minyoongiss

[minyoongiss]

will midnight love have a pt.2???

to be honest i don’t think that there will be a part 2. i like the way it ends with y/n realizing that she’s worth so much more and that jungkook doesn’t deserve y/n.

[minyoongiss]

MIDNIGHT LOVE | jeon jungkook

“i can’t be your midnight love.“

pairing: jungkook x you

warnings: angst, heartbreak

authors note: i’m backkk.. it took me some time (uni was stressing the sh*t out of me) but here we are. this time something new, something angsty. inspiration for this was midnight love by girl in red.

word count: 9.4k

you up? the words glowed on your phone screen, small and harmless to anyone else, but to you they landed with the weight of a thousand memories you had tried so hard to bury. the phone sat face-up on the table across the room, and you didn't even have to pick it up to know who it was from. you didn't need to open it, didn't need to see the name spelled out in sharp, familiar letters, because the moment your eyes caught those two words, something deep inside you shifted. it was the way your heart seemed to skip, not in the romantic way it used to when his messages came, but in that exhausted, tight-chested way that came after too many late nights, too many apologies that never meant anything, too many almosts that always ended the same.

you stayed where you were, not reaching for the phone, though your gaze didn't stray from it either. the light from the screen cast a faint glow against the surface of the table, like it was trying to draw you in, the way he always did – never with much effort, just with the right combination of familiarity and timing. you thought about how many times before you had seen that exact same message, at that exact same hour, and how often you had given in, answering when you swore you wouldn't, letting him back in because a part of you wanted to believe this time would be different. and maybe, deep down, a small part of you still wanted to. maybe you still wanted to hear his voice, even if it was just for a few minutes. maybe you wanted proof that he still thought of you when the night got too quiet.

but you didn't move. you told yourself that this was different now, that you weren't going to let two simple words drag you back into something that had already taken too much from you. so you sat in the stillness, the air heavy with all the things you weren't saying, watching the screen slowly dim until it went dark again. and yet, even in the silence, the message stayed there in your mind, pulsing like a heartbeat you couldn't quite ignore.

you knew exactly why he wrote to you, and it was always around this time, almost like it was programmed into him, like there was some internal alarm that went off in his head the moment the night became too quiet, the moment the music faded or the laughter of whoever he was with started to bore him. it was always at the hour when the shadows in his apartment stretched too far and his bed felt too big, when the comfort of whatever face he had been staring at all evening lost its novelty and he remembered, suddenly, inconveniently, that you were still somewhere out there. you existed. not in the way you once ached to exist for him, not as a thought that pulled at his chest, not as someone whose absence kept him awake, but as a certainty. a fixed point. a door he knew would always open when he knocked.

you had been that door for too long. you were the one he reached for when no one else picked up, the one he knew would reply, the one who had spent too many nights proving that you would rather be his second choice than nothing at all. he didn't even have to try anymore. the two of you had fallen into this ugly rhythm where you could almost predict it: the late-night message, the casual three words as though they carried no weight, the kind of invitation that wasn't really an invitation but a reminder that he could still have you if he wanted.

and god, how you always gave in. no matter how many nights you had spent convincing yourself you were done, no matter how many promises you had whispered into your pillow in the dark, i won't answer, i won't go, i won't let him do this to me again, it was never enough. all it took was the faint vibration of your phone against the wooden table, the soft glow of his name breaking through the dark, and suddenly your resolve was gone. maybe this time would be different, you would tell yourself. maybe this time he was thinking about you for real, not just because he was bored or lonely or needed to feel wanted for a few hours.

but you knew better. you knew that when you went to him, he wouldn't ask how you were, he wouldn't mention the days or weeks he had disappeared. he would just pull you in like he had the right, like the space between you was only ever meant to be temporary. and you would let him. because a part of you, no matter how much it hurt to admit, still burned for the version of him you had made up in your head, the one who also cared about you, the one who stayed, the one who didn't only remember you when it was convenient.

and every time, as you lay there next to him in the dark, you could feel that other truth, the one you tried to ignore: he would forget you again by morning. and you would let him.

maybe it was your fault. maybe from the very first moment, you had opened the door for everything that followed, even if you didn't mean to. you could still remember it vividly, like some scene you had replayed too many times in your head. it was at a party hosted by your mutual friend namjoon, you one of those nights where the music was too loud for conversation but not loud enough to drown out the sound of people's laughter. the air was heavy with the smell of cheap liquor and the faint perfume of strangers brushing past. you had been standing near the kitchen, sipping from a cup you didn't really like the taste of, when your eyes landed on him across the room. he was leaning casually against the wall, head tipped slightly as someone spoke to him, his smile slow and deliberate like he had all the time in the world. the piercings caught the dim light every time he moved, the tattoos disappearing under the cuffs of his rolled-up sleeves like secrets you wanted to uncover. he looked effortlessly handsome, dangerously so, and even in that crowded room, he somehow seemed to draw your attention without even trying.

you told yourself you were just looking, just appreciating, but your friend noticed. she always noticed. she caught the way your gaze kept returning to him, the way your grip on your cup loosened every time he laughed. without giving you the chance to protest, she grabbed your arm and started pulling you toward him, weaving through the crowd with the kind of determination that told you she wasn't going to stop. before you could come up with an excuse, she was introducing you to each other, her smile smug like she already knew how the night would end. you smiled back at him, and something in the way he looked at you made your stomach tighten, like he was already aware of the effect he had on you.

the hours that followed blurred together. at some point, you ended up alone with him, sitting on the edge of a couch in the quietest corner of the apartment, the muffled thump of bass from the other room fading into background noise. he leaned in slightly, his voice low as if what he was about to say needed to be handled with care. this isn't something serious, he told you. i just got out of a relationship, and i can't start anything new. you remember how you laughed, a short, almost careless sound, and told him that you weren't looking for anything serious either. it was easy to say then, easier still to believe in that moment. the truth was, you weren't thinking about the future. you were thinking about the way his eyes held yours and how close his hand was to your knee.

but almost two years later, after countless nights where you answered his messages no matter the hour, after mornings where you left before the sun was fully up so you wouldn't have to face the strange in-between of what you were, you understood how much of a lie that had been. not necessarily in the beginning, maybe at first you had really believed you could keep it light, that you could protect yourself from wanting more, but somewhere along the way, it had shifted. you had started hoping for texts that didn't just come when he was bored or lonely. you had started imagining what it might feel like if he introduced you to people as someone important, someone he chose.

instead, it became a cycle. he would disappear for weeks, sometimes longer, and just when you started to think maybe you had broken free, your phone would light up again with his name. and every time, you answered, telling yourself it didn't mean anything, telling yourself you were fine with what this was. but it did mean something. it always did. and deep down, even back on that very first night, a part of you had known that this was how it would end, with you giving everything you had, and him taking it like it was nothing more than a casual arrangement.

every time you replayed the story in your head, you found a way to hand the blame to yourself, as if somehow carrying it would make the weight of everything easier to bear. there was a strange sort of comfort in thinking you were the one who had stepped over the line, because it meant you could control it, rewrite it in your mind, convince yourself that you were the one who ruined it rather than face the truth that maybe he was the one who had blurred the boundaries from the very beginning. you told yourself you should have known better, that you should have kept your heart locked behind the wall you had built so carefully over the years, that you should have taken his words that very first night and etched them deep into your bones until they were impossible to forget. but somewhere in the space between that first lie you told yourself and the quiet, stolen nights that followed, your heart had begun to betray you in ways you could not stop.

at first, you didn't notice it happening. it was subtle, almost unremarkable, the way feelings tend to creep in when you're not paying attention. maybe it was the way he always smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and something warmer, a scent you could never quite name but that you began to crave. maybe it was the quiet way he listened to you when you spoke about things no one else seemed to care about, or the rare moments when he laughed, really laughed, and the sound filled you with a kind of brightness you couldn't find anywhere else. you told yourself it was just attraction, just the excitement of something undefined, something that could never last. but then, without you even realizing, you were memorizing the exact sound of his footsteps climbing your stairs, the way his hand would always hesitate before it found yours, the small crease between his brows when he was lost in thought. without meaning to, you began collecting pieces of him, building a version in your head that belonged only to you, one that felt real enough to hold even though you knew you couldn't.

the truth was, you never really belonged to him, not in the way you wanted to. you were not the person he planned around or the name he kept close during the day. you were the late-night choice when the rest of the world had fallen silent. when he desperately needed some love, and couldn't find it somewhere else you were always the last one that he would call. the message he sent when boredom or loneliness pushed its way into his chest. the person he let into the soft, hidden hours of his life but kept out of the daylight. you waited for the mornings when he'd still be there, waited for the moments when his presence would linger past the dark, but those mornings never came. instead, you learned the pattern of his absences, the long stretches of time when your phone would stay still and quiet, the way his attention seemed to slip from your fingers the moment you began to believe you had it. you became familiar with the ache of waiting, with the constant push and pull of being wanted in one breath and forgotten in the next.

and still, you stayed. you stayed because some foolish, stubborn part of you believed that if you gave enough, if you waited long enough, if you were patient and understanding and never demanded too much, then maybe one day he would look at you and see the same thing you saw in him. maybe he would wake up and realize that the girl who always answered his midnight calls could also be the girl he called in the middle of the afternoon just because she crossed his mind. maybe he would see that you could be more than a secret kept in the quiet, that you could be something solid, something lasting. but he never did. and the worst part, the part that made your stomach twist and your chest ache, was that even after all this time, even after all the ways he had shown you exactly where you stood, you still found yourself hoping.

and even if it did not completely shatter your heart when you knew that he was not looking for anything serious, it still carved something into you that no one else could see but you could always feel. it was a quiet, constant sting, the kind that only grows sharper when you pretend it is not there. and you pretended often, you told yourself you were fine, that you understood what this was, that you could keep it casual and detached just like he wanted. but deep down you knew the truth, and that truth became harder to ignore each time you saw him living a life that seemed to exclude you completely. scrolling through his instagram stories became a habit you hated yourself for, your thumb moving before your mind could tell it to stop. each clip was another reminder: him at a bar with friends, him laughing into the camera, him with his arm around someone you did not know, the glow of the city lights catching in his hair. he was always moving, always surrounded by people, always so alive, and never with you.

you could still remember one night as clearly as if the air itself had frozen around you just to keep the memory intact. it had been another party, one thrown by a mutual friend, maybe jin or jimin. you had come with every intention of enjoying yourself, of not thinking about him, of maybe even proving to yourself that you could exist in the same room as him without it breaking you. but all that resolve melted away the moment you saw him. he was across the room, the bass from the speakers vibrating through the floor, the colored lights flickering over his face. and he was dancing, not alone, but with a woman you had never seen before. she had her hands on his shoulders, his palms rested comfortably at her waist, and they moved together in a way that made it look like they had been doing it for years. his head tilted down toward her, his smile wide and unguarded, his eyes crinkling the way they only did when he was genuinely having a good time.

you tried to tell yourself it meant nothing. that he was free to do whatever he wanted. that this was exactly the life he told you he was living. but something about the ease of it, the way he seemed so at home in her presence, dug at you in a way you could not quite explain. you found yourself standing by the wall, a drink in your hand that you had long forgotten to sip, watching them like you were outside your own body.

and then came the moment that burned itself into you. later in the night, you saw him again, this time by the door. he had his jacket on, the same woman beside him, her hair falling into her face as she laughed at something he said. he reached out to hold the door for her, and just before stepping out, he glanced over his shoulder. his eyes met yours. for a second, the whole room seemed to fall away, and all you could feel was the weight of that look. it was not guilt, it was not even apology. it was something else, something more complicated, like he was silently acknowledging that you had seen everything you were never meant to see, and maybe part of him wanted you to see it. then he turned away, guiding her out into the night, leaving you in the doorway with the noise of the party behind you and a silence inside your chest that felt louder than anything around you.

that night, you went home and lay awake in bed, replaying it over and over, as if your mind could somehow change the ending if you thought about it long enough. but the ending was always the same, he left, and you stayed. waiting. hoping.

and when you think of it now, even if you tried ignoring him, there was never really a way to fully erase him from your life. not when you had so many mutual friends, each one unknowingly pulling him back into your orbit in small, painful ways. it was impossible to avoid him when namjoon had been your classmate in university, when jimin was the friend you had grown up with since you were kids, when you already knew most of the others long before he ever stepped into your life. they were part of your world before he was and now they were the invisible threads tying you both together, no matter how hard you tried to cut yourself free.

every gathering, every birthday, every dinner out with the group came with the quiet gamble of whether he would be there. sometimes he was, sometimes he wasn't, but the uncertainty always weighed on you like an unspoken warning. you could tell yourself you were fine, that you could handle it, but the moment you saw him in the same room, it was like every step forward you had taken came crumbling back down. and the worst part was, he seemed so unaffected. like he could exist in that shared space without feeling the slightest pull, without remembering the moments you could never forget.

god, how you wished you had never met him. wished you had left the party early that night, or turned away when your friend started walking toward him, or kept your smile polite and distant instead of letting it grow into something warmer. because that smile was the first mistake. it opened the door to everything that came after, the nights waiting for his messages, the mornings wondering if you had imagined the connection, the endless cycle of being close enough to touch but never close enough to keep.

and maybe, in another life, you could have kept your distance. but in this one, you were bound to him through a web of friendships and history you could never untangle. ignoring him wasn't as simple as deleting his number or muting his stories, it meant silencing entire parts of your life, cutting away people who had been there for years, and you couldn't do that. so you lived in this strange, in-between place, where he was both everywhere and nowhere, haunting the corners of your days without ever really being in them.

your phone started vibrating, pulling you out of your thoughts, each sharp buzz sliding across the wooden surface of the table until it felt like the sound was echoing inside your chest. you didn't even have to glance at the screen to know whose name was lighting it up. you could have the device turned facedown, powered off, buried at the bottom of a drawer, and you would still know it was him. because it was always him at this time of night, always him when the rest of the world went quiet and he remembered you existed. the first message was short, almost harmless, almost like a casual check-in from someone who cared. y/n? then the second one followed, more familiar, more knowing, the kind of message that cut through you because it carried the weight of all the nights he had known you this well. i know you're awake. and then the next one, more urgent, threaded with that mix of frustration and insistence he always used when he wanted you to cave. why are you ignoring my messages? it was the same script every time, a well-worn loop that you had lived through too many times before.

you sat there, staring at the faint glow of the screen as the words appeared one after the other, your fingers curled tightly into your palm until your nails dug in. you knew exactly what would happen if you answered. just one reply, one single crack in the wall you had built around yourself, and you would be right back where you had been a hundred times before. it would start with something small, something that made you think maybe this time it was different, maybe this time he wanted more than just your company in the middle of the night. but it never was. you would end up tangled in the same routine, waiting for him to decide you were worth seeing in the daylight, only to realize that you were still the second choice. you always were.

and it wasn't just tonight pressing down on you, it was the weight of two years of this endless, exhausting circle. two years of him drifting in and out of your life like the tide, two years of you giving and giving until you didn't even know what you had left for yourself. you thought about all the times you had stayed awake, heart pounding, wondering if he would show up, wondering if this would finally be the night he told you you were more than just something to pass the time. and even though you told yourself over and over that you knew better now, you still couldn't stop that tiny flicker of hope from sparking whenever his name appeared on your phone.

and then your phone started ringing, shattering the stillness of the room like a stone thrown into glass. the sound was sharp and urgent, almost demanding, and before you could even think about ignoring it, the screen lit up, spilling his name into the darkness. jungkook. eight letters, simple and harmless on their own, but together they carried the weight of everything you had been trying to forget. it was absurd, really, how a name could still do that to you, how it could make your chest tighten and your pulse quicken as if the months of silence and restraint hadn't happened at all. of course it was him. who else would it be at this hour, after the string of unanswered messages? it was as if you could see the pattern unfolding in front of you, the way he always reached out when it suited him, when the silence became too loud on his end, when he remembered – momentarily – that you existed.

you stared at the glowing screen for a few seconds longer than you meant to, watching the little photo of him next to his name, the same one you had never changed even after everything. your mind wanted to tell you to flip the phone over, to end this before you even considered answering, but your heart, traitorous as always, hesitated. because you knew his voice, and you knew what it could do to you. how it could soften you, weaken every boundary you had tried to build, make you forget every single reason you had to stay away.

finally, with a sharp inhale, you turned the phone over, the glow disappearing, leaving the room in its dim, fragile quiet again. you thought maybe that would be the end of it, that he would give up once he saw you weren't going to answer. but the ringing started again. and again. the vibration rattled against the table, an unrelenting rhythm that seemed to pulse right through you. it felt like he was on the other side, chipping away at the fragile wall you had spent weeks building, refusing to let you have this one night without him pressing his way in.

you pressed your palms into your thighs, grounding yourself, refusing to move, refusing to touch the phone again. but each time it stopped, you barely had time to take a breath before it started again. it was almost cruel, the way he was doing this, the way he refused to let you go even though he had already let you down so many times. maybe he thought if he pushed hard enough, you would give in like you always had. maybe he knew you better than you wanted him to.

them you took your phone in your hand. your thumb hovered over the screen when it lit up for the fourth time, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit decline, sending it to voicemail. the sudden silence felt too big, like it was pressing in on you from every corner of the room. you wondered if he would actually leave a message, if you would hear that voice again tonight in the form of a recording you wouldn't be able to resist playing. maybe he would try to sound soft and careful, maybe he would pretend there was something urgent, maybe he would say your name in that way that still made your chest ache.

but shutting off your phone didn't shut him out of your head. if anything, it only made him more present. he was still there, in the quiet, in the spaces your thoughts wandered when you weren't careful. you could still see the way his name had lit up your screen, still hear the imagined sound of his voice saying your name, soft and familiar, like he had every right to. you told yourself you were stronger than this, that this was exactly why you had ended things, exactly why you had put distance between you. but the truth was, the moment you saw his name, a small part of you had wanted to answer, had wanted to hear what he would say.

you leaned back into the chair, sinking into its back as though it might hold you together when your resolve started to slip. you tried to focus on the reasons you had left him behind, replaying them like a loop you needed to memorize. the nights you stayed up waiting for him to text back. the times he forgot plans you had made. the way he only seemed to remember you when there was no one else around. it had been a cycle you couldn't break for so long, a cycle that left you feeling smaller each time you gave in. and now, after all the progress you had made, you refused to fall back into it.

still, in the spaces between those thoughts, there was the ache of curiosity, the what if that had always been your undoing. what if he was calling to say something different this time. what if he meant it. what if, just once, he was calling because he missed you the way you missed him. you hated yourself for even letting the thought take root, because you knew how it would end, with you back where you started, staring at your phone in the middle of the night, wondering why you let him in again. so you forced yourself to stay in the quiet, letting it press in around you until it stopped feeling like loneliness and started feeling like protection.

you woke to the sound of the doorbell, sharp and insistent, cutting through the still, heavy air of your apartment like it owned the right to wake you. at first you didn’t move, lying in the dark, eyes half-closed, still tangled in the haze of dreams. you told yourself it would stop if you just stayed still long enough. but it didn’t. it rang again, longer this time, dragging you out of bed like an unwelcome hand pulling you up from underwater. the cold air hit your skin instantly, the contrast to the warmth of your sheets making you shiver as you stumbled toward the door. your feet were bare against the floor, the silence of the apartment amplifying the sound of each step until it felt deafening. you rubbed at your eyes, leaning forward to peer through the peephole.

the second you saw him, your stomach dropped. jungkook. standing there with his hood pulled low, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shifting his weight like he’d been waiting far too long. his jaw was set, his eyes restless even from behind the glass. you stepped back instantly, your pulse climbing before your brain had time to process it. no. not tonight. not again. without a word, you turned and walked away, heading back to your bedroom as if you could will him out of existence by not acknowledging him.

but his voice came before you made it halfway down the hall. “i know you’re there. open the door.”

you didn’t even turn around. “go home, jungkook. i have work in the morning.”

“then open the door and tell me to my face.”

“no.” the word was flat, final. you kept walking. but then you heard it, the quiet, deliberate beeps of your door code being entered. you froze for half a second, then bolted back, pressing yourself against the door, your weight and hands braced against it like that could stop him. “don’t you dare.”

the lock clicked anyway. the handle turned. he pushed, and your body gave way. the door swung open, and the cold from the hallway rushed in around him. he stepped inside like it was still his place, like months of distance and unanswered messages meant nothing.

“what the hell are you doing?” you demanded, your voice sharp and loud in the quiet.

his eyes locked on yours, unflinching. “why didn’t you answer me?”

you blinked, stunned by the bluntness of it. “why should i?”

“because i needed to talk to you.”

“needed?” you laughed once, a short, bitter sound. “you disappear for days, sometimes weeks, and then you show up in the middle of the night like i’m supposed to drop everything just because you decided now was convenient for you.”

“that’s not what this is,” he said, his tone clipped.

“then what is it?” you took a step closer, your words spilling faster now, your chest tightening. “because from where i’m standing, it’s exactly what it’s always been. you come here when it suits you. you take what you want. my time, my energy, my body and when i start to believe that maybe, maybe, it means something, you vanish. no explanation. no warning. just gone.”

his jaw flexed. “i told you from the beginning i couldn’t give you more. you know it.”

“and yet you keep coming back,” you shot back, voice shaking but louder now. “you keep touching me like i’m not just another girl to you. you look at me like i’m something you don’t want to lose. but when it matters? when i ask you to actually choose me? you make me feel like i’m asking for too much.”

“you made this into something it was never supposed to be.” his voice was calmer now, but it wasn’t kindness, it was detachment, and that hurt worse.

“because i fell for you,” you said, the words almost breaking as they left your mouth. “because i wanted to believe i was more than just a body in your bed. but i’m not. i’m just the one you go to when there’s no one else around. i’m your second choice. i’m your backup plan. i’m the safe option you can leave and come back to whenever you feel like it.”

he let out a slow breath, as if your words were nothing but background noise. “i don’t love you. i can’t love you. and i don’t want what you want.”

the sting of it made your throat tighten, but you kept your voice steady. “then why are you here?”

“because i like being with you. because you’re easy to be around. because you’re familiar.”

the air between you went sharp. “easy. familiar. god, do you hear yourself?” your voice rose, the words coming out almost too fast to keep up with your thoughts. “i’ve been here for you when you needed someone to talk. i’ve listened to you for hours about things you never tell anyone else. i’ve given you everything i could, and all i am to you is easy?”

“you’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he said, stepping toward you.

“harder for who?” you demanded. “for you? do you even realize what it’s like for me to go to parties and see you with someone else? to see you smiling like you’ve already moved on while i’m still here, pretending i’m fine? to scroll past your stories without opening them because i know it’ll be another reminder that i’m not the one you want? you keep taking and taking, and when i finally ask for something in return, i’m the problem.”

his tone sharpened. “because you are. i told you i couldn’t be what you wanted. you stayed anyway.”

“yeah,” you said, the word heavy in your mouth. “i stayed. because i thought maybe i could be enough for you. i thought maybe one day you’d realize i was worth choosing. but you never did. and you never will.”

he scoffed, shaking his head slowly. “you’re twisting everything. i’ve been honest with you from day one. i said i didn’t want anything serious. i never lied to you. you chose to ignore that.”

“i ignored it because you kept acting like you wanted more!” your voice cracked, frustration spilling over. “you can’t tell someone you don’t want a relationship and then do everything a boyfriend would do. you can’t kiss me like that and then expect me to believe it’s meaningless.”

his jaw tightened, his voice low but sharp. “you think a kiss means i’m in love with you? you think spending time together means i owe you something more? we had fun, that’s it. you’re the one who started building castles in your head.”

you laughed, bitter and humorless. “fun? is that what it was to you? because to me, it was sitting next to you at three in the morning when you couldn’t sleep. it was listening to you talk about your parents, your fears, the things you don’t tell anyone else. it was the way you held me when you thought i was asleep. but yeah, sure just fun.”

“don’t put this on me,” he snapped, stepping closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “you stayed. you let it go on. you knew what this was.”

“and you knew i was falling for you,” you shot back immediately. “you knew, and you let it happen, because it was easier for you to have someone who cared about you without you having to give anything back.”

his eyes narrowed, his voice almost cold now. “i didn’t ask you to love me.”

“no,” you said, your voice trembling but your gaze locked on his, “but you made it impossible not to.”

he stared at you for a moment, and for a second you thought you saw something falter in his expression, regret, maybe, or guilt, but then it was gone, replaced with that same unreadable mask. “i’m not going to apologize for not feeling the same way. i’m not going to pretend i can be something i’m not.”

you felt the words like a slow burn in your chest. “and i’m not going to keep letting you walk in and out of my life like you own it. i’m done being your midnight love, your second choice, your–”

“you’re not my second choice,” he cut in, but there was no conviction in it, no heat. it sounded almost like he was saying it because he thought he should, not because he believed it.

you gave a small, broken laugh. “you could have fooled me.”

he let out a long, exasperated breath. “you make everything into drama.”

“no, jungkook, i make everything real,” you shot back. “you’re just too afraid to admit that keeping me around is selfish. because you like me enough to not let me go, but not enough to actually choose me. and that is worse than if you didn’t care at all.”

for a moment, neither of you moved. your breathing was uneven, your hands clenched at your sides, and he was just staring at you like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words or maybe didn’t want to. and then he looked away, like that was easier than facing the truth in your eyes. 

you could feel the heat rising in your chest, a suffocating pressure that made every breath taste bitter, like you’d swallowed every unsaid word from the past two years and they were all fighting to come out at once. “and don’t you dare tell me i’m making drama,” you said, your voice low but shaking, your fingers curling into your palms so tightly you could feel your nails against your skin. “not when you walk into my life whenever it suits you, disappear when something better comes along, and then have the audacity to act like i’m the one making things complicated. you don’t get to rewrite the story, jungkook. you don’t get to pretend that the nights you stayed weren’t real, that the mornings we woke up together didn’t mean anything. you look at me like i’m yours when you want to, and then you expect me to turn that part of me off the second you’ve had your fill. do you have any idea what that does to a person?”

he let out a sharp laugh, though there was nothing amused about it, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake you off him. “and do you have any idea what it’s like to be trapped by someone else’s expectations? i told you from the very beginning what i could give. i didn’t promise you forever. i didn’t promise you love. you were the one who decided to hope for something else, not me. so no, i’m not going to apologize for not being who you wanted me to be. i can’t be that person. and you acting like i’ve committed some crime for being honest is ridiculous.”

your jaw clenched so hard it almost hurt, but you couldn’t stop now, not when every part of you was shaking from the weight of all the nights you stayed quiet instead of saying what you wanted to scream. “being honest?” you repeated, your voice rising with each word. “is that what you call it? you were honest in words, maybe, but not in actions. you kissed me like i was the only person you’d ever want, you touched me like i was home, you let me into the parts of yourself you don’t show anyone else and then you expect me to believe it was nothing? that i was imagining all of it? you can’t have it both ways, jungkook. you can’t make me feel like i’m everything one night and then treat me like i’m nothing the next.”

he stepped closer, his expression hard, his voice cutting through the space between you. “and you can’t keep blaming me for feelings you chose to have. i never asked you to fall for me. i never told you i would fall for you. we had something good, but you’ve ruined it by trying to turn it into something it wasn’t meant to be.”

you stared at him, the words hitting you like shards of glass. “something good?” you repeated, your tone almost mocking. “good for who, jungkook? for you, because you got everything you wanted without giving anything back? because you could keep me in your bed, in your life, without having to make a single sacrifice? do you even understand how small you’ve made me feel? how many nights i’ve sat here wondering why i wasn’t enough for you to choose me? and the worst part is, you knew. you knew i was falling, and you didn’t stop me, because it was convenient for you to let me believe there might be more, just so you could keep coming back when it suited you.”

he shook his head, his jaw tight, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “i don’t love you. i’ve told you that, and i’ll keep telling you until it sinks in. i can’t give you more, and i won’t pretend otherwise just to make you feel better. and if that’s not enough for you, then maybe you should finally walk away.”

you felt the sting in your chest, sharp and deep, but you didn’t let him see you flinch. “maybe i should,” you said, your voice low, though it wavered on the edges. “but we both know you’ll just show up again. you’ll text me at two in the morning, you’ll call me when you’re drunk or lonely or bored, and you’ll expect me to open the door. and you know what the sad part is? i probably will. because you’ve made me so used to living off the scraps you give me that i don’t even remember what it feels like to be full.”

he swallowed hard, his eyes darkening in a way you couldn’t quite read, but his tone stayed sharp. “then stop letting me in.”

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “if it were that simple, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. because you don’t actually want me gone, do you? you just don’t want me to ask for more. you want me exactly where i am, close enough for you to reach when you need me, far enough that you don’t have to feel guilty when you don’t.”

and the silence after that was heavy, almost unbearable, both of you breathing hard, your words still hanging between you like smoke. you hated that even now, with every raw truth spilled out on the floor, some part of you still ached for him to reach for you, to close the distance, to tell you you were wrong about all of it. but instead, he just stood there, his eyes locked on yours, saying nothing at all.

the air between you was so thick it felt like it was pressing down on your chest, the kind of silence that wasn’t really silent at all, because you could still hear the way your own heart was pounding in your ears, the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the faint hum of the city outside your window that suddenly felt too far away to matter. you stood there with your arms crossed so tightly across your chest it almost hurt, like if you just held yourself together hard enough you wouldn’t crack open right there in front of him. and still he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with that unreadable expression that had always been the most dangerous thing about him, because it let you believe anything you wanted to believe, that he was about to apologize, that he was about to tell you you’d misunderstood everything, that he was about to fight for you. but he didn’t. and with every second that passed, you felt your anger curling tighter and tighter inside you, until it had nowhere to go but out.

“say something,” you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended, because you couldn’t stand the way he just looked at you, calm and unbothered, like you hadn’t just torn yourself open in front of him. “or is that it? you’re just going to stand there and watch me fall apart while you pretend it doesn’t touch you at all?”

he blinked once, slow, and his voice was maddeningly even when he finally spoke. “what do you want me to say? that i lied? that i’ve secretly been in love with you all this time? i’m not going to feed you a fantasy just because it’s what you want to hear.”

“no,” you snapped, stepping closer, the words spilling faster now. “what i want is for you to admit that you’ve been selfish. that you’ve taken everything i’ve given you and used it to fill the parts of yourself you didn’t want to deal with, and then thrown me back when you didn’t need me anymore. i want you to admit that you don’t actually want me to be happy without you, because if you did, you wouldn’t keep showing up like this. you’d let me go.”

his jaw tightened, “you think you’ve got me all figured out,” he said quietly, “but maybe you’re just angry because you couldn’t change me. because you thought if you stayed long enough, if you loved me hard enough, i’d become the person you needed. but i didn’t. and i won’t.”

your breath caught, because he wasn’t wrong, and somehow that made it worse. “you know what’s pathetic?” you said, your voice breaking even as you tried to hold it steady. “you’re right. i did think that. i thought maybe i could be enough to make you want more. and the worst part is, even now, with you standing here telling me you’ll never give me anything else, i still want you to stay. i still want you to want me. what does that say about me, jungkook? that i’m so used to being your second choice that i don’t even know how to want better anymore?”

he didn’t answer right away, just looked at you in a way that made your skin burn, not with desire but with the raw, aching awareness of how far apart you really were. when he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but not kinder. “it says you should stop before you lose yourself completely.”

and something about that, the cold practicality of it, the way it sounded like advice instead of an apology, made you feel like the floor had dropped out from under you. you almost laughed, because if he thought you hadn’t already lost parts of yourself to him, he hadn’t been paying attention at all.

you stood there for a moment that felt like it stretched into hours, staring at him, at the way he didn’t flinch under your words, at the way his chest rose and fell so steadily while yours felt like it was caving in. your hands were cold, but your face was burning, and you hated that he could stand there so unaffected while you felt like your skin was being stripped away. you wanted him to see it, to see exactly what he was doing to you, but all you saw in his face was that same maddening calm, that same unshakable distance, like none of this was shaking him the way it was tearing you apart. maybe that was what broke you, maybe that was what finally made something inside you snap, because suddenly your voice was spilling into the air, sharp and unsteady but louder than before.

“get out.”

his eyebrows twitched, the smallest sign that he had actually heard you, but his feet didn’t move.

you took a step forward, your pulse hammering so loudly you could almost hear it over your own voice. “get out, jungkook. this–” you gestured between you, that invisible but suffocating thread that had kept you tied to him for too long “–this is over.” your voice cracked, but you didn’t back down. “no, wait…” you laughed bitterly, the sound scraping your throat raw. “it’s not even over, because that would mean it started. and it never did, not really. not for you. for you this was just convenient, wasn’t it? easy. familiar. something you could step into whenever it suited you and step out of without a single thought about what it was doing to me. and i let you make me believe otherwise.”

his jaw tightened for the first time that night, his eyes narrowing just a fraction, but still he stayed rooted in place, like your living room was his territory. “you don’t mean that,” he said, voice low, almost dismissive. “you’re just angry.”

“angry?” you repeated, letting the word sit heavy on your tongue before throwing it back at him. “you think this is just anger? no, jungkook, this is me finally seeing you for what you are. and it’s me realizing that i’ve been stupid enough to think you might change. i have been here every single time you wanted me, and where were you when i needed you? where were you when i was falling apart and you were out at some party with another girl? when you were in bed with another? when you were waking up to another?” your voice trembled now, not from fear but from exhaustion. “you don’t love me. you can’t love me. you told me that. but you also don’t have the decency to let me go.”

you swallowed hard, forcing the words out through the lump in your throat. “so get out. because if you don’t, i’m going to forget everything you just said. i’m going to let you stay, like i always do. and tomorrow you’ll be gone again, and i’ll be back here, waiting for a doorbell that should never ring.”

for a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of your refrigerator in the kitchen. he didn’t move, and you didn’t look away, the air between you electric with all the words you had never said before tonight. his mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. and for the first time, you didn’t rush to fill the silence. you just stood there, waiting for him to leave.

for a second, you thought he would say something. maybe apologies, maybe say goodbye, how you were right. something, anything, but he didn’t. he stepped past you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours in the narrow space, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air as the door clicked shut behind him.

and you stayed there, frozen in the silence, your chest heaving, your hands shaking, realizing this was the first time you hadn't run after him. the first time you had chosen to let him walk away.

you knew it now with a kind of bone-deep clarity that made your chest ache, because this was all you were ever going to be; his midnight love, his favourite second, the one he reached for only when the rest of the world had gone quiet and there was no one else left to answer him. you weren’t the girl he wanted in the daylight, the one he would take to family dinners or introduce to his friends without hesitation. you were the secret he kept tucked away, the comfort he came back to when it suited him, the person he knew would always pick up no matter how late, no matter how many times he had disappeared before. and you had let yourself be that, time and time again, because in those dark, quiet hours when it was just you and him, it was easy to pretend that maybe it meant something more.

but you couldn’t be his midnight love when your silver was his gold. you couldn’t keep offering everything you had while knowing you were only a shadow of what he wanted. in the dim light, he didn’t make promises, didn’t whisper about forever, but his hands would linger like they knew you, his gaze would hold you like there was no one else and that was enough to make you believe for just a heartbeat. but the truth was always waiting in the morning, sharp and undeniable. you weren’t his first choice. you were close, but never his favourite.

and then, when you were standing alone in your living room, truly alone with your thoughts, and the things he said still ringing in your ears, you finally let the tears fall.

[minyoongiss]

STILL HATE ME? | min yoongi

you and yoongi had hated each other from the very first moment your eyes met. or at least... that's what you kept telling yourself.

pairing: coworker!min yoongi x you

warnings: 18+, enemies to lovers, lots of drama, explicit sex scenes, explicit language

authors note: i've been working on this for quite a while, most of the time it was waiting unfinished in my drafts, hoping i would find the motivation to finish it. i don't know how I got this idea tbh, but I'm not complaining.

word count: 10k

you hated yoongi.

truly, genuinely, to-the-core hate him. not in the harmless, everyday way people claim to hate pineapple on pizza or slow walkers on busy sidewalks. no, your hatred is something deeper, more refine, an art form, really. it is the kind of hatred that simmer quietly, with taste. if someone has written a thesis on the emotional architecture of loathing, you could've been the case study. because words - plain, clumsy words - never quite do it justice. there simply aren't enough of them. not in your language, or any other, for that matter.

and oh, he earned it. every eye roll, every clenched jaw, every imaginary scenario in which you flung something heavy at his head, he earned it. he was a professional nuisance. a smug, sharp-tongued, infuriatingly composed presence that never missed an opportunity to get under your skin. his very existence seemed to revolve around the singular goal of driving you mad, and the worst part was: he was good at it. frighteningly good.

it wasn't just his comments towards you, though those were bad enough. those slick, casually cruel little remarks laced with sarcasm and just enough truth to sting. he always knew exactly when to drop them too, like he had a built-in radar for when you were already teetering on the edge. it was the way he had to have the last word, every damn time, as if every conversation with you was some kind of high-stakes debate and he was collecting trophies you never agreed to compete for. and it wasn't even the way he always seemed to win, effortlessly, while you stood there mentally rewriting your last three sentences and wondering why your wit always decided to abandon you in his presence.

and he clearly enjoyed it. the glint in his eyes when you got flustered. the way his lips curved, just barely, maddeningly, when he knew he'd cornered you. the subtle delight he took in watching you unravel. it wasn't about being right for him. it wasn't even about the argument. it was about you. about your reactions. your fury. your silence, even - especially that.

sometimes, late at night, you wondered if there was something else buried under all that rage. something you refused to name, something that kept you awake longer than it should. but then you'd remember the way he smirked at you that morning, and the feeling would pass. mostly.

maybe it was your fault. maybe you were the one who let him get to you, who gave him that ridiculous amount of space in your mind without even realizing it. maybe you handed him the blueprint to your nerves and said, here, please press every button like it's your full-time job. because the second he opened his mouth didn't even have to say anything particularly offensive, just spoke, you could feel your blood start to simmer. not boil. not yet. no, that came after the first smirk.

your hands would curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms like you were trying to anchor yourself to something, anything, that wasn't him. it never worked. the frustration always found a way to surface. it bubbled up, slow at first, like a pot just beginning to hiss, until it finally spilled over and scalded whatever fragile sense of self-control you had left.

you don't even know how it began in the first place. why you hated each other. how all the arguments between you two started. was it that morning? the one where you'd brought coffee for everyone in the department, the simple, harmless gesture you hadn't even thought twice about and somehow, you forgot him. you hadn't done it on purpose. honestly, back then, he barely registered as someone you needed to remember. but when you think about it now, you remember the way he looked at you when he realized. not hurt. not annoyed. just blank. like he'd expected it from you. but that was a stupid reason. was it not?

or maybe it wasn't that at all. maybe it started earlier, back in the first few months when he was hired, when he'd corrected you mid-presentation. not unkind. not obvious. just subtle enough to make you look wrong. enough to make everyone glance your way like you'd missed something. and you'd swallowed it, smiled through it, told yourself it didn't matter. except it did. and maybe he knew that too.

or maybe it wasn't one moment. maybe it was all of them. small things, sharp things, piling up when you weren't looking. the way his eyes would flick to you during meetings like he was waiting for you to mess up. the way he'd lean back in his chair when you spoke, lazy, dismissive, like he already knew what you were going to say and it wasn't worth hearing. the way he always, always smiled when you got frustrated. not because he cared, but because he enjoyed watching it happen. 

years. it had been years of this. of him teasing you, no, that word was too soft, too playful. it was more like psychological warfare with a smile. years of you telling yourself to breathe through it, to be the bigger person, to ignore the way his presence made your whole nervous system light up like a warning alarm. years of convincing yourself it wouldn't last forever, that eventually you'd graduate, move cities, change jobs, do something that would erase him from your daily life.

to everyone else, yoongi looked like the kind of person who didn't care enough to start trouble. quiet. aloof. almost detached, like the world only grazed the edges of his awareness unless it personally knocked on his door. he never raised his voice. never made a scene. never stirred the pot, at least not in a way anyone could pin down. he was the embodiment of unbothered, unshakeable, unreadable, and apparently uninterested in anything remotely resembling petty conflict.

and you had believed that, too. well at least once.

you could still remember the first time you saw him. it was at work. he was new. someone had mentioned a new hire would be starting that day, but you didn't think much of it. people came and went, it wasn't exactly newsworthy. when he walked in, you barely noticed. he didn't demand attention like some others had, didn't make a dramatic entrance or introduce himself with any fanfare. he just appeared.nhands stuffed into his pockets, posture loose but closed-off in that way that said please don't talk to me, and i won't talk to you.

you remember thinking he'd be easy to work with. you remember thinking he'd keep to himself. you remember thinking, foolishly, that he might even be nice. and that he looked really good not that you would ever mention it out loud. well okay once to your friend soo-ah. but that was only once, a year ago.

but you were wrong, so wrong.

and suddenly he was everywhere. you would not only see him at work. no also outside of work. first at your supermarket, of all places, standing by the exact aisle you always take, like it's the most natural thing in the world. which was something don't even want to remember. then it was parties. mutual invites. familiar faces and suddenly he's among them. before you realize it, you're sharing the same circles, breathing the same air, trapped by his annoying self. all because taehyung and jungkook liked his “vibe”. and you couldn't say anything. not when it started. not when it got worse. you let it build quietly, let it eat at you every time he showed up where he didn't belong, every time his name slid too easily into conversations that left you tense and silent. eventually, your friends noticed. not right away, but in the way your mood shifted, in the way you stopped showing up, in the way you pulled back without explanation.

but you weren't the kind of person to make them choose. you weren't going to say it's either me or him. so you tried to let it go, told yourself to be mature, to get over it. but it kept getting worse, and he knew. every time you forced yourself to smile, to stay in the room, he saw it. and worse he didn't say anything either.

your friends tried everything. at first it was subtle, carefully nudging you into the same conversations, asking one of you to wait while the other caught up, suggesting you "just talk it out." when that failed, they tried being more obvious. they invited you both to the same dinners, the same parties, hoping proximity would do what words couldn't. it didn't. if anything, it made it worse. every shared glance felt like another fight waiting to happen, every casual interaction forced and brittle.

when that failed too, they got desperate. some, probably jin and soo-ah, thought it would be a good idea to lock you both in a room together. literally. close the door, say "figure it out," and leave you there like two volatile chemicals waiting to combust. maybe they thought you'd talk. maybe they hoped some buried tension would finally break and you'd laugh about it after. they didn't expect the shouting. but that's what happened. voices raised, words sharp, both of you tearing into each other like it was the only language you had left in common.

outside the door, your friends could do nothing but listen. the arguing, the accusations, the anger neither of you could fake your way through anymore. every attempt to help had only added fuel to a fire they didn't know how to put out. and by the time the door finally opened, neither of you looked at the other. you just walked out in opposite directions, the silence between you louder than any of the shouting had been.

there was no world in which you and yoongi would get along. and there would be none.

the applause took you out of your thoughts. a few polite, scattered murmurs of approval threading through the air, you felt it before you even saw it: the flicker of his gaze, cutting sharp through the noise, not toward the people who had actually clapped for him, not toward the ones nodding and smiling and clearly impressed, but toward you, only you, as if none of it truly mattered unless he could see you witness it, as if the real prize wasn't the win itself but my reaction to it.

and you didn't look back, not really but you felt him, the full weight of his stare pressing into the side of your face like a hand around your throat, steady and deliberate, unrelenting, and you knew the exact expression he was wearing before you even dare to glance in his direction: that infuriatingly calm amusement, lips curled into that slow, poisonous smirk.

you hated that smile, hated the ease of it, hated the way he could stand there looking like this is all just some elaborate game he'd already won five moves ago while you are still trying to catch up, trying to breathe, trying to keep your hands from shaking under the table, hated the way he didn't even bother pretending it wasn't personal, the way his gaze sharpen just slightly, eyebrows rising barely a fraction, just enough to wordlessly ask: ‘well? how's it feel to lose to me again?’

and you know what he was doing, know exactly how hard he was baiting me and still, still it burned, still it curls in your chest like fire, still you want nothing more than to march over and wipe that look off his face with the nearest heavy object or, barring that, at least the kind of cutting remark that might make him flinch but you didn't, of course you didn't, because anger is messy and public and vulnerable and you were already drowning in enough of that.

so you just sit there, jaw clenched, nails biting into the soft skin of your palms as if pain can somehow anchor me, keep you from flying apart and god, you hated him, hated him in a way that was too large to name, too complicated to fit into a single thought, because it wasn't just this moment or this win or even this day, it was every moment that came before it, every snide comment and loaded glance and deliberately timed smirk, every time he let you unravel just to see how far you'd go before you broke.

and as the applause fades, as chairs scrap back from the table and voices begin to rise in clusters, people gathering their things and drifting toward the door, you stay frozen, staring blankly at the dimmed screen like it might still hold some version of the outcome where you came out on top, some alternate reality where you didn't just lose to him, didn't just sit here feeling exposed and gutted while he soaks up the victory like sunlight.

and you might've stayed like that indefinitely, wallowing in the echo of your own humiliation, if namjoon your boss, hadn't appeared beside you, voice low and gentle, the kind of softness that always feels worse when you're already raw and you barely manage to nod, barely forced yourself to smile. "i'm sorry y/n. i know how much you wanted that pitch." we both knew what was coming next, both knew the but that would follow, and there it was: the confirmation, the truth. "you were really good but yoongi's pitch was the one they wanted at the end."

of course.

"and hey," he continues, offering me a small smile. "i actually have something else for you. a different deal. it might not be the one you wanted today, but i think it's a really good opportunity," a genuine smile on his lips, before he continues, "i'm gonna send you the details later."

and you say thank you, nodding again, you even smile when he squeezes your shoulder and tells you again that you nevertheless did amazing work, like you hadn't just had the wind knocked out of you in the quietest, cruelest way possible.

but even after namjoon as the last leaves, the room isn't empty, you still can feel his presence.

and you feel him before you see him, that itch at the back of your neck that only comes when he was near, and sure enough, you hear him before you turn that voice, maddeningly light, that familiar lilt of mockery dressed up as charm: "not even gonna congratulate me?" and it was everything you expected and everything you hated, and when you look up, there he is, leaning back with that maddening ease, hair messy and eyes bright, arms crossed.

you don't answer right away. don't give him the satisfaction.

"not even a little 'well done'? no slow clap?"

and you don't know what it is, the grin, the posture, the tone but something in you snaps, something in you lits up with the kind of fury that doesn't flare but simmers, slow and dangerous, and before you can stop yourself, the words are already out "for what?" you say, tilting you head just enough to look bored. "meeting the bare minimum and being rewarded for it? congratulations, really. mediocrity looks good on you." 

he laughs, of course he laughs, like he can't think of a better compliment, like you are giving him exactly what he wants.

and when he says "i know how much you wanted that pitch. stop pretending that you don't care." you hate that it was true, hate that you hadn't left the second it was over, hadn't stormed out like you swore you would and when he steps closer: "pathetic really."

"what's pathetic," you breathe your voice low and measured every syllable shaped with precision, "is thinking this is a win." his brow arches slowly not sharply the movement lazy and deliberate as if you've just told him a joke he already knew the punchline to there's no surprise in his expression only that maddening flicker of quiet amusement that's always lingered in the spaces between your words. like he's cataloging your every reaction just to prove to himself that he still has the upper hand.

his voice when it comes is casual but laced with that undercurrent you've come to loathe the false innocence sharpened by something darker beneath. "isn't it," he replies letting the silence stretch a little longer than necessary before finishing "i mean i walked out with it you walked out with your pride guess which one pays better."

you don't blink you don't even breathe differently. you know exactly what he wants from you a flinch a glare a crack in your expression. something he can hold on to something he can twist so you give him nothing your stare is steady unyielding it's a battle of control now and you refuse to lose but your feet betray you. one step forward small subtle, but enough enough to cross that fragile line of space between your body and his enough to dare him to notice. to dare him to move to test if his confidence will hold up under actual pressure he doesn't step back of course he doesn't he holds still like this is exactly where he wants you.

your voice cuts sharper now more venom seeping into the calm you're fighting to maintain. "no you didn't win. you just learned how to play the game dirtier than the rest of us. you smiled when you needed to you. kissed the right people's asses until they started mistaking your voice for your ideas. you figured out how to keep your hands clean while stepping on everyone else's work. that's not talent that's not a win that's politics wearing a knockoff suit and calling itself success."

you see it the twitch in his expression not obvious not loud just a flicker at the corner of his mouth. the slightest tension pulling at the mask he wears so effortlessly most people wouldn't notice but you've spent too long watching him maneuver through conversations and now you see every miscalculation every adjustment. that twitch tells you everything he wants you to think you're getting too close. that you've hit something real and maybe you have or maybe he's letting you believe that you don't care.

he doesn't smile now not properly his gaze narrows not with anger not entirely it's colder than that more calculated like he's considering his next move already dissecting your words for weakness "and yet you're still here," he murmurs finally the words slow and deliberate the tone shifting into something quieter something heavier as he steps closer to you. it's deliberate that step measured like he's drawing out the tension between you stretching it until you're forced to feel it, "still talking to me."

the shift in his voice is subtle but impossible to ignore it's lost its smugness its casual sharpness it's heavier. now deeper a quiet kind of threat wrapped in silk you can feel the change in the air between you you can feel him watching you.. differently. in a way you can’t really explain.

but you refuse to move you refuse to give him the satisfaction of being the first to step back "maybe," you say quietly not as calm as you wanted it to sound, "i'm just waiting to see if you trip over your own ego and fall on your face."

for the first time something flashes across his expression something that almost looks real his eyes darken slow and certain not with surprise but with something heavier and then his head tilts not sharply but thoughtfully. his gaze tracking yours like he's recalibrating everything he thought he knew about you when he speaks his voice is low quieter than before. not because he wants secrecy but because he knows now you're listening. "or maybe," he murmurs, "you're still trying to prove something."

the words hit harder than you expect them to your pulse stutters before you can stop it reflex unbidden, unwanted. "to you?" you throw back too fast too sharp too defensive and that's all the confirmation he needs you see it in the flicker of satisfaction behind his eyes you gave him. that you handed him that and you hate yourself for it.

he leans in just a fraction but enough enough that you can feel the heat of him now enough that his next words land against your skin rather than your ears. "to yourself."

that sinks deeper than you're ready for somewhere beneath your anger somewhere quieter somewhere you refuse to acknowledge, but you catch it you catch it crush it and bury it before it can show when your eyes meet his again there's nothing soft left nothing honest just that smile that cold brittle smile that has kept you alive in rooms like this with men like him "don't flatter yourself," you say softly letting your voice flatten into something dead and distant "you're not the mirror i measure myself against."

you watch him watching you his eyes drag across your face slowly like he's searching for the crack you just sealed over he's looking for the place it hurts and for a moment you think he might find it for a moment you almost let him.

you straighten shoulders pulled back chin lifted not in pride not in arrogance but in simple refusal to let him see you break "enjoy your pitch," you say finally the words clean precise deliberate before brushing past him without another glance.

"coffee?" you look up, a little slow, your brain still heavy with disappointment and the dull ache of too much thinking. and there he is, hobi standing in the doorway, holding two large paper cups like some kind of everyday miracle. exactly what you needed in that moment. like he had known before you even did. "thought you might need it."

he doesn't say anything more. just standa there with that gentle, steady look in his eyes. it was impossible not to smile, even if only a little.

you let out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. "you're my salvation," you say, and you mean it more than you expected to. hobi smiles at that, bright and unbothered, like he'd been waiting for the cue. he takes it as permission to come in, to settle into the chair across from you.

he doesn't need to ask if you are okay. he already knows. he moves with the kind of familiarity that came from being in each other's lives long enough to skip the surface-level questions. he sets the coffee on the desk in front of you, then leans back, folding his hands loosely in his lap like you are about to have a conversation you both knew was coming.

"so," he says, softly watching you. "how are you?" his voice is calm, quiet. not pitying. just honest.

you nod slowly, letting out a breath that had been sitting heavy in your chest all morning. "let me guess they're already talking and you're here to check on me."

hobi doesn't answer right away. his face shifts just slightly, enough for you to know without hearing it. not pity, not surprise. just quiet confirmation. "it's been the main topic all morning."

you stare down at your coffee, jaw tight. "of course. now they've finally got something new to talk about. god forbid this place have a single normal week without someone getting eaten alive."

hobi watches you carefully. you can feel it. like he's waiting for the exact moment you crack.

"you know how they are," he says softly, like he's trying to make you feel better. it doesn't help.

"can i even blame them?" your voice cuts sharper now. "it was the pitch. the pitch. and now that they know i didn't get it, that yoongi did, it's all they're going to talk about. not because they care about the work. but because it's a better story this way."

hobi leans forward a little, cautious, like you're a bomb about to go off. "how are you? actually."

your laugh is bitter. sharp. it sounds wrong in your own ears. "how do you think i am?"

he doesn't answer.

"how am i?" you finally meet his eyes, and there's nothing soft about it. your voice is flat, cold, but furious underneath. "i'm furious, hobi. that's how i am."

he stays quiet, lets you speak.

"i worked for that pitch. i stayed late. i tore myself up over every slide, every word. and then he walks in, acting like he didn't care, and of course he gets it. because he's yoongi. because everyone just assumes he deserves things. like it's inevitable." you pause, your voice cracking with something ugly. "and now i get to be the girl who lost to him. who got overlooked. and everyone's pretending it's normal."

you shake your head, looking down at your cup, forcing the words out because keeping them in hurts worse. "it's not even about the pitch anymore. i could've handled losing it. maybe. eventually. but losing it to him? that's what's killing me."

your voice drops lower, heavier. "he didn't deserve it, hobi. not more than me. and now i get to spend every day pretending that's not true."

hobi stays quiet. not because he doesn't have anything to say, but because he knows you need to keep going.

"you know what really gets me? he didn't even have to try. he just existed. stood there with that stupid grin and that bullshit effortless attitude, and they gave it to him like it was inevitable. like we should've all known it was going to be him from the start."

you pause. breathe. not to calm down, you're far past that point, but because your throat tightens and your chest aches, and you need to stay upright.

"sometimes i think about how satisfying it would be to just... wipe that look off his face. not forever. just long enough to get a moment of peace. just long enough to make him stop smiling like that."

your voice cracks a little at the end, the frustration pulling tight across your ribs, hot and unbearable.

hobi blinks at you once, then huffs out a quiet, short laugh. "you know," he says, voice lighter now, but warm, "the fact that you actually sound serious is the best part."

you glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. "i am serious."

he laughs again, louder this time, shaking his head as he leans back in the chair. "yeah. that's the problem."

and for a second, you almost want to laugh too.

his smile fades, just enough for you to notice, replaced by something quieter. "look," he says finally, voice soft but steady, "i know it feels like he took something from you. and maybe he did. but letting him sit in your head like this? letting him be the thing that ruins your whole day?" he shakes his head slowly. "that's you giving him more than he took."

you don't answer. not right away. not because he's wrong, but because part of you hates that he's right. 

hobi watches you, lets the silence sit between you for a beat, then stands up with a stretch and a quiet sigh, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans like the conversation hasn't just scraped something raw in you.

"i'm heading back or namjoon will kill me," he says casually. "but seriously breathe. drink your coffee. let him rot somewhere else." he offers you a small, tired smile. "and if you do end up wiping that look off his face, call me. i'll help bury the body."

you huff out a laugh despite yourself, shaking your head as he steps toward the door.

"you think i'm joking," he calls back, glancing over his shoulder. "but i'm not," closing the door behind him.

it was hours later, and you were still sitting in your uncomfortable office chair, staring blankly at your screen, wishing for nothing more in the world than to finally go home. your back ached in all the wrong places, your joints felt like they'd been dipped in concrete, and the early warning signs of a migraine had begun to pulse behind your eyes.

and, of course, because the universe didn’t mean it good with you, things only got worse.

your copier-ancient, thought that exact moment it would be a good idea, to give up on life. right in the middle of printing your final report. you were this close. just a few more pages. but no. the last sheet had jammed, perfectly wedged in the machine's mouth, half printed and fully immovable.

you tried pulling it gently. then not so gently. then with the quiet desperation of someone who had truly reached the end of their tether.

the page tore, naturally. because of course it did. you let out a loud, utterly ungraceful groan, the kind that echoed off the sterile walls and probably scared the poor intern two doors down. at this point, it wasn't even about the report anymore. it was about the sheer principle of it all.

you press your forehead against the top of the copier like you were hoping it would feel guilt. it didn't.

after a moment of standing there, forehead still resting against the warm plastic of the copier like you were attempting to absorb its will to live (or at least find meaning in its betrayal), you sighed.

fine.

you straighten up, roll your neck with a satisfying crack that made, and shuffled back to your desk like a ghost who paid taxes. there, you plugged in an usb stick, the one you kept in your drawer for exactly this kind of crisis, and copied the final report onto it.

when the progress bar finally showed an end, you pulled the stick out, grabbed it, and made your way toward the copy room down the hall.

because of course your office had only one reliable copier, and of course it wasn't yours. no, it was the communal one that stood in a windowless room near the break area, smelled vaguely like burnt paper, and required you to walk past at least three people who would definitely try to talk to you even though you looked very much like someone on the verge. and at a day like this you wanted to avoid that.

but you went anyway. because that's what you did. because at this point, it was either finish the damn report or spontaneously combust. and frankly, the copier room seemed marginally less dramatic.

you close the door to your office behind you, and the faint click of the latch seems to echo far too loudly in the silence that follows. for a brief second, you assume it's just your own exhaustion playing tricks on your senses but then you pause. really listen. and realize it's not just in your head.

it's quiet. completely quiet. too quiet.

you turn slowly, eyes adjusting to the strange hush that's settled over the floor. the hallway that had been buzzing with movement and muffled conversations just an hour ago is now draped in darkness, save for the pale green glow of the exit signs and the flicker of one last computer screen still left on standby. the office is empty.

your sigh is quiet but deep, curling out of your chest like it's carrying the weight of everything you've been holding in all day. it settles heavily in your shoulders as you shift your bag higher, your footsteps already moving with automatic purpose down the hallway. each step clicks softly against the tiled floor.

you don't want to be here. not a second longer than necessary. your thoughts are already far ahead of your body, drifting to soft sheets and darkness and silence of a gentler kind. a pillow. a blanket. maybe a deep, heavy sleep where you don't dream about job interviews or smug, unreadable faces.

you reach the copy room and push the door open with your shoulder, the movement practiced and tired. your hand finds the light switch almost without

you drop your folder onto the counter and fish the usb from your pocket. you plug it in, tap a few buttons, and listen as the copier comes to life, its blinking light casting dull shadows against the walls.

and then it works thank god.

no error codes. no jammed paper. no panicked flashing of lights or grinding of gears that forces you to start over from scratch. just the smooth, steady rhythm of a machine doing exactly what you asked it to do. which, at this point in your day, feels like an unexpected mercy.

the pages begin to slide out, warm and precise, forming a neat stack on the tray. you stand there watching them with your arms crossed and your thoughts already halfway out the door, counting down the seconds until you can leave this place behind for the night.

and then you hear it, the quiet creak of the door behind you opening. 

your body tenses before your mind can even catch up. you don't turn right away, just freeze there, hand already reaching instinctively for the closest object within reach, not because you really believe something's wrong, but because it's late. you're alone. or at least you thought that you were alone till now. and you're tired in that bone-deep way that makes even small things feel like threats.

your fingers close around the cold metal handle of a hole punch.

you turn. and there you see him standing at the doorframe.

yoongi.

you stare at him for a beat too long, chest still tight, hand still curled protectively around the tool like you're ready to defend your territory with office supplies. he, on the other hand, is leaning against the doorframe like he's just wandered in on a whim. as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

his eyes meet yours, dark, steady, a little too calm and you immediately wish it were anyone else. anyone but him.

leaning in the doorway casual like it costs him nothing, he glances down at what you're holding, then back up, and his lips twitch into the faintest smirk. there's amusement there, but underneath it something sharper. something knowing.

his gaze flicks to the hole punch in your hand.

"so this is the weapon of choice," he says, voice dry. "how poetic."

you freeze. not because of the words, but the tone. the knowing. and then it clicks the conversation with hobi. your words. your rage.

sometimes i think about how satisfying it would be to just... wipe that look off his face.

you don't even try to lie. you just stare at him. he heard your conversation.

"so you heard?" 

yoongi tilts his head, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "you gonna do it? or just keep dreaming about it?"

your eyes narrow. "don't tempt me."

"why not?" he takes a slow step into the room. "you've clearly been thinking about it."

"you're unbelievable," you mutter, setting the papers down too hard. "you listened in on a private conversation and now you're what? gloating?"

"i'm confronting you," he says simply. "you had a lot to say behind my back."

"you had a lot to say by not saying anything at all."

his brows twitch, the only sign he's even slightly thrown. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"you got the job, yoongi. fine. whatever. congrats." the word tastes like ash. "will you leave me now?"

"you'd still be pissed. you'd still think i stole something from you." he snaps, tone sharpening.

"i don't think you stole it," you bite out. "i think you didn't give a damn about what it meant that i didn't get it."

his jaw tightens.

you press on, because now it's all rushing out, too fast to stop. "you knew how badly i wanted it. and it didn't even register for you. you were too busy celebrating."

"because i won," he says, and something about the way he says it, blunt, unapologetic, hits you straight in the chest. "i wanted it too. i worked for it. fought for it. why should i apologize for that?"

"you don't get it," you say, shaking your head, voice low with something dangerously close to heartbreak. "you never do."

yoongi steps in, closer now, close enough that you can feel the tension in his shoulders like a current. "no," he says. "i do get it," he shoots back. "you wanted it. i wanted it. i got it. end of story." 

"and yet you didn't care," you say cold. "you didn't even pretend to care." regretting your words as soon as they came out of your mouth.

"why would i?" he says, blunt now, unapologetic. "i've worked my ass off for that job, same as you. i didn't owe you anything."

you laugh, a sharp, joyless sound. "you owed me respect. basic human decency, at the very least."

"you wanted a warning? a pity text?" he spits. yoongi scoffs, steps closer, arms crossed. "right, because it was my responsibility to manage your disappointment."

you open your mouth. close it ready to say something, anything. but nothing comes out of your mouth.

"i hate you so much," you say, low and venomous.

he stares at you, jaw tense, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes."yeah?" he says quietly. "well, the feeling's mutual."

you nod once, slowly, like you're memorizing the words so you don't forget later. "great," you mutter. "then we're finally on the same page."

you don't know who moves first. maybe you both do. maybe neither of you.

but then his hand is in your hair and yours is fisting his stupid perfect button-down and his mouth is on yours and everything, all the rage, all the exhaustion, all the want that's been simmering beneath the resentment, breaks wide open.

his mouth is on yours, and it's not gentle. your back hits the copier, half of your papers slide to the floor, but neither of you cares. his hand tangles in your hair, yours fists in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, harder. hard and needing. with his long and silky fingers, he grabs the back of your head, claws your hair and presses you against him. when you feel his hand pulling your hair, you moan loudly into his mouth, which he took as an initiative to push his tongue into your mouth.

your tongue slides against his, your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he pulls you tighter like you might disappear if he lets go.

oh god. as if it wasn't enough that he was good-looking, he was also a damn good kisser. not that you would ever admit it out loud.

with his hand still holding your hair, he pulls your head further down to give him a better angle. he groans in your mouth, when you press yourself even further against him. feeling the outline ouf his dick on your thigh. and what you felt clearly wasn't small. fuck. 

he kisses you like a man starving for days, as if you were the only one who could quench this hunger. he is only barely detaching himself from your lips. red and swollen. you can feel his eyes on your lips, his breath on your lips, which are still touched by his own. his lips caress yours.

"tell me to stop," he whispers against your lips. voice low and raw from all the kissing. you have to swallow the lump in your throat. it's hard to tear your eyes away from his inviting gaze and when you look up, his eyes are already on yours. "tell me that you don't want this."

his eyes scan yours. dark, focused, unreadable. like he's trying to figure out if this kiss was mistake or not. if he would wake up the next day and think 'fuck what did i do?'. or if he wants to stop himself, but doesn't know how to. they look so intensely into yours, eyebrows drawn together as if he wants to challenge you. as if this is an invitation for a challenge, if you would say or withdraw. before you even get a second to admire the view he's on you again, teeth grazing your bottom lip, hips pinning you against the copier.

you still look at him, hearing the hammering of you heart in you ears. breathing uneven.

his hands detach from your hair and slide down your waist, down to your butt until he squeezes hard. while his lips reluctantly detach from yours, this time working down along your neck with kisses and bites, he kneading your butt. his other hand snakes up your back, under your blouse, fingers splaying across your spine like he wants to memorise it.

and then you can feel him push your blouse up over your stomach, fingers brushing your skin, warm and firm. leaving a trail of goosebumps all over your body. burning you. you raise your arms, let him pull it off, and suddenly you are just standing in your bra. only in your bra in front of yoongi. his gaze drags down slowly, like he's savouring the image of you, knowing that he would never see you like this again.

he leans in close, too close, his breath brushing hot against the side of your neck as he speaks, low and deliberate, every word a demand. "say it again."

you scoff, tilting your head in defiance. "say what?"

a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. "that you hate me even though you can't stop kissing me."

you glare at him, jaw tight. "i do. i hate you so much."

his gaze flickers, just briefly. then he lifts you, fast and seamless, like you weigh nothing, like he's done this before in a thousand different versions of this moment. he drops you onto the printer with a dull, echoing thud, and the machine gives a pathetic little whir of protest. his hands stay planted at your hips, firm, waiting. lips on yours again. he kisses you hard. no hesitation, no softness. it's not sweet, it's messy and fierce and hungry. like he's trying to erase every cruel word with his mouth. like he's trying to claim something he's spent too long pretending he didn't want.

you fist his shirt, this time harder. curling your fingers tight into the fabric like you're holding on for dear life. like if you loosen your grip even for a second, he'll slip away. you pull him closer, impossibly close, until there's barely room to breathe between you. as if your body knows something your brain is too proud to admit that part of you is scared. scared he'll let go. scared this moment isn't real. scared that if he steps back, you'll find out it was never anything more than a well-executed game to him. you hate him with your whole chest. hate the way he always knows exactly how to get under your skin. hate the way he looks at you like he sees something you're not ready to give. hate that he got the job. hate that you didn't. hate that he didn't even pretend to feel bad about it. hate how calm he is now, like you didn't just scream at each other. hate that your body won't stop leaning into him anyway.

you hate him. you really do.

and still, you can't stop kissing him. you can't stop pulling him closer like you want to burn every inch of this moment into your skin just in case it ends the way everything else with him always seems to. like nothing ever happened. like you were the only one who felt it. like he never cared.

he is grinding his dick over you clothed cunt, the friction making your groan. "please."

"beg," he starts to lick and torment the delicate skin of his neck while he guides your movements with his hands. you can feel him shift his hips against yours, making you whimper to that feeling.

"yoongi please," you beg. you were literally at this point where you didn't care at all how pathetic you looked. your senses were drowning in him, every kiss, every touch feeding a fire you couldn't put out. you were shaking with it, ruined by the weight of your own want, and still you begged. begged him to release you, to end it, to do something, anything, to free you from the hunger he'd carved into your skin like a promise

and before you know what is happening you can see his hands working down your sides to your thighs. "please what?" his hand holding your hips and he takes the time to trace over your curves. you can feel him pulling up your skirt, while his eyes are fixed on you. and when your skirt is pulled up to your hips, his hands are everywhere.

"yoongi please touch me," you say pitiful. 

after several long moments of eager anticipation, you feel hin exactly where you want. but only over your panties. "where baby?" your head tips back as you sigh, to his fingers rubbing you over your panties.

"here baby?"

before you can even find the words, before the insult forms sharp enough to throw at his head, yoongis slides your panties to the side. his fingers teasing your entrance before easily slipping two fingers inside. your hips buckle against his hand as he works you with skilled, deliberate movements and you moan out loud. so loud that probably ha-jun the craftsman in the first floor heard you. whimpering to every touch, every stroke. his fingers thrusts inside you, curling to hit that perfect spot that made your vision blur even harder. "so fuckin wet for a man you hate so much," he says as he works his fingers slowly and deliberately inside you, brushing his knuckles against your clit with each pump.

"you hear that y/n. how wet you are for me?" you could hear the wet sounds. his fingers were literally slipping with ease into your cun because you were so wet. it was dirty, pornographic, and hot.

"stop dreaming," you manage, feeling his finger curled the right way inside you, hitting your g-spot. you can feel his hard, thick dick pressing against your thigh, begging for some kind of release. yoongi's other hand slids up your body, freeing your breast from your brac cupping it and rolling your nipple between his fingers, adding another layer of sensation to the mix. your mouth drops when he twist your nipples between his fingers, throwing your head back, overhelmed with all the stimulation.

"what would the others think if they saw me knuckle-deep inside you? what a pathetic slut you are," he growls in your ear, making your moan out loud, pussy tightening around his fingers. "you like it when i call you a slut?" he chuckles. "you're my slut. my dirty little cumslut."

"yoongi, i'm so close," you pant, your hips moving in time with his thrusts, chasing the climax that was near. "please." 

"come baby. come for me," voice low.

you don't know whether if it's his words, his touch or the raw eye contact or maybe the combination of everything that makes you come. your orgasm hit you with a force that left you breathless, your body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash over you. you cry out his name like a prayer, your nails digging into his back as you ride out your climax. your body nearly giving up due to your mind blowing orgasm.

but yoongi doesn't stop, continuing to pump his fingers inside you, until you are a quivering mess beneath him. when he finally pulls his hand away, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied smirk, humming as soon as he tastes you on his tongue. "i knew that this pussy would taste so sweet." 

you shake as you come down from your high, his hands are hands stroking the outside of your thighs, up your hips, and back down again. and suddenly you see him drop on his knees in front of you. never breaking eye contact. and you could swore that you nearly came the second time when you saw him on his knee, looking at you through his eyelashes with his cat like eyes

finally sliding your panties down, he presses a few chaste kisses to your inner thigh his nose digging into your pussy. the feeling of his nose rubbing against your clit, makes you jerk your hips in response. you grip his hair beneath you as he continues to tease you. he doesn't give you what you want yet, not fully. 

his grippers tightens around your thighs, and then you feel his wet tongue tracing along your folds. you moan out loud to the feeling of his tongue, already seeing starts. your hands yank his hair even harder which makes yoongi groans against your pussy, sending a vibration through your body. 

"so good yoongi," you whimper, not able to say more. 

"baby you're dripping." you can feel the vibration of his voice sending another wave of pleasure to your core. you were sure that at this point you made a mess on the printer. a big wet mess.

his nose presses against your clit as he pushes his face deeper into you. licking and tasting your pussy, as if it was his last meal on earth. your thighs come around his head, squezing it holding it in place. afraid he would stop, just to torture you.

he flicks his tongue faster, lips locking around your clit, sucking it slow and cruel. your back arches instantly, the sudden stimulation making you shake. you cry out, overwhelmed, pushing yourself more against him, hips grinding against his mouth, trying to chase more of that feeling.

his grip tightened. "yes baby. go on ride my face." his tongue dives in your leaking folds, hitting all the right places. 

your fingers curl more into his hair as you move your hips against his face. with the other hand, you hold on tightly to the copier, pushing some buttons, but far too intoxicated by yoongi's tongue to think about it any further. 

"yoongi i'm going to come. please don't stop," your head tilts back, your eyes twist with stimutalion. yoongi takes this as a sign to suck your clit even faster, his hands squeeze your thighs tighter, as if he wants you to keep smother him with them. your hand sinks further into his hair, you tug and pull at his hair, making him moan against your pussy. 

as you look down at him, his gaze hits you like a blow. dark. concentrated. so intense that it takes your breath away.

and that is what sends your right over the edge. his eyes on yours, his mouth on your pussy. you come all over his face, your thighs shaking from the force of your orgasm."holy shit." you really saw stars. your mouth open, you moan loud and shameless. you groan again and again as yoongi still thrusting his tongue into your leaking folds. "yes. yes. yes yoongi." the sounds coming out of you were louder than expected. and at that moment, you were thankful that no one was in the office. 

yoongi detaches himself from your legs, looks up at you with his brown eyes with heavy, lidded eyes as he cleans his mouth corners. you feel your soul leave your body when his eyes flutter closed and a deep moan rumbles from his throat, the sound muffled by the smirk forming on his lips.

"could do this forever," he mutters, voice wrecked. 

you're still catching your breath, body trembling slightly, the aftershocks of your orgasmpulsing through you like tiny reminders of what just happened. but somehow, it isn't enough. not even close. the hunger twisting in your stomach hasn't eased, it's sharpened. like now that you've had a taste, your body refuses to settle for anything less than more. more of him. more of this. every nerve feels raw and alive, skin hypersensitive, mind clouded with nothing but the need clawing under your skin. you can't think past it. you don't want to.

before you know it, he's on his feet again, pulling you closer to the edge of the copier. and then everything happens fast. with trembling hands you fumble with his belt, the click of the buckle echoing in the small room. until it finally becomes undone and the buttons popp open from his pants and boxer in one go. 

yoongi chuckles softly, "someone's eager" he holds your lower back before fisting his cock with his wet precum. the sounds following are pornographic. wet fisting sound. he aligns him to your entrance, "can't seem to think without my cock inside of you huh?"

you don't respond when you take his chock, pump him once or twice, and impale yourself with him in a swift motion. your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head as your cunt flutters around the shaft buried deep inside of you. as if the gods had elevated you, you feel his moist, hard, and huge cock penetrating you the right way. splitting you nearly in half.

you both moan at the same time at this feeling. your nails digging into his back, scratching it and his head falls back as he groans through his clenched teeth.

"so big," you whimper. inhale through your nose to counteract the pain , the pressure in your core, because of his big dick. but it feels impossible. no matter how slick you are, how you breath it feels like he is ripping you apart with every thrust.

"baby, you're so tight." his entire cock is deep within your walls with one push. his pelvis presses against yours, hitting your g-spot over and over again. "look at your pussy taking me so well," yoongi moans in your ear. if you thought listening to your favorite artist was the best sound, you were wrong. now you know you have another favorite sound: him. he rears back and thrusts into you ferociously before you can take a breath. slow, hard, possessive.

his one hand firmly holds your waist to keep you exactly where he wants you, and his other hand presses against the wall behind you to maintain some balance. when yoongi begins pumping harder and harder into you, making you’re nothing more than a whimpering mess beneath him.

"fucking me so good," you cry. already felling your next orgasm approaching. no man has ever made you climax as quickly or as intensely as he has. maybe that's what made you afraid that no other man would be able to do it. crying, and repeating his name like it was your salvation. like it's the only word you know.

yoongi kisses you, and you moan into his mouth the sound raw, pulled straight from your chest. gasping for air, you pull away. your lips are swollen and so are his. he rests his forehead against yours, as he pounds relentlessly in you.

he combines his strokes with a grind of his hips, sucking him inside and squeezing his cock, ensuring he'll never leave again. you bring your thighs around him, pushing him further into you if possible. "i should have fucked you sooner. do you have any idea how much i wanted to bend you over that desk and fuck the attitude out of you? every damn time," he grunts, "bet you would have loved that," he paise is animalistic. you can feel him in the deepest parts of your pussy.

"shit," he grunts as he grabs one of your thighs and puts it over his shoulder, giving him a better angle to fuck you. you could have sworn that in that moment, you felt him in your throat. "look how deep i'm inside of you. can you feel that?" he presses down on the moving bulge in your stomach. the way it slid out only to reappear back in you made your head dizzy. you're dizzy, barely able to keep your thoughts straight, the air around you thick and heavy like it's been stolen from your lungs. your body trembles from the overstimulation, every nerve alight, every inch of skin too sensitive, too raw. you don't know if it's the pleasure or the lack of oxygen that's making the edges of your vision blur, but you can feel yourself slipping, legs weak, mind hazy, barely holding on as the world tilts around you.

and this was your breaking point. you come on his cock, squeezing him dry. "yoongi fuck." your vision blurs, your head hits the wall and the only thing you can hear is your heart hammering in your chest. knees shaking, ans you knew if you weren't on that pinter your legs would gave out. 

he thrusts hard once, twice, sending his cock deep inside you, making you tighten your cunt around him, squeezing him dry. then you hear him grunting, and a strangled cry breaks from his lips before he comes deep inside you. you can feel him twitching inside, moaning your name in your ear would've definitely done it. his voice even lower than before, raspy and needy. "fuck baby."

the heat of it makes you come again for the fourth time this night. trying to keep your eyes open, you want to see him come undone. trying to memorise the way he looks when he comes, how he shuts his eyes, mound open whimpering. he looks so good. and you knew in the deepest parts of your brain, that you would never forget this. because this would be the first and last time you did this.

he looks at you, breath heavy and uneven, his chest rising and falling like he was still catching up to the moment. his skin glistened faintly in the dim light, a thin sheen of sweat trailing down his neck, disappearing beneath the covers.

dark hair clung messily to his forehead, damp and wild in a way that should've made him look disheveled but of course it didn't.

of course, he still looked good. too good.

and then there was his mouth. god, his mouth. lips pulled into that same familiar, infuriatingly smug smile. the one you'd seen a hundred times before. the one that made your stomach twist every single time. but now?

now it was worse. because now you knew what it felt like.

you hated that smile. hated how calm he looked, like this was exactly how he'd expected the night to end. like he knew he'd already won.

he tilted his head slightly, dark eyes flicking over you with that maddening glint of amusement. "so," he murmured, voice low and rough at the edges. "still hate me?"

from: min.yoongi@gmail.com

to: y/l/n.y/n@gmail.com

subject: strictly confidential

[file attached]

you forgot these in the copier room.

you opened the attachment without thinking. but the moment the images loaded on your screen, your breath caught in your throat. pure shock crashed over you, leaving you frozen for a heartbeat before your body reacted on instinct, hands flying up to cover your mouth, eyes darting wildly around the empty office like someone might’ve seen, might’ve known what had just hit you like a train. but you were alone.

still, your cheeks burned like you'd been caught red-handed.

because there it was. clear as daylight. unmistakable.

the copier had done its job a little too well, capturing you and yoongi in high resolution.

[minyoongiss]

MAIN NAVI

m.list | fic recs | twitter/x: minyoongiss

if you have any questions ask me.

[minyoongiss]

MASTERLIST

all works are written by me. meaning that all rights and credits relating them is owned by me. so please refrain from copying or spreading them in anyway.

— ONE SHOTS:

midnight love | jungkook x you | angst, heartbreak

summary: “i can’t be your midnight love.”

chapter: one | completed

in progress

coming soon

coming soon

— ONE SHOTS:

only mine | idol!taehyung x you | smut

summary: you shouldn’t have tried to make him jealous. or maybe you did the right thing.

chapter: one | completed

— SERIES

maybe | min yoongi x you | angst, heartbreak | drabble series (coming soon)

summary: still under edit

chapters: open

— ONE SHOT

still hate me? | coworker!min yoongi x you | enemies to lovers, smut

summary: you and yoongi had hated each other from the very first moment your eyes met. or at least... that's what you kept telling yourself.

chapter: one | completed

coming soon

[minyoongiss]

ONLY MINE | kim taehyung

you shouldn't have tried to make him jealous. or maybe you did the right thing.

pairing: idol!kim taehyung x you

wc: 1.3k

warnings: 18+, pure filth.

authors note: first post ever and it’s smut. didn’t proofread it

“will you ever try to make me jealous again?” taehyung whispered in your ears as he thrusted in you from behind. hard and fast. your hands were pressed against the cold window of the hotel. the coldness cooling down your hot body. your check was pressed against the cold surface of the window, you cold see a fogy layer creating on it because of your hectic breathing.

you couldn’t answer, all your thoughts, all possible sentences you could form, were gone the moment he entered your needing wet hole. and god did you love it.

your sounds echoed off the walls, you didn't even try to hide your voices anymore at this point. not caring if anyone could here you. not caring if they heard how good taehyung was fucking you.

he pressed your front firmly and insistently against the cold glass, but not too hard. it was just enough pressure, as if he knew you liked it. even after all these months. he always knew what you liked. how you liked it. his arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, grounding you and pulling you against him until you had barely enough room to think—let alone move. each time, he pushed in and out of you. every time, your body tilted forward completely because you could no longer hold yourself, he pulled you back against him. not caring about all the cries and whimpers coming out of your mouth. “i’m sorry,” you subbed. but were you really sorry?

the way he pressed his hand on your lower abdomen whenever he rammed his cock into your cervix with full force made you feel it more intensely. "can you feel it? how deep i’m inside you?" as if trying to prove something, he went deeper than you thought was ever possible. his thrust brutal and deep, his cock dragging against your walls like he was trying to stamp himself in your body. as if he wanted to make sure that you would even feel him days after this. no, so that you could never forget him.

"do you really think that jimin could ever fuck you the way i do? do you think he could even make you come?" his hand, which had been pressed against your abdomen, found its way to your clit. two fingers rubbing it in a sloppy way.

you moaned as you buried your head into the pit of his shoulder. “tae-taehyung don't stop,” you screamed, holding on to the window with your arms, to his biceps, which had grown twice as much since he returned from the military, to whatever you could hold yourself onto. you could still remember exactly when he'd sent you a topless picture without any context. a shirtless picture of him after training in the military. and the only thing you could see was how big he got. big and bulky. he looked so sexy, so manly that the first thing you did when you went home was, make yourself come with your fingers to the sight of this picture. making a fucking mess.

"i asked you a question baby. answer me," he gasped breathlessly against your ear, his voice low and raspy. he kissed down your neck slowly, leaving light bites, desperate to mark you. to mark you as his. “tae not.” were the only words you could get out, way to fucked up. you agreed when you started this ‘relationship’ that you would leave no marks. no hickeys, no nail marks on his back. nothing. because how was a world-famous idol going to explain to his make-up artist where all the marks on his neck came from?

"should i send him a video of me fucking your tight pussy. what do you say?” you knew exactly who he meant. “maybe then he will stop flirting with you.”

he chuckled.

“or better i'll call him over and show him what a cockslut you are for me,” he swivelled against your ear, licking where he'd marked you. you convulsed around him. a needy moan escaped your lips. at this point he was just desperate. desperate to get a response from you. you knew why he was doing this, you knew what he wanted, why he pushed you, and yet, you flirted with jimin. looking deep in his eyes, smiling devilishly. and that was all it took for him to explode. and maybe he knew why you did it too.

“you like that? the thought of jimin seeing how i’m fucking you? fucking your needy pussy for months,” he moaned as he abused your cunt. taehyung slows his pace, but only so he can penetrate you harder. each slap that connects with your skin elicited a pornographic moan from your throat. you felt his balls slapping harsh fully against your ass, and how his bodies presses you against the cool surface. his fingers still rubbing and pinching your clitoris, making you cry out. fuck, you would never get tired of this.

“tae please.” you didn't know what you were begging for. were you begging for him? or for the thought of him filming you? how he was fucking you hard and mercilessly. how he fucked you, a mere employee of HYBE. maybe that was the reason why the whole thing had started between you in the first place. why you were on your knees with taehyung's cock in your mouth in the first week. blowing him like it was about winning the gold madeille. or maybe the fact that the whole thing was secretly giving you the kink. the thought that something could come out at any moment. someone seeing you. that this was your dirty little secret.

“no matter how hard you try to make me jealous,” each of his thrusts deepened with the roll of his hips. “you're mine. say you're all mine.” you moaned loudly. your breaths became shorter, your chest rose and fell quickly. his fingers let go of your clit and found your neck.

with each thrust he hit the sweet spot inside you, the pressure intensifying until you think you might break. your eyes watered, not from pain, but from the intensity of the lust that built up and threatens to swallow you whole. you could feel his muscles tensing, his body on the verge of its own release.

you nod, “yes-yes i'm yours,” your voice turned into a high-pitched whimper and then you come. you come undo on his throbbing cock. still as he kisses your g-spot with his tip and for a moment you thought you could see stars, mound dropped no sound coming out. only hearing the pounding of your racing heart in your ears. no, you really were seeing the stars. taehyung really outdid himself. “fuck. fuck. fuck.” taehyung fucked you through it, his thrusts turning erratic as he chases his own release. his fingers clasped your neck harder, the pain of your high coursing through you, riding out your high.

he pulled your head to his neck and greedily presses his lips to yours in a messy, teeth clashing kiss. the angle was uncomfortable, especially since your head was stretched in painful way. but you didn’t care. it felt good. way too good. you gases pain-filled into his mouth, taehyung seizing the opportunity to push his tongue slopply into your mouth.

“gonna fill you up. gonna mark this pussy,” he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “gonna pump you so fucking full of me, that it‘ll be dripping out of your cunt for days.” his voice sending another shiver through you, making your oversensitive clench around his cock. and then he's burying himself deep with an animalistic moan, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, colouring your inner walls white. not stopping until you felt the mixture of his and your come dripping down your thighs.

soft moans and the sharp hiss of breath were the only sounds in the room. no other sound could be heard for a couple of seconds. expect you trying to get your breathing under control.

taehyung pulled himself slowly out of you. you whimpered at the loss of the feeling of fullness. of his cock. then he bend his head down to your ear. “you’re mine. only mine,” he said as pushed the mess leaking out of your cunt back in it.

maybe you should make him jealous more often.