#yoongi fics

[namfinessed]

OMGGG thank you for reading !! your review is so sweet and makes me feel seen because that’s exactly what i wanted to portray in my story, thank you again !! <33

ex-things - m.yg.

genre: angst (after breakup!) (4.8k)

summary: over the years, everything you've owned has belonged to yoongi and everything yoongi's owned has belonged to you but when you break up, everything is your's and everything is his but none of it belongs to the two of you anymore and both of you can't stand it.

masterlist

-

“scarf,” you say as soon as yoongi appears at the door, you fail to hide your smile when he throws his head back in exasperation and throws the door open.

you push past him and enter his apartment which looked…exactly the same.

but then again, you did just break up some ten minutes ago so, of course, it would be the same.

you don’t know why you expected the universe to shift just because your heart was broken.

and as you throw back the cushions on his sofa, push the things on his coffee table, look under the sofa and table, and walk past him to check the coat rack and then the kitchen, you feel his piercing gaze following your every step.

you knew where it was.

it was in your bedroom.

or well, his bedroom now.

“can you hurry the fuck up?” he groans and in that second, you eye the black plastic cover filled with two or three soju bottles sitting on his kitchen counter.

you swallow and yell back, “can you just let me look for my scarf in peace?”

another groan.

a stomp on the floor.

“fuck, i’ll mail it to you,” yoongi makes his way into the kitchen with loud steps and you arch your eyebrow at him, then look towards the green bottles shining on his counter, he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and spits out, “i was going to drink today before anything ever happened, don’t feel too special.”

“really?” you muse, clinking them against each other, and in the next second, yoongi’s hand is wrapped around your wrist and he’s pulling you, gently, towards the door.

“i’ll send it when i find it,” he murmurs as he pushes your coat, your car keys, and your phone into your hands, and you don’t say anything for a while.

you clutch your belongings and stand by the door until you notice how yoongi's eyes are bloodshot, their usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion. his shoulders rounded with an invisible weight, and you feel guilty for leaving.

“a-are you okay?” you ask, it feels stupid to ask because you know, you were the same as him.

he laughs bitterly and throws you a glare, you notice how his hands tremble beside his body, and you look away to save him and yourself from the pain of asking again.

“i just broke up with my girlfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” he breathes out, you wonder if it pains him like it’s paining you to hear his words, “now, can you leave?” yoongi gestures towards the door again.

you sigh, “wait a minute,” and enter your his home again.

“what now?” he throws his hands in the air and stomps after you.

he watches you grab the scarf from under his bed, he turns his eyes away when he sees your hands shaking while holding it, “did you know where it was?” yoongi breathes out, his face and voice in disbelief.

you don’t say anything again.

and when you leave, he pours himself glass over glass to forget the trembling of your jaw and how you paced around the apartment while knowing exactly where you kept the scarf.

he laughs again, the sound is strange, rough, and just wrong without your laugh chiming with him.

he pours himself a glass again.

-

it’s been a week.

“hi,” you say as yoongi walks into his house, he jumps a little, clutching his chest as his eyes widen to look for you.

you raise a hand to wiggle your fingers at him as a ‘hello, hi, ex-boyfriend, you’re back at your home and so am i!’ and yoongi blinks.

“what the fuck are you doing here?”

“oh, i was loo-“

“wait wait, how did you even get in?” yoongi frantically marched to his front door and twisted the knob to check for any damages and you roll your eyes.

“i found your key under the potted plant. speaking of which, do you want to get robbed or something, why would you even put it there?” you throw your hands in the air as you sip tea, grimacing as the strange, bitter taste of yoongi’s favorite green tea spreads in your mouth.

“first of all, stop drinking my tea, you don’t even like it” you put the cup down with a sheepish smile and fold your hands on the table.

“and second of all, i didn’t think i had to worry about any ex-girlfriends breaking in, my bad,” yoongi complains loudly and you press your palms to your ears, shaking your head, “i’m not even here to see you, i’m here for…well, i’m here for,” you struggle to finish the sentence.

and yoongi glares at you.

“what is it?” as he moves his head to pin his glare on you, his soft, freshly straightened hair moves with him.

“straightener!” you say loudly, clapping your hands, and yoongi’s eyebrows narrow again, “you’re going to get wrinkles, yoongi.” you point at his eyebrows but he doesn’t let up, you’re sure that his eyebrows furrowed deeper.

“okay! i’ll be on my way once i get that,” you wander off into his bedroom and yoongi throws his head back in exasperation.

your straightener is easy to find because well, it’s not yours, it’s his and it’s just sitting on his vanity but yoongi doesn’t bat an eye at that.

he only watches you move around his home with his arms crossed on his chest and an unreadable satisfaction on his face.

and when you leave, you can’t help but notice that for all his annoyance, he never tells you to not come back, and he never tells you to find everything you own and leave at once.

with that knowledge, you leave his home with the biggest grin on your face.

-

“you need to get out before my booty call gets here,” you happily eat your ice cream on the kitchen counter as yoongi walks into your home as if he owned it.

did you mention that he was the one to bring you ice cream?

your favorite too, one scoop of hazelnut and one scoop of brownie.

“ha ha, very funny, you should start thinking of a career in stand-up” he responds with a roll of his eyes and you giggle even more, sliding down to catch up with his pace around your home.

“what are you here for?”

“t-shirt, you know the one you stole,” yoongi shrugs and glares again, walking right into your room and you follow with hands closed behind your back, “which one?” you muse as you remember all the (10) t-shirts you’ve stolen from him.

he looks back as he nears the closet, eyes narrowing at you, “how many do you have?”

“how many can you remember that i have?”

yoongi groaned in sheer frustration and you crawled on your bed, watching him pick apart your closet, and glaring at you whenever he found one of his t-shirts in there.

for a moment, it was amusing.

it was the funniest thing to watch yoongi get annoyed, you always enjoyed it.

but in the next moment, when he was around his fifth t-shirt, you felt this ache slowly develop in your chest and spread across your throat and then your mouth, then it was everywhere.

it was this dull throbbing that you couldn’t shake and your eyes dropped to fiddle with your fingers instead of looking at him, collecting his belongings from your home.

because, just two weeks ago, it had been your t-shirts too, hadn’t they? and it wasn’t just your home then, it was yours and his, wasn’t it? sure, you had separate apartments but it never felt like that, it felt like you had two homes and both homes belonged to both of you.

and now, you only had one.

you had wrapped your arms around his back when he was in your room two weeks ago, he was here now but you couldn’t even touch a hair on his head without feeling like you’ve crossed a line.

your head was starting to collect the ache and make a home for it so you ask, “are you almost done?”

you didn’t mean to ask him that, you actually very, very badly wanted yoongi never to leave so you could believe again, ‘i have two homes, i have two toothbrushes, two mugs, two keys, two doors, and two of everything’ but yoongi pauses, he collects the t-shirts he found and nods, “yeah, i’m done.”

when he walks out of your room, the ache finally takes over your head and you follow him with dazed eyes and stumbling feet.

at the door, yoongi stops, he turns around with concern brimming in his eyes and that is enough for your hands to shake again, “you good?”

“i just broke up with my boyfriend of three years, so yeah, i’m doing fantastic,” you deepen your voice to mimic his and yoongi shakes his head with a small laugh, “you better be okay,” he says at the end, and his voice is so soft, it feels like cotton pressed into your cheeks.

and you nod because if yoongi says you have to be okay, you’ll find a way to be okay.

but when he leaves, you are back to having just one home, with one toothbrush in the bathroom, one mug in the kitchen, one set of keys in your purse, one door, and one of everything else.

and you’re sorry to yoongi.

because you don’t know if you can be okay.

-

a couple days passed again.

you had an angry yoongi pacing in front of you as you watched.

“you’re being ridiculous,” yoongi shoves a hand through his hair, glaring at you as you sit with arms across your chest and refusing to look at him.

“i’m not,” you huff out and he rolls his eyes.

he did that a lot.

he did that a lot with you.

“i didn’t steal your plushie, are you fucking kidding me?” yoongi whines and walks away into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

you follow him and right at the doorway, you don’t enter, you just watch his even more sunken eyes and even more rounded shoulders with conflicted eyes.

a part of you wanted to hug him.

a part of you wouldn’t mind killing him.

a part of you wanted to kiss his shoulders to lift them.

a part of you wanted to leave a red mark on his face.

but all parts of you, you couldn’t trust or believe.

these past few days, you couldn’t trust or believe anything actually.

yoongi senses your eyes on him, he knows how you look at him and how you seem to show so much with just a gaze but he holds strong.

you were broken up.

you shouldn’t be here.

hell, he’s not sure if he should be here or not either.

but he betrays himself over and over again, he lets you into his house and you let him into yours, and he feels ridiculous every time he closes your door, he’s not sure what you feel when you close his.

“i threw it away,” he shrugs his shoulders, eye muscles tensing oddly, he’s not sure if you notice or not.

“what?” your whisper is so quiet, yoongi wouldn’t have known you were speaking if he didn’t see your lips moving.

“i threw it, okay? there was no use of it being around here anymore, so i fucking threw it away,” he didn’t mean for his voice to be loud, and he didn’t mean for his words to hurt but maybe he did, maybe he wanted to hurt you.

but he loves you?

but he’s also okay with hurting you.

to an extent.

yoongi had never understood why he couldn’t love properly, why his love for others and himself had to hold a touch of pain, a touch of misery, but it was always out of his control.

it had been different with you.

for a while, that is.

but he was back to his roots now, pain and misery and love and affection held his hands and danced around him.

and he had to dance with them too.

“i threw it,” he repeated, but your plushie was tucked into his pillows, into his sleep, and into his days and nights.

it was stained with salty tears now, it was stained with the ice cream he ate after he left your home, and he didn’t want you to see it.

for a moment, you both didn’t even twitch in the wrong direction, yoongi watched the dark liquid in his cup with growing intensity and you waited for him to tell you that your plushie was safe.

“fine,” you sniffled, grabbing your coat and stomping to the door and yoongi followed, he tried not to but his feet walked ahead of his mind.

at the door, you angrily shoved your feet into your sneakers and pushed your hair out of your face, as if to prove that you weren’t crying, that you weren’t affected and anyone else would believe you.

but yoongi knows you.

and he knows your red nose and cheeks can only mean one thing.

before you close his door, you say, “you’re a horrible person, yoongi.”

he thinks he knows what you feel when you close his door now.

hatred.

-

you swore to yourself that that would be the last time you turn up at his place, but you had genuinely forgotten something there and needed it this time, so you swallowed your pride and rang his doorbell.

you don’t greet him when he opens the door and yoongi feels like he could fall to his knees when you shove a bag with his favorite ice cream, matcha, and coffee (he’s a caffeine guy, he runs on it), into his hands and yoongi knows he’s forgiven.

“i forgot my trousers here,” you mumble afterward and head straight into his closet to dig through for the work trousers that you cannot live without.

yoongi doesn’t dare to utter a word, he looks through his closet beside you and apologizes when his skin touches yours in any little way.

you can’t believe there was a time when you would touch him as if his body was yours too and he would touch you the same. but his apologies just dug the truth deeper into your skin, which was that you didn’t belong to him, and he didn’t belong to you.

so, you nod, you bear your cheeks heating up and thighs going weak, and just look through his neatly organized piles of clothes too.

he used to organize your stuff too, he used to section them, fold them, and keep them neatly by his clothes.

that’s how you find your trousers, crisp folds, and fresh-smelling, right beside his work clothes.

and your heart squeezes as you pull it out.

the folds loosen, the trousers limp in your hands, and that small change in its structure, makes you think of yoongi and everything that fell apart with him.

when you leave that day, you pause at the door and whisper, “you’re not horrible, yoongi, but maybe i am, maybe i ruined everything, but please don’t hate me.”

before he can catch you and wipe your tears and tell you that you were right last time, he was the horrible one, he was the one who texted late, who came home late, who missed birthdays, but you were already running away and he was left with a lit cigarette burning his throat.

-

“i swear, it was here,” yoongi shifts the things around your closet, head buried deep in shelves and racks of clothes and shoes, you stand at the doorway with your arms crossed against your chest, trying not to roll your eyes.

“and you have a million other headphones, so i don’t understand why you would need to find this one,” you step into the room and lazily move things around to try and find it too, yoongi scoffs from a few feet away, “it was special to me,” he says and turns his back to you again.

“why?”

“my grandfather gave it to me,” yoongi huffs, and his hands stay busy.

but.

“your grandfather died when you were five,” there was no way his grandpa gave it to him and you know you’ve caught him.

he could’ve at least tried harder with his lies.

it was strange, seeing him here, standing in your bedroom, surrounded by things that no longer belonged to both of you.

you don’t think you’ll ever get over that feeling of loss.

the moisturizer you would’ve shared with him.

the cheap wig that he would wear to make you laugh.

the razor that you would hide to annoy him.

they only belonged to you now.

though you don’t bring up his grandfather to drive him away, you only say it because it was hard for you to understand why he was here, looking for headphones that he could buy tens of pairs of.

he pauses, you wait for him to say something else, or lie about a friend who didn’t exist who gave it to him, lie about his dad giving it to him.

but yoongi doesn’t say anything.

he keeps looking.

you refused to keep anything that touched you in the last three years.

well, except for some things.

“yoongi,” you call out, pointing towards the unopened box in your closet and he turns his head that way, quickly walking over to it and flipping it upside down.

the photo album that carried your first anniversary.

the promise ring that he gave you on your second anniversary.

the matching couple t-shirt which he cringed at but wore whenever he could.

the.

the.

the.

so many the’s and so many first’s and second’s of things that you kept, though ‘kept’ was the wrong word, you treasured these things, you loved them.

and all of them fell on the floor with noise that shook your ears and chest, not because of the volume but because it was like you were pouring your heart in front of him.

but you loved them in the past, you liked to think that you did and you were in the present now, watching yoongi eye the things you gathered without his knowledge.

and all of it was only yours now.

“when did you keep this here?” he asks, and you immediately know he’s asking about the simple diamond ring that everyone thought was your engagement ring.

but it was just a promise ring.

and you removed it when, “that day you didn’t come for my birthday,” you mumbled, picking up the things and putting them back where they belonged.

buried inside a box.

shoved into a closet.

but before, you pull out his headphones from the box and hang it over your head for him to take.

when he takes it, his fingers touch the smallest part of your palm and your eyes gather tears as if rivers were breaking a dam in them.

yoongi stands without saying a word for a long time but then he walks to the door, “you’re not going to close your door?”

you’re not coming to see me off?

you get up unwillingly and walk to the door without sneaking another glance at him and drop the ring into his palm, “bye, yoongi.”

his hands tighten around the band of platinum.

both of you look at the dangly, worn-out wires of his headphones that hang from his other hand.

you had given them to him for your first anniversary.

not his dead grandpa or dad or friend.

it was you.

and both of you refused to acknowledge that fact.

and when yoongi finally leaves, he leaves behind a space in the air that waits for him to come back and take his place again, in your life, in your home, in your space.

but he doesn’t turn back.

and you close the door, letting the space remain.

-

a few days went by again.

neither of you showed up at each other’s doors anymore.

neither of you had anything left to collect.

neither of you had anything that belonged to the other.

and it was strange, the quiet, the loneliness that crept on your back and it always hit at the most unexpected of times.

when you poured your cereal in the morning, you realized you were holding the box that you had bought while grocery shopping with yoongi, it was your favorite time of the month, the one time you could really feel that he was your person.

but the box was empty by the end of your breakfast and you kept it back in the cabinet.

when you arranged your clothes, you saw your messy folding and fell back on the pile of clothes that still needed folding.

how yoongi did this every day, you had no clue.

but as you lay in pieces of cotton, linens, satins, sequins, and many more materials that hugged and pinched you, you couldn’t help but think that surely, yoongi wouldn’t leave you like this, there has to be something of his that you still own.

there has to be something.

so, you got up and with renewed desperate energy, you started searching.

you pulled upon every desk, every closet door, every nook and cranny, you searched with shaking hands and watery eyes.

“there has to be something, there has to be,” you whispered to yourself, your voice choking as things fall over from the tall walls, they fall on your feet, and your toes, and a sharp pain hits you every single time, but you push through.

because.

there has to be something.

you can’t end it like this.

you and yoongi cannot end like this.

anyone else can.

but not you, not him and you.

and the closets you look through stay ajar, the desks you’ve emptied stay tipped over, and everything you own is on the floor.

but there is none of yoongi in any of it.

so, you sink.

you sink to your knees, sobbing and flipping over items as you reach them.

because goddamit, there has to be something.

when the bell first rings, you don’t register it, you are way too intent on the clutter in front of you.

but then it rings.

and rings.

and rings, again and again.

relentless.

and you push yourself up, hoping it’s no one you know because you don’t think you can explain the tears on your face.

but when you open the door, your mouth goes dry and you know you don’t have to explain anything.

because across from you, is a red-eyed yoongi and he’s carrying a box.

“can i come in?” is all he asks, his voice barely a whisper and you’re already opening the door and pulling him in.

but once he’s in your home, in your space again, the familiar soft and sharp scent of him, the sight of him, it was too much. you couldn’t breathe. your eyes never leave him, every breath he took, every shift of his fingers, every fall of his chest, all of it was dancing in your eyes and for the love of god, you couldn’t look away.

he sets the box down and stands there with his hands opening and closing around nothing, and you want to grab them, you want to spread them across your cheeks and feel his warmth, which was sometimes cold too but you didn’t mind, you never minded with yoongi.

but instead, you curl your hands behind your back and stop yourself because it still wasn’t right.

“i don’t have anything of yours,” you start, voice already breaking, ��anymore,” you finish with hands tightening so hard around each other that you could feel the bruises blooming on their surface.

“i know,” he takes a sharp inhale of breath and looks away from you and you want to beg him to look at you.

for a second, it’s just you reliving every second you weren’t with him and it’s him looking at your apartment that was void of anything personal, anything that called it a home.

“i want all of it back,” he sniffs, looking at you finally, you want to take it back, you aren’t sure how you survived three years of his eyes only on you and you squeeze your door handle, “all of what?” you whisper, and he sniffs again, “your stuff, all of it, your stupid scarf, your straightener, everything, i want all of it back, in my place, in our place, where it belongs.” he says it so quietly, so earnestly and each word has you pulling your skin tighter.

“your plushie is in this, i never threw it away but i’m taking it back, my t-shirts and headphones are in this, i’m leaving them here,” he bends over the box and starts picking things apart, and each thing he pulls out, fills you with relief.

but.

“but that isn’t right, yoongi,” you try to defend, “we aren’t together anymore,” you hate the words as they surface out of you and yoongi shakes his head.

“but is this right?” he lifts his hands from the box, his jaw trembling again and you instinctively smooth your hand over it and yoongi pushes his face into your hands.

“is it right, both of us miserable?” he whispers and the world bottoms out from underneath you, suddenly gravity is nothing and you’re both floating towards each other.

“but i hurt you,” you grip his headphones and this time, his tears fall the same as yours do, “i hurt you too.” he places a hand on your knees and that cold warmth, that bare touch leaves you open.

“but i’m done, i don’t want to hurt you anymore,” yoongi begs, he shakes his head as he says it as if he can’t believe there was a time that he had hurt you but you’re the same, you can’t believe that you hurt him once.

“before you came here, i was looking for something, anything that was yours so i could come back,” you sniffed loudly, your voice falling and lifting and yoongi listens with eyes that have always looked at you, “but i didn’t find anything, yoongi and it killed me.” your voice fully gives up as you bury your face into your hands and immediately, you feel his arms pulling you into his chest and his hands running down your hair.

“you don’t have to do that anymore, i’m back see,” he tips your face towards him and his smile is so soft, so real that it makes you smile too, “i’m not going anywhere.” he assures you with a kiss on the top of your head and your watery eyes dry out.

“me too, i don’t want this anymore, i want us, i want two of everything, i want you and i want everything,” you utter back to him, the weight of the words floating between you too.

“and you have it, you have everything again, the ring is in there too but that is for whenever you’re ready.” he kisses you again and you snuggle into his embrace, feeling like you’ve lost centuries of holding him, the thought of the ring swells your chest into a balloon that could snap, “that will take time, but thank you,” you whisper, kissing where his shoulders met his neck.

“like i said, whenever you’re ready but it will always belong to you.” yoongi whispers back and you smile in pure delight, nodding along to his words.

“we were stupid for thinking that we could stay apart,” you laugh hesitantly into his chest, the idea of the two of you trying to be separate was ridiculous to you and yoongi laughs with you, which makes you melt into his body, because it was ridiculous, you were two parts of a whole, two houses in a home, two mugs in a kitchen, two keys in your purse, two toothbrushes in one bathroom and two of everything else that you could think of.

and that was how it should’ve been, that was how it was always meant to be.

somewhere in the night, yoongi crawls up your sheets and your plushie is between the two of you and you make fun of him for acting as if he threw it away, he rolls his eyes and shushes you with a kiss.

“by the way, that straightener is yours, not mine,” you whisper and he is aghast, “i fucking knew it,” he yells and sits up, and immediately starts to complain “you know how stupid i’ve been looking with hair that looks just like holly’s!”

and you remind him, playfully this time, that what was yours was his, and what was his was yours and he falls on the bed, grumbling under his breath and complaining until the sun comes up.

and it feels right, everything that belonged to you and him back in their place, back in their homes and yoongi, back in your life, your home, and your space.

just as it should be, just as it was meant to be.

[taegularities]

you're okay | myg (m)

Summary: Let it hurt and burn. Let it out; and then let it fade away. Let it heal. Yoongi can't lift all your burdens, but he has taught you at least this much over the years.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: s2l/est. rel.; angst, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: this one's heavy :') pov switches, switching between past and present, reference to the d-day documentary, mental health issues, therapy, depression and anxiety, mentioned unaliving attempt, mentions of fainting, slight mention of SA, implied panic attack, lots of trauma, lots of sadness, healing journey/healing with yoongi, feelings of loneliness, feeling unworthy, oc is very unsure and thinks she's a burden, tears and crying; explicit sexual content: (brief) protected sex, oral (f. receiving), masturbation, kissing/making out. please heed the warnings <3 ➳ word count: 11.5k ➳ a/n: hi hi. not the average taegularities fic, i think. once again, please do note the warnings before reading. it's okay if it's too heavy and you need breaks – take care of yourself. it's a very very personal piece that i just needed to get out of my system. yoongi's snooze inspired it; i still cry when i listen to it – i'm thankful it saved me in so many ways, and i hope you feel the same way about this fic. i love you all; here's to healing and living 💕 ➳ listen to: snooze by agust d ft. ryuichi sakamoto & woosung 🤍

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

The weather changes at warp speed these days.

When you left just this morning, it was raining buckets. The shower barely allowed a glimpse at the sky, grey as smoke; ominous clouds were bursting, fast cars and busy passengers on the sidewalk rushing through the world.

You were one of them, not necessarily impressed by the downpour. But you smiled when someone halted, stretching an arm to force the doors of the bus open until you were inside.

The tender gesture lit up your gloomy morning, a proof of how the world isn’t all misery and ruin. For a couple minutes and hours, that stranger’s smile lifted the weight off your leather jacket clad shoulders. You were burdened by nothing but the bag hanging on your side.

But now, the same jacket is draped over your arm and feels much heavier than before; stripped off when the sun broke through the clouds around the afternoon. The additional weight gives you grief; you’re relieved when you hang it onto a rack, step out of your shoes and drag yourself to the bathroom.

God, all actions seem so passive these days.

Passive and automatic, just half-conscious. You’re fatigued and lost in your head. Frankly, you need your bed. You hate that you still need to shower. You wish you could skip that part and still keep your body healthy and clean.

And as you stand under the water, shifting your balance to the right leg and back, you realise that another work day is over and another one is coming. Interactions, productivity, the craving your bed. You need the weightlessness.

So much so that you soon feel the knot in your chest, intensifying, and the heat of the water combines with an uncomfortable breathlessness until your knees bend a little. Immediately, you plant your palms against the bathroom tiles, taking a seat on the shower floor.

You cross your legs; the thought of your father is immediate because he always taught you to take a seat wherever once you start feeling dizzy. Since that one adolescence day when you passed out and hurt your chin, you have followed this advice and prevented worse.

Your head spins for a moment, your chest tight; and you hear a dull thump. There’s an odd rustle in your ears, mixed with the sound of the dripping water; so you don’t notice the call of your name right away.

Keeping your answer absent for another moment, you only wrap your arms around your chest, just to keep yourself whole. You feel like your body might fracture into a dozen pieces.

The shampoo bottle that presumably caused the thump before rolls against you, and you gasp in uncomfortable surprise; immediately hear another slurred, “Hey! Are you okay? What’s going on?”

It's him; he’s always worried. Maybe that’s what you’ve been struggling with so much lately. The fact that you never suffer alone whenever the weight on your shoulder and brain drags you down too far.

A worried voice chimes again, breaking the sound of the shower jet, and you suddenly become hyper aware of his concern, rushing to finally get out. You exclaim a reassuring, “All good!” before the silence can prolong or betray you.

His calls stop, probably relieved when you add another, “Coming.”

You envelop your body in your towel; just a moment later, he knocks. You would’ve opened even if he hadn't.

Yoongi stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and breathes in the sauna-esque air. His mouth turns into a surprised circle, and he blinks before he blows out a breath and states, “You showered hot today, huh?”

“Mhh,” you hum, “the sun never keeps me from doing so. Feels good.”

He smiles, watches your lotioned hands hydrate your skin, very slowly and very delicately. When you sigh in something he interprets as fatigue, he asks, “Do you need help?”

Four simple words, but they soothe something in your wrinkly, grey brain. The knot of stress loosens just a little, and you sigh deeply, telling him, “Yes, please.”

He doesn’t hesitate to step behind you, picking up the pink, wooden brush lying on the laundry basket next to you to release the knots in your wet hair. For a couple of minutes, you indulge in the massage; and then wallow in the feeling of his hands on your face, taking over to do your skincare.

And then, gentle as he is, he helps you into your clothes. You feel somewhat pathetic, but most of all, thankful — anything to get through the night.

“You all set?” he asks once he’s done, palms on your shoulders. You touch the digits of his left hand, leading them to your lips to kiss them softly before you nod.

You follow him into the living room, detecting the still present sunrays protruding through the spots that the sheer curtains don’t filter. It’s not dark yet, but the light is slowly fading. The star is preparing to drown behind the horizon, dusk in motion.

The pretty hues give you a brief yet strange burst of motivation; often, you fear the night more despite its serene reputation. Too dark, too haunting.

Yoongi has already set the table; he starts to ladle the sundubu-jjigae into your bowl, rice in another smaller dish next to it. You sit; you feel endlessly indebted and silently terrified at once. The food looks amazing, so the taste isn’t the problem.

Your boyfriend is a good cook, and you thank the deities every day for his existence. It was much harder to get by and assemble a meal when you lived alone.

But your expression is still the opposite of what it’s supposed to be, and when he sees it, he asks, “You good? Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then eat a little, okay? As much as you can.”

You gulp, oblige. You know your body calls for it, so you listen to it, chewing a couple bites, even though it feels impossible to actually swallow. God; you need to stop your chest and stomach from trying to convince you that everything is heavy.

Your clothes, your heart, your thoughts.

You know it isn’t true. It drives you mad when your own brain proves this treacherous, attempting to lie to you like this.

Then again, energy dwindles faster these days. Your body knows; maybe that’s why you feel tired. You need to sleep — maybe that could help you feel a bit more feathery.

But shit, you wish there was a more efficient charger for human beings than sleep, so you could be productive. Your mind won’t let you sleep properly anyway.

“Is it good?” Yoongi asks, interrupting your thoughts. He’s always the first to notice when you’re overexerting yourself, even just at dinner.

“It’s very good,” you respond truthfully, even raising your voice to make yourself sound livelier, “as I’d expect from you.”

“Then I’m glad. Thought I’d make you something good, since you worked longer.”

“Always attentive, aren’t you?”

“I try to be.” His spoon drops in his bowl, and he reaches out, touching your cheek just long enough for your heart to stir. “How was work?”

Hm…

You don’t remember too well. You know you went there at least, and you know you did whatever you had to — but you can’t recall details. So all you say without dousing the atmosphere in negativity is, “As always.”

“Was Nayeon at work today?”

“Nope,” you tell him, sending wordless, good vibes towards your best work buddy. “Still sick. A stomach bug, I think. I really hope she feels better soon.”

“Sana again then?”

“Yeah, spent most of the day with her. She’s always so sweet, though… I should talk to her more often.”

You dig into your rice again, trying it with a bigger bite this time. Then, you shake your head in apology, looking back at Yoongi as you ask, “Ah, I’m sorry, baby… how was work for you?”

“As always,” he echoes, “thought of you a lot.”

“Mhm… obsessed much?” you jest, trying a little beam.

“You know me.”

That’s it. You nod; you understand the weakness of your smile, so you lower your head altogether. He sees; of course he does. Yet, he waits and watches you toy with your food. You know the question is approaching before it lands, “Another low?”

Another low…

You could cry. You could burst into tears immediately if you didn’t feel so… empty. A vacant soul, pieces coloured by nothing but him. Yoongi sparks the magic most of the time, even drilling through the numbness.

“Yeah,” you whisper, not crying yet, but the corners of your mouth drop. “It’s been a while.”

“Months, yes? Which is great, my love.” His voice is so mellow, deep, like an antidote. “You’re doing really well.”

“Yeah.”

You are. Because at one point in your life, you used to feel this way all the time. Ever since you found somebody to rely on, someone who listens, you’ve gotten a bit better. He puts you together as if he’s resolving a dispersed puzzle.

But certain phases at certain times still hit you unexpectedly, like a revved up truck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Yoongi offers.

“There’s nothing really to talk about…”

“Okay. Do it if you need to, though, okay? Eat a little more?”

You do. Fuck, you feel so babied sometimes; you wonder if he discerns things like this, too. That he isn’t really taking care of and loving his girlfriend, but rather babysitting a broken child.

You whoosh the thought away with a blink, finishing more than half of your meal before you set the cutlery aside. You down the last bite with cold water, sauntering to the bathroom, and then meet Yoongi on your bed.

He probably already put the food in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher; he must’ve operated rapidly to be here already, awaiting you. The laptop is open and its screen bright, and you know without stepping onto the mattress that he’s opened YouTube.

Less for him, more for you.

If he wanted to spend the remaining minutes of the night scrolling through reels, he could easily do so on his phone. But no… this feels more like an invitation. A quick, sweet date before sleep, just to watch a few animal videos that rarely ever fail to make you smile.

As you crawl into him, watching cats protecting newborn babies or dogs jumping their owners affectionately, you do smile. You laugh, even. You feel somewhat at ease here with him, but you know you’ll go back to ground zero in the morning.

When you’ve left and he’s gone to work.

And you hate it. You hate that you’re dependent on him like this… Yoongi calls it finding comfort in somebody you love, and you don’t disagree. But adding to this, you think you’re limiting his options by shackling yourself to him.

By demanding that comfort.

You sigh in his arms, breathing calmer than before, but not enough to sleep. Yet, he asks, “Hey… sweetheart. Are you awake?”

“I am.”

“I’m just thinking… Do you want me to call the therapist tomorrow?”

Shit… why does the ball of guilt keep growing? How does he think of this and you don’t? Have you really sunk this deep again? You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I… I should do it myself,” you mumble.

“I don’t mind.”

“No, I’ll just do it in the morning. I think I should… do things for myself, too, right?”

He pauses. Ponders your words; or at least, that’s what you surmise from the way he breathes and sighs and hums. And you’re proven right when he inquires, “Do you feel like I mind doing things for you?”

Yes. No.

No, you do not think so. But you sure as hell waste his time. Occupy it with this nonsense when he could be happier somewhere else, living his life, making plans for the future and rambling about the job he loves.

But no…

Fucking calling the therapist for you.

You break.

It always happens in the worst moments; you don’t know what it is, how it happens, but you break. Hard. Your motions stop, maybe even your breathing. But then you do sigh, so deeply that it burns, trying to keep your voice from shaking, to keep the tears at bay.

But this time, it doesn’t work. Emotions heightened when Yoongi utters something he’s provided as a reminder over the years, “Don’t hold back.”

So you don’t.

There were days when this lesson was necessary, a gentle nudge to release the weight, and today is one of them. You weep, starting with soft whimpers that grow louder steadily, and you press into his chest until you're suddenly sobbing.

You sniffle with an aching head, holding onto him for dear life, barely noticing when your sobs, once again, morph into absolute wailing.

He embraces you, tighter with each inhale and exhale. You’re so impossibly close to him, garbling something that he doesn’t understand. His voice is pain-struck and trembling when he encourages, “Come again, baby? Talk to me.”

It takes a while; it doesn’t work. And then, he chants, “God, baby. My baby… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” you cry out, slurring your words, “No… am a burden. Am fucking burdening you…”

This is a clear thought, isn’t it? Even in a moment like this, you think it’s true. And that maybe…

Maybe you should’ve never agreed to the lunch he offered you all those years ago. You would miss everything good in your life, lose the one thing you so cherish, but you’d at least rid him of you.

Those long six years ago, you should have just told him you were fine.

As a student, Yoongi always trod the same path from the second floor down to the entrance of the college, living into a routine — never really noticing much of significance. He’d see other students who’d be eating; talking; rushing to class.

And as a TA, Yoongi was used to another, different journey throughout the building, too; climbing down the same spiral staircase, hurrying through the scary, empty mezzanine, passing the same few rooms on the ground floor.

He’d prepare to go home or to the library after attending his favourite psychology professor’s classes, assisting him to his best abilities. But this was different from all the other familiar routes he’d grown accustomed to.

These Wednesday afternoons did offer something of significance. Someone of significance. 

Because every time he reached those rooms on the ground floor, you’d be there.

At first, he reckoned you always waited for your class to start, just at the time when his ended. But you were alone each time. The doors to the classrooms and lecture halls were all closed, and then there was you, a sole soul waiting for whatever miracle to appear.

It took a couple weeks for him to gather that you might not have been supposed to be there. He noticed it when he saw your eyes fixated on a spot, pupils never moving an inch, even when he walked past. At some point, he’d memorised just this expression on your face.

And then, bit by bit, he realised that your stance didn’t seem quite normal. Your eyes were dead, hands never flinching. You emanated a sense of loneliness and stupefaction that he couldn’t express in words.

Today, something in him stirred. Perhaps because he’d just covered social behaviour as a topic or perhaps because any proper human would recognise that something was wrong with you.

Your hands were holding a lidless cup that day, barely steaming anymore. You were blinking slowly, if at all. This time, he approached you with care, as if nearing a wounded deer; as if trying to keep it there and not frighten it away.

But when he leaned into you, a hand scarcely touching your shoulder, your head moved up to look at him slowly but surely. And your first reaction to him ever was a smile.

You remember that when you first looked at him, like really looked at him, his face seemed familiar to you. You were sure you’d seen him before, even if just in passing. He had this long, pretty, dark hair, covering his neck, a couple inches above his shoulders.

A kind face. A calm demeanour.

He stood there with pure relaxation between his eyebrows; one you hadn’t felt in a while despite your falling face. Flawless porcelain skin, free of dark circles, free of exhaustion. When did you last look like this?

You smiled at him instinctively, a curious expression; you couldn’t guess at all what he wanted or needed, but you were ready to listen. You���d always listen to people — listen, listen, listen. Perhaps that was the exact problem.

This very attention towards him, coming this easily, made your shoulders sink in new dejection; everything did. Every thought was intrusive, unwelcome, too stretched for your liking.

Whenever you had a normal thought or a bad one that’d at least pass immediately, you considered it a good day.

But you felt a tension around your temples by now; your head never felt at ease.

Yet, you asked, “Yes?”

And he wondered in return, “Are you okay? You looked distracted and I thought I might ask.”

“Oh… that’s nice,” you commented, your voice a bit too quiet yet surprised; you cleared your throat, spoke up, “but I’m okay. I just sit here sometimes after my classes.”

“You do?”

“Mhm. To take a little break after all the information dump, yeah. I’ll go home soon, though, no worries.”

“Hm… yeah. I just,” Yoongi started, hesitant — you now know he was trying to reveal something without appearing creepy. “I noticed you here a few times, so I wanted to ask just to be sure.”

He saw you here? You? And he came up to talk to you, just because he’d noticed you before? Baffling. You didn’t think you were visible to anybody. You thought you faded in front of others’ eyes.

“You’re honestly so nice,” is all you said, hoping your eyes didn’t reveal too much. How much his words affected you, and how they made you think you were just a little, a tiny bit perceptible.

“Sure,” he responded, nodding. And when you failed to come up with more appreciative words, he prepared to move, bidding you goodbye with a single, “Okay…”

Then, he was walking away; as grateful as you were, your energy-lacking body forced your eyes shut. You drew a deep breath. These few words you’d exchanged with him took everything out of you — that was the worst part of all this.

Interaction drained you. Loneliness drained you. The world and life were all draining, and you couldn’t figure out anymore how to feel… awake. Sober without ever drinking.

When your eyes closed, you felt your surroundings starting to spin. Or maybe, it was you; as if someone had gripped your shoulders and was turning you in circles. There were so many weird particles behind your eyelids.

The rotation was insane, but nothing new. Shut down most of your other senses and people’s voices; like the one that returned a second later, the same as before. Shit. Had he seen you struggle? Was he seeing something nobody else ever would?

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” the stranger with the familiar face asked, concern in his voice. “You don’t look like it.”

What was it? What was it about his gentle, low voice that lured you in? What was it about his attentive tone that made you want to tear up? Maybe because you’d bottled things up for so long.

But you held the liquid locked in your eyes. Proudly, barely.

“I’m…”

You considered lying. You considered pulling a lame excuse out of your ass. But something in you snapped, snapped hard, and the truth spilled just before you could think twice—

“If I’m being honest… I’m feeling pretty faint… I often do? I usually just need to sit down a bit or I’ll pass out.”

You hated using the word usually. As though your condition had become irreparable, like a chronic illness; and you were stating its treatment, only temporary.

“Hmm…” he hummed. “Have you eaten?”

“Not much…”

“Then that might be it,” he concluded, content with the deduction. In hindsight, you think he was hoping it was only that, nothing more. “Do you have something with you?” You shook your head. “Are you getting something?”

You shrugged.

You could’ve easily told the truth and said no; that the appetite was absent, that you were going to go home and hardly remember how you got there. That you’d throw your bag on the couch, take off all your clothes, not really bother for a shower and jump into your bed.

Then, you’d breathe. Survive.

You didn’t have the energy to eat, to shower, and right now, somehow not even to lie. The remainder of it had been used in today’s class and in this conversation.

He knew you couldn’t come up with any bad justification, so he offered, “Listen… I still have this sandwich with me that I was going to eat after class. You can have it if you want.”

What? That was…

“Oh, no,” you blurted, raising a hand to reject, “you should eat if you haven’t yet.”

“Look, I totally get being selfless, but you don’t look good and…” He sighed, tilting his head. Eyebrows raised and expression suddenly stricter. “If I can help anyhow, I’d rather have that than anyone else finding you unconscious here later. Please?”

How could you’ve resisted such a plea?

He was taking care of you and he didn’t even know you. And your body understood; your body heard him. Because your stomach grumbled at the mention of the meal; it didn’t mean anything to you, but it meant something to your hungry, craving body.

It often did that. Wishing to eat; then, not letting you swallow a bite.

You grabbed your bag and warily, carefully got to your feet. The man lifted a hand in caution, as if expecting for you to lose your balance. You did, just a little, swaying until you’d grounded yourself.

Goddamn it.

You nodded with a deep exhale and followed him as he suggested, “Let’s go to the courtyard. Get some fresh air. We can eat there and talk… or not talk if that's what you want.”

You kept moving your head up and down, fine with whatever. The fronts of it hurt due to the  lack of nutrition; it was past four pm and you’d only eaten a damn banana.

He found you a shadowy spot away from the sun; it was late spring, the summer steadily approaching. The shade protected your tired eyes, guarded you from further headaches.

As you plumped onto the grass next to him, your fingers grazed it for a moment — and it felt good against your skin. A pleasant combination, the wind and the scent of grass; nearly freed your chest of the stuffy pain.

You watched his soft fingers fish out the sandwich, and then some salted peanuts for himself. Urged you to eat before spilling a handful of the nuts into his palm. God, you felt horribly guilty, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince him to share the meal.

He… didn’t even seem to mind a bit.

Wiping his hand on his pants, he finally introduced, “I’m Min Yoongi. Psychology student and TA. Judging from your spot every single Wednesday afternoon, you take psychology classes, too?”

“I do… yeah.”

You took a bite enough for mouses, but then proceeded with a larger, human-appropriate one. Your stomach felt odd; Min Yoongi’s small talk helped you eat, but the nervous feeling in your chest that never really went away weighed heavily on your tummy.

You added, “Thinking of dropping it, though…”

“Why?”

“Because I might be failing anyway. Haven’t done much, and I still have a presentation on my paper left but have prepared nothing for it yet, either.”

“Have you asked the professor about a potential extension?”

Of course you’d thought about it. You always did. Which is why you despised having to answer, “No…”

No. Of course not. To most professors, mental health didn’t matter as an excuse.

You understood, though. They graded every paper they received, surrendering their free time, their summer and their winter breaks. To grant you special treatment was something you regarded as unnecessary; you didn’t think you were worth it.

“Do you feel like you could do better next term?” Yoongi asked.

“I don’t know.”

Your sandwich was done and gone. You were still hungry; you felt the appetite all of a sudden. You knew it often came and went in waves, but somehow, the sandwich left you more pining than anything these days.

Yoongi saw as you licked your fingers clean of the mayonnaise; offered you some peanuts that you politely declined, greedy for something proper. Maybe you’d eat an actual dinner tonight.

After a while, Yoongi spoke, “Okay, I know I’m a stranger to you and everything, but if you want, I could try to help you.”

Shit, but… that would’ve meant putting in the effort. To get up, to meet him, to focus and to study. You didn’t know if you’d be able to do all that. You didn’t know how to—

But his eyes were so sincere; a pure dark brown, sparkling in hope, for whatever noble reason. And you thought… you thought…

If there was any chance to pass this class and get over with it, wouldn’t you feel a gigantic wave of relief wash over you? After so damn long? Wouldn’t it be worth it? Maybe a spark of hope ignited in your chest after all… maybe you could turn things around.

“Yeah…” you finally obliged. “Yeah, that’s really nice.”

“Great. Are you free this Friday afternoon?”

After that, it became part of your routine to meet up with Yoongi every Thursday or Friday, depending on his own schedule. A couple weeks passed like a breeze; or at least, compared to the days you were used to.

Some time later, those meetings increased, and you found a profound liking in them. You still often struggled with leaving your apartment at all, sometimes deeming getting out of bed or brushing your teeth an impossible task.

But whenever Yoongi called, offering a nearby café — always a nearby café — you’d place all your energy into moving, throwing on clothes, leaving. You felt unworried with him; at least for a couple hours.

He wasn’t just smart to an admirable degree; he was humorous, too. Motivating. Praised you for your ideas and your sharp mind. You’d forgotten you still had it in you — you thought time had altered your brain chemistry, killed too many of its cells to still let your mind operate.

Today, he didn’t suggest a café but a place you hadn't been to before. Yoongi had never invited you anywhere that wasn’t a public space, careful with your feelings without ever mentioning the obvious issues you had.

He only really crawled out of his shell and gave you the address to this new spot once you’d invited him over, too — he couldn’t make it, helping out the professor he assisted. But you reckon it was telling enough for him to understand how comfortable you’d grown with him.

So you went where he told you to go, and once you arrived, you recognised it as an office. A small one, but elegantly decorated, furniture sparse. And it wasn’t just any office. A therapist’s office.

“This is my mom’s,” Yoongi explained as you inspected the books on the shelf and the overall soothing and fitting atmosphere, “she’s out of town, so I thought we could study here today.

“Oh…”

He had to have heard your hesitancy, your uncertainty. This is the place they usually suggest in guidance books and in conversation to people like you. You didn’t know how to feel; the emotions washing over you were an odd sensation. Not good, not bad.

But scary, somehow.

Yoongi put a soft hand on your shoulder, making you turn, and asked, “Is that okay for you?”

“Yeah… it’s just… I’ve only really thought and read about therapy, but never quite seen an actual room like this.” You shook your head, clicking your tongue. “It’s crazy. How have I never been in one despite studying psychology for so long?”

“Hmm, many students haven’t been.”

“Yeah.”

You stripped your bag off of you, taking a seat on the cosy patient’s couch. Pulled out your laptop and placed it on the table between you and where he seated himself on the therapist’s chair. 

Swallowing a strange lump, you cleared your throat, starting the study session with, “Okay, so… I was thinking about what you said about the research question last time.”

“Right…”

At this point, you couldn’t really fathom why, but he seemed reserved today, a little distracted. Still providing as much information and intellect as he could; but his thoughts were slower and his eyes gentler.

You think you studied barely forty-five minutes when Yoongi called for a break — unusual, because it was mostly you to announce a pause in thoughts, when your brain would demand a couple minutes of peace.

He sighed, hands touching his thighs and then got up to bring you something to drink. Came back with two cups of tea. You thought he’d be returning with a glass of water, but upon seeing the beverage, your eyes widened; you told him, “This is super nice of you, thanks.”

“Of course.” Pause. You slurped; then he did. A second later, he inquired, “Can I ask you something?” 

“Mhm.”

You waited. Nothing came. You took another sip of the fruity winter tea in the middle of summer, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat under your nose that the heat caused. Then you looked up, big eyes staring into his just in time to see his mouth open.

“You always seem so surprised when I’m nice to you.”

Ah…

He’d said he’d had a question, but the indication of an inquiry, the one lifting in tone at the end never came. His statement was his question. And you thought it wasn’t the first time you heard it; you just never noticed you were doing it again.

Yoongi left the conclusion there, and the question mark hung somewhere between the two of you. Unspoken, containing a silent, ”Why?”

So you answered, “I just… uhm. People don’t just do something like this for me without me asking. It’s new to me how attentive you are.”

Sad. Just sad. You hated having to actually echo your innermost thoughts; you knew this wasn’t normal.

He knew, too, because he said, “This… is not how things should be.”

“But this is how they ended up being. I mean it’s just tea. But I don’t think anybody else sees me sitting there and goes like, Okay, I’ll do this lil something for her, you know?”

“Which is insane. You deserve it all so much. More than anyone I know.”

If you’d still been drinking, you would’ve choked. Those words were rare, not often uttered to you; how were you supposed to respond to them? You’d long forgotten how to react to things at all — it didn’t come too naturally to you anymore.

So all you did was laugh a little, as if replying to a joke. Genuinely, you wondered, “How can you say something like that?”

“Why not?”

“I mean, you probably know so many people.”

Yoongi blinked at you, as if waiting for your argument to proceed; but when it didn’t, he lifted a shoulder, steadfast with his opinion as he answered, “So? What do you think? That you feeling that way about yourself makes everyone else feel that way about you, too?”

You shrugged your shoulders just an inch, imitating his motions. Your gaze fell, as though catching yourself spewing pure gibberish. He continued, “You have a pure heart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you being mean. And you’re strong, careful, and endure a shit ton.”

You looked up at him instantly. Let the last words reverberate in your mind, pushing them to the forefront between all your other messy thoughts. “Of course you knew,” you said.

“Of course. You’re so obviously hurt and I hate that you are.”

Well, you hated it, too. But… 

Your desperation came out in a whisper, “I don’t know what to do about it…”

You put the cup back onto the saucer; your fingers were warm when you pushed them into your hair, pressing your palms against your forehead, holding onto your mane. Elbows on your thighs. The world spun again until you felt his hand on your arm once more.

“Hey.” He sounded softer again. “Do you want to take a longer break? We could stop for today and talk?”

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to. But it feels to me like you’ve never done that before… people don’t want to listen.” His words hit you like bricks. Like heavy cement bricks. The pain was excruciating. “Is that it?”

You were still staring at your lap when he posed the question; your head whirred, so you didn’t know where to start. Which is why you held onto the first complaint — you knew they were valid worries, but you always called them complaints, like you were a burden — and said,

“I just… I listen to everyone. I let people vent, I let them feel hurt, and I try to be there and lend a shoulder and just,” the words cascaded out of you like a wild waterfall; your throat clogged up again, “to be a good person and a good friend.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, the pressure back in your chest. “But why do I not get any of it back? Why is it that everyone goes silent when I’m hurting? Do I deserve this somehow?”

You felt tears pricking and burning in your waterline, and you blinked them away. Took another quick sip just to help your dry throat. Then, “I hate that I sound selfish? Like I only do things for people to get love back, but… that’s not it. I just want to feel worthy of something, too.”

“You don’t sound selfish. It’s never wrong or inhumane to demand affection and care, and if it is, then… every person’s selfish. Whatever.”

Up until that point, you hadn’t known that someone could be this tender and direct at once. Yoongi lived in a reality that wasn’t sugarcoated, but he understood empathy and heartbreak, knew to dip his words in an ointment alleviating enough.

You wondered what he’d endured to become this type of person; sympathy and a mind this sage often stem from grief once encountered, and you so hoped he was an exception to this belief of yours.

You looked at him with delicate fondness, mixed with some lasting trouble. He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t know what came over you when you leaned into his palm, kept his gaze, and stayed in place when he moved in.

Kissed you.

And you didn’t know why, but the moment opened your heart as if it’d been locked before; he was the key, undoing the lock so easily. That was when the first tear rolled down your cheek, meeting his skin, and you started trembling as he moved his mouth against yours.

You couldn’t grasp why he was doing it; even if parts of you knew. Did he not care that you were broken? That you were still breaking? That the ache always consumed you, that you felt whatever your brain inflicted on you throughout your entire body?

Maybe not. He always said you were funny, sweet, never humorous at anybody’s expense.

It was different from the things you’d heard before.

Nobody will love you like this.

Stop acting like you’re traumatised.

I didn’t love you — I kept you because you were attractive. Because you let me.

You had always asked yourself: why had your feelings always been shoved aside when you voiced your opinion? Whenever it differed from the one in your family or your friend’s circle?

Why were you told to never open up about your childhood memories? When you were caged in; when somebody three times your age indulged in impudence when they shouldn’t have, long ago when you were a child; when you fell in love at a later age and were forced to let go?

Why were you told you were tainted, that you couldn’t get any affection like this, to keep your pain to yourself and forget about your past? And why was this sequence of nightmares plaguing you right now, like you were dying, just when he was kissing you…

Because you were scared. So scared.

If you told Yoongi any of this, would he bolt? Would you hurt yet another person? Would he see you as a shattered porcelain doll, distance himself from you? Because honestly, why would he stay at all; with someone who hasn’t healed, who’d pulled him underwater, too?

Yet, you didn’t say any of this. You sighed; leaned into him. Took residency in his heart, cried into him.

He kissed you for another second, and then backed away. Wiped your tears. You broke and broke until your voice broke, too, giving way to quiet sobs.

You weren’t used to attention. You weren’t used to someone noticing.

And somehow, the realisation hurt anew, deep in your core and beyond.

Your tears had mostly dried when he resumed his position, sitting in front of you. His fingers were entangled and he waited.

Yoongi knew you’d cry again, though. The patient’s couch had some magic to it, his mother always said. They’d always cry, but they’d heal at the same time. Recognise hidden parts of themselves.

He was uncomplaining and composed, and kept looking at you until you said, “It just feels… like I’ll never be enough. I can do as much as possible, but none of it is ever seen because I’m taken for granted.”

“Who takes you for granted?”

“Everyone. I’ve spent many nights awake for people, and they abandoned me. In a crowd, others will always be praised for one thing and I’ll be ignored for the same. It’s made me bitter.”

He nodded in true therapist fashion, but his expression wasn’t as neutral as one; he looked pain-struck for you. Said, “You’ve been hurt… I see that…”

“I’m… hurting,” you corrected, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Yoongi attempted a different approach; you were in a hopeless spiral, and the strategy he needed to try wasn’t just to dig out your trauma, but to make you familiar with the good parts of your life, too.

So he asked, sincerely hoping you had an answer to his question, “Who could you trust as you grew up?”

“I don’t know…” Yoongi’s chest deflated, motivation dropping — that is, until you muttered, “My brother.”

“Parents?”

“Part of the problem.”

Okay; your answers came more rapidly now. He took it as a good sign; as readiness to talk.

“Where’s your brother?” he wondered.

“In this town,” you answered, and Yoongi sighed in relief. “But I can’t bother him with all of my shit.”

Your symptoms were as typical as they could be; you regarded your self-worth as buried deep under the ground, never wanting to disturb those who still deemed you close and loved. You’d established this distance between you and the others; he didn’t blame you.

The symptoms were typical.

“Why do you think so?” Yoongi prodded, whispering your name when you didn’t answer.

“I’ve bothered them all enough…”

“How so?”

Maybe he was doing too much. But it seemed you were on board with it; you weren’t complaining, not sighing, not withdrawing. You were listening and talking. Nobody let you talk, and now that you were, you looked like you needed to let it out.

You spat, “Because they never seemed to want to hear anything.”

God…

It hurt to see you like this. Damp eyes, a heavily rising chest, as if you were close to panicking again, but desperately holding back. He knew it; he saw it in the way you drew your breaths and in the things you said.

He knew you’d braved multiple nights and many, many sleepless hours before, spending these dark moments clutching your chest, trying to get rid of the unbearably tight feeling in your chest.

He knew that torturous pressure. He’d been there before. The persistent feeling of fear and unease — like somebody had dropped a weight onto his ribcage and tied up his stomach. The shallow breathing and thumping heart would strip him off focus.

Thoughts circling and circling, around each other; absolute bullshit most of the time.

He couldn’t imagine how overwhelmed you felt, but then again, he could. Was the world louder to you, too? The way it used to be for him. Did you hear that constant screaming in your head?

Vulnerable, senses heightened, sensitive to the slightest change.

He hated the thought of a wall between you and your peace. Hated hearing the words you narrated; of your home, of your childhood, of the people you met. The disrespect you suffered and the dirt you were treated as.

You deserved none of it.

Maybe he felt that way because nobody ever deserved it; or maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you. Not because he needed to save you, or because he felt like falling for someone who he’d have to fix could be a welcoming challenge.

He knew people who treated depression like this; saviour complex in full effect, they needed to be the hero or heroine to stitch a broken heart.

No — he fell for you because you were you. Despite everything and every pain you endured, you were still you; and most of the you that you were before you got hurt this badly was still there, under the surface.

He saw those joyful parts of you reemerge sometimes, breaking through the waves. Sometimes, right before your head would fall again; your body weightless; drowning — he saw those parts on those days for a split moment.

But not right now.

In fact, the true parts of you that knew to feel happiness were absent now, and he knew — in that sense, he was prepared for you to utter what you said next. Was ready to hear it, no matter how little he actually wanted to hear it.

“And sometimes, when it got too much…” You gulped. Yoongi knew what you’d say; he knew. But— “I didn’t feel like being here anymore. It seems that was the only and last time I opened my family’s eyes.”

But when you still said it, it stabbed his heart like a dagger.

“Only, after that… it soon became irrelevant again,” you continued, “they told me I should be thankful for being alive and regret the mistake I made… what I tried.”

And you spoke on. Spoke on and on. He leaned back, allowing himself a better position to breathe. His heart felt like a sewing pin cushion, riddled with tiny holes. His eyebrows furrowed in agony, but he saw worse pain in your eyes.

Tears slowly reappeared.

“And when I was judged for this, too… I realised I didn’t regret ever trying to leave the world. I regretted that I’d failed to do so.”

Maybe he felt that way because nobody deserved it; maybe because he knew he’d fallen in love with you.

But your words split him in a million tiny shards, like glass, until his pieces became tiny enough to resemble dust.

”Am a burden… Am fucking burdening you…”

Yoongi’s voice defeats the others in your head just barely; as if you’re separated by a glass wall and hearing him from afar, only clearing when you hammer through it and break the surface. He’s quiet compared to your cries, a hand firmly on your back.

His grip around you wants to glue you together so desperately; he’s not letting go, even though you get restless soon, quivering and ruining his shirt.

“Hey, baby…” you hear him say, but you interrupt, obstinately shaking your head.

“No… I’m— I never should’ve let you this close and—”

“No.” It’s his turn to interject. And he does it with determination; tone suddenly so low, cold, so you silence. “Stop.”

You do, only now noticing that he’s imprisoning your wrists in his grasp. Not painfully, but still solidly enough for you to understand what he means. You confirm it for yourself when you look up.

You already know your eyes are bloodshot, cheeks thoroughly wet; but you still recognise the heavy breaths he draws. See something entirely different in his eyes than yours.

Pain.

You hurt him. And this time, you could once again lament your destructive behaviour, argue how you keep inflicting these shit ass feelings on him. But…

The ache in his expressions says something else entirely. Fills you with hope, fills you with guilt.

Shows you that he despises the thought of you possibly regretting this relationship. His gaze proves that he doesn’t. That if he could go back in time and meet you again, talk to you again, fall in love with you again — he would.

You know it because he’s said it before. You know.

But your brain is half melting, hurting, spitting all negative assumptions at you like nobody’s business.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you stammer, pierced by the sorrow in his eyes.

“What?”

“I… shouldn’t have said that,” you start, gulping. Your crying ebbs down for a second as you register the growing agony in his heart, and you explain, “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I can’t stop thinking that…”

Break in conversation.

Then him again, “…That?”

“That you’d be better off without me. That you’re here so I stay alive and that you’d be less burdened with someone else…”

Another pause. 

He stares at you, as if pondering his answer. Bites into his lower lip softly and releases it right away. Blinks, looks to your wrists, lets go of them and then whispers, “Do you want to know? What I’m thinking, do you want to know that, too?”

“…What are you thinking?”

“That it’s true that I’m burdened.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

The pain is searing, a burning arrow shooting through your heart. It’s what you expected and what you feared and what still hurts so much upon hearing and—

Are you crying again? Are you tearing up? You don’t know.

You’re not sure, but it does seem like you’re breaking once more when he shushes you carefully, touching your cheek. He calms you, and then speaks again—

“Of course I’m burdened, too. Yeah, of course. I’d be lying if I said seeing you like this doesn’t make me feel helpless… but do you know what it means that I’m still here?”

Your voice trembles when you speak, “Because you’re scared of leaving me in this condition.”

“No. I learned early enough to prioritise myself when I need to. No, I’m not leaving because I don’t want to — simple. Because I’ll share your, mine and the world’s damn pain along with my heart. ‘Kay?”

Retrospectively, his words sound logical. He said it’s simple, and in some way, it is. If you didn’t have the brain that you have, it would be. If you weren’t so neck-deep in the quicksand pulling you into doubts, you’d be less surprised at the finality in his tone.

“Baby—” you start, but he squeezes your hand, eyes glistening.

“We have enough enemies in this world. Don’t regard me as one, too. Okay? Please…”

“No, you’re not,” you defend, moving your head and the palm on your cheek along with it, “you’re anything but that.”

He nods, sniffling; you know he’s holding back the same salty, pouring liquid as you. He’s always done that, providing a sense of strength and safety to make you feel just that.

“We’ll be okay one day, love. The world hurts us a shit ton, and life is difficult, but…” His voice cracks here, and he waits to regain control, sighing. “We only get one of it and… it’d be so unfair if we were destined to stay like this, right?”

You don’t believe in divine beliefs that seemingly predetermine how your life plays out. Fate or destiny or whatever synonyms to notions that Jung or Freud believed in. You’ve heard of this stuff plenty in your studies, but it never affected your curiosity much.

You know Yoongi isn’t necessarily a representative of it either; not one to dive too deep into things that suggest the potential absence of a free will.

But the thought provides hope when nothing else does. You know. The fact that you can’t leave this world without fixing things; that you’re here to contribute to much larger and more important things.

You cannot have been born to spend your days here without the joy you deserve.

You’ve felt much of it thanks to Yoongi, but you’ve had too many setbacks to call this a proper life. You don’t want to end it like this. You don’t want to grow old like this.

And you want to gift him the life he deserves, too.

Fuck…

You need to get better. You need to get better. You need to get better.

You need to help yourself. Even if it takes time; even if the non-linear process of healing irks you, stealing hope and leaving anguish in turn. And it’s as if Yoongi reads your mind when he says—

“It’s okay, you know? To feel that way. It takes time. It doesn’t matter how much, but it’s okay to fall back and have ups and downs, as long as you don’t give up. Yes?”

“I can’t, I know… I— I won’t give up. I just… need you to be here.” Your voice is unsteady, and your heart is, too; fickle as can be. But you’d rather hang onto the aspiration right now… nothing else. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? I’ll fix this for us, I will.”

“For yourself first. I’ll be here, no matter what.”

“…I love you.” Your breathing is staggered, leftover pain still keeping the anxiety in your chest. It’ll take a while. But there’s power in your admissions when you repeat, “I love you so much.”

You lean in carefully, and he mimes the movement, bending into your kiss. It’s a peck, soft and gentle and encouraging, and you murmur through your sniffles, “So, so much.”

And then you climb up, using all your strength. Half your body comes to a rest on his; the immediate proximity and warm touch evoke motivation and longing in your heart. For not only him, but every second of a possible serene future, too.

This very hope is often born and reborn at the end of your lowest lows. It’s what pulls you up again, keeps you going each time before the next valley can swallow you. Sometimes it takes longer, sometimes not.

But you so desperately want this. Want it to work now.

You want to be okay. Want to travel and soak in the sun. Want to dance in the rain and scream from the peak of a mountain; want to snorkel in clear, blue seas.

The life you picture for yourself, the one you follow in those healing vlogs on social media — it’s what you yearn for. It’s what you want to feel. With him on your side.

Sometime in the future, you see yourself beaming in genuine happiness, see yourself smiling. And you want to work towards it. You’ve always wanted to.

Ever since Yoongi first showed you what love, contentment and merriment felt like, you’ve craved this. Ever since that night he told you he loved you, despite everything.

Despite, despite, despite.

He was there to catch your fall when you couldn’t keep yourself upright anymore. When your knees weakened and the ground turned into clouds, and you plunged through them and towards the cemented earth that’d shatter you.

He aided you in staying whole. Let you lean against his shoulder, nodding off into a slumber there, allowing you to dream because until then, you didn’t dare to.

You thought dreaming was pointless; just a fabrication of the unconscious mind to distract you from the horrors of the world. To keep you occupied, to torture you even when asleep. As time passed, you started making these horrors your life, and the line between reality and fantasy thinned.

Until…

Until he turned those nightmares into daydreams. Blossoming, vibrant colours appeared where you’d perceived greys before. Somehow, you fell apart a lot less when Yoongi spent his time with you, taught you to love again.

You became less terrified by dreams then, because the content changed. And whenever you weren’t dreaming, away from sleep, you experienced the utopia you’d always sought.

The day Yoongi first told you he loved you, you’d long defeated the semester you’d so worried about; started and survived the one after; and were now already tackling your very last one.

Even after all these months, you never let him forget how grateful you were for passing the last summer semester eventually, and in return, he never let you forget that he’d stay even after.

You didn’t study all the time anymore either; now, your afternoons and nights were filled with gentle words, promising embraces, lips against lips. It took some time to truly open up. To stop feeling like you were making a mistake.

“Doing yourself to him,” you called it, as if you were about to hurl him into his very own mistake.

Even then, you wanted to get better for him; you knew it hadn’t and wouldn’t happen overnight. All of it was much easier said than done; healing sounds so doable for those who attempt to support those who need it, yet they cannot grasp the meaning of a broken heart and scared mind.

But there was something so wonderful about the simplicity between Yoongi and you. So simple that it called forth feelings so complex. 

They were tough to navigate, but never tough to admit.

That March night, the sentiments roamed your body the clearest, even though the skies were anything but that. The thunder sounded like the universe had cracked; the white and silver of the striking lightning illuminated your room.

It was the night you felt hope in all its glory, for the very first time in years.

“You keep hiding from me,” Yoongi said, legs crossed like yours, sitting vis-a-vis.

He was close enough for your knees to collide, and when they did for the umpteenth time, he put a careful hand on your fingers resting on your thigh. You didn’t protest, so he didn’t withdraw.

“I’m not hiding from you. I just…” you stalled, “I just want you to be sure.”

“About you?”

If it had been this easy, you wouldn’t have asked. Because you knew the answer to this. Yoongi didn’t need to explain it to you; he was already certain about you to an indisputable degree.

You shook your head. Elaborated, “About everything. I don’t just come with the few good times we had the last couple of weeks. I come with… everything I’ve ever experienced and that shaped me into this.” You gestured over yourself. “You’d notice soon.”

“I already do.”

His answers and arguments came promptly, as if he knew the script to this talk and had already thought out every response he’d be giving. This was so effortless to him; thinking about it today, you wouldn’t even have needed to say a word.

But it was important to you. You couldn’t permit him to grow this attached without making sure.

“You just take it, do you? All that I am,” you concluded delicately; wanting to inform him, but so terrified of scaring him away. “But if you fall for me, then you’re committing. And I want you to think about it because I don’t— I don’t want to ruin your life.”

When he spoke again, he seemed to finally deviate from the script he knew; because confused, he asked, “If?”

“What?”

“What do you mean, if I fall for you?”

Oh… oh.

You understood. It didn’t take the tiniest of nanoseconds for you to fathom what he meant. And you could’ve sobbed right there and then, but the storm distracted you a little; the thunder was growling, threatening to explode again.

Somehow, the chaos outside kept you at bay. But only for so long.

“…Yoongi.”

His fingers moved from yours to your entire palm, taking it in his with a whisper of your name. Then, he clarified, “The possibility of something happening is redundant if it’s already happened, you know? And I’m…”

You held your breath, but at the same time, you were nearly panting. Maybe one first, then the other? You can’t remember anymore. You felt dizzy. Teary-eyed and joyful at once when you saw him at a loss of words.

“You’re?” you encouraged.

“I’m just so… feet deep underwater and in love with you that you couldn’t stop me if you wanted to.”

“I—”

“I love you. You know I do.”

Fuck… fuck, you knew.

Of course you knew.

Your heart was vile at times, cooperating with this demon of a brain and feeding you wrong information. But this, you knew. You fought through the congested mess of thoughts and admitted this to yourself every day.

Isn’t this why you were having this conversation in the first place?

But to hear him say it…

I love you.

You know I do.

“Even if you try to deny it,” he continued, “you know I love you and that I’ll keep doing it.”

This is when your waterline gave up; lined with the liquid you’d always held back. But why? There was no reason to. You felt at peace; Yoongi knew your heart. There was no use in keeping you closed off anymore.

So you cried. Let the first tear roll that he caught with his hand, holding your face so firmly that you thought it was the only thing keeping your head upright. Optimistic.

“There’s… there’s a chance that I start doubting you,” you contended for whatever stupid reason, sniffling, “that I doubt myself and then regret pulling you down with me and— there’s a chance I forget that you’ll keep loving me, no matter what, you know—”

“I’ll keep reminding you.”

“I’m a handful.”

“My hands are big enough, baby.”

The endearment didn’t slip past you, but instead made your beating organ swell. You don’t think you’d ever heard your pulse pounding in your eardrums this loudly. And he kept inching closer; his forehead nearly touched yours until it did.

“Can you love me even if I fall, Yoongi?”

“I’ll pick you up. You know that.”

“…What if you feel like you’re not good enough?”

Stop asking questions. Stop stop stop.

But he kept answering.

“Remember what you told me a couple days ago?” Yoongi asked, his voice quiet, drowning in the storm. “That it’d been long since you’d felt happy like this.”

“I do right now… I just…”

“Yeah, and I— I think. If I’m able to stay by your side and make you smile anyhow? Then I think this… we… are good enough.”

That’s it. Your throat was dry, your mind out of questions. You could renounce doubts if he didn’t have any either. He seemed convinced enough; so you admitted your own convictions to him, too.

“I’m… I love you, too. I love you, I fucking do.”

Your last word was cut, merely a breath. Swallowed when you leaned in and kissed him, pulling him back with you onto the bed. Yoongi landed on top of you, draping the two of you under the thin, floral blanket.

The early spring rain tapped your window softly before the gentle noise turned into more aggressive knocking and hammering. This very storm they’d announced was the reason Yoongi had stayed tonight.

That’s what he’d told you at least; in truth, it was an excuse.

Before today, you rarely spent your nights together.

Whenever you did, he allowed you your space in order to not overwhelm you. He knew you were cautious, slow, took your time to trust. He’d sleep on the couch or crawl back to you when you approached him in the dead of the night.

Touching his elbow gently, shaking him awake, telling him so sweetly that it drove him insane, “I don’t want to be alone.”

So he’d cuddle in when you sought out his arms, dozing so peacefully. It delighted him because whenever he didn’t slumber next to you, he’d hear you from the other room. Woefully moaning in your sleep, as if crying, turning.

He never saw or heard any of that when you leaned into his embrace, held onto his shirt. Never did anything more than sleep; he was content with that.

But tonight was different, less chaste than that — and he was content with that, too. 

You said you’d wanted to talk. And you had. You’d trembled through the conversation, heart combusting in your chest like it wasn’t part of you anymore, that treacherous thing with its own, stupid will.

But it thumped differently now when he kissed you like this. You felt the change so clearly when he held you, pushing you into the mattress; stripping you naked bit by bit; asking over and over again if you were okay, if he should stop.

You lived differently, too, when he pecked your bare skin, up and down, from head to toe, to and fro. His tongue explored your waist and your thighs and the wetness between your quivering legs.

And you loved differently when he immersed himself in you. Sighing and moaning against you as his tongue lapped you up. You felt the chills everywhere. Felt your shoulders rise, your hand in his long hair, the oxygen running out.

You’d nearly forgotten how such a moment felt — then again, you’d never experienced it like this before. You could barely breathe, and for the first time, you loved it. For the first time, it wasn’t your usual reason.

But the picture of the man over you pumping himself, covering his cock in the condom you’d bought weeks ago, just in case. Back when he started hanging around at your place. He was surprised about your preparation; was delighted about it, too.

And God… God, when he kissed you, sheathing himself in you, every inch connected with every piece of you. Souls and hearts and bodies merging. Moving in and out slowly, then a little quicker, cradling your face and kissing your neck.

Between all that, he kept asking if you were doing okay, and you said you’d never felt better. And the best part was that you fucking meant it and that’s when you knew—

That Yoongi warmed your coldest, most frigid spots. Helped you find a sense of heat that you’d long forgotten, that not even summer could ever bring back. The spring was right inside you, in the middle of your chest despite the rain.

But at the same time, somewhere next to it, he was there, too, becoming the storm that raged outside.

All at once, you remembered again. Even if you might forget in your worst times; even if he’d really need to remind you again.

You remembered that you could be loved, and that you were deserving of love.

You remembered that love towards somebody is often subjective and it’s not entirely up to you who feels it for you, and that only because somebody else was unable to give it to you the right way… it doesn’t mean everyone would act the same.

Yoongi was the spring and the storm; the rainbow you saw the next morning as the sky cleared.

Your mother used to struggle with migraines. Back then, you’d see her tied to the bed for half a day, struggling to get up, sleeping for a couple hours after swallowing her sumatriptan.

The evening or the morning after, you’d ask her how she was doing, and she’d say the headache was gone, but that some of the pressure still lingered. She’d feel it in the heaviness of her head, like it was falling against her clavicles.

Back then, you were too young to understand; you still don’t suffer migraines, knock on wood. But you somehow get what she meant — you guess the same applies to any other part of your body.

Like the soul.

They say a body becomes lighter after death since the soul leaves; and the morning after bawling in Yoongi’s arms, you feel the opposite. Like your grief makes you weigh more than during your good days.

Like you’re heavier than a month ago, without gaining a single kilogram.

But at least that means you’re alive. A soul intact.

And, just like your mother’s medicine, the night alleviated at least some of your pain. Maybe it was the conversation with Yoongi. Maybe the reassurance that he didn’t perceive you as the task you thought you might be.

Many years ago, you refused to seek help in others; be it loved ones, a partner or a therapist. Yoongi taught you to own who you were and to admit the problems you faced; that they were as valid as anything else.

Living with him and loving him this profoundly showed you that it’s okay to confide in someone. That someone will care. But it also taught you that ultimately, nobody is responsible for your well-being as much as you are.

That to heal, you need to accept yourself. That to accept yourself, you need to acknowledge the issues you face.

And for that, you need to be ready to combat your demons, understand that they can be fought.

You’ve always known that. In that sense, it isn’t true that you’re fully dependent on Yoongi. You know deep down that you’ll be the one pulling you out of this.

But…

It’s never bad for someone to initiate that thought process, is it? Even when it’s you emerging from the grave you dug for yourself; it’s okay to grab the hand as the earth breaks, pulling you out of the dirt and darkness.

Yoongi is the rope helping you out; but you’re the one to walk on once the endless well ends and you spot the daylight. You can rely on him. You can rely on yourself.

You’ll be okay… you’ll be okay.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks as you slip into your shoes. You look up, and nod, your smile soft. “Just a few more days, right?”

Right. 

You’ll live day by day. Survive the hours, strive towards a better future. Count your blessings, find things to look forward to. It’s alright to fall sometimes, and whenever you do, you’ll remember you’re not alone.

That you’ll get up eventually. You hold onto this.

And onto those few last days until vacation calls. You booked it so long ago; it can be that one thing to grasp, to look forward to, right?

And… you laugh. Because you remember Yoongi telling you to get your nails done, that he’d even go with you. “But do not forget, because blue suits Greece and I’d love to see the colour on you.”

You act like you don’t know what his plea means. You act like you don’t know how much he loves you. How this very approaching plan of his proves that he couldn’t even let go of you if you gave him another reason to.

Isn’t this enough to understand that he never feels guilty of loving you?

Why are you so afraid…

Because.

Yoongi never viewed your pain as something you had control over or something you caused; whoever hurt you is at fault, not you. And Yoongi knows that; knows that you matter, with your past and present and future, however cruel they might be.

But despite the fact that your past made you who you are, and that your future will determine how you’ll further turn out to be, Yoongi always preaches to focus on the controllable.

We won’t ever be able to manage the future entirely; maybe you won’t even ever be faced with the fears you harbour, you know? The past is the past, the present is the present and the future is the future. They will torment us if we put too much meaning in them.

I know it’s hard. But it’ll be alright. One day, it will be — you’re okay.

It has to be…

You’ll be okay. You’re okay.

The weather might change at warp speed — but soon, it’ll be sunny again.

i know i said it's okay if you skip this one, but if you're reading this, you might not have, and i'm thankful for that <3 i needed these feelings out of my system, so it felt very cathartic to me. maybe it helped you a little, too? i hope so, at least – things will be okay 🤍

what do you think? since you're here, i'd love to know how you feel about this piece 💕

[sxgakookie]

Summary: Your husband has found your behavior to be annoying at best, and he knows exactly how to make sure you’re back in line. Genre: Smut (dom! and mafia!Yoongi x reader) Rating/Warning: Adults Only (Strong language, explicit sexual content including dom-sub roles, anal sex, sex toys, oral sex [f receiving], unprotected sex, light choking, spanking, praise kink, daddy kink, degradation kink, female and male orgasm, brief aftercare.) Word Count: ~ 2.5k

When Yoongi walked into the bedroom, he was happy to see that you obeyed him for the first time that day. You, his beautiful wife, had acted like a brat since that morning. Whiny, demanding, spoiled, calling his office and interrupting meetings. He knew he spoiled you, and in all honesty, he knew he’d continue to do so. Being the wealthiest crime leader in Korea allowed him to. A closet of designer clothes, the best vacations and the most expensive restaurants for your date nights together. But when you acted like a brat, he knew he needed to discipline you properly and remind you of your place. He was your husband, and he demanded respect. 

You were bent over in the center of the bed, with your head resting down in the soft pillows. Your eyes were covered with a silk black blindfold, preventing you from seeing anything. You wore only black lace panties, with your breasts exposed. The panties themselves were a revealing pair of thongs, presenting your body for your husband to use as he liked. You waited patiently, as Yoongi rolled up the white sleeves of his button-up dress shirt. 

“What a fucking slut.” He murmured, walking over with the tap of his shiny black loafers hitting the floor. He caressed the soft skin of your bottom, before grabbing a handful to grope you properly. “You’ve been a real fucking brat today, honey. Did you know that?” 

“Yes, sir.” You mumbled. 

“Louder.” He demanded, earning you a harsh smack on your ass. 

“Yes, sir!” You repeated louder, feeling your skin grow hotter after the hit. 

“That’s better.” Yoongi said, walking away to go to the special drawer of your shared dresser. Your ‘toy box’, he often referred to it. “Speak up when I ask you a question. When you’re bratty, you know I don’t have a choice but to discipline you. What are the rules of your punishment, honey?” 

“Red light means stop. Yellow means we need to take a break. Green means go ahead.” You repeated your previous lessons. 

“Very good.” Yoongi said, kneeling on the bed behind you. “So it seems like you can listen when you want to.” 

Your breathing picked up in anticipation with your husband being so close to you. You hadn’t had disciplinary sex in quite some time, and you knew your husband enjoyed bringing you to your breaking point. Yoongi loved watching you sink deeper into your submissive headspace, as he coaxed all the attitude out of you, leaving you fucked out and compliant. 

“You’ll receive 20 spankings.” Yoongi’s tone sounded nonchalant, teetering on boredom. “You’ll thank me after each one, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Very good.” He nodded, starting off with another soft caress of your skin, before landing down a hard, loud SMACK onto your skin. 

“Thank you, sir.” You cried, feeling your skin sting. 

Another. “Thank you, sir.” Another. “Thank you, sir.” Another. “THANK YOU, SIR.” You sobbed, feeling the hot sting of your skin. 

“Color?” He paused, looking at the bright red marks your ass. 

“Green, sir.” You responded, gripping the sheets. 

“That’s my good girl.” He hummed, continuing his assault on the soft skin of your ass. 

Yoongi grew hard in his slacks, watching as you took each hit. He loved disciplining you, and loved how quickly your body reacted to it. You melted so easily, complying with thanking him, as he could see the wetness growing between your legs. You loved it just as much as he did.

“One more.” He said, placing one more hard hit onto your ass. 

“Thank you, daddy.” You whimpered. 

“You did very well.” Yoongi praised. Your skin was red, glowing with his punishment. “I’m going to remove your panties now.” 

You felt the fabric slide down your thighs, and stopped right where your knees were. Not taken off any more, just enough to allow your husband access to what he needed, and to expose your body to his eyes. 

Then, you felt his fingers and the cold metal of his wedding ring caressing the wetness of your opening. You let out a quiet “ah!” in surprise. 

“Settle down.” Yoongi’s deep voice said. “Be good, hold still, and take what I give you.” 

A finger, at a painfully slow speed, breeched your entrance. Your lips parted in response, but no noise came out. Only deep breaths, feeling him fuck his finger in and out of you. Rough, calloused skin of his hand pleasured you, creating more sensations as he added more digits. 

“Daddy…” You moaned. 

“Daddy?” Yoongi’s smirk was practically audible. “That’s what I like to hear. Is my sweet girl coming back to me?” 

“Daddy, I wanna cum.” You said, ignoring his question. 

“Tsk.” Yoongi responded. “Even after your spankings, you’re still being a brat.” 

He pulled his fingers from your opening, causing you to whine at the loss of contact. You felt so empty without him inside of you. Moments went by without any contact, driving you crazy, until finally, you heard the pop of a bottle cap opening. 

“Brats don’t get their pretty little pussy’s played with.” Yoongi said, shaking his head as though you could see him. “That's for good girls. But you haven’t been a good girl, have you, angel?” 

Just then, something wet and cold on the soft skin of your ass. Metal. Round. A plug. Yoongi found your anal plug in your “toy box”, and slowly began working it into your hole with the help of wet lube. 

“Relax, baby.” Yoongi encouraged, giving your cheeks soft kisses as he slid the the plug in a little deeper. “Open your ass for me…. Good girl. Breathe in, now back out. That's my good girl. Color?” 

“Green, sir.” 

“Good.” He gave your skin a playful nibble, before sliding the plug in completely. You gasped and your toes curled at the stretch. You kept your ass spread for him, knowing it’s better to do so until he says otherwise. “It’s been a while since I’ve chosen to give your ass a good fucking, hasn’t it, honey?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“When you act like a brat, you get fucked like a brat.” Yoongi explained, pushing and pulling on the plug just enough to drive you mad. “You get fucked like a slut. Bent over for me with your legs and ass spread open, giving me your sweet little holes to stick toys in. What a dirty, slutty girl. Already dripping down your legs."

Yoongi’s voice was heavy with arousal, and before he could stop himself, he licked up the soft skin of your thighs. You shuddered at the feeling of his wet tongue, gathering your wetness to taste, and working his way to the source, pressing a soft lick to your pussy. 

“Daddy…” You whimpered. 

Yoongi had reached into his own pants, palming himself to the erotic scene before him. You tasted delicious, and he lapped at your pussy like it was his favorite drink. He sucked, kissed, licked and nibbled different areas of your sex as he saw fit, creating a collage of pleasure on your skin, and you responded accordingly. You gripped the sheets, you curled your toes, you deepened your breathing. Yoongi listened to every last whimper, whine, gasp and moan, drinking it in alongside the sweetness of your pussy. 

“Daddy… Gonna cum for you…” You whimpered, earning a pressured lick to your clit. “Daddy… Fuck…Please don't stop, love your fucking tongue so much…” 

Yoongi knew you were close to the edge by your babbling. He continued his sweet flicks onto your sensitive clit, bringing you closer and closer to a high. But right at your legs began to shake, and your sweet noises became louder… he stopped. An almost evil smirk appeared on his face.

“No!” You cried, feeling so, incredibly frustrated by your stolen orgasm. “Daddy, please! Please, I need to cum.” 

“Brats don’t cum whenever they want to.” Yoongi’s deep voice said as he began fully undressing himself. He wrapped his own hand around his remarkably hard erection, and slowly pumped himself to relieve some of his own ache. “You’re using your polite words now, baby. That’s good. What do sweet girls say when Daddy gives their pussy’s kisses?” 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You said, voice in a clear pout. 

There she is. Yoongi thought.

Yoongi slowly, gently, began to remove the plug from your ass, making you want to cry at yet another place no longer feeling full. 

“Shhhh, I know, baby.” Yoongi reassured you, speaking gently as he knew your bratty behavior was slipping away, making way for your submissive side. “I'll give you what you need, baby. Promise.” 

When you were no longer filled at all, Yoongi took his hard cock that was desperately throbbing, and lined up his red, frustrated tip with your opening, letting it rest on your cheek. 

“Gonna fuck your ass tonight, baby.” He whispered, staring at the way you waited so patiently for him. “Breathe for me, ok?” 

You did so, feeling his cock sink into you. It made you feel so full. Your husband’s length was large and thick, with textured veins that you could feel, no matter where he decided to breech you. As he pushed further, he let out a deep fuck from under his breath. The lube from the plug helped him slide in well, and he could feel every inch of you as he penetrated further. 

“Gonna fuck the brat out of you.” Yoongi growled, his length throbbing against your walls. “Gonna make sure you remember who the fuck you’re talking to.”

“Daddy, please.” You whined, as he began pushing himself in and out of your ass. You weren’t sure what you were begging for, but the feeling of his dick properly taking your ass for the first time in so long was almost overwhelming. 

“Take my cock, baby. Settle down and fucking take it.” He groaned, throwing his head back and gripping your hips tightly to keep your body in place. The sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed across the large mansion bedroom. “Whose pretty fucking hole is this, baby? Hm?” 

“Your hole, Daddy.” 

“Such a good girl. What belongs in this hole?” 

“Your cock.” You squeaked out. 

“That’s right, baby. So fucking smart.” He growled. “But that’s all you need to know, isn’t it baby? I pay for your clothes and shoes, pay the rent and bills, and get rid of anyone who fucking looks at you. All you need to worry about baby, is giving me a pretty little hole to fuck and speaking sweetly.” 

“Daddy, thank you…” You cried, feeling the friction strongly now with every push and pull of his hips. 

“I can tell I’m fucking the brat out of you.” Yoongi chuckled, bucking his hips. “You’re gonna listen, aren’t you baby? Gonna be my good girl?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“All it took was your husband’s cock up your ass to get you to act right.” He tsked, placing another smack to your cheek, causing you to squeal. Yoongi moved your body so that you laid flat on your tummy, allowing him to press deeply into you as he laid on top. His arm snuck between your hips and the mattress, letting his fingers find your clit to play with. Yoongi’s lips were to your ear, so that he could whisper things more closely, and you could feel the warmth of his breath. 

“Ah!” You cried, feeling the soft pressure on your clit, combined with the rough pounding from behind. It made your head spin, the differences of how Yoongi could touch you. 

“Who makes you feel like that, baby?” He whispered in your ear. “Hm? Who makes your pussy that wet?” 

“You, Daddy.” 

“And don’t you ever fucking forget it.” His deep voice growled. “I love to spoil you when you’re listening to me, baby girl. That means letting you make a mess of the bed sheets.” 

He could feel you dripping onto the expensive cotton sheets, driving him crazy. He could hear your deep breaths and whimpers, and feel how close you were to an orgasm. 

“I wanna see you cum.” He finally said, wrapping a hand around your throat gently, just enough to give himself more control. “I know you need to, angel. Let go, and show me what a dirty, messy girl you are.” 

“Ah! FUCK... Love your fucking cock... SHIT...” You shrieked, gripping the sheets. You soaked the bed, crying as you came intensely. Yoongi tenderly peppered kisses to your cheeks, and slowed the harsh pounding to more delicately work you through your orgasm. 

“Good girl.” Yoongi whispered into your ear, pressing more kisses to your face. 

“Thank you for letting me cum, Daddy.” You whispered, a few tears still falling. 

“There’s my girl.” He whispered. “So polite, and so goddamn pretty, cumming so well for me. We’re gonna finish your discipline, ok? But first, give me a kiss.” 

You turned your head so Yoongi could connect your lips to his. As he did, he untied your blindfold, and threw it to the side. His eyes met yours for the first time that session, and as he pulled away, he wiped a tear from your eyes. 

“You’ve been so good tonight.” Yoongi praised, his hips beginning to pick up. “Look at me while I fuck you. Keep your eyes here, I’m gonna cum in your perfect little hole.” 

“Yoongi…” You whimpered, using your husband’s name for the first time that night. 

“Look at me, honey.” He reminded you, keeping his hand on your neck, squeezing gently. “Good girl… Let me see how pretty you look while I cum…” 

With only a few more pushes and pulls of his hips, and a soft kiss to your lips, Yoongi groaned as he emptied himself into you. You could feel his length twitch as he finally released, sighing into the kiss. 

“I love you, honey.” He whispered, deepening the kiss. 

“Love you, too.” You responded. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, angel.” He whispered, brushed a lock of hair from your sweaty face. “Was I too rough with you, honey? Did I really hurt you? Did I say something wrong?” 

You shook your head no, planting a sweet, quick kiss to his lips. 

“I like it. All of it.” You reassure him. Being married to Yoongi meant being used to his dominant side, both in and out of the bedroom. It was a turn on for you, especially when he switches afterwards to treat you so delicately. It was something only you knew about, as you were the only one who knew him so intimately to see it. 

Yoongi, as exhausted as he was, still made sure to bring you to the bathtub and let you soak your sore muscles away while he changed the sheets, giving you both a fresh place to sleep. When you were finished cleaning up, he gave you a shirt from his side of the closet to put on, large enough on your body to act as a nightgown with nothing underneath. 

You settled in to bed, and fell asleep as he took a shower. Yoongi slipped on a clean pair of boxers, and crawled into bed with you, pulling your sleeping figure into his arms. 

“Love you so much angel.” He whispered, before planting a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

F*ck Tradition | Yoongi

- Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fiancee!Reader - Requested by: No One - Synopsis: Y/N takes Yoongi with her to go wedding dress shopping because her fiancées opinion is the only one that matters. - Requests: Open for now. Please read my requesting guidelines before requesting. - Warnings: None - Word Count: 1,125 - this was meant to be a timestamp but turned into something longer. - Taglist: Open. Send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Min Yoongi Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

"You should try it on," Yoongi suggests to his fiancée, noticing her stealing glances at the black wedding dress tucked away in the corner, far from the sea of traditional white gowns. It feels like the hundredth time she's looked at it since they arrived, and while Y/N might think she's being subtle, he can see her fascination as they wait for the consultant to help them.   

"Try what on?" she asks, attempting to make her interest in the dress look less obvious as she focuses on her soon-to-be husband. 

"The black dress that you can’t keep your eyes off," he grins, fully aware of her feelings. After all, he knows her better than anyone else. Leaning in a bit closer, he lowers his voice. "I can see it in your eyes, Y/N. You love that dress already." 

"But wedding dresses are supposed to be white, right? Something traditional. What will people say if I choose that?" she asks, unsure. 

"Who cares about other people’s opinions?" he replies confidently. "It’s our wedding day, mine and yours, and we can wear whatever we want. If that dress is the one you want, then wear it. Fuck tradition. We’re already breaking it."  

Biting her bottom lip, Y/N glances back at the dress, its fabric shimmering subtly under the store's lights, the deep black hue contrasting beautifully with its white surroundings. It’s unlike anything she’s ever imagined, yet she finds herself drawn to it. 

Before she can say anything, their consultant returns, "Sorry about that," she apologises for the wait, "Have any of the dresses caught your eye?" 

"The black one over there," Yoongi replies, pointing to the dress while Y/N shakes her head in protest. She’s about to decline, but he gently stops her. "Just try it on and see how you feel in it." 

Noticing the uncertainty in Y/N's eyes, the consultant adds, "Many of our brides are opting for non-traditional dresses these days. Just last week, we sold a lovely baby blue gown, and a dusty pink one a month ago." 

Y/N glances between Yoongi and the consultant, her heart racing at the thought of stepping outside the traditional boundaries of what colour a wedding dress should be. The black dress, with its elegant silhouette and intricate lace and beading detailing continues to lure her in. But, the weight of tradition looms heavily in her mind, casting shadows of doubt.  

"Okay," she finally concedes, her voice steadier now. "I’ll try it on." 

The consultant beams, clapping her hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Let’s get you into that dress," she says and leads them to a more private fitting area before going back to get the dress.  

As Y/N steps into the fitting room, her heart races with a mix of excitement and anxiety. She glances at Yoongi, who takes a seat on the couch, his expression a blend of encouragement and anticipation. 

“Just remember,” he says, his voice steady, “this is about you and you get to wear whatever you feel comfortable in.”  

Y/N nods, taking a deep breath as the consultant returns with the black dress draped over her arm. “Here we go!” the consultant smiles, “let's get you into the dress.” 

A wave of excitement washes over Y/N as she follows the consultant into the cozy dressing room nearby. The thrill builds as she undresses, and the consultant assists her in putting on the dress. The cool fabric glides against her skin. As the consultant makes adjustments, Y/N catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror. The dress fits her curves beautifully, enhancing her figure in a way that feels both empowering and stunning. The lace flows elegantly down the dress, and the beadwork sparkles in the light. For a moment, she forgets about the traditional gowns she had considered.  

“Wow,” she whispers, her voice soft. The reflection looking back at her is not just a bride; it’s a woman who feels confident and daring, ready to embrace one of the most significant days of her life.  

“You look amazing!” the consultant praises, stepping back to take in the sight of the dress. “It fits you perfectly. We might not need to make any adjustments. It seems like it was made just for you.”  

Y/N turns, her heart racing as she twirls slightly, the fabric swirling around her. A smile spreads across her face, the joy of the moment enveloping her.  

“Shall we go show your future husband?” the consultant suggests. 

Y/N's heart skips a beat at the thought of Yoongi seeing her in the dress. She nods eagerly, her excitement bubbling over.  

The consultant leads her out of the dressing room, and to where Yoongi is still seated on the couch, waiting. Y/N takes a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in her stomach.  

She gives Y/N a reassuring smile, and with a gentle nudge, she steps forward. “Ready to see your beautiful bride?” she asks, getting Yoongi’s attention. 

Yoongi looks up from his phone, his expression turning from curiosity to awe in less than a second, and Y/N feels a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. 

“Wow,” he breathes, his eyes widening as he takes in the sight of her in the black dress. “You look absolutely breathtaking.”  

A shy smile spreads across Y/N’s face. “Do you really think so?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief and hope.  

“More than anything,” he replies, standing up and stepping closer, his gaze never leaving her. To him, the dress reflects her personality—bold, elegant, and unapologetically herself. “That dress... it’s perfect for you. It’s like it was made for you,” he repeats the consultant’s words from earlier. 

Y/N’s heart swells, and she can’t help but feel a surge of confidence.  

The consultant watches the exchange with a satisfied smile. “I’ll let you two have a moment alone,” she says, stepping out of the room to give the couple some privacy.  

Yoongi and Y/N share a look filled with love and excitement, and in that instant, all the stress and pressure of wedding planning fades away. Y/N can feel tears in her eyes as she stands before him. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions swirling within her. “Thank you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“For what?” he asks, reaching out to wipe away the tear that had fallen, as he steps even closer to her, being mindful not to step on the dress. 

“Noticing me looking at the dress, convincing me to try it on,” she replies. “Knowing me better than anyone else.” 

“So, this is the dress?” he asks. 

“This is definitely the dress,” she confirms, smiling softly. 

“You look so beautiful,” he says returning her smile and pulls her in for a kiss.  

@staytiny2000 - @do-you-remember-summer-127 - @alexxavicry

[mister0ctopus]

blame the government

One Shot - Min Yoongi

Pairings: GovernmentWorker!Yoongi x Reader

Summary:  "suck a d!ck and choke on it!” you told that annoying Min Yoongi guy. But why are you the one on your knees now?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY!!! Minors do not interact.

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents, Swearing, Oral

Au/Genre: Small town au, Smut

Word Count: 4.3K

🐙 a/n: inspired by when i was processing some papers a few days ago and everything was just pure hassle ugh…anyway, this is just smut.. umm.. im ovulating lol sorry not sorry

🐙 Masterlist / AskMe!

You’ve always known you’re a city girl at heart, despite being born and raised on a small island. Although you look forward to visiting your parents at least once a year, you’ve never seen yourself settling into the slow, quiet life of your hometown.

The island looks like a postcard come to life—pristine waterfalls, lush mountains, and white sand beaches, it’s the perfect vacation destination. Everyone knows everyone.

And while you love the sense of community that comes with it, you’re not a fan of how everyone seems to know everyone’s business.

People tend to be nosy about everyone's life. You let Jake walk you home in the morning, and by lunch, everyone thinks you’re dating. By supper, you’re pregnant.

Life in the city has been everything y ou need—a good-paying corporate job that lets you work remotely, a cozy apartment nestled among great cafes, and a small but tight-knit circle of friends.

Despite the crowds, the city offers you something the island never could: anonymity and the freedom to just exist. Here, people are too busy minding their own lives to pry into yours, and that space feels more liberating than the island's open skies, ironically.

It’s a nice place to visit, but never a place to stay.

So when your parents called one day asking you to come home and take care of their small gift shop while your dad recovered from an illness, you hesitated. First, you’d miss the coffee shops around your apartment because, let’s face it, they don’t have those on the island. Second, you had no idea how long you’d be gone, unsure of how long it would take for your dad to fully recover and get back on his feet.

But you love your parents and would do anything for them.

So, you packed your bags, hoping a month would be enough—after all, that’s all you packed for. You handed your apartment keys (duplicates) to your friends so they could check in for emergencies, then hugged them goodbye. You promised to stay in touch through video calls and regular updates, but deep down, you knew it wouldn’t be easy. Between different work schedules and the island’s crappy reception, staying connected was bound to be a challenge.

The moment you arrived on the island, you took a deep breath of fresh, crisp air. You always did this—it was one thing you genuinely missed about the place. Your mom picked you up from the airport and hugged you tightly.

In a regretful tone, she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m sorry you had to come, honey. Your dad’s condition is getting worse by the day, and I just can’t keep running the shop on my own—”

“Mom, it’s fine,” you cut her off gently. “I’m glad I’m here, and I’m sorry about Dad. He’ll be okay. Everything’s going to be okay, alright?”

She had been so apologetic about the situation, knowing how much you disliked staying too long.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind. Your mom showed you the ropes, and while you’d helped out in the past—manning the cashier or receiving orders—it was an entirely different challenge to actually run the gift shop. Thankfully, Namjoon, your childhood friend, your parents’ “unofficial son", and also your co-manager, had been helping you a lot. Working with someone close to both you and your parents made everything feel a little more bearable.

Managing the shop was exhausting, but when you were told you’d need to process some paperwork at the town hall, you realized things were about to get even harder.

After a grueling one-hour drive, you arrived at the town hall, immediately noticing the long queue at the Business Licensing Office. It took a frustrating 40 minutes before your number was finally called. Approaching the front desk, you explained the reason for your visit and handed over your documents.

The staff scanned them and, after a moment, informed you that your documents were no longer valid and that you would need to restart the entire process from step one.

You told her, "This doesn’t make sense.”

She glanced at it before replying, "It’s a new rule from the mayor’s office. I’m sorry."

A beat.

You couldn’t believe this. This was ridiculous. You weren’t one to make a scene, but it wasn’t unreasonable to ask for a manager when there was a legitimate issue, right?

Before you knew it, you firmly said, “I’d like to speak to your manager. Or your head. Or whoever is in charge of this department. Right now.”

The poor girl eyes widened with anxiety. “This is the process, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” you said, holding your ground. “But I still need to speak to someone in charge.”

She left and went to the door behind her. After a few minutes, she got back and told you to follow her inside the room.

When you step into the room, you see a man with a dark hair behind a massive desk, his attention absorbed by a mountain of paperwork. The sound of your footsteps barely registers as he flicks his gaze up briefly, then returns to writing, his face impassive.

"Please, sit down. I'm Min Yoongi, the head of this office. How can I help you?" His tone is firm but detached, like he's got somewhere else to be, like you're an interruption he’s forced to deal with.

You take a breath, steeling yourself, and sit across from him. "I understand you have a new process in place, but this doesn’t makes sense and its making everyone’s lives difficult," you say, voice steady but the frustration you've been carrying slipping into your words.

He doesn’t even look up. "Could you elaborate on which part of the new process is making everyone’s lives difficult?" His voice is flat, uninterested, as he continues to scribble.

You clench your jaw. "Your staff told me I need to go back to step one. When was this new process implemented, and why wasn’t anyone informed sooner?”

“This new rule is from the Mayor's office,” he replies, still focused on his paperwork, his tone detached. “If you have a problem with it, you can take it upstairs.”

His words hit you like a slap in the face. "No," you snap, leaning forward. "You are the head of this office, right? Then you take it upstairs." Your voice cracks with barely contained anger.

His eyes flick to you for a split second, then back to his papers. "I’m just following orders from above."

"Just blindly following orders? Even when they’re nonsense?" You’re seething, barely keeping it together. "Do you swallow whatever they feed you without question? No backbone at all?" Words spilling out before you can stop them.

This time, you have his attention. He sets his pen down, finally looking at you. His gaze is sharp, amused, as though he’s studying you.

"I'm sorry, I didn’t catch your name," he says, his voice almost calm, like he’s trying to reset the tension in the room.

"YN," you cut him off, not in the mood for pleasantries. You’re done with the small talk. "Let’s cut to the chase."

YN," he repeats slowly, almost savoring your name. "As I mentioned earlier, this new rule originates from the Mayor's office. It has been enforced by higher authorities, and unfortunately, it's beyond our control."

"But does it make sense to you?" You almost hiss the words. You are so frustrated you feel the heat in your ears. "If it does, then I’ll walk out of here and do whatever bullshit you’re telling me, but I need to know if it makes sense to you."

His gaze doesn’t waver, but something flickers in his eyes. "It doesn’t," he admits, his voice low. "But what I think doesn’t matter. My hands are tied here. There's nothing we can do. Trust me, we tried."

"So, you know it’s nonsense, but you still follow? And you call yourself the head of this department?" You feel acid in your throat. Your words burn.

"I am," he says, his voice suddenly colder. "Until the end of the week. After that, someone else will take over. You can come back next week and maybe get a different answer."

The indifference in his voice is like a slap. You stare at him, your mind spinning. Is this a joke? The sheer incompetence in this place is maddening.

You feel the anger rise. Before you can stop yourself, the words burst out.

"You know what?" You glance at the nameplate on his table facing you. "Min Yoongi? Suck a dick!"

You stand up, your pulse racing, and storm toward the door. But before you step out, you turn back, rage flooding your chest, and you spit the final words. "And choke on it."

You don’t wait for a response. You slam the door behind you, the sound echoing down the hallway, your heart still pounding, your hands trembling with the anger.

Min Yoongi is a sensible man. Always the voice of reason, with a clear head on his shoulders. He’s able to see every side of the story and offer solid advice when it counts.

And that's exactly why he's laughing now—like a damn madman—because his staff is still standing there with her mouth hanging open after you stormed out. And here he is, laughing.

It was almost as if a whirlwind had just swept through his office. He cocked his head, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He was caught between admiration for your boldness and disbelief at your audacity.

But to be fair, he could’ve been nicer when he was talking to you. He could’ve put on a more customer service-y tone, you know? But honestly, he was just done. Done with repeating the same damn thing over and over this week.

When he was first told about the new process, he went to the mayor and laid it out—how ridiculous it was, how they needed to delay it, give people time to adjust. Just like you said.

But if there's one thing working in government taught him, it’s this: You can’t stop a system built on corruption and incompetence. You can delay it, maybe make it more palatable for people, but you can never truly change it.

And that’s what he did. He tried to delay it, but the changes were final, along with many other decisions in the town hall. That’s why he resigned, and this week is his last.

Because honestly, they can all suck a dick and choke on it.

You went home that night and told Namjoon about everything that went down. He was wide-eyed the entire time, laughing at your boldness.

He offered to take care of the paperwork for you, especially since he knew almost everyone in town. You thankfully accepted, but you'd have to manage the shop alone while he handled it.

After a stressful week, you decided to go with Namjoon to a beach party to unwind. It was a cozy little bar with soft lighting and a bonfire. The moment you stepped in, you felt your stress melt away, the sound of music, laughter, and chatter filling the air. It had been so long since you allowed yourself to just relax.

As you talked to Namjoon and his friends, you caught sight of someone across the room. Was that… The guy from the town hall? What was his name—Min Yoongi?

He was sitting at a table in the corner, surrounded by friends, his eyes locked on you with a smirk that made you want to wipe it right off his face. He was wearing an oversized short-sleeve shirt with a tropical leaf print, paired with a black undershirt and accessorized with silver necklaces and bracelets. Ok??? Why he kinda look… hot??

Nah, you shook your head. It was just that you hadn’t been with anyone in a while, plus you were ovulating. You quickly pushed the thought away.

He remained looking at you as he drank from his highball glass. You squinted your eyes at him in mockery, then rolled them.

Childish? Yeah, but you didn’t think you’d ever be friends with him. Freaking rude!

But Yoongi’s gaze didn’t leave you. He watched you talk to others, sipping on his drink. His mind went back to that moment in his office. That filthy mouth.

There’s a town fair this weekend, so you decide to close the shop and finally experience it. You’ve never had the chance before, and you're excited.

You head to the town with Namjoon and wander through the bazaar, checking out every stand. The town is alive with excitement and vibrant colors, and you can't help but feel joy.

You wore a short white sundress, feeling the warm breeze against your skin. You’d bought flowers from one of the stands, excited to give them to your dad, and as you strolled with Namjoon, ice cream in hand, you couldn’t help but feel the energy of the fair all around you.

Then, you spotted him.

Again.

It's a small town, after all.

Min Yoongi. Casual in a black tee, jeans, and a damn man bun. His hair tied up like that made you feel warmer than you should. He was strolling with his friends, laughing and flashing that gummy smile, looking effortlessly cool and youthful. But then, his eyes met yours. The smile shifted, twisting into a lopsided, cocky grin.

He gave you a once over and you shot him the same look and rolled your eyes.

He’s annoying.

He’s hot.

Yep, you are definitely ovulating.

The night came, and after giving your dad the flowers and setting aside the things you bought from the bazaar in the corner of your room, you head back to the fair with Namjoon to enjoy the festivities.

The town fair was already beautiful in the daylight, but when night fell, it transformed into something even more breathtaking. Lights twinkled like stars and the decorations danced with colors. It felt as if you’d stepped into a fairy tale.

You couldn’t help but admire the effort everyone put in to make this happen.

Namjoon had gone off to grab more drinks for you, but he still hadn’t come back. He was probably swept away or cornered somewhere—bro couldn’t help himself when given the chance to yap. Left alone in the corner, you absentmindedly sipped from your red cup, lost in the festive buzz around you.

Then, you heard a voice. “I like this look on you.”

You’d recognize that voice anywhere. That deep, almost raspy voice, slow drawl, lazily dragging out each word. Like someone who’s drunk, but somehow his words are clear.

Ugh. Min Yoongi.

So you turned, eyebrows raised. “What look?”

“Mouth shut.” He said, settling beside you, sipping his red cup, eyes scanning around.

You rolled your eyes. “What do you want?”

“Seems like your tall friend left you.”

“Mind your business.”

“I am.” His gaze lingered on you, scanning your face.

You narrowed your eyes. “For someone who didn’t have much to say last time, you sure talk a lot tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow. “For someone with a lot of filth to say, you’re pretty stingy with words tonight.”

You sigh as you face him. "You know, I kinda like that look on you, too."

He smirks, that lopsided, cocky grin spreading across his face, like he already knows what you're trying to say. "What look?"

You lean in, your voice low but dripping with mockery. "Mouth shut."

You couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You tried to cover it, but good lord, you just couldn’t. Because Min Yoongi is devastatingly good with his tongue.

After the heated back-and-forth in the open field, a quiet, simmering tension lingered between you two. Then, everything blurred. The next thing you knew, he was striding toward his car, parked far from the light, hidden in the shadows. Without a second thought, you followed him. Every step was deliberate, charged with intent.

Now, his face is buried between your thighs, your legs draped over his shoulders as you both occupy the cramped space of the backseat. You don’t know how you ended here. All you know is that your dress barely clings to you, bunched up around your stomach, leaving your chest exposed, nipples hard and sensitive from all his sucking.

Your panties dangle desperately from one foot as Yoongi devours you with all his might.

 His tongue is relentless, lapping at your folds like a man on a mission, his grip on your hips so tight you’re certain it’ll leave bruises. He’s so incredible—so fucking incredible—that your mind spins. Sure, you’ve been eaten out before, but this? This is just–

“Oh my g-god!” Your fist tangle in his dark, silky hair as you grind against his mouth, desperate for more. He chuckles, the vibration against your core sending a shiver down your spine.

“So fucking sweet,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your slick skin before flattening his tongue over your clit. The pressure makes you buck your hips and moan, your attempt to control your sound failing miserably.

“F-fuck, Yoongi—holy shit,” you gasp, as he slides his middle finger inside you, curling perfectly upward, his lips never leaving your clit as he sucks and licks with maddening precision.

He starts slow, teasing, and your legs tremble with overstimulation.

“Yeah? That feel good, huh?” he rasps, his hooded eyes locked onto yours.

You can’t form a coherent response, his name spilling from your lips between moans and profanities.

When he adds a second finger, it has your head tilting back, a loud moan escaping as he pumps into you steadily, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers. Each curl, each flick, drives you closer to the edge, and you’re completely at his mercy.

“Ohh god, fuuuck—I’mmmngh close,” you mewl, your legs trembling as your fingers tighten in his hair.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter, just lets out a low, satisfied laugh as he licks up the slick dripping from your center. His fingers pump into you faster now, each thrust hitting that spot, and the knot in your core coils tighter and tighter.

“Gonna come for me?” he asks, voice husky and teasing.

You nod frantically, your breath hitching, unable to force the words past your lips.

“I asked you a question,” he growls, and gave you a sharp slap to your cunt.

“Y-yes! Fuck, please!” you cry, your voice breaking. This motherfucker. But holy shit—the sting makes you gasp, and before you can process the sensation, his tongue is back on your clit, relentless and unforgiving.

And then it happens. His fingers pump faster, deeper, curling just right, and with one last flick of his tongue, you shatter. You come hard, your body arching off the seat, thighs trembling uncontrollably as your climax takes over your body.

You haven’t fully gathered your thoughts when his lips crash back onto yours, and suddenly, you’re tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss is deep and messy and before you know it, he’s pulling you up to straddle him.

That’s when you realize—he’s still fully clothed. The contrasting sensation of his rough jeans against your bare thighs, while you’re so exposed and undone, is making you want more.

His tongue leaves your mouth to trail along your jaw, hot and wet, before settling on the sensitive spot of your neck. He sucks and licks, his hands palming your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples, and you arch into his touch. Soft moans escape you as the heat pools more and more between your legs.

Your shaky hands reach for his belt, undoing it as he bucks his hips up to help you strip him. The moment his pants are out of the way and your wet, sensitive folds brush against his hardness, you instinctively grind along his length. The low hiss that escapes him is almost feral.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice strained. “You’re gonna make me come like this.”

His head falls back, his eyes fluttering shut as his jaw clenches. His grip tightens on your waist, guiding your movements. You can feel every inch of his hardness pressing against your soaked core, and it’s almost too much. The heat, the friction—it’s unbearable. You grind against him with ease, your slick making each movement effortless, drawing shaky breaths from his chest.

The air is thick with the sound of your panting breaths and the faint creak of the car seat beneath you. Yoongi shifts just enough to reach for something, his movements deliberate. Then, there’s a pause, followed by a low, frustrated groan.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I ran out of condoms, babe.”

Your body hums with heat, desire drowning out all reason. The words are out before you think.

“Then I want you to fuck my throat.”

His lips twitch into a crooked smirk, that infuriating cockiness flashing across his face as he sinks back into the seat, “Yeah? Thought you’d never ask.”

Without hesitation, you slide off the him and onto the floor between his legs. The space is cramped, your knees pressing against the unforgiving surface, but none of it matters. You need him. He adjusts, settling deeper into the seat, giving you more room as he stares down at you.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice dropping an octave, his dark eyes following your every move. “Look at you. Knew you’d look so good on your knees.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you reach for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock—thick, heavy, and already leaking. Pre-cum glistens at the tip, catching the faint glow from a distant streetlight outside the window. So big, so pretty, and you can’t help but admire it before giving it a slow, deliberate pump.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, head falling back for just a moment before his hooded gaze snaps to you again. His hand finds its way to your hair, fingers tangling through the strands—not pushing—yet.

You flick your tongue against the head, tasting the salt of him, and his hips twitch in response. Slowly, you take him into your mouth, inch by inch, letting him stretch your lips as you hollow your cheeks. A shaky curse falls from his mouth, his grip tightening slightly as you take him deeper.

“That’s it,” he hisses, voice rough and dripping with disbelief. “Knew that mouth would feel fucking perfect.”

You hum around him, sending vibrations down his length, and a strangled groan rips from his throat. His hips jerk forward instinctively, and you glance up at him through your lashes, teasing as you pull back just enough to swirl your tongue around the tip.

“Don’t—” he chokes out, jaw clenching tight. “—fucking tease me right now.”

Your smirk is fleeting, because you’re already sinking back down, taking him deeper. You relax your throat, breathing through your nose as he fills your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back. His control finally snaps.

“Goddamn it,” he grits out, his voice strained. His hips roll forward, slow at first, as his hand holds your head steady. You let him take control, let him use you the way he needs. His movements grow harder, faster, fucking into your mouth until tears prick at the corners of your eyes and spit pools at the sides of your lips.

“You like this, huh?” he growls, eyes locked on you as your nails dig into his thighs for balance. “Fucking your face, letting me use that pretty little mouth?”

The words make your core throb, heat pooling between your legs. You gagged when he thrusts deeper, pushing your head down and holding you there. Tears streak your cheeks, your throat stretching as he groans, his voice rough and unrestrained.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, gaze dark and primal. “So pretty for me. Choking around my cock like a filthy little slut.”

His words make you moan around him, sending a fresh jolt of pleasure through his body. His grip tightens, his hips stuttering as his breathing grows ragged and uneven.

“Baby—shit—I’m gonna—”

With one final thrust, he slams you down onto him, his cock pulsing as he spills into your throat. A guttural groan rips from his chest, his body trembling, shuddering through his release. You take everything he gives you, swallowing every drop as he holds you there, panting hard.

When he finally lets go, you pull back, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Your lips are swollen, your cheeks streaked with tears, and you look up at him with a smug little smirk.

Yoongi leans back against the seat, his chest still heaving as he catches his breath. A dark, breathless chuckle escapes him, and his fingers find their way to your face, gently wiping away your tears and fixing your messy hair lazily.

“‘Suck a dick and choke on it,’ huh?” he murmurs, that cocky grin plastered across his face.

You roll your eyes, but you let him pull you up. He helps you to your knees, his hands surprisingly gentle as he tucks himself back into his pants and you adjust your clothes. You both make a hasty effort to smooth your hair, stealing quick glances out the window to make sure no one saw.

Once you’re both settled, Yoongi leans in, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. "I’ve got condoms at home, you wanna see?” he mutters, eyes glinting with mischief.

Exhausted, you roll your eyes again and flash him a playful grin.

You check your phone, and you see three messages from Namjoon.

Joonie: Wru? I got cornered by some friends Joonie: Yo! Cant find u! Joonie: Jimin saw u go with Yoongi to his car??? Are u guys fucking???

You almost choke on your own saliva when you read the third one.

Shit. This Min Yoongi guy is definitely going to be trouble.

[raplinesmoon]

원샷! (One-Shot!) - MYG X F!Reader

Part 1.5: Half The Man

series masterlist

pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader genre(s): crack, fluff, angst (i'm sorry) au(s): medical AU, idiots-to-lovers (not quite yet) word count: 1.7k chapter warnings: cynical Yoongi, Jeonghan cameo!, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, Yoongi has no filter, mentions of previously regretful acts done while drunk, arguments, lots of unresolved feelings, did I mention they’re idiots (affectionate), rating: 18+

summary: As your pregnancy progresses, Yoongi continues to wrestle with his long-standing feelings, culminating in an argument that has you making an unexpected move.

a/n: Hi, thank you so much to everyone that has shown love to this series. I'm so sorry that it took me so long to upload the second part, I struggled a lot to continue writing this partly because of my own insecurity, partly because of other things (which I don't want to get into). But Doc!Yoongi is so fun to write! I hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I do not own, or have any affiliation with BTS. Any similarity between the version of the idol(s) mentioned and portrayed here and their real life counterparts is purely coincidental, and does not represent the thoughts and opinions of said idol(s). Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This specific fic is based on the 2010 movie The Switch, which contains sensitive themes relating to accidental artificial insemnation, consent, and pregnancy. Please do your research before engaging with this fic, as these themes may not be for everyone.

The small splotch on Yoongi’s white coat, the byproduct of an accidental run-in with a very flustered Jeon Jungkook holding a very hot cup of coffee, had now turned into an unsightly bloom. Yoongi rubbed at the stain, cursing under his breath that he’d skipped laundry day this week.

To make matters worse, he’d gotten an impromptu page right in the middle of his lunch break. The three tiny beeps went off, and Yoongi’s face turned stark white.

“Oh no,” you gave him the most sympathetic look you could muster, your eyes turning misty. The pregnancy had thrown your hormones completely out of balance, the smallest inconvenience turning into enough to make you cry. “Jeonghan?”

“Jeonghan,” Yoongi sighs. 

…

The frigid air in Jeonghan’s office was nearly enough to rival the stare he currently possesses. Yoongi has to resist the urge to scoff. Yoon Jeonghan was the head of his department, full of pride with a face to match his inflated ego. A handful of years younger than Yoongi, he’d only gotten the position after Yoongi had turned it down multiple times, grumbling about how he was too busy taking care of real patients to deal with all the paperwork that department heads had to put up with. 

“I’m going to be very frank with you Dr. Min,” Jeonghan leans over his desk, a few stray papers falling to the floor. “You’re falling apart.” 

Yoongi bristles, shuffling his feet. He’d felt off ever since the night of your party, and even worse a few weeks later when you told him you were pregnant, all the memories coming back to him. He’d pushed it out of his mind, but clearly Jeonghan had noticed which meant it was affecting his work.

“Namjoon says you’re ordering X-rays and labs for your patients, but not coming up with any diagnoses.”

He straightens, heat coming to his face. “Dr. Yoon, I can explain—“

“No need, Dr. Min. The whole hospital knows you’re in love with ___. You don’t do a great job of hiding it.”

If there was ever a time Yoongi wished a sinkhole would open up and swallow the hospital whole, it was now (not that he’d thought about it before). Almost as if he can sense Yoongi’s sheer embarrassment, Jeonghan is by his side in no time, pulling up a chair to catch Yoongi’s unsteadily swaying figure.

“I’m too fucking sober for this conversation,” Yoongi groans, plopping into the comfortable cushion, Jeonghan looking on with an amused smile.

“That’s probably why Seungcheol also said he saw you throwing up in the hallway like a sorority girl the night of ___’s party.”

Yoongi cursed his stupid neighbour, who also happened to be one of the hospital’s charge nurses, for ratting him out. But then again, a free therapy session with his director was hard to come by, so maybe Yoongi would need to stop and buy Cheol a coffee sometime.

“He has a PhD from Harvard… HARVARD,” Yoongi whines, thinking back to the stupidly attractive man he’d met who was going to be your sperm donor.

“You’re just mad because ___ put you in the friendzone,” Jeonghan sighs.

“We put each other in the friendzone,” Yoongi interrupts, but Jeonghan waves him away.

“No, you had your chance six years ago when both of you started working here, and you blew it.”

“How did I blow it?” Yoongi questions, even though he knows exactly how – and what you’d say if he ever had the guts to ask.

“You went all Yoongi on her — it kills the vibes. You showed too much crazy too soon,” Jeonghan is moving around him now, picking up the stray papers, and Yoongi’s patience becomes thinner than the 11 blade he uses for procedures.

“Oh I’m sorry, did your extortionate divorce settlement teach you that?” He quips back, purposefully sliding his chair onto some of the sheets so Jeonghan can’t reach them.

“Yoongi, you sent me a picture of your armpit three weeks ago while I was in the middle of a surgery.”

“I thought I had a growth! You’re a doctor, you should want to help me!”

“Newsflash, Min, we’re all doctors in here.” And Yoongi knows Jeonghan’s right – he was eccentric, too much at times. But somehow, you never seemed to mind, from always having his back through his daily rants, to showing up at his apartment with a tub of ice cream after his call shifts so you two could make affogatos (Yoongi was nothing if not a caffeine addict).

He hears the door click shut behind him, and Jeonghan’s gone, leaving Yoongi alone with his thoughts, thoughts he’s had many times before. But somehow, it all feels different this time around. You’re pregnant with a child - his child, and you’re not supposed to be. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, and yet, he can’t have it because it would mean confessing that he’d messed up. And like Jeonghan, Yoongi much preferred to shut the door on things rather than let anyone in.

The moan you let out is borderline indecent, and probably not something you should be doing in the middle of your best friend’s apartment. But you were four months pregnant, and the tangy spice of the kkaenip-kimchi Yoongi had prepared for you at 1am was the best thing you’d ever put in your mouth.

“My eomma would have a heart attack if she saw you eating unfermented kimchi at 1am, she says—” 

“The fermentation is good for the baby, I know, I know,” you finish Yoongi’s sentence with a pout. “But I wanted kimchi now.”

“You’re lucky I’m Korean. What if you didn’t have a best friend like me and your random kimchi cravings hit?” Yoongi chuckles, his gums peeking out from one of his rare smiles. The dim lights from the city skyline reflect onto the window behind Yoongi, casting a faint glow over him, and you feel your heart flip-flop, unsure if it’s from nausea or something else.

“I would have gone to H-Mart or something, or called up Seokjin,” you mumble under your breath, but Yoongi, the ever preceptive one between the two of you, catches your hushed response.

“You’re still in touch with him?” His face is pale, a far-away look in his eyes, and you feel your stomach drop, a lead weight settling on your chest.

A strange heat crawls up your spine, and you feel yourself flush at the iciness in Yoongi’s tone, wanting to defend yourself.

“Of course I am Yoongi. The whole point of doing this was so that I could have a donor that I’d be able to meet face to face, look him in the eyes, shake his hand —”

“What, are you going to marry him or something?” Yoongi cuts through your rambling, eyes blazing. “I thought the whole point of this was having a baby. I thought he didn’t matter.”

“Obviously he matters, but not like that, I just–” you trip over your words, unsure why you’re growing so frustrated. This isn’t what you expected when you’d called Yoongi up asking for kimchi. “Why are you being so weird about this?”

“I’m not being weird,” Yoongi’s back is to you, shuffling around in the kitchen. He is being weird, refusing to meet your eyes. “It’s just – what if you meet someone tomorrow? Or in six months? What if you fall in love? Isn’t that an important part of this?”

“This isn’t like you Yoongi,” you shove your bowl of kimchi to the side, wrapping your coat around your arm. Yoongi pales, watching you get up to leave. “I’m not going to spend my life waiting for some what-if. I didn’t exactly dream of this okay? It wasn’t like I was sitting there suffering through med school, just pondering the idea of putting an ad out for a sperm donor one day! But this is real, and it’s happening, and even though you’ll never say it, you think I’m making the wrong choice. You’re supposed to be my friend!”

Your voice breaks at the last sentence, eyes filling with tears. Yoongi had always been there for every stage of your life, through all your terrible dates and failed situationships. He’d been your one constant, but lately it felt like he was fading, purposely removing himself from your life the moment you’d told him you were going through with this.

“I think we need to take some time apart. We need a time-out,” you throw your coat over your shoulders, and Yoongi stiffens, a choked sound escaping him.

“Already learning how to speak mom,” Yoongi quips, but his signature Yoongi humour isn’t enough to quell the rage filling your body. You don’t spare him a second glance, turning on your heel, letting the door slam behind you before you fall apart.

Yoongi wasn’t just your friend, he was so much more than that, but now you weren’t sure if he remained anything to you at all.

Jeonghan’s face is no longer smug when he breaks the news to Yoongi. You’re moving back home, claiming that the city is no place to raise a child. For once, Yoongi is thankful that the younger man doesn’t let his ego get in the way, opening the door to his office so Yoongi can lament in peace, the walls he’d built around his heart growing higher and higher. 

Two weeks later, you were gone. Yoongi stood with you as the moving trucks pulled up, watching you get choked up, the two of you barely having the guts to say more than a simple goodbye, for fear that you’d crack and say the wrong thing. 

Yoongi had always thought of himself as a mature, stable adult, but he fell apart at your leaving, feeling much like a child in need of constant attention. Your words ring back to him – a timeout. You’d left your friendship in constant purgatory – daily texts turned into once-a-week phone calls, which then turned into once-a-month emails, until you’d exchange Christmas cards once a year.

Seven years passed by in the blink of an eye - bringing with them two failed relationships, a stock market crash, a new roommate in the form of a poodle named Holly, and one phone call that changed everything.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[jungshookz]

yoongi's getting a lot of attention at the mall and y/n doesn't like it very much

➺ pairing; demon!yoongi x y/n

➺ genre; all of the usual demon!yoongi antics & a little more :-)

➺ wordcount; 1.8k

»»————- 🥨 ————-««

something is… off.

you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something is off and you can quite literally feel it in the air

“do you think navy blue washes me out?” jungkook holds a shirt up to show you before pursing his lips, waving his hand in your face when he doesn’t get a response from you, “helloooo-“ you guys came to the mall today to do some shopping but for the last ten minutes you’ve been distracted by something which isn’t helpful to jungkook because he values your opinion when it comes to his style!

“you look great in navy blue and that’s a good shirt for summer, linen is a great material-“ you hold a finger up, turning your head slightly, “do you hear giggling?”

jungkook frowns, shaking his head slightly before looking in the same direction you are, “…no. i just hear generic pop music coming out of a set of shitty speakers- hey, do you think these stores play these songs on purpose so that you’ll shop faster and leave faster?”

“uh-huh, gimme a sec, kook-“ you poke your tongue against the inside of your cheek before spinning around to face the exit, “where did you say yoongi went?”

“oh! he went to get some pretzel bites, i think.”

you weave in between the racks of clothes smoothly, your

your nose twitches as you pick up on the faint scent of yoongi’s cologne and cinnamon sugar (your favourite flavour for pretzel bites, of course) and you step out of the store, your eyes narrowing in suspicion when you spot yoongi heading in your direction

the black button-down he's got on hangs nicely on his frame and as he reaches up with his free hand to push his dark hair back, head tilting as a lopsided smirk makes its way onto his face when he spots you, “did you miss me so much that you had to come out and greet me? i was only gone for like ten minutes.”

you don’t respond, getting up on your tip toes to look over his shoulder only to notice that almost everyone is looking at yoongi, people pausing in the middle of what they’re doing to stare at him with lidded eyes and flushed cheeks

“what the hell…?” you don’t know how yoongi hasn’t noticed the fact that he has people drooling over him, and your face scrunches slightly when you see someone cross her legs and suck her bottom lip into her mouth as she stares at the back of yoongi’s head, “get a room-“

has it always been this bad???

how have you never noticed this???

maybe the reason why you never noticed all these things before is because you just had regular old human capabilities, but ever since you’ve been blessed (or cursed, however you want to see it) with some demonic abilities you’ve noticed a few things have changed about yourself: you can literally float (though, it only lasts a few seconds before gravity takes over), your eyes flicker black whenever you’re really upset, and all of your senses have heightened significantly — like today, you could hear the familiar purr of jungkook’s car from two miles away and he was more than surprised to see that he didn’t have to text you to get you and yoongi to come down like he usually does (you still haven’t broken the news to him that both you and yoongi are… not human, but you’ll get to it eventually)

“what’s wrong?” yoongi frowns, turning to glance over his shoulder, “what are you looking at?”

“people are… looking at you.” your jaw clenches slightly when another girl walks past the two of you, your ears picking up on the sound of blood rushing to her cheeks and her heart skipping a beat, “people are like- like, really looking at you.”

now, you’d like to clear things up and say that you’re not worried about yoongi running off to someone else because you know that yoongi loves you and also the two of you are literally bonded by blood or whatever — you know that yoongi is very attractive and most of the time you’re happy to walk around with him and have him admired by strangers but this is too much

this is like- well, to be honest, it looks like people are just about ready to pounce on yoongi at any given moment and now you feel like you need to defend him

in fact you’re pretty sure you heard someone growl at some point so now you’re wondering if the keys in your purse are going to work as a sufficient tool to ward people away

“of course they’re looking at me.” yoongi snorts, finding it amusing how flustered you’re starting to get, “they… i mean, not to toot my own horn here, baby, but i’m not lying when i say that everyone in this mall wants me to fuck the shit out of them, that’s kinda my whole thing, which, in my defense, you knew when we got together-" his eyebrows raise slightly when you whip your head back around to look at him, your eyebrows set in a glare as your eyes flicker black for a second

oh.

(he likes that.)

“well, i don’t like it.” you grumble, and yoongi knows you must be really upset because you haven’t attacked the cup of fresh pretzels he has in his hand and usually you’ve already popped like eight of them in your mouth

“you’re cute when you’re jealous. and you know i only have eyes for you, you’re being silly-” yoongi smiles, reaching down to pinch your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger to turn your head towards him, “hey, look at me- what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

“what’s going on-“ you smack his hand away (yoongi’s demonic charm isn’t as strong now that you’re not entirely human) “is that i think we should buy whatever we need and then go home before everyone starts chasing after you-“

“you know, there is a way to offset the pheromones, or, whatever you wanna call it.” yoongi kisses his teeth, tossing a pretzel up into the air and catching it with his mouth as he chews thoughtfully, “i don’t evphen know what it is. my aura? i don’t know. whatehver demon thing is happening-“ he swallows, “i usually just have to fuck someone. then it takes like thirty minutes before the pheromones come back and everyone’s pining after me again.”

there’s a brief moment of silence between the two of you and the corner of yoongi’s mouth twitches in a smirk when he notices your throat bob as you swallow

“…that’s really the only solution?” you ask suspiciously, “because you got a paper cut last week and you said your body will heal itself faster if you go down on me, which i’m still struggling to see the connection-“

“well that was very obviously a lie, y/n, i just wanted to bury my face in between your legs and you were like, too busy writing a paper but it makes sense in this case, doesn’t it? get some good sex outta my system and people won’t pay as much attention to me because the tension inside of me has been released.”

“hm. i… guess you have a point. and you swear people will stop for a little while if you have sex?”

“pinky promise. but, you know, we don’t have to do anything if you don’t want me bending you over in the dressing room. i know you like having privac-“ yoongi stops halfway through his sentence, his own eyebrows furrowing when he picks up on the fact that there’s a group of guys checking you out and almost instantly he feels jealousy swirling in his system

“-nice ass.”

he catches the end of a sentence and his eyes darken as he loops an arm around your waist and tugs you towards him, making direct eye contact with the group, “yeah, and you’re never gonna get your grimy fucking hands on it, you freaks-!” he calls out, and you don’t get much of a chance to say or do anything else before he’s dragging you down the opposite direction, setting the cup of pretzels down atop the garbage bin

“hey- where are we going?? jungkook’s still in the- okay, well, i don’t see why we had to abandon the pretzels, but fine-“

“what do you think? we’re finding a washroom and i’m fucking the shit out of you-"

“see, this is exactly what i was talking about!” you let out a laugh of disbelief at yoongi’s shift in mood as you let him drag you towards the washrooms, “and you had the gall to make fun of me for feeling some type of way about other people staring at you!”

»»————- 🥨 ————-««

(“oh, fuck- fuck me, fuck me-“ you whimper, head dipping as you grip onto both sides of the ceramic sink, your eyelids fluttering shut as yoongi slides a hand from your lower back up before grasping the back of your neck, shoving you downwards as he continues thrusting, very much enjoying the view of your ass bouncing off of him at this angle

“good girl- so fucking good for me, always so good-“ he growls, sweat glistening off his brow bone as he tangles his fingers in your hair, grabbing a fistful before yanking you back up to press your back against his chest, the back of your head slotting against the crook of his neck, “nuh-uh, i want you to watch me fuck you-“

your eyes immediately flicker down and you make eye contact with him in the mirror, your cheeks flushed and lips slick and swollen and god you look hot-

“you- you swear this is gonna- gonna work-" your eyebrows crinkle together as you let out a particularly high moan when yoongi’s hand slides down in between your legs, the tips of his fingers pressing into your sensitive clit

“of course it’s gonna work, my girl.” he grunts, flashing you a boyish grin in the mirror, “don’t you trust me?”)

🎙️ ask y/n and yoongi if they had a good time (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!) 

[dollfaceksj]

can’t afford love | myg (m) MASTERLIST

➥ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

➥ SUMMARY: Your childhood dream of having 2 children in a big house with a blooming marriage by this point in time has been eliminated the moment divorce came knocking at your door. With only one child and finding yourself back at square one, you ask your ex-husband—Min Yoongi—if he’d be down to fulfill 1 of these 3 things on your childhood’s bucket-list. And no, it’s not giving you a big house.

➥ GENRE: angst ⋆ smut ⋆ divorced/exes

➥ CATEGORY: crack drabble series (bullet-point format)

➥ WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, crack au, mom!reader, dad!yoongi, mentions of pregnancy, divorced couple, unprotected sex, emotional baggage (A LOT OF IT), trauma, sad sad sad stuff, humor, angsty angsty angst, smutty smut smut, jealousy, possessiveness, claiming, exes, mentions of body image issues, second chance… maybe, minors dni

➥ UPDATES: every friday, saturday & sunday

➥ STATUS: discontinued

⋆ TAGLIST ⋆

— i n d e x ↓

♢ #1: “would you be willing?”

♢ #2: “nothing i haven’t seen before.”

♢ #3: “why are you hiding it from me?”

♢ #4: “nothing compares.”

♢ #5: “hard to control myself.”

♢ #6: “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

♢ #7: “sugar.”

♢ #8: “what are you doing here?”

♢ #9: “liars tend to lie.”

♢ #10: “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

♢ #11: “plus one.”

♢ #12: “our son.”

♢ #13: “we can do some things with the camera.”

♢ #14: “i don’t need a reason.”

♢ #15: “but you did.”

♢ #16: “then you get it.”

♢ #17: “happy?”

♢ #18: “you gonna let me take care of you?”

♢ #19: “what the fuck is wrong with you?”

♢ #20: “is this really what i once loved?”

♢ #21: “what did we learn?”

♢ #22: “more to love.”

♢ #23: “why do you find it so hard to admit?”

♢ #24: “back to normal.”

♢ discontinued.

➸ support me by buying me some coffee if you want ☕︎♡

[liveyun]

Where You Used to Be | m.yg

pairing. min yoongi x fem oc

genre. angst

wc. ~1.3k

warnings. 2 am feelings jotted down hastily, angst, his shoulder injury <\\3, self neglect and yearning. not proofread and may contain grammatical mistakes

“Where you used to be, there’s nothing but quiet now, and sometimes, it’s loud enough to drown me.”

Yoongi sat hunched over in his chair, the weight on his shoulders a familiar, dull ache, like a small distant throb. His studio was quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed into his chest, making it harder to breathe. He had carried himself into this beautiful prison, and it was not everday he felt like he was being drowned by his own self.

Your voice, once so clear, was nothing more than a very far echo now, fading like smoke, slipping further out of reach.

His reflection flickered in the darkened studio window, the man staring back at him looking just as worn as he felt. There was a time when he would’ve noticed — when he would’ve cared more about the way the shadows under his eyes grew darker, or how his skin looked like it hadn’t felt sunlight in weeks.

But tonight, he only spared a glance, barely recognizing himself. The lyric he just wrote was something he felt that it made zero sense to him, but at the same time, it was something which felt that it came right from the core of his heart.

Where you used to be.

His hand drifted to his shoulder, fingers pressing into the spot where the old injury had flared up again. A faint pain, a reminder that his body kept score, even when his mind tried to push everything else away. He winced but didn’t move.

What was the point?

It wasn’t the pain that was keeping him awake. It never really was.

You hadn’t crossed his mind in a long, long time - not like this. Not with this kind of pull, like a thread unraveling from some deep part of him. Maybe it was the silence, or maybe it was just one of those nights where everything seemed to float to the surface - your memories, the what-ifs, all the things left behind, which he carried away forward.

The ache wasn’t just in his shoulder anymore.

Yoongi wasn’t the type to hold back when it came to things like this. He believed in equality, in giving as much as he got. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He hadn’t given enough. Or maybe he had, but it still hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side.

And now? Now, you were gone, and he was left alone.

His fingers tapped lightly against the desk, the rhythm empty. He wasn’t one for regrets, but there were moments — moments like these — when he let himself feel it. The hollow space you had left behind. The small things that seemed insignificant until they were gone.

What had he done to deserve losing you? That question lingered in the back of his mind like an unwelcome guest. He wasn’t looking for answers anymore.

He wasn’t even sure he wanted them.

Yoongi ran his fingers against the thick volume of hair, the habit ceasing his moments briefly. His hair was longer now, falling into his eyes, brushing against his collar in a way that felt strangely unfamiliar. He hadn’t noticed it happening, and hadn’t cared enough to cut it. It didn’t matter. Atleast, not to him.

But now, staring at the man in the glass, he remembered how you used to smile at him when it was like this. Just perfect, you’d say, your fingers weaving through the strands like it was the most natural thing. You used to tell him that you didn’t have any preferences on how he kept his hair, but he knew you liked his hair more when it grew to be long enough to touch his nape.

That may or may not be the reason Yoongi preferred having long hair too.

The memory stung in ways he couldn’t quite shake off. But now? He hadn’t grown it out for her, not consciously, but here it was — another reminder of someone who wasn’t there to see it. It was like you never really left, even though everything about you was long gone.

There were nights, too many to count, when Yoongi’s thumb hovered over the call button, your numbers still saved, still so familiar it hurt. He’d stare at the screen, half-drunk, though not on alcohol — he could never stomach enough of that to get wasted.

No, it was your love that left him reeling, the way it used to fill him up until he felt dizzy, unsteady, like the ground was slipping beneath him.

He never admitted it out loud, not even to himself, how much he missed her, how many times he’d come so close to breaking the silence. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He knew to move on, you need to go to that yearning which makes you feel like someone is squeezing your ribcage, crushing your heart till you die. So he’d sit there, phone in hand, waiting for the feeling to pass, knowing it never really would.

Untill he fell asleep, staring at the screen as if someone, you, would miraculously pop out of it.

That never happened.

Can’t you see you’ve left me bleeding a wound so deep?

He opened his eyes, catching his reflection in the window again. There was something hollow in the way he looked back at himself, like he’d forgotten what it meant to feel whole. He had promised himself a long time ago he was not dependent on anyone, but do promises really last, though? . .

His fingers stilled on the desk, the rhythm dying away into nothing.

You were gone. Not just from his life, but from the spaces in between — the places where your laughter used to fill the silence, where your presence was enough to ground him. And now, it was just him, sitting in this room that felt too empty, too still.

He had tried to tell himself that it was better this way. For you. For him. But tonight, the lie wasn’t enough. The hollow ache in his chest had grown too heavy for him to ignore it anymore.

He had loved you — still did, in a way that scared him. A secret he was scared even saying it out loud alone would shatter him down to fine dust. But it hadn’t been enough to keep you with him.

He wondered, not for the first time, if he would ever been enough for anyone. If maybe, he was always meant to be alone.

The thought lingered, cold and bitter. He hadn’t deserved you. Maybe that was why you were gone. Maybe that was why every time he closed his eyes, he could still feel the echo of you slipping away, just beyond his grasp, even in his memories.

The pain in his shoulder was dull now, almost numbing. But the ache in his chest? That was something else entirely.

He stared at his reflection, knowing he didn’t deserve the answer to the question that had haunted him for so long.

What if you had stayed? What if things had been different?

These were all questions which perhaps he’d be wandering to search for answers till quite some time. But the worst part wasn’t the not knowing. It was knowing — deep down — that even if you had stayed, he still would’ve been sitting here, alone, watching you disappear in the spaces he couldn’t fill.

And tonight, like every other night, thinking about the place you hold for yourself where you used to be, in his soul, he couldn’t do anything about it but miss you.

And miss you.

And miss you.

a/n : i miss yoongi.

thank you for reading :)

[hamsterclaw]

Fic Library: Yoongi (Pt 2)

My ult bias, it makes sense that there were too many to fit into one list. All of these authors capture the essence of my favourite tsundere king, check these stories out and show them some love. Part 1 here.

A Steamy Conversation by @madbutgloriouspond. Yoongi x f! reader. You walk in on a half-naked, dripping wet, tangerine haired Yoongi, he's mean and cocky and the inevitable happens. Smutty perfection from Memes.

Clockwork Heart by @vyduan. Yoongi x reader. The chaebol tsundere Yoongi that I'll never stop screaming about. A brilliant, capable reader, a hot Yoongi who does secret acts of kindness, and beautifully rendered side characters including wise and witty BFF Seokjin.

Knee-high by @jjungkookislife. Yoongi x reader in an established relationship. A sexy, skirt wearing, orange haired, watermelon chapstick using Yoongi with a lip piercing in a smutty, enjoyable read.

I'm not even gonna say it by @taetaespeaches. Yoongi x reader. An incredibly cute, fluffy read, where Yoongi stops for lemonade on a swelteringly hot day.

Fireworks by @starlostjimin. Yoongi x f! reader in an established relationship. A soft, fluffy, spicy story with the domestic Yoongi of my dreams.

Too hot to sleep by @gamerguk. Fiance Yoongi x reader - a short, smutty read with a hilarious cameo from Hobi at the end.

The Sweetest Thing by @illneverrecover. A super cute sweet treat featuring a grumpy florist Yoongi and a baker reader.

Kinkmas Day Four drabble by @monimonimoon. A deliciously hot, petty co-worker Yoongi at the office Christmas party.

On the nature of living by @sugalaritae. Griddle's an incredible writer, and this very beautiful story starts off with Yoongi x a ghost reader and resonates so much with me emotionally.

Home by @junghelioseok. Secret agent AU with Yoongi x reader. Short, sweet and comforting.

Set me free by @hesperantha. A time-travel tale with tragedy of epic proportions. You won't have read anything else quite like it.

The one with Yoongi, Netflix and zero chill by @eoieopda. A hilarious reader, a fluffy and cuddly Yoongi and softness and feelings all round.

Yoongi is a rock by @yoongsisbae. A beautifully written story that made me think about mortality and constancy and has the singularly beautiful line ‘And when Yoongi cracked he thought of you’. It gives me chills remembering it. Stunning.

The one with Yoongi and the fucking hydrangeas by @eoieopda. I knew I was in for angst when I started reading but I didn't bank on the beautifully realised longing and characters I wanted to cry for. I adore this.

Best served cold by @anotherbtswriter. Yoongi and afab reader in a mafia AU with drama, tsundere Yoongi energy and a duplicitous family. Riveting.

Bao by @whatifyoulivelikethat. Delivery boy Yoongi x chef reader. One of the first Yoongi stories I read, and have re-read so many times since then. This Yoongi's so perfectly characterised, and there's a cameo from a sexy model Taehyung too.

Dominance and Domesticity by @theharrowing. A Yoongi who doms you in the bedroom and also does ironing? Where do I sign up? Sexy perfection.

Cybersex by @gimmethatagustd. Yoongi x f! reader. Reader is a phone sex hotline operator in this brother's best friend AU. Featuring a hot, confident, capable Yoongi who nearly set my screen on fire.

Shameless by @vyduan. Idolverse AU with Yoongi and reader. A stunning story, part of the Her multiverse series, with complex, layered characters that are so beautifully human. One of the first stories I read when I started reading BTS fanfic, and one I won't forget.

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 14

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

WC: 2.7K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @bontensbabygirl @codeinebelle @ldysmfrst @idkjustlovingbts @popcatx0 @yoonjinsgirl @marblemoonstones

A/N: As promised :) hehe...

< Prev. Series Masterlist. Next > 

Seokjin had come over in the middle of the night when you couldn’t sleep and inerputed him for a movie marathon. Beyond tired was a mild way of putting it. He woke up early in the morning, struggling and finally managing to shimmy out of your grasp after a long fifteen minutes. He stilled against the bed, one foot out on the floor, bed hair spiking everywhere, and head slowly turning to you as you whined about the loss of contact. Acting fast, Seokjin tucked a pillow under your arm. 

You sighed and nuzzled it, quickly falling back into the Dreamland. 

Seokjin rubbed his face and got out of bed, padding to your kitchen on soft feet to prepare some breakfast. As he opened the refrigerator, he found two lunchboxes of overnight oats. Opening them, he took a sniff, trying to sense how long they had been in the fridge. After he deemed that they were edible, he placed one on the table and headed to pack your living room as he ate. 

It wasn't long before you woke up to the birds cawing outside your window, silently cursing them to let you sleep a little longer. Just as you were almost back asleep, they started calling again, causing you to groan out in frustration. Everything has been frustrating recently. You patted the space beside you, only for your hands to touch against the cool sheets. 

Sighing, you pushed yourself out of bed, heading to the kitchen where you were sure your brother was. 

Only to find it empty with a box of half-eaten overnight oats you had just made last afternoon. You tilted your head, yawning as you tried to think. 

"That's mine." Seokjin came into the kitchen with arms full of opened snacks and dirty, empty cups. "Go take yours. I left it in the fridge."

"Where were you?" Your voice came out scratchy and hoarse, the aftermath of all the tears and screaming last night. 

"Living room." Seokjin placed the cups in the sink. "I'm surprised you walked straight past me at the couch just now." He snickered, keeping your snacks in the baskets. 

"You were probably hiding from me, waiting for this moment." 

"Nah, I wouldn't be so bad." 

The both of you started the day by cleaning your house, Seokjin nagging at you for not taking care of yourself and the place you live in. The constant "Look at the amount of dust there is on this!" and "Oh my gosh, Y/N!". At least your brain took a break from what you were running from. After dinner, Seokjin had left, saying that he was called back to the hospital. You shooed him off despite him worrying over you.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" His brows were creased against his forehead. "I can cancel anyway. My licence is no longer valid so technically calling me back is unnecessary. So I can stay if you need me." 

"Just go, Seokjin."

"They'll probably make me stay the whole night, you know that." 

"I know that." You patted his shoulder. "Just go, I'll be fine."

With your constant pestering and deflection, Seokjin reluctantly left your house, leaving you once again in your mind. You watch as his car revered from the parking lot, driving away. You closed the curtains and turned off the lights. 

Might as well get some sleep to escape reality. 

The sad truth of that.

You had woken up just as Lillianne burst into your house screaming, “FBI, OPEN UP!” 

Groaning, you turned to the side, hands blindly grabbing your phone off the coffee table. When your sleep-muggled brain finally registered the time that your screen showed you, you shot up, cursing your way to your room. 

“I was wondering why you weren’t out yet. You better be lucky I came in.”

Hastily, you got yourself ready, shrugging on clothes like you were just caught. Technically, you were. You and Lils managed to leave the house in a record time of seven minutes, only missing your water bottle. But the water in the shop was free anyway, so you’d just take that.

Starting the car, you drove off in the direction of the shop. The moment you stepped in, you were already dreading coming to work. The shop was filled with customers. 

Good for the business, not good for your health. 

Starting the orders in the receipts, you prepped yourself for a long night ahead. Lils worked at the cashier, shoving more receipts your way as you balanced making drinks and serving to scoop ice creams. 

You were certainly not pleased with the amount of people in the shop at four in the afternoon. But it was a Saturday - what could you say?

Family gatherings, children playing around, couples on dates. It made your heart clench every time you had to serve a couple. Seeing the lovey-dovey looks they send each other reminded you of a certain hybrid. Shaking your head, you tightened your apron and continued. The coffee would not make itself and the food would not serve itself. 

Oh, how you would love that. 

Then, you wouldn’t have to constantly run about. But that is the nature of the job. One could only expect so much from a food and beverage job. The night went on much busier than usual on a Saturday night. Parties were held there with big gatherings and by the time the shop closed, you had heard a good four birthday songs and seen an uncountable amount of bouquets. 

Cleaning up, you cleared off the used cutleries and dishes, setting them in the sink for the kitchen staff to wash. Ensuring that no ice cream scooper is left in their respective boxes overnight, you then swept and mopped the floor before cleaning the tables. Going out to throw the trash, you grabbed the bags from the kitchen and outside. 

Spotting a black cat sitting idly at the bus stop, you gave it a small hello before speed-walking to the bins. They were heavy trash bags. There were a lot of baking and alcohol bottles used today. You weren’t sure when the cat had leapt down and followed you, but you soon found yourself stumbling over, trying not to step on the cat’s wagging tail. It walked in between your legs, rubbing its head against your calves - chasing it was more likely - as its tail swished violently. 

Its actions reminded you a lot of Yoongi. That cat loved to show affection by constantly rubbing your calves and scenting you in between your shoulders. He had said that it was a comfortable spot to sleep on. 

Your heart clenched at the thought of him. 

After throwing the trash away, you squatted down to give its head a small pat with the back of your hands. “I’m sorry, buddy. My hands are filled with syrup right now and I wouldn’t like you for you to get sick when you groom yourself.”

It followed you to the shop, stopping just outside the doors. 

“Come on in, buddy.” You gestured for the cat. 

It was dark outside and with the heavy trash bags, you didn’t take a good look at the cat, trying to work your way around not hurting it. But now that it was inside, it mewoed and continued to rub at your ankles, going around you in circles. 

“Sit.” You instructed it. It was something you hoped it could understand. And it did. 

After washing your hands, you rummaged through the kitchen for a can of tuna. Spotting three, you took them all with you and headed out. Opening one, you placed it in front of the cat. “There you go, you can have all three. I’ll go get you some water, okay?” 

When you headed back to the front, you found it prodding at the second can. “Here,” You placed the bowl of water onto the floor. “Have some water first. I’ll open it for you.” 

You were stopped with two paws on your arm, the cat jumping up onto your lap. Sitting down in a cross-legged position, gave it more space to roam. But it seemed to know exactly where it wanted to be. In the middle with his head propped on your upper thigh. Its loud purrs fill the room as you stroke it from ear to snout. 

It looks just like Yoongi.

You knew that but your conscious brain was just trying to reject it. 

It wasn’t until its moonlit eyes slid to yours did the waterworks started. Carrying him up, you looked at the cat in your arms through watery eyes. Its shocked expression and terrified meows -

Your eyes closed the moment you felt his rough tongue lick your cheek. Tilting your head away from him to not cover his shiny fur in your slob, you tucked him between your neck and shoulder, head hanging down. 

Yoongi knew Jimin was right. 

Yoongi knew that he needed to talk to you. 

Yoongi also knew the address where you stayed and worked. 

So when he overheard Seokjin asking a favour from Jimin to keep his phone on call in case you needed him, Yoongi dashed out of the house. Scurrying from Jimin’s home to the shop, his little cat paws could only get him there so fast. 

By the time he reached it, he was parched. Panting, he stuck his tongue out to moderate his temperature. He wanted to take the chance of the next customer to enter the shop and call your attention to him. But seeing you so busy, running from place to place without a stop, Yoongi decided that it was better if he waited until the shop closed. 

So Yoongi took his spot at the shaded area of the bus stop and watched you work. You were quick and agile, moving like the wind. Many times, he saw the flinch of pain and growth of your eyes when you were scared. When big groups of people came in, he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. You tried not to show the customers - but Yoongi knew better. The pain in your eyes when you see couples made his head hang. 

It was his fault.

When the day was finally over and the shop closed, Yoongi waited for his chance. Like a cat hunting for his prey, Yoongi’s attention grew sharper. He noted each of your movements and when you finally came out with trash bags in hand, he leaped for it. 

He did not expect you to spot him from far but you did. 

It made his heart swell with a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. Pride, most probably. 

She noticed me. 

Rubbing against your ankles, he meowed for your attention, glad to finally be close to you. You hadn’t recognised him and it made Yoongi feel a little… sad. But the moment you did, you burst into tears and Yoongi couldn’t find a way to stop it. He was essentially trapped in your hold. He meowed frantically, hoping that you would sense the distress in his voice and stop. But you didn’t. 

You continued, caressing his fur and mumbling his name over and over again. 

With a meow and a particularly harsh tug, he slid out of your grasp and stood on your thighs, licking your face. You laughed as he found your sensitive spot just behind your ear. Trying to get him out of your face, Yoongi held on and continued. It was better than you crying. 

“Okay, okay.” You got up, placing him on a table as he hissed from the cold contact. “I’m okay. But now I have to go wash my face since you just covered me in slobber.”

Yoongi sat up and watched your movements. From cleaning up yourself to cleaning the floor and leftover water to you turning off everything and picking him up, he didn’t dare relax. It wasn’t until you placed him in your car and wrapped him in his favourite towel did he started to feel it. 

He was holding it in for such a long time that -

Tears unconsciously slid down his eyes, matting his fur. 

He didn’t know how long it was before your arms pulled him up again, carrying him onto your lap. “Yoongs… Don’t cry… We’ll figure it out, I’ll try harder. I promise.”

But it has nothing to do with you. 

It’s me.

The silence was kept at a peaceful wavelength until you reached home. Picking him and your bags up, he cuddled closer to you, seeking your warmth in the chilly air. The moment you opened the door, Yoongi lept out of your arms and slinked through the cat door on his door, pleased to find that it had not been locked. 

Quickly shifting and changing, Yoongi left the room and slid to your side on the floor. 

You brought your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks but he did not dare grumble. He wanted this to last as long as possible. 

“I chose you, Y/N. I choose you, mate.” Yoongi confessed. 

You closed your eyes as your lips trembled and Yoongi brought his hands up to wipe away the tears that streaked down your face. 

“I’m sorry…” You whispered. 

“No, please don’t be. Please.” Yoongi begged. “You are the most amazing person ever. The most beautiful and does everything you can just for me. I am sorry. I have let you down - hurt you just because I thought it was easier to let you hate me than love me.” Yoongi let himself go, crying in your lap. “My strong, beautiful, exceptional mate.” Yoongi looked up at you, voice breaking. “I’m sorry.” 

This is one of the few times that Yoongi broke down in front of you. 

“I’m so, so, sorry.” Yoongi kneeled in front of you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry. I did not mean - I -”

You gently placed your hands in his hair, ruffling them and stroking his ears. Yoongi’s harsh sobs could be heard throughout your house. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” You mumbled into his hair, bent over onto his body. “It’s okay, Yoongs. I’m sorry too.”

Yoongi’s head tilted upwards, voice hoarse as he asked, “Why are you sorry?”

“Because I jumped to conclusions and didn’t put enough trust and hope into our relationship. And that I let this become when we could have easily talked it out properly if I had chosen the right words to tell you.” You smiled down at him. 

You had never thought that you would ever say these three words that would mean so much. You thought that our chance had been blown the moment you started that argument. You expected your chance to stay blown when Yoongi walked out of the courtroom without looking back. Saying them to Lils and Jin was a different thing from saying to Yoongi. You were always the person to express instead of say but this time -

“Yoongi,” You tilted his face upwards to you, eyes boring into his as you muttered the three words of magic. “I love you.”

From this view, you can see the widening of his eyes. 

“You - You love me?” Yoongi’s eyes sparkled with a shimmery glow. “You love me?”

You nodded, smiling at his goofy expression. Yoongi suddenly shot up, bouncing around the house - much like an excited dog might when he goes on walks. 

“You love me! You love me!” Yoongi ran to the windows. “Y/N love me!” 

Your eyes widened, hands instantly pulling him back. “Don’t go screaming it to the world! It isn’t even 5 a.m.!”

Yoongi turned, the light in his eyes knocking the breath out of you. “But you’re mine.” Yoongi’s eyes crinkled and a gummy smile was full on show. “And you love me.” 

You nodded undoubtedly. Yoongi brought you close to his chest, hugging you tightly. “You love me and I love you too.” 

“Yoongi -”

“I love you.” He shook his head, eyes shining with inner light and it knocked the breath right out of you. “I love you, wholly.”

[icravebooks]

Paint me yours.

Yoongi x reader

Genre: establish rlsp, smut, pure filthy smut.

Summary: you had an idea and yoongi never said no to it.

Warning: pure straight out smut, it's mature content so kids stay away, spanking, p into v penetrations, unprotected sex (i am not gonna say don't be foolish cause more than half of you don't even have a social life let alone because you are delulu), paint play, temperature play, soft dom yoongi, sub reader, yoongi loves taunting and teasing. That will be all please tell me if you find anything worth mentioning.

Masterlist

Side note: this had been in my mind for days I had to get it out so that's why I stayed up the night writing this. Enjoy

Word count: 4k

To the point you could conclude yoongi was the best boyfriend anyone could ever ask of, he was the perfect softie, and the best power he held was that he never said no to anything you ever suggested, 6 years of relationship and there was not even a single time he had said no to you. Not even when you would ask him to come over at 3 in the morning.

So it wasn't a surprise that he had said yes to your almost shy request, it had struck you out of no where, you were just watching some show it had some scenes related to painting and just somehow you mind dragged you to the deepest pools of lust, a not so innocent idea striking you so hard that you had no other option but you discuss it with your boyfriend, you didn't tell him the details though, you just told him you had something in mind that you wanted to try with him and like yoongi was he never said no.

So that's how you both ended up in the living room of your apartment, the sofas and cushioned all pushed back to create abundance space for both you and yoongi to try the idea you had been thinking about, a large canvas laying in front of you both, the cans of pain kept on the side of it and a few brushes stocked in a pen stand beside your leg.

"So.." yoongi finally breaks the silence his hand placed on his hips while his body is half turned your way, one of his perfectly shaped eyebrows raised in a silent question, you couldn't exactly hide how nervous you were feeling about this, the death grip you had on your shirt was enough to give it out, your were biting the inside of your cheeks not entirely sure about how you should let yoongi know what you had planned, it felt embarassing to say it out loud.

It wasn't that you guys hadn't done shit, you guys were actually really far from that if anything the amount of corrupt acts you had done together was let's just say a secret hidden to maintain world peace. But this was the first time you had something you thought of, something totally out of the box, something that came from your imagination.

It wasn't that you were scared that yoongi would judge you, he never did that infact if anything he always helped you relax and not overthinking things, he always was there when the shouts inside your head got too loud, he always knew when you were about to lose it and that was why he turned towards you totally, his warm rough hands coming up to cup your cheeks and his warm lips coming to collide with the bridge of your nose, stealing a sigh from you.

"It's okay love, there's nothing wrong in wanting to try something if anything it makes us knowledgeable." Yoongi always knew what you thought even without you speaking it and it was something that has always come as a warm blanket over you anytime things got hard, just like now and his words actually relieve you making your stiffness dissolve and your expression softens as you look into his eyes.

"That's like my brave girl." The gummy smile that he flashes your way has the remaining tension leaving your body, a smile cracking on your face at his comment as he places his forehead against yours, "now stop torturing my poor soul and tell me what you have planned for us?" Yoongi's direct questions makes your throat dry but you can't hide away, you lick your dry lips locking eyes with him.

"Umm.. I thought.. maybe we could..try you know.. some paint and..that canvas..I mean you get it right, i can't put it into exact words but the rough up conclusion is that I want you to fuck me on that canvas." Your innocent stupor breaks away by the end of your monologue, it was hard to be shy about something when you always are the outspoken one, it's hard to not have words when you always have them.

Your words make your boyfriend laugh, a almost surprised look visible in his eyes while he squeezes your cheeks between his hands, "aww my baby finally turning naughty." Yoongi tease his voice dropping down a few octaves and turning husky making your knees quiver, you can feel the way your starts feel turned on by that single comment of his.

You look away from him not able to keep your eyes on him but that yoongi doesn't allows as he grips your chin gently between his finger and turns your eyes back towards him, "didn't we went over the rules love?, You need to keep yours Eyes on me my good girl." You knew how much of a switch yoongi was, he was the perfect boyfriend in public and in private when it was steamy hot moments he was a dominating alpha male who knew how to keep you withering and under his control but even in that he never did anything that would hurt you.

However that didn't mean you didn't get punished by him specifically on certain occasion and one thing to remember about yoongi was that, yoongi held his rules very important and the thought of making him angry made you wetter by seconds, as fun as it sounded you had other plans for today so you would rather let that one sit back for another time, so you kept your gaze pinned at him, "let's make this as detailed as we can play?" Yoongi's instruction was clear and simple and you knew that it was important for him to know what exactly you wanted so that the whole thing would turn out well.

Your nodding earned you a quick peck on the lips from yoongi one of his hand leaving your face and wandering down behind your back to squeeze your ass and pull you closer to him, your own hands entangled in the mess of his long black hairs to keep you anchored, "you want to be fucked laying down on that canvas ?" Yoongi questions humming against your lips, his hand that was still on your cheek patting it in a comforting manner, your heart felt warm at the action knowing exactly well that it was yoongi's way of keeping your anxiety from taking a toll on you.

"Yes." You whisper comes out breathy, your eyes almost closing when yoongi starts kissing his way from your jaw to your neck, lazy open mouth lustful kisses that have you moaning out his name already while you are sure you have drenched your panties already. "What else do you want me to do?" Yoongi questions all the while his hand that had been on your ass moved towards the front and in between your thighs pushing them apart slightly, you shudder at the feeling of his wet tongue licking away on your skin like fire.

"Paint.. I want you and I to leave colour imprinting of our love making on that canvas." You breathly confess your mind already going to hijack with the feeling of his lips against you and his hands that are playing with your body, a chuckle vibrates yoongi's body along side yours sending another wave of arousal gushing out of your pussy. "My my when did I turned my sweet little princess into a dirty girl?" You were sure as hell that yoongi loved teasing you, no matter how many times you guys had done how many dirty things, he would never give up on the idea that you were a classical good girl who he corrupted, in your opinion yoongi loved the fact that he had the power over you to turn you into lust filled slut and it didn't bother you even in the slightest not when it was yoongi or his skillful fingers which were currently tracing the outline of your panties.

"Anything else you would like me to do to you princess ?" You couldn't deny just how sexy yoongi's grunting voice sounded near your ear as he worked his way up the side of your neck to your ear, your hands tugging at his hair strands at the way his finger circled around your clothed clit, you almost cried at the teasing you were subjected to under yoongi's hand but you were never behind on returning the favour as your own hand moved down to cup his clothes already hard bulge through his sweatpants.

When yoongi groaned on you palming him a satisfied smirk ignited on your lips while you watched the way his hooded lust blown eyes gave you a warning look, "that will be all darling." You kept your voice seductive, dragging the nickname further to tease the man who just smiled lazily at your cheeky behaviour before his hands were shredding you off your clothes and you were returning the favour, not even ten seconds later both you were reduced to your underwear and yoongi to his sweatpants.

Yoongi smiled at you deviously before attacking your lips, his hands roaming all over your body coming up to squeeze your breast before they started to massage them and a loud moan elicited from you in response. Your own hands couldn't from pulling him in even more, not letting him go until you both were running short on air, you both pulled away totally breathless eyes scanning each other's body with a hunger visible in both your eyes.

Yoongi took a step back from you and opened up one of the cans that laid on the floor, "get down here princess." The commanding voice that yoongi used were enough to turn your legs into jelly and he didn't really had to tell you twice before you found yourself sitting halfway on top of the canvas, yoongi took his place in between your parted legs, you watched him with anticipating breathe as his eyes made contact with yours, a grin spreading on his lips.

"Open up for me princess." Yoongi requested tapping the inside of your thighs and you stretched them far apart allowing yoongi the perfect view of your drenched panty, a groan left the man at the sight of your already gone state, your smiled clearly feeling proud that you were the reason yoongi looked so animalistic, like he could devour you right then and there, "already so wet for me love." Yoongi commented taking a step closer to you and tracing a finger from your knees to your inner thighs before they dived inside your panty to press against your clit which made you throw your head back while you supported yourself on the palm of your hands leaning back and pushing forward on his finger, "always wet for you baby." Your breathless confession made the man swell up with pride, his eyes shining as he eye fucked you, taking in the sinister state you were in, mentally clicking up an image of yours in his mind to keep.

He pulled away his finger from your core making a whimper escape your mouth but that only made the male chuckle as he started to pull down your panty, a cold wet sensation igniting where yoongi touched which made you look back at him out of curiousity, your breathe getting stolen when you see the sight that greets you.

A trail of yellow paint follows the finger that are pulling your panties down, the sight just makes you more wet and your throw back your head again when yoongi discards your panty and places a kiss to the top of your thigh, "absolutely beautiful." Yoongi whispers warm against your skin as he places open mouth kisses to your thigh all the way down to your knees before his one hand comes to your hips moving back to your ass, you can feel the coolness of the paint wherever yoongi touches you and you almost lose all your senses when his hand kneads on your ass cheeks spreading the paint further on it.

"Eyes on me love." Yoongi punctuates his words with a light smack to yours other ass cheek, his figure coming atop you, his face hovering inches above yours while his lower half press against yours, you moan when yoongi's clothed length press against your naked heat, "who said you were allowed to keep that on?" You questioned looking into yoongi's eyes, knowing that he understood what you were talking about, yoongi smirks down on you as your hands lock behind his neck, he supports himself on one of his forearm while the other dips into the can of paint beside you before it disappears down.

You open your mouth to say something against stopping immediately when you feel yoongi run down his painted hand down your torso to your abdomen and then down to your core, he smears the paint on either of your inner thighs before his fingers progress in on your pussy, his two fingers rubbing on the lips of your pussy before he parts them and enters his middle finger knuckle deep into your core, you scream out curses throwing your head back at the invasion.

"Ah ah love didn't i say eyes on me." Yoongi's fingers retreat along his words making you whimper in refusal, your eyes glaring at the man on top of you before you decide that he deserves a pay back so you flip him over, now you are the one on top of him. You straddle his lap purposely grinding yourself against his length to get those beautiful groans of his. This time it's yoongi whose head falls back and his eyes shut, giving you the perfect opportunity to Tut back at him.

"Now baby, that isn't really exemplary for someone who was taunting me about closing my eyes." You sass back continuing to ride him, yoongi totally ignores your sass, his hands grip onto your waist so tight tha you are sure there are gonna be bruises but you don't mind some bruises.

Not when yoongi looks so lost and divine with his lips parted his eyes shut while he is fumbling out incoherent words, you turn yours body half sideways grabbing onto a can of colour and opening it before you dip your hand in it and pull out to spread the red paint over yoongi's chest, making sure to give him a slow shoulder massage when you are at it anyway. You lean down enough so that your chest is brushing his with each breath that he takes, knowing very well that the wet paint is getting on your body too.

Your bump yours nose with his as you grind against him, "how does it feels baby?" You straight out provoke him using a slutry tone and continue to grind against him as you continued your tortur-- massage on his chest trailing the extra paint down to his v line, you can hear yoongi grunt and groan at your action but he doesn't complains, so you continue until you reach the offending piece of clothing and when you do, you placed a kiss directly over that visible tent in his pants, making sure to suck on that very spot to make yoongi even more frustrated, finally you get the piece of clothing off him by dragging his sweatpants of his hips, making extra sure that you did it slowly as slowly as you could with the man grumbling for you to be a little quick at your work but you took your sweet time and once he was free from his confinements.

You dipped both your hands in two different colours winking up at him wickedly as you say in between his stretched thighs, "what are yo.." yoongi didn't complete his question before which yours hands were placed on either side of his hips before you trailed your fingers towards his cock, taking slow deliberate taps closer to his shaft before finally taking his length in your hand and smearing his mighty cock with the paint, making sure to Dip down and place a quick kiss to the oozing tip of his cock, maybe a quick suck too just so to hear that throat deep grunt of his while he cursed.

"Easy there babyboy." Your tease seem to only make the male more restless, it was actually an impressive thing that you and yoongi had rules that when the other takes charge you must restrain from stopping them not until you can't help it, so knowing that yoongi could help it still you took your time sliding your palm up and down the inside of his shaft, even going for some extra paint before going down to massage his balls, so instead of an oil massage you were giving him a paint massage how funny.

"Y/N you need to stop if you don't want to end up in a rather hard situation." You knew why yoongi was warning you and it only made you giggle the fact that he was so close to lose it when you were pumping his length with yours hands wrapped around it, making sure to give him a squeeze every now and then. Yep you were totally asking for it but never saw it coming not when yoongi's hands traveled to grab onto yours shoulder, not when he let them trail down your arm, you thought he was trying to anchor himself by doing that but boy were you wrong?

A yelp left your mouth when yoongi pulled you atop him by a harsh tug on your arm, your blood ran cold when you saw the look of pure wickedness and contempt clear in his eyes, it left you breathless, your breathe hitched in your throat when yoongi turned you both around, trapping you in between his arms.

"Lay on your stomach love." That was enough to make you feel goosebumps the chills in his voice making you gulp down harshly while your walls clenched around nothing, you didn't protest and complied with him, turning around and laying flat on your stomach while you heard him mutter a good girl just beside your ear, you knew yoongi purposely pressed his body against yours letting you feel his hard length against your ass. You knew he purposely rubbed his cock against you to make you frustrated.

"Hands above your head princess." You complied without any complain knowing exactly well there was nothing to argue with him about, you yelped when yoongi delivered a smack against your ass, "playing with fire isn't something good girls do my love." Yoongi's scolding was something he was enjoying and you knew that from his tone, you tried to hold back a retort meanwhile yoongi nudged you open for him even more.

You were about to make a comment when yoongi decided to plunge three finger inside you, making you scream out in surprise which made him laugh, you turned your head back to glare at the man who just gave you a cocky smirk, finding your surprise funny.

"Any problem there love?" He mocked you as he started to thrust his fingers in and out of you, you would have retorted with something witty had it not been that yoongi was making you moan and groan so good, you felt fool with his fingers knuckle deep inside you hitting that perfect spot only he could find.

Yoongi kept his thrust even until he felt you clench around his digit that was when he picked up his pace making you cry out his name in a bliss as white covered your vision and you saw stars when you came on his finger, yoongi helping you through you high and once he was sure you were okay, he pulled his fingers out licking them clean before he placed a kiss on your shoulder.

You laid there silently for a moment or two as you felt yoongi giving you a back massage while he spread paint on your back, once he was done you finally looked back at him, "not exhausted right?" You couldn't help but smile at the way yoongi cared even though you knew he needed you right now too, it was heart warming to know that for him you and your comfort always came first no matter what.

"Our quickies also have more than one round baby." You commented back trying to assure him that you were not thoroughly spent, who were you kidding there had been far more times when you and yoongi kinda did the very thing the song 69 talked about.

"I don't see a lie there." Yoongi comments back helping you to turn around and lay on your back as he came to press his lips against yours, you giggled against his lips when his fingers brushed against your tummy, you felt yoongi smile in the kiss as he positioned himself against you, you pulled his bottom lip between your teeths tugging at it as he pushed into.

You let his bottom lip go moaning along side him at the way you felt filled in that moment, a connection that felt like you were made for him, yoongi didn't felt different either he felt like you were the missing pieces of his life, the pieces that would complete the puzzle we call life and just like a puzzle fits perfectly you fit perfectly against him.

"I love you." You both whispered at the same time chuckling right after at the moment, it was so serene and peaceful you could do this for a life time, yoongi stayed buried inside you for a moment longer before he pulled out halfway and then thrusted in again, "once I am done taking you like this, i will make you bounce on my cock." Yoongi's words made you clench around him a deep moan eliciting from somewhere within your chest as yoongi pulled out and thrusted harshly inside you again.

"You like that?.. ofcourse you like it, you are a dirty girl..a slut who likes to be used by me..want me to tell you what else I will do to you?" Yoongi laughs when you clench around him even harder at the way he talks, it turns you so much, yoongi turns you on so much that you don't mind any position or any number of times he is willing to take you in.

"How about I fuck you from behind?, spank that pretty little ass of yours so good that you can't sit without thinking about me, you like that ..ngh ...fuck look at the way you are clenching around me.." you weren't able to thinking about the way yoongi was trying to tease you, you were far too gone in the pleasure to even think about anything, every thing yoongi said you wanted him to do that to you.

You knew your clenching around yoongi was making him get closer to his release too, it was make him lose his mind too and the absolute proof was the way he was twitching inside of you while he kept thrusting inside you in a harsh pace. You were sure had it not been for yoongi's before hand arrangements the canvas would have gave in by now, you were glad that yoongi was so good at planning things and paying attention to little things, it made you love him even more.

You couldn't help but stare in awe at the man who you claimed to love with all you heart, his forehead glistening with sweat as the light from the ceiling lights brightened his features, the way his deep throat grunts were edging you off and when his fingers rubbed circles against your clit you finally gave in, feeling the white blanket covering your vision again as stars danced in front of you, your release seeming to trigger even yoongi's as he came into you with one last thrust.

His body slumping on top of yours while you trying to catch your breathe, yoongi slipped from on top of you before pulling you to him, a quick peck pressed to your hairline with a i love you. It didn't end just then though, yoongi had promised you a lot more rounds after that too so that's exactly what you guys did.

_________________________________________

"Hey yoongi hyung!" Jungkook's calling drew yoongi out from the kitchen where he was helping you, he headed to where the maknae was, yoongi's steps flattering slightly when he saw where the youngest was standing, his eyes fixed on the same spot where jungkook was looking at, "yea?" Yoongi tried to play it cool but the way the maknae looked so focused had him feeling an itch of nervousness inside him, "you never told me that you were getting so good at painting." Jungkook's comment made the elder laugh, as his eyes jumped from jungkook to the canvas hung covering one of yoongi's living room wall, a whole series of flashback shooting through his mind at the images.

"It just slipped my mind." Yoongi mumbled out looking back to jungkook for a quick moment before his eyes wandered away to where you were inside the kitchen, an evil mischievous grin plastered on your face while you mouthed a 'Suits you.' in yoongi's direction before jin walks in to talk to you about something.

"It's kind of impressive how nice you have used the brush strokes."

Oh jungkook only if you knew.

[sxgakookie]

Summary: Yoongi struggles to come to terms with your passing, worrying those around him. Genre: Angst (idol!Yoongi feat. idol!Namjoon) Ratings/Warning: Adults Only (Strong language and themes. Trigger warnings for implied s**cide and s/a, main character death, funerals, depression, grieving process and related emotions.) Word Count: 940 Author's Note: Please mind the rating and warning. If this is upsetting or triggering subject matter for you, please choose how to engage or not to engage with caution.

“I want to talk to him, but I don’t know what to say.” Namjoon sighed, his phone pressed against his ear. He leaned back into his studio chair, and ran his hand through his hair in exasperation.

“I know.” Jimin said on the other line. “I don’t think there’s anything we could say, I think we just have to keep him company while he deals with it.”

Six months.

Six months ago, Yoongi lost you. The love of his life. The woman he planned to spend every day with. The only one who knew him so intimately, familiar with every river running through his mind. You were the light of his life, someone he could shower with love and feel comfortable being vulnerable with, a rarity for him. You were his safety, protecting him from his demons. He only wished he could’ve been yours.

The day of your funeral, Yoongi sat at your burial site and just stared blankly at your name and photo printed onto your headstone. He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. It was as though he was too stunned in grief to react. All he could do was stare at your photo, where you looked so happy. He wondered how such a bright smile could be so deceitful. After the rest of the funeral attendees had cleared out, Yoongi stayed. He was the last one to leave, and he only left after Jung Kook begged him to eat something with the other members. Yoongi reluctantly left you, feeling a type of emptiness he had never known before.

Ever since that day, he’s visited you daily. He has brought flowers, and sat on the grass to talk to you. He’s cried, begged and pleaded, screamed, and in one low moment, became angry with you for leaving him; for not trusting him enough to come to him.

“You could’ve just talked to me.” He said through angered cries. “Why didn’t you just tell me, angel? Huh? I would’ve made everything ok, you know that. Holy fuck…”

He calmed down and apologized to you, resting a hand on your headstone and realizing he physically had no more tears left in him. He was just hollow. He retreated back to his studio, locked the door, and somehow, was able to weep some more.

The other members were worried sick about his well-being. He was barely eating, sleeping or talking. He isolated himself, and dedicated himself to letting the pain out through his lyrics. Namjoon realized the songs were growing darker and darker, a looming black cloud over every word Yoongi put to paper. It was concerning.

“Hyung.” Namjoon said gently, entering Yoongi’s studio.

“Yeah.” Yoongi acknowledged in a low voice.

Namjoon sat down on the couch behind Yoongi, who didn’t turn around in his chair to face him. He kept his focus on the screen in front of him.

“Hyung, we’re all worried about you.” Namjoon began, his voice as soft as he could manage. “If… if you need someone to talk to, you’d come to one of us, wouldn’t you?”

The room was silent. Yoongi didn’t answer, as though he didn’t hear the question at all. But he did, as he stopped clicking his mouse or typing away. The air was heavy with the weight of the subject.

“Yeah.” Yoongi mumbled.

“Ok….” Namjoon nodded, unconvinced. He stared at the back of Yoongi’s head, not knowing what else to say. Then finally, before he could catch the words from spilling out, Namjoon subtly murmured, “She really loved you, Yoongi-hyung.”

That was the crack that broke the dam. Yoongi turned around in his chair in a flash, shooting Namjoon a look that bordered between completely broken and enraged. Yoongi grabbed a notebook from his desk and chucked it at Namjoon, whose eyes went wide in shock as he ducked the sharp throw.

“Why the fuck would you say that?” Yoongi asked with venom in his voice. “Get the fuck out of my studio, Namjoon.”

“I’m sorrry, hyung-”

“She loved me, but not enough to tell me what happened to her when I was gone.” Yoongi said, nostrils flailing and eyes watering, unable to keep his emotions from boiling over. “Not enough to let me fucking take care of her, not enough to fucking stay with me. Because I fucking failed her, Namjoon. I should’ve been here. I should’ve been here to walk her home. Or, I should’ve stayed on the phone with her, fucking anything to keep her safe-”

“No.” Namjoon shook his head, standing up from the couch to walk over closer to his older band mate. “I won’t let you do that, hyung. This is not your fault. You can’t blame yourself, you’ll just drive yourself crazy. You did the best you could. She knew you loved her, and she knew she could trust you. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Then why isn’t she here?” Yoongi completely shattered. His voice was strained with pain, the weakest Namjoon had ever heard him. “She should be here, Namjoon. She should be right here, smiling and happy and just…. Holy fuck.” Yoongi struggled to collect himself.

“She was so beautiful, and smart, I loved her so much.” Yoongi’s tears were fully pouring now, and Namjoon gathered him up in his arms to hug him, hoping he could transfer some strength to the man who is like a brother to him. “I miss her so fucking much.”

“I know. We all miss her, too.” Namjoon said, letting Yoongi pour down tears as he hugged his hyung. “She knew you loved her, hyung. And she loved you so, so much. Please, don’t ever forget that.”

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

His Hyung's Noona | Yoongi

- Pairing: Min Yoongi x Noona-Kim!Reader (ft brother!Jin)

- Requested by: @kayleefriedchicken

- Requests: Open for now. Please read my requesting guidelines before requesting.

- Warnings: My first bts/yoongi imagine. steamy shower dream scene, NO SMUT but builds up to it. Noona!Reader is mentioned to be three years older than Yoongi, two years older than Jin. The first half is pure angst. ex-fiancee Minho is not associated with any kpop groups/actors. Minho is a common name and I couldn't think of another one.

- Word Count: 5.122

- Taglist: Open. Send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Min Yoongi Masterlist | BTS Masterlist

Y/N knocks on her younger brother's front door, her heart racing with uncertainty. It’s late, and she isn’t sure if he’s still awake. Just as she’s about to turn away, a wave of relief washes over her when the door opens moments later, revealing a puzzled Jin, who wasn’t expecting any late-night visitors. 

Noticing the distress etched on his sister's face, Jin silently steps aside, his expression shifting from confusion to concern as he gestures for her to come inside his apartment. The familiar scent of his apartment, an odd mix of instant ramen and the faint aroma of his favourite cologne and a hint of pine tree, brings her comfort, but it does little to ease the turmoil inside her.  

"Sorry for dropping by so late," she says, slipping off her shoes and leaving them neatly by the door as he shuts the door behind her. "I just didn’t have anywhere else to go." 

"What's going on, Noona?" he asks, his brow furrowing as he takes in her dishevelled appearance and the way her hands tremble slightly. His concern for his older sister deepens and he moves closer to her, ready to offer her support. 

"I ended it with Minho," she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. Ignoring his surprised expression, she makes her way to the kitchen, and opens the fridge. A small cheer escapes her lips when she spots a container of strawberries nestled among the leftovers the other food. She takes them out, promising Jin, she’ll replace them first thing in the morning. For now, she needs the comfort of something sweet.  

"What do you mean you ended it with Minho? You two were supposed to get married in three months. I thought everything was good between the two of you?" Jin says, the strawberries being the last thing he’s worried about. As far as he knew things were great between her and Minho. They’d been in a relationship for the past five years. They had their fights but they quickly made up. He wasn’t Minho’s biggest fan but the businessman made his Noona happy so he kept his opinions to himself. 

He moved to the living room and settled back onto the couch, his eyes never leaving her as he watches her rummage around his kitchen.  

"Remember that K-Drama I just finished?" she asked, finding the chocolate dip in the cupboard and walking into the living room. She paused, realizing Jin wasn’t alone. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she offered a small wave and a slight bow to Yoongi, who was lounging on the couch, his expression a mix of curiosity and surprise. He returns the gesture as Jin speaks again.  

"Husband, marry me?" He asks, having paid no attention to his sister yapping about her new favourite drama. 

"Close," she replies, redirecting her attention to him. "It's called Marry My Husband." 

"So, how does that relate to you breaking up with your fiancée?" Jin asks, even more puzzled.  

"You broke up with Minho?" Yoongi interjected, surprised but also with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It was well-known among Jin and the rest of their friends - Jimin being the first one to point it out - that Yoongi has always had feelings that went beyond friendship for Y/N. He had tried to move on after she started dating Minho, convincing himself that if she’s happy then he’s happy for her.  

She nods, addressing Yoongi before turning back to Jin. "Let’s just say I can relate to the drama."  

"He tried to kill you?" Jin exclaimed, his eyes wide in shock. All he remembered was her mentioning that the husband killed the wife, and she was sent back in time.  

"No, but I caught him cheating with Hae-Yun and they practically turned its back on me like it was my fault they did it," she sighs, sounding sad and heartbroken and goes to sit in-between the two men. However, as she sits down, both of them stand up, anger on their faces.  

Jin's brow furrowed, and his fists clench at his sides. "What do you mean he cheated on you? I can’t believe he would do something like that!" His protective instincts kicked in, and his anger towards Minho, the man he had reluctantly accepted into their family, only grows stronger the more he thinks about it. "Actually, you know what, I always thought he was a no-good scumbag and you deserve better, Noona. I just kept my mouth shut because it seemed he made you happy. I should go kick his ass." 

"I'm right behind you, Hyung," Yoongi joins him, his expression mirroring Jin's fury. He’s always been the quiet one, the one who keeps his feelings hidden, but now, with knowing what happened, he also feels a surge of protectiveness. 

Y/N raises a hand, her eyes wide, "Wait, guys, please! Don’t go and confront him. I dealt with it. It’s over and to be honest, I’m more hurt Hae-Yun would do that to me. She was supposed to be my best friend," she bites her lip, trying to stop herself from crying as she opens the container of strawberries and chocolate dip. Once the container is open, she offers some to the two of them, who are now looking at her with sympathy. They both politely decline, allowing her to enjoy them alone.  

Avoiding their gazes, she glances down at her empty hand, now free of her engagement ring. “I was so furious. I took the ring off and gave it to her, telling her he’s a cheapskate and won’t spend money on another ring for her, so she might as well keep it,” Her voice trembles slightly as she recalls the moment her friendship and relationship ended. “I didn’t just lose the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with, I lost my best friend, the person I did everything with. I’ve never felt so alone, Jinnie.” 

Jin kneels down in front of her, his eyes searching hers. "You’re not alone, Y/N. We’ll help you through it, okay." He says, his voice sincere and she can see the determination in his gaze. “Minho and Hae-Yun just showed you their true colours. They don’t deserve your tears, okay?” he continues reaching up and wiping away his sister’s tears. “They don’t deserve anymore of your time, Noona.” 

“I still need to go get my stuff,” she tells him. 

“Leave that to me, Yoongi, and the rest of the guys,” he assures her, with Yoongi nodding in agreement behind him. “We’ll make sure you get everything back, and you can stay here for as long as you need.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t want to burden you all,” she murmurs. 

“It’s no burden at all,” Jin assures her. “Now, how about we all get some sleep and we can sort it all out in the morning,” he suggests and looks at Yoongi. “Do you want to stay tonight?” 

He nods. “I think it would be best if I did. That way we can leave first thing in the morning.” 

“You’ll have to share the bed in the spare room or one of you can sleep on the couch,” Jin tells them before making his way to his bedroom, leaving them to sort out their sleeping arrangements.  

Y/N closes the container of strawberries and chocolate and takes them back to the fridge. “I can sleep on the couch,” she tells Yoongi as she comes back to the living room. 

“Jin’s couch isn’t the most comfortable to sleep on so I’ll take the couch,” he counters remembering the last time he slept on it. He had a sore back for a few days. “Unless you’re okay with us sharing the guest bed?” His eyes meet hers, and there’s a hint of playfulness in his tone, but he’s also serious about wanting to make her feel comfortable.  

Y/N hesitates for a moment, the idea of sharing a bed stirring a mix of emotions within her. “I mean, if it’s not a problem for you…” she trails off, her cheeks warming slightly at the thought. 

“I’m okay with it,” he assures her and they move to the guest room to get ready for bed. 

Once they’re settled, backs turned towards each other and keeping a respectful distance, Yoongi tries to drift off to sleep. However, the soft sound of Y/N’s muffled cries pulls at his heartstrings. He rolls onto his back and turns his head to face her. He can barely make out her silhouette in the dim light, her body shaking slightly. "Y/N?" he calls softly, trying to catch her attention.  "Are you okay?" 

When she doesn't reply, he reaches out, gently rolling her over and tugging her into his arms. "What's wrong with me?" he hears her say between sobs, her voice muffled by his shirt. "What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?"" 

"You haven’t done anything wrong, and there’s nothing wrong with you," he comforts her. It’s Minho and Hae-yun who are at fault. They’re the ones who made the wrong choices. They chose to cheat on you," he continues, running his fingers soothingly along her back, hoping to provide some comfort. 

Y/N's sobs begin to quiet as she burrows herself deeper into his embrace, the warmth of his body, the gentle rhythm of his fingers tracing patterns on her back and the beating of his heart against his chest provide a sense of comfort she desperately needs. "But it hurts so much," she murmurs, her voice still thick with emotion. "I thought they cared about me.” 

“Sometimes people we trust do things to hurt us,” he says softly, his heart aching for her, while his anger for the two people she should have been able to trust the most continues to grow. "But we learn from these experiences and move forward, no matter how painful it is. That’s how we grow and become stronger." 

"What if I just want to give up?" She sighs sadly. “What if I don’t want to move forward. I feel like I have lost everything.” 

"No," he insists, tilting her chin, making her look at him. "You can’t give up, okay? Not now. Not ever. You have so many people who care about you. Your parents, your brother, the rest of the guys," He pauses, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his feelings. "Me. I care about you, Y/N. I want to be there for you – with you through the good and the bad. I want to see you happy again.” 

Her cheeks heat up as she looks into his eyes, unsure of what she’s looking for. The warmth of his gaze envelops her, and for a moment, the weight of her hurt feels a little lighter. She can see the sincerity etched in his features and in his eyes. As he searches for the right words, his lips press together and his brow furrows in determination. It stirs something deep within Y/N. It’s a flicker of hope that perhaps not everyone is in her life to hurt her.  

"But what if I can't?" she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might shatter the moment they’re sharing. "What if I can’t be happy again?" she swallows hard, the lump in her throat making it difficult to speak. The tears threatening to spill over again. "I don’t want to be a burden."  

"You could never be a burden to me," he replies, his deep voice softening as he brushes a stray hair behind her ear. "You’re one of my favourite people and believe me when I say you’ll be happy again. I’ll make sure of it.” 

"You really mean that?" she asks, her voice trembling, hope now mixing with her hurt.  

"I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it," he replies. Giving into his urges, he presses a soft kiss to her forehead.  

Trying to ignore the sudden giddy feeling in her stomach, she rests her head back on his chest. The two of them eventually drifting off to sleep. 

The next morning Y/N wakes up alone. The side of the bed Yoongi had been sleeping on is now cold and the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air, a reminder of the comfort he brought her the night before. She stretches, feeling the weight of the world still pressing down on her shoulders, but the warmth of his words echoes in her mind.  

Sitting up, she glances around the room, taking in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The sunlight dances across the walls, illuminating the small room that’s now temporarily hers. With a sigh, she swings her legs over the side of the bed and plants her feet on the cool wooden floor. The quiet of the morning feels heavy, and she can’t shake the feeling of uncertainty that clings to her. She reaches for her phone, half-expecting texts and missed calls from Minho and Hae-Yun but her screen remains dark, letting her know that it died sometime during the night. 

Standing up, she makes her way to her brother’s room and plugs her phone into his charger before grabbing a shirt and a pair of shorts. She walks into the bathroom between the two bedrooms and turns on the shower, hoping that it’ll ease some of the tension off her shoulders. 

Stepping into the shower, she allows the hot water cascade down on her. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath as she feels herself begin to relax. She reaches for the shampoo her brother has and starts lathering her hair with it. While washing her hair, her mind to wanders back to Yoongi’s words, replaying them like a soothing melody.  

"You could never be a burden to me." 

“You’ll be happy again. I’ll make sure of it.” 

“I care about you, Y/N.” 

His voice echoes in her mind. She thinks of the way he looked at her, his eyes filled with sincerity and warmth. Minho has never looked at her in the way Yoongi had last night. It was a look she didn’t know she was longing for until now, a look that made her feel seen, understood, cared for and maybe even loved.  

She scrubs at her skin, feeling the tension begin to melt away. The water washes over her, carrying away her worries temporarily. She takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the body wash, a comforting blend of lavender and cherry blossom. She’s so focused on what she’s doing, she doesn’t notice the bathroom door open or anyone entering the room until she feels the shower door slide open, letting in a rush of cool air. She turns around, covering herself with her arms, only to find herself face to chest with a very naked Min Yoongi.    

“Yoongi, what-” She’s cut off when he presses his finger against her lips. 

“Tell me you want this too,” he says, his deep voice, deeper and huskier than normal as he steps under the water with her, his hands resting on her hips, drawing her closer. 

“We shouldn’t,” she breathes, the urge to surrender to him overwhelming.  

“Why not?” he replies, tilting his head to plant soft kisses along her neck. 

“Because,” she starts, but loses herself in the sensation of his soft lips on her skin. Biting her lip, she stifles a moan. “Because, Jin,” she continues, her breath becoming shaky. “My brother... you’re one of—oh,” she whimpers softly as his teeth graze a sensitive spot, causing her to melt into his embrace.  

“Jin Hyung doesn’t care,” he tells her, pulling back slightly. His hands cradle her face, tilting her head to meet his gaze, reminiscent of the night before but now feeling far more intimate. “Can I kiss you properly?”  

Even though her mind screams for her to refuse, she finds herself nodding in agreement. Her heart races as Yoongi leans in, gently pressing his lips to hers. The kiss starts off almost hesitantly but Yoongi quickly deepens it, his lips moving against hers with a growing urgency. His hands slide from her face to her waist, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between them. 

“Yoongi,” she breathes against his mouth as she pulls back enough to breathe. 

“Just let go,” he murmurs, his breath warm and inviting as he cuts off what she is going to say. “Just for now, don’t think about it.”  

“Okay,” she whispers, giving into her desires.  

Yoongi’s lips crash against hers with a fervour that takes her breath away. There are no signs of hesitation; it’s passionate and all-consuming. Her hands find their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as she pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. His hands move lower, tracing the curve of her body until they reach her thighs. Lifting her off the floor, he wraps her legs around his waist as he presses her back up against the cold tiled wall of the shower. 

The world outside the shower fades further into oblivion, and all that exists is the warmth of the water, the intoxicating scent of lavender and cherry blossom, and the undeniable chemistry between them. 

Just as things begin to escalate, a loud bang comes from the living room, jolting her awake. Realising she had just dreamt her intimate shower with Yoongi. Her heart races as she sits up, the vividness of the dream lingers in her mind, the sensation of his lips on hers, the way his hands felt against her skin. She can almost hear the echo of his deep husky voice, soft and soothing, urging her to let go of her worries. 

The noise from the living room breaks through her reverie again—another loud thud followed by muffled voices. Sighing, she gets out of bed and leaves the bedroom to find out what's happening. 

As she steps inside the living room, she finds Jimin and Taehyung standing over a box that had tipped over, its contents spilled across the floor. "What havoc are you two causing at this hour of the day?" she asks causing the two men to jump. 

"Yah! Noona!" Jimin shouts as they turn around to face him. "It wasn't us. I told Jin Hyung not to put the box on there because it will fall," he continues motioning to the stack of boxes sitting in the middle of the room. "It's all your stuff, by the way." 

"Jin Hyung and Yoongi Hyung called all of us this morning to help get your stuff that jerks apartment," Taehyung informs her. "They told us what happened. I'm sorry that happened to you, Noona." 

"Just so you know we all had to hold Jin Hyung and Yoongi Hyung back from getting an assault charge," Jimin tells her, filling her in on what happened with her now ex-fiancée. "Jungkookie may have done something though. But don't worry he made it look like an accident." 

"It seems I missed all the fun," she chuckles.  

"Namjoon filmed most of it," Yoongi's voice came from the doorway as he brought in another box. She quickly turns around, her cheeks burning with embarrassment as her mind goes back to the dream she woke up from. She can't get the image of a naked Yoongi out of her head.  

"I-uh-I need to go by Jin some more shampoo," she stutters, saying the first thing that comes to her mind. "I used the last of his," she continues to explain. Finding her handbag on the kitchen island, she picks it up, and hurries to the front door, avoiding their confused gaze as she puts her shoes on 

“Is it just me or is her hair dry?” she hears Taehyung mutter to the other two as she leaves her brother’s apartment. 

A week later:  

After Y/N finished her dance class, she turned on some music and began tidying up the small studio rented by the dance academy where she teaches kids aged 3 to 7 twice a week. While she truly enjoys teaching the next generation of dancers, she often finds herself longing for the thrill of performing on the stage again. She’d gained quite a reputation in the dance community, having danced for several HYBE groups and soloists, including her brother’s group. Those were the days when she felt alive, with every performance it was a chance to express herself in a way that words could never. 

Sadly, when she got engaged nearly two years ago, Minho had pressured her into quitting. He insisted that he didn’t want his wife touring the world and performing with male idols while he remained at home, stuck in a job he despised. Looking back, she should have recognized it as a warning sign, but her love for the deceitful, unfaithful man clouded her judgment. She had given up so much for him. 

Now that the cloud had disappeared, the realization of all the sacrifices she made for him ignited a fire of anger within her. It wasn’t just the lost opportunities or her dream being pushed aside; it was the betrayal that cut the deepest. Hae-Yun, her former best friend and the woman who had so easily stepped into her role in Minho’s life, was already flaunting the engagement ring that had once belonged to Y/N. She was showing it off to everyone she met, parading it like a trophy she won for her conquest of ruining a relationship. 

Y/N had learned about it from her coworker at the cafe she works at. Even though she expected it, it still stung a bit. 

As she continues to tidy up, she gets lost in the music playing from her speaker, a song she used to dance to.  It's as if muscle memory takes over and she starts swaying gently to the music, the rhythm pulling her back to a time when she felt free and alive. Each note resonates with the memories of late-night rehearsals, the thrill of performing in front of an audience of thousands of people no matter how nervous she was before it, and the exhilaration of just being on stage with people she had become close with. As the chorus swells, so does the ache in her heart. 

Catching herself in the mirror, she comes to a stop, and stares at the woman she’s become. For a moment she sees the girl who used to twirl across the dance floor with not a care in the world. The sparkle in her eyes, once so bright with ambition, now flickers with a hint of nostalgia. She wonders if that little girl with a love of ballet and hip-hop girl still exists within her.  

“Do you miss it?” Yoongi’s voice pulls her back to reality. Her cheeks start burring red once again as she thinks back to a week ago. She’s been avoiding the rapper and producer all week, trying to flush the intimate images of her dream from her mind. 

“Miss what?” she replies, feigning nonchalance, but the tremor in her voice betrays her as she avoids meeting his eyes.  

“Dancing. The stage. The thrill of it all,” he says, stepping closer to her, trying to get her to look at him. 

She hesitates, the weight of his question hanging in the air. “Sometimes,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper as she collects the clothing some of the children have unintentionally left behind.  

“Have you thought about going back to it?” he asks standing in front of her. Taking the clothes from her hands, he tosses them to the side. Capturing her full attention, he leans in slightly, his eyes searching hers for answers. “Why have you been avoiding me?” he presses, not allowing her to respond to his first question now that she’s focused on him. 

"I haven't been avoiding you," she denies.  

"That's why you haven't been answering my calls, messages and you disappear as soon as you see me," he scoffs leaning back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

She bites her lip, an ache of longing mixed with fear swirling inside her. “I just… I needed some space,” she finally admits, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Things got complicated, and I didn’t know how to handle it.”  

“Complicated?” he repeats, his brow furrowing. “In general, or between us?” he asks. “Because I don’t think anything happened between us to make it complicated.”  

“It wasn’t you. It was me and my silly subconscious,” she sighs. Ever since her dream about being intimate with Yoongi, she’s been viewing him differently. She knows she shouldn’t feel this way since her younger brother is one of his closest friends and bandmates, not to mention he’s three years younger than her. But the dream felt so real, that it had shaken her to her core. The way he had looked at her, the way he touched her, the way they had moved together—it was intoxicating. 

“Your subconscious?” he echoes, a hint of confusion in his voice. “What do you mean by that?” 

She takes a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “It's just... I mean… I’ve uh... I've been thinking about you in ways I shouldn’t be.” She glances at him, her heart pounding as she meets his gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “You’re my brother’s friend, and you’re younger. It feels wrong... but it doesn't at the same time and I'm so confused.” 

“Why does it feel wrong?” he asks, his voice steady and not giving away to what he's truly feeling. “We’re both adults. We can make our own choices.” 

“Because it’s not just about us,” she replies, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s about Jin and both our loyalties to him. And that your younger and I'm not getting any younger. People expect me to get married and start popping out babies.” 

“Jin would want you to be happy,” he insists, stepping closer again. “And if that happiness is with me, then why should it matter?” 

She shakes her head, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “It’s not that simple. If things go wrong, I don't want you to risk losing Jin and I don’t want to risk losing you both.” 

“Losing me?” he repeats, his expression softening. “You think I’d just walk away if things didn’t work out? When I told you I care about you, I meant it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken promises. She feels a flicker of hope, but it’s quickly overshadowed by doubt. “It doesn't change that I am older than you and have certain expectations.” 

"Three years is nothing!" he retorts, his voice rising slightly in frustration "I've never cared that you're just three years older than me. Why would I start caring about that now?" He steps even closer, the space between them charged with an electric tension that makes her heart race even faster. “Just give me one chance to prove myself,” he says, tilting her head to look at him. “Allow me to make you happy again.” 

“But what if it doesn’t work out?” she whispers. 

“But what if it does?” he counters. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment. For you to finally see me the way that you do now. I’ve dreamed about it for years. Do you think I’m going to let it just slip away? Let me love you the way you deserve to be loved.” 

She searches his eyes for any sign of doubt, but all she finds is sincerity, making her heart ache with longing. "You've really felt this way for years?"  

He nods, "Since the day Jin introduced you to us. At first, I thought it was just a silly teenage infatuation. But as the years passed, my feelings only grew stronger. I tried to push it away, but the more I got to know you, during those late-night dance practices, family meals and everything else, the more I realized how special you truly are." 

Her heart races as she processes his confession, a mix of disbelief and elation washing over her. "But why didn't you say anything sooner?" 

“You met Minho, you were happy and I didn’t know if you saw me than anything other than Jin’s friend and bandmate. I didn’t want to complicate things,” he admits. “And you know me; I’m not great at expressing my emotions.” 

"You're doing a pretty good job of it right now," she replies with a gentle smile. 

“I can’t keep pretending any longer," he says, his expression shifting to one of determination. "So, will you give me a chance?" 

The question hangs in the air, heavy with possibility. She feels a rush of emotions—fear, excitement, hope. She thinks back to the countless times they’ve been together, the late-night practices, the way he always made her laugh and smile, how he makes her feel comfortable and safe.  

As she looks into his eyes, she sees the vulnerability beneath his confident facade. He is laying himself bare, exposing his heart and soul to her, and in that moment, she realizes that he is just as afraid as she is. 

“Okay,” she finally breathes, her voice barely above a whisper as she nods her head. 

A smile broke across his face, as he brings her in closer. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes, please,” she giggles, her mind flashing back to her dream. 

He leans in, his breath warm against her face. Time seems to come to a halt, the world around them fading away as their lips meet. A spark ignites inside her, sending a rush of warmth through her body. She feels his hands cradle her face, his fingers brushing against her hair, and she melts into the kiss. 

To engrossed in each other, they don’t hear Jin entering the studio until they hear him start yapping about how he better not have to watch them kiss in front of him again, at least not until the wedding. They end the kiss, Yoongi’s arms moving to her waist to pulls her into his arms. He smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she rests her head on his chest. 

“Yah! Can we go get food now?” Jin asks after realising they weren’t paying attention to his rambling. 

“Food sounds good,” Y/N agrees with him as she pulls herself out of Yoongi’s hold. Collecting her things, she exits the studio with the two men following behind her. 

“You hurt her in anyway and I’ll do what Jungkook did Minho on you, got it?” she hears Jin warn his best friend.  

“Yes, hyung,” Yoongi quickly replies. 

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy, modify and/or repost anywhere.

TAGLIST:

@staytiny2000

[bangtangalicious]

nexus (m) part 2

pairing: ot7 x freader smut: yoongi x reader chp-focus: jjk, ksj, myg

premise: a notorious casino conglomerate, took you in when you were young. you practically grew up alongside their sons; inseparable from the oldest, infatuated with the middle, and engaged to the youngest

summary: accused of murdering your best friend, you team up with a vengeful detective in an effort to uncover the secrets of the family you swore your loyalty to

characters: detective!jungkook, bartender!yoongi, bestfriend!seokjin, ceo!namjoon, fiancee!taehyung, model!hoseok, therapist!jimin

genre: 18+ smut slow burn angst romance thriller mystery eventual yandere casino!au organizedcrime!au arrangedmarriage!au revenge!au

wordcount: 7k

warnings: explicit smut, rough sex, todays theme is JEALOUSY, manipulated consent (emotional blackmail), teasing, manhandling, fingering, dirty talk, breast play, crying, penetrative sex, rough oral (m), power plays, a very sexually charged card game and limo ride, a whole lot of SEXUAL TENSION, jin is a FLIRT, suggested dacryphilia, toxic relationships (jin sir pls u good), petnames--princess, mourning/angst, jungkook is hot and COLD (tsundere), obsessive themes, blackmail, guns, character death (nonrelevant), alcohol, gambling, fear, mention of psychiatric treatment

taglist: @raynom @gimmythatjib00ty @yoshiure @greezenini @victoryscreech61 @tbzhubrecs @namjooningelsewhere @sugarcoffeemochi @jiminie-08 @jinssexytoe @kooookie @only4sana @pinkcherrybombs @taeslarityy @natalie-rdr @mageprincess7 @hopeonysus @bibbykins @sameifnn @shadowmoon21 @juliemae80-blog @gaeguuliii @dvalitaes @satorinnie @fournia @kassandravictoria @jazmine2904 @marslena @iloverubberduckiez-blog @manchuria @btseverafter7 @jamlessstars @doublebunnykoo @you-are-my-wind @toughbook @mini-euphoria @lvrseok @n4mina @imjinvolved @rp171198 @codeinebelle @itsallabouthedetails @btseverafter7 @just-me-and-myselfs @blonde-bummer @hcneybees @babycoffeefire @totallynoanalien @seokjinkismet @itslanaanditssad @rhyperia @sporadicfuryface @azazel-nyx @hani-neko-nee-chan (rest of tags on reblog)

series navi | join taglist | masterlist

The smell. The distinct smell of false hope. Strong enough to cover the heaps of despair and loss which built it. The casino was ever lively—money on the table, green on green. The sounds of hearty laugher audible over the subdued jazz. Behind the polished bar, Yoongi watched over the crowd with caution. A smile painted on his face like art, unmoving but beautiful to those who looked upon him. He’d chat up his patrons, expertly pouring drinks, movements fluid as he created liquored masterpieces. The trust he held, like a chemist preparing a cure. Their lives locked in his palms.

He excused himself, towel thrown over his shoulder. His all black uniform a welcome contrast to his pale skin. Like a shadow he slipped into the back office. Within a small desk drawer was his pistol. A custom model—the five-letter branding so subtle only those who knew would be able to find it.

He held the weight of the gun in his hand. Nimble fingers tracing along it’s contours. The metal was cold to touch—and he hated it. He hated the life he had been thrown into against his will. But he did it for you.

And you hardly knew. You were utterly blind to the leash which held a vigorous hold around his neck. Even on nights where you’d kiss him so sweetly he could almost forgive you.

Ears tingling from the absence of the pounding music, deep-set laugher. Laughter only those with no care in the world could afford. The silence reminiscent of the void in his heart. He loaded the weapon. Locked in the cartridge and stared down the barrel. You’d look beautiful with it stuffed down your throat. But more likely, it would be Jin pointing it down his.

Tucking the gun in his back pocket, his shoulders relaxed.

A window to the casino floor showed a weak reflection. The fear in his eyes still hiding amongst theatrics of bravery. The fear that the Kim heir had beaten into him with his raw fists. The crooked man who you worshipped was a menace. But you worshipped the ground he walked on, and Yoongi simply couldn’t break the spell.

He returned to the bar. Smile wide with charisma. Despite the pulse of the casino around him, the weight of the gun dragged him down. A harrowing reminder of who he belonged to.

Yoongi hated gambling. It was his least favorite thing about you, yet you knew not of the high-stakes gamble he played almost every night. With every strategically poured drink and every charming conversation, he collected fragments of information, forging alliances and defying destiny. With every step, he embodied the dual essence of a bartender and a gangster—making him a valuable piece in Kim Seokjin’s game.

“Promise me something” The night before, you looked at him with so much adoration, he swore he could melt into your touch.

“Don’t fall in love with me. Because I can never love you back”

His lips parted, shocked—breathing in. Met in seconds with a kiss so incredibly hot that he could feel the burn even hours later. His palms immediately cupping your cheeks, lips pressed tight against yours, unwavering. The pain searing with your words made him dizzy. Made him nauseous. You were sickening, addictive and he craved you insatiably. 

Deeping the kiss as he tilted your head back more. Eyes shut—lost in the feeling. Everything vanished. There was only him. Only you.

He pulled you in closer—lifting you into his arms. Soft moans escaping but neither of you separated for long. He didn’t want to part. Didn’t want to breathe. He wanted to be consumed by the crippling mess you were. Lips sliding across your jaw—peppering hot kisses down your neck. Your fingers weaving through his hair, guiding him. He gripped your hips gently, knee slotting between your legs.

“Promise me, Yoongi” You exhaled quietly, breath uneven, shaky. “I need you to say it”

Yoongi’s teeth grazed over your ear as he grunted in irritation. Fingers intertwining with yours he finally backed away, meeting your eyes.

“We can’t do this unless you promise” Exasperated, he cupped your face again, thumb tracing your bottom lip fondly. You grabbed his wrist, begging him with your eyes. Your voice was quiet. So quiet he could feel your words without hearing them. Lust burned in his gaze—eyes darkening.

The pain was delicious. The ache burning in his heart. He had never entertained the thought of ever having feelings for you. Never rendered the possibility. He understood the arrangement well. But hearing you say it. Seeing the way you looked at him. The way you kissed him, let him touch you, let him make love to you night after night.

“Yoongi, please” Words had a way of ruining the most beautiful things. Yoongi wondered if he had just stayed quiet, would the pain never come? You began clawing at his shirt, popping the buttons off one by one. Yoongi hissed, tugging at your lip warningly. Blinking at you for a second, he seemed to weigh his options. He lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around him.

Staring at you a moment, everything slowed down. He grew annoyed. Why would you say that to him—you didn’t know him. You had no way of knowing whether or not you could love him so why cut off the possibility? Would it really be so wrong? He would care for you. Far better than any of those Kim bastards ever could, anyway.

“Yoongi” You screamed, back slammed against the wall. His hands hovered over your shoulders, fingers hooked under the straps of your bra. Swiftly he pulled them off, allowing it to fall into a puddle on the floor, his shirt following. Yoongi simply chuckled, pushing two fingers down your throat.

Yoongi pulled his fingers out, smirking slightly at the way your eyes quivered. He slid his hand down your body, under your panties so he could paint your quivering cunt with his wet fingers. He watched you carefully as he drew small, tight circles on your clit. His other hand on your neck, thumb tilting your chin up to face him.

“Yoongi stop” Your voice was tiny, almost afraid. The sound only made his heart pound.

“Fuck no” He growled. He dipped his fingers into your cunt, allowing his palm to flatten as you unconsciously grinded your hips against it. Curling his finger, he pumped in and out of you—your eyes rolling back. His lips going down your chest, dragging your bra down with his teeth till he could round his lips over your tender nipples.

A loud moan left your lips, causing him to hiss. Pulling his finger out he turned you around, pushing your chest against the wall before gripping your panties and tearing them in two. It burned against your skin, a dizzying sensation in your head as you heard the fabric rip. Immediately he pumped two fingers back inside, teeth grazing over your shoulders. His belt unlatched, you felt his hard cock slap against your ass. He pushed you down, bending you over with a hand tight  on your neck, holding you steady.

“Who the fuck do you think you are huh? You came onto me, bitch. You don’t call the shots anymore, I do” You whimpered as his thick head pushed in. He lifted you onto his cock, chest pressed up tight against yours—looking nowhere except deep into your eyes.

You sank down so perfectly. Your tight walls hot against his pulsing length. Your legs wrapped around his waist so tight he could barely move. It was emotional, the way you held onto him as he rolled his hips, pulsing into you. Staggered breaths. Sweat on his forehead.

Harder. His hips jerked at the sound of your pussy, dripping out with his every move. Your eyes blasted with lust—lips parted, so incredibly fucked out with pleasure it had him salivating. Pretty little moans as he fucked into you.

Tight. Fast. Lost in your sensation. Eyes rolling to the back of his head.

His lips nipped at your jaw, tasting the sweat glazed over your skin.

“Where can I come?” His voice was hoarse. Low and broken with need. You stilled yourself, sliding off of his throbbing cock until you found your feet and stood. Within seconds you slid to your knees, mouth wide open—eager to please.

He swore you had never looked more beautiful.

He admired your face. Lips swollen, pressing his flushed tip between them, eyes wide with a false innocence. Swiping the drool away from the edge of your lips. You let your tongue wrap around his length, cautiously, exploring across his veins, watching his reactions as you tightened your cheeks around him.

Yoongi’s eyes rolled back, hissing as you began to bob your head up and down. Sloppy, saliva dripping everywhere, the obscene sounds exemplified by you taking him throat-deep, gagging all over. He chanted like a mantra, “Just like that…fuck…just like that”

Both hands on his base, you worked him vigorously, enjoying his throaty moans echoing throughout the room. He bucked his hips, tugging at your jaw as he pushed further down your throat. “Always so good to me”

His hand moved to your forehead, his grip on your head leading you along his shaft, urging you to go faster. He thrusted his hips forwards, forcing you to take him all the way. Fucking your face roughly.

“You can take it, I know you can baby come on” Back and forth, he pulled his cock all the way out, letting you catch your breath before stuffing you full once again. You squealed around him, smacking your lips, pouring yourself into your movements.

Every fiber of his body shuddered as he came, twitching and jerking as he spilled deep in your throat. You licked up every last drop.

He dreaded the silence that followed the beautiful storm. He pulled you into an embrace before you could think too card. Laying you down, peppering you with kisses. Loving ones.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him.

But he wanted to change that. He wanted to fight.

He nuzzled into your neck. Sweet. You blinked back tears. He saw this, growing concerned. “Baby I—I didn’t mean to be rough”

You shook your head, sniffling. “It’s not you I just” The tears spilled down your cheeks. Yoongi’s heart wrenched, reaching to wipe them away. His touch endearing. “I don’t want to hurt you”

Yoongi pressed his lips against yours. Long, sweetly. A tired, exasperated kiss that seemed to say you’re incredibly, utterly perfect.

“I just don’t make promises I can’t keep”

You had cast a spell on him and he was undoubtedly cursed.

The next morning, Kim Seokjin had arrived at the suite. The broad man appeared much friendlier in person than the magazine shoots he had seen him in with his infamous mother. Likely his same age, he was undeniably handsome. Brown eyes that incited mischief, yet with a softness that was almost genuine.

Almost.

You had answered the door, wearing a fluffy casino robe. Unphased when you saw your dear friend. He looked at you briefly, before his eyes shifted to Yoongi who was still in bed.

“Morning princess” Tone was steady, smile evident, but Yoongi could see the irritation in his eyes.

“Hey” You greeted him politely. “Did you need something?”

Jin’s gaze was locked on Yoongi. “Actually, I’m here to talk to him” You seemed to pout. “Don’t worry, it’s just work stuff. Give us a minute, okay?”

Reluctantly, you wandered off.

Jin painted another smile on his face, entering the room. He walked up to where Yoongi had stepped out of bed. “Yoongi—right? I’ve heard great things about the tips you bring in”

There it was. The tricky power games that were synonymous with Kim Seokjin’s reputation.

“Yes sir”

Jin grinned at his attitude. “Now, Yoongi. Man to man. Where do you see this” He gestured his hand, “Going?”

Yoongi pursed his lips. He knew getting involved with these kinds of people was always complicated. But he was in too deep. He wasn’t going to give up on you just over some baseless threats. What he really wanted to know—was how the fuck Jin knew where you were? Was this motherfucker having you followed?

“She came onto me, sir”

“Oh I know” Jin chuckled, “She was nursing a broken heart, poor thing. My idiotic brother crushed her, so she’s acting out”

Namjoon. Yoongi recalled.

Jin’s gaze was intense—serious now, in contrast to his playfulness earlier. “I want you to understand something, Yoongi.” He took a seat on the bed. Leaning back, his hair flipped over his forehead. “I’m allowing this. For now.”

“Sir”

“There will be a time where I’ll need you to back off. And you’ll do it, otherwise your dean is going to get an interesting phone call”

Yoongi swallowed thickly. He didn’t like being threatened. How could you live like this? Did these guys interfere in every part of your life?

“Yes sir” He responded, humbly. Jin seemed satisfied.

“One last thing” Jin stood up, brushing the dust off of the lapel of his designer suit. He rest his hand on Yoongi’s bare shoulder. Skin cold to touch. Grip firm. “Hurt her, and I will kill you”

You made your way back eventually, noticing Yoongi’s shifted demeanor.

“Sorry, I know Jin is a lot sometimes” You kissed him, crawling into his lap where he sat, defeated. “He’s just looking out for me. We’re like best friends”

Yoongi scoffed. How naïve could you be? He knew crazy when he saw it, and that man was no friend of yours. He looked at you, eyes softening once he saw how cutely you were grinning.

“I’m glad he approved” You beamed at him. “This means, we can like, actually hang out…if you want”

God, of course he did. He would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked. Interestingly, Jin was welcome to Yoongi after that day. You would bring him along on weekend getaways, Monaco, Bali, Paris and Milan. Jin would be there, occupied by his own vices while you and Yoongi got lost in a honeymoon haze. Sharing your darkest thoughts under the eastern sunrise, to hushed confessions under the northern stars. He learned you. Knew you like the back of his hand. Your quirks, likes, irritations and dreams.

“You’ve seriously never had feelings for him?” He asked you one day. You made a face.

“I’ve only ever loved Namjoon” Ouch.

Yoongi was skeptical. Frankly because Yoongi knew you were in love with him from the way your eyes would light up talking about him. Your memories from childhood, or the intimate laughs the two of you would share. You followed him like a little lamb, adapting his crazy lifestyle and engaging with his elitist friends. And after the glimmering lights would go down, you’d make your way to Yoongi, who was…

What was he?

A dog. You had him on a leash, Jin had him in a cage. He was a mutt allowed to you out of pity, to distract you from the real things that were controlling your life. Yoongi’s job was to give you a semblance of control. A sexual outlet, a shoulder to lean on.  

And Yoongi hated you. Hated who you were around Jin and hated that no matter what he did, Jin would be a huge part of your life. Even if he did somehow, miraculously, make you fall in love with him, make you feel for him what he did for you without a doubt—Jin would still have control. Yoongi was useless in his shadow. It enfuriated him. Drove him mad. What lengths would he have to go to get you? What would it take for Kim Seokjin to back the fuck off and let you live your own life?

But your life was never your own. And now here he was, all the loyalty paid off into dust as he tended the bar at your engagement party. It was ridiculous. Did he truly mean so little to you—that he wasn’t even a guest? Let alone the fact that it infuriated him you had to marry one of these twisted, god-awful Kim boys against your will.

In front of him, the man of the hour—the so-called Kim Taehyung, sat with a dirty smirk on his face, eyes drilled onto the pair of die rolling in his palm.

“So”

It was in the job description. Make conversation with the guests. Yoongi had been around long enough to know how to make men like Kim Taehyung feel great about themselves, in more ways than one.

“Been a while since you’ve been home huh”

He set down the shaker, straining the drink mix into a margarita glass with a slight flick of his wrist. Taehyung watched the steady pour of the liquid.

“Absolutely” He smiled, although Yoongi could tell it was fake. “I had to come home. See my family—my brothers. After all,” He flashed his forearm at Yoongi, where the Kim crest was neatly tattooed, same as his brothers.

Yoongi squinted. He knew about the tattoo. He had seen it, both on Namjoon and Jin. He knew they got it after their mother died. But as far as he knew, Taehyung had left at a fairly young age, not keeping in contact with his family. Taehyung hadn’t been around for his mother’s death.

Right? Yoongi pursed his lips. Taking another look, he watched Taehyung carefully. Round eyes, thick lips, small fingers in which the dice rolled.

He looked familiar. Yoongi swore he must have seen this man somewhere before. He knew nothing of where Taehyung had been for the past ten years. According to you, no one did.

“Please excuse me,” Nodding politely, Yoongi rushed off into the storage room. Grabbing his phone, he googled the man you were about to get engaged to.

Kim Taehyung.

Nothing.

Nothing at all—not even so much as a media article on the engagement. No photographs, nothing.

But I know I’ve seen you somewhere.

He went to his own camera roll, scrolling aimlessly in an attempt to jog his memory. Would it have been school? The casino? He couldn’t figure it out.

Until he saw it.

A group picture. From a dinner one of his professors had invited him to. There he was—Kim Taehyung.

Except there was no way, Yoongi would have remembered if he met someone with that name. Was he going by an alias? Who was he?

Dialing his professor, he gulped the sour bitterness in his mouth.

“Yoongi? Odd time to be calling—is everything alright?” His professor greeted him kindly.

“Hi sir. Sorry about that I just have a quick question. That dinner you invited us out to…there was another person there who was not a student. Could I know their name?”

His professor chuckled, “Oh, sure. That was Park Jimin—he was a student of mine who now runs a private practice, pretty upscale clients apparently.”

Hanging up abruptly, Yoongi ran back out to the bar.

Yoongi didn’t like anything about it. But he had little time to ponder over it when suddenly you walked in, and he swore his heart stopped.

He couldn’t breathe.

Because it finally hit him. Had he told you everything he held inside? Had he made sure he savored every last second he had you? He couldn’t think. His mind went blank, red with rage—even moreso when Taehyung stood up in front of him and went to go see you.

He watched as he pulled you onto the dance floor—you hate dancing, Yoongi thought to himself. He watched as the man touched you, the lust in his eyes shamelessly evident.

He felt like throwing up. He prayed and prayed that you would stop. He wanted you to get away from him, he wanted you to be in his arms.

And his prayers were answered, as the ceremony was brought to a startling halt.

“You’re under arrest for the murder of Kim Seokjin”

Yoongi’s eyes darted towards the small ensemble of law enforcement that pushed through the crowd towards you, led by a man in a dark coat. Handcuffs clicked around your wrists and you were being dragged out. Yoongi ran to the entrance before they could take you—reaching out with assurance

“Y/n—listen to me” Your eyes were void of emotion. Frozen with complete and utter shock at the news. “Don’t say anything without a lawyer okay? I will meet you at the station with bail money”

You nodded slowly, but Yoongi wasn’t convinced you had heard him.

You were gone. Arrested. Yoongi spun around to scan the crowd—it was a critical time after all. Where was Namjoon? Yoongi looked on, searching for the Kim heir who was nowhere to be seen. His eyes landed instead on Taehyung who stood in the middle of the dance floor, a small tug at the edge of his lips.

Playing with those goddamn dice.

-

Jungkook’s mind went blank when he saw you. Breath quite literally stolen from his lungs. Never in a million years would he admit just how pretty you looked tonight. The soft fabric of your engagement dress fell against your body just right. Your face glowed, glitter on your eyes. Diamond choker on your neck—simple and yet dazzling.

Your lips were his favorite. Plump and glossy pout on your bored face. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to tear it all off and ruin you.

Jungkook wasn’t cruel. He didn’t intend on arresting you in front of everyone. But the vile jealousy that built in his chest when he saw the way your fiancée, Kim Taehyung, sweep you onto the dance floor—he couldn’t help it.

The burning sight of Taehyung’s hands on your waist, face a breath away from yours, lips so close to your neck. The way he looked at you—way you looked at him. You barely knew this man—how could you look at him like that?

He had to stop it. Fists clenching he decided to arrest you then and there. The way your face fell when you saw him was priceless. You seized up at his touch, the soft click of the cuffs around your wrists where your ringless fingers lay limp. Slow, shaky, tears budding in your eyes but never spilling.

Oh how he would love to see you cry.

The moment he had you outside, all hell broke loose. You were livid. Dragging your ankles into the ground like a little brat. Rolling his eyes, Jungkook decided it would be far easier to toss you over his shoulder rather than continue putting up with your antics.

“Put me down you fucking asshole, I didn’t do this!” You screamed, kicking your pointy heels into his back. “Where the fuck is Namjoon huh? Why aren’t you arresting him, if anyone had motive—”

Jungkook suppressed an urge to snap back at you. Setting you down harshly, he pinned you against the side of his car, forearm by your cheek.

He paused, looking deep into your eyes. The rise and fall of your chest calling him closer. You glared at him with such spite. Such disgust. The thought of planting his lips on yours crossed his mind. Put that all that pent up anger to good use.

“Fuck you Jeon Jungkook” You hissed, your hot breath against his cheek. “I’m gonna get you thrown off this fucking case you piece of shit”

“That’s enough” His fingers gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him, “Do you really think any other officer in there is going to take on a case to arrest Kim Namjoon for murder? This is my chance to finally tear that stupid family to pieces and I’m not letting a spoilt little cunt like you get in my way”

Jungkook hadn’t realized how loud his voice got by the end. You looked petrified, nodding slowly. His heart squeezed as he could see a tear forming at the corner of your eye.

He let you go. Shit. Your best friend had died. You likely were just hearing about it. Clearly in denial or putting on a brave face for him. For the crowds. Turning away, he opened the door.

“Just get in”

Huffing, you did as he said, slamming the door closed. Jungkook slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine as he looked over at you again. A tear finally spilled from your eyes, causing Jungkook’s heart to jump. Dammit. Reaching nervously into his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to you.

His fingers brushed against yours as you took it. Your skin was cold—instinctively he grabbed your hand. You flinched at his touch, pulling away but Jungkook grabbed it again, tightly, pulling it back towards him. His hold unwavering.

“I am sorry for your loss” Jungkook’s eyes softened with something bordering concern. Gulping he released your hand, diverting his gaze. A reluctant blush painting his cheeks.

Jungkook knew you weren’t his culprit. As much as he loathed you, he had no vested interest in your demise. You were collateral damage. Unfortunately for him, the Kim’s had police tucked deep in their silver lined pockets. He had to be careful. Someone was always watching.

Clearing his throat, he put the car in drive, pushing the temperature higher to help you warm up. Turning out of the parking lot, he figured he should try and get some information off record before everything you would say would literally get used against you.

“Where were you last night?”

You scoffed. “You’re not getting a fucking word out of me.”

God, he forgot what a pain in the ass you could be. Spoilt brat. “Y/n” Jungkook’s voice was stern. “I can make your life hell, or I can help you. And trust me, I’m not someone you want as an enemy”

You chuckled bitterly, “Yeah because otherwise you’d be fucking obsessed with me like you are with the Kim’s”

He slammed his hand against the wheel. “Answer the damn question, Y/n”

“Getting ready for my engagement—which you crashed, by the way”

Jungkook’s tongue rolled against his cheek. “You didn’t want to marry Kim Taehyung, did you?” He needed to know. Needed to be sure you didn’t actually care for that man.

You grinned. “Why, you jealous?”

He looked you dead in the eye. “Yes”

That shut you up. Jungkook bit back a smile as you processed his response. “Enough with the attitude. Who was making you do this—was it Jin?”

You groaned, tugging at your handcuffs in irritation. “No, it was Namjoon.”

Jungkook pursed his lips. That wasn’t true. He debated if he should tell you now or wait until you reached the precinct so you could see it with your own eyes. He had hard evidence that painted Namjoon even more so as the culprit.

Jin wanted you to marry Taehyung.

Namjoon didn’t.

⟶ One Day before the Murder ⟵

The scratch of a record. A soft echo of jazz filled the glass walls as Namjoon stood, staring out the window. The 52nd floor. Looking out at people scurrying in the dark, small as ants, truly meaningless. His employees thought he was given this office, unaware of the blood spilt for him to truly position himself as the inheritor of Kim Enterprises.

Namjoon was forged in the shadows of the charming, alluring Kim Seokjin. And Kim Seokjin was gold—magazines chased him, models threw themselves at him, colleges begged for him to attend. To the world, Jin was perfect. Which meant Namjoon had to ascend perfection.

So he did.

Jin would spend his nights partying while Namjoon would study hard. Seokjin would sleep around while Namjoon ran for miles. Seokjin would get lost in the limelight, drugs, alcohol, sex—Namjoon abstained. He was focused on one thing: he wanted his throne.

The 52nd floor was his right. The cage he had built for himself. Here he was untouchable.

Here he felt, absolutely broken. Alone. Moreso because he had spent the day preparing for your wedding. His heart ached inside his chest. He wanted to vomit. Each time he’d see your name on a wedding card or an article, he felt like he was getting brutally stabbed in the chest.

You probably didn’t know. Of course you didn’t—but Namjoon had grown truly fond of you lately. Jin had moved out at a young age, wanting to freely bring home sexual partners. You and Namjoon remained living at the Kim mansion for a few years now. The two of you had a banter—ever since the night he took advantage of you, he knew you no longer had feelings for him. He had seen the way you changed after that. While he was ridden with guilt, the hurt made you blossom into someone else entirely. You became confident, sexy, and never let a day go by that Namjoon didn’t regret treating you better.

He kept you at a distance because he needed to stay focused, but things were getting too real now. You were getting married.

You were leaving him.

And he only recently admitted to himself that he loved living with you. He loved the way you would bug him while he worked. Loved the way you would throw little tantrums when you couldn’t figure out what to wear, or after a shopping spree you would come home and try on everything for him, ignoring anything he would have to say. He would miss walking past your room to see you lying on your sheets, blanket on the floor, pillow tucked in your hold—sound asleep. He’d pick it up and cover you, admiring your face as he did.

“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

Like a punch in the gut, Namjoon let out a sharp breath. Turning, he faced his college friend, Jung Hoseok.

Namjoon hated being vulnerable. So Hoseok was a great friend to have—because he was hardly ever in town, being a self-made supermodel. He was low risk. Disposable.

“No” Namjoon grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hoseok chuckled, seating himself on Namjoon’s desk chair. He was wearing a bright blue jumpsuit—hair a shocking silver white.

“I can’t tell you how many bets I have that you’d fall for her one day. Damn, I’m gonna be rich”

Namjoon rolled his eyes, “I didn’t fall for her. I don’t give a shit about her”

Hoseok scoffed, “Mhm, sure. What I don’t get is why this fucking wedding is happening. You’re the heir now can’t you call it off? Don’t marry the woman you love off to your brother, that’s just fucked up man”

There were many times he wanted to tell you the truth. But he had worked too hard to give up his dream for you. When his mother died, Jin had agreed to surrender his birth-right to the company on two conditions.

“In exchange for the company, one of the things I had to promise Jin was that this marriage would happen”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He rubbed his chin, “Interesting. What’s that about?”

Namjoon shrugged, turning back to the window. It was something he often wondered. If Jin cared about you so much—why would he force you to have an arranged marriage? To Taehyung, of all people. Taehyung who none of them had seen for over ten years. Taehyung whose whereabouts only Jin knew. And his mother, of course.

“I don’t know. But I agreed” And he knew you wouldn’t forgive him for that if you knew. He rolled his neck, denying the tears building in his eyes as he thought about you in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle next to him as he let you go. Forever.

He didn’t want your hand to leave his. He wanted to be on the other side. He wanted you to come towards him.

“What was the other condition?” Hoseok’s voice shattered his fantasy.

“He wanted to keep Nexus—Y/n’s mom’s company that my mother got in the will. I didn’t give a shit about it so.”

Hoseok raised his eyebrows, smirking slightly. “Nexus, huh” He mumbled under his breath. Licking his lips, he pulled out his phone. “Kim Seokjin—just what are you up to you little bastard?”

Namjoon pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting it quietly. Taking a quick puff, he exhaled the smoke.

"I can't let her do this" His voice was hoarse. "I can't do this to her. She deserves to choose"

Hoseok rolled his eyes, standing up and walking besides Namjoon. Pulling the cigarette from his fingers, he grinned widely.

"I thought you’re the smart one, Namjoon. Jin's the problem. Get rid of him"

It wasn't as if the idea never crossed his mind. Namjoon hated Jin. Everything about Jin make him want to vomit, and yet, this was a line he couldn't cross.

Could he?

-

“All in”

Jin cursed inwardly. Your long fingernails traced along the edge of your cards, eyes flickering between your hand and the man in front of you. Dim casino lights accentuating the glitter on your lids, the pop of your lush lips which were grinning ever so slightly. You always looked gorgeous to him but tonight you were something else entirely.

His breath was heavy, palms sweating as he clenched his fists in desperation to keep it together. To keep his hands off. You blinked his way, innocently as if you were unaware of the teasingly low cut of your dress. The spill of your chest as you pushed your chips towards him.

As if that wasn’t enough. You laid your cards down right in front of him. Sliding them across the table. Pair of kings.

Jin didn’t even care. You would always win. And he loved that about you. It was as though you knew his thoughts before he even had them, always one step ahead, reading between the lines. You were a force to be reckoned with ever since Jin first took you to a backroom poker game years ago. With pride he’d observe your nonchalance—sending bratty chaebols running to their mother’s in tears after you swindled them out of their trust funds.

Seeing you at the table was something else. When you were in your element, your eyes would light up with a fierce blaze. With a slight of hand, you turned thousands into millions overnight. But you were never in it for the money.

You were in it for the kill. 

“Fuck this, come here” Tossing his own cards aside, he beckoned for you to come to him. He needed to touch you. He couldn’t hold back.

Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into his lap. Your scent was intoxicating. Familiar, and yet addictive. He placed his lips softly against your neck. You giggled, pulling away but he wasn’t about to let that happen.

“When did you get so pretty?” His finger trailed up your neck, tilting your chin up. Things had been tense between the two of you. The soft touches, the lingering stares—he was flirting with you. He knew he was, but he wanted to. So badly he wanted to tease you, rile you up and watch you unfold. It had taken every ounce of his self-restraint not to touch you in the shower that morning—something which hadn’t left his mind since.

“I’ve always been pretty” Your response was cocky, as expected. “You’re usually too drunk to notice”

“That” He nipped at your jaw between each word, making you giggle in the process “Is not true”

He allowed his fingers to aimlessly brush against your thighs. He looked at you enticingly, nothing but mischief on his mind. He pinched the fabric of your dress between his fingers, wanting to tear the damn thing off. Your hand covered his, halting him in his tracks.

“Tell me you don’t like it and I’ll stop” He sighed into your skin, tongue licking under your jaw. Your sweet skin was addicting to taste, and it didn’t help that he could feel you trembling in his hold. You were confused, he knew you were. But he could see that you wanted him. He could feel it.

He hugged you closer—chest to chest, feeling the drum of your heart on his. He wanted to fuck you so bad it hurt. He was so sure he had never been attracted to you this way. Of course he loved you, there was never any question about it. But you had been like a sister to him your whole life. Lately he found himself wanting you in a way he shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Because you were getting engaged to his younger brother. And he had known that all along.

“Jin,” Your voice was barely a whisper, “Why?” It was a valid question. One he was not ready to answer. His advances had hardly been subtle.

“You said I wasn’t giving you enough attention. So here we are. Just me…” His finger trailed up your thigh, “you” From the table, he pulled out a single card, twisted between two fingers which he slid down the side of your face before pulling it away so sharply, a drop of blood trickled from your cheek.

“And a deck of cards” He leaned in, lips brushing against the tiny cut in a soft peck. 

“Stop fucking around Jin” Standing up from his lap, you looked him dead in the eye. “I’m getting married to Taehyung. Your brother, who you love.”

Jin tilted his head in irritation. He absolutely hated being told no, it wasn’t something he typically had to deal with. Frustration boiled in his veins, the confusion so overwhelming it made his head spin.

The reality that he was falling for you. Hard.

He gulped, staring at you. Eyes softening as silence filled the air. He felt choked, throat gripping in anticipation of what he should say next—if he would actually say what he knew you both were feeling out loud.

There was a knock on the door. Instinctively, Jin grabbed your wrist, holding it firmly.

“Mr. Kim, you have a phone call”

The door opened, allowing one of Jin’s guards to walk in and hand him his cell. You motioned to excuse yourself, mouthing the word 'bathroom'.

Jin nodded, pressing the cell to his ear. 

“Mr. Kim,”

The distorted voice through the phone gave him chills. His heart pounded through his head, veins pulsing with anger.

“Did you forget about me?”

He glanced at his guard—whose eyes were questioning him with worry. He tensed his shoulders before nodding at his guards softly, indicating for them to act accordingly.

“You’re making this too easy Kim. Shouldn’t leave your most prized possession unattended. I could just snap her pretty neck”

Jin could only hear his own racing pulse. Anxiety gripping his chest with desperation—you couldn’t be in danger. He had no idea the chaos that would ensue if there was even a scratch on your body under his watch.

“Then again, I’d much rather snap yours”

Jin lunged forward, a mere millisecond before a bullet shot through, piercing his guard in the gut. The man fell over, not before two more guards arrived in a panic. Blood began to pool on the dark red carpet. It was almost despicable how the color matched.

Jin felt dizzy, his body acting purely on instinct where his mind simply couldn’t catch up. He could feel a heaviness in his throat, but now was not the time. Where were you—you went to the bathroom—he had to get you out of here— and so he ran. Faster than he ever had. Mind empty except for the need to keep you safe.

Slipping quickly through the hall, Jin rushed over to the bathroom, locked from the inside. He pounded against the door, a sweat breaking across his forehead. What if—no. Don’t think like that.

He shuddered, imagining the worst. Throwing himself at the door, he screamed out in frustration.

“Y/n!” He never used your name. Not unless it was serious. “It’s me, we need to go, now” He paused, catching his breath as he heard the lock click from the inside. The door swung open and there you were, a disoriented look on your face.  

“What’s going on—” Without so much as a second thought, Jin grabbed your wrist, pulling you through a back exit—ignoring the blaring fire alarms that went off as he kicked the door open. His guards pulled a car around.

Settling in the back seat with you glued to his side, he barked at his guards “Safehouse, now”

He was trembling. Not even realizing how tightly he was still holding your hand. So lost that he didn’t hear you calling his name frantically—“Jin what the fuck is going on?”

A shaky exhale left his lips at your words. Almost out of sheer desperation he turned, pulling you into his lap where he cupped your face. You were so close. Close enough that he could almost taste the sweat on your neck. You held him, allowing his hands to roam your body in assurance that you were alive. That you were okay.

He tried not to entertain the thought. To appreciate that you had survived, but his mind couldn’t help but wander as he gazed into your sweet eyes—what the fuck would he have done if something had happened to you?

His eyes shifted from your eyes to your lips. He gulped. He needed you. Tempted to slam his lips onto yours, but instead just breathing you in, letting his eyelashes brush against your face. Holding you in a tight embrace. Tears rolling down his face.

It was as though in that moment, everything became so clear. For a moment he swore that nothing made more sense than you in his arms. You consumed him. You were a fever, he woke up burning, went asleep in sweats—he craved you, like a man on the brink of insanity. If this was love, he wanted to drown in it. He couldn’t breathe—not if you weren’t besides him. You were beautiful, flawed, and simply everything he ever wanted.

“I can’t—”

He choked on a sob, looking at you again. There was more said in those two simple words. Everything he needed to communicate, and he knew you would understand “Princess, I can’t”

The tears fell harder. His walls came crashing down, all he had held back seemed to overflow. The fear of losing you triggering so many pent up emotions that he couldn’t take it. His body trembled.

“Fuck” He cried out in frustration, almost tasting your lips against his own. Fingers tightly intertwined in your hair. He didn’t have it in him anymore. He couldn’t hold back.

Except he had to.

“Jin,” Your tone shifted. He understood it—it was pleading. Your eyes were wide with confusion, with want. Your lips—your sweet lips, he could only image how amazing they would feel. The world would fade away in an instant and he would be lost in your touch. He would kiss you everywhere. All night long. He would never let go.

His breath was shaky, cutting his desire to cry harder. Letting his eyes fall shut, he pushed you off of him, turning his back towards you. He could hear you scoff and swore his heart shattered. He didn’t want to hurt you. He was equally perplexed at how quickly his love for you and surfaced within the past few days. It had been there all along, but now that you were forbidden, it came pouring out of his every move.

He shook his head. There was no point in starting something that couldn’t be finished. If he were honest with you, you would end up getting hurt in the worst way possible. If you knew all the lies he had told you, all the secrets he kept. All the ways in which he used you as a puppet for his own gain. Jin wasn’t proud of who he was. And surely, you deserved better.

“I’m sorry” The words hung heavy in the thick, disappointing silence. The tension throbbing in his veins as the drive continued on in the dark night.

The second the car pulled into the safehouse, you pushed yourself off of him—jumping out of the car. Jin followed as you began to run—grabbing your wrist before you could.

“Let go of me” You hissed, tugging at his grip.

“No” With a jerk of his arm he pulled you towards him.

Cricked chirped in the dead of the night—there was no living soul for miles. The stars shone brightly through the chilly wind and there you were.

Kissing him.

-

⟶ Years before the murder ⟵

“Tell me about the dice”

Back & forth. The steady creaking of the bed as the patient sat, curled up into himself. Across the room Jimin sat, waiting, observing. The patient was staring into the palm of his hand. Two red die, rolling around in his palm.

He had been at it for a while, not uttering a single word. But Jimin was trained for this. He was nothing if not patient. He could dig at his patient for hours until he would get them to bend to his will. Persistence, determination, delayed gratification, these things came to him easily.

Jimin cleared his throat, “Nurses are telling me you throw a fit when they try to take those away from you. It must bring you a lot of comfort”

The patient continued to ignore him.

“I understand you are very fond of playing cards” Jimin flipped through his files. “Want to tell me about that? Do you like gambling?”

The patient stilled his wrist, closing his long fingers over the dice. “She gave them to me”

Jimin raised his eyebrows. Finally. He was breaking through to him. He was so close to getting what he needed he was practically salivating. So close to getting all the information he needed.

He set his notebook aside, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked at his patient with sincerity. He was careful with the way he spoke, never wanting his patients to feel patronized, judged or scrutinized. He needed his patients to trust him. To confide in him without holding anything back.

“Why don’t you tell me about her, Taehyung?”

⟵|| previous || next ||⟶

series navi | join taglist | masterlist | scream in my asks

thanks for reading you cutie <3 have a great day!

[raplinesmoon]

원샷! (One-shot!) - MYG x F!Reader

series masterlist

pairing: Doctor!Yoongi x Doctor!Reader genre(s): crack, fluff, brief smut au(s): medical AU, idiots-to-lovers (not quite yet) word count: 3.1k warnings: cynical Yoongi, hospital talk, artificial insemination and pregnancy, sperm for insemnation switched without readers’ knowledge/consent, Yoongi has no filter, 20,000 different ways to say sperm, unhinged behaviour from OC and Yoongi, probably HIPAA non-compliance, intoxication, marijuana use, an almost-kiss, did I mention they're idiots (affectionate), mentions divorce (OC's parents), bi-panic from Yoongi, implied masturbation (m) rating: 18+

summary: Yoongi's friendship with you is the one bright spot in his life. So when you tell him you're ready to have a baby, he thinks this will finally be his shot to take your friendship to the next level. Cue a few shots of soju, and one insemination party, and Yoongi suddenly has a huge problem on his hands.

a/n: Old rom-coms (aka pre-2012) are the best. I was rewatching The Switch the other day and felt a burst of inspo to write this cute little au! This will probably be a oneshot (get it?) for now, but never say never! I hope you enjoy!

disclaimer: I do not own, or have any affiliation with BTS. Any similarity between the version of the idol(s) mentioned and portrayed here and their real life counterparts is purely coincidental, and does not represent the thoughts and opinions of said idol(s). Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. This specific fic is based on the 2010 movie The Switch, which contains sensitive themes relating to accidental artificial insemnation, consent, and pregnancy. Please do your research before engaging with this fic, as these themes may not be for everyone.

In his somewhat short career of practicing medicine, Yoongi had become an expert people-watcher, you could say. For instance, he’d been privy to the same morning commute as hundreds of other strangers in the city for the past five or so years. In fact, he was so used to seeing their faces that they didn’t seem like strangers at all. There was the old man who rode in the same car he did, always clutching what seemed to be a bouquet of flowers or a baked good. Maybe it was for his wife. Or his mistress. 

Yoongi puckers his lips sourly at the unsavory thought, shuddering at how cynical he’d become. Instead, he turns his attention to the girl sitting in the corner. She had to be in middle school, he thought. Only middle school could put that despondent look on the face of someone so young. Maybe she’d been jilted by a crush. Or more likely, she’d gotten a B on her math test and was about to walk into a lecture from her parents the moment she came home from school today. Yoongi knew the feeling all too well.

You see, it was Yoongi's job to be in the business of people. Being a doctor meant that he dealt with people all day long. They flitted in and out of his life like the flies that buzzed past his ears every time he entered the subway. And he always surprised himself with how much he could learn about them in a single meeting, or before they even walked into the room. 

Which is why nothing could have prepared him for what awaited him when he walked into the hospital cafeteria that morning. Sweat streamed down his back in rivulets from the summer heat, drenching his scrubs. And yet, he still insisted on grabbing a piping cup of black coffee from the drinks counter.

“It keeps me awake for longer,” he grumbled when the man at the checkout counter shot him a quizzical look.

His eyes scan the crowded array of chairs and tables outside the café, looking for the one person who could perk up the start to another grueling work day, even more than his cup of coffee was capable of. 

You wave to him enthusiastically from the crowd, bouncing up and down like a child waiting for a lollipop. It was probably from all the kids you hung around with all day. Peds was no joke, and Yoongi admired your ability to keep a bright, starry-eyed attitude when his own stomach turned at the thought of sick children.

“Please don’t tell me you saw another man with flowers who might be cheating on his wife,” you raise an eyebrow at the scowl on his face as he approaches the table. “Either that or today’s the day you finally regret not getting an iced coffee.”

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs, annoyed yet also mildly amused by your teasing.

“I told you, it–”

“It keeps you awake for longer, I know, I know,” you beam at him.

“It’s actually neither of those things,” he groans. “Today it was the old lady in the elevator who asked me what year of high school I was in.”

“That’s what you get for having a stupidly perfect face,” you quip, waving your fork at him. “You know Seungkwan from Derm would freak if he knew you only washed your face with bar soap?!”

Although you chuckle at your own joke, Yoongi can’t help the way his heart twists at your words, resisting the heat that rises to his cheeks when you compliment his face. But before he can think about it too long, he falters, noticing that your attention is buried deep within your pile of scrambled eggs, and you’re unable to look him in the eyes.

“You know, Seungkwan from Derm would also tell you that frowning causes premature wrinkles, ___,” Yoongi responds, and you lift your head up, eyebrows furrowed in worry. His hand twitches, and he fights the urge to reach out and squeeze your hand to reassure you everything will be alright.

You finally reach into your bag, pulling out a piece of paper.

“Look at these labs,” you push the paper towards him. “What do they say to you?”

Yoongi stares intently at the paper, trying to piece together this patient’s story, despite you failing to provide any helpful demographic information.

“Iron count, a full blood panel, HcG, any infectious diseases, genetic markers—” Yoongi pauses when he realizes. “You’ve got a pregnant kid on your hands?”

The paper is snatched from his hands before he can finish, your face redder than a tomato.

“No silly, it’s not a kid. I-it’s me. Those are my levels. Do you think they look okay?”

Yoongi can’t prevent his jaw from dropping wide open. He’s sure he must look like an idiot, staring blankly while you blink your eyes, waiting for him to respond.

“You’re having a baby?” he chokes out. The sick, twisty feeling in his stomach has returned, only this time it's a thousand times worse.

“Not yet. But I’m trying,” you admit sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

“So what, you want me to have sex with you?” Yoongi blurts out before he can stop himself, and he immediately sees you freeze. Sometimes he really hated that he had no filter when it came to his thoughts. That, combined with the fact that he’d had a crush on you since you nearly knocked him over with your Heelies during his first week of work, and Yoongi had found himself in a sticky situation more often than not.

“No!” you immediately blurt out, growing more flustered when Yoongi frowns. “Not that, I mean–, that’s totally beside the point, completely irrelevant to my clinical question, I, I– I’m using a sperm donor okay!”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, you’ve rendered Yoongi completely speechless.

“Is this about Kihyun?” he finally asks. “Or Doyoung? You know, I know you haven’t had the best track record with relationships in the past, but jumping into having a baby with a random guy is definitely not the solution!”

“It’s not about them!” you sputter, unable to stop your voice from rising. “It’s about me, okay! My choice to be an independent woman, raising a child, who doesn’t need a man to help her at all! I get paid well, I have all the resources I could dream of, a strong support system. My life is in session!”

Yoongi has to bite back at chuckle at you quoting one of the various hospital brochures that decorated every reception desk and spare table. 

“So are you gonna help me find some jizz, or not?!” you finish, only to look around and realize nearly a dozen pairs of eyes are on you. Perhaps you’d said that last part a little too loudly.

“I-, I gotta go,” you whisper, slinging your bag over your shoulder and running as fast as you can out of the cafeteria, leaving a wistful Yoongi to ponder over the fact that you hadn’t even bothered to finish your breakfast.

You might have thought that breakfast was the end of your baby-making discussion, but judging by the way Yoongi cornered you immediately during the mid-afternoon patient lull, it seemed he hadn't.

“So you’re looking for, uh, semen,” he says, mortified when the charge nurse on your floor whips her head around to glare at him. He pulls you into an alcove by the windows, immediately realizing what a wrong move that was when he can smell the strawberry shampoo you’d used this morning, or count each one of your long eyelashes.

“What’s wrong with mine?” he asks innocently, before realizing he’d messed up yet again. The uncomfortable look on your face tells him as much.

“Listen, Yoongi, I’m sure you have great sperm, killer sperm even. Not in a murder-y way, you know, but like in a Darwinian kinda way. But we’re best friends, wouldn’t that be weird?”

“We don’t have to have sex, you know. I could just nut in a cup and hand it to you. I mean we’ve literally cleaned vomit off each other, how weird could this be?”

A strangled giggle erupts from your throat, and you’re bouncing on the balls of your feet. Yoongi knows you well enough to know your untapped anxiety is preventing you from saying what you really want.

“Okay, spit it out ___.”

“Well, no offense, Yoongi, but you’re kind of neurotic. And not to mention a little pessimistic, maybe even nihilistic…”

“Damn, ___. You could have just said you didn’t want my swimmers. No need to hit a man where it hurts.”

You smile, fondly recalling the time you two played for the hospital basketball team, only for Yoongi to suspend you when your pass had gone awry and smacked him straight in the balls.

“Oh please, you recovered just fine. And we still won the championship that year against the nurses.”

The smile Yoongi forces out of him is no match for the way his heart is breaking underneath. But he looks at you, eyes sparkling and so excited about the prospect of having a baby, and immediately sets his own feelings aside. He could do this. He was your best friend, and as your best friend, your happiness was his number one priority. 

“Okay, I’ll help.”

“Thank you thank you thank you!” you crush him in a too-tight hug, his arms wrapping around you stiffly, before melting into it. Normally he would have pushed anyone else off by now, but you’d always been his exception to every rule he’d ever set for himself.

“So, what do you think about Hoseok from Finance?”

Yoongi freezes at the mention of the happy-go-lucky man with the heart-shaped smile and how he could immediately charm the pants off of anyone within his vicinity.

“Absolutely not,” he grumbles, walking away.

“Oh come on, why not? He has great fashion sense, can pull off any hair color, the nurses say he can dance well… Yoongi, YOONGI!”

After a tumultuous few months, which involved a rather precarious incident in which Yoongi had nearly gotten fired when he locked Taehyung, a cardiology fellow, in the bathroom after he’d gotten a bit too handsy with you at a party, Yoongi opens his apartment door one Saturday morning to find a comically large pink envelope on the outside.

The dozens of sperm-shaped balloons that fall out of the card have him jolting in surprise, and he looks up to find his across-the-hall neighbours, a mom and her daughter, staring at him dumbfoundedly, before swiftly slamming their door shut in his face.

I’m Getting Pregnant… And You’re Invited, the garish pink letters on the invitation read, and Yoongi wants to tell the stupid card to go shove all the balloons up its ass when he realizes in horror that you’d finally decided on someone. Without him.

Standing in the hallway with the huge mess around him, Yoongi wonders how despite changing people’s lives every day, he’d always managed to fall behind when it came to his own.

. . .

The obnoxious EDM bumping in your apartment is enough to make Yoongi’s ears bleed. Tugging at his hoodie, his eyes scan the crowd of people, recognizing more than a few people from the hospital. Frowning, he tries to run each one of them through his mind, wondering if you’d gone with Hoseok from Finance after all.

“Dr. Min!” Yoongi nearly chokes on his drink when Jimin from HR comes up to him, landing him a good-natured slap on the back. “You made it!”

“What the hell are you doing here, Jimin?” Yoongi deadpans. “Shouldn’t you be reporting this shit? I thought all this was supposed to be protected under HIPAA!”

“We’re all HIPAA-compliant here, Yoongi, except you,” Jimin chortles, before smirking at him. “Don’t think I don’t know that you’re the only one in your department who hasn’t submitted their training modules yet.”

“I-, I’ve been busy! You know, actually taking care of patients and stuff.” Yoongi knows Jimin is joking, but somehow still feels the need to defend himself. 

“I’m sensing some negative energy from you, Yoongi,” Jimin drawls, and Yoongi is sure he has to be drunk, waving what looks like a turkey baster in his face. “This is ___’s moment! We should all be happy for her!”

“Oh I’m sooo happy,” Yoongi grumbles, disappearing into the crowd to look for you.

“Dr. Min!” another voice calls out to him. “Wanna take a hit?”

Yoongi turns to see Jungkook, one of the medical students rotating in his unit, offering him a lit joint.

“Put that damn thing away, Jeon!” Yoongi scolds him, before backtracking. “On second thought, gimme that.”

All Jungkook can do is blink in surprise when Yoongi takes a drag of the joint, immediately feeling his irate energy subside just a tiny bit. Still, he was antsy. Where were you?

Yoongi takes another few hits, downs a few shots of soju and he’s overcome with the munchies. Reaching for the hummus and pita chips, he groans when the dip plops down, staining his pristine white hoodie. 

“Here, let me help you with that,” another disembodied voice calls out to him. Yoongi looks up at the sound, and is immediately taken aback.

Yoongi’s sure he’d never seen this dude at the hospital before. He was like, freakishly pretty. Tall, with dark hair and broad shoulders, and pink lips. He blinks, trying not to panic at the attractive man swiping the stain off his shirt.

“Yoongi!” you appear out of nowhere, wrapping him in another crushing hug. “I see you’ve met Seokjin.”

“I’m the donor,” the man called Seokjin reaches a hand out for him to shake, offering a blinding smile.

Fuck. Of course this stupidly attractive man was your sperm donor. Of course you’d want to have his baby. He was literally perfect. You probably had a crush on him. Hell, Yoongi kind of had a crush on him. 

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you drunkenly lean on Yoongi for support. “You two have fun talking though!”

“___’s great,” Seokjin grins. “Super nice. Pretty hot too.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yoongi interjects bluntly. “I mean no offense, a guy like you, you could probably have anyone.”

“Ahh yeah,” Seokjin ruffles his hair, and Yoongi grits his teeth at how he still manages to look perfect doing that. “Money’s tight these days. A PhD in astrophysics at Harvard doesn’t exactly come cheap.”

Before Yoongi can make another smart comment, Seokjin is whisked away by Jimin and Hoseok from finance, the men slapping him on the back, hollering that it’s time to do the deed. He sees you disappear into your own room nervously, and can’t help himself from following you.

“Everything okay, ___?”

“NO!” you’re nearly bouncing off the walls. And there’s no kids to entertain in sight. “I’m freaking out!”

Yoongi’s next to you in seconds, taking you in his arms and letting your head lean against his shoulder. He’d discovered how much it calmed you down after one drunken night out where you’d basically recalled your childhood trauma from your parents’ divorce.

“Do you think I’m crazy, Yoongi? I want this so bad, but maybe this is the wrong way to go about it.”

“I think you want a family, ___. There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’ll be here every step of the way. Uncle Yoongi to the rescue.”

You giggle at his words, a dazed look in his eyes.

“You do act like a total dad.”

There’s a brief pause, silence falling in between you two. Your eyes peer into Yoongi’s and for a moment, he could swear you lean in, the shiny pink gloss on your lips sparkling in the dim light—-

Only to be interrupted by Jungkook bursting into the room, grabbing your hand and telling you its finally time.

One shot, Yoongi had promised himself. Only now he’s ten shots of soju deep and hiding in the fucking bathroom while the party rages on outside. The colors on the wall blend into each other, and Yoongi’s head throbs trying to figure out what he’s looking at. He smiles to himself when he sees its your meticulous pregnancy planning chart, filled with labs and calendars and lists of medications.

Lifting himself up off the floor, he stumbles, bracing himself against the toilet. He was about to hurl. In his stupor he hears something clatter, off to the side.

“Is someone in there?” the nervous voice of Kim Namjoon, one of the hospital’s talented surgeons, calls out from the other end. “I have to pee!”

Namjoon’s voice breaks Yoongi out of his daze, and he looks at the object lying on the floor.

Cum. A whole bucket’s worth of it, it looked like. The creamy white substance now lies swirling in your toilet bowl, and he feels his heart drop to his ass when he realizes it’s Seokjin’s. Oh fuck! It was Seokjin’s sample. Aka the sample you were supposed to shoot up in mere moments, to have the baby you’d been dreaming of for so long.

Yoongi tugs at his hair, wanting to scream at himself for ruining your plans, all because of his own stupidity. You’d be so mad at him. You’d probably yell at him in front of the entire hospital, hands on your hips, and your face would go all red.

He’s horrified when his dick twitches to life at the image of you cursing him out. How was it his fault that you were so hot and he was idiotically attracted to you?

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Yoongi looks down again, caught in a face-off with Min. Jr. This was a very big problem with a very simple solution.

The pounding in his head continues as Yoongi drops his pants, getting right to work.

. . .

Thankfully, Yoongi doesn’t remember much about the night of your party. He thinks it’s a blessing, at least until you pounce on him in the hospital cafeteria a couple of weeks later.

Something about you is different, he thinks. You’d always been pretty but now you’re stunning, practically glowing from the inside out. He wonders if it has anything to do with stupidly handsome Seokjin when you tap him on the shoulder.

“It worked!” you blurt out, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m pregnant!”

Suddenly, it all comes back to Yoongi. His jealousy over Seokjin, the two of you nearly kissing in your room, the cup spilling into the toilet, the way Yoongi came with your name on his lips.

Shit.

A/N pt. 2: Thanks for reading! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜