aaclariww

[aaclariww]

03 | BOUND BY VOWS ⭒ JJK

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. Yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. Your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, protective!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, trauma and panic attack, several crying scenes, isolation, domestic drama, tension, hurt and comfort, jungkook's dog bam makes an appearance (their bonding is so cute ugh), healing, trust issues, mentions of past abuse, power imbalance, mild sexual feelings and desires, manipulation, guilt and self-hatred, quiet acts of kindness from jungkook, miscommunication, argument

wc — 12.3k

a/n — hope y'all enjoy this chapter! let me know your thoughts <3

series m. list | main m. list

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The heavy air pressed against your skin as you stirred awake on the hardwood floor, faint light seeped through the curtains, casting a glow across the room.

Your body ached with a throbbing pain on your shoulders and waist from curling into a tight ball on the cold floor through the night.

In a cramped position.

Your muscles protested as you shifted. your eyes swollen from the tears you'd shed until you fell asleep and your body felt heavy from the residue of your grief.

Your throat dry and raw from the sobs.

You lay still for a long moment, staring up at the ceiling in silence.

The events of the previous night flooded back—your confrontation with jungkook, the words you'd told him, each one laced with years of pent up fear and anger.

You'd called him a monster, accused him of buying you and said he was like your father.

The memory of your own voice, sharp and rude for the first time, sent a shiver through you. You'd never raised your voice to a man before.

Never dared to.

Growing up you'd learned to stay small, to stay quiet in order to avoid your fathers anger.

But with jungkook something had snapped and the words had come out, controlled by the terror of being trapped in a marriage you didn’t choose.

He hadn’t yelled back and hadn’t raised a hand like your father would have.

Instead he stood there, dark eyes unreadable, his cigarette burning between his fingers.

The image of him in the white shirt, faint scent of smoke clinging to him, lingered in your mind.

Unsettling you.

He hadn’t hit you and hadn’t even raised his voice but the fear of what he might do now gnawed at you.

What if he'd been holding back last night? his patience was just him pretending?

What if today he'd show the cruelty you'd always expected from men like him?

Your father has taught you to brace for the worst and jungkook with his intimidating presence seemed like the kind of man who could destroy you with a single word.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your muscles protested.

You stood, legs shaky and caught sight of yourself in the mirror—skin pale, eyes red rimmed and hair tangled in knots.

You looked fragile and on the verge of breaking.

The sight of you welled tears in your eyes again because it reminded you of your mother.

But you blinked them back, refusing to let them fall. You had to be strong, you had to survive this for her.

After all, she was the only reason you were here, the only reason you hadn’t run.

The room felt too big, too empty and you felt out of place in jungkook's world.

This wasn’t your home—it was a prison that you paid for with your freedom.

What would jungkook do now? would he punish you?

Would he demand obedience like your father always had?

All your overthinking felt suffocating and you sank back onto the floor, your knees pulled to your chest, trying to ground yourself against your thoughts.

You remembered the way jungkook had looked at you, his eyes dark but not angry, his hands still.

It confused you.

Your father would have lashed out but jungkook had just stood there, letting you scream, letting you hate him.

Your stomach knotted with guilt.

You didn’t wanna feel guilt—you didn’t owe him anything.

He'd married you without your consent and had taken you from your life.

Yet the way he’d stayed calm and the way he hadn’t touched you caused you to doubt.

You pushed the thought away, refusing to acknowledge it.

Men like him didn’t change, they waited, they manipulated and then they struck.

You'd seen it your whole life.

You need to move, to do something but the thought of leaving the safety of this room or facing jeon jungkook made your heart race.

You stayed there frozen, mind hazy until the ache in your body forced you to stand again.

You couldn’t stay on the floor forever.

You had to face the day, face him and face the life you'd been forced into.

You had to step forward.

You slowly walked to the attached bathroom and it was really different than the one you were used to at home.

The glossy tiles and the modern things made it look like it belonged in a luxury hotel.

The space large and you felt small and out of place in here.

You shuffled inside closing the door, the thin dress you'd worn since the wedding clinging to your skin stiffly with sweat and tears.

You stood in front of the sink, turning on the faucet and splashed your face with water, the coldness making you gasp.

You did it again and again as if you could wash away the pain and the memory of last night.

To pull you back from the state of dizziness.

You stripped off your dress after that, letting it fall to the floor and kicked it aside, not wanting to look at it.

Your body felt exposed and vulnerable as you stood in your panties only.

You avoided the mirror now, not wanting to see the curves that had always made you self conscious.

You’d never felt comfortable in your body, not when it drew attention you didn’t want.

You stepped in the glass shower and turned the knob as warm water poured over you like rainfall.

You didn’t have access to this in your home, the water was always cold, so this felt foreign.

You stood under it, letting it cascade over your body, the warmth seeping into your sore body.

The water was a momentary comfort as you tilted your head back, letting it soak your hair.

The shampoo and conditioner on the shelf were expensive, you could recognize that just by looking at the bottles.

You poured a small amount of shampoo into your palm and worked it through your hair, the foam forming the scent sweet as you rinsed it slowly.

You used the conditioner next, its creamy texture smoothing your hair, making it feel softer than it had in years.

You stood under the water for a long time, longer than necessary, letting the shower drown out all your thoughts.

jungkook was powerful—his wealth, his presence—but he hadn’t hurt you.

Not yet.

He was playing a game, you told yourself.

He was waiting and when he would finally react, it would be worse than anything your father had done.

You turned off the shower.

Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a plush towel you found and you clutched it tightly to your chest.

You wiped the fog from the mirror with your hand, revealing your flushed face. Even though you looked better, the haunted look in your eyes was still there.

Along with the fear.

You didn’t wanna go out but you had to.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

You needed to check on your mother, needed to know she was okay.

Your mothers life depended on you and you didn’t know what the day would bring but you couldn’t stay here hiding like a scared child.

You stood in the center of the room drying your hair with trembling hands and that’s when the sharp knock on the door jolted you.

Your fingers tightened around the towel around yourself as you stared at the door, frozen.

Another knock, firmer this time and your pulse quickened.

It had to be Jungkook.

He'd come to demand an apology to punish you for your behavior from last night.

Badly.

The thought of his wrath made your knees weak but the knocking persisted, not aggressive but insistent.

You couldn’t hide forever.

If you ignored him, it might make things worse and might provoke the anger you were certain was simmering beneath his coldness.

Swallowing hard, you forced your feet to move.

Your hand shook as it hovered over the doorknob as you took a deep breath, bracing yourself for facing him.

With a final surge of courage, you turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your body tense, ready to flinch.

To your shock, it wasn’t jungkook.

A woman stood in the hallway, she was in her fifties from what you thought by looking at her appearance. Her dark hair with silver strands was pulled in a bun and her face was softened by wrinkles.

She wore a simple black uniform but her smile was genuine.

She looked at you with concern but there was a kindness in her gaze that made your chest thud with something you couldn’t name—relief that it wasn’t jungkook.

“Good morning, mrs. jeon.” she said

Her voice held a maternal warmth that unsettled you.

The title—mrs. jeon—hits you with disgust reminding you of the marriage you'd been forced into once again.

A name you'd never accept as your own.

Her smile didn’t falter though as you didn’t speak.

“You can call me mrs. kim.” she continued

“I’m the housekeeper here. I cook, clean and keep things running for mr. jeon. He asked me to bring you these.”

She extended her arms, offering a stack of neatly folded clothes.

You stared at them, throat tightening.

It was a collection of clothes that you usually wore but the only difference was that the fabrics looked impossibly luxurious.

The kind you'd only ever seen in shop windows.

And just by looking at the top item, you could tell that it was worth more than a months rent at your father's apartment.

Your distrust of jungkook's intentions kept you rooted in place.

“I don’t need these.” you said bitterly.

Barely masking the tremor beneath it.

You were sure that this was another way for jungkook to assert his dominance over you to make you feel indebted to him.

Your father had done the same, giving you small things only to use them on you later on to guilt trip you or taunt you.

You wouldn’t fall for it again.

mrs. kim's eyes softened.

“They’re just clothes, dear.” she says gently.

Not pushing you.

“You need something fresh to wear, don’t you?”

She didn’t mention how jungkook had picked these out himself, thinking you’d like them and that they’d suit you.

The idea of jungkook choosing these clothes—knowing your size, your preferences—sent a chill down your spine.

It felt invasive.

He'd reached out and learned about your personal life without permission.

How did he know anyways?

Had he been watching you?

Studying you?

Your fingers tightened around the towel, knuckles white.

mrs. kim noticed your hesitance but she didn’t argue further, she simply held out the clothes, her expression patient.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to.” she smiles.

“But you can’t stay in that towel all day, can you? just take them for now. You can decide later.”

Your eyes darted between her and the clothes.

You had nothing else to wear—the dress you wore last night was crumpled and sweaty.

You had to give up your pride, your refusal to accept anything from jungkook.

Reluctantly you reached out and took the stack, heart racing.

“Thank you.” you muttered.

Your eyes fixed on the floor, you couldn’t let her see the shame and fear in your eyes.

Accepting the clothes felt like accepting jungkook's control and you hated it, hated him along with yourself for being so powerless.

mrs. kim nodded with a grin.

“Breakfast is ready downstairs when you’re ready. Take your time, dear. No need to rush.”

She turned to leave and you closed the door behind her, the lock snapping shut.

You stood there for a moment clutching the clothes to your chest. These clothes were his doing, another reminder that you were in his house and bound to him in ways you couldn’t escape.

You set the clothes on the bed and picked a sweater, it was beautiful, perfect even and exactly what you'd have chosen for yourself.

And that made it worse.

The thought of wearing his gifts and his money touching your skin made you feel like a doll dressed up for his liking.

But you had no choice.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up the sweater, a skirt and dressed slowly, the clothing fitting you perfectly like it had been tailored just for you.

You resented how good they felt, how they made you feel cared for when you knew it was a lie.

jungkook wasn’t kind.

He couldn’t be.

Men like him—powerful and in control—never was.

You pushed your damp hair behind your ears as you looked at the door.

You didn’t wanna go downstairs, you didn’t want to face the possibility of seeing jungkook.

But you needed to call the hospital and that need outweighed your fear.

At least for now.

You opened the door and walked down the staircase, heart pounding as you looked at your feet because you thought if you looked up, you'd see jungkook.

The air was filled with the scent of food and your stomach growled since you were hungry but you pushed it down, refusing to give in to jungkook's offerings again.

You didn’t want his food, his clothes or his pity.

You didn’t want anything from him.

You reached the dining table and looked at the table which was set with a feast that made your breath catch—an array of dishes.

Every possible breakfast item one could think of, along with bowls of fresh fruits and homemade pastries and croissants.

It was overwhelming and in excess.

You’ve probably never seen so much food at once in your life where you could barely have a meal in a day.

mrs. kim appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

“mr. jeon wasn’t sure what you liked.” she chuckled.

“So he asked me to make a bit of everything. Please sit down.”

You stood frozen, your eyes scanning the table, stomach twisting with hunger.

And disgust.

At his ability to control every aspect of your life

You laughed mockingly, the sound startling her.

“What is this, a bribe? does he think he can buy me with his fake kindness?”

You whispered under your breath but mrs. kim heard you anyway.

Her smile faltered.

“It’s just breakfast, dear.” she says soothingly.

“You need to eat. You look like you haven’t had a proper meal in days.”

You refused to admit her words, you'd gone hungry before and survived without eating for a whole day.

This feast was nothing but a show, a way for jungkook to flaunt his wealth.

“I’m not hungry.” you lied.

Though your stomach betrayed you with another grumble.

“I just need a phone. Can you please give me that? I need to make a call.”

A desperation in your voice

Her eyes softened with sympathy but she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a brand new smartphone.

“mr. jeon left this for you before he went to his office.”

You stared at the phone, heart sinking. It was a much updated top model phone than the old one you used before with a cracked screen.

You wanted to throw it across the room and scream that you didn’t want this.

But you needed to call the hospital, you needed to hear that your mother was still alive, still fighting so you grabbed the phone, taking it.

You exhaled shakily with unshed tears, you felt dirty for giving up but your mother was important and you couldn’t risk her.

“Fine.” you sign.

“But I’m not eating.”

mrs. kim frowned as she studied you.

“You need to eat, mrs. jeon.”

Her voice almost pleading.

“mr. jeon won’t be happy if you don’t. He was very clear about it.”

The mention of jungkook's displeasure frightened you but you were too angry and hurt to care.

“Tell him to fuck off.” you snapped.

The words burst out before you could stop them.

Her eyes widened, mouth parting in shock because no one spoke about jungkook like that—not in this house, not in his world.

The curse was a word you never dared to utter before but your tongue was loosened from all the emotions you felt.

Since last night.

“I don’t care what he wants.” you added.

“I’m not his puppet.”

You turned to leave but her words stopped you.

“I’ll let you be.” she said quietly.

“But the foods there when you change your mind.”

You went back to the guest room, the phone clutched in your hand.

You slammed the door shut and leaned against the door, chest heaving. You dialed the hospital's number that was already saved.

You realized that all your saved contacts were here.

But you didn’t pay much attention to it as you waited for the line to connect, wanting to hear that your mother was okay.

The nurse picked up, confirming your mother was stable but still in a coma, all her expenses covered.

You furrowed your brows, assuming it was your father using the money from your marriage and the thought made you sick.

But you were grateful.

You hung up relieved and tossed the phone on the bed before sitting down on the edge of the bed, your knees tucked against your chest.

You sat there for a long time, the room quiet except for the distant clatter of dishes from the kitchen downstairs, where mrs. kim was likely preparing another meal you had no intention of eating.

Your mind too heavy with the thoughts of your mother, your father and the man who now was your husband.

The silence was shattered by a soft bark outside the door, your breath catched.

The bark came again, followed by the scratch of paws against the door.

Your first instinct was fear—because this place is very unknown—but your animal loving heart won against everything.

You stood and approached the door.

If you ever saw a little one, you had to follow and you still remembered the puppy from outside the diner that day whom you fed.

And your heart felt so happy, the last moment of happiness before it got snatched from you and you needed that closure again.

Their pure souls too good for this tainted world.

You opened the door slightly and peered out.

A large, dark brown doberman stood there, his eyes sharp and his ears perked as he tilted his head to look at you.

He was an intimidating tall dog, nothing like the little puppies you were used to, he was the kind of dog that could tear through anyone without hesitation.

Your breath hitched and you stepped back but then he moved, stepping forward with a soft whine.

His nose sniffing the air as if trying to understand you.

He didn't growl or bare his teeth, instead he lowered his head slightly.

“Hey buddy.” you coo.

You knelt slowly, keeping your movements slow not wanting to startle him.

You looked at his collar and you read the name etched into it.

“bam”

jungkook's dog.

Of course the dog belonged to him, another innocent soul for him to control.

But bam's eyes were soft, almost pleading and when he stepped closer, his nose brushing against your hand, you felt a small warmth.

His tongue darting out, licking your fingers and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“bam, huh?” you murmur.

You reached out hesitatingly then gently scratched behind his ears and he leaned closer to your touch, his eyes half closing in contentment.

The weight of the day—the tears, the anger—seemed to lift just for a moment as you sat there with him.

“You’re not so scary, are you?”

bam responded with a happy huff, his tail wagging enthusiastically now.

You sat cross legged on the floor, letting bam settle beside you. He was big, his head leveling with your shoulder when he sat up.

But there was a gentleness in him that surprised you.

You'd expect a dog like this to be cold and scary like his owner but bam was different.

He nudged your hand whenever you stopped petting him, his wet nose making you laugh, the sound making you gasp.

It had been so long since you'd laughed since you'd felt anything other than agony.

“You’re a good boy.” you hummed.

“I bet you don’t even know how cruel your owner is.”

bam tilted his head as if listening and you found yourself talking to him.

“My mom’s sick, you know.” you whimper.

Your fingers tracing patterns on his collar

“She’s the only one I have. My dad… he's awful. He sold me to jungkook like I’m some kind of thing.”

“And now I’m here stuck and I don’t know what to do.”

Your voice cracked, eyes glistening with tears but you didn’t stop.

bam listened, his eyes fixed on you and it felt like he understood, like he was the only one in this house who did.

You told him about your dreams of escaping this and building a life where you could be free. You told him about the fear you felt every time you thought of jungkook.

The way his presence made your heart thud with something you couldn’t name.

Hours passed like this.

bam stayed beside you, head resting on your lap and he showed that you weren’t entirely alone after all.

You let out a sigh as he closed his eyes under your pets.

“You’re lucky.” you whisper.

“You don’t know what it’s like to be afraid all the time.”

The door creaked open and you tensed, hand stilling on bam's head.

It was mrs. kim.

“mrs. jeon? you really should eat something. mr. jeon doesn’t like it when his instructions are ignored.”

You bristled, jaw tightening.

You didn’t care about any of his bullshit.

“I’m used to going hungry. I’ve done it before and I have no problem doing it again.”

You looked down at bam, who was watching you and you scoffed.

“I’m not eating his food.”

You told bam as if he could understand.

“I don’t want anything from him.”

But your stomach growled louder this time and bam nudged your hand as if urging you to reconsider.

You shook your head stubbornly.

“I’ll be fine.”

You said more to yourself.

But as you sat there, you felt hope.

Maybe, just maybe.

You could survive this place if only because of this unexpected friend who'd found you in your darkest moment.

You suddenly heard the sound of the front door slamming, pulling you out of your thoughts as your heart jumped, pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears.

It was him.

jungkook was home.

The realization caused you dread as you curled onto the dog.

You hadn’t seen him since last night, since you’d screamed at him and you couldn’t help but think of the worst possible things he could do now.

The sound of heavy footsteps grew louder as you clutched your sweater, your breath uneven.

bam stirred, lifting his head as he sensed the approaching presence.

You wanted to lock the door again but you knew it was pointless.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door and you braced yourself, mind racing with images of your father's rage that followed with pain.

You expected jungkook to do the same.

The door opened without a knock as his towering figure filled the space, his tailored black suit accentuating his muscular body.

You squirmed under his gaze as his jaw tightened and his expression—anger, yes but something else too, something you couldn’t read.

“Why haven’t you eaten?” he asked lowly

There was a sharp edge to it.

You gulped, voice trapped with fear.

“I wasn’t hungry.” you mutter.

But it carried a stubbornness.

You kept your eyes on bam, avoiding his gaze, your hands stroking the dog's fur to ground yourself.

You didn’t want to look at him and didn’t wanna see the anger you were sure was there.

His eyes narrowed, frustration crossing his face.

He stepped into the room, his presence filling the space, making you feel smaller.

You tensed but then his gaze shifted, landing on bam who was still curled in your lap, his head resting against your thigh.

jungkook's expression changed to surprise, softening the hard lines of his face as a brow lifted slightly.

Bam doesn’t like anyone but him.

And yet…

jungkook studied you with an intensity that caused you goosebumps.

He took another step closer and you flinched as his hands clenched into fists at your reaction.

“You need to eat.” he says.

Voice calm now but still carrying the commanding tone.

“Go downstairs. Now.”

The words sparked something inside you. You'd spend your life swallowing your anger but with jungkook it was different.

He wasn’t your father.

But he was the man who'd married you against your will.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I’d rather starve.” you snapped.

Tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Stop pretending you care! you don’t get to act like you’re some savior when you’re the reason I’m here trapped in this marriage!”

Your voice cracked on the last word, chest heaving with sobs. The dog whined softly, sensing your distress and pressed close, his nose nudging your arm.

You were shaking and you expected jungkook to yell to prove you right about him.

To teach you a lesson for disrespecting him.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, eyes fixed on you with something even he couldn’t explain, anger in them for the tears you shed.

He disliked your distress.

He didn’t want that.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” he rasps.

You didn’t believe him.

Couldn’t.

“Stop lying.” you hissed.

“Y—you’re just like him. You'll hurt me, control me and make my life hell. I know men like you—”

“Enough.”

His one word cut off your words, cold but not cruel.

“You will eat, y/n. If I have to force you, I will.”

The finality of his words shook you and you felt your stubbornness crumble under his authority.

You were scared, body trembling as you stood, bam sliding off your lap and going to jungkook.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand and followed him downstairs.

You didn’t want to obey.

Didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction.

But you were exhausted with hunger and you didn’t want to piss him off more, even though you didn’t understand why he cared if you ate or starved.

What does he get by doing this?

You looked at the dining table now set with a fresh spread of new food—lunch of course, but a variety of them just like breakfast.

Way too many options.

jungkook gestured to the table, eyes still fixed on you.

“Eat what you like.” he whispers.

There was a warmth beneath his words.

You sat, hands shaking as you picked up a spoon.

jungkook moved to the other side of the room, leaning against the wall as he lit a cigarette.

The smell of tobacco filled the room as he watched you, his eyes never leaving your small frame.

You felt exposed and embarrassed under his gaze but you had no choice so you took a small bite of rice.

It was delicious.

You had to admit that, it was not the stale food you were used to but each bite showed exactly how little control you had in your life.

You felt like a doll that he could command.

bam padded over and settled at your feet, his warm body pressing against your legs. You glanced down, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reached down to pet him.

jungkook's eyes softened at the sight, pride and possessiveness crossing his face as he watched bam's loyalty shift to you.

He's never done that with anyone else, not even the staff because the doberman was a grumpy dog and he scared off several people.

But his behavior towards you shifted in such a short time.

It shocked him.

You ate slowly, your stomach too knotted to handle much but jungkook didn’t move, didn’t speak and just watched.

Making sure you ate enough.

In his mind he was thinking of everything that happened—your father’s lies, the forced marriage.

The pain you’ve carried for years.

He wanted to find your father to make him pay for what he'd done.

The thought of that man threatening your mother's life and selling you like you were nothing made jungkook's blood boil.

He imagined wrapping his hands around your father's throat, watching the life drain from his eyes but he pushed the thought down, smoking faster now.

He couldn’t do that.

Not yet.

Your mother was sick and any move against your father would hurt you more and that was the last thing he wanted.

He hadn’t slept last night, pacing his room, the image of your tear streaked face burned into his mind.

He'd been angry—at your father, at himself.

At the world that had let you suffer

He'd been lied to, told you'd agreed to the marriage and the guilt pressed on him.

He'd wanted you since that day outside the restaurant when he'd seen you feed that puppy, your sad eyes awakening something inside him he didn't understand.

He'd thought you wanted this.

Wanted him.

But now he knew the truth and it changed everything.

He couldn’t confront your father yet, couldn’t risk pushing you further away.

But when the time came, he'd make sure that man suffered for every tear you'd shed.

Watching you now, he felt the urge to shield you from the world that had hurt you.

You were so fragile yet so fierce, at least you showed him emotions, even if it was anger.

It infuriated him.

He wanted to tell you he wasn’t like your father, that he’d never hurt you but he knew you wouldn’t believe him.

Not now.

So he stood there, eyes tracing the curve of your face and the way your hands trailed as you ate.

He'd make sure you were taken care of whether you liked it or not.

“You need to eat more.” he said suddenly.

“You look frail.”

You froze, your spoon halfway to your mouth, eyes flicking up to meet his for the first time.

There was no anger in his gaze, only concern and it made your heart stutter.

“I’m fine.” you protested.

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“Do you?” he questions.

“You’ve been starving yourself for years. I’m not blind, y/n.”

Your cheeks flush with anger.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough.” he grumbles.

A glare in his face.

“I know that you’re not going to let yourself waste away in my house. Eat.”

You hated how he made you feel—small and powerless but also strangely cared for.

You took another bite and jungkook watched satisfaction present.

He wanted to say more, to tell you he'd paid for your mother's treatments that he'd make sure she was taken care of.

But he didn’t.

He knew you wouldn’t believe him and knew your trust had been shattered long before he’d even entered your life.

So he stayed silent, looking at you and the way you fought to hold onto your strength despite everything.

He'd wait for you to see him, to understand that he wasn't your father and that he'd protect you.

Even if you hated him.

You finished eating, stomach full but heart heavy.

You stood avoiding his gaze and moved to leave, bam trailing behind you.

“Wait.”

His voice stopped you in your tracks.

He stepped closer, his tall shadow falling over you, making you shiver at the proximity.

He pulled a black card from his pocket and held it out.

“Use this if you need anything. Clothes, food whatever you want.”

You stared at the card, your hands balling into fists.

“I don’t want your money.”

His eyes hardened but his voice remained firm.

“Take it, y/n. You’re my wife.”

The word “wife” made your lips part in surprise.

You wanted to refuse to throw the card in his face but his stern gaze pinned you in place, his authority undeniable.

“You’re not gonna live like you’re still in that hellhole with your father.”

His words make your breath shake as you reluctantly take the card, your fingers brushing against his calloused ones, sending a jolt through you.

You didn’t say anything else as you turned away and hurried back to the guest room, even if you accepted his card, you would never use it.

No matter what.

jungkook watched you go, his fists balling as his cigarette burned in his hand.

Your ignorance cut him deeper than he'd expected.

But he wouldn’t stop even if you fought him every step of the way.

But for now he'd give you space, let you hate him and let you heal.

He'd wait.

Because you were worth it even if you didn’t know it yet

۶ৎ

A few days passed and you'd mostly stay in the room, it was your own haven from everything that's been going on outside.

A barrier from the reality of your new life.

You kept the door closed and locked even though every corner of the house carried traces of him that made your chest tighten even when he was nowhere to be seen.

You confined yourself to the guest room as much as possible, only going out when necessary.

The phone jungkook had given sat on the dresser and you would use it sometimes to hear the nurses updates about your mother.

You'd call almost every day and hear the same thing again—that she was still in a coma—and you'd hang up and curl onto yourself on the bed.

You'd try to distract yourself because everything you're going through makes you exhausted.

mrs. kim, the housekeeper became your only companion in the house, her presence kind and motherly.

And you’ve started liking her.

She'd knock softly on your door and leave trays of carefully prepared food outside and the portions were generous, you could sense her care in every dish.

At first you resisted eating, refusing to accept it but then you realized that jungkook will make another appearance like that day and force you to eat.

So you stopped resisting, not wanting to see him again.

You'd sit on the bed eating slowly and you hated how the food nourished you.

The comfort it brought to your starving body.

But you ate because you had to, at least for your mother.

You'd always thank mrs. kim politely.

“Thank you, mrs. kim.”

She'd nod and smile warmly.

“You’re welcome, mrs. jeon.” she'd reply.

The title felt weird and you didn’t want her calling you that but you never corrected her even though the urge was there.

You weren’t mrs. jeon—never.

You were y/n, your own self.

You didn’t belong to anyone.

You appreciated how mrs. kim never pried, never commented on the fact that you and jungkook slept in separate rooms despite being married.

Barely spoke or lived like strangers under the same roof.

You found yourself warming up to her despite still being distant because you couldn’t fully trust anyone.

After being betrayed several times in life.

Your interactions with jungkook were almost nonexistent, the last time you did was when he made you eat that day.

You avoided him, staying in the guest room or slipping out to the garden when you knew he was at the office.

The garden was a comfortable place and you'd sit on a stone bench, bam at your side pressed against your leg as you petted him absentmindedly.

bam had become your best friend during this time, you and jungkook were the only ones he'd warmed up to.

You'd always talk to him and he'd always listen, his tail wagging and you'd feel good that not everything in this house was cold or threatening.

You would even feed him sometimes with the huge collection of dog food that was exclusively for him.

That softened your heart even just a bit because of how far jungkook goes for his bam.

How he cares for his dog.

jungkook for his part, maintained a careful distance.

He was gone most days as he buried himself in work and his absence felt like a relief to you.

Allowed you to move through the house without the constant thought that you'd run into him.

When he was home, you'd hear him and his steps but he'd mostly be in his study, his deep voice a low murmur on a phone call and the clink of a glass as he poured whiskey.

But he never sought you out, never knocked on your door or demanded anything from you.

It was as if he understood..

And he chose to give you space.

You didn’t trust it or anything because you thought he was hiding his true intentions like your father, waiting for the right moment.

Yet jungkook's actions were nothing like that but you refused to acknowledge that.

The wardrobe in your bedroom was filled with fresh clothes always in your size and style and you'd wear them reluctantly.

The fridge always stocked with your favorite snacks—some of them you mentioned your liking to mrs. kim in a rare moment.

You didn’t know jungkook was behind it and didn’t know he’d overheard the conversations or paid attention to your habits.

He ensured you had everything you needed even a small stack of books that appeared on the shelf.

Because you loved reading.

All delivered by mrs. kim.

jungkook's silent attempt to make you feel at home.

۶ৎ

One evening you went to the kitchen a bit hungry and the sight stopped you as you saw the food on the table and you thought mrs. kim left it since she usually was the one who cooks.

But the food felt too personal and different… like it was made by someone else.

You ate, not knowing jungkook had cooked it himself, his hands moving with a care he'd never shown anyone directly.

He never cooked for anyone but he did for you.

He'd left before you came down, not wanting to pressure you and he knew that you wouldn’t touch the food if you knew he was the one who cooked it.

Your routine fell into a rhythm.

You'd spend your days reading, playing with bam or staring out the window in your room, dreaming of the life outside.

You stopped resisting the gifts from jungkook because you couldn’t afford to fight everything by yourself and you just needed to wait till your mother got well.

But you never let yourself forget that this is a cage and you didn’t want this.

Soon being in the house all day became suffocating, and you missed your job at the bookstore.

It was more than a job—it was your escape, your dream and you loved working there.

You needed it.

Needed the normalcy and the independence of earning, even if it’s a small income but you could still contribute it to your mother’s bills.

You couldn’t rely on your father, couldn’t trust him to keep his promises, not after he’d sold you to jungkook without a second thought.

The thought of your father and how he didn’t even check on you even once after marriage hurt you more than you expected.

A small part of you hoped he'd care.

That he’d call to see if you were okay, but he hadn’t—maybe he never cared at all.

You were just a burden.

۶ৎ

The next morning you went down willingly, knowing jungkook would be there and found him in the kitchen.

He stood by the counter wearing a navy blue suit, his hair pulled into his usual man bun, a few strands loose.

His brows furrowed in a glare as he focused on his phone, likely checking updates of his work.

You hesitated in the doorway, your heart racing, hands twisting together.

You'd avoided him for days and now facing him, being the first one to approach him made your chest cave.

“uhm…” you started.

Your voice trembles as you forced yourself to step forward and you felt his gaze on you immediately but you didn’t make direct eye contact.

“I wanna go back to my job at the bookstore. I can't leave it. It’s… it’s important to me.”

You looked at him briefly, his eyes meeting yours, unreadable.

For a moment he said nothing and you braced yourself for rejection.

Expecting him to demand you stay, to control you like your father had controlled your mother

Your father had never allowed her freedom.

And you feared jungkook would do the same.

But his expression softened a bit as he set his phone down.

“You can go.” he states.

The dominating tone still there.

“But you’ll take my car and driver. For safety”

You blinked, stunned, the air leaving your lungs.

“You’re… okay with it?” you asked

It was too easy, too kind because your father would’ve laughed and told you a woman’s place was in the home serving her husband.

“I won’t stop you from doing what you love.”

“But you’ll be safe. No considerations on that.”

He left no room for argument.

You nodded slowly, reluctant but relieved.

His agreement threw you off, contradicting the image you'd built of him as a cold, controlling man.

“Okay.”

You paused before saying

“Thank you.”

You never thanked him for anything before but you couldn’t hold back this time and you hated yourself for it.

He nodded once, eyes holding yours, then turned back to his phone without another word.

You walked back to the guest room confused.

He was being kind but you didn’t know if it was genuine and you couldn’t let your guard down.

You couldn’t let yourself be fooled by his generosity.

At the bookstore later that day, the familiar scent of paper and dust made you feel better.

Your coworkers, a small group of women who'd become your friends, noticed the ring on your finger and asked about your marriage, giggling among themselves.

“It’s… fine.” you lied.

Your smile forced.

You didn’t want their pity and didn’t want to admit that you were trapped in a marriage you hadn’t chosen.

You worked quietly shelving books and helping customers but your heart wasn’t in it.

The joy you’d once found in the bookstore felt distant because of the pressure of what you’ve been going through.

jungkook on the other hand never questioned where you went, though he knew every detail.

His driver, a stoic man, reported about all your movements to him—trips to the library and to the hospital to sit by your mother's bedside, your small frame hunched as you held her hand.

Whispering to her even though she couldn’t respond.

jungkook didn’t ask for specifics and didn’t want to intrude but he needed to know you were safe and okay.

He'd instruct his driver to stay close, to ensure no harm came to you and the driver obeyed without question since he's very loyal to jungkook.

jungkook’s protectiveness was a vow one he’d made on your wedding and he meant it.

After seeing your swollen eyes and trembling lips, he couldn’t help it.

And how now he's also one reason for your tears.

He didn’t understand why you stirred something in him, why your pain cut deeper than his own.

But he just knew… he couldn’t let you go.

Your hatred was a constant ache in his chest.

He knew you saw him as a monster like your father and it gnawed at him.

He'd spent his life building walls around his heart against a world that had abandoned him as a child.

Left him to fend for himself in foster homes that offered no warmth.

But you’d slipped through those walls like a much needed light. He didn’t deserve a girl whose selflessness had awakened something in him that was long dead.

You’d changed something in him—something soft, dangerous—and he didn’t know what to do.

But he just knew he couldn’t see you broken.

He didn’t know if it was love, he didn’t believe in such things or ever experienced it.

But it was something.

That bound him to you.

In a way he couldn’t explain.

You had started noticing the differences between jungkook and your father, how he abused your mother and controlled every aspect of her life.

jungkook, for all his coldness, hadn’t done that.

He'd given you space and freedom, even agreeing to let you return to your bookstore job without hesitation.

But you refused to soften.

Because he'd trapped you and no amount of kindness could erase that.

۶ৎ

The afternoon sun cast shadows across the floor of the polished kitchen.

You stood by the island, mrs. kim beside you stirring a pot at the stove.

You'd offered to help her cook not because you felt obligated but because the guest room has started feeling too much.

Its walls closing in with every hour you spend alone with your thoughts.

mrs. kim had welcomed your help with a warm smile and handed you a cutting board and a pile of vegetables so you set to work.

Slicing vegetables as it helped distract you from overthinking.

The kitchen felt warm not just because of the stove but also from her presence that made you feel less alone.

You'd really started appreciating her.

You found yourself opening up, if only slightly.

“It must be hard working for jungkook.”

You say almost casually but still with bitterness present.

“He’s so cold and rude. Doesn’t seem like he cares about anyone.”

She paused, her spoon stilling in the pot as she turned to look at you, her eyes had a depth of understanding that caught you off guard.

“mr. jeon isn’t like that.” she says.

Even though she didn’t sound overly defensive

“He can be stern, yes… but only when it's necessary. He's not a bad person, mrs. jeon.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you diced an onion sharper than necessary.

“He’s not as nice as you think he is.” you add.

“Men like him… they're all the same. They act kind until they get what they want, and then…” you trailed off.

Your throat tightening with memories of your father and how badly he would react when he was drunk or even in general.

mrs. kim wiped her hands on her apron and faced you fully.

“I’ve worked for mr. Jeon for years.”

“He’s not perfect but he’s not what you think. You know what he did once?”

You looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

“He pays me well more than I ever expected. When my youngest child was sick and needed surgery we couldn’t afford, he covered it without a second thought. Didn’t even ask for anything in return. Just told me to take care of my family.”

You paused your knife hovering, her words made your stomach flutter along with a doubt about the assumptions you made about jungkook.

You didn’t want to believe her but the sincerity in her voice and the way her eyes softened when she spoke of him made it hard for you.

“That doesn’t mean he’s good.” you said quietly.

She didn’t reply right away, her gaze lingering on you.

“I don’t want to pry into your marriage.” she said carefully.

“That’s between you and him. But I've seen a lot in my years and I can tell you this...”

“mr. jeon lost more than most, his trust, his parents and his chance at a normal life. He's built so much wealth from the ground to protect himself but that doesn’t mean he's heartless. He’s worth a chance.”

“Not because he’s your husband but because he’s a man who’s trying even if he doesn’t always know how.”

You looked away, a shaky breath leaving you as you resumed chopping, wanting the tears that had welled in your eyes to go away.

You didn’t want to admit how much her words affected you.

Her words hit a nerve, especially the story about her son.

“I don’t see him that way.” you grit out.

“That’s up to you,” she says simply.

“But people aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes they surprise you.”

You didn’t respond, focusing instead on the task at hand.

The conversation, though, didn’t leave your mind.

You didn’t know that jungkook hadn’t known about your forced marriage but the idea that he might be more.

That he might have a heart beneath all this…

You shook your head, focusing on helping mrs. kim plate the food, trying to bury the doubt she'd planted.

۶ৎ

One morning you wandered into the kitchen barefoot and stopped at the sight of a coffee maker on the counter. It was a new model, along with a whole collection of your favorite coffee packets.

You stared at it, heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t had coffee in days and it wasn’t present in his house anyways because you’ve heard from mrs. kim that jungkook disliked coffee.

So what is this doing here?

Coffee was one of the small joys in your life and you approached the machine cautiously, you didn’t wanna use it, not knowing the purpose of this.

Maybe jungkook bought it for a staff…? Or did he have a recent liking for coffee?

Obviously he wouldn’t know you loved coffee so much and go out of his way to buy one for you specifically… right?

You brewed a cup and sipped, closing your eyes and savoring it.

For a moment you were just y/n, not jungkook's wife but just a girl with a cup of coffee.

You didn’t know jungkook was watching from the hallway, he stood there, his suit already on for the day.

Your grin, the genuine one you let out, hit him right on the chest.

He'd chosen the coffee maker himself and had spent hours researching your tastes, wanting to give you something that would make you happy.

Even if you'd never know it was from him.

For you.

You laughed as bam approached and you fed him some of the chicken left boiled for him.

He was jungkook's dog but he was yours now too and the thought brought a strange loving feeling.

That you relished in.

Sometimes you'd curl up on the couch and lose yourself in a book.

jungkook watched you sometimes when you thought you were alone.

He'd stand in the doorway of the study, dark eyes tracing the way your face brightened, your lips curving slightly.

You were so beautiful to him…

Your innocence, everything, captivated him.

It made him possessive of you.

He'd turn away before you noticed.

Every day he asked mrs. kim the same questions as he stood in the kitchen.

“How is she doing today? did she eat well?”

mrs. kim would nod, giving honest answers that yes you would eat, but not a lot. You're quiet and well, you're managing.

He'd nod back with a nonchalant hum but inside he was noticing every detail, the way you looked healthier, your skin less pale.

The rich, healthy foods he ensured were always provided helped you and it gave him a quiet satisfaction.

Even if you'd never thank him.

He didn’t need your gratitude, he needed you to be whole.

Get everything that you never got in your life.

You noticed the changes in yourself too, though you hated to admit it, your clothes fit better and your body felt strong.

You'd always been weak from hunger and stress but now you looked less frail, your curves fuller.

You still refused to use the black card jungkook had given you, the one he'd pressed into your hand with a stern look.

You used your own money earned from your bookstore job for anything you needed, determined to maintain some semblance of independence.

You hated being too dependent on him.

The card sat untouched in a drawer.

Meanwhile, jungkook’s feelings for you grew with every passing day, an obsession he couldn’t shake.

A girl who hated him had become the center of his world.

He thought of you constantly—at his office, during meetings and even in the quiet of his own room, which was supposed to be yours as well after marrying him but it wasn’t.

Never would be.

He had too many questions about your life, about everything but you were already hurting and hating him and demanding too much will push you further away.

He didn’t know how to fix it.

So he did what he could—small gestures, quiet care, hoping one day you'd see him for who he was.

Not who you feared he'd be

You, on the other hand, hated how everything made you feel cared for when you were supposed to see jungkook as the enemy and you'd sit and eat in silence at the dining table.

Your eyes fixed on your plate, avoiding the empty chair where jungkook might sit if he were home.

jungkook was out most days and you didn’t understand why he stayed away.

Didn’t believe it was out of respect.

You'd spend time with bam, who you've accepted as your little baby.

“You get it, don’t you bamie?”

You pout as you scratch behind his ears.

“You’re stuck here too but you make it better.”

He'd nudge your hand then, jungkook would watch all those moments from his study window when you'd spend time in the garden with bam, playing with him.

Watching you laugh as bam chased a butterfly—that rare moment of joy you let out.

He wanted to reach out, to cross the distance between you two but your words from the wedding night still echoed in his mind—"you're just like him. I’ll never expect you”

So he did what he could.

jungkook's care extended always as time went by.

He'd instructed mrs. kim to ensure you had everything you needed—every snack, everything you craved but were too shy to ask for.

When you'd find a new warm blanket in the guest room, perfect for cuddling with bam, you'd thank mrs. kim, assuming it was her thoughtfulness.

She'd smile, her eyes knowing but never correct you.

jungkook’s orders were clear: give what you need to make you comfortable, but don’t push or intrude.

۶ৎ

Today you emerged from the bathroom, your body wrapped in a towel and it was a short one, barely meeting at your chest but you didn’t have any extra towel.

Your hair still wet from the shower, dripped water as you adjusted the towel, ensuring it stayed secure.

You went out of the room to grab a piece of your clothing that bam had probably playfully brought out with his teeth while playing.

You moved quickly, grabbing it, intending to slip back into the guest room before anyone could see you in such a state.

Your mind was preoccupied and you were so focused on reaching the safety of your room that you didn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.

jungkook walked with his phone in his hand as he typed a quick message to his assistant.

He was distracted, dark eyes fixed on the screen, unaware of you.

You collided into him, stumbling as your foot caught the edge of a rug.

The towel slipped slightly, exposing your cleavage as you gripped it tightly against your breasts while the other instinctively grabbed at his suit to steady yourself.

You gasped, your fingers curling onto his suit, heart lurching as you realized who you'd bumped into.

jungkook's hand shot out immediately, his large hand wrapping around your upper arms to keep you from falling.

The warmth of his touch was unsettling against your bare skin as you froze, catching your breath.

Your cheeks pinked with embarrassment as you stood there exposed and vulnerable, the towel your only shield.

jungkook's eyes widened briefly in surprise as he registered the situation.

His gaze locked onto your face, avoiding the way your body was almost bare.

The intensity of his stare made your stomach flutter, a mix of fear and a strange warmth unsettled you.

You were still holding onto him and could feel his strong, muscular figure.

His teeth clenched, a muscle ticking as he fought to maintain control.

He was acutely aware of your closeness, the way your breasts pressed against his chest.

The way your small frame seemed even more delicate, his grip on your arms was careful not to bruise but enough to keep you upright.

“Sorry.” you breathe.

You tugged the towel tighter around yourself, your eyes burning with shame as it exposed your cleavage anyways.

You felt exposed not just physically but emotionally as if this moment had taken away the walls you'd built to protect yourself.

You wanted to disappear, to retreat to the guest room and hide from his piercing gaze.

The idea of him seeing you like this made your heart race.

“It’s okay.”

A deep rumble leaves him.

He released your arms slowly, his hands hovering for a moment as if unsure whether to steady you further or step back entirely.

“You alright?”

You nodded quickly, still avoiding his eyes, your cheeks flushed deeply.

“I—I’m fine.”

Your voice trembled as you took a small step back, putting distance.

The towel felt flimsier than ever and you crossed one arm over your chest but that only made your breasts pop out more and jungkook cleared his throat before looking away.

He didn’t wanna make you uncomfortable.

You smoothed your wet hair back nervously, he made it impossible to breathe and you can still feel his touch from when he steadied you.

jungkook's eyes remained fixed on your face. He didn’t let his gaze drop and didn’t allow himself to linger on your curves or the way the towel hugged your frame.

But the effort was hard, hands clenching at the sides as he fought the desire that coursed through him.

You were breathtaking even in this unguarded moment—your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, the way your damp hair clung to your skin.

It stirred something primal in him, a need he hadn’t felt in years but he pushed it down, his jaw clenching harder.

He wasn’t your father.

Wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of your vulnerability

He was your husband.

He'd promised himself he'd protect you even from himself and he meant it.

“Be careful.” he said deeply.

He stepped to the side, giving you space to pass, his posture rigid.

His eyes followed you briefly—a flicker of guilt and maybe longing passing through them before he turned his gaze to the floor, giving you the privacy you so clearly needed.

You nodded again.

Exhaling, you hurried past him, your bare feet moving quickly towards the guest room.

The door clicked shut behind you and you leaned against it, heart pounding.

Your mind racing with his touch, his voice and his restraint.

It also sparked the memories of the wedding when he kissed you.

Barely a kiss, just a peck… but so respectful.

As if he knew you weren’t ready.

He hadn’t looked at you the way you’d feared, he hadn’t leered or made you feel like an object.

Since the wedding night, not once did he ever force you or touch you without consent.

Your thoughts were all over the place.

jungkook hadn’t.

He respected you and kept his eyes on your face. It didn’t fit the image of the cold, controlling man you’d convinced yourself he was.

You hated how he made you feel.

Hated him.

You tried to process what happened, your body reacting on its own and you felt a faint throb between your legs that you tried to conceal by pressing your thighs together.

Though it only worsened it.

You shuddered, you’ve never felt such feelings before and you didn’t wanna dwell on them so you went to change your clothes.

Hoping it would help to outrun your thoughts.

The way you bumped into him in the hallway had shifted something.

However small.

And you weren’t ready to face what it meant.

jungkook still stood in the hallway for a moment longer, heart racing with the unfamiliar heat in his veins.

Seeing you wet and flushed had tested his control.

He'd wanted to pull you closer to feel the warm wetness of your skin under his hands and to erase the fear in your eyes with his touch.

But he hadn’t.

Because he wanted to be the man you needed him to be.

The effort had left him shaken, body tensed as he felt his cock harden under his pants and let out a low growl.

Adjusting himself.

Because it's been forever since a woman made him react.

He turned, heading toward the staircase.

He needed to get to the office and needed the distraction of work.

Anything to keep the image of you off his mind.

۶ৎ

That day late at midnight

You couldn’t sleep.

Thunder rumbled so hard it shook the windows, sending tremors through you.

It was raining heavily.

You sat huddled on the bed, your knees drawn tightly to your chest as if you could make yourself smaller.

Panic clawed at your chest.

Each thunder was a reminder of your childhood, of nights spent hiding in your closet as your father's voice echoed through the house.

The sound triggered memories you'd tried to forget—your mother's cries and the crack of a hand against skin, your own tears as you prayed for it to stop.

Whenever it rained, your father wouldn’t be able to go out and his temper would always be high so he’d yell and beat up your mother.

That’s why you hated rain and blamed the weather for it.

Now alone in this unfamiliar house, married to a man you feared only increased it.

You felt like a child again, small and powerless.

Your hands trembled.

Your breath came in short gasps and a sob broke free uncontrollably.

The panic attack taking hold of you.

You pressed your palms to your ears trying to block out the thunder but it was no use.

The noise was everywhere.

The weight of it all—your forced marriage, your lost dreams and your mother's illness—crushed over you and you wailed harder, body shaking.

You covered your mouth trying to not let any noises out, not wanting jungkook to hear.

You felt so alone.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

A small knock on the door cut through your sobs, startling you as your body tensed, staring at the closed door.

It was jungkook—you were sure of it.

No one was home except him now.

The thought made your panic spike, thinking of his dark eyes and anger from being disturbed by your pathetic cries.

What if he found your crying annoying and was angry?

What if he thought you were weak and a burden?

And throws you out of the house in this weather?

You tried to swallow your sobs to pull yourself together but the thunder crashed again and you flinched, a whimper escaping your lips.

“y/n?”

jungkook's voice came through the door, concerned.

It wasn’t the cold, commanding tone you’d expected, the one that he’d used when he’d ordered you to eat.

“Are you okay?”

You wiped at your face and tried to steady your voice.

“I’m fine.”

But the words came out shaky, barely audible.

Another thunder shook the house and you gasped loudly.

“I’m sorry I—I didn’t mean to…”

You started speaking as the door creaked open and jungkook stepped inside.

He was dressed casually, which was a rare sight that you haven’t seen—a black t-shirt hugging his muscular chest and sweatpants hanging low on his hips.

His dark hair loose and slightly messy, free from its usual man bun.

His presence was overwhelming even in the dark.

His eyes usually so unreadable, held worry in them as they landed on you curled on the bed, your face glistening with tears.

“Don’t apologize.” he says gently.

He closed the door behind him.

“It’s just a storm. You’re safe here.”

You shook your head, hands clutching your knees tighter, you didn’t want him here and his pity or any of his fakeness.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to go away.

His expression shifted, dark eyes softening.

He took a step closer then stopped as if aware of how his presence might intimidate you.

“You’re not alone.” he rasps.

“I’m here. I’ll stay if you want me to.”

You hesitated, your fear of him warring with the desperate need for comfort.

He was the last person you wanted to rely on but in that moment with the storm outside and your heart jumping out of your chest, his presence felt like a lifeline.

A tether to something solid.

You swallowed hard.

“Okay.” you sniffled.

jungkook nodded, his movements careful as he pulled the single chair from the corner of the room and set it beside your bed, keeping a distance.

He sat, his posture relaxed but alert, his hands resting on his thighs as he noticed how your panic attack was still there.

“Breathe with me.”

His deep voice almost soothing.

“In and out. Slow. Like this.”

He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and exhaled, his eyes never leaving yours.

You tried to follow, your breaths shaky and fast but his steady gaze kept you going.

Inhale exhale, inhale exhale.

The rain and thunder still went on but it seemed farther away now, his voice overtaking your attention.

“You’re doing good.”

He encouraged you.

“Just keep breathing. The storm will pass.”

You nodded, your hands loosening their grip on your knees.

The panic was still there but less overwhelming with him here.

You didn’t understand why he was doing this.

Why he cared.

He was supposed to be cold, cruel.

But this man sitting quietly in the dim light, eyes soft and voice steady was nothing like the monster you'd imagined.

But you clung to the comfort he offered, too desperate to push it away.

“You’re stronger than you think.”

He said after a moment.

“You’ve been through a lot, y/n. I see it in your eyes, but you're still here, still fighting… that’s not weakness. That’s a strength most people don’t have.”

His words hit you and you stared at him, your eyes wide, tears still clinging to your lashes.

“You don’t know me.” you defended.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t.” he admits.

His eyes not leaving yours

“But I see you. I see how you carry it, how you don’t let it break you. You’re not alone, not tonight.”

“I’m here and I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

You wanted to argue to tell him he was wrong that you were broken and weak.

That you'd been broken for years.

But the sincerity in his voice stopped you.

For the first time you saw him not as the man who’d married you against your will but as someone trying to help.

Someone who saw your pain and didn’t turn away.

The thunder crashed again and you squeaked, grabbing the bedsheets.

“Listen to me, it’s okay.” he coaxes you.

“Just focus on me. The storm can't touch you here, not while I'm here.”

Your breaths evened out, the panic fading slowly. You leaned back against the headboard, body exhausted from crying.

From fighting the fear.

jungkook stayed silent, his eyes watching you carefully not with judgement but with a patience that made your chest ache.

You didn’t understand him.

Didn’t want to.

But in that moment you forgot you hated him, forgot you feared him.

He was just a man sitting there offering you safety when you'd only ever known chaos during storms like this.

Your mother had been the only one to comfort you during rain like this.

Now jungkook was here and it felt both wrong and right.

“Try to rest.” he whispers.

“I’ll stay right here. You don’t have to be afraid.”

You didn’t respond, throat too tight with emotion and you slid down the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself.

The rain was slowing and your eyes grew heavy, tiredness pulling you under.

As you drifted off, you felt safety and a warmth you hadn’t expected.

jungkook's presence lulled you to sleep, your breath evening out, body relaxing for the first time that night.

Maybe the first time ever.

jungkook watched you, his heart squeezing in his chest.

You looked so small.

Your face streaked with dried tears, lips parted as you slept.

The t-shirt you wore loose and slightly oversized hugged your curves in a way that made his nostrils flare, his eyes catching the outline of your body before he forced himself to look away.

He got flashbacks from the morning when you crashed into him and everything was taking a toll on him, hands tightening on his thighs.

You were beautiful, heartbreakingly so.

He noticed the faint outline of your nipples through the fabric, hard and pebbled and his body reacted despite his efforts to stay in control.

He turned his gaze to the floor, he wouldn’t let himself think of you that way, not when you were so vulnerable.

Cursing himself for the thoughts he couldn’t stop.

As if the universe itself was set on testing his patience today.

He didn’t sleep, his eyes returning to you again and again. You made soft noises in your sleep, small whimpers that broke his heart.

He wanted to reach out to smooth the crease between your brows and erase the frown.

He couldn’t believe that you had let him stay so near you yet so far but at least it was small steps that you were comfortable around him to let him stay.

A small part of him was grateful that you'd let him stay that you'd fallen asleep with him there.

It was a small trust, one he didn’t deserve but he clung to it.

When he heard you crying from his room, he rushed not even thinking twice.

He wanted to pull you in his arms and hold you tight when he saw you shaking so bad, wipe your tears away with his thumbs and whisper words of comfort to you.

Hold you against his chest as if he could protect you from the world.

But he knew that wasn't possible.

Carefully he leaned forward, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek slowly so as not to wake you.

Your skin was soft and warm.

The contact felt electric.

He pulled back and he suddenly needed a cigarette. He wanted to smoke to distract himself but he didn’t want to disturb you so he didn’t.

For the first time valuing someone else’s comfort that wasn’t his.

He knew you saw him as nothing but a captor.

He'd married you because you made him feel for the first time but now he wondered if he'd made a mistake, if you'd be better off without him.

Because you deserved all the good things in the world.

If he’d known, he told himself, he would’ve helped you, would’ve paid for your mother’s treatment and given you freedom.

Even if it meant not marrying you, even if it meant hurting himself more.

Only if he knew.

Only if he didn’t believe the bastard of your father.

He sat there all night, awake, his body still.

The storm soon stopped, the rain softening but he didn’t move.

He watched you memorizing all your features closely.

He'd prove you everything.

And most importantly.

He'd wait as long as it took to earn your trust, to show you he wasn't what you thought he was.

But for now he'd sit as a guardian for you in the dark.

Watching over you as you slept.

And promising himself that just like this he’ll be watching over you for the rest of his life.

For as long as he breathed.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

[aaclariww]

Joyride | KTH & JJK

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook

Genre: smut, strangers to lovers, College!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: swearing, drinking, smoking pot, kissing, grinding, fingering, oral (f receiving), hand job, masturbation (m), voyeurism, exhibitionism, public sex, sex on a beach (not the drink), unprotected sex (with bc), threesome, finger sucking, dick piercing, Taehyung has an oral fixation, grand theft auto, a bitch gets slapped, that bitch is Jimin

Word Count: 12.8K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Senior year spring break sucks, thanks to the annoying spoiled little rich boy who won't stop trying to get your attention. When a scenic drive in his ridiculously expensive sports car goes wrong, you meet two sexy mechanics who decide to teach him a lesson - and show you the real meaning of "joyride."

Destination: Miami, FL

A/N: Written as part of the Spring Break-ing The Rules collab hosted by @btshoneyhive! For some reason, when I read the prompt "breaking the rules," Taehyung and Jungkook immediately jumped to mind as the likely rulebreakers. Who wouldn't want to go for a forbidden joyride with those two?

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! ���

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

The wind whips around you as the bright red sports car speeds down the bridge. The scenery outside your open window steals your breath away–nothing but clear blue skies above and tranquil turquoise waters below. Resting your arm on the molding, feeling the sun’s brilliant rays gently kiss your skin, you wish for the hundredth time that you were somewhere, anywhere other than paradise right now. 

“Hey sweetie?”

Clenching your jaw, you turn away from the stunning view outside the Lamborghini and face the source of your desire to be elsewhere. Sitting in the driver’s seat, one hand lazily resting on the wheel, sunglasses slightly lowered on his nose as he looks at you, Jimin flashes you a sickeningly sweet smile.  

“Can you close your window just a little? It’s starting to mess up my hair.” 

Oh, god forbid one strand of his luscious blonde locks should fall out of place. With a nod, you press the button to roll your window up, suppressing another sigh. 

When this trip ends and you get back to campus, you’re never letting your roommate make another decision for you, ever again.

Two months ago, you’d been standing in the tiny kitchen in your apartment, frowning at the hot plate that was taking way too long to heat up, when Jang-Mi had burst through the door. 

“Roooomieeee!” “In the kitchen!”

She’d bounded into the room, beaming from ear to ear, giggling like mad. You knew immediately the source of her elation. 

“What did Hoseok do today?” 

Hoseok was your roommate’s crush and the president of Beta Tau Sigma, the fraternity with the reputation for the wildest parties and the hottest members. Not to mention the richest - the entire frat seemed to consist of nothing but trust fund babies and the heirs to every mega-successful corporation in the country. Unfortunately, they always acted like they were entitled to whatever they wanted because of their wealth. 

As you loved to tell Jang-Mi, you can’t spell “spoiled brats” without BTS. 

For three years, you’d watched your friend moon over this (admittedly handsome, devilishly charming) man as he fucked his way around campus, before he finally shone his sunshiney smile her way. They’d been flirting up a storm in the last few weeks, and based on how she was practically dancing around the kitchen, you deduced that he must’ve finally made a move. 

“Pack your bags, roomie, we’re going to Miami!”

Once she was finished bouncing around the room, Jang-Mi explained that Beta Tau had reserved several floors of a swanky hotel in Miami for spring break, and one of the rooms was suddenly vacant thanks to a brother whose travel plans had already changed, so Hoseok had offered it to Jang-Mi. 

For free. 

Hoseok was your favorite of Beta Tau’s members, the only one who didn’t try to get by on his money and good looks alone, so if any of them were going to be generous, it’d be him. But still–without knowing the hotel, you could pretty much guarantee it was opulent and overpriced, so giving away a room to your roommate for an entire week was pretty incredible. He must’ve genuinely liked her.

“Are you serious? He’s offering you a spring break trip for free?”

Jang-Mi’s giddy effervescence was only slightly punctured by your incredulous tone. “Well, not the whole trip–we’d still have to find our way to Miami and back, but he’s giving us the room for free! He said the floors were paid for by one of the brothers’ dads, so there’s no need for me to give him any money for it. I’ve already been researching and there are some cheap flights and–you should really be more excited about this! Come on, senior year spring break! For cheeeeap!”

“You know, if you take the room, you’re probably going to have to fuck him,” you tease her. Jang-Mi rolled her eyes. “Oh, grow up, you know it’s not like that. But let’s be real, I’m already planning to, anyway. Come onnnnn, roomie!”

It wasn’t as if you weren’t dying to get away, anyway. Four years of busting your ass to get into medical school were coming to a head, exams and applications and interviews finally about to pay off, and you needed a fucking break. A chance to relax, have some fun. Why not Miami? Sure, when you pictured yourself on spring break, you didn’t imagine it’d be with the Beta Tau brats, but whatever, you could probably sneak away and plant yourself on the beach for a week without seeing any of them. 

You definitely weren’t in any position to turn down a free room, and you certainly weren’t about to let Jang-Mi go alone. 

“Okay. Let’s do it. Let’s go to Miami!”

Like you’d assumed, the hotel you were staying at was extravagant, a towering modern monolith of steel and glass glittering in the blinding Florida sun. The other hotel guests milling about at the entrance looked way posher than broke college students like you and your roommate, and a million miles (maybe a million dollars) away from the crowd at the motel you’d stayed at during last year’s spring break trip to Myrtle Beach. Somehow, you couldn’t picture these people setting up a slip-n-slide on the staircase between floors or drinking jungle juice out of a tub. 

Which was okay with you. All you wanted from this trip was the chance to relax, anyway. 

As you were dragging your suitcase off the airport shuttle, the sound of squealing tires caught your ear. A shiny red sports car zoomed into view, coming to a stop inches from where you and Jang-Mi stood, Lamborghini logo sparkling in the sun. An absolutely stunning blond man climbed out of the driver’s seat, clad in a green and white Gucci bomber jacket, and flipped his keys to the valet. He caught you looking and flashed you a charming smile and a wink. 

“Ooh, well, hello,” Jang-Mi muttered under her breath. “Looks like your ride is here, roomie.” 

You merely laughed as the two of you entered the lobby behind Mr. Gucci. Opulent didn’t even begin to describe the place–ornate chandeliers dripped from the ceiling, lighting the cavernous dark wood and chrome lobby. Fresh flowers decorated every surface, and a wall of windows behind the reception desk gave you a view of the dazzling courtyard, where three large pools laid separated by lounge chairs and palm trees. 

You could already see yourself lying on one of those chairs, all alone, sipping a cocktail from the cabana bar, enjoying the sun in silence.  Jang-Mi and Hoseok could have your room for the week, as far as you were concerned–you could just camp out by the pool 24/7. 

“Jimin!” At the sound of Hoseok’s voice, you and Jang-Mi turned towards the elevators. Hoseok emerged with a wide smile plastered across his handsome face, and strode across the lobby to hug Mr. Gucci. After a few seconds, Hoseok spotted Jang-Mi. “Mi-Mi! You’re here!” 

He quickly embraced your roommate, and you suddenly became interested in your luggage tags as the two of them greeted each other only using their tongues. Once they came up for air, introductions were made. 

“This is Jimin. We grew up together–our dads are business partners. He’s studying at the University of Florida.” Hoseok grins. “Actually, he’s not doing any studying this week. He’s blowing off his classes to join us for our spring break!” The two men then proceeded to perform a complicated handshake ending in both of them miming throwing back shots and slapping asses, making Jang-Mi giggle while you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

Must’ve been nice to be able to take two spring break trips in a year without worrying about classes or other responsibilities. If only you’d been born into a wealthy family, too. 

“Jimin, this is Jang-Mi, the girl I’ve been telling you about.” 

Jimin grabbed your roommate’s hand and pressed his plump lips to it as she giggled again. “Lovely to meet you. Hobi’s been talking my ear off about you.” 

“And this is Jang-Mi’s roommate, YN.” 

It was your turn to feel Jimin’s full attention, and holy hell, did you feel it. He lightly grasped your hand, fingers rubbing your knuckles as he brought your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently with his pillowy pink lips. His touch sent goosebumps rippling down your arms, and you couldn’t deny that he was hot as fuck as his gaze raked over you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he purred your name. 

“Likewise.” 

“Jimin was just about to show me his new toy,” Hoseok informed you and Jang-Mi. 

“Yeah, got my graduation gift a little early,” Jimin grinned. 

“I can’t believe your dad got you a Huracán EVO Spyder,” Hoseok shook his head. “Sick.” 

“He bought you a spider?” Jang-Mi blurted in horror. “Spiders are so creepy!”

Hoseok burst into laughter, pulling Jang-Mi into a hug. “You’re so cute! It’s a car, babe.”

Jimin sniffed imperiously. “Yeah, my dad had her specially made–most come with a double-clutch system but he had them put in a classic manual transmission for me. She’s my second Lambo. First one was okay, but this one–she’s got some wicked power under the hood. Maxes out at 200 mph.” He grinned, leaning towards you. “Are you the kind of girl who likes to go fast? Wanna go for a ride?” 

Just as quickly as your desire for this man had appeared, it suddenly evaporated. Jimin was just another spoiled little rich boy, with cheesy lines to boot. Why did they always seem to go hand-in-hand? Oh, right, they assumed you’d swoon over their money and didn’t expect to have to work for your attention, so why bother to come up with something clever?

Hoseok saved you from having to answer. “I’ll text you when we get back and we can maybe make some dinner plans?” he asked your roommate, who nodded enthusiastically. “Cool. See you ladies later!” 

“Come on, I wanna get checked in so I can start planning my outfit for dinner!” Jang-Mi squealed, and you shook your head at her adorable excitement as you followed her to the reception desk. She was really crazy about Hoseok.

Once in your room, the two of you prepared for your evening. You tried to freshen up enough to look like you weren’t currently experiencing wicked jet lag while Jang-Mi primped as if she were preparing for a runway show, full hair and makeup going once she’d finally settled on a dress to wear. 

She suddenly turned to you with a solemn look, putting her curling iron down. “Roomie, I’m nervous.”

Applying a coat of mascara to your lashes, you blinked in the mirror. “Nervous about what?”

“I mean, I really like Hoseok! More than I thought I did, you know? Like…”

“Like beyond just wanting to jump his bones?” 

She nodded so seriously that you couldn’t help but laugh. “Jang-Mi! That’s wonderful! So what do you have to be nervous about?”

“I’m just afraid I’ll mess it up somehow! Like I’ll get in my head and say something stupid or do something cringe or maybe I’ll accidentally tell him I like him and he won’t feel the same and then I’ll–”

You cut her off before she ran out of breath and collapsed into a pile of gasping anxiousness. “Okay, okay, I get it. I think you’re already psyching yourself out over nothing–the man obviously wants you here, he gave you a free room to come and hang out with him–but I get it.” 

Jang-Mi worriedly twisted the cord of her curler. “Will you make me a promise, roomie?”

“Anything.”

“Can you–can you just hang out with me this week and help keep me calm like you do? So I can be around Hoseok without making an idiot of myself?”

The image of you lying on one of those lounge chairs, soaking up the sun in blissful silence, vanished before your eyes as you smiled at your roommate. “I will stick by your side and give you all the support you need to finally get your man, okay? I promise.”

So that’s just what you did. Whatever Jang-Mi wanted to do, you also did. Sunbathing on the beach? Shopping at luxury boutiques? Visiting the hotel spa? If Jang-Mi went, so did you. And so did Hoseok, of course, which was fine.

But unfortunately, if Hoseok was there, that meant Jimin was, too.

It only took about five minutes of talking to Jimin to realize he was absolutely not your type. Your assumptions about him being the type of man to flaunt his wealth proved to be true as he bragged about his car and mentioned his family’s vacation homes in Rome, Tokyo, and the Hamptons all within the answer to your opening question, “So, what did you do on your other spring break?” 

You tried, you really did. Knowing that Jang-Mi was worried about things going smoothly with Hoseok meant that you had to watch your tongue around Jimin, fearing that upsetting him might upset Hoseok. So you kept trying to engage him in conversation in the hopes of finding something you might have in common. Not that he ever bothered to ask you anything about yourself, always steering the conversation back to himself any time you attempted to jump in with something remotely relevant from your own life. 

He was an absolutely shameless flirt, too. Unfortunately, his personality (or lack thereof) was too much of a turn-off for you, so you continuously avoided his advances, politely rebuffing him as best you could, hoping he’d eventually get tired and pursue any of the BTS groupies who had also flocked to Miami for spring break with the boys. 

But rejection appeared to be a foreign concept to Jimin, and instead of discouraging him, it simply made him try even harder. And he started using his considerable wealth to do it. He paid for all of your meals, bought you drinks at every bar and club that your group visited, even slapped down his black card when you pondered splurging on the best package at the spa. No matter how much you argued with him or attempted to slip your own (debit) card to the staff, Jimin managed to scoop up the bill every time. 

At first you’d felt guilty, but you quickly got over it the more you were subjected to his dull monologues (you can’t call it a conversation if one person does all the talking, can you?). Not to mention the incessant pick-up lines, each one worse than the last. By the time the week was half over, you’d stopped caring and simply accepted him buying everything as your payment for putting up with him. 

And now you’re here, stuck in a ridiculously expensive car zipping down US Highway 1 towards the Florida Keys, with the most noxious man–no, boy–you’ve ever met. Hoseok and Jang-Mi are in the car ahead of you, another fancy Lamborghini that Hoseok rented for the day, since there are no backseats in Jimin’s car. The plan is to go snorkeling, and you’re excited that you’ll get a little break from Jimin for once because he won’t be able to talk your ears off underwater. 

If you guys even make it to the Keys, that is. For all his talk about his beloved Lambo, Jimin’s clearly spent very little time behind the wheel and doesn’t appear to really understand how a clutch works. You, on the other hand, know how to drive stick, and you recognize that the constant grinding sound every time he shifts is most definitely not a good sign. 

He’s either playing it cool or legitimately doesn’t seem to see any reason for worry as he grins, fingers curling around the shifter again. “Traffic is thinning. Let’s open her up a little, shall we?” he asks rhetorically, and as he toggles the knob, stepping down on the clutch, the car lets out an ear-splitting shriek of metal-on-metal and begins to vibrate. “Uh. Fuck. Let me try…” He shifts again, and the squealing sound intensifies. “Fuck!” 

“Is everything okay?” you ask, knowing full well the answer is no. 

“Yeah, sweetie, no worries.” His smile is dazzling but his sunglasses are still lowered enough for you to see the fear in his eyes. He presses a few buttons on his console and Hoseok’s voice suddenly blares through the speakers.

“Jimin? What’s up?” 

“Hey, the Lambo’s kinda making this weird noise.” As if to corroborate his story, the car squeaks again. “I’m going to pull over for a second to try to figure it out.” 

“Do you want us to stop with you?” 

“Nah, keep going and we’ll catch up. I’m sure we’ll be back on the road in a few minutes.” 

But fifteen minutes later, you’re still sitting on the side of the road, sighing heavily as Jimin scrolls agitatedly through his phone. He’d lowered the roof, at least, so you’re getting a nice breeze as you wait impatiently for him to realize that he’s going to need a professional to fix whatever’s wrong with his car.

Finally, he lowers his phone. “Maybe something just got caught in the engine? Let’s head back out and see if we still hear it.” 

He flips the ignition, steps on the gas, then steps on the clutch. Nothing happens. He repeats the steps, to no avail. With an angry curse, he slams the shifter back into park and kills the engine again. 

“I think we’re going to need a tow truck,” you declare, pulling out your own phone. 

“No way. A tow truck driver will take one look at this car and charge me double what he’d charge anyone else.” 

You can’t help yourself. You laugh right in his handsome face. The man who has been throwing his credit card around all week is suddenly feeling frugal? “You’re seriously worried about paying too much?” 

“It all adds up,” he informs you sagely, and you roll your eyes. “Let me see if I can figure this out.” 

“Well, if you’re not going to call for a tow, what exactly is your plan?”

He shrugs. “You can find anything on the internet. There has to be some article somewhere that will tell me what to do.” 

“Ah, right. I forgot, mechanics don’t even undergo training anymore - they just sit in their shops and Google ‘how to make car go’ all day.”

Jimin’s smile disappears as he glowers a little. “Look, just give me a minute, okay?” His fingers fly over his phone again. 

“I’ll give you ten. And then I’m calling a tow.” 

Twenty minutes later, Jimin sulks quietly while you wait for the tow truck to arrive. You’d managed to find a shop that specializes in imports like his Lamborghini, but it’s back in Miami city limits. So much for Key Largo and snorkeling. 

You’re expecting panic from Jang-Mi when you tell her as much, figuring she’ll insist on making Hoseok double back for you, or even send you a rideshare, but to your surprise, she’s totally fine. 

“You know, this might be for the best!” she has the audacity to tell you when you slip out of the car to call her. “Things are going really well with Hoseok today. I think we’re okay on our own!”

Well then. “That’s great! But what the fuck am I supposed to do now instead?” 

“I don’t know, just keep Jimin company, I guess? He’s probably going to be upset if his car’s fucked up.” 

You haven’t told Jang-Mi how much Jimin repels you, not wanting to burst her happy little Hoseok bubble, so you bite your tongue again instead of stating your desire to ditch him as soon as possible. “Yeah. I guess. Hopefully the shop can fix whatever’s wrong quickly enough that the whole day isn’t shot.”

Jimin triggers the mechanism to close the roof as you climb back into the car. You’re contemplating telling Jimin you’re going to call a rideshare when a gigantic black truck slowly pulls over in front of you. The license plate reads “BEOM 1.” “This must be the guy from Tiger Motors,” you sigh thankfully. 

A tall, vibrantly purple-haired man dressed in a greasy pair of navy coveralls climbs out of the cab of the truck and ambles back towards Jimin’s car. He saunters, really, his walk a little bow-legged but confident. When he reaches the driver’s side, he slowly lowers himself until his face appears in the window. 

“Howdy. Y’all need a ride?” He grins at Jimin, and then his gaze shifts to you, and you literally feel your breath stick in your throat as his smile shifts into a smirk. The man is absolutely gorgeous, dark brows setting off deep brown eyes and a plump lower lip adorned with a spider bite piercing on the right adding to his beauty. Multiple other piercings dot his brow and nose, twinkling as they catch the sunlight reflecting off of the driver’s side mirror. 

“What do you think?” Jimin grumbles petulantly, and the man just laughs, thumbing towards the truck. 

“C’mon, go take a seat in the truck. I’ll be done here in a minute.” He strolls away to prepare the towing mechanism. 

Jimin reaches the cab first, and you wait for him to open the passenger’s door for you, but he just leans against the vehicle with his arms crossed, so you sigh and yank it open yourself. He really doesn’t seem to like that you took charge, and is choosing to act like a huffy baby about it. 

The tow truck only has a bench seat in it, so you slide into the middle of the cab to make room for Jimin beside you, carefully arranging the skirt of your short sundress so it covers your bare thighs. 

Jimin stares out the side window as you wait, arms still folded. Even when the driver joins the two of you, he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him. If you’d known all it would take to get Jimin to ignore you was taking charge, you would’ve done this day one. 

The three of you ride in absolute stillness for a few minutes before the tow truck driver clears his throat. “Spring break?” 

“Hmm?” You tear your eyes from the highway to glance at the driver. The light streaming through the window filters through his violet locks, giving him a soft glow. 

“You two on spring break?” 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Mmm.” A hush falls over the cab after your short answer. You turn back to the windshield, the dotted white lines on the road lulling you into a hypnotic trance, only to startle slightly when something brushes your thigh. Glancing down, you see the driver’s hand on the stick shift, which is currently close enough to your leg that his hand rests against it. 

“Sorry, it gets a little crowded in here with three,” he apologizes, moving his hand. 

“No worries.” You’re transfixed by his arm. Tattoos cover nearly every inch of visible skin, flowing from his bicep all the way down onto the back of his hand, and you realize there’s another sleeve of ink on his other arm as well. And then he catches you staring, and you feel your face heating as he shoots you a quick wink. You snap your head back so quickly, your neck cracks. 

“It’ll be about another ten or fifteen minutes until we reach the shop,” he informs you. “I can turn the radio on, if you’d like?” 

Jimin seems content to continue ignoring the two of you, so you answer. “Sure, thank you, uh…” 

“Jungkook.” 

“Thanks, Jungkook.” 

With another smile, this one softer, his long fingers twist the knob on the console and music fills the air. Again, you find yourself watching his hands as he drives, and it quickly dawns on you just how ridiculously horny you are. 

It’s been weeks since you’ve had the time to go out and get laid. You’re always too busy for anything serious, but lately you’ve also been too occupied to find the time to scratch that particular itch with your usual no-strings hookups. And while your main plans for this week were originally to find some peace and quiet alone, part of you was also hoping to sneak in a few quick trysts in between naps by the pool.

And then Jang-Mi made her request and Jimin glued himself to your side and any hope of getting in even just one good quick fuck went right down the drain. 

So you find yourself gawping at the handsome man whose strong hand keeps flitting against your thigh, and you wonder if he can feel the goosebumps that arise there every time. 

Gnawing on your lip, you wait for the next brush, and when his hand skims against your leg again, you push back. Just a little. 

Jungkook’s eyebrow quirks, a silent confirmation that he felt your touch. His hand glides by again, and this time you watch the stick shift and realize he’s not even changing gears, and you wonder if he even has been this whole time. 

Jimin is still facing away from you, pretending neither of you exist. 

One more touch, and you raise your leg off the seat slightly, nudging harder. You glance at Jungkook’s profile and witness his tongue darting out to lick his lips, catching a brief glimpse of silver on the pink muscle. Another piercing. Your attention is suddenly drawn away by his pinky as it hooks itself under the hem of your skirt, pulling the cottony material up just an inch or so as he draws his hand back. It’s enough to make you nearly gasp as his finger dances up your thigh, tracing patterns into your skin. 

You can feel yourself starting to grow damp and shift slightly in your seat, clamping your legs together. Fuck, you must really be hard up if you’re getting wet from just this. 

Jungkook fiddles with the radio, turning the volume up. He glances at you. “Is this okay?” And then his hand lands on your thigh, bypassing the stick shift completely. To Jimin’s turned back, it would appear that he’s asking about the music. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes focused on the long fingers lightly gripping the soft flesh of your upper leg. His palm is warm, heating you despite the AC blasting throughout the cab, and the contrasting sensation makes you shiver. 

Jungkook slowly slides his hand underneath your skirt. You bite your lip as hard as you can, doing your best to keep your heavy breathing down enough that the music covers you. His gaze never leaves the road, but you glance at Jungkook’s face as his fingers slip between your thighs and graze your underwear, finding how drenched they are, and his eyes widen briefly before he smirks, spider bites glinting as his lips twitch.

“Are you getting close?” Jimin whines, his voice cutting through the air like the annoying squawk of an airhorn, making you jump. Jungkook’s hand is back on the steering wheel before Jimin finishes twisting in his seat. “Has it been fifteen minutes yet?” 

He’s wearing a ridiculously expensive Patek Philippe on his wrist, so there’s no reason he can’t answer that for himself, but you don’t point that out as Jungkook just grins. 

“Shop’s right there,” he indicates with a wave of his hand as the truck turns off the highway. 

The garage is quiet, a few other luxury vehicles scattered about in various states of repair. Once Jungkook finishes detaching the Lamborghini from the tow truck, Jimin immediately corners him. 

“Exactly how long is this going to take?”

Jungkook shrugs. “We gotta run diagnostics first, to see what the issue is. Once we know that, we’ll know how long it’ll take to fix her up.” He pats the hood of the car tenderly. 

Jimin frowns. “And once you know the problem, you’ll start working right away to fix it, right? Or do we have to wait for you to finish the other cars first?” He cranes his neck, scanning the garage’s waiting area. “I don’t see anyone here waiting, so we should get priority, right?” 

“You in a big hurry to get back to your kegger?” Jungkook leans his lanky frame against the Lamborghini’s hood, and Jimin’s eyes narrow.

“Can you please not sit on the car? I just had her waxed!” 

Jungkook raises his hands as he straightens up. “No problem, man. Let me grab my boss and we’ll get going on the diagnostics, okay? He can answer all the other questions you undoubtedly have.” He wanders off towards the garage’s little office as you give Jimin a look. 

“Is that how you usually talk to your mechanic?” 

Jimin squares his shoulders. “Look, sometimes you have to be firm with these people. Otherwise, they’ll walk all over you and charge you twice what they’re worth while they do it.”

Crossing your arms, you just sigh, hoping Jang-Mi is having the time of her life right now with Hoseok. 

When Jungkook returns, he has another unbelievably handsome man in tow, dressed in matching overalls covered in dirt and grease, with thick curls barely restrained by a bandana. As he peers at you with dark, alluring eyes, a thin white stick dangles between his full lips, and he tugs on it slightly, revealing a cherry red lollipop. 

“I’m Taehyung. Welcome to my shop. Jungkook said you had some questions for me,” he says in a calm, clear voice full of bass, and you realize you’re once again gawking as the man breaks eye contact with Jimin long enough to wink at you. It occurs to you that Jungkook might have told him about what the two of you were up to in the tow truck, and you glance away as your neck starts to heat.

Jungkook jerks his thumb towards the waiting area. “You can have a seat in there,” he murmurs to you as Jimin starts firing off questions at Taehyung. “They might be a while.” 

You nod gratefully, happy to slip away from Jimin for a few minutes.

Eventually, he comes to join you. “Well, that was a waste of time. They couldn’t tell me when we can expect to be out of here or what sort of cost I’m looking at or anything.” 

“Mmm,” you reply, not bothering to remind him that they have to run their tests to diagnose the problem first, knowing he won’t listen. “So, should we get a ride out of here…?” You hold up your phone, where you already have your rideshare app open. 

Jimin scoffs. “You want to pay for surge pricing right now? It’s spring break, those companies are all charging triple what they should!” He throws himself into one of the plastic chairs sitting against the wall. “Besides, I don’t want to leave my baby here alone with those two.” 

His baby? Blech. 

“Well, I don’t mind paying for a lift, so I’m just going to head back to the hotel, if that’s okay with you.” 

The pout leveled your way is quite powerful. If you were a weaker woman, you’d be on your knees right now, trying to console Jimin as he gazes at you pitifully. “You’re going to ditch me? First Hoseok, now you?” His lower lip is practically dragging on the ground. “Fine. Just go. You know what, maybe I’ll see if Hoseok and Jang-Mi are done snorkeling yet–maybe Hoseok will come keep me company.” 

As much as you might be annoyed with your roommate, you’re not about to let Jimin cockblock her. Jang-Mi is going to owe you big time when this trip is over. Like, firstborn-big. 

“No, don’t do that,” you sigh. As gracefully as you can, you flop into the seat next to him. “I’ll stay.” 

After thirty-or-so minutes of scrolling on your phone, Jungkook pops his head into the waiting area. “We’ve narrowed it down, if you want to come look.” He strolls away without waiting for an answer, and Jimin follows, and so do you, out of sheer boredom. 

As soon as you reach the car, Taehyung launches into an explanation of the issue. You’re only half-listening, too distracted by the way his rather plush lips form the words as he says them, but you catch that the issue has to do with the clutch. “It’s surprising,” he drawls in his deep voice, “given how few miles you have on her, the clutch mechanism shouldn’t be worn out already, but it’s definitely ground down.” 

“And what would cause that?” Jimin asks.

“Not knowing how the fuck to drive stick,” Jungkook mutters under his breath behind you. You tip your head to catch his eye, and smile at the way his nose wrinkles when he grins back. 

“Could just be that the part was defective to begin with,” Taehyung states, and you marvel at his diplomatic answer. “But the good news is, we have a replacement on hand, and we can definitely get you fixed up today.” 

“How long, and how much?” 

“About two to three hours. As for the cost, here is our estimate.” Taehyung holds out a piece of paper. Jimin snatches it up as his eyebrows disappear beneath his perfectly coiffed hair. 

“Uh. I need to make a phone call.” As he heads towards the shop’s entrance to step outside, you catch the beginning of his conversation. “Hey, Dad, remember when you said I couldn’t have the limit on my credit card raised any more? Well….” 

It’s just you and the two mechanics now. You shift from one foot to the other, hands in the pockets of your skirt, not quite knowing how to make small talk, when Jungkook gently pats the hood of the Lamborghini. 

“It’s a damn shame that this beauty is being wasted on that prick.” He runs a hand along the hood of the car, long fingers skimming lightly over the curve of the metal. “He clearly has no idea what he’s doing with her.”

“No kidding,” Taehyung pipes up. “That clutch is so worn down. I’m not sure how he did that. Ride it constantly, maybe?” 

You snort, unable to suppress a snipe. “With him, it’s more likely that he talked it to death.” 

Taehyung’s smile is slightly boxy and sends a wave of warmth flaring through your body as you share a laugh. Meanwhile, Jungkook giggles delightedly, and for the first time today you feel yourself relax a little, content to be in their company while Jimin is still outside, obviously begging daddy for more money. 

Taehyung wanders around the other side of Jimin’s car. “But you do have a point, Kook. She’s obviously way more than he can manage–I mean, just look at her. You can tell it’s been too long since she was last handled properly.” He sucks on his candy, eyes shining impishly as he peers at you and not the car. “Bet it’s been ages since anything got her motor revving.” 

“Maybe we should take her for a spin, hyung. Really open her up, get her purring.” Jungkook’s looking at you now, too, a knowing grin on his face.

The garage feels a bit stifling all of a sudden, and you wonder if you’re flushing as the two men smirk at you. 

“Do the two of you usually take your, uh, client’s cars out for a ride?”

“We’re professionals. We follow a strict code of conduct.” Taehyung assures you. “We’d never do anything to break our clients’ trust. But…” He caresses the roof of the car as he pops the lollipop out of his mouth. “Sometimes we bend the rules a little, don’t we, Kook?”

“That’s right. And I’m just suggesting we give her what she wants,” Jungkook replies, lowering his ear to the hood. “Can’t you hear that? She’s just dying for someone who knows what they’re doing to take her for a little joyride.” 

“Like I said, we’re professionals.” Taehyung leans over the car, tongue flicking out to recapture the lollipop. His eyes roam over you slowly, like he’s drinking you in inch by inch and savoring every sip. “And we’re not satisfied until everyone is satisfied. So we should give her whatever she wants. Whatever she needs.” 

There’s absolutely no question what they’re talking about now, and the implication has your clit throbbing with need, wetness growing between your thighs again.

Naturally, this is when Jimin reappears. 

“All right. Do what you have to do to get us back on the road.” He holds out his credit card to Taehyung, who nods. Then he pivots on his heel and heads for the waiting area, and once again you’re alone with the two mechanics, but the spell is broken now, and you slink back to the hard plastic chair by Jimin’s side to wait. No matter what you do to distract yourself and pass the time, though, all you can think about is how insanely jealous you are of the Lamborghini, with her hood propped open and two pairs of skillful hands buried deep inside her. 

Nearly three hours later, after you’ve scrolled so far on your phone that you’re sure you’ve hit the end of the internet, the Lamborghini is ready. Jimin is super cranky, so eager to get out of there that he has the car thrown into reverse before you’ve even stepped inside. 

“Thank you,” you say to the mechanics, thanking them for Jimin who barely grunted at them after getting his receipt, but also thanking them for yourself, for making your day a little less shitty than the rest of your week. Sure, it would’ve been even better if either of them had actually taken you for that “joyride” they’d mentioned, but the suggestion alone was enough to lift your spirits, just a bit. 

“You’re welcome,” Taehyung inclines his head. 

“Enjoy your evening,” Jungkook gives you a crooked grin. Both men wave as Jimin peels out of the parking lot, tires screeching loudly. Regret slices through you, a cut that feels like a missed opportunity, a connection denied, but you don’t dwell on it. It seems silly to think too much about what could’ve been. You don’t like to play the “if only” game. 

As you and Jimin rush back to the hotel, you decide you’re going to do something about your unrelenting horniness tonight. Even if you have to bang a server in the bathroom at dinner or fuck someone behind the dumpster at the club afterward, you are going to get laid if it’s the last thing you do. You just have to figure out how to get Jimin off your back for five minutes first. 

Jang-Mi practically floats into your room when she returns from her snorkeling date with Hoseok. She twirls around a few times, humming to herself, stopping when you step out of the bathroom. “Whoa, roomie!” She whistles as you model your dress for her, a short, backless satin halter dress that leaves very little to the imagination. It’s by far the skimpiest piece of clothing you brought with you, something you’d picked up on a whim while shopping for your trip. 

“Is it too much?” you inquire as you study yourself in the mirror on the closet door. 

“Depends. What look are you going for?” 

“I was thinking something along the lines of ‘extremely fuckable.’”

“Oh, you achieved that! I’ll be surprised if you make it to dinner–Jimin’s going to rip that off you the first chance he gets.” Jang-Mi combs through her suitcase, missing the rude face you make at Jimin’s name. 

“I’m not averse to this dress ending up in tatters if it nets me at least one good orgasm. I might explode without one soon.” 

“Says the future doctor.” 

“Shut up. You know what I mean. It’s just been too long since someone else got me off.” 

“Hmmm, can’t relate,” Jang-Mi singsongs as she waltzes into the bathroom. 

“Ohhhh, you mean you two finally…”

“Yep!” Jang-Mi sticks her tongue between her teeth, wiggling it lasciviously. “Hobi and I spent a little time in the shower together at the beach after we were done snorkeling. When I tell you that that man has a strong stroke game, roomie!” she squeals, and the two of you spend the rest of the hour giggling over the sordid details of Hoseok’s impressive skills. By the time you leave for dinner, you’re even more committed to getting your own happy ending, no matter what it takes. 

Of course, the universe does not make it easy for you.

Dinner is a total bust. Somehow the trauma of his poor baby’s breakdown (which he caused) makes Jimin even clingier than usual, and he parks himself at the table close enough to sling an arm over the back of your chair. One might think he’s doing it to seek comfort, but to you it just feels weirdly territorial. All of the waitstaff at the restaurant are too busy meeting the frat boys’ impatient demands for you to attempt to flirt with any of them. Jimin’s obviously not an option, and the only other BTS brothers you’d even consider–the quiet, pink-haired Yoongi or the hilarious, almost-too-handsome-to-be-real Seokjin–are both already sloshed, having pregamed in their hotel room, so they’re both no-gos. 

Somehow, this long fucking day just keeps getting longer, but you’re not giving up. 

After dinner, the party relocates to yet another club. This one blurs together with the others you’ve visited earlier in the week, another cramped room packed full of spring breakers closely gyrating  in the flashing lights. Shots are ordered and you quickly tip yours back before someone orders a second round. It’s when the server returns with the drinks that you glance around and realize you’re basically alone. 

Jimin sits at a table to your left, talking to one of the other BTS brothers–Namjoon, maybe? You’re not entirely certain of his name, since you mainly refer to him as “Sexy Hulk” when talking to Jang-Mi about him. To your right, Yoongi and Seokjin are playing some sort of drinking game that they both appear to be losing, based on how they can’t seem to stand up straight without starting to fall over. Behind you, Hoseok has Jang-Mi pinned to the wall with his tongue down her throat. 

Well, fuck all this. Snatching Hoseok and Jang-Mi’s untouched shots, you down them one-two in rapid succession, then stalk off towards the dance floor. 

As the music swirls around you, you tip your head back, running your fingers over your hair and down your neck. The bass thumps through you, driving all that irritation, all that endless frustration of your horrible trip far, far away. 

All week long, you’ve been holding yourself back, trying to be polite and not cause any trouble for Jang-Mi’s sake. This means you’ve been quieter. Smaller. Less than. But here now, under the strobe lights, surrounded by the crush of bodies losing themselves in the music, you let go. Break free. Arms raised, eyes closed, you give yourself over to the rhythm and surrender to the beat.

A hand brushes lightly over your hip.

Opening your eyes, you twirl in the direction of the glancing touch. A pair of dark eyes gleam at you from a face you never thought you’d see again.

The purple-haired mechanic’s lips twitch at your surprised expression. Gone are his greasy coveralls, replaced by unbelievably tight black jeans and a sheer black shirt, two nipple piercings peering at you through the flimsy material. His hand drops to your side again and this time he grips, bringing you towards him. 

It’s too loud to hear his words, but you know what he’s asking and simply slide your arms around his neck, letting him guide your hips to rock in time with his. He smells like jasmine, and also leather, an unusual combination, delicate and strong all at once, and you shift a little closer as his fingers curl into your dress, sliding it up a little. 

Rolling your body, you grin at the way his breath huffs when your breasts press into his chest. But before you can repeat the movement, he suddenly takes a step back and spins you, pulling you flush against him. As his arm snakes around your waist, his other hand tips your head up so you’re looking straight ahead.

To see the man standing on the edge of the dance floor, watching you both. Wearing a white blazer over a low-cut silk white top, several chains looped around his neck, Taehyung’s untamed dark curls hang in his eyes, but you can still feel the heat of his gaze as he observes you writhing against Jungkook. Another white stick hangs from his lips. 

“Is it okay if Taehyung joins us?” Jungkook breathes in your ear, and you nod emphatically. Oh yes. Please. “Let him know.” 

Raising your hand, you beckon to the other man with a single finger. Come. 

As Jungkook lets go, the older man takes you in his arms smoothly, without missing a beat. He slides a leg between yours and the two of you grind, moving together as one for a few bars before hands on your hips and a solid chest at your back let you know that Jungkook has joined the two of you. 

Hot breath glides down your neck, your cheek. Sweat drips on your arms, your back. Is it yours? Theirs? Who knows. You’re completely ensnared, caught between the two men as you sway to the throbbing beat. Your skin tingles where they touch you, aches where they don’t. You want so badly to stay here, in this song, this moment, for the rest of the night, the trip, your life. With the pulsating music and these two sexy men wrapped around you, you feel so alive.

“Uh, what the fuck?!”

Like a bucket of ice cold water, Jimin’s voice crashes over you, extinguishing the moment. Then his hand clamps around your upper arm, and Jungkook and Taehyung both jump aside as Jimin drags you away.  

“What are you doing?” you shout, yanking your arm out of his surprisingly strong grip once you reach the edge of the dance floor. 

“What are you doing?” he hisses back, glaring. “Out there slutting it up with those two?”

“Excuse me??’” Your jaw nearly scrapes the ground at his response.

“You heard me. All week long, I’ve been buying you dinner and paying for your drinks and dropping ridiculous amounts of money on your frigid little ass, and all I get is a goodnight kiss on the cheek? And then I turn around and see you sandwiched between the help, for God’s sake, just giving it all away for free?!”  

Several partygoers around you gasp as you slap Jimin soundly across the face. He reels, eyes opening wide in shock as his hand flies to his cheek, and you round on your heel and storm through the crowd towards the exit, not slowing when you hear Jimin yell your name. 

The air outside is unexpectedly chilly, and you rub your arms for warmth as you stomp towards the car. The nerve. The nerve of that fucking asshole. He really thought he could just buy you? Throw money at you all week and then, what, you’d fuck him? 

Reaching the Lamborghini, you pause. What exactly is your plan here? You don’t have the keys and even if you did, where would you go? You flick a hand out and touch the roof, expecting an alarm to sound, but nothing happens. Surprising. You’d think Jimin would put an alarm on his “baby.”

Leaning against the car, you drop your head onto your arms. What a fucking disaster of a trip. So much for rest and relaxation. Jang-Mi will be lucky if you ever speak to her again after this. Why didn’t she run out here after you? Oh, right, she probably couldn’t see you with her face suctioned to Hoseok’s. 

Deep breaths. As your heartbeat returns to normal, you hear a small cough, and glance in that direction, towards the back of the club. 

Jungkook lifts his hand in a small wave. He and Taehyung lean against the wall near the fire exit, smoking. Jungkook holds his cigarette out to you, inviting you to join them. 

“You look like you need this,” he says as you approach, and you realize it’s a joint, and yes, yes you do. Taking a hit, you hold it as long as you can, letting it swirl inside you, collecting all your anger, before tilting your face up to exhale it all into the night sky. 

“Thanks.” 

Jungkook nods. 

“Your boyfriend is a dick,” Taehyung announces. Orange embers flare in the shadows as he inhales. 

“Not my fucking boyfriend,” you snarl, taking the joint again. “But he is a dick. A fucking enormous one.” 

Jungkook holds out his hand as Taehyung reaches into his pocket and produces his wallet with a sigh. He slaps a bill into the younger man’s hand. 

“Uh…”

“I told Tae there was no way you were dating that asshole. He didn’t believe me.” 

Even though you don’t really know this man, you’re deeply insulted. “You honestly thought I’d date him?”

Taehyung shrugs. “He’s rich and handsome. That’s all some women want.” 

“Well, that’s not enough for me.” 

“Hmm.” Taehyung finishes the joint, stubbing the end on the brick wall. “What more do you need?” 

You snort. “Anything. Everything. What do you got?”

The flickering light hanging over the fire exit illuminates Taehyung’s face as his eyebrow quirks.

“You’re here on vacation, right?” You nod. “Have you gone for a ride through the city at night?”

“No, my nights have mostly consisted of avoiding Jimin at various dance clubs.” 

Jungkook laughs, the pleasantly high-pitched giggle tugging at the corners of your lips. “I bet that’s a full-time job.” 

“You have no idea.” 

“Well, then it sounds like you could use a break. We could show you around, if you’d like.” Taehyung gestures to himself and Jungkook. “Give you a tour.”

“A tour?” 

“Yeah. You know. Go for a ride.” 

If Jang-Mi were here, she’d tell you not to go. You can hear her now, grousing at you to wake up and snap out of it, insisting that you bid these men, these strangers, goodnight and walk right back into that club. But honestly? You’re tired of always doing what Jang-Mi would want. All week long, you’ve been so worried about making sure she’s having a great time that you’ve sacrificed your own happiness. 

Tonight is about what you want instead. And right now, more than anything, you want to have some fun. 

“Mmmm. That does sound… kinda nice, to be honest.”  Fuck it. “Okay. Let’s go. Which one is your car?”

“This one right here,” Jungkook replies, veering over to the Lamborghini and stroking the roof. 

“Uh.” Both men look at you expectantly. “Very funny. That’s Jimin’s?”

“It sure is. And I think she’s still waiting for that joyride.” Jungkook winks. 

“Riiiight. Are you suggesting we steal his car for this… tour?” you ask, fingers twisting nervously into your skirt. What had Taehyung said earlier, about bending the rules? This is not that. This is breaking them. You’re no saint, but for the most part you’re not a rulebreaker. Grand theft auto is way beyond anything ‘bad’ you’ve done before. 

“We’re just going to borrow her for a little. We’ll bring her back, in perfect condition. But don’t you want to see what she can do in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing?”

“And someone who ‘knows what they’re doing’ - that would be you two, I take it?”

Jungkook reaches forward and pinches your chin in his fingers. You go still at his touch, staring up into his warm doe eyes. “Yeah,” He lowers his face, brushing your mouth with his as he breathes the words, “Want me to show you?” 

Ams wind around your waist, tucking you against him as you kiss. You’re vaguely aware of Taehyung walking away, too focused on Jungkook’s tongue slipping into your mouth. His nipple rings brush against your chest as greedy hands slide down your bare back and grip your ass tightly, and he swallows the shocked yelp you utter. Strong fingers caress your flesh, holding you close, and you lose yourself in him, arousal pooling in your belly again. 

Until a strange jingling sound catches your attention. Taehyung slides a thin metal tool into the passenger’s side door of the Lamborghini. After jimmying the rod a few times, the locks spring open. 

Jungkook immediately opens the driver’s side door and jumps in while Taehyung leans over the roof. “You in?”

“Are you okay to drive?” you question Jungkook.  

“I don’t drink,” he answers. “Just had a few hits. I’m fine to drive.” 

“I promise you, he’s fine,” Taehyung adds. “I wouldn’t get into a car with him otherwise.”

Again, both men look at you, waiting. 

Nibbling on your lower lip, you contemplate for a minute what you’re doing. Stealing Jimin’s car and riding away with two near-strangers, slightly high and slightly drunk, to go god knows where and do god knows what. 

Finally, this vacation is looking up. 

“Fuck it, let’s go.” 

The smile on Jungkook’s face is electrifying, as he dips his head beneath the steering wheel, popping a panel open and hurriedly twisting a few wires together. The engine roars to life. 

Taehyung climbs into the passenger’s seat and spreads his long legs. He glances at you, patting his lap. “Come on.” 

Carefully, you fold yourself into the car. Your legs fit between his, back against his chest, ass firmly on his crotch. He wraps the seat belt around you both before his arms do the same.

“Safety first,” he chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates through you. 

Jungkook flips on the headlights, and smoothly backs the car out of the parking space. Before he shifts into drive, he presses the button to lower the roof, opening the cab up to the heavens above. 

“Ready?” he asks.  

You nod.

He revs the engine once, twice, and then steps on the accelerator.

The air whips through the car as the three of you burn down the highway. Tilting your head back, you watch the stars zoom by, tiny specks of light blurring into streaks as Jungkook presses the pedal into the floor. He lets out a joyful whoop, and you can’t help but laugh, elation coursing through you. It’s exhilarating. 

The city is awash in neon lights as you race past soaring skyscrapers and imposing high rises. Jungkook is an amazing driver, handling the road so gracefully, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick shift. This time, after he switches gears, he doesn’t lightly brush your leg, he firmly clutches it, giving your thigh a tight squeeze that has you yearning for more. 

Taehyung says something, but the wind carries his words away, so Jungkook flips the roof shut. 

“What was that?” 

“I was just asking if you were enjoying the ride.” 

You twist slightly, looking back and up at him. “This is easily the highlight of my day. My whole week, actually.” 

“Is that so? As happy as I am to hear that, I can’t help but feel it’s a fucking shame. And I’m guessing no one’s been taking care of you all week.” One of his arms is still wrapped around your waist, holding you tight against him, while the other has drifted down, resting on your knee. You can’t help but stare at his fingers like you did Jungkook’s. Taehyung’s are longer, you note, observing the way they tap on your skin like he’s drumming along to a song only he can hear.

“What makes you say that?”

“Kook told me how excited you were in the truck today. He said he barely touched you.” 

Shit, you knew he’d said something!

“He did, did he?” You cast a glance at the man driving the car, and he has the audacity to smile and nod. 

“I did, baby. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” Normally, having a man you barely know call you “baby” would set your teeth on edge, but the word drips so sweetly from Jungkook’s mouth that you don’t mind at all. “But to tell you the truth, what I’m really sorry about is that I didn’t get to slip my fingers in before that asshole interrupted us.” His eyes flit back to the road as he licks his lips. “I just wanted a little taste.” 

“Fuck,” you murmur quietly, rubbing your thighs together, suddenly in need of some friction. Wherever this ride is going, it needs to arrive soon or you might actually implode. A little louder, you proclaim, “Oh, god, please don’t mention that man. I don’t want to think about that jerk at all right now.” Both men snicker, simultaneously squeezing your knees. 

“How’d you end up with that guy, anyway?” Taehyung inquires. 

“Pretty sure I’m cursed,” you quip. “My roommate and I were given a free room for spring break, but it turned out to be some sort of monkey’s paw situation. The unspoken cost was having to put up with that fucker all week. But I’m the one left suffering while my roommate is having the time of her life with the guy she likes.” 

“Mmm, poor baby. You’re free of that douchebag now. We’ll do our best to make sure you have a good time tonight, okay?” Taehyung’s breath hits the back of your neck as he speaks. He’s so tantalizingly close, but not as close as you want him, so you decide to make it clear to him that you want more. That you’re here for that good time, nothing more, nothing less.

Rocking your hips slightly, you press your ass more firmly into Taehyung’s lap, smiling to yourself as you hear him hiss slightly. The fingers wrapped around your side grip you a little tighter.

Downtown shines in the rearview mirror as Jungkook takes the car out on the open road, away from the city. Here, he’s able to push the limits of the engine’s power, and you watch as the needle on the speedometer climbs and climbs as he deftly weaves the sports car down the highway, flying past tourists and townies alike out enjoying the gorgeous summer evening. 

“So… where are you taking me?” Your voice is casual, relaxed, belying the tension coiling in your belly as you shift in Taehyung’s grasp, still slowly grinding against him. 

Jungkook and Taehyung exchange a look. “Somewhere scenic, where you can really enjoy all the beauty tonight has to offer you,” Jungkook states, letting his hand drop to your thigh again.

“Somewhere private,” Taehyung adds. “So you can… indulge yourself in what we have to offer you.” Until now, your hands have been in your lap, clutching the hem of your skirt, but you’re struck by the urge to feel him, so you place one hand on his arm where he holds you, and let the other fall onto his thigh. His leg is so solid and strong underneath you. 

It’s been too long since you’ve touched and been touched like this, and you don’t want to wait to reach whatever destination you’re cruising towards to get more. 

“And what exactly are you offering me?” you ask, still shamelessly rubbing your ass into Taehyung’s crotch. 

His lips skim your ear. “Anything. Everything. What do you want?”

Turning your head, you demand, “Touch me,” before his mouth captures yours. He steals your breath away with his kiss, tongue poking and prodding at your lips before slipping inside to tangle with yours. Then he obeys your command, fingers disappearing beneath your skirt as you inhale sharply against his mouth. 

“Oh, naughty girl,” Taehyung groans as he traces along your sodden folds, “you forgot to wear panties tonight, huh?” 

“Didn’t forget,” you practically pant as he dips a finger into your slit, sliding all the way in. “Didn’t want to wear them.” 

“And why was that?” He crooks his finger just so, and you keen.

“Ahhh! So… so…” 

“So someone could do this?” 

Taehyung’s long fingers feel like they were made for your cunt, the perfect width to scissor you apart as he slides a second one inside, the perfect length to find that sweet spot on your inner wall that makes you see stars. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” you praise him, digging your fingers into the meat of his thighs, causing Taehyung to curse into the back of your head. 

“She’s so fucking wet, Kook. Like you said she was earlier. She’s gonna make such a mess all over this leather seat,” Taehyung tuts as he fucks you with his fingers, pumping them in and out rapidly. All you can do is take it, mouth falling open in ecstasy. 

“Is that so?” Jungkook’s hand suddenly lands on your inner thigh, tracing through the slickness there. “Ah, shit, you weren’t kidding, hyung.” His index finger circles your clit before withdrawing. You watch him suck the digit into his mouth. “Shit, she’s so sweet. Like honey.” 

“Oh fuck,” you shudder, watching as Jungkook palms himself through his pants. Then you gasp helplessly as Taehyung adds a third finger, stretching you even more. “Taehyung! Fuck!”

“You like that? Hmm? Poor baby, just needed someone to touch her like this.” His tongue snakes down the side of your neck, hot and wet. The sensation sends goosebumps rippling down your bare arms. “Am I making you feel good?”

“So good!” You’re rapidly falling apart, humping his hand, hips jerking forward to try to get him deeper. “Fuck, so good.” 

Taehyung is hard beneath you, his cock poking sharply into your ass, the sensation making you even wetter than his plunging fingers, so you slide forward a little and reach behind you to unzip him.

“Baby, what are you…?” he rasps brokenly into your ear as you quickly free him from his pants and wrap your fingers around his length, stroking without hesitation. His tip is slick already from his excitement. “Fuck!”

“Are you… do you have…” You can barely choke out the words as his hand withdraws from your core. 

“I’m clean. Are you…?”

“Clean. On… on pill…” With his hand no longer working its ministrations between your legs, you’re nearly out of your mind with need, so you roll your hips back and position his cock so it drags through your soaking folds. He hisses at the way you drench his length, his forehead pressing into the back of your head as he bucks against you. 

“Fuck, are you two about to–”

“Yes!” You and Taehyung shout in unison, cutting Jungkook off. He just huffs out a loud laugh and steps on the accelerator. As the car shoots forward again, easily zipping around the other vehicles on the bridge, you feel Taehyung’s head breach your lower lips. 

“Oh god damn,” you moan, sinking down onto him. He’s not the biggest man you’ve ever fucked, but he is the thickest, filling you in a way you’ve never been filled before. Your toes literally curl as he rubs against your walls. “Taehyung.” 

“That’s right, baby. Say my name.” His thighs slap against yours as he thrusts up into you, hands gripping your waist to hold you in place as he pounds away. “Fucking sing it, baby, such a pretty voice!”

The car fills with your wanton mewling as Taehyung fucks you. Jungkook has one hand on the wheel again as the other rubs at his crotch, and you can’t resist reaching out. His cry of surprise becomes a shaky groan as you pet him through his tight pants. You’d love to help him out, but given the crazy fast speed that you’re currently hurtling along at, that would probably be a really bad idea right now.  

Jungkook must have had a similar thought, because he turns off the highway and brings the car to a smooth stop in an empty lot. A sign enlightens you that you’re at a beach, and that’s as much as you’re able to comprehend in your current state, having your brains fucked out by the sexy man underneath you. 

As soon as the car is parked, Jungkook unzips his pants with trembling hands and pulls his cock out. A flash of silver catches your eye.

“What, ah, ah, is that?”

Jungkook’s tattooed hand is stroking his long shaft furiously, but he stops at your question, running his thumb over the engorged head. He flicks at the piercing, a barbell sticking out of the top and bottom sides of the head. “It’s called an apadravya piercing.” He reclines back against the seat as he watches you and Taehyung fucking, starting to jerk himself off again. The warmth in his eyes has flamed into full-blown lust. “I’m pierced for your pleasure, baby.” 

“Ah!” You squeal as Taehyung gives a particularly hard thrust. “I wanna know, ah, what it feels like!”

“Don’t worry.” His hand moves so swiftly as he concentrates on the way your tits jiggle under your dress. “You’ll find out.”  

“Ah!” you shout again, this time because Taehyung has pinched one of your nipples. 

“You can focus on him all you want later, baby. Right now, focus on me,” he rasps, pinching your other nipple. “I wanna feel this pussy choke my cock.”

“Fuck!”

Rolling your hips, you take him as deep as you can, and Taehyung growls, one hand digging into the flesh of your side as the other tugs at the knot of your halter. The silky fabric spills down your torso, exposing your breasts. Taehyung’s free hand gropes your right breast as Jungkook reaches across the console and kneads the left. Jungkook’s touch is tender, almost reverential, while Taehyung’s is rough and desperate, and somehow it’s too much and not enough at the same time. 

Taehyung’s mouth latches onto your neck, sucking away, and you thread your fingers through his dark hair, holding him in place, urging him to nip harder, to bite and leave his mark. 

“Ah, Taehyung, ‘m so close! Harder, please, fuck, harder!”

With no hesitation, Taehyung’s hands fly to your hips again and he holds you as he pumps into you. Your cries of delight turn to pain as your head smacks into the ceiling of the cab. “Ow! Fuck!” 

The roof suddenly opens, and you shoot Jungkook a grateful smile before Taehyung resumes his thrusting, bouncing you freely now that there’s nothing hanging over you to stop him. As Jungkook’s free hand finds the sensitive nub between your legs, you let your head fall back onto Taehyung’s shoulder, staring into Jungkook’s hooded eyes as he cums, white lines crisscrossing the black ink on his hand. He doesn’t stop strumming your clit, and soon you’re wailing both their names as you’re swept away by your orgasm. 

A moment later, Taehyung clutches wildly at your breasts as he nears his peak. “I’m gonna cum, baby, can I fill you up?”

“God, yes,” you nearly beg, and he lets out a desperate cry as he climaxes, and then there’s nothing but panting and the scent of sex swirling around the tiny cabin of the Lamborghini and out into the starlight. 

“Goddamn,” Taehyung finally sighs, breaking the comfortable silence. 

“Mmmhmm,” you hum, twisting to brush your lips along his jawline. He places a large palm on the side of your face and pulls you in for a proper kiss. 

“Me next,” Jungkook insists, a tiny whine in his voice, and you turn back to the purple-haired driver, smiling into his lips as he kisses you needily. 

The sound of waves crashing on the shore calls to you. 

“Can we go down there?” 

“Sure thing, baby.” 

After clumsily disentangling yourself from Taehyung, the three of you walk down to the beach together. You leave your heels in the car, letting your bare feet dig into the still warm sand as you cross the dunes to the ocean below. 

A cool breeze kicks up, sending your skirt fluttering as you walk along the edge of the water. You take a deep breath, listening to the swell of the waves as they break over and over, and for just a minute, your eyes slip shut as a surge of peaceful contentment ripples through you. 

Free. Standing on the shore, water swirling around your legs as you inhale the salty air, you feel so free. 

Then you turn and look at the two men next to you. 

“Come here.” You raise your hand and motion to Jungkook, who steps forward to embrace you ardently. His kiss hits like a tidal wave, slamming into you, knocking you off your feet. He catches you, arms slipping behind your knees, and you wrap your legs around him as he carries you towards a pavilion a few yards away. 

Taehyung follows, and as Jungkook lays you on your back on a table, the older man kneels on the bench beside it, stooping to kiss you as his hands find the new knot around your neck and loosen your dress again. His mouth trails hungrily down your neck and into the valley of your breasts, and as he flicks his tongue over a nipple, waking the bud, you feel another tongue lapping at your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his soft hair, holding it back from his face so you can watch him watching you as he works. He flattens his tongue against your clit, the small silver metal bead of his piercing pressing against you just right, and you feel like you’re being dragged in the undertow, losing all sense of self, only perceiving the wetness on your breasts and your cunt, the tongues and lips and fingers working together to pull you under again. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” Jungkook asks, licking his lips as he slips a finger inside you, then a second one. You’re still soaking, or maybe you’re wet again, you’re not sure, but he meets no resistance as you roll your head back with a moan. “Yeah, I think you’re ready.” He stands and pulls his sheer shirt over his head before sliding his tight jeans off. Completely naked, completely shameless, he stands in front of your spread legs, stroking his hard cock as you admire his beautiful body, golden skin covered in ink and metal sparkling in the light of the moon. 

Taehyung climbs onto the table, motioning for you to sit up. He cradles you, one thigh on either side of yours, hands massaging your arms. You press your back into his chest and tilt your head up to kiss him as Jungkook rubs the head of his penis over your slit, coating himself in your arousal. 

“Will I feel that?” you ask him, nodding towards his piercing. 

Jungkook grins. “That’s kinda the whole point of it,” he informs you as he slides in. 

“Oh, fuck,” you groan happily as he enters you slowly, just the tip, then a little more, languidly plunging in and out. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” His head falls forward, mouth agape as he watches himself disappear into your welcoming heat. “So wet, so tight.” 

He suddenly grabs your thighs, pulling you down the metal table further, and thrusts until his pelvis is flush with yours. You wail in surprise and pleasure as his piercing hits your g-spot. 

“Oh, Jesus!” 

“No,” Jungkook says, thrusting again, and again, faster and faster, “Jungkook.” 

Taehyung’s tongue finds its way into your mouth as his fingers rove over your breasts, tweaking your nipples just as hard as he did in the car. His touch is harsh, callused hands rough on your smooth skin, and he holds you upright as Jungkook fucks you.

“Ah, ah, ah!” 

Jungkook’s fingernails dig in as he grasps your thighs, keeping your lower half in place while he ruts into you. Again and again he hits that spot inside you, an intense expression on his face, hell-bent on making sure you’re enjoying every move he makes. 

Despite the chill in the air, sweat trickles down your chest, and Taehyung collects it with his fingers, brings it to his lips. “Fuck, I just want to run my tongue all over you,” he declares, demonstrating by bringing one of your hands to his mouth and sucking your fingertips one-by-one as you nearly sob.

The nonstop jackhammering at your g-spot overwhelms you, leaves you endlessly moaning, and Taehyung drops a hand to your clit, rolling it between his fingers, and you know your end is coming. 

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook pants, “tell me, are you feeling it?”

“Fuck, oh god, I feel it, I feel it!” you babble, head nuzzling into Taehyung’s neck as you totally let go, every muscle in your body relaxing as you let him completely support you, every muscle except the ones in your core, which are so tight tight tight–

“Oh f-fuck!” Jungkook stammered, hips jerking erratically. “I feel you, holy shit, come on, baby, cum for me!”

Intense, white hot ecstasy rips through you with every stroke. Your orgasm floods your body, drowning your senses, driving everything out of your head except for the words you hear but don’t realize you’re chanting, two names, over and over. Jungkook continues to pump away, but his rhythm gets sloppier and sloppier as you clench around him, until he finally succumbs to his own end, cock spurting hot inside you. 

You melt into Taehyung, who brushes your face with soft kisses, a tender gesture that surprises you as much as it pleases you. Jungkook releases your legs, collapsing forward, and Taehyung scoots backwards, bringing you with him, making room for the younger man to join the two of you on the table. Sandwiched between them, you inhale deeply, breathing in their musly scents. 

Bliss. You feel absolute bliss at this moment. Nothing but pure joy. 

After a few minutes of lying this way, music drifts over the dunes, stirring you from your reverie. Faint, but familiar, the tune repeats itself, and you sit up with a jolt, disturbing both men, who grunt grumpily in tandem. 

“Fuck, that’s my phone!”

It was a random BTS groupie, wanting to know which club you were at, or were supposed to be at, anyway, and your panic subsides, but only slightly. Jang-Mi clearly hasn’t noticed you’re missing, and Jimin hasn’t realized his car is gone, but the longer you’re away, the greater the risk you’ll get caught. With a heavy sigh, you turn to the two mechanics. 

“Time to go.” 

A block away from the club, you suddenly grab Jungkook’s arm. “Don’t park at the club. Stop there.” You point to a restaurant. 

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, arms once again locked around your waist. 

You nod as Jungkook guides the car into the parking lot. “I’m fine. Listen.” Swiveling, you sit sideways in his lap so you can face them both while you speak. “I don’t want you to get into any trouble, in case someone sees us getting back. So you walk from here, and I’ll drive it back.” You don’t care if Jimin finds you driving his car–after the way he spoke to you tonight, you’re kind of itching for another confrontation. But you don’t want these two to get caught, knowing Jimin won’t hesitate to call the cops on them.  

“You can drive stick?” Jungkook asks.

You can’t help the grin that spreads over your face. “Of course I can.” 

As soon as he’s out of the car, Taehyung grabs your hip, tugging you to his chest. “Take care of yourself,” he murmurs, kissing you gently. 

“I will. And thank you, for tonight.” 

“You had a good time?” 

Nodding emphatically, you smile. “The best.” 

You feel Jungkook behind you, and as the older man releases you, you spin and fall into Jungkook’s embrace as his lips dance with yours. “Good night, baby.”

Jimin is not outside the club when you park the Lamborghini, and you huff a sigh of relief. Inside the club, Jang-Mi and Hoseok grind on the dance floor, still completely oblivious to the world around them, and you find Jimin slumped over a table, snoring obnoxiously.

“Some men just can’t hold their liquor,” Seokjin mutters disdainfully as he joins you. He’s tilting pretty severely to one side, but he’s still awake and coherent, so you give him that much credit. He catches your wide grin. “I don’t think I’ve seen you look this happy all week. What’s–what’s gotten into you?”

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, tapping on your phone to call a rideshare. In your hand is a business card that Taehyung slipped you when you said your goodbyes. You still have a few days of vacation left. It might come in handy. “Just found my joy.”

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist: @babycoffeefire @parkdatjimin @reliablemitten @yuugehn @ut-dixisti @hesperantha @seokjinger-ale @bangtanintotheroom @taeshuworld @nch327 @hannahbee12719ficrecs @7minsuga96 @dvalitaes @wonieclub @thatlongspringnight @miscelunaaa @acquiescence804 @itsirisz @velvetskize @starbtslove @ajw05

[aaclariww]

07 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, grief, intense heartbreak and longing, loss of a loved one, abandonment and betrayal, detailed violence, descriptions of physical fights, mentions of blood and injury, obsession and possessiveness, he gets several tattoos for her as a symbol of his love, destroying several things, delusion, self-harm, binge drinking alcohol and smoking as a coping mechanism, isolation, tears and vulnerability, trauma, sexual fantasies, mentions of masturbation (not detailed), sexual longing and desperation, boxing, near death experience

wc — 6.3k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The morning crept into jungkooks cabin, warm light casting across the bed where he lay, his body heavy with warmth.

His arm reached out, expecting your bare body beside him but his fingers brushed against the other side and only found cold empty space.

The absence of your naked body—soft and pliant along with the scent of your arousal—hit him almost too hard, his heart lurching.

His breath caught sharply as his eyes snapped open, panic in them.

The room still carried your presence along with your scent, but you were gone.

He sat up, chest heaving, the tattoo of your name over his heart seemed to burn.

The silence was too loud, devoid of your soft sleepy hums and your gentle breaths.

His gaze darted frantically, taking in his surroundings—some of your plush toys that had softened his brutal existence were missing from the shelf.

Some of your books the ones you usually read late at night while laying on his chest were no longer there, along with some of your products that were in the nightstand.

“No.” he whispers.

His voice a low rasp trembling with disbelief.

He stumbled from the bed, bare feet hitting the floor.

His hands tore through the room searching for any trace of you.

The drawer where you kept your clothes along with the nighties that he loved so much—those flimsy, sheer ones that clung to your curves—was gone.

One of his hoodies that you wear almost always was gone.

His own despair felt too much.

“Where are you?” he growls.

His voice rose in a plea in the empty air.

Rage erupted very soon as he felt the fire in his veins, forgetting every rational thought in that moment.

He roared, an animalistic sound that shook the cabin's walls.

“No!” he bellowed.

His words came out in a sob that he refused to acknowledge.

He couldn’t control himself.

Anger overtaking him

His hands destroying everything in his path, any pieces of you that you left behind—he grabbed the mug you loved, shattering it against the wall.

The fairy lights he'd strung above the bed because he knew you loved them, their glow holding too many memories of you were ripped down, snapping them.

The brown teddy bear, his latest gift to you that you left behind, only taking his first ever gifted pink bear with you, stared at him with its lifeless eyes as he tore out its stuffing.

He turned to the mirror, his reflection a crazy man—eyes black with fury, hair wild as his sweaty chest heaved.

He smashed his fist right into it.

The glass breaks and shards cut his knuckles as blood dripped onto the floor.

“Why did you leave me?” he screams.

The words tore from his chest in anguish.

He punched the wall again and again.

The pain nothing, a fleeting sting compared to the one in his chest at the knowledge that you'd chosen to leave.

To rip yourself from his world.

His knuckles bled, even more blood pooling on the ground.

His hands were going numb now but he didn’t stop.

Couldn’t stop.

The cabin was a mess, every broken object that belonged to you was torn but they barely dimmed his anger.

Everything was a reminder of you.

Because you were in his very soul.

“Why?”

He roars again.

Sinking to his knees, his bloodied hands grip his hair, pulling until his scalp burned, breaths coming out harshly.

You were his petal, his girl, the only softness in a world that had turned him into a criminal.

You'd cracked open his stone heart and made him feel something for the first time.

And now you'd taken it with you, leaving him empty, bleeding and ruined.

The betrayal of it tightened his chest with every heartbeat and he clawed at his chest as if he could pull out the pain.

His voice broke into a sound of misery and he pressed his forehead to the floor.

His gut churned, a sick uncertainty settling in—you were gone for good, your choice now done and final.

He saw you in his mind still from last night when he had you in his arms when you were his—your eyes wide, body trembling under him as your lips quivered, your pussy clenching around his cock.

Your moans he'd never hear again.

The thought twisting his wound deeper and he screamed once more, voice shattering as he felt his heart breaking into pieces.

He stumbled to his feet, blood dripping, his emotions a mix of rage and hurt.

“I’ll find you, petal. I’ll tear the world apart.”

“You’re mine and I’ll never let you go.”

He swore, voice venomous.

The promise would forever bind him to you and he stepped outside, bloodied fists clenched, his need would be there until he had you back.

Or until it consumed him entirely.

۶ৎ

His eyes once sharp with predatory focus, were wild now as he moved through the city, darting to every corner searching for a trace of you.

He reached your apartment.

He used the key and stepped inside.

The air hits him first—your warm floral scent that had grounded him once was gone, replaced by abandonment.

His heart ached, it seemed as if you'd taken his soul with you.

The couch where you'd once curled up with a book, while he watched you read, feeling peace in doing that was empty and then when he moved to the bedroom, he almost broke.

It was filled with too many memories spent together, with the ones when their relationship was just building, the days when he'd stalk you.

The day he made you his in that very bed, took your virginity.

Became the first man to touch you.

He growled.

“Where the fuck are you?!”

He grabbed the small table by your bed in haste where you'd kept your journals and hurled it against the wall.

The lamp followed next, its glass shattering.

He sank on the bed, his hand shaking as he lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke, his hand still dripping with blood that he didn’t bother to check on.

“Please… I need you.” he whispered.

The word was foreign to a man who'd never begged for anything.

“You don’t get to leave me.”

His face hardened, he didn’t want to waste a single second before he began his hunt and he knew the city well—anything could be a potential clue.

Each face a suspect.

He called every contact.

“Find her.”

He snarled into the phone, his grip so tight the device creaked.

“I don’t care who you have to kill. Find her or you're dead.”

The man on the other end stammered, promising things but jungkook hung up, his patience barely there.

He stormed to find every lowlife that he thought knew something, his knife pressed to throats, eyes blazing with anger.

“Where is she?” he rasps.

“Speak or I’ll fucking kill you.”

But no one knew.

No one had seen you and it felt like slowly as time went by, you were slipping through his fingers even more.

His fists were in constant use, breaking noses by punching them, the sound of the crunch of bones a satisfaction to him.

He pinned a man to the wall, choking him enough to turn his face purple.

“You know something.” he hissed lowly.

His cigarette smoke blowing into the mans face.

“You’ve seen her or something. Tell me.”

The man choked as he shook his head and jungkook's knife plunged into his stomach, a scream tearing from his throat.

“Nothing?”

jungkook spat, twisting the knife deeper.

“Then you’re useless.”

He left the man slumped alive but broken.

The nights turned into days.

He stood on a rooftop looking down at the city below, its lights not giving away any places where you could be.

He lit another cigarette, body trembling from barely eating or drinking these past few days.

He was having mixed feelings—anger at you for leaving him, for breaking him and at himself for letting you become his weakness.

All his life he'd been betrayed, but this one hurt him so much it felt like he was bleeding every day.

He just wanted to desperately see you, touch you and hear your voice.

Hearing those sweet giggles would be enough to light up his day.

He was going crazy with all his assumptions that you were gone forever, that his gut was right and nothing could bring you back.

That you left him.

Just like everyone in his life.

“I’ll find you.” he murmurs.

He promised, eyes burning with tears he refused to shed.

“And when I do, you’ll never leave me again.”

He turned into the night after that, his heart shattering, thinking that he was just chasing a ghost that he will never get.

۶ৎ

A week had passed since you'd vanished, each day cutting into him deeper.

He was no longer a man.

But a beast.

Full of rage and torment.

jungkook's hands were raw, the skin split and oozing from countless punches and they throbbed with every clench of his fists, which he barely registered.

He smoked incessantly.

Each drag burned his throat but it did nothing to fill the void or the empty place in his heart where you once and forever will reside.

Your hair tie, a black one with a small pink bow was around his wrist, its delicate texture helping him.

Anchoring him in order to find you along with the ones that were in his apartment.

He'd sometimes run his calloused fingers over it—the faint scent of your shampoo still clinging to it enough to keep him grounded.

He moved constantly, his eyes intense, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

In every corner, resided the screams of men who knew nothing of you and were killed by him or his knife.

Each cut a question, each scream an answer he didn’t want.

One night he was in a bar drinking away desperately that’s when he saw a man that he didn’t even know, but he had lost his mind.

Nothing made sense other than finding you.

Getting you back.

jungkook cornered him, pinning him to the wall.

He growled, his breath smelling of the alcohol he'd been drinking, eyes burning with a madness that even made the man tremble.

“Speak.”

The man sobbed, voice a whine for mercy.

“I don’t know! I swear!”

jungkook laughed, the sound hollow and crushed his head against the wall hard enough to crack it.

“Wrong answer.” jungkook scoffs.

The blood splattered all over the wall and jungkook in the process but it felt like a fleeting comfort against his anger.

His kills were not for pleasure but for survival, each death an attempt to fill the space you'd left.

He alone would take a group of three men, their brave facade crumbling under his gaze.

“You took her.”

He accused, voice dripping with anger.

They denied it, their voice trembling but it was already gone under jungkook's fists and knives.

The metallic scent of blood always there.

Like it was his own smell now.

“Petal…” he breathes.

His muscles taut, heart pounding with ache. He could barely sleep, sometimes taking sleeping pills, hoping that once he slept his mind would erase your thoughts.

But even dreams were haunted by you—your soft smile, the way your pussy clenched around his fingers, his cock like you were made for him.

He'd wake up with a hard on, his chest tight and sometimes he'd scream.

“Why did you leave me?”

He barely felt alive anymore.

He couldn’t do this, couldn’t live without you.

“Come back to me, baby. I’m nothing without you.”

He shook as he fisted one of your dresses in his hands that you didn’t take with you.

He'd shut all his windows and doors, hoping that your smell wouldn’t leave his place, obsessively trying to keep all parts of you inside.

He knew he was going crazy.

He was a monster, but without you he was a monster without cause.

His rage would soon devour him whole, leaving nothing behind.

Because no matter how much he killed or shed blood, it offered no answers, no traces of you and with each passing day, his hope was fading.

And his heart blackened further.

۶ৎ

The new city you now lived in was very different, with busy streets.

Your small apartment was in a quiet corner of this unfamiliar world.

As you attempted for a fresh start.

You lived with a roommate and the air inside the apartment carried a faint scent of her perfume, a stark contrast to the cigarettes and musk that you were once used to.

Your roommate was a gentle girl and she was kind, easygoing and most importantly, she respected your privacy.

Never asked questions about the sadness in your eyes and you were grateful, though her warmth only deepened the ache for the man you'd left behind.

You worked part time at a hospital where you assisted doctors with the patients and occasional practice.

The work was grounding.

It was tethering to your dream of becoming a doctor though your studies remained on hold, your textbooks gathering dust on the box you kept under your bed.

Being busy with work drowned out your thoughts—almost.

At lunch you'd sit in the break room, not being able to eat, your eyes distant as you imagined jungkook's dark gaze across from you, his smirk there.

Stalking you, keeping an eye on you just like the old times.

But that’s when the reality hits you hard and you realize that you left everything behind.

The nights were your undoing.

When everything was quiet and your roommates soft snores drifted to you from the other room.

You were alone with your longing and pain.

Your bedsheets tangled from your restless tossing, not being able to sleep.

You'd curl into yourself, clutching jungkooks hoodie that you wore around yourself, his scent now faded from it no matter how much you tried to hold onto it.

You'd bury your face in it, inhaling deeply, only smelling the salt of your own tears and nothing of him.

You missed him with a ferocity that felt like someone was hurting you physically.

The pain unbearable.

You hoped he moved on that he'd returned to his life of no weakness.

But you knew you never would.

jungkook was the only man, the only one who ever saw you, ever made you feel alive and despite everything,

You loved him so much.

You'd lie awake, body trembling with need, your mind replaying every moment with him—the way his calloused fingers traced your skin, the heat of his mouth, the way he claimed you in a way that felt like worship.

You missed his voice, rough and commanding yet gentle for you, calling you sweet nicknames, whispering “petal”

You missed his tattoos, especially the one with your name over his heart, a vow you'd never forget.

Every memory hurt and you'd sob, tears soaking into the fabric, your body shaking.

As you fought the urge to run back to him, to fall into his arms and let his darkness consume you once again.

You couldn’t look at pink roses anymore, avoiding them in flower shops, always reminding you of his gifts, his obsession.

You'd see them sometimes in vases at the hospital and your heart would lurch, eyes burning as you turned away.

You knew you'd never move on.

Never let go.

jungkook was a part of your heart that you'd carry forever.

You loved him in the darkest way, a love that destroyed and you'd live with the pain and longing because it was all you had left of him.

Every night you'd cry, body aching for him, his touch.

Your heart whispering his name.

For a man that can never be yours.

۶ৎ

A month without you had turned him into someone unrecognizable.

A man who'd once held you, claimed you and loved you in his twisted way.

His cabin, once softened by you was now nothing like it.

He was more muscular now, his body sculpted from endless hours of lifting weights, punching bags and fighting, where blood and pain were his only companions.

His hair was longer, rugged and falling into his eyes and his body had scars all over—some fresh and some old—each one from his fights and kills that he had done to forget his pain.

But none could touch the wound in his heart.

His body now also adorned with several new tattoos. On his left arm he got a small rose that showed the beauty of the pain you'd left behind, some thorns he'd gotten around his wrist were a reminder that loving you was misery itself.

On his chest beside the tattoo of your name, a petal unfurled, symbolizing the innocence you'd brought into his world and the way his heart was incomplete without you.

The ink was fresh, the skin still tender and the pain of the needle was a sweet distraction from you.

Each tattoo was a mark that you were still his even if you fled, even if you'd shattered him.

He was just surviving.

Cigarette butts piled up just like his regrets, he'd lie awake at night imagining your body beside him as he watches you sleep.

He fought in illegal rings sometimes.

He tried to not kill after going almost crazy with violence after you left because soon he remembered you'd begged him to stop and that you'd left him for this very reason.

And he didn’t want to lose himself in it once again.

Even though the urge to kill clawed at his insides, he honored your wish.

By getting more tattoos, hoping the pain would distract him and constant hard workouts that left him trembling.

He wanted to be better.

A man who you could love without fear but the effort was a tough task and he tried always but he realized how it's now too late.

You're gone forever.

He kept some of your belongings that he didn’t destroy in a fury, keeping them like his precious belongings.

He once found a single pink rose in your apartment, its petal brittle but intact from one of the nights he'd left them for you and you kept it safely in the drawer of your study desk.

A note you'd written for him—'don't forget to eat jungkook'—was folded in his wallet, the ink smudged from his thumb tracing the words.

Like your handwriting could bring you back.

He'd sit in the dark, the rose in one hand, the note in the other, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Your memories were a torment and they were so vivid in his eyes. He saw you in your pretty dresses and skirts that you'd wear, the fabric clinging to your curves, your full breasts straining, nipples hard.

The curve of your ass a temptation he'd barely resisted.

He remembered you in his hoodies, the fabric swallowing your frame, your shy smile as you tugged at the sleeves, your scent mixing with his.

Your eyes always wide, looking at him with trust and need.

And he hated himself because he took it all away.

He missed your soft and tentative voice calling his name, your gasps when he kissed you and your laughter when he surprised you with a gift.

He craved your touch, your small fingers on his scars, lips kissing them as you made him feel human.

Wanted, loved.

But he was angry, so damn angry at you.

He thought of finding you, locking you in his cabin, chaining you to him and wrecking your cunt until you begged for mercy until you were his forever.

He imagined filling you, getting you pregnant and tying you to him with a child so that you could never leave him.

The twisted fantasy made his cock throb.

The nights when he would fist his cock, thinking of you, his groans loud and broken, chest heaving while his tears fell.

The release he got felt dull, the memories of you burning brighter than the pleasure ever could.

Guilt and longing in his heart.

The fantasies would soon be gone, replaced with the need to be a man you could return to without fear.

He wanted to be gentle, to love you softly, to give you the world without blood.

Without violence.

But the ache of your absence kept dragging him back into the darkness but he tried controlling himself because he promised.

That he'd be worthy even if it killed him.

“I’m trying, petal. I’m trying so fucking hard for you...”

His voice trembled as he closed his eyes, your face the only thing keeping him alive.

He went to places that felt alien to him.

Job interviews were his battle now, his tattoos hidden under his formal clothing, a button up shirt that felt itchy against his scarred skin.

He sat across from hiring managers, his voice low, forcing it into a gentleness.

“I’m reliable,” he’d say.

His jaw tight but his eyes betrayed him—wild, haunted, searching for you in every face.

The scent of the office choked him because he wasn’t used to it at all.

His hands, rough from fights, still injured, fidgeted in his lap, itching to break something to feel the familiar crunch of bone instead of this suffocating normalcy.

One interview for a loading job annoyed him to his limits.

The manager made jungkook want to smash his face against the table.

“Do you have any experience?”

He asked.

“Yeah.”

He mutters, trying to keep the growl at bay.

“I’ve carried heavier things than boxes.”

The man raised an eyebrow in amusement, and jungkook's rage surged so fast that he couldn’t contain it.

He stood up, fisting the man's collar as his smirk faded, a look of horror taking its place.

jungkook grits his teeth, his hands shaking with the urge to twist his neck but he didn’t, instead pushing him off.

He left with his fists aching to hit someone.

Another attempt.

“Reliable?” he laughed bitterly.

“I’d burn this city to find her and you’re asking if I can stock screws?”

He looked in the eye of the man as he leaned forward, his breaths harsh.

“No? then don’t waste my fucking time.”

He kicked the desk along with the man sitting across from him, not caring about it at all and the security guards needed to come to drag him out.

Each attempt of his at normal jobs were failing.

He felt helpless because he couldn’t do it.

It felt like he was failing you.

His diary was a new habit born from a memory of you perched on his couch.

“Writing your feelings helps.”

You said with bright eyes and he smirked, amused by the cliche, his lips curling as he lit a cigarette.

“Sure, petal.”

He'd teased but your words had gotten to him deep now in the lonely nights when his anger and tears soaked the pages.

The diary was worn at the edges from his tight grip and some pages were stained with the alcohol he'd drink.

He wrote everything he had in his heart.

'I fucking hate this. You're gone and I'm breaking petal. I never cried—not when my parents left, not when I starved or almost bled to death. But you—you ruined me. I love you, oh god I love you. I didn't believe in it, I thought it was for the weak people but you made it real. Every day without you, I'm dying baby. I'm trying to be better, to be the man you'd want but it's hard. I want to kill to break but I don’t because you asked me not to. I see you everywhere. I'd crawl on my knees, beg and bleed for you—anything to have you back. You’re my everything and I’m nothing without you…'

'Gave another interview today baby, and another failure. They don’t get it like you do. They talk about schedules and obedience like any of it matters when you're not here. I wanted to smash their faces and make them feel this pain but I walked away. For you. I have your hairband around my wrist. I touch it when I want to break. It smells like you or maybe I'm imagining it but it's all I have. I love you so much it hurts… I'd trade my life for one more day with you, one more night to hold you. I'm sorry I scared you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t enough and couldn’t be the man you wanted. I’m sorry I was so fucking selfish to my sweet girl.'

'Saw a man today buying his girlfriend roses, pink like the ones you loved and I broke. I can't look at them without seeing you, your small hands holding them, your cheeks pink when I left them for you. I'm trying to be good petal, I promise but it's killing me. I haven’t killed because you wanted me to. But the urge is there always and I fight it for you. I'd live for you and give you every damn thing you want. Just come back.. please.. please'

Writing helped him even for a bit, and he'd clutch the diary, tears falling.

“I love you, petal.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, the words unreal to him but true—a confession he'd never spoken until you.

“You changed me, you made me feel it but now I’ve lost you.”

He'd scream into the night, drunk after drinking nonstop.

“I love you! do you hear me? I fucking love you!” he screams.

His words reduced to a broken cry.

The words felt like they belonged to you, like you were meant to hear them and he clung to the hope that somewhere you felt them too.

He kept your incomplete bucket list, some of them completed by him when you were still his.

He completed it obsessively now, buying rare books, the unique snacks you’ve wanted but couldn’t afford to buy and some dresses you wanted.

He stored them in his cabin having joy in the delusion that you'd return, that you'd walk through the door, your happy giggles filling the silence.

“It’s for you my baby.”

He'd murmur, arranging the items on the shelf, his fingers lingering.

“All of it. I’ll keep it safe until you’re back.”

He'd fall to his knees, his head bowed.

He wasn’t a man who was scared of anything, not even death.

But he's terrified of living without you.

His love was madness.

He poured it into every act, every word and every breath of his.

He was a monster, a criminal but for you he will be anything—a gentleman, a lover.

Yet he was failing every day.

۶ৎ

The air was filled with the smell of sweat and blood, clinging to jungkooks skin as he stood in the underground boxing ring.

The arena was dark yet full of chaos from the audience, their shouts a chant.

jungkook's upper body was bare and sweaty, his knuckles wrapped in blood stained tape and his hair falling messily over his eyes.

Matted with sweat and the weight of a month without you.

More than a month.

More than thirty days of agony.

He was unrecognizable with muscles, new tattoos and from smoking all day, not caring about his health, his fists bruised from punching walls, bags and anything that could absorb his rage.

Without killing.

The offer to fight had come like a lifeline, a chance to get his pain out into something useful.

The payment would be good enough to complete more of your bucket list—everything you ever dreamed of or thought of.

None of it was for him, every cent was a prayer for your return, a way to keep you alive in his world.

Even though he was getting more delusional as days passed by.

He'd agreed without hesitation, itching for violence, the fight was a chance to prove he could still feel something other than the ache of your absence.

His opponent was a hulk, his face a map of scars, eyes cold.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the fight.

jungkook moved with ease, his fists a blur, each punch releasing the fury that had consumed him since you left.

The crowd roared but he heard nothing and saw nothing.

His opponent suddenly landed a sharp blow to his jaw and blood filled jungkooks mouth but he didn’t even flinch.

He welcomed the pain, let it ground him and let it remind him that he was still alive and fighting.

“Get up, you bastard!” the opponent snarled.

As he circled jungkook, his fists raised.

“Or are you too busy crying over that little bitch you lost?”

jungkook's vision went red, a primal rage surging through him.

He lunged, his fist connecting with the mans nose. Blood sprayed as the crowd cheered louder but jungkook's mind was elsewhere.

This man had the audacity to talk about you.

He wanted to kill him.

No.

Torture him to death.

“Don’t you fucking talk about her.” he growls.

“You don’t even get to say her name!”

The fight was brutal.

jungkook's muscles strained, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

He was winning, his skill unmatched to the man and his opponent was staggering under the force of his punches.

But then suddenly it hit him—a wave of despair so quick that it stole his breath.

You were gone, truly gone.

No amount of blood, no amount of pain would bring you back, no matter how many fights he won.

You deserved better—a gentle man, a kind one not a monster who'd cage you like him, who'd ruin you like he ruined his life.

It was a good thing you were gone far away from him.

The thought tightened around his heart and his arms faltered, dropping to his sides.

“Giving up already, huh?” the man sneered.

His fists slammed into jungkook's cheek, the impact almost blurring his vision.

Blood trickled down his face, pooling at his collarbone but jungkook didn’t move, didn’t fight back.

He stood there, his body willingly taking all the hits.

He deserved each of it for failing you, for letting you slip away.

The crowd screamed louder but he only saw you in his mind—his pretty girl, his innocent little petal whom he ruined so badly.

“Baby…” he rasps.

His voice lost in the chaos.

Another punch, this time to his ribs and he staggered, his knees buckling. The hit burned with pain but was distant.

“You’re pathetic.”

The man spat, laughing mockingly.

His fist connecting into jungkook's head, blood spraying everywhere. the world tilting.

jungkook fell down, his body giving up.

He could’ve gotten up, could’ve won but he didn’t want to.

He wanted this and needed to drown in this. His opponent loomed over him, fists nonstop, each blow felt like it was breaking his very bones.

His soul.

Blood pooled beneath him.

His vision blurring, a sick bloody grin curved in his lips, your name a whisper on his lips.

Maybe this is it, he thought.

Maybe he’ll finally be free.

The world was spinning, the crowd's screams distant, his body limp and his chest heaved as he struggled to breathe.

He blacked out.

His last thought of you—your smile, your warmth, the love he'd never believed in but felt with every fiber of his being.

And let it consume him.

His smile lingered even as the darkness claimed him.

Maybe finally he'd find peace.

۶ৎ

You were in the hospital.

Walking through the corridors, the exhaustion of a long shift pressing on your shoulders.

You gripped a clipboard from the last patient's chart and talked with another surgeon.

The day had been relentless and tiring but suddenly a noise interrupted your words with the doctor.

Nurses shouted and a voice barked.

“Male, late twenties, critical. He’s bleeding a lot, pulse barely there!”

Your heart thudded as your stomach knotted with dread.

You didn’t know why but your feet moved before your mind could catch up, running to the scene.

The emergency bay was filled with doctors barking orders and nurses as you pushed through the crowd, your breaths shaky.

And then you saw him.

jungkook.

He lay on the stretcher and all you saw was a broken man covered in blood and injuries.

His chest barely rose, each breath he was taking felt shallow as if the life itself was slipping away.

Blood soaked the sheets beneath him from the gashes on his face, his arms and his torso.

His skin was pale and his face swollen, bruised. His lips split, blood crusting at the corner.

One eye was swollen shut, the other half open, unseeing. The gaze that you'd once lost yourself in was now numb with pain and near death.

His rough, calloused hands that had touched you with tenderness now lay limp.

You froze, your clipboard slipping from your hands and clattering to the floor with a loud thud.

The loud pounding of your heart was the only sound you could hear, the chaos and the shouts of the doctors fading.

A sob made its way up your throat, raw and unstoppable.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as your bottom lip quivered.

Your knees buckled and you gripped the edge of a nearby table, knuckles whitening as you prevented yourself from collapsing.

“jungkook.” you whispered brokenly.

You couldn’t speak yet that one word carried thousands of unsaid words.

Your eyes roamed his body, looking at every wound.

His chest stuttered, the rise and fall almost not there and you choked on a scream.

Your hand flying to your mouth trying to stifle the sound.

He was dying—your jungkook, the man who claimed and loved you in his obsessive way, was slipping away.

And you were just standing watching him unravel.

You stumbled forward, hands reaching for him, not caring about the nurses shouting at you or trying to move you away.

“No, no, no.” you wailed.

Your voice rising, cracking with desperation

“You can’t leave me, jungkook. Not like this please, please!”

You shouted as the nurses glanced at you with pity in their eyes but you didn’t care. You leaned over him, your tears falling onto his chest.

Your fingers hovering over his face, afraid to touch.

Afraid to hurt him more.

His skin was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth he always held and you gasped.

“I’m here.”

Your voice was shaking as you spoke to him, hoping he could hear.

“I’m right here, jungkook. I’m right here.” you whimpered.

You looked at the changes in his body, his new tattoos and how broken he looked.

All because of you.

You hated yourself.

You cried harder, body shaking, your hands finally setting on his arm, careful of his wounds.

“I—I’m so sorry.” you gasped.

Your vision blurring from your tears.

“It’s all my fault. You fought for me and I ran, please… I need you!”

He couldn’t leave you.

This time he'll go where you couldn’t follow.

No no, he couldn’t.

The monitors beeped and you hiccuped, your eyes snapping to the screen. His pulse was fading, weakening and the doctors surged forward, pushing you back, making you thrash as you choked on a sob.

“We’re losing him.” one shouted.

And you screamed a sound so raw it ached your throat, your hands clawing at the air as a nurse held you back, her grip tight.

“No!” you panted.

You chanted his name continuously along with pleas, shouting with every ounce of your being as if you could drag him back.

Your body shook, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.

The doctors worked needles piercing his skin but you saw only him—his broken body, his life fading, the man who'd both terrified you and saved you.

You sank to your knees.

Your hands covering your face, your sobs wracking your body.

“I love you.” you whisper like a mantra.

Wanting him to listen, wanting him to hold his strength for the sake of you.

Fight when he wanted to give up the life he lived with you.

“I love you, jungkook. Come back to me!”

The monitors faltered, the beep slowing and you looked up, your breath catching as your heart stopped.

His chest stilled, the line on the screen flattening and you wailed again as the doctors fought, their voices desperate.

You felt numb, your ears ringing.

The room spun, everything blurring as you felt your consciousness slipping.

You clung to the hope that was barely there, that fragile hope that he could hear you, that he'd fight, that he'd live.

For you.

For the love you both nearly lost.

But all you saw was his life disappearing before your eyes.

Taking yours away along with it.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

[aaclariww]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. ii (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. ii (m) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. i rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. this is where i will hold hands. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 ; nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 1st, 2025, 9:57pm est word count: 21.1k wtfffff

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.�� 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi—”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

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tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

a/n: this was the part that i couldn't write until i knew yoongi was fine. it was always the plan to have him isolated, but to see real life yoongi go through all that last summer.. i couldn't find it in my heart to write his self-isolation and self-deprecation without my soul hurting. it just didn't feel right. but as soon as i saw him okay? 3tan yoongi came back again. and my fingers flew. a/n 2: thank you again, everyone. i hope you all love all the parts of fugue in equal amounts! any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me. again, i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline, but i am back. for real. love you guys so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[aaclariww]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. i (3tan) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. i will hold everyone’s hand this time.  warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

—

It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it sounds like shit. 

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair. 

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago. 

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront. 

Which is why it sounds like shit. 

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase. 

“Fuck, not that, either.” 

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag. 

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf. 

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time? 

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box. 

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete. 

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what’s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal. 

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free. 

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange. 

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn. 

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark. 

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along. 

He’ll never be enough. 

—

“You’re more than enough.” 

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen. 

More than enough…

You told him that. 

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time. 

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them. 

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault. 

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

What was her name again? 

Right. 

Dom. 

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you. 

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now. 

“She went in there with Kook.” 

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.” 

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants. 

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds. 

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.” 

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that? 

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.” 

“I know.” 

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?” 

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.” 

“You’re lying.” 

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed. 

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.” 

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes. 

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.” 

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.” 

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod. 

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.” 

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.” 

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.” 

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm. 

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough. 

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright. 

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.” 

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway. 

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight. 

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck. 

He wants to hurl. 

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here. 

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit. 

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off. 

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you? 

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power. 

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed. 

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life? 

Was he really that cut off from everything back then? 

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

 “Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait. 

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck. 

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course. 

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” 

Mm. He doesn’t like that. 

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you. 

“Please.” 

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder. 

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t. 

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs. 

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too. 

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice. 

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

— 

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade. 

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal. 

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight. 

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse. 

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now. 

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time. 

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines. 

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water. 

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now? 

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on. 

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door. 

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body. 

And every night, he fails you when he loses. 

Every. Single. Night. 

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there. 

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes. 

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it. 

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out. 

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before. 

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up. 

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night. 

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin. 

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed. 

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes. 

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.  

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you. 

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet… 

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems. 

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore. 

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that. 

—

— 

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great. 

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second. 

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname. 

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours. 

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here 

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition. 

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything. 

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words. 

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over! 

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.  

No fucking way. 

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home? 

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.” 

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?” 

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing? 

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.” 

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all. 

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts. 

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice. 

Your brother. 

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to. 

The very reason he had to say goodbye. 

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare. 

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door. 

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all. 

It works. For now. 

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly. 

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.  

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.” 

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.” 

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over. 

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch. 

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside. 

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck. 

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud. 

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course. 

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?” 

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.” 

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?” 

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.” 

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him. 

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything. 

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?” 

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.” 

Agreed. “Mm.” 

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.” 

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps. 

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.” 

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.” 

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah? 

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.” 

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown. 

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options. 

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive. 

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out. 

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?” 

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane. 

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.” 

After what he’s about to do. 

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies. 

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.” 

“Does she know, by the way?” 

“Know what.” 

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.” 

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.” 

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.” 

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?” 

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore. 

“No. And I’ll think about staying.” 

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.” 

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.” 

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.” 

“Really? You never say bye.” 

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.” 

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.” 

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.” 

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?” 

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door. 

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.” 

—

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals. 

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up. 

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.” 

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls. 

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.” 

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working. 

So why does that gut him even deeper? 

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!” 

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem. 

—

— 

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot. 

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say. 

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.  

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing. 

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.” 

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day. 

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!” 

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again. 

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t. 

Yourself.  

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount. 

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same. 

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again. 

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you. 

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown. 

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in. 

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet. 

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand. 

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?” 

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before. 

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his. 

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it. 

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind. 

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit. 

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before. 

If he wasn’t such a damn coward. 

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second? 

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls. 

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life. 

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes. 

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t. 

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself. 

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go. 

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it. 

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive. 

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it. 

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies. 

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish— 

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night. 

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid. 

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again. 

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss. 

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.  

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this. 

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart. 

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see? 

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you. 

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light. 

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real. 

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much. 

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!” 

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again. 

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go. 

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.  

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams. 

Fuck, he needs air. 

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all. 

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.” 

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.” 

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.” 

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about. 

He’s at least gotten past that part. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.” 

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes. 

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe. 

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.” 

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare. 

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way. 

—

— 

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate? 

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car. 

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes. 

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky. 

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days. 

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away. 

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights. 

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day. 

Once again, he’s back to that same night. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside. 

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard? 

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend. 

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.” 

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?” 

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?” 

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.” 

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing. 

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar. 

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into? 

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief. 

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.” 

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal? 

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today. 

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s? 

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio. 

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box. 

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing. 

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind. 

— 

— 

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him. 

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

— 

— 

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions. 

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck. 

He can’t catch a fucking break. 

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross. 

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place. 

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.” 

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.” 

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!” 

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. 

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.” 

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music. 

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off. 

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak. 

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff. 

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone. 

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know. 

No surprises for you. Not again. 

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you? 

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through. 

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else. 

Please don’t. He just needs more time. 

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath. 

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh. 

Did you really banish his worry just like that? 

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real. 

It is. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest? 

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.  

Shit. 

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again. 

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure. 

You’re really something else. 

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe— 

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent. 

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through. 

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop. 

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill. 

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone. 

Fuck, it hurts. 

It all fucking hurts. 

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it. 

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort. 

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark. 

-

-

tbc in fugue, pt. ii

-

so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[aaclariww]

WHEN THE WORLD IS QUIET | PJM

PART ONE

playboy!Jimin x fem!reader

genre: university au, angst, smut, fluff

SYNOPSIS ! (what the story is about is in that link!)

word count: 3.2k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

There are a lot of things you’ve gotten good at avoiding since you started university.

Noise was one thing. You don’t go out of your way to attend parties, you don’t linger in chaotic study lounges, and you definitely don’t sit in the center of lecture halls where everyone’s packed together like concertgoers getting ready to scream their lungs out.

You’ve learned how to keep your head down, how to move without drawing attention, and how to find the small silent places in a world that never stops spinning.

That’s why your mornings always look the same.

8:00 a.m. You go to your favorite cafe and get yourself a vanilla latte.

8:15 a.m. Walk across campus, headphones in, avoiding eye contact.

8:35 a.m. Slide into your usual seat in the lecture room. Second row, left side, one seat from the edge. Safe and peaceful.

8:50 a.m. Lecture begins.

Simple. Predictable. Yours.

Until today.

You’re only five steps into the lecture hall when you spot it.

Someone’s sitting in your seat.

Well in your row. The window of empty space you’ve claimed quietly, week after week, is no longer empty. There’s a backpack slouched carelessly on the floor, legs sprawled out across the carpet, and a shoulder dipped over the backrest like the chair’s doing him a favor by existing.

You nearly stop walking.

Because even from behind, the silhouette is unmistakable.

Park Jimin.

And you? You’re officially screwed.

You know the name. Everyone does. Jimin is the kind of boy whose reputation enters a room before he does. He’s beautiful. The kind of beauty that feels like a dare. The kind of attention you don’t want, but still catch yourself glancing at.

Rumor says he’s slept with at least three different people from this class alone. Possibly more. And he hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction all semester.

Until now.

You consider leaving. You could take a different seat, even if it means sitting in the back with the loud breathers and laptop-typers. You could walk right out, fake a stomach ache, and skip class entirely. You could do literally anything other than walk down that aisle.

But your hands are already wrapped around your vanilla latte. Your bag is digging into your shoulder. And your professor doesn’t tolerate tardiness.

So, you walk.

Five steps. Then ten.

The closer you get, the more you feel his presence. His hair is pushed back in waves that look too good to be accidental. He’s dressed in a black crewneck, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a thin silver chain resting against his collarbone.

He turns when you pause beside him, a lazy smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Didn’t think anyone else sat in this row,” he says. Voice low. And it sounded like the start of something you didn’t want.

You glance at the empty seat beside him. Then at him. Then back again.

“They don’t,” you reply softly. “But I do.”

His smirk deepens.

“Then by all means,” he says, gesturing grandly. “Join me.”

You sit without another word.

You feel him watching you.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

Jimin doesn’t speak again. Not right away at least.

But he doesn’t need to. He leans back in his chair like he’s at home, legs spread wide, thumb dragging idly over his phone screen. Every so often, you catch the faintest shift in his posture, a tilt of his head, a glance in your direction, a finger twitching, like he’s watching you without looking too obvious about it.

He is not subtle. And you are not impressed.

You try to focus on your screen. Lecture slides are beginning to fill with bullet points, market trends, economic theory, something about supply chain analysis. You type methodically, just fast enough to stay ahead of your professor’s rhythm.

Jimin doesn’t type at all.

In fact, you’re not sure he’s opened a single document.

You hear him yawn softly next to you and wonder for a moment, what it must be like to glide through university with that kind of ease. Not careless, but untouchable. One where things fall into place just because of who you are.

You sometimes wished you had it that easy.

“Hey,” he murmurs suddenly.

You glance over, reluctantly.

He’s still facing forward, voice pitched low so only you can hear. “You type really fast.”

You blink. “That’s what you interrupted me for?”

He shrugs, smile barely there. “It’s kind of hot.”

Your lips press into a tight line. “Don’t talk to me.”

He grins wider. “You keep saying that, but I’m starting to think you don’t mean it.”

You turn to him now, fully, letting your expression speak louder than words. “I do.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, amused. “Alright, alright. I’ll be good.”

He’s not.

Ten minutes later, he offers you a piece of gum. You ignore him.

Five minutes after that, he drops his pen. Then takes yours.

When you try to snatch it back, his fingers brush yours. Warm. Deliberate.

You jerk your hand away like he’s fire.

“Touchy,” he whispers.

“Annoying,” you whisper back.

His smile is all teeth and trouble.

And you hate the way your stomach twists.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You barely survive the rest of the lecture. You managed to keep your notes clean, your face neutral, and your limbs tucked safely into your side of the desk. But it’s harder than it should be.

Jimin doesn’t do anything, not really. He doesn’t flirt in an obvious way or say anything overtly inappropriate. But he’s there, radiating heat, confidence, and attention like it’s second nature. Like he was born to be noticed.

And you?

You are trying desperately not to fall into his bubble.

You pack up quickly after class ends. Laptop closed. Notes stacked. Coffee cup tossed in the recycling bin. You don’t say goodbye. Don’t look back. Just move.

But you don’t even make it to the hallway before you hear it.

“Hey! Wait up.”

Your shoulders tense before you turn.

He’s walking toward you, slow and lazy like there’s no rush. Backpack slung over one arm. That same teasing smile dancing on his lips.

You fold your arms. “Do you ever stop?”

His eyes sparkle. “Nope.”

You sigh.

“I’m Jimin,” he says then, holding out a hand like you haven’t known his name since your first semester.

“I know.”

“You gonna tell me yours?”

You hesitate.

Every instinct in you says no. That you shouldn’t give him anything. You’ve heard the stories, the rumors. Park Jimin is a lesson you didn’t want to learn firsthand.

But he’s watching you like he already knows the ending. And something rebellious stirs in your chest.

“Y/n” you mutter.

His grin grows. “Pretty.”

“You should go.”

“Only if you come with me.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“There’s a cafe across campus. Good iced coffee. Better bagels.” He shrugs. “I’m hungry.”

“And you think I’m hungry too?”

“No,” he says, head tilting. “But I think you’re interested in me.”

You narrow your eyes. Just how high is his ego?

“I’m not,” you say flatly.

He laughs under his breath, and it’s disgustingly charming. “Then I’ll see you next class, partner.”

You freeze.

“…Partner?”

He pulls out his phone, taps a few times, and turns the screen to you.

Group 4: PARK JIMIN, L/N Y/N

The class project. The one that lasts the entire semester. The one you were dreading.

Your stomach sinks. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“It must be fate,” he says, winking.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you turn around and walk away.

This time, you do look back.

Only once.

He’s still standing there, smiling like he knows something you don’t.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You don’t think about Jimin for the rest of the day.

Well. You try not to.

You tell yourself he’s just like the background noise in the halls. Unavoidable, sure, but not worth tuning into. The kind of boy who floats through life with too many numbers in his phone and not enough sincerity in his voice.

It works. For a little while.

Until you check your email.

Subject: “Group 4 - Semester Project Guidelines”

From: Professor Lee

You skim the list. Timeline, expectations, deliverables. Midterm presentation. Final paper. Weekly check-ins. The same grueling structure as every other group project, but now with the added headache of Park Jimin.

You close the tab and exhale slowly.

You can handle this. You can stay professional. You can survive one semester of proximity without getting pulled into the whirlpool of his attention.

Probably.

Your phone buzzes.

Unknown number.

You hesitate.

Then unlock it.

** :

hey partner ;)

just read the email. u free this week?

You blink. Then frown.

Did he save your number? How did he even get it?

You:

How did you get my number?

Jimin:

class group chat.

ur profile pic is cute btw

You groan into your hands.

You:

We should meet to go over the project.

Jimin:

u asking me out?

You:

I will block you.

Jimin:

damn

okay okay

i’m free thursday after 3

You:

Library. Second floor. Study rooms in the back.

Jimin:

sounds hot

see u then.

You toss your phone onto your bed like it personally betrayed you.

This is going to be a long semester.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

Thursday comes faster than expected.

You arrive ten minutes early. You wanted time to pick a quiet corner, open your laptop, and steel yourself for whatever version Jimin decides to show up as.

You’ve seen him on campus since that first day. Laughing with friends near the art building. Leaning against vending machines like they’re props in a music video. Walking out of the business department with his sleeves rolled up and a girl giggling beside him.

He hasn’t noticed you again. Or maybe he has, and he’s just letting you think otherwise.

You pick a room with glass walls but enough distance from foot traffic to feel semi-private. You pull up the project brief. You outline a few tasks, researching presentation, slide formatting, and even sketch a rough schedule.

At 3:10, the door opens.

And there he is.

Late, of course. But somehow, still managing to look like he owns the place.

“Hey, scholar,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you like he’s been here a thousand times before.

You don’t look up. “We’re already behind.”

“Chill,” he says, propping his chin on his hand. “We’ve got time.”

You risk a glance.

He’s wearing a fitted white tee under a soft denim jacket, a chain around his neck, and an expression that says he’s more entertained by you than the actual assignment.

You shut your laptop.

“Let’s get something straight,” you say quietly. “I don’t care what people say about you, or how you act with them. This project matters to me. So if you’re going to flirt or screw around, go do it somewhere else.”

There’s a long pause.

Then he laughs.

“Damn,” he says, eyes shining. “You’re serious.”

You stare at him, unmoving.

“I like that.”

You blink. “You like that I don’t like you?”

“Kind of.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “You’re not pretending. Most people do. Smile at me, laugh at everything I say, then talk shit the second I leave. But you? You’re honest.”

“I’m not being honest,” you mutter. “You’re just annoying.”

“Same thing.”

You open your laptop again.

“This is due in three phases. First milestone is a week from Monday.”

He nods, finally matching your tone. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”

You blink.

You’d half expected him to push back. Dodge responsibility. Fake an emergency. But he’s watching you instead, waiting for directions, like this actually matters.

“You’re good at presenting,” you say cautiously.

“Sure am,” he says with a wink.

You roll your eyes. “Then start outlining the first section.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You spend the next forty-five minutes working side by side.

To your surprise, he’s focused. Not perfect, but present. He asks questions. Types faster than you’d expect. Doodles a little in the margins of the shared doc, but nothing disruptive.

At one point, your knees brush under the table. You freeze. He doesn’t move.

You scoot your chair back slightly. He hides a smile behind his water bottle.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

When you finally wrap up the session, your head is spinning.

Because it went fine. Better than fine, actually.

And Jimin..he was still Jimin. A little smug, a little too pretty for his own good, but also unexpectedly thoughtful. Capable. Collaborative.

As you gather your things, he watches you quietly.

“Are you always like this?” he asks.

You glance up. “Like what?”

“Quiet.”

You pause. Then zip your bag.

“Only around people I don’t trust.”

His smile falters just for a second.

Then he nods. “That’s fair.”

You think that’s the end of it. You turn to leave.

But just before you reach the door, he calls out.

“Hey.”

You glance back.

You notice him hesitate before speaking, and then he quietly shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

You don’t answer.

You just walk away.

But your chest feels heavier than before.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You don’t think about Jimin that night.

Not exactly.

It’s more like the memory of him clings to you. His voice low and smooth, his eyes cutting sideways with something unreadable, that ridiculous smirk when he caught you flustered. It settles behind your ribs, heavy but soft, like the feeling of knowing a storm is coming before the clouds even form.

And the worst part?

You can’t even tell if you’re annoyed or intrigued.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The days after pass strangely.

Your paths don’t cross again right away. Not on campus, not in your shared lecture, not even by accident. He’s absent for the next class, and the seat beside you stays empty.

It should feel like relief.

But it doesn’t.

You try not to look at the door when it opens late. You try not to check your phone. You try not to notice how the second-row seat next to yours suddenly feels colder.

He messages you late that night.

Jimin:

sorry i missed class

had to meet w/ my advisor

what’d i miss?

You:

Not much. Notes in the drive.

Jimin:

ur an angel

i owe u one

You:

You owe me finishing the presentation on time.

Jimin:

oh come on

i was hoping u’d say dinner 😔

You stare at your screen.

You:

That’s not happening

Jimin:

not yet

You don’t reply after that.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You meet again the next week to work, same room, same seats.

And it’s easier this time.

There’s less tension in the air. Less suspicion in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s him who’s different or if you’re just adjusting to the strange pull of his presence.

He still flirts. But it’s not aggressive. Not forceful. It’s light. Teasing. More like he’s testing the edges of your resistance than trying to tear it down.

And he’s annoyingly good at this project.

His ideas are sharp, and he’s articulate when he presents them. He’s not afraid of speaking, not hesitant about taking the lead and he listens when you challenge him.

Really listens.

Somewhere in the second hour, he starts chewing on the tip of a pen while thinking through a citation. You don’t mean to look. You really don’t.

But your eyes drift.

And your chest does that thing again. That traitorous, fluttering thing that makes your spine straighten and your jaw tighten, like you can scare the feeling out of your body if you’re stiff enough.

He catches you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just glances up slowly, meets your eyes, and raises a single brow.

You look away first, your cheeks heating up.

He chuckles to himself.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The moment you realize you’re in trouble doesn’t hit you all at once.

It’s slow. Subtle.

It’s in the way you start dressing a little more carefully on the days you might see him. It’s in the way you think about what to say before you open the chat. It’s in the fact that his voice, his dumb, drawling, overconfident voice is now unmistakably stored in your head.

It’s in the fact that, even when you’re not around him, you still feel like you are.

You don’t like him.

You remind yourself of that every time he texts. Every time his knee bumps yours in the study room. Every time he tells you that you’re “different” and “smart” and “the only girl who talks to him like he’s not a goddamn Disney prince.”

You don’t like him.

But he’s becoming harder to ignore.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

The rain came suddenly.

You hadn’t planned to study. The week’s been long, the assignment is mostly done, and your bed is calling like a siren song. But Jimin texts you around 7 p.m.

Jimin:

hey

it’s pouring

power went out in my apartment

library’s still open, right?

You:

It is. You need help?

Jimin:

nah. just don’t wanna sit in the dark.

u coming?

You:

I wasn’t planning on it

Jimin:

come keep me company

promise i’ll behave

You:

That would be a first.

Jimin:

pls? 🥺

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

You go.

You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the rain. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe it’s the tiny voice in your chest that’s been curious ever since he first smiled at you in that lecture hall seat.

Whatever it was, you listened to it and went.

He’s waiting near the back tables. Hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, slouched over his laptop. He looks up when he sees you and smiles like he knew you’d come.

“Hey, scholar.”

“You owe me coffee.”

He chuckles. “Next time. Pinky swear.”

You sit beside him. Close. Closer than before.

The library is nearly empty, most students aren’t desperate enough to be here on a rainy Friday night and for once, the world does feel quiet.

Time stretches differently.

You work in silence for a while. Until your screens start to dim, your shoulders relax, and the only sound is the low hum of storm outside.

Eventually, you glance over.

He’s staring ahead, but not at his screen. His eyes are soft. Distant. Like he’s somewhere else entirely.

“Jimin?” you say softly.

He blinks and turns towards you.

He doesn’t smile.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a beat.

You nod.

“Do you think people can change?”

You’re not expecting the question.

It sits heavy in the space between you.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “If they want to.”

He’s quiet.

Then, so softly you almost miss it.

“Even someone like me?”

You stare at him.

And for the first time, you realize that he doesn’t actually believe the answer.

But maybe he wants to.

The moment stretches too long.

You could say something. You could ask him why he’s asking. You could tease, deflect, ignore it completely.

But when the world is quiet and it’s just the two of you, alone in a forgotten corner of the library with the rain against the windows and the hum of electricity in the air, something shifts.

You don’t say anything.

You just reach out, gently, and hand him your last piece of gum.

His smile returns.

But this time, it’s different.

Softer.

Real.

And you think that you may have started to lose the battle you were never meant to fight.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

notes: haiiii !! i want to be clear that this is my first story I’ve written since.. 2021? So I apologize if its not the best right now, I’m a bit rusty lol.

I’m super excited to be starting this story. I was thinking about it and I think I’ll do maybe 5-6 parts, (7 maximum though). I hope you stick around for the story!

Likes, comments, reblogs, asks & feedbacks are appreciated. Thank you! <3

tags: @pjmxxjmdipity @osakis-gf @graydolan12

[aaclariww]

02 | BOUND BY VOWS ⭒ JJK

your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. Yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. Your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love.

pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader

genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, smut, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, protective!jungkook, angry!jungkook, emotional trauma, power dynamics, hurt and comfort, grief, fear of intimacy, several intense crying scenes, emotional distress, abuse and manipulation from readers father, mentions of fear, isolation, break down, miscommunication, argument, betrayal, trust issues

wc — 5.2k

a/n — this chapter is relatively short, but I promise the next part will be longer—and probably a smut, finally hehe. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter and feedback is appreciated! <3

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

The week before the wedding unfolded, each day was relentless slowly bringing you closer to the cage made up by jungkook and your father.

A constant reminder of the life you were being forced into.

Every broken room you entered which you were so used to transformed for a marriage you dreaded.

Your small apartment now full of luxury with extravagant gowns to choose from.

The dresses were masterpieces.

Each fabric delicate and every one of them was adorned with lavish details, the dresses hugging your curves like they were meant to be.

One gown the chosen one was a work of art—it was sparkly, floor length and so light it seemed to float.

You ran your fingers over the fabric, its softness causing a pang in your chest—once you might have dreamed of such a dress.

Childish dreams of wearing a beautiful wedding gown like a princess and meeting your prince.

But now you hated it.

Because it would snatch your life from you.

The dressmakers cooed over you as they adjusted the dress, needles in their hands.

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride.”

One said, her eyes full of admiration.

You forced a smile, lips trembling but inside you wanted to lash out.

Beautiful?

You felt like a doll dressed up to be somewhere you hadn’t chosen to be.

You felt like a prisoner.

The mirror in front of you reflected a stranger—your hair down and styled to perfection, skin flushed with a forced glow from makeup.

Anyone that would see you would see a happy bride.

Your eyes though, betrayed, red rims from nights spent sobbing into your pillow.

There were several jewelry pieces everywhere—diamond rings and necklaces, each piece more expensive than the last.

You wore a delicate necklace, its small diamond stones were dazzling, with matching earrings.

The planners were there constantly, invading your space with samples of everything.

Menus of dishes you'd never tasted were sent for you to approve.

A towering wedding cake that almost seemed too beautiful to be real with its fondant roses and small art designs.

“Everything is to your taste.”

The woman assured you, smiling.

“Mr. jeon was specific, he wanted it to be perfect for you.”

You nodded, throat tight.

You didn’t care about the flowers, the gown or anything.

You didn’t care about any of it.

Your father was a different creature in these days, his usual scowl replaced by a greediness in his eyes.

He roamed through the chaos barking orders at the staff reveling in the wealth this marriage would bring him.

“Look at this y/n.”

He said one afternoon, holding a box containing an expensive bracelet jungkook had sent.

“This is what you’re marrying into. Don’t mess it up.”

His voice was sharp, lacing with warning and you shook, fear knotting your stomach once again.

“I don’t want this.” you whisper.

He laughed, the sound cruel.

“You don’t get a choice, girl. You're doing this for your mother… or do you want her to die because of you?”

The words hits you deeper each time he says them.

You turn away, hands trembling and retreated to your room, the only place you could breathe though even that was tainted.

The flowers invaded here too, their scent too suffocating now and there are piles of fabrics and dresses on your bed.

You sank to the floor, back against the wall and buried your face in your hands, the tears coming out fast.

“I can’t do this.” you sobbed.

“I can’t be her. I can’t be trapped like her.”

Your mother's face haunted you, she was so close to death.

You couldn’t tell her about the marriage, couldn’t confess the terror that consumed you.

She'd always wanted you to have a life free from the pain she'd endured but now you were walking into the same hell like she did.

Trapped forever.

You'd promised her you'd be strong, but strength felt impossible when every moment was a countdown to your misery.

The nights were the worst.

When the planners left and the apartment was silent, you'd lie in bed in the darkness.

The sheets, once comforting did nothing to help you.

You cried until your throat was raw, sobs shaking your entire body.

This was your last week of freedom, the final days before you'd be stuck to a man you feared.

A man whose dark eyes and presence had already invaded your nightmares.

You imagined jungkook as a shadow of your father, his wealth and power only increasing his cruelty that you'd grown up with.

The thought made you curl into yourself as if you could shield yourself.

The planners noticed your silence, your lack of enthusiasm.

“Every bride is nervous.” one said.

“You’re so lucky to be marrying Mr. jeon, he’s sparing no expense.”

The word felt like a slap, and you wanted to scream out that this wasn’t luck—you were pressured into this.

But you stayed quiet, eyes dull as you nodded.

You'd learned long ago that speaking out only brought pain.

jungkook's influence was everywhere, his wealth reshaped your world in a way that you struggled to adjust to.

Gifts arrived daily—each item chosen with care, exactly to your preferences that your father had fed to jungkook's team but they felt like bribes.

Attempts to buy your dreams you no longer believed in.

You touched them slightly as if they might burn you and left them untouched in their boxes, their beauty barely affecting you.

One evening as the sun was setting, giving the room a glow, a woman handed you a velvet box.

Inside was a delicate silver locket, engraved with tiny roses and a single diamond at its center.

“From Mr. jeon.” she said.

Her voice full with awe.

“He thought you’d like something personal.”

You opened it, lips parting and found it empty except for the locket—no photo, no note, just a hollow space like the man he was.

You snapped it shut and set it aside, chest tight with anger and grief.

The final fitting felt like torment, with the dressmakers around you with their tape measures and pins.

You stood still, letting them do their thing and listened to their chatter—how lucky you were, how grand the wedding would be and how every detail was perfect.

Perfect. The word was nothing but a lie.

When they left, you collapsed onto your bed, the gown still on suffocating you, too tired to take it off as you clutched the bedsheets.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I'm trying to save you… but I’m losing myself.”

The words were for the empty room, a pain that no one answered to.

You were alone, a bride surrounded with luxury she didn't want and you were counting down the hours until your freedom was gone.

Forever.

۶ৎ

The morning of your wedding broke through like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

Stuck in it.

You stood wearing the gown.

It hugged you like a second skin while the long flowing fabric stretched behind you, pooling on the floor.

Despair pressed against your chest.

Your hands shook as you touched the veil.

Your eyes swollen from crying were hidden behind light makeup, cheeks flushed with blush and your lips painted with a glossy rose pink but that did nothing to hide the way your lips quivered.

No amount of makeover could erase the sadness etched in your features, the emptiness in your eyes.

The floor was a polished marble, cold beneath your bare feet as you stood, too numb to slip into the heels waiting nearby.

The women bustled around you, their hands adjusting your veil, smoothing your gown and trying to perfect you for the monster waiting for you.

“You look like an angel.”

You didn’t respond, chest aching with the weight of unshed tears that you couldn’t let out because it would ruin your makeup.

You looked at the mirror and you saw not a bride but a broken girl bound to a fate she couldn’t escape.

The venue itself was a display of wealth, along with hundreds of strangers you didn’t recognize in suits and gowns, their talks low as they awaited the ceremony.

The aisle was decorated with scattered petals leading to an altar, the air thick with the scent of candles and flowers.

The soft music playing in the background did nothing to dim your mourning.

Your father stood at your side, his grip on your arm bruising, his face holding fake pride, reminding you of the man he'd always been.

“Don’t ruin this.”

He hissed under his breath.

“Smile or I’ll make sure your mother pays for it.”

The threat knotted your stomach until you thought you might break.

You nodded, a single tear streaming down your cheek and he tugged you forward, forcing you to walk.

The aisle stretched before you, each step of yours felt heavy.

Your heart pounded loudly in your ears, drowning out the music.

The guests eyes bore into you, their stares a mix of awe and pity but you didn’t meet them.

Your vision blur with tears as you didn’t try to look forward at the man standing for you.

Your soon to be husband.

The thought nauseating you.

You focused on the petals beneath your feet, your gown trailing behind you just like your life that you were leaving behind.

Your hands clutched a bouquet of lilies, fighting to keep your sobs silent.

At the altar stood jungkook, his presence terrifying you.

His suit was simple yet elegant.

Its black in color and tailored to accommodate his broad shoulders and muscular frame.

His man bun was sleek, a few dark strands escaping to frame his rugged face.

His dark eyes locked onto yours the moment you appeared, their intensity enough to make your knees buckle.

His hands clasped before him, the veins prominent.

The scars on his knuckles were visible from his life, the one fought and won.

His scent—smoke and something uniquely masculine—reached you even from a distance, stirring a warmth in your chest that you pushed away.

As you reached him, your father released you and you stood before jungkook, trembling like a leaf, feeling his gaze on you like a physical touch.

You couldn’t look at him.

Your eyes fixed on the floor, anything but the man who was about to claim you.

Your tears fell freely now and though you couldn’t see it, his heart raced in a quick rhythm that matched your own.

You were a vision in his eyes—the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

Your fragile self and sorrow only deepening the possessiveness in his chest.

But your tears and the way you shrank from him angered him for a reason he didn't know why—not at you but at whatever had brought you to his state.

He wanted to reach for you.

To wipe away your pain but your father's earlier words echoed in his mind.

“She’s just emotional about leaving her family.”

He clenched his jaw, hands tightening, restraining the urge to act.

The priest's voice started, his words about love and unity felt mocking against your reality. You barely heard him, mind swirling with your grief.

The vows came too soon, your voice quivering as you forced the words out, each of your words a lie that you had to admit against your will.

“I… I take you jeon jungkook, to be my husband…”

Your voice cracked, a sob escaping and you pressed your lips together, fighting to continue.

“For better and f—for worse”

The words were bitter in your mouth, and you choked on them. Your tears are constantly there, a whimper slipping from between your lips.

jungkook's voice when he spoke was steady and sure, a deep rumble but there was a softness beneath it.

A gentleness you didn’t expect

“I take you y/n, to be my wife. To protect and love in sickness and in health.”

“Until death do us part.”

His words a vow, not just to the priest but to you and they stirred something in you.

A flicker of something.

He took your hand and you gasped, the warmth of his touch a shock against your cold skin. His hand was large and calloused, the roughness of his palm so different than you.

His fingers curled around yours, not tightly but with a deliberate care that made your breath hitch.

The ring he slid onto your finger was a band of diamonds, each small stone was twinkling like a tiny star, catching the candlelight.

It was beautiful, simple yet extravagant, chosen because it reminded him of you—delicate, precious.

And unique…

But to you it felt like a heavy weight against your fingers, something that’s going to bind you to a life you didn’t want.

You slid a plain platinum band onto his finger, hands shaking so badly you nearly dropped it.

The priest's final words were like a death sentence to you.

“I now announce you both as husband and wife.”

You wept openly now, your body shaking, sobs coming out raw and broken.

The guests clapped, their applause barely reaching your ears because you felt only the weight of your free life being taken away from you.

The ring around your finger felt like chains that were about to keep you locked up.

You hated this moment, hated the ring.

Hated the man before you.

Even though a small traitorous part of you wondered at the gentleness of his hand, the way his touch hadn’t hurt you or bruised you like your fathers always had.

“You may kiss the bride.” the priest said.

Your heart stopped.

You looked up at jungkook, meeting his eyes for the first time and the look in his gaze stole your breath.

His dark eyes softened, a flicker of tenderness breaking through them and it almost terrified you.

Your bottom lip trembled, a mewl escaping as he stepped closer.

His hand cupped your cheek.

His touch felt like a caress of feather, even though the hard callouses of his hand sent shivers down your spine.

His thumb brushing away a tear that escaped.

“Don’t cry.” he murmurs, huskily.

His whisper was meant only for you.

“I’ve got you.”

He leaned in and you closed your eyes tightly, bracing yourself for something forceful, something cold.

But his lips met yours in a soft, fleeting peck, brushing against yours with a warmth that was over before you could process it.

The kiss was respectful and restrained.

As if he knew you weren’t ready and it left goosebumps all over you, your lips tingling with an unfamiliar heat.

It was your first kiss, stolen on the day you dreaded the most and the realization made your tears fall harder.

He pulled back, breath hot against your skin and whispered.

“I’ll protect you y/n, always… I promise.”

His words were another vow, your mind reeling and assuming that all his words were just a lie in order to get you to be his slave.

Even though a small part of you told you otherwise, which you refused to acknowledge.

You turned away as you clutched the bouquet, the petals crumbling under your grip just like your life.

The crowd cheered, their voices distant, you only felt the ghost of his lips and the cage closing around you.

jungkook stood beside you, frame towering like a threat, his own heart tangling with mixed emotions.

He didn’t understand your tears and didn’t know the depth of your pain.

But he knew one thing.

You were his now.

And he'd burn the world to keep you safe.

Even if you hated him for it.

The ceremony ended with you walking back down the aisle, his hand at the small of your back, the touch both comforting and suffocating.

You didn’t look at him, didn’t speak, your tears falling like rain as you mourned for the life you’d lost and the cage you’d just entered.

Locked up forever.

The future was dark in front of you.

And you didn’t know if you’d ever find light again.

۶ৎ

You were currently in jungkook's house after the wedding.

The bedroom was dimly lit with candles that lined the nightstand, their glow casting across the masculine decor of his room.

A king sized bed with charcoal silk sheets.

The scent in his room was heavy with a clean male scent that was uniquely jungkook's and a sharp smell of cigarette smoke.

You sat on the edge of the bed, your small frame hunched as if trying to disappear.

The simple white dress you wore after the ceremony—clung to you.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fingers twisting the silky material until your knuckles whitened, the texture grounding you against the fear in your chest.

Tears fell silently down your cheeks, their saltiness on your lips.

Each sob was a quiet shuddering breath, barely audible as if making any sound would summon the man you now called your husband.

You couldn’t breathe, you just wanted to wail loudly.

To let out all the sorrow you had.

The room's luxury and its richness mocked the poverty you had but at least it provided you joy and a freedom you always loved.

You imagined him forcing himself on you, his voice rude and the thought made your stomach lurch, bile rising in your throat.

The door creaked open, sending your body jolting.

jungkook stepped inside, his presence shifting the air in the room immediately and the tension was palpable.

He'd discarded his wedding suit, the white shirt was now unbuttoned at the top, revealing his skin and hints of his muscular chest.

His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing his veiny arms and faint scars.

His face with all its sharp features and the constant frown he had was softened by the glow of the candle but the intensity of his gaze remained.

Unrelenting and piercing.

Your head spun at his even sharper smell and how he invaded your senses.

He didn’t approach immediately.

His steps measured as if navigating whether you're comfortable or not.

Instead he paused near the table, picking up a glass from the tray and filling it with water from a jar.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

It was careful but it still made your heart race.

You shook your head, unable to form words, eyes fixed on the floor, not even daring to meet his.

jungkook sets the glass down with a soft clink, the sound sharp in the silence.

He moved to the window, the curtains parted slightly to reveal the night sky. He tried to fill the silence with words, voice gentler now, almost hesitant.

“The ceremony… it was long. Did you manage to eat anything after?”

His tone was an attempt at normalcy, but it felt nothing like that, instead it felt like a stranger intruding on your grief.

You didn’t respond, lips pressing into a thin line as another tear slipped down your cheek.

He exhaled a sound heavy with frustration and confusion at not being able to understand you and reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette.

He lit the cigarette, taking a drag and leaned against the window frame, his posture casual, though his eyes never left you.

Minutes passed, the silence stretching.

jungkook’s already thin patience seemed to fade because he couldn’t just read your mind if you didn’t speak.

He wanted to listen and he'd never cross the line, make you uncomfortable or do anything without your consent.

He straightened, the cigarette dangling from his lips and spoke again, voice edged with something raw.

“Are you unhappy with this marriage?”

The question lit a spark of fury inside you, igniting it into something you'd been holding back.

You didn’t know how it happened but you couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your head snapped up, eyes glistening with tears, a scream begging to be unleashed from your lips.

“Unhappy?”

The word was more of a sob.

“You think I wanted this? you think I chose to be here? m—my father forced me! he sold me like I was nothing and threatened my mother’s life if I didn’t comply.”

“And you—you just took me? like I was a prize to be brought to me! I'll never accept you as my husband, never love you and never let you touch me! you're no different from him—from the monster who beat my mother, who broke every day of my life—”

You paused, chest heaving as a broken sob left you, you realized you were rambling, pent up emotions and anger coming out all at once.

“You’re just another man like him and I’ll die before I let you break me too!”

Your voice cracked, the words spilling out in a rush and you struggled to breathe, your dress clinging to your sweat damped skin.

Your hands trembled violently, nails digging into the sheets.

Your cheeks flushed with your anguish, bottom lip trembling with another sob.

jungkook’s face darkened from where he stood, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t interrupt once when you were talking, letting you let out all your feelings.

Something men has never allowed in your life, they never let you have a voice and never valued your feelings.

They always silenced you like your father.

Punished you.

The cigarette burned, forgotten between his fingers, jaw clenching as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded

His voice was almost a growl with confusion but not anger—not at you.

The cigarette fell to the floor, dying in the dark.

He took a step toward you and you gasped, your body curling, arms wrapping around yourself as if expecting a blow or a slap.

The action was like a knife to his chest.

His eyes flashed with an anger so intense his entire form was shaking and it was aimed at the one who had taught you to fear.

To expect pain from a raised hand.

His fists unclenched, hands hovering uselessly as if he wanted to reach for you but he knew he couldn’t.

He had questions too many of them.

“Who did this to you?” he asked, quietly.

Though there's a dangerous edge there.

“Who made you think I’d hurt you?”

You didn’t hear the question, couldn’t hear anything over your own pounding heart.

“Stop lying!” you screamed.

A wail left your lips, body shaking as you stood abruptly.

“Just stop acting like you didn’t know! you knew I didn’t want this, that I was forced into it and you just went with it—"

You paused, taking a deep shaky breath.

“You’re a monster just like him! I’ll never forgive you or think this is okay. You—you bought me and I'll hate you for it every day for the rest of my life!”

Your words hung for him heavy and final

You collapsed back onto the bed, chest heaving, hiccups leaving you as tears soaked the sheets beneath you.

Your hair clung to your wet cheeks, covering your face from his gaze, your makeup ruined just like the inside of you.

The room started feeling smaller, the walls felt like they were closing in.

jungkook stood frozen, his breathing shallow, eyes locked on your frame.

The fury in his gaze softened into something else—something almost broken.

He wanted to speak to deny your accusations, to tell you he hadn’t known that he’d been lied to for the first time, manipulated by your father’s bullshit.

But your pain was like a wall in front of him that he couldn’t break through, a wound he couldn’t easily heal.

He took another step, slower this time and you moved away, shaking your head.

His heart lurched at that, his brows furrowing.

He stopped, his hands falling to his side. In this moment, he not only hated the world that had hurt you but he hated himself more for being a part of it.

He wanted to rip apart whoever had made you this way, to tear their limbs from their body with his bare hands.

To make them feel the terror you carried in your very soul since you were a child.

But he couldn’t.

Not now.

Not when you were shattering before him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance, with a choked cry, you bolted from the bed, your bare feet carrying you out.

You ran, sobs echoing in the hallway.

You found an empty room, its door ajar and burst inside, slamming it shut with a force that rattled it.

The lock clicking in place.

You sat down on the floor, body weak and no energy left in you.

The room was a stark difference with minimal furnishing compared to jungkook's bedroom.

You cried until your throat was raw, eyes swollen and burning.

The lock on the door was a small barrier but it was all you had—a shield against the man you feared, the man who was now your husband.

Your hands clutched at the floor, wanting to ground yourself to reality, chest feeling empty and you wondered if you'd ever feel whole again.

You hated jungkook—hated his presence, the way he'd claimed you without a thought about your willingness.

A memory was there that refused to be gone though.

His touch when he'd wiped your tears at the altar, his lips soft against yours and his voice that promised safety.

It didn’t make sense.

Nothing made sense also the way he didn’t react when you yelled at him and didn’t hit you like your father had.

Men like him—men like your father—didn’t protect.

They destroyed.

You shifted, your body aching from the hard floor and pressed your cheek against the door.

Your tears had dried, leaving wet trails on your face as hiccups left you.

Sleep tugged at you, an escape you needed but you fought it, afraid of what might happen.

Images of chains, your father’s fists and jungkook—they didn’t leave your mind.

You were scared that jungkook would hurt you once you slept, his facade slipping to reveal the real him.

Terror was threatening to swallow you whole.

“I won’t break.” you whisper, hoarsely.

Saying it as much to yourself as to the universe for always attempting to destroy your life.

“I won’t let him break me…”

Your father had been the first man to hurt you, to ruin your life and jungkook was here now.

You didn’t know if you could fight them both, you didn’t know if you had the strength.

But you clung to the memory of your mother's love.

And hope.

The only thing that had ever guided you.

۶ৎ

The bedroom was filled with silence after your departure. The sheets were rumpled from where you sat, along with the faint traces of your perfume.

jungkook stood motionless in the center of the room, his broad shoulders slumped, man bun loose now, tugging his hair in his fist as if the pain could anchor him.

His eyes burned with emotions he couldn’t name.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for another cigarette, taking a sharp inhale, brows furrowed in a scowl that was more pain than anger.

Your words went through his mind, each one cracking the wall around his heart that he'd spent decades forming.

“forced… sold… I hate you.”

He could hear them endlessly.

He'd been deceived by your father's lies and the betrayal stung not because of the man's audacity but because it had cost him you.

You with your tear streaked face, saw him as a monster—a reflection of the very man who'd broken you.

The realization made him smoke faster, wanting to distract himself but that was barely working.

He exhaled the smoke as he fought the urge to go after you.

He wanted to break down the door of the guest room, to kneel before you and beg for forgiveness, which was something he has never done for anyone.

To promise you the world if it would erase the fear in your eyes that you held for him.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not when you run away when he approaches.

Someone had hurt you, had taught you to fear a raised hand and the thought made him want to hunt down the culprit.

Make them suffer.

His first clenched, knuckles whitening

“Damn it.” he signs.

A snarl leaving his lips, it was a sound of frustration and agony of a man struggling with feelings he'd long buried.

He turned, pacing the room like a locked beast.

He stopped at the window as he gripped the glass hard enough for it to crack, staring outside at the darkness, the same as what he felt within him.

“Who made you so afraid?” he breathes.

He thought of your eyes wide and shimmering with tears, the way your small body trembled under his gaze.

He'd seen terror before—in the eyes of his enemies—but never like this, never so raw, so personal.

You were so delicate.

So breakable.

Yet you’d stood up to him, your voice rising in a way he hadn’t expected.

That courage buried beneath years of misery, only deepened the ache in his chest.

The need to protect you.

To shield you from a world that had already taken too much.

He sank into the bed and buried his face in his hands.

He didn’t know what love was—had never felt it, never trusted it—but what he felt for you was something fierce.

It was a hunger, a desperation to keep you safe even if it meant fighting his own nature.

He'd been called a monster, a man without mercy and perhaps he was all those things.

But for you he wanted to be more.

He needed to be more.

“Forgive me.” he murmurs.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know.”

The confession meant that he'd failed you before he'd even begun.

He'd trusted your father's lies, believed you'd chosen this and now you were locked in another room, crying and hating him.

He could barely breathe.

“I’ll fix this.”

He promises with a rasp, he swore he'd try.

“I’ll make it right even if it kills me.”

He meant every one of his words said to you today, even at the wedding.

He didn’t know he could be the man you needed, didn’t know if he could learn to love but he knew he couldn’t let you suffer.

Not you.

Never you.

Not the girl who’d given her meal to a stray, who’s so selfless and had endured too much injustice all her life.

The night stretched on.

In the guest room you drifted to sleep, your body curled on the floor weakly, the entire day taking a toll on you.

In the bedroom jungkook stood, not being able to sleep, his heart filled with fury and longing.

Two souls bound by a marriage.

Their paths entwined with an uncertain future that could change.

Or ruin them both.

────

taglist: @wintaemoonjen @minewlove @chaelvrx @nanisblogg @slutology00 @kelsyx33 @furioustrashlover @jjeonjjk7 @kooever @svnbangtansworld @xcviis @asyr97 @ttanniett @bratzdaull @yunhoswrldddd @jeonzll @endlesslysassy @elmarimochi9513 @fangirl-coco-goddess @lisax-30 @moodytangerine @taetaecatboy @katwiththatrat @yikes-ukiyo @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @flutterguk @snuglymalicioussea @nellbyy @l4yl44 @captainengineer-trixie @cristy-101 @universallywizardkoala @kookxin @mageprincess7 @satisfied18 @existentialzaddy @strawberryberrygirl @tranquilreign @honeybearmin @melooooosusupp @thvflowr @granataepfelchen @cherricherryy @tatamicc @minghaosimp @kooko009 @clrwonuu @withmuchluv-tannie

[aaclariww]

Vigil pt. 6 j.jk

Pairing: Obnoxious Rich Boy Jungkook x Powerless Reader
Genre: Dark Romance, Obsession, Angst, Forced Proximity
Themes: Power Imbalance, Class Difference, Emotional Manipulation

Warnings: Minors DNI, Hesitant MC, Dub-con, Non-con elements ish? SMUT (18+)

Taglist: @hkplushier @darkuni63 @investedreader @gguksbeloved @mar-lo-pap @lachimolalajeon @jjk174 @mageprincess7 @thekookiedealer @strawbi-reads @aaclariww

*Smut right away so be warned*

___________

You can’t stop trembling.

The aphrodisiac he gave you has fully taken hold now—thick in your blood, spreading heat through every inch of you. It’s unbearable. Your thighs are sticky and slick, your body flushed and twitching from the strain of being denied for so long.

He hasn’t touched you in nearly twenty minutes.

Jungkook leans lazily beside you on the bed, shirtless, lounging like he’s got nowhere to be, watching you suffer with a grin curling his lips.

“You look like you’re gonna cry,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over your naked form. “You want something, baby?”

Your hands fist the sheets.

“I need you,” you whisper, breath hitching. “Please…”

He hums, dragging a finger up your thigh. “Need what?”

“You know what—” you gasp, hips rising. “Please—”

“Say it.”

Your jaw clenches.

He laughs softly. “Still so stubborn,” he mutters. “Even now. Even when your body’s begging.

You don’t answer. You can’t. If you speak, you’ll break.

So you grit your teeth, clench your fists tighter, and keep your mouth shut—no matter how badly you’re aching.

He leans closer, his voice dropping.

“You want daddy’s cock?” he asks, brushing his lips over your cheek. “Want me to fuck you full, baby? Fill you up till you can’t think?”

Your thighs twitch. Your breath catches. But you don’t speak.

He kisses the corner of your mouth.

Then your nose.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say you love me. Say you’ll marry me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

Still silent.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head in amusement.

“You’re so cute when you try to act tough,” he murmurs, shifting his weight over you, his body warm and heavy and infuriatingly in control. “But you’re not fooling me, baby.”

He nudges your thighs open with his knee.

“You’re soaking the sheets. Your clit’s throbbing. You’re practically dripping without me even touching you.”

You gasp when his fingers trail through your folds—just a tease—and your hips jerk helplessly.

“Still won’t say it?” he whispers.

You glare up at him. “No.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’m not—giving you that.” You pant. “You don’t get to win.”

He lets out a low laugh, clearly enjoying this too much.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs. “This isn’t about winning. It’s about owning.”

Then—suddenly—he grabs your thighs and flips you over.

You yelp, your face pressed into the mattress, legs spread wide beneath him. The next thing you feel is the thick, hard weight of his cock resting between your thighs—not inside—just enough to make your whole body ache.

His mouth brushes your ear.

“You’ll say it eventually,” he says softly. “I can wait.”

He ruts against you, slow and firm, dragging his cock through your folds without giving you what you need.

Your whole body trembles.

You try to fight it—try to resist—but it’s too much. Too hot, too slick, too raw. You’re losing your mind.

“I could fuck you right now,” he murmurs. “Make you come over and over without ever hearing you say a word.”

He presses in—just the tip—and you nearly scream.

“But that’s not what I want,” he growls.

He pulls back.

You sob.

“Say it,” he whispers again, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you love me. That you’re mine. That you want to wear my ring.”

“No,” you gasp. “No—I won’t—”

He kisses your shoulder.

Then bites down on it gently.

“Then you’ll stay empty,” he says, voice low. “Until you’re not so stubborn.”

You break.

You scream.

And when he doesn’t move, doesn’t give in, you finally sob:

“Jungkook—*please—*I’m sorry—I can’t take it—please give it to me—”

He groans softly. “Then say it.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Shake your head.

He leans in closer, voice dark and dripping with satisfaction.

“I can wait all night, baby.”

And the worst part?

You know he means it.

He leaves you there. Tells you he’s going to take a shower. That you can join him if you’re good.

———

The water in the bathroom stops.

You don’t move.

You’re still curled on the ruined bed, naked, flushed, wrecked from the inside out. Your thighs are sticky, your face hot, and you’re trembling with something between shame and desperation. But you don’t go to him.

Not this time.

You stay exactly where he left you—like an offering.

Exactly as he wanted.

The door creaks open a minute later.

And there he is.

Bare-chested, towel low on his hips, still damp from the shower. His hair sticks to his forehead, and his skin glows warm and flushed from the heat. But it’s his eyes that make your breath catch.

“Well, well��” His voice is soft. Dangerous. “You didn’t run.”

You don’t respond.

He walks closer—slow, deliberate. His towel slips a little lower with every step, but he doesn’t bother to fix it.

“You still haven’t said it.”

He stops beside the bed. Looks down at you like you’re something fragile. Precious. Breakable.

But he’s not smiling.

He leans over you slowly, his voice dipping lower. “You really want me that badly?”

You inhale shakily. “I—”

“Say it.”

You press your lips together.

And that’s when he moves—grabbing your jaw, tilting your head back, kissing you hard. Not rough. Not punishing.

Consuming.

His tongue claims your mouth like he owns it. Like he’s missed it. Like he can’t believe you’re still here, spread out and waiting and still too stubborn to admit what he already knows.

When he pulls back, your chest is heaving.

He chuckles darkly. “Still won’t say it, huh?”

You swallow. “You didn’t wait that long.”

He grins.

Then lets the towel drop.

And your eyes widen.

You scramble up slightly—but he’s already climbing over you, one knee on the bed, crowding your space with all that warmth and tension and hunger.

“You want me?” he murmurs, his cock dragging up your thigh.

You turn your face away. “Don’t—”

He grabs your chin.

Kisses your cheek.

Then your nose.

Then the corner of your mouth.

“You’re shaking, baby.”

He slides two fingers down between your thighs, brushing gently through your wetness—and you jolt.

Your hips rise instinctively. A breathless cry leaves your throat.

He hums, grinning against your cheek. “Just like that. So needy.”

“Jungkook—”

“Say it.”

You shake your head.

His fingers move again.

Slow circles. Barely any pressure. Not enough.

You sob.

He kisses your temple. “You want it?”

You nod desperately. “Yes—”

“Mm.. My cock, baby?”

You whimper, your hands clutching the sheets again. “Please—”

“Say what I want to hear.”

Your voice cracks. “I—I can’t—”

He pulls his hand away.

You let out a broken cry.

He tuts softly. “You can. You just won’t.”

He shifts closer, pressing the full length of himself between your thighs, dragging his cock against your slick, flushed heat.

“Should I push in?” he whispers. “Just a little?”

You moan.

“Would you like that?” he teases, kissing your ear. “To be full again? So full you can’t think straight?”

You shiver.

He nibbles your earlobe. “Should I keep you like that, baby? Plugged up with daddy’s cock all the time? Day and night?”

You gasp. “You’re—insane—”

“Mm. Maybe,” he says, lining himself up at your entrance.

Then—

He stops.

“You know what to do,” he breathes, brushing your lips with his. “Say it. And I’ll give you everything.”

And this time, when your mouth opens—

You almost do.

You almost say it.

It’s on the tip of your tongue. The words throb in your chest, tight and hot, tangled in the same desperate ache between your thighs.

But when you look at him—his flushed chest, the cocky gleam in his eye, the quiet smile like he’s already won—

You snap your mouth shut.

He sees it.

His expression doesn’t fall. He just lets out a low hum, like he’s amused by your defiance. Like he’s already factored it in.

“You’re really gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs.

You breathe hard. “If you think you can break me down like this—”

His hips shift.

The head of his cock presses just barely inside you, not even an inch—just enough to feel the stretch, the promise.

You gasp, legs tensing, fingers digging into his shoulders.

He stays there.

Still. A tease.

You squirm, but he doesn’t move.

“You’re so close,” he whispers, voice heavy with pleasure. “You want to give in. I can feel it.”

You shake your head weakly, lips trembling. “I don’t—I won’t—”

He kisses your lips, slow and patient. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“You don’t have to mean it,” he breathes. “Not yet.”

Then he kisses your nose, nuzzling it gently.

“Just say it for me. Just once. I’ll make it so good you forget your own name.”

You bite your lip.

He pulls back half an inch. You cry out.

“Say it,” he repeats, nipping your throat.

“Say you love me,” he breathes. “Say you’ll marry me.”

You lick your dry lips. “No.”

His eyes flicker.

You see the way his jaw tenses, the way his fingers flex on your hips. You know he’s trying to wait. Trying to be patient. He said he’d hold out.

But the way your body writhes beneath him—pink, flushed, soaked, trembling—tests every limit he thought he had.

You bite your lip, defiantly silent, even as your thighs twitch and your back arches. He sees the tears in your lashes. The way your lips part to pant. The shiver that runs through your whole frame every time his cock brushes just a little too close.

And he breaks.

“Fuck it,” he growls.

Then he slams into you.

You scream—body seizing, back bowing so hard your shoulders lift off the bed.

“Couldn’t wait,” he hisses, burying himself to the hilt. “You look too fucking good like this.”

He starts to move—deep, rough thrusts that make the headboard slam against the wall.

“You were made for me,” he pants. “perfect, god so fucking perfect.”

You sob, nails raking down his back. “I thought—you weren’t—”

“I lied,” he growls. “Because you—” thrust “—look—” thrust “—so goddamn pretty when you beg.”

You gasp, the air ripped from your lungs with each sharp thrust.

He leans down, mouth catching yours in a hot, dizzying kiss. “So what if you won’t say it?” he pants against your lips. “Your pussy’s honest enough.”

You moan, the words wrecking you almost more than his cock.

He presses your knees up, opening you wider, fucking into you even deeper.

He kisses your throat.

Then your chest.

Then your cheek.

“God, you’re like a drug.” he groans.

You whimper. “Jungkook—please—”

He grins. “Not so stubborn now, are you?”

Your thighs tremble violently. You can feel your orgasm building fast—tight and hot and unbearable.

He sees it.

He leans in, kisses your mouth again. “You gonna fall apart for me, baby?”

You nod frantically. “I’m—I’m close—”

“That’s it,” he whispers. “Take it. Take it deep. Let it hit you.”

One more thrust—and your whole body breaks.

You scream, pulsing around him, crying out as your orgasm rips through you like a storm.

He follows with a guttural moan, spilling deep inside you, his hips stuttering as he holds you through it.

Then he collapses onto you, breathing hard, skin slick with sweat, your bodies tangled and shaking.

His lips brush your temple.

“You’ll say it,” he murmurs, barely a breath.

Then a kiss to your cheek.

“Eventually.”

————

The morning light is soft—but it burns.

Your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. Every nerve feels swollen, tender, overstimulated. And still, you feel needy. Warm between the thighs, your breath hitching at the memory of last night—of him, of what he did, what he made you say.

The aphrodisiac has dulled, but not disappeared.

You roll onto your side slowly. Jungkook’s already awake.

He’s watching you.

Of course he is.

One arm tucked under his head, the other draped over his bare torso. His lips curl when he sees the way you wince, the way your thighs press together instinctively.

“Still feeling it?” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep.

You glare at him weakly. “What the hell did you give me?”

He chuckles. Low. Deep. Satisfied.

“Something from a friend. Imported.” He leans in. Brushes your hair behind your ear. “You looked too sweet. Couldn’t help myself.”

Your cheeks burn.

He shifts closer—presses a soft kiss to your cheek. Then your temple.

“You were perfect last night.”

You stay quiet.

His hand trails down your side, over your hip, pausing just above the place where you’re still sore.

“Bet you’re still wet,” he murmurs. “Even now.”

You slap his chest—lightly, too tired to mean it.

He grabs your wrist.

Presses a kiss to the inside.

Then brings your hand down—slides it between your own thighs.

The second your fingers brush over your heat, you flinch.

Wet. Sensitive.

Your eyes widen.

“I told you,” he says, grinning. “That pretty little pussy was made to be filled.”

You try to pull your hand away. He doesn’t let you.

Instead, he leans in—mouth against your ear.

“Wanna know what I’ve been thinking about since I woke up?”

You swallow.

He presses closer.

“I’m hard every morning, baby. But today? I’m aching. Just from thinking about you whining, begging, crying for it last night.”

“And now?” he continues, voice dropping lower. “Now I wanna see how much more you can take.”

You squeeze your eyes shut.

You’re slipping.

You feel it in the way your hands cling to his shoulders, in the way your hips move to meet his even before your brain catches up. You feel it in the little sounds you make, the ones you try to bite back but never quite manage to contain.

You’re falling apart for him.

And worst of all—you know he knows.

Jungkook watches you with that same maddening smile. That cocky, knowing tilt of his head, that glint in his eyes that says he doesn’t need your words to tell him the truth. He can feel it in your body.

“Still trying so hard,” he coos, fucking into you slow and deep. “Trying to pretend like you don’t want this.”

You glare at him through glassy eyes, but it’s weak. Everything in you feels weak—your limbs, your voice, your will.

“I don’t,” you lie, breath hitching as he grinds into you just right.

“No?” He leans in, kisses your nose.

You turn your head.

He kisses your cheek.

“Why are you dripping all over me?”

You gasp when he shifts, the head of his cock brushing somewhere sensitive—too sensitive.

“Why are you moaning like you’re in love with me?”

Your hands fist the sheets.

His lips find your ear. “Is that it, baby?” he whispers. “Are you falling for me?”

You don’t answer.

He thrusts once, hard and deep.

You gasp.

“Still pretending.” he growls, pinning your wrists above your head.

He kisses you again—slow, messy, open-mouthed. When he pulls away, your lips are wet, swollen, and trembling.

“You belong to me,” he whispers. “Your body knows it. Your heart’s next.”

You shake your head, desperate. “You don’t know what I feel—”

He kisses your throat, then your chest, moving slowly down until he’s resting his weight fully over you.

You sob, biting your lip, trying to hold back the rising wave inside you.

“You’re breaking,” he says gently.

His fingers brush your cheek. “Just let go. Let yourself want me.”

You close your eyes, trembling beneath him.

And for the first time—

You almost say it.

But he grins.

He sees the hesitation.

And he teases you for it.

“Want me to fuck it out of you?” he purrs, rolling his hips slow. “Want Daddy to make it so good you forget how to lie?”

You moan, back arching.

He kisses your temple.

“Let me in, baby.”

His lips find yours again.

———-

The villa is carved into the cliffside—white marble and towering glass, with the sea sprawling endless and glittering beyond the edge of the infinity pool.

It’s the kind of place you’ve only ever seen in magazines. The kind of place people like you don’t belong.

But you’re here.

Wrapped in silk. Dressed in a bikini you didn’t pick out. Lounging beside a pool you didn’t ask for.

Jungkook is shining.

He moves through this world like it was made for him. His tan skin glows under the sun. He’s shirtless, in designer swim trunks, barefoot as he struts across the stone with a glass of champagne in one hand and his other reaching for you.

“Come swim,” he says, smirking. “Or do you want to just stare at me all day?”

You don’t answer.

He takes that as a yes.

He pulls you to your feet and tugs you into the water with him, arms locking around your waist as your body collides. The pool is warm. His skin is warmer.

“Still mad at me?” he whispers, mouth brushing your temple.

You don’t respond.

You swim together for a while, weightless in the silence—until he traps you against the pool’s edge and kisses you senseless, slow and open-mouthed, the way he always does when he’s trying to remind you what’s his.

By afternoon, he’s giving you a tour.

You thought this villa was impressive—until you saw the second one. The one up the road. The one he calls “a guest house.”

“You own both?” you whisper, stunned.

He hums, unlocking a sleek silver car with a wave of his hand. “And the three below us. But this one’s my favorite.”

It’s a blur of things you’ve never had—personal chefs, private beaches, closets bigger than your old bedroom. There’s a cellar filled with wine that costs more than your mother’s yearly salary. There’s a balcony in his bedroom that overlooks the ocean, and a bed big enough to sleep six.

He orders lunch while you sit quietly on the lounger, the sea breeze curling through your hair. You overhear him speaking with his assistant on the phone. Something about stocks. Land deals. Branding. The Jeon name.

It hits you then.

He’s not just rich. He’s untouchable.

And he’s wrapped that power around you like a silk ribbon. Bound you to it. To him.

That night, after a candlelit dinner on the veranda, he leads you back to the bedroom.

You’re full. Tipsy. Tired.

But Jungkook?

He kisses your shoulder as you stand at the balcony railing, looking out at the stars.

“You looked pretty today,” he murmurs. “Even when you weren’t speaking to me.”

You turn to say something—but he’s already pressing against your back, arms curling around your waist, mouth on your neck.

“Tomorrow,” he whispers, “we’ll take the yacht out.”

“Jungkook…”

He nips your ear. “Let me show you how far my world stretches.”

And then—

His hand slips beneath your dress.

Soft. Slow. Possessive.

“This life,” he breathes, voice silk and steel, “is yours now. And so am I.”

You shiver.

Because you know it’s true.

And the cage, gilded as it is, has never looked more beautiful.

—————-

The yacht is obscene.

Massive and gleaming white, slicing through sapphire waves like a beast of luxury. It has two floors, a private chef, a built-in hot tub, and a helipad you didn’t notice until Jungkook casually pointed at it and said, “We’ll use that next time.”

He makes you wear the ring.

Slips it on your finger first thing in the morning, while you’re still in bed and half asleep, blinking at him as he fastens the diamond around your knuckle like a collar.

It’s heavy.

You’ve never worn something that expensive before. Just touching it makes you feel like you’re made of glass.

Jungkook looks like he could explode from pride.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, admiring the sight of it on your hand. So you wear it.

Out on the yacht deck, the breeze tangles in your hair and the sun glitters on your skin. He doesn’t let you out of his sight—always an arm around your waist, a kiss to your temple, a possessive squeeze of your hip as the waves stretch on endlessly around you.

At some point, he brings out champagne. Holds a glass to your lips.

You take a sip—reluctantly.

He smiles.

“You look good like this,” he says. “Diamond on your finger, ocean behind you. Like something I stole from the gods.”

You glance down at the ring. “This is too much.”

“Nothing’s too much for my wife.”

“I’m not your wife.”

He hums. Tilts his head.

You roll your eyes and turn away, gripping the railing.

He doesn’t let you stay distant.

Steps in behind you, hands sliding down your arms, mouth brushing your neck.

“You’d be a good wife,” he murmurs. “You’d keep me sane.”

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

He laughs.

“And we’d have kids,” he goes on, ignoring you completely. “Spoiled brats, probably. You’d chase them around this yacht and yell at them to behave while I pretended I wasn’t the one who taught them to misbehave.”

You stiffen. “Jungkook—”

“Can you imagine them?” he breathes. “Little yous. Little mes. Wild and loud. Jumping off the side of this boat and laughing while you scream.”

Your eyes blur.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’ll happen.” he says simply.

You shake your head.

He wraps his arms around your waist tighter. “I like talking about it. Makes it feel real.”

You try to pull away.

He holds you still.

“You’d love them,” he murmurs. “Our kids. They’d love you even more.”

His voice softens. Warms.

“I’d give them everything,” he says. “Just like I gave you.”

You close your eyes.

Because deep down, you know he’s right. Something in you—weak and human—is starting to mold around him. Not love. Not yet. But something like surrender.

He lifts your hand. Kisses your knuckles. His lips brush the ring.

“I’ll give you time,” he says softly. “But I’m not taking it off.”

You swallow.

“It’s not real,” you whisper.

“It is to me.”

He lets your hand fall, then steps back.

“Come on,” he says with a smile. “Let me show you the captain’s quarters. You’ll get used to the view.”

—————

The yacht creaks softly as Jungkook leads you below deck, his hand loosely tangled with yours, like he’s giving you the illusion of choice. The air is cooler here—dimmer, quieter, scented with teakwood and salt.

Everything gleams.

The corridor is narrow, lined with polished paneling and subtle gold accents. At the very end, behind a thick, sealed door, lies the captain’s quarters.

Except it’s not for the captain.

It’s his.

Jungkook opens the door and steps inside like a king returning to his throne.

You hesitate in the doorway.

He turns. Tilts his head. “Come in.”

You don’t move.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he says.

You step in slowly.

The room is massive. There’s a bed built into the far side, bolted to the floor with a view of the ocean behind it. Shelves lined with rare books. A wall-mounted screen flickering with navigation data. And in the center—spread wide and waiting—is a table of food you didn’t even hear him order.

Fresh fruit. Champagne. Hand-cut pastries.

“Sit,” Jungkook says, pulling out a cushioned bench.

You do, mostly because you don’t know what else to do.

He takes the seat beside you, watching as you glance at the spread but don’t touch it.

“It’s all already yours.” he murmurs, reaching for a grape and holding it to your lips. “Still think this is temporary?”

You part your lips—mostly out of reflex.

He slides the grape past them, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I think,” he says softly, “you’re just afraid you might like it.”

You chew in silence.

“You’re wearing the ring.”

You glare at him.

He smirks. “You could’ve taken it off last night. Or this morning. Or just now, before we came down.”

“I didn’t want to deal with you throwing a tantrum.”

“Maybe.” He leans in. “Or maybe you’re getting used to the way it feels.”

He places a hand on your thigh, slow, possessive.

“And maybe you’ll get used to this too.”

You shiver.

His fingers press just slightly against your skin through the fabric of your dress.

“I think you like the idea of being mine,” he whispers, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

You breathe out—shaky, uncertain.

He pulls you gently into his lap, the hem of your dress sliding up your thighs as he shifts you across him. His hand ghosts along your hip, tracing the skin there like he’s savoring it.

“I could fuck you right here,” he murmurs. “Bend you over that table and make you cry on the wood.”

You tense.

“But I won’t.”

Your eyes flick to his.

He smiles—sweet, indulgent.

He brushes a kiss against your temple, arms wrapped around you like a cage. Gentle. Heavy. Permanent.

“We have time,” he says softly. “The whole rest of our lives.”

And in his voice is that same dark certainty that always follows him like a shadow.

He doesn’t let you leave his lap.

You’re still perched across his thighs, your legs draped over his, your fingers clutching the hem of your dress like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. Outside the wide porthole behind you, the ocean stretches endlessly, glowing like molten glass beneath the setting sun.

Jungkook holds you like you’re already his wife.

His bride.

His prize.

And then—softly, like he’s changing the subject—he says, “Your mom wouldn’t have to work anymore.”

You blink.

“What?”

He brushes your hair behind your ear. “I’d take care of her. She’d never have to clean my house again. Or anyone else’s.”

You stiffen slightly, eyes darting away.

“I’d pay off everything she owes,” he continues. “Move her somewhere nicer. Quiet. Safe.”

Your mouth opens.

No words come out.

“And your siblings,” Jungkook says, shifting slightly so your chest is pressed tighter to his. “Private schools. Tutors. Everything they need. They’ll never want for anything.” You’ve never discussed your siblings before. You didn’t want them part of any of it. Neither did your mother. You don’t ask how he knows about them.

He looks down at you, eyes dark and warm all at once.

“I’d change their lives.”

You finally find your voice.

“Why are you saying all this again?”

He shrugs.

“Because it’s true.”

“No,” you whisper. “Why now?”

He leans in.

Because he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re slipping,” he murmurs. “Falling. You try to hide it, but I see it.”

“That’s not—”

“Let me finish.”

His hand slides over your thigh again, slow and calming.

“I’m not just offering you pleasure,” he says. “I’m offering protection. Legacy. Power.”

His fingers lift your chin until your eyes meet his.

“I’m offering your entire family a life they could never afford. A future no one else will ever give them.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

“You’re all I want,” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek, “just you.”

You swallow hard.

“Think about it,” he murmurs. “You wouldn’t have to look over your shoulder ever again. No more scrubbing floors. No more debt. No more hunger or fear or begging.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth.

“It would be so much better if you started choosing me too.”

———-

You’re still trembling — from his words, his mouth, the looming promise of what he might do to you on this deck where the sky kisses the sea — when a voice interrupts the silence.

“Master Jeon.”

Jungkook turns his head sharply.

One of the yacht staff stands at the edge of the deck. Eyes down. Hands behind his back. Neutral, but tense.

Jungkook exhales through his nose. “Speak.”

“There’s… a visitor waiting for you on the dock. She’s insisting she won’t leave without speaking to you directly.”

Your brows furrow.

A she?

Jungkook stands slowly. His shoulders roll back, expression unreadable now.

“Did she give a name?”

“She didn’t have to,” the staffer says. “It’s Miss Min.”

Something flickers in Jungkook’s jaw.

You blink. “Who’s that?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just stares out at the water.

When he finally speaks, his voice is clipped. Controlled.

“Stay here.”

“No.”

His head tilts.

Your voice is steady. “I’m not being left behind like a secret.”

His eyes narrow.

But you stand.

The slit on your dress opens slightly, exposing your thigh.

His gaze drops.

His fingers twitch.

But then the staff member clears his throat, and the moment passes.

“Fine,” Jungkook says, not looking at you. “You want to come?”

You nod once.

He grabs your wrist.

Not hard.

But firm.

“Then stay close,” he murmurs, voice low and quiet. “And don’t speak unless I tell you to.”

You don’t answer.

But you feel it already:

The shift.

The crack in his perfect world.

The edge of something dangerous approaching

And you wonder, just for a second—

If this empire of silk and saltwater was never meant to last.

—————

The walk from the yacht to the private dock is silent.

Jungkook holds your wrist the whole way, like he thinks you might disappear. You don’t yank away — but you don’t hold back either. The tension coils between you like wire.

And then you see her.

She’s standing on the dock, heels planted, silk dress unmoving in the wind. Tall. Beautiful. Effortlessly polished. A threat without even trying.

Miss Min. A name you’ve never heard. A person you’ve never seen. How was that possible? You thought you’d scene everyone that came in and out of the Jeons lives. You did spend half of your life in the house that welcomed them.

She doesn’t smile when Jungkook approaches.

Her eyes flick to you for half a second, then back to him.

“You’ve gone soft,” she says.

Jungkook doesn’t respond.

She tilts her head. “Or maybe just stupid. Letting her walk around in your clothes. Wearing your ring.”

Your stomach twists.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens.

“You’re trespassing.”

Miss Min laughs. “On land my father owns?”

You blink.

Jungkook steps in front of you slightly, shielding you.

“What do you want?”

“I came to see if the rumors were true.” She looks at you again, slower this time. Her gaze drips with judgment. “You’ve replaced me with that?”

Replaced? Has Jungkook tormented others besides you?

Your face burns.

You open your mouth, but Jungkook cuts in first.

“Careful,” he says, calm and deadly. “You know how I get when people insult what’s mine.”

Miss Min’s smile fades.

She takes a step closer.

“You think you love her,” she says. “You think she’s special because she’s afraid of you. Because she’s quiet. Because she doesn’t fight back.”

“You really don’t know anything,” Jungkook says softly.

That makes her flinch.

But only for a second.

Then her gaze sharpens like a blade. “You’re not in love, Jungkook. You’re obsessed. And when it starts to rot — and it will, you’ll run right back to me.”

“I wouldn’t touch you again if you were the last woman breathing.”

You stiffen.

She notices.

Smiles.

“Ah,” she says. “He didn’t tell you?”

Your heart starts to pound.

Miss Min steps back — cool and unbothered again.

“I’ll leave you to your dream, then. I’m sure it’s lovely until it turns into a nightmare.”

And with that, she walks off.

Jungkook doesn’t move for a long time.

Neither do you.

Finally, he turns around.

You stare at him.

Quietly.

He sighs.

You don’t say anything.

“I left her,” he continues. “Years ago. She never recovered.”

Still, you’re silent.

His hand finds yours again.

“She doesn’t matter,” he murmurs. “She never did.”

You swallow.

And nod.

But in your chest, doubt blooms like a bruise. And you hate that you aren’t relieved.

———

The room is quiet.

The only sound is the faint rocking of the yacht against the water and the soft click of the door as it shuts behind you both.

You don’t speak. Not right away.

You just walk to the far side of the suite, arms folded tightly across your chest, back turned.

Jungkook stands still for a moment.

Then, slow and careful, he follows.

When his voice breaks the silence, it’s low. Unbothered. Dangerous in how calm it is.

“She shouldn’t even be a thought in your head.”

You don’t respond.

“She doesn’t matter. None of them ever did.”

That makes you turn.

Your eyes narrow. “How many?”

His brows rise, amused. “What?”

“You said none of them. How many girls came before me?”

He tilts his head.

Then smiles.

That dark, slow, wolfish kind of smile that always means trouble.

“Are you jealous?”

You scowl. “No.”

“No?” He takes a step closer. “Because you sound jealous.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re cute when you lie,” he murmurs, now right in front of you. “But if you were jealous, I’d understand.”

You open your mouth — but his hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek, almost tender.

“Because there’s no greater feeling than you,” he says, voice like smoke. “No one ever tasted like you. Sounded like you. Felt like you.”

You look away.

But he follows your gaze, inching closer, until your back hits the wall and there’s nowhere left to run.

“And besides,” he whispers, “I’ve never wanted to ruin anyone the way I want to ruin you.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in.

“I’ve never wanted to break anyone like this. Make them forget the world. Make them beg. Make them stay.”

You try to speak, but your voice fails.

So he keeps going.

“You think she mattered?” he scoffs. “She was decoration. Temporary. Replaceable.”

His fingers slide to your waist.

“You? You were a mistake the universe let me keep. You weren’t supposed to be mine.”

His lips hover by your jaw.

“But now you are.”

You whisper, “I’m just wondering how many people you’ve ruined before me.”

He exhales a soft laugh.

“None.”

His hand slides lower.

“You’re the only one I ever wanted to destroy.”

His mouth meets yours — hot, deep, possessive.

“And rebuild.”

You tremble.

He kisses your cheek.

“Keep.”

Your head tilts back, breathless.

“Own.”

Then he nips your neck gently, voice ragged.

“You’re the only one I ever wanted to fuck into forever.”

And the way his hands start to claim you again — firm, slow, reverent — tells you exactly what kind of forever he’s planning.

———-

The morning light is gentle.

No harsh gold, no glaring warmth — just pale silver sliding across the bed, curling around your legs like mist as you shift under the sheets.

He’s not beside you.

For once, he’s given you space to breathe. Maybe because last night you stopped fighting. Maybe because, for a moment, you even wanted him.

You sit up slowly, skin sore in places you don’t dare name.

And beside you, on the nightstand, is a cup of your favorite tea.

Hot.

Fresh.

You blink.

There’s no note.

Just the silent heat rising from the porcelain. And a single silver spoon resting beside it.

You stare at it a moment too long.

Your fingers curl around the cup before you realize what you’re doing.

And just for a moment—

You smile.

Not big. Not soft. Barely there.

But it’s real.

Warm in a way you haven’t been since this whole thing began.

Jungkook sees it.

He’s been leaning quietly in the doorway this whole time — arms crossed, shirt half-buttoned, hair still damp from the shower. Watching.

You don’t know how long he’s been there.

But the moment your lips curved, his eyes flickered.

Not with victory.

With wonder.

Like you were the one sunrise he’s never been able to catch.

You flinch when you realize he’s watching.

His smile is slow.

“So you do like when I take care of you.”

You frown, looking away. “I was just… thirsty.”

He hums, unconvinced.

“You’re easy to read in the morning,” he murmurs. “It’s sweet.”

You scowl, trying to get out of bed.

But he’s already across the room before your feet touch the floor — crowding into your space, taking the cup from your hands and setting it aside.

“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says quietly. “I already know.”

“Know what?”

“That you’re falling.”

You go still.

His hand touches your waist — not possessive this time, just grounding.

“I won’t make you say it,” he murmurs. “I’ll stop that for now.”

His voice drops lower.

“But I’ll keep watching.”

He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Waiting.”

You shudder.

He pulls back — just enough to meet your eyes.

“Because when you break again, this time I don’t want it to be because I forced you.”

His thumb brushes your bottom lip.

Then he turns and leaves.

And this time, it’s you who stares after him—

Pulse unsteady.

Heart aching.

Mouth tingling where he touched it.

Because maybe he’s right.

Maybe the fall has already begun.

And there’s no one left to catch you but him.

——-

It was a short cruise back to the mainland, smooth and quiet, sunlight dancing over the waves.

You sit beside Jungkook on the lower deck, your plate untouched, legs crossed neatly, eyes fixed on the horizon even though you’re not really seeing it.

You’re trying not to look at her.

The girl.

The yacht staff member — young, pretty, annoyingly bubbly — who brought Jungkook his espresso with a smile a little too bright. Who leaned too close when asking if he wanted sugar. Who laughed too hard at something he said about the view.

You saw the way her hand brushed his shoulder.

You saw the way he didn’t move.

And now you’re mad.

You don’t even know why.

He’s not yours.

Not really.

Except—He is.

You didn’t say it. You didn’t agree. But somewhere between the kisses and the confessions and the way he made your body scream and beg and yield.

Something tethered.

And now it’s tugging.

He doesn’t notice at first.

Or maybe he does.

Because a few minutes later, he sets his cup down and glances your way.

“Something wrong?”

You keep your gaze forward. “No.”

“You haven’t touched your food.”

“Not hungry.”

“Mm.”

He leans back slightly, one arm slung behind your chair — not touching, but close enough to remind you he could.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” he says, voice low and smooth.

You tense. “What?”

“The steward girl.”

You grit your teeth. “I didn’t—”

“You did,” he cuts in. “It was brief. But it was there.”

You say nothing.

He smirks. “You were jealous.”

“No.”

“Liar.”

You whip your head toward him. “Why would I be jealous of someone who’s clearly your type?”

His smirk drops.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me,” you snap. “She’s perfect, isn’t she? Pretty, obedient, disposable.”

He’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Then, slowly, he turns to face you fully — his gaze unreadable, but intense.

“Is that what you think you are?”

You don’t answer.

His jaw clenches. “I’ve never let anyone touch me the way you have.”

You scoff. “Apparently you’ve touched plenty.”

He leans in, voice sharp now.

“No one broke me the way you did.”

You blink.

Something flickers behind his eyes.

He exhales through his nose.

“I’ve had women,” he says. “But none of them ever made me feel anything.”

You look away.

But his hand catches your chin.

Forces you to face him.

“You’re the one I watch when you’re not looking.”

Your breath hitches.

“You’re the one I ache for.”

Your pulse stutters.

“You’re the one I’d destroy worlds for, and you’re worried about a yacht girl?”

Your voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t want to care.”

He leans in until his forehead touches yours.

“But you do.”

You don’t move.

You don’t breathe.

He doesn’t either.

And for one stretched moment, jealousy turns to tension. Tension turns to want. Want curls into something you don’t yet have a name for.

The silence between you stretches.

But it doesn’t cool.

It smolders.

Beneath the shared breath. Beneath the pounding in your chest. Beneath the weight of Jungkook’s eyes — fixed on yours, locked, as if he’s waiting for you to break first.

And then he does.

Not with words.

With touch.

His hand fists the back of your chair.

His other grabs your jaw — not harsh, but firm — fingers digging in just enough to tilt your face toward his again.

And then he kisses you. Hard.

Like punishment. Like a dare.

His mouth crashes against yours, lips rough and bruising, his tongue pushing past your lips like he owns the right. Your body jolts. You gasp against him, caught between instinct and defiance.

But you kiss him back.

Because of course you do.

Because even now — even angry, even confused — your mouth knows him.

Your hands grip his shirt. His shoulder. Anything to ground yourself as he kisses you like he’s starving. Like you’re the last thing on earth that can satisfy the ache in his chest.

“You drive me insane,” he growls into your mouth.

You try to pull back — barely — but he follows, gripping your jaw tighter, pressing closer.

“I mean it,” he pants. “You—” kiss “—ruin—” kiss “—me.”

You whimper.

“Watching you pretend you don’t care? Watching you glare at that girl like you’d rip her throat out if I smiled too long?”

He groans, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth.

You gasp again.

His voice drops to a dark whisper.

“You want the truth?”

You blink.

He leans closer, lips brushing your ear.

“I liked it,” he breathes. “Watching you jealous. Watching you claim me without even knowing you were doing it.”

Your nails dig into his biceps.

You despise how fast your body responds.

Hate how much your thighs press together — desperate, aching.

“You don’t belong to anyone,” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

His eyes burn.

“You’re wrong.”

His hand moves to your waist — dragging you closer, into his lap.

You suck in a breath, heart hammering as he grinds against you slowly, shamelessly.

“I belong to you,” he says. “Every broken, jealous, obsessive part of me.”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” His voice softens, but it’s no less intense. “Because you’ll start believing it?”

Your throat tightens.

His mouth brushes yours again.

“Or because you already do?”

——-

note: SORRY THIS LEGIT TOOK SO LONG AND IK I KEPT SAYING IT WAS COMJNG BUT HAHA ATLEAST ITS HERE NOW? I hope you enjoyed

[aaclariww]

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. ii (3tan) (m) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. ii (m) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 | fugue pt. i rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. this is where i will hold hands. warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 ; nsfw warnings: under the cut! drop date: july 1st, 2025, 9:57pm est word count: 21.1k wtfffff

smut warnings: YOONGI SMUT POV!!!, ch*king, head/hair tugging, reader has a pain kink and yoongi knows it, penetr*tive s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all already know!!

“How do you even call this work? You don’t do shit!”

—

—

When you’re in the eye of a tempest, you don’t see the danger surrounding all sides. You feel the calm. The temporary peace—when really your mind is constantly on the run. 

But from the outside looking in, no one can reach you through the darkness. If they get too close, they risk getting hurt. Swept in the chaos and shut out from where you stand in false hope. 

They’ll scream for you to leave. Beg for you to run. But only you can make that choice once you have the chance to hear them. And why would you? If you don’t see any issue with what’s in front of your eyes? 

They will try, and try, and try. Their voices will run repetitive until distant. Pleas will fall on deafer and deafer ears. Try as they might to step into the rush of fury, they’ll only get pushed away because you can’t deal with the cacophony of disappointment. 

Pretty soon, nobody wants to brave that cyclone. Nobody will come save you from the wrath because all it does is make them burn. 

You’re happy, right? Why can’t they be happy you’re happy where you are? Safe. Comfortable, like you’ve never been before? They don’t see it like you do. They don’t understand what you have. 

Slowly but surely. One by one—even the best one. No one except your storm will be there beside you.

And when it abandons you to drown in the ocean it created?

Only then will you realize all your lifelines are long, long gone.

—

—

The sky is dark again.

From the dips of his sofa, Yoongi awakes to pitch black, watching the ceiling flash sinister grins with lightning white teeth.

Ah. Back to the beginning. 

Not that he’s surprised, of course. Everything always goes back to the way it was. Back to the way it’s supposed to be. Because it’s all he deserves. 

Right? 

When thunder crashes into the night, Yoongi flinches in knots, memories jagged at the edges piercing his head violent. 

You know not to—

—shitty day to—

Seriously?

—knew this would—

Prove it.

—only gonna end up alone. 

—

—

Thunder booms once more.

But Yoongi wakes in a memory.

“Why don’t you just stay?”

He looks to his side, seeing a face that has been with him for more days than anyone else’s lately. 

No one has ever asked him to stay. At least, not during the morning after when there’s not much left to talk about. With everyone else, it’s been a quick one in the nearest bathroom or him bouncing before the sun comes up. 

It’s his fault for sleeping this long. He should’ve at least gotten woken up by—

Thunder cracks outside, catching Yoongi’s attention before he finds himself still hesitating. “You sure?” 

“At least until the storm stops. Then you have to go.” 

A bit of morning attitude does feel nice. And at least he remembers her name. He should, though, since this is the fourth time he’s been over. 

“Uhm.” The only complication is that… Yoongi has a thing. A pretty important thing, since his friends are finally all in town again and planned to spend the day together. He’s surprised his phone isn’t blowing up right now, which is what he expected to be woken up by.

He shifts. Oh. It’s dead. 

Yoongi hears a snort behind him before an arm snakes around his bare torso. “It died a long time ago, you know.”

Interesting. “You didn’t charge it for me?”

Another smug laugh crawls along his spine. “I could’ve.” When the hand on his stomach slithers lower, Yoongi’s body responds on instinct, his eyes closing and his heart bumping just a bit louder. 

And he doesn’t yet know it. 

“But I wanted you all to myself.”

Yoongi turns. “Is that so?”

But this stormy day from years past is significant. 

Lashes bat at him with shimmering lust as he’s lured away from his still-uncharged phone. Away from his plans. Away from his awaiting, concerned as hell friends. “Find out for yourself.”

And Yoongi’s gone before the next groan of thunder ends its roar. “Fuckin’ plan on it.”

It’s not a cleanse. Not a relief.

But an omen. 

—

—

Time passes as he’s thrown back to the present.

But Yoongi doesn’t know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? …Weeks? 

It’s dark again. 

But his phone is alive. Barely there across the room, a light blue screen is all he can make out. Someone could be texting. Or calling. Or whatever else he’s gonna ignore. 

How did it get all the way over there?

Whatever. Not like he cares. He’s not gonna need it for awhile anyway. 

The last thing Yoongi remembers is clutching your words in his hands, but apparently Namjoon and Hoseok found him eerily sick. Practically kicked him out of the studio to force him to get better, not knowing how painfully ironic that would become.

The endless rot coaxed a slow descent into his warring mind, corroding from the inside. Seeping defeat along his veins. 

Pelts pelts pelts against the windows hit him like punches, weakening his resolve to even stay awake. It’s all too much. His brain is too battered and bruised to fight right now. 

So he plummets from the sofa back into the past. 

—

—

“That one looks like you.”

From a ways behind, Yoongi watches his younger self, seeing vibrant hair shaking in a laugh before sweeping his pensive gaze along the hazy, deep orange skyline. 

He remembers this hilltop, benches and trees overlooking the city life below. How can he forget when he passes it every time he goes to practice with the guys? Well, every time he went. He doesn’t think he’s gone anywhere in a minute. 

At least he’s observing this memory from a distance this time. Yoongi assumes this is his mind’s way of coping. Because reliving the memories from his own point of view was too much to bear. 

The air carried a certain hue of pink that day. And his hands can still recall the stickiness of the popsicle he held as stickier lips get caught in another kiss. 

Right. This is where it happened. Where Yoongi fell in love for the first time. 

At least, that’s what it felt like to him. He felt wanted for more than his body, understood on a level that no one else had before. Be it his yearning for companionship or for simply being needed, Yoongi felt something beat in his chest that day, spurning him to embrace new emotions never before experienced. 

But something feels off as he relives it on the sidelines. She says those words so differently than how he remembered before. 

“I love you.” 

Yoongi turns away before he can watch himself react. Because he doesn’t need to witness the light in those eyes, a light that would soon be squashed and smothered to the point of nothingness. 

Because in the end, it wasn’t love he received. Love doesn’t come with terms and conditions that don’t go both ways. Love doesn’t make someone second guess everything they’ve ever said and done. 

Love doesn’t make someone want to end it all. 

But what did he know back then? All he saw was someone making him feel good. Great, most of the time. What he didn’t think about, though, was why they were on the hilltop in the first place. 

Right now, that Yoongi doesn’t know about this girl skipping out on work to hang out with him. He doesn’t remember shirking responsibilities to meet her in her bed, caught in his feelings enough afterwards to blow his friends off yet again. 

How many times did he do that at this point? Were they already annoyed with him? Or was this when they started asking if they’d even get him back?

Sighing deep, Yoongi stuffs both hands in his hoodie as he watches another kiss unfold, grimacing at the way she tries her best to swallow him whole. Months down the line, she accomplishes that. He’ll feel trapped with no way out in no time. 

He needs to get out of this nightmare. The sunlight is fading and so is his control. 

Then he watches himself get up, begging to not get in that car. To not leave. To just run. 

Fuck, he wants to haul himself away with everything in his bones. The fact that he can’t stop any of this from happening is what hurts the most, feeling like he can save himself yet knowing it’s impossible. All he can do is watch. 

As she yanks on his younger arm to haul him back down to the bench, Yoongi flinches where he stands, triggered by all the times he tried to leave his own fucking place just to be guilt-tripped into staying. Every time. So many times so many times so many fucking times. 

Get out of here. Either version, get the fuck out of this timeline and into any other. He’s damn near ready to beg and sacrifice anything with a squeeze of his eyes. 

And when he opens them, Yoongi meets a different orange hue on his speckled ceiling, blinking before turning his head into a pillowcase that smells like… You. 

Thank fuck. 

Wait, how’d he get here? Wasn’t he just on the couch? Whatever. Doesn’t matter. 

Relieved, he burrows a cheek into your lingering presence, inhaling short to preserve the one thing that makes his apartment feel like a home. It’s such a comfort that he feels remorse in his chest, right before something leaks slow from his eye.

Even in your absence, you save him once again. There’s nothing Yoongi won’t give you when he gathers himself again, because you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to something good. 

Guess going back to sleep is not an option. Maybe he’ll finally try to work on some tracks again. 

—

—

A boom of thunder jolts him conscious, and Yoongi winces at the crick in his shoulder before grabbing it in a rub. What the hell? When did he fall asleep? 

Checking his dimmed screen, he squints when the brightness blooms and curses at the many, many, many errant notes displayed on his workspace. Because of fucking course he fell asleep on his keyboard. 

The instrument track is deleted without another thought. 

But after a brief stare, Yoongi undoes the action and goes to the very beginning of the timeline, just to see if he had an idea to start with before descending into a dreamless symphony. 

Nope. Delete.

Failure wisps down his chest before he rubs both eyes. This has got to be the most disjointed he’s ever felt. Yoongi doesn’t even know when he last ate something, much less spoken to somebody or taken a fucking shower. 

Disgusting. He needs to do that last one. It’s the only productive thing he does before falling face first into his bedsheets, wondering when he last washed them before succumbing to sleep again. 

—

—

“Wow, about time you finally brought her!” 

“Ah, yah, he’s back out from hiding!” 

Yoongi can visibly see his hand squeezed with apprehension, and he remembers nails digging into his skin hard enough to crunch his smile. 

Throughout the house, multiple people greet them both as they pass, and even Yoongi shifts as if he isn’t just a ghost of a bystander. 

This party. This night. This very house witnessed the moment when everything started going to absolute shit. 

For once, she agreed to come with him to a party. It wasn’t at Jimin’s, since she never wanted to be there—red flag stupidly ignored—but at another acquaintance’s across town. 

Yoongi was simply relieved, happy to be able to see everyone he cared about in one place. But it soon became harder and harder to hold conversations without being pulled somewhere else, being told to go elsewhere, feeling bad about not making it a good time for her. 

As his younger self follows her to a room upstairs, Yoongi prods his cheek. Because unlike sneaking around with your shy smile, this was to hash out a petty argument about nothing. Nothing. 

But he cared about her so much that he took the harsh statements behind closed doors. He listened as she expressed that she felt ignored the whole night. He hated himself for making her feel that way because that wasn’t his intent at all. 

Poised against the wall just outside the door, Yoongi hangs his head, hearing the same painful words from the other side and sending his past self all the love he didn’t have before. 

And he watches as the same door bursts open, his ex rushing for the stairs and his bright hair bolting after her.

Soon, he’ll chase her down the stairs, calmly try to reason with her but failing miserably. People will stare. People will talk. 

But they’d already be in a car and silently driving away. 

—

—

Another day. Another thunderstorm.

Somehow, Yoongi always ends up in his living room when this happens. Like his bedroom feels too sinister when it rains—unless you’re in there filling it with your sunshine. 

He hopes you still know how beautiful you are. How wonderful, how mesmerizing he finds you, no matter where in space and time he resides. Are you finding ways to be happy? Are you out there conquering whatever you want simply because you can? 

Can he send himself to your dreams instead? 

No. Even in dreams, he doesn’t deserve to see you right now. 

And there’s his same problem again. The shadow standing over him. Whether this is due to his past mistakes, or the darkness in his mind, Yoongi fully believes he isn’t yet worthy of your light. 

Besides. As he feels the guitar standing in its same place, he hears it speaking. Reminding him of all the things he’s done wrong. 

When lightning strikes, Yoongi counts the seconds. And four counts later, he flinches at the boom before blanking again. 

—

—

“Who’s that?”

“No one.” 

“You know not to tell me that. Who is it?” 

Ah. He knows why this memory is still taking up space in his mind. Yoongi takes a spot along the wall of her living room, remembering how clean it was and knowing that’s one of the reasons he liked her in the first place. 

Settled on the spotless couch, his younger self with undyed hair turns his head. “The studio guy I was talking to before. Wants to bring me in so I can see what’s up.” 

She gets up with a pout, “Awhh, does it have to be today?” 

He remembers being excited as hell for this. But no one would be able to tell based on his response, “Uhh, I think so. Is that okay?”

“Umm.. I mean, I guess.” 

Truthfully, there were many reasons Yoongi liked this girl. But there were also warning signs, and he must have ignored them in favor of bliss and companionship. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Walking up to his knees, she starts to mount his lap. And this is when Yoongi softly thumps his head back on the other side of the room. 

“I just wanted to hang out today.” 

“Well.. I practically live here now.” When he watches his younger hands skirt along her legs, no feeling rushes into his veins. It’s all evaporated. There’s nothing where everything used to be. “We can when I get back?”

“You don’t live here officially,” she tuts, slinging arms around his neck and bringing him into her chest. And again, his current self is repulsed. “Are you sure you need to go? What are you even gonna do?” 

She fucking knows what she’s doing. Red flags are everywhere for eyes unblinded by infatuation. 

“It’s not that I need to, but I really fucking want to. It sounds really sick and I think I can work there with them.”

“With who?” 

“The.. Studio guys?” 

This is more painful on the other side. 

Because that boy doesn’t know what’s coming. He doesn’t know the pain that will splay out from his inability to see what’s happening to him. Those arms will tighten and tighten around his neck in due time, suffocating like mad. 

But for now, she agrees to let him go, dismissive of the main reason and having ulterior motives. “Fine, but you’re bringing me back food.” 

“I got us,” he readily agrees. And Yoongi can just feel the rush in his chest. Incredible, considering he recalled zero emotion from her earlier touch. “Just let me know what you want.” 

This is when it hits again. This feeling in his gut is not because of the food they ate when he returned. But from preparing for what’s coming next. 

And he dreads the next time he can’t stay awake anymore. 

—

—

Yoongi eyes the molded tangerines in his bowl.

And his heart walks away before he does. 

—

—

Hail comes down in sheets as Yoongi watches himself haul ass to the apartment corridor. Right behind him, growls and angry yells erupt, “I told you it would be a shitty day to do this.”

“It’s my only day off,” he reiterates, steadying a box with the door as he jingles in the key. “Been busy as fuck lately.”

“At that studio again?” 

Waiting as they bustled inside an empty unit, Yoongi’s jaw locks right up. Right then and there he should’ve walked away from that dangerous precipice, new place be damned. So slippery with condescension. So littered with malice and passive aggression. 

But they both took that step from beyond the bounds of friends with benefits, and with those benefits also came the ones of his doubt. Because Yoongi dealt with the jabs. He could handle those, though he shuns his own naivety of liking instead of loathing them. How did he ever let himself be subtly shot down so many times?

It continued to happen all throughout the day. Even when they both waited out the hailstorm and came out to their cars dented to hell, all he’d really hear were complaints about his hobby—his hobby?—taking up so much time. 

It’s when they’re almost done that she drops a heavy hit, with Yoongi watching them from the hall. “Just think about it, okay? You’re spending all this time and money on it and aren’t really doing anything.”

Maddeningly, it’s hard to really tell someone a hobby is actually your entire life. Especially when you haven’t got anything to show for it other than a couple self-produced tracks and one producer credit on a local, aspiring singer’s album. Man, that guy was an asshole. He needed to learn how to move sessions along even with artists bickering the whole way or else—

“Are you even listening?”

“Sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, adjusting the moving box in his arms that’s holding a deconstructed bar cart. “Work shit again.”

“Seriously? Can you not for like two seconds? I just wanna get everything done with and shower. I feel gross.”

“You aren’t supposed to shower during a—”

“Don’t care! I do not care. Let lightning strike me the fuck down while I scrub my asshole.”

Yoongi snorts as he struggles to open his door once again, noting in the far, far back of his mind that the person with a free hand could’ve held it open but didn’t. That should’ve told him enough. But of course, he gave her everything, including way too many chances to redeem herself. 

As they stumble inside, Yoongi follows, remembering how, despite moving someone in, he felt so… Alone. 

His music equipment gets shoved over for more desk space; his shoe collection stuffed in cramped spaces to make room for smaller kicks; his kitchen groaning with boxes and bins with no organization that was slowly but painfully driving him up and through the nearest wall.

Watching this dreary day play out from a distance, Yoongi observes his younger self with abject misery, sweeping his gaze across a cluttered living room and noting the obvious slump in his shoulders. Shoulders that bore the weight of his brash decision of a relationship. 

What were his friends doing that day? Were they watching a basketball game together? He remembers it was the end of the season, so a lot of them were gathering for watch parties and cook-outs. Get togethers he had turned down for weeks in order to spend time with her. 

If only he had asked himself one question. One question should’ve been enough to tell him everything he needed to know.

If he ever had the chance to tell his younger self not to get hung up on one mistake in his life, he would pick this one. Because this one fuck-up set him back years, and became the first splotch of grey in his shrinking, shrinking universe. One question he could’ve asked himself. One answer he could’ve gotten to immediately. 

Why didn’t anyone help him move her in.

—

—

There’s nothing in the fridge Yoongi can eat. And there’s a severe lack of food in his pantry, even though he remembers it being stocked but not taking any of it out. So for the first time in awhile, he forces himself to go outside for sustenance. 

Yoongi shuts his door before locking it, also noting that very empty bowls lie next to his shoes. 

“Oh! There you are.” 

Who the fuck? Who’s even out at this hour? Sluggish, Yoongi turns, noticing the elder lady next door watering the plants along her welcome mat. What was her name again? He thinks it starts with a vowel. But when he tries to answer with a hello, his voice cracks and dies on his tongue. 

Holy shit, when’s the last time he’s even spoken? 

“You okay, sugar? I haven’t seen or heard you in a long time.” 

Wait. Even the neighbors are getting nosy now? How long has he been away from the world? Attempting speech again, Yoongi swallows before rasping out, “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Don’t lie to me, boy. Where’s that nice girl that’s been coming over?” 

Oh. He thinks that’s a pulse in his chest before he answers, “At her place.” Where you need to stay. Far, far away from him.

“Oh… Well, I hope she comes back over soon.” She sets her watering pail on the windowsill. “You two have the best time when she’s here. Hah! Those laughs I hear when I don’t have my dramas playing.. You two give an old lady hope.” 

…What? Yoongi can’t even form a coherent thought. 

Did… Did you really make his laughs so hard his walls couldn’t contain them? The concept seems so obvious yet so foreign, because he can’t even recall the last time he used muscles in his face to smile. Let alone expel joy. 

Suddenly, he sees rain on a cloudless night. Where is he? He doesn’t even fucking know anymore. 

“I’ll be waiting,” the lady continues, breaking through his haze again. “You look like you’re about to tell me something. But I know you aren’t done with her yet.” 

Closing his mouth, Yoongi blinks before nodding his tired head. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good! And tell her Miss Dion says hello, okay?” 

Yoongi hasn’t spoken to you in awhile now. But he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that. “Yes, ma’am.” 

—

—

This memory doesn’t reveal much other than onyx static. But it morphs and twists until it sprouts edges, and it sends him into shakes. Fuck. This is the night he always dreads. The night that transcends time, showing itself like a specter no matter the time of day. The night he said those three words that have him fucking tethered to his living room corner. 

The night of his twenty-first. 

It happened all those years ago, with only the two of them because she wanted it to be special and waved off his desire to have his friends there. For a milestone that should have been celebrated with whoever he fucking wanted. 

And he remembers being completely fine with the isolation. Because despite all the studio shade, all the music dismissal… She got him a brand new guitar. A real one. Not just some rented instrument he had to keep returning, but a true, beautiful black guitar. 

She got it for him because music was his hobby. His hobby. 

Not his life, not his dream career. But a hobby. The gift was laced with malicious intent and he didn’t see it until months later. When everything was becoming crystal clear and frightening. 

Yoongi wedges himself in the corner so strongly he can actually feel the scrap of his walls, watching with short breaths as his younger, ignorant self takes it from its case with admiration. Breathe. This isn’t real anymore. Fucking breathe. 

He will always hate this memory. He wants it to burn, to break, to shatter into pieces just so he can’t witness it any longer. But it’s always there. Taunting him when he’s close to healing, whipping around his arms when he’s close to feeling okay again. You’ve done every fucking thing you could, but even you aren’t strong enough to fight this one for him. 

Only he can conquer this. And he’s only succeeding in failing. 

Yoongi’s head drops when he hears himself say those three little words again, eyes pinching tight at the reaction he gets back. 

“You got there,” she says through manufactured tears. “I knew this would do it.” 

Get him the fuck where? Hell? The abyss? In the middle of the fucking ocean? 

Hair slides in front of his eyes as he has to hear her cry again, feeling his heart sag knowing he’s tugging her in for a hug. “And I’m there forever,” he mouths along with his past self. 

Her grin is still piercing. Sharp. Striking. “Forever.” 

Get out. Get out, get out, get out. 

Forcing himself out of the nightmare, Yoongi shoots from his bed, unsurprised his head is pulsing hard. 

Fuck this. He’s got to get out of here. Your house. Your bed. Your arms. God, the yearning for any of those claws at his chest and bangs against his ribcage. But the studio is his safest place that doesn’t have you in it. So he hastily grabs his keys, heading to the door to slip on his shoes. 

Aiming an offensive finger at the guitar in the corner. The same one that will be waiting for him when he returns. 

—

—

“You’re seeing someone else.” 

“What? Why would I be?” 

“You were seeing someone when you saw me.” 

Yoongi’s stomach lurches at this particular memory. Because hearing that accusation from her lips crushed his heart and slid it across their apartment floor. “First of all, that’s not what happened.” 

“Looked exactly like how it happened. And you won’t even admit it.” 

If she was willing to be down with that, then she was no better. But why would she ever put herself in the wrong? Her aversion to ownership was something else. 

Yoongi watches from the kitchen this time as she taps her utensils on the table. At least she’s not digging lines in it this time. His words across the wooden surface sound completely unlike her ire, “I said I wasn’t good for her. And I left before we got serious.” 

“Well why aren’t you serious about us now?” 

That was a goddamn stretch and they both knew it. It took everything to not slam on the gas, crashing into the window next to his shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

“You don’t make time for me anymore.” 

Because no matter how upset he got, Yoongi could never find it in him to shout. That was her thing. He vowed to never make it his. Explaining soft, he moves food around his plate. “It’s the only time that studio space is free. And I picked that place because it’s the closest one, like you asked.” 

“You’re so cheap.” Both versions of himself feel the same deep pang. “But whatever. Why aren’t you answering my calls lately?” 

When he watches himself sigh, Yoongi flexes both hands at his sides. “Phones are out when we’re in there.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Are you gonna believe anything that I say?” 

“I’ll believe it when you actually make time.” Every memory seems to be harder to watch than the last. 

“Okay,” his younger self relents, knowing this is how all the arguments end. “I’ll try. But I’m making progress so as soon as I’m done with this mix—” 

She laughs while slamming the utensils down, the dining table screaming in pain. “Of course!” 

“Of course what?” 

“Another excuse, Yoongi,” she grits out, leaning back to fold angry arms. “You don’t even bring that guitar with you, either.” 

“Cus it’s staying here.” 

The way she could slip between the monster and the victim makes him squirm. Her eyes grow wide, brows creasing with a practiced pleading that makes him grimace. “Why? You don’t like it?” 

“I don’t wanna break your gift.” 

“Oh.” 

He holds his hand out, and Yoongi slides his jaw knowing what he does here. Taking her by the hands, the younger him offers a moment of peace, “You really think I’m not in this for real?” 

“It’s more like.. I feel like I’m competing with your job and your.. thing. And losing.” 

His thing. Yoongi loves his thing. He is genuinely enjoying creating and analyzing and experiencing music that he can’t wait to go back. It’s all he can think about when he sleeps, when he wakes. But now he feels bad because he may need to do it less to spend time with her. “I’ll prove it.” 

“Prove what?” 

“That you aren’t.” 

“Okay,” she sighs, gripping his hands. “You better.”

Voices that aren’t his or hers leak into his slumber. And the memory starts to fade into dust on his tongue.

“Let him sleep.” 

“He’s gonna wake up as soon as we start anyway.” 

“Why’d he sleep in here and not the back room?” 

Yoongi slowly opens his eyes, blinking away sleep as blurred shapes come into focus. Mm. He made it to the studio. And he’s definitely on the couch, based on the awkward slant of his back. Lolling his head sideways, he watches all three of his coworkers bustle around the console, flipping on different switches and wincing at the loud hum of the CPU. When Hoseok glances back to see his eyes in squints, he tuts to the others, 

“Ah, see? He’s already awake.” 

“Mmph,” Yoongi grunts out as they all turn, struggling to a sitting position and kneading his eyes. “Don’t wait, I’ll get up now.” 

“When’d you get here?” Jungkook suddenly asks, his bright hair flopping as he pulls off his jacket. “You finally feel better?” 

“Awhile ago,” he sleepily responds, a yawn swallowing his last syllable. “And yeah.” Joints popping at his upward rise, he grimaces while Namjoon cuts through the youngest one’s laughs, 

“I dunno about that, old man. Is it like that every morning?” 

Your favorite nickname for him echoes lovingly through his mind. Like a rush of water to soothe the burn of his terrors. “Pretty much.” 

Hobi can’t help but chuckle with a finger point, the company to his misery. “I’m getting like that, too. It’s only a matter of time for you, Joonie.” 

The tallest in the room sighs before everyone locks into work mode, “Looking forward to it.” 

— 

—

Ah. Back here this time? Looks like his younger self needed him to drop into this one, if only to give him support from another celestial plane. 

“How can you call this work? You don’t do shit!” 

“We’re working on a project—”

“We? Are you even on it?” 

The roll of his chair bumps into the bed frame behind him. “I’m… Making some of the decisions, but—”

“So you aren’t even in charge? What are you gonna get for this?” Not a lot. But his silence answers before he can give a true amount. “Exactly. So ridiculous, you need to get a real job that gives you real money to pay for all this shit.” 

Yoongi was doing just fine when it was just him. But taking care of someone that has a bit more refined taste, too? It’s draining him to the point of alarm. “We can cut our spending, too, you know.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“We don’t have to get food all the time. We can just cook here.” 

“But… Ugh, doing all that work just to eat and then clean?” 

Well. Yes. That’s the order of operations. From his leaned position in his bedroom doorway, Yoongi shakes his head. Even cooking was an issue? He did it all the time when he was alone. It’s not hard. What the hell did he get himself into? How did he not see any of this from the jump? 

“My uncle might be hiring. I can ask him to get you an interview or something, but you cannot fuck it up.” 

“Where at?” 

“Does it matter? It’s a job.” She sighs while sliding hair down her shoulder. Oh, how he’s been tricked by that move too many damn times. “It’s downtown.” 

Fuck. That’s way too far from the studio he’s working at. There’s no way he’d be able to work both… And she knows it. Goddamn. “You really want me to quit?” 

She gives him a look, and he can’t tell if she’s stricken or annoyed at the question. “I mean, not… Really. It’s just…” A sigh. “I’d rather you get a real job now and make music when you’re more stable.” 

Even now, Yoongi gets that. But at the same time, nothing else truly called to him. Music is his real job, the very thought of doing anything else makes him anxious. He doesn’t want to commit to anything that he’ll dread going to every fucking day of his life. But if that’s what she wants, he’ll at least try because he cares about her. Enough to lose a part of himself along the way? Guess so. 

Guess so. 

“Yoongi?” 

His head jolts from the memory as he’s positioned in the middle of a studio. The very current studio that’s only a few doors down from the job he ended up getting years ago. Several pairs of eyes are staring as he takes in his surroundings. Shit, when did he wander off? How did that even happen this time? Why is he looking at a very familiar band he’s listened to for years? 

“You okay, man?” One of them asks, a guy with such a relaxed look that just seeing him makes Yoongi’s shoulders loosen. “It’s just us, no need to be scared or anything.” 

“I dunno, Sammy, you look kinda rough around the edges in person.” 

“Do not?” 

Beside him, Hoseok claps Yoongi on the back, his grip both comforting and telling him to get it the fuck together. “He’s fine! We’ve just been busy, and this guy’s been working hard to get everything ready for you guys.” 

“Give him a sec,” Namjoon agrees, shaking all the band’s hands while Yoongi continues to buffer. “But yeah, we’ll give you a quick look inside and see if it works for you?” 

“Works for us,” Sammy agrees with a smile. “Lead the way.” 

All four members walk through the recording room door after Joon, thanking Jungkook for keeping it open before he heads inside, too. Leaving Yoongi with a very concerned Hobi, who turns to him with furrowed brows. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” he finally forces out, throat scratched. Fuck. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“If something’s up, tell us.” Hoseok watches the silent movements and conversations happening through the studio glass. “Your gut’s the one I trust the most.” 

Oh. Wait. That’s not nearly what Yoongi’s got on his mind. Even though he’s snuffed out flaky musicians and artists before today, that isn’t the current issue. That’s not what’s sticking to his mind like a parasite and feeding him random haunts from his past. “Nah, it’s not that. I’m just shocked they’re here.” 

“Right! When Jungkook said it’d be a surprise, he wasn’t kidding. I might damn near faint.” 

“Don’t do that just yet,” Yoongi warns. “We can’t have two of us out of it.” 

They both puff out laughs at his previous blanking. And they fall silent with folded arms when Woosung—Sammy—picks a guitar off the wall for hopeful inspection, nodding and smiling at a doe-eyed Jungkook. 

The kid knows how to develop connections, that’s for sure. He needs to start doing that, too. 

“But seriously…” Yoongi looks at Hoseok, met with a stare that he only gives when wanting nothing but the truth. “Anything bothering you? You looked… I don’t even know.” 

“I’ll be fine, Hob,” he breathes out in a sigh. “Just got some things on my mind.” 

The look keeps going, and going, and going. But there’s no more scrutiny when Hobi finally turns forward with an unconvincing, “Okay.” 

—

—

Embers crackle while sparks float to a darkened sky. Yoongi can still smell the metal of the train tracks, still feel the dirt under his shoes as he tips a bottle for another sip. 

A bunch of them were gathered that night. And he wasn’t gonna miss this no matter what, already expecting the onslaught of terror waiting and pacing the cage he calls his apartment. 

Since he got that job downtown, he’s been trying his best to do the work and head across town to the studio to finish things there. But that effort wasn’t taken pleasantly. Apparently, she wasn’t asking him to make music a hobby; she was telling him to give it up—for now, of course. Always for now. And he ended up leaving it far, far behind. 

After he gave that up, everything else followed. Every time he made plans to hang out, he got yanked back into the apartment, whether by a desperate arm or a scathing, manipulative scowl. His whole life was being stripped away. Nothing was his anymore. 

But this night? He finally got away. And Yoongi watches as his younger self faces the heavens with a wide smile. 

Your brother’s there, along with some friends he hadn’t seen in ages. Even a younger Jungkook tags along, watching as they push each other in abandoned shopping carts and fling random stones in open spaces. All of them in questionable fits, his hair as vibrant as a polarizing ice cream flavor, everything defines this pocket of time and no other. 

Watching them like this? Yoongi almost buckles from the pang of nostalgia seizing his chest, wrapping its roots around his heart in a bittersweet embrace. It reminds him of a balcony. It reminds him of you. 

This is the night he chose to not go home. Because his home is here with his friends.

Fuck everything. Fuck life. Fuck love. It was all he could say and express as all of them stuck middle fingers to the world, as if doing so would banish all the troubles in their lives. Every single conversation he had that night was cynical in a freeing way. Because nothing mattered. They were all infinite. Infinite and infinite. 

With each bottle chucked into a blazing fire, his eyes droop lower to the ground. Without much effort, his head lolls, mirroring a few others around him until they’re a heap of buzzed freedom and youth. And honestly, he doesn’t remember much beyond this. He doesn’t even remember who drove him back to your place. 

They were infinite—

A vacuum sucks Yoongi out of his dream so fast he flinches, muscles seizing and locking at hard angles. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is happening? Focus on something, anything. Is this his room? Okay, he’s in his bed. 

Raking sweaty fingers through his hair, Yoongi closes his eyes, centering himself as he slowly raises to a sitting position. His room. His desk. His television. Even his sheets look fine other than his crumpled side of the bed. What the fuck was that. 

He’s never experienced something like that. Sure, he’s been yanked from a dream while in free fall, or when he’s almost slammed into something. But he wasn’t even doing anything that time except lulling to sleep? So what the fuck was that about? 

Shit. The whole fucking point was to get this shit under control. To fight the memories and the dreams and shove them out of his mind to make room for his own. For yours. Yours and his, his and yours. So why hasn’t he even been trying? 

Panic starts to rush up his throat, clogging it and jamming and amalgamating into something so thick he can’t even breathe. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, get the fuck up. 

He hasn’t had to do this in so long he’s almost embarrassed to reach for what he’s beelining for in his kitchen, perched on top of the fridge behind an unopened case of water bottles. Water bottles. Yoongi clings onto a familiar memory with you yet again. You, you, you. 

The bag crinkles as he rips it open, some wrapped pieces pinging onto linoleum. As he hastily opens one of the candies, he pops the sour coated lifeline on his tongue, slowly closing his eyes and sagging against his refrigerator. 

Shaking, shaking, sour apple, stop fucking shaking. Breathe. In out in out in out in out. Eat another one. Breathe. Silence. Clear head. Sour cherry. Nothingness. 

Breathe. 

Sliding down chilled aluminum, Yoongi feels his ass hit the cold ground, his arms immediately coming up to rest on tired knees. After a minute goes by, he lets more pass. Then another. And another. And another. 

It’s not fun knowing the panic’s back. 

As much as Yoongi wants nothing but your concern crossing kitchen tile, he’s thanking the universe that you haven’t ever seen him like this. Your brother has, but you don’t need to. Ever. But if his demons have all the power again, he might be too far gone.  

—

—

He should feed the cat.

Never mind.

The food from two days ago is still there. Which means she left him a long, long time ago.

—

—

What day is it. Is that the sunset or a new day. 

Doesn’t matter, does it? Even music doesn’t call to him now. 

And that single, damning fact slathers his whole brain in shadow. 

—

— 

A knock sounds at the door. Which Yoongi completely ignores until it erupts into straight banging. 

“Fuck, hold on,” he rasps in a cracked whisper, falling off his couch before his arms crumple, every muscle in his body creaking with lack of use. Pain jolts through his limbs as he lies there for a beat, jump-starting his mind into sudden, bleary awareness. 

What day is it? How did all these bottles get on the floor? How fucking long has it been this time?

More knocks break through the fog of Yoongi’s brain before a voice pierces the door, “I swear to god if you don’t let me in—!”

A sigh escapes in the dark. Jimin. 

Shit, Yoongi doesn’t wanna be seen. Not now. Not when he can’t even recall the past however many hours. But knowing this particular guest, the door will be kicked down if he doesn’t answer soon. 

Hissing, he slowly gets up, stumbling to the door a few steps away before resting shaking fingers on the doorknob. Breathe. Just fucking breathe. 

“Alright, you motherfucker, I’m breaking this fucking door—”

Yoongi cracks it open a tad, a sliver of his unkempt hair and stubbled chin the only things he’s willing to show. His eyes squint as bright light spills into his apartment, but all he can see are the telltale shoes of his best friend. 

“...Yoongi?” 

When he finally looks up, his heart clenches and erupts all the way up to his ducts. The first emotion he’s felt in the sludge of time he’s been chained to his dipping, sagging sofa. 

Because Jimin is staring right at his face. Eyes so rubbed they’re rimmed red. “I thought… I didn’t… No one knows where you are,” he starts, shaking the words out of puffed lips. “And when your phone kept going to voicemail, I—I couldn’t think of anything except coming here so when you weren’t answering the door, I thought—” 

As soon as Jimin breaks, Yoongi slowly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on the door’s edge. Nothing can get him like this other than the tears of a select few. If you had been the one crying at his doorstep, he probably would have given everything up.

But his mouth is so dry he can’t form words, arms so numb he can’t move them to swing the door. There’s dust where his tongue sits, shadows at the edges of his fingers. Anything he tries to say is swallowed, adding to the lump in his scratchy throat. Instead of a tempest of rage, this is the other way to lose control. The subtler, scarier, sinister way to let go. 

Yoongi says nothing. Because he can’t think of anything to say at all.

“Are you listening to me?”

Unmoving, Yoongi breathes, long hair falling onto his paling cheek. He doesn’t even know what month it is. And that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear the next sentence. So Jimin says it again,

“Let me in.”

“Gimme a sec,” he croaks. 

“Now.”

A sigh. Yoongi knows he lost the second he heard Jimin’s voice through wood. So he slowly wills his body to move, stepping—swaying—to the side to let his friend into a dark, blacked out space.

“Holy fuck,” Jimin curses, stepping through a sea of glass bottles before wrenching open the curtains. Light bursts around his silhouette and, for a split second, Yoongi thinks he sees an angel in his living room. 

“Yes. Okay.” With hands on stern hips, Jimin nods to himself before inspecting the litter around his feet. “Yeah, I’m staying here now.”

—

—

“You don’t have to do this,” Yoongi drones while his best friend scuttles around his apartment like a roomba. Clinks of trashed bottles and shifts of trash bags rattle next to the front door, and he sighs before looking out the window. “I’m up now.”

“You don’t get a say in it,” Jimin blithely responds, hauling another groaning trash bag from the kitchen. “And stay there, I’m almost done.” 

“Where the fuck would I go.”

“Anywhere but here?”

Yeah. Right. Where else would he even go right now? Your room is the only place he wants to take residence in—the room in which he said goodbye without knowing when the next hello would be. 

When’s the last time he’s even texted you? Shit, he really has left you behind completely and he feels like a fucking idiot. 

Determination thumps to the door, with a little more force than necessary, though understood. Jimin rarely gets this mad, so when he does, molten emotion rolls off of him in reddened waves, “Couldn’t even fucking call? Text? Do you ever think about what that does to all of us?” 

Yoongi buries a hand in his hair. “Listen, I—”

“Shut the hell up. You don’t get to have excuses this time. Last time this happened you scared me to death and I am not letting it happen again.” 

“You see me. I’m alive. So you can go home.”

Jimin whirls at the door before slamming it behind him, eyes wide in shock as he stomps to the kitchen. “If you think you can get me to go home, you’re an idiot. What else hasn’t been cleaned in a week?”

…A week? Fuck. Maybe it is better if Jimin stays. 

His friend wrings his hands in water before drying them, moving to sit in the chair you usually occupy. Used to occupy. Yoongi’s head sags. 

Jaw ticked, Jimin sits and rests elbows on his knees, brows up in a way that leaves no room for arguments, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

With a sigh, Yoongi closes his eyes, shifting his own jaw in the hopes he can find enough courage to do this. Because even though Jimin knows most about what happened before, he’s been the one pushing him to move forward, not backward. Which means Yoongi is in for a verbal beatdown. 

But before he can say anything, Jimin urges again, “Start talking.”

Fuck. “Go home.”

“No. Try again.”

It’s back. The anxiety. Making him vacate his seat and slink against his bedroom door. “I’m not doing this right now.”

Jimin rockets out of his chair right after, getting all into his space. “Tough fucking shit. Tell me. Now.”

He can’t. The words won’t come out. “It’s nothing.”

A bubble of caustic laughter flings out of Jimin’s throat before he outright shoves Yoongi against his door. Slight pain erupts from his back, branching out and alerting his body with adrenaline. But he’s so numb he doesn’t even say anything. Nothing. Just… pain. 

“Is that it? Not even gonna say anything?”

Silence. Yoongi can only serve silence. A lighter push at his chest doesn’t do anything either, neither do the grips at his shoulders before he’s shoved against wood. Is this all he has left? Pain? He can’t feel anything else. Why? What’s happening? Why is he so… drained? 

“Yoongi…” The words wobble. So soft now. So pleading. “…What’s wrong?”

Like a burst of shock, that jumpstarts something deep.

A thousand things. Three thousand things. All of them having to do with him and his inability to deem himself worthy of the one thing he wants most. His shameful weight of the past barring him from everything good, and bright, and healing. 

You would ask him the same question. Yoongi knows it in his heart. But here you are, giving him the space he asked for and trusting him with your feelings because that’s just… You. And he has done absolutely nothing to show for it.

A whole week passed and he didn’t know it? He still doesn’t even know what day it is. How long has he kept you in the dark? How long will he keep failing you because this isn’t fair to you at all. You deserve better. 

…Is this when he lets you go?

Dark, painful throbs in his chest let him know he’s barely alive. But if he’s been radio silent with no explanation, who fucking knows what you’re thinking now. About him. About yourself. Fuck, the panic is rushing in again and his breaths are short, short, short—

A hand warms his shoulder, prompting him to look up and notice that blurred, wavering red eyes are staring back at him. 

And the only thing Yoongi feels after that is a hot trail of regret down his cheek. 

“Fucking hell, man—” The pull yanks at Yoongi’s heart as strong arms wrap tight around his shoulders, and he buries searing eyes into his friend’s familiar cologne, drowning it in heaves of sobs that burn his lungs and spread fire into his throat—burning, burning, burning. His heart is on fucking fire. 

But Jimin is there, hugging tight and trying his best to smother the flames, choking on his own sobs and apologizing for anything. Everything. Nonsense, but it’s Jimin all the same. 

“I can’t fucking win,” Yoongi chokes out, finally setting all the fears free. “She’s always here. I can’t… Fuck.”

Jimin grips tighter. “You can,” he says with a rasp. “I promise you can.” 

“How do you know.” He can’t even recognize his own voice. “You don’t know what it was like.” 

Jimin flinches before holding on even tighter. “Because you won’t do it alone this time.”

Yoongi feels a vice clamp his chest.

“I’m… Shit, I’m really sorry for not trying harder before. We all are. We were young, and stupid, and should’ve paid a lot more attention instead of…” His friend sighs to the ground. “Instead of letting her slowly kill you.” 

It’s a gut punch. Reliving all those memories is confirmation enough. 

Jimin chokes out his last vow, and it tugs at Yoongi’s very being. “So. Yeah. I’m not leaving until you know you have someone. Even if it’s just me.” 

Now Yoongi feels like an asshole. All that time, he’s been so lost that he didn’t even think of his friends. The self-deprecation devolved into self-isolation, squeezing him inside a smaller and smaller box until he couldn’t breathe. He owes Jimin more than his life. 

Hands slowly raise, hope and promise lifting them to his friend's shoulders. There’s a million words he can say to this man, but the only thing that comes out is a mere, “Thanks.”

“You’re thanking me now, but. Even if you get annoyed, I’m not leaving.”

A knock comes at the door, and Jimin finally leans away before smiling. “We’re gonna fight this, yeah? You got us. So get used to it.” 

Yoongi nods. But then gives his friend a scowl. “Who the fuck did you invite to my place.”

Is it your brother? Is it you? Fucking hell, Yoongi would give anything for you to be on the other side. 

But Jimin smirks at his reaction. “It’s not her, but I like the look on your face.” 

A glare is shot while his friend walks to open the door. 

While Yoongi’s heart deflates, he still gives a shake of his head when he sees the newcomer. “If you’re both staying, I’m booking a hotel.”

Taehyung stands affronted while Jimin laughs behind his broad shoulders. “Excuse you? I’ve just been sent here to bring food.” 

Are those bags of groceries? Fuck, he already can’t thank them both enough for what they’re doing. His stomach hollows at the thought of food, which is a good sign because that means he’s ready to eat again. 

“Ah ah, tell him what else.” 

Yoongi tilts his head as he goes to help. “What else is there to do here.” 

Jimin already stormed through like an unstoppable force to clean everything and take out the trash. Ironically, the clouds outside seemed to clear when his apartment did. 

Thumps of vegetables and fruit litter his counters before the newest guest smiles soft, “I’m here to update you on what the love of your life has been up to.” 

Yoongi blinks at paper bags before slowly turning to meet his gaze. Long, speechless, and so fucking relieved. 

“But only if you cooperate.”

—

—

You got the job. And he fucking missed the opportunity to congratulate you. 

Neither Jimin nor Tae judge him for needing a moment to himself. 

—

—

This memory is one he hasn’t visited yet. But Yoongi recognizes it immediately, and he steps aside as his younger self bolts from your brother’s room. It was the morning after they all defied the world. And frankly, he doesn’t remember how they got here but knows for a fact he didn’t drive. Following himself into your familiar foyer, he winces at his own freak out, his tousled hair sticking in all directions. 

But both versions of him freeze when he sees you, standing with a spatula in the kitchen he’ll eventually end up kissing you in years later.

This happened right before you left for university, heading to a really good one according to your brother. He didn’t doubt that at all, either. Both of you look so much younger, living completely different lives. 

You barely get out a nervous smile and hello before he quickly comes up to hold your shoulder, noting how softly nice you smell before reassuring, “Hey, he’s fine. But check on him in like an hour.” 

He whizzes away as soon as you ask, “You okay?” 

But he doesn’t have time to explain. You’ll understand. You’re a pretty, smart girl—Wait. Pretty smart girl. Right. 

Yoongi doesn’t know why he looks back, but he remembers seeing you standing in your doorway, watching him open his car door with nothing but concern.

Standing on your porch, his current self remembers that tug in his chest. It was small, but it was there. Regardless, he chalked it up to the anxiety telling him to get home now. So he gives you one more look before shoving into his car and driving off, not knowing he was going backwards that whole time. 

Like a dream, the scene change is abrupt, dumping him in the middle of the fight that happened minutes later. Shards of glass litter the kitchen floor as the bar cart once full of alcohol lies shattered and bleeding potent fumes. 

“You lying mother fucker!” 

“I was helping—” 

“Didn’t even tell me? Didn’t even think to say something?” 

“I was focused on keeping him alive?” Keeping him alive and home safe. Something that your brother had done for him multiple times. He’s with him until the end. End of story. “Are you gonna ask me if I’m okay? Do you even care?” 

Yoongi should’ve recalled that you did. But not right now. He doesn’t think about anything until later. But watching from this side, you were the only one that asked. 

“You’re here, right? That tells me enough.” 

Yoongi stands there. So broken, so distraught. “What if I wasn’t?” 

“Don’t even ask stupid things.” 

“I’m serious. I’d look everywhere for you.” 

She can’t answer. And Yoongi knows exactly why. He loved someone that never loved him back. This is the karma he gets for all the hearts he broke. The people he played with. It’s all rearing its head and kicking him straight in the teeth. 

This was the final straw. He was done feeling like shit in his own home. With one look at the glass pieces at his feet, he loads finality into his tone. “If you can’t answer me, we’re done.” 

“No, babe, please—” 

“Don’t.” 

“…What?” 

“You do this every time.” His younger self’s finally gonna do it. He’s gonna stand up for himself, and Yoongi hates what he’s gonna hear next. “Cut the bullshit.” 

“I’m not, I just—” 

“If you’re gonna answer, answer.” 

“Don’t rush me. You putting this back on me now?” 

“Cool.” He opens the door, signaling for her to leave and never come back. “You’ve already moved or broke a bunch of your shit, so. This should be easy.”  

This is the moment. The singularity that forever sucks him back into the dark.

“Useless piece of shit.” And here it all comes undone. “What a joke. After I bought you all this shit and you don’t even use it.” 

He has. She’s just never paid attention.

“Fucking loser. I gave you the world and you gave nothing. Nothing.”

He gave up everything. 

“It’s sad, really. How you’re only gonna end up alone.” 

That will be true. This is when he decided that, right? To be done with this shit. Done with love. 

“How did I even let you keep me this long?” 

Yoongi stops, his fingers shaking. Him? Keeping her? It’s so twisted that his vision still jangles. He’ll never forget that feeling, being blamed for the exact same thing she had been doing to him the whole time. 

“Forget it. You’re just gonna fuck up until you have no one left. And I can’t wait to see you end up all by yourself.” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond to her wrath, walking to the corner of the room and grabbing the guitar he was gifted. But he’s halted by a pointed finger. 

“Keep that. Cus you’re gonna remember this. You’re gonna realize I’m right and there won’t be a thing you can do to fix it.”

“Are you done actually? Or is this another stunt?” 

“A stunt? The only one that does that is you.”

It’s his turn to unload. And he makes it a point to say everything he needs to. “I don’t do anything. I don’t go anywhere. See anyone. Or whatever the hell you’re accusing me of. I stay here, or go to the studio. That’s it.”

“Some studio you got there. Haven’t even heard one single thing you’ve done this entire time.”

“You’ve never asked.”

“Huh?”

Ah. Yoongi remembers this. Right then, he was finally, finally done. “You never asked about anything I’ve worked on once.”

“Well, you never cared to share.” Acid bubbles from her throat, hair tossed back in an unforgiving laugh. “A fuck-up and now a screw-up? Why did I ever think I deserved you in the first place?” 

Yoongi stares for what seems like the final time. And he couldn’t be happier. “Hope you find someone that you do.” 

And the door shuts right as he’s flung from deep sleep, thrown over any perception of reality and taking in the voice at his face. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay—” 

“Give him space—”

Yoongi shudders, breathing ice cold fire and chilled by the air ghosting over his sweaty back. Front. Legs. Fuck, he’s drenched. 

“Yoongi?”

Gulping air, he flicks his eyes between Jimin holding him steady with shaky hands, and Taehyung on the other side of the bed, watching him with eyes locked and one knee making a hard divot in the comforter. 

Shit. This isn’t like the other night he fell asleep in his kitchen. This is a whole other level of frightening.

“Please say something,” Jimin squeaks out, lightly rubbing him on the shoulder and providing much needed warmth. “Anything. Please.”

“Let him breathe, babe,” Tae softly orders, to which Jimin snaps his head at but calms. 

Tae’s right. Breathe. Breathe deeper. It was just a dream, just a memory, just the past. Fuck. Yoongi thought having people over would help. But that was a terrifying reminder that he was wrong yet again. 

Head dumped in his wet hands, he notices his hair’s new length before raking it back. Looking straight at his desk, he takes it all in, quietly reminding himself that it’s filled with equipment. 

That’s it. Nothing else. Just his equipment, his notepads, his writing utensils. No traces of broken keyboards, cracked monitor screens, snapped wires. Nothing except your light touches which he will take any day over what occupied it before. In his whirlwind of thoughts, he wonders if anything else of yours on that desk would look nice—Ah. He’s truly losing his mind. 

“I’m good,” he croaks, startling everyone in the room including himself. “What the hell happened.”

Taehyung answers first, “We heard a lot of noise, so..”

“We checked in and saw you,” Jimin finishes, his eyes holding back multitudes. 

“Saw me what.” 

“Thrashing.” Taehyung holds his gaze unflinching. Because one of them has to be level headed, and Jimin is clutching Yoongi like he’ll sink into the bed. Maybe he would have. 

“It looked painful,” Jimin rasps out, voice sagging with melancholy. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looks Yoongi in the eyes before whispering, “Does this happen a lot?”

“Not in a minute.” And for once, he’s honest about this. “It’s only the second time recently.” 

He thanks every star above that you’ve avoided seeing both. This is exactly why he shunned himself, isn’t it? Until this is dealt with, he doesn’t think he can be with you on a clear conscience. 

Taehyung’s fully sitting on the sheets now, hair looking like he was yanked from a deep sleep, too. “Have you told anyone about it?”

“No.” 

“You should.”

“Maybe.”

“Tae’s right,” Jimin whispers, his expression filled with grey. It’s a look Yoongi decides he doesn’t ever wanna see on that face. “I think you need that, too.”

Something very close to discomfort creeps along Yoongi’s bones, making him shift in his seat. His very moist seat. God, if he doesn’t shower now he’s causing a riot. “Lemme wash first,” he offers, barred from swinging out his legs until Jimin gets up. When he gets to his bathroom, he flips on the switch inside before deciding, “Then I will.”

Tae stays still as Jimin walks up to his side of the bed. The closer side to the bathroom. “You sure you’ll tell us?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi looks down before heading in to shower, saying one more thing as he shuts the door, “But you won’t see me the same after I do.” 

—

—

He tells them everything. All the memories plaguing him for years. The things they don’t know and some of the things they do. While they listen, Jimin’s eyes blink the least, not wanting to miss a single second. 

Taehyung’s hands grip the couch cushions harder with each passing moment. But neither of them judge. Neither of them offer pity. If anything, they’re ready to pick up swords they don’t have to attack someone that doesn’t exist to him anymore. 

Lies. If she didn’t exist to him, none of this would be happening. 

So therein lies Yoongi’s problem. He needs to get rid of anything that still ties him to her, the biggest one being the guitar watching all of them right now. 

“Why didn’t you tell us. Tell me,” Jimin asks through fresh tears. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“I thought about that for a long time.” Yoongi hangs his head between his knees before lifting. “Turns out, I was just.. Ashamed. I dunno.” 

“Does anyone know all of this?” 

Well. “Just one.” He doesn’t have to elaborate for them to know who it is. 

“I didn’t wanna bother anyone with it,” he finally admits. “Didn’t feel like you guys needed to hear how fucked up I am.” 

“Yoongi.” He raises his gaze to meet Jimin’s. “That’s exactly what we want to hear. Because we’re friends.” 

“You’d say the same to us,” Taehyung adds. “And to her. Who, if I’m being completely honest, would lose her shit if she knew.” 

Yoongi doesn’t doubt that. “I know.” 

“No, you don’t. I’m not saying because of the reasons. I’m saying because she would offer to do exactly what we’re doing now.”

Burns sear around his eyes. Because deep down, he fucking knows that. He does. And yet, he still can’t accept how selfless you are when it comes to him. How good, and reckless, and understanding. And a revelation pierces right through his bruised heart. 

He’s lived in his dark for so long that he’s afraid of your light.

Fuck, his admittance scratches every inch of his mouth on the way out. His heart takes collateral damage, seeping out of his eyes, “I think I have to let her go.” 

In an instant, both pairs of eyes gloss over to match his. 

“I’m doing all this for her,” he rasps out. “Everything, for her. But I can’t fucking do it and she deserves someone that isn’t so fucked—” 

“Yoongi—”

“My ex was right. Back then. Now. She was right.” His voice lulls to a dull thrum. “I’ll just end up alone.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” His head snaps to Jimin’s at the same time as Tae’s. “Are you alone right now? Hmm?” 

No. But he doesn’t say a damn thing. 

“I’ll answer for you since you’re being an idiot. No, you’re not.” That’s not the point, but— “And even if we weren’t here? You’re never alone unless you decide that, not some fucked up ex. And the Yoongi I know? Is too smart to do something so stupid.” 

Ouch. But fair. “That’s not what I mean and you know it—”

“So what? You wanna talk about relationships? Let’s talk about the one you’re in—because yes, you’re in one—and how you’re fucking it up because of some bullshit.” 

“Jimin—”

“No, I’m tired of this shit! Why can’t you see what’s in front of you? Why can’t you see all the good shit you do? Why can’t you just be happy—”

“I’m trying all of that for her—”

“You need to do it for yourself!”  

Jimin stands rigid as his words pulse around the room, eyes swimming and unblinking as Taehyung dons a similar look. 

“This isn’t about her. This isn’t about anyone else.” He shudders out a breath. “Right now? You need to get your shit together to pull yourself out.” 

Shit. 

Yoongi completely lost the point along the way. Didn’t he think like that when all this started? When did it all become so muddled? Did part of him always know this, deeper down? And that’s the part of him that he had left behind first? When he tries to speak, he can’t. No words, no thoughts, no sounds escape the desert of his mouth. 

“And you can do it. I’ve seen you do it before,” Jimin whispers. “But now, you have two people—three people—to fight for this time.” 

Ah. But one of those people still doesn’t know the truth. Doesn’t know why Yoongi’s done this to himself in the first place. A sour laugh leaves his lips before he stares at nothing. “He’s trusted me with everything. And I’ve told him nothing.” Lifting his head, he shudders out, “Say I do all this. Once I tell him the truth… I’m losing him. I know it.” 

“You don’t know that.” Jimin sounds very unconvinced. 

“Hah.. Right.” Yoongi sighs. “We all know he’s gonna kill me.” 

“Well.” Taehyung is the one that finally interjects, and Yoongi shifts his gaze before the man correctly and accurately assumes, “You’d die for her anyway. What’s the difference if he knows.” 

Oh. Well, that’s…

There’s a ping of silence before Jimin blurts a puff of amusement. 

Then Yoongi breaks into a smile as Taehyung’s sudden laugh joins the fray, all of them grinning and laughing because it’s all so fucking simple. Really, really fucking simple. And for the first time in weeks, Yoongi feels like things are gonna be okay. 

Coming down from the broken ice, Jimin reiterates the whole point, “You’re not gonna lose her. But you will if sulking is all you’re gonna do.” 

A nod. “I know.” 

“So what are you gonna do?” 

Yoongi looks at them both, then sweeps his gaze around the living room before landing on his coffee table. Warmth fills the divots in his cheeks as he allows himself to grin, not caring if he gets peculiar looks at his first order of business. His highest priority. 

“Gonna move some books.” 

—

—

The loudest roar of thunder signals the end of a storm. And in following that same pattern, the rest of Yoongi’s week goes by dreamless. Calm. Merciful. 

And he cannot thank Jimin enough. 

He helps him when he cooks, drags him out for walks in the afternoon, and even Taehyung drops by to show him a bunch of movies that he is appalled he’s never seen before. 

Yoongi even goes back to the studio on the regular, earning looks of relief and mild annoyance, which he fully expected. But with minimal questions, he throws himself back into work, urging himself to eventually tell them what happened. 

When Taehyung stays over, too, all three of them simply… Talk. About anything and everything, deeper and deeper conversations the more he gets to know them. Yoongi doesn’t talk as much as they do, but he does divulge a lot more about his past than he ever has. Both of the guys present never judge him for any of it, which makes him feel seen. Feel not so alone. 

Because he’s learning that these experiences are universal. The true danger lies in not knowing how to handle them. How to be accepting of those parts of his life when he’s all he’s got.

Now that he’s got his priority straight, he knows he can get there. He can find that door to himself again, no matter how long it takes. Yes, for you. Yes, for his best friend.

But, first and foremost, for himself. 

—

—

To his complete shock, the cat comes back. And in the quiet, radiant night, Yoongi’s eyes gloss over when his heart tells him her name. 

She’s gonna be yours. For getting the gig. The idea itself breathes life into his soul, and he can’t fucking wait to get everything ready for the day he gets to surprise you.

Finally, Yoongi has something to look forward to. Just wait for him. He hopes you can hold out just a tiny, tiny bit longer. 

Filled with joy and excitement, he sends Tae to the store for some food, supplies, and a new set of bowls, barely noticing Jimin watching his detailed orders with a newfound sense of relief. 

—

—

One day, Jimin comes back from work and asks if Yoongi is ready to see people. When he asks why, he talks about his brilliant idea of bringing the parties to him. When Yoongi continues to ask why yet again, it’s to fill his apartment with even more life. Maybe even a certain person will come, too. 

Nah. You probably won’t. 

But if you do? Yoongi won’t be able to contain himself. And just knowing that he’s okay with feeling that way is a step in the right direction. 

—

— 

Three months.

Based on the date on the studio monitor, it’s been three months since he left. Way too long, and the remorse in his stomach is acidic. 

Three months. How many seconds is that? You would know. You’re brilliant and know everything except the dark secrets he can’t tell you yet. 

And it’s the deepset shame lining his bones that won’t allow him to go see you, as much as he fucking wants to. Letting it all out for his friends did lift an astronomical amount from his shoulders, but now he’s embarrassed as hell for taking this long to do something so simple that he’s still unsure. Unsure of when he can show himself to you again and is terrified at how you’ll perceive him. 

But just because he doesn’t know about seeing you. Doesn’t mean he can’t at least talk to you.

And he’ll make that call last the entire night. Jimin and Tae have given him space for a little while now, both of them back in their respective places, so he has the apartment to himself and your voice. If you give him another chance. 

It’s that one solid loophole that has him rushing out of the studio and eager to finally ring you up. The uneasiness is getting beaten out by excitement, pouring over from the news they all received about the album release party. 

Things are finally, finally, finally looking up. He’s feeling better. Not enough to face you, but enough to not feel worse than complete shit. But all of that freshly blossomed energy sweeps into a torrent of worry as soon as he’s greeted with silence on the line. 

“Hello?” 

He can’t blame you for hesitating. Fuck, you’re probably over him and are just answering out of pity. You aren’t saying anything. Shit, he fucked all the way up. 

But your silence isn’t because of anger. Or annoyance. Because you make the smallest, most desperate noise he’s ever heard in his life. 

And the intention to burn the rest of the world shatters every shackle he’s placed on himself, fierce sparks igniting his body to go wherever the fuck you are and deal with anything awaiting his wrath, “Where are you.” 

He’s coming to you no matter what. 

—

—

Is that you? Are all those bags chips? 

Holy fuck, that’s the funniest shit he’s seen in months. 

He’s so fucking in love. 

—

—

He wants this drive to last for hours, if only to maintain this expansion in his chest that lets his lungs breathe. 

Being in the car with you? Your pretty voice singing along to all his favorite songs? This will always be one of his favorite things, long after he’s too old to operate even the slowest vehicle in existence. 

Remembering the mountain of bags in the backseat, he selfishly tuts, “You still have to gimme chips.” And he also selfishly glances over your chest when you reach behind to get a random flavor. Goddamn. You’re still perfect. 

“You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

…Did he just say what he thinks he said? Well. No taking it back now. Especially when it felt like the most natural thing to call you. An oath. A reminder. To himself, more than anyone else. 

It takes you awhile to respond as you open the bag. And Yoongi assumes your comment is to brush off the same sudden shock he still feels, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh before pulling down your dress. Wait, are you cold? “I know you are.” 

He doesn’t know how to take that compliment, reaching into the bag and watching you shiver, wondering why you’re just dealing with the chill. “Why?” 

Yoongi is so thrown off by your reason that he laughs after you say it, “I just… You read.” 

His cheeks strain as he lowers the fans, the music now commanding most of the air space. The way you’re turned away is so cute, and you immediately stop fidgeting with your tiny dress. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table. And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

Did he ever tell you that? He doesn’t remember saying it, so did you just accurately read him again? Who’s the avid reader now? But speaking of those books… You don’t know what he did with them, or why, and that curves his mouth up a tad. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

Perfect. You lead him right where he wanted you to. Proudly telling you why, he says it all through a smirk, “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

“Oh, bullshit!”

You’re tickling him while he’s driving? That’s unfair as fuck! “You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Mm. That sounds like a damn good idea. The visual in his mind is nowhere close to appropriate, and Yoongi’s enjoying your squirm in his passenger seat. Elated you’re back in it in the first place. But you’re almost out of reach again. And he’s dreading the next rolling stop. 

At least he gets to hear your huffs again. Those are his absolute favorites. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same person he left behind, and his heart pangs from the need to do it once again. 

But your quick resistance halts his brain. Screeches it to a stop. Fuck, you’re begging him not to do it and he doesn’t want to do it but it’s the right thing. He’s trying to do the right thing but god, does he want to just veer off the goddamn street. He can’t. He can’t he can’t you can’t— “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

…What? Yoongi stills, mind resetting and going blank. 

Still miss you? He’s never fucking stopped. 

Suddenly, Yoongi abandons any sense of restraint. All control he previously held onto falls away and crumbles to dust. You have his full attention. And you rip his soul to shreds with every word you say,

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t…” The shake of your exhale rattles his eyes. “I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

God, he feels the same. You could both sit in silence and he’d be filled with joy just looking at you. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” 

Shit. 

“I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

Yoongi doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Every brick. Every wall. Every fortress he’s built around his mind crumbles into stardust, shards pinging around his ribs and cutting into his beating, beating, beating heart. 

A day was enough for him to miss you. And these three months have felt like three years. 

There’s no denying it. He fucking needs you. 

Of course. That’s the only reason he sped down here to pick you up and pinned you against his car as if you’d flee. You’re his oxygen, his inhale, his breath of life and hope for new beginnings and goddamn if he lets you go now you’ll never know it—

“Stop.” 

Just tonight. He’ll allow himself one night. Does he deserve it? Probably not, but you sure as fuck do for laying your dying heart in his withered hands. 

And Yoongi decides with a lock of his jaw. Following where his own broken heart points and peeling out into the street.

—

—

Once he gets his hands on you, Yoongi can’t fucking stop. From the car to the walls of his apartment, his fingers can’t decide where to stay, raking down your sides and tugging you close before finally shoving you against his bedroom door. 

God, your touch. Your lips. Your little sounds of pleasure. Why the fuck did he deprive himself of the one person that makes him whole? Yoongi’s so lost in you that he barely remembers his pain, and he loves the way you laugh in the face of it. So fucking hot. 

Closer. He needs to be closer and it’s driving him mad how he’s limited to pressing against your front. Hitching your leg up, he shoves himself forward, the rush of blood tightening his groin and emptying reason from his head. 

This is already too much. You’ve already taken things too far. But goddamn, he’s not stopping even if the entire complex broke down his door. “Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan and he’s a goner again, the next twitch in his pants straining against your soft pelvis. When a plea leaves that pretty mouth, Yoongi’s ready to give you the world. All you have to do is say it and it’s yours and yours alone. “Please what.” 

The tug of his hair makes him groan, but it’s your words that drag his soul across coals, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

What did you fucking say? 

Nah. Yoongi needs to hear that again because he cannot forgive himself if he’s hallucinating all of this, too. Yanking you forward, he strains his ears just to be bombarded by your demands, 

“Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

You’re gonna be the fucking death of him. “The fuck.”

Any hesitance Yoongi had before flings out the door. The whole time he’s trying to do the right thing, here you are spewing everything good and wrong and he’s enraptured. You’re clearly not holding back, so why wouldn’t he match that chaos like his life depended on mania? You give and give and give, and Yoongi makes it his mission to reciprocate. 

Soon, he’s everywhere, swallowing you devouring you inhaling you like his last meal of his last life. Busting into his bedroom, the hot rush of adrenaline magnifies his darkest thoughts. But you don’t even give him the chance to say them out loud because what the fuck he’s in his chair now? “Babe—”

What the fuck? What’s gotten into you and what can he do to suspend this moment in time? You’re sin incarnate at his feet, dropping to your knees and attacking him, undressing him with a force that downright startles him through. 

It borderline scares him because he’s never seen you like this. Shit, he can’t shake an icky feeling off now and he can’t fully immerse himself in the moment if he’s correct. “Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward. And Yoongi lets those sparkling eyes lure him down. 

Fuck, fuck, focus. The way you hold his cock is heavensent and the feeling will never get old and he can’t help but groan at the feel of your fingers. But the feeling is still there. The question is still occupying his mind. 

So Yoongi utilizes every single ounce of control to stop you, saying your name for the first time in weeks. When you shoot him a look of rejection, his heart breaks in two, because your mind is like his when it defaults to the worst possible scenario. 

All he wants to do is kiss you. So he does just that, keeping it tender to calm your potential buzz. Voice soft, he asks through the dark blue of night, “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” 

Ah. He was right. Fuck, if you aren’t lucid enough, this has to stop right now. No matter how fucking bad he wants to tear you apart. 

But you reach out to palm his cheek, as if you knew exactly what he was getting at without asking. “I’m not drunk, baby. I just missed you.” 

Please be telling the truth. He won’t live with himself if you aren’t telling him what’s really going on. 

“I’m not,” you reassure through a smile that he’s missed so fucking much. Once again, Yoongi kisses you, because he can’t bear not feeling those puckered lips on his for another second. How strange it is, being able to breathe best when his mouth is smothered by yours. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

Holy fuck, you can’t do that. You can’t just say shit like that and get away with it. It’s infuriating in the best way and Yoongi will worship this new, unbridled attitude of yours. What an honor to say he knew you had it in you all along. Yoongi never doubted your skyrocketing appeal for a second. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.” You don’t even give him the mercy of a warning. All Yoongi feels next is those angelic, sinful lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut as his head kicks back in a moan. 

Euphoria. You’re his beginning and end, the middle and the rest. Nothing else in the world can bring him to his knees like this, and he can’t imagine being anywhere except at your feet. He’s in trouble. You’re not going home for a long while. 

Every swirl you make zings light along his limbs, and he opens soul-sucked eyes to you tugging your dress down fuck. 

He tastes himself when you kiss him, the wet of your efforts slathering around his mouth but he doesn’t fucking care. Reaching out, Yoongi smacks at your perfect tits, laughing to himself knowing how lucky he is. “Get the fuck back down there.”

And the smirk you send his way makes him fall in love ten times over. 

Yoongi doesn’t even know where he is. And this time, he counts that as a win. Because your licks and sucks are sending him into space, straight past the stars and into the next galaxy over. When the fuck did you get this good? It’s spurning the competitive side of him that vows to not lose to you even though he perpetually will. “Holy fuck.” 

His back muscles strain between arching and collapsing, the squeak of his chair the choir to your sinful symphony of sounds. Unbelievably hot. He may as well pass away from how good you’re milking him down.

Then he feels the back of your throat and then some. And something ignites in his core that causes his hands to find your head. 

Fuck, your eyes. They’re molten. “So fucking filthy...” 

Your laugh around his cock sends him into another frenzy. “Don’t do that.” 

But you disobey like the good girl you are, unsheathing your mouth just to swallow his balls oh goddamn. “Fuck!”

It’s over. It’s over for him. All you have to do is tell him what you want and he’s shoving the world aside to make it happen. Your insecurities? He’s banishing. Your wants and needs? He’s providing. There’s no one else but you and his chest is heaving with shallow shallow shallow breaths. 

When you let him push you closer, Yoongi groans, tapping that pretty cheek with his length and savoring the way you suck him back in like an addiction. 

He’s addicted to you, too. And after tonight, he doesn’t think he can ever get enough. The withdrawals will hit like no other, and he’ll shake and tweak until the next time he can steal you away. “So perfect… So fucking perfect… There will never be anyone else.” 

Can you even hear him? You’re so goddamn loud. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” Yoongi praises, thrusting into the heat of your mouth and shivering at the sensation you’re willing to give every time. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re already a beautiful sight around his cock. But when you come up for air, erotic effort dripping from your mouth and sloping down in strings to your bare chest? That’s when you’re mesmerizing. And Yoongi doesn’t dare to look away from your face. 

What the fuck, you’re going in again? Fuck that. You’re gonna make him bust before he gets the chance to ruin you. 

Gathering sweaty hands under your arms, Yoongi yanks you upward, tossing you onto his bed and growling with pride. After he’s through with you? You’ll never doubt where he stands anymore. And quite honestly, he’s damn near scared you’re gonna realize you’re much better than him, in every aspect of your promising life. 

Because you’re radiance personified, laughing up at him as if he never left you in the dark. How he played with your light, Yoongi won’t ever forgive himself. But you already have. And his heart lurches forward to worship you. 

“Take this off,” he commands into your chest. Because he needs it all. Everything, everything, everything. “No more hiding.” 

He helps you with shaking hands as you strip the dress for him, breath ragged with excitement and relief to have you here again. When you question your shoes, Yoongi immediately interrupts, because this is a fantasy he’s had from the fucking jump. “What about my—”

“Don’t.” He grips your pliant thigh. “I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” 

That’s right. You’re getting all of him—the good, the bad, and all the forbidden thoughts he’s kept locked away. All of it’s now unleashed, unlocked by your ability to finally tell him what you want. 

When Yoongi smacks the side of your ass with a possession he’ll think about hours from now, the sound you make launches him to the edge. And when he wrenches your legs apart, his eyes blow obsidian at the sight between them. 

Yeah. He’s wrecking your shit tonight. And you’ll feel so good he might cry. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you whisper soft, a far cry from your uninhibited demands from earlier. 

But the feeling inside Yoongi’s chest renders him even softer. Because yes, he’s going to. But there’s so much he didn’t get to do, so many things he’s been wanting to give but tore apart every chance. 

You deserve more. A whole lifetime more than what you’re asking for. And Yoongi can only summarize how he feels with a single sentence, “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You don’t truly understand. But that’s okay. All you need to do is sit back and let him cherish you, starting with the smooth skin of your ankle that he brings in for a soft kiss. 

There’s no way to deny anything anymore. Here you are ready to be used, and Yoongi’s taking precious seconds to plant kisses on your leg? Of fucking course he’s too far gone. He’s been too far gone for months. If there’s one way to show you how he feels without words, he’s gonna take it. Because those three syllables are too profound to be said in a mere tryst under moonlight. 

So he pries your legs apart with passion taking the reins, growling out safer thoughts that praise you, “So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and he cups your cunt to shut that shit down. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, now shy and looking more like yourself. It strikes his heart so hard a confession flows right out of his mouth, 

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” Goddamn, that grin. Yoongi has found a new obsession. 

“Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” Perfect. Spill everything from those shining lips, break him down like you did two times tonight already. “Tell me.” 

Yoongi thinks you aren’t gonna do it again. You usually spark like a flare, simmering down after your initial fire then defaulting back to that adorable shyness again. So when you surprise him? All bets are off. Nothing is off limits. 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

And that’s when Yoongi fucking snaps. 

He launches for your throat first, feasting on your succulent skin and forcing you up his bed. When his dick brushes against your soft center, his name expels from your mouth at the same time he groans like mad. “Careful,” he finally sends you a warning about your last demand. Because he needs you to know what’s about to happen in this room. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you hastily respond, gripping his hair just how he likes it. “Wanna stay.”

Stay. He wants nothing but you to do that, too. It’s why he’s wrapping himself around you, latching onto every inch of your skin and grasping at anything he can get his fingers on. 

Of course, reason weasels through his brain again, seeping from his mouth without his permission. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

“Just tonight.” Fuck, you sound deflated already. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” Yoongi tweaks your chest before rolling hard against you, relishing in the feel of your cunt and defying all sense of morals. “Fuck all of that.” 

Kick you out? You’ll learn to never say that again. “Don’t move.”

Yoongi drops to his knees, nudging your legs aside and promising dark and dangerous thoughts against your thigh. Fuck, you smell like heaven. He’s painfully hard and it will take everything in his soul to not come on his bedroom floor. 

What are you flinching for? What did he fucking say? “I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

Patient, he shifts your slick thong sideways, breath heady as his tongue flattens completely against your cunt. And the taste, holy fuck. This is his favorite place and he’ll keep eating until you’re a shuddering, shivering mess on his sheets. The most exquisite mess he’s ever had the pleasure to make. 

A dark chuckle rumbles as you instinctively clamp your legs together. And he will always be willing to punish for that because your little whines in response are his guilty pleasures. “Uh uh.”

You taste so fucking good. All essence pooling from your folds coats his mouth in layer after slick layer, his tongue basking in the warmth of your core and lapping over, and over, and over. Greed is too light a word to describe his thirst, and he sucks at the spot he knows you love until you tremble. 

Gripping his cock with slicked fingers, Yoongi pumps himself slow, moaning as he keeps licking, sucking, penetrating your cunt with his tongue and deciding that’s not enough for him. He wants you losing your goddamn mind because you made him lose his. He wants you thrashing on his sheets and locking those beautiful muscles for hours. 

Your sounds tighten his groin impossibly hard, mingling with the squelches of his feast and the slide of his fingers along his length. Nothing beats this. Nothing will ever compete because you both sound so fucking obscene.  

The neighborhood gets to hear you again, and that thought carves a prideful grin into Yoongi’s features. You’re back, and they’re gonna know it. For as long as he can make you scream. 

When he inserts a finger to join his tongue, the sound you make almost makes him come  oh fuck. Say his name like that again and he will. Days from now, he may even bust off that singular memory alone. 

When you grab at his hair, he knows that’s when you’re close. And it spurns him into his next twisted fantasy that has his stomach fluttering. 

“Yoongi—I’m—” Nope. You’re not getting there yet. And your response curls his mouth into something ominous. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

Unbothered, Yoongi swats your sopping cunt, completely ignoring your cries for release, “What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Such a terrible listener. What a shame he wouldn’t have it any other way. Because every fucking time you speak, he gets to shush you with a wet tap. And every time you decide to be a smart ass, he rewards you with no hope of reaching the edge you so fiercely crave.  

And this goes on for minutes. 

Yoongi has time. In fact, he has all the time in the world when it comes to breaking you down. You’re gonna spiral for him, you’re gonna unwind under his tongue. Because this is what you wanted and he’s nothing but incredibly thorough. 

Your thighs are quivering by the time he’s ready to reward you release, and he kisses them lovingly as you prattle off complete and utter nonsense above his sweaty head. Standing, he roves his gaze over his sheets, satisfied to hell how he’s made you a mess among them. 

And Yoongi is far, far from done with you. Sliding his dick along your folds, he hums, “This is what you wanted, huh. You gonna be a good little slut?” 

That obedience you give sets butterflies free in his chest. Because Yoongi knows you hold all the power here, him nothing but a vessel to carry out your every whim. “Then fucking beg.” 

When his cock pats your pretty pussy, your reaction has him fraying at the seams. So fucking beautiful when you twist like that. He can’t believe you gave him all these chances to see you at your most vulnerable because this is when you can’t hide a single thing from him. Your mouth betrays you in the best ways, your soul speaks to him when your brain can’t find the courage to. 

And Yoongi preens when you shower him with nothing but praise and a sailor’s barrage. His lips find yours after way too long, and when you tug at his shirt his heart pulls taut with it. 

“Please,” you finally beg. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” He does, he does, he does. 

Quickly getting up to grab a condom, Yoongi smirks at the way you keep spouting nothing and everything, as if a dam inside burst with no hope of being stopped. Fully stripping himself, he slips the protection on before finding solace between your twitching legs, kissing you once again because fuck he cannot get enough of you tonight. Ever. No matter what lifetime he meets you in.

When you whisper his name, he takes it in his mouth, and the innate need to have you completely makes a mess of his hands. 

This is what will destroy him every time. This connection with you is what he will remember long after everything else fades away. There will never be another soul that embraces his so fully, and that truth is a belief so deep rooted it’s unshakeable. No matter what branches he cuts off, no matter what decisions he has to make. He will always, always come back to you. 

Because you’re it for him. And he can’t thank his past self enough for walking onto that balcony.

You like it best when he starts slow, especially since it’s been awhile since the last time. When Yoongi knows for a fact you haven’t seen anyone else, either, his heart grows a size, making his breath shudder while he slides further and further inside. 

He’ll wait. As always. But you don’t take long to feel comfortable, your hands lifting up to softly pull at his chains. Yoongi’s shoulders relax as you slide up to hold them for support, and he almost can’t look into those eyes he’s so afraid of.  

Bliss. This is exactly what he’s been fighting for. This is exactly why he’s going to make a much better effort—now, tomorrow, and forever. 

“I’m ready, baby,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi lets himself loose completely. 

Fuck, you feel better than he remembers, wrapping around him just right and pulsing against every ridge. If he could stay inside you every second, he would. There’s only one thing he can think of that would feel better than this, and just imagining that has him vibrating. The warmth enveloping him buckles both arms at your sides, and he crumbles to an elbow to smush his body against yours. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and his eyes blaze and twist at the primal dragon laying claim to you in his chest. Because you’re his, and he’s yours. This is all he ever needed to know. 

“Fuck!”

Fuck, that was too fucking hot. If he doesn’t control himself now he’s spilling inside of you in seconds. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, hissing when he grips your chin once again. “Thank—” 

He’s thrusting inside you too hard you can’t think. But Yoongi doesn’t relent. Because he knows you can fucking take it. He knows how strong and relentless you can be, reckless just for him and pulling those same commitments from his core. 

And you prove him right yet again. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is his unraveling. Watching your eyes roll and your mouth part in release drags him down the shoreline with you, and he can’t fucking save himself because your tugs are too goddamn dominant. Fuck, you’re unbelievable. He will never, ever get enough of you. 

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, smiling lopsided when you remember exactly what he’s referring to. That first night you hustled the shit outta him and left him with a mind so jumbled he didn’t know what to do. God, that was ages ago. He’s not even sure he’s the same person anymore.

But you are. Just a lot more confident. At your core, you’re still the same wonderful woman, and the light in your eyes has not faded even one shade. “Love when you do that,” you admit, and he laughs when you shake your head. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready.” When Yoongi regards you with curiosity, he gets blindsided yet again by your forthcomingness. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Oh. Tonight is his last, it seems. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Sitting back on his knees, he gathers your pretty ankles in a bunch. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.” It’s his turn to not give you a warning. Because you’re slick enough to handle what’s coming and he’s determined to make you do the same. 

Driving hard and fast, Yoongi unleashes his energy, slamming into your pussy again and again and relishing in the way you mewl and moan and whine. Keep doing that. He wants to hear you. It’s fuel for him to keep going and give you exactly what you want and need. If you felt insecure around him before tonight, he vows to erase all of that worry until it’s wiped from existence. You’re his world. You’re his everything. 

“Feel so good—”

More. More, more, more, he needs fucking more. When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” Raising you up by the arms, Yoongi leads you to the edge of his bed before swiping a firm arm to clear his desk. Knowing what he’s about to do, his cock twitches like mad. 

Fuck, you already look divine facedown on the surface, your legs teetering on those heels and making him grit out a groan. 

He cannot come. Not before living out one of his deepest fantasies. Fucking you on his desk? His workspace where he works on his other love? Yoongi’s already shaking before he even grips your quivering hips, shoving your thong away and letting it rest useless on one side of your perfect ass. Fuck. 

“Yoongi—”

He finds home again in an instant, pushing your bowing spine down when you habitually flinch, “Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with his spank. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and teetering just like you had on your high heels. Just the mere sight of you like this makes him spiral. And Yoongi can’t help but whoosh out a raspy laugh. “Goddamn.” 

He grabs your hands, shoving you even flatter against his desk so he can pin your arms against your slick back. Possessive? Yes. Unsatiable? Even more so. 

Your moans fling out as he doesn’t let up, and Yoongi moans at the way you squeeze and milk his cock—relentless, uncompromising, just how he fucking wants it. 

More. He still wants more? Fuck. “Come here.” He gathers your wrists in one palm before reaching around your chest, hauling you up and pinning you against his body by the throat. It’s so sweaty under his touch, glistening and tempting to be sucked until he mars you with lust. 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His next stroke is intentionally harsh, and those moans will take residence in his mind for years. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

Your weight falls on his arms when he shoves into you again, feet scrambling for solid ground and wobbling your legs into jello. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.” That’s all you get before he jumps into a frenzy, pistoning as fast and as hard as he can possibly manage. When he brings you back down to his desk, Yoongi takes advantage of the position, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting into your heavenly velvet. 

This is exactly what he needed. What you needed. Of course you both yearned for the same blue flame, ripping each other apart and rebuilding each other again. 

You’re close. Yoongi can feel you. So he menacingly decides to prolong your release yet again—

You shove him so fast he can’t react, thumping onto his bed and cackling like mad when you leap onto his frame. Fuck, your eyes are so blown and vicious they set him on fire, and he’s gripping your sloping hips and shoving you against his length before he can fully taunt, “Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

Right. He’s already groaning when you take your throne, regal and royal and showing him exactly why he already has. But when you swing your pelvis and take him even deeper, Yoongi reminds himself that he can always fuck you like he doesn’t. And that’s both of your favorite ways to sin. “Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes squeezing shut in lust. He’s so tight that he might hurt you, so his hands grapple his sheets instead and tense his muscles indefinitely. 

You feel good. Way too fucking good. If you’ve been practicing with those secrets you have in your bedside drawer he can damn well fucking tell. Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips with force. “Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.” You’re extending yourself up his body now, upping his heartbeat until it races to catch up with his feelings. But everything unholy fills him to the brim when you arch your tits to his face. It seems you figured some things out while he was gone. 

A dark chuckle leaves as he suckles on one of your nipples, lolling around and drawing whines right out of your lips. It’s adorable to feel you frozen around his waist, too distracted by his tongue that you can’t multitask both ends. 

It’s okay. He can do that for you. Grabbing the back of your neck, Yoongi thrusts himself up into your heat, marvelling at the way your mouth flops open to say his name. “Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you from the other side, and his eyes engulf in black when yours roll impossibly far back. 

Fuck. He’s not gonna last much longer. But you’re gonna reach bliss a thousand times before he worries about himself. “You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him so hard he hisses out a curse. Shit, shit, his release is right behind yours. The way you tug at his cock proves too much, and he stutters out words of encouragement when spilling out his own release inside latex. But you’re inundating around him even after he comes, and Yoongi selfishly commands you with a rasp, “Again.” 

To his shock, you obey immediately, crying out and arching so far back Yoongi feels himself close again, too. Has he come more than once in awhile? He doesn’t remember the last time that happened, if at all. But he knows it can happen with you. There’s no doubt he can get there with you, because he loves you so fucking much. 

Fuck. Fuck, did he just say that last confession out loud? No. No, he didn’t. There’s no fucking way. 

Sitting up, he waits as you sling arms around him, leaning back and smirking at the way the new angle makes you moan. Confident you can do it a fourth time, he repeats, “Again.” 

Your head shakes before your arms lock around his neck, and one tilt of his hips pushes you over the edge. And god. Damn. This reaction you have to your own body sends Yoongi to a higher plane. He stares in awe as your eyes roll again, drinking in the sight of you and questioning what the hell he’d done to deserve a front row seat.

You’ve both come so far. But Yoongi is more proud of you for finding your sensuality in perfect stride and pace. This is wholly you, losing yourself and baring your soul to him in full. Despite what you’re doing, you radiate such an angelic aura, and Yoongi has pricks at the corners of his eyes. 

He has his guardian angel back. And he would burn the universe without a second thought if it kept you safe and warm. “So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out. “Only you.” 

How you decided to stay with him, Yoongi will never be able to fathom. But you came back effortlessly. You welcomed him back like the promise of a nostalgic summer.  

Lowering you to his sheets, he positions you to where you’re most comfortable. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. It doesn’t take him long to trash, and he makes his way back to the bed to take full advantage of your body heat. 

There’s complete silence now. But for the first time in months, Yoongi’s more than fine with that. Because it’s nothing but comforting, with your occasional nudge against his chest and soft breaths warming his chains. 

Soothing your back with circles, something walks into his brain, and he can’t hold it in any longer as his mouth spreads wide into a grin, “I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

That squeal is so fucking worth the surprise. 

“I knew it!” Yoongi pretends to be annoyed when you figure him all the way out. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

Someday, one day soon, he’s gonna take you shopping for her. You’re going to run through his entire wallet, but Yoongi doesn’t care because he’s gonna be at his happiest picking toys and things out for you. 

He can even buy you storage for some of your clothes, too. 

Maybe that can be your next surprise. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate, and Yoongi watches as you attempt to tower over him. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

Gatekeeped? Is that even a word? A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.” Because she’s definitely going to warm up to you more. He’s gonna take pride in the small amount of time he’s the favorite before being recognized as the lowly food and water boy. 

Something softens in your stare. And he’s wondering what’s floating around in that attractive mind of yours. “You took care of her.”

He did. Because she came back when he was himself again. And if that wasn’t a sign for good things to come, Yoongi will make it one anyway. “She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Your eyes still before you offer a smile that stops his heart. When you lean down to give him a kiss, the same organ beats in double time when you plant love on his forehead right after. 

Oh. That was… 

“Come here,” Yoongi whispers, wrapping you against his side as you lie back down. Calling it what it is, he’s simply too shy to look into your eyes right now. “How are you gonna get home?” He’s fine taking you. But there’s a lot of risk there if your brother is awake or driving up at the same time. And—

Shit. You still have those shoes on. They can’t be comfortable while lying down, especially after you took him like a champion.

“I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. Of course you’d still ask that after commandeering the rest of his night. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True. Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” When Yoongi can’t confess out loud, he lets his eyes speak for him. Which makes your voice heavy with apology, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Fuck. “Really hurt.” 

He knows exactly what you mean. It’s been hurting like this ever since he left. Which means he  has to make up all that time. Grappling onto this chance you gave like a lifeline, he’s gonna right all his wrongs and fully commit. No matter how many shadows are in this damn apartment, because he now knows you’ll help chase them away.  

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently shifts his weight, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, hoping you understand what he means. “How about now.” 

Fingers meek, you clutch his head with a broken response, “Maybe try that one more time.”

He’ll do it as many times as you ask. 

Yoongi can feel the shudder in your chest. And he knows what that usually means. So he decides to run from your expression one more time, trying something else to hopefully comfort you. Sliding to the edge of his bed, he gently lifts one of your ankles onto a leg, back fully facing you as he undoes the meticulous leather straps. “I always do, babe.” 

When you’re silent, he slips one heel off before clarifying. “Miss you.”

“I just… Wasn’t sure.” 

He hates the waver in your voice. Hates how he’s the sole cause of it and fighting hard to not hurtle down another hole. “That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, finding comfort in massaging your exhausted soles. If he allows himself to dream, it would be to end each and every night just like this. Driving you to release before soothing your tired bones as you talk about whatever’s on your mind, working toward his dream while you drift off and get lost in yours. 

Can he have that? Will the universe let him have a future despite his past? “Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, turning to look at the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, “A little longer is nothing.” 

Of course. How could you be any less than perfect? A moment passes before he shifts, and this is when he finally spots the ocean of littered pens and papers on his floor. 

Is his smile that obvious? It doesn’t take you long to call his ass out. “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Going through all the other scenarios he’s thought of—one that occurs a little far from here—he grins. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

“Oh? Like what?”

He looks over his shoulder, and you scoff in frustration at his answer, “What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

—

—

Yoongi does his damned best to keep that smile on your face. After a shower that proves steamier than usual, he offers to make you dinner when your stomach roar makes him double over in laughter. And while he whips up a meal from the last batch of groceries Taehyung brought, Yoongi peeks around the bar to watch you discreetly open his front door. 

Wearing a shirt he used to wipe his own tears weeks ago. He’s been an utter, complete fool. 

“Is she there?” He calls out, to which you turn with a prominent pout on your lips. 

“No.” When you huff and puff to the kitchen, his eyes crease tight. “Whatever, I have plenty of time to become her new fave.” 

Over dinner, your laughs mix with his own as you tell him all your work stories. And Yoongi quickly realizes that this could’ve been the whole night and he’d be just as happy. Just as fulfilled. What does that tell him? Nothing he doesn’t already know. 

It’s when you both settle into bed that things simmer. And as Yoongi lies on your hearth of a chest, you tell him everything that happened with Jungkook. How you met, when your brother went from protectiveness to approval, up until the night he broke your heart. 

Yoongi doesn’t say a word. But he does encourage you to keep talking about your new job. Because it seems like the perfect fit for you, which is the complete opposite from where you were before. 

“Oh, wait,” you suddenly stop during a story about office decorating, “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

Now that it’s his turn to speak, Yoongi feels shy. You’ve been experiencing so much while he was away, and it’s relieving to know you didn’t lose most of your spark. “We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” he murmurs. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

You tense. “Me?”

A laugh flows out, warming his cheek. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

It takes a second for you to ask what he suspects you would, “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

Nope. There’s that insecurity again. And he’s already there to push it away, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and landing home on your lips. “It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Oh. Yeah. He loves you more than words could ever convey. 

But he doesn’t feel like he can tell you just yet. That’s the last hurdle he has to clear, and he finds himself eating shit every time he attempts. But it’s okay. There’s still time. Because you chose him again, you gave him another chance, you’re here. 

Finding his spot on your chest again, Yoongi immediately feels at peace. All the nights he dreaded, and all the nights he doesn’t remember—every single one can’t touch him now. Because in you, he finds a safe haven, the rolling hills of your limbs and the valley of your breasts shining and warm under your smiles. 

He’ll find a way to do this. He’ll find a way to set things straight with your brother and his past. Soon. Maybe. Hopefully. 

Yoongi starts to lull as you glide gentle fingers through his hair, something else that lends him the solace he’d been seeking for months. God, all he needed was you. And you’re the only thing he left… behind…

You’re humming. 

Ever the curious musician, Yoongi perks his ears to figure out what you’re singing. Is it something he can recognize? Is it a song he doesn’t know? No. You aren’t humming anything in particular. Which makes this performance unique and only for him, and your soft lilt tugs on every single string of his heart. 

Forget everything he had said before. This is how he wants to end every night, floating amongst your stars while your voice dips his mind in a stream of gentle song. 

God. You’re composing and don’t even know it. The way you stop before trying something different, the small grunt you make before going again to make a phrase better. It’s not unlike his own creative process, and that connection yanks tears straight from his soul. 

What did he ever do. What did he ever do to be with you.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

Yoongi just shakes his head, holding you closer and hoping you don’t notice the droplets through his tee. “Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, moving on to a drumline on his head that makes him huff in pure delight. 

But Yoongi commits that moving line you liked to memory, remembering every note and already weaving it into the fabric of his own making. A breakthrough sparks new life into his eyes, and Yoongi squeezes them tight while his lungs silently burn and burn. 

It’s what he had been fucking missing.  

You were the key this whole time. 

And he waits until you fall asleep to let out grateful, heavy sobs into your chest. 

—

—

The day after you left is one of the most stressful ones of his life. From the whirlwind of a morning to the moment of bravery in the studio to handling your brother, Yoongi needs a whole week of no brain activity. 

But that call with you long after night fell just changed his whole perspective on the time he’d been gone. 

You sounded so broken, so fragile, so defeated. It didn’t matter to have that one night of reunion. He fucked up the next day by falling asleep and leaving you worried yet again. 

You asked if he was done with you. And from the way you asked it, you already believed it to be true. 

And Yoongi never, ever wants you to question where he stands again. Not when there’s three words he wants to say to you every fucking day. 

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. Right towards the corner that stares back. “You’re nothing to me anymore,” he vows, walking to the guitar that almost shies away. “I’m done.” 

Keep saying it. Keep believing it. Keep focusing on the present and grasping that instead. And one day, these words will be truer than true. 

Reaching for the case, Yoongi stops midway, his hand unable to go any farther. 

All he has to do is throw it out. That’s it. Just take it, walk to the nearest dumpster, and discard. Years of toxins will fester somewhere else, and he’ll finally be rid of the dark. 

In the end, he still can’t do it. But that won’t stop him from showing you he’s better now. Showing himself he’s better now. 

Because he is, he is, he is. 

“For us.” 

-

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tbc in fugue, pt. iii

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so... thoughts before part 3? | join the server! | fugue pt. iii

a/n: this was the part that i couldn't write until i knew yoongi was fine. it was always the plan to have him isolated, but to see real life yoongi go through all that last summer.. i couldn't find it in my heart to write his self-isolation and self-deprecation without my soul hurting. it just didn't feel right. but as soon as i saw him okay? 3tan yoongi came back again. and my fingers flew. a/n 2: thank you again, everyone. i hope you all love all the parts of fugue in equal amounts! any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me. again, i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline, but i am back. for real. love you guys so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[aaclariww]

i can’t with this fking man omg he needs so much love he is my baby my shaylaaaaaa can we put him in a glass box so he never suffers again pls 🙏😭😭😭

yoongi's interlude: fugue pt. i (3tan) | myg

title: yoongi’s interlude: fugue pt. i pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)  series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball |  stay |  sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken pt. 1 | broken pt. 2 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ;  brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: he would do anything for you, even if that means leaving your light... to venture into his dark. note: fugue—in music, a compositional procedure characterized by the systematic imitation of a principal theme in simultaneously sounding melodic lines ; a state or period of loss of awareness of one's identity, often coupled with flight from one's usual environment. note 2: if you haven’t read them or haven’t read them in awhile, i highly recommend rereading busted, broken pt 1, and broken pt 2 before diving into this one. note 3: yes. i will hold everyone’s hand this time.  warnings: language, flashbacks, time skips, angst, heavy isolation, brain fog, fugue state experiences, ruined instrument, depression allusions, alcohol mentions and consumption, fight scenes, spice from yoongi’s pov????, trauma, bro is a real one, drugs mention/use, the demons are being fought y’all, among other things😔, blood, yoongi please get up😭😭, darkness, jimin being his ride or die self, surprise reader cameo?, anxiety, ptsd reflexes, the ex is getting screen time🚶‍♀️‍➡️, friendship is truly power, yoongi just needs a gd hug😭, dark thoughts, tension, the ending.. oh god the ending<33 drop date: july 1st, 2025, 7:17pm est word count: 10.9k

—

—

It doesn’t work it doesn’t work it sounds like shit. 

Clacks erupt as Yoongi shoves his keyboard, its thump overshadowed by the rough rolls of his desk chair. 

Pacing along one side of his bed, he goes over what he just heard, fingers splaying across his face before becoming weights at his sides.

This isn’t a good sign. He’s gone at this project for months with absolutely nothing to show for it, any progress on it plummeting after his self-imposed exile days ago. 

To be fair? This is his fault. With the overload of the studio, his own project hasn’t been getting the attention it needs. Amongst other personal work he doesn’t want to confront. 

Which is why it sounds like shit. 

Yoongi hums a run of notes before muttering what he wrote, stopping at the same spot and trying to amend the lyrics with another turn of phrase. 

“Fuck, not that, either.” 

He walks out of his room, absentmindedly rapping with his hands and tsking when he hits a snag. 

Without fail, Yoongi ventures into his kitchen, walking past the fridge and into his laundry space to grab a bottle from a top shelf. 

Logically, he really should just invest in another bar cart. It’s kinda shitty having all these bottles where his washer and dryer sit. But why the fuck would he do that after what happened last time? 

“Are you even—”

No. It’s too early to fight.

Grabbing a dark green bottle and a glass, Yoongi heads back to his room, trying his damned best to figure something out and shoving the memory back in its box. 

A clunk and clink thump down when he does, him pouring a good amount before replaying what’s on his screen.

Mm. It’s definitely incomplete. 

What the fuck is it? What’s he missing?

Be serious. Yoongi knows exactly what’s missing and he’s known this whole time. It’s sitting in his living room laughing. Taunting. Maniacal. 

Fuck, focus on something else. He can do this without that goddamned guitar. Write.

So he does.

Yoongi writes, and writes, and sets it all free. 

Something about life. More about liquor. Mentioning the only things keeping him company after he secluded himself like an idiot. Flying, flying, flying. Falling, falling, falling.

What the hell are these bars? These lyrics are strange. 

Write write write accomplish something, goddamn. 

Morning slinks by as he loses himself, thrown into a kaleidoscope of life and words and spirals in the dark. 

Rain. Rain rain rain no tears only rain. Ripping a page. Thunder in silence thunder in darkness lightning striking the lines. Flashes of blue and a blank digital workspace. Another page torn away. Tracks that make no sense. Fog. Shadow. Another page crumbles in his hands.

No matter what, it’s not enough. She was right. He’s a failure and it’s too early to fight. Another page discarded. She was right all along. 

He’ll never be enough. 

—

“You’re more than enough.” 

—

Yoongi peels open heavy lids hours later, mini plastic piano keys and his sleeve the only silhouettes in the light of his awaiting screen. 

More than enough…

You told him that. 

Yoongi breathes into his arm, feeling what little life in him he has for tonight. The sliver of existence jump started by your words. By you.

You, with hands that he could hold for balance and dear life.

You, with all the stars of his galaxy in those eyes.

You, with fingers on his jacket unknowingly saving him from falling into himself—again, and again, and again.

What he would give to have you knock on his door one more time. 

But not yet. Not until there’s only one shadow existing in his place. And judging by the jitter in his bones, he’s gonna be dealing with a lot of them. 

Slowly readjusting his glasses, Yoongi observes his screen, remembering what happened at your house to force this distance. That damn confrontation. His damn fault. 

The night was going well until the incident. The way you went where he couldn’t follow, only to be stopped by one of your friends before he could attempt. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

What was her name again? 

Right. 

Dom. 

Her cousin had the heart that he broke with his brutal honesty. Yoongi suspects he won’t be on her good side for quite some time, despite knowing he will never, ever purposefully do anything remotely the same with you. 

It’s true. As much as he fucks up when it comes to you, he’ll be the first one to be there when you need him. Which is exactly what he’s trying to do now. 

“She went in there with Kook.” 

Dom pauses with a fury in her eyes, now aimed at someone or something else. “Shit, okay. Well. They can handle themselves.” 

Is that true? Are you gonna be okay? That’s all he wants. 

But judging by the look you gave him, this isn’t a conversation you’ll walk out of without wounds. 

When Yoongi gives Dom a look, she folds,

“Maybe. Fuck, he better not try shit.” 

“Like what?” What the fuck does she mean by that? 

“That boy had it bad. Probably still does. And they already saw each other the other day.” 

“I know.” 

That earns him a look. “She told him she was seeing someone. That true?” 

A nod. “Depending on what happens here, I’ll say something, too.” 

“You’re lying.” 

Huh? That’s not a lie in the slightest. Yoongi really will air it all out if he has to, because he’s feeling fiercely committed. 

Granted, dating was something he gave up before, so it’s not far fetched not to trust him. But seeing you? Being with you? That’s the most natural conclusion in his currently scrunched eyes. “Why would I lie about that?” 

“I dunno? To try shut me up or whatever.” 

It can’t be helped. This is what happens when his reputation precedes. 

But Yoongi won’t let it control him. Not when he finally has something he cares about more than anything. “I’m not trying shit,” he calmly assures, “Unless he does.” 

“Oh,” Dom breathes, eyes unblinking and darting across his face like hell. “You’re serious.” 

Whether it’s because he can’t stand around too long, or because he cannot describe how accurate that statement is, Yoongi can only hold his tongue, looking away with a curt nod. 

Nah. He can’t say what he really wants to right now. At least, not to her.

But what he says is enough. “I am.” 

Dom waits a bit. Most likely juggling the conflicting emotions in her head about you and her cousin’s past. But she finally breaks, “Gimme your number.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. I have a plan.”

Yoongi stops before realizing he doesn’t have time for hesitation. Obliging, he types his number out for Dom to copy while blurting out a regretful, “Sorry.”

“Huh?”

“About your cousin.”

“Oh.” Her face has mastered the combination of shock and confusion. “Well, thanks, but she’s fine now.”

“Good. She deserves it.” 

“Yeah, no shit.”

Yoongi huffs before slipping back, “So what’s the plan.”

She texts him her name before sighing, looking at your door. “You and I both know she’s not gonna come out right after that’s over, whatever it is. So I’ll go in there after she has some space. Just text me when you’re good to go in.” 

Hold up. Dom’s really sticking her neck out? For him? Yoongi feels like this isn’t deserved, but he can’t let a sudden development distract him. “K.” 

“I mean it. If you fuck up this time, I swear to—”

“I won’t.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Because I—”

As soon as Yoongi hears the first raise of your voice, he abandons everything entirely, his body moving on autopilot before Dom can grab at his arm. 

And he’s right at your door, just about to reach the doorknob before another hand grips his wrist.

“Wait.”

Shit, he knows exactly who that is. And it’s not Dom.

Looking up, Yoongi faces his best friend with confusion, not caring how this looks and wondering why they’re supposed to wait in the first place. When he questions with a raise of his brow, he gets a whisper in return,

“I wanna hear this.”

Fine.

Both of them stand there, eyes trained on the ground and deciphering what they can. Getting more and more furious by the second.

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

Alright, Yoongi’s had enough. 

And a shared glare with his friend ends their wait, your brother twisting the locked knob before shouting, “What the hell’s going on in there!”

Some people down the hall look over, but Dom’s already directing them to move along. She seems pretty alright. 

“We’re fine! It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!”

Yoongi wants to believe you. He does.

“We’re okay.” 

Your brother looks right at him when he hesitantly backs down, “…Okay.”

And neither one of them vacate the doorway. 

No matter what, he’s gonna stay. Even if your brother bails—which he won’t—Yoongi will be here. Because he’s set on that statement being nothing less than fact.

Even though he’s slowly starting to realize he may need to lay low after tonight. 

Despite being on the same page, Yoongi has a feeling his emotions are being silently questioned. Those looks aimed his way feel loaded as fuck. 

He wants to hurl. 

No, no, it’s time to think things through. After tonight? He’s gotta lay low and keep distance. Don’t make any moves or risk you being anywhere near his place—

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck you just opened the door and Yoongi’s heart roars to escape his chest.

Nope. Still stuck to the same page as your brother, he’s going in. Because he’s gotta know what the hell is going on in here. 

He waits while you all hash it out, observing from a ways away until what the shit why are you getting shoved off— “The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” 

Your outburst in his arms catches everyone’s attention. But he’s not letting your boiling energy go until you fight because your heartbeat is racing through your back. Holy shit. 

You have to breathe or else your heart’s gonna give out. And Yoongi wants to tell you that, tell you anything to let you know you know he’s in your corner. But he can’t do anything except fucking stand there until you shake him off. 

Let it go. Let things play out. But what the fuck have you and Jungkook been talking about?

What did he do to you? 

A dangerous mix of anger and suspicion twists his brain tight, tugging on itself and pulsing pressure along his forehead. Because controlling himself right now? Requires one thousand percent of his power. 

Because whatever happened between you two left scars that reopened tonight, and Yoongi can’t do anything but watch you bleed. 

What went down? Could he and your brother somehow have prevented it? Although, he wasn’t aware of your relationship with the kid, so he can’t fault himself for not being somewhere he didn’t know about. But how? How did he miss this part of your household life? 

Was he really that cut off from everything back then? 

Yoongi regrets that damning fact more than ever before.

Your change in tone catches his attention. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

Right. A simmering fire, your brother asks what he’s thinking, “…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook’s reply throws kindle on flames, and you have to snuff your brother out before he does anything stupid,

 “Of course it is.”

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

A pang worms its way into Yoongi’s side. When he swivels his head around the room, he can deduce exactly why he feels all sorts of messed up: Jungkook looks like he wants to defend you from your brother. Which should be a good trait. 

But Yoongi can’t fucking think straight because the heat of his best friend’s aura has set him ablaze, too.

And you look like you don’t wanna be here at all, fuck. 

It’s not just the heightened tension, either. There’s another matter that’s pressing his heart hard against his ribcage, and he’s doing everything he can to save it. To no avail, of course. 

Because there’s no way to tell your brother about everything now. Not after this disaster of a confrontation.

When you speak, his thoughts quiet to mirror the room, “Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” 

Mm. He doesn’t like that. 

Of course he understands. And Yoongi knows your brother will listen and they’ll leave in just a second. But he’s busting in if he hears shouts again and there will be no question about where he stands with you. 

“Please.” 

It’s that one plea that makes him relent. Because of course he will give you anything. But in dropping his thoughts, Yoongi finally looks up and over your shoulder. 

Only to see Jungkook glaring right at him.

Shit. Shit. That’s not a look he needs to receive from the kid unless he fucked up in the studio. Anywhere else, especially in regards to you? Laying low is definitely the move after tonight.

Yoongi will be wading too far in deep shit if he doesn’t. 

“Trust me,” you softly beg, to which he internally sighs. 

Yoongi trusts you with his life. On top of that, he has no doubt you’ll stand your ground after holding your own against all three of them. If you wanna do it alone, he’ll respect that and your brother most likely will, too. 

But the other guy in the room with hair dyed seventy shades lighter is on thin fucking ice. 

Jeon better fucking behave.

Decision made, Yoongi follows your silent sibling out of the room, briefly looking at the walls covered with memories and hoping the night ends as one of the good ones.

—

— 

Thunder rolls in the distance, lulling Yoongi back to the present company of his monitor. The same one he’s been using for awhile now, along with the same keyboard controller that he really needs to upgrade. 

Of course, he can still pull magic off with the tech in front of him. But it would be a little easier to weave complexity with more piano keys at his disposal. 

Not that it matters when his brain is fried. There’s no way he’s getting anything else done tonight. 

Successfully giving up, Yoongi trudges to his bathroom to relieve himself, bumping a shoulder on his doorway with a hissing curse. 

Of course the pain would come on the tailend of that memory. He was too hopeful then and he’s perfectly hopeless now. 

Seconds later, a sniff mingles with running water as he washes his hands, staring down the mirror while thinking about a fonder time. 

That day remains his safe haven. Yoongi will never forget the look in your eyes after you both drenched each other, water and shining smiles coating every spot of your skin. What he would give to live that moment again, one where he felt his heart grow ten sizes despite its dark confines. 

With another blink, you’re gone, taking all the color with your departure and leaving emptiness behind. The only sounds Yoongi can hear are the hum of his aircon and the gentle rush of water. 

Shit, the faucet is still on? Who’s running up his water bill now? 

Hair shifts forward as he reprimands himself, shaking a tired head filled to the brim with decisions he needs to file through. Can't take too long in the shower now. Who knows how fucking long he left the sink on. 

Fuck, he misses you. Please come back and tease him for being a hypocrite.

It’s only been a couple weeks since he left and, for the most part, it’s been manageable. The calls with you have been a lifeline, Yoongi needing them just as much as you have expressed. And when you shyly but bravely showed him some sundresses you got the other day, he had to grip his sheets in an iron fist to keep from rushing out the door. 

But after you get off the line, after darkness falls on his eyes? That is when he fights. Again, and again, every night since he made you blindly trust him with every beautiful fucking bone in your body. 

And every night, he fails you when he loses. 

Every. Single. Night. 

Sometimes, Yoongi wakes in a shuddering mess, scrambling to sit up and checking the entirety of his room to make sure she’s not there. 

Other times, he doesn’t even bother sleeping. And those nights are the longest, the ones that leave him with chasms under his eyes. 

Washing those same carved valleys now, Yoongi rubs his face under shower spray, raking hands through his growing hair before dousing it. 

You stood in this very space more than you ever should have. And he guarantees that, when you were here the first time, you were trying to get something off your arm that wasn’t gonna wash out. 

God, he fucked it all up from the very beginning. There’s no running from that, just like how there’s no running from the words he’d been punctured with before. 

“Useless piece of—”

Shut the fuck up. 

He will deal with her later. Same time, just like every other night. 

Every night until he doesn’t fail you anymore.

—

—

Showering lasts a lot longer than Yoongi intended, much to his own chagrin. 

Granted, a longer wash or two isn’t gonna fuck up his bill too much. But it’s the concept of all that waste that his parents instilled in him. Don’t take more than you need. Maybe he should’ve heeded that concept when dealing with his mountain of greed. 

That’s what it is, right? Keeping things tight with your brother; going around his back to keep seeing you; keeping truths away from the one that looked at you with dying stars in his eyes. 

Yoongi’s surprised he hasn’t collapsed from the weight of his implications yet.  

But he does just that after feeding the cat outside, falling onto his bed suddenly hesitant to call you. 

God, does he want to. Your voice, your gentle words, your contagious laughter—all of it’s right behind the press of a button, and yet… 

Tonight’s grim has decided to visit him a little early, it seems. 

But this distance was to conquer it all, right? So why can’t he get the fuck up and do it? He needs to if he wants a future with you. If he comes back into your life with this sludge on his shoulders, this monster on his legs? He’s only gonna stumble, when he should be walking alongside you. You deserve the parts of him he’s proud of, and right now, not much of those exist anymore. 

Not ever since she…

Fuck. He won’t get to talk to you, after all.

And he can’t fucking stand that. 

—

— 

Another week passes, laughing at Yoongi’s continuous inability to find a musical breakthrough.

Why can’t he get his shit together? He knows he can do this. There’s no question he’ll hit his stride and come up with something great. 

But that moment is nowhere in sight and it’s been stomping on his airway, not letting him breathe and questioning his skillset second by second. 

A few hums of his phone distract his chugging, sputtering train of thought, and he reaches for it in hopes to see your nickname. 

But disappointment seems to be the chosen track today, because these names aren’t yours. 

Dumbass [17:05]: We hooping today??

Dumbass [17:05]: At the gym and no one’s here 

Fuck, he forgot they were gonna be doing that during some weeknights. Sometime in the last couple days, Jimin brought up the idea to practice at a rec center further out, something about avoiding being watched by any neighboring competition. 

The dedication to intramurals this year is admittedly touching. Despite what people think about Yoongi, he does admire shit like this, especially if it truly surprises him. That’s why he gravitated to you in record time, right? You don’t care who sees that you care, and that’s more attractive than anything. 

Getting him to admit his admiration is another story, though. He’ll say it, but his friends have to work for those words. 

While you get to hear them as often as he thinks them.

Waiting to hear from the others, Yoongi blinks when more messages slide through.

Rohan G. [17:07]: omw sry

Chim [17:07]: Getting something first then heading over! 

A knock pounds on Yoongi’s door as he types that he can’t make it tonight, and he perks at the sound, adjusting glasses that shifted in his haste.  

No fucking way. 

How did Jimin even guess he’d be home? 

Dumbass [17:08]: Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong

Chim [17:08]: 😂😂😂

Rohan G. [17:08]: Liked ‘Five bucks says Chim’s talking about Yoong’

Mumbling, Yoongi makes his way over, opening the door with an accusatory deadpan. “You wasted gas coming here.”

“No I didn’t.”

“I’m busy.” 

“No excuses!” Jimin lets himself in, scanning the living room and noticing a lone soju bottle on the coffee table. “Wait, who are you drinking with without me?” 

Shit. Yoongi forgot that was even there. Did he really forget to put it away? Did he end up finishing the whole thing? 

…Why can’t he remember any of that? “No one.” 

“Oh. I was about to say.” Chuckling to no one, Jimin goes to throw the glass in the kitchen recycling bin, and Yoongi notes with slight terror that it sounded very, very empty. “Been there. Now get ready, hurry up!”

Yoongi groans, not wanting to do this. At all. 

But it’s not basketball he’s referring to. In fact, playing pick-up will be a perfect distraction from his harrowing thoughts. 

However, there’s something else he’ll have to confront when he’s there in that gym. Something he’ll have to deal with during every practice. 

Your brother. 

Seeking the private space of his closet, Yoongi sighs to himself as he grabs a tank, recalling the last real conversation he had with his best friend. One from that same night he keeps going back to. 

The very reason he had to say goodbye. 

It’s still so vivid he can smell your brother’s cologne. After the confrontation in your room, leaving you to fight for yourself proves too hard for him. But it proves even harder for the guy practically torching your door with his glare. 

Anticipating a historic fallout, Yoongi lays a firm arm over your sibling’s front, challenging those burning eyes before forcing him away, away, away from your bedroom door. 

He tries to rush back, but Yoongi’s there again, shoving towards the open hallway with all his might and warning his best friend with no words at all. 

It works. For now. 

Shrugging, the man visibly inhales as they head into the noisy house, passing through and going straight to where Yoongi assumes correctly. 

Seconds later, they’re in a bedroom he has been in more times than yours, him settling into a stiff desk chair while your brother sits hunched over on sagging sheets. 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No you won’t,” Yoongi quips, staring up at framed vinyls and jerseys. Voice neutral, he explains with logic, “If you’re charged with his murder, she’ll be charged with yours.”

“Yeah, but.. Did you see her back there? She looked so..”

Yoongi’s heart pangs. Because yes. Yes, he fucking did. Not only did he see you, but he felt you—the anger, the sadness, the confusion. Honestly, he has the same threatening thoughts as his best friend, but there’s no way they’re being let loose.  

So he can only hum in acknowledgement. “I know.” 

After a long beat, your brother forces the frustration from his lungs, “I need a fucking drink.”

“Then get up.” 

“And a hit.”

Yoongi’s eyes follow the gesture your brother aims toward his desk, and he grabs the lone pack before tossing it over. 

Minutes go by as they meander through the house, ignoring the curious looks and shouts to play cards. After procuring a bottle and glasses from the kitchen, they head out not to the full backyard, but into the open air of the front porch. 

“Give us some space for a sec, guys,” your brother calmly asks, not shocking Yoongi but startling the small gathering in the area. Everyone quickly apologizes for no reason before filing inside. 

Leaving the two of them alone against the world. As it has been. As it should be.

Fuck. 

Yoongi watches his friend approach the wooden railing overlooking the garden, arms resting on mahogany that he just got refinished two weeks ago. As he licks dry lips, he listens to the man he’s known forever, hating how he feels like a fraud. 

“I knew they had a thing, but.. I dunno what to think now.” The fidget of his leg mirrors how Yoongi feels. “He’s the only one I trusted with her.”

Damn. So what the hell happened between then and now for Kook to lose it all? Is the same fate awaiting him when his own truth comes into the spotlight?

Silent and aching, Yoongi walks up to join his friend, offering whisky and his two cents, “Maybe something happened.”

A sigh precedes a pouring of liquor. Your brother really is going through it if he’s serving himself a double, and it’s not easy to watch. “Why didn’t they tell me?”

Well. Many reasons, Yoongi imagines. Definitely not coming from a long period of terrifying experience, of course. 

As he pours his own glass, he asks with a hint of anxiety, “Would you've listened if they had?” 

They both know the answer, so he doesn’t understand the hesitation before the man finally concedes, “…I dunno. Probably would’ve just kicked his ass.”

Both of them let out knowing huffs of amusement, no doubt picturing the same scenario. “Uh huh.” 

Your brother is the first to default back to wallowing. “Nah, but… He hurt her, dude. Did you see how she looked?” 

“You asked that already,” Yoongi points out before taking a fig and tobacco-infused sip. “But no, I was mostly watching him.”

He earns a shoulder covered look before a grateful, haunting, “Thanks.” 

That’s Yoongi’s role to play, after all. Watching out for anything and anyone that would do you harm while your brother is away. It’s how things have been for a minute, even Jimin and now Taehyung taking up that position alongside him. 

It sets a lingering ache in his stomach to know his place is so close, yet so damn far. The fact that he’d perpetually be just out of reach should be enough to drive him mad. But your brother is his number one. His life saver. His everything. 

A sinister voice tugs on Yoongi’s ear, reminding him how easy it’s been to betray the guy despite all that supposed loyalty in his veins. What a joke. What a traitor.

He swipes the wisp away with a scratch. “Do you trust her?” 

“It’s not that. It’s… It’s always been everyone else I have an issue with.” 

Agreed. “Mm.” 

“I mean, I trust you,” his friend continues, straightening to pop a cig from its box. As he grabs it with wet lips, words get muddled but still ring clear, “Not in that way with her, I’d fucking kill you, but. I know you got my back, too.” 

Yoongi’s stomach convulses down the porch steps. 

And at the flick of a lighter, his last shred of hope goes up in flames. “Uh huh.” 

“I just… I know I overreact. I’m not above thinking I don’t. But I just gotta be sure she has someone good to her.” Restless smoke billows out as a contemplative arm falls. “I know I haven’t been around lately.” 

Ah. Yoongi’s stomach is about to have a companion, his heart dangling from the cliffs of his ribs.

Someone once told him that life begins and ends with choices. Decisions make branches from your tree, consequences and outcomes spiraling from each major base. The ones made with good intentions sprout leaves; the ones made with ill will wither away. Those are the ones that weigh you down with no effort—the ones you have to cut before they stunt your growth.

As his fingers graze over a proverbial machete, Yoongi wonders if the choices he made with you in mind count for the better. They have to, right? If he’d make them again, that counts for something, yeah? 

Talking into his glass, Yoongi responds to the one that told him all this in the first place, back when he pulled out the diseased roots poisoned by a smile. “Then do that.” 

“Do what?” 

Even if these decisions were made with good intentions, they’re still twisted. And there’s no way to straighten them when a soul feels way too similar. “Stick around for a sec.” 

Be there with you when he walks away from the most beautiful branch he’s ever grown. 

As much as he’s fighting himself to not do it this way, it’s inevitable. This is a horrible line to walk between the both of you, and he’s quickly seeing less and less options. 

Because if he tells your brother about the two of you now? It’s over. But if he keeps this up with you and strains the bond with your family? The guilt will eat him alive. 

You both mean the world to him. Which leaves Yoongi with an impossible scenario unless he gets his shit figured out. 

And he has. So much shit.

“Stick around?” 

“Yeah. Like a few months or so.” If he needs more time than that, he’ll legitimately go insane. 

“What’s with the sudden advice? You miss me that bad?” 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. At least, not without choking on his own self-affliction. “So she knows she’s got someone after all this.” 

After what he’s about to do. 

“Also, no. I don’t,” he lies. 

Your brother gives a playful shove before looking into his glencairn. “I guess I could move some trips around. They don’t really need me for the time being anyway.” 

“Does she know, by the way?” 

“Know what.” 

A shrug. “Anything. Why you even have this job in the first place.” 

“No,” your brother admits before taking another hit. “She doesn’t need to worry about that shit.” 

“She could appreciate it. Knowing.”

A look is sent his way. “You’re acting like you know her.” 

Fuck. Think. He cannot fuck this up before it even starts. “Is this really about me?” 

Yoongi is taking a huge gamble here. But it works. Most likely because both of them are way too tired to think about uncomfortable things anymore. 

“No. And I’ll think about staying.” 

Beat irregular, Yoongi’s heart prepares for the free fall.

“You’re a good guy, Yoong.” 

And it slips from the ledge before he’s ready. “You, too.” 

“Me? Don’t I know it,” your brother jokes with a laugh, straightening and smushing his cig in an ashtray. “I’m gonna make my rounds again.”

“Probably gonna head out soon,” Yoongi says, the organ in his chest slowly losing its pulse. “Just gotta say some byes first.” 

“Really? You never say bye.” 

Tonight, Yoongi will. He has to see you one last time before going back to his personal hell. “Sometimes. You just never see me.” 

The door opens with a slight creak. Because this part of the front porch hasn’t been redone yet. “Ah, whatever.” 

As a wave of aroma wafts through the foyer, Yoongi blurts another idea before he can stopper his worrying mind, “Leave her some food, too. She’s gonna need it.” 

The last thing he sees before a voice cuts in from above is your brother’s backward look.

“You ready?” 

Thrown out of the memory, Yoongi flicks his gaze to the one filling up his bedroom door. 

Bedroom door. His bedroom. They’re gonna go practice. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Okay…” Jimin gives him a look that calls him out like no other. It’s quite impressive how he’s always been able to do that.

But the nosy man doesn’t pry this time. “Then let’s go.” 

—

—

Playing goes well. While it’s clear none of the guys are at their best, they’re gonna get there. Even if it’s building stamina, which Yoongi desperately needs. But if they keep practicing like this? It could actually make them a threat the rest of intramurals. 

But your brother has been subdued all night. To the point where Jimin shoots Yoongi some choice looks to go over and ask what the fuck is up. 

Fine. He’ll deal with it. When he travels down the sideline to start the conversation, turns out the quiet mood is because of work,

“I’m trying to get out of it.”

“Out of what? A trip?”

“Yeah.”

“Just don’t go,” Yoongi poorly advises, wiping forehead sweat with his tank. A quick push forces laughter out his lips.

“You know I can’t do that.” Sporting a frown, the busy man sighs loud. “Especially when I’m in line for a promotion.”

“Wait, what?” Hold up, that’s a new development Yoongi didn’t see coming. Though he should have, since this guy is a nerd and one hell of a charmer. “Since when?”

“Trying not to say anything to jinx it.” Hide it all he wants, his smile contradicts his humility. Yoongi can’t help but give him a raised brow. When Jimin jogs up, he listens in with curiosity. “But yeah, they’re in talks to move me up.” 

The dusty blond yells in shock, hand over his mouth as some dribbling around them stops. The guys on the other end of the court still keep shooting around, though, squeaks of sneakers pinging off stark gym walls. 

“Trying not to say anything, huh,” Yoongi drawls, smirk collecting some loose sweat. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck off,” your brother counters with a grin. A real one this time. “I did wanna tell you guys, just in person. But nothing’s guaranteed yet so if I don’t get it, no clowning.”

“Nah, you’re gonna get it,” Jimin assures, patting him on the back and recoiling at the moisture. “Ah. Are you aware you feel like a wet rag?”

While Yoongi’s shoulders shake, your brother’s dip as he grows sheepish, “I know. Nerves got me playing a little too hard.” 

Humility. Shyness. These emotions are hard to come by when it comes to him. When did he get this soft? Is he actually hanging out with you like Yoongi intended?

If so, that’s good. You both need it. The distance is working. 

So why does that gut him even deeper? 

“Alright, let’s put those nerves to use then,” Jimin offers, tone leaving no room to argue. Calling out to the whole court, he shouts, “One more game then we’re done!” 

The whole team acknowledges him in tandem. 

—

— 

Holy fuck, it’s over.

Hearts pumping and breath ragged, everyone dumps themselves on the court floors when your brother finally, mercifully makes the winning shot. 

Of course the last game took them fucking forever. No one could make a basket from being so worn down, and Yoongi’s muscles started protesting so hard they were gonna force him horizontal without his say. 

Someone’s phone vibrates from the bleachers, and no one even moves to check if it’s theirs. Only huffs, exhales, and gulps fill the large space, body heat and sweat weighing the air down.  

“Ah, shit, that’s me,” your brother rasps, twisting his watch while lying flat on his back. Tapping the glass face with his nose, he answers with enviable energy, “Hello!”

“Hey. You still out?”

Yoongi’s heart shatters on impact.

His gaze flicks to Jimin’s before he tilts toward fluorescent ceiling lights, splayed hands keeping him upright and eyes closing in longing. 

“Yeah, we’re still out. What’s up?”

“Just wondering. Dinner’s in the fridge, saved some stew for you.” 

“Thank god. There meat in there?”

As you prattle off a stinging response, Yoongi slowly smirks despite his ribcage tearing itself into scraps. What he would give to come home to you making dinner, joining you to help and watching your cute ass bustle around his kitchen—your kitchen.

One day. One day, one day, one day. 

“—be back soon. Thanks for the food!” 

“Mmhmm. See you later.”

As much as your voice soothes, Yoongi can’t help but think you sound… What is that he hears? There’s something in there that’s making his chest clench impossibly hard, digging into his head and making him regret everything all over again. 

No. It’s not what you sound like, it’s what you don’t. 

Yourself.  

Which is not what Yoongi intended. And his control over the dark part of his mind slips a precarious amount. 

His walls slam so far down that memories flood in, whisking him back to the moment he both wants to think about and banish from his heart all the same. 

The one he replays in his mind over, and over, and over again. 

After his talk with your brother, he did end up saying goodbye to some friends around the house. Did he do it because he wanted to? Sure. But mostly he did it to procrastinate saying goodbye to you. 

However, when he gets a text from your friend, his heart stutters and braces for a total meltdown. 

Dominique S. [21:30]: Going in there now.

Yoongi [21:31]: 👍

Yoongi [21:35]: Clear

Why is he nervous? Why is he shaking?

Dom opens the door with haste. “One minute,” she warns, and Yoongi already knows she’s the type to count every second. “Then you’re on your own.”

Sixty seconds.

He can do that.

Any amount of time with you is enough.

“K.”

Yoongi enters to see your face so torn his heart lurches, propelling him the rest of the way until he’s close enough to pull you in. 

Yes. Let it out. Let it all out while he’s here.

“Fuck.”

Yoongi does everything he can to relieve you of anything that doesn’t serve you. Squeezing his embrace to keep it imprinted around your soul long after he parts. Your voice is music along his bones, steadying him upright when he wants to crumble at your feet. 

Even if this is all he gets, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

But he has to know if you’re gonna be okay, and reality sets in like quicksand. 

Fuck, this is really the last time he’s gonna see you. Fuck fuck fuck he needs more time. “What happened?” 

You aren’t talking.

That answers enough. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he amends, kissing your forehead and stepping back at arm’s length. “You gonna be okay?”

Shit. You look like you’ve been shattered and are attempting to find your pieces. And Yoongi despises that look because he’s been there before. 

Before. Sure. It’s more truthful to say he’s still searching for most of his. 

“Yes. No. I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

For a moment, Yoongi abandons his priorities and his whole upper body calms. Because you have that power over him. And he’s fine with being at your mercy whenever you demand it. 

His voice comes out so soft, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

Smart ass. What he says next is a knife twist into his side, because he wants it so fucking badly he’ll do anything,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

But not now. There’s something he has to take care of first before he takes care of you. Something slithering around his living room and waiting for him to leave you behind. 

You’re doing everything he wants, from closing the distance to circling arms around his waist. Fuck, if he could choose one thing to linger, it would be the feel of those hands pressed against his shirt. And his reverence on your temple to keep your mind safe.

“I want you to do that,” you admit into his tee, “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Even your arm feels timid under his touch? Shit. 

If only he’d done things properly. Yoongi would have spent this whole night by your side and taken you home at the first drop of a fucking tear. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If he were someone else. If he had come clean before. 

If he wasn’t such a damn coward. 

Why did it all come crashing down over the course of a day? How could this disruption derail the quickest path to happiness in a second? 

Path number two is long, and arduous, and dangerous. But Yoongi’s gonna brave it all for you. A clean slate is what you deserve, not this room marred with grime and his shortcomings, his own demons tearing at the walls. 

A warning knock slams his brain into overdrive, and he must look like a mess right now because you’re staring and staring hard fuck! “Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

The understanding in your eyes is misguided. And it cracks his heart in two before he interrupts your hopeful strategy.

“There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

He’s never felt so hollowed out in his life. 

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

There’s already a ring of fire around his eyes. 

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

This is all he can say? This is all he’s gonna give you? Judging by the blockage in his throat and the ache along his heart, Yoongi realizes he can’t explain himself. It’s too shameful. It’s better if he doesn’t. 

But watching hurt and confusion prick your eyes is setting his lungs ablaze. Fuck, you deserve someone better but also fuck that because he’s gonna fight for this shit. This is the only path he can see. The one he must travel himself. 

And he’s already burning your features on his eyelids, if only to see your outline in every blink.

Say something. Please. “Babe?”

Tell him not to go. 

Tell him to go out there and fucking confess because he’ll do it. 

Something painful replaces the beats of his heart, changing the tempo and forcing them staccato. The skip, skip, thump of his chest almost buckles him forward, but Yoongi forces himself to stand tall. Resolute. Decisive. 

But tell him anything you want and he’ll do it. 

Fuck, he can’t deny anything anymore. The thoughts that have plagued his mind for months are now the ones he invites in without hesitation. Because he’s done pretending they’re lies. 

He’s yours. It’s always been this way, long before you even knew it. If only you could read his mind because it has hell of a lot more to say than he does, because right now? If you break down then he’s right there with you. 

Fuck, this is a mistake. His gut is screaming and protesting and there’s nothing he can do to placate. What the fuck is he doing? Why can’t he feel his own heart anymore? “Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you choke out, searing his eyes a whole deeper shade. “I’ll do it.”

Goddamn it. Yoongi already wants to abandon his idea because you look so lost and he’ll scrap it all if you tell him not to go please tell him not to go be selfish be selfish yell at him and be selfish— 

“Anything for you.”

Fuck.

The pang in his chest tells him all he needs to know. How this is a big fucking mistake but he can’t think of any other way out. He’s doing this for the both of you. You and him. For you, for him—

“For us,” he corrects, diving in to give you the deepest kiss filled with his greatest fears.

This is for the long run. Yoongi’s decidedly, one-hundred percent in it for the long run.

As long as he keeps fighting his demons. Each and every single night. 

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

Leaving you is already making him weary. Knowing he’s going into that apartment alone for days. He won’t get to see you at all. There will be nothing but work and the occasional drink with Jimin, which even then he may start to turn down.

This distance is necessary. But also fucking stupid. 

Maybe you’ll forget about him.

Maybe you’ll realize life is probably better without him in it.

But above everything, he really fucking hopes that you’ll come find him again. 

Your fingers on his arm are what Yoongi feels first. But his body reacts in a second as soon as you tug him back into a kiss. 

And his eyes catch fire as they squeeze, ribcage clenching and gasping for air when you do that desperate tug on his clothes. Shit shit shit if you do that again he’ll never fucking leave your side.  

Everything else disappears except you. Your breaths, your lips, your unending consideration for his space. He asked and he got it, which makes this one act of resistance tear him right through, and he pours every ounce of himself into making you understand how much he wants this. 

“Yoongi, I—”

Don’t say it. Not when he’s about to break everything apart. 

Fuck, you were really gonna say it. Yoongi knows it in his fucking bones and his heart is gasping. Fuck.

Of fucking course this is how he finds out. Right before he leaves? Right before he ventures into himself to confront everything he doesn’t wanna see? 

This alone will be his guiding light. The knowledge that you feel the same way he does and the reason for everything he’s gonna fight through. “I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.” You have to believe him.

Because he’s gonna find it hard to believe himself. “Okay?”

Your face contorts in a way that has his eyes scorching. Without knowing anything about why he’s gonna leave or how long it’s gonna be, you’re looking at him with vehement trust and searing willpower. So goddamn strong, just as he needs to be.

He loves you so fucking much. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips so hard against yours that you react, your saltwater sloshing against his cheeks just in time to hide his falling tears.

He needs this. You need him to do this. Everything he’s about to do, it’s all for you. You, you, you. 

Because he knows you’d go with him anywhere, but when it comes to his inner fears, that’s not somewhere you can follow. That’s a place he has to walk into on his own, knowing he’ll be swallowed in darkness until he finds his own dimmed light. 

Yoongi pulls away right as Dom opens the door, but he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of her. Because he wants you to see that. He wants to show you where he stands for real. 

“I got us,” he vows, planting one more kiss on a forehead he reveres so much. 

“Hurry up, for god’s sake!” 

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly increasing the distance and already feeling his heart pleading to feel yours again. 

You’re so beautiful.

He doesn’t want to go. 

But with one final look, Yoongi leaves, and it’s a miracle he stepped out of your room in one piece because he feels like he left his better half inside.  

Didn’t he say you were his good luck charm? Who the fuck leaves their guardian angel behind? He can’t think about how you looked. Those tears will be flooding into his dreams. 

Fuck, he needs air. 

Brain scrambled, Yoongi heads straight down the lesser tracked hallway before escaping to the guest room. When his wrist is grabbed, he flinches so hard it strikes like lightning. “Just give me a sec.”

Dom’s voice can command anyone with ease. “Look at me.”

So he does. Annoyed he can’t have time to get his shit together but obeying nonetheless. What’s the fucking point anymore. He’s already lost it all. 

“Oh,” she quietly observes. “You look like shit. What happened in there?”

What a succinct summary. Yoongi wipes a bit of his face with the back of his thumb, looking away on pure instinct.

“I’m about to swing so you better start explai—”

“Whatever I’m about to do, I’m doing it for her,” Yoongi admits out loud. So easily. So naturally that Dom blinks and can’t do much else. Sighing, he closes his eyes. “But I can’t just… I dunno how to say it yet.” 

“What?”

Everything is too hard to lay out right now. Doesn’t matter what the fuck it is, it’s fighting to stay in his arid throat. “I… Got shit to deal with first. Shit I know she’d want me to fix.” 

“You sure about that? Cus it looks like you just cut everything off.”

Dominique is being too fucking accurate right now. His hatchet is bleeding. That branch was his life force. “For now,” he solemnly sighs. “But I have to try.”

“If this doesn’t work, you’re dead to me.” 

“I’ll be dead to me, too.”

At this, Dom reels back so far it’s comical. “What are you saying? Hello?”

“Just… Keep her busy. For me.”

“Umm, no, go back. What the fuck are you planning to do?”

Oh. Yoongi gets what Dom’s thinking, but that’s not what he’s talking about. 

He’s at least gotten past that part. 

“Nothing like what you’re thinking.” Yoongi scratches an ear. “I just need to get my mind right. I don’t wanna bring any baggage into this, but. If you haven’t guessed, I have a fucking lot.” 

“Fucking men,” she scoffs, smushing her lips in aggravation. But after a drawn-out silence, she softens and offers sincerity. “Actually? I can respect it. You’re doing something right, at least.”

“Damn well hope so.”

It takes awhile for Dom to respond. But after multiple thoughts sail across her eyes, she sighs, sliding braids across a shoulder. “I’ll do my best to help. But.. We both know something’s gotta give at some point.”

“I know.”

“K.” She walks off with a warning stare. “Hope you know what you’re doing.”

Yoongi doesn’t respond until she’s out of earshot. Because the only one he needs to convince is himself.

“Same.”

That single word is the last to echo through his mind as Yoongi opens his eyes, feeling hardwood floors under his fingers as he tilts his head sideways.

Hold up. How long did he wander? The rest of the team clatters along the bleachers, picking up their bags or changing into dry clothes. 

Jimin spots him looking first. “You gonna join us or stay behind?”

Yoongi puffs out a breath before his eyes find the ground. “Don’t tempt me.”

He means it as a joke. But deep down, he’d rather be anywhere other than home right now. Which is quite the setback since that’s where he’s supposed to get shit done, the place that’s supposed to feel safe. 

This sucks ass.

“Get up, man,” your brother offers with an outstretched hand. “It’s late.” 

The whole time he waits before clasping it in an upward tug, Jimin doesn’t sway his stare. 

And the whole car ride back to his place, Yoongi tries his best to ignore all the long looks aimed his way. 

—

— 

Why do his keys run from him when he truly needs them to cooperate? 

Keys jangling in his hand, Yoongi finally locks his door, fast-walking down the outside hall and making a beeline to his car. 

He doesn’t know how he woke up with no alarm, but he’s grateful he shot up when he did. The studio has a packed schedule today, and he’s the session producer while the others are working on mixes. 

The crisp morning air caresses his skin before he opens a car door, and Yoongi takes a second to observe the sky. 

Overcast. Not as bad as it could be, though he hasn’t seen the Sun in days. 

Truthfully, he hasn’t felt it either after abandoning its warmth in a room far away. 

His engine starts before he makes his way out of the complex, and the soft music from his phone reminds him of you. Reminds him of the empty seat next to him that has seen better days and even better nights. 

After he severed his heart, Yoongi remembers saying goodbye to a few others. But not by choice. The last people he said those words to were the same people he was going to be seeing again bright and early the next day. 

Once again, he’s back to that same night. 

“Hey.”

Yoongi turns, seeing Jungkook gesture out to the front door. When his hairs stand on end, he curses to himself, fighting to show any emotion as he follows the boy outside. 

Whatever happens, he’s not losing to this kid.

But when the door creaks open, Yoongi notices the company with a few blinks. What are Joon and Hobi doing out here? Weren’t they just in the backyard? 

“What’s up,” he asks, and they stop their conversation to shrug. He watches silent as Namjoon points to the youngest one out there,

“He pulled us out. Ask him.”

Huh?

Two thoughts race through the halls of his mind. On one hand, this has to be a studio talk given the present company, so it has nothing to do with you. And second, this could either be bad news or good news, and he really, really needs the latter.

“Good news and bad news,” Jungkook starts. Of fucking course. “We already have another project.”

“Sounds like only good news to me.”

Yoongi nods with Hobi at Namjoon’s quick reply. Because being trapped in his apartment was gonna drive him to the brink. But having something to accomplish and an excuse to go outside? It’s a goddamned godsend. 

“Yeah, well—just listen real quick, okay?” Shifting his weight, Jungkook takes out a slim device to take a sweet-smelling hit. Something he tends to do when he’s getting a little anxious—and Yoongi damn well knows the root of that anxiety from tonight. “This one’s another multi-track recording deal. And we, uhh. We start first thing tomorrow.” 

Hoseok gawks. “Wait. What do you mean tomorrow?” 

Yoongi can’t even hide the matching question on his face. Because yeah he needs the distraction but what the fuck? When the hell was Jungkook gonna tell them? “You didn’t think to tell us sooner?” 

“It all just went through tonight,” Jungkook hastily defends, unlocking his phone to prove himself. The blue light outlines his features, and Yoongi notices with a stinging pang that the boy’s eyes are stained with sorrow. “Lemme just, umm.. Lemme find the email.” 

Seems like all three of you aren’t sleeping well tonight.

But he’s gotta keep focus. Even if the deal just went through, next day start is one hell of a turnaround. There’s gotta be more Jungkook isn’t saying, and Yoongi hopes to everything divine that the kid knows what he’s doing. 

Poor management will break them without so much as a sweat if they aren’t careful with their calendar. 

“Here,” the youngest finally blurts, forwarding all the guys the email and pocketing his phone. “This is the first one.”

“First one?” Namjoon asks, prompting all heads to pop up. “There’s more?”

Shit. One multi-track recording deal is already gonna occupy a lot of studio time. What the hell did Jungkook get them all into? 

“We also have another gig, same type. In about two weeks from now.” 

Two weeks isn’t a lot but it’s doable. And that means Yoongi will have at least fourteen days of temporary daytime relief. 

“But we’re gonna wanna wrap up the first one before then. The other one is high profile. We’ll give these guys all our attention.” 

And that is what sets off a little alarm bell in Yoongi’s head. Shouldn’t they provide everyone that works with them all their focus? Why would they cherry pick if they set the deal? 

Vision blurring into a road instead of your porch, he grips the wheel while checking his back mirror. Wondering how he’s gonna get everything done today. 

Did Jungkook get the workspace ready? Are all the plug-in’s he usually likes already set aside? Is everything connected to the pre-amp’s? 

Yoongi hopes so. He’s lax when it comes to most, but not within the soundproof walls of a studio. 

But he’s gotta be careful. If he ends up butting heads with a certain headstrong kid in there, there’s no telling what comes flying out of that box. 

Clouds float above when he finally drives up to his normal parking space, and Yoongi sits with himself for a second. Thinking. Composing. 

Grateful for anything that’s keeping him from losing his goddamn mind. 

— 

— 

One day, you texted him a song because you miss him. 

And for the next three, he let it loop until he understood every part.

— 

— 

The practices. The more sporadic calls. The studio sessions. 

Everything has proven a much needed distraction from his shadows. But he still has the strongest urge to alleviate the tears he knows he’s causing to just see you for one fucking day and fuck. 

He can’t catch a fucking break. 

You’re trying your hardest to deal with his bullshit distance. Yoongi knows it; he can feel it. Frankly, all he wants to do is come back to you, but he can’t until he moves forward. This is the only way.

However. As soon as he feels like he can step right, another hole hollows the ground.

And this one looks a little too colossal to cross. 

“How long do they wanna book now?” Hoseok thankfully asks for everyone else in the room, referring to the second gig opportunity revealed at your place. 

“Just one more week than planned,” Jungkook confirms, looking at his phone and scratching his head. “But they’re paying good.” 

Namjoon is the next one to speak up, “You still haven’t told us who’s coming.” 

Cheeky as ever, the youngest bursts into a grin. And his response ices the room, “That’s cus it’s still a surprise!” 

What. This isn’t how things are supposed to work. 

Yoongi prods his cheek while Joon groans. “Now’s not the time for surprises. We just got our last mess cleaned up.” 

It’s one of the reasons they’ve been held up in the studio for longer than Yoongi wanted. He absolutely loves being here, smelling the leather and instruments and getting to drown out his thoughts with music. 

But when things that could’ve been avoided go wrong? That’s what pisses him off. 

And not just him. Hobi and Joon have been less than passive about their discontent when all of them weren’t given the full rundown of what samples were cleared and which weren’t. So when Jungkook finally gave them the list that he “thought they knew,” the tension between them all reached a new peak. 

Mistakes like that can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. They’re lucky it hadn’t gotten to that point of no return yet, but.. water under the fucking bridge just plummeted down another cliff. 

It’s a little while later—after Kook still refused to say who was coming to their fucking studio—that Yoongi heads to the hallway to take out his phone. 

Because as soon as he gets updates? He’s letting you know. 

No surprises for you. Not again. 

Yoongi [17:02]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [17:03]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [17:03]: Letting you know

Head hitting the wall behind him, Yoongi closes his eyes for what seems like a century. What is time right now anyway? These past few weeks have either been sludge or a rushing current, and both are dragging him under.

He knows he keeps letting you down like this. And you’re probably wondering what the fuck is going on, because why wouldn’t you? 

If you decide to cut things off, he can’t be mad. This was his decision, so he’ll face those consequences no matter how severe they slice through. 

You’re gonna think he’s doing something else. 

Please don’t. He just needs more time. 

Shit, his phone just vibrated twice. Tension mounts his shoulders from pure habit, knowing that he’s gonna be met with either disappointment or wrath. 

Here goes.

Hustler [17:07]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

Hustler [17:07]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

Oh.

…Fuck, you’re really…

Yoongi can physically feel his cheeks lift as he starts to smile. And that smile turns into a quick grin before his relief puffs out of his mouth in a laugh. 

Did you really banish his worry just like that? 

Pushing off the wall, Yoongi huffs once more to the empty hallway before taking two paces to his side, looking at his phone again to make sure what he just read was real. 

It is. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even know what to say. 

Yoongi [17:09]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

He laughs again. And he doesn’t even know why. It’s not like you said the funniest thing in the world. What’s happening to his chest? 

This is so unlike all the other shit he dealt with before that the joy suddenly meets a monster in his ribs.  

Shit. 

Little pricks of fire light his eyes, searing the corners and spreading to the rest of his face. His little sounds stop, and his back thuds against the hallway wall again. 

Phone at his side, Yoongi glances up at the ceiling. And it’s certainly not to stop anything from falling. Yeah. Sure. 

You’re really something else. 

And his decision to keep you at a safe distance is starting to piss him off.

Maybe it will take less time than he thought. Maybe the shadows won’t linger much longer. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe not maybe— 

Yoongi [17:11]: Fuck I miss you

He sends it before realizing what he even sent. 

Which catches him off guard, staring at his phone until your typing indicator pops up. Waiting like a man starved until your message slides through. 

Hustler [17:12]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

One drop. 

One single drop pings onto his screen before Yoongi snaps his head back up, feeling the monster launch itself forward for a kill. 

And he stumbles down the hall, past a few doors, rounding a corner and bursting through a back door into the alleyway before gripping fingers around his phone. 

Fuck, it hurts. 

It all fucking hurts. 

Hunched on his knees, Yoongi breathes rough as fear rushes in from all sides, inundating his head with thoughts of disappointment and trauma. And he can’t even focus focus focus on the now because the past is doing its best to haunt him. Tell him he doesn’t deserve this. Berate him for being happy about anything anything anything he can’t have anything he doesn’t deserve it. 

Yoongi fights to do one thing first. He has to get this out before he’s too far gone because you more than deserve one pathetic act of effort. 

Yoongi [17:15]: Thanks doll

And that’s the last thing Yoongi remembers before his brain goes dark. 

-

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tbc in fugue, pt. ii

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so... thoughts before part 2? | join the server! | fugue pt. 2

a/n: so... this is just the first part. and to be honest, i couldn't bring myself to write any of fugue until i saw that yoongi was okay. as soon as i saw his smile, that was enough for me to be brave again. there's a reason i couldn't write this until now, and you're about to find out why in fugue, pt. 2. a/n 2: thank you to every single one of you that's been here. any support, love, or encouragement means the whole world to me, and that's what has been keeping me going the past year, no matter how i'm feeling - high or low. i'm sorry for taking so long to update the main storyline again, but i hope this interlude will show you that i'm truly back to working on 3tan again. love y'all. so much. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[aaclariww]

Love & Lullabies | Part 6

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.) ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie ✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it. ✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: THIS IS SOFTTT YO, these two belong together <3, BUT Is Yoongi bout to fumble MC (he’s still such a guy), Sung Kyung in her villain era, mention of pornography, reunion with a precious lil someone, not betaread (I don't have an L&L beta, so…), implied sex, includes fake tumblr/discord usernames—any likeness to real moots is purely coincidental lol pls dont at me 👀 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.8k ✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: June 26, 2025 ✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Oh hi there! I guess some of you thought with how Part 5 ended that it was the last chapter. Well somehow, it’s not! As always, I keep clowning myself with how L&L is going to go. It’s all just vibes at this point. Consider this the beginning of the next Act if you will. This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. And thank you, Yoongi, for teaching and playing music for kids with autism. You inspire me everyday in every way.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

You’ve only got one hand free—your other is balancing a box of those orange pastries Yoongi won’t shut up about, so you reach for the keypad to his apartment, thumb tapping the code you now know by heart: Haneul’s birthday.

But the second you swing the door open, you freeze.

Standing in the entryway, pulling a sleek beige coat over her shoulders, is none other than Lee Sung Kyung.

“Oh,” she says, blinking, brows lifting ever so slightly. “Hi.”

You take in the scene: her boots by the door, a cup half-full on the counter. It’s not that scandalous, not exactly, but it sure as hell isn’t nothing, either.

You tilt your head, offering a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Hi.”

“I know you. You’re the temp nanny, no? My son isn’t here, though.”

Oh wow. So that’s how she’s playing this.

You take a second, studying her face. Her expression is neutral, but her lips are just a little too tight. You have a feeling she knows exactly who you are. This isn’t ignorance. It’s a power play. A test.

Calculating your next move, you poke your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you unknowingly picked up from Yoongi.

Speak of the devil. Behind her, Yoongi appears from the hallway, brows raised in alarm like he’s already running a thousand calculations on how catastrophic this looks. “You’re early,” he says to you, and then, to Sung Kyung, “I thought you were already gone.”

“I was just leaving,” she says airily, turning to glance over her shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop myself from tidying up our son’s room. His toys are all over the place.”

It isn’t. And you know it.

“Didn’t realize you were expecting company,” she jabs.

“Didn’t think I needed an appointment,” you counter, lifting the box slightly. “Brought your favorite,” you say to Yoongi, keeping your voice steady.

“Oh, but his actual favorites are the lemon tarts from Tartine?”

Ah. So she really wants to do this.

“Well,” you smile sugary, tilting your head, “you’ve been gone a while, haven’t you? He has a new favorite now.”

Sung Kyung mirrors your smile—tight, polished, and laced with something sharp.

You know Yoongi knows a cat fight is in his midst, and it would be in everyone's best interest that he does something, anything. He runs a hand over his hair, gripping his scalp tight, clearly dying inside. “Okay,” he mutters, eyes flicking between you and her. “Time to wrap this up.”

“But you haven’t even properly introduced us.” Sung Kyung grins and it’s fake as fuck. She turns to you again, not waiting on Yoongi to make the intro. “I'm Sung Kyung, Haneul’s mom, but you already knew that.”

“Y/N, Haneul’s teacher.” You let the silence stretch just a beat too long before adding:

“And Yoongi’s girlfriend… in case you didn’t know.”

There it is—a micro-flinch. Just the tiniest tick in her jaw. But it’s enough.

“Nice to meet you,” she lies, her smile stretched just a little too tight.

“Likewise,” you reply, voice honeyed. You don’t follow her with your eyes, but you do listen for the satisfying whirr of the front door locking shut.

As soon as it clicks, Yoongi groans, dragging a hand through his hair. 

“Damn, why are you so useless, bro?” you deadpan as you eye your useless boyfriend. You walk to the kitchen counter and place the box of pastries on the marble slab.

“Knew you could handle her. Wait, did you just call me bro?”

“Lucky I didn’t call you a dumbass.”

Yoongi’s at your side in an instant. “I didn’t know she was coming. I swear.”

You open the cupboard to get plates. He watches you carefully as he takes the plates from you, like he’s trying to figure out if he’s in trouble. He is, but, god that cute manbun atop his head is really doing something to you.

Because you’re too damn soft for him, you try a smile again, something less performative, as he puts the plates beside the pastry box. He suddenly pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your hair. It’s been days after all since you last saw each other.

You let the moment hang, let him get comfortable in your arms, rest his cheek on your shoulder, before you pull back just enough to look at him.

“Is that right,” you tease, voice unimpressed. “But weren’t you just playing house with your ex today?”

Yoongi immediately cups your face in his big, warm hands, squishing your cheeks such that your lips are pouting. “Baby. Sarang. I promise you I didn’t know she was coming. She dropped by to see Han. That’s it. I haven’t told her he’s in Daegu.” To top it off, he plants a kiss square on your jutting lips.

“Mhm.” You peel his palms away from your face to plate the orange danishes. “Looks like she enjoyed my silver moon tea?”

“I offered out of politeness…” he says. To his credit, he looks like he is immediately regretting this decision.

“Anything else that’s mine that she got to enjoy today?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Come on. Don’t do this. You know it’s not like that.”

“Oh, I know,” you say sweetly, stepping in closer, “but it’s kind of fun watching you shit yourself.”

His eyes narrow. “You’re evil.”

“I’m literally an angel,” you correct, referring to the box of pastries again. “See? Still brought you these. You’re actual favorite.”

“Not gonna lie,” he leans forward. “You being possessive and shit, is actually super hot.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Did you think we were gonna fight over you then suddenly make out? This ain't one of your pornos.” You smirk pushing his face away.

He chuckles heartily, shoulders bobbing like an asshole.

“You’re lucky I didn’t make you sweat more.”

“You are making me sweat,” he mutters. “My pits are soaked. Am I in trouble? Because I still don't know at this point.”

You remember Namjoon’s advice. He told you to take it easy on Yoongi, because of all the pressure he’s been under lately. Maybe you don’t know all of it. You know it’s hard on him, but you also need your answers. If you are to really be in a relationship with him, there should be trust, and there shouldn’t be any secrets, too.

“Look, baby,” you place your hands on his shoulders, the tension easing slightly as he exhales. “First of all, change your shirt, then we will enjoy our pastries with tea and we can talk about it.” You say the last part with a small shrug, your smugness from earlier dissipating naturally.

Yoongi blinks once, and before you know what’s happening he is tugging his tshirt up, torso naked, flushed and a little shiny from sweat. The smell of musk and pheromones fill your lungs stat and you almost jump his bones in the middle of his kitchen. Miraculously, you find the sense to stop yourself.

“That's not gonna work…” you say, even as your eyes dip to the waistband of his sweats towards that tiny trail of fuzz.

“Oh?” he asks, biting his bottom lip.

Your lips twitch. “Fine. Pastries first. Kisses after.” You lean up, just brushing your mouth against his before you push him towards the hallway.

Sunday mornings are glorious. Especially this one.

You’re trying to decide whether you want more coffee or another round in Yoongi’s bed. And the fact that these are even your choices… yeah, again, fuckin’ GLORIOUS.

You’re in one of his old d-day tour shirts, sleep shorts you brought, hair a little rumpled. You feel so cozy and warm, wrapped in that easy, lazy comfort that follows a night like last night. He said he wanted to cook something before you left—breakfast, lunch, whatever time it was now—and he’s currently standing in front of the fridge, smelling something in a tupperware.

Then, you hear it. The beep of the front door. Little footsteps padding in.

“Appa!”

The tiny voice is unmistakable. You tense up, mug halfway to your lips.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, whipping your head toward Yoongi.

Yoongi’s eyes widen like he just remembered something crucial, like his son—the literal child he’s responsible for—might’ve slipped his mind. “Shit,” he says under his breath, already moving. “I was gonna tell you. Eomma’s bringing him home today.”

His EOMMA?! Fuckity fuuuuuuckk!

You don’t even get a chance to react (let alone hide) before Haneul toddles into the kitchen, backpack sliding off one shoulder, cheeks pink from the wind outside. He makes a delighted little sound when he sees you and hurls himself at your legs. You crouch just in time to catch him.

“Sarang!”

“Oh, sarang,” you breathe, pressing a kiss to his temple as he wiggles into your arms. “You’re back! Look at you, you’re so big now. I missed you.”

“Big,” Haneul says proudly. 

You laugh, hugging him tighter. “Yes, you are.”

“Appa’s right here, buddy,” Yoongi points at himself playfully. “I need a big ol’ hug, too.”

A soft voice interrupts from the doorway. “So you’re the Sarang he kept asking for.”

You look up to see Yoongi’s mom setting down a small duffel and a paper bag. Oh shit, you look like shit and she’s regal.

She’s dressed warm, a cardigan layered over a knit turtleneck, and her eyes soften when they land on you. Yoongi really takes after her.

There’s a flicker of something like déjà vu… the same look she gave you during Haneul’s first birthday when you handed her a plate of japchae and offered to hold Han while she ate.

Yoongi takes the paper bag and moves behind the counter beside you. You stand, wiggling your shorts down to make th longer, hide your legs more. Unfortunately, it ain’t working.

“Eomma,” Yoongi starts, rubbing the back of his neck. “This is Y/N.”

“We’ve met,” she says, though her tone is more amused than anything. 

Yoongi and you speak at the same time.

Him: “She’s my girlfriend.”

You: “Pardon how I—“

You look up from your bow, his words taking you by surprise. God he really sprung it on his mom like that—is he insane?! 

Yoongi’s eomma nods slowly, a smile playing in her lips. “You don’t have to apologize. We’re family here.”

Relief slowly washes over you as you stand there frozen and still mildly embarrassed, the feeling of a warm hand against the base of your spine being the only thing to thaw you out.

“Y/N is the head teacher at the HYBE daycare,” Yoongi says in a tone akin to a proud father. You warm further.

“Oh,” she nods. “That’s really good.”

“Thank you for bringing him,” Yoongi says as he takes out the banchan from the bag, stacking them on the kitchen island. “Were there paps outside?”

“No more. Those scums.” She replies with a shake of her head. “Han’s happier when he’s here at home.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters, eyes flicking to you. “Me too.”

“I’m not gonna stay long.”

“You sure? I’m cooking…”

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Min.”

She waves a hand dismissively. “You don’t have to be formal with me. I’m happy Yoongi has someone to make sure he eats properly and wakes up when he snores.”

Yoongi’s now red in the face as Han climbs him like a monkey.

“Alright, I’m going. I’ve got some errands to run. Yoongi, Y/N. Darling…” She kisses Haneul’s cheek and just like that, she’s gone.

The apartment is quiet again. Yoongi is staring at you, equal parts apologetic and amused, as he sets Haneul down.

“You okay?” he asks carefully, as if you might combust.

You nod, following Haneul to the living room. “Yeah. A little warning would’ve been nice, but I’m starting to get used to having mini heart attacks when I’m around you.”

“I just thought it would make you happy. Seeing him again.”

Your heart softens. “Of course it does. A lot.”

“And I don’t want to give you heart attacks, okay? What I want is for you to feel safe with me.”

He takes a step closer, hugging you from behind and suddenly you’re Jack and Rose from the Titanic movie. You laugh, it’s silly. But perhaps you make a pretty picture, if a little curious for an innocent mind, because Haneul is staring at you both, babbling something incoherent but joyful.

“Welcome home, sarang.” You smile. It really does feel like home.

When you finally take a moment to just chill after work, your social media feed dishes the latest gossip about the new couple of the moment: “Sung Kyung & Yoongi.” Apparently, their couple's name is Kyungi or whatever. It’s superrr dumb.

You roll your eyes. You shouldn’t be indulging in this fodder, but you’re a masochist. Anyway, it’s just the same recycled clips: their laugh during that Suchwi­ta interview, the way they’re wearing the same necklace, the same flannel shirt. But there’s new “evidence” from her stories where she’d tagged her new theater rehearsal with Yoongi’s D‑2 album sticker artfully tucked in the corner. It has their fans spiraling, convinced it’s a secret sign. It’s not true, but you feel the pulse of irritation rise. Yoongi’s moved on, you’re here building your own life with him, and none of this recycled garbage changes that.

You kneel down to gather the rainbow sorting cubes scattered across the mat, slipping them into the plastic bin one by one. 

The door slides open, and you glance up just as Yoongi steps inside. His face is drawn, eyes shadowed from a day too long and too loud. He doesn’t say anything at first, just drops his bag near the shelf and sinks to his knees beside you.

“Didn’t expect you here,” you say gently.

He offers a faint smile, the kind that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Wanna go home.”

You don’t ask what he means. You don’t need to. The tabloid content is still sitting in the back of your mind, chaotic and unwanted. And maybe his, too. It weighs on him, what you think.

“Can you hand me those animal puzzles?” you ask instead, tilting your head toward the open box nearby. 

Yoongi nods, passing them over wordlessly. You both clean in silence for a few more minutes.

When the room is back in order, you flick off the lights and turn to him. “Let’s go.”

He nods. “Can you stay tonight? I don’t wanna be alone.”

“Of course.” You don’t say anything else. His somber eyes and quiet presence says enough about the weight of the world on his shoulders. You just want to carry it with him.

You spend a quiet night in, massaging the tension off his back, tucking yourself against the curve of his body, taking care of him the way you know he won’t ask for, but always needs.

Late afternoon sunlight slants through the windows, laying golden trails across the Min men’s living room.

One of them is dancing with you, little hands clapping off-beat as you jump with him to “Hop Little Bunnies” on the TV. He’s squealing in delight, his tiny legs kicking excitedly while you sway, both of you singing, laughing.

The other one is sprawled on the couch with his legs outstretched, watches with that gummy smile that melts you every time. As the song ends, he sits up, something bright in his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, reaching to ruffle Haneul’s hair gently, “You use music at the daycare, right, for activities?”

“Of course,” you say, bouncing Han gently on your hip. “The kids love it. Why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, hesitant but excited. “I want to come by sometime… maybe play for them. Just fun songs they can move to. And I get to spend more time with you and Han.”

Your heart swells. “Yoongi,” you say, unable to hide your grin. “That’s such a good idea. They’d love that. I’d love that.”

He nods, lips curving into something shy but warm. “Cool. Just let me know when. I’ll bring my guitar.”

You’ve just finished recess at the daycare, and the room fills with the soft babbles of toddlers with post-snack zoomies. You glance over to see Yoongi carrying his guitar case through the door, a small smile on his face. You wave him in.

He gets settled by the little music corner, where there are colorful cushions, a toy piano, and a small speaker.

You introduce him. Not as SUGA. Not as Agust D. Not as Yoongi-ssi.

But as Teacher Min.

He waves in smol.

You tell the kids to clap for Teacher Min and his ears turn pink.

All the kids take turns to introduce themselves. And when it is Haneul’s turn, stars take shape in his pupils.

It’s so endearing, how Yoongi’s nervous at first. As if he has not sold out stadiums all over the world. It’s an audience of five plus you, and you can see the slight shake of his fingers when he adjusts the guitar on his knee.

You put a palm on his shoulder, just a slight reassuring touch while you address the kids and encourage them to sing and dance along. 

He strums a soft chord and launches into a gentle acoustic rendition of “Wheels on the Bus.” You sing with him and soon the kids are rolling their arms, wiggling their bums, and jumping about.

He does a few more songs after that. Every chord seems to loosen shoulders. Yoongi’s voice is sweet and a little gravelly, but surprisingly melodic, each word clear and comforting. He engages the children, encouraging them to clap along, to sing softly, to move their little hands in rhythm. 

You are by his side, heart expanding with so much happiness you think it’s gonna burst.

Midway through, his eyes light up when he locks with yours, the same sparkle you saw that one time in his living room, when he was playing with Haneul, before everything shifted and shifted again. And in that moment, something crystallizes within you, a realization so profound it makes your chest squeeze. 

Fuck. 

This is love. 

That night, you sleep over in his place. It feels natural at this point, and you’ve mastered the usual precautions—the mask, the back doors, and delayed exits. It’s all part of being with someone like him, and it’s something you are slowly but surely accepting. 

After freshening up, your feet take you to his home studio. You knock and push the door open gently. Lights low, the glow of his wide monitor casts a warmth over everything else.

Yoongi’s back is to you, head bowed slightly as his fingers glide gently over the keys. He’s playing something unfamiliar, but it aches with tenderness.

You step into the room slowly, not wanting to break the spell. And then, quietly, you come up behind him and place your hands over his shoulders.

He stills for a beat—surprised—but immediately pulls you to his his lap. “Didn’t hear you come in,” he murmurs, voice low.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” You nuzzle closer. “You were amazing today.”

Yoongi huffs a soft laugh, turns his head slightly. “Nah. I was stiff.”

“Stop, the kids loved you. You were amazing, a natural,” you say, not allowing his usual self-deprecating behavior this time. The image of him on the daycare floor with his guitar, surrounded by adoring toddlers, the way his eyes sought you out for reassurance, your heart is still swollen from it.

You press a kiss to his temple. Then another to his cheek. 

“I love you,” you whisper. You don’t wait for a reply. You just kiss him. Slow, soft, deep. 

And when he pulls you down onto the studio couch with him, fingers trembling slightly as they undo the buttons of your blouse, it feels sacred. There’s no rush. Body to body, skin on skin, breath as one. His two hands on you like he’s never letting go. His mouth murmurs against your heat, spoiling every inch of you. And when you peak, you pour out the love that’s been accumulating even after years of missed chances, imperfect timings, wrong people—the love that was meant for him all along.

The next morning, you’re scrolling through socials when a reel pops up: POV: Free BTS concert in a daycare

The footage was taken from outside the glass doors. It catches Yoongi’s easy laughter, his tender nods and comforting presence. You’re also there, face clearly enamored. You are relieved that the kids' faces are not seen from this angle.

Thing is, the video has gone viral, and the comments section is filled with love and thirst alike:

@/tae7sykes: just when i thought i couldn’t possibly love him more. oh my hearttt @/angelshookie: am NOT crashing out or anything… #yoongimarryme @/flossydebut: AAAAGGHHH he is never beating the kind and gentle allegations @/yoonmeforever: this is so special 😭 @/undeniablekittens: fuck this man is so perfect and amazing 🥹 @/novemberjade: husband husband husband 🫠 @/miniboni: omg why is this so cute???

You tap it again, your heart full but racing—it’s true, it’s real, and everyone else just saw what you’ve known from the start. And at the bottom, amidst the flood of praise, one comment catches your eye and suddenly the ringing in your ears is louder than bombs.

@/lee-sungkyung: proud ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human xo

Wanna know what happens next? It's cookin'! Feedback is always appreciated and keeps motivation high. Leave me a note or a reblog if you are so inclined. I'd really love that! 💜

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[aaclariww]

Saw these on Instagram and wanted to share bc they really phrased it better than I could.

I'm so incredibly proud to support someone as kind and generous as Yoongi💜

[aaclariww]

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 05

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, (eventual) explicit sexual content, swearing, alcohol consumption, kissing, making out (?), you guys are gonna hate me lolol, reader and jk are both stupid, ft. seokjin, namjoon, hoseok, jimin, taehyung, yoongi + four female ocs

word count: 8.1k

notes: i did NOT think this would take this long, i’m so sorry angels :< as always, like, comments, reblogs, feedback and asks are so appreciated!!! enjoy reading <33

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⤷ chapter five — anything

i don’t wanna talk about anything / i wanna kiss, kiss you eyes again / wanna witness your eyes lookin’

You wake up to warmth.

It takes you a second to realise it’s not the kind that comes from the sun bleeding through the sheer curtains. It’s heavier than that. Warmer. It smells like the detergent he always uses, that subtle citrus blend you used to make fun of for being “too clean.” You shift slightly; not enough to stir anything, but just enough to check.

Yep. That’s his arm, still draped across your waist.

He’s curled behind you, breathing steady, chest rising and falling against your back. One of his legs has somehow found its way tangled with yours. His grip on you is loose, almost lazy, like even in sleep, he doesn't want to let go — but he would if you pulled away.

You don’t.

Your pillow is soft, but his chest was softer last night. You remember the way he just climbed into bed, half-drunk, barely conscious, and slung his arm around you. No hesitation. No asking. Just like nothing had changed.

And maybe, for a second, you’d let yourself pretend that was true.

Now, in the stillness of early morning, there’s something terrifyingly comforting about his hold. About the way your bodies fit together so seamlessly, like no time had passed at all.

And you can feel the small ache in your chest — the part of you that misses him so much you're not sure how to deal with it.

You miss the way he sleeps like he’s protecting you from something. You miss the way his warmth settles over you like a blanket. You miss... him.

Your hand twitches, like it wants to reach for his, but you don't move — you don't want to break the moment.

So you just stay still, letting yourself exist in the space between what was and what could’ve been. Letting yourself remember, even if just for a minute, what it felt like to be loved by him without question.

You don’t know how long you stay like that, eyes half-lidded and mind floating somewhere between sleep and something a little too close to dreaming.

Eventually, his breathing shifts.

Not a lot — just the kind of subtle change that lets you know he’s slipping out of sleep. His chest rises a little deeper, his fingers twitch once at your side, and you feel the slight tension in his leg where it’s tangled with yours.

You keep your eyes closed.

He doesn’t move immediately. In fact, for a second, you think maybe he’s still asleep after all. But then you feel it: the tiniest brush of his thumb against the hem of your shirt.

You hear him breathe in, a little sharper this time. Not quite a gasp, but close. The kind of inhale people take when they suddenly remember where they are, and who they’re with.

Then his voice, low and scratchy with sleep, murmurs near your ear, “Still drool in your sleep?”

You scoff, caught off guard, and shove at his arm without really meaning it.

“No,” you mutter, voice thick, “but you still snore.”

There’s a quiet laugh behind you. It's barely there, a warm exhale more than anything else, but it vibrates faintly through his chest where it rests against your back. It feels nice, but too easy. Like a bad habit.

Then, silence.

Another beat passes, and you can feel the change the moment it happens. Like something clicks back into place for him. His arm retracts slowly, the weight of it disappearing from around your waist. He shifts back a few inches — not a lot, but enough to put space where there hadn’t been any for hours.

You feel the loss immediately.

Your skin feels cooler where he was, your body suddenly too aware of the places that were warm just seconds ago. You don’t move. Don’t look at him. You just stare at the soft curve of light on the wall in front of you and pretend you don’t miss the closeness already.

“Sorry,” he says under his breath, barely audible. “Didn’t mean to... yeah.”

You nod, still facing forward. “It’s fine.”

But it’s not. Not really.

He sits up slowly, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulls his legs over the edge of the bed. You don’t turn around, but you can hear the way he rubs at his face with his hands, the quiet sound of palms dragging over skin.

“Sun’s already up,” he says, like you hadn’t noticed.

You hum in agreement, but you don’t say anything else.

He sits there on the edge of the bed for a second, then lets out a groan. "Fuck," he mutters. "How much did I drink last night?"

You shift slightly on the mattress, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of your eye. His hair’s a mess, flattened on one side and sticking up in soft waves on the other. It makes you smile.

“Judging by the way you came in here like a tranquilised bear? Enough.”

He huffs a sound that might be a laugh, head hanging low. “Figures.”

He pushes himself up with a grunt, standing slow like the weight of being vertical is a little too much this early. There’s a faint crease across his cheek from the pillow, another on the side of his neck where the blanket must’ve bunched up under him. He scratches absently at his jaw, eyes still droopy.

You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t look at you.

He just stands there for a beat, arms loose at his sides, before murmuring, “I’m gonna go see if there’s coffee. You want anything?”

You finally roll over, propping yourself up on one elbow just in time to see him standing by the door, his hair messy and eyes avoiding yours.

You hesitate. “Coffee sounds good.”

He gives a small nod. “Okay.”

The door clicks softly behind him, and you’re alone in the room again. The only evidence he was ever there is the indent on the mattress beside you and the faint trace of citrus still lingering in the air.

You sigh, falling back against the pillow.

You hate how badly you already want him to come back.

The small Hello Kitty sticker on the side of Jungkook’s helmet is still there.

It’s barely hanging on now, faded from years of sun and road and rain, peeling slightly at the edge like it's just waiting for someone to come along and pull it off for good. But no one ever has. Not even him.

You remember the day you put it there. It was in your third year of college, and he’d just bought the bike and rolled it into the lot, grinning proudly. He was already talking about road trips; about escaping the city and taking you everywhere just because he knew how much you loved travelling. You’d pulled the sticker from your phone case and pressed it onto the side of the helmet before he could say anything.

He’d groaned. You’d grinned. He kept it.

And now, here you are — arms wrapped around him as the motorbike hums down the road toward town, your legs pressed tight against his. You ignore the overwhelming urge to press your cheek against his back and just relax against him.

The wind is warm, laced with salt. You feel it push through your clothes and tangle your hair, but most of all, you feel him — solid in front of you, body moving in sync with the turns. His shirt is damp with heat, and your fingers rest lightly against the fabric, careful not to hold too tight.

But you want to.

You feel his breath shift when the town comes into view, a small stretch of painted buildings and narrow streets nestled between the coastline and the hills. It’s beautiful — chipped and colourful, with flags strung between rooftops and open-air shops spilling out into the street.

He pulls into a spot near the edge of the square and cuts the engine. For a second, neither of you move. Your arms are still around him. Your chest is still mere centimetres away from his back. The silence settles in like heat.

When you finally slip off the bike, the world feels too bright. You run a hand through your hair, trying to tame the wind-tangled strands, and glance back just in time to see Jungkook unbuckle his helmet and set it on the seat. The sticker catches the light. So does his smile — soft, and slightly crooked as he smoothens the edges.

You take a few steps toward the square, eyes scanning the little street corners and shaded storefronts. There’s a carved wooden sign hanging from a crooked beam, and beside it, a wire rack of postcards spinning lazily in the breeze.

But no sign of Ari. Or Namjoon.

Which is funny because it was Ari who had convinced you to come down here in the first place.

You’d been perfectly content by the beach, book in hand, half-asleep in the sun, but she’d tugged you up and kept begging you to come with her until you finally gave in.

To be fair, she did have a good reason; the house was running critically low on groceries.

Somehow, she’d managed to convince Jungkook too — which honestly, you're glad about because there's nothing you hate more than third wheeling a happy couple — but no one else was swayed enough to tag along.

And now, she's the one that's late.

You shade your eyes with your hand and glance further down the street.

“They said they’d meet us here, right?” you ask, finally.

Your voice is quiet. You’re not even sure if it’s meant to break the silence or just soften it.

Jungkook lifts his phone halfway, thumb tapping the screen like it’s muscle memory. “Yeah,” he says, not looking up right away. “Ah, Namjoon just texted me there. They just got here, so they’re probably still looking for parking or something. He said they'll meet us eventually."

You nod once and step away from the curb, eyes trailing the narrow stretch of market street ahead. Sunlight glints off the tin roofs. There’s the murmur of voices, the occasional clink of glass, and the low thrum of a radio somewhere playing a song you don’t recognise but vaguely like.

Jungkook falls in beside you without a word.

A couple passes going the opposite way, their hands intertwined. You glance down at yours.

“We should probably start,” he says after a beat. “Since they’ll just meet us.”

You shrug. “You have the list, right?”

He unlocks his phone again and scrolls. “Yeah. Ari texted it to me this morning.”

“What’s on it?”

He reads as you both start walking again. “Eggs, lemons, bread. Peaches. Some kind of pasta. And then she added ‘whatever fruit looks pretty.’”

“What's that supposed to mean," you say, amusement lacing your voice.

"No idea."

You break off from the main road, following a shaded lane lined with uneven cobblestones and quieter stalls. The air’s a little cooler here, less crowded, the noise of the market fading to a background hum. You walk slowly, letting your shoulders drop, adjusting the tote bag looped over your arm as it shifts with the weight of everything you’ve already picked up.

So far: a bundle of slightly overripe peaches, a paper-wrapped loaf of bread, lemons, and some fresh mango juice.

Jungkook had gone to find water in some corner café he'd spotted, and you’d just nodded and wandered a little further on your own, not really thinking about where your feet were taking you.

Now, you’re standing in front of a narrow stall tucked between a linen vendor and a rack of second-hand books, and the table in front of you is lined with jewellery.

Nothing fancy — just a board of earrings propped on the table, arranged in uneven rows on pale linen. Some dangle, some are simple studs. Silver, gold, brushed metal, the occasional coloured stone.

You scan them slowly, half out of habit. You’ve been keeping an eye out since yesterday, hoping you might stumble across something like the ones you lost, but nothing here is quite right. Too ornate, too polished, too intentionally handmade.

Though, one pair does catch your eye: small hoops with a single pearl hanging from it. They're pretty.

You don’t pick them up.

Just stand there, letting the edge of your bag dig slightly into your shoulder, the sun hitting your arms in slow patches between the slats of the awning overhead.

The vendor is older, seated on a stool in the corner, half-hidden behind a stack of folded cloth. She doesn’t greet you. Just watches, quiet and patient, a thread of silver hair slipping from behind her ear.

You tuck your hands into your pockets, shift your weight to the other foot.

The earrings catch the light when you shift your stance — just a soft glint where the pearl curves beneath the hoop. You stare at them a second longer than you mean to, thumb brushing the strap of the tote against your hip.

“Pretty,” someone says behind you.

You blink, half-turn.

There’s a guy standing just outside the edge of the stall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

You offer a polite nod.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. “You just looked kind of... focused.”

You shrug. “Just browsing.”

He steps closer.

“Any good finds?”

Your hand tightens slightly around the bag handle. “I’m just looking at earrings.”

His eyes flick to the table like he hadn’t actually noticed it until now. “Right. The pearls are cute. I could see them on you.”

You don’t answer. Just shift your weight, subtly angling your body away.

He doesn’t pick up on it. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

“You from around here?” he asks, like he’s picking up a conversation that was never started.

You glance down the alley, scanning for a glimpse of Jungkook, but it’s still quiet — just the linen swaying in the heat, a burst of laughter carrying from somewhere across the square.

“No,” you say, clipped.

He smiles like that was the answer he wanted. “Yeah, figured. You’ve got that kind of—” he gestures vaguely. “Not-local look.”

You’re not sure what that means. You don’t ask.

“Vacation?” he tries again.

You glance back at the table, pretending to study a thin necklace you’re not really looking at. “I’m waiting for someone.”

The guy hums, still standing there.

“Boyfriend?” he asks, almost like it's a joke. Like he already knows what he thinks the answer is.

You don’t look at him. “Yeah.”

Another beat passes.

And he says, “Don’t see him.”

You square your shoulders slightly, still not facing him.

“I told you, I'm waiting for him. I don’t need company,” you say.

He lets out a little laugh. “I’m just making conversation.”

You press your lips together and turn, this time fully, eyes meeting his just long enough to say I’m done.

And still, he lingers.

But his smile falters for a brief second, almost as if he’s not used to not being smiled at. Not used to being dismissed.

“Look,” he says again, something shifting under his voice now — flatter, slightly annoyed, like he’s decided you’re being difficult for no reason.

You stay silent, eyes on the earrings, jaw tight.

For a second, you think about just walking away. Heading back through the stalls, finding a different corner to browse that doesn’t come with commentary and unwanted company. You should’ve just stayed with Jungkook. Should’ve waited by the fruit stand like you said you would instead of wandering off like this.

You shift your weight again, about to turn to walk away when you hear the easy scrape of sneakers against stone behind you.

Relief blooms in your chest as the steady weight of Jungkook's palm settles low on your back.

“Hey baby,” he says, voice smooth, a little softer than it needs to be. “Sorry, it took forever.”

You turn toward him instinctively, letting your shoulder brush his chest, relief flooding through you.

Jungkook doesn’t look at you. His attention is on the guy, who’s already taking a step back.

The stranger raises an eyebrow, trying for a laugh. “Didn’t realise she was taken.”

Jungkook’s tone doesn’t change. “She is.”

You don’t pull away.

The guy looks between the two of you — sizing up, maybe, but the math’s already been done. He’s not stupid. He huffs a small breath through his nose and nods, like this was all just a misunderstanding.

“All good,” he says, and turns to walk off.

Only once he’s out of sight do you finally breathe. Jungkook’s hand stays where it is.

“Fucker,” you mutter, glancing back toward the street. “I literally fucking told him I had a boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles — a quiet, amused curve of his mouth, like he’s holding back more than he’s saying.

“You delivered it well,” he says. “Had me convinced.”

You shoot him a look, but your irritation is already starting to melt at the sight of him.

“I should’ve thrown a lemon at him.”

“You did buy extra.”

That pulls a genuine laugh from you, and he hands you the water bottle like nothing happened at all. His fingers graze yours — not long enough to mean anything, but long enough to notice.

You take a sip.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods once, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Comes with the role, right?” He nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. “Acting boyfriend of the year.”

You raise a brow, lips curving. “Please, you’re barely qualified.”

"Uhm, ouch?"

You laugh again, leaning into the teasing by gently nudging his side.

Jungkook shifts beside you, elbow lightly brushing yours as he nods toward the side of the stall. “You know what we should get?”

You glance over at him, the corners of your mouth twitching. “What?”

He tips his chin toward a tray tucked beside the earrings — a neat line of woven bracelets laid out in rows, some beaded, some braided, some with tiny charms strung through the middle like afterthoughts. “Matching couple bracelets.”

Your brow lifts. “That’s bold.”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “Just saying. That way, if someone else tries to come up to you again, you can just lift your wrist or something. Plus, it'll get Ari off your ass.”

You look down at the bracelets. Most of them are simple. Worn leather cords. Clay beads in dusky colours. A few pale shells strung on white string. The kind of thing you would’ve scoffed at years ago. Now… you kind of like the idea.

Still, you don’t let him off that easy.

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you say slowly, reaching out to nudge one with your finger. It rolls in place, beads clicking softly against the table. Then, a beat later, you glance sideways at him. “You know, if you want to match with me… you could just say that.”

He scoffs under his breath, but his mouth curves like you’ve caught him. “I literally just did.”

You smile without meaning to. “No, you disguised it as self-defense.”

He leans a little closer, voice low and casual like he’s letting you in on something. “Well, your safety is my top priority.”

“Sure,” you say, dragging out the word. “Let’s pretend that’s the reason.”

Jungkook holds up both hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, if matching bracelets keep weird guys away and makes us more convincing to everyone else, I think we’ve found the perfect investment.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand lingers over one of the pairs — two braided threads in muted navy and cream. His gaze follows yours, and you don’t miss the way his fingers brush close to yours when he reaches to pick them up.

He turns one over in his hand, quiet for a moment. “These okay?”

You meet his eyes. “Yeah. They’re nice.”

He pays for them — slipping a few folded bills to the vendor without looking at you — and you don’t stop him. You just put out your hand and let him tie it around your wrist, before doing the same for him.

You both linger for a second after the knots are tied, wrists side by side, the new bracelets snug against your skin. His fingers ghost over yours when he lets go.

“See?” he says, voice soft. “Official now.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugs at your lips anyway. You’re not sure if it's from the joke or the fact that he hasn’t stepped away yet.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket, breaking whatever invisible thread was hanging between you.

He pulls it out, thumb swiping across the screen. His eyes flick across the message.

“It’s Namjoon,” he says. “They’re around the corner, by that little gelato place.”

You nod, ready to follow, but before you can move, Jungkook slips his hand into yours.

The movement is so smooth, so casual, like it’s nothing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers lace between yours with practiced ease, like they’ve done a thousand times before — because they have.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t pull away.

He starts walking, gently tugging you along behind him, navigating through the narrow alley like he knows exactly where to go. His grip is firm but easy, thumb brushing once against the back of your hand as he adjusts your pace to match his.

And fuck, how you've missed this.

By the time you, Jungkook, Ari, and Namjoon made it back from town, everyone had drifted to the beach, bottles already half empty in hand. Naturally, the four of you joined in almost immediately.

Now, the sun hangs low over the ocean, melting slow into the horizon, throwing streaks of deep orange and pale lilac across the sky. The sand beneath you is warm, still holding onto the heat of the day, and the breeze smells like burnt sugar from someone’s abandoned marshmallow.

There’s a bonfire going, and everyone’s settled in a loose sprawl around it, feet kicked up, shoes long since discarded. Blankets are half-buried in the sand, and there's a speaker somewhere playing a random song no one has bothered to skip.

Seokjin and Haeun are curled together near the fire, trading sips of something dark from a flask. Taehyung’s stretched out with his head in Yasmine’s lap, sunglasses still on, despite the sun being nearly gone. Namjoon’s half-asleep, leaning back on his elbows and arguing about constellations with Hoseok.

Jungkook sits beside you. His legs are stretched out, knees bent, one arm hooked around the neck of a bottle he hasn’t touched in a while. There’s a subtle red glow along the edge of his cheek from the firelight. He’s watching the flames, brow relaxed, and you wonder if he’s even noticed how close your knee is to his.

You’re three drinks past tipsy. Four, maybe. Whatever the number is, it stopped mattering after the second time you laughed so hard your face hurt. Your skin feels flushed, limbs loose, everything a little too loud and a little too lovely.

You’re holding a glass in your hand and when you tip it back, only a lukewarm sip greets you. You shake the glass above your mouth, trying to summon more, but you only manage a few drops.

You glance around. Taehyung is still holding a beer, someone else’s drink sits forgotten near a towel, but the vodka — the one you’d claimed earlier, the one you’ve been nursing all night — is gone. Empty. Bottle tossed sideways near Kiara’s ankle.

You frown, squinting at it like it might magically refill if you look disappointed enough.

“We’re out,” you announce.

Your voice comes out rougher than you expect. The circle barely reacts — just a few shrugs, a lazy groan from someone too comfortable to care.

You push your hands against the sand and slowly rise to your feet, not bothering to brush it off your legs. The world tips, then steadies.

“I’ll grab more,” you say, already turning toward the path that leads back up the beach, toward the house.

Jungkook shifts next to you.

His voice is calm, but something in it feels closer. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

You pause, glance over your shoulder. He’s looking at you now, legs still stretched out in front of him, hand still around the neck of the bottle — but his focus is sharp. You tilt your head, expression loose.

“What, you think I’m gonna fall into a bush?”

He raises his eyebrows slightly. “I’m saying I’ve seen you trip over air.”

You roll your eyes, already turning back toward the path. “I’ll be fine.”

Jungkook exhales through his nose — just the smallest huff of a sound — then pushes up from the sand with a groan. He dusts off the back of his jeans, tossing the bottle onto a towel.

“Wait up,” he says, catching up to you in a few easy strides. “I’ll come.”

You pause again, frowning faintly. “You don’t have to.”

“You’re drunk,” he says simply, meeting your eyes like that should be the whole argument.

It kind of is.

You shrug, not really fighting him on it. “Fine. But you’re carrying the new bottle.”

“Deal,” he says, and you’re already walking again, sand shifting under your feet as the last of the sun bleeds into the sea behind you.

The path up from the beach isn’t long, but it stretches just enough to make you feel the weight of your steps. You walk beside him in silence at first, the kind that’s filled with the hush of your own breath and the faint pop and crackle of the fire behind you.

He walks a step behind you at first, and you can feel the rhythm of his footsteps syncing to yours.

“Still think I’m gonna trip?” you mutter, not looking back.

“I’ve seen you fall off a curb while standing still,” he says, casual.

“That was one time.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “Sure it was.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, and his mouth pulls into that crooked grin that used to mean everything to you.

It still might.

When you reach the edge of the porch, you pause to shake the sand from your ankles. He opens the screen door with one hand, letting you step through first without a word.

The air inside the house is cooler, shadows stretching across the walls where the sun hasn’t fully let go. The hum of distant music still trails in from the beach, muffled now, wrapped in layers of wood and silence.

You kick your shoes off at the door and Jungkook follows behind you.

The kitchen light is off, but there’s enough ambient glow from the setting sun through the windows to see. You move toward the counter on autopilot, stepping over someone’s forgotten hoodie on the floor. Your body’s loose, hips swinging slightly as you walk, unbothered by how your tank top’s ridden up a little from the waistband of your shorts.

Jungkook makes a soft noise behind you, like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. Instead, he goes to the sink, running the tap and filling a glass.

You find the stash of liquor tucked behind the blender. Whoever stocked the place has questionable taste — peach schnapps, a half-full bottle of cheap whiskey, something unlabelled that smells like danger. But the vodka’s there, unopened. Cold from the fridge.

You pull it out with a small victorious sound and place it on the counter with a thud. The bottle’s condensation beads against your fingers.

Jungkook sets the glass of water down beside you and leans his hip against the counter.

“Drink that first,” he says, nudging the water toward you.

You groan, but reach for it anyway, your fingers brushing against his. They linger longer than they need to. You don’t move them.

“Responsible,” you murmur, bringing the glass to your lips. “Since when are you the responsible one?”

“Since you decided to replace dinner with mango juice and vodka.”

You hum at that, taking a slow sip. The water’s ice-cold, and the chill hits your throat all the way down, sharp enough to make you blink.

He watches you swallow, jaw flexing slightly.

“You’re staring,” you say, teasing, eyes glinting under the dim light.

“You’re drunk.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again if you keep looking at me like that.”

You laugh, short and soft, setting the glass down a little too forcefully. Some water sloshes over the side and you don't even care.

“I’m not looking at you like anything.”

“Liar.”

You tilt your head and smile, stepping closer, into his space. Your arm brushes against his. He doesn’t step back.

He smells like sun and sea and a little like smoke, and the sharpness of the scent makes your chest tighten. You lean your hip against the counter, closer now, your shoulder touching his as you both look at the bottle between you like it’s something important.

“You look good,” you say, and your voice is low — blurry with the buzz in your blood, but not slurred. Just honest.

He glances down at you, one brow raising, like he’s surprised but not really. “You’re drunk,” he repeats, gentler this time.

You shrug. “Still true.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

Not right away.

He just stands there, eyes still on yours, like he's waiting for something — waiting for you to laugh, maybe. To wave it off. Turn away. But you don’t. You stay close. Too close. The air between you is warm and still, humming with something you don’t want to name. Not yet.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way the last of the sunset catches in his lashes, turning the brown of his eyes molten — but you swear, for a second, his gaze drops to your lips.

Your heart beats harder than it should. Like it’s thinking louder than your brain.

You shift, just slightly, your hand coming down to rest on the counter beside his. Your pinky brushes his. The silence stretches, heavy and soft, and you can feel your own pulse pressing up against your ribs like it’s trying to claw out.

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

It’s quiet — so quiet you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t already tracking everything about him. The slight shift in the set of his jaw. The way his fingers twitch once, like they want to move but don’t. He’s still watching you, still breathing like he’s trying not to let it show. But his gaze drops to your lips again and you're certain you're not imagining it this time.

“You’re drunk,” he says again, softer this time. Like he’s reminding himself.

You blink, slow and lazy, like the weight of the moment is pressing down behind your eyes. But you don’t move away. Don’t close the gap.

“Not that drunk,” you murmur, and it’s not a defense. It’s the truth, or close enough. You know how you feel. Know what you want.

Still, he hesitates.

His hand lifts like he wants to touch you — your arm, your waist, your jaw, something — but he doesn’t let it land. It just hovers there in the space between you, fingers flexing slightly. Like he’s waiting for permission. Or maybe for you to step back. Like he’s giving you one last chance not to want this.

But you don’t step back.

You hold still and let the silence stretch, taut as a wire between you.

“I don’t want you to regret anything,” he says.

You tilt your head, just a little. The corner of your mouth curls — not quite teasing, not quite sweet. “Then make sure I don't.”

That does it.

Something in him cracks. Or maybe he just exhales, finally, after holding his breath for weeks, months, too long.

He leans in.

And when he kisses you, it’s soft. So soft it makes your chest ache.

His lips brush yours like he’s scared you’ll disappear. Like he’s scared he’ll ruin it if he pushes too hard. His hand finally settles at your waist, the touch almost featherlight. You let your eyes fall shut as your fingers curl against the counter’s edge, your breath catching.

You’re not thinking clearly — not really. Your thoughts are cotton-wrapped and soft at the edges. The vodka, the heat, the way his lips feel on yours — it’s all tangled together now. You should probably be more careful with this. You should probably be thinking harder, asking him the all the questions that have been clawing at the back of your throat since the moment you two ended before letting this happen.

But you don’t want to. Not tonight.

You don’t want to pick this apart or hold it up to the light. Not when it feels like this. Not when his hands are on your waist, not when your mouth still feels like his.

Not when you’re this close to feeling whole again.

So you let it go.

Just for now.

You kiss him back slowly, deliberately, mouth parting just enough to deepen it. And when you do, he melts. A little. Just enough to let you feel the want he’s been trying not to show. The way he leans into you like he’s been waiting for this, needing this, and now that he has it, he’s terrified to let it go.

His hand at your waist grips tighter, pulling you in, and your chest brushes his. You slide one hand up to the side of his neck, your thumb brushing the curve of his throat, and he shivers under it, like the touch unravels him.

He parts your lips with his again, slower this time, and you sigh into his mouth — soft and involuntary and full of everything you haven’t said — and it pull something from him.

Jungkook's kisses turn firmer — still slow, still careful, but less afraid. Like whatever restraint he was holding onto just loosened a little.

You can feel the way his breath catches when your hand slips into his hair. The way he leans into it, barely chasing your touch. His thumb strokes slow, unconscious circles into your waist, and when your lips part again, he meets you there without hesitation.

You kiss him one more time.

Slow, like you’re trying to memorise the shape of it. Like you don’t know when you’ll let yourself have this again.

Then you pull back — not because you want to, but because if you don’t now, you might never.

It’s gentle. Barely a breath of distance. Just enough to meet his eyes, just enough to remember where you are. Your lips still tingle from the press of his, and your fingers stay curled in the fabric at his shoulder, not quite letting go yet.

His eyes flutter open, dazed and soft, and your thumb brushes the edge of his jaw before you drop your hand to your side.

Your lips hover over his, still close enough to feel the heat of him. He exhales, the sound soft and staggered.

“The others are probably waiting,” you murmur, voice low, breath a little unsteady.

His eyes open slowly, gaze heavy-lidded and warm as it settles on you. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just looks at you, like he’s trying to decide if he’s allowed to want this much.

“Let them wait," he mumbles.

You soft giggle leaves your lips at his words and he can't help but smile too, and it's real and a little stupid because of course he’d say that. Of course he’d look at you like that.

Your forehead presses gently to his for just a second, and he doesn’t move, but you feel his hand twitch at your waist, almost as if he’s not sure whether to pull you in again or let you go.

And god, part of you wants to stay. Wants to forget the weight of all the unanswered questions sitting heavy at the bottom of your stomach. Wants to let this keep happening. Just him and you and whatever the fuck this is.

But you don't. Instead, you lean back a little, just enough to get a proper look at him.

He looks dazed. Soft around the edges. His lips are pink, still wet from the kiss, and there’s this look on his face — like you could pull him back in with a single breath and he wouldn’t fight you on it.

Your gaze drops briefly to his mouth, then back up to his eyes before taking a small step back.

Your hand fall from his shirt and you reach for the vodka bottle on the counter. It’s still slick with condensation, and your grip slips slightly before you adjust.

You turn toward the door, feet padding softly against the cool floor, unable to stop smiling.

Jungkook stays behind you for just a breath, before you hear the shuffle of his steps as he follows.

It’s only been a few minutes since you and Jungkook made it back to the fire, vodka bottle in hand and cheeks just a little too flushed.

Now, the two of you sit side by side on a shared blanket, close but not too close, feet stretched out toward the fire. And despite your best efforts, you keep catching each other’s eyes.

It’s stupid. So stupid.

But every time it happens, one of you looks away, smiling.

You’re mid-sip when someone sighs dramatically into the circle, long and loud and theatrical.

“I’m bored,” Kiara announces, collapsing backwards onto a throw pillow someone must’ve stolen from the porch chairs. One arm flops over her face; the other lifts her cup to the sky dramatically

“You’re drunk,” Jimin says, somewhere behind a stack of solo cups. His voice is lazy, amused. “That’s different.”

“Drunk and bored,” she corrects, lifting her head. “Which is objectively worse.”

Someone snorts — maybe Hoseok — and Haeun mumbles something about how this is supposed to be a chill night, how she’s too full to function. You agree — the fire’s burning low, and no one looks like they’re in a rush to do anything.

Except Taehyung, who perks up suddenly, sunglasses still on even though the sun’s been gone for hours.

“We should play something,” he says, too enthusiastic. “Old-school, like we used to. Come on.”

There’s a round of groans — some weak, some performative. A few “nooo”s and a “please don’t make me move” from Namjoon. But Taehyung doesn’t let it die.

“You know what I’m thinking,” he adds, already grinning. “Truth or drink.”

That gets a bigger reaction. Jimin laughs like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all night and Kiara groans and says something you can't quite make out.

Beside you, Jungkook lets out a soft sound that might be a sigh, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You lean back on your palms and squint at the fire.

“No,” you say, not looking up. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Kiara whines, bumping your knee with hers. “It’s for old times’ sake.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung adds, already sitting up straighter, brushing sand from his thighs. “We literally used to play this every other week in college. Don’t act brand new.”

You're opening your mouth to protest and complain some more when Jungkook leans in, voice casual as he says, "I'm in."

You blink, glancing at him just quick enough to catch the faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

With a sigh, you tip the last of your drink back and swallow hard. “Fine,” you say, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. “But I’m not going first.”

Taehyung cheers. Someone claps. The bottle cap twists loose, and suddenly cups are being refilled, rules half-remembered shouted into the dark.

Everyone huddles closer together, and you put out your hands in front of you, letting the warmth of the flame dance across your skin.

Yasmine spins the bottle. It wobbles across the sand, slows, then lands pointing somewhere between Ari and Namjoon.

“Ooooh,” Taehyung says, wiggling his brows. “A couple round already?”

Ari laughs, unbothered. “Hit me.”

Yasmine leans in. “Alright. If you had to kiss someone here who isn’t Namjoon—”

Namjoon throws his hands up. “Wow. First question.”

“—who would it be?”

Ari purses her lips, glancing around the circle dramatically. “Hmm… probably Haeun.”

Haeun immediately covers her face with both hands as everyone laughs, and Seokjin wraps an arm around her, pretending to shield her from further corruption. “Yah, back off,” he says, laughing.

The bottle spins again, this time landing on Jimin.

Ari smirks. “Have you ever made out with someone here and not told the group?”

Jimin lifts his cup halfway with a sigh, freezes, then drinks anyway.

You have a feeling you know who it is, but you don't say anything as Yasmine and Jungkook immediately start yelling over each other.

“Who was it?!” Yasmine demands, eyes wide.

“Seriously, who?” Jungkook adds, pointing his cup at Jimin like he’s about to interrogate him under a spotlight.

"Not telling," Jimin replies in a sing song voice before spinning the bottle.

It slows until it lands squarely on Jungkook.

You glance at him. He doesn’t flinch.

Jimin squints at him, letting out a hum like he’s considering a deep philosophical question. “Alright. What’s your biggest regret?”

You freeze before you can stop yourself.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. He stares at the bottle. Then at Seokjin. Then, just as calmly, he picks up his cup and takes a drink.

It’s quiet for a beat. Jimin groans. “Lame.”

“Strategic,” Jungkook replies, setting his cup down again.

Without missing a beat, he reaches for the bottle and spins.

It rolls smoothly through the sand before stopping at Kiara.

“Oh god,” she mutters, already bracing herself.

Jungkook’s lips curl into a half-smile. “Weirdest place you’ve fucked.”

Kiara groans, but she’s grinning. “You guys are the worst.”

“Come on,” Yasmine says. “No way you don’t have a good one.”

She sighs, thinking. "Nowhere crazy, just in the back of his car.”

"Boringg," whines Jimin, and Hoseok just laughs as Kiara reaches for the bottle again.

It turns, slowly, then comes to a stop pointed at you.

You tense a little, just for a second. Kiara catches it — she doesn’t say anything, but her smile softens.

She tilts her head. “Would you ever take back an ex?”

You blink.

There’s a beat — just a flicker — where your brain stalls. The question lands soft, not sharp, but it still makes your pulse skip a little. You lean back on your palms and tilt your head toward the fire, letting the heat lick at your cheeks like it might hide the flush.

Then, without much thought, you answer.

“Nah,” you say, casually.

Your tone is light. You smile around the rim of your cup as you take a small sip, and raise your eyebrows at Kiara like it’s a no-brainer. Because, really, what girlfriend is going to say yes to that kind of question when her boyfriend’s sitting two feet away?

Kiara simply shrugs, like she already knew what you'd say and lean forward to spin the bottle. You don't notice who it stops at because you turning to look at Jungkook, a small smile playing on your lips.

You expect him to smile back. Or roll his eyes. Or whisper something stupid, like 'Really? Not even after you made out with him the kitchen?'.

But he doesn’t.

He’s looking at the fire.

His cup is loose in his grip, his thumb brushing over the rim once before going still. He doesn’t make a face. Doesn’t say anything. But there’s something… quiet about him now. Like he’s stepped back from the circle without actually moving.

You blink, puzzled for half a second, but someone’s already laughing at something Jimin said and Kiara’s reaching for the bottle again, so you brush it off and take another sip of your drink.

The fire pops in the background as the questions continue. Someone asks Namjoon what his favourite position is (cowgirl), how many people Haeun has slept with (three), what Yoongi's biggest fantasy it (he chooses to drink).

Eventually, someone mumbles something about calling it, and no one protests. The fire’s burned low, just embers now, and the ocean breeze has started to bite. Haeun's already dragging Seokjin to his feet, Namjoon’s helping Ari brush sand off her pants, and slowly the circle breaks apart.

You push yourself to your feet, arms wobbling a bit as you dust the sand from your shorts. It takes longer than it should. Everything takes longer than it should. You feel warm and floaty and kind of like a loose kite being dragged around by your own legs.

You’d only been asked the one question all night, but you’re pretty sure you’ve had enough to drink for ten.

Jungkook stands next to you. He doesn’t say anything, but when you wobble slightly, the back of his hand brushes yours. You grin down at your feet.

Everyone starts peeling off, drifting toward the cabins in sleepy pairs. Taehyung’s got Yasmine slung across his back like a backpack. Ari’s hanging onto Namjoon’s arm, swaying slightly. Jimin’s halfway through singing something that might be a lullaby. No one seems to care.

You and Jungkook trail behind, still barefoot, shoes forgotten somewhere near the porch.

The path back is quieter than before, but not uncomfortable. You’re humming under your breath — something soft and aimless — and you twirl the near-empty bottle in your hand like it’s a microphone.

Jungkook walks beside you, arms swinging slightly at his sides. He doesn’t say much, but he’s not far. Not ahead. Not behind. Just there. Close enough that your elbows bump once, and you giggle, not even sure why it’s funny.

The stairs creak beneath your feet as you climb up to your bedroom. He opens the door without a word, and you step past him. He follows you in, letting the door swing shut behind him.

The room is dimly lit, and you don't even consider changing into more sleep appropriate clothes before crawling onto the bed.

You hear Jungkook moving around — the soft rustle of his hoodie hitting the chair, the creak of a drawer, the small thud of his water bottle landing on the nightstand beside you. It all feels distant, muffled by your buzzed brain.

You roll over dramatically just as he switches off the light. The room falls into shadows, and then the bed dips beside you as he climbs in.

You grin up at the ceiling.

“This was fun,” you say, voice low but still sing-songy.

Jungkook lets out a little sound in response.

The sheets are cool. The pillow smells like the detergent he always uses. You pull the blanket halfway over yourself and nudge your foot toward his under the covers without even thinking about it.

No words pass between you.

But it doesn’t feel weird. Just sleepy. Soft. Like the good kind of tired that settles behind your eyes after a long night.

You don’t notice how quiet Jungkook’s gone. Don’t notice that he hasn’t moved since lying down. You’re not paying attention to the way he’s staring up at the ceiling, or the way he hasn’t turned toward you at all.

You just let out a small sigh and mumble, “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then, voice low and barely there, he asks, “Did you mean it?”

You’re already slipping into sleep when he says it — and maybe he’s talking about the game, or something from earlier, or maybe he’s not talking to you at all. You’re too warm, too tired to figure it out, so you just hum quietly and roll over, cheek pressed into the pillow.

He doesn’t say anything else, and the silence settles again.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, the question lingers, but you don’t ask.

You’ll think about it tomorrow.

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[aaclariww]

the road not taken 08 | myg

part eight: truce

Summary: After all this years, and months, and days where —no matter what you did or what you didn’t do— you still had to see Yoongi against you wishes, you began to worry if you were meant to find him every time.

<part seven

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?), slow burn

—warnings/tags: slow burn, angst, fluff.

—words: 10.6k

—a/note: hi friends!! i'm posting this chapter while doubting myself as always but i had sososo much fun writing i hope you liked it!! i wanted to post it earlier but consider this as an earlier celebration for yoongi's discharge !! also, the other day i was reminded of this poem and it kinda inspired me to finish writing the chapter, i hope you enjoy and as always, you're welcomed to discuss this part in the asks!!

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present

There was a time a few years ago, back when you slept in a bed for two and winter sneaked under your sheets, when the treacherous thought of what could’ve been knocked on your door before you fell asleep every night. Even when you tried to push it away, even when you threw your pillow over your head, even seconds before those 2 mg of melatonin were about to kick in, the question still tormented your mind. There, in the dark of your room as the lights of the city poorly illuminated the place, you wondered if there was a timeline, a different reality where everything worked out.

You closed your eyes and tried to imagine a universe where everything was alright—one where Yoongi apologized for not calling after that night, and when you saw him that cold December morning, he’d be so happy to see you that the frown on his face would disappear.

Maybe in that universe, he would’ve asked you to stay for lunch, and maybe you would’ve helped him with his mom for the rest of the winter so she wouldn’t be mad at him. You tortured yourself thinking that maybe Yoongi would’ve planned the trip to the beach for the end of spring. You imagined what kind of shorts he would’ve packed, what kind of t-shirts, what kind of pajamas. You wondered if he would’ve let you stop at every old diner on the side of the road, if he would’ve taken your picture at every stop, if he would’ve kissed you just before you changed seats when it was your turn to drive.

Ever since that day, you’d rolled in bed wondering if he ever pictured you the same way you had so many times—if he saw you in the passenger seat of his car, on the sand by the sea, on the blue sheets, in hotel towels.

Looking at the ceiling, with eyes wide open, you always ended up thinking: would it have been so bad to follow you? Would he have gotten tired of your laughter so quickly? Of your fingers running down his back, of your words hanging from your lips just before you were about to make fun of him? Would he have gotten tired of your arguing, your cursing, your dragging feet? Would the memory of the few hundred kisses he gave you that night have worn out that fast?

You knew thinking about it was a waste of time, but as you were getting ready to have dinner with Nari, all those unanswered questions resurfaced—just in case you wanted to think twice and stay home, like you were so tempted to do.

On the edge of her bed was Minnie, sitting next to her cat as she watched you do your eyeliner. She had already apologized for snapping at you a few days ago, which forced you to recognize that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t completely cool with Yoongi being around, and you weren’t completely cool with him being involved in a place that had nothing to do with him, nothing except you. 

But surprisingly, against all odds—against all Yoongis—you wanted to stay. Not only because saying yes to Minnie and then quitting would’ve been completely cruel, but because you wanted to. You stayed because some part of you, the part you kept trying to silence, didn’t want to leave just yet.

You were still bitter that Minnie stayed friendly with Yoongi—but that started to fade when you told her he wanted to “talk things through” (whatever that meant). She was your best friend again the second she joined you in talking shit, trying to dissect everything he said like it was a crime scene that needed solving.

“So…” Minnie tilted her head, eyeing you. “Is he picking you up?”

“He said so.”

She paused for a moment, picturing that image in her head. “You know he has a girl, right?” she said, snorting. “I would freak out if I were Blondie. Imagine finding out your boyfriend is driving his famous ex-girlfriend to have dinner with his mom. God, no. I’d throw up.”

You shook your head, trying not to laugh at how fast her imagination could run. “He’s not my ex-boyfriend, Minnie… and he’s not driving me—we’re walking. He asked if we could have a chat before dinner, so she shouldn’t worry too much.” You said, turning from the mirror to sit beside her and slip on your Mary Janes. “And besides… you shouldn’t be gossiping about your friend, you know?” 

Minnie scoffed. “Whatever, it’s none of my business, but since when has that ever stopped me?” She waved a hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s not gossip if it’s true.” She huffed. “Did you know that he can’t keep a girl? I mean, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, because he can—he totally could. But maybe he just doesn’t want to.” 

“Charming,” you muttered, fussing a little too long with the strap of your shoe. “He’s always been like that.” 

Minnie leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s not just that—it’s like he gets bored. I’ve seen it happen a few times. He meets a girl, keeps her around for a few weeks, and then poof. Gone.”

You paused, curiosity flickering despite yourself. “Wait, what do you mean? Like he ghosts them?”

“No, I don’t think he ghosts them.” She said “It’s like he fades out. Stops texting as much, stops making plans. Let things die off slow.”

You glanced up, forcing your expression to stay neutral, though your fingers lingered a bit too long on the buckle. “Like a soft breakup?”

Minnie smiled, a small, knowing curve of her lips. “It’s not really a breakup, though, is it? Not if he’s not actually in a relationship. That’s what he keeps saying about that blonde girl—‘the girl I’m seeing,’” she mimicked in a teasing tone. “Like he’s afraid of it getting too serious.”

You gave a small, distracted nod, not trusting yourself to say much. It was weird hearing that—how casual he was with other people. But it wasn’t difficult to imagine him like that; he never had proper girlfriends back in high school, which, at the time, felt like a small mercy. But that didn’t spare you from watching him parade around with a new girl every other week.

“How do you even know all that?” you asked, genuinely curious.

“Namjoon,” Minnie said, like it was obvious. “He works with Yoongi sometimes. He told me.”

You laughed, eyebrows lifting. “Namjoon? Isn’t he Yoongi’s friend? Why would he spill that to you?”

“Because he likes me,” she said breezily, without missing a beat. “Didn’t I tell you that already? I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason he’s helping out at The Alley. Look—I don’t believe in exploiting my charm to get things from men, but if it’s for an extremely good cause?” She gave a shrug. “I think I’ll survive. Besides, he’s not a weirdo. He’s actually really cute.”

You snorted. “Yeah, tell me about it. Does he still wear those glasses?”

Her eyes lit up. “The glasses are so cute.”

You shook your head, smiling.

“It wasn’t just Namjoon, though,” she added. “I can read people.”

“Yoongi’s not easy to read,” you said, quieter this time. “Maybe you’re reading him wrong.”

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head “I told you, with you… it was different. It’s like he can’t talk about you, or even hear your name. It stings him, I know it wasn’t like that with you.”

You let out a dry laugh. For some reason, you already knew it was different with you. Even now, you could still swear it was. You could look into Yoongi’s eyes and see everything through, it meant something, but that didn’t make it any less bad. “Yeah, it was different.” You muttered, rising to your feet and brushing invisible dust from your skirt, just to have something to do. “It was worse.”

Minnie tilted her head, her eyes glinting with mischief. “You know,” she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully “maybe you broke him. Maybe that’s why he can’t keep a girl now. You ruined his capacity for normal relationships.”

You laughed, surprised by how easily it came out. “Please. That boy was malfunctioning way before me.”

“Perhaps,” Minnie said, pretending to consider it. “But you broke him for good.”

You rolled your eyes, though the smile lingered. “We weren’t even together, Minnie. We barely got started.”

She crossed her arms behind her head “C’mon… You fucked. You fucked like, a lot.”

You snorted, eyes squeezing shut. “God.”

“Maybe that’s how you did it,” she said with a shrug, grinning. “Scrambled his brain. That poor man never stood a chance.”

You covered your face, laughing into your hands. “Can you not? I have to look him in the eye.”

“Oh, please. What if he can’t get it up with anyone else now? What if that’s why he dumps them?” She smirked. “God, I’d kill to ruin a man like that.”

You shook your head. “You’re deranged.” 

Minnie just smiled, clearly proud of it. 

Still chuckling, you grabbed your phone. Just as you were about to slip it into your bag, the screen lit up with a new message.

Yoongi: I’m outside.

“Speaking of the devil.” You sighed, suddenly feeling nervous.  

“Hell is empty.” She whispered, dramatically. “And all the devils are here.”

You seemed to be stuck in a constant fight between the present and the past, even after all the times you’d tried to leave things behind. But the past had a way of finding you—softly, stubbornly—whether you liked it or not.

This time, though, you had a choice. When Yoongi texted you a few days ago, you could’ve ignored it. You could’ve said you’d changed your mind, told him to fuck off, and left it at that. It wasn’t like you owed him anything. You didn’t have to talk to him, didn’t have to look at him, didn’t have to remember.

It was stupid, really, but you guessed this was also a small part of your redemption arc. Facing Yoongi. Giving things a proper ending. Trying to behave like a decent, grown-up human being, even when some parts of you still refused, even when it still stung. 

So here you were, heart picking up pace with every step as you pushed the door open, letting the cold hit your face just as his long figure turned to face you. 

Yoongi stood by the stair railings, cheeks and nose pink from the wind, hair slightly messy and a long grey coat, different from his usual black one. His eyes lit up just barely, but you caught it.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

“Hi…” You muttered, letting the door click shut behind you. Then, glancing at his coat, “Is it that cold?”

He looked down, shrugged. “A bit, yeah.”

You groaned as you started walking, the sidewalk still damp from a recent rain. “I should’ve worn pants.”

You heard his footsteps fall beside you as you turned the corner, knowing the way to his childhood home from memory. He kept careful distance between you, but you could feel him regardless.

The street was quiet, just the low hum of cars in the distance and the occasional gust of wind threading between the buildings. You tucked your hands into your jacket pockets. He did the same.

For a moment, it was like neither of you knew how to speak.

Then Yoongi cleared his throat, barely louder than the wind. “You really staying for the whole thing?”

You glanced sideways at him. “The play?”

“Yeah. I thought you were just visiting,” He said, eyes fixed on the sidewalk. 

“No, um… I’m staying for a bit. At least until December. For the play, and some other stuff, too.” you added, unsure what else to say. The truth was that you didn’t have any idea what you were going to do in the next months, but that was the plan for now.

“Great,” he murmured. “I’m glad you’re staying. When you left the other day, I thought you were about to quit.”

You didn’t answer right away. The streetlight ahead blinked weakly.

“Oh, I thought about it,” you admitted. “But I wouldn’t do that to Minnie. And… I like yelling at kids.”

He let out a low laugh. “Clearly your calling.”

That made you smile. You didn’t mean to—but he caught it, and didn’t comment. Just kept walking beside you like he hadn’t noticed at all.

“You still do that thing where you tap your fingers when you’re nervous,” he said after a minute, eyes on your hand wrapped around your bag strap.

You glanced at him. “You still bring up things no one asks you to notice.”

He gave a small laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“No, I’m not.”

The sidewalk went quiet again. A bus rattled by on the other side of the street, loud enough to fill the space between words. Neither of you turned to look.

“So?” you said eventually, looking at him. “You told me you were going to figure something out.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I did say that.”

But then he fell quiet again.

You gave him a look. “Well?”

He blinked, caught in thought. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I guess I’m realizing that no matter what I come up with, you’ll still want me six feet under, so it’s… complicated.”

You looked at him. “It’s not that I want you buried, Yoongi.”

He looked at you then—really looked, like he was trying to figure out if you meant it.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “That’s… something.”

“It’s just…” You exhaled, keeping your voice even. “I’m not in the best mood these days.  And honestly, you’re not exactly the person I’d choose to spend the night with. I’m confused. I don’t know what you’re trying to do here.”

“I don’t either,” he said, quiet but honest. “But I’m trying. And I’ve been thinking… I don’t want to fight with you.”

You stayed silent. You weren’t sure if you agreed with that. There was still a part of you that would take any opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t answer. A moment passed before you heard him sigh.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, you know?” he murmured after a few seconds. There was a weight to his words, an understanding only the two of you could share. The sentence echoed in the quiet street, it echoed inside your chest and rang your ears, making you clench your fists. 

“I know.” You muttered, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk, the rhythm of your steps careful. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He looked ahead, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, his breath visible in the cold air. “Well… I don’t know. Maybe I have to.”

You shook your head slightly, not quite looking at him. “But that’s the point. We don’t know each other anymore. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.” You paused, letting the words hang between you both. “That doesn’t have to do with anything.”

His voice softened, but his words didn’t waver. “That has to do with everything.” He glanced at you, his gaze steady but unsure. “We’re going to see each other. We’re part of each other’s lives.”

You’re not part of my life, you wanted to say. You’d worked hard to make sure of that—to push him out, to forget. And yet here he was again, walking beside you like no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know.” You sighed “I’m gonna be honest, that doesn’t feel like a good reason to me. History doesn’t mean we owe each other anything.” 

“Maybe not,” he said, quiet now. “But we still share it. Whether we like it or not. You’re part of mine. You always have been.” He gave you a quiet look, but you didn’t dare to look at him back. “Just look at my mom. She talks about you like you’re her child. She adores you, we can’t… erase that.” 

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the mention of his mother. 

This was the second time Yoongi had brought her up to get to you — and this time, you couldn’t say he was wrong.

You always had a weak spot for Nari. She always made you feel like you belonged, it was the kind of feeling you held onto when you were young, it was the kind of feeling you were still chasing after all these years. 

“So, what are you proposing?” you asked, exhaling slowly. “Because I love your mom, Yoongi. But maybe I don’t want to be friends with you. We can’t… I can’t ignore the past, I can’t pretend you didn’t hurt me and nothing happened.”

The silence almost killed the both of you.

That was the first time either of you had said it out loud.

Yoongi didn’t flinch, but something in him shifted. You could feel it.

“I know I fucked up,” he said, voice low. “And I know I can’t rewrite things. I’m not trying to wipe that clean.”

He paused, jaw tightening for just a second.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he said after a moment. “Or to act like it didn’t matter. I know it did.”

He glanced at you, voice careful. “But we’re not the same people anymore. Things are different. We’re different.”

He shrugged, like he didn’t want to let the silence swallow him whole.

“It’s not just that, Yoongi,” you said, almost whispering. “A lot of things changed—everything changed after I left. After everything you said. It’s not that easy to get past it.”

“I know that, too…” he said, quieter now. “I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

He sighed, like he was still choosing the words that wouldn’t come.

“I’m not saying you’re an asshole.” You let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I know you’re not. And I know you’re trying to do things right. That’s the part that bothers me.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you for a second, like he wanted to respond but wasn’t sure how.

Then he nodded slowly.

“We can work together without dragging the past into every room. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not asking for friendship… just a middle ground.” He let out a breath. “I don’t know… we can’t just act like we don’t exist in each other’s world anymore.”

“A middle ground?” You repeated. 

“A truce.”

For fuck’s sake. 

You had never been one to hold back, it was quite the opposite. You were explosive, and you never thought twice. A truce wouldn’t mean the same thing to Yoongi as it would to you. To you, a truce would mean biting your tongue, going against your own nature.

But then again, you could try. Maybe a truce wasn’t about forgiving him. Maybe it was about choosing not to let him take up more space in your head than he already did.

So you let the tension in your shoulders ease, just barely, and gave a tight nod.

Not agreement. Just permission—to stop fighting for a minute.

“A truce.” You repeated again, but the word rooted in your mouth. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You exhaled, watching your breath fog in the cold air. “And what would be the terms of this truce?”

His gaze drifted forward, like he was choosing his next words carefully. He shifted his weight, his eyes flicking to you. “Okay. Terms of the truce.”

You crossed your arms, not quite looking at him. “You stop using your mom to get to me.”

He nodded, no sign of protest. “Fair. Then you stop looking at me like you’d rather walk into traffic than stand next to me.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I can’t promise that. But I’ll try to keep it subtle.” you said “Anything else?”

You saw the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. “No snapping at each other,” he said. “No snarky comments. No pretending the other person doesn’t exist.”

You hummed, unconvinced. 

“No dragging each other into arguments we don’t have to have,” he added. “We stay civil. We work together when we need to. We don’t make things harder than they already are.”

You glanced at him. “And what do we do when it gets hard anyway?”

He didn’t answer right away. For a moment, the only sound was the scrape of your shoes on the pavement.

You weren’t asking out of curiosity. You were asking because you knew yourself — knew how quickly your temper rose, how sharp your tongue could get when he looked at you the wrong way, or said something in that calm, unreadable tone that made you feel like you were the only one still bleeding from the past.

And Yoongi, in his usual way, was probably wondering if this was the part where you gave up, where you proved him right, that the two of you couldn’t exist in the same space without turning it into a battlefield.

But he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

“We deal with it,” he said simply. “Like two people who can handle being in the same room.”

You stared straight ahead, your jaw tight. There was a sting in your chest you chose not to name.

“That’s a lot of rules,” you said.

“It’s just one,” Yoongi replied. “Don’t make each other miserable.”

You didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

And maybe — for now — that was the best either of you could offer.

Standing in the hall of Yoongi’s apartment felt like breaking a pact you’d made with yourself—an oath you swore years ago to never come back. You never thought you’d find yourself here again, walking down this hallway, watching him open the doors of the old elevator. It felt like a small betrayal, even if Yoongi didn’t live here anymore. 

Simon had told you Yoongi moved to an apartment near the center of town three years ago. Probably a tall building with a modern elevator, the kind that played music when you pushed the buttons, with white lights and a security guard at the entrance. Just like yours in the city.

It was hard to picture Yoongi there, in his old man sweaters and fuzzy socks, sitting by the window and looking out at the town. He didn’t seem like he belonged in a place like that. It felt like he only ever belonged here.

He closed the doors behind you and stood there, looking at the buttons before pressing the one for the fourth floor. You watched him as the yellowish lights illuminated his side profile, the curve of his nose, his hooded eyes. You looked without any kind of shame, allowing yourself to observe him: his long hair, the marks on his skin, the mole on his cheek just beside his nose, his eyelashes, the earring in his ear, and the empty holes from past piercings.

You couldn’t help but recall that winter night from four years ago every now and then, but now, standing here, it felt almost impossible not to. In the same place where he once pressed you against the wall and kissed you, it felt like it had happened just yesterday.

You remembered lying beside him, taking your time to memorize every detail like you had all the time in the world. And back then, it felt like you did. You counted the moles on his body, traced the veins along his hands and arms with your fingers, touched his lips, kissed his lips, his neck, his cheeks, his chest.

You didn’t remember ever kissing someone that much. You could almost swear that, even in your three-year relationship with Ian, you hadn’t kissed him as many times as you did in those three days spent in Yoongi’s old bedroom, on his bed, in his kitchen, on his couch, in his shower, against the wall, and against the floor.

You remembered kissing him in the morning light, when the sun came through the window and hit his face, making him scrunch his nose and close his eyes. But there was something entirely different about kissing him in the dark—between sheets and secrets and shaky breaths—something about the feeling of having him all to yourself that you could never forget. It was engraved in your memory, like the shape of his lips had been tattooed onto yours, and from then on, no kiss had ever felt the same.

You used to know him. Not only the way his body moved, or how his hand fit around your hips. Not just the vessel of his body, but the person he used to be. Inside and out, you knew him.

You didn’t notice earlier. You didn’t notice at The Alley or when you saw him at your house the day you arrived. It seemed to have escaped you—only now could you see that he looked tired. It wasn’t just that he looked older, or the long day he must have had at work today. It was something else.

You didn’t have time to wonder about it for too long. When the elevator shook, you looked away.

It took you less than two minutes to reach the door, and when Yoongi opened it and stepped aside to let you in, the warmth of the apartment hit you—then the smell. You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been on the way up. Now, you were surprised to feel weirdly comforted.

You both kicked your shoes off without thinking too much. You paused, sniffing the air. “Wait… is that—?”

“Doenjang jjigae,” he said, already pulling off his coat. “Mom said you liked it.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “I haven’t had it in forever.”

Yoongi disappeared down the hallway without another word, leaving you standing in the entryway, coat still on your shoulders, unsure if you should follow.  

You were still taking in the warmth and scent of the apartment when Nari appeared from the kitchen doorway, steady on her walker. The metal frame clinked softly against the floor as she moved towards you, a dish towel draped over one arm.

“Oh, there she is!” she said, eyes lighting up. “You’re already here!”

You smiled, stepping forward to meet her. “Hey, Nari.”

She opened her arms without letting go of the walker. “Come here, don’t be shy.” She gave you a quick hug, careful and slow. 

You leaned in for the hug, careful not to bump into the metal frame. Her embrace was as firm as ever, if a little slower to pull back.

“You didn’t have to cook just for me,” you said, even though the smell from the kitchen was already making your stomach growl. 

She waved you off. “Nonsense, I wanted to. And you’re too skinny. You still don’t eat breakfast, do you?”

You gave a small laugh, not quite answering. Behind her, Yoongi reappeared, carrying two sets of bowls. He glanced at the two of you, then cleared his throat.

“Uh, Mom—did Summer already leave?”

Nari looked over her shoulder. “Yes, she helped me chop vegetables and argued with me about how much salt to use. Then she left about an hour ago.” She turned back to you, smiling as she walked towards the table. “I didn’t tell her you were coming because she would’ve wanted to stay longer. She is such a fan of yours, you know?”

You smiled, not sure who she was talking about “She is?”

“Oh yes,” Nari said easily. “She’s my nurse. She’s been helping me around the house for a few months now. Sweet girl. Blonde, tall, always so well put-together. She said she saw you once—at that theater… what’s it called…?”

You blinked “The Alley?”

“Yes! That’s the one.” Nari nodded. “She mentioned seeing you there, said she didn’t want to bother you, but she was excited all week after that.”

You breath caught for a beat as you put two and two together. 

Yoongi glanced up from where he was setting the bowls, his hands slowing just slightly. His fingers hesitated over the chopsticks, then adjusted them again

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t have to.

It was her. The blonde girl outside The Alley. The one he’d shown up with. The one who kept looking at you like she wanted to say something but never did.

You stood there, trying not to think about how perfect she had looked standing next to Yoongi. Tall. Blonde. Model-like. The kind of girl who probably made people stare twice on the street—not because they recognized her, but because she was the type people noticed.

And she was a nurse. Of course she was.

You almost laughed, but the hole in your stomach didn’t let you. 

It was so unnecessary, such a waste of time to even think about it. Still, it was hard not to wonder, just for a second, if that was his type. Someone steady, soft-spoken and kind. Someone you were not. 

“Oh,” you said, quiet, folding your coat over your arm and smoothing the fabric a little too carefully. “I think I remember her.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightened—just barely—and he reached for the next bowl, though his grip looked a little too firm, like he was afraid he might drop it. Was this uncomfortable for him? Was it for you? 

“Oh? Really?” Nari asked, “I’ll tell her you did, she’ll lose her mind.” 

You smiled, what else could you do? 

Chasing the thoughts away, you let it go, like you were supposed to. 

A few moments later, the three of you were sitting at the table and you were grateful to be thinking of something else. The dining table wasn’t large, not like the one back at your family’s house, always too long, always full of guests. Here, everything felt more familiar, closer, like time didn’t pass at all inside this house. There was only ever Nari and Yoongi, and now there was you.

You tried to change the subject. “You should’ve invited Simon, too. He’s probably around, isn’t he?” You asked Nari.

Nari waved a hand, “Simon is here all the time, and he eats all the food. Besides” her eyes twinkled “I wanted it to be just you and Yoongi tonight.”

There was something innocent in her tone, offhanded even, but the words hung in the air a second too long. 

The evening settled into a quiet rhythm after that.

The doenjang jjigae steamed between you, warm and familiar, and the table slowly filled with other dishes — kimchi, anchovies, steamed egg, bowls of white rice. You found yourself relaxing, bit by bit, lulled by the sound of chopsticks against ceramic, the occasional clink of glasses being refilled, and Nari’s steady voice weaving from one topic to the next. 

She talked about her book club, the women at the community center who were always getting into harmless gossip. She talked about her last checkup, her doctor’s advice to cut back on salt and how she, of course, had ignored it.

You enjoyed listening to her, your flushed face resting in your hands, leaning over the table and laughing every time she said something funny. But all she really wanted to talk about was you, even if you’d rather talk about anything else in the world

“So, are you working on another movie?” Nari asked. “We went to see your last one with Yoongi. We loved it.”

You smiled, eyebrows lifting in surprise, finding that very funny for some reason. “You did?” you said, glancing at him. 

“Of course. It was so sad, he almost cried,” she added, nodding towards him.

You snorted. “You cried?”

Yoongi kept his eyes on the bowl. “I didn’t.”

Nari rolled her eyes. “He did.”

“I had allergies,” he muttered.

“During summer?” You asked. 

He looked at you, shaking his head, not willing to answer. You bit back at smirk. 

You tried to imagine Yoongi buying tickets for your movie last summer—walking into the theater, sitting there for two hours, watching you. You tried to imagine him taking advantage of the darkness to let himself cry, then leaving, trying to forget about it and go on with his day. It was a strange image. You had never mixed that part of your life with this one—mainly because this was the part you'd left behind. But you’d never really stopped to consider that your life kept happening everywhere, even if you weren’t there to see it.

“There is no shame in crying during movies.” Nari said, being unaware of the two of you. “You pick very sad ones, dear.”

You laughed softly. “Well, they only ever want me for sad films these days,” you said, lifting your glass. “They tell me I have sad eyes. Whatever that means.”

Nari tilted her head, studying you closely. “You do have a melancholic stare, sweetheart. But it’s a beautiful thing. You say more with your eyes than you do with your voice.”

You caught the faint smile that tugged at Yoongi’s lips as he stared into his bowl.

“Thanks, I guess,” you said, returning the smile, warmth spreading in your chest. “I just hope that doesn’t get me in trouble.” You leaned back slightly, more at ease now. “But no, I don’t have any projects at the moment. I want to spend more time with my mom—sleep more, eat more... Besides, I took a job at the theater, so I’ll be busy with that until December.”

“Right, Yoongi mentioned that,” Nari said, folding her hands together with a small smile. “He said everyone was happy to see you again. How long has it been?”

You glanced away, trying to remember the last time you'd been at The Alley. The dates blurred together.

“Two years ago,” Yoongi said before you could answer.

You turned to him in surprise. He cleared his throat.

“You were there for the Bong Joon-ho week,” he added, not quite meeting your eyes. “Memories of murder.”

You nodded slowly, the memory coming back immediately, but he wasn’t part of it. 

“I don’t remember seeing you there…” You said, feeling the weight of the sudden silence of the room. 

He looked away, “I was there, I just… sat very close to the back.” 

Your lips parted, then curved into a polite smile. “Well, it’s been a while.” You turned back to Nari, keeping your tone light. “But honestly, not much has changed over there.”

Nari leaned in slightly. “So, what are you doing there, exactly?”

“She’s working with the kids,” Yoongi cut in, quick to respond. 

You flicked your eyes towards him, not irritated—just surprised at how ready he was to speak for you.

Nari brightened. “That sounds so sweet. I’m sure they’re thrilled.”

“They are,” Yoongi added. “They’re obsessed with her. She’s kind of a big deal.”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. I just showed up. They’re the ones doing all the real work.”

She looked at you with a bright expression. “You’re being modest.”

 “No, really. I just wanted to help. They’re so enthusiastic. It’s kind of impossible not to get pulled in.”

“What are you doing with them?”

“Mostly helping them rehearse, learn lines, fix costumes. Nothing too dangerous.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “She’s being humble. She’s running the show.”

“Well…”

“And doing it well. Even if she nearly bit my head off the first day.” He casually mentioned, catching you off guard. 

It was still strange — how easy this seemed to him. To bring you back here, look at you in the eyes, the teasing, the warmth, the casual way he slipped back into before, like nothing had happened. Like he could just talk to you like that.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It made you nervous.

This was the point of the truce, being civil, not picking at old wounds. But still, it felt like he was settling into something softer, something that didn’t exist anymore. Like he wanted something gentler from you, and wasn’t even aware of it. 

And maybe the worst part was… you kept letting him. Not because you’d forgiven him. Not because you weren’t still angry. But because there was something in the way he looked at you tonight — cautious and familiar — that made it hard to stay guarded all the way through.

You rolled your eyes. “That was entirely your fault.”

Nari let out a laugh, eyes dancing between you both. “You two had a fight? How shocking.”

“It wasn’t a fight…” you murmured, glancing sideways at Yoongi with a look that wasn’t quite sharp but definitely not warm. “It was just… a disagreement.”

“I was just trying to help,” he said, lifting his hands in mock defense. “Provide legal advice for the screenplay.”

“You weren’t hired to be a lawyer,” you shot back, a hint of amusement in your tone. “Not on Saturdays, at least.”

“I’m always a lawyer, Pinky.”

The nickname hung in the air a second longer than it should’ve. But this time, you didn’t flinch.

You looked at him for a second, biting your lip. You wanted to say something, but turned to his mom instead, deciding to ignore it. “See, Nari. That’s the thing with lawyers, they always need to be right.”

“That sounds very much like Yoongi.” She chuckled, clearly enjoying this. “But don’t let the whole lawyer act fool you, dear. He’s been like that since forever. Always has to get the last word, even if it’s nonsense.”

You let out a soft breath of laughter. “Oh, you don’t have to tell me. I already know.”

“C’mon,” Yoongi cut in, nudging the air between you, “you’re exactly the same.”

You tilted your head, giving him a mock-frown. “Except I’m actually always right.”

Nari hummed thoughtfully, her smile not quite innocent. “Well, I don’t know who’s right, but I do know I hate seeing you two fight.” 

You looked down at your fingers on the table, avoiding her eyes. 

“We’ll try not to.” Yoongi said, and it felt like a promise. 

“Anyway,” you said, catching your breath, “the kids are very committed. And the place needs all the help it can get, so I’ll be there for a while.”

Yoongi nodded, quieter this time. “It’s good that you’re there.”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t teasing now. And for a moment, it made the air feel heavier — not in a bad way, but enough to make you blink and look back at your plate.

Nari, thankfully, filled the space with a soft “That theater’s lucky to have you, sweetheart.”

You smiled at her, grateful. “Thanks. I think I needed it too.”

As the night slipped away, you let yourself fall into a kind of quiet familiarity you hadn’t felt in a long time, while you and Yoongi washed the dishes. Nari sat by the window, watching the two of you with the soft scrutiny only a mother can offer, remarking that Yoongi looked taller lately, that your skirt was too thin for a cold night like this, and that Yoongi should straighten his posture. 

“You two make a good team.” She said, observing Yoongi hand you a pair of clean glasses. 

You laughed, but neither of you said anything to contradict her, you wouldn’t dare to. 

You stayed in the kitchen a little longer, watching the rain return, soft against the glass. That’s when Nari suggested Yoongi drive you home—it was late, after all. 

You didn’t argue. You had spent the whole evening with him, you were sure you could endure another five minutes in his presence if that meant you didn’t have to pay an Uber. 

When it was time to leave, you hugged Nari goodbye. She held on a little longer than expected, her hands soft and familiar against your back. 

“You’ll come next week for tea, right?” she asked, giving you a look that wasn’t really a question.

You smiled, nodding. “Of course.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” She patted your cheek like she used to, and then turned towards the hallway. 

“Come on, Yoongi, help me with the stupid pills.” Yoongi shot you a glance—apologetic, maybe—but didn’t say anything as he followed her down the hall. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Sleep tight, Nari.” You smiled, watching them disappear as you waited in the kitchen.

Their voices drifted in and out. Nari asked where she’d left her robe. Yoongi reminded her not to mix up the bottles. A drawer opened, something clinked shut. You listened to him saying goodbye to her, it was the kind of domestic rhythm you weren’t supposed to be a part of. 

A moment passed before Yoongi came back to the kitchen, with a small smile on his face as he gestured to the door. You repeated the same cycle in reverse: you put on your coats, took the elevator down in silence, walked the hallway and waited for him to unlock the door.

The rain fell over you as soon as you put foot on the streets, so you hurried to get to Yoongi’s car. He opened the door for you and you got in, sinking into the seat as you watched him walk around the car and get it. When he started the engine, the radio came on automatically, playing some Jeff Buckley song, so low you could barely hear it.

He’d changed his car, you noticed. You didn’t know anything about cars, but this one was bigger than the last—more modern. Yoongi’s old car had a busted, almost ancient stereo, and under his seat, there was a folder of CDs he used to let you choose from every time you were in the car with him. You repressed the urge to ask if he still had it. 

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked at him briefly, but his eyes were fixed on the road. “I had a good time. You don’t have to thank me…”

He nodded. “I know, but still…” He paused, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the road. “It’s been a long time.”

You just hummed, refusing to acknowledge such a thing as time.

A silence settled between you, the hum of the engine filling the space. Yoongi’s jaw tightened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face.

“Was that true?” you asked suddenly. “That thing your mom said about the movie, that you cried?”

The question didn’t seem to surprise him, but he hesitated to answer for a second. “Maybe… Perhaps I teared up a little.” 

You pressed your lips together, eager to know more. “Can I ask why?”

His fists clenched around the steering wheel, but he did not look at you. “You’re good at making people cry, I guess.” He said, his tone even. “You’re good.”

You sank deeper into the seat, feeling your heart slightly clenching. 

By the time you arrive at Minnie's apartment, there was still something lingering in the air. Something you were both hoping to let go tonight. This wasn’t quite a closure, not even a goodbye. You weren’t sure if it would ever be something such as that.

The car stopped. The rain kept falling over you, and it was time to call it a night.

You looked at him for a moment before opening the door. Your gaze crashed into his, and for the briefest second, you felt electrified.

Another song from the same album kept playing softly. The engine was still running. The windows were all fogged up. You had nothing to prove there, nothing left to lose that night. In that moment, you could admit it: he was right—you were part of his life, and he was part of yours.

There had been something between you then, just as there was now, and somehow, you knew there always would be. You had just never known what to call it, and maybe that was what made it linger.

“Good night, Yoongi,” you said, opening the door and letting the chill of the night sneak into the car.

“Good night, Pinky.” He let out, like a breath he had been holding for too long. 

Then, you disappeared into the night. 

One of the many reasons you’d been at odds with this town since you were young was the lingering suspicion that it was cursed. Not cursed like in horror movies, where kids disappeared or something tragic happened every other day, but the kind of curse that quietly followed you around—the kind that hovered over you at the bus stop. It was in the dark winter evenings, in the sound of autumn leaves dragging across the street as you walked home at night, in the stillness of time as it passed. It was the frightening feeling that nothing ever changed.

In the city, everything was ever-changing. Everything was shiny and new, and every night felt different from the one before. There were moments when everything seemed fine—when you were convinced this was the life you were meant to lead all along, and your heart felt full, your soul complete, and no one could ever take it away from you.

But there were other moments, brief moments, when you walked down the street alone at night and could still hear the autumn leaves dragging across the pavement, following you home.

Over time, you began to realize that maybe your hometown was just a small town like any other. You supposed it was normal to bump into people you’d rather not see at the grocery store, at the theater, even in your own house. But then, as you grew up, another fear surged from the pit of your stomach: the suspicion that maybe you were the one who was bewitched, that you were the one carrying the curse wherever you went.

You thought you were almost used to it—the breakup with Ian, the leaked pictures, seeing Yoongi in your home the night you arrived, and running into him at The Alley days later. The more you tried to avoid it, the more it seemed to find you. But this time, it caught you off guard. 

The coffee shop down the street from The Alley had always been your favorite. It was small, so small you could hear the people talking down in the kitchen and the barista complaining about her ex boyfriend. There was a whole wall filled with books and you could grab any one you wanted to read as you were waiting for your order. You always sat in the farthest corner of the room, next to the books, in a tiny table for two next to a tall lamp shaped like a flower and pretended to work on your laptop or read the same storybook for the tenth time. 

No one bothered you here, no one ever did, not until now.

You heard the bell ring as the door opened and two people stepped inside. You were never particularly interested in who came or went—you always kept your nose buried in your book and gave little thought to anyone who wasn’t you. But for the first time that afternoon, you looked up.

A gust of wind slipped through the doorway, lifting Summer’s hair before it fell perfectly back into place as Yoongi stepped in behind her and closed the door.

Ugh.

Not this again. The curse. 

You dropped your gaze back to your book instantly, pretending to be oblivious as you took another sip of your cup of coffee. You tried to stay focused on the story, staring at the same sentence on the page until it blurred, but the sound of chairs scraping against the floor made you want to take a look again. 

They choose a table by the window. Not close to you, but not far enough either. Not far enough not to notice your quiet presence. 

Summer. The name Yoongi mentioned the other night. It resonated in your head as you tried to come back to the story, but it seemed to infect each one your thoughts. What kind of name was that anyway? Summer, like flowers and the sun, ice cream and the beach. Summer, it sounded like something made up, soft and sweet, effortless. Around here, girls had names like Claire or Melissa. Summer felt like a fantasy, the kind of girl you don’t usually see in this town. Like the kind of girl you became if you got everything right on the first try. the kind of girl you used to pretend not to hate when you were in nursing school, wondering if you’d ever feel like you belonged anywhere. 

Summer. Bright and easy and blonde. It figured. 

God, now you sounded like a bitch. You didn’t know her. You hadn’t even talked to her. You were building entire stories in your head like a deranged person. 

You shook the thought off before it could stick too long — there were better things to waste your time on. Like the fucking book in your hands that you couldn’t, for the life of you, manage to finish.

And when you were about to look away, your eyes landed on him. 

Still standing. White shirt, black cardigan, hand resting on the back of a chair, mid-motion, like he’d been about to sit but got caught. Watching you.

Yoongi’s eyes locked with yours. There it was—surprise, recognition, something like hesitation. Then, a pause too long to be casual, he lifted his hand in a small, clumsy wave.

Not thinking much, you waved back before your mind processed it. Just a nod of acknowledgment. It didn’t have to be awkward. And yet, it was.

You glanced back at your book, wondering if you were supposed to revisit the terms of whatever agreement you had now. Were you expected to wave in public? Even when no one was watching? Why did you have to acknowledge him at all, especially when he was clearly here with someone else?

Whatever. In any case, you supposed this was the whole point of the truce: to share a space, to be civil and polite and blah, blah, blah. It bored you just thinking about it.

You turned back to your book. Or tried to—because the sound of his voice carried through the room, low and steady, filling every corner like smoke. You couldn’t make out the words, but that didn’t stop your brain from trying.

You closed your eyes and sighed. Still, you found yourself straining to decode what he might be saying, or why she kept laughing like that.

Determined, you stared at the same page for the third time, willing yourself to focus. This time, you told yourself, you were going to make it through. You were this close to slipping back into the story.

A few minutes passed. Enough for the noise around you to dull into background static, for the text to finally start sinking in. You managed to stay focused on the story, your fingers pressed lightly to the page as if that could anchor you there.

You didn’t notice the shadow at first. Just a shift in the air beside you, a faint rustle of movement, a shadow. Then the creak of the chair across from you being pulled out.

When you looked up, Yoongi was already sitting down.

Your heart jumped before your expression could catch up. He wasn’t looking at you, not yet, he was settling in like he had a reason to be there, like this wasn’t strange.

Had he walked over without you noticing? Had he said something first?

You hadn’t heard a thing.

“Hi,” he said—soft, hesitant.

You blinked.

“Hi?” you echoed, the book still in your hands.

“Hi,” he repeated.

You narrowed your eyes. “Is there… something wrong?” you asked quietly, sneaking a glance toward the girl he’d just left at the other table. She met your eyes, then quickly looked away.

“No, not at all…” he muttered, shifting in his seat.

“Then… may I ask why you’re sitting at my table?”

He sat at the edge of the chair, like he didn’t plan to stay long. He looked almost nervous—almost, because Yoongi never looked nervous. He was always put together, always with his shit together.

“Uhm… yes,” he began, slow and steady, like this wasn’t completely awkward. “You know Summer, I think. She’s right there. She’s… a friend.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A friend?” The laugh threatened to slip out, but you bit it back.

“She’s a big fan of yours,” he said, smoothing his hands over his knees like he needed something to do with them. His voice was careful, almost rehearsed.

“So I’ve heard,” you replied, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That must be fun for you.”

Yoongi let out a quiet breath, eyes closing briefly like he was trying not to react. You watched the flicker of tension in his jaw before he forced his features back into something neutral.

“She’s been asking me for a while… if I could get you to sign something for her.”

“For her?” You tilted your head, just slightly.

He nodded once.

Yoongi was a lot of things, sure—but you never thought he was this much of a fucking idiot.

Honestly, you almost wanted to laugh. The fact that he had the audacity to come over to your table, while you were minding your own business, just to ask for an autograph—for a girl—was nearly hilarious.

Oh, but you were going to make sure he knew that.

“Because she’s my fan, you’re saying?” You asked, just because you wanted another confirmation. Of all the girls Yoongi could date, he chose the one who was your number one fan. He nodded again, this time with more hesitation. “Did you already tell her no? Because that’s my answer.”

“Yes, I already told her no, but she insisted.” He sighed. “Many times, actually.”

“That’s cute.” You smiled, voice laced with amusement. “Did you watch my movies with her too, or was that part too awkward?”

He glanced away, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was biting back a retort. “Come on…”

“I’m not on celebrity duty right now,” you said, flipping the page of your book without looking at it. 

“I know, I know…” He sighed again, shifting in his seat. His knee bumped the table lightly. “She didn’t want to bother you. She’s shy. So she asked me. Because… she knows I know you.”

Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, but your mouth twitched.

That was one way to describe you had sex, you wanted to say.

The truth was that you didn’t have a problem with an autograph. It was bitter, you knew, you could easily do it, but you simply did not want to. 

“Sounds like you really wanted me to say yes so you wouldn’t have to say no to her.” You pouted. 

Yoongi exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “I didn’t think it’d be this hard.”

Well, you were wrong, you thought.

“I told you, I’m practically on vacation.” You leaned back, eyeing him. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck some chick.”

He shut his eyes for a second, like he was counting to ten. “She’s my mom’s nurse.”

You shrugged. “I’m not giving you an autograph so you can fuck your mom’s nurse.”

He shook his head, biting back a laugh, then ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Can you just—do me a favor?”

“Why would I?” you challenged, chuckling.

He shrugged, voice low. “Honestly? I don’t know, maybe because she likes you.”

“Or because you like her?” you teased, pressing your palms together like you were praying for him. “I mean… doesn’t she mind?” You gave him a squinting look, full of fake concern. “Isn’t she the jealous type?”

“No—well, I don’t know. We’re not... it’s not like that.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding his gaze. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gaze flicking towards Summer, who was pretending not to look over.

He stayed quiet for a moment, staring down at the book in front of you—anything to avoid looking at you.

Then, just as he opened his mouth to plead one last time for the favor, you noticed her. Walking straight towards you, a bright, fixed smile on her face, like she was ready to hug you right then and there.

Before you could blink, Summer pulled a chair and slipped in between the two of you.

She settled into it like she owned the place, her smile steady as she glanced between you and Yoongi.

“Hi, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I felt weird just standing over there,” she said. You stayed there, with your mouth half open, you couldn’t find the words to answer. “I’m Summer, nice to meet you.”

She extended her hand awkwardly, and you hesitated before taking it. Despite what Yoongi said, she didn’t look shy at all. 

“Uh… hi?”

She laughed nervously, the bubbly sound filling your ears.

“I hope we’re not bothering you. Yoongi told me you two have been childhood friends.”

You forced a small, polite smile, carefully folding your hands on the table. “Nice to meet you, Summer.” Your voice was calm, but your eyes narrowed just slightly—this was not exactly how you pictured your afternoon going.

Yoongi shifted uneasily in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck like he’d just walked into a minefield. The sight of Summer sitting so close, so casual, made him visibly tense, his usual composure nowhere to be found.

“So,” you said, keeping your tone light but deliberate, “Yoongi mentioned you wanted my autograph?”

Summer’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a hint of nervous energy beneath it. “Yeah, I’m a big fan, I adored you in Dog Days.” she said, glancing at Yoongi for reassurance.

He cleared his throat, eyes darting between you both. “If it’s not too much trouble….” he added, sounding more like he was begging than asking.

You looked at Yoongi through your lashes, silently cursing him for putting you in this position. But then again, he looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, too.

And you, more than anything, wanted to be an asshole and say no. You didn’t owe them anything, you’d been enjoying your time alone before they walked in, before both of them sat beside you like they were invited. You could say no.

You meant what you said: you were on vacation. You didn’t want to be a celebrity here, not now, not after everything that happened with Ian and the press. And even if you knew that signing a piece of paper wouldn’t truly disturb your peace, you still didn’t want to.

Of course, it wasn’t about the autograph. It was about her—bright and sweet and everything you weren’t. And it was about him—sitting with her, making her laugh, trying to impress her with your signature, stumbling to your table like he didn’t know how much it bothered you to see him there.

Well. You had to remind yourself you were trying not to be a bitch.

And sure, you’d agreed to a truce, though at this point, it was starting to feel like bullshit. Why did it seem like this truce benefited him more than you? What was in it for you? 

Whatever, it was fine, it wouldn’t kill you to sign an autograph, not completely, at least. 

You reached for your bag, and searched for a loose pen between your books. 

“Well, I’m not exactly working today, but I suppose I can’t say no to my old friend’s... friend.”

Yoongi let out a relieved breath, though the tension didn’t fully leave his shoulders. 

You grabbed a piece of paper and signed it, your eyes catching Summer’s excited smile. You briefly wondered what she was going to do with it. 

No one asked you for autographs these days, only outside the theater after a performance, and even then, it was almost always just programs. But you were kind of grateful for that. You could handle signing a piece of paper, but not taking a picture with Summer. She would post it somewhere, tag you, and then maybe you’d have to see it—see the difference between the two of you captured forever, impossible to forget, impossible to erase from your memory.

You didn’t know why you were feeling so insecure, it was like you were fourteen years old all over again, like you were uncomfortable in your own skin. 

When you handed her the paper, she smiled and said thank you, and you knew that was your cue to go. You didn’t want to be here anymore.

You grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Okay, guys. I’m leaving.”

She looked up at you with wide eyes, visibly disappointed. “Already?” she asked, as if you’d ever planned on staying.

“Yeah, I’ve got work to do at The Alle, you know, the Halloween party and all…” you said. It wasn’t exactly a lie. You had offered to help organize the party. But right now, it made a perfect excuse to get out of this mess.

“Oh, will you be there?” She asked, hopeful. 

You pressed your lips together and nodded. “Yeah, of course.” You were obligated to say you were going, even if you changed your mind at the last minute. You and Minnie had agreed it would help boost ticket sales if people knew you’d be there.

“That’s amazing, we’ll be there for sure. Right, Yoongi?” she said, nudging his arm.

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

You grabbed your wallet and left a tip, ready to leave. “See you, then.” 

Then, you walked to the door, stepping outside. 

The cold hit you before you even made it down the steps, sharp and bracing — a reminder that it was still autumn, no matter how much someone like Summer could make it feel like June inside.

You tried not to think about it as you crossed the street, going back to The Alley. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this wasn’t how you imagined things happening. 

You didn’t want to be in the same room as Yoongi and his new girl. You didn’t want to make small talk, or pretend to be okay with all of it. You’d grown strangely comfortable with your resentment — it had kept you warm, in a way. You’d never really wanted a truce. There was a thought, a bitter little thing, that crept in during your worst moments: if you couldn’t forget, then maybe you didn’t want to forgive either.

You didn’t want him to smile at you, to be polite and correct and show you kindness. You wanted him to look at you and be reminded of every single thing he said to you. You wanted it to make his stomach squirm. You wanted him to avoid your gaze, to feel the need to leave the room every time you walked in — because there was no universe where you could both share oxygen without suffocating each other trying.

It was strange, but you couldn’t stop the thought. You couldn’t stop the feeling.

You wanted a shiver to run down his spine every time he looked at you, because the only thing he could see in your eyes was the memory of that night.

And maybe, by wishing that, you were admitting that the last bits of your sanity had disappeared the moment he offered one of those kind smiles. Because you’d rather know it hurt him to see you than believe he felt nothing at all.

You didn’t look back. But inside, behind the window, Yoongi did.

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls , @overtherainbow35 , @namin13 , @p34rluv , @moonchild1 , @yoongisoftface , @namgihours @idkjustlovingbts , @yoongisducky , @bangtansmauyeondan , @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804 @yoongibaybee @hsbongwater @ot7stansthings @curiouslioncutie @jalexad @lynnibears @benyhime

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Ｔ𝑒Ｔⓗ𝑒ⓡ kim taehyung (one)

Pairing: Yandere!Kim Taehyung × MC (Childhood Friends to Arranged Fiancés)

Themes: Arranged marriage, childhood friends to possessive obsession, elite society and wealth, power imbalance and control, spoiled heroine with overindulgent dynamic, slow-burn to dark sexual awakening, psychological tension, and emotional dependency.

Genre: Dark romance, psychological drama, smut, coming-of-age with elements of emotional and sexual growth, and subtle slice-of-life.

Warnings: Yandere behavior including obsessive love and possessiveness, emotional manipulation, blurred consent in both emotional and physical contexts, themes of privilege and dependency, SMUT (18+)

Intro: Taehyung has always been there. Watchful, constant, impossibly close. As the promise of your arranged marriage looms, you begin to see the truth behind his steady gaze. He was never just waiting; he was claiming.

taglist: @hkplushier

——————-

You first heard the word betrothed when you were eleven. Your mother whispered it like it was a blessing, brushing your hair while humming something soft. “To someone good. To someone who already loves you,” she’d said, like that was supposed to make it better. You still remember the sinking feeling in your chest when she said the name: Kim Taehyung.

He was already thirteen then. Taller than you, smarter, louder—and terrifyingly possessive. Even back then.

You and Kim Taehyung were born into parallel worlds.

Two empires—his in steel, yours in land and luxury real estate—entwined by proximity, wealth, and old loyalty. Your parents met his at a fundraiser when you were still in the womb, and from that night on, it was settled.

You and Kim Taehyung grew up in the same world—glass towers, private jets, weekend galas, and houses too big to feel real. Your father owns half the city’s skyline; his family built the bridges that connect it. Wealth like that makes people greedy, paranoid. But not your families. Not with each other.

Your parents love the Kims. The Kims love your parents. It’s always been that way.

You spent holidays at each other’s estates, vacations abroad in private resorts, and birthdays where the guest lists looked like Forbes. Every major life milestone, he was there. You remember matching tuxedos and dresses as kids at some gala, dancing in front of the flash of cameras while your mothers clapped.

Not that they said it out loud—at least not at first.

At first, it was just shared vacations, joint birthday parties, his mother calling you her sweet girl while fixing your hair with diamond pins. Your father always bragged about Taehyung like he was his own son—his charm, his grades, his golf swing. “He’s a real man,” he’d say, when Taehyung stood up for you against some brat at a banquet. “You’re lucky, darling. Not every girl gets someone like him.”

And his parents? His mother spoiled you. Every birthday, she gave you something handpicked and impossibly expensive—a sapphire bracelet when you turned thirteen, a limited-edition designer bag at sixteen. She always said the same thing with a knowing smile: “What’s mine is yours, sweetheart.” His father called you Taehyung’s girl before you were even old enough to understand what that meant.

Your lives were mirrors, but his was always louder.

Where you were taught grace and diplomacy, he was taught to command. Taehyung filled a room. He was the type of boy whose name was always on someone’s lips—at school, at functions, on whispered calls behind closed doors. He was untouchable, untamed, and completely uninterested in anyone that wasn’t you.

From childhood, he acted like you belonged to him. Not in a dramatic way—but in small, possessive habits. He never liked you walking alone, even inside gated estates. He sat beside you at every dinner, always a little too close. He ignored other girls and memorized your schedule. When he got into fights, it was always over you.

You knew about the betrothal since you were eleven. The contract was a quiet thing signed between your fathers in the office with cigars and prideful grins. When you found out, your mother said it softly, like it was a fairytale. “You’ll be safe with him. His love will be your armor.”

But you didn’t want armor. You wanted choice.

And Taehyung? He never once asked if you agreed. He smiled like he already had you.

Taehyung would walk you home from school without asking. He’d pull your backpack onto his shoulder and call you mine in that calm, self-satisfied voice of his. When boys gave you notes, they ended up wet or shredded. When girls tried to befriend you, they’d back off with nervous glances—because Taehyung watched everyone. Watched them like he had the right.

And maybe he did. Because your families had already decided everything.

By the time you turned eighteen, you were tired of hearing the words “he only does it because he cares.” Your parents had given you a future without asking. A future with him.

He never even asked either.

He acted like it was already done. Like your hand already had his name etched on the bone. He said it with his eyes, with the way he smirked when you glared at him, with the way he’d lower his voice when you got angry—so low and slow it made your stomach twist.

“You’re going to marry me anyway,” he’d said once. “Might as well stop pretending you don’t want me.”

You’d thrown a book at his face.

You didn’t want him. Not like that. Not with this kind of control. But it didn’t matter what you said, not when the engagement was to be formalized on your twentieth birthday.

And worst of all—he’s not cruel. He’s kind. Terrifyingly patient.

Like a boy who’s waited his whole life, knowing eventually, you’d stop fighting.

Your lives were separate in a hundred ways. Different schools. Different social circles. You went to a rigorous prep academy focused on academics and pedigree. Taehyung was across the city, where the emphasis was on networking and legacy. His name alone could clear a hallway. And you were glad, in a way, to have your space. You liked who you were when he wasn’t watching.

Taehyung was the boy who carried your bags even when you didn’t ask. Who stepped between you and barking paparazzi. Who tore up love notes from other boys before you even read them. It used to annoy you. But over time, you got used to it.

That’s the problem now.

You’re too used to Taehyung doing things for you. Used to the way he orders your drink without asking, the way he presses a hand to your lower back when crowds get too close, the way he answers questions on your behalf like he’s doing you a favor.

But there used to be distance—separate schools, separate routines. You could breathe without him in the room.

But that all changed senior year.

When he transferred.

There was no warning. No announcement. One day, you walked into class and he was already sitting in the back row—arms crossed, legs long, looking like the school belonged to him already. Which it sort of did. One call from his father and he’d been placed in all your advanced courses, your clubs, even your student council.

And just like that, the air around you changed.

He didn’t need to say anything. He just looked at you, smirked faintly, and nodded like of course. Of course he’s here now. Of course he’ll sit by you at lunch. Of course your friends are already fawning over him. Of course you don’t need space.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay with it.

He never has.

But he treats you like glass, only he’s the only one allowed to touch it. You feel it in the way he walks you to class now, the way he puts his hand low on your back when people are around. The way he says your name like it’s already his. And maybe it is. Maybe it always has been.

_____

You walked into your advanced econ class, and he was already seated in the back row, legs sprawled, uniform perfect, eyes locked on you like he was waiting. And from that moment, everything tilted. He joined every one of your classes, your student council, your morning study hall. No one questioned it—who would, with his last name?

The girls lost their minds.

Kim Taehyung was tall, devastatingly handsome, absurdly rich—and unattainable. The way he dressed, the way he carried himself, the lazy curl of his smirk when someone tried to flirt—he made them feel like he was a dream they had to earn.

Too bad he didn’t look at any of them. Just you.

And he made it obvious. He sat with you at lunch. Walked you to every class. Ignored every girl who tried to get his attention. And the moment that really sent your friends reeling?

Lunch.

He cut your chicken for you. With the same ease someone might pour water or pass a napkin. Your fork had barely touched the plate when his hand slid it away, and with slow, effortless precision, he sliced it into bite-sized pieces.

“Here,” he said, nudging the plate back toward you, eyes already drifting lazily across the room as if it were nothing.

Your friends stared.

You blinked. “What?”

“Did he just—?” Mina whispered.

“Cut her food?” Jia muttered. “Like she’s five?”

You looked at them, genuinely confused. “He always does that.”

Jia looked like she was about to pass out.

Taehyung, of course, just smiled. A little smug. A little possessive. Like he wanted them to know that this wasn’t new—that you’d always been his, in ways they wouldn’t understand.

And maybe you didn’t either.

——

It doesn’t stop during your lunch with your friends.

Taehyung moves through your day like he’s been doing this his whole life—because he has. The only difference now is that your friends see it.

“Here,” he says one morning, plucking your heavy textbook stack from your arms without asking. He slings your backpack over his shoulder, smooth and casual, and starts walking beside you like this is how it’s always been. Because it has.

Your friends trail behind, slack-jawed.

“Wait, does he carry your backpack to class?” Mina hisses, jogging to catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, brushing hair from your face. “Sometimes he gets annoyed if I try to carry things myself.”

They stare at you.

You stare back. “What?”

Jia lowers her voice like she’s explaining something to a toddler. “That’s… not normal.”

You blink, confused. “It’s just Taehyung.”

They exchange looks like that explains nothing. Because to them, he’s not just Taehyung. He’s the devastating new senior transfer with power stitched into every breath. But to you, he’s always been the same—bossy, patient, annoying. Familiar.

Later, you’re walking to your afternoon class when one of your shoelaces comes undone. Before you even notice, Taehyung’s already crouched, long fingers tugging the strings neatly together.

“There,” he murmurs, double-knotting it. “Don’t trip.”

You hum distractedly, checking your phone. “Thanks.”

When you glance up, three girls from your AP Literature class are staring at you with open mouths.

One even drops her pen.

Taehyung doesn’t react. He stands, dusts off his slacks, and picks up your backpack again. “Let’s go.”

You don’t question it. You never do. Because this is just how it’s always been. From the moment he was old enough to reach the laces on your shoes, Taehyung has done these things. And not once have your parents told him to stop. Not once has he asked if it’s too much. He just does.

You sit through your next class with your friends whispering at your side.

“Do you even like him like that?” Jia asks under her breath.

“He’s just…” You trail off. How do you explain something so ingrained it doesn’t feel like a choice? “He’s always been like this. It’s not a big deal.”

Jia looks at you, sharp-eyed. “That’s what makes it a big deal.”

You frown. But you don’t reply. Because what would you even say? That it’s comfortable? That it’s easier to let him do things than fight him? That sometimes it’s nice, the way he hovers just close enough to make you feel safe without saying why?

The truth is, you don’t fully understand it either.

But Taehyung does.

He watches all of it—your confusion, their judgment, his own slow integration into your life—with the calm patience of someone who’s planned for this moment for years.

He doesn’t mind that they’re starting to notice.

In fact, he wants them to.

Because the more they see what he does for you, the more they’ll understand what he already knows:

You belong to him. Even if you haven’t realized it yet.

————-

Taehyung walks you to every class, even if it means being late to his. He adjusts your uniform jacket when it’s off-center, handles things like vending machines, library fines, and event sign-ups without you ever lifting a finger.

You’re used to it.

Your friends are not.

“He really just… does that?” Mina asks one morning, after he hands you your favorite iced drink before first period without being told.

“Yeah,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “He’s always done it.”

“Like he just… carries your bag? Signs you in?”

You blink. “I mean.. Yeah.”

They don’t get it. And you’re too used to this life to explain it.

Later that week, your group has a class project due that requires bringing in heavy poster boards and prop pieces. You’re standing near the front gate, holding the lightest bag of supplies while the large foam trifold board with the rest of the massive main presentation model sit on the bench beside you—untouched.

Taehyung is supposed to carry it, place it, organize it. He always does. But he’s late.

Just a few minutes late.

Still, you check the clock. Tap your foot. Your arms are folded, and your expression is increasingly pouty.

Your friends watch you in confusion.

“Are you… waiting for something?” Jia asks.

“Taehyung,” you say simply, like that should be obvious.

Mina frowns. “You could start taking the stuff in, though.”

You look at the heavy trifold, the model board, the stack of notes under a paperweight. Then back at her. “Why would I?”

Dead silence.

Jia stares at you. “You do know it’s your project too, right?”

You shrug, genuinely confused by their confusion. “He’s carried worse.”

They’re still trying to process that when Taehyung finally appears, his blazer slightly rumpled, tie loose, hair perfectly windblown. He doesn’t speak—just walks over, takes the project supplies in one hand and your bag in the other.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says softly. “Did you wait long?”

You huff. “Yeah, I was waiting here for like… seven minutes. I even thought about carrying it in myself.”

His lips curl in a small, knowing smile. “Tragic.”

Your friends are stunned. Again.

He walks you in like he owns the building—and maybe he does. Half the girls in school watch him with hearts in their eyes, whispering about his wealth, his looks, his voice, his hands. But he doesn’t look at them.

He only looks at you.

And he does it with a kind of quiet, practiced patience that says he’s done this forever—and will do it for the rest of your life, whether you ask or not.

Because you’re used to him handling everything.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.

_________________________

That day you have a seat change in class.

Your professor, in a moment of what must’ve been cosmic cruelty, decides to “shake things up” for your literature seminar and randomly assigns new partners for the semester-long project. You don’t think much of it—until you’re paired with Raejun, a boy from the debate team. Smart. Well-dressed. Confident in a way that doesn’t scream arrogance.

You’ve never talked to him before. But when he smiles at you, something about it feels… normal. Refreshing. Like he’s not seeing you as a last name or a future heiress. Just you.

Taehyung watches the whole thing from across the room, seated beside Mina now, his expression unreadable. But you feel the weight of his gaze pressing between your shoulder blades.

“Hey,” Raejun says, offering his hand when class ends. “Want to go to the café after school? We can plan out our research outline.”

You hesitate. Not because of him—but because of the tension that immediately shifts in the room.

Before you can answer, there’s a sound behind you—metal scraping lightly as Taehyung stands. He doesn’t say a word. Just walks over, calm and unhurried, and places a hand lightly on your shoulder.

“She won’t be going,” he says to Raejun, voice polite, but firm.

You blink. “Taehyung—”

“She’s busy,” he continues, gaze never leaving Raejun’s. “With me.”

Raejun raises a brow. “I mean, it’s just a school project. I wasn’t—”

Taehyung’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you weren’t. But you are mistaken.”

There’s something quiet but unmistakably final in his tone. Raejun looks between the two of you, then steps back with a short nod.

“No problem,” he says carefully, then walks away.

The moment he’s gone, you round on Taehyung.

“What was that?”

He looks down at you. Still smiling. Still calm. “I handled it.”

“You scared him off!”

“Good.” His fingers curl a little tighter on your shoulder. “He was looking at you like you were available.”

You laugh, bitter and breathless. “Well, I am available, Taehyung. You don’t own me.”

His jaw flexes. “You keep saying that like it’s true.”

That stuns you into silence.

You don’t know what to say. You’ve known him all your life. But this is the first time he’s said something that feels like a threat—not in volume, but in certainty.

He leans in, voice lower. “You can flirt. You can pretend. But don’t forget who’s always been here. Who does everything for you. Who knows how to take care of you—because I’ve been doing it since before you could spell my name.”

His hand slides from your shoulder to your waist, and he steps closer.

“You belong with me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

Your heart stutters.

Then he pulls back—expression smoothing over like nothing happened. “Let’s go. I already scheduled your ride.”

You don’t move at first. Just stand there, a little breathless, a little shaken.

Your friends don’t say a word. But Mina gives you a look. A knowing one. Like she’s starting to piece it together.

And deep down… maybe you are too.

———-

A week later Taehyung hasn’t brought it up again, the incident with Raejun—not with words. But his actions have only intensified. He walks you to every class now, even ones you told him not to. Waits outside the girls’ restroom like it’s normal. Texts you when you’re five minutes late to lunch with a where are you, princess?

It’s become routine again. Familiar.

Comfortable, in a way you hate admitting.

You’re in the middle of a bad day when it happens. Your student ID card—linked to your school account, your snack money, your library access—decides to stop working. You’ve tried tapping it three times. Nothing. The vending machine blinks red. You’re hungry. Irritated. And slightly flustered because you forgot to charge your phone and left your wallet in the science lab.

So naturally, you go looking for Taehyung.

You spot him near the main stairwell, talking to someone. You recognize the girl—her name is Yena. She’s on the dance team and widely known for being beautiful, graceful, and allegedly crushing hard on Taehyung since the day he transferred.

She’s standing too close.

Her hands are clasped nervously, cheeks a little flushed. She’s mid-sentence, eyes big and hopeful.

And you don’t even register it.

“Taehyung,” you call, marching up. “My card isn’t working and I’m starving. Give me yours.”

He turns immediately, hand already sliding into his blazer pocket. “What?”

You hold out your hand expectantly. “I tried mine three times.”

He steps toward you without hesitation. “You didn’t eat breakfast again, did you?”

“No, and I’m gonna pass out.”

Yena clears her throat behind you. “Um—excuse me? We’re in the middle of something—”

You turn, surprised. “Oh. Sorry.” Then pause. “Wait, were you guys talking?”

Yena blinks, incredulous. “Obviously.”

You stare at her blankly. “Right. Well, I’m just borrowing his card.”

Her mouth opens. Then closes.

Taehyung doesn’t even look at her.

He presses his card into your palm and rests a hand lightly on the back of your neck. “Go buy something warm. I’ll meet you outside in five.”

“Kay,” you mumble, already halfway to the vending kiosk. You barely notice Yena’s expression—or the way Taehyung doesn’t so much as glance at her when she starts trying to talk again.

When you’re gone, Yena stares at him, red-cheeked and humiliated.

“Seriously?” she mutters. “I was trying to tell you I like you.”

Taehyung tilts his head slightly. “I know.”

She blinks. “Then—?”

He smiles. Not kindly.

“I don’t really care.”

And then he walks away.

By the time you’ve bought your snack, he’s already waiting by the courtyard steps, hand outstretched to carry your bag. Like always. Like it’s nothing.

You toss him his card back. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t take it.

“You should keep it.”

You blink. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You’ll need it again.”

You slip it into your pocket without thinking. Because you probably will.

And behind you, somewhere in the distance, a girl walks away with tears in her eyes—learning the same thing everyone else eventually does:

You weren’t just someone Taehyung liked.

You were the reason no one else ever stood a chance.

___________

It all builds up to Friday lunch.

You’re eating at your usual table, Taehyung sitting beside you with one hand on your chair and the other lazily flipping through your notebook. Your untouched tray is half-eaten—because he made you a custom plate and brought it over himself. Your backpack is off your shoulders, tucked beneath his seat. And your phone? Charging in his blazer pocket because you forgot again.

You’re not even thinking about it. But your friends are.

The moment he steps away to take a call, Mina turns to you, dead serious.

“Do you even realize how dependent you are on him?”

You pause mid-chew. “Excuse me?”

Jia chimes in. “Like—do you know how to do anything without him? Register for classes? Go to the bank? Cut your own food?”

You blink, chewing slowly. “I mean… not really?”

Mina looks horrified. “You’re not even ashamed!”

You lift your juice with a shrug. “Why would I be?”

They stare. You smile. You’re not even being ironic.

“I do well in school, I handle my business, I’m just not…” You wave a hand vaguely. “Manual.”

“Manual?” Jia echoes, deadpan. “Girl, you couldn’t even refill your Metro card without him.”

“Because he does it better,” you say breezily. “What’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Mina says carefully, “is that if he ever left, you wouldn’t know how to function.”

That gives you pause.

Not because she’s wrong. But because… yeah. She’s kind of right.

You’re smart. Brilliant, even. You get top marks, lead committees, kill it in academic competitions. But when it comes to real-life things—life life—Taehyung or your parents have always stepped in.

Need to open an account? Someone handled it. Need to pay your phone bill? Auto-paid. Hair appointments? Booked. Dry cleaning? Delivered. Anything that involved interaction, planning, lifting, sweating—Taehyung did it.

Because he wanted to. Because you let him.

And deep down, you know you could learn. You could grow. Be self-sufficient.

But… you don’t want to.

You sip your drink. “You make it sound like a tragedy. It’s not. He likes doing things for me.”

“That’s not the point,” Jia says, softer now. “Don’t you ever feel like he’s building your whole world around himself? Like, if he pulled back even once, the floor would fall out?”

You glance at Taehyung across the courtyard. He’s standing in the sun, one hand in his pocket, phone pressed to his ear, eyes flicking toward you even while he talks.

He doesn’t pull back. That’s the thing.

He never has.

And if you’re honest with yourself… it is a little terrifying how much you rely on him. How many things you don’t know. How often you look for him without realizing.

But you’ve never felt safer.

You look back at your friends and shrug. “I like not having to handle everything. I don’t think that makes me spoiled, and I don’t want to change.”

They fall quiet.

And then Taehyung returns, slipping his phone away and leaning in to brush a crumb off your cheek. He doesn’t ask what you were talking about. He doesn’t need to.

You lean into his hand like it’s instinct.

Because it is.

—————-

You bring it up later.

Not because you want to fight—but because the silence your friends left behind won’t leave your head.

The sun is setting outside the library, soft gold bleeding through the windows as you both sit on the lounge couch. Taehyung has your laptop on his lap—sorting through your inbox without being asked, muttering about unsubscribing you from spam. He’s calm. Comfortable. In his element.

Which makes it feel even riskier to ask.

You shift a little. “Taehyung?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t look up. His fingers are already clicking away—cleaning up your digital clutter like it’s his own.

You pause. Then: “Do you think I’m too… dependent on you?”

That gets his attention.

He freezes for half a second. Not long. But you notice.

His eyes flick up slowly, dark and unreadable. “Who told you that?”

You fidget. “Just… my friends. They said I wouldn’t know how to function without you.”

His jaw tics—just slightly. “And do you believe that?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe a little. But… is that bad?”

He sets your laptop down. Gently. Like he’s afraid of cracking it. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at you with something slower, heavier.

“No,” he says quietly. “It’s not bad.”

Then his voice changes—darker, silkier.

“Why wouldn’t you depend on me?”

Your heart flutters. Not in a good way. In the way prey animals might flinch when the air goes still.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about things like money, scheduling, errands. You’re too good for that. Too soft. I want to take care of everything. Isn’t it nice? Isn’t it easy?”

You swallow. “Yeah, but—”

“But what?” he murmurs. “You want to start struggling? You want to learn how to carry heavy things, make calls, deal with strangers who talk to you like they don’t know who you belong to?”

His voice is still soft—but the tone underneath is sharp. Glittering.

“I’ve done everything so you wouldn’t have to.”

There’s a silence between you now, thick with something you can’t quite name. And then, with a faint smile, he lifts a hand to your cheek.

“You’re not dependent on me,” he says, stroking your skin with his thumb. “You’re just mine.”

The words hit something in your chest.

He leans in, nose brushing yours, voice lowered to a whisper.

“And I’ll never let you forget that.”

You say nothing.

You don’t push him away.

Because somewhere, deep down… a part of you always knew that, while circumstantial— and like the moon to the earth—, you would always be tethered to Kim Taehyung.

(tbh idk if this proper grammar)

__________

You almost forgot about the engagement.

Not really forgot—how could you? It’s been hanging in the background of your life like an old painting, too familiar to notice anymore. But with school, exams, Taehyung transferring, and your friends whispering about how “weirdly close” he is… it’s been easy not to think about.

Until he brings it up.

You’re at his place—which is bigger than most hotels. Normally unheard for a student his age. He’d picked you up after school because your driver was late, and you didn’t want to wait. It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon. Just homework and coffee and the same way-too-large couch you always half-sink into.

But now you’re sitting at the edge of his bed, watching as he flips through a thick leather folder on his desk.

“You know,” he says casually, not even looking at you. “You’ll be twenty in about nine months.”

You blink, suspicious. “And?”

He smiles to himself, then holds up the folder—cream-colored paper, gold-stamped headers.

You recognize the logo: your family’s law firm.

Your stomach tightens. “What is that?”

“Preliminary prep,” he says simply. “Your dad and mine have been reviewing timelines.”

Your breath hitches. “Timelines for what?”

He looks at you then—straight on, with no attempt to soften the blow.

“For our engagement.”

You stare at him. “I thought that wasn’t until after I’m twenty.”

He shrugs, too relaxed. “It won’t be formal until then, no. But the structure’s being built. Joint accounts. Combined assets. Travel permits. You’ll be included in our family trust sooner than expected.”

You blink hard. “I didn’t agree to that.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “You didn’t have to.”

You shoot to your feet. “That’s not how this works, Tae. Just because our families—just because they planned something doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not just them,” he cuts in, voice cool. “I’ve always known I’d marry you.”

You go still.

He rises slowly, walking over until you’re nearly chest to chest.

“This isn’t a plan to me,” he says, voice low. “It’s a truth. Something I’ve been building around for years. Every school I chose. Every step I took. Every decision I made with your name in mind.”

You swallow. “That’s—obsessive.”

He smiles faintly. “No. It’s devotion.”

Then he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Do you really think I transferred to your school just because I missed you?”

You shiver.

He pulls back, eyes locked on yours, and speaks with quiet finality:

“You’re not going to walk away from this. Even if you try. Because no one else will ever be good enough for you. And because I already made sure—long, long ago—that I’d be the only one waiting at the altar.”

You don’t move. Don’t speak.

And in the silence, he leans forward, kisses your temple gently, then murmurs:

“Nine months isn’t that long, sweetheart. You’ve already belonged to me your whole life.”

_______

The invitation came in a gold-trimmed envelope sealed with wax.

Your parents had smiled when they handed it to you—said it was just a family dinner. Just a small celebration to honor a “new stage of unity.” But the tone in their voices said more. Final. Proud. Like they were presenting a trophy they’d spent years polishing.

You knew before you even opened it that this wouldn’t be casual.

By the time you arrive at the Kim estate, everything is already perfect. A private ballroom dressed in candlelight and crystal. Velvet napkins. A custom menu. Your mother kisses Mrs. Kim’s cheek like they’re sisters. Your father clinks whiskey glasses with Taehyung’s dad like the deal is done.

And in the center of it all—Taehyung, standing beside the head of the table, waiting for you.

He pulls out your chair before you can reach for it. Adjusts the hem of your sleeve when you sit. He leans in, murmurs, “You look beautiful tonight,” and doesn’t blink when your hand flinches slightly in your lap.

Dinner begins with toasts.

Your father raises his glass first. “To two families who’ve built a future together—and to the children who’ll carry it forward.”

Mrs. Kim beams. “We’ve waited so long for this to become official.”

You press your lips into a polite smile, trying not to fidget with your silverware.

Everyone’s watching. Everyone’s so happy.

Except you.

Except Taehyung—who doesn’t look happy. He looks calm. Focused. Like he’s measuring how long the speech is so he can steer the next move.

Halfway through the meal, he touches your hand lightly under the table. When you look at him, he’s already watching you, gaze unreadable.

“They’re going to propose a wedding date,” he says quietly.

Your heart lurches. “What?”

“Not officially. Not yet. But they’ll test it. Mention something this spring. Smile like it’s hypothetical.”

You glance at your parents, laughing with his.

“And you’re just fine with that?”

He turns fully to you. “I already picked my date three years ago.”

Your breath catches.

“Why spring?” you whisper.

He smiles faintly. “Because you look prettiest in white under cherry blossoms.”

You want to be angry. You want to pull your hand away.

But you can’t.

Because he’s looking at you like he’s already seen it all. Like he’s watched you walk down the aisle a thousand times in his head. Like he’s not hoping for a yes—just waiting for the moment it becomes impossible to say no.

And the scariest part?

No one here sees anything wrong.

To them, it’s romantic. Powerful. Perfect.

And Taehyung knows it.

He squeezes your hand just once and murmurs,

“You were born to sit at my side. Why fight it now?”

________

Things at school are… different.

Not in a huge way. Not loud. But in glances. In whispers. In the shift of attention every time Taehyung enters a room with you at his side.

The dinner last weekend hadn’t been public, but people talk. Especially when powerful families start moving in sync. And when Taehyung returned to school on Monday in a tailored blazer with your family’s crest embroidered beside his own, the rumors practically lit themselves on fire.

No one dares ask him directly. But they do ask you.

“Hey,” says Hana, a girl from your physics class, catching you at your locker during break. “Sorry if this is weird, but… are you and Taehyung, like… together?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dating. Officially. Because I know a lot of girls who, like… would want to confess to him, but they’re not sure if he’s off-limits or not.”

You stare at her like she just asked whether the sky is blue.

“No,” you say. “We’re not dating.”

Her eyebrows lift. “Really?”

You nod. “It’s complicated.”

She leans in, curious now. “How complicated?”

You shrug. “We’ve just… known each other forever. Our families are close.”

Hana tilts her head. “Close like how?”

You say it without thinking, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “We’ve been arranged to be married since we were kids.”

She freezes.

You don’t notice right away.

You just keep rummaging through your locker, tugging out a notebook like you said we’ve got a quiz today, not I’m engaged to a future CEO because our parents decided when I still had braces.

When you turn back to her, she’s blinking slowly.

“I—sorry, what?”

You blink back. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a family thing. I think the formal engagement is in two years, but it’s basically done.”

She stares at you like you’ve grown another head.

And you genuinely don’t understand the reaction.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“You’re not dating,” she says slowly, “but you’re arranged to marry?”

You nod again. “Yeah.”

“But that’s, like… that’s insane.”

You frown. “It’s kinda… normal to me, I guess.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

And neither do you.

Because it is normal to you. Normal for Taehyung to walk you to class. Normal for him to sign your forms. Normal for him to know your routines better than you do. You never had a moment to decide whether you wanted him or not—he’s just always been there.

The only strange thing is that anyone else finds it strange.

From across the hallway, you catch his gaze. He’s leaning against the wall, surrounded by people, but watching only you.

You offer him a small nod.

And he smiles like he already knows what you just said.

Like he expected it.

Like you’re already doing exactly what you were raised for.

————

Some days, you forget how weird your life looks from the outside.

Like Tuesday morning, when you’re walking to homeroom and Taehyung intercepts you in the hall, already holding your planner open.

“You have a meeting with the student council after lunch,” he says. “Moved your group project review to Thursday, and your mom texted me—she’s sending the driver to pick you up at five instead of six.”

You blink at him, still chewing a bite of your granola bar. “Oh. Okay.”

Your friends behind you—Mina, Jia, and Sujin—are just watching. Speechless. Again.

“You didn’t even check your schedule,” Mina mutters.

“I don’t need to,” you say around your granola. “Taehyung does it for me.”

“You do realize how insane that sounds, right?”

You shrug. “He’s good at it.”

It’s not a joke. You genuinely don’t remember the last time you scheduled your own appointment, submitted a form on time, or even remembered a test day without Taehyung sending you a text reminder in the morning.

He keeps your life straight. Always has.

It’s just… efficient.

Later, during a speed and strength class, an elective class, it’s even more obvious.

You’re supposed to be doing light activity—shooting hoops for cardio. Most people are in pairs. The gym is loud, sweaty, chaotic.

And then there’s you.

You’re barely jogging around. Mostly standing in one place while tossing basketballs half-heartedly at the hoop. It wouldn’t work, except—

Taehyung is there.

He’s not even in your class, technically, but he’s here anyway. He’s standing just off the court in his white PE shirt and black sweatpants, hair pushed back, sleeves rolled up. Every time your ball rolls away—even two feet—he sprints after it.

He brings it back. Hands it to you.

Every. Single. Time.

You don’t even have to look.

At one point, you miss and the ball hits the wall, bouncing off toward the bleachers. You sigh and glance at him.

He’s already gone after it.

Your friends are sitting on the bench nearby, water bottles in hand, slack-jawed.

“Do you ever get your own ball?” Sujin finally asks.

You look at her, confused. “You mean before Taehyung transferred? I guess so.”

Mina groans. “This is actually insane.”

You’re about to respond when the bell rings. You head toward the bleachers, but hesitate when you realize your foot’s already sore from earlier in the week—you’d twisted it during rehearsal. The bleachers are high. Your knee wobbles a little when you try to step down.

And without missing a beat, Taehyung’s there.

He reaches up, lifts you off the bleacher like you weigh nothing, and sets you down gently on the gym floor. Hands warm at your waist. Careful. Casual.

“There,” he murmurs. “Don’t strain yourself.”

You barely react. “Thanks.”

Your friends? Dead silent.

“You don’t see anything wrong with this?” Mina hisses under her breath as you walk out together.

You shrug. “He takes care of me.”

Sujin laughs weakly. “He’s like a full-time handler.”

“He likes it.”

They exchange looks, unsure whether to feel jealous or horrified.

But all you feel is calm.

Because this is how it’s always been.

And Taehyung? He’s already waiting outside the locker rooms, holding your bag like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because to both of you—

It is.

——————

Dinner with your two families were always long, quiet, and expensive.

The kind of dinner where every fork gleams, every glass sings when touched. Where the napkins are folded like fans, and the staff appears and disappears so seamlessly it feels like magic. But the real performance is happening at the table.

Between the parents.

Your parents. His parents. And the two of you—sitting side by side at the center, like royalty in waiting.

“So,” your father says warmly, lifting his glass, “Taehyung tells us he’s already closed his first real estate acquisition under the family trust. At his age. That’s no small feat.”

Your mother beams. “It’s truly impressive. We always knew he’d rise early. The Kim family reputation precedes itself, but still—it takes discipline to live up to it.”

Taehyung’s father smiles. “He’s always been diligent. Obsessively so. When he locks onto a goal, it’s already his.”

You feel Taehyung shift slightly beside you, his arm resting along the back of your chair. His fingers graze your shoulder, casual—claiming.

“We’re just grateful,” your mother continues, “that our daughter will be cared for by someone so driven. We couldn’t ask for a better future son-in-law.”

“I’m not just going to care for her,” Taehyung says then, smiling softly but speaking with that quiet gravity only you recognize. “I’ll make sure she never has to lift a finger unless she chooses to.”

Your father chuckles. “You spoil her already.”

Taehyung’s hand slides lower, palm lightly brushing the top of your arm.

“She was raised to be spoiled,” he says simply.

Everyone laughs.

But then his mother turns to you, face warm and proud. “And you, my dear, are every bit the young lady we always hoped for. That voice of yours—the singing, the languages, the way you float across a piano… You don’t just have talent. You have grace.”

“I always said she has presence,” your mother chimes in. “Even when she was little. The way she speaks, the way she carries herself—”

“She was born with the feminine arts in her bones,” his father adds. “She’s cultivated. Refined.”

Taehyung looks at you with a slow smile.

“You’ve become exactly what I always pictured you would be,” he says softly. “Beautiful. Sharp. Still mine.”

You freeze.

The table laughs again. As if it were romantic. A compliment.

But his hand tightens slightly at your side. Just for a second.

You force a small laugh, trying to breathe past the weight in your chest.

Because this isn’t just admiration.

It’s assessment.

Praise for becoming the perfect investment. The perfect possession. The perfect bride.

And you realize, in this moment, that the dinner isn’t a celebration.

It’s a ceremony.

You’re being spoken about like something rare and precious.

And Taehyung is the only one at the table who looks at you like he already owns it.

————————

It’s framed as a gift.

A weekend trip to a private vacation estate in the hills—courtesy of both families, as a “reward” for your academic success and Taehyung’s flawless integration into your school.

Your parents gush about it. “You two deserve a little time away,” your mother says, smiling as she adjusts your suitcase. “Something quiet. Private. It’ll help you get more comfortable.”

“With what?” you ask, even though you know.

“With your future,” your father answers simply.

Taehyung picks you up Saturday morning in his family’s private car. The driver handles the bags. He opens the door for you. The moment you sit, he drapes a soft cashmere blanket over your lap, already warmed. The cabin smells like white tea and something faintly floral—your favorite.

It’s only a two-hour drive. Quiet. Scenic.

And Taehyung holds your hand the entire way.

When you arrive, the villa is already stocked. A breathtaking two-story home nestled into the hillside with an infinity pool, glass walls, and a view that stretches all the way to the sea. The staff greet you like they know you—like they were prepped not just on your allergies but your mood swings.

You’re led upstairs to the bedroom.

Singular.

And your breath hitches the moment you step inside.

It’s enormous. Warm-toned. Candlelit. The windows are half-open, the curtains blowing in a soft breeze. There’s music playing faintly from somewhere—classical, soothing.

But the most obvious detail?

There’s only one bed.

You turn slowly. “Taehyung.”

He’s already removing his blazer, rolling up his sleeves.

You stare. “There’s only one bed.”

He glances at it. Then at you.

“So?”

You narrow your eyes. “We’re not even engaged yet.”

He steps toward you, calm. Certain.

“No,” he murmurs. “But we’re promised. That’s more than enough.”

You cross your arms. “They said this was to bond. Not to pretend we’re already married.”

He smiles at that. A slow, dangerous kind of smile.

“Do you think they don’t already see it that way?”

You blink.

He steps closer. “We share a future. This is just a preview.”

You back up until your legs hit the bed frame. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”

He leans down, bracing one hand beside your hip on the mattress.

“But it’s what you were raised for.”

You go still.

His voice softens, brushing the shell of your ear. “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You know that. I’m not rushing anything.”

Then he pulls back slightly—just enough to look you in the eye.

“But you should get used to waking up next to me.”

There’s a terrifying truth to his words—not because he’s being cruel, but because he’s not lying.

He’s being honest.

And worse, part of you doesn’t hate it.

________________

You’re lying on your side, facing the window. The sheets are cool. The lights are off. Taehyung’s arm is slung loosely over your hips, his chest pressed to your back. Barely touching, but enough to feel the heat of him through the thin silk of your sleepwear.

And then—he shifts.

His thigh brushes between yours. His palm slips slightly lower. And you feel it. All of him. The slow, steady thrum of heat and muscle behind you.

You freeze.

You’re hyper-aware now.

Of the way his arm tightens a little. Of the soft exhale he lets out against your neck. Of the fact that his hand is so big. His forearm alone spans your waist. And when you glance down—

When did he get that built?

You’d never really looked before. Not like that. But now you can’t stop noticing—the broadness of his shoulders, the quiet bulk of his biceps when he tightens them, the way his veins drag across his hands when he adjusts the blanket for you like it’s instinct.

Has he always been this… big?

You shift slightly. Not away—just enough to think.

Your breath catches when his fingers brush against your stomach. You’re not even sure it was on purpose.

You’re warm now. Embarrassingly warm.

And worst of all?

You don’t hate it.

Taehyung stirs behind you. You think he’s asleep—but then his voice slips into the dark, low and calm.

“Are you nervous?”

You swallow. “No.”

“Liar.”

You shut your eyes. “I was just thinking.”

He hums. “About me?”

You don’t answer.

He doesn’t need you to.

His hand presses a little flatter against your stomach. Still chaste. Still polite. But there’s weight in it now. Possession. Heat.

“I’ve always been here,” he murmurs, voice right at your ear now. “It’s not my fault you’re just now seeing me.”

You inhale sharply.

And he chuckles—deep and satisfied.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’ll get used to that, too.”

————

The weekend unfolds like a dream you didn’t choose.

The estate is too quiet. The staff is too trained. Everything is tailored to your comfort—your favorite teas, your preferred temperature, your brand of lotion already stocked in the bathroom. It should be soothing.

But it isn’t.

Because nothing about this place feels like yours.

It feels like his.

Taehyung hasn’t raised his voice once. He hasn’t touched you without care. But everything he does drips with intention. Every dinner is timed. Every walk through the garden is silent and slow, his hand resting low on your back like a claim. Every decision is already made before you think to ask.

And the worst part?

He treats you like you’re cherished.

Not a prisoner. Not a guest.

A wife.

On the second night, you wake to soft breathing behind you. You’d fallen asleep on the far side of the bed, but now his arm is heavy around your waist. His legs tangled with yours. His breath brushing your neck.

He’s hard against your lower back.

You freeze.

And then you feel his voice against your skin.

“Still awake?”

You swallow. “Taehyung—”

“I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he says, and he means it.

But he doesn’t move away.

He just lets his hand skim your stomach. Not lower. Just enough.

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Just this. You, in my bed. Where you’re supposed to be.”

You close your eyes. His hand flexes slightly over your stomach.

“I could take it slow,” he whispers. “Kiss you until you forget why you ever hesitated.”

You let out a shaky breath.

He nudges your hair aside and presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck. Then another. Then one just beneath your ear.

“You’d be so sweet under me,” he murmurs. “Soft. Shaking.”

His hips shift—barely. But enough for you to feel just how badly he wants you.

You don’t push him away.

You should.

But you don’t.

And he knows.

“You’re already mine,” he whispers. “Your body just hasn’t caught up yet.”

He grinds against you slightly—just enough for you to feel the full weight of his desire. You shudder.

His breath is warm at your nape. “Do you feel how hard I am for you? Every night I lie here and ache, knowing you’re finally where you belong, and I’m still being good.”

His fingers skim the underside of your breast, then retreat.

“I’m patient,” he says, kissing the back of your shoulder now. “But don’t mistake that for weakness.”

You feel his grip tighten at your waist again. “One day, you’ll beg me to take you apart. You’ll ask for it. And when you do…”

He presses one last kiss to your jaw—possessive, lingering.

“I won’t hold back.”

And then, just like that, he pulls you tighter into his chest. Like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just whispered a slow unraveling into your ear.

Sleep doesn’t come after that.

But you don’t move.

And neither does he.

Another kiss. Lower. Smoother.

“This body—this future—it already belongs to me.”

His fingers trail up your ribs, then stop.

He lets you breathe.

Because he’s patient.

And patience, with Taehyung, is never kindness. It’s calculation.

———

You try to sleep.

You curl up beneath the sheets, facing away from him, breathing slow and shallow, mind racing from everything he said—everything he almost did.

You never stood a chance.

The words echo like a curse, like a promise.

Eventually, exhaustion pulls you under.

But your sleep is shallow, twisted. And then it starts.

The dream.

You don’t even realize it at first—only that you feel warm, breathless, weightless. A hand on your hip. A mouth on your throat. The sound of someone groaning low against your skin. Fingers pushing your thighs apart, a familiar scent, lips brushing your jaw.

And his voice—low, velvet.

“Mine.”

You arch in your sleep. Whimper.

In the dream, he’s inside you. Deep. Slow. So gentle it’s cruel.

You moan.

“Taehyung…”

The name slips from your lips before your body even registers it.

In real life, your back arches. Your thighs clench. Your lips part on another helpless little sound.

You don’t see him sit up behind you.

Don’t feel the shift in the bed as he leans in.

But you do feel his fingers graze the inside of your thigh—real, not dream-soft

And you wake.

Eyes fly open.

Your body is still humming. Still aching. And when you move—

You freeze.

There’s wetness between your thighs. Sticky. Obvious.

Your cheeks flush red hot.

You turn slowly to find him kneeling beside you on the bed, sheets pooled around his waist, chest bare, hair tousled. He’s staring at you with something dangerous in his eyes.

You don’t speak. Can’t.

He hums low. “You said my name.”

You try to look away.

He reaches out, hand brushing lightly along your inner thigh.

You flinch.

He doesn’t stop.

“You were moaning for me in your sleep,” he says calmly.

Your heart pounds.

“Did you like it?” he asks, voice a whisper now. “The dream?”

You can’t breathe.

He leans in, mouth brushing your ear. “Was I fucking you slow or hard?”

You choke on a gasp.

He smiles, soft and smug. “You don’t have to be scared of this anymore.” He murmurs. “I wonder if your body will tell me what you won’t.”

Then his fingers slip under the hem of your shorts—just once.

Just enough to feel the truth for himself.

You grab his wrist—too late.

His eyes darken.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “Soaked.”

And then, maddeningly, he pulls away. Slowly. Like he’s tasted you without swallowing.

He backs off the bed, eyes never leaving you, voice steady.

“Sleep well, sweetheart.”

Then he leaves you there—shaking, wet, still aching—wondering how long you’ve been his without realizing.

[aaclariww]

I LIKE ME BETTER | jjk

PART FOUR

summary : After walking in on her boyfriend Sanho cheating, Y/N moves out and ends up living with Jungkook, a cocky yet caring acquaintance she once couldn’t stand. What begins as a tense, passive-aggressive roommates situation slowly transforms into something deeper, as both navigate heartbreak, vulnerability, and emotional healing. Through stormy nights, late-night confessions, domestic routines, and quiet tension, Y/N and Jungkook gradually uncover the warmth and safety they’ve both been missing—especially in each other.

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen just living under the same roof?”

pairing : jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre : roommates , fluff , smut

word count : 4.1k

warnings : Explicit. This story contains sexual content, explicit language, and themes of emotional trauma. Expect a roommates-to-lovers slow burn with intense enemies-to-lovers tension, mutual pining, and eventual smut. Features include domestic intimacy, past cheating, emotional hurt/comfort, and lots of kitchen tension. There’s jealousy, unresolved sexual tension, first times, comfort sex, and characters who are both emotionally guarded and touch-starved.

The tiny bell above the café door chimed as Y/N stepped inside.

It was her first time seeing Maison in person. She’d only glimpsed it online when she was scouring listings for part-time jobs—what caught her attention then was the name. French for “home.” It sounded soft. Safe.

Now, standing in its doorway, the name made perfect sense.

Warm wood interiors, soft amber lighting, shelves lined with potted plants and weathered books. The place felt more like a tucked-away sanctuary than a business. A little dream of a space, far from the cold, impersonal gray of her week.

She hugged her coat tighter around her frame, trying not to shiver. The bitter morning wind had cut through her layers on the walk over. Even now, she could barely feel her fingers.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind the counter. “You must be Y/N.”

She looked up—and forgot how to breathe for a second.

There he was.

Taehyung.

Owner. Late twenties. Ridiculously, almost unfairly handsome. He wore a soft cardigan over a white tee, silver-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, his dark hair falling slightly over his eyes like it didn’t know how lucky it was to be there.

He stepped out from behind the espresso machine and walked toward her with the kind of easy confidence that wasn’t loud—but magnetic.

“I’m Taehyung. Welcome to Maison.”

He offered his hand, and she took it automatically, her cold fingers brushing against his warm palm.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” he said, smiling like he meant it.

“Same,” she managed.

“First café job?” he asked, tilting his head with a soft curiosity.

She winced. “That obvious?”

He chuckled, his voice low and velvet-smooth. “Let’s just say… you’re holding the milk frother like it’s a fire extinguisher.”

She looked down at her grip on the machine and flushed. “Oh.”

“Don’t worry.” His smile widened. “I’ve trained worse. You’ve got good energy.”

Good energy.

No one had said anything kind to her in days. Maybe longer. It hit her harder than it should’ve.

They got to work quickly. Taehyung’s style of teaching was calm, thoughtful—never rushed, never patronizing. He walked her through each machine step by step, showing her how to grind beans to the right consistency, how to tamp espresso evenly, how to steam milk until it was silky and warm, not scalding.

Unfortunately, she got too comfortable too fast—and thirty minutes later, she burned the side of her hand on the steam wand.

“Shit—!” she hissed, instinctively jerking back.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung said gently, already moving. “Come with me.”

He guided her behind the counter, not with panic but with quiet assurance. His hand rested lightly on her elbow as he led her to the back sink, turned on the cold water, and held her wrist underneath.

“You okay?” he asked, looking at her, not the burn.

She nodded, even though her throat felt tight. “Yeah. Sorry. Stupid mistake.”

“Not stupid. It happens.”

The water stung her skin, but his presence steadied her more than anything else.

He patted her hand dry with a soft cloth, then pulled a small first-aid kit from the shelf. His fingers moved with practiced ease as he wrapped gauze around the red skin.

“You’ve done this before,” she said, trying to smile.

“Too many times.” He gave her a look—part mock-serious, part teasing. “One guy last month managed to spill hot syrup down the back of his shoe.”

She blinked. “How?”

“He refused to wear non-slip shoes and slipped on a sugar packet. Gravity did the rest.”

Y/N laughed before she could stop herself.

The sound echoed in the quiet backroom—and surprised her.

It was the first time she’d laughed in what felt like days.

Taehyung smiled, pleased. “See? You’ll survive.”

They went back to the floor after that, though he insisted she take a break and let him handle the hot drinks for the rest of the shift. Instead, he walked her through the register system, the bakery display, the regular customer names and their usual orders. It was slower than she expected—weekday mornings, he said, were always quiet.

They stayed an extra hour after closing.

Not because he had to—but because he wanted to make sure she felt comfortable.

He showed her the weird way the front door stuck if you didn’t pull it just right. The extra sugar packets hidden behind the bar. He offered her a drink on the house and insisted she sit while sipping her latte as he cleaned the espresso machine.

And through all of it, he kept talking—not just about the café, but stories. Funny stories. Casual ones. The way a barista once accidentally served a decaf triple espresso. A customer who cried over the wrong croissant and apologized with a handwritten note the next day.

Taehyung’s voice was calm, his laughter soft.

Everything about him was… easy.

And for a while, she let herself enjoy that.

Let herself forget.

But when she stepped out of Maison that evening—warm from coffee and his jacket draped over her shoulders—the thoughts came back, creeping like a shadow under streetlights.

Jungkook.

She hadn’t seen him all day.

He hadn’t texted.

No mention of last night.

No “Are you okay?”

No “What did that kiss mean to you?”

It hurt. More than she’d expected.

She touched her lips unconsciously as she walked.

That kiss had happened. Messy and electric and charged like a live wire. The way he’d grabbed her waist, the way he’d said her name like it broke him open. She could still feel the ghost of his breath against her mouth.

But what followed?

Silence.

Distance.

Like it didn’t count.

Like she didn’t count.

She thought it might’ve been different. She thought maybe—just maybe—he’d feel it too.

But Jungkook was always like that. Loud in silence. All tension and walls. He kissed like he was drowning, then left like he never needed air.

And Taehyung?

Taehyung was warmth.

Clear eyes.

Patient smiles.

He made her feel seen. Steady. Like she was worth slowing down for.

And that difference sat heavy on her chest.

She didn’t know which one hurt more—Jungkook’s silence… or how good it felt to be cared for by someone else.

Maybe both.

Maybe that was the problem.

By the time they locked up, the sky was painted in winter tones—cold blues and sleepy golds bleeding across the horizon like brushstrokes. A soft wind carried the smell of roasted chestnuts from a cart down the street, and for once, Y/N didn’t feel the weight of her day pressing down on her shoulders.

Not entirely, at least.

Taehyung fell into step beside her without needing to ask.

She noticed it after the first block—they hadn’t really stopped walking side by side since she started her shift. Even when she’d burned herself, even when he’d gone to make drinks, even when they cleaned up after closing. There was a quiet sort of rhythm between them already. Unspoken.

“You heading this way?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her bag.

He glanced at her, warm eyes reflecting the streetlights. “I guess we are.”

The chill set in quickly. The kind that crept through your coat and into your bones. Y/N didn’t say anything—she hated being the person who complained about the cold—but she must’ve shivered.

Because, wordlessly, Taehyung shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

It was warm. Lined with something soft. Smelled like cedarwood and clean linen and something just a little sweet—like cinnamon tea.

“Your hands are still red,” he said softly, glancing down at the bandage on her hand. “Let me carry your bag too.”

“You’re making all the other men in the city look bad,” she said, only half joking.

“Good,” he replied with a smile.

She let him take her bag. Normally, she’d argue—but she was tired, and he made it look effortless.

As they walked, their conversation drifted easily—starting with mundane things: favorite pastries, worst customer stories, weird café music playlists.

But then something shifted.

Taehyung turned to her and said, “I always wanted to own a café.”

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. Since I was sixteen. I’d save every spare coin from tutoring gigs or birthday money. While my friends were buying sneakers, I was researching espresso machines.”

She smiled. “That’s kind of adorable.”

“It was borderline obsessive,” he admitted. “But it came from somewhere real. My grandma ran a tiny tea shop in Daegu. I used to help her after school. Maison’s kind of a tribute to her. And to… I don’t know. A slower kind of life, I guess.”

There was a pause.

Then he added, “What about you? Anyone driving you insane at home?”

Y/N barked out a laugh. “My roommate. He’s infuriating. Arrogant, messy, moody. Thinks his music is god-tier. He’s like a one-man emotional hurricane.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Wow. Sounds like a delight.”

“Oh, he’s a real charmer. Total menace to society. Leaves his socks on the kitchen counter.”

“Socks?”

“Don’t ask.”

Taehyung grinned. “What’s this mystery man’s name?”

She sighed, the name falling from her lips like something sour. “Jungkook. Jeon. Fucking. Jungkook.”

She expected Taehyung to just laugh—but instead, he stopped.

His eyes went wide. “Wait. Jeon Jungkook? Tattoos, bedroom voice, makes beats all night?”

Y/N blinked. “You know him?”

Taehyung burst into laughter. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“No. Way.”

“I’m literally heading to his place right now. He and Jimin are having a little hangout.”

She stopped walking. “You’re the friend he’s having over tonight?”

“You’re the roommate he keeps vaguely grumbling about?” Taehyung raised a brow, still laughing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wow. What are the odds?”

They looked at each other, both stunned—and then cracked up, the kind of surprised laughter that bubbled out whether you wanted it to or not.

Y/N shook her head, groaning. “Oh god. That means you know everything.”

“Not everything. He keeps it pretty vague. Just says things like, ‘She’s impossible,’ or ‘Why does she leave Post-its everywhere?’”

“I do not leave them everywhere,” she muttered. “Just in places he forgets to check. Which is everywhere.”

“Sounds like a solid system.”

She glanced at him sideways. “So you’re all close, huh?”

“Yeah. Jimin, Jungkook, and me. We’ve known each other for years. Survived military cuts, bad relationships, and worse haircuts.”

“Interesting,” she said, trying not to let her voice sound defensive. “And what has he told you about me, exactly?”

Taehyung gave her a sideways look. “Honestly? That you’re… complicated. And distracting. But smart. And kind of funny when you’re angry.”

Y/N stared at the sidewalk. “He said that?”

“Not in those exact words,” Taehyung admitted. “But the vibe was there.”

She didn’t say anything. Her throat felt tight for reasons she didn’t want to examine.

“So,” he said gently, “you two don’t get along?”

Y/N hesitated.

How did you explain what Jungkook was?

Not quite a friend. Not really an enemy. Something that lived in the static between words. Something electric and broken and unfinished.

“We do,” she finally said. “And then we don’t. It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t it always?”

She sighed. “He’s… hard to be around.”

“Because he’s intense?”

“Because he’s real. Too real sometimes. Like, one second he’s making dinner in sweatpants, and the next he’s saying something that makes me rethink my whole life. And then five minutes later, he’s gone. Just… shuts down. Disappears into himself.”

Taehyung nodded quietly. “Yeah. That sounds like him.”

“And he’s cocky,” she added. “Always acting like his music is holy scripture.”

Taehyung laughed. “To be fair, the guy’s pretty good.”

Y/N paused, biting the inside of her cheek.

She hated to admit it—but Taehyung wasn’t wrong.

“Yeah,” she said vaguely, eyes on the pavement. “He’s not bad.”

Taehyung glanced sideways. “Do you like his stuff?”

She shrugged, playing with the frayed edge of the bandage on her hand. “I’ve heard worse.”

He laughed, a low, amused sound that made her glance at him warily. “So you do.”

“I didn’t say that,” she snapped, a little too fast. Defensive.

Taehyung grinned. “You didn’t have to.”

She groaned. “He just… knows what he’s doing, okay? He’s good with sound. I’ve accidentally walked in on him mixing and ended up standing there for, like, twenty minutes. But I was zoning out. That doesn’t count.”

“Totally doesn’t count,” Taehyung agreed, his smirk growing. “Completely accidental admiration. No crime there.”

“I’m serious,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Good. Because if you tell him I said even that, I will deny everything. I’ll burn the apartment down just to erase the evidence.”

He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

She gave him a look. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“Fine. I’ll pinky swear if you want,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t pinky swear with men I just met.”

“Reasonable policy.”

They walked in silence for a moment. The city buzzed faintly around them—distant car horns, the hum of streetlights warming up, the rhythmic tap of their steps on pavement.

Then Taehyung said, more gently, “You know… for someone you clearly can’t stand, you pay a lot of attention to him.”

Y/N stiffened. “I live with him. It’s hard not to notice things.”

“Right,” Taehyung said, nodding, like he was agreeing but also maybe not.

She added quickly, “And the walls are thin.”

“Ah. That explains the mysterious admiration of basslines at 2 a.m.”

“Exactly.”

He smirked. “And the fact that you know how long one of his songs runs before the bridge?”

She shot him a warning glare. “Are you always this annoying?”

“Only when I sense denial in the air.”

She gave him a shove with her shoulder, light but pointed, and he laughed as he took the hit with exaggerated drama. “You’re worse than Jimin.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said brightly.

They turned a corner. The neighborhood grew quieter. They were close now—she could see the outline of Jungkook’s building peeking through the gaps in the trees.

Y/N slowed a little at the crosswalk. Her voice was quieter this time, almost like it slipped out on its own. “I already told him once… that I liked one of his tracks.”

Taehyung looked over, brows raised.

“It was… a bad night. He got a call from his dad—looked like someone punched the wind out of him. I didn’t know what to say. So I said that. That I liked his song.”

Taehyung nodded slowly, the teasing in his expression fading to something more thoughtful.

“And ever since then,” she continued, softer now, “I haven’t said anything else about his music. I can’t. He’d take it the wrong way. Or the right way. I don’t even know.”

“Maybe it’s not about what he’d take it as,” Taehyung offered gently. “Maybe it’s just that it scared you a little. Saying it.”

Y/N looked at him. “You sound like a therapist.”

“Part-time barista, full-time overthinker,” he said with a wink.

She gave a weak laugh. “He makes it hard, you know? Being mad at him. His music… it’s not what you expect. It’s loud, yeah, but under all that sound, there’s this… grief. This weird tenderness.”

“You heard that?”

She nodded. “I wish I hadn’t. It’s easier not to care when you don’t see the soft parts.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked ahead toward the apartment building, then back at her. “He’s lucky. That you noticed.”

Y/N adjusted the strap of her bag where it sat on his shoulder. The sleeves of his jacket were still wrapped around her, warm and far too big. She let out a long, slow breath.

“I don’t think he sees it that way.”

“Then he’s an idiot.”

She laughed once, quiet and bitter. “Well. That’s not breaking news.”

They reached the intersection near the apartment. The lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement.

Taehyung’s voice broke the silence again, gentler this time. “He doesn’t know you’ve listened to it. All of it?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t think he even knows I care.”

Taehyung tilted his head. “Why not tell him?”

“Because it’s easier to be mad at someone when you don’t admit you understand them,” she said, and winced as the words left her mouth, too raw, too true. “And I’m still mad.”

“You sure it’s not hurt?”

She hesitated. Her fingers tugged at the frayed edge of the bandage again.

Then: “I’m sure it’s both.”

Taehyung didn’t press. He just walked beside her in quiet solidarity. There was something about him that made silence feel safe, not awkward. Like she didn’t have to fill every pause.

After a beat, he said, “You don’t have to explain anything. Not to me. Not even to him.”

“I know.”

He gave her a small smile. “Still want to go up?”

She looked at the building. Her chest felt tight with something sharp and hard to name. But she nodded.

“Yeah.”

And together, they crossed the street—her in his jacket, him with her bag, and both of them walking straight into the heart of everything she hadn’t figured out how to say.

When they walked in, the living room fell into silence.

Jimin was mid-sentence, drink in hand. Jungkook was standing—still, frozen, bottle clenched.

And his eyes… they were locked on the sight before him.

Y/N. In Taehyung’s jacket. Taehyung. Carrying her bag. Both laughing like they belonged together.

“We had no idea,” Taehyung grinned. “Y/N’s the new part-timer at Maison. This might be the best coincidence I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N smiled politely and excused herself, heading to her room to shower and change. The warmth of the jacket lingered on her skin.

When Y/N disappeared down the hallway, the door to her room clicking shut behind her, a brief silence settled between the three men left in the living room.

Jungkook took a slow sip of his beer, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the darkened TV screen.

Jimin glanced at him but said nothing, leaning back into the couch with a low whistle. “Well. That was something.”

Taehyung flopped into the armchair, kicking his legs up and getting comfortable. “What? The accidental roommate-coworker twist? Or the fact that Y/N somehow makes being covered in espresso grounds look like an aesthetic?”

Jimin smirked. “So she survived her first shift?”

“Barely,” Taehyung said, grinning. “She burned her hand on the steam wand. Apologized to the machine.”

Jimin laughed. “Classic.”

“She’s funny, though,” Taehyung added. “Snarky. Kind of feral about organizing the syrup bottles, which I respect.”

Jungkook didn’t look up, but his grip on the bottle in his hand grew slightly tighter.

“And,” Taehyung continued with a relaxed sigh, “she’s so pretty.”

Jimin lifted his eyebrows. “That was fast.”

“I’m just saying,” Taehyung said, gesturing vaguely with his bottle, “she’s got that kind of energy. You know? Like, I could hand her a broom and suddenly she’s the lead in a rom-com.”

Jimin snorted. “Rom-com barista arc?”

Taehyung nodded like he was considering it seriously. “I even texted you earlier, remember? Told you this part-timer was cute. I thought maybe—hell, maybe it was finally my turn for a proper girlfriend.”

Jimin blinked. “Wait, that was Y/N you were talking about?”

“Yep.” Taehyung grinned. “Small world, right?”

Jungkook stood up, casually, but the beer bottle made a louder-than-necessary clink as he set it down on the counter. His back was to them now, shoulders just slightly tense.

“Dude,” Jimin said, glancing between them. “You’re halfway gone and it’s been one day.”

Taehyung just laughed. “She’s got that effect.”

Before Jungkook could find something neutral to say,

Y/N stepped back into the living room in fresh clothes, hair towel-dried and still slightly damp at the ends. She padded in quietly, unsure of what she’d be walking into.

To her surprise, the tension had mostly dissolved. Taehyung was sprawled sideways across the armchair, animatedly telling Jimin a story with wild hand gestures. Jimin was halfway through a can of beer, grinning as he tried to interrupt.

Jungkook, on the other hand, sat on the far edge of the couch, one leg bouncing restlessly. He didn’t look up when she entered—but he knew. She could feel it in the way his shoulders tensed just slightly. In the way his hand curled tighter around the bottle.

“Shower revive you?” Taehyung asked, flashing her an easy smile.

“Barely,” Y/N said with a soft laugh, settling down at the other end of the couch—far from Jungkook.

Jimin scooted over to make room for her. “You missed Tae’s retelling of the time he spilled soy milk all over a customer and tried to cover it up by saying it was a new kind of latte.”

“Experimental,” Taehyung said proudly. “She didn’t complain. She left, but she didn’t complain.”

Y/N snorted. “Impressive.”

“I’m full of secrets,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah,” Jimin chimed in. “Like how he apparently texted me earlier that he met someone ‘devastatingly cute’ today and thought it might be fate.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait, what?”

Taehyung shot Jimin a mock glare. “You weren’t supposed to say that yet.”

Jimin raised both hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. The beer makes me loose-lipped.”

Y/N looked between them, eyes narrowing. “You were talking about me?”

“Guilty,” Taehyung said sheepishly. “But in my defense, I didn’t know you were Jungkook’s roommate until halfway through our shift.”

Jungkook stood abruptly. “I’m getting more beer.”

He didn’t ask if anyone wanted one. He didn’t look at her.

Y/N’s heart thumped painfully. She kept her expression neutral, but she noticed Jimin watching him with that sharp, quiet understanding only he seemed to carry.

As Jungkook returned and passed out drinks, Taehyung perked up again. “Oh—speaking of fate and cute people. Jimin’s throwing that party this weekend.”

Jimin nodded. “Low-key thing. Friends, music, some dancing, maybe a little chaos.”

Taehyung turned to Y/N. “You should come. I mean, technically you’re one of the crew now.”

She smiled, tucking her feet under her. “Sure. Sounds fun.”

Then Taehyung turned toward Jungkook. “You bringing someone?”

Jungkook didn’t even blink. “Already got a date.”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Oh? Anyone we know?”

Jungkook just gave a tight-lipped smile and took a swig of his beer. “Don’t worry about it.”

Y/N glanced at him, something sharp twisting in her chest. A date? Since when?

But she didn’t say anything. Neither did Jimin.

As the conversation shifted toward party plans and who was in charge of the playlist, Y/N tried not to let the weight of Jungkook’s words sit too heavily in her gut.

But it stayed there—quiet and bruising.

And hours later, when Jimin and Taehyung finally said their goodbyes, and the door clicked shut behind them, the silence in the apartment returned like it had been waiting.

She gathered empty bottles to bring to the kitchen, just for something to do.

Behind her, Jungkook’s voice finally broke the stillness.

“You like him?”

She froze.

Then turned, slowly. “What?”

“Taehyung.” His voice was low, careful. “You like him?”

She stared at him. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

She shook her head and walked into the kitchen. “You’re unbelievable.”

He followed. “It’s a simple question.”

“No, it’s not,” she snapped, spinning to face him. “It’s loaded, and you know it.”

His jaw tensed. “He was wearing your bag.”

“I was wearing his jacket. So what?”

He didn’t answer.

She crossed her arms. “You kissed me. Then you left like it meant nothing. Then you stood there tonight acting like I betrayed you for getting a job. And now you’re jealous?”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. And in his eyes was something raw, cracked open.

“I don’t know how to not be,” he admitted.

Her breath caught.

Neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, she said, “You don’t get to be jealous and silent at the same time, Jungkook. Pick one.”

He exhaled shakily. “I didn’t think it would matter this much.”

“But it does.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“And this date of yours? Is that real?”

His silence was answer enough.

She laughed once—bitter, tired. “God, you’re such a coward.”

“I know.”

She looked at him, really looked. At the boy who made beats in the dark and left every light off. Who kissed her like she was the only thing keeping him alive and then walked away like he didn’t want to be.

And it broke something in her chest. Not violently. Quietly.

Like an old song fading out.

“I’m going to bed,” she said softly, walking away.

And Jungkook just stood there, alone in the kitchen—watching her retreat, wishing he could follow but too afraid to move.

hey tumblr besties 🫶💌

guess who’s back with part four of the series? that’s right—meee 😋🤘

i’m so happy y’all enjoyed the last chapter, it seriously means the world. also not gonna lie… i’m kind of obsessed with jimin’s character 😮‍💨 he’s just too good.

from here on out, things are only getting messier—more taehyung swooning over y/n, and jungkook absolutely losing his mind about it 😛

so tell me… do you think we’re heading toward more angst? fluff? or are we diving into full-on spice? 👀 drop your predictions in the comments!

also, i’m still adding people to the taglist, so if you wanna be included, just leave a comment 🫶

as always—reblogs, comments, and virtual kisses keep me going 💋 thank you so much for reading! 🥰

with love,

xo, ario

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[aaclariww]

05 | SHADOWS OF OBSESSION ⭒ JJK

a criminal's obsession with a shy medical student starts a passionate mix of desire and darkness. As their worlds collide, secrets get exposed and possession turns into love. In a world filled with betrayal and the weight of their own pasts, can they find a way to survive together? or will their twisted bond ultimately destroy them both?

pairing — criminal dom!jungkook x student sub!femreader

genre — criminal au, dark romance, forbidden attraction, enemies to lovers, murderer!jungkook, stalker!jungkook, innocent shy!reader, virgin!reader, medical student!reader, violence, stalking and obsession, contrast of worlds, crime, thriller, smut, lots of angst, fluff

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, angry!jungkook, protective!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, trauma and recovery, tension, violence, graphic descriptions of murder and gore, several mentions of blood, torture, murder, kidnapping and captivity, panic attacks, fainting, mentions of injuries, domestic intimacy, care and nurturing, helping the other shower, he helps her heal from trauma, lots of crying, emotional vulnerability, he almost cries for her, guilt and self-hatred because he blames himself, nightmare, oral sex (f. receiving), making out, hickies and marking, bruising, breast play, nipple play, slight mentions of blood during sex, body worship, emotional sex, eating out, clit stimulation, face riding, tongue fucking, cum swallowing, hair pulling, overstimulation, dual stimulation, slight anal play, rimming, cum play, aftercare

wc — 8k

series m. list | main m. list

────୨ৎ────

Your senses made their way back to you with agony. Your head throbbing in pain, reminding you of the hit that caused you to lose your consciousness.

You laid on a cold, dirty floor, it was hurting your spine and the surface smelled of something sticky—dried blood, perhaps.

Or worse.

The metallic smell of blood clung to your tongue along with the thick, suffocating smell of the air in the room.

It was hard to even breathe.

Your wrists and legs burning, they were tied with a rope that has been digging into your flesh and the knots were tight enough.

Each movement sending a fresh jolt of pain through you.

Your shirt was torn at the shoulder, damp with sweat dirt, clinging to your bruised body.

The room was dark with barely any light, the walls were thick enough that no matter how much you screamed, no noises would escape it.

You pressed your cheek to the floor, wanting even a little bit of comfort.

But it did nothing to quiet the fear in your chest.

At whats about to happen.

Each of your breaths came out in gasps as you tried your best not to panic, chest heaving as tears streamed down your face, whimpers escaping you.

Your sobs raw, echoing in the silence but you knew that no one could hear you, the walls wouldn’t let anyone hear you.

You were all alone.

No one will come.

Your throat aching, voice gone from hours of screams that ended with jungkook's name, a plea.

To the only man who’d ever made you feel both terrified and alive.

In a way no one could.

Your body trembled uncontrollably, skin coating with goosebumps, and the scent of—sweat, blood—giving you a nauseous feeling.

You curled into yourself as best as you can with your bound knees and hands, trying to make yourself smaller.

Invisible, safe.

But there's no safety in here.

Memories of jungkook flood your mind, each one a knife to your chest.

His rough hands, calloused and warm, caressing you, dark eyes, softening only for you.

Always just for you.

“You’re mine.”

He'd growled as he claimed you, both your body and heart.

You needed him.

The thoughts of him made the room feel cold and scarier and you never realized until now exactly how much he made you feel safe in his own twisted way.

That now you have started craving the monster

Who'd stalked you.

Something you couldn’t deny and he was your only hope right now that he’d come before it was too late.

That he’d save you.

You started rocking slightly, trying to calm yourself against your racing thoughts.

Trying to distract yourself from all the dark thoughts that explained what can happen to you.

The ropes dug deeper, blood trickling from your wrists and you bit your bottom lip trying to muffle the cry of pain.

The wound on your head swollen, hurting further.

“Who are you?”

“Why are you doing this to me?!” you sobbed.

Trying to communicate with the man who’d taken you but it was mostly at the universe for having such faith like this.

That bound you to a life of danger.

To a man like jungkook.

“Just let me go!”

All you were greeted by was silence. No matter how much you cried or screamed.

Your throat dried and hurt further, heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst.

You saw jungkook in your mind—the way he’d kiss you with a hunger, hold you to him possessively.

jungkook would come.

He had to.

“I need you.” you whimpered.

Your voice small and childlike.

“I’m so scared, jungkook. I need you to find me… please.”

۶ৎ

jungkook moved through the city with wrath, each step of his predatory.

A cigarette between his lips, its burning tip the only glow in the dark

His dark intense eyes scanning everywhere he could, always alert.

Always hunting.

But tonight the hunt was different. It wasn't for blood or revenge—it was for you.

He was used to you now, your presence easily numbing the chaos of his life. Your apartment felt like a part of his as well, a place where he could forget about his sins.

If only for a moment.

He’d slip inside silently, sit by your bed, watching you sleep, the way your chest rises and falls, lips parted.

Sometimes he’d join you under the sheets, his rough hands careful not to wake you, your warm small body providing him comfort in a way that was almost healing.

You were his weakness, his obsession and he craved the quiet moments with you.

Where he could pretend he wasn't a criminal.

When he could imagine a world where he deserved you.

That’s exactly what he did that night when he told you he would come back for you after dropping you home from the bike ride.

His fingers worked the lock of your apartment, opening the door with a click. He stepped inside expecting the familiar warmth of your place.

But the moment he entered.

Something felt different.

The air felt eerily wrong, like the softness of you usually clinging here was gone.

There was this unusual smell that knotted his stomach.

Your books, usually stacked with care were scattered all over the floor. The chair in the kitchen was on the floor.

Almost like someone kicked it in a struggle.

jungkook's breath hitched, cigarette falling on the floor.

Forgotten.

The absence of your presence giving him a hard time to breathe.

And then he saw it.

A smear of blood on the floor.

It was small, but to jungkook it felt like that small smear was consuming everything else, his heart pounding loudly.

A rage overcoming him so fast it felt like it would burst.

Someone had taken you.

He roared loudly, a sound from deep inside him, raw and animalistic. His fist slammed into the nearest surface—a glass from the counter—shatters.

Cutting his knuckles but he barely felt the pain.

Blood dripping onto the floor, mixing with yours.

“I’ll fucking kill them all.”

He snarls.

“Anyone who dared to even touch you… they—they’ll beg for death, I'll make sure of it.”

His hands shook not from fear but from the need to find you.

He paced, mind filled with images—your trembling form, scared eyes and even the thought of you getting a bit hurt drove him crazy.

“You’re mine,” he growls.

“No one takes what’s mine.”

His laughter in the empty apartment was almost maniac.

A promise.

“They’ll pay for it for every tear you shed, for every pain you feel.”

“I’ll burn this city to find you.”

The room spun, the walls felt like they were closing in on him and he knew the way your softness was gone from the apartment exactly the way his last bit of humanity was gone.

No mercy left in him.

“I’m coming for you, baby,” he whispers.

“Hold on.”

۶ৎ

The jacket around his body was splattered with the blood of several of his victims, some his own, some not.

But he barely gave any thought to it.

His entire mind and being surrounding with anger.

Too much of it.

Consuming him.

His phone had been a constant, as he went through all his contacts, every bastard who owed him a debt.

“Find her.”

He barked, grip so tight on the phone it felt like it would break under his white knuckles.

“You’ve got one hour before I make you pay.”

His words full of violence.

He then went into an abandoned house, not leaving any place undiscovered, any possibility of where you might me.

His eyes going everywhere, searching all the corners as if you might just magically erupt there.

Your soft voice calling for him.

He was scared, for the first time in his life.

Very scared.

He wasn’t scared when his life was threatened by enemies or when he was almost at the brink of death.

But now he was scared.

Scared of losing you, scared of what might happen if he was too late.

Because he'll never forgive himself.

All his phone calls were giving him nothing—just shaky apologies or silence.

Each failure increasing his fury.

After his most recent call of no success, he lost it. He flung the phone to the wall, breaking into several pieces from his force.

“Fuck!” he screamed.

His fist slammed into the wall again and again, paying no attention to the blood.

Anything to ground himself.

But this fleeting pain was nothing compared to the pain of losing you. Your absence feeling like a wound that no blade or gun could make him feel.

He sank to his knees on the ground, hands tightly fisting his hair. Blood smeared his face as he ran his hands on his skin, fingers trembling as he lit a cigarette.

He saw you in his mind—your eyes wide with trust for him, lips parted whispering his name and the way you traced his scars with such gentleness.

A touch he never allowed anyone to get near to.

He wanted you back, needed to cradle you in his arms, needing to know that you are okay and you are fine.

He wanted to fuck you with a gentleness, hear your needy noises, feel your touch that warm his stone heart.

His biggest fear had come true—you were hurt, taken.

All because of him.

The realization tightening his throat with anger and guilt.

As much as he wanted to kill the one who’d taken you, he wanted to kill himself for being the reason for your suffering.

He’d let you become his weakness, for his enemies to take advantage of.

He stood, body shaking.

“They’ll pay.”

He gruffs, thirsty for blood.

“Each. And. Everyone. I'll rip them apart myself.”

His eyes burning, not with tears—he’d forgotten how to cry—but with a fire of his rage and the need to find you.

In two days, he’d stormed into also every hideout of his enemies, knife and gun in constant use.

And there was too much blood.

Everywhere.

His cruelty chilling even the hardest criminals.

“Where is she?” he roared.

His knife pressing into a man’s throat, blood already beading.

“Tell me or you’re done!”

The man sobbed, mumbling apologies and Jungkook's patience snapped.

Just like that.

His knife plunged inside the man's throat, taking his life in an instant.

He killed without hesitation, without any feeling, each kill a step closer to you.

Or so he told himself.

Each kill more brutal than the last one, his hands always coated with blood, like it wouldn’t go away.

He smoked through packs of cigarettes now, the nicotine helping him against the ache in his chest, even just a little bit.

In his pocket he carried your black hair tie with a pink bow. He’d stolen it from your wardrobe.

And now it was his anchor.

His proof that you were alive and that he’d find you.

He’d clutch the tie in his fist, whispering your name, like a prayer, to keep the darkness and his sins from swallowing him whole.

“You’re okay.” he’d murmur

The words a lie he forced himself to believe.

But with every passing hour, his hope seemed to fade.

“I’ll tear this fucking world apart,” he vows.

“until you’re back in my arms”

The beast in him unleashed and nothing, no amount of power can stop him.

Until you were found.

۶ৎ

The dark room felt like a prison now, your entire body bruised with red marks all over.

You didn’t even want to think of the throbbing pain of your tied wrists and legs, blood dried there.

Your head feeling dizzy and you were almost numb now, no longer having any energy to scream or do anything.

You just lay there pathetically.

Your stomach empty and hurting, no food or water had been offered since you'd been thrown here, your throat drier than ever.

Every gulp ache you, tears drying on your cheeks, cracked lips trembling.

The thought of jungkook came to you.

“jungko—”

Your voice breaks, no longer having the strength as you feared the worst.

Feared that he might not come or never find you.

That you’d die here.

All alone

Whenever you were on the brink of losing consciousness again, his face would be there.

“You promised…”

You croaked.

All your thoughts got interrupted when you heard the locked door creak, your heart jumping out of your chest.

Your body jerked upright despite all the pain you were facing.

The man who’d taken you stood at the doorway, his eyes glinting with a hunger.

His smirk shook you.

You scrambled back, as best as you could with your bound legs, nails scraping the ground, leaving bloody trails.

Your strength barely there, but the instinct to survive drove you, breaths coming out in panicked gasps.

“Getting bored.” he drawled.

He steps closer, shadow falling over you as you looked at the knife tucked into his belt.

“Kept you like a rat in here, but… that’s no fun, is it? time to play little girl before I send your body back to your boyfriend.”

You gasp, tears spilling down your face, blurring your vision.

“No.” you choked.

Your body trembling so hard you thought you might lose balance.

“Please don’t touch me… no, jungkook he—he won't spare you—”

The words were like a shield—anything to keep the stinking man away from you—but the words wouldn’t do anything.

You'd soon lose courage.

The man laughed, a guttural sound, kneeling before you.

“jungkook?” he mocked.

His hand shot out, grabbing your chin, fingers digging into your bruised skin and you let out a broken whimper.

“That piece of shit’s probably dead already, bleeding somewhere,”

“And now I’m gonna enjoy breaking you.”

He grins manically.

You kicked, needing to muster all your energy for your bound legs to move and it connected in his stomach.

Weakly.

His eyes flash with rage and his hand come up, slapping you across the face, the pain exploding.

Blood fills your mouth as you coughed, mixing with your tears.

You collapse, cheek pressed to the hard ground, your sobs loud and broken.

“please”

You whispered, voice barely there.

He came over you, hand reaching and grazing the exposed skin in your torn shirt and you screamed, bile and disgust erupting in your throat.

Your body trying to curl away unsuccessfully.

“No one’s coming.” he growls.

His hand still hovering, ready to rip your shirt

“Scream all you want.”

His hands reach your throat, pinning you to the ground and you thrashed, vision fading.

The world felt like it was closing in and you were giving up, closing your eyes, ready to break.

When suddenly

A loud screeching tore through, the sound loud enough to make the man move away.

jungkook stood there.

He was unrecognizable, wild, eyes pitched black.

No trace of the man who’d kissed you with such tenderness, who always said your name with such softness.

His hair messy with sweat, there was blood all over his body.

“You touched her,” he snarled.

“You fucking touched her!”

He moved faster than you could breathe, grabbing the man by the collar.

jungkook's strength inhuman.

Lifting the man like a rag doll, the man's glare faded and a look of terror took its place, his lips part to speak but jungkook gave him no chance to even blink.

No chance to beg.

His fist connecting with the man’s jaw, the crack of the bone loud, with blood smearing all over jungkook’s face, the walls.

As he went on and on.

The man’s head snap back, teeth breaking but jungkook didn’t stop his relentless punches, each one barely dimming his anger.

Each one for causing you pain.

“You think you can hurt her and live?” he hissed.

His eyes filling with madness.

Another punch

The man's nose crumpled, blood splattering everywhere, his groans were turning into wet gurgles of blood.

His weak defenses were nothing compared to jungkook's wrath.

jungkook's anger was consuming him, everything else faded as his fists worked.

The man's face soon turning into a pulp of flesh and bone.

Unrecognizable.

A scene of gore.

You screamed, voice breaking as you soon felt the panic attack crash over you.

“jungkook!” you cried.

Your chest heaving as you hiccuped, head dizzy.

The blood was everywhere.

Too much.

And it felt like it was drowning you and the bloody scene in front of you with all the wet stuff coming out of the unrecognizable man's face had your body shaking.

Your stomach twisting as you dry heaved, throat burning. You backed out into the corner, sobs loud and broken, a desperate plea for it to stop.

For him to stop.

jungkook didn’t hear you.

Didn’t see you

His entire focus was on the man who'd dared to touch you, he kept punching and kicking even after the man's body stopped moving.

His body lifeless.

Jungkook dropped the man, drawing out a knife even though he was already dead.

“You’ll feel every second of this.” he whispers.

He plunges the knife into the man's chest, blood spurting. He stabs again and again, the man's body jerking with each hit.

His insides spilled—blood, flesh and organs—pooling on the floor and it was overwhelming.

Your throat raw, heart pounding.

His eyes were empty.

His soul gone.

He stabbed the man until he was nothing, the knife falling from jungkook's hand as he stood there panting, chest heaving, but the glare still there.

Your vision blurred soon, the world fading.

The horror was too much for you and the darkness was overtaking you, could barely breathe, the weakness of your injured body taking a toll on you.

A whimper left you brokenly and you soon collapsed, senses slipping away.

His bloody face the last thing you see.

۶ৎ

The world snapped back to you with a jolt, nose filling with a familiar, comforting scent—cigarettes and musk.

Something that uniquely belonged to jungkook

But your heart pulsed, thinking you were dreaming of being back in his arms and you immediately sat up.

You were in a bed, the dark sheets soft against your bruised skin, cradling your body like he would.

Your breathing slowed.

He found you, he did.

Before it was too late.

But the memory of the room and the man clung to you—its disgusting smell, the cold hard floor, and the ropes cutting you.

You whimpered, hand flying to your head, tangling your fingers in your hair, wanting the nightmare of what you went through to go away.

Where’s jungkook?

The room around you dimly lit with fairy lights, strung all around the cabin because he knew you loved them so much.

Yet the safety was barely felt by you, terror still in your whole form.

You hugged yourself, torn shirt clinging to your damp skin. Your lips trembling with the lingering taste of blood from where the kidnapper hit you.

A sob came out of your mouth.

You were safe, you told yourself—surrounded by jungkook's world.

But the panic was soon taking everything away, bringing you back into the hell you were in and you couldn’t shake the fear, thinking that you were still trapped.

Still alone.

That man can kill you any moment.

The door creaked open and you froze, breath hitching.

There he was, jungkook.

Whose presence you were yearning to see for so long.

His shirt clung to his muscular frame, still carrying the stains of blood from his brutal kill of the kidnapper. He couldn’t fully wash himself, but his face and arms were free of blood.

His bruised hands at his sides, trembling from a barely contained emotion.

He saw you awake, his entire body stilled, breath catching.

“You’re here.” he breathes.

His voice breaking, like he cannot believe you were actually here, awake and in his bed.

Safe and protected.

His pained voice broke the last of your restraint and you let out an agony filled cry.

In an instant he was on you, crossing the room in long strides, arms pulling you to him, crushing you to his chest so tight you couldn’t breathe.

His grip grounding you to reality.

You didn’t care that his hold hurt, the blood from his shirt smearing on your skin.

You bury your face in his chest, inhaling him, a scent that was home and safety for you.

Yet love in its most twisted way.

Your hands fisting his shirt as you pulled him closer, almost tearing the shirt in the process, needing to feel all of him.

To know he was here.

Your sobs muffled against his chest, tears soaking his skin as he held you close, even tightly if that was possible.

He rocked you slightly, face on your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses there, all while he shushed you.

Trying to calm you, his heart pounding against your chest and you felt him shaking as well.

His voice the gentlest it has been since you were taken.

You felt a mix of everything.

Relief and need.

“I’m sorry.” he rasped.

His lips brushing your hair, breaths shaky.

“I’m so fucking sorry, petal. I should’ve been there.”

“I hate myself—fuck, I hate this… I hate that you’re hurt because of me.”

He rambles, each of his words lacing with a desperation you’d never heard from him, his weakness laid bare for you to see.

His body trembling constantly as if he was fighting to hold himself together from the guilt he was facing.

Your nails dug into his back.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again.” you whispered

New tears stream down your face.

He pulled back just enough to cup your face with his calloused hands, so gently as they cradle your cheeks.

His thumbs brush away your tears, smudging the blood clinging to your skin, from your injuries.

His eyes locked on yours, his own pain mirroring yours.

“I missed you,” he growls.

Voice almost choking.

“Every second without you was hell. I searched for you everywhere. I killed for you, I bled for you and I’d do it again because I’ll kill anyone who touches you—or even thinks of you.”

He says, fiercely.

“No one will ever hurt you again.”

His words a vow, making you forget about all your fears until you only wanted him. He went forward, lips crashing onto yours, the kiss desperate and bruising.

A mix of tears, teeth, and tongue.

Your knees getting weak at his familiar taste once again, mouth hot as he was almost trying to eat you alive by kissing you, sucking on your split lip.

The pain barely felt against the heat knotting in your stomach.

He groans into the kiss like he cannot get enough, hands sliding down your body, gripping your hips and thighs.

As if making sure you were real.

That you were okay.

You broke the kiss gasping, his forehead pressing against yours as your heart raced, both breathing the same air.

“Don’t leave me.” you whined.

Your hands bunching his shirt once again.

“Never”

He swore, voice rumbling as his lips brushed yours.

“You’re my everything, baby, my fucking soul.. I can never let you go.”

A promise.

Exhaustion pulled at you, body spent from the toll of fear and relief. Your eyes fluttering close, sobs quieting to soft whimpers and your head rested on his chest.

His heartbeat against your cheek felt like everything after being apart for so long.

He holds you tighter, lips pressing to your forehead and wherever he could reach, each kiss his apology for letting this happen to you.

Wanting to protect you, to keep you.

You fell asleep in his arms, body curled into his, his warmth shielding you against everything you went through in the past few days.

His scent grounding you and for the first time since the kidnapping, you felt safe and loved.

Even if it was in the arms of a monster.

۶ৎ

You stir after sleeping for long moments in jungkook's chest, his strong arms holding you.

He wore a black t-shirt now, he changed while you were sleeping, freshening up.

The air inside his cabin was soothing with the mix of the smell of hot chocolate he made for you, so you can have it once you wake up.

He didn’t want to wake you up, knowing that you needed rest after all you have gone through.

But he has plans before that.

While you were slowly getting back to consciousness from sleep, he picked you up in bridal style, taking you to the bathroom.

jungkook set you down, gently on the tub's edge, hands lingering on your waist as his fingers traced your ruined shirt clinging to you.

Your breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as you held onto him.

His t-shirt was damp with his sweat and you gripped it tighter, knuckles whitening, afraid to let go.

Afraid to slip back into darkness again.

Leaving the comfort of the room triggered you again.

Your body was full of aches—bruises turning purple, the dried blood on your wrists and legs still clung from where the ropes dug.

He kneels before you, dark eyes searching yours, his jaw clenched as he looked at your condition and he wanted to kill that man again even though he was dead.

Torture him, but do it slowly, taking his time.

Make him scream, cry for mercy and beg for death.

That jungkook won't allow.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs.

His voice thick with emotion, caressing your waist.

“I’ve got you, my baby… no one's touching you again.”

You let out a whimper unknowingly, a sob leaving your lips.

“I thought… I thought I’d die in that room, jungkook.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his hands tightened on your hips.

“I’m sorry.” he said.

Voice breaking.

“I shouldn’t have ever let that happen. I shouldn’t have left you alone that night. I—I’ll never forgive myself, never.”

His eyes glistening with unshed tears and the sight shook you, seeing the criminal who kills without a second thought.

Was so close to breaking for you.

He reached for a soft cloth, dipping it into the warm water, jungkook made sure to pour some drops of lavender oil on the water and the smell cleared your mind.

He brings the cloth to your arm, touch deliberate as he wiped away the dirt and blood, carefully revealing the skin beneath.

Full of scars.

His breath hitching and he had to grip the corner of the tub to control himself, it was almost like he was facing all the pain of you went through.

He kept his eyes on your face, making sure he wasn’t hitting any sore spots, his brows furrowing every time you winced.

The cloth was warm against your tender flesh and he traced the curve of your elbow, your wrist, his hand moving gently despite his usual roughness.

You sighed at each swipe, body relaxing under his care, eyes falling closed.

“You’re too good for this,” he rasped.

As he moved to your other arm, gliding it over your skin.

“Too fucking pure for someone like me. I don’t deserve to touch you, not after I let this happen.”

The words cutting him deeper than any blade could and you opened your eyes, seeing the agony in his gaze.

His self loathing present, a lot more than his anger.

“Stop.” you whisper.

Voice steady but trembling slightly.

“You saved me, jungkook… you came for me and that’s enough.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile on his face, dipping the cloth in the water again.

“It’s not enough,” he says, huskily.

“It’ll never be enough. I’d kill every last one of them, and yet it still wouldn’t be enough.”

You remain quiet, answering with your silent tears, your heart breaking as he moved to your legs, lifting one gently, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin behind your knee.

The cloth followed as he washes away all the dirt and blood stuck there, almost washing away the memory of the ropes that had bound you.

The water and his touches felt like a caress, easing the ache in your body and you hummed.

A sound of relief that made his eyes flicker with something soft, breaking through the storm in his gaze.

He lingers on a bruise above your knee and his lips part, a shudder running through him at your cry of pain, tears filling your eyes.

“Shhh… it’s okay, petal,” he breaths out.

If only he could erase all your pain, erase how much of a big failure he was.

Your shirt was next and he hesitated, eyes meeting yours.

Seeking permission.

Because he knew you were going through a lot and he would never do anything you didn’t want.

Your comfort comes before anything.

You nodded, heart pounding and he helped you take the shirt off along with your bra and panties, his movements careful and precise, keeping his eyes on you.

You were left bare, vulnerable, goosebumps arising all over your skin.

His breath caught, eyes darkening not from lust but with a fierce protectiveness, as if you were a fragile thing.

He was unworthy to touch.

He dipped a fresh cloth into the water and began to wash your torso, the cloth gliding over your shoulders, between your breasts.

Each movement slow.

His hands tremble slightly, showing the emotions he was keeping beneath.

“You’re beautiful.” he whispers.

As he traced the cloth over your stomach, making you shiver, your lips parting in a hum.

“Even with the bruises, you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen… I hate myself for letting anyone touch you.”

Your chest tightened as you grip his hand, stopping his movements so that he could focus on you.

“jungkook, don’t,”

“I’m here. I'm alive. Because of you.”

He didn’t respond, couldn't, his focus on your body as he moved the cloth to your back, warm and soothing, lightly massaging you.

He washed every inch, it felt like he was cherishing you and you knew his actions spoke a lot more.

When he reaches your face, he was gentler still, your eyes focusing on his dark ones.

And you knew.

You saw the love there that he always resisted because he can deny it as much as he wants, but you saw it so vividly in his eyes.

The cloth brushes your cheeks, wiping away the tear stains and the blood on your split lip. He lingered there, thumb grazing the cut and you leaned forward instinctively, desperate.

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

He froze, eyes closing tightly. The kiss was a spark, a gentleness in his hardened heart and he leans into it, his forehead resting against yours.

The cloth forgotten in the water.

“You can’t do that.” he murmurs.

Voice pained

“You can’t be like that with me. I don’t know how to take it, sweet girl.”

“No one’s ever… no one's ever touched me like you do.”

His breath shakes.

“Then let me.” you say.

Your lips brush his skin, tasting the salt of his sweat as the sweetness of the moment makes both your hearts race.

He pulled back, hands cupping your cheek before he reached for the shampoo, a floral scented bottle you recognized from your own apartment.

One he must've brought to make you feel at home

In his place.

He pours it into his hands, the familiar smell filling the bathroom. His fingers worked it into your hair, massaging your scalp with a tenderness that made your breath catch.

You were melting into a puddle under his ministrations.

He then tilted your head back, rinsing it with a cup of warm water, the liquid falling over you, taking all your aches and fears away.

Rinsing the final soap suds, his thumb brushes your back.

“I’ll die before I let anyone hurt you again.”

You nod, tears falling, believing him more than you believed yourself and he continues pouring water over you.

Washing you and calming you thoroughly for long moments.

He wraps you in a soft towel once he's done, making sure to turn on the nearby heater so you won’t get a cold.

He carries you to bed, his grip tight as if you’d vanish, eyes never leaving yours while you are almost falling asleep in tiredness, contented from the shower

His entire heart was there in his eyes alone.

So yours.

۶ৎ

The next few days the cabin was filled with warmth of jungkook's relentless care, your presence had completely etched itself in his place.

Like it was your own home as well.

Plush toys on the shelves, books stacked in piles, your hair ties and skin care products on the nightstand—all the things jungkook brought from the apartment, but the majority of them he bought for you separately.

Because he knows all your preferences by heart.

All your things seem very different in the roughness of his place, two completely different worlds, but they aligned perfectly

Like they were meant to be.

You were completely engaged in jungkook's world of blood and it binds you to the man who'd become your everything.

jungkook was your shadow.

Even now.

His dark eyes followed you, not with the predatory hunger you’d once feared but with a desperation as if you might disappear if he blinked.

He moves with purpose, scarred hands gentle as he prepared your favorite meals, each dish a love he couldn’t voice.

He fed you by hand, fingers brushing your lips and your heart never seemed to stop fluttering at his insistent care and attention towards you.

He treated you like you were a fragile thing he needed to look after.

Each bite—mashed potatoes, garlic and chicken that he has memorized religiously since you loved them—was a step towards healing.

In order to get your old self back and get over the trauma.

He also bathed you daily, each shower washing away the bits of your fear, leaving you soft and feeling good.

He never pushed, never demanded, his need for you something he kept away carefully, though you saw it in the way his jaw clenches.

The way his eyes darken when they linger on your curves while giving you a bath or when you cuddled him too closely wearing nothing, felt your hard nipples press against him

۶ৎ

One night the darkness overcomes you once again and you wake up gasping.

The nightmare knocking the breath out of you.

And seeing that you were in the comfort of jungkook’s bedroom and not inside that filthy room, did little to calm you as you imagined the man’s hand, the blood.

You were choking on your cries, a sob leaving you, chest heaving, hands trembling as you clutched the sheets.

jungkook was there in an instant.

His arms pulling you to him

“I’ve got you.” he mutters.

Straight to your ear, trying to get you out of your breakdown.

“You’re safe, petal… I’m here, right here.”

You hiccup, clutching his hair as he murmurs comforting words in your ear.

“Please…” you croak out.

And he got the message immediately with one single plea of yours, knowing that you want him, that you want him to make you forget about the misery.

You wanna get lost in him.

All this time he held back, never making any first moves, wanting to take things at your own pace but now that you were begging him, he couldn’t deny

Because he wanted to be the only one who scared you, even in your nightmares.

No one else.

His lips crash against yours with a force that stole your breath, his taste filling your mouth, making your head spin.

He kissed you like he was starved, tongue entering into your mouth, claiming all over your mouth as his teeth grazed your lower lip until you whimpered.

The sound swallowed by his mouth.

His hands cup your face, wiping away your tears, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepened with tongues fighting each other with your gasps.

Your heart pounded, forgetting about everything along with the nightmare at the heat of his mouth and the press of his body.

He pulls back, breathing heavily, dark eyes looked at you.

“I can’t lose you,” he growls.

“Not again. Never again.”

His lips soon started trailing down your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin below your ear, his teeth sinking, making you moan.

The sting turned into pleasure.

His hands started roaming, sliding under the oversized shirt you wore—his shirt—pushing it up and throwing it somewhere in the room to bare your skin for him.

You were his goddess and he wants to worship you.

He kissed your collarbone, leaving his hickeys everywhere, his own breaths uneven as you arch into him.

“So fucking beautiful.” he hums.

His chest vibrating against you as his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples that were already hard and aching from his touches.

He rolls them slowly and deliberately.

“jungkook!” you mewled

The sound high and needy in the quiet room.

Your nipples were something he could never get enough of, always begging for his attention and he couldn’t wait any further, lowering his face and took one into his mouth.

His tongue swirling, sending a shiver down your spine. He sucked around the bud and the suction was enough to draw a cry from you.

Your hands tangling in his hair and pulling.

“Mhhh, ohh—”

Your voice cracked, body trembling as the sensation was almost overwhelming for you. He grazed the bud with his teeth and you let out a broken gasp.

Hips bucking against him once again seeking friction, your pussy clenching around nothing.

He paid the same attention to your other nipple, tongue flicking as his hand kneaded your other breast, weighing it in his palms and marveling at how perfectly it fit his hands.

Like they were made for him specifically

“Always so sensitive for me.” he grunts.

His voice muffled against your skin, looking up at you with dark, possessive eyes.

Your moans grew louder as he continued, each touch of his driving you crazy, your clit was throbbing relentlessly, pussy wet and slick.

Your panties soaked and clinging to your folds.

He goes lower, brushing over your stomach, his tongue licking over the scars of your wounds, some were fading and some fresh.

Almost like he was trying to etch his mark in them somehow, make you forget about the pain.

His devotion making it hard for you to breathe.

You pant, eyes half lidded, gripping the bedsheet.

His tongue suddenly hit a ticklish spot in your stomach, making you giggle, then moan, the sound caught in your throat as he nipped the skin.

His hums a noise of approval at your pleasure, turning you into a squirmy, needy mess

His deep voice unraveling you.

Every single time.

He slowly parted your thighs, eyes meeting yours to see if there was any discomfort, but there was just need.

Too much of it.

So he took off your panties, wetness sticking to them.

His fingers were gentle as he spread you open, pussy bare and glistening under the fairy lights, folds swollen, clit pulsing harder under his gaze.

The cool air making your senses even more heightened, your breath hitching at the way he looks at you, eyes turning back from hunger.

His jaw ticking, control barely there.

“Oh fuck… look at you.” he says, huskily.

His hands keep your thighs spread, thumb brushing the sensitive skin near your folds, making you writhe.

“So damn wet all for me.”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think, lowering his head, breath hot against your pussy and you tense, heart thudding in anticipation as you fist the sheets.

His tongue flicked out slowly, licking the entirety of you from top to bottom, ending with a lick around your slit to collect your arousal.

“Hahhh, oh gosh, jungkook.”

Your hips raise on their own, the sensation catching you off guard after not being with him for so long and it was almost new to you.

He ate you out with no breaks, tongue lapping at your folds, all his strokes long and you trembled, your noises coming out.

Loud and unbroken.

The wet sounds of his mouth on you fill the room, his eyes locked on you, watching all your reactions, your gasps and the way your mouth remains parted.

Brows drawn together in ecstasy.

He sucks your clit, capturing it between his teeth, drawing a scream from you.

“Ahh—”

You shook, hips bucking as your hands pulled his hair tight enough for him to groan, but the pain encourage him further.

The vibration and his pace were making you feel dizzy with pleasure.

“Please.” you sobbed.

Your body shaking, overstimulated with the pleasure pain and you couldn’t escape from his rough hold.

His tongue fucked you, sliding inside your pussy, curling and thrusting, mimicking the way he would fuck you with his fingers or his cock.

It was too much.

Overwhelming.

Your pussy clenching around his tongue, desperate for more and more.

He snarls, his hands gripping your thighs harder, fingers leaving bruises you’d cherish later.

“I missed this so much… fuck, you taste so good,” he huffs.

Some of your arousal dripped on his chin and neck, but he didn’t mind it, instead it drove him crazier.

“Could eat this sweet cunt forever.”

He suddenly teased your rim, a new sensation that had you letting out a startled sob and moving away instinctively, but he held you tighter in place.

“Shhh, just relax and focus on me.” he coos.

It was a new sensation..

His thumb circling the tight, untouched ring—the pressure light, something you never explored or touched before—and exploring it with him sent a thrill through you.

He makes you feel alive, always giving you new experiences.

And the touch felt weird at first, but you soon started moaning and mumbling expletives you didn’t understand from how good it felt.

Your body tensing as he pressed just enough to slide a bit of the tip of his thumb inside, not fully in, but enough to make you feel it.

To make you want more.

“Just relax, baby.” he whispers.

His thumb was teasing, circling, teasing, but barely entering inside, all while his tongue lapped at your clit, and the dual stimulation felt like a torment, and you couldn’t hold back.

Digging your face in the pillow, biting into it.

Your shaky screams and drawn out whines were a chant, body a quivering mess as your hips rocked towards his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

Your pussy and your hole fluttering under his touch.

His teeth graze your clit again, this time hard enough to make you let out a loud scream, and he soon soothed the poor swollen nub with his tongue.

His thumb finally penetrating you fully.

And you broke.

That’s it.

You saw stars behind your vision as your orgasm crashed over you, your voice aching with the scream of his name, scratching his shoulder with your nails.

Your cum coats his tongue, chest almost showering it in him and he growls loudly, satisfied.

A sick grin on his lips.

“jungkook. jungkook.” You called out for him.

He guides your hips making you grind on his mouth, making sure you ride out every last wave, while he drinks your essence like it’s a rare thing that gives him life.

You pant, breasts heaving all while he didn’t stop, tongue lapping every last drop, drawing out your release until you were sobbing, oversensitive.

You mumbled nonsense, pushing his head away.

He pulled back and the state of him with your arousal and sweat clinging to him made you shy instantly, feeling shameless enough to do it.

You can't believe what he turns you into, as you look away, pressing your face in the pillow.

His chest was heaving, eyes satisfied as he doesn't let you look away, not liking it when you hide from him, your eyes met his still panting.

“That’s my girl.” he purrs.

His hands stroke your thighs, soothing the marks he’d left. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, his breath warm and brushed against your pussy, making you gasp.

You closed your legs with a pout, he hums out a chuckle, happy to see you back in your old state, no longer thinking of your past.

“Only I get to make you come like that, only I hunt your dreams.”

His voice turns serious.

You were spent, your body heavy with exhaustion—this time with a promise of good sleep.

Your heart full.

The nightmare was gone, disappearing at the back of your mind.

jungkook was about to get up to bring some tissues to clean you up and get water for you to drink, but you reached for him, hands weak.

“Stay.” you croon.

Eyes heavy as your body sank into the bed, he never had the heart to deny you.

So he laid beside you, arms wrapping around you.

His arms a cocoon for you with the smell of his cigarettes and his clean male smell.

Your haven.

You fall asleep to his words, the last thing you hear before you fall into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

His words a vow

“No one else, petal. Just me.”

────

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