focus on the path not to drift and hurt you more, truly feels the warmth of your body. He also enjoys a little more than he should your boobs pressed against his back. He tightens his grip around your thighs to pull you closer and feel you better. He wishes he could hold you without the lame excuse of your sprained ankle but he knows he shouldn't even think about it. So he keeps his fantasy of his body between your legs — this time facing you — to himself and walks fast to redirect his blood from his hardening cock to his moving legs.

————

Namjoon is sitting at a coffee shop with Ji-Eun after dropping you at your home. He made sure to put some ice on your ankle and asked you one hundred times if you wanted him to stay. You declined, arguing you were tired while you just wanted to cry, knowing that the man who took care of you was destined to someone's else. Namjoon left you with heavy heart and met Ji-Eun as she proposed him.

They still have both their hiking clothes. Ji-Eun is talking about something but Namjoon has no clue since all he is thinking about is you. He wonders if you're okay, if your ankle doesn't hurt much. You looked sad when he left, causing him to grow worried.

"Are you listening?" Ji-Eun asks him with an upset tone

"Sorry, I was worried about Y/N" Namjoon sincerely answers

'You, again' Ji-Eun thinks with clenched jaws. She really has to do something. Her pride makes her want Namjoon's total attention. She is not willing to share it with someone like you. She doesn't really have feelings for Namjoon, even though he is a good looking guy, but his social status and his money are what Ji-Eun is interested in. He will make her look good and that's all she wants. And you in the frame would be like a strain on the painting.

"You know, I think you should keep your distance with your assistant" She starts, faking a worry

"What? Why?" Namjoon is taken aback

Ever since you entered his life, he has never imagined working — or living — without you by his side. He always thought you would be the one next to him when he is finally elected CEO of Kim Electronics. Not only because you play a great role in his success but also because he wants you there, as a person he cares about.

"When we get married, you'll have way more responsibilities. You will need someone with high qualifications to help you. I know someone who could help you, his name is Kim Seokjin. He went to Seoul National University, that says it all. You should hire him"

"What about Y/N?" Namjoon frowns, rage slowly building inside him

"Come on! She is not good enough for you" Ji-Eun laughs

"You know nothing about her" Namjoon snaps, instantly stopping Ji-Eun's laugh "She is the one who helped me getting the post I have now. She is the one who made me a good successor for my father. I couldn't have done it without her. More than my work, she cares about me, as a person. I think it's the best thing you could wish for an assistant and a friend. I don't care what university she went to, she's still the best person I know"

Ji-Eun stays silent for a moment, completely shocked. No one, no man has ever talked to her like that. She is used to have her natural beauty working for her. She just has to snap her fingers to get what she wants. Her ego is smashed up by Namjoon. Why? Because of you. She can't take it.

"I don't want her around when we get married" She says coldly, her tone makes it clear that it's not negotiable

"Don't make me choose between you and Y/N" Namjoon implores

"Why?" Ji-Eun provokes

"Because I'd choose Y/N. I will always choose her" He confesses, more to himself than to Ji-Eun

She made him realize that. You are the most important person in his life. He can't even imagine his life without you. If he's ready to give up his wedding with Ji-Eun just not to put distance with you, what does that mean? Does that mean he's in lo... No. You're just a good friend and an excellent assistant.

"You're an asshole" Ji-Eun says with clenched jaws "I'll be sure to tell my dad what person you're truly are"

"Go ahead" Namjoon is growing tired of Ji-Eun's attitude and pseudo-threat

With a final dramatic gasp, she leaves. Namjoon sighs, lost in all the overwhelming feelings that suddenly seem to wash over him. It's like everything he has buried for four years resurfaces but ten times bigger. So many details come back to his mind: all the little things that made him fall for you.

————

All week long Namjoon has been someway distant with you. He only talked to you about work. Actually, he was practically ignoring you. You were worried about his strange behavior, wondering if something happened between him and Ji-Eun after your shortened hiking, but didn't want to push him to say something he didn't want to. You know him well enough to say that he'll tell you when he is ready.

It's late on Friday, pretty much everyone when home but you stay: Namjoon is still here working hard. He went to meet his dad about ten minutes ago but you stayed at your desk. Since he has been a little bit down the past few days, you can't abandon him. You'll stay until he leaves. That's why you're taking care of Namjoon's mails and meetings for the next weeks as the sun slowly sets down.

"Sunbae, you still here?" Jungkook asks as he arrives at your desk, a genuine smile on his face

"Oh, Jungkook! What are you doing here? You should go out and enjoy your weekend" You tell him

"I just wanted to give a report to Mr. Kim before leaving" He answers, handing you a file

You take it and thank him. Jungkook looks very good after a long day of work, even though his black hair is a little bit messy.

"You're working late, do you want a coffee?" Jungkook gently offers you but you decline, notifying him that you'll be home soon

Just before Jungkook walks away, Namjoon comes back. His whole body tenses when he sees Jungkook smiling at you. Are you that blind not to see he's flirting with you? Or do you like it? Anyway, Namjoon surely doesn't. At all. He walks faster and opens his mouth when he arrives at your desk:

"If you're here to chitchat, you can go home, Y/N"

His harsh tone surprises you. He has never talked to you like that, even when you've made a huge mistake that costed him a billions wons contract. You want to talk back but Namjoon doesn't give you time and enters his office, not without slamming the door.

"I'm sorry if I put you in trouble" Jungkook tells you with a guilty voice, looking down in shame

"Don't worry, you did nothing wrong" You console him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder "You should go, I'll deal with him"

You two wave at each other when the young employee disappears at the end of the hallway. Your smile fades away too, anger taking over your body. You've been worried about Namjoon all week, you've been working harder to ease him and he thanks you by snapping at you? You can't stand his attitude any longer.

What you don't know is that Namjoon avoided you because, after his talk with Ji-Eun, he tried to understand his feelings. Every time he saw you, he found you prettier. It took all his determination not to kiss you and fuck you. He even had to jerk himself off at home thinking about you to control his horniness towards you. It was too much today when he saw you this morning wearing a fucking pencil grey skirt hugging your pretty ass perfectly. Your tight aubergine shirt was unbuttoned enough for Namjoon to have a peak on your bra. Vivid memories of the day he's spilled his coffee on your chest made up to his mind and he knew he couldn't resist anymore. So he went to his dad's office to announce he won't be marry Lee Ji-Eun and that another woman fills all of his heart. But when he came back, he found you giggling with another man.

You storm into his office, harshly closing the door behind you.

"What is wrong with you?" You bark more than you ask

Namjoon looks at you with a unfazed eye. He is not impressed one bit by your temper. Actually, your small frame shivering in wrath is cute.

"Nothing" He replies with a dismissive voice that drives you crazy and he focuses on his computer again

You scoff and step closer, smacking your two palms on his large desk. The loud noise makes Namjoon look at you but his face stays neutral. This is very hard to do when your slightly bent over upper body offers him a great view on your boobs. Is your bra made out of silk? That seems so soft than Namjoon's fingers subtly brush his computer mouse while he imagines touching you. Of course, you have no clue of that.

"Spill it" You say between your teeth

"There is nothing to say, Y/N"

"Really? Because you've been ignoring me all week and now you're acting like an ass"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have to be reminded you're at work when you flirt in front of my office"

"What?! I was not flirting!" You exclaim, completely taken aback

"Sure" Namjoon talks back with his jaws clenched

"Wait" You say, making Namjoon look into your eyes "Are you jealous?" You ask with narrow eyes

"Stop talking non-sense" But his reddenned cheeks speak otherwise

"Yes, you are" You insist as you get around his desk and place yourself next to him

"I am not" He whispers, drawing his eyes back to the screen

"Look at me" You say as you grab his cheeks with your thumb and forefinger

Your breathe is cut off one second. He is way too handsome. The whole atmosphere gets heavy and tensed but not in a negative way. His lips are right here, ready to be kissed and you so fucking want it. You would like to ride his pretty face to make him pay for ignoring you all week. Your heart beats louder and faster, and your body gets hotter. Some wetness gathers in your panties. You try to keep calm but your inside is messed up by Namjoon's hotness. You gulp.

Your brain turns off the second Namjoon stands up and kisses you harshly. He moves so fast that you can't react. It doesn't really matter because you don't want to push him away. His pulp lips are so soft that you moan against them. Namjoon grabs the back of your head to kiss you deeper, his other hand presses against your lower back. You can feel his bulge and your pussy gets wetter.

Namjoon starts attacking your neck, pressing rough kisses on your throat. You're quite sure you'll have hickeys tomorrow. Your hands run through his short hair to pull him closer. Namjoon's delicate fingers work on your shirt to open it. He harshly squeezes your boob through the cup of your bra, making you wince in delight. He smiles when he confirms that it was a silk fabric, so soft under his fingers. Then, he drag down your bra, just enough to free your hard nipples. His mouth captures your sensitive tits and you throw your head back under the pleasure. You feel his teeth gently bite them and it's delightedly painful. Are you ready letting your boss tease your nipples with his tongue in his office? You're crazy. Too bad you don't give a fuck right now.

"I've dreamt about that ever since I ripped your fucking blouse" Namjoon groans between the licks he gives to your nipples

He is soft despite his harsh moves. It's almost like he wants to punish you and adore you at the same time.

Once he is satisfied with the swelling of your breasts and the little reddish marks he created on your skin, he pushes you against his desk, turns you over and finally bends you over. The cold material against your heated skin makes you shiver. You have never imagine Namjoon being so dominant but fuck! you love it. Your perfect ass is at full display for him. Only him. He slaps your cheek and the slight burn is so good that your pussy clenches.

"You drive me crazy" Namjoon whispers so low that you barely hear him but you could say exactly the same since your brain is completely fogged by horniness

He pulls up your tight skirt, exposing your cunt and ass only covered by your white — and now soaked — panties. The cold air on your burning skin mixed with the possibility of someone entering his office is so sinful that you could cum right now. The biggest wave of arousal you've ever experienced washes over you. All that caused by your boss.

The view of your ass makes Namjoon painfully hard in his pants. Fuck, he could ruin you, right now, in his office. He wants to make you scream his name while he pounds into your pussy, and if this Jungkook guy hears you, it's even better.

Namjoon kneels down and you can feel his breathing on your skin. Since you can't see him, you're even more focus on physical contacts. He first kisses your asscheek and starts rubbing your clit through the thin fabric of your panties with his thumb, making you gasp of pleasure.

"I want to eat you out" He says with a raspy voice, indirectly asking for your consent

Just imagining it makes a choked moan escape your lips and you nod frenetically. Namjoon smirks at your neediness. You're craving for his touch and he loves it. Does that mean that you want him as much as he wants you?

He wastes no time and push your panties aside. Your glistening cunt is so pretty. Seeing your arousal, caused by him, all over your pussy boosts his ego. He dives into it, taking a large strap of your juices. He applies the right amount of pressure on your clit with his tongue. It's so good that you moan his name. You feel high on horniness. Your pussy clenches when Namjoon roughly grabs your two asscheeks to spread them, giving him more access to your dripping cunt. You look so desperate, so submissive. You are fucking bent over his desk and he is eating your pussy. He fucking loves it. He didn't know how much he wanted to see you like this until now and he is not ready to stop.

"Fuck" You choke up, your right hand making its way to his hair and pulling him closer

"My girl is needy, uh? She loves when I eat her pretty cunt, right?" Namjoon teases against your pussy

How can he be so good with his mouth? His tongue licks, circles and sucks on your sensitive bud. You gasp for air when you feel your orgasm building inside you. It's true that you haven't been touched for a long time but you know damn well that if you'll cum soon it's essentially because of Namjoon's skills. He makes you feel so good, so alive that you wish you've let him touched you before. Why did you wait four years?

"I'm gonna cum" You say in a whimper

Instantly, Namjoon pulls away and stands up, making you wince.

"Namjoon!" You gasp in surprise, disappointment and frustration — you knew it would have been a great orgasm

You turn your head to meet his satisfied smirk. He looks like a predator with his lips, nose and chin glistening of your juices. The sight is so hot and you could appreciate it if he didn't deny your orgasm.

"You'll cum around my cock like a good girl" His voice is so deep and his words so naughty that your walls tighten around nothing "But first, I have to prep you" Namjoon gets closer to your ear to whisper "I wouldn't want to slit you in two"

He looks so confident, but his cock couldn't be so big, right? You don't have time to think about because two fingers slip inside your pussy. The slight stretching is so good you could cry. Namjoon penetrates you at the right pace, making sure your walls get expanded enough not to hurt you with his dick. His goal is not really to give you pleasure — even though he does. You mutter your moans with your hand as you feel his digits going in and out into you. They are making a mess out of your dripping pussy.

Once Namjoon thinks you're ready enough, he takes off his fingers out of you. They are completely glistening with your arousal and he smirks of how wet you are for him. He guides his hand towards your face and you blush when you witness how much of a pool you have between your legs.

"Open your mouth" Namjoon orders and you do

He pushes his fingers between your lips and you taste yourself. You use your tongue to clean his digits and it's so fucking hot that you feel some arousal leaking down your thighs, making you shiver.

"Good girl" Namjoon praises you, then putting those same fingers into his mouth to taste both your juices and your saliva and it's making you clench

The eye he is giving you is totally filled with lust. His eyes are so intense, you have never felt so sexy, so wanted. Your cheeks redden even more and you can't wait to feel him inside you. Your arousal is written all over your face and pussy. Namjoon wishes you could see youself like that: completely desperate for his cock. He drags down his pants and boxers at the same time, freeing his dick. And fuck. Your eyes widen for the greatest delight of Namjoon. He is big. Huge. Definitely the biggest dick you've ever seen. His fat cock, hard and proud, stands a few inches away from your pussy and you wonder how can it fit. You gulp and Namjoon laughs at your reaction.

"My girl can take it" He says to ease you, kissing your cheeks

My girl. Why does his possessiveness make you wet? You want to be his, even just for a moment, even just while he fucks you. You are pretty sure that you could let him do whatever he wants with your body right now.

Namjoon gives himself a few pumps and guides his length to your entrance. You moan when you feel his tip against your pussy. You mouth opens and your eyes shut down while Namjoon slowly pushes himself into you. It's not really difficult considering how wet you are. His two big hands settle on your hips, tightly. He is so big that you feel your pussy getting stretched. A lot. It's almost painful but it's so fucking good. He completely fills you up and you love it.

"So big" You groan, grabbing his forearm with one hand for dear life, the other one trying to catch onto something

"You're so fucking tight. Your little pussy feels so good around my cock"

Namjoon starts pounding, not so gently and enhances the pace just after a few seconds. He's rough. He lets out all the frustration of the week. Thankfully, the fabric of his pants creates a barrier between your skins that mutters the sinful sound of clapping. Namjoon tightens his grip on your hips to enter you deeper and faster. Each single bumping causes you to hit his desk, shaking everything that is on it. Your moans are so loud that if someone goes by the hallway, they'll hear you. You attempt to mute yourself by biting your lip but you don't do a really good job at it.

Your pussy gets tighter as your orgasm comes closer. Namjoon feels it and guides one of his hand around your neck to pull your back against his chest. The change of angle makes his huge cock find your g-spot. You whimper at the surprise and delight but it's so much to take, you're not sure you'll get through this alive, especially when he doesn't slow his pace one bit.

"Right here, right here!" You scream despite your choked throat, overwhelmed by the sensation of Namjoon's fat dick hardly hitting the perfect area

Your legs are so weak that he has to wrap his other arm around your waist to support your body. Between his arms, you look small and fragile although he is ramming you hardly. Namjoon's hand on your throat presses softly and you feel his heavy breathe into your ear. Your ass gets slapped by his abs at each harsh pounding. You've never been fucked so roughly and yet, you love it.

"Be mine" He says so lowly that you're not sure of you imagined it

"What?" Your eyes open in astonishment, your breathe cut off

"Be mine, Y/N" He repeats so desperately and your heart melts at the same time than your pussy

You cum so hard that you can't even let a sound leaves your open mouth. Your legs shake so much that Namjoon has to slow his pace but makes sure to stay entirely inside you. You're out of breathe and completely shaken by the fact that your boss just made you cum — the best orgasm of your life — and by his words. You slowly settle down from your high but Namjoon's cock sliding in your cunt makes you hungry again. A few second after you've cummed, you're ready for another orgasm.

"Answer me" Namjoon orders with a harsh tone that matches his harsh poundings, accentuating his words with a strong slap on your ass

"I'm yours" You moan, your eyes watering

Two big and round tears roll down your cheeks because of the harsh and delightful spanking but also because you have confessed something that you've kept so difficulty to yourself for weeks.

Namjoon tenderly kisses your wet cheek and his hand leaves your throat to caress your jaw. Fuck, he was so afraid you'd say no. His heart was pounding in his chest, and not only from his physical efforts. Now that he knows you both share feelings, he wants to fuck you deeper, just to show you how much he cares about you. Your tits bounce under his tamping.

"You're taking me so good. You're so perfect" He growls "My girl..."

"Joon" You moan, your hand going up to grab his hair, making him groan

You get, once again, so close to your high. Your pussy clenches around Namjoon's cock and he smirks. The hand that secures your waist goes down and starts rubbing your clit. It's too much for you. It's painfully delightful. The sensation is overwhelming, you almost faint out of pleasure.

"Cum around me, baby"

It's all you needed. You cum for the second time, screaming his name. The way his name rolls on your tongue when you're cumming makes Namjoon's cock twitch inside you.

"Fuck, I love you" He whispers, eyes shut down and his face coiling into your neck

Your heart is doing backflips in your chest. Namjoon loves you. Your eyes gets more watery, an overwhelming feeling of affection and love you both share is washing over you.

He gives you a few more dick strokes and hot shots of thick cum are spread on your walls. He is panting. His shirt is now completely sticked by sweat to his chest but he doesn't care. Your shaking frame is wrapped by his strong arms and he hugs you tight while his cock softens inside you. Your hands caress his forearms and your head rests on his shoulder. It's a peaceful moment after the rough fucking you've shared. You're so tired but so light at the same time. Your heart could jump out of your chest from happiness.

"I love you too, Joonie" You whisper after a few seconds of silence

You feel Namjoon smiles against your neck. He pulls out of your pussy, causing his cum to drip. He quickly pushes it back into your cunt with his fingers and you find it so hot. He replaces your panties correctly to secure it. Yeah, he could be your baby daddy and by the playful look in his eyes, you quite have the feeling he is thinking about the exact same thing.

"It's my gift" He teases you and you blush

He quickly puts back his dick into his pants and helps you with your clothes. Namjoon doesn't stop kissing your forehead, your nose, your cheeks and your lips. You giggle like a teenager when you feel so loved. You lift your eyes and meet his beautiful brown ones. They are so tender while they're looking at you.

"Let's go out for diner, I want to take my girl on a date"

"I'm your girl now?" You twit him

"Of course!" Namjoon replies as he softly captures your cheeks with his large and warm palms "You said you were mine. You can't go back now"

You smile at him, not wishing one bit to undo the tie that now links you to Namjoon. You look at his cute dimples that you can now kiss every time you want and this silly thought provides you so much joy that you wonder how you could have lived without it for four years.

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts #bts namjoon #namjoon #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #kim namjoon #knj #knj smut

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bts-0t-7 · 1 year ago

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Sharing The Moment | MYG

Pair: Yoongi x reader

Summary: You and your son went to D-Day 3 to support Yoongi. Your son stole the show after appearing on stage and ARMY was absolutely… swooned.

Genre: fluff, established relationship, parents au, married au

WC: 1169

Before the both of you stepped into the stadium, you could feel the ground vibrating from all the fan’s anticipation. The arena felt alive before the real show even started. It was the last day of Yoongi’s D-Day tour in Seoul and all the fans were there early. Whether is it giving out fanmade gifts, food, or drinks, they - Is that a tangerine in her hand? And is that a whole bag of it?!

The atmosphere was electric but for you, today was something even more special. You were not only here as a fan but also as Yoongi’s family. While ARMY’s certainly had eagle eyes, they have yet to catch on that you weren’t the only surprise that day. Your son, Min Ji-Hye, a carbon copy of his dad, was the source of the surprise. His little body was buzzing with energy.

Since young, Ji-Hye has looked up to his father’s music and absolutely idolizes him. Every time Yoongi works from home or comes home with new music, Ji-Hye would demand listening to it even if it is the rawest version. Of course, Yoongi tries to keep the cursing to a minimum whenever Ji-Hye is around.

The both of you found your seats in the middle catalogs which the staff has reserved especially for the both of you. Ensuring that Ji-Hye wouldn’t fall off his bumper seat, you started to set the area for the both of you so that you wouldn’t miss a single second to find some water. You were so engrossed in ensuring that your son had everything he needed that you didn’t realise Jin and Hobi were standing right next to you.

You jumped when you felt a light tap on your shoulder, immediately turning around with large eyes, hoping that you wouldn’t cause trouble for your husband if you got mobbed or something during his concert. But you found two laughing figures and calmed down once you heard Jin’s signature laugh.

“Yah, don’t scare me like that!” You chided.

“It was you who weren’t paying attention! We were here the whole time!”

You were about to shoot back another snarky remark when - “Seoul, ARE YOU READY?”

Cheers from all directions engulfed you as fireworks lit up the stage. Yoongi came blasting from the backstage and no matter how many times you have been to BTS concerts, you never get tired of seeing them perform. The raw passion in their movements and voices always ensures that the audience has one of the best concerts.

You turned over to see Ji-Hye at the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the stage. You had dressed him in Yoongi’s stage outfit, complete with a cap that looked a few sizes too big (it was taken from Yoongi’s closet). With his cat-like eyes and gummy smile, he was essentially Yoongi 2.0.

Watching your son sing and jump to the lyrics of his father, your lips curled upwards in a loving smile. While he didn’t quite understand the depth and innuendos of the songs, he was enjoying himself and you knew how much this concert meant to him. With the news of Yoongi’s enlistment, you knew that your time together would be cut short for two years.

You had told him that telling ARMY a day after the concert wasn’t going to be the best decision but management pulled through so it was scheduled as it is. So both of you continued to enjoy the concert with the new addition of Uncle Namjoon.

As the music filled the stadium, Yoongi delivered an electrifying performance, pouring his heart and soul into every lyric. His presence on stage was magnetic and the fans were completely enthralled. You thought that you could hold back the tears as he broke down in front of all his fans but the tears streamed down your cheeks, staining them in a salty caress.

Amidst the sea of fans, Ji-Hye suddenly squirmed and wriggled his way past the people in front of him. Running down the steps, you tried to catch him when Namjoon suddenly grabbed your wrist. “He’s safe, don’t worry. There are guards everywhere.”

But you couldn’t help but worry. What if he got lost? What if fans start to swarm around him and he can’t make it to Yoongi or any of the guards in time? Your heart skipped a beat as you saw his little figure making his way up the stage. There was a collective gasp from the fans nearby as they realised what was happening.

The surrounding security personnel recognised him and allowed him to approach the stage, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t fall down the large steps. Yoongi had just finished a ‘Life Goes On’ and was taking a moment to catch his breath when he saw little feet running up towards him. His eyes widened and broke out into a huge grin when he saw him, squatting down to his level and spreading his arms. The fans, realising that he was Yoongi’s son, started to cheer even louder.

The moment Ji-Hye crashed into Yoongi, every ounce of fear that Ji-Hye would be afraid of the cheers washed away in that instance. Yoongi scooped him up, hugging him tightly as your son laughed into the microphone, causing another wave of cheers to vibrate the stadium. It was a moment of pure, unscripted love between a father and his son. You stared at the two most important people in your life on stage, celebrating as if they were the only ones in the world.

The fans were absolutely swooning - taking in this whole scene with hearty eyes and red faces - their hearts melted by the sheer adorableness of the scene. They watched as Ji-Hye whispered something into Yoongi’s ear and Yoongi’s eyes sparkled with amusement and affection.

Yoongi turned to the fans, holding Ji-Hye high above his head like the scene from Lion King. “This is my son, Min Ji-Hye.” He announced proudly. “He’s a little ARMY like all of you.”

The fans erupted into cheers, shouting their love for both Yoongi and his son. Ji-Hye waved at the crowd, his gummy smile wide, grinning from ear to ear. Your heart felt so big that it was going to explode.

As the concert continued, Yoongi held Ji-Hye in his arms, dancing with him on stage during a couple of songs. It was a moment of pure joy and it was clear that this concert had become something extraordinary - not just for the fans but for Yoongi and your family.

After the concert, Yoongi was still beaming with light as he continued to hold Ji-Hye in his arms. “You know, you stole the show today.” He chuckled to his son.

Ji-Hye looked up at his father, eyes shining with admiration. “Daddy!” He swung his little legs. “I wanna be just like you when I grow up!”

Yoongi’s heart swelled with love. “You can be anything you want. Just remember to always be yourself.”

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taecherries · 6 months ago

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the princess bride | jungkook ( 2 )

synopsis. soon to be betrothed to a neighbourhood kingdom, you escape into the woods toward your freedom. there you find your calling in the hold of a dark and troublesome stranger instead.

pairing. jungkook | you + yoongi | you

genre. royal au, angst, smut, fluff

word count. 7.1k

rating. M

warnings. ❗️steamy scene, violence, threats, mention of rape❗️

a/n. chapters will be coming out whenever I'm able to post and they may vary in word count greatly ♡

chapters. 1 × 2 × 3

Freedom didn’t last long.

You managed to hold your own through the night, running and fighting against your dress that stubbornly would entangle in the branches of the tall bushes, draining you throughout. You barely caught on any sleep, trying your best to keep walking and pushing yourself toward your new-found goal—the borders of Keirn’s citadel.

But once the first rays of light greeted you, and the shadows of the night were long gone, even the woods couldn’t protect you from your father’s cunning.

The tall walls surrounding the kingdom seemed tranquil on this side of the border; completely unoccupied saved by the chirping birds that flew by. You had been counting on it since you knew this to be one of Keirn’s blind spots.

You approached the wall carefully, your head paranoidly snapping at any sound. It loomed above you, imposing and seemingly insurmountable. Inhaling deeply you reach for the dagger Yoongi had given you, its weight a comforting reminder of his promise. Holding it tightly, you find a small crevice in the wall, just wide enough for your fingers.

With a deep breath, you begin to climb. The rough stone bites into your hands and feet, but you press on, using the dagger to wedge into cracks for leverage. Each movement is deliberate, your muscles burning with effort. The climb feels endless, but the thought of Yoongi and the freedom that awaits you on the other side keeps you going. You think instead this is just the customary climb toward the tall window of the castle you grew up running from in the middle of the night.

Finally, you reach the top, pausing for a moment to catch your breath and scan the horizon. No movement. The kingdom lays quiet beneath you. You allow yourself to close your eyes even if for an instant, breathing the scent of the pine trees your home is known for, and the faint one of lilies. Arden’s borders are just there, waiting for you.

You open your fingers wide on a lazy morning stretch, and a smile, even if bittersweet, tugs at the corners of your mouth. You did it.

Carefully, you begin your descent on the other side, your grip firm on the dagger.

As your feet touch the ground, you swiftly place the dagger back in the strap around your thigh, relief flooding through you. Even with no belongings besides the dagger, or plans, that is what you feel, relief. You could make a life for yourself in the borders of Arden, you were sure of that.

But the respite is short-lived. Before you can take another step, a group of soldiers emerges from the shadows, their armor glinting menacingly in the early morning light. Leading them is the face of your eldest brother, Seokjin.

You gulp down the tears that threaten to blur your vision. In the space of one single night both of your brothers, the brothers you loved so dearly and thought to have a deep bond with, pierced a sword through your heart.

There is really nothing nor no one that beats the loyalty to your father, the fearsome king of Keirn.

“Y/n,” he calls out, his voice carrying a mix of authority and if you didn’t know better, sorrow. “Did you really think you could neglect your duties?”

Heart pounding, you take a step back, only to feel the cold steel of a blade pressed against your back. One of the soldiers had moved in behind you with lightning speed.

“Seokjin, please,” you plead, your voice trembling. “I can’t go back. I won’t.”

Your brother’s expression softens for a moment, a flicker of something—perhaps regret—crossing his face. But it is gone as quickly as it came. “The King has ordered your return. You know I can’t disobey him.”

You clench your fists, the dagger in its sheath a cruel reminder of your fleeting freedom. Your fingers tap gently the fabric of your dress as you ponder retrieving it and trying to fence your way through. But who are you kidding? Even if great with a blade, and sure you could turn tables with the odds you’re being dealt with, you could never hurt Seokjin.

You love him too greatly to strip the life out of him. And that’s what this situation would come to, as you know his soul well enough to ignore how he would only disobey your father’s orders if death were to fall upon him. “And what about what I want? He’s selling me like cattle!”

Seokjin sighs, stepping closer. “Sometimes, our duty is more important than what we want. Come quietly, Y/n. Don’t make this harder than it has to be…Please.”

The soldiers close in, their grip on your arms unyielding. As they lead you away, your mind races, searching for a way out. You glance back at the wall, the symbol of your almost-achieved freedom, and silently vow that this will not be the end. Yoongi’s promise echoes in your mind, giving you a glimmer of hope amidst the despair.

“I’ll find you,” you whisper to yourself, the resolve in your voice strengthening with each step you take back toward the castle. “No matter what.”

The journey back to the castle was a blur of rough handling and harsh words. Seokjin stayed by your side, his presence both a comfort and a constant reminder of your impending fate. The soldiers led you through the familiar corridors, and though your surroundings felt like home, each step deepened your sense of captivity.

Once inside the walls of your childhood home, you were taken to your chambers. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and rose, but it did nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Servants you barely recognized bustled about, drawing a bath and laying out garments on your bed. The dress chosen for you, which you could pinpoint to be your father’s doing, was beautiful, but it felt like a cage, its silk and lace suffocating you.

You bathed quickly, the warm water doing little to wash away your anxiety. Every moment you spent in the tub, your mind raced with plans and desperate schemes to escape. But when you emerged, the sight of guards posted outside your door and under the tall window sill crushed any fleeting hope. It made you question if all these years going on silent escapades was indeed merit of your skills or just a jest your father allowed.

It made you feel like a farce.

The dress fit perfectly, of course, but it wasn’t yours. Although its silk was made of the softest blue, a color you were peaceful with, you had never worn it. Ever since you were little, you always dallied through bold and sometimes dark colors that enhanced your features. You weren’t made for the delicatessen this soft blue suggested, or better, you weren’t made for the role this color, the color of Ilya, demanded of you.

And so its fabric clung to your body, a constant reminder that even your own appearance was no longer under your control.

Servants that were never appointed to you before tightened the corset, fastened the clasps, and stepped back to admire their work. All the while being silent like stones. You felt like a doll, dressed up for display and to be ignored entirely.

Sat in the comber as the youngest of the maids fight your stubborn hair, you notice through the mirror more guards approach the hallways, blocking every possible exit. Your father had spared no effort in ensuring you had no means of escape.

Your thoughts go to Yoongi and his well-being. You don’t know what happened to him after fleeting his hut, nor do you find yourself brave enough to ask for information seeing that even your greatest confider has betrayed you so easily. So you hold onto the hope of Yoongi having managed to escape if his face not being amidst the guards is of any indication.

You are snapped out of your thoughts as you are dragged through the halls of the palace by a stern-faced soldier instead. He is also the one informing you that you will be having your lunch inside the carriage that will take you to your doom instead of the dining hall, as you protest in his arms.

The words sting, and you can’t suppress a shudder. Not that you would want to see his face at the moment, but your father didn’t even allow you to say goodbye to anyone else who mattered to you. Not to Binna, the cook who had raised you like a mother since you were an infant. Her warm smile and gentle presence had been a constant comfort… How could you imagine life without her and the sticky buns she made every time you were sad?

The thought of leaving without a farewell is not only a bitter pill to swallow but unfathomable.

As you are dragged your feet start caving a ragged track in the rough path of the entrance, you frantically scan the fleet that will escort you to Ilya. You see Seokjin leading it, sitting proudly atop his white stallion. What you don’t see is your own horse, Solas.

“Where’s he, Seokjin?!” you shout exasperated, the hands of the guards tightening around your arms as you mention diverge the path toward your brother. “Where’s Solas?” your throat gets hoarse from the sudden strain.

Seokjin doesn’t spare you a glance. And as he tries so hard to look forward instead of you, the message is clear and is delivered to you like a punch in the gut.

Solas won’t come.

They are forcing you to abandon everything, even the treasured things that could travel with you.

This is a lesson from your father. A way to say from now on you either abide by the rules or you won’t be allowed to have anything at all.

The thought of Solas’ gentle eyes and the way he nuzzled you for treats plague your mind, an invisible hand squeezing at your heart so hard you think you might stop functioning. And in a way, you do.

“Please,” you grab one of the maiden’s hands as you’re about to be pushed into the carriage. “Tell my brother- Tell Taehyung to take care of my horse. Please!”

Taehyung.

It’s only then that you realize you aren’t seeing your younger brother either. You choke on your words, your heart almost coming to a stop.

The pain of not being able to see his face or feel his embrace one last time is almost unbearable. Who knows when or if you will ever get the chance to do so again?

Taehyung had been more than a brother, in ways that Seokjin hadn’t been so; he had been your confidant, your rock, but more than that, the two of you shared a bond that words couldn’t fully capture. From a very young age, you had learned to communicate with just a glance, understanding each other’s thoughts and feelings without a single word. His absence now was a gaping wound in your heart, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever experience that kind of connection again.

You steal one last glance at the castle, hoping against hope that Taehyung might be there, watching from the shadows. But there is nothing, just the cold, impassive stone walls and the unwavering gaze of the guards.

You settle into the plush seat of the carriage deflating, the door closing with a finality that echoed in your soul. The carriage lurches forward, and you feel a heavy weight settle in your chest. Would Taehyung not even attend the wedding? Would you ever find someone who understands you as he did, who could communicate with a mere glance like best friends do?

As the castle fades into the distance, your eyes close, your head rocking with the shake of the carriage. Everyone you love, the life you were building for yourself, and everything that you are is being left behind.

This journey may as well try to break you… But it won’t.

That is your promise to yourself.

You won’t marry the King of Ilya.

You won’t ever not try to escape this fate.

Even if you have to die trying.

Your breath quickens as you find yourself enveloped in Yoongi’s arms. The both of you lie in a secluded glade, the moonlight filtering through the trees, casting a silvery glow over everything.

His touch is electrifying, sending shivers down your spine as his hands roam over your body. His lips trailing hot, and tortuous slow kisses along your neck.

“Yoongi,” you call for him like a beacon, your voice trembling with desire. His name is like a prayer on your lips, a plea for more.

He immediately responds with a low, hungry growl, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that leaves you momentarily dizzy. Your bodies press together, and you can’t help but claw at his back.

You feel feverish as his hand slides down a sinful path between your breasts, fingers deftly unfastening the laces of your nightgown. You gasp against his mouth as the cool night air brushes against your bare skin, but his warmth quickly replaces it.

His touch is everywhere—tender, demanding, setting you aflame.

You arch into him as he squeezes your inner thigh, your own hands tugging at his hair, exploring the feel of his muscles taut under your touch.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your eyes half-closing in ecstasy. Yoongi’s lips curve into a Cheshire cat smile as he obliges, his mouth tracing a path down your collarbone, his hands lifting you higher into his embrace.

You wrap your legs instinctively around his waist, feeling the heat and hardness of him through the thin barrier of your clothes. Pushing his hips down with your heel you almost unravel at the sound he makes.

Your head falls back, a moan escaping your own lips as he whispers your name, his voice thick with need. You are lost in the sensation, the world around you fading into nothingness as the both of you move together, driven by mad desire.

But then, something shifts.

The cool night air seems to grow colder, the moonlight dimming. Yoongi’s touch begins to fade, his presence becoming insubstantial.

Panic surges through you as you try to hold onto him, but he is slipping away, his form dissolving into mist.

“No,” you cried out exasperated, your hands grasping at nothingness. The glade around you begins to blur and dissolve, being replaced by the dim, familiar surroundings of the carriage now moving into the night. You are alone inside, sat at an erroneous angle, your body aching with unfulfilled longing.

It was just a dream.

The realization hits you like a splash of cold water, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You adjust yourself as you hear the clip-clop of the horses outside, staring up at the ceiling, your heart pounds in your chest. The vividness of the dream lingers, the sensation of Yoongi’s touch still ghosting over your skin.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as the ache of loss settles in. You quickly wipe away the tears, you haven’t allowed anyone the satisfaction of seeing you crumble ever since you left Keirn.

It’s been two days now on the road. Every time you closed your eyes you had seen Yoongi’s eyes staring back at you, felt him, his touch, his kisses.

Every time he is ripped away from you by the cruel reality you swear to yourself this is just a reminder of what you are fighting for.

“No matter what it takes,” you mumble.

Not a second passes before you hear Seokjin’s voice coming from outside, “Y/n? Do you need something?”

During the day and the occasional breaks you take to eat and rest, he has been keeping his distance. Either because that’s the order he received from your father or because he feels guilty about it all, you don’t know. But at night, he always falls back to help guard your carriage, and every time you so much make a movement inside the damned thing he always checks on you.

You sigh, tired of the monumental turn your life made, and consequently your relationship with your elder brother. “No, I’m quite satisfied in my confinement, thank you.”

He says nothing else, and just like the previous night, you find solace instead in the soft melodies the hooves of the horses make against the gravel.

Your heart sank as soon as morning came and you saw yourself passing through the gates of Ilya’s castle. Looking through the small window of the carriage, Ilya’s kingdom revealed a breathtaking view that under different circumstances you would have been captivated by.

The castle’s towering spires seemed to reach toward the sky, adorned with intricate carvings that told tales of a rich and ancient history. Lush gardens surround the structure, filled with soft-colored flowers and meticulously pruned hedges that showcase the kingdom’s prosperity and attention to detail.

Everything seemed to fall into order, even the crystal-clear streams that flowed through the gardens, their gentle babble almost soothing. Almost.

You step out of the carriage once a sea of castle workers line up to greet you. You can’t help but notice every and each of them is impeccably dressed, not a thread out of place or a crooked button in sight. Their eyes to the floor, hands clasped behind their backs, all ready to serve.

Your stomach flips with the sight. Your memories float astray before your eyes. Binna with her apron full of flour, Jina, and Peggy all smiles with shaggy flower crowns on their heads.

Everything feels wrong.

You don’t even notice as Seokjin takes your hand and helps you out of the carriage, entwining your arm around his as he walks you to the front doors.

“Y/n,” he says as his eyes keep focusing forward, his voice tight with urgency. “This will be as far as I’m allowed to go. I’m expected at the front lines…I won’t be able to make it to the wedding.”

Your eyes widen with the news, heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean front lines? We didn’t declare war on Arden yet and—” you pause as the puzzle pieces all fall in place. Suddenly the rush of your wedding doesn’t feel so strange.

You remember Yoongi commenting on how they weren’t gaining territory over Arden at all, on the contrary, they were rioting and pushing the soldiers back. With this marriage, your father gained the men needed to make a difference on the front lines. They would be attacking soon before the surprise effect lost its spark.

“Oh,” is all you manage to say.

Seokjin comes to a stop and you follow suit. He turns to face you now and you see how his throat bobs. “I’ll do my best out there, so you do your best out here.” he chants something you used to say as kids and you force your jaw shut trying to fight the tears.

He’s going to the front lines.

Suddenly you’re back at being five, finding his already big for his age shoulders to be the only thing you needed to fight your fear of storms. “What if- What if something happens-”

Seokjin doesn’t pull you into a tight embrace like he used to, shielding you from the world. Instead, he flicks your nose, out of custom. Something he only does when you accomplish something that makes him proud. The smile on his face is measured and yet so full of meaning.

His eyes say it all.

“You’ve always been braver than you think. Don’t stop now,” he adds. “We’ll see each other again.”

You don’t have time to react as he turns away, taking long strides toward his horse and away from you.

He is going to the front lines. Your brother is going to war.

Your head starts spiraling again. It’s been an avalanche of farewells, and suddenly, against better judgment, you don’t think you can hold yourself together.

With tears welling up in your eyes, you watch him mount his horse and ride away, followed by his fleet. The sound of hooves echo through the courtyard as a maiden holds you by the arm keeping you from hitting the ground.

Seokjin is headed into the danger of war while you are left to face a different kind of battle.

Each and every attempt of yours to glean information about the King of Ilya, as you hadn’t met him yet, was met with tight-lipped silence. No maiden dared spill anything, not even a description of said man.

Their refusal to answer your questions only heightened your apprehension.

You tried to search your mind after your father’s comments about the other kingdoms and their rulers but came out short-handed. The only thing you managed to remember him saying about Ilya was that its last king had died in an unfortunate altercation and his son took over.

Although sure his son, the new King, was about your age, your heart was already entitled to another.

You did not want this marriage, the alliance, and the burden it came with. Not only because you didn’t even know the King, but mainly because he didn’t know you.

If he did, he would spare the trouble, or at the very least understand you are not the type of woman to sit and be ordered around, and therefore no marriage would happen in the first place.

For the entirety of the day, you were shown around the accommodations. You were fed and bathed, and as soon as the latter activity was over, you were locked inside your pompous excuse of a room in nothing but a nightgown and Yoongi’s silver dagger that you managed to hide like a swindler.

The balcony served you with no comfort. As soon as you stepped foot on it you realized it was too high of a fall for you to even attempt climbing off it. And even if you were desperate enough, which you are, there was no wall close enough, no crevice, to hold on to on your way down.

Or a bed sheet, and even a curtain wide enough to help. You had checked.

The wedding was to be held at night, that much you were told.

And was only when the sky started to get painted a darker blue that the maidens walked into your room once more.

You stood before a large mirror, on top of a small platform, as the girls dressed you in layers of delicate fabrics. You were in shades of yellow and hues of gold from head to toe. Even the jewels were composed of yellow sapphires.

You liked what you saw in the reflection. This color made you feel at home, but as you caught your eyes you saw that they were nothing if not urgent and alert. You didn’t have time to admire the somewhat modern cut of the dress and how it hugged you in every right way, no. This was the only time you had to think about finding a way to escape. To at least postpone the wedding to get to know the castle better, its exits, its people.

One of the maidens tugs at one strand of your hair, trying to secure the last hairpiece. Your eyes fleet to her figure.

The girl didn’t appear much younger than you. Perhaps she was Taehyung’s age, exactly seven months your junior, who knows. She had been quiet just like the others, but her eyes always lingered a bit on yours before aiming for the floor. She didn’t ignore you intently like everyone else.

Her fingers tremble slightly as she works, and suddenly you notice the sapphire hairpiece slipping from her grasp and clattering to the floor.

“Forgive me, Princess,” she says, bending down to retrieve the piece. As she does so you notice that she sends an authoritative glance toward the others, and as they exchange glances, they discreetly exit the room.

The inked-haired girl rises to her feet, the sapphire piece in hand, and yours travel instinctively toward your thigh where the dagger is sheathed safely. She accompanies the movement with determined eyes.

“Your Highness, there won’t be a need for that,” she starts and a friendly smile eases her complexions. “I apologize for the startle, but I needed a moment alone with you.”

You eye her with suspicion still, “Go on…”

She takes a deep breath. “We’re not friends or better acquaintances- You don’t even know my name. Yet I can’t help but sympathize with what I see in your eyes.”

You cock your head at that comment. You never bothered with people’s assumptions regarding you, but it didn’t mean you liked it nevertheless. “And that would be…?”

The girl seems unfazed by the gesture, and if she fears the disparity in status, she doesn’t show. Instead, she continues. “I know what it means to love someone and be forced apart. Or at the very least, know the feeling of being imposed with a life you don’t want to yourself. Am I close?”

At the lack of a response on your end, she takes one step closer to you. “I want to help you, your Highness. I can assist you in escaping.”

You swear your heart skips a beat and for a moment you think you are hearing wrong. “Why would you risk such a thing?”

What if this is just a ploy of yet another cunning King?, you think to yourself. Why would a maiden risk her neck to save mine? She doesn’t even know me.

“Because I have someone I love, too,” she confesses, and something in the way she says it gives you a feeling that she for a fact is speaking the truth. “I can’t stand by and watch someone else be denied their happiness. If there’s a chance to reunite you with the one you love, or what you want, I will do everything in my power to help you.”

You always thought of yourself as having a high judgment of character. Never once have you failed to do so, but things lately have turned into a mess.

“I don’t have the means to pay you and if you get caught-”

“We don’t have much time,” the girl interrupts your poor excuses, her voice urgent. “Tonight after the final preparations, I will come for you. Be ready.”

You nod at the warning, dismissing second thoughts as a flicker of hope ignits within you.

The maiden carefully secures the sapphire hairpiece in place, and you stand tall once more facing the mirror.

The girl comes to stand by your side and as your eyes lock in the reflection of the both of you she says in a whisper, “You can call me Hana, your Highness.”

You don’t think you had ever been so nervous in your entire life. Not even when you lied through your teeth that time Taehyung vanished for two days and you covered for him with your ruthless father.

It isn’t an easy feature to put your life in the hands of someone else, especially not blindly.

Hana had left you with the other maidens, claiming she would come for you, but nothing else was said. You didn’t exactly know what would be the plan, you just knew she would come for you.

But as you are escorted to the chapel to bind your life to the King of Ilya in front of his order and his guests, you start doubting if Hana is ever going to show.

You are one step away from the staircase that will lead you to the entrance where the spectacle awaits when said girl carves a path between the guards and maidens to reach you.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, your Highness,” she huffs and two guards come to drag her away.

In sudden fear, you shout at them, “Leave her!” and they do as you command.

Hana straightens her simplistic dress before coming closer to stand in front of your figure. “Will these do, your Highness?” she opens her hands in front of you, head down in a theatrical display for the others, as she shows you the most scintillant sapphire earrings. They are composed of two pieces, one polished yellow stone at the top and another one hanging, only secure by a bird’s claw that tightly embraces it.

It’s beautiful.

Your hand is like a ghost as it touches your ears, unaware they had been bare until now. “Yes, these will do.”

Hana presses down a smile at your astonishment for the piece, and if you were in Keirn, where you had power, you’d be pushing her in a playful jest.

But you are not in Keirn, and you recognize this is the moment she will somehow execute the plan. It has to be.

Your eyes are laser-focused on her as she comes even closer, trying to secure one earring on your ear. You can barely understand as she whispers, “Open your mouth slightly- Not like that. Gentler.”

You do as you’re told, and in a flash, when she swifts her hands to your left ear, something is inside your mouth.

Immediately you close it and your tongue goes out to inspect what appears to be a capsule.

“Once you’re to say your vows, crack the capsule and fall. I need you to appear faint,” she whispers again, stalling the insertion of the earring on your ear as the soldiers start to get agitated.

You search her eyes for more but she only says, “Trust me. Don’t open your eyes until I’m with you and I tell you so. Just play dead.”

And then she steps away, saying loudly, “All done, your Highness!” and you’re back moving toward your doom.

You feel the capsule hidden under your tongue as you start walking down the aisle of the cathedral.

Rows of guests turned to gaze upon you, their eyes filled with curiosity and judgment. The whispers and murmurs seemed to close in around you, but you kept your head high, determined to see through with the plan.

Just play dead, you think, easy enough.

Your dress, the exquisite creation of silk, seemed to shimmer in the soft candlelight, each step causing the delicate fabric that only cinched in your bust and waist to ripple like waves. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of incense.

Your attention however floated elsewhere as you finally dared to look ahead, your eyes catching the ones of the man you are being sold to.

Standing at the altar, the King of Ilya awaits you dressed in all white, a vision of purity and grace. As you see his honey gold hair cascading around his equally gold crown, you understand the choice of color for your dress.

His features are delicate, almost ethereal, with a softness that belies the power he holds.

Coming closer, almost reaching him, you notice how his plump lips curve into a beautiful smile, one that takes you by surprise. Somehow you’d imagined it to be faker, or filled with ill intentions, but none of that is present.

You see yourself fleetingly wishing that you could have met him under different circumstances. If you were a friendly visitor to Ilya, or perhaps meeting him as a future ally, one that had ascended to the throne of Keirn instead. You would’ve wanted to know him better.

You wondered what kind of person he was beneath the crown, what dreams and fears he harbored.

But those thoughts are quickly overshadowed by the reality of your current situation. As you reach the altar, the King kindly extends a hand to you, his smile never faltering. You accept it, feeling the warmth of his touch, and look deeply into his eyes.

You don’t know if it’s nervousness about what you’re about to do, but you can’t read him.

“My bride,” he says gently, kissing your knuckles without ever breaking eye contact. If you had more time to ponder, you’d risk saying he was finding amusing the way you were analyzing him.

He guides you to stand face-to-face with him, and from between you, you hear the priest proclaim, “Without further ado, we are here today to be testimony of the sacred matrimony between Y/n, previous princess of Keirn, and our beloved King Jimin, ruler of Ilya.”

The whole room filled in with, “All hail King Jimin,” as if it were a prayer.

You take that as your cue to bite the capsule.

The bitter taste of whatever content was inside it makes you pull a face, and as you open your mouth a bit distraught by the liquid now swirling in your tongue, you see droplets of red falling.

King Jimin frowns, scanning your complexion. “My dear, are you feeling under the weather?”

You don’t waste any time before rolling your eyes back and falling heavily onto the ground.

It’s a hard task not to wince at the blow your head suffers once it meets the cold stone beneath you, but it had to look credible. You do your best to look lifeless as you hear Jimin shouting for assistance, kneeling beside you while holding your hand tightly.

Or when the crowd goes into a frenzy when Jimin does the same path you just minutes ago walked, as he bravely carries your limp body to a private room escorted by his royal cavalry.

You keep playing dead even after he gently places you on top of what appears to be a wooden table. “Get me a healer. Now!” he commands frantic.

There’s the clink of steel and then a new pair of footing making noise on the cold stones.

“Your Highness,” it’s Hana’s voice, you believe.

Jimin who was still holding your hand, seemingly guarding you like a lion, places your limb on top of your own belly, softly caressing your temple before walking away.

“Where’s the healer?!” he inquires, closer to losing his temper, if he already hadn’t done so.

“He’s on his way, your Highness,” you now know for certain to be Hana as she says meekly. This must be yet another facade of hers as you can gather by now she is nothing but meek. “I came as the priest ordered me to. Your Highnesses are not yet married to the eyes of the lord, you can’t be alone in a room.”

She waits patiently as you hear Jimin sigh and grunt, pacing in what you can imagine a furious state, contrasting greatly with the image you built of him earlier on the altar.

“I’ll be right outside,” He warns. “Don’t you even dare breathe near her. We don’t know as of yet what this could be, I don’t want…Nothing happening to her. Do you hear me?”

“Of course, your Highness. I’ll stand over here.”

You wait until you hear his footsteps growing further down the hall. And then the wooden door slamming.

You wait as Hana’s feet come closer.

And only when she whispers, “And… Wake!” on your ear do you rise like a ghost.

As you do so, still a bit overwhelmed to have pulled such a display, you’re met with Hana’s smile.

She guides you out of the table and gestures for you to keep quiet, indicating for you to follow her.

You do it readily, watching as she opens a secret doorway hidden behind a tapestry, leading into a dark tunnel.

Both inside it, Hana closes the door behind you, cutting your eyesight completely. In instinct your hands shoot before you, feeling under your fingers the musky stone walls.

“Listen to me closely,” Hana murmurs, and by the proximity of it, she’s standing right to your left. You try to look her way. “Down this tunnel, at the very end of it, you will find a horse strapped in a tree. I packed it with food and some things for your journey,” her speech is rushed, you can sense neither of you has much time.

“This is as far as I can take you,” she says finally.

“Thank you, Hana, truly,” You try to put every sense of gratitude in the small words you can offer. “If we ever cross paths again, I hope we can call each other friends. If not, I’ll carry you with me with the utmost gratitude. I need you to know it.”

You can hear her smiling in the dark, “Go before there’s nothing else to thank me for, Princess, but alas- If it’s not asking much, could you smash my head in the stone in a friendly way? It’s no hard feature, you just have to-”

You chuckle, “I’m well acquainted with that, don’t worry. Just show me where your head is.”

Hana swiftly takes your hand and guides it toward her skull. She then proceeds to get closer to the wall and you tag along to execute the move.

“To make you black out or…?”

“Christ, woman!” she hushes, “No. Just to give me some kind of excuse when the King barges in and finds me alone when I should be looking over the future Queen of Ilya.”

“Oh!” you exhale, wincing at what you’re about to do. It won’t be that hard but it will hurt anyways. “I do this with the utmost gratitude.” You feel the need to add.

“Just do it—!”

You smash her head before she can say anything else, and as you leave her trying to suppress a wave of screams and curses, you do your best to navigate in the dark to the end of the tunnel.

For her.

For Yoongi.

For you.

You found the horse Hana had left you with ease. The white stallion was hard to miss.

Your mind raced as quickly as your heart as you guided the animal toward the dense forest. The night had been pitch black, the canopy of the trees above you blocking out any light from the stars. Navigating your way out of Ilya’s kingdom and toward the borders of Arden was proving to be an arduous task, made all the more difficult by your bold attire.

Your yellow wedding dress, though beautiful, was a cumbersome hindrance in a survival mode meant not for a party. Its skirts tangled in the underbrush and caught on every low branch. It looked like a beacon.

Keeping the mount atop the white beast had been also a struggle, the dress snagging and pulling at you with every movement. But you kept holding on.

You missed Solas. He was not only swift but pitch black as the night itself. Riding him had always been like a thrill, the wind whipping through your hair as you galloped across open fields and dense woods. This poor animal beneath you, that you didn’t even have a name for, by contrast, was a gentle and slower beast. Its white coat was visible even in the peering darkness, its pace frustratingly sedate.

You clung to the reins through the entirety of the night. The adrenaline that had fueled your escape was waning, replaced by exhaustion, a throbbing head, and a lack of sleep.

You hadn’t slept properly in days, and the weight of the past travels pressed heavily on your body. The steady, rhythmic plod of the horse’s hooves was almost lulling, and you found yourself fighting to keep your eyes open as you steered the beast Southwest.

You just have to keep going southwest, all the way. Then Arden will be there, your mind swirled with drowsiness.

Something sharp and unyielding wraps around your waist, yanking you violently from the saddle. You have barely time to gasp before you’re thrown to the ground, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

The horse, startled, rears up and bolts, disappearing into the morning light.

You lie on the forest floor, stunned and disoriented. Your vision is a blur of soft shades of orange and blue, indicating you have indeed snoozed somewhere along the night.

You begin to panic as the throbbing pain oozes off and a stranger points an arrow at your head.

“I wonder what kind of insanity consumed Ilya that now they are letting their Queens go on crusades into the woods alone,” his voice is rough, with a deep undertone that makes your nails claw at the earth beneath you. “Get up. Slowly.��

You take the opportunity to do so, with the dress you are wearing, it’s better if you are on your feet than in full display to your enemy.

Rising to your feet, you take that your foolish and careless act of rendering yourself to sleep awarded you with your captivity. Jimin must have ordered his men to search for you as soon as he saw the empty room, and as you slept through the night, you lost terrain on them.

Idiot. Idiot. idiot!, Guilt gnaws at you.

“You better kill me now,” you say through gritted teeth. “I won’t go back!”

“Kill you?” the strange soldier dares to look amused and a chill climbs down your spine. Oh Gods, he’s going to have his fun with me first, you panic. “Oh no, my Queen. I have better plans,”

“No!” you grunt, fumbling with the silk of your dress to get a hold of your dagger.

“I wasn’t asking.” he exudes confidence in his statement and you feel your blood boil.

He lowers his bow, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he starts taking slow and assured steps toward you.

This is a play for him. He’s having fun.

His eyes are a deep sea of black and he pins you with it, his stare so intense it’s like you’re drowning in tar.

But then they turn round and alert, snapping to look in the direction of a rust of leaves.

You feel the hairs on the back of your neck prickle, but you can’t take your eyes off him.

In a quick and sudden move, he grabs you by the waist, taking you by surprise at the ease he does it as he rolls the both of you to take refuge at a large trunk of a tree.

Your body is caged between the tree and his own, which feels like warm steel as he presses it further on you. When he covers your mouth with his hand, pinning you with his eyes once more, you notice his cloak.

A brown ragged thing that now serves as a disguise for both of you when he pulls the hood to shield his face. He can’t be a soldier, is the first conclusion you make.

Not one from Ilya.

His nose is so close to yours that it tingles.

And from this close, you can see a deep scar on his tanned cheekbone. You gulp.

“Do not make a sound, Honey,” he whispers, his nose brushing your own.

taglist. @starvvie @kookisoorecs @httpextaevaganza @codeinebelle @ttanniett @hoseoksluv89

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year ago

Text

The Baby Blues ~ MYG

WORD COUNT: 2.8K

GENRE: established relationships, husband and wife, first time parents, worrying about not being good enough, Yoongi comforting reader with her postpartum depression, helping each other

PAIRING: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

⤜MASTERLIST

A/N: I hope that I did this justice for you! Please let me know if I did anything wrong, I’ve never been a parent so i tried to do as much research on this as I could! <3 I love you and I bet you’re the best parent a kid could ever ask for!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of postpartum depression, depression, parenting anxiety, feelings of not being good enough, not connecting

Water slushed around in the tub as Yoongi picked up some more bubbles and blew them into the air, a gummy smile plastered itself all over your daughter's face and he couldn't help but smile. God, he was so lucky to have you in his life as well as the little angel the two of you had created together. It was hard to believe that she was already three weeks old, it felt like just yesterday that the two of you took the test and found out you were going to be expecting.

"Who's the cutest little baby in the world?" He cooed, his voice slightly higher which was something he'd always teased Namjoon for but now couldn't help but do whenever it came to his own child.

"You are! Yes, you are, yes you are," He cooed as he blew some more bubbles off his hand and watched as they rained down all over your child. All of the worries that Yoongi had experienced before your daughter was born had melted away the second he held her tiny body in his hands. Sure, he was still scared of everything that came with being a parent but some part of him knew that he had this all under control. That no matter what happened he was doing a good job and he was going to be a good dad.

As soon as you'd heard him in the bathroom you'd slipped out of bed, wrapping yourself up in the warmest dressing gown that you owned and you stood in the door watching him. How was this so easy for him to do?

From the moment that your daughter was born, it was like something had clicked inside of Yoongi and he was the most terrific father you'd met. There was nothing that worried him, he and your daughter clicked with one another and all it seemed to petrify you. While everyone around you seemed to be bonding well with your daughter you couldn't feel it, did that make you a terrible person?

Before your daughter was born you felt ready, you'd studied all there was on babies, you'd been to every single mum class that the hospital offered - sometimes even twice - but as soon as you gave birth all of that went away.

It was replaced with doubts, were you good enough to be a mum? Why weren't you able to connect with your little girl when everyone else seemed to manage it fine. The more you thought about it the worse it got, you found it hard to get out of bed every day, but you did it. Every day you forced yourself out of bed and tried to connect with your little girl, you did everything the books and internet told you but nothing worked.

Whenever she was with you it felt as though she was someone else, that she didn't want to be near you only Yoongi.

"Hey look, it's mummy." Yoongi cooed, interrupting you from your thoughts, as soon as he noticed that you were watching them together. He took hold of your daughter's tiny hand and gently moved it in a waving motion, the small action made your eyes burn and your throat dry up as you stared at them together. The vision of the bathroom began to blur thanks to the tears that were welling up in your eyes and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat but all of a sudden it was as though your throat was the size of a straw.

"I was just giving her a bath and I was going to come and wake you up. We figured mummy needed her rest," He told you but with his back to you, tears began to roll down your cheeks silently as he gently washed your daughter's body making her smile even more. You'd never been able to make her do that, you'd only ever made her cry when you spent time with her.

"Babe?" Yoongi called out, glancing over his shoulder at you to see you sobbing into your hands and he sat there stunned for a second.

"Baby? What's wrong? Did I use the wrong shampoo? I thought I got the right stuff?" He looked down at the bottle and then at your daughter, everything was right or at least he thought it was.

"The temperature was perfect-"

"E-Everything is for you, you do all of this right." You cut him off with a sob and he let out a sigh instantly knowing what this was. A few nights ago he'd heard you get up for the night feed and heard you crying and begging for your daughter to take her food but she wouldn't until he came in and your tears only grew harder that night. Things were finally clicking into place and he let a small smile onto his face,

"You're doing everything so well and I...I-I can't even feed her without you there," Sobs were erupting out of you, everything you'd been holding back all this time was now erupting out of you like a volcano.

Yoongi instantly rinsed off your child, wrapped her up in her small bath dressing gown and made his way over to you.

"Let's go and sit down." He whispered as he walked with you and your daughter into your shared room, making you sit down on the edge of the bed as you continued to cry.

"I'm such a bad mum-"

"Don't you even finish that sentence," Yoongi grumbled as he gently swayed your daughter in his arms while standing in front of you. He knew that there was not going to be much he could say or do but he was going to be there for you no matter what. And he was also going to knock all of those feelings of doubt straight out of your head.

"I'm a failure as a mother, I can't even hold her without crying...I-I can't connect with her," You whimpered, sniffling a little as Yoongi stopped swaying and stared at you. How could you ever think something like that?

The whole time you'd been pregnant you'd been a rock for a very unsure and nervous Yoongi and now it was his turn to return the favour. Whenever he would get scared you'd remind him how ready the two of you were for this, that no matter what his head was telling you the two of you were going to be great parents.

"Baby, you're an incredible mother," He started but it was quickly met with a scoff from you. How could you be an incredible mother when you couldn't even hold your daughter without feeling nothing but guilt? Or Nothing at all. There was no in-between, there was only guilt or no feelings whatsoever. All you wanted was to hold your daughter and love her because you did, you loved her but there was just nothing there.

It was even getting to the point where you didn't want to hold her because you were so scared that you were going to break her. Everything made you panic, no matter what you did, or how you researched it. Everything was made worse.

"I'm serious, you birthed and created an entire human inside of you, don't you dare say that." He kneeled down in front of you, your eyes landed on your child who was staring up at you with her big eyes and you swallowed the lump in your throat. Your daughter was staring at you, you were supposed to feel something, anything, but once again there was nothing there.

"I-I don't feel anything, there's something wrong with me," You whimpered before the tears started to roll all over again and Yoongi looked at you. All he wanted to do was shake you and tell you how amazing you were but he knew it wasn't going to work, he needed to be there for you, emotionally and physically.

"There's nothing wrong with you, this is normal. Plenty of women go through this," It was true, you'd done your research on it but it didn't make it any easier to accept.

"Look out our baby, she's here with us and she's incredible because of you," He gently poked your arm making you smile weakly,

"You gave her such a good home inside of your body and now here too. You're already an incredible mother for growing her inside of your body, for being able to create such a beautiful person." You nodded a little, doing your best to listen to him,

"Why don't you try talking to her? She loves it when we talk to her...She understands you," He tilted himself a little so you could see your daughter's face more,

"She loves it when you talk about everything. She listened to me talk about work the other morning," He chuckled weakly and you nodded a little, sitting up straight and nervously playing with the sleeves of your shirt.

Why did this feel so hard for you when everyone else seemed to be a master at it? Talking to kids seemed so easy but when it came down to it, you had no idea what to do or what to say.

"Hey baby," You whispered a little, running your thumb gently over her chubby cheeks as she showed off her gums with a smile.

"S-She's smiling!" You whisper yelled excitedly to your husband who couldn't fight the tears in his eyes from seeing you so excited,

"You know, your dad used to run me baths like that," As soon as you started talking to her the words were flowing out of you. All doubts of not being able to talk to her were being melted away the more you spoke and Yoongi couldn't have been happier.

"I have to pee, can you hold her?" Yoongi questioned, he didn't actually need to go but he needed an excuse to get you to hold your child - at least for a minute or two,

"What? N-No. What if I do it wrong? We should put her in her crib," You rushed out, doubt creeping its way back into you as though it was a grey cloud on a bright day,

"Then we'll get her dressed together," Yoongi stated as he stood up, you quickly followed him toward the nursery with your eyes tracked onto your daughter.

"What if I hurt her?" Your voice began shaking as he gently laid your daughter down on the changing table and you looked down at her, she looked so happy and peaceful. Like a little doll, you almost didn't want to touch her in case she broke from a small touch.

"You won't," Yoongi reassured you, gently rubbing your back softly as he watched you anxiously staring at your daughter.

You hadn't gotten your daughter dressed since the first day in the hospital, you'd always asked Yoongi to do it - or one of the boys if they were around because you'd been so scared to touch her but he was going to help you.

"But, all of the forums are different on how to change your baby. They all say you should do it in different ways, which is the right one?" Your eyes shot over to Yoongi as he took some clothes out of the wardrobe and laid them down next to your girl. It was a pyjama set you'd picked out when you first found out you were pregnant, there were little Shooky's all over them and you knew you'd needed them for her,

"T-Then your mum said something different than mine, what if they're both wrong?" Yoongi smiled weakly, it didn't matter what people online said, what doctors or trained professionals said there was always going to be someone with a differentiating opinion on the matter and no person was ever right or wrong about it.

"Everyone tells us what to do...W-What not to do, what if I'm doing it all wrong?" Without realising it you were already drying off your little girl and applying some baby powder to her, it was like your body was working automatically without your mind catching up.

"Baby, even if you got it all perfect there's going to be people who don't agree with the way you do it." Yoongi rubbed your arms gently as you stared down at the clothes in your hand, you nodded a little and took in a deep breath.

This was nothing, you used to change your cousin's clothes all of the time with no problems so this was going to be a walk in the park,

"You're a great mother, the best I know. Remember all that research we did. All of those classes and you were always on top of it all," Yoongi spoke as you carefully - very carefully - changed your daughter for the second time in her life.

"There's no one better for this job than you baby," As soon as your angel was dressed you stared down at her,

"Pick her up,"

"I can't," Yoongi nodded his head, he wasn't going to push you too far tonight,

"I'm proud of you," He whispered, kissing your cheek softly before gently scooping up his little girl and walking her over to her crib, while he laid her down you gently wound up the mobile that the boys had made for her. All of the toys that were hanging from it were all BT21 members - the mini versions - and your daughter was the only girl in the world to have one of these.

"I text the boys, they're going to watch her tomorrow for us," Yoongi stated as he gently used the sponge to rub body wash into your back. The two of you were sitting inside your huge bathtub, candles surrounding you with soft music playing in the background. The baby monitor was pointed so that the two of you could easily see your daughter and it was relaxing. Watching her sleep was helping your body relax and it wasn't just you that was noticing it,

"What? Why?" You shifted in place, craning your neck to look at your husband who smiled at you. It was like he was looking at a different person than he was an hour ago, your bags were still there but there was a sparkle in your eyes that wasn't there before,

"Because you need a little time and I'm going to help you," He smiled, rinsing off the soap suds from your body and then putting the sponge away, leaning you back so that you were laid against his chest and he could feel you close to him.

"But-"

"She will be fine, and when she's back I'm going to try something with you both." You arched an eyebrow at what he had in store for you and he gently ran his fingers up and down your skin,

"We're going to go back to basics, hospital basics, skin to skin with her." You remembered having to do that for the first few days of being in the hospital, she was laid against your bare chest and it was one of the times you'd felt closest to her.

"We'll keep talking to her, spending more time with her together and then when you're ready, you'll do it alone." The thought of doing it with Yoongi was calming but alone? Dread was already worming its way inside of your chest,

"How will I know if I'm ready?" Your voice cracked a little but Yoongi smiled rubbing your cheek with his thumb. You were ready, you just didn't know it or see it yet.

"You already are, we just need to remind you of it." He whispered before gently kissing the top of your head.

"Yn," Yoongi groaned as he rolled over in the bed, feeling around in the sheets to try and find you but you weren't there. In a second he sat up in the bed looking around for you and then to the bedside crib for his daughter but it was empty.

"YN?!" He called out louder, getting up and running into the bathroom but there was no sign of you in there and he sprinted across the hall to the nursery. The door slowly crept open and he let out a breath finding you on the rocking chair gently rocking your daughter back to sleep,

"She started fussing so I took her away so we wouldn't wake you," You told him as he made his way toward you. It had almost been a week since the two of you started working on your relationship with your daughter, having her sleep in a crib beside you had been a massive help.

"You did it alone." He whispered proudly of you as you glanced up at him with a giant grin on your face, you knew that there would have been no way you could have done this without Yoongi by your side and everyday you were grateful to have him.

"I had a great teacher," He blushed, leaning down and kissing you softly. He couldn't have been any prouder than he was right now.

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hisunshiine · 2 years ago

Text

— a wager of lords & love | myg

♔ pairing: noble!yoongi x noble!reader

♔ au/genre: regency era au, arranged marriage au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst

♔ rating: M

♔ wc: 6,813

⚔ warnings: reader’s mom is not alive, era-appropriate sexism, sex jokes, pet names, bedding ceremony, explicit smut: fingering, marking, light breast play, oral (female receiving), vaginal penetration, multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, you will fall so hard for yoongi.

♔ an: this story was written for Leah | @colormepurplex2 as part of the BangtanWHQ Valentine’s Event “Picture Perfect”. Thank you to my beta readers: @downbad4yoongi, @peachiilovesot7, and @moonleeai; this story was so much fun to write. Your feedback, as always, was valuable to making not only this story at it’s best but also making my day better when reading your comments. I love regency era au’s and this one only made me fall even more madly in love with Yoongi, and I hope you will too! Please enjoy!

“What in heaven’s name did I do last night?”

Yoongi groans as he rolls over in his plush bed sheets, sunlight streaming through the window at an ungodly hour. Ungodly, because he never sleeps in this late, but the Scottish whisky and late night at Lord Kim Namjoon’s manor has made him act out of character in more ways than one.

*flashback to the previous evening*

“Yoongi, it has been too long since we’ve gotten together properly. You must come celebrate. It’s not every day that one as young as I is able to acquire more wealth than what feels like the King himself can own.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes from where he stands across the study from his large oak desk, hand gripping the telephone to his ear as he leans closer to the box on the wall to reply.

“I have a plethora of worries, Namjoon, and none of them can be solved by celebrating your wealth.”

“I beg to differ! Come! Have a drink and make merry, partake in some illicit pleasantries. I am sure that’s just what you need to clear your mind and find a resolution.”

“I doubt I will have a resolution by the night’s end, but against my better judgment, I will be there.”

And Yoongi made sure to keep his promise, strolling into the large manor filled to the brim with the most darling of debutantes from Daehurst to Ilsansterchire. He recalls the way the single women seemed to throw themselves at him, all fluttering eyelashes and demure smiles as if they were captivated by his looks and not the wealth they knew lay in wait for his future bride.

The knowledge of his arrival spread like wildfire through the ballroom and Yoongi had felt himself grow flustered as a gaggle of pristine beauties crowded around him to fight for his attention. He kept his face nonplussed despite the rising anxiety creeping along his outer extremities and towards his chest. Luckily, the arrival of the Earl of Upton Busan and the Marquees of Gwangchester helped reduce the number of women in his presence.

Yoongi remembers pretending to be summoned by a friend, escaping into what he thought was an empty parlor that belonged to the late Lord Kim, but the sitting room, with two walls filled from floor to ceiling with books of all sizes and colors was, in fact, occupied. The large oak desk off to the side held an older gentleman, who also seemed to be happy in his solitude, hiding from the revelry.

The man moved a jewel-encrusted chessman across a marble chess board before looking up at Yoongi, a slight nod of his head summoning Yoongi over to join him. He produced a bottle of Smokehead Islay single-malt scotch whisky that he’d been nursing, poured Yoongi a hefty serving into a Glencairn whisky glass, which he promptly swirled to open up the aromas for full appreciation before downing the entire portion.

He knows that this was the catalyst for the conversation of what was bothering him, and so Yoongi, lips loosened from his liquor intake, shared to whom he found out was the Marquees of Seoulshire, his predicament. How his late father’s younger brother, jealous of his position, was sowing distrust in the elder’s bloodline, touting the fact that his eldest son was already married and with an heir on the way, when Yoongi had yet to take a woman’s hand in marriage despite being five years older than his cousin.

Typically, this would not be such a strange thing; many male nobility did not wed until their late twenties, and Yoongi only recently turned his twenty-ninth year, but with his estranged uncle vying to take over the wealth and power of the entire family following his father’s passing, Yoongi had to procure a wife, and fast.

Bonding with the elder nobleman, both introverts sequestered themselves with flowing, piquant beverages, and a small miniature of the only daughter of the Marquees produced for viewing, and thus, a drunken deal was struck for the hand of his only daughter to be wed in one week’s time to the Duke of Daehurst, Min Yoongi. That only daughter being none other than…

You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror. The white dress, with its cut right beneath your bosom, is stifling despite its beauty, and the body of the gown falls along your figure gently. The sleeves are loosely capped, a lace frill edging the cuffs and the line of your decolletage. Your hair is pinned up, with a tiara inlaid with precious stones as the centerpiece to secure the veil flowing down your back in place.

The gloved hand of your maid of honor, Eleanor, who you lovingly refer to as Ellie, reaches up to fluff the veil, nervous energy displacing itself as she holds back from igniting your ire again. You have only just calmed down as your lady’s maid, Charity, places the last of the thrown perfume bottles back on the vanity. You had catapulted them for good reason, you believe. For in a few minutes, you, the unmarried daughter of the Marquees of Seoulshire, will walk down the aisle in the Duke of Daehurst’s manor, towards a man you have never spoken to—have never met—where your traitorous father plans to give you away to become the Duchess of Daehurst.

“Lady Eleanor, will you please take your spot at the door?” Charity asks quietly, following a quick rap on the door, and you feel your heart begin a mad dash within the cavity of your ribcage. As a woman, you have nothing—no power, no wealth of your own, even your title changes from your father to that of your future husband. Some of the things your father has bought you have traveled from your home to the Duke’s, but other items are expected to be bought new, because even they belong to your father. Your only worth lies in the ability to be a proper match for a nobleman and provide him with an heir to carry on his bloodline.

A rush of anger quells the sadness this arranged marriage has left you feeling this past week, since your father went back on the one promise he made you: that you could marry for love, like he did with your late mother, rest her soul.

You scoff at the thought that men should hold any power in society. In one moment, your own father forgot his loyalty as well as his promise to his only daughter. In a drunken stupor, two men agreed to trade you like chattel, your position in life changing in the blink of an eye. Useless, is what they are.

The door is open just a sliver, allowing in the swell of the music, and you hear the creak of the hinges as Ellie disappears down the hall. Your father stands in the corridor, his eyes staring at the floor, unable to meet yours. You can tell he feels rather guilty for the predicament he has forced on you, but with the knowledge that he is not actually mad at the match, you still feel furious. Marrying up in society may afford you a better life, not that you would have had a destitute one with your father’s title, you’d just hoped (and had been promised you would get) to be in love with the man waiting at the end of the aisle for you, instead of dreading the stranger you were about to meet.

Barely able to focus, you feel out of body as your father wraps your arm through his and leads you down the same path Ellie took just moments before. You can see the archway that leads into the wedding hall where your family and friends wait to observe you promise to obey and cherish a man who was described to you by your father as a “rather strapping young man, who’s quiet but wise and with gentle eyes.”

Taking the turn into the room, all eyes are drawn to you as your eyes are drawn to him. He looks breathtaking. Is this truly the man your father made a drunken deal with? The two of you lock eyes, and you work to fix the shock from your face as his demeanor barely changes. In a blink, your father is placing your hand into the Duke’s, and you are able to take in his features up close.

His face is sharp, eyes angled in a cat-like manner that give the impression he is gazing into your soul and sees the truth you attempt to keep hidden. His hair, wavy and pitch black, is parted to the side where the length falls into his face in an alluring manner. It calls to you, wanting to tuck it behind his ear if only to touch his porcelain skin, unblemished and glowing.

He watches you closely, eyes traveling across your frame as he follows your lead, drinking you in. You’re sure that you still look flawless, ever the blushing bride that Charity and Ellie made you up to be, and for a moment you wonder if the Duke is as taken by your looks as you are by his, before remembering that he is the enemy.

The ceremony ends quickly, a recitation of words that will join you in holy matrimony, followed by words promising to remain faithful to one another until parted by death, and you find yourself face to face with the Duke. He takes a small ring from the man right behind him, Lord Kim Namjoon, who you recognize from his many visits to handle business with your father.

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly provide for you and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You can hear Ellie swoon from the low tone his voice takes to deliver the sentiment as he stares into your eyes. Vulnerability flashes for a moment before he looks down, focus solely pointed towards the task of claiming you by way of a golden wedding ring, moonstone inlaid with tiny diamonds surrounding it.

Ellie nudges you to hand you the ring provided for the ceremony by the Min family. It is a deep ebony, with a single thin gold stripe running across the middle of the band. The top is raised to a plateau, a moonstone carved with the Yeoheung Min Clan symbol set within the ring.

Taking the regalia from her gloved palm, you recite your part with eyes on him. Despite your anger at the arrangement, he truly is breathtaking. It takes away from the sting of your words just barely, enough that you are able to deliver them without gagging on the bristling words.

“Like this ring, I shall endlessly obey and cherish you, until I no longer exist.”

You barely hear when the minister says that the two of you are free to share a kiss, but you dutifully keep your face calm as your stomach ties itself into knots.

He leans closer, blush colored lips drawing closer until your eyes close with the contact. So soft…his lips tenderly settle against yours, slight pressure as he angles his head to receive you better, hands falling to your hips gently as he tugs you a step closer and it’s like the room disappears leaving just the two of you in it.

All too soon the room comes back into focus as he steps away, face blushing as the room erupts into applause and cheer from the audience. The end of the ceremony is like a blur, and the next thing that you are aware of, you are seated for an early dinner and a reception in the Daehurst Manor Great Hall for guests to greet you and your new husband, leave expensive gifts, and offer kind words of advice for a long-lasting, happy marriage.

“Would it be weird to introduce myself to you, seeing as I am already your spouse?”

His voice is intriguing—having barely heard it during the ceremony—a low rumble that has you leaning in to hear him better.

“I assure you, my lord, weird was deciding for me that I would marry you, without even bothering to meet me beforehand. What if I had been an ogre? But I digress, it’s not any weirder than hearing you call yourself my husband, husband.”

He smiles, one side of his mouth lifting in an amused smirk as he turns in his seat to face you head on. You dislike him even more that your snide remark made not a dent in his armor. No trace of the bashful hue from the kiss lingers, cat eyes glinting with mischief.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my non-ogre wife. I am Duke Min Yoongi of Daehurst.”

Charity and Ellie can barely contain their laughter as they stare at your contemptuous face. Eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed, you shake your head rapidly in distaste at the bedding ceremony outfit they laid out for you.

“I simply will not wear it.”

“Please, Lady Min, you will leave him stunned. It’s perfect.”

“Who said I want to stun that man? Besides, I cannot be seen in so little clothing by a stranger!”

“He’s hardly a stranger, love,” Ellie said, ignoring your stubborn nature. “He’s your husband.”

“Yes, my husband whom I have known all of two hours! I’m just expected to strut in wearing this to please him, and then—” you pause, stricken as your thoughts settle on what is expected of you.

“Yes, you will wear this very thoughtful gift from me, and then you will consummate the marriage!” Ellie whispers the act as if conspiring to commit a crime. To be fair, you felt like a criminal for how indecent the undergarments were.

Laid on the bed was a short, white boned corset, all frill and lace with a matching pair of high waisted drawers. Ellie had also provided a matching pair of white stockings, made of silk and to be held up with ruffled garters at your thigh. There was a silky chemise that you could wear as a tunic to cover yourself, but once in the Duke’s bedroom, he would see you in all of your risque glory.

“Come now, m’lady, we must finish getting you ready. I am sure the men are chomping at the bit to begin the ceremony.”

Dread fills you as you strip from your wedding dress and step into the lingerie your maid of honor gifted you for your wedding night.

“Well, they can just chomp a bit longer, maybe they can tire each other out enough that I am not needed tonight.”

Having only bathed two hours prior, you are able to skip the bath and spend a few more precious moments with your closest friends. You didn’t have a mother to talk to about things like bedding ceremonies, having learned everything you could from the head house matron, kitchen maids, Charity, and Ellie. Ellie was able to convince her own mother to share a little this past week to help you, but there was still so much you felt you did not know to expect.

As Charity brushes your hair, Ellie spreads a glittering, perfumed powder onto your skin as she talks in the background of the excitement she feels, but you cannot bring yourself to share in it. With a quick twist and pin, your hair is up and you find your feet leading towards the Duke’s wing of the manor. You can hear the merrymaking from the reception still carrying on downstairs; with a wedding as important as yours, you were sure that the people would be here celebrating your union until the sun began to rise.

The door to the Duke’s room is ajar, loud laughter coming from the well lit room. Ellie walks arm in arm with you as Charity follows behind, seeing you off. As your lady’s maid, she’ll reside with you in the Daehurst manor. The housekeeper stands a few paces from the door to lead Charity to her new quarters. Bidding you goodnight, Charity retires for the evening as you and Ellie enter the bedchamber. It is quite spacious, with a large bed in the middle of the room. To the left of the entryway sits a low table surrounded by a pair of armchairs and a matching loveseat, all framed by a magnificent fireplace.

Every seat is taken, with three men squeezing onto the loveseat and a sixth perched on the edge of one of the armchairs. You don’t recognize five of the six men, though Lord Kim Namjoon is among them. You do not see your new husband, so you and Ellie remain standing away from the men so as not to be seen as indecent.

“Duchess! You have arrived for your bedding ceremony, have you not?” A blond haired man nearly falls from the love seat, giggles alerting you to his inebriation. An open decanter sits on the squat table, almost empty.

“Please, Jimin, on all things that are holy, do not bother my wife.”

Your head whips around at the gravely sound of the Duke’s voice. Yoongi looks freshly bathed, no longer in a suit but in a long tunic that sits untucked over loose, black trousers. His dark hair falls in damp curls framing his face, and you hold in a small gasp.

“I won’t bother her hole-y, hyung—that’s your job! Get her all hot and bother—”

“Get out.”

The giggling, intoxicated men all look to Yoongi, pouting with various levels of frowns and scowls adorning their faces. You and Ellie watch the interaction, Ellie with a smile at their banter and you with a grimace as you attempt to keep yourself from growing warm at the indecent remarks regarding what is to come.

“But hyung!” You watch as another one pouts, standing from the loveseat to full height to plead with your husband. “You’re the first to be wed, we’ve been talking about being witnesses for each other for years!”

“Taehyung, you know the plan was to be here when she arrived as a testament to the wedding night, but never to stay. I appreciate your…excitement, but now that you can confirm the duchess’s arrival, you all may take your leave.”

“Appreciate our excitement, but won’t let us stay to watch as you get exci—”

“Jungkook, that’s enough! Out, now!”

With a groan, the three mischievous men begin to walk out of the bedchamber, waving at the older three who are slow to get up. Ellie squeezes your hand in unity before stepping away to follow the boisterous group out into the hall.

“I’ll see you at breakfast, love. I’ll be traveling back to Seoulshire with your father tomorrow afternoon.”

You can only nod, aware of the plans but seeing her linger to make sure that you are okay. You give her a smile, and she finally steps through the threshold behind the first troupe of men to return back to the room you had prepared in. The last three men follow, greeting you and saying goodnight in the same breath.

“It is a pleasure to see you, my lady. I pray that by morning you are able to turn this peevish man affable.”

“Enjoy your night, Duchess!”

“Yeah, all two minutes of it!”

Yoongi thunders to the door, shutting it as the group bursts into laughter muffled by the oak barrier. He turns the lock, then turns his back to it to lean against. You can’t help but to watch him, chest rising before he releases a long sigh. He reaches a hand up to his neck, scratching subtly. The sleeve of his tunic slides along his arm, revealing more unblemished skin. His head is facing the carpet, ink-colored hair falling to cover his face—a face you think you could like very much—eventually. Though right now, even the thought is not enough to quell your irritation at your welcoming.

“I am so sorry for my friends’ behavior.”

His apology startles you. You are not used to men of his prestige to be so easy to offer an apology. During the wedding and at the reception, he appeared stoic, quiet and observing except for the few moments he engaged with you. You assumed it was just happenstance, that he was playing off of your stubborn jests, but seeing him now so open makes you wonder.

“My lord, no need to apologize. They were inebriated and excited for our coupling. Ellie was excited too, though she was better at keeping it hidden.”

“Yes, women do tend to be better at that. More practiced.”

“Do you truly believe that? I have watched my father work, and all noblemen seem to be very good at hiding their emotions.”

Yoongi smirks at your wit, pushing off of the door and walking closer to you.

“You are quite keen, my lady.”

His compliment startles you, as does his encroaching proximity. It is not menacing, if anything you are startled by your body’s response to it. His scent, a heady, woodsy musk infiltrates your senses causing any lingering animosity you had towards your father for this arrangement to seep from you. You’re tired of fighting; the knowledge of having lost before even starting lingering in your mind each time you fight back against the marriage has exhausted you. Still, you want to make sure that the Duke is aware that while you may be acquiescent, you are not easily compliant.

“My lord, I—” you look down at your hands, stumbling over your anger as you collect your thoughts. “I just want to say that I know neither of us wanted this, neither of us knew what to expect until we saw each other today, but I made a vow, so I promise to try my best, but I don’t know what I’m doing or what you expect from me, and I don’t think that I will be good at obeying, so please do not expect that from me. You may be a duke and my husband, but I demand that you treat me as an equal—”

“Shhh…” Yoongi’s thumb and forefinger grip your chin, tilting your head up to face him. You have no idea when he got so close. “I spent quite some time with your father, my lady. He spoke very highly of you and even produced your miniature from his coat pocket to show me. I may have been drunk, but I was not a fool in my decision.” His eyes rove across your face as he gently tilts your head side to side. “You are much more beautiful than the painting captured.”

If he’s hoping that flattery will tamper your annoyance, you feel he will need to try a bit harder. Though, to be fair, his flattery is working on you. Pair that with his face, and he’s doing quite a good job at putting out the fire, but you still remain steadfast.

“How lucky to be a man. You got to see a sample of the product before buying, while I just had to trust that my father wasn’t so drunk that he sold me to the next man who walked past?” You scoff, crossing your arms as you raise your chin out of his hold in defiance.

“Trust me, princess, the luck was all mine. Had I not been the next man to walk by, who knows what woman I would have had to settle for.”

You can’t believe he’s teasing you. Calling you princess and making jokes off of your distress. You want to smack the smirk off his face. You want to kiss him again like at the altar. You’re clearly confused after such a long day of upheaval.

“Right, because any woman should be grateful that you chose them? I was promised I would get to marry for love, just to wake up and be told I was marrying a stranger in a week.”

“Are you really angry because of this arrangement? Not that you should be grateful that I chose you, but you should be thankful for the life that you have, even before me. Not everyone lives how we do.”

Shock. That’s the only way to explain what you are feeling. He is not…man-splaining society’s plights to you, is he?

“I quite know this, my lord. I never said I was not grateful for my life, just that I am currently upset at a promise being broken.”

“Princess, I am sure you know this, but in your stubbornness, you seem to have forgotten yourself. You have a good life, you have food on the table prepared daily by the cooks and maids, and are not having to whore yourself out for a few coins to feed yourself.”

“No, I just have to whore myself to you for the rest of my life, provide you with heirs as soon as possible.” You decide to not hold back; if he’s going to be vulgar as a tactic, two could play at that game. “I may not be whoring myself out for a few coins to feed myself, but let’s not kid ourselves. We both know that I am not seen as anything more than a vessel for your cock and your children to use.”

“Tell me, princess, are you upset because you truly think me some evil, vile man, or are you actually more upset that you don’t have a real reason to push me away?”

Yoongi steps away from you, walking over the bed and settling down on the edge. You can’t help but watch the way his veins move as he leans back and rests on his palms. He’s so handsome and so assured of himself, and behaving as if he doesn’t even care that it’s your wedding night. You really don’t know how to explain how you’re feeling, because everything is at odds. He mistakes your silence during your internal debate as confusion and continues to explain.

“I know I’m not unappealing to the eye, and not an old geezer like many of your friends have had to deal with, I’m sure. We probably aren’t that far off in age difference, if there even is any. We’re young, and while you may be feeling angry about this marriage, I also get the feeling that you’ll be open to letting that anger go soon.”

“I barely know you, my lord, so please don’t take offense to this, but what, pray tell, gives you the feeling that I’ll be letting my anger go soon?” you ask, walking over to where he sits. You feel powerful as you position yourself right in front of him, and being above him like this with his head turned up in order to lock eyes with you, makes his cat eyes look even more alluring.

“Because, my dear wife,” Yoongi leans forward, entering your space as he brings his right arm up off the bed and to your thigh, “of what I plan to do to you tonight.”

Yoongi’s touch is like fire as he drags it up your thigh to the hem of your chemise, using both hands to grip the edge and pull you even closer to him. You inhale a breath, your body giving away just how much he affects you. The last tiny bit of you fights to not give in, that is, until he pouts up at you.

“If you’ll let me?”

Never have you experienced a man handing control over to you like this. All your life, you have been told what to do, how to behave, who to befriend, and even who to marry despite being promised that would be the one area you could decide. But here sits your husband, a man who quite literally holds you in his hands, able to do whatever he wants with your body now that he essentially owns you—this husband of yours is asking your permission to ruin you.

Unable to speak, you simply nod, eyes wide as he stands, and he never looks away from yours until your chemise blocks his view as he pulls it over your head. Now it’s his turn to inhale sharply as he takes in your angelic form. White lace corset ending just below the bust, high waisted lacy bottoms, ruched garters around each thigh with a clasp to hold your silk stockings in place…an angel, indeed.

Leaning closer to you, his words send tingles down your body as he pleads with you.

“I need you to say it, my lady,” he whispers, “tell me that I can touch you here.”

You jolt as you feel his hands touch the exposed skin of your side.

“Y-yes,” you say, clearing your throat due to how parched you sound.

“And can I, say, touch you here?” One hand trails lower, fingers dancing over the front of your drawers as the other holds you in place. Two of his fingers slide between your thighs, pressing against your core, and you sigh out a quiet moan.

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good girl.”

His fingers continue to travel back and forth, slight pressure causing you to grasp his shoulders for balance. He drops his head into the bend of your neck, lips leaving wet kisses on your overheated skin. He smells divine, his long hair tickling your cheek as he continues kissing and touching you. Your breathing gets louder, and he responds in kind, speeding up his fingers as you feel yourself ruining your panties for this man.

“Y-yoongi…that f-feels really good,” you tell him, surprise lacing your whimpers. You don’t want him to stop touching you, if anything you want more. Yoongi’s lips are latched onto your neck, tongue swirling with light pressure as your knees grow weak. With a light nip of his teeth, he pulls away to speak.

“I want you to always feel good with me, princess.” His gravelly voice is full of yearning, and you can tell he’s just as affected as you are. “I promise you’ll always feel good, if you let me take care of you.”

You can only nod your head, words eluding you as he turns you in his hold, pressing your back to his front while letting his fingers slide inside of your panties and part your lips. You feel his length pressing between your cheeks, thick and firm. He steps backwards with you, pulling you down until the two of you are seated on the edge of the bed. You’ve never been so turned on, dropping your head back to lean on his shoulder as he pulls one thigh to open you up wider.

You put up no fight, instead grinding down on him as you swirl your hips in time to the pads of his fingers circulating your dripping center. His lips reattach to your exposed neck, this time with more passion and it almost distracts you when his fingers dip inside of you, bucking once in his grip at the welcome intrusion. He’s gentle, only going as far as you let him, and the more he does it, the less you tense up, until he’s gliding in and out of you.

You’re unable to stay quiet any longer, every breath letting out a moan that is a melody to Yoongi’s ears.

“I…Yoongi, I think…I’ve never done this before, what’s happening?” you breathe out, and he chuckles darkly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I—”

“I promise it’ll feel good, okay? Trust me, and don’t fight it.”

“But—” his fingers don’t let up, and you squirm on his lap.

“Princess, be a good girl and trust me, don’t fight it—don’t fight me anymore.”

“O-okay, I trust you, Yoongi.”

Letting go, you relax into his hold as he resumes kissing your neck, left hand pulling your chin until your lips meet his in a sloppy sideways kiss. His foot presses against the inside of yours until you groan at the muscle strain. Your legs are so far apart, but it feels even better as his fingers begin a rapid thrusting. He swallows all of your whimpers as you feel your body reaching a peak and it all just feels so good, his free hand leaving your chin to touch your chest, hands roaming as you rock your hips to meet his palm against your sensitive nub and with a simultaneous bite to your bottom lip and pinch to your neglected nipple; you feel yourself combust.

You swear you see fireworks behind your eyelids as you tremble in Yoongi’s arms, barely alert enough to hear him whispering words of praise as he works you through it. It’s not long (or has it been ages?) before your hands push at his, overstimulation causing you to mewl in frustration.

It feels good and you don’t want to stop, but your body can’t take more. Not right now at least.

“That’s it, you did so well.”

“Me?” you question, voice raspy. “I didn’t even do anything but sit here.”

“Trust me, you did plenty. I think you can feel exactly what you did to me.” Yoongi alludes with a slight thrust of his hips, and you in fact do feel him.

“That’s because of me?”

“It’s all because of you. Your sounds, the way you were grinding onto me, the way you taste…” Yoongi slides his fingers into his mouth, sucking your essence from his two fingers lewdly. “You made me this way.”

Your face grows impossibly warmer at the thought of the power you have over a man such as he, and your ability to bring him to this level of vulnerability.

“Does…does it always feel like that?” you question, wondering if it could possibly get better.

Yoongi can barely contain his smirk, “Oh, dear wife, that was just the appetizer.”

Lifting you off of his lap, he sets you down next to him so he can stand and shed himself of his clothing. Naked, he stands before you in all of his glory so you can take in just how well endowed the duke is before kneeling on one knee.

“Can I take these off of you?” he asks, hands gesturing to your hips. You softly say yes, and once your ruined drawers are discarded, he then touches the sides of your corset. “And these?” Nodding, he leaves you in just your silk stockings. “I rather like how these look…”

Still kneeling, he takes your leg and leans you back until you’re sprawled on your back and he has a perfect view of your heated core. He kisses along your clothed leg until he reaches the skin of your thigh, biting lightly until he rests your leg on his shoulder. Turning to the other leg, he does the same, this time going all the way up. You throw your head back into the soft, satin sheets as your hands grip whatever they can. His tongue explores your sensitive area, lapping at your pearl until you’re incoherent, hands tugging at his long tresses to guide him where you want him.

There are no words to describe how Yoongi is making you feel. You’ve never felt this way before, so powerful or in control. You wonder if he’ll always be this willing to hand over the reins. Either way, you plan to savor it.

The sounds coming from between your thighs are obscene, but the louder and sloppier Yoongi is, the better it feels.

“Yoongi, oh!” Your toes curl as another wave of euphoria grips you. Tender kisses along your stomach just barely keep you from floating away as Yoongi brings himself higher and higher along your body. His teeth nip at your breasts, teasing as he laves his tongue around your nipples, perky against the air in the room. Chest heaving, you try to gather your wits as Yoongi’s naked body lays along yours, his hands on either side of your chest as he massages them, spending ample time tasting everything your body has to offer.

“My lady, if you’re ready, I’d rather like to feel you.”

In your post climactic haze, you try and understand what he’s asking.

“Feel me?”

“Yes,” he says, kissing your neck and you don’t understand how your body can still crave for more just from his lips on your skin, “I rather ache for you, princess.” The meaning becomes clear when he adjusts himself over you, and you feel the thickness against your thigh. You are aware of what he needs, how he means to alleviate his ache, and for a moment, you’re scared.

It all fades away as he kisses you, his lips soft against yours as he soothes away the worry.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise. If it hurts, just tell me to stop, okay?” he presses another kiss to your lips, and you melt.

“Okay,” you whisper as you pull away from the kiss, “I trust you.”

He smiles, this time a genuine one at your words before kissing you again. You feel yourself getting lost in it when a pressure at the apex of your thighs causes you to gasp. Breaking the kiss, you look between your body and Yoongi’s watching as his cock, flushed and rigid, breaches your core. He’s going slow, and he lowers himself back down to kiss you more, wanting to take your mind off of the pain as he fills you.

“You’re…impossibly tight…” he pants, and you would laugh if you were in the mindset, but at the moment, you are all consumed by Yoongi. He pushes another inch, stopping to allow you to grow accustomed to him, and you know that this is unusual for a wedding night—you have heard the horror stories from other women, and this has been anything but. Yoongi has made sure to let you have ownership of your pleasure tonight, and even now, he looks to you for confirmation that he can continue on without hurting you.

Raising your hips, you help guide him in the rest of the way, and he grunts as his forehead touches yours. His arms shake as he holds himself above you, wanting to take you with haste, but knowing he must control himself for now.

Reaching for him, your palms settle on either side of his face, bringing him closer to kiss you as you roll your hips against him. He huffs, pulling out to give you a good, even stroke, and you nearly scream at the pleasure and pain of it. He apologizes against your lips, but you shake your head, urging for more. He complies, though slower this time, not wanting to scare you off from sharing his bed. Yoongi is so gentle, sweet even as he swivels his hips, and you move your hands to grip his hair and his shoulder, leveraging to meet him with every gyration of your lower body.

A few tugs to his hair leaves him cursing in gratification, and soon you feel his hand reach to your leg to lift. His thighs speed up as he thrusts haphazardly into you before you feel a hot release of his seed filling you and spilling out around his cock, now lazily unloading itself as he slows with each jolt. His release provides you with just what you need to follow him, walls clenching around him to milk the last drop.

Sighing, the two of you lay tangled in the sheets, Yoongi’s fingers smoothing your hair as yours play along his chest, a feverish color now spread across his decolletage after your love making.

“I’ve never experienced such a blissful feeling as this,” you admit.

“Likewise, my lov—my lady.” Yoongi corrects a slight slip of the tongue.

“It’s okay, I think I could quite like being called your love,” you tease, though your words ring true. You now know what you felt with Yoongi. Liberation. A freedom you have never felt as a woman, provided to you in the most surprising of places: the arms of a man.

At breakfast the next morning, Ellie can’t help but notice the way you seem to glow as you sit at your husband’s side. The two of you can’t stop touching, whether it be holding hands or light touches to each other's arm as you two talk with the others who stayed overnight. Being married may not have been what you had seen for yourself a week ago, but after last night, you have a feeling that you could fall deeply in love with your husband, the Duke, and he with you, his Duchess.

“Marriage isn’t all that bad, is it, my love?” Yoongi whispers as the maids pass around the breakfast foods, and you shift your gaze to the marks you left barely hidden by his collar from an early morning romp.

“No, my love, I rather find that you have proven me wrong, and I quite like that.”

“And I quite like you.”

“You had better!”

thank you for reading!!!

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evangelical04 · 10 months ago

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A Single Daffodil || 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

“Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited.

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression.

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare.

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.”

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out.

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home.

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed.

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee.

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that.

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late.

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now.

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired.

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated.

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it.

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you.

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy.

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that?

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit.

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance.

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo.

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden.

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress.

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight.

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response.

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party.

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG.

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

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hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

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THE BALL OF LIGHT, iv. | myg, jjk

pairing: brother!yoongi x fem!reader (feat. friend!jeongguk)

genre: angst, fluff

rating: 15+

summary: your heart dies and your life changes course.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: fever dream, smoking, sickness — oc has a fever and holly throws up (only mentioned), oc spirals and has bad thoughts, the paranormal, family issues.

luna's note: chapter four is finally here. it's the last one for this year... it's absolutely crazy to think about. this chapter is kind of all over the place only because oc is. her feelings aren't cohesive and her mental issues prevent her from sticking to one good thing in her life. her mind always turns it into a bad thing. keep this in mind as you read. i hope you guys like this chapter. i love you all so much and i missed you. let me know what you think in comments or asks. <3 mwah.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl,

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

The house is quiet, as if its mouth has been sewn shut. The snowflake-laced wind speaks for it, seeping through the walls with aching groans that you feel nibbling its way beneath your skin. The lights are out—there are only Yoongi’s Jordans perched by the front door, the only pair of shoes he owns. Not your mother’s kitten heels. Not your father’s loafers. Only those black and white sneakers that are the only remnant of them, for they gifted them to him for the last birthday they were present for.

You had watched Jeongguk drive away with a speed he didn’t dare to trigger with you. For one brief moment of bliss he was there, and for another he wasn’t. You stood like a stone-cold statue upon the place where he embraced you, where he hid you from your brother, cradling his body heat in your hands like it was the potion that contained your humanity. Stood there frozen in time, unwilling to let go of it, of the kindness he gave you, of the life you fleetingly lived with him that didn’t mirror the normalcy you were accustomed to. Unwilling to go back to the curdled milk-like emptiness, to your mind’s imagination, to the tepidness you know from your books that once meant everything to you.

Once… just yesterday.

The heat you cradled from his heart dissipated on its own too soon, however. Above your head, the ivory flurries thickened, twirling in a dance that you sensed to be too sinister to be in the middle of, and so with a heavy soul that began to tear up and yearn for more of his time, you turned around and walked up the hill towards the castle of doom that you didn’t wish to enter, not so ignorant to the bad feeling that sank in its translucent, dusky flesh.

And maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have entered at all. You should have come up with a reason to stay longer or to stay with him within that bundle of affection he created for you during your brief visit, and not retrace your steps back into the place you no longer belonged to, to the place called ‘home’ that no longer felt like home. But as you turn the key in the lock and step inside the dimness of the hall and no one greets you, you perceive that it had never been your home in the first place.

Not with your mother’s disliking of you, not with her curses over your life.

Like a fractured statue now, you wait for Holly to come padding upon the parquet floors like she does every single day, but the frost settled upon your bones and the snowflakes nestled upon your hair strands and the planes of your face melt first before she ever comes.

Alarm flickers in your chest, mockingly slapping the ends of the velvet ribbon around the tree of life in you.

Your feet automatically slip out of your winter shoes, but you leave your jacket on—leave it on and drip all over the floors as you frantically go in search of your brother, your fright enkindled not by your worst sin, but by being seemingly all alone. All the doors are shut—to the downstairs bathroom, to the kitchen and the bead curtain that separates the dining room from the living room is unmoving, dust-filled as if no soul ever lived in this house. Your head aches, a dull pain darting back and forth behind your eyes, and you feel your body grow feverishly hot beneath all the layers of your clothes. He’s not in the kitchen and Holly isn’t there either, and in the living room the glassy, crystalline ghosts of your parents sit there. Your father in his armchair with a thick novel in his blue, pellucid hands, and the Bible on his lap for comfort and for his last read of the night as was invariably customary to his nightly routine. Your mother sleeping, half-laid on the couch, snoring softly. The cobalt shape of her long hair, the length that was the symbol of beauty for her, but a symbol of barbarism for you. The TV is on, but the sound is muted.

Her chest doesn’t lift, and your father’s hand doesn’t lift to turn the page. Both of their translucent, lucid and almost wet-like forms have one colorful thing in common.

A heart.

You blink, and the delusion drops dead.

Just like them.

Your breath shivers, a paralyzing shock coursing through your body. You can’t move, but somehow your jacket hits the floor, the black material soaking the drops of melted snow you left all over it, ostensibly cleaning it up for you in order not to get you in trouble. You can’t move, but your feet seem to know where Yoongi is and they take you to him. Up the stairs that creak under your weight, through the hall lined with rooms, whose doors are shut, profound with their stories, screaming silently if you put your ear close enough to the wood. You can’t move, but your hand tries the antique knob of your parents’ bedroom and it opens wide.

A familiar, evil energy pulses there in its darkness.

Yoongi forgot to lock it up. Your feet pull you away. You close the door.

Within the realm of your shock and panic, a hope blooms in its midst—a hope that you find Holly curled somewhere on your brother’s bed, drowsily secluded in her doggy dreams that are perhaps too effervescent to steal away from for the purpose of greeting you. But as you flounder to his room and turn the knob, your eyes, searching madly through the fog of your fever, detect no light brown, curly canine family member resting on your brother’s bedsheets.

Yoongi stands at the window, hunched over the windowsill. A white smoke curls over his head.

Your stomach drops.

He’s smoking? He smokes?

It must be your fever, playing tricks on you just like it messed with your brain when you were in the living room. The pounding behind your forehead and eyes intensifies and as you take a step inside the basis of the castle’s doom, the floor creaks under your disintegrating weight, announcing your presence.

Yoongi turns around. The white fume of the smoke mingles with the falling flurries, but doesn’t drop dead, doesn’t disappear. Beats into your discombobulated state. And once he sees that you’ve come home on two unbroken legs, he discreetly lets the slender body of the snowflake-kissed cigarette plummet to the softness of the snow down below.

Pretends you didn’t see him smoking. Clothes himself in the role of the put-together, responsible older brother. Sinless, squeaky-clean, pristine.

You’re reminded of the betrayal all over again. It’s as if he pulled on the already taut strings of it wrapped around your flesh by discarding the cigarette like that upon seeing you. And while your body takes in the pain once more, you’re indifferent to it. It doesn’t hurt anymore; your mind begins to fight against it, against him, in the form of a monologue. Emotion-charged sentences of how it can’t affect you anymore spread down your neurons like forest fire. And maybe this circle of orange-red will keep you safe from all his secrets. Shut him out. So you can remain placid, alive, and well.

So you can remain molded by Jeongguk’s hands.

Yoongi closes the window, enveloping the room in a deeper shade of twilight than it was shrouded in before. The last remnant of the breeze brushes past the film of sweat on your hairline before you’re untouched again. You fight on, unmarred by the reappearing lack, lifting your frail, fire-ringed limb to turn on the light, but your vision is subdued, nonetheless. Your bones decay, and you truly think you’re on the cusp of death.

Jeongguk’s worry uncoiled in reality. You’ve gotten sick, although your affliction points more to homesickness, you suppose.

“What took you so long?” Yoongi speaks first, and you blink to make your vision clearer. Yoongi is a moonlessly opaque, unfocused figure in front of you, so terribly reminiscent of the helmet-wearing boy who drove away… with your scrunchie on his wrist as you now, at this moment, realize whilst your fingers, self-consciously, envelop around your wrist, the one that is protected by the bracelet Yoongi entwined you.

Jeongguk had kept it around his wrist after he pulled it away from your bun. The brief memory of the way he slid the satiny material down his limb floods your brain, the beige being the only color adorning him. Soft brown amidst all that black.

The pressure of your brother’s question washes the recollection away, seemingly ricocheting across the walls, drumming against your ears over and over again as if he asked it a thousand times. Your chest swells with twice as many, with a rising tide more violent than any power he ever disported.

Why haven’t you told me you visit mom and dad’s bedroom?

Why do you insist we keep the door shut and locked still?

Why are you so strict to me?

Why don’t you let me live?

Whywhywhywhywhywhywhywhy?

You choose the question that stands behind the reason why your feet carried you to his room, however. You swallow them down, hang them over the twigs of your tree. Let them breathe the air of life before you spew them out at him.

“Where’s Holly?”

Because that, too, is the reciprocated shooting of an arrow in the middle of this battlefield—a question for a question. It is another step forward because if Jeongguk never laid his hands on you, and had you never drank his cinnamon tea, you would have stooped in your dutifulness and broke your spine bending forward multiple times in apology.

You have nothing to apologize for.

Yoongi does—for the incision of his hypocrisy.

And brother dearest sighs in response to your counterattack. Hangs his head low. The long, thinning strands of his ebony, snowflake-powdered hair covers his sight, concealing the rawness of his emotions from you. You will never see, will you? The jagged, warped surface of his feelings; the reasonings strung to them. You’ll never see and you’ll never know—and that is the fate of the younger sibling.

Because if he showed you just a little bit of his humanity, you’d be a much happier person, no longer reliant on the emotions described by memorable authors of the past age. Not so fixated, not so needy; a hollow body with hollow organs due to the lack of a caress and a tender word.

You wouldn’t be forming an attachment to the first male that didn’t break your heart.

And the one who knows too well of the sensitivity that your delicate flesh is overlaid with sits down at the edge of his bed. The lower angle allows you to see the largening bald spot upon the left side of his head, right above his ear, especially when he looks to the side, seeking his words along the ashen walls of his room. You’ve never seen him so languid. To such an extent that he nibbles his bottom lip, unblinking, static, unsure.

For the first time in a long while, you wish he would speak. Utter the words in the unfavorable way of his that he’s gotten used to. Your anxiety rises, ingesting you whole, and your throat is so parched, so scratchy that you can’t even swallow.

Your limb, flaccidly, falls off the light switch, slapping against your side. It is the only sound in the room, one that tugs him away from his desperate pursuit of words, and there he blinks. Up at you with round, puny eyes, like Holly does ever so often.

There he speaks.

“I had to take her to the vet,” he begins, a rasp of crumbling words that come to dust between you and him, a fine yet heavy powder that settles over your heart like the snow flurries outside. Winter grows, your fever thumps, and you can’t breathe. “She was shivering and throwing up when I got home. The vet said she ate something bad… probably from the trash.” His eyes narrow as he delivers the information—as if it were your fault that she made this mistake because you weren’t at home. Your anxiety transforms into an overpowering amount of guilt that you tense up against, your mouth parting in dismay, shivering like her, shivering like poor little Holly. “They kept her at the clinic when they heard that none of us were at home. To monitor her.”

You shrivel up—now smaller than him, no longer the one bigger on this battlefield. Smaller and smaller you become until he rakes his hand through his hair and props his knuckles on his knee. To your absolute surprise, Yoongi changes the narrative.

“I shouldn’t have left,” he breathes out, skimming his eyes everywhere but you, and something flickers inside you; something tells you that the verb ‘left’ is one of great importance, one that you remember for a reason unknown to you. Your ears stretch, and so does your heart—towards him in outright urgent anguish, wrapped up in the cloth of grief over what happened to your lives. Love is what you detect in the beginning of that sentence. Clear as day; clear as winter. Something you irrationally and unashamedly would die to receive from him, from anyone. “I picked up another shift… only because Christmas is coming around, but I shouldn’t have. If I hadn’t, Holly would still be here with us.”

The arrow that has changed direction and now points at him feels as though a burden has been lifted off your shoulders. By his boyish hands, by those slender fingers of his, smeared with blood by that constant habit of cuticle biting of his. The burden is red, darkly red, sacrificed, and tears prick behind your eyes.

It isn’t your fault—and Yoongi isn’t blaming you. He’s blaming himself. Smoking out the guilt behind your back. If you had your vape in your hand, you’d squeeze it. Squeeze his shoulder with your other and tell him—it’s okay.

But you can’t say much. You can’t do much either. With your empty fist, you rub your eyes like a small, sleepy baby, your exhaustion preventing you from entering this strange twist of events even deeper. The moment twists tauter, nonetheless.

Yoongi sees you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone a lot softer, but the question still aches—only because it contains the word you wished to say to him. Your brother stands up to his feet and crosses the distance to you, all while you still create subduedly colorful stars before your eyes.

He places a hand on your shoulder—essentially does what you yearned to do to him. The same hand lifts briefly, wraps around your wrist and draws your fist away. Brushes away a damp strand of hair that has messily been sloped across the side of your face. A light touch that nearly brings down your fever. You blink up at him and as you do, he returns the warmth of his hand back down to your bony shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

Pinpricks scatter down your limbs. Love. This is love. The love you have lost somewhere along the highs and lows of his adulthood threaded with responsibilities, tactfulness and accountability. The love that had strayed and now has found its way back—because he presses his knuckles against the side column of your neck.

“You’re burning up.”

As his love saturates your bones little by little, you nod. Weightless you are, no longer bound by shackles, by negativity, by lacks that were too consuming, gnawing at your flesh until there was nothing left of you. His love refreshes you, a fountain kissed by the snow flurries that have softly blanketed his hair from his lonesome window smoking therapy session.

You missed him. You love him and you missed him, and there’s nothing you long for more than to embrace him. Finish the ouroboros of today’s unique events by hugging the only two prominent people in your life. Jeongguk first—and now Yoongi.

And you do. Oh, you do.

Entwine your arms around his torso, hide your face in his sturdy chest. It takes only but a moment for your brother to do the same, taken aback by the sudden shift of your relationship with him. And it is under the palm of his hand that your hair, at last, dries fully, but it is under the palm of his hand, too, that you begin to uncontrollably tremble.

But those are not the trembles, which are so characteristic to your being.

They are the shivers of illness that seep over you in waves, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. More violent, more restraining. Your state of weightlessness lessens, and in his embrace you are metamorphosed into a little girl in need to be taken care of.

Yoongi sees that, too.

Somehow you’re nestled in your bed, and somehow the scent of cinnamon percolates into the disorderliness of your senses, tickling your nostrils with such tenderness that the ‘no’ that begins to sound down your body is but a faint echo. Yoongi made you the tea that you never wanted to drink, that you instead wanted to keep on your nightstand, fall asleep with it tucked by the planes of your face, breathing it in until Jeongguk meets you in your dreams. But you didn’t have to go the extra mile—because as soon as your brother places two painkillers into your hand and holds your neck upright so you can swallow them with the tea without sputtering all over your sheets, Jeongguk already stands, waiting, at the far edge of your dream, which waits for you, too. Waits for you to fall asleep.

Yoongi pets you one last time before his weight lifts off the mattress. Your mind descends into a state of rest, flicking through your memories as if it were a photobook. The intricate frost pattern on the bus stop. Jeonnguk’s unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth. The gust of white smoke of his vape rushing out of his mouth as he looked back at you. The way you almost held his hands by swathing them with yours around the vulgar cup. His arm, quick to reassure you at your abrupt outburst of emotion, but not brave enough—not yet. His eyes never lowering down to your naked body in the shower; those same eyes watching you intently in the mirror as you managed to deceive your brother so well. The joy that came after, the touches, the bravery.

There Jeongguk stands—at the recollection of your joy. He takes your hand, with the limb that has been extended in the air for too long. How tired it must be, you think to yourself, as you grab a hold of his forearm with your other hand, how real he feels. His blood flow thumps under your palm and he guides you through this vast, treacly darkness to a place only he knows.

To a meadow in the middle of spring, upon which you’re spread wide. To a meadow of golds, greens and granite blue, where he pins your hands down and hovers above you. To a meadow of fresh dew that soaks your hair damp, where he wants to play a game with you.

Your hair is long—and it is a protective layer for your back so the blades of grass don't engrave dents into the porcelain skin of your back. Your cream-colored, flower-patterned sundress covers the backs of your thighs, but one of them is suddenly lifted. Not by your own will, but by the masculine yearning of the antihero above you, who folds his fingers into the crook of your knee just to sow a seed of kiss on its top. The clouds draw in, a chilly wind curves along the shine of your sweat upon your décolletage, and everything about his actions feels as though you’ve done it a thousand times before.

And maybe you have. Who knows but the God of your father above since you must have slept too soundly to remember it the following morning.

Here, in this flowering, vernal atmosphere, all is possible. There aren’t any lacks of yours that make your life difficult in the other world called reality. Here, you are yourself—and you are brave, beautiful and brimful of affection and touches without any outside forces disrupting this tender moment.

No Yoongi, no issues.

Jeongguk leans back, letting go of your hands that he held in his singular grip. Props an elbow on your knee and lopsidedly grins at you. There is the sun in the pearly white of his teeth, in the glimmer of his eyes, in the length of his pretty eyelashes—and there is the Spirit of God within the lines of his outstretched palms that he now shows to you.

And a piercing on his lip.

“I’m sure you remember this,” he says, and for a split second you envision that he isn’t speaking of a game but of your secret, sleep-tinged memory of living a life with him beyond this parallel wildflower bubble. “We slap hands front-to-front, criss-cross, then front again. We go quicker and quicker each time until one of us fails to catch up and loses.” His grin blossoms like the petals of the primroses as he explains the rules, feeding your starved childhood memory of the game your primary school classmates played with each other but never with you. Of the game you always longed to play with your brother when you sadly went home, but he was never around—not until late at night when you were in bed and your pillow was cold with the way it was moistened with your forlorn tears. You shake that thought away; remind yourself that Yoongi isn’t here. He’s left. You’re alone in this parallel universe, alone with Jeongguk, but you just can’t shake him off. Not until the antihero continues to speak. “You don’t remember?” He chuckles, mimicking your little shakes of head. “I’ll help you remember. Let’s do a try level.”

The wispy strands of his hair flutter against his eyelashes, the soft huffs of his laughter enveloping you in a cocoon that sinks you deeper into this dream with the comfort it evokes. It is a song, the poems of birds, and it inspirits you through and through. Enough that your mouth cracks into a drowsy smile, your palms lifting and brushing against his.

The wonderful noises from his throat grow in volume. “No, not like this, bun.”

Bun. It is a slow-motion movie, the way you blink as you take in that pet name, the way Jeongguk begins to focus on showing you how to play the game right, clothing you into the person of your little you as the smile withers from your mouth. It is a slow-motion movie, the way he splutters into giggles, gives up at the sight of your useless unmoving hands, and falls on top of you, his face in your neck, his mouth peppering kisses, made icy and vibrant with his piercing, at the spot beneath your ear—and the way you notice that the linen fabric of his white shirt has torn claw marks on his back that billow in the wind, the tattered endings flapping vigorously out in the open.

You trace them, the bare skin, with your fingertip and Jeongguk shivers in the intimate embrace.

You wake up with a dry, painful throat. To a full blue light beyond your windows and not the dragging dawn’s darkness extending across the sky. To a first that would get you scolded by your mother and looked down upon by your brother.

You missed school.

Your hair is matted to your head. Your clothes carry the stench of your sweat owing to your fever and when you glance down, you realize that your brother, at some point during your delirium, had taken off your denim jeans and slipped on your warm pajama pants. It is a small flame against the open fire that is burning quietly behind it, called to creation by your fever dream. The more you summon it up in your memories, the more it burns. Bun, those soft little kisses, the lip ring and how its coldness had a little bit of the winter you lived through with him, the largeness of Jeongguk’s palms and God inside them. God, you have touched. God, you have come to know in another person who might not even know him. Your father colors your mind as you recollect his devotion to him.

But those lashes on Jeongguk’s back... you wonder what those meant. What the whole dream meant. How you’ll feel once you see him tomorrow on your lunch break.

You dwell within that warmth until you plentifully come to your senses. Think you must have come a long way, crossed paths you could’ve never crossed before if it weren’t for the events that occurred—if it weren’t for the snow, for the weakness of your mental state, for Yoongi calling you at the wrong place and at the wrong time that was eventually right in all senses. Yoongi. How kind he was to you, how loving after a century of coldness and orders. How quick he was to take care of you and put you to bed, make you Jeongguk’s tea and hold your head upright while you swallowed your pills.

The small flame flickers because you perceive that you have to get to your worst in order to receive love, and that is a sad revelation that settles like a burden over your shoulders, heaving them down. Another load, another reason to grieve being alive.

You look over to your bedside table and like one reaches for a loved one, you reach for your copy of Dostoyevsky’s White Nights. Your papery comfort, a non-verbal being of trees that was shredded to construct a story for you to find your solace in. You open it to a random page, careful still to not break the spine, and you bring it to your nose and inhale.

Grassy tones, melancholy, vanilla and meadows.

Oh. Meadows.

The Jeongguk that now lives in your memories faintly kisses that spot on your neck as your eyes skim the pages and they root at a passage that irrevocably impacts you, despite the fact you’ve read it countless times before. You now consume the Russian man’s words as a brand new person, altered by the dream you had and the life you lived with Jeongguk. It is as though you do so for the first time ever.

A whole minute of silence passed. She did not look at me. I saw that she was in great agitation, that she was waiting for something. She was unable to stand it any longer: she suddenly burst into tears, hid her face in her hands, and ran away. I stood motionless, gazing after her.

The storyteller is a boy dreamily in love with a girl named Nastenka, who stomached a great deal of anguish in her life. She lived in a snare with her grandmother, whose blindness forced her to depend on the girl too violently. Like you are bound to your brother, Nastenka was physically bound by a thread to her grandmother—connected to her hip-to-hip, a thread sewn between their dresses so they could never part. It’s the reason why you adore this book so much. It makes you feel seen, known, understood in the sense that another person went through the same things as you did.

It makes you feel less alone.

In this passage, the storyteller is voicing out his feelings for her, but Nastenka loves someone else—someone who has offered her freedom from the stifling relationship with her grandmother. And because she has tasted this freedom, she does what she deems natural. Unable to stand it any longer … she ran away.

All throughout the years you kept this book in the crevices of your soul, you found comfort only in the fact you felt understood, but now as you read the paragraph over and over again, you comprehend that it offers you something, too.

A solution.

The verb that lodged itself into your mind from Yoongi’s explanation of what happened to Holly comes darting through you at full speed: left. That something flickers in you once again as it did when it fled past your brother’s lips, and your eyes remain glued on the last words that complete the paragraph.

She ran away.

You wish you could. You can no longer tolerate bearing these burdens, the going behind backs, the stifling sensations, the act of earning love by being sick, by being in a bad condition, by doing well in school. You wish you could grab this book, Jeongguk’s vape, figs and cinnamon tea and run away to a place where no one knows you—where people are kinder and give you love, even though you did nothing to earn it. Who give you love like they give you food—the last of what they have, good for health, pleasurable for senses.

Your legs swing over the edge of the bed and, like Nastenka, you hide your face in your hands. And for the last time in the longest while, you weep. Swear to yourself that you shall not again. The tears trickle down your cheeks in thick rivulets, the ones on the left side representing a self-hatred for yearning something so unattainable while the other ones cascade down with the venomous fuel that you simply ask for too much.

That you should get over yourself.

That life isn’t about love.

It’s a lie that carves out your heart and that gruesome flesh topples out of your chest and onto the cold floors. Your instincts nearly throw out the book with the same detestation, but your hands gently place it down beside it. Your feet take you out of that room before your heart starts to rot.

As you walk down the hall, your hand skates across the double doors of your parents’ bedroom. Absorb the ghosts that cling to the wood, the silent echoes of your mother’s arguments thrown at your father. Your fingers wrap around the knob and they would try it to see if Yoongi locked it while you slept, but a strange sound averts you from doing so.

A sound that the castle of doom hasn’t heard in years.

A laughter.

One that doesn’t belong to Yoongi.

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