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sopejinsunflower · 2 years

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a/n: I keep writing from dreams! This was a dream that was so vivid it woke me up crying. Although I didn’t dream of Yoongi specifically, I changed the main actor of my dream to him as I think he fits the bill the most. Hope you like this short one :)

Title definition: insurrection of peasants against the nobility in northeastern France in 1358—so named from the nobles' habit of referring contemptuously to any peasant as Jacques, or Jacques Bonhomme.

Warning: 18+, minors DNI

Summary: The world is in ruins. The new government, The Order, is corrupted and it’s a constant battle for people to even have access to basic needs. But a vigilante is fighting for the people, leading The Jackals against the government. You were forced to join The Patrol, working under The Order to curb the rebellion. What happens when you run into an old familiar face on an impromptu assignment? What happens when you learn that the dead can come back and the truth has been under your nose all this time?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x you

Tags: Childhood lovers AU! Reunited lovers, dystopian world, vigilantes and revolutions, corrupted government, violence mentioned, coarse language, penetrative sex, unprotected sex.

Word count: 13.4k

Another bomb goes off in the distance, the ground rumbling with the aftershock, sending you slightly unsteady on your feet.

All this for one man.

You let out a sigh as your in-ear crackle and the Commander’s voice echoes through, gruff and urgent, like always. “All units move to Precinct 1, now! I want every warm body there right now. We’re going to box this motherfucker and bring him in.”

Again, you sigh, dread filling your chest and weighing your feet down. To be honest, you don’t want to join the fight. You rather hang back, patrolling the usually empty alleyways for renegades that are never dwindling now even after the heavy push back from The Order lately, thanks to him. Most vigilantes work in the cloak of night but this one, this one doesn’t seem to care for cover much. He does as he pleases, appearing and disappearing like some kind of wizard from one place to the next, wreaking havoc.

He came out of nowhere, rising out of the shadows the moment The Order established themselves as the new government twenty-five years ago; a backdoor government that no one voted for, mind you, sneaking in the same way pesky cockroaches infest a house. It was a betrayal to the people’s rights, taken away from them in plain daylight and enforced so blatantly it was just rubbing salt on wounds. People were angry, they rioted until it was all snuffed out with police force and smoke bombs and threats of emprisonment. It wasn’t pretty.

Many ended behind bars. Many lives were lost but were unaccounted for. Anyone who raises their voice against The Order ends up missing. Families are torn apart. And when they still couldn’t completely silence the people, the lockdown came, heavy and callous. Food and water were rationed, resources were cut, companies burnt down, jobs were lost, curfews were imposed. No one is allowed to be out after 6PM. It was punishment, they say, until the people learn to behave.

But humans are resilient beings, learning to adapt to survive. Within the hushed whispers of the residents, there were talks of a revolt, a group of people called The Jackals who are slowly planning, scheming for The Order’s downfall and he is leading them. They were quiet and careful, sneaking out past curfew hours for secret meetups. To curb this, the Peace Patrol was formed, tasked to help tame and whittle them out, with the guarantee of extra water and food and even access to special items like liquor and soap and even hot water directed to your household if you give up any information and more if you join the ranks. It was the promise of comfort-living, of ease.

As an orphan, you lived with an uncle who is a heavy supporter of The Order. He ranted about putting a bullet through The Jackals as if he personally knew who they were. He made random, wild assumptions about the neighbours being one of them based on anything that he didn’t agree on, like looking at him funny or not taking out the trash on time or even for watering their own plants with a watering can instead of the garden hose like ‘normal people do’. He didn’t even have plants to take care of so how would he know what was normal?

So when you were old enough, he insisted you serve his beloved government, joining the ranks of the Peace Patrol. “I have a bad knee so you will have to. Get me some of those beer kegs they promised,” he had said. “Or you can go ahead and live in the streets. Time to repay all the money I spent raising you.”

So here you are, jogging only lightly heading towards Precinct 1 with your lead feet, your face growing pale and a stomach that is threatening to upend all your measly breakfast. Here’s another honest truth: you are fucking scared. Everytime there are sightings of him, it’s a warzone. It’s like no one cares what happens to the area that gets under heavy fire, the people caught in the crossfire. And he doesn’t seem to care, either. They call him Robin Hood but no one knows his real name. Hell, no one knows who he is, they’ve never even seen his face.

To the people, he’s a hero. To the government, he’s a menace that needs to be eliminated. To you, honestly, he’s just a troublemaker, an annoyance. You don’t agree with The Order but he wasn’t making things any better. His small good deeds of stealing from the government to give to the people is only causing problems to the same people he’s helping. It’s a loss, loss. What is the point even?

You finally join your platoon, crowding a desolate grey building riddled with bullet holes all across the bottom wall. Someone squeezes your hand and you look around to find Daiki smiling down at you. He pulls you in for a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“You there,” the Commander calls out from the front, pointing your way. You jump slightly, gulping hard as you look at him. The information was that he’s holding up in the yard at the side of the building and they are sending in ten people to scout the place. “You’re the tenth. You’re going down to the yard, give a look around. If you find him, immobilise him. If he’s not there, join the others on the first floor.”

You don’t respond. There’s a ringing in your ear and you stand there, rooted to the spot, unmoving. Daiki nudges you and you blink rapidly, trying to get your bearings. The other nine are already making their way forward. You move, joining the Commander at the front.

“We got him blocked in,” The Commander says smugly. “All you need to do is find him. Now go!”

Why not send the whole team, you wanted to ask but your voice is lodged in your throat. The plan doesn’t seem foolproof, something is off. As you approach the building, unshouldering your AR-15 and holding it in both hands, one of the others huffs, “They don’t know if he’s alone or not. That’s why they’re sending us in first, the bastards.”

Right. Baits. Lure him and his people out. They can afford to lose ten patrol officers, no big deal. There’s always more waiting in line to enjoy the limited privileges. Did Daiki know this before he had pushed you forward?

Your palms are sweating inside your gloves and the lightweight rifle feels too heavy to hold up properly. An older officer looks at you almost sympathetically. “The yard’s not that big. You can cover it in a couple of minutes, a quick sweep. If nothing then join us upstairs.”

“And if he’s there?”

He seems to think about it. Most of the other officers will just say shoot him dead or alert the others or anything along those lines. But all he says is, “Pray he goes easy on you, kid.”

They disperse, going up the stairs to take on different levels of the buildings in pairs. The officer’s words rang in my ears, his words echoing in my brains. Robin Hood is a ruthless killer, they say. He once wiped out ten patrol officers to break through one of The Order’s resource warehouses to steal supplies. All on his own. Anyone with the Patrol uniform on, anyone who wields The Order’s emblems and idealistics is his target.

There’s a small flight of stairs to head down to the yard on the west side of the building and you’ve never gone down a longer set of stairs in your life. From the top of the stairs, you can literally see the whole yard below and contemplated calling it all clear without having to look. But the yard follows a bend that rounds to the back of the building. Your heart is hammering in your chest like a wild bird wanting to be free and each step further down feels like an eternity. You’re at the bottom of the steps now, praying that you will find nothing when suddenly there is chaos up above upstairs.

Gunshots and yelling. You freeze, craning your neck to look upward. Did they find him upstairs? A window glass shatters and you dove to the bottom of the stairs, covering your head, crouching down low as glass pieces rain down over you. Fear grips you like a vice and you remain there with your hands over your ears, dry-heaving. Your blood has run cold. Somewhere along the Patrol line upstairs, you can hear heavy machinery moving. Tanks. They got tanks.

You press yourself against the wall as the commotion upstairs escalates. The smell of gun smoke is heavy in the air and you think you can even detect the hint of copper as bullets bury or zip through flesh. That’s what you imagine is happening upstairs. You can’t tell apart the shoutings of your comrades and those of the enemies. Is he among them?

Something in your periphery moves and you turn to look. There in the corner of the building, you can see a pair of boots peeking out. They’re scruffed and look nothing like the Patrol’s issued pair. Your stomach twists and your heart is in your throat, ready to jump out if you even open your mouth.

Please just walk the other way, please just walk the other way.

But the person steps forward into your line of vision and walks cooly over to the middle of the yard, looking up as if he can see towards the Patrol line. Then slowly, almost deliberately, he turns his head to look directly at you and your breath hitches.

It’s him.

This is your first time seeing the infamous Robin Hood but something in your gut tells you that it’s him, no doubt. He stands there in black cargo pants and a tight black t-shirt that you can see the silhouette of his toned chest. A dark maroon jacket completes the look. As your eyes travel upwards, you first notice the long hair tied up in a half-knot before you see his eyes; dark and angry like that of a dragon, glaring at you from above the black cloth hiding the bottom half of his face.

Realisation dawns on you like a cold bucket of water; you know him. Even with the mask, you know him. And judging from the way he softens his eyes, tilting his chin to the side, he remembers you, too. Emotions flood into your chest as if someone had broken a long-standing dam inside you, filling you with confusion and sadness and nostalgia all at once. You want to rise to your feet but you can’t, your body not listening to any feeble commands. You want to call out to him but it feels like your lips are sewn together.

A loud crashing noise jerks both of your attention upwards and you see the tank crashing through the iron fence that circles the building. It moves slowly, an impending doom that is about to put this whole place on fire. You turn back to him, panic bubbling. He’s staring at you again, his eyes conveying nothing, not even the urgency to flee the area. They are just calm, taking you in.

“What are you doing?!”

The Commander’s voice bursts through your in-ear, loud and angry. “What are you doing?! Get him! Shoot him!”

That’s when you notice your Commanding Officer standing at the top of the hill, safely out of the way of the tanks, pointing at him. But it’s too late. You watch the man called Robin Hood run to the edge of the yard and scale the fence. At the top, he takes one last look back at you and his name comes back to mind. Before you can call out to him, he disappears on the other side.

BOOM!

The tank takes a shot at the fence, tearing a hole through it, the shell landing somewhere on the residential area below; whether it’s the noise or the artillery shaking the ground, you’re not sure. Your ears ring so loud you feel disoriented, stumbling to stand up but tripping on your feet. You lean against the wall, breathing hard while the world around you sway under your feet before you finally crash to the floor, your vision going dark.

***

You wake up to Daiki leaning over you, his forehead creasing with worry. He has a tight grip on your right hand in both of his.

“Hi, there,” he greets softly, helping you to sit up. “Slowly, slowly. There we go.”

The infirmary is the last place you want to be in. The place is dark and dingy for a hospital and smells of death and vomit and strong disinfectant. You would think that a dystopian world would be much better but when the government is battling a single man with a group of unarmed people, scrambling to remain in power, money is being poured into weapons and armoury. Whatever’s left can’t even help maintain the society they want so desperately controlled. It’s a joke. Maybe he wasn’t wrong after all.

“How you’re feeling?”

You rub at your temples. “Like my head is full of cement.”

Daiki chuckles. “That’s not too bad, I guess.”

“How long have I been out?”

“Just a few hours,” he replies. “The team’s worried about you. They think he did something to you. Some kind of poison or something.”

You stare at him, not comprehending.

“The Commander said he was just standing there while you sat, frozen, unmoving,” he explains, shaking his head. “And then you just passed out. They did some blood tests but found nothing. Must be advanced work. The Jackals are growing more dangerous.”

“You’re saying that a group of people who meet at night in sewers or abandoned places,” you say carefully, gauging his reaction, “are making advanced bioweapons to attack us?”

He shrugs but doesn’t answer.

“Are you hearing yourself?” you push, incredulous. “That doesn’t make any sense at all. How would they ev-”

“Who the hell knows how they’re doing what they’re doing, babe,” he retorts heatedly. “Hell, I don’t even understand what they’re trying to do. They’re a nuisance to society.”

“They’re not the ones with tanks bombing every little place,” you mutter almost cautiously, looking down as you fiddle with the edge of the worn blanket.

Daiki is looking at you funny, like he can’t quite understand you. Maybe he doesn’t. He shrugs again, patting your arm. “Look, you probably still have whatever it was he gave you in your system. You’ll feel more like yourself once that’s flushed out.” He stands up.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the frontline,” he says, putting on his gloves. “They found a new hideout.” The way he’s grinning at you makes you sick but you bite your tongue and don’t say anything. He leans down and places a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Rest well.”

The door closes behind him and you subconsciously wipe at your cheek, the same spot he kissed you. You’re not sure why and only realise it when it’s done. A few minutes later, you decide to leave, not to join Daiki at the front line but somewhere away from it to unwind. You have one place in mind, the only place unmarred by all the fighting and the chaos and the chase of a man no one knows who. Maybe except for you now that you’ve seen him.

– – –

The park is situated at the edge of the city, a place no one really goes to anymore lest you want to be accused of being a Jackal exploring new hideouts.

But you’re here in your Patrol uniform of black pants, black long sleeves shirt with the Patrol emblem on the chest as well as a red band around the upper arm. Black fingerless gloves for gripping the weapons issued to each officer and a pair of heavy combat boots that you find hard to run in, ironically. You left your bulletproof vest and rifle back at the barracks. You didn’t think you’d need them here nor do you like having them with you.

The park is a stark contrast to its surroundings, its lush green grass like a beacon on a map. The trees swayed gently in the wind, making this soft, comforting sound that can lull you to sleep if you let yourself. The park isn’t big, with a huge water fountain in the middle. It’s not working anymore, the pool is so dry there’s cracks and dust. Back in its glory days, people used to come here to watch the water light up in different colours as music fills the air. You only remember seeing it as a child. Now, it’s like people have even forgotten the place exists, but nature seems to thrive in the absence of humans.

You choose a tree and sit down under the shade, your back against the bark, your legs stretched out in front of you, crossed at the ankles. The wind blows through your hair and you take a deep breath and close your eyes. When was the last time you felt at peace like this? You can’t remember, probably since you joined the Patrol two years ago. It was also the last time you saw your uncle, opting to live in the barracks instead. But even away from him, it wasn’t easy to quit the force. Those who did, no matter on what grounds or for what reason, were all hunted later down the line, marked as traitors or enemies’ spies, anything to have them killed unquestioned. It’s like they couldn’t handle people leaving.

You let out a heavy sigh. You just want some peace and quiet, to relax without having to think about this fucked up world you’re living in. Just as you’re in between falling asleep but awake enough to notice sounds around you, you hear the quiet rustling of footsteps. Your eyes shoot open, looking around the park to locate the source of the noise. The silence almost sounds dubious, narrowing your eyes as you peer at certain bushes and dark spots that may hide something within it.

“You’re away from home.”

Your skin could have literally jumped off your back as you scramble to your feet. The voice had come from behind you and as you turned around, there he was, leaning against the tree with his arms crossed, his face half hidden this time behind a red handkerchief covering from his nose down.

“You,” you breathe out. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

He looks around the place as if looking for something. “As far as I remember, I don’t need a reason to be at a public park. The question is, what are you doing here? Your platoon is busy firing at an empty building right now. Shouldn’t you be with them?”

You gawk at him, unsure of what to even say. A wanted man is telling you he has every right to be here but asking you why you’re not helping the same people who put a bounty on his head? “I came from the infirmary,” you offer lamely. “I’m not on duty.”

He nods as if it all makes sense. “So why are you here?”

You don’t answer, literally lost for words. He’s so blase about everything. Is he for real? You end up shrugging your shoulders. “It’s a public park, you said.”

Again, he nods. “I guess murderers need to unwind, too, huh.”

Anger flashes red hot for you. “Murderers?! I’ve never killed anyone in my life! You’re the one that’s going around killing people and stealing stuff that’s not yours. Stuff that could’ve helped others who need them!”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not the one with tanks bombing houses full of people. I’m not the one with the automatic rifles opening fire in public. And I’m not the one stocking up on bare essentials that should have been offered to the public freely without restrictions.”

“If it’s offered freely then there won’t be enough for all,” you snap back, your hands balled into fists. “It’s rationed so everyone can have a portion.”

He lets out a soft laugh, the kind where adults do when little kids say something they don’t know about. Not once did he move from his spot against the tree, eyeing you curiously instead of warily, probably because you stupidly don’t have your weapon with you. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

When you don’t answer, he pushes off from the tree and walks slowly towards you, step by step. You move in the opposite way, reversing with every step he takes. He speaks again. “What if I tell you that those resources don't need to be rationed? What if I told you that even without the government allocation, people can get more than just a portion? What if I told you that the rationing helps no one except the higher ups, that they’re living lavishly enough they don’t have to worry about those who are affected by the rations? What if I told you that The Order has more blood on their hands than on ours? That they are the reason people are dying? That people, families are going missing?”

He moves closer and closer.

“All those warehouses they have all over the city, have you seen them?”

You nod. “Of course I have.”

“But have you seen the inside?”

You remain quiet.

“They’re chock full of food and barrels of water and medication and everything the city would need to not just survive, but to live. Each and every one of them. Not to mention the underground ones. Do you know about those?” You’re backed against the fountain now, the edge of the pool digging into the back of your thighs yet he’s still advancing. “Either you’re all being fooled or you choose to remain ignorant.”

He takes one final step and now he’s toe to toe with you, looming over you tall and menacing, no, confident. He emits this aura that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing, whether in his vigilante shit or here with you. He bends down and whispers into your ears. “You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? You’re not like them. So why do you choose to remain in the dark? Is being a sheep easier?”

You can feel yourself shaking, can feel your lips trembling, lowering your gaze to look at the ground, at how the tip of his boots are flushed against yours. Your heart is pounding so loud you’re sure he can hear it beating against your chest in this close proximity. The only thing is, you’re not sure if you’re trembling in fear or anticipation of what he might do to you. On the one hand, he’s known to be the most dangerous man, his fighting skills unrivalled by any on the force. On the other, there’s something in his words that made you listen.

A slender finger reaches out and tips your chin up so you have no choice but to look him in the eye. “You believe me, don’t you?” he whispers. “I know you do. I can see it in your eyes.”

You try to pull away but he holds your chin in place. Something in his eyes tells you that he’s thinking, calculating something in his mind. His forehead has a slight crease and you wish you know what he’s thinking. “Who are you?” you ask in a hush tone, the only thing that comes out of your mouth.

“You know who I am,” he answers in the same low voice.

Something about the moment, probably the fact that you’re this close and there’s not an ounce of animosity from him, made you reach out, gingerly, with a shaky hand. You hold the end of the handkerchief around his face between two fingers and he doesn’t move, doesn’t put up a fight. Slowly and almost like you are scared to face the truth, you pull the cloth down, revealing his face. He’s right; you do know him. You just had to be sure.

“Min Yoongi,” you say breathlessly. “It’s really you.”

He nods once and his grip on your chin relaxes as he cups your cheek. “It’s really me.”

“But…how?” your throat feels tight and your vision is blurring with tears. “I saw you…in the fire. I saw you- how? After all these years and you never- I don’t understand.” You pull away from him, wrenching your face from his hold. The tears flow freely. “I thought you were dead,” you gasp. “I believed you were dead.”

“I know,” he says. “To be honest, I was. For a while.”

A radio buzz and a voice, garbled and hardly comprehensive, comes through. He reaches to the band of his pants and pulls it out. He remains looking at you as if you might suddenly run away or disappear in front of his eyes. “If you believe in anything that I say today, meet me back here tomorrow after dark. Make sure no one follows you. And wear normal clothes.”

You open your mouth to protest but he cuts you off. “I’ll explain everything then. I promise. I have to go now.”

He pulls back, regarding you with a serious look, like he’s reluctant to leave you. Then, taking you by surprise, he leans in and presses a long, hard kiss on the middle of your forehead, the kind of kiss that makes you squeeze your eyes shut because it invokes such strong emotions, both turmoil and relief. When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away the tears. And then he’s stepping back, jogging lightly before he finally turns around, talking to the radio in his hand. He disappears the moment he enters the tree line back towards the city.

– – –

The next day, it all seems quiet in the city. There was less activity and barely any gunshot sounds echoing into the sky. It almost seems peaceful. Was it coincidence or planned by the mastermind himself?

Sneaking out of the barracks is not that hard.

The hard part was to convince Daiki that you prefer to sleep alone tonight with the others in your own bunk bed rather than in his private quarter, a privilege given to those of higher ranks. But after much coaxing, one that involves a quick fuck against his metal desk as it rattles against the wall for his neighbour to hear, he finally relents. But instead of going back to your dorm room, you head out.

Now, the gate patrol is a whole different thing but everyone knows you’re the ‘Lieutenant’s girl’ so a quick lie was easy to make up. A solo stakeout to make up for the hours you lost today for being in the infirmary, you said and it was accepted pretty easily. No one wants to deal with the lieutenant should they accuse you of lying. Once you’re confident you’re out of sight, you take off the red band from your upper arm and stuff it into your back pocket. You readjust the rifle on your back and make a run for the park.

You arrive breathless with worn out legs just after 7PM, well after the sun had set. The park looks different at night than it does during the daytime, the trees looking more terrifying and every little noise startling you. None of the streetlights work and you think that it’s for the best. You’re not sure where to wait so you opt to remain under the same tree as yesterday, sitting down so as to not be seen.

“Good, you’re here.”

You jump to your feet, surprised. “You need to quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

But one look at his face, this time unmasked and the maroon jacket nowhere to be seen, you shake your head dismissively. “Never mind,” you mutter. It’s still new to you, to see him again after all these years. Everything feels familiar and foreign at the same time, like you know him but don’t. He looks the same, talks the same, walks the same, even fucking smells the same, yet he’s not the same man you thought you lost. You have so many questions.

“Not here,” he says as if reading your mind. “Come.”

You follow him heading the opposite side of the park. “Where are we going?”

“No talking,” he orders. “Stay quiet and stay close.”

In your confusion, you barely register that he has taken your hand and led you towards a place beyond the city limit that no one has ever ventured to, not since decades ago after the fall of the monarchy and right before The Order came about. You were not more than babies then, blissful in your ignorance of the world collapsing only to be left smack in the middle to fight the battles started by your ancestors. It’s twisted and unfair.

If the city itself is run down, this area is even more bare. Buildings that long crumbled stand like rotten teeth jutting from the earth, barred up windows of abandoned shops and houses, cars left behind like whoever had driven them had just stopped and jumped out. The one thing that flourished is the wilderness, the ground plush with long grass and snaking vines.

As you walk alongside Yoongi, you can see shadows flitting just beyond your periphery and birds cawing eerily up above but not once did his steps falter. He seems awfully familiar with the place. Again, you wanted to ask but you keep your mouth shut and walk on for more than an hour it seems, the city getting smaller and smaller behind you until it completely disappears from view.

Just as you’re about to break the silence, a familiar building looms ahead and your jaw drops. It’s the old government building, the Blue House. Most of its structures remain but creeping plants cover most of the front part and trees grow wildly, surrounding it in a sort of natural enclosure. As you get closer, you notice that one of the rooms upstairs is lit, not brightly but with what looks like a single candle. The front doors are still intact and as you cross the threshold and Yoongi closes the door behind you, you turn to see The Jackal’s flag erected on the side of the once lavish cascading stairs; the silhouetted head of the namesake animal on a white background.

You know exactly what this place is: the base camp that The Order had spent years searching for. You turn to look at him, wide-eyed. Why would he bring you here? Only then do you notice your hand in his and you pull away under the guise of removing your weapon to prop it against the bannister.

You follow him up the stairs to the left and down a long hallway until he stops at a room. He enters and you follow suit. A single candle is left lit on a desk in the middle of the room but the place is almost bare. There are books stacked on the floor and what looks like a few sleeping bags in a corner but that is it.

Yoongi takes you through a connecting door and this one has a single mattress in the middle of the room. No pillows, no blankets. On one wall, a large map of the country is stuck to it with multiple stickers and Xs and circles. Random articles are pinned up next to it, mostly in regards to The Order from years back, some on the Jackals and a single, small and worn newspaper clipping of an article pertaining to a fire at the big school in the middle of the city exactly nine years ago. The title reads, ‘SOPA up in flames, 139 dead’.

“It wasn’t an accident,” he says from right behind you. “But you knew that, didn't you?”

You don’t answer, the memories of that day coming back in blurry crashing waves. No one really knew how the fire started, only that students and staff had been bending over coughing and hacking by the time anybody knew what was even happening. The smoke had been thick and suffocating and crawling on the floor had not done much good. The first two floors were already engulfed. There was a smell of burnt meat in the air, acidic in your throat.

You remember the fear of dying a gruesome death, the panic of being trapped with no way out. But most of all, you remember the sickening twist of your stomach as you had this clear knowledge that Yoongi’s class had been on the second floor. Music, the subject he loved most. When the firefighters came, most of those who survived, a total of twenty-five including two teachers, waited in dread. When it was clear that no rescue mission could be done, that no more victims could be pulled out, you had fallen to your knees, not crying but just sitting there in complete silence.

It took the whole day for the fire to be put out and another day to recover pretty much everybody. It wasn’t hard; since it was a sudden fire, most of the school had been trapped where they were. You didn’t see the body, only the aftermath picture of the music room: only charred remains left, soot and ash. On the memorial day was only when you finally broke down, inconsolable, shattered into pieces no matter how many hands held you together that night. The love of your life was gone, his name a number on a list, not even a body to bury.

Days later, rumours flew. They said that the fire was started because there had been some information that the Jackals had been using the school storage basement as a base and the fire had been started by them to cover their tracks. One person said he knew the friend of a friend who knew someone who admitted that the fire was actually started by hired goons, hired by The Order, actually. But rumours were rumours, nothing much of it could be made heads or tails of but the first version spread far and wide, intentionally so.

“Where were you all these years?” you manage to say through the lump in your throat, your voice heavy and raw. You turn to look at him, really look at him. His hair is long, stray pieces falling over his face and instead of the young boy you remember, the face is that of a man who has seen and done things he wished he didn’t have to. There’s a hardness in his expression that restricts him from showing his true feelings, a subtle wariness in his eyes from not being able to trust everything he sees. He is a boy that grew up too fast in a hard place.

Yoongi returns my gaze. “Here and there,” he answers. “Everywhere. Places you don’t even know existed.”

Tears prick your eyes, threatening to fall but you press your palms against them, drying them immediately. “Tell me everything.”

He regards you for a moment and it stings to think that he’s thinking if he can trust you. But then you realise it’s not trust he’s having problems with. There’s worry in his eyes, a sort of hesitance that comes from not wanting to burden you with things unnecessary. It’s not like it would change anything. The past is the past, talking about it would only be painful for him, but mostly for you.

But Yoongi can’t ignore the pleading look in your eyes. All this time he wonders how it would be like if he meets you again, if he would feel the same after almost a decade. He was sure that everything of that time had been flushed out of his system. The only times you crossed his mind was when he closed his eyes at night, alone in the dark, that’s when he misses you. He had a war to fight, he told himself, and if push comes to shove, he would need to be able to do what has to be done without his heart getting in the way. His Saem had drilled it into his head, didn’t he? To forget everything, leave behind the life he led and dedicate every fibre of his being to the Jackals in order to fight for the people.

Yoongi convinced himself that if he found you on the enemy's side, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what he must. He spent years telling himself that he was prepared. The more active he became, the more job he took over from his Saem, the more of a fortress he had built around himself and his heart. But looking at you now, your eyes glassy, your cheeks pink, and the lips that you’re chewing on to keep steady, all the emotions that he’s been suppressing surges back up to the forefront. It’s like he’s seventeen again standing in front of you, just a boy looking at the girl he thought he would someday marry, a dream long-time dead.

He takes your face in his hands. His palms are calloused, hardened skin from the life of an avenger, but his touch is gentle like a whispering feather. You place your hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin, the pulse beating beneath his wrist. He’s alive, living and breathing. And he’s here, right in front of you. All this time he lives with you in haunted memories, a ghost of the love you’ve lost so young. Yet here he is now, a grown man yet you can still see that same boy, slowly resurfacing.

You step closer to him, placing your hands over his chest, feeling the strong heart beating underneath your fingers. You grab fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a lot of feelings at once and anger is one of them, growing stronger with each eb and flow of your emotions. He was alive all this time and not once did he try to contact you. He was alive all these years and not once did he try to let you know. He was alive and breathing while you spent years mourning his death. He was alive and running around the city right under your nose when you were convinced your heart died with you the day of the fire.

So you start punching him and punching him, pounding his chest with your fists, your teeth gritted together. “You left me,” you mumble. “You left me.” Your voice grows stronger as the tears flow heavy. “You left me, you left me, you left me! You left me alone, Yoongi! How could you?! I thought you died! I mourned you! A part of me died with you! You left me!” By the end of it, you’re wailing, both in action and in your words, screaming through the pain, wanting nothing but to make him hurt the same way you’re hurting.

Yoongi stands there almost motionless, letting you hit him over and over again. Your fists barely cause him any pain but seeing you so vulnerable hurts him more. He captures your wrists in one hand but you struggle, twisting and turning this way and that, trying to release yourself. You’re screaming at him. “Let go of me! Let go! I want to go home! Let go of me!”

Using his other arm, he wraps it around your shoulders, encircling you easily enough and pulling you in with one rough tug. All the fight left you, burying your face into his shirt, your tears wetting it down to his skin. You both crash to the floor in a heap, and he repositions his legs so you sit in between them, halfway on his lap as he cradles you. It’s not until your crying is reduced to hiccuping did you realise that he’s gasping for air, too. You look up just in time as his tears fall on your face, wetting your forehead and cheeks.

He looks down at you, his cheeks and nose red, his eyes puffy. After a moment, he finally croaks out the one thing you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, kneeling in front of him, your cheeks wet from your own tears starting up again. It’s your turn to offer comfort, gently tucking his loose hair behind his ears and brushing away his tears with your fingers that are already wet with your own. He cries as you cup his cheeks with both hands, leaning into your touch, and like steel to a magnet, your lips are drawn to his.

Yoongi falls quiet, eyes squeezed shut. It’s like the breath had been knocked out of him and all his brain activity shuts down for a second. His shoulders feel a thousand times lighter and he can’t remember the last time he felt this way. Something in him releases, like a rubber band that finally snaps apart and his hand reaches to caress your face. The kiss deepens, both your lips moulding against each other like the perfect jigsaw puzzles falling into place and he leans more into you.

You feel his hand squeeze your waist, hard enough to make you gasp. His tongue prods in between your teeth, licking, finding yours in a duel of which of you will dominate the other. You climb into his lap, your legs on either side of him, your hands in his hair. His hands slip under your shirt, his palms hot and searing on your skin, his fingers splayed out on your back. Yoongi sucks on your tongue and you moan into his mouth, your brain going stupid. All you can think about is, it’s him, he’s here, he’s back, he’s home.

When you finally break apart, both of your lips are swollen and bruised. You can still taste him on your tongue as you rest your forehead against his. Yoongi closes his eyes, breathing in deep to calm himself. When he opens them again, they are clearer than before, almost brighter, like a cloud had finally moved out of the way of the sun.

Once your fluttering heart is still again, you lean back to look at him. He raises his eyes and you can see his guard is down. The hardness on his face is gone. “Tell me everything,” you say again and this time he nods.

“It’s a long story,” he says as you move off him to sit next to him instead, your hand firmly in his. “I’ll start from the beginning.”

Nine years ago

Happy. He’s feeling happy.

With every movement of his skilled fingers over the black and white keys, with every note he produced as he closely followed the spread sheets in front of him, he felt happier and happier, his mood growing lighter, his fingers moving faster, almost automatically without having to refer to the music sheet wrinkled with overuse. The choir across from him started up and he led them through the piece with ease and a flourish that only Min Yoongi could. In these moments, the choirs were like surfers and him the waves beneath their board.

The music teacher, who was also the conductor, beamed happily his way but the boy was too lost in the music to even notice. When the song finished and Yoongi had ended the last note with a satisfying nod of his head, the music teacher broke into a tearful clap. Shy Yoongi couldn’t take compliments well so he excused himself to the restroom, walking out of the class with his head down.

There in the boys toilet of the second floor, he leaned over the sink to wash his face. The silver chain around his neck slipped out of shirt and he took a moment to look at it, a fond smile playing on his lips. The obsidian stone warmed in his hand before he placed it back safely into his shirt. That was when he smelled the smoke, coming in from the small vent on the wall near the floor. He crouched down low, sniffing to confirm his own senses.

A fire? From where?

The vents snaked throughout the whole school building, connecting each and every floor. Smoke rose upwards so it could be coming from downstairs. He rushed out and stood in the stairwell, listening for any movements, any noise or urgency but none came. Odd. He took the stairs three at a time and the heavy door that led to the basement was ajar. A voice in his head screamed for him to pull the emergency bell but curiosity took the better of him as he tiptoed down the stairs beyond the door.

The basement was hardly used, storing all the broken school facilities as well as extra ones; from broken chairs and desks and rolling whiteboards and old TV sets to broken music instruments and sports equipment and festivals ornaments and decorations. Most of these things were collecting dust, home to insects and spiders. Even the lights weren’t working. Yoongi was close to going back upstairs when a noise in the distance caught his attention. He walked in further to investigate.

He should have walked away then. He should’ve gone back up and informed a teacher, another student, anybody. He should have listened to his gut screaming at him to run, go back upstairs and pull on the fire alarm. Things might have been different if he had done either of those things. His fate was sealed from here onward.

The smell of smoke is thicker but he had yet to see it. It could have been the semi-darkness, it could have been his stubborn interest blinding everything else. It didn’t take him long to finally see the flicker of light somewhere in the middle of the pile of random items. A fire is starting and only growing stronger and wilder, now visibly jumping from desk to desk, licking everything from wall to wall. Something, no, someone, rushed past him in the dark, barrelling into his shoulder, knocking him backwards. Before he could find his feet again, the fire was big enough to make his eyes sting as he struggled to his feet and bolted for the door.

Unfortunately for him, the person had closed it behind him, locking it from the outside. He bangs on it but the heavy, wooden door made only a muffled sound and the first floor was mostly administrative offices, usually empty during classes. He started to scream, kicking and punching the door to no avail and bloody knuckles. Behind him, the fire raged strong and big enough for him to feel the heat on his back.

He pressed his back to the door, looking around in panic. There was no way out. He was trapped. Two things would happen, he thought. One, he will die first, in here, all alone. Two, the fire will spread throughout the whole school and bring everything down on top of him. Where were you? Maths class, third floor. You should have enough time to escape, right? Fuck. He laughed darkly to himself, wiping the tears away from the corner of his eyes. He wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

Then someone is standing in front of him, a cloth wrapped around the bottom half of his face. “What the hell are you doing, boy? We need to go!”

Yoongi stared at the stranger. The man rushed forward and grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him up. “Do you want to die?!”

Yoongi shook his head.

“Then let’s go.”

The man led him around the fire, sticking close to the walls. The heat was so strong Yoongi was sure some parts of him were melting off. His eyes stung so bad and his chest hurt from breathing in all the smoke no matter how hard he buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. Panic rose once again because where the hell was the stranger taking him? Going to the back of the storage is suicidal, there was only one way out!

He wanted to resist but the man had a hard grip on his wrist and everytime he twisted, it only pained him even more. He couldn’t ask, couldn’t speak unless he wanted to eat smoke. The man stopped in front of a wall covered with a huge school festival banner from twelve years ago. With one tug with both hands, he ripped the banner down to reveal a hole in the wall big enough for a man to crawl through. He pointed to it. “Get in.”

Yoongi hesitated but the man pulled at his arm and shoved him towards the hole. “Get moving or stay here and die.”

Yoongi took one last look behind him, at the fire that roared so loud his ears could barely hear anything else. The ends of his hair were singed but he wouldn’t notice it until later. Desperate and confused, Yoongi knelt on his knees and entered the crawlspace, crying the whole way through the very long tunnel with the man right behind him. When he finally emerged through the other side, a group of people were already waiting. One of them stepped forward, salt and pepper hair peeking from under the worn out beanie he had on his head.

Yoongi staggered to his feet and looked around, his breath wheezing. The man with the beanie and a black cloth around his nose and mouth clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to The Jackals, son.”

Present time

“...and I’ve been with them ever since.”

You’re lost for words, looking at the side of his face as he’s turned away. Everything that you knew of the fire unravelled. There’s relief in knowing that he didn’t suffer as you had thought but then there’s a sense of betrayal that you were made to think so all this time. He walked away unscathed from the incident that robbed you of every chance of happiness and traumatised you so badly from survivor’s guilt.

Yoongi, unaware of your internal struggle, continues to talk. “They took me under their wings. I was homeschooled and,” he scoffs, “my education wasn’t what you will learn in school. I learned how to fight, how to strategize, how to lead. I learned a lot. Saem, the leader and my teacher, took particular interest in me. Maybe he saw potential, maybe he saw himself, I’m not sure. But I was modelled and shaped to take his place. You see, he was sick. Cancer and he didn’t have long. He died three years ago and…well, I’m in charge now.”

Three years ago was when The Jackals seemed to ramp up even more, fighting back at every chance. The number of government warehouses that were raided tripled in number and that was when they started recruiting more patrol officers, luring with the same privileges that The Jackals was fighting for. It was the same reason why your uncle made you join.

Your conflicting thoughts and emotions are hindering you from making any sound judgement of how you should move forward. Do you accept him into his arms like you had always wished you could? Or do you turn away from him for causing the chain reaction of everything that happened in your life?

“What was his name? Your Saem?” you ask the one question that didn’t feel too complicated to talk about.

“Jack,” Yoongi answers with a scoff. “That’s why it’s named The Jackals.”

Yoongi finally turns around to face you, eyes shrouded in so much uncertainty it’s hard to think that he’s the Robin Hood everyone seems to always count on and the one the government wants gone. You return his gaze, unsure of what else to do because, honestly, you’re so confused.

“Do you hate me?” he asks in a voice not of a vigilante. He sounds like Min Yoongi from nine years ago, small and shy but would spend hours alone at the piano writing songs only you’ve had the pleasure to listen to, songs he secretly wrote for you but never voiced out. But you knew, you always knew because you would catch him watching you in the corner of your eyes, silently enjoying your every reaction.

And just like you knew then, you know now, too. No, you don’t hate him, not even close. Angry, yes. Disappointed, yes. Hurt, yes. But never hate. You spent too long on your knees begging for him to be returned and then the same amount of time begging for the pain to hurt less, so why would you turn away from him now? You might have been young then, but he has always been it; the one, the light of your life, the calm to your storm, the missing piece coming home.

Without a word, you lean over and place a kiss on the side of his head, caressing his cheek. You shake your head. “I’ve missed you.” You choke on a sob and Yoongi pulls you tight, burying his face into your neck.

A single tear creeps down Yoongi’s cheek as he holds on to you. “I’m home now.”

***

Yoongi returns from scouring the whole building for what could be used as pillows and blankets. He carries back in a couple of sofa cushions and one sofa throw big enough for two people, looking sheepishly as you look at the items in his hands.

“Where do you usually sleep?” you ask, taking the cushions and inspecting it for weird stains. Yoongi had taken care to shake them off of any dust collecting but you still eye it warily.

He looks confused, looking around the room. “Here?”

You look at him in surprise. “Here? On this mattress?”

He nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“But…” you look at the lumpy thin mattress, “there’s literally nothing here. How do you even sleep?”

Yoongi looks away as he mumbles, “I don’t.” He situates himself next to you, fidgeting with the throw blanket and spreading it over both of you. He’s doing his hardest to not look at you, pretending not to notice your staring.

He honestly can’t remember the last time he slept. Closing his eyes and resting for a couple of hours a night is all he’s been doing. It was the price he paid for living life as a wanted man but up until now, it never really bothered him much. It had been enough. Any extra time he had had been put into planning and strategising with his men, sleep was irrelevant, just something his body needed to recharge. Besides, sleep is when his brain is at leisure to think about things he wants to forget because remembering is painful; things like you.

“Sleep,” he says, lying down directly on the mattress. “You have a few hours before we have to go back.”

“Go back?” you sit up on your elbow.

He looks at you. “If you don’t go back ,they’ll be looking for you.”

“No,” you object. “If you think I’ll go back there after tonight you’re dead wrong.”

After his recount of his version of the school fire, Yoongi had talked at length about everything else; what The Order was actually hiding, the amount of supplies there actually are, the depth of corruption, the crimes done in the dark, the number of missing people who are actually dead, what The Order is up to and their end game. He talked about what The Jackals is all about, that they don’t actually have any inconsequential weapons, that they don’t in fact have that many secret hideouts and meeting spots, and definitely not producing any bioweapons of any sorts. The Jackals had only one goal: to bring the truth to light. In order to do that, the government must fall.

Yoongi gives you a hard stare, eyebrows furrowing. “What about friends? Families?”

You laugh sarcastically. “I don’t have any.”

He nods slowly. Then, looking up at you through hooded eyes, he asks, “Boyfriend? Partner?”

Ridiculously, your heart does a tiny flutter and you stifle the smile on your lips. You shake your head. “No one that mattered.” Then, on a serious note, you add, “I’m staying here. With you.”

His eyes light up but his face is still wrought with worry. “But it’s dangerous. Tomorrow is never a guarantee and there’ll be days I won’t be here as I’ll be out there. I don’t want you to wait for me wor-”

“Who says about staying here waiting for you?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows and crossing your arms. “I’m not going to sit on my ass and wait around for you.”

Yoongi looks confused.

“I’m going with you,” you say, determined. “I want to fight, too. And don’t you dare tell me I can’t or it’s too dangerous or any other bullshit. I’m sticking with you even if it means I have to stitch us together.”

Yoongi chuckles. “But you said you had always been scared of being on the frontline, that being with the Patrol wasn’t something you wanted?”

“I was,” you nod. “But I’m not with the Patrol anymore.” You link your fingers with his. “I’m with you.”

There’s a shadow of a smile on his face and he scoots closer. “But it’ll be dangerous.”

“I know.”

He leans closer. “It’ll be life-threatening.”

“I know.”

He rests a hand on your thigh, big and heavy. “People will be shooting at you. Tanks bombing at you.”

“I know,” you breathe out, your breath hitching as you feel his hand creep under your shirt to rest on your waist.

Yoongi tilts his head, lips inches from yours. “You might end up wanted by the government, a bounty on your head.”

“As long as it’s as high as yours,” you whisper, leaning in, wanting nothing than to connect your lips but he’s pulling back.

He snorts. “Doubt it.”

He brushes his lips against yours, not a kiss but just enough to make you let out a whine. He laughs quietly. “I don’t remember you being this needy, baby girl.”

“You left me waiting long enough, Yoongi,” you grumble, pulling him close by the shirt. “It’s just cruel to make me wait any longer.”

He tucks your hair behind your ear, rubbing your earlobe absentmindedly. “You’re right. I’m not a cruel person.”

“Prove it then.” You glance up at him through your lashes, a cocky smirk on your lips. Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice, eyes flashing as he tilts you down by the back of the neck, making you gasp involuntarily as he covers your mouth with his. The first kiss you shared earlier was intimate, passionate; it was a love rekindled. This is different. This feels like someone started a bonfire in the pit of your stomach, the hotness travelling to every inch of you and down to your core. This is hunger, a desperate, ravenous need to have him, consume him.

Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, on his neck, on his face, on his chest and then on his back. As he lays you down, one arm remains under your neck while the other holds your face as if to make sure you never break the kiss. You wouldn’t anyway, can’t, so hungry for him your tongue probes his mouth, teeth gnashing, lips moulding together in a way that keeps you wanting more. And the fire in your stomach burns hotter.

You tug at his shirt and he only takes a second to break away and pull it off over his head before reconnecting again. “I want you,” he grunts out in between kisses. “Please.”

“I want you, too,” you moan as he trails wet, hot kisses down your chin to your neck, sucking on sensitive spots that makes your heart race and the place between your legs wet. “Yoongi, please,” you plead, guiding his hand to your chest.

He feels blindly for the bra clasp and undo it with careless fingers. When the bra comes off, he leans back for a moment, eyes wide in pleasant surprise as he takes in your figure. The last time you had been together, you were only teens. Now, both of you are well into your adulthood and for a moment, he is hit with the realisation that you are no longer an innocent girl. He looks up, cheeks burning from staring but is more stunned when he sees your swollen lips and pretty eyes looking back at him.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he exhales.

You let out a shy giggle. “Took you long enough to realise.”

“Fuck,” he says again. “I’m so fucking stupid.” He dives, burying his face back in your neck, kissing, licking, biting on every inch he can get. He continues down, ignoring how your t-shirt is still on before pressing his face in between your breasts, licking a strip up your sternum. You call out his name, one hand in his hair. He takes that as cue and attaches his lips around your nipple. You moan out through closed lips and all he wants right now is to hear you, really hear you without any hindrance.

Using his tongue, he flicks at your nipple while drawing circles with the pad of his finger on the other one, feeling it growing erect. The tent in his pants is growing uncomfortable to the point of pain but he’s savouring every moment, making up for lost time. He wants to worship you as a form of asking forgiveness, focusing on your breasts as if this is on the list of important things he needs to do. He kneads and squeezes them with his hands, all the time his mouth and tongue work your other nipple, making you writhe and moan under him.

He leaves saliva trails from one nipple to the other, alternating between both. He squeezes both boobs together, taking both nipples in his mouth and suckling. It stings but it only excites you more, feeling his hardness pressing against your thigh. Like you, he, too, has grown from boyhood to man. Judging from the rock hard rod hiding in his pants, it’s nothing like what it was nine years ago. Then again, Yoongi is no longer the thin, scrawny kid he was nine years ago either. He’s a fighter, a warrior now.

“Yoongi,” you mewled as he peppers kisses down your stomach. He comes to the button of your dark jeans and rips it open with one tug, glancing up at you. To show consent, you lift your butt up as he shimmies the jeans down your legs and pass your ankles, chucking it aside. His dragon eyes zone in on the wet patch on your cotton underwear. He hooks his fingers around the band. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, annoyed that he had to even ask. But that question was just out of courtesy; the underwear is off before you even blink. You hear him let out a curse under his breath and for a moment, you’re feeling shy again, the same way you felt the first time you lay with him. Your unclothed pussy glistens with your want and Yoongi lowers himself, hooking one arm under one of your knees and pushing that leg up, spreading you wide open. “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he mumbles, hot breath falling on your core. “So beautiful.”

He sticks his tongue out and places it at your entrance and licks upward all the way to your clit, letting the flat of his tongue explore your folds. You let out a moan. “Oh, Yoongi. Oh, that feels so good.”

Yoongi hums in response, placing a kiss on your pubic bone, working his way up with kisses on your belly-button, on your diaphragm, your sternum, your collarbone. He kisses his way up your chin and back to your mouth, open-mouthed and sloppy, making sure you taste yourself. You’re almost panting, the places where his lips landed hot and cool at the same time. You run your hands down his chest, feeling the muscles there and then his hard abs, fingers fiddling with the buttons of his pants.

He pulls away to look at you, eyebrows lightly knitting together. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you reply, your voice just above a whisper. “I’ve spent the past nine years only having you in dreams and fantasies, wondering what my life would have been like if you were still around. I’ve spent long nights nursing an aching heart, wishing you’d appear so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. I spent every morning ashamed that I’m awake, getting older when the love of my life is forever frozen in time. So, don’t ask if I’m sure that this is what I want when it feels like every wish and prayer in the past nine years are collected into this moment. I’ve been waiting so long. Don’t make me wait any more, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes are a revolving door of emotions, flitting from sadness to anger to regret and then want. His eyes burn with the lust growing in the pit of his stomach, growing dark as his pupils dilate. There’s something wild about it, a feral animal just straining against its chains, wanting to break free and you tug the button of his pants off, provoking the beast. Yoongi leans back as he shimmies his pants off just below his ass, resting his hands on your thighs, massaging them lightly.

You reach out your hands, wanting to hold on to him and he leans back over you with one hand next to your head while the other guides himself to your entrance. You feel his tip nudge your hole, sliding up and down your warmth, collecting moisture before he pushes in, slow and steady. You wince against the strain, your walls stretching open to accommodate his size, his shape, his length, inch by inch, welcoming him home. You bite down your lips to not make a sound and Yoongi runs his hand through your hair, doing his best to make it hurt less. He’s hurt you enough.

When Yoongi bottoms out, you let out the breath you’ve been holding. You both stay like that for what seems like minutes, staring into each other’s eyes. Yoongi caresses your cheek and you bury your hands on the back of his head, the bun in his hair unravelling. His long hair frames his face, dark and unruly, matching the look in his eyes. Yoongi breathes in deep, steadying breaths, trying to distract himself from the tightness wrapping around his cock because, fuck, he doesn’t think he can last long like this.

You smooth the lines on his forehead with a finger, giving him a small nod, telling him that you’re ready. He moves, pulling out just as slow and stopping halfway before sinking back in. You hum at the sensation, loosening your legs from around him to give him more space. Yoongi goes to work, leaning on both his elbows as he rocks into you in a slow, consistent rhythm, watching as your eyelids flutter close and your mouth falls open. You’re breathing hard, your pussy so wet Yoongi has to focus extra hard to not let this reunion be short-lived. He can hear the loud, squelching sound in between your legs and the faster Yoongi moves, the more moans are spilling out of your lips.

“Oh, Yoongi. Yoongi,” you call out, nails digging into his back. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much, Yoongi. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s tears in the corners of your scrunched up eyes and Yoongi picks up his pace. He can feel your walls flutter around him every time his tip kisses your cervix. He goes in deep, expelling any hints of any man you’ve been with since he ‘died’, training your cunt to mould into his shape and only his. If you had a man back home, he no longer belongs. If you had a lover back at the barracks where you ran away from, Yoongi wants to make sure that they know you belong to him, the vigilante they’ve been hunting down. It’s time to take back his place. Mine, he thinks. Always have been.

The vast room is filled with sounds from the two of you; your moans and calls of his name, his grunts and panting, skin slapping against skin. The others won’t be back until a few hours later and Yoongi intends to use that time well.

“Please, Yoongi,” you beg through your moans. “Please, I want to come. I want you to fill me up.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened at your request, looking up at you but his movements didn't cease. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips at the look on his face. “Check my arm,” you tell him and against his better judgements, he does, feeling with his fingers and finding the birth control implant easily enough. You giggle and Yoongi blushes. You tighten your legs around him. “I want you, Min Yoongi. I want your mark all over me, deep inside me. Please.”

Yoongi doesn’t need to be told twice. His new goal in life is to give you everything that you want, even if it kills him. He repositions himself in a way that his cock hits that sensitive spot of yours, that place that makes you arch your back involuntarily, that place that makes your brain go to jelly and your voice echoes off the walls in a mix of his name and incomprehensible words. Hit hits the spot with practised accuracy, watching you unravel underneath him, feeling the burn of your nails carving down his arms, gritting his teeth at how wet and tight you are around him. He can’t hold back any longer.

You sense it from the way his pace quickens, almost losing any rhythm but oh, did it still feel good. You realise it’s not just the act itself that’s bringing you to this high; it’s the knowing that it’s him, that it’s your beloved Min Yoongi, back from the dead, rowing into you like his life depended on it, his face scrunching up, little grunts and moans escaping his tight lips. Sweat drips from his hairline and his jaws are clenched, eyes half-closed.

You cup his cheeks. “Yoongi, my love,” you call out, making him look at you. And then he’s taking you there, ascending with you by his side. He crashes his lips into yours and you clench around him, moans spilling into his mouth, legs locking around his hips. Feeling your walls milking him, he releases. “Baby, I’m coming,” he groans out just as hot, milky liquid spills into you, making you gasp one more time. You can feel yourself squeezing him, feel every curve and ridge of his cock buried in you and you cling onto him as his face is in your neck.

You both lay there panting, him on top of you, his weight like a comforting blanket, skin sticky with sweat sticking to each other. He raises up on one hand to look at your flushed face, tucking your hair back. “I’m home,” he says for the second time that night.

You smile, pulling him in for a kiss, hands tangling back up into his hair. It’s going to take more than once for the both of you to get reacquainted, bodies and souls, and you have all night long.

***

Through the window, the sun is breaking over the horizon.

Yoongi is awake, not that he was ever asleep to begin with. He had spent the last few hours in the dark watching your face as you slept soundly in his arms. In your slumber, he spies the chain around your neck and curiously fishes it out. During the lovemaking earlier, you never fully undressed and he hadn’t noticed the necklace until now. He rolls the little moonstone in between two fingers, bittersweet memories flooding in his mind. It hits him how long it really had been since he left and the tears that creep down his cheek are silent.

You stir, pressing yourself against his chest, searching for warmth now that the early morning cold is coming in from the broken windows. With a small click, your moonstone connects with his obsidian, completing the heart-shaped locket. Your eyes slowly open.

“Good morning,” you rasp and Yoongi leans down to capture your lips with his. “Good morning,” he replies in an equally throaty voice.

You look down to see your connected necklaces and your mouth falls open. You gingerly touch the black and white heart in between your chest and his. “You still have it.”

Yoongi nods. “It never left my neck. It was the only thing I have of you. Of us.” But then, he gets up, disconnecting the lockets. “We should get dressed. The others will be back soon.”

“Others?” you sit up, pulling the blanket to cover your chest as Yoongi stands up to pull on his pants. He can’t help but sneak glances at your collarbones, at the mark he had left last night.

“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “The others.”

You hurry to put on your clothes, hopping on one foot as you ask, “And what are you going to tell them about me?”

Yoongi pauses with his shirt halfway over his arms. “We get new recruits all the time. It’s not rare.”

You laugh. “Is sleeping with them part of their initiation?”

Yoongi flashes you a look. “No,” he says, almost defensively. He takes your arm and twirls you around into his embrace. “This is a special occasion,” he adds, his voice low.

You can hear movements from outside and Yoongi releases you to peek out the window. “They’re here.”

You join him, looking down at the small group of men and women, the white bands around their arms stark in the semi-darkness as they walk through the shade. One person looks up and waves and Yoongi nods.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you by the hand.

The group barely bats an eye your way. They take one look at your hand in his and understanding seems to dawn on them. The man from earlier steps forward, eyes on you. “Never thought I’d see another Patrol officer in our ranks.”

“Another?”

You turn to Yoongi but the man answers. “You probably don’t know me.” He extends a hand. “Lieutenant Kim. No more a lieutenant but they insisted.” He nods towards the group behind him.

Your eyes widen. Lieutenant Kim Taepyung, the infamous lieutenant that left the force but not before trying to rectify it. He was announced dead a day before he was supposed to leave for good. Suicide, the higher ups reported, blew his own brains out so badly they refused to release his body to his family. It was fishy but no one was going to question it. Now it makes sense why; he was never dead. Are the Jackals full of undead people? Your head is starting to ache.

“Yoongi, I need to speak with you,” he says seriously.

The two retreat into the other room while the others disperse to rest or talk amongst themselves. You linger around the door until it becomes too awkward to stay, walking down the hallway, exploring the Blue House room by room. Nothing much of the old world is left, nothing of value at least. Sofas and carpets that used to be expensive and luxurious hold no worth anymore. Elegant decors and wallpapers touched by time and mould are left to decay and rot.

You make it back to the others and Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are back outside, talking to the others in low whispers. You stand by the doorway long enough for one of the people to look up, alerting Yoongi to your presence. He turns around and beckons you over the desk they are standing around. There’s a hand-drawn map in the middle that you can’t quite make out.

“We’re moving our base here,” explains Yoongi, pointing at a rectangle on the paper.

You tilt your head this way and that, trying to figure out the location. The layout looks somewhat familiar and it takes you another second to realise it, looking up at Yoongi. “Isn’t this the building I met you at yesterday?”

Yoongi smirks. “The same one.”

“Why are you going back there?”

“Because,” the ex-lieutenant answers, “the best place to hide is in plain sight. They won’t look there twice.”

“The basement down there is connected to multiple underground tunnels,” says Yoongi, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’ll be the best place for us to hole up, move around the city undetected.”

“But they got all those tunnels down there blocked,” you say. “You won’t be able to use them much. Most of the patrols are down there, too, at certain points.” You notice that both Yoongi and the ex-lieutenant are looking pointedly at you. You look from Yoongi to the other man and then back. “What?”

“You think you can map out all the sentry points?” Yoongi asks.

You smile, almost smugly. “I can. But on one condition.”

The ex Patrol lieutenant doesn’t look happy but Yoongi is amused. A small smile tugs on his lips. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You step forward, toe to toe with Yoongi, your chin jutting out, a serious look on your face. “You won’t ever leave my side ever again. I’m with you through everything; every fight, every mission, every stupid, risky move you plan to make.”

Ex-Lieutenant Kim stifles a laugh, looking away. Yoongi glances at him and shoots him a dirty look before looking back at you, sighing. “Fine,” he says in a mock-resigned tone. “Whatever you wish for.”

“Seems like our captain isn’t much of our captain anymore,” one of the women teases and Yoongi pouts. The group laughs and the ex-lieutenant pats you on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Jackals.”

Under the table, unbeknownst to any of the others, Yoongi reaches out for your hand, gripping it tightly as everyone leans over the crudely-made map, listening intently as you mark out all sentry spots in the city, above and underground, and tells them the usual Patrol schedules. All those long months being ‘Lieutenant Daiki’s girl’ is coming to fruition because sleeping in his private quarters let you have information no one else does. That man is also a talker; he shared everything with you, unfiltered.

Yoongi watches you talk but not really listening. He’s looking at the way your eyelashes flutter above your cheeks, at how animated you are. He listens to the sound of your voice the same way he used to listen to every note of the piano he was playing all those years ago, noting things that no one else can hear. Your eyes shine every time you glance up at him and all he wants is to whisk you away into a private room so he can bury his face in your hair and in your neck.

He had always known why he fights for the people, why he dedicated his life to the cause. But now, looking at you, it’s clear to him that he has much more to fight for. Strength flows into him through your connected hands and he’s never felt so invincible.

“Are you listening?” you ask, pausing and frowning up at him.

Yoongi nods, flustered. “Yes. Please continue.”

In that moment, a feeling that is foreign to you, something you haven’t felt in a long time, spreads over you like warmth from a fireplace. You continue to talk but all the while your brain tries to process. It takes a while for you to place that feeling, unknown to you at first, but remembering the name when Yoongi gives your hand a light squeeze.

It’s home, the feeling of belonging. And for the first time in a long, long time, the future of the world doesn’t feel so bleak, not when Min Yoongi’s strong capable hands are in yours. The Jackals just grew twice as strong and the war has only just begun.

a/n2: I honestly wanted this to be more bad ass-ish but...lmk what you think of this one shot in the comment or ask. Like and reblog will be much appreciated :)

Check out my other works → :MASTERLIST:

#bts suga #bts yoongi #min suga #min yoongi #yoongi x you #bts suga x you #bts dystopian #bts one shot #yoongi one shot #yoongi fic #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts vigilante #fiction #fanfic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #bts myg

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dearlyanqels · 2 years

Text

The Boyfriend Series — High School Sweethearts

five years after graduating, they met in the most random places, but they glad they met and caught up on past memories. maybe they still had a fling.

Yoongi

"can you two quiet down, and let me think" he said looking at the pack of ramen, they were filming their regular season of Bon Voyage: Seoul Edition. yoongi, as the main cook, was trying to calculate somethings for the week, yet the producers do provide them food, he still wanted to make sure they had plenty.

he was accompanied by taehyung and namjoon, the two who talk more aloud than he does which usually doesn't bother him, but now he is trying to ask himself questions. "hyung? do you think we have enough for this?" namjoom point at some snacks from the bakery "yeah, ask the other team if they would like some" he said, yoongi end up throwing both packs into his cart and travel down the aisles. a sudden name calling made him stop, he look over the person, and seen that same smile, beautiful locks of hair and those eyes. "yoongi?" you called, his breath shorten as you walk closer to him and the camera crew felt like they needed to intervene. "ma'am, we're filming something" one of the producers said.

"no no, flim those two, ah --- its been so long" he said taking you in for a hug, it was warm and gentle, yoongi was always that gentle. "five years, wow you look, wow" you said adding a short chuckle, taking a step back to admire yoongi "don't bring up those years okay? anyways what are you doing here, instead of the obvious?" he ask as you two stroll down the aisles togther. "oh my sister's kids is having a birthday party tomorrow and coincidentally her boyfriend's is today as well, so we're buying 'adult' things" she said grabbing a stack of beef and some other meats. "oh yeah I forgot you had a sister" he said.

they walk along the to some ice cream, you study the ice cream, while he admire your face and scrunch nose when in thought. "oh yoongi hyung, I got you this" taehyung sing handing him a kids bracelet. "oh who's this?" he ask smirking as if namjoon told him to keep quiet but taehyung was always the nosy one of the group. "I'm ---, you must be taehyung. I remember you when you guys debut" you said grabbing a tub of ice cream.

"how'd you two know eachother?" taehyung wiggle his eyebrows, the two smiled "we- we um dated in high school" yoongi said gripping his cart. "oh really, so your the phantom of love. he always told us you were the one who encouraged him to try out" you've smiled at taehyung's little mirth voice and smile. "namjoon also ask if you're ready? he's got a cart full of things" taehyung ask "oh yeah, um --- nice meeting you again." yoongi turn, but taehyung was not done, not one bit "actually --- why don't you give me your number. I know yoongi hyung is a shy man, you probably know that as well." yoongi hiss at taehyung's comment but it was true he was a shy man when it comes to things like this.

in high school he was not the one to make the first move, it was you, he was confident but alone he was a shy guy. you practically push him to audition, you kiss him, you ask him out. you never push him past the limits though. "actaully --- next week we're having a concert, come, I'll save you some tickets" yoongi needed to be the confident. taehyung smirk and wiggled his eyebrows once more "oh yes of course I'll come, I been fighting for them" you chuckled.

"you'll get the best house seats, front row, I'll text you the details, flower" taehyung suck in his lips as he saw the two of you look at eachother. "you still remember?" you ask biting your bottom lip "of course, I'll see you there" before the camera crew came, the two parted ways after exchanging numbers.

"who was that?" your sister ask, she rub her belly and smirk "shut up, no he is not my future baby daddy, you remember my old boyfriend from high school? that's him" you watch your sister gasped and stutter which you nodded to "holy shit, you better keep him this time" she said nudging your shoulder.

"you better keep them this time yoongi hyung" taehyung said nudging his shoulder.

I will, this time. I promise

you both thought.

#bts x reader #bts fluff #bts fanfction #yoongi x reader #yoongi x yn #yoongi fanfic #bts x you #x reader #fanfic #suga x yn #suga x reader #suga x you #bts suga x you #bts suga x reader #bts suga x yn

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back2bluesidex · 28 days

Text

Slide - MYG (18+)

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

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

Word count: 2k+

Summary:

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: implied smut, explicit smut, emotional sex, very sad (don't underestimate the angst huhu), depressed yoongi, reader is pining so hard lord!, creampie, unplanned pregnancy, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon

A/N: Lemme know if you want a part 2? (even though I already know the answer hehe).

Arrangement.

You would rather call it an arrangement - the thing that is going on between you and Yoongi. Anything you have been feeling for him, outside your usual practice, is your, solely your decision or more likely… fault.

Hence, it’s a given. A given that you shouldn’t feel your heart dropping to your stomach, crashing on whatever is available inside your body and shattering into a thousand pieces, when you find Gyuri walking inside the room.

Beside you, Yoongi tenses. His body goes rigid as the air inside the room thickens beyond repair. And all of a sudden you can’t breathe.

Now you understand why Namjoon has been avoiding to reveal the name of the artist all along.

Lee Gyuri - One of the most successful solo artist as well as Min Yoongi’s one true love, who had left him broken so bad that you once found him on the street, unconscious, vomit all over his clothes - is now back in his life… in your life, which has been revolving around him.

Where she left - You started.

You picked Yoongi up, put him into pieces, not that you were able to heal the cracks but you at least conjoined it all together.

And just like that - one night after a long heart to heart talk and a few beers, you found him seethed deep inside you. Yoongi chanted your name again and again as if it’s a mantra that will heal the cracks of his heart all while he rutted in you like a mad man.

It started from there - the arrangement.

At the end of long days and even longer nights, whenever both of you were too exhausted to go home, you spent the nights crammed together on Yoongi’s studio couch.

Quiet whispers, curse words, wandering hands, secret body parts slick with arousal - everything had made your existence dwindle dangerously through his fingers.

Yoongi always fell asleep right after but you stayed awake, tracing the slope of his nose, bow of his lips, map of his pale skin glinting in the dark.

You had made a mistake.

You fell in love.

Now as Gyuri slides inside the room with natural elegance, you hear Yoongi’s breathing getting quicker in pace.

He is anxious.

You place a hand on his knees, under the table. It’s a practiced habit that you adopted over time. Your fingertips help to calm him down.

Everything is the same.

Except this time, Yoongi doesn’t relax under your touch.

“Yoongi, can we talk for a moment?” Gyuri requests with a timid voice at the end of the meeting. Her eyes quickly lock with yours for a fraction of a second.

You half expect for Yoongi to say no. You pray to the universe for his answer to come as negative even when you know –

“Yes. Sure.”

That Yoongi never stopped loving her for a moment. Yoongi loved, loves and will love only one woman - and that’s not you.

Even though you don’t feel your legs anymore, you stand up. You choose to take the stairs to exhaust your body so that your sadness can be masked.

But even as you climb down floors after floors - your heart stays confined in that room locked with two lovers.

“She said she wants to work it out this time. She has been missing me terribly... she said.” Yoongi doesn’t look away from the blaring computer screen.

He probably doesn’t have the heart of looking into your eyes.

Somewhere he, too, knows of the deepest secrets you have been hiding from him.

“And? What did you say?” You chew on the inside of your mouth, again praying for him to answer something of your liking.

“That I will think about it.” you knew he would say that.

“What is there to think about, Yoongi? You still love her.” you force the words out of your mouth even when your throat closes up.

Tears threaten to spill from the corner of your eyes but you blink those away.

Yoongi finally looks at you, his own eyes glinting with moisture.

“But what about you?” The question is rhetorical - metaphorical.

“Me? I will go back to where I started from.” you lie, heart threatening to leap out of your chest.

You would go back, but not where you started from, you would go back to the night when you picked Yoongi up from the street.

In simpler terms, you would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timelines.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, pretending not to hear anything at all.

Even though you have to summon all of your willpower to do so - you stay still in your bed.

Your tears though - keep falling, rolling down the apple of your cheeks and making a small puddle inside the curve of your ear.

He keeps rambling on the door.

Sometimes the knocks are steady, sometimes infused with anger but his voice stays low. You wouldn’t hear him calling your name if you weren’t attentive enough.

“Y/N! Please open the door.” Yoongi requests again. Through the wood of your door it sounds like a whisper, “Please. I- I want to see you once.”

Every pore of your body woozes out the desire of letting him in, taking him inside your arms and never ever letting him go.

But you are afraid.

He has never once visited you by his own will.

He only tagged along when you asked him to.

So you are afraid.

Afraid of what he might say. Afraid that he might say what you don’t want to hear. You already know everything - know enough - if he points it out now that he is going to leave you behind as the love of his life is back then you might as well break down, which you definitely don’t want to do.

You have always appeared to be nonchalant before Yoongi about this arrangement, about his kisses, his marks, his simple ignorance - and you want it to stay that way.

However, your resolve breaks when you hear a sob, muffled by the door.

Is he crying? Why? Why is he crying at your door?

So you get up, pad towards the door and swing it open.

Yoongi’s head shoots up and you look at his face.

He is a mess - a mess that you love.

With dark hair all disheveled, face smeared with tears, lips chapped, Yoongi says, “I am here to end things.”

This. You were afraid of this.

Your insides churn and mold into a ball of nothingness. There are words sitting on the tip of your tongue but you choose to stay silent as always.

“Okay.” you reply, holding the door knob again ready to shut it on his beautiful face for once and for all.

Yoongi forces his hand at the edge of the door, preventing you from closing it.

He steps inside your apartment and within a few moments, you are being pushed to the door, closing it with the force of your back.

Yoongi kisses you with everything he has left inside. You kiss him back.

You don’t know what is happening but if this is for one last time, then you will accept it.

Your hands wrap around his neck on their own accord. His chapped lips mold perfectly with your moisturized pair.

They move in perfect sync, perfect rhythm - the rhythm of destruction.

“Y/N” Yoongi whispers in between the kiss, “I am sorry.”

You don’t pay his words any mind, rather you let your fingers get lost in his long dark hair.

The kiss grows hungrier by every second you spend in each other’s hold.

Yoongi starts directing you towards your bedroom and your small apartment space takes no time to be crossed.

You soon feel the edge of your bed behind your knees.

When you fall back - Yoongi falls with you.

He looks into your eyes, his own eyes telling a thousand different stories all together. But tonight, you don’t try to read those.

What’s the point when your own chapter is ending? When memories of you will be left to collect dust on the surface?

What’s the point when he knows he is going back to the one he has always loved?

His rough calloused hand comes in contact with your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers again as he reaches down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your right eye.

“I’m sorry.” he kisses your left eye.

“I’m sorry.” this time it’s the tip of your nose.

“I’m sorry” and lastly it’s your lips.

You have never seen Min Yoongi this emotional.

After Gyuri left him, he became numb. You were never able to thaw the frozen parts of him.

But tonight you see a completely different Yoongi. Is this Gyuri’s magic? Has her return made him a human again?

Yoongi - who never touched you or kissed you more than it’s needed, is now apologizing while kissing every small part of your face?

You take a sharp breath and reply, “it’s okay.” even though you don’t know what he is apologizing for. For not being able to reciprocate your feelings? For using you when you let him? For leaving you behind after tonight?

He has already started placing kisses around your jaw, throat, collarbones. His hands fist the hem of your pajama top and he pulls it up revealing your naked chest.

He doesn’t waste time diving down and taking one of your perked nipples inside his mouth.

He sucks on it softly, sweetly - like a lover. Your tears start spilling from your eyes finally. But you completely lose it when you feel his own tears on the mound of your breast. You let him sob, as you sob quietly.

It doesn’t take much time for your clothes and his clothes to join as a hip on the floor of your bedroom.

Yoongi pumps himself, preparing for one last time to enter you. When he lines his cock on your entrance, he takes a quick glance at your face, as if asking for permission.

Your tear stained face lights up in a small smile - it’s not fake.

He enters you, takes up every corner of your walls, fills you with himself - both of your body and heart.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything anymore. He pushes himself inside you, pounds into you with an unusual pace.

His face comes to rest on the crook of your neck. You embrace him to stay there, stay with you as long as it lasts.

For the first time ever, Yoongi doesn’t fucks you - he makes love to you.

The realization makes you shudder.

Why now? Why now out of all the time? Why now when everything is ending?

His breath starts getting labored, you feel yourself hanging close to the edge as well.

And after a few more thrusts, you let go. He fills you up following your invitation.

Both of you stay like that even after the deed is done - for a moment, an hour? You don’t know.

You feel his disposal running down your inner thigh, when he finally slips out of you.

You sneak a glance in his dark orbs for one last time. With a sore throat and an equally sore heart you whisper, “Be happy, Yoongi.”

You see one last drop of tear slipping down his eyes when he dips down to cage your lips in his for one last time.

It’s been a month since that night.

It’s been a month since you last talked to Yoongi beside work.

It’s been a month since you last saw Yoongi outside work.

It’s been a month since you withdrew from Gyuri’s project.

It’s been more than a month since you had your last period.

As you stand in your bathroom, with the tiny testing kit, those two red lines mock you.

You thought that night was the last time? But this after effect - where will you go with this? Who will you confide in?

It can’t be Min Yoongi - can it?

You have let him slide through your fingers after all.

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jiniretracha · 2 months

Text

BTS as your boyfriend

How I imagine the BTS members would act around you as your partners.

Warnings: Fluff and smut

Word Count: 4.4k

MASTERLIST // my Ko-Fi

KIM NAMJOON

SFW

Always keeps an eye on you: As we all know, Namjoon is one of the best leaders there is in K-Pop, and, as a good leader would, he keeps an eye on the members to check if they need anything or if they’re okay. You’re not the exception. In fact, he’ll double that attentive feeling. He doesn’t want you to think that he’s controlling you. No. He’s just simply to enamoured with you that he can’t help but worry about his girl and check on her any chance he gets.

Asks for your opinion on how he should dress: Nam had always been pretty confident when it came to fashion, until you came along. Now, all he cares about is impressing you. He’d never admit that, though. He just wants his girl to coo at him and tell him he’s pretty.

Asks if you had something to eat: He’ll never forget, and when I mean never forget, to send a text asking you if you’d eaten. When the answer’s yes, his chest would fill with relief and unconsciously smile, sending you praise words. If the answer’s no, he’d get a little mad, and maybe scold you a little bit, sending you those texts while he parks his car in front of a convenience store to buy something for both of you to eat.

Hugs you from behind: Nam will see you, in the kitchen, preparing some food for the both of you or just cleaning, whipping some breakfast, whatever you’re doing, and he’ll go behind you and wrap his arms around you, nuzzling his nose against the curve of your neck.

Tries his hardest to make you smile 24/7: Kim Namjoon is a well-known people pleaser, so it is obvious that he’ll try his hardest to make you comfortable and smile every single time he has the chance. Even if it means putting himself in an uncomfortable position, he’ll selflessly put you first, because you’re his priority, and give you what you want. Because he loves you so much.

Nicknames for you: Babe, Cutie (that’s so Nam), Hon (short for honey)

NSFW

He’s a tease: As I said before, whenever he hugs you from behind, if he woke up with a hard on, he’ll press it against your ass while he mouths at the skin of your neck. “Someone woke up excited this morning” you’d say. Oh, you have no idea. In other situations, out in public, he’d put his hand on your thigh, rubbing it up and down, trying to play nonchalant. But you both know that he’s a little shit and he’s only trying to rile you up.

Favourite position: Cowgirl. Definitely. As someone who leads a boyband, being in charge can be tiring, so he’ll give up his leadership and give it to you in the bedroom. He’s not complaining though. His view from down there is heavenly.

Aftercare: He’s a sucker for aftercare. He likes to shower you with praise words after he’s cleaned you up while he wraps his arms around you as he pulls you close to him.

Loves getting head: He won’t admit it freely, but I feel like Nam goes weak when he sees you drop to your knees in front of him to suck him off. He’ll go even weaker when you’d look up at him, giving him doe teary eyes while your tongue is wrapped around him.

KIM SEOKJIN

SFW

Teases you every single time: I mean… is it that obvious? The man’s a born teaser. I think that’s his love language. He wouldn’t act like that around anyone. He’d see you lazing around, comfortably, and he’d feel the need to pull lightly on your hair, drawing a pout from you as he smiles while leaning forward to kiss it away.

Loves to make you laugh: The joker of the group would always try his hardest to make you laugh. He knows you love his absolutely dumb jokes and he loves that you love them.

Saves you from embarrassment: Seokjin is a person that’s not easily embarrassed, but you are. Whenever he sees your cheeks flushed and looking away, he’ll put himself in your position and embarrass himself three times more. You fell down the stairs? Don’t worry! Jin will fall down with you and laugh about it as soon as your asses plop on the floor. You told an unfunny joke and nobody laughed? No biggie. Your boyfriend’s there to be the loudest laugh in the room.

Holds your hand during horror movies: He’s not the biggest fan of horror movies, but he’ll suffer through them for you. He’ll hold your hand when a jumpscare comes up and soaks in the feeling of you wrapping your arms around him as you yelp in surprise. It’ll probably happen once or twice that he’ll be the one to jump on top of you because he got scared lol.

Takes you on fishing dates: Seokjin loves fishing, we all know it. And he loves you. So why not combine the two things he loves? He’ll teach you how to pull on the fishing rod, how to stake the bait through the hook, how to store the fish once it’s already out, you name it. He’ll take any chance he gets to take pictures of you while your hair flies around everywhere with the wind and you smile mindlessly. He’s just so in love with you.

Nicknames: Sweetheart, Girlfriend (I so imagine him going, “hey, girlfriend” and you replying, “Hey boyfriend”), Babe

NSFW:

Straight to the bedroom after he comes from tour: He’ll get back home and the first thing he does is carry you all the way to your shared bed and start pulling your clothes off. He’ll ask you how your week has been during the post-sex bath he’d run for the both of you.

Favourite position: Spooning. He’ll spoon you from behind and slip his shaft inside you, holding your hips in place while he thrusts against you, making you grasp onto the pillows tightly. He’ll whisper obscenities and kiss your neck as he fucks you hard.

Handholding: He loves to hold your hand during intimacy. He loves to feel more than just that type of connection with you during sex. You’d feel your stomach swarming with butterflies when you feel his fingers caressing yours delicately.

Choking: He’s definitely into it. Absolutely. He has really nice hands so he will obviously take advantage of them as he wraps his long ass fingers around your throat, applying pressure on it, eliciting long moans from you.

MIN YOONGI

SFW:

Tells you he loves you without words: Yoongi’s someone who has a difficult time showing affection towards others, so he’s more into showing his love with actions. He’ll see you’ve fallen asleep on the couch and he’d smile, pulling a blanket over you so that you don’t get cold. You’d wake up in your shared bed, and you’d look around, confused as to why you’ve suddenly appeared out of nowhere there. You’d walk to the kitchen and find him cooking some ramen and you’d ask, after you greet him. “I fell asleep on the couch, I think I sleepwalked to the bed and-”, “Oh no, you didn’t. I took you there. Figured you didn’t want a sore neck like last time” he said, so nonchalantly, an action that was born out of him so spontaneously.

“Come home, Holly misses you” texts: He’ll never admit he’s missing you, so he’ll project his feelings onto the little poodle you two call your pet. You’d smirk and text back: “Be right there, honey. Don’t want Holly to miss me too much ;)” . He’ll reply with a: “Yeah, he misses you so much it’s killing him, so hurry up!”

Writes songs for you: Our favourite producer, singer-songwriter would definitely take advantage of his muse and write endless amounts of songs about her (you). Yoongi would get shy about them but he’ll work up the courage and show them to you, because he feels you deserve to have billions of songs written about you. “You wrote a song about me?!” you’d squeal. He’d look down and hide his blush. “Yeah… it’s no big deal”. Um, yes, it is!

You’re his weakness: Yoongi is an impenetrable person. He doesn’t have any weaknesses. Until you came along. He’ll be in his studio, a frown streaked across his face, and you’d walk inside the room and a gummy smile would automatically plaster into his face. “Hi, baby!” you’d coo and he’d just blush, his face completely red but his heart would be close to jump out of his chest. On another occasion, the members would be pressuring him about going somewhere and Yoongi would shake his head. “Y/N said she’s coming” Namjoon remembers. Yoongi’s head whips up and would smile a little. “Really?” he’d murmur. His friends would not let that go.

Craves your touch: You are the only one who’d he’d let cling all over him. In fact, he loves it. Yoongi suddenly realises he’s so freaking touch starved, he’d start to be the clingy one in the relationship. You’d be watching a movie and both of his arms are around you, bringing you comfort.

Nicknames: Jagiya (Korean word for “baby”), Beautiful, Angel

NSFW

Mean dom: I mean… are we even surprised? He’d be pissed off about something (when is he not lol) and he’d just grab your legs, throw you into any position of his liking and start fucking you into oblivion while he holds you down. “You wanna come? You gotta earn it”. He has his soft side, of course, when he’s feeling all romantic but he’d still be the one to lead in the bedroom.

Favourite position: Hear me out: Sitting in front of a mirror. Yeah. He’d just love to have you all spread out on your cock as he watches you, with your head pressed against his shoulder while his hands run all over your body, gripping, slapping and caressing. He wouldn’t know what to do with so much skin to touch, he’d go crazy.

Oral lover: Mr. Tongue Technology is the best at it and he knows it. He’d plaster his face onto your core and insert his tongue, letting it work its magic, while you squirm around and clench the sheets. Yoongi would smirk into your cunt and look up at you. “How’s that, jagiya?” and your response would be a high pitched moan.

Fingering: Yeah, with those veiny big ass hands, who wouldn’t? Yoongi doesn’t care where you two are. It could be on the plane, with all of the members in front of you, he’s sneak his hand underneath the blanket covering both of you and rub the pads of his fingers over your clothed pussy. “Yoongi… the others-“ you’d start whispering but he’d silence you with a kiss as he moves your underwear to the side and inserts his two fingers in and out, scissoring and rubbing your clit with his thumb in tight circles. Your nails would dig into his arm and hide your face into his neck, while his face would remain with the most nonchalant expression ever.

JUNG HOSEOK

SFW

Sunshine of the relationship: Mr. Sunshine would never let you feel down. If you’re feeling like crying, he’d be the one to give you his shoulder and then, he’d take you out to your favourite restaurant, treat you with a nice meal and then take you to an ice cream parlour just to see you smile.

Buys you loads of clothes: Hobi is someone who has an addiction to shopping, and because he’s always thinking about you, whenever he’s out to a shopping trip to the mall (which is once in a week at least), he’d probably buy more clothes for you than for him because, “Look at this dress, darling! I just pictured you wearing this dress while we have a picnic by the lake and I just had to buy it for you” he excuses himself while you were about to give him shit for spending so much on you. Of course, he uses that excuse with every single article of clothing he pulls out of the bag.

He’d go to the gym for you: “Nooo… please, let’s just stay at home and watch Mean Girls together” he’d plead. You’d just laugh, standing with your gym bra and leggings. You had been telling Hobi about the new gym that opened up down the block and you made him promise you you’d both go and try it. “You promised me we’d go” you whined. He just looks at you and sees your puppy eyes, bottom lip out in a pouting manner. Fuck you for being so adorable. “Fine… okay. But we are ordering Kimchi and we’ll watch Mean Girls”

Café dates: I feel like Hoseok is the type of person to see a cute café and go there, no second thoughts. You two would have a list of cute cafés (kudos if it is a cat café) and every week you try one or two from the list. You two use that list as an excuse to just go out and do couples shit, because you both love spending time together.

Gallery filled with your photos: “Yo, Hobi, there’s no space in your phone anymore” Jimin would tell him, as he had asked him for his phone to take a picture. Hobi would grab his phone, confused. As he clicked on the gallery icon, he’d see the amount of pictures in them and how 97% of them are photos of you. You on dates, asleep, with Mickey, just you. He’d look up at Jimin and shrug, sheepishly. He’s not deleting those pictures. He’ll just buy a new phone and fill it with more pictures of you.

Nicknames: Darling, Babe, Sweetie

NSFW:

High sex drive: Okay, so, one thing that is characteristic of sunshine personalities is the capability of having such a high amount of energy. In the bedroom, that’s not an exception. Hoseok can pull all nighters, no doubt. He’s into quickies as well, I’d say. He doesn’t matter the situation or whatever you’re wearing. Just your pretty face will turn him on and he can go anywhere, anytime.

Favourite position: Bent over. He’ll like to bend you over any surface and just take you. He’s a hair puller for sure. Maybe a little spanking, but I don’t see him being such a huge fan of it.

Aftercare: Like Nam, I think he considers aftercare very important and a moment where he finds a true connection with you. He finds sex is more enjoyable when there’s love shown afterwards. He wants you to know that he would never use you like that and honestly? He gets cuddly after the deed so…

Love-making Lover: Even if he enjoys fucking you hard and making you scream, lover-boy loves a good round of just romantic sex. Face to face, while his hands are everywhere, as he whispers against your neck just how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you.

PARK JIMIN

SFW:

Gets shy around you: He’d get all flustered when he sees you. Of course, you’d poke fun at him, baby-talking to him while he just giggles and hides his face against your neck, his face in a full red shade as you just cackle at his antics.

Naps on your chest: Jimin would lay on your chest, face squished between your boobs and nap for hours if you’d let him. He’s never felt more comfortable than feeling your body heat, heating up through his shirt, with his arms around you, holding you close, as you card your fingers through his hair while he immediately falls into a deep slumber.

Cheek kisses: I feel like Jimin is the type of person who has his arms wrapped around you 24/7 and his mouth is always pressed against your cheek. He loves to press his nose against your cheek and whisper sweet things to you, like “You are so beautiful, my love”, “Have I told you how much I love you today?” all while he presses his thousandth kiss of the day against your cheek. And it’s only noon.

Hides his jealousy: I don’t think Jimin would get jealous but if he sees you cozying up with somebody, he’d never tell you, because he’d hate to create unnecessary drama between you two, but he’d be a little insecure about it. Just the thought of you leaving him is enough to make him cry. You’d notice, like the best girlfriend you are, and you’d reassure him. “You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna choose you over somebody else, Chim” you’d whisper into his neck as he pretends he’s asleep (against your chest, obviously). He’d slightly smile, trying to continue pretending he’s sleeping, but he’s the happiest person on earth to hear those reassuring words.

Sensible lover: He’s so understanding when it comes to feelings. He’d never overshadow them or push them aside, he’ll always be the most empathetic person ever and listen to you, and try to help you with all his might. Jimin also knows you like the palm of his hand so don’t even try to hide your feelings from him. He knows when you need to hit a pause and break down a little.

Nicknames: My love (of course), lover, honey

NSFW:

Shower sex: Jimin loves a good round of shower sex. It depends on the mood, but he can be a gentle lover or somebody who’d just press your body against the tiles and leave your legs shaking as you come while he has you hoisted up in his arms. He’ll wash you afterwards, his soft and gentle hands running the soap all over your body as he drops a few kisses over your skin.

Favourite position: Missionary. He loves seeing your face contorted in pleasure while he kisses you with his plump lips.

Oral for both of you: He’d be into 69 for sure. It’s not something that he’d do every day, but he knows he loves when you give him head and absolutely loves destroying your cunt with his tongue and fingers. But he’d love to have you on his face, as he inserts his tongue inside of you while you choke on his dick.

Lots of sweet talk: I feel like Jimin is so romantic and a person that, when he falls in love, he falls hard, that he needs to voice those thoughts. So, when he’s deep inside of you, those thoughts will spill themselves. He can't help it. You feel so good and he loves you so much.

KIM TAEHYUNG

SFW:

Car drives late at night: Tae loves listening to music while driving with you, while he holds your hand or just grips your thigh, rubbing it up and down. You don’t need a destination or a reason to get the car keys and go for a drive, you both know you love each other’s company and honestly, who doesn’t love Taehyung’s sweet, deep voice as he sings along to your favourite songs. “What are you staring at?” he’d chuckle. “You” you whisper. He’d smile at you and pulls you into a sweet short kiss.

Gifting: It’s kind of like his love language. And it could be any type of gift. Two tickets to a museum (an excuse to have a date with you), a pair of earrings he saw you eyeing a few days ago, or he’d be the kind of boyfriend to restock your favourite snacks, buy your body wash, lotions or perfumes when he sees you’re running out of them. “Tae… why did you buy three boxes of perfume?” you’d ask. He’d turn around and smile, “Oh, I saw it was almost running out and thought I could get you a new one”. He’d never admit it out loud but he loves your scent and he wants to smell that perfume on you for the rest of his life.

Facetiming: If he’s on tour, he’ll facetime in his freetime. He can’t go that long without seeing your pretty face or hearing your sweet voice he loves so much. While you rant about your day, Tae will just stare with a goofy smile at your face as he thinks how fucking lucky he is he found you.

Flirts in front of his friends: A subtle way of telling everyone “she’s mine” is flirting shamelessly in front of everybody. He’ll have his hand on your waist and grip it tightly while he sometimes brush his hand up and down towards your ass. “Did you watch that rom-com that I recommended you last night?” one of your friends would ask, and before you could answer, Tae would say: “Nah, we were too busy last night” he’d smirk. “Ew” Hoseok would scrunch his nose while you hit his shoulder. “Hey! It’s not my fault you’re hot!”

Morning kisses: Tae would be the type of boyfriend who wakes you up giving you a full shower of kisses. He’d murmur a “Good morning, my muse” with a soft kiss to your cheek as you open your eyes, his pretty face blinding you almost. You’d immediately smile and his heart would be close to bust out of his chest.

Nickname: Muse, baby, beautiful

NSFW

Desperate: Tae is someone who’s passionate and he’s desperate for connection. He’d be the type to throw you into the bed after quickly discarding both your clothes and fucking you raw and frantically. He loves skin-to-skin contact and it sends him into orbit how you are just as desperate for him as he is for you.

Favourite position: All fours and riding. He loves both of them. He just can’t choose. He loves having you on his bed, with your face pressed against his sheets while your ass bounce against his hips and he grips your hair. But, as well, he loves sitting on the couch and having you giving him the ride of his life every single time. His face would be pressed against your chest as he sucks at your nipples and moans against them.

Boob lover: Yes, of course. Taehyung would prefer boobs before ass every single time. It doesn’t need to be during a sexual innuendo to grab at your boobs, sometimes he falls asleep while his hands are filled with your boobs. But yes, he’s a man after all, and he loves gripping, twisting and sucking on your tits because he’d die a happy man between those.

Hickeys: That’s a total yes for him. It’s another way to stake his claim on you, a way to show everyone that he’s the one responsible for that sweet assault on your neck. “Oh my God, Y/N! Who did that?” one of your friends would gasp as they tried to hide their laughter. You’d turn your head and find Taehyung with a shit-eating grin. “All me” he’d proudly state like a little shit.

JEON JUNGKOOK

SFW:

Cries after a fight: Jungkook is such a sensible little man and he’d be so hurt after a fight. He hates fighting in general, but what he’d hate even more is fighting with you, the love of his life. He’d regret everything as soon as it's over and immediately try to apologise, even if it wasn’t his fault to begin with. You’d feel bad as you see him almost on his knees and those doe eyes filled with tears. It’d bring you to tears yourself and the night would end up with both of you cuddled in bed as you reassure the other how much you love each other.

Princess treatment: Absolutely. You are his little princess, and that means he gets to spoil you with gifts, carry your shoes if they make your feet hurt, piggyback rides if you’re feeling tired, dates at luxurious restaurants, you name it.

Clingy: Jungkook’s clingy. We all know it. But who wouldn’t love it? He’d bring you with him on tour (after he’d begged and begged to his knees to the staff to let you come with him) and he’d keep you around him all the time. You’d get a little scared the members might find you annoying or overwhelming for him, as you’re always there, but they know Jungkook needs you close all the time, so they’re fine and happy for their maknae.

Loves to see you wearing his clothes: He feels his knees get weak when he sees you wearing his shirt, as it goes past your knees while you rub your eyes from sleep. He unconsciously bites his lip while you don’t notice the way he’s lusting over you at 8 in the morning.

Spams your phone with selfies: He’ll either steal your phone and when you grab it, you’ll find he took about 200 pictures, making silly faces or pouting cutely or he’ll just send the same amount of selfies when he’s away. He knows it annoys you but deep down he also knows you love having so many pictures of your pretty boyfriend you love so much.

Nicknames: Princess, baby, jagiya.

NSFW

Dirty talk: He’s so into it, he’d not only whisper it, he’d just say it straight to your face, making you clench around nothing. “You wanna suck my cock, yeah?” he’d moan. “Yeah, fuck, you’re so tight, baby”. “Look at how dumb my cock is making you”

Favourite position: Against the wall. Man’s a gym-bro so he’ll obviously take advantage of that so that he can press you against the nearest wall and hammer your sweet spot, making your arousal squirt out of you with how hard he likes fucking you.

Slapping: Are we surprised? We’ve all seen the butt obsession he has and you wouldn’t be the exception. Your ass would be red and sore by the time he’s done with you. He’d love slapping it as he fucks you from behind, when you’re doing the most mundane things like brushing your teeth, cooking or bending down to pick up a fallen object. “Hey!” you’d squeal. “Sorry, your ass looked so tempting, babe”. I think, if you’re okay with it, he’d slap your face with his palm or his cock. He loves seeing you whine when he does it and how your cheek starts turning red from the stinging.

Biting: Jungkook likes biting a lot and loves giving you hickeys all over your body. He also loves getting bitten as well, especially his nipples.

2K notes · View notes

lo1k-diamonds · 8 months

Text

SX Seoul Series | Yoongi Entry 💜 Sugar Rush Ride

PAIRING: YoongixReader

SUMMARY: You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

WORD COUNT: 12.6k

GENRE: coworkers (mutually) pining to lovers

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: explicit, pwp (porn w/ plot really), drunk fight (but you sober up...sort of), bratty reader, rough but Yoongi is pro at aftercare, fingerfucking, face-fucking, edging, spankings, his hand is on your neck a lot (am I forgetting something?)

(You can also read it on AO3)

A.N. This is based on the song of the same title by TXT 🔥 It was not planned and maybe it has been done before, but it was too good to miss 😁

Masterlist | Masterpost | Scroll my stories on Tumblr | Schedule and WIPs

Yoongi parked his car underground in a private parking lot before stepping outside into the night in Itaewon. It was crowded as usual, but he paid no mind to the passersby — he had somewhere to be.

He reached the steps that led into a famous club in the neighborhood and entered below the red lines warming up the humidity into steam: SX.

He was giving away his coat when the music from the backroom hit him, the pop music with the codename temptation resonating in the air, and in his ribcage. He stepped towards it confidently, unbothered by the instant boom of noise that hit him once the door opened and closed again behind him. No, nothing would bother him until he found what he was looking for.

He scanned the room attentively, the darkness crossed punctually and rhythmically by the flashes of lights to the beat of the songs he helped produce himself. All but one song that ended up being the main track, the reason why he had rushed to be at the listening party tonight.

He got to the bar and looked around again; he saw lots of people he knew, the artists included. None had seen him yet, so he took the chance to search even more carefully. And finally, his eyes fell on you. You were listening attentively as you held your hair to the side and someone, a man spoke into your ear above the noise. Then you burst out laughing, shoulders and chest trembling with excitement, and your hand landed on the man’s chest. Not in a smack, not to push him away, just subtly placed there in an intimate gesture, or an invitation thereof.

Yoongi was by your side before he knew it. The man with you looked up with a silent question and you flinched and looked back, eyes instantly widening in surprise.

“Yoongi! You’re back!”

You launched your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, and he immediately knew you had alcohol in your system. Despite this, he reacted the only way he could be expected to — he wrapped a protective arm around you and looked straight into the eyes of that dude trying his luck.

“Right on time,” you grinned when you stepped back. “Inhyuk, this is Yoongi, the producer I was telling you about.”

The guy bowed and said something polite, but Yoongi wasn’t listening. You had stepped to stand beside the guy and his hand had comfortably set on your waist. For a second, his sole thought was, Since when? But then he cooled down.

“I see. Well, enjoy the party. I’ll see you later,” he told you with his eyes set on yours and you got the message.

But you didn’t want to worry about that right now, so when Inhyuk pulled you by the waist to talk to you a bit closer, you didn’t flinch. You smiled and agreed to have another drink while the crowd around you listened and enjoyed the album you helped produce. You were proud of yourself, it was the fruit of your first year of work with—

The main track started and the crowd cheered as it did every time it played. Your eyes watered as Inhyuk congratulated you and clinked his drink to yours but as you drank, there was heat building inside of you. It was funny to hear the lyrics you wrote being sung back at you and fit perfectly at that moment. But then you chuckled, as your eyes fell on Min Yoongi. Your thoughts would always stop as soon as he was back near you. That would never change.

Yet you looked up and smiled at Inhyuk, giddy with your drink and with excitement. You made a vow when you decided to let this song be performed and sung — it was you putting your feelings into your work to get rid of them. That was the deal.

Inhyuk smiled mischievously at you as if he couldn’t believe, but didn’t disapprove, of the song's lyrics speaking so openly about desire, about opening locked doors into seeing stars and asking for more. And you kept smiling and drinking. Because you made a deal with yourself and maybe tonight was the perfect time to go into a new direction.

The song was only three minutes long, but it drove Yoongi to a corner. He gripped his tonic water and faced the bar while the music kept calling to him, Come here more, let’s play more.

Just like the first time he heard it and was covered in goosebumps, wild thoughts coming to him that he had to quickly water down. He sighed; it didn’t stop him from flying back as soon as possible to talk to you about it. Confront you, more like.

He turned to the side to find you by the bar having shots with that guy, and that was it. The full album had played, you had your moment in the spotlight as you should, the artists were having a blast alongside everyone else, and he had had enough of seeing you so close to some guy.

You were on your fourth tequila shot when you felt an arm extend behind you to reach the bar, and you shivered. Not because it was cold; you were sweating from the drinks and the energy of the crowd. No, it was because you knew who it was, even if the arm didn’t touch you.

“We should go,” his voice was steady near your ear even though your head was spinning a little.

“The night is still young!” Inhyuk said as he grinned and grabbed another shot glass, waiting for you to do the same, but despite your giddiness, you hesitated.

You looked up to Yoongi and saw his neutral beautiful lines, and you understood what he was doing.

The guy saw he was losing you, so he moved closer to get your attention, “I can take you home.”

He said it with amusement, like a tease, and you grinned. You were taken by the energy between you two; you both knew where that was going. But then a breath being slowly heaved behind you shook your foundations and you looked down. Yoongi was just doing his part of the deal, but suddenly you were fucking pissed. He couldn’t possibly understand that you needed to be with someone, anyone other than him. Desperately, before you’d fucking combust!

But he was your coworker, the genius producer of your label. And despite everything, you didn’t want to burn a bridge. Inhyuk was not that great anyway.

You shrugged almost innocently, “Maybe next time. It was nice meeting you.”

Yoongi pointed so that you’d go ahead to the exit and you did. Yet with every step, something was bubbling up your throat. There was a lump there, blocking you from voicing it while you grabbed your coats, walked the cold night to his car, and got in to be on your way.

The whole ride you argued with yourself that this was for the best. You shouldn’t have sex with someone after so many drinks, that was not how it was supposed to go. But maybe that was what you needed to have the courage to just move on. To want another man as desperately, and not the one driving you home right now. You needed it, you needed to go crazy and do something you wouldn’t normally do. You needed the regret, to stop playing safe, to stop believing your heart knew what was best for you when all it did was set on someone who saw you as nothing but a colleague.

When you arrived, he entered the private parking of your apartment building and parked swiftly. It made your stomach bubble further with anger, he was just so used to taking you home. That was the deal. Well, screw that.

“Thanks, good night.”

You pushed the door open and peeled yourself away, closing it with a bham only to seek support in the car instantly. Your legs were wobbly, the world was spinning and you cursed in irritation. It was fine before, why was it so difficult now?

His door opened and closed, the car beeped as it locked, then his steps echoed to get to you. And everything was like needles prickling your patience. He stood next to you to help you and you didn’t know what you wanted more: to scream at him or to just disappear.

But he placed his hand on your waist firmly, walked you to the lobby and the elevator, and even dialed your code to enter your apartment. It infuriated you — it reminded you of all the times over the last year that he had done his part of the deal. That he had taken you home safe and sound, and still never seen you for anything more while you pined helplessly.

So you tried to reach your living room without his help and stumbled very quickly, yet a firm grip on your arm prevented you from falling face flat. Normally, you would have blushed, thanked him, and let the politeness and decorum dictate your interactions, but not now.

You pulled your arm loose, “I don’t need a chaperone!”

“And I don't need you to fall and break a leg.”

You threw your jacket and purse over your couch finally with a frustrated huff. The world was spinning and annoying you so fucking much. You needed to scream at him once and for all and be done with it, why couldn’t it stand still?

“Why did you interfere?”

“What do you mean?” He was calmly taking his shoes off after hanging his coat by the entrance and his placidness irked you.

“I was having a good time!”

You barely saw the line crossing his face, “He was no good for you.”

“What? Why?!”

“He just wasn’t,” he stated, walking further inside your apartment like he knew it, and he did. He’d normally stay for a chat after bringing you home and made sure you were okay.

“But why?!” You insisted, eyes so wide they looked twice their size, and still the room was shaky. “What was so wrong with him that—”

“He was trying to get you drunk,” he almost scoffed as he reached your kitchen and started looking around for something.

“So?” You tried following him, annoyed that he was not paying attention to you.

He found a cup and right next to it what he was looking for. He took a black coffee capsule and put both things next to your coffee machine. “He just wanted sex.”

He seemed annoyed now as he prepped the coffee and you threw your hands in the air, “I fucking want sex!”

He paused and looked at you, at your wide eyes and red cheeks. And you held your breath, swallowing dryly. Did you just yell that at Min Yoongi? At your genius coproducer?

“You're drunk.”

He pressed the button to draw an expresso from the machine, and you felt like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m not drunk!!” He didn’t look at you and you gripped your hair with a frustrated scream. “I’m just not only a fucking worker bee, okay?! I have needs, I want things! So what, sex is too much for you to handle or som—”

A look was all it took for you to feel your guts freeze in place. You were so attuned to this fucking man that his slightest hint of disapproval hit you like an icicle. But it wasn’t just that, it was something else. Disappointment?

And you revolted hard against it; he had no right to make you feel this way. “Then what’s the problem?! I can’t want it? Because I’m a woman or something?”

He took the coffee cup and placed it in front of you on the kitchen counter, “Drink it.”

You ignored it, “I didn’t think you were a prude or conservative, but this is me.” You stepped back and fought the traces of the spinning walls vehemently. “I want things. More than just make good music, I’m not just my work.” He was listening, he was looking at you, but all he did was push the cup the slightest in your direction. And you snorted, “Hell, that’s why my music is good. Because I want— I want things.”

You couldn’t look at him, only at his feet. You thought you wanted to scream your frustration at him, but now you realized that was pointless. It wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t into you anyway.

“We’re not talking unless you’re sober.”

You raised your eyes and his coolness hardened you. Right. You’d get a slap on the wrist for getting drunk at the listening party of the album you fucking produced. For wanting to sleep with another producer. For not being professional? Who the fuck knew why. And maybe sober you’d care about losing your dream, but right now you were just fucking done.

“Right, whatever,” you turned to head to your bedroom. “I’ll take a shower, we can talk tomorrow.”

Yoongi saw you walk a bit shakily but firmly toward your bedroom and then he sighed. He considered for a moment to do as you wished and leave, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Selfishly, he didn’t want to wait for tomorrow. He was restless, he needed to talk to you about it. And to do that, he needed you sober.

He grabbed your coffee cup and knocked on the ajar door with his eyes glued to the floor. He called your name and you scoffed.

“You’re taking our deal too much to the letter,” your voice sounded strained and he closed his free hand into a fist. “You don’t need to worry about—”

He heard noises and he didn’t think twice; he pushed the door open and found you almost fallen to the floor trying to take your dress off. You huffed in annoyance; you should have sat on the bed but then how would the dress pass under—

A firm hand hoisted you up as if you were as light as a feather and you came face to face with him. The man in your dreams, in your mind, making you scream in your bed just at the thought of him. Making you crazy.

“I’m fine,” you said, looking down. “I can handle myself. You don’t need to bring me home and make sure I don’t—”

Your voice wavered, what were you—

Your eyes filled with tears, but maybe that was exactly what needed to happen, “Yeah, let’s stop that. Our deal? Let’s end it. You don’t need to bring me home and watch over me. I know I’m a woman in a men-dominated company, but I’m not a child.”

He sighed and stepped away and your heart cracked, leaving you to hide your face with one hand and try to press your chest with the other. You knew that to move on you had to push him away, but damn did it sting and—

The scent of coffee invaded your nose and you raised your hand from over your eyes. He was holding the coffee cup in front of you.

“Stop for a second and drink it. Then, we’ll talk.”

You looked for the sincerity in his eyes, and of course, you found it. So you took the cup and chugged the expresso as if it had been just another tequila shot. Then you lowered your arm and looked at him, trying to sense if that changed anything. It didn’t really, not for you.

“Did you hear what I said?”

His lips twitched, “I heard you, but you’re not hearing me. Sober, I said.”

You shrugged, “You said drink, I did. So now we talk. No more deal. No more keeping me safe, no more watching over me or bringing me home. I need to— I need to let it all out.”

His lips pursed for a second but then he voiced quietly, “I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you shrugged and almost laughed at yourself. “I told you I want things.”

“You write about what you want.” You hummed. “So what is that main track?”

“What I want.”

You were looking at him, a void in your mind all of a sudden, but he hesitated. You said you wanted sex and the song was about desire. Maybe he was reading it wrong.

“What do you want?”

“It’s not a what.”

“Is it a who?”

Your mouth dried, so you nodded. You were staring right at the object of your desire but he looked confused.

He scratched his head and then tried, “Did you— Did you use those words on purpose?”

“What words?”

“What w—” He seemed bewildered, “My stage name. You used my stage name. Sugar? Was that on purpose?”

For a split second, you were frozen, livid, shocked, and then laughter bubbled out of you, “I thought I had been so clever about it. Saying sugar instead of suga.” He was staring at you and his inexpression only led you to push the air out of your lungs, “I know, you don’t have to say it. You won't touch me, even if pigs fly. I know that.”

“That's not true.”

You tilted your head, then laughed some more, “Yes, it is. You don't even see me as a woman, I'm just another producer.”

“That's also not true.”

“Right,” you chuckled. “Let me give you reasons to walk out that door right now. I not only wanted to sleep with you but wrote a whole main track about wanting you. About being dazed, overwhelmed by desire, wanting just more. Give it a listen. You know I struggle with titles, but the name of the song was the first thing I had.”

You chuckled again and turned around, rubbing your face for a moment. It was out. You didn’t care too much if anyone else knew, and if anyone had thought of it, they had been smart enough to stay quiet. But now he knew, and there was no going back. Sugar rush ride. You laughed again. You stood by that tile.

“I—” His voice sounded unsure for the first time and you turned to face him. “I don’t— Was it just a rush? You felt a rush at the thought of me and wrote that?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a world of a difference,” he insisted, eyes set on you though he hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I still haven’t heard you say what you want now.”

“What I want?” You were incredulous, “Are you even listening? I’ve been saying nothing else! What?” He was unmoving, but for the first time, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening, and you were out of filters. “I want to be with you. You to fuck me already.” You shivered, the strength of your own words working against you. “I have since the day we met. I forgot I had an ex and was heartbroken to finger myself to the thought of you so many times I lost count.” He opened his mouth but you didn’t let him speak, “Shut up. I know what you'll say. I’ve wasted a year of my life. We're kind of friends and we work together. I know all that,” you huffed, exhausted. “So just leave.”

You turned to get to your ensuite bathroom and this time succeeded in pulling the dress out of your body, letting it fall to the ground with a rustle. You turned to reach the makeup remover over your counter and almost missed the way he was still standing in your room, looking at you. You blinked as you faced him, and your nipples hardened without your control with the goosebumps navigating your skin. You had nothing on, you rarely did in events like those. You used it to boost your self-esteem and feel sexy, and now you guessed he knew it too.

You removed your makeup relatively quickly and were curious to look back, and he was gone. You looked down with tears pooling in your eyes; but of course. Why did it all just have to come out of your mouth like that? Now he knew your deepest darkest secrets and would never want to work together again in the future. Great.

You stepped into the shower and let the warmth wash away your worries. You were not a child. You had feelings and wants. They were perhaps misplaced, but you didn’t harm anyone. You sighed; still, maybe it was best to look for a new job in the morning.

Once you made peace with that, your mind wandered to greener pastures, to more heavenly thoughts. You reviewed the expression he had as you told him crudely what you wanted, and it was good. Tense. In your wildest fantasies maybe it could be even a little possessive. And the thought of Min Yoongi getting possessive over you turned you on like nothing ever could.

Your hand trailed south along your skin and avoided the water. Your undeniable arousal made you chuckle. You had just told him you touched yourself thinking of him, and there you were again, like clockwork. He never told you not to, he didn’t act disgusted or look at you sideways, so suddenly you felt egged on.

You tilted your ass up and out of the water and spread your folds greedily, closing your eyes to think back to his dark eyes while you were naked in front of him. It was as if he wasn’t thinking, he was just looking. You didn’t see his eyes running up and down your body, but you didn’t have to. No way he would not be curious, even if he had walked out.

His leaving stung but fuck, was he hot. Now he knew you thought of him and what you did while thinking of him. Your heart stung for a second with the thought that you would lose his friendship, but you got back on track. You were horny and he had created that mess. You tried to kindly tell him to leave so many times, it wasn’t your fault that he lingered until you were spurting the deepest truths and stripping naked to shower.

And now he knew. He knew you didn't like wearing underwear when you had formal events, how sensitive your nipples were to the cold, and that you had a small blue birthmark at the end of your back. Fuck. He knew you were a dirty little whore fingering yourself to the thought of his cock buried deep—

Two arms wrapped around you and you moaned, too immersed in your fantasy to be startled. You were thinking about his arms around you, his chest strong for your back to take support, hands trailing down your body to explore with long fingers ready to spell your demise so easily—

His fingers were next to yours cupping your sex and you gasped, squirming away only to be pressed against his firm chest.

“No, continue,” his voice was a taunt as his free hand seemed indecisive about where to settle on your body. “You want to touch yourself? Go on.”

You stammered his name but his fingers were quickly learning from yours how to trace your heat, spread your slick, and make you tremble. You were shaking, half embarrassed, half feverish, until his other hand finally settled on groping your breast harshly and you moaned. You moaned with a hiss dragging with how much more you wanted, with your ass bucking into him only to rub more to get a better feeling of his hard cock on your ass. He was clothed, you could feel it, but the thought of him wanting this was driving you up the wall.

He was coming to you while you showered, entering it with clothes on just to reach you, grab you, touch you, and make you moan. There was no hiding it now, no possible misunderstanding. He had fingers rubbing your clit while his other hand squeezed your tit harshly, making your legs weak. Nothing was forcing him to stay, to touch you, to listen to you moan.

You bucked your hips again, you were so close to coming it was unstoppable. Yet a logical thought still tried to push through, “Are you sure about this? We're friends— We work tog—”

If only you weren’t rubbing your ass on his crotch to feel him better, to get tighter, to force his fingers on your clit to chase you.

His reply was a whisper to your ear over your wet hair, “You said what you wanted. You can feel how much I agree.”

Your walls squeezed, you were so ready, “You— You want this?”

His hips pushed into you once and you almost fell apart. “Don’t pretend you can’t feel it. I’m asking myself how you never noticed.”

You gripped his hand over your chest and he released the pressure, instantly making you squirm and whine in a complaint. You pressed his hand and he squeezed again, hearing attentively how your moan pitched wantonly. He hummed near your ear, nuzzling your wet skin with a smile adorning his lips. So that was how you liked it.

“No, I—” Your breath hitched with how he was working you and for the second time you thought you would fall apart, but the intensity reeled back to allow you to think. “Not like this. I noticed you treated me differently but I thought it was because I was the only girl in the studio—”

You staggered with a gasp, your body rushing a cold wave under your skin to contrast with the warm water of the shower, but again the sensation eased as the seconds ticked away. And you knew then that it was him, keeping you on the edge and not letting you fall apart. Him with his smooth fingers and nuzzling behind your ear.

“No, not because of that,” his voice was tense as his lips ghosted over your wet neck. “I was… charmed,” he admitted with a chuckle, and when you bucked your hips, he gripped you closer. “But I thought you saw me as a friend.” The thought alone made his lip pull in annoyance, but the slick covering his fingers at your heat soothed him, “I could have done this so many times if you had just asked.”

He bit down on the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck and you screamed, the sting mixing with your pleasure so viscerally that you could have cum on it alone. Only he sensed it too and moved his hand away, dragging yours along so you couldn’t finish it yourself, and you laughed quietly. He was suckling on your skin with meticulous precision and you could only grin widely, euphoric sparks flying out of control inside your belly.

“You could have said something too,” you sounded like you were whining, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He was now licking where he had just marked you and you were trembling, legs so weak it was embarrassing.

He let go and nuzzled along your neck to your spine in between your wet hair, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. You either want it or you don’t. I thought you’d say something.”

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t ever. You should have known.”

He hummed and leaned back ever so slightly to look at the curve of your ass pressed against him. Then his hand trailed up, lashed by the shower while gently feeling and pressing your soft skin. He couldn’t believe he almost missed this.

“We have to work on that, then.”

You were still smiling when you let your head fall back to his shoulder, “If you did as I said—”

“I'd be out of here without ever getting to touch you,” his annoyance was clear in his voice, and even in the way his fingers pressed less gently. “Without knowing what’s on your mind. No, you,” he wrapped his arm across your torso to gently reach the base of your neck and you looked up, giving him more space. “You are not in charge here.”

He couldn’t have known the way you were grinning. You just let yourself fall further into his embrace, his hand settling on the base of your neck in a way you found comforting. Then he turned you gently to the side and your back hit the cold wall. A hiss came out of your lips quickly, but you were still smiling. Even as his dark eyes scanned you for your reaction, with one hand keeping you still by the neck. You were waiting with a familiar ease on your features, and he relaxed. That was enough.

Suddenly, your feet parted and you were surprised. He had used his foot to spread your legs and the way his free hand was tracing your wet body like he owned it shortcircuited your brain.

“I want to know what this dirty mind of yours has been keeping from me.”

You could hear a hint of eagerness and it was enough, “I won't tell you.”

“You will.” His tone was so sure, like he held the world at his beckoning, that you trembled. You were sure then he would hold yours, turn it upside down, inside out, and you’d love every second of it. “You will tell me every dream of yours, every fantasy, every little filthy fleeting thought. Then maybe we can do something about it.”

“Maybe?” You were eager, his hand was at your lower stomach but seemingly chose to ignore where you ached most.

“Maybe. If that's something you want.”

“I do, I want everything.”

His eyes jumped to yours; he needed to know if that was a spur-of-the-moment blurted line, or if you meant it. All he found were eager glistening eyes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you confirmed, eyes staring at him like you were seeing stars.

For a split second, he considered that this could not be what he thought it was. Maybe you were still drunk and just talking big, maybe you had no idea of what you were saying. But the way you didn’t waver, even as he considered pulling the plug on everything despite being a millimeter away from snapping and making his thoughts come true did sway him. He brushed your jaw once so tenderly and you leaned into his touch. He’d take it easy while he discovered you, there was no rush.

“Alright,” he voiced and lowered his hand. “Show me first.”

“Show you what?” You were eager but you were starting to shiver.

“What you do when you think of me.”

“Didn’t you just catch me doing it?”

“You’re going to look at me this time.”

“Look?” You tilted your head slightly.

“Eyes on me,” his eyebrows twitched.

“Only my eyes?”

“And your thoughts.”

You grinned and looked away but his instant grip over your chin made you look up.

“You sure you want everything?”

You huffed with a sly smile and let your head fall back to the wall, “I’m sure.” His dark gaze was skeptical and your grin widened, “Oh, I want everything, sugar. Be sure not to hold back.”

He looked down to follow your movements and you almost laughed. Your hand was rubbing your clit so you could control your pleasure while his eyes roamed your body, the doubt lingering on his features. You could laugh again, but you didn’t. The way he doubted you was funny because he had no idea how crazy you were about him, but then it occurred to you that you also didn’t know the first thing about him. Did he like to watch? Would he guide you or leave you adrift? He had edged you three times already, did he notice? Did he do it on purpose to drive you crazy?

Would he do it again?

Where exactly was his line? He was quiet now, eating you with his eyes and absorbing every little detail, from the way you breathed to your tongue peeking through your lips, to the way you gathered your arousal to coat your clit. You gasped ever so softly and his eyes instantly jumped to your face, and your lips twitched. You had him. How was it that you had the powerful Min Yoongi?

“What is going on in there?”

His voice was soothing and low, soft as a caress, and you smiled. “You.”

“Me how?”

“You told me to think about you,” your fingers hastened and you grinned.

“I told you I want to know your thoughts.”

You hummed with a smile and eyed him from head to toe shamelessly. You knew what he told you, what he wanted, but what about what you wanted?

Your fingers picked up the pace as your eyes gained a sly glim, and you thought he saw it. If he didn’t, he at least heard the wet sounds echoing in the bathroom.

“Do it slowly.”

You obeyed, so painfully slowly that your eyelashes fluttered, but what truly got you was the soothing of his features. He looked endeared, all because you did as he told you. He looked so sweet, so adorable, so loveable. You wanted to squeeze his precious cheeks.

So you reached forward to touch his face, but he slapped your hand away harshly, “No.” You bit your lip not to smile but his eyes were just hardening. “I’m still waiting.”

“For?”

You couldn’t help your grin as you squirmed ever so slightly against the wall. His precious dark eyes were so focused on you.

“Me how?”

But he wasn’t paying attention. “You right now.”

It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t become impatient, “Just me standing here?”

Your fingers were ever so quicker, “Stiff as a stick trying to control something that isn’t yours yet.”

His eyes glimmed and your tongue peeked out again to hide your laugh. It was fun seeing him being careful, but when would he actually touch you?

“Didn’t I say slower?”

You instantly did, and the recoil of the feeling had you fluttering your eyes closed.

“Eyes on me,” he sounded angrier now, closer too.

You did open your eyes but pursed your lips; there was still half an arm's distance between you. If he wouldn’t get the hint, then you’d have to do it yourself.

“Strip,” you asked, swallowing dryly.

He scoffed and instantly looked down, “I said slow.”

“If you want it slow, do it yourself.”

It happened so fast you couldn’t process it. Like a rubberband snapping, his hand darted to your neck pulling and pushing hard enough that your head banged the wall but not harshly enough that it hurt you. It did daze you for a second, but your lips just formed a grin until you laughed.

Two could play that game, apparently, and he looked so fucking hot when he was mad. You loved that his hand stayed put like a necklace, a reminder that he wasn’t touching your heat, but he owned it. Along with your thoughts and your pleasure, he owned you. And that would have been enough to snap you, but what about him?

So you closed your eyes again, blatantly going against what he wanted, and were not surprised when his free hand darted to pinch your hardened nipple. You moaned instantly, facing him with the same challenge, meeting dark eyes that seemed to have given up on making you talk, but not on making you do as you were told.

So every time you blinked, he pinched you. Your nipples, your sides, your ass, earning moans every time, but nothing more, until he snapped again. He jumped on you and you just made your neck more available for him to latch on and bite. Your moan instantly pitched, and it finally seemed worth it. He was squeezing your tits and biting you while you played yourself to his presence, and he finally was involved in it too.

“Don’t come.”

The joke was that you wanted to do as he said, but you couldn’t anymore. Your moans were higher now, just like your daze, and in a second—

He yanked your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to see what happens when I think of you?”

Your voice was light but your chest heaving gave your state away, and the more he kissed and bit down your neck, the worse it became. You needed him, needed more than just his thoughts or presence. You gripped his shoulders to bring him closer, you needed—

A whimper pushed out of you as you hid in his neck, but he didn’t stop. You were sure that had to be at least three fingers just pushing into you roughly with no preparation other than your repeated edging. No preparation came, whatsoever, because as soon as they were in, he started pumping his fingers in and out of you at a vicious speed.

You instantly lost your grip on reality, though not on his shoulders, as even the air seemed to still inside your lungs. The sultry sounds echoing around you didn’t just come from his digits beckoning you closer insanely fast, but also from your whimpers. Because there was a fire burning you from the inside out with every moan as he bit and licked closer to your ear. As your nails sank through his shirt to reach his skin, your legs trembled, and the wall behind you became scorching hot while he pressed you to it.

From deep within your frenzy you couldn’t hear his growl near your ear, or feel the way his drool dripped down your neck or his fingers dag at your skin. He could hear you, pitchy moans quickly becoming an addictive sound, yet this time it was different. Your cunt was squeezing around him like a vice, and the harder it made for him to finger fuck you, the more he wanted to.

“Don’t come,” he grunted right under your ear, but you couldn’t register. You just moaned even more desperately, gripping him to you so hard he thought he’d melt. “You’ll cum when I tell you to.”

He was trying to hold on to something when he pulled away to look at you, but he could see you weren’t listening. You were flushed and panting hastily, avid with your nerves on fire. You could only see him and you had been waiting too long.

“Please,” you sounded a second away from breaking into tears and he admired you for it at that moment. You were so strong for him. And so pliable.

So he kissed your cheek gently and said your name once, taking pleasure from rolling it over his tongue. “Go on, cum.”

And it was all you needed to snap, tears coming to your eyes as your hips convulsed and searched for friction. You didn’t think you needed it because your walls were tensing, and again and again while desperate cries fell from your lips. His fingers calmed down inside you, his breath the same temperature as your blazing cheeks, and you thought a sweet blanket of lethargy would cover you soon.

Only he never stopped fucking you with his fingers, and so you whimpered and tried to push him away weakly.

“Don’t come down,” he murmured to your cheek. “Stay, don’t let it go.”

Your nails sank on his shoulder blades again as you squinted your eyes shut. Tears roamed your eyes as you tried breathing and pushing through your sensitivity. You could handle your clit being sensitive, but inside you, that was a whole different story. You felt like you had been pounded to perfection, only to be further kneaded into sensations you had never felt before.

You looked at him, eyes droopy with whines coming out of your mouth. Why weren’t you surprised?

“Give me another one,” he asked gently, but you didn’t answer.

How could you, he twisted his hand to reach into you deeper and your whole core burned. He was relighting a fire you thought had been extinguished, only to leave you breathless, dripping slick down his hand as you moaned between gritted teeth.

So beautiful, so tense. He wanted to release you.

“Look at me,” he asked softly, and you did. His eyes gave you a tenderness that made your heart convulse. How could he act sweetly like that, as if half of his hand wasn’t pounding your g-spot to bits? “You’re so good. Doing so well, giving me everything I want.” Your only reply was your moans, but you were listening. “I need you to focus for me.” He leaned to whisper in your ear, “Focus on the tension. You’re so tight around my fingers. Relax, don’t fight it. That’s it, move with me,” his voice was sweeter, and you softened. It was as if he was in it with you. As if he could feel it too. As if he was fucking you and not just sticking his fingers inside you. “You feel so good,” his whisper felt like the highest form of praise, and your moan pitched, melting alongside your nerves. He was so happy at the sound as he traced his lips down your cheek to whisper to the corner of your mouth, “Come with me.”

You moved with him once, twice, seeing in his eyes how much he was seeing and feeling you before looking at his lips, so close. He brushed yours ever so slightly in the hint of a kiss, moving with you as if you were jumping on his cock and not on his digits, and it was what pushed you. You pulled him closer and he let his mouth fall to yours, and your orgasm instantly started, forcing you to swerve so you could moan and breathe as you disintegrated.

He let you feel your ecstasy to the fullest, biting his lip and feeding off of your release as if it were oxygen. Your trembling lips, your nails that marked his shoulders, your throbbing walls squeezing and gripping around him in sweet delight. All of you like a charming melody, sweet and utopic. Your moans were music until the very last, and by then, he had to taste it.

His free hand cupped your cheek and coaxed you into a sloppy kiss that you instantly reacted to. You were still not there, though, too dazed from the high to realize it fully; until you did. And you gasped. Yoongi’s tongue was licking at your bottom lip gently as if you were a delicacy that needed to be tasted slowly, and you couldn’t believe it.

You parted your lips to let him in and he pressed you even closer, enclosing you in such a euphoric moment you thought you’d pop like a firework. Like a cocoon filled with dazed butterflies with nowhere to go. He was kissing you and your wildest dreams seemed to have just come true. Tears were still hanging onto your waterline, and when he pressed your lips to move away and breathe, you were scared that it had all been a dream.

“So good, you’re so good.”

His voice was calm and tender, and it gave you the courage to open your eyes. He was so close with his eyes roaming your features swiftly, taking in the smallest detail as if he was finally free to. Then he smiled at your wonder, and you were convinced it was a dream.

That notion didn’t dissipate as he reached to the side to grab a towel and dry you with gentleness, enveloping you in the fluffy material as if it were a cloud. You sniffled, drained from the energy that you had just burned away and woozy from his sweet pats as he tried to dry the excess water out of your long hair.

Not even when he took your hand and pulled you back into your bedroom did the haze recede. Instead, you saw him pull the duvet open for you to get in the bed and you lost the towel and got in without a thought. Once you settled in, you did have your first thought: where was he going?

But he was back soon, and you knew in the back of your mind that he was just making the place tidy: getting the coffee cup from the floor to put it on the table, stopping the shower, and shutting the lights. Then he grabbed your towel from the floor and dried his own hair with hastened movements before throwing it aside. His eyes fell on you and your own picked up on the wet spots on his clothes. He was probably cold too.

“Come here,” you voiced hoarsely, staying in a ball to conserve the heat. He instantly stepped to you, but you pouted, “Clothes off first.”

He blinked and looked down, but then smirked and did as you asked. Of course, he couldn’t make your bed humid and uncomfortable with his clothes. Your eyes were on him, unable to separate from the soft unblemished skin revealing itself more and more. His muscles moved as he bent down, wide shoulders and soft biceps trying to hide the strength he had. But you just observed quietly, tucked in the duvet. You could still feel his fingers inside and all around you, pressing and owning you easily. But you could keep a secret, his power and strength were only for you to know.

He lowered his pants and boxers and your eyes glued to him like a magnet. He was hard and pretty, with protruding veins on a thick length that had your imagination doing cartwheels.

Your thoughts were interrupted quickly when he opened the duvet to get beside you and you shivered. You opened your arms and legs to welcome him, and in your haze, you suddenly thought that it all felt so domestic.

He grabbed your hand and pulled it away to tell you he wanted to lie behind you and you agreed instantaneously. His arms wrapped around you just as fast as you rubbed your ass to his crotch, and he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“You must be tired.”

“No,” your voice was a low whimper as his warmth relaxed your nerve ends.

“No?” He sounded amused and soft and you had to admit that his chest was the fluffiest pillow.

“No…”

You didn't want to, but you were slowly dozing off. Slowly, and a bit more with every soothing breath you took together.

You shook and forced your eyes open, “I don't want to fall asleep.”

“Why?”

Your heart beamed and your lips curved; he was still holding you with his mouth to your head.

“Because… it will end,” you admitted, falling deeper into his touch as he nuzzled your hair. Suddenly you realized his boner was half gone. “You didn't come, I haven't touched you yet. I don't want to miss the opportunity.”

“We have tomorrow.”

“You might change your mind.”

“So can you.”

“I won't,” you insisted with a hint of annoyance as you twisted to look back at him.

“I won't either,” he promised calmly, glistening eyes set on you.

Your eyes were closing, the comfort and lethargy were pulling you away. Still, you focused on his lips, “Kiss me.”

He met your lips with no hesitation and you let that sweet touch soothe you. When he pulled away and kissed your nose, you slipped asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, two things made you alert: your soreness and the lack of space. You groaned with the sweet throb between your legs but frowned because something was over you. Turning back, the most precious image graced your vision and made stars twinkle in your eyes.

Min Yoongi was sleeping as quietly as a mouse with an arm around your shoulders as if to keep you tucked in. You brushed his hair aside and his nose twitched, making you instantly melt. Why did he look so sweet asleep? How could he be such a beast as a musician, a genius producer, and a darling in private?

You kept brushing his hair soothingly, thinking that intimately he was not a darling. No, not cute, not sweet. If that throb between your legs meant something, it was that Yoongi was the kind that owned. He owned his music, his process, the studio room, and you, for all you cared. Your finger trailed his cheek as you recalled your words the night before. He said he wanted you, the same as you, and he said he wouldn't change his mind, but what if he did? What if you lost your opportunity the night before?

Maybe you were still half asleep; otherwise, the fact that you were both in bed naked would have meant something. As it stood, you were anxious about what reality could bring. So when he opened his eyes and saw you, your instinct was to kiss him.

You brushed his lips gently but surely, giving him more than enough time and place to push you away if he wanted to. So when he didn't, you became bolder. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips and your hand roamed his chest, and as you got lost, you became vulnerable.

He waited as long as he could. He let you kiss him, let you press, let you push him a bit back into the pillow, let you cup his jaw, but you never moved away. Never stopped, and never changed your mind. You did say you wanted everything, and he thought he had given you enough time to take it back.

So he grabbed your hair and rolled over you to get on top, pushing his tongue past your lips without asking. And you moaned, instantly weak to him taking something that in all that concerned you belonged to him anyway.

You thought that meant a green light to explore him just as he was doing, passing his hand down your side to your waist, but no. You palmed the expanse of his chest and he interrupted his mission simply to grab your wrists and pull them down. He pressed them once to the mattress, then released one to pass his slender fingers between your breasts and you took the opportunity again. Your hand sneakily went under the sheets to scratch his hip up to his ass, feeling how firm he was over you, yet he caught you before you could squeeze him.

“Stay still.”

He could have been saying good morning, yet you puffed, “Let me.”

“No.”

“But I want to,” you pouted and he nibbled down your neck.

“Too bad.”

You wanted to be good to him; you liked him touching you and his hard cock ever so close to your core did make you hazy with want. But as he kissed and licked and palmed and pressed you from head to toe, you grew impatient. Incredibly so when he turned you belly down to do the same down the length of your spine as if he had all the time in the world. Even more when he raised your ass and spread your legs, nibbling at your ass cheeks and squeezing them roughly. Aggravatingly so when he noticed your wetness dripping down your inner thigh and made it his pastime to try to reach it with his tongue.

“Yoongiiiiii,” you whined at the end of your patience, waves of goosebumps driving you insane as he spread your asscheeks more to reach your wet inner thighs.

“Hmm,” he was having way too much fun.

“Let me touch you too.”

And ruin the fun? “No.”

You whined again, “But I've waited.”

“Not enough.”

“Why not?” You were sulking despite your spasms around nothing. He could feel them without directly touching you, and it drove him to bite and kiss harder. You squirmed at his lack of reply, “How long more?”

“Until I say so.”

You shook your ass half in annoyance half in desperation, “I've waited enough. At least fuck me.”

“No.”

It was as though he was shooing a fly.

“Come on,” you dragged. “Get to the good part.” He snorted but didn't move. “Fuck me, come on.”

“No.”

“But you'll feel so good.”

He sighed with your taste on his tongue, “I know.”

“So do it.”

“Hmmmm.”

You thought there would be progress as he touched your core ever so lightly. But you waited and waited for what felt like an eternity. And although the tip of his fingers explored every nook and cranny slowly and gently, even the embarrassing ones, you were still not closer to what you wanted.

And so you snapped, “I asked you to fuck me.” He hummed, but your tone was assertive, “I won't shut up until you do.”

He changed absolutely nothing, wet fingers dragging to your nipples lightly. And so you insisted.

“I'm waiting. How long will you keep me waiting? Should I do it myself?”

Your hand moved and he put it in place instantly.

“I can show you how it's done,” your tone became mocking. “In case you’re lost.” His teeth brushed the back of your thigh and you smirked, “If you never used your cock before—”

A slap to your asscheek echoed and you grinned. It was firm, a warning, but what could you do? You always liked to talk big in bed, and you couldn’t miss the opportunity to rile him up.

“Nothing to be ashamed of— If you don't know where to go or what to do— Should I take over?”

Every slap felt like a win and that last one wasn't any different. He gave more of him when he did it, and you felt it in the sting, the touch, the attention. When he grabbed your asscheeks and squeezed until you cried out, you thought that he might be holding back.

“You talk too much,” he said quietly.

“And you fuck too little.”

He pushed you harshly to fall with your belly up and grabbed your head firmly in place, using his body over you to fully press you down the mattress.

“I like to fuck people who indulge me.”

“Liar.” It escaped your lips before you could think. You were too horny to think, but then you laughed, “Fucking liar. You're rock hard, you want to fuck me so bad is not even funny.”

“Your point?”

“You like it,” you whispered, raising your head to reach his lips, which he didn't let happen. You looked into his eyes, “You like my talking. You adore every spank and every little reason I give you to do it.”

His expression didn't change except for the laughter in his eyes, “Can you blame me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Is it a problem?” He seemed cautious.

“Yoongi,” you sighed. “I said everything.”

His lips finally showed a smile as he got on his forearms to look at you with new eyes.

“But Yoongi,” you called with a pout. “I did wait long enough.”

He grinned widely, so endearingly you wanted to kiss his entire adorable face. So loveable you wanted to drive him crazy.

“You wait until I tell you to.”

He seemed happy now as he leaned to kiss and play with your chest, pink tongue messing with your perky nipples to the point you squirmed. And it felt good, so good your legs were restless under him, opening but struggling to get him to align. He tortured your nipples, suckling and biting only to smile at your fussiness. You could only take so much.

You squealed, “If you don’t put your cock in me soon I’ll fucking scream.”

“Scream?” He was amused, barely separating his mouth from your breast.

But you sucked in a breath and screamed at the top of your lungs. Only for a second though; his hand covered your mouth and forced you to look at him.

“Shut it.”

He raised his hand carefully with your eyes locked, and all you did was roll your hips to get his cock near your dripping core. You thought he had learned something, so when he moved too but against you, keeping what you wanted purposefully at bay, you decided that holding back was not getting you anywhere.

You threw your head back and screamed again, and when his hand darted to muffle it, you bit it.

You took another breath, but before you could scream his hand wrapped around your neck firmly. You looked into his eyes as lightheadedness relaxed your neck and shoulders. He was so careful, but you were at such ease.

“Are you going to be quiet?”

His fingers were perfect around your throat, “I want to cream your cock so bad.”

Your voice was a wanton whine as your glistening eyes focused on him. You couldn't describe how much you were melting, how much he relaxed you only to tense you up the next second if he so chose to. How much that drove you to want him like crazy.

“Is that a dirty thought?” You nodded once, pleading with your eyes. He nuzzled your nose sweetly, “Not yet.”

“Then I won't be quiet.”

Your voice was gentle like a breeze but carried consequence, and when he nuzzled you further, you knew everything went both ways. He knew it too, and he wasn't stopping you.

You tentatively tried a scream and his hand wrapped firmer, observing you with sparkles in his eyes.

You huffed, cheeks becoming hot, “Why won’t you just do what I want?”

“Why won’t you quiet down?”

“And do your job for you?”

You could see the smile in his eyes — he knew you were embarrassed. He was just seeing how far you’d go in your brattiness, but you were so horny you were lost.

“All I’m asking for is your cock, don’t you have one?” He raised an eyebrow at your taunt; you could both feel his hard shaft pressed to your thigh. “So why don’t you shut me up? Do you need me to tell you how to use your dick?”

“Just because you’re needy and desperate, it doesn’t mean you should get what you want.”

The burn traveled to your chest; he was scolding you and it was like you’d been shaken. Of course, he’d answer you and deal with your attitude. You never thought he’d be the type to let it fly but to actually have him doing it was burning you from the inside out.

“But what I want is you,” you sighed, batting your eyelashes flagrantly. “Let me get on my knees, I’ll do whatever you like.”

He took only a second, “No, I like where you are.” You grinned in absolute joy; you also loved being under him with his hand around your neck. You felt taken care of and grounded, even as your mind became chaotic in the hazyness. “And there goes another dirty thought, hm?”

You bit your lip, “In my fantasies you always give it to me so right.”

“This isn’t a fantasy anymore.”

You grinned, “No, thank fuck. You look so much better pissed off in real life.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You want to piss me off?”

You almost laughed, “I want you to fuck me.”

“I never said I wouldn't,” he adjusted his hips but purposefully made it impossible for you to have him, and you squinted. He was smiling, “I just told you to wait.”

“And I told you I’d scream.”

You were snappy and he grinned, “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

His lips ghosted you and your chest burned again, “Nothing civilized about the way I want you to fuck me senseless.”

Your voice was wanton, bordering a moan as your hips rolled just to feel the tease of his cock near your core, and he kissed down your chin, “So you’ll scream?”

“Like hell.”

“No changing your mind?”

“Fuck no. Stop stalling,” you whined, moving your spread legs in the hopes of catching him, but he only chuckled.

“Go on, then.”

He got off you and you huffed in annoyance and screamed. It was short and you opened your eyes to see him just observing you with amusement. Why was it so funny to him when you were getting upset?

So you took a deep breath and screamed again and this time your lips pulled in a smile because what the heck were you doing?

“That’s it?”

His taunt had you take a deep breath and scream again, only to fall short. You covered your eyes and stifled a laugh. It reminded you of how you screamed on roller coasters.

“You must not have enough reasons to scream yet.”

You bit your lip, imagining the reasons you could have, the ways he could make you scream. The bed dipped next to you but you stayed in your reverie. In it, Yoongi touched you. He slapped your cunt with his cock and promised to use you. He grabbed you by the neck while he pounded into you so hard you saw stars.

You huffed in impatience, neediness making you bold; you were about to sit up and do something when you stopped. He was throwing his leg over you and his cock was so close your eyes nearly crossed. He grabbed your head in place, but you were staring, fixed, jaw falling open and lax instantly. You could pretend you wanted to scream more but you were just salivating, so when he aimed his cock at you, you just met him halfway.

His taste hit your buds quickly and moved to reach your throat, and you lost it. Your eyes rolled as you closed them, the salty traces leaving you dizzy, and the way he pushed himself down your throat made you squirm in waves of pleasure. It felt hot and intense and wild as he did it again and again, each time getting a better sense of how much you could take. You barely cared about breathing; he was finally using your mouth, fucking you, showing you how much he wanted you without holding back, and with each push, he made you feel better than the last. Elated, special — he was groaning and getting riled up down your throat because you made him feel that good.

Suddenly, he pulled back and you followed him as long as you could before he grabbed your arms and raised them above your head to stop you. He had heard you choke so he was probably worried, but you only sighed in impatience.

“So greedy,” he taunted, pressing your wrists down firmly. But he had a glint in his eyes — he was paying attention to you. Not worried, just caring.

“Aren’t you learning?” You said as you tried not to melt, but it was too late. He chuckled and his smile made you happy. “Keep going,” you asked softly, despite the tears running down to your hairline. “Please.”

He brushed his thumbs on your wrists for a second with his eyes set on you. You were such a handful and he couldn’t love it any better. Asking for him like that secretly drove him crazy, and made him want to give you everything you could ever wish for, no matter what. So when you leaned back and opened your mouth, it was his pleasure to stuff it with his dick. He grabbed your wrists more firmly and supported his weight on them to help him lean forward and give you the fucking you craved.

Time and time again he snapped his hips to get his cock down your throat, and it was challenging. His muscles were burning, but so were his lower stomach and balls as he tried not to come. You moaned and choked and bounced as he fucked your head into the mattress, and yet you were totally relaxed. Your arms and hands were still, calm as you got used and loved it. And he loved it too, but for your first time together and after skipping it the night before, he thought this time he wanted more.

He pulled away from you and it took you a second, but you instantly sulked. He settled between your legs as you cleaned the drool, “So I’m not going to swallow the sugar rush?”

He chuckled, “No, not this time.” You pursed your lips and were about to whine about him stopping so soon when he asked, “Do you have a condom?”

Your eyes widened and you instantly scrammed to conjure up one. Shit, shit shit, you thought as you turned your room upside down, then your toiletries, then your bathroom. Why the fuck didn’t you have one? Well, sure, you knew why, but you were so angry now. You could not miss this opportunity!

You turned to your kitchen, desperate at that point until you gasped. You searched for your first aid box and dug until you finally found a lost wrapper. You waved it victoriously as you strode back to your room and to bed, and Yoongi was there to receive you with a look you couldn’t identify. He grabbed your arm and threw you on the bed before pinning you down from between your legs and kissing you till you lost your breath.

If he wanted to fuck you before, now he wanted to screw you so hard you’d only ever remember his cock. To think you said you wanted to be with him the whole last year, and that you hadn’t been with anyone else because of it made him wild. Why had you both played it so safe? He had been to your apartment so many times, set you to sleep on that very same bed, and yet never once did he get the inkling that you wanted him. Not as he wanted you. But just now, you were dripping with how much you wanted him, squirming, begging for him to fuck you, and trying to rile him up so he would. You jolted at his fingers in your folds, rubbing your chest to his for any hint of a touch, moaning when he pulled your head back by your hair. You wanted him bad and he was going to give it to you.

He pulled away from you and you almost screamed in frustration, but seeing him putting the condom on cooled you just enough to stay quiet. Your hands even stayed above your head voluntarily as you waited patiently, thinking he wouldn’t waste that condom, he’d surely fuck you finally.

You moaned suddenly and looked down, confused for a second, but you weren’t dreaming. He was grabbing his cock and slapping your cunt with it right over your clit. You squirmed with need, but he kept doing it harder and harder, wet sounds echoing with your excitement.

“Fuck, I just knew it,” you mumbled, clenching around nothing right before his eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d do that,” you moaned, hands tightly gripping each other so you would stay put.

He hummed as he did it quicker, seeing your slick connect to his cock, “That so? What else do you think I’ll do?”

You were burning all the way to your shoulders, trying to move with him so that his cock could give you friction, and he didn’t stop you. So you answered through gritted teeth, “Stick it in, get deep, fucking use me until I’m stuffed with your cum.”

Your voice disappeared with the lack of breath; he was dragging his cock over your clit now and it was the sweetest reward.

“Filthy thoughts you’re having, hmm?” You were lost in your motion, rolling your hips to earn that friction so you gasped when he pushed his cock inside you, loving the burn as your core split to accommodate his girth. “Read my fucking mind.”

You screamed when he bottomed out, biting your lip with the way he was forcing himself inside you. Then you opened your eyes to see him and instantly clenched around him, and he smirked.

“Been thinking about fucking me, huh?” You could barely hold a thought, but the opportunity to tease him was too sweet.

“It has crossed my mind,” he said and snapped his hips, and you didn’t know whether to gasp or moan. He’d hit you deep and hard, you knew he would, and it made you even tighter. His nails dag at your hips, “So many times.” He was starting slow but deep and you could do nothing but moan. “How you would moan, what you would want, how you would give in and let me take you,” every wish was pointed by a deep thrust. “Now look at you.” You looked down: your tits were bouncing with every hit, gushing sounds echoed along with your moans from how wet your heat was, and the sight of his thick cock pushing between your slit to enter you was the cherry on top. It was the can of cream about to blow you full, and you wanted to get filled. “Almost cuming even though I’ve barely started.”

“Cause you feel so good,” you breathed in a moan.

He leaned to grope your taunting tits, “You told me to use you.”

“Fuck, please.”

He gritted his teeth and adjusted you better so he could pick up the pace. And what a vicious pace it was, fast and steady, leaving you so hazed and lost, that you had no words. He slapped your tits around and you clenched, tears roaming your eyes with how good and sweet it was. It didn’t hurt, every touch sparkled pleasure in your veins, and the sight of him hitting and scratching, his squeezes on every bit of you only made you even more sensitive. More elated and euphoric, so much so you were mumbling more with every moan involuntarily. He was slapping and roughly marking your chest as you asked, and suddenly you threw your head back and looked at him.

“Harder,” you asked out of breath, and he slapped your tit so hard you screamed before moaning deeply. “Just not my face.”

You thought to tell him from within a glimpse of logic, and he nodded and took note of your limit. Instead, he leaned forward and groped both boobs again and you squirmed desperately.

“Squeeze,” you breathed, your moan pitching. He did, but it wasn’t enough, “Please!”

He did, a bit harder with every thrust into your messy cunt. It was maybe selfish, but he wanted to see how you unraveled. How you wanted those strong sensations, how you craved something more intense each time and with every bit of strength, you transformed it into a beautiful pleasure that had you bursting.

He saw you coming again, writhing around thoughtlessly with the intensity of your pleasure, so hard he didn’t have to look down to see you throbbing around his cock. He still did though, mesmerized by it, only to chuckle. You had left a ring of white around the base of his cock; you just had to have your way in the end.

He leaned in to kiss you through your haze, slowly sensing with his lips the condition you were in. At first, your reaction was delayed, the brush of your lips falling behind as you recovered. But then you reacted and pushed back against his tongue, and he knew you were good.

He pulled back and turned you around, and you helped and got on all fours instantly. He didn’t wait, he aimed his cock at you and entered your velvety embrace as soon as he could. You arched your back for him and pressed back into him a couple of times to feel him deeper, and he grinned.

“Finally. So obedient,” he taunted, squeezing your ass cheeks to spread for him.

“You’re finally fucking me senseless.”

Your voice was a whisper, and he smirked. You asked him to use you, and he was doing a good job at it. But now he wanted to make you scream, to mark you so hard you’d never be anything but his. He couldn’t help it; now that his cock was shoved deep inside you, he didn’t want anything else. Now that he knew what you tasted like, what you sounded like, and how filthy your mind and mouth could be, he wanted nothing else. He saw you trying to get him deeper, huffing and puffing as you swayed with him, and his chest tightened. The possessiveness you were inspiring in him was raw and dangerous, but he didn’t want to fight it.

So he gave you both what you wanted: he smacked your ass as he pounded into you, seeing the way it bounced in either direction until he couldn’t focus anymore. Until he was desperate to own you, to hear you scream, to know you’d beg for him forever. It wasn’t enough; no matter how hard you screamed, he wanted more and he wanted it to last.

Grabbing your hair to pull it into showing the beautiful curve of your neck was a mistake, though. Suddenly he saw how beautiful you were, vulnerable and immersed in every sensation he gave to you. He wanted you to be his, and suddenly it hit him that you already were. And you loved it.

And it snapped his senses, overthrowing his strong grip on his pleasure as if he had never had any. He became sloppy but still held on to your hips to sink and cum as deeply inside you as he possibly could. He groaned with every peak, jerking to milk the sensation between your tight walls as best as he could until he stilled. Fuck, how the hell did you do that to him?

He noticed then you were trembling and his priorities immediately surfaced, “Are you okay?”

You hummed, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled out despite your whine and helped you to softly lay on your side. Then he hopped off the bed, dealt with the condom, and searched around for water and a snack.

You were still stunned, out from the intensity of the emotions that had tensed and relaxed your body simultaneously. Your soul didn’t know how to handle what just happened, and the only thing that occurred to you before he came back was that you had totally surrendered. You didn’t force yourself to be tame and quiet, or said and did what the other person wanted so you wouldn’t ruin it for them. You were yourself, through and through, and Yoongi fucking ate you up like dessert.

The bed dipped behind you and you turned to him, sighing happily when he pulled you in to snuggle.

“Here — water and chocolate.”

You glanced at the bottle and bar and smiled widely. Your heart was right all along, and although you knew it was definitely too soon, there were special words at the tip of your tongue trying to get out.

Instead, you let him insist and sit you up to take a sip of water and a bite before letting you fall back into his arms in a sweaty embrace that you wanted with all your heart.

He was kissing your head and tracing your arm quietly when you decided to tell him, “Next time cover me with cum.”

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, and you pouted.

“Just… You wanted to know what I think about.”

“You think about that?”

“Sometimes.”

He smirked and squeezed you inside his arms, “What else have you been hiding from me?”

“You have no idea,” you laughed.

You were melting and relaxing into his touch as he pecked your head when he whispered, “Are we bad?”

Your heart hurt for a second, what? But then you realized what he was saying: your song. When you wrote a conversation you once imagined you both could have had:

You're bad, you liar.

It's me who's bad, I know this bad desire, sugar.

So you chuckled and sang along to the melody, “What did you do to me, sugar?”

3K notes · View notes

dumpywrites · 5 months

Text

Cat-astrophe - Min Yoongi / Suga

Summary: Your pet cat keeps going to your neighbor’s apartment and it’s a problem.

Genre/tags: Fluff-ish, strangers to ???, minor mention of anxiety.

Pairing: Yoongi x she/her reader

a/n: cus we're all soft for long haired Yoongi, right? hehe

It had been officially a month since you had moved to a new apartment place. You loved the new place honestly. It was cozy and the neighborhood looked nice. There were many convenience store nearby and the street was always still busy until late at night, making you feel a little bit of secure when coming home late.

While the place was nice it had one tiny downside. It was rather on the far side from your workplace. It took you an hour of bus ride just to get home from the office, so some days could be more tiring than others. And today was one of those tiring days.

It was around nine at night on a Monday. Having to work overtime for the deadline and missed the bus, really dreaded you out. You were both tired and hungry, arriving home only to find that your pet cat was missing. It really just was not your day.

To say you were panicking would be a bit of an understatement. Cookie was barely a four month-old cat and had a very tiny body. All the negative possibilities start filling your head and you were horrified by all of them. Not to mention how it was basically forbidden to bring pets in the apartment complex. It was one of the policies but you couldn't help it since Cookie was a rescue.

When you arrived at your apartment lobby with a cat snack on your hand, there wasn’t that many people there. You walked past a guy by the front desk, who had medium-length black locks and fair skin, with headphones dangling on his neck. You began to call your pet’s name as soon as you were outside the lobby, but suddenly you felt a light tap on your shoulder.

“Are you looking for a small black Bombay cat?” It was the same guy who just walked past you.

“Oh my god, I am! Have you seen him???” You said, your voice was a little bit shaky.

“He’s in my place, I’m on the seventh.”

“Oh, me too!”

“I know.”

“Oh.” You said, surprised at how stoic he sounded saying that, but didn’t further question him on it. “I’m so sorry for bothering you, can I go get him now?”

“Sure, I was just gonna go up as well.”

When you both entered the elevator, you made a mental note to ask his name or at least introduce yourself. He was a neighbor after all. It was pretty silent inside the lift and you just hoped he didn’t hear your stomach rumbling ever so slightly. You took a deep breath, bearing the hunger for a little while.

When the elevator door opened you followed him from behind as he led you to his door. When he stopped at his front door, your eyes were widened in shock.

“You live next to me?!”

“Yeah.” He said casually and unlocked the door. "I've seen you multiple times."

You chose to not further question and followed him but stopped when you had only took two steps in, because technically, the homeowner had not really officially permit you to come in. The guy seemed to notice how you just stood awkwardly and looked back.

“You can sit down for a sec, I’ll go get him.”

“Oh, right… yeah. Thank you.” You said awkwardly and walked to sit on his couch.

A few seconds later the man came back with your cat in his embrace. Cookie was clinging on his tshirt before he tugged him and gave him onto your lap.

“Cookie!” You called, almost teary.

“I think he jumped from your balcony to mine. Make sure to close your balcony door next time.”

“Thank you so much, I owe you… uh…”

“Yoongi.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You repeated and introduced yourself in return. “I’m Y/N, and if you ever need anything please let me now.” You said as you stood up, already making your way out.

“Also, thank you for not reporting it…”

“No problem.” Was all the guy said and by this point you figured he was not much of a talker.

You bid your goodbye to your neighbor, which only gained a small nod before he closed the door on you. You walked to your door and let Cookie down as soon as you got inside. Sighing deeply, you began to feel your stomach rumble again, this time it rumbled quite loudly. Your feet were aching from standing on the bus and now your body finally got on how tired you were.

Cookie meowed and immediately went to his cat bed and laid down. You sighed and smiled at the small creature.

“You little rascal… you’re lucky I love you.”

You then went to your kitchen to cook yourself some instant ramen.

The next day you went to work and had to take another overtime. Unfortunately you had to for the rest of the week until your current project was done. It was exhausting but you had to make it and mostly thinking about the bonus pay from it helped quite a bit. You spent the next few days the same, repeating the schedules, and the tiring work.

It was almost ten at night that you arrived home and found out Cookie had gone missing again. For some reason your first instinct was to knock on your next door, in hope the neighbor who once helped you, could lend you a hand again, and hoping maybe Cookie just ran to his place again instead of being gone somewhere where it wasn't safe for him.

You knocked on the door and didn’t get immediate answer. You waited for what felt like five minutes, before the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of your neighbor with wet hair. He had a small white towel around his neck and the hoop earring that you saw him with before was absent. His skin looked glowing, you probably needed to ask about his skin care routine later.

“So sorry to interrupt you, I was wondering if Cookie might have gone to your place again?”

“He’s right there on the couch.” He casually pointed. His expression was straight and had you wondering if he did not mind it, bothered, or simply didn’t care.

You slowly walked to approach your cat and bent down to its level. “Cookie, you need to stop this…” You tapped the cat's nose, as if scolding the poor cat would do anything.

“He jumped to my balcony again, did you forget to close the door?”

“But I made sure to close it this morning…” You looked at your neighbor, who walked closer to inspect the cat.

“I think he knows how to turn door knobs, since he’s quite a jumper. You need to lock the door.”

“I can’t believe this little demon…” You sighed, fingers still stroking the purring cat.

“He’s… alright.”

You were slightly taken aback by the response and looked up to him, but much to your disappointment, his expression still looked the same. You were about to get up and excuse yourself, but you notice a small steel bowl under his dining table, half full with what you assumed to be cat milk (I mean, it would be weird if it was his, duh!).

“You also have a cat?”

His eyes followed yours. “Oh, that. I got it the first time Cookie came here, I figured he must be thirsty since he came in around noon time.”

“That’s… that’s very nice of you.” You looked at him and smiled. Somehow him addressing your cat by his name sounded lovely.

“You can have the rest of the milk if you want, since you’ve figured out how he escaped and all…”

“It’s okay, you can keep it! Just in case he ran into you again…” You chuckled but then stopped after realizing how that just sounded like you did not mind troubling him with your cat continuously. “I mean… I’m sorry, I’ll make sure he’ll never escape again.”

“It’s alright, I’ll keep the milk for now.” He paused for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just in case.”

You looked at your neighbor and couldn’t help but to feel all warm inside. He seemed like a nice person and from the looks of it he also liked your cat.

“Thank you so much, Yoongi. I’ll be taking this little guy here then...” You smiled at him and stood up with Cookie in your arms.

“I got some dim sum…”

You looked at the guy questioningly.

“Do you maybe want some?”

“That’d be too much, it’s okay, you go ahead and eat.” You politely declined. Although you were hungry, you could bring yourself to bother your neighbor any more than what you had done.

“Have you eaten?”

“Y-yeah?” You asked, afraid you heard it wrong.

“Have you eaten?” He repeated. “If not, then I insist you take some.”

“I…” You wanted to lie, but at this point it would come off as rude if you refuse him again. “I actually haven’t. Thank you very much though, I feel so bad that you’re being this nice to me.”

“You can just eat them here.”

“I don’t wanna disturb—“ You were awkwardly cut by the sound of your stomach rumbling.

“You’re not disturbing me.” He cleared his throat and looked away.

That was embarrassing.

And that was how you ended up sitting down on your neighbor’s dining table, eating dim sums.

In silence.

This Yoongi guy really did not like conversation it seemed. He was sitting down on his couch and had turned the TV on. The volume was on but not quite loudly, and Cookie was on his lap, sleeping as he occasionally stroked the cat’s head softly. Funny that somehow you could see some resemblance of Yoongi with your cat.

“So… how long have you lived here?” You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his answer. You kind of regretted asking as soon as the words came out from your mouth, afraid it would be awkward.

“Around ten months or so.” He paused. “No, I think it’s been almost a year cause I spent two months overseas.”

“Really? What were you doing overseas?” You regretted asking again. Looking at how quiet Yoongi was, you didn’t want to ask too much or indulge into too much conversation, afraid it would be too much for him.

But much to your surprise, he answered. “I’m a producer. I was working for this artist and all the work had to be done in America.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing!” You said. At this point you no longer were sitting facing the table, but to him. “Who was the artist?”

“Uh… Halsey.” He replied while looking at the TV screen, seemingly to avoid your stare.

“Oh my god???” You gasped. “That’s incredible! So you’re like crazy talented?!”

“I’m alright…”

“You should show me some of your work someday!” You said enthusiastically. When Yoongi did not reply to it and stayed silent, you cursed yourself internally. “I mean compared to what I do that’s like really amazing.” You chuckled nervously.

“I’m sure you’re great at what you do.” He looked at you, a small smile was on his lips.

You realized it was the first time you saw him smile and it made your heart raced rather faster than usual. It was the first time you saw him with facial expression other than his usual poker face.

“I’m just a normal product designer at a very normal company.” You shrugged.

“Don’t downplay yourself like that. You work very hard.”

“Thanks…” You replied shyly.

After finishing your food, you got up and went to wash the dishes, which immediately got stopped by the homeowner. He politely told you to go back home and rest. Which again, you could not thank him more for.

You took your pet in your arms and said your goodbyes to your neighbor. Right when you arrived back in your place you came to realize something. Yoongi did not eat with you and there was only one portion of the food. While it could just meant he had already eaten beforehand, you felt giddy, thinking about another possibility. Was this a crush you sense forming? Frankly speaking, you could not care less. You were welcoming the possibility with open arms.

—

Friday finally came and you were ready to take it in. The days of working with your company project was going to an end, which meant you no longer need to work overtime after this. The thought of it put you in a very good mood.

This time right after arriving home, you walked to a nearby chicken restaurant and grab some not only for you, but also for your neighbor. You wanted to repay his kindness the past few days. After changing into some comfortable clothes, not to mention the multiple times you had to re-check the outfit in the mirror for some reason, you took your cat in your left hand and the food in the other. You knocked on your neighbor’s door hoping he was home.

And he was. You were greeted with his silence but he opened the door wider as soon as he saw your face without question. One thing that caught your eyes though was how he was dressed up like he was ready for a night out. He wasn’t in his usual sweatpants and baggy t-shirt, but instead in a ripped wide legged jeans and a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, with a plain white tee underneath. He looked handsome. And here you were, in your so-called comfy outfit that you were starting to regret.

“Before you ask, no, Cookie’s right here.” You smiled awkwardly as you raised the small cat in your hand for him to see. “I’m just here to drop by some chicken I got for you… as a thanks for your help these past few days.” You handed the plastic of food to him. “Alright, that’s all…”

He took the food from you hesitantly. “You don’t wanna come in?”

“Aren’t you going out or something?”

“I was… but you are here.” He said, sounding unsure.

“That’s ridiculous, why would I stop you from going out?”

“I was gonna go to your place…”

Your mouth formed a small O shape, unable to form a word. He was going to your place? But what for??? The butterflies in your stomach were having a blast.

“But you’re all dressed up…”

“I was gonna change back.” He sighed, running his hand through his hair, which made you gulped at the sight. “I knew this was a bad idea I shouldn't have listened to Hoseok—”

You stopped his rambling. “What do you mean?”

“I was gonna ask you if you wanted to go eat together at that one Chicken restaurant nearby…”

“Oh.” You widened your eyes.

“Yeah.” He looked at you, biting his cheek in annoyance.

“This is awkward.” You chuckled.

“Whatever, just… just come in first.”

You saw Yoongi putting the plastic of food on his table. You offered help after putting down your cat on his couch and walked to his direction. Both of you plated the food in comfortable silence, it felt oddly domestic and you liked it. At this point you were used to him being not talkative and see it as his charm.

After you took the plates to the living room, Yoongi suddenly came back with cans of beers and soju in his hands.

“We’re drinking?” You said with an amused grin.

“You can drink, right?”

“Sure, but can you?” You playfully eyed him.

“Don’t challenge me.”

You could see how he was trying to hide his smile, and it brought colors to your cheeks.

—

You did not know how you got in this situation. Five episodes in randomly rewatching Avatar The Last Airbender and you both were drunk. You were resting your head on his shoulder as you watch the screen. It seemed like the booze gave you confidence, or made you shameless, or both, but the guy didn’t complain so it could be a sign of a good thing. While you could see Yoongi holding his alcohol better than you, he was not completely sober either.

It was at this very moment where you saw things through a pink tinted lense. Had Yoongi’s hair always looked that soft? Had he always looked this handsome? You began to question things you should not be questioning.

“Why didn’t you change your clothes?” You randomly asked.

“Do I look bad?” He replied, eyes still on the screen, hands stroking the sleeping cat on his lap.

"Of course not, I just feel severely underdressed now..." You chuckled.

He eyed you from top to bottom, which made you nervous, but he shrugged, seemingly to not have any problem with your clothes.

“You look… handsome.”

“You think I look handsome?” He suddenly moved to face you, making you move to look at him as well. The tone of his voice sounded like he was teasing more than asking a question.

You nodded and bit your lips. “And you kinda look like Cookie.” You giggled.

He raised one of his eyebrows, clearly not satisfied with your answer.

“Your eyes…” You began to ramble. “They look just like Cookie’s, and when you look annoyed, or just your plain expression… you look like a cute cat.”

“Really…” Yoongi hummed.

“Yup!” You giggled like an idiot.

You failed to notice how at this point, Yoongi has put Cookie down from his lap to the floor. His face only inches away from you as you kept rambling.

“Your hair look so soft… like a cat’s fur.” You reached your hands closer to his hair, but stopped mid-way, scared he’d get uncomfortable.

Yoongi surprised you again by grabbing both of your wrist and putting your hands on his hair, letting you stroke his head slowly. You saw his expression softened and as you kept playing with his hair, he closed his eyes. You swore you heard him purr.

“Pretty.” You said with a drunk smile.

“Hmm. Pretty.” He mirrored.

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense.

Yoongi chuckled. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.”

—

To be frank, you could not recall what happened after. You recalled some bits of karakoe-ing? Singing random PSY songs in your broken Korean using a bottle of whiskey as your mic. That was probably all? You couldn’t think while the throbbing headache was present in the room with you.

So why were you now in a bed that was not yours, wearing a t-shirt that was too big for you and was clearly not yours, also for heaven’s sake, WHY IS YOONGI SLEEPING NEXT TO ME???

You froze. Did you??? There was no way. Sure you found him attractive and all, and you definitely had this huge crush on him, but you couldn’t just sleep with a guy you barely knew. Besides your headache, your body didn’t feel any pain, so that was probably a good sign. What if he was just that gentle? Okay, you need to stop thinking at once before you started a whole fiction about you and Yoongi in your head.

When you turned your back, you felt the other side of the bed shifted as well.

“You’re up?” He asked with a raspy voice.

“Yeah.” You said, still back-facing him. “We didn’t… you know…”

“No, we didn’t.”

“Oh, okay good.”

Yoongi did not answered to that, but instead you felt him scooting closer.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t probably how you’d wanna spend your weekend.” You chuckled.

Your breath hitched when you felt a hand over your waist. “Is this okay?” He suddenly stopped when your body tensed at his touch.

You nodded, heart beating too loudly for you to form any sentence.

“This is nice.” He said, resting his forehead on your back.

When you stayed silent, he took your hand and turned you over to face him. Heat immediately took over your body as soon as your eyes meet. You noticed he was back in his usual home attire, oversized tee and sweatpants. His hair was messy, but it seemed like universe had its favorite cause he still looked good.

“You know, I haven’t had good sleep in… weeks.”

You were surprised by his sudden confession.

“It’s half past eleven now, and it’s not even ten minutes after I woke up…” He tittered. “My anxiety has been getting worse the past month and out of nowhere a black cat suddenly jumped to my balcony, meowing non-stop while I was working.”

You looked at him, letting him finish his talk. This was the most words you had ever heard coming out of Yoongi’s mouth and it made your heart flutter.

“I haven’t been caring. I’ve stopped caring, for a while now. Seeing you care so much for such a small creature… I don’t know, it feels good. It makes me wanna care.”

“Yoongi…” You cooed, caressing his cheek. "It's not true, all you have been since I first met you until this moment, was caring."

"I'm sorry if it feels like it came out of nowhere but I feel at home with you and I don’t know why...” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yet, at least.”

“I… like this too. A lot actually.” You said shyly.

“I would like to get to know you more if you’d like.” He was being honest and exactly to the point, no flirty bullshit to spice his sentences.

“I’d love that...”

Suddenly you heard a low meow from under the bed and Cookie jumped into the bed, joining you two. Apparently his bedroom door was left opened and none of you noticed how Cookie had entered. You giggled and he smiled as well, the widest smile and the most genuine you had ever seen from him, as he took the cat and cuddled both of you close.

"I think it's about time you give me your number..." You squinted at him playfully. "You know, so we don't repeat the whole chicken restaurant accident again?"

“Okay, but promise me first you won’t apologize again after kissing me.” He chuckled.

“EXCUSE ME WHAT???”

—

“Okay, call me crazy but why do I kinda wanna kiss you right now.” You said, totally losing the battle with your common sense.

Yoongi laughed. “You’re crazy.” He ran his fingers through his hair, looking to the right. “I like it.”

“I can be crazier if you open that whiskey.” You wiggled your eyebrows.

Yoongi just shook his head, smiling at your silliness. He stood up and went to grab his Hibiki anyway, which earned a shout of celebration from you.

Things escalated quickly after opening the bottle. Somehow you were starting a drunk karaoke session which followed by many dance breaks. You ended up crying when a sad song randomly came up in the playlist and when Yoongi asked why, you replied. You replied with your lips on his.

In your head it just made sense. It was his lips’ fault for looking so juicy. Yeah, totally his fault for looking so hot that it was driving you insane.

None of you moved and it only lasted seconds before your mood turned sour again.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…” You pushed him gently. “Oh my god, you’re so gonna hate me!!!”

“Hey, calm down…“

You started to panic, tears now forming in your eyes again. “Please don’t hate me, I just wanted to kiss you…” You cried.

“Okay, I think that’s enough drinking—“

And you puked.

Yes, Yoongi did see your lilac colored bra when he helped you change into his t-shirt. But that’s a secret between him and little Cookie.

Thank you for reading! 💎

part 2 is here!

#yoongi scenarios #yoongi imagine #bts scenarios #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts imagines #min yoongi #bts suga #suga scenarios #suga imagine #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #suga x you #suga x y/n

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love4myg · 1 month

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pottery date | myg

summary. you never expected to find pottery so difficult, so it's a good thing that your boyfriend is right there, ready to help guide you with his gentle hands.

────

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationship au, fluff

word count: 1.1k

content: yoongi and oc goes on a pottery date / yoongi helps oc with pottery / yoongi realises how much he loves oc 🤧

warnings: they’re both very much in love, thats all 😭

a/n: this was inspired by a random tiktok. i have no idea how pottery works so i apologise if any of this is inaccurate. this ended up being shorter than my usual drabbles lol. feedback, likes, reblogs, comments and asks are all greatly appreciated!! i hope you enjoyy <33

main masterlist

────

Pottery is a lot harder than people make it out to be.

You were convinced you’d be a natural at this. After all, how hard could it be to mould some clay into a simple bowl or vase? But now, as you sit at the pottery wheel with a lopsided, uncooperative lump of clay before you, the task seems almost Herculean.

The pottery studio was a hidden gem, tucked away on a quiet street. It was a warm, relaxing place filled with the earthy smell of clay and the constant hum of pottery wheels. This place was Yoongi's idea, after revealing that he had been attending classes for the past month and had completely forgotten to tell you. You had been annoyed with him at first, but your mood instantly changed when he invited you to attend a couple’s class with him.

Now you understand why he had such a smug smile on his face when he suggested it.

You glance over at Yoongi, who sits beside your wheel. His eyes are focused, his long fingers carefully shaping the clay into a perfect cylinder. He wears a simple beige top and dark jeans under an apron tied loosely around his waist. His grown-out hair falls across his eyes in small waves, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“How are you so good at this?” you ask. He looks up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m just lucky,” he says with a small shrug. "I've also attended more classes than you, so."

"Yeah, which is totally unfair."

Yoongi chuckles. “Want some help?”

You sigh, glancing down at your creation. “Please. This thing looks like it belongs in a horror movie.”

He chuckles, wiping his hands on a damp towel before approaching your wheel. “Alright, let’s see what we can do.”

He pulls his stool closer to you and wraps his arms around yours. Your fingers intertwine on the clay, and his breath fans across the side of your face. His touch is warm and reassuring, his presence somehow making the task seem less daunting. He shifts your fingers slightly, guiding your movements with gentle precision.

“Okay, press down a little more here,” he instructs, his voice low and soothing. “And use your other hand to steady it. See? It’s all about balance.”

You follow his guidance, feeling the clay start to yield under your touch, smoothing into a proper shape. The wheel hums softly beneath your feet as you find a rhythm, the clay cool and malleable against your palms.

“There you go,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your ear. “You’ve got it.”

You relax into his embrace and Yoongi rests his chin on your shoulder. The pleasant, citrusy scent of his perfume overtakes your senses, and for a moment, everything else seems to fade away.

It’s just the two of you, your head resting against his shoulder as you let him control most of your moves. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back and his calloused hands that gently move over yours as you mould the clay together.

“You make it look so easy,” you say, glancing sideways at him. His focus is intent, but there’s a gentle smile on his lips. You ignore the urge to place a peck on the mole that lies just beside his nose.

“It’s all about having the right teacher,” he replies, and you playfully roll your eyes.

Yoongi leans back slightly, letting you take control. You can feel his watchful eyes on you, his presence a comforting weight at your side. He remains close, offering guidance with small nudges or murmured suggestions when you falter.

Occasionally, he whispers words of praise and encouragement in that stupidly attractive voice of his and smirks to himself when he notices the flush on your skin.

As the minutes pass, you find yourself becoming more comfortable, the awkwardness melting away. The clay responds to your touch, smoothing into an even form that vaguely resembles a bowl. It’s far from perfect, of course, but it’s yours.

“Look at that,” Yoongi says, admiration in his voice. “You’re a natural.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Hardly. But it’s better than what I started with, thanks to you.”

“We make a good team,” he says with a grin, that gummy smile lighting up his face.

────

Before leaving, you drag Yoongi along to the pale, wooden shelves that line the walls, displaying an array of colourful mugs and vases with unique shapes and intricate designs. You inspect them all in awe, marvelling at the ones you find pretty and keeping them in mind as inspiration for your next piece.

A small mug catches your eye. It’s coloured in a light shade of cream, with baby pink bows painted across the exterior.

“Would it be taking inspo if I just copy this design?”

Yoongi chuckles softly, stepping closer to you to take a closer look at the mug himself. “Mhm, probably.”

You let out a disappointed sigh. “It’s so pretty though.”

He watches you stare at the mug like it holds the answers to the universe, unable to help the smile that draws across his face. The butterflies in his stomach flutter around at the sight of you looking so fondly at something so mundane.

The urge to kiss you is suddenly overwhelming. He’s so close to you that he can see the few moles dotted across your face and neck, and the faint pigment of your favourite lip gloss shining on your parted lips. In fact, he’s so close that it would take little to no effort to press his mouth to yours.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he squeezes your hand for a few seconds—a secret message that you originally came up with after sensing his hesitance to PDA.

I love you.

The action pulls your gaze from the mug to Yoongi’s face, eyes slightly wide with surprise but clouded with affection, lips curling from a smile into a grin as you mimic the action.

It’s stupid how you still manage to make him feel like this after all these years of dating. He’s embarrassed by the faint warmth that envelops his cheeks, but he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

God, he just fell in love with you all over again.

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7brownsuga7 · 21 days

Text

The last time you both fucked you knew he loved you. He didn’t say it, but he showed it.

The way he kissed your lips had you overthinking the action. It wasn’t that he didn’t kiss you before, but this time it was different, it had more meaning, it was gentle, unfamiliar, it lingered on your lips, leaving you eager for more.

You noticed his breathing became more shorter after the action, the man before you more flustered than before.

He caressed your temple with his fingers so gently, watching over you with endearing eyes. His eyes telling you everything you needed to know in that moment.

Then when you rode him you couldn’t help but pay attention to the smallest details. Like how he placed his hand on the lower of your back, holding you so close to him. How your name sounded coming from his lips, he said it with so much meaning so much want and need that it had you spiralling.

When you both came together, bodies united, you could hear his heartbeat increase as he held you in his arms. He held you so tight yet so gentle, scared to let you go, but not wanting to hurt you.

And as soon as those three words escaped his lips as he thought you fell asleep, you smiled to yourself knowing you was right all along.

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kingofbodyrolls · 3 months

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End of the World (m) | myg

→ Summary: Your government has been telling you to prepare for war, just as a precaution given the recent political changes around your country. Did you listen and prepare? No. Are you paying the price now, friends all but gone, and your city burned to pieces? Yes. Survival instincts kicking in, you search for a place to rest, nourish your battered and hungry body, only to find yourself at the porch of a stranger. Will he help you, or leave you to your own demise? → Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Genres/AUs: apocalyptic, survival, co-dependency to stay alive + heavy angst, fluff and smut with a very small sprinkle of comedy. → Tropes: strangers to lovers + forced proximity & only one bed (because I love that shit) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 21.3k 🫣 → Warnings + triggers: nuclear war (bombings), fire, death (people are dying so and some minor side characters die), blood and wounds (also features a lot), period blood, ptsd behavior and reactions, hunger (no access to food), anxiety attacks, hyperventilation, guns and knifes, shooting, self defense, m*rder in self defense, exposure to radiation. Minor character deaths. The ending is open and bittersweet. The story is just really grim and angsty and sad (but also comforting) 🤷 → Warnings (explicit: smut): oral (f and m receiving), nipple play/sucking, fingering, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, dirty talk, pleasing kink, protected sex (it might be the end of the world, but fret not Yoongi’s got condoms!), clit play, cockwarming, kissing, a small scene of public sex (they are outside on a hill, np people around). → Author’s note(1): So I have mixed feelings about it and the smut got less detailed than what I usually write (because I’m getting a bit tired of smut honestly, so sorry if it sucks), and I’m scared of what you’ll think of it— but here it is! I felt a lot of pressure with it, so I had my husband beta-ing it 😂 Which gave us a lot of laughs! I hope you enjoy it ⭐ → Read on AO3? [link]

[navi]: end of the world // end of the world: a flickering hope // shower drabble // whalien52 // end of the world: epilogue

A deep, ominous rumbling reverberates through the silence, a sinister caress against your ears.

Eyes shut tight, your breaths are slow and steady, an island of peace in a sea of unrest. But the tranquility shatters as the rumbling intensifies, transforming into a relentless quake that grips your bed. You jolt awake, eyes opening just in time to be seared by a blinding white flash, burning into your vision with a harsh, unforgiving light.

Your ears ring with an unforgiving high pitched sound that makes it feel like your ears are bleeding.

You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut once more, but the world doesn’t let you escape.

A cacophony of rumbling, shaking, and distant, panicked screams erupts around you.

When you dare to open your eyes again, your bedroom has transformed into a nightmarish landscape— no longer a safe, enclosed space, but exposed to the elements. The dark sky looms overhead, thick with acrid smoke. Everything is engulfed in an oppressive, inky gloom that seems so dark, dark, dark.

You curl into yourself on the bed, eyes wide as you take in the scene around you. It’s like a nightmarish tableau image from a dystopian survival movie: the once serene sky is now obliterated, suffocated by a churning ocean of thick, acrid smoke. Flames roar hungrily around you, casting an eerie, flickering light on the chaos. The air is thick with the sound of terrified screams and the relentless boom of destruction. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your heart pounding furiously, as if it might burst from your chest at any moment.

The rumbling returns, more ominous this time, and you look up to see a fighter jet slicing through the smoke-choked sky. It releases a payload, and your heart clenches in dread. A deafening explosion follows as the bomb strikes, setting your ears ablaze again, and obliterating buildings and scarring the landscape. The screams of the people around you become a haunting symphony of terror. It feels like you’re trapped in an unending nightmare, each second more horrifying than the last.

You pinch yourself hard—so hard it breaks the skin, and a thin trail of blood trickles down. But the pain barely registers. You squeeze your eyes shut, then open them again, desperate to end the nightmare before you. This has to be a trick of the mind, an illusion, right?

But the horrifying reality remains unchanged, pressing in on you from all sides.

No. It’s not a trick of the mind.

The stark, horrifying reality sets in as your throat tightens and your body thrums with fear. This is real. This is happening—to you, to your friends—fuck. Your roommates.

Panic seizes you as you leap off the bed, the house now a fragmented ruin, its sections strewn outside in the chaos. Heart pounding, you scramble through the wreckage, desperately searching for your friends amid the devastation.

Please, let them be okay—you can’t face this alone.

You’re not prepared for this.

You can’t do this.

When the government warned about preparing for a potential war or a nuclear disaster, you thought it was a grim joke. You never believed it would actually happen—never believed it would happen to you. But now, the cold, harsh reality is crashing down around you, and the fear is suffocating.

Tears blur your vision, making it hard to see. The acrid air burns your lungs, and each breath is a struggle. The ringing in your head makes you dizzy. You cough violently, but you press on, driven by a desperate need to find your two roommates. You have to make sure they’re okay, no matter the cost.

A sound of coughing reaches your ears, and a wave of relief washes over you. You spot some of Hana’s belongings scattered on the ground, charred at the edges. The acrid smell of burnt fabric stings your nose. There, sprawled halfway on her bed, is Hana—coughing, crying, her eyes barely open, a picture of despair amid the wreckage.

“Hana?” you croak, your voice sounding strangled and unfamiliar, as if someone else is speaking. The dissonance sends your heart pounding even harder in your chest, the fear and urgency nearly overwhelming you.

She coughs again, crimson droplets falling from her lips, staining the ground beneath her. The sight of her blood on the ground sends a wave of dread through you. Rushing to her side, you assess her quickly; her complexion is pallid, drained of life. Each shallow breath she takes seems an agonizing struggle, as if the very act of breathing is draining her strength.

She struggles to speak, but you gently shake your head, tears streaming down your face. Deep down you know she won’t survive this. Your throat tightens painfully, a lump forming as you grasp the harsh reality. She’s not just a friend; she’s your best friend. Your hands tremble as you reach out, brushing away her tears, feeling the warmth of her blood on your fingertips. You don’t care about the stains. All you want is to offer her comfort, to reassure her even as your own doubts and tears blur your vision.

How could any of this ever be okay?

How is this your reality?

She leans into your trembling hand, her eyelids fluttering closed as she takes her final breath. A wave of anguish washes over your face, and you collapse beside her, your forehead touching hers. The weight of grief presses down on you, a suffocating blend of fear, helplessness, and nausea.

The distant screams jolt you back to the present, your chest tight with anguish for your best friend. With a heavy heart, you tear yourself away, knowing there’s another roommate who needs your help—Yuri.

Tears sting your eyes as you navigate cautiously through the debris. Your gaze fixates on a pair of shoes—whether they belong to you or Hana doesn’t matter now. Snatching them up, you slide them onto your bare, blistered feet, grateful for any protection from the searing ground and jagged remnants of the house strewn about.

You locate Yuri swiftly amidst the chaos; her bewildered expression a fleeting moment of relief. Your heart leaps at the sight of her alive. Ignoring the acrid smoke that burns your lungs, you pull her into a tight embrace with both of you coughing violently in the toxic air.

“What happened?” Yuri’s voice rasps through fits of coughing. Her wide eyes reflecting fear and confusion, her pallid face etched with disbelief.

“I don’t know,” you cry out desperately, clinging to Yuri as if your life depends on it, unwilling to let go for fear she might vanish into the chaos. Your grip tightens, desperate to shield her from the crumbling world around you.

Then, in the distance, alarms pierce the air with a relentless wail. A chill races down your spine, and as you meet Yuri’s gaze, an unspoken understanding passes between you—this is no accident. War has come.

You never thought this day would come, always dismissing warnings from politicians as distant, improbable threats. But now, as reality crashes down around you, you realize you should have listened. You should have prepared for the worst, braced for the impossible. Panic grips you as you face the stark truth: there’s no escaping it now. What the hell are you supposed to do?

The distant drone of planes echoes through the sky once more, and a chill of dread courses through your trembling body. You never imagined you’d fear the sound of airplanes, but in these shifting times, everything has become a harbinger of uncertainty.

The cityscape around you lies in ruins with buildings shattered and strewn like broken toys. The urgency grips you as you realize the only option left: escape the city.

Now.

“Yuri, we need to move,” you declare urgently, your eyes wide with dread—for the uncertain future, for your very survival. You curse under your breath, trying to quell the rising panic threatening to consume you.

Yuri’s eyes remain wide, almost vacant, as if she struggles to comprehend the shattered reality that surrounds you both—a new world, unfathomable and bleak.

You snap Yuri out of her stupor, dragging her along as you navigate through the shattered bathroom. The toilet lies in ruins on the ground, shards of the shower surround you like jagged teeth. Despite the chaos, you spot the first aid kit amidst the debris, knowing it will be crucial in this harsh new reality.

Yuri’s voice trembles as she blurts out, “We need to take those pills. In the pouch. I got them just in case. They’re potassium iodide pills and will protect your thyroid if there’s radioactive iodine in the bomb.” You hesitate for a moment, then nod in grim understanding. Snatching the pouch from its battered position, you fumble with it until you locate the pills. Each of you swallows one with a gulp, the bitter taste clinging to your tongue like a grim reminder of the world outside. With a heavy sigh, you tuck the pouch back into the depleted first aid kit.

“We need to find bags and gather anything useful,” you mutter. Your mind races in overdrive as you calculate what essentials are necessary for survival in this new reality.

Amidst the cacophony of screams and the encroaching flames, you and Yuri spring into action, scouring the wreckage for backpacks. They will be easier to carry when every ounce counts. Your hands shake as you rummage through the debris, grabbing water bottles, clothing, and anything else salvageable. Panic sets in, your heart pounding, realizing you need food too, right?

You trudge toward the kitchen, but it’s a wasteland—shattered glass, twisted metal, and the acrid smell of burnt remnants fill the air. Nothing remains salvageable, not even a scrap of food.

Panic surges through you.

No food?

How will you survive?

The reality hits hard: you’ll need to scavenge for food while fleeing the city. The wreckage around you is overwhelming, casting doubt on finding anything edible. How long can a person endure without food? The question gnaws at your mind, amplifying your fear and uncertainty.

Deflated, you sigh, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Survival seems impossible, but you force a hopeful smile as you reunite with Yuri, masking your despair. The world around you is shrouded in darkness and gloom, every step a reminder of the bleakness ahead.

Screams echo all around you, a relentless assault on your senses. You try to block them out, but it’s impossible—the anguished cries of the wounded, the desperate calls for loved ones, the raw agony and fear permeate the air.

It’s unbearable; a living nightmare.

You ache to grieve for your friend, but there’s no time to stand still, no time to mourn what’s lost. With a heavy heart, you force yourself not to look back at Hana’s lifeless form. Grabbing Yuri’s hand, you push ahead, driven by a single, desperate resolve: to escape this hellish city. And fast.

Your body shivers despite the fires warming the air slightly. It’s still cold in the middle of September. You glance down at yourself, taking in your attire—a satin nightgown, its lacy seams stained with blood. But you can’t afford to care, nor do you have time to change. Your sole focus is to escape this hellscape, to put as much distance as possible between you and the burning city before worrying about anything else.

You pull Yuri away from the remnants of your house, each step deliberate as you navigate the treacherous debris. The ground is a minefield of twisted metal and shattered glass, and you can’t afford an injury.

Your heart races and your body shivers uncontrollably, but you force yourself to push forward. The streets are a nightmarish landscape of charred bodies, gutted buildings, and smoldering wreckage. The air is thick with the sounds of anguished cries and desperate shouts. Shattered windows, jagged glass, and twisted metal litter your path as flames roar high into the darkened sky.

You can’t fathom how quickly everything spiraled into chaos. In mere seconds, then minutes, the world you knew disintegrated into a living nightmare.

Your legs feel like lead, your mind foggy and exhausted. The cold, smoke-laden air clings to your lungs, but you force yourself to press on. Yuri’s hand in yours is the only anchor in this hellish new reality, a faint source of calm amid the chaos.

Thankfully, you live on the outskirts of the city.

Normally, you’d discern it was nighttime just by looking at the sky, but now, the sky is pitch black and choked with smoke. You avert your gaze from the devastated city and look toward what seems like a serene, calm direction. Is it an illusion, a cruel trick of your mind?

Desperation tugs at you, urging you toward this perceived sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaos.

Yuri coughs harshly behind you, and you spin around, dread tightening your chest as she spits up blood. You try to reassure yourself, though deep down, you know it’s futile.

“I don’t want to die,” Yuri pants between coughs, her voice strained with fear. You grip her hand tighter, desperate to offer reassurance in a world where safety is a fleeting illusion.

“You’re not going to die,” you assert, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, a feeble attempt to dispel the pervasive fear. “We’ll find a safe place, find some food, and make it through— everything will be fine.” You try to infuse conviction into your voice, but the hollowness echoes back at you, revealing the truth you dare not acknowledge.

But maybe if you keep telling yourself that everything is fine enough times, reality will bend to your desperate wishes?

You’ve been walking for what feels like an eternity, your sense of time warped by the perpetual darkness above. There’s no sky to gauge the hour anymore— gone as the stars that once were.

Your feet ache, battered and throbbing with exhaustion, begging for respite. The need for rest weighs heavily on you, but the city’s relentless grip refuses to release you. The daunting truth forces a weary sigh from your lips.

Yuri trembles, tears mingling with the grime on her cheeks, and you can’t shake the thought that she might be falling ill. Dread gnaws at you—what if it’s something fatal?

Your legs refuse to carry you any further, and staying exposed on the desolate road is a dangerous gamble. You’ve sensed shadows trailing your every move—what do they seek? Your clothes, the rations you don’t have, your very survival kit? You dare not linger to discover their intentions, yet exhaustion demands a pause. You must rest, even as paranoia grips your weary mind, hoping for a brief refuge to steady your faltering steps.

Adrenaline surges, urging you to hasten your steps, desperate to lose the shadowy figures trailing behind. The cityscape thins as you approach its outskirts. The dwindling buildings offer fewer places to conceal yourselves. Despite the fewer options, you’re determined to evade capture. With a sharp turn, you pull a breathless Yuri around the corner, heart pounding in sync with the echoing footsteps behind you.

You slip into a ravaged boutique, its shattered door gaping wide for easy entry. The dim interior reveals racks of torn clothing and broken mannequins strewn across the floor. You guide Yuri deeper inside, settling her on the dusty tiles. Her pallid face stands out starkly in the oppressive darkness, a chilling reminder of the perilous world outside. The thought of losing another friend tonight claws at your gut, urging you to find safety and respite in this decaying sanctuary.

“How are you holding up?” you inquire, your voice tinged with apprehension. Despite your fear of the response, you must know.

She trembles, her voice quivering. “I’m not doing well,” she admits. Her eyes wide with unspoken dread. “I don’t think I’ll make it.”

“Of course you will,” you choke out, your voice cracking with emotion, unable to confront the specter of death. The memory of Hana’s bloodied face flashes vividly in your mind, tears tracing the path down your grimy cheeks. Why must this nightmare persist?

“You’re a lousy liar, you know?” she quips weakly, a grim chuckle escaping her lips as she coughs up blood, wiping her mouth with a trembling hand. She studies the red stains on her palm with resignation, exhaling heavily.

You furrow your brow. Deep down, you know your attempts at optimism are feeble at best. In your friend group, you’ve always been the pragmatic realist, but now, you’ll play the role of hopeful optimist if it means coaxing a smile from Yuri’s pale face. You bite back any further words, aware that Yuri can read you like a book, predictable as always.

You slump onto the frigid tile floor of the store, grateful for a brief respite from the relentless march. The cold seeps through your clothes, a bitter reminder of the world outside, but your weary feet finally find a moment’s reprieve.

You’re uncertain how much time Yuri has left, but you’re determined to muster every ounce of strength to lead both of you to safety, far from the chaos—this inferno of a city, this relentless war that has begun.

How long will this last?

The shuffle of broken glass on the tile sends a shiver down your spine, sharpening your senses. Someone approaches, and you’re defenseless. Panic grips you—this is bad. Very bad.

Footsteps echo ominously, a chilling reminder of imminent danger. Yuri’s gaze meets yours, wide with fear and tears threatening to spill. The certainty settles in—this is how you die.

A looming silhouette emerges—a figure cloaked in darkness; their presence ominous and foreboding. Dread creeps up your spine as you realize the danger before you.

You scramble backward, but the shelves halt your retreat, trapping you in a corner with no escape. Panic surges as time slips away—your feet ache, and Yuri’s condition weighs heavily. The man advances, his silence more menacing than any threat, his cold, unyielding gaze fixed upon you.

Uncertain of the stranger’s intentions—murder or something worse? Your heart races, adrenaline surges through your veins as he moves closer. In a split-second decision, survival instincts take over. You lunge, sinking your teeth into his arm, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Like a desperate animal, you bite down harder, unrelenting until he screams in agony and collapses to the ground, clutching his injured limb.

“You fucking bitch!” he spits, struggling to rise despite the pain.

You hiss through clenched teeth, rising to your feet, closing the distance to charge at him, a wild glint in your eyes. “Try me again, and I’ll bite your fucking dick off.” The threat hangs heavy in the air, punctuated by the burning cityscape beyond. Your blood simmers with adrenaline, a primal urge overshadowing your usual self-control. You’re not yourself anymore, but one thing is clear; you’re more than willing to follow through.

He flinches, a flicker of fear crossing his face, and satisfaction courses through you. Your grin widens as he scrambles backward toward the shattered entrance, then finally turns and bolts, disappearing into the smoke-laden darkness.

You exhale sharply, unaware you’d been holding your breath. Returning to Yuri, still hunched over on the floor, clutching her stomach, you kneel beside her, heart pounding in dread as you examine her stomach.

Carefully prying her hand away, the sticky warmth confirms your fear— blood, seeping from her abdomen. Swiftly lifting her nightshirt, you reveal a small yet troubling wound. Fumbling through your backpack, your hands find the first aid kit amidst the chaos, extracting antiseptic to cleanse the injury. With trembling hands, you cover it with gauze and secure it with tape, knowing it’s a temporary fix— but this will have to do for now.

“I think debris hit me when the first bomb struck,” she explains, her breath ragged and filled with pain.

“It’s okay. It’s not that bad,” you manage to say, forcing a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Who were you kidding anyway?

You settle beside her, allowing her head to rest on your shoulder. “Let’s rest. You sleep, and I’ll keep watch,” you murmur, scanning the shadows with wary eyes.

Her head nestles against your shoulder and neck. “But you need rest too,” she whispers. Her voice is barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos echoing through the shattered cityscape.

“I’ll sleep later. Don’t worry about it; just go to sleep,” you command, the edge in your voice betraying the fear and exhaustion gnawing at you. You didn’t mean to sound so stern, but the cold reality of the situation weighs heavily on your shoulders. You wish someone could offer you the same reassurance— tell you this is all just a bad dream. Soon you’ll wake up and everything will be as it was.

Or for someone to tell you this is all just a movie, and you’re just an actress playing your part in some bizarre doomsday flick. But deep down, you know you’re no actress, this is no movie— sadly, this is real life, and you’re just a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a dead-end job.

Guess you don’t have that job at the café anymore. There’s probably no café left standing. The place likely went up in flames like much else in the city.

You listen to Yuri’s breathing, its slow cadence a brief respite from the cacophony outside—planes droning, people fleeing, and the distant echoes of screams. In just a few hours, these sounds have become the new normal, yet each one still sends a shiver down your spine.

You keep vigil through the restless hours as you had assured Yuri. Time blurs in the suffocating darkness, making it impossible to discern whether it’s night or day. Hours seem to stretch like endless tendrils of despair. With dawn or dusk lost to the smoke-filled horizon, you gently rouse Yuri, steeling yourself to resume your desperate quest for safety.

Yuri’s voice, usually vibrant and full of life, now emerges as a subdued whisper. “So it wasn’t just a nightmare…” Her words hang heavy in the air, laced with the grim realization that this dystopian nightmare has become your bleak reality.

“I’m afraid so,” you admit, your voice echoing in the desolate store. “We have to keep moving. Get out of the city.” Your limbs ache with every movement, a constant reminder of the night’s horrors. Yawning, you rise and gently pull Yuri to her feet. Before venturing out, you take a sip of water from your dwindling supply, feeling hunger gnaw at your stomach. Food is a distant luxury now, replaced by the urgency of survival.

Stepping out of the store, you survey the aftermath; where once vibrant flames danced, now only smoldering ruins remain. The landscape is awash in gray and ash falling like snow, towering skyscrapers reduced to skeletal frames or gaping maws of destruction. Smoke billows thick and acrid, clawing at your throat with every breath, forcing a cough to escape. This city, once teeming with life, now lies desolate and unrecognizable—a shattered testament to a world irreparably changed. This was your home, but now it’s a forsaken wasteland, a haunting reminder of the relentless march of destruction closing in around you.

If you manage to escape this city, this will probably never be your home again.

Pressing onward, you drag a weary, ghostly-pale Yuri in tow. Each step feels like a battle against the weight of the world collapsing around you, but you refuse to relent. The streets stretch out before you, barren and haunting, a maze of debris and ominous shadows. You move cautiously, every sound magnified in the eerie silence of the ruined cityscape, knowing that survival hinges on reaching safety, no matter how small the steps.

You walk and walk. The road stretches endlessly into the horizon, an unrelenting path of despair. Gradually, the landscape shifts from the shattered remnants of the city to the bleak desolation of nature, though nothing remains green. Everything is gray and charred, the outskirts bombed into an unrecognizable wasteland. Each step is a journey through the aftermath of destruction, a grim testament to the world that once was.

Body heavy and feet blistered, you can barely drag yourself forward, and Yuri is faring even worse. You decide to stop, the weight of exhaustion forcing your hand. The world around you is silent save for the distant echoes of disaster. You find a small, secluded spot to relieve yourself, then reach into your backpacks for the precious water bottles. The liquid is a lifeline in this scorched, desolate landscape.

“I think I’m dying,” Yuri pants as she collapses onto a stone, her face ghostly pale, lips tinged with blue, eyes glassy and distant. The sight sends a cold lump forming in your throat, a suffocating denial choking you because you can’t accept this as reality. It has to be just a stupid fucking nightmare.

You glance at your arm where you pinched yourself yesterday. The tiny scar is a mocking reminder of your futile hope. You barely register the pain; all you want is for this nightmare to end, for the world to return to a semblance of normalcy.

“You’re not dying,” you insist, voice trembling as you crouch down to meet her gaze. But her eyes are distant, unfocused, as if she’s already slipping away. A tear escapes down your cheek, cutting through the grime of this hellish reality.

“Stop lying, bitch,” she hisses, her voice a fragile blend of defiance and despair. She rolls her eyes in mock anger, the gesture marred by the blood she spits up, staining the ground like a cruel reminder of reality.

“I can’t walk anymore, and my stomach hurts so bad,” she pants, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face as she clutches her wound. Blood seeps through her shirt, a grim testament to her worsening state. You glance up at the sky, a bleak, gray expanse that offers no solace. Clenching your fist, you rage silently at the faceless enemies responsible for this devastation. It’s not just your friends; it’s the entire city, maybe the whole country. Fear gnaws at you as you realize you have no idea of the world’s state. Is it just your country? The entire world? You curse yourself for not packing a radio to stay informed.

You’re wondering if there would be any information on your phone, but you don’t want to use it, because you don’t have anything to charge it with. You want to save it for extreme emergencies.

“We’re finally out of the city,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with hope. “Maybe we can make it to another house down the road that can help us.” The words feel hollow, and you both know the truth: Yuri isn’t going to make it that far. Her labored breathing and the pallor of her skin betray the grim reality.

She coughs up more blood, almost choking. “We both know the next house is in the next city, over a hundred kilometers away,” she rasps, each word a painful reminder of the hopelessness stretching before you.

You lower your gaze to the grimy, ash-covered road. She’s right, of course. It’s likely far more than a few hundred kilometers, and the trek ahead promises to be an endless, harrowing journey through desolation.

Ashes swirl in the air like snow, a haunting reminder of your ravaged city. For a fleeting moment, you glance back, taking in the sight of crumbling buildings, smoldering remnants, and the acrid stench of smoke that clings to your senses. The scene turns your stomach, and you double over beside Yuri, bile rising in your throat, the bitter taste lingering like a grim testament to the city’s devastation.

“I’m freezing… Will you stay with me? Wrap your arms around me?” she pleads, her voice trembling with cold and fear, tears welling in her eyes, mirrored in yours. You nod silently, your heart heavy with the weight of what’s to come. She collapses onto the ground, and you join her, enveloping her frail, shivering form in your arms, seeking warmth amidst the chilling winds that whisper of desolation and despair.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to get to safety, okay?” she stutters, tears streaming down her cheeks, mixing with yours. Your heart breaks because you don’t want this reality. You can’t bear to lose another friend, but you’re helpless. You’re no doctor, and Yuri’s injuries are beyond your ability to heal. It’s a cruel truth that gnaws at your soul. Anger surges through you, directed at whoever orchestrated this devastation upon your friends, your city, your homeland. This world has become a cold and merciless place.

You’ve always been an ugly crier, and this is no different, but neither of you cares as tears stream uncontrollably down your faces. “I’ll try my best,” you manage to choke out, the words catching in your throat amidst the despair.

“When I’m gone…,” she begins, and a chill runs through your body at her words, “will you drag my body over to those bushes?” Her voice is strained, barely above a whisper, as if even speaking about her own death is too much to bear.

Even though your voice is hoarse, your wailing echoes through the desolate landscape, a mournful cry that seems to merge with the howling wind. You nod silently, tears streaming down your face, blurring the bleak surroundings into a haunting blur of despair and loss.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible as she lays her head down on your shoulder. Her breaths are faint and fleeting, each one a fragile thread in the unraveling tapestry of her life. You hold your breath, feeling the weight of each passing moment as her heartbeat dwindles, a painful echo of the world falling silent around you.

Your fists clench involuntarily, a futile attempt to grasp the reality unfolding before you: sitting beside your dying friend in this bleak, shattered world. This isn’t how life was supposed to be—witnessing the unraveling of everything you hold dear. You never signed up for this torment, this heart-wrenching despair that consumes you.

Why?

The question lingers like a haunting echo in the desolation.

Yuri’s breathing slows to a crawl, each breath a strained whisper of life. You turn your gaze to her face, her eyelids fluttering faintly—she’s clinging to existence. The agony etched on her features is unbearable, and a chilling realization settles in: maybe death is a mercy in this ravaged world. Her suffering is too much to endure, and part of you wishes she could escape it. It’s a cruel acceptance, knowing that letting go might be the kindest act left, even though you really don’t want her to go.

The silence closes in like a shroud, burnt leaves swirling in the air, whipped by the relentless wind. It’s eerie, the smoke and ash embracing everything. Your hand seeks Yuri’s, fingers tracing to her wrists, and there, you check for her pulse—absent, lost amidst the desolation.

You scream and cry, heedless of any who might hear amidst the desolate landscape. This world, so callous and unforgiving, engulfs you. Tears cascade down like a torrent, emotions unchecked. You gasp for air in the acrid, ashen atmosphere, your body trembling uncontrollably.

She’s gone. Another friend, lost to this merciless world.

You sit there, by the side of the road, time slipping through your fingers like sand in a storm. Hours pass, maybe more, the world reduced to desolation around you. A lone figure passed by earlier, casting a glance your way, but the urgency of survival drove him on, leaving you and your dead friend to the merciless elements. The city’s ruins loom in the distance behind you, a reminder of the chaos that has consumed everything.

You know you must move, but before you leave, there’s a promise to fulfill for Yuri.

You relieve yourself and step back onto the road, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that seems miraculously untouched by the ravages of war. That glimmer of hope pulls you forward. You have to reach it. No matter the distance, no matter the obstacles, you must get there.

It’s your only chance.

You walk and walk—days blur into weeks. Your clothes hang off your frame, tattered and too big. Bombings have become a constant backdrop, each explosion a distant rumble you barely acknowledge. The earth’s violent shudders no longer faze you. Hunger gnaws at you, a relentless companion, its grip tightening until you can’t even remember your last meal. Water, your only steadfast ally, has kept you moving; without it, you’d have long since fallen.

You trudge along the desolate highway, the city a distant speck on the horizon behind you. You have no sense of how far you’ve traveled, only that the remnants of your home have shrunk to a mere dot in your vision. The road stretches endlessly ahead, a bleak reminder of the ground yet to cover.

Dizziness is your constant companion now, your throat is parched as the Sahara despite your efforts to hydrate. Water is scarce, and you’ve been rationing it for days. Hope feels like a distant memory, and though the elusive horizon you’ve been chasing for weeks appears closer, it still seems maddeningly out of reach.

Your body feels like lead, your feet swollen and throbbing with every step.

Sleep is a distant memory, haunted away by visions of blood-streaked faces, final breaths, and echoing cries. Bloodshot eyes and a disheveled appearance mark your struggle; you’re still in your tattered nightdress, stained with blood and reeking of fear and sweat.

No food, no shower, just the relentless march through this wasteland.

You’ve lost track of time—is it still September?

The biting cold cuts through you, your torn and ruined shoes barely offering any protection. You trudge onward, desperate to find shelter, weary of hiding in the bushes from strangers who might wish you harm. Paranoia grips you; every rustle in the distance, every shadow makes you jump. Trust is a luxury you can’t afford. You feel like you’re unraveling, teetering on the edge of sanity.

The roses have withered, frost seeping into your bones. The birds no longer sing at dawn, and the grass by the roadside shrivels to brown. In the encroaching darkness, the cries of the forsaken echo—abandoned by fate and by man.

When your eyes land on a solitary house down a side street off the main road, you can hardly believe it. You’re nowhere near your end goal, the neighboring city, yet here it is—a lonesome house in the middle of fucking nowhere. You chuckle, convinced you’ve lost your mind. Why would there be a house out here, untouched by the chaos? You blink repeatedly, but the house remains. Your feet carry you forward, despite your spinning head and the jumbled mess of thoughts in your mind.

The house, partially concealed by tall trees and lush bushes miraculously untouched by bombs, seems like a relic from a forgotten world. An old jeep, battered but intact, sits beside the porch with its white picket fence. You approach cautiously, every step feeling surreal, and lift your hand to knock. Your bloody knuckles leave crimson smears on the pristine white door, a stark reminder of the nightmare you can’t escape.

You lose track of time standing there, every second stretching into an eternity, before the door is abruptly ripped open. You find yourself staring down the barrel of a rifle.

“Who are you?” a male voice demands, harsh and suspicious, but the words barely register. Your vision blurs, darkness encroaching, and the last thing you feel is the hard impact of the porch floorboards against your head as you collapse.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, your eyelids feeling like lead, gritty with exhaustion. Your vision swims, a blur of muted colors and shadowy shapes. You blink, trying to bring the world into focus. Through the haze, you make out a figure sitting on a chair not far from you. Panic grips your chest.

Fuck.

Where are you?

Your pulse quickens, and you jolt into a sitting position with a startled gasp, blinking as your vision finally clears; you find yourself in a bed, surrounded by bandages and the sterile scent of antiseptic. You’re in someone’s house—a man’s house, and he's seated across from you, watching intently.

He sports long, unkempt black hair that curls at the ends, paired with a ragged shirt jacket, torn jeans, and a plain black tee. His knees jitter nervously, as if he can’t find solace or calm in this chaotic world.

He sits clutching the rifle that had greeted your face before you blacked out. A cold shiver courses through you, fear gripping your heart at the thought of imminent danger. But if he intended to harm you, wouldn’t he have done it already?

He clears his throat, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, harsh and demanding. His eyebrow arches in suspicion as he growls, “Who are you?”

His steely demeanor makes your throat tighten, but you swallow your fear and force out the words. “I’m Y/N. I live in the city. Well… I lived there, before…” Your voice trails off as the weight of your new reality presses down on you. Nervously, you bite your lip, eyes darting around the room. You’re in a bedroom—king-size bed, you assume. High open shelves are stocked with toilet paper, dry food, canned goods, plastic water bottles, multiple first aid kits, and warm blankets. The sight of these supplies leaves you gaping. “Are you a prepper?” you ask, disbelief tinged with a sliver of hope.

He scoffs, a bitter edge to his voice, clearly unimpressed by your assumption. “I’m not a prepper,” he snaps, eyes narrowing as he tightens his grip on the rifle. “Now, tell me what you’re doing here, unless you want me to shoot you.”

You gulp, your throat dry and tight— the cold steel of his rifle isn’t just for show. His steely eyes tell you he’s a man who will follow through on his threats. You need to speak quickly, clearly. “I’m fleeing from the city,” you sputter in a rush, words tumbling over each other. “My home is destroyed. I haven’t eaten in god knows how long, I’m thirsty, and I just want a place to rest and stay away from the war.” Your breath catches, lightheaded from the effort.

His eyebrows arch in surprise, the hard edge in his voice softening to a wary curiosity. “Have you been walking since the first bomb hit?” he asks, the malice momentarily replaced by a flicker of genuine intrigue.

You nod, exhaustion settling deep in your bones despite your unconscious respite. Time feels warped and meaningless. “How long have I been out?” you ask, the reality of your situation hitting harder as you notice you’re still in your tattered nightgown, a haunting reminder that it couldn’t have been long.

“Only an hour,” he replies, his voice a rough whisper. “I cleaned some of your scrapes and wounds.” He gestures to your arms and legs, now meticulously bandaged, the clean white stark against your dirt-streaked skin. The care feels almost alien in this ravaged world.

“Thank you,” you manage, offering a small, weary smile. The words feel foreign on your tongue. Despite the rifle and his guarded demeanor, you feel a sliver of tension ease in this fragile sanctuary.

“So you haven’t eaten anything in three weeks?” he suddenly shouts, disbelief cutting through his gruff exterior. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you feel exposed, vulnerable under his intense scrutiny, making you squirm.

“Three weeks? That can’t be right... Maybe a week,” you mutter, your voice small as you fidget with the duvet covering your legs. You glance down at the bloodstained sheets, wondering why he placed you in the bed with your filthy clothes. But then again, in this shattered world, stained sheets are the least of your worries.

“It’s been almost three weeks since the bombings started,” he says, placing the rifle beside his chair. “I’m Yoongi, by the way. Sorry about pointing my rifle at you—it’s just...there’ve been people trying to raid my supplies.” He scratches his head, a nervous gesture that contrasts with the cold, hard edge of survival in his voice.

A sudden knock on the door startles both of you. You shiver on the bed, wide-eyed and afraid. Yoongi’s expression hardens as he swiftly picks up his rifle, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “Friends of yours?” he asks, his voice low and tense.

Your eyes dart down to your trembling hands as a tear escapes, tracing a path down your grime-streaked face. “No,” you whisper, voice cracking, “Don’t have any more of those left.”

He notices the sadness in your eyes but remains silent, rising to his feet and heading toward the front door. You follow, a compulsion driven by a mix of fear and curiosity. As you move from the bedroom through a narrow hallway, you glimpse an open living room and kitchen space before reaching the door. Yoongi raises his rifle, mirroring the moment you first encountered him.

Before he can react, the door bursts open, slamming into him and causing him to stumble back. A wild-eyed man, covered in dirt and smeared with blood, lunges inside. His crazed gaze locks onto you as he charges forward, a feral desperation in his movements.

“Give me food or I’ll kill you!” he shouts, launching himself at your exhausted body. You hit the floor with a heavy thud, groaning in pain, but adrenaline kicks in, sharpening your senses. As you claw at his skin, the man, wild-eyed and desperate, seems beyond reason, driven by hunger and survival—much like yourself.

But you need to get him off you.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you use your legs to kick him in the groin. He hisses in pain, and you seize the moment, tumbling him over. His back hits the floor with a sickening thud. You straddle him, screaming and hissing, your hands instinctively finding his throat. You press down, your vision narrowing to the singular focus of survival, fueled by desperation and fear in a world gone mad.

He fights you for control, his nails digging into your sides, tearing your nightgown. In a violent twist, he’s on top of you again, pinning you to the floor. You struggle against his weight, every muscle screaming, the cold, hard surface pressing into your spine. The room spins around you, and the desperation in his eyes mirrors your own.

But then, he’s yanked off you, dragged by his hair, Yoongi’s grip unyielding. The intruder’s wild eyes meet yours for a fleeting moment before Yoongi raises his rifle. A deafening bang is sent through the room, and the man’s body crumples. Blood splatters everywhere, painting the floor in a macabre pattern. The scent of gunpowder mixes with the iron tang of blood, and the room falls into an eerie silence, save for the ringing in your ears.

You scream, the sound raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating silence. Your heart hammers against your ribs, each beat threatening to choke you. Nausea churns in your gut as the reality of what just happened slams into you. Who the fuck is this guy? He just killed a man! Disbelief crashes over you, and fear grips your chest like a vise. The room spins, your breaths coming in rapid, shallow gasps as you teeter on the edge of hyperventilation, panic surging through your veins like ice.

You gasp for air, eyes wide with terror, as Yoongi throws the rifle to the floor. The stranger’s body lies motionless in a spreading pool of blood, a stark reminder of the brutality that surrounds you. Shivering uncontrollably, you try to crawl away from Yoongi and the corpse, each movement a struggle against your own paralyzing fear. Tears blur your vision as you sob, feeling like you’ve just traded one nightmare for another, the weight of this dystopian hell pressing down on you from all sides.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, his voice low and soothing. “Relax, everything is okay,” he reassures, his hands extended in a calming gesture, fingers splayed to show he means no harm. Despite his gentle demeanor, you retreat further, wary and unsure if his kindness is a facade. The air is thick with tension, echoing the uncertainty of this dystopian world where trust is a luxury long lost.

“Okay? You just shot a man!” Your frantic scream echoes off the walls, each word laced with fear and disbelief as you feel the cold concrete pressing against your back. Panic rises, clawing at your throat. There’s nowhere left to go; you’re trapped, cornered in this unforgiving world.

“Yeah, he was going to kill us and steal my food.” his voice steady, as if justifying his actions were routine in this harsh reality.

You stare at him in disbelief, your gasping intensifying. “So that means he deserves to die?” The accusation hangs heavy in the air, tears streaming down your cheeks in rapid succession. Dizziness swirls through you, fingers tingling with adrenaline and fear.

“Relax,” he says again, his voice soothing yet unsettling as he moves closer.

You refuse to ease up. You want him gone, and you want this goddamn nightmare to end. You yearn for normalcy, for everything to revert to how it was before. You don’t belong here with this Yoongi, a stranger turned killer. How the hell are you going to escape this mess?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, his voice steady yet tinged with an edge of authority. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be gone by now.”

His reassurances fall flat against the pounding of your heart. You struggle to process his words; your mind feels clouded, suffocated. Each breath is a battle, your chest constricting with a pain so intense, it threatens to overwhelm you.

“Please, calm down. You’re having a panic attack and you have to breathe calmly,” he urges, crouching before you. Your eyes widen with fear, anticipating harm from this stranger. Yet, as his warm hand gently rests on your shoulder, its reassuring weight steadies your erratic breaths. Tears still streaming, you gasp for air, but gradually, your breathing steadies, the tension in your chest easing with each controlled inhale.

“That’s good. Listen, I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assures, his gaze piercing into yours to convey sincerity. You nod hesitantly. Despite the fact that he’s taken a life, his actions in tending to your wounds suggest he harbors no ill intent toward you. Surely, he wouldn’t go through all that trouble if his intentions were sinister, would he?

“I can’t believe you killed a man, just like that…” you mutter in disbelief, your voice tinged with horror.

“Would you rather he killed us?” he asks bluntly, a shrug punctuating his matter-of-fact tone.

“No,” you reply, the certainty in your voice belying the tumult of emotions inside you.

“Look. It was either him or us. I’d rather live. This is just how life is now, I guess,” he says solemnly, rising to his feet and striding past the lifeless body toward the kitchen. He returns with biscuits and a water bottle. “Here, eat some crackers and drink some water. You have to start slow if you haven’t eaten in weeks,” he advises gently, handing you the items. Your fingers brush against his as you take them.

“You can take a shower; it’s in the bedroom. While you do that, I’ll get rid of the body.”

You nod, fingers trembling as you pry open the crackers and take a hesitant bite. They taste dry and unfamiliar, like they’ve been preserved for years. Your stomach churns in protest, unaccustomed to solid food after weeks of deprivation. Sipping water, you set both items down beside you.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, offering him a small, grateful smile, relief flooding through you as your heart finally settles into a steady rhythm.

“No problem. You can grab some of my clothes in the bathroom. That poor nightgown isn’t doing much to cover you,” he says with a slight chuckle. You glance down and realize half of your right breast is exposed, your hands instinctively flying to shield it from view.

You’re embarrassed, cheeks burning, and you scramble up from the floor, not saying a word because the humiliation is overwhelming. Your breast has been exposed all this time, likely since the scuffle with the man, and Yoongi didn’t mention it until now? You rush back to the bedroom, pushing away thoughts of Yoongi seeing you half-naked and what he might do with the body in his living room.

In the bedroom, you easily locate the in-suite bathroom at the end; it boasts a large bathtub, a sleek shower, a toilet, and a spacious sink, all in matte black with subtle white accents, strikingly minimalistic. Approaching the bathtub, you turn on the water, feeling its warmth soothe your battered hand. It’s a strange sensation, one you haven’t felt in what seems like an eternity, and a rush of anticipation flutters in your chest at the prospect of a proper shower. As the tub fills, you shed your clothes, discarding the nightgown into the garbage—it’s beyond salvaging. Glancing at yourself in the mirror, what meets your eyes is a stranger, not the person you once were but a mere shell. Your skin is streaked with grime, your face swollen, especially beneath your eyes, and your hair wild and unruly.

Finally, the tub fills to the brim, and you shut off the stream, testing the temperature with your hand—it’s perfect, pleasantly hot, promising a thorough cleanse. Eagerly, you step into the water, noting the array of shower bottles within reach. You grab one, twisting off the cap to release a refreshing minty scent that envelops you. The shampoo and conditioner bear the same invigorating fragrance. Yoongi must have a thing for mint, you think to yourself with a faint smile, grateful for this small comfort after enduring the trials of the past three weeks.

The notion that so much time has passed feels surreal, almost impossible to grasp.

You let the warm water envelop and soothe your weary body, a brief respite from the horrors that haunt you—before the bombings, before this relentless war. The shower gel lathers as you wash away the grime, shampooing your hair with a sense of renewal. For a fleeting moment, the sensation of cleansing almost allows you to forget the devastation that brought you here.

But guilt grips you tightly, a suffocating embrace. You feel the weight of being alive when your friends are gone, their lives snuffed out mercilessly. The simple joy of a bath, forever denied to them, brings tears to your eyes, mingling with the water surrounding you.

You can’t stand to stay in the tub any longer, despite not feeling physically clean. Quiet sobs escape your lips as you stand, chest tight with sorrow for what has been taken from you, and for what you can never reclaim.

Hastily, you snatch a gray towel, wrapping it around your shivering frame as tears trace silent paths down your cheeks in the mirror’s reflection. The ache for your lost friends deepens with each droplet that falls. Drying off with hurried strokes, the plush towel offers some comfort against your skin. You manage to towel-dry your hair as best as you can, seeking normalcy in the routine.

Then, a glimmer catches your eye—a toothbrush. The realization hits hard: you haven’t brushed your teeth in three weeks. Your gaze darts around the bathroom, finding only one brush. Is it gross to use someone else’s? Disgusting, maybe? You search the cabinets in vain for a spare, but finding none, you convince yourself it’s okay. You’ll sanitize it thoroughly, make it right. With meticulous care, you rinse the toothbrush under the stream, scrubbing it clean before applying toothpaste.

The brush feels foreign in your mouth, yet it scrubs away the layers of neglect, refreshing your senses in a way you hadn’t realized you craved.

When you finish, you step out into the bedroom, scanning Yoongi’s dresser for any clothing that might fit. Not expecting to find undergarments, you ponder going without or resorting to his if necessary. Pulling on a pair of gray sweatpants, you cover your legs before grabbing a black t-shirt and slipping it over your head. Spotting a pair of cozy socks nearby, you hastily put them on and make your way into the living room, the unfamiliar garments a stark reminder of the upheaval your life has become.

You step into the living room, confronted by an unsettling contrast of cleanliness and calm amidst the recent violence. It’s as if the room has been meticulously scrubbed of any trace of the fatal encounter that unfolded mere moments ago. You can’t help but question whether Yoongi is unnervingly efficient at erasing the aftermath of death or if you’ve lost track of time while in the bath, leaving you to wonder what else might have transpired in your absence.

You spot a door tucked away in the dimly lit living room, its handle cold to the touch. Slowly, you push it open, and a shiver snakes down your spine at the grim sight that greets you. “Are those... bodies?” you choke out, a mix of revulsion and horror tightening your throat as you gaze upon the macabre pile in the corner of the yard. Yoongi turns around, his expression unreadable, having added the latest stranger to what appears to be a makeshift graveyard of those he’s encountered before you.

“Yeah?” he shrugs nonchalantly, as if it’s inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

“How many people have you killed?” you demand, hands on your hips, trying to steady your nerves.

He pauses, the silence stretching between you, each moment heightening the weight of his answer. “Five,” he finally admits, his voice carrying the weight of each life taken in this unforgiving world.

“Five?! That’s a lot— five too many,” you spit out in disbelief, the weight of his confession sinking into your bones. You can’t stand to dwell on it any longer. Death surrounds you like a shroud, and you’ve seen enough to last a lifetime. Turning away, you hear Yoongi’s footsteps approach from behind, each step a reminder of the grim reality you now face.

“Like I told you before, it was me or them. I was only defending myself and my home,” he shrugs nonchalantly, pushing the door open as you follow him into the living room. He settles onto the couch, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, casting a shadow over the pristine room that belies the violence it has witnessed.

“Did you have a nice shower? You smell nice,” he smiles warmly, pulling a blanket over his legs.

You gape at him—how can he be so calm? He just killed a man, and now he acts like it’s no big deal, no remorse, no hint of the violence that just transpired.

“I smell like you, and yes, your tub is very nice. Your clothes too. Thank you,” you reply, sitting down on the couch, keeping a deliberate distance between you. After what you’ve witnessed, it feels safer that way.

“You really held your own back there, with the guy. It was kinda hot,” he says, his tone as casual as discussing the weather or deciding what to eat.

Your mouth hangs open. Is this guy serious?

“Something’s seriously wrong with you if you find that hot. Please don’t tell me you’re aroused or something. I’m not touching you or helping you with your boner—I barely know you,” you say, crossing your arms defiantly across your chest.

He chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that reverberates through the room, a stark contrast to the desolation outside. You gaze at him, stunned by the unexpected display of humor.

“I’m not aroused and if I did have a boner, I could take care of it myself, don’t you worry. I just respect women who can fend for themselves,” he says with a smile, settling deeper into the worn cushions of the couch.

“Well, I know self-defense. My dad drilled it into me as a kid and teenager. Have you seen how messed up the world is? Even before this war or whatever it is, men were always preying on women or men, lurking in shadows, stalking, abducting them—doing who knows what. I had to learn to protect myself,” you explain, watching him nod in understanding, his eyes reflecting a grim acknowledgment of the world’s harsh realities.

“That’s good. Oh, I forgot to mention, I left your backpack next to the couch—by the way, you look good in my clothes,” he grins, rising from the couch and moving over to the kitchen.

“Want some dinner? I’ve got leftovers we can reheat,” he mumbles from the kitchen. You nod silently, your mind elsewhere as you walk over to your backpack. You hardly remember what kind of stuff you grabbed from home—hopefully clothes, maybe some underwear would be nice. Digging through it, you find only two pairs of leggings, three shirts, and a bra. Well, it seems like unlucky is just your color.

Doesn’t matter, you can go without panties. It might be a problem when your period comes, but that’s a worry for another day.

You hear a beep from the kitchen and join Yoongi there. Whatever he’s reheated is ready, and you take a seat at the round table positioned between the kitchen and the living room. Yoongi retrieves cold water from the fridge.

“So, you’re not a prepper, but you’ve stockpiled enough to survive indefinitely. Why?” you inquire between cautious bites, mindful of not agitating your stomach.

“Didn’t you listen to the government? They told us to prepare for anything, just in case. And I prefer to be ready. Call me a prepper if you want,” he shrugs, spearing his food with his fork.

“I noticed all your shampoo in the bathroom. What else have you stocked up on?” you ask, genuinely curious. You hadn’t prepared for any of this, refusing to believe something like a war could happen in your country.

“I’ve got spare clothes, solar-powered batteries, extra fuel for the truck, a backup generator for power outages, and even a well in the backyard in case the water supply is cut,” he lists with a chuckle. But your eyes widen almost to the point of popping out of their sockets; you’ve never encountered anyone so thoroughly prepared.

“What’s your deal then? You live out here by yourself in the middle of nowhere?” you choke out as you take a sip of your water.

“Yeah, I don’t like people,” he says with another shrug, and you almost spit out your water. Oh god, he’s probably one of those eccentric types.

“Let me rephrase that; I just prefer my own company,” he explains, his voice steady but with a hint of guardedness.

“Well, what am I doing here then?” you chuckle with a smile, though you feel some insecurities seep into your blood.

“You wouldn’t last another day out there. And it’s not that I don’t enjoy company. Maybe we can help each other out, stay alive together?” he shrugs again, and you begin to wonder if he can do anything else but shrug.

“Like make life more bearable together?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yeah. Just keep each other company. It is pretty lonely out here,” he sighs, carrying his plate back to the sink to clean and put in the dishwasher.

“We can do that,” you say, yawning and stretching your body, feeling the tiredness wash over you. You wish for a good night’s sleep, something you haven’t had in weeks.

“Sleepy?” he chuckles, flashing a pearly set of teeth and pink gums.

“Yeah. Honestly, I haven’t had proper sleep since the bombings,” you yawn again as Yoongi takes your plate and cleans it too.

“Then maybe we should go to bed?” he suggests, clearing the table.

“Yeah, if you can just show me to the guest room, that would be nice,” you yawn again, feeling the weight of exhaustion pulling you down.

Yoongi burst into laughter again, his voice echoing through the desolate walls. “Guest room? Y/N, there’s only one bedroom. You’re bunking with me unless you prefer the icy embrace of the couch.”

Your eyes widen, reluctance shadowing your thoughts as the idea of sleeping in the cold chills you. Yet, the notion of sharing a bed with him unsettles you; he remains a stranger, and despite his seemingly gentle demeanor, your instincts keep you on edge. You sigh, resigned to the exhaustion that weighs heavily on you. “Sharing a bed will have to do,” you mutter, your voice tinged with apprehension and weariness.

You both walk together to his bedroom, the air thick with a strange tension that makes your heart pound erratically in your chest. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed with a man without any sexual connotation, yet there’s an odd intimacy in this moment that unsettles you. You forego any further preparation, having already showered and brushed your teeth — though you remember something.

“I used your toothbrush earlier, I hope that’s okay,” you mention tentatively, eyeing the bed, its sheets faintly stained with your blood. They definitely need changing. “Do you have clean sheets?” you ask, turning towards the bathroom where Yoongi directs you to the cabinet with fresh linens and mentions he has a spare toothbrush.

You strip the stained sheets off and swiftly tuck in fresh ones, craving the comfort of a proper sleep. The thought of lying in clean bedding is a rare luxury now. There’s just one duvet, though, and you wonder if sharing it will be a challenge. Shedding the sweatpants, you opt for the black shirt, its length offering modesty. As you settle into the bed, pulling the covers snugly up to your chin, you relish the cocoon of warmth, a brief respite from the harsh reality outside.

Yoongi emerges from the bathroom, his chest bare and marked by scars on his shoulder, wearing plain black boxers. You gulp involuntarily. Damn it, you shouldn’t be ogling him like that, but your cheeks burn nonetheless.

He slides into bed beside you but maintains a respectful distance under the covers, leaving a gap that allows a chilling draft to sneak beneath the duvet, making you shiver involuntarily.

“Cold?” he asks, his voice devoid of the usual teasing tone that has marked the day. Instead, it carries a hint of genuine concern, almost comforting.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to be a burden,” you sigh, shifting to feel the warmth against your front, trying to ignore the chill creeping up your back.

“We can huddle closer for warmth,” he suggests, and you ponder it briefly, realizing it might help you sleep better anyway.

“Okay,” you agree, and moments later, Yoongi edges nearer, his chest pressing against your back. Instantly, his warmth envelops you, quelling the shivers that had plagued you.

You drift into sleep soon after. Yoongi maintains his distance, his chest against your back serving as a reassuring anchor, his hands remaining still as he promised. Finally, the respite from constant danger allows you to embrace a much-needed slumber.

You’re drenched in sweat, heart pounding against your chest, breaths coming fast and shallow as you gasp, “Don’t leave me, Yuri! Please, Hana, don’t go. Please don’t die!” You twist and turn, tears streaming down your face, overwhelmed by fear and sorrow. Your eyes refuse to open, exhaustion and dizziness enveloping you, yet vivid images flash before your mind’s eye, forcing a scream from your throat.

A pair of strong hands grips your arms, shaking you gently, and you register a voice calling out urgently, “Y/N, wake up. It’s just a nightmare. You’re safe.”

Oh, it’s Yoongi.

Right, you’re in Yoongi’s bed.

A stranger you met only hours ago.

Despite his reassurances, your body refuses to comply, shaking uncontrollably as the remnants of the nightmare cling to your senses.

“Can I hold you? Maybe it’ll help calm you down,” he suggests softly. Even though you can’t muster the strength to open your eyes, his voice anchors you.

“Please,” you sob, and he turns you gently, your back against his chest, enveloping you in his arms. His soothing shushes echo, reminiscent of comforting a restless child—surprisingly effective.

Gradually, your racing heart steadies, the tremors subside, and your breathing finds a steady rhythm.

You open your eyes to darkness enveloping the room. “I watched my friends die. Their faces haunt me almost every night,” you sob, burying yourself deeper into his embrace. Forget the fact that he’s practically a stranger; his comforting presence and the safety of his arms offer solace you’ve longed for. After endless days of running, hyper-aware and on edge, it feels strangely liberating to allow yourself this moment of vulnerability. You’re still strong, but right now, in his arms, it’s okay to seek refuge.

You feel his hand on your head, gently stroking your hair. “It’s okay. It will get better with time,” he reassures you.

Sniffling, you surrender to exhaustion, finding solace in his arms once more. Despite your initial reservations and the day’s unsettling events, you feel an unexpected sense of safety with him. Weariness overtakes your caution, and you drift into a deep sleep, cradled by Yoongi’s reassuring presence throughout the night.

When you wake, a sticky, uncomfortable wetness between your thighs jolts you into full consciousness. You sit up and glance at Yoongi, still asleep beside you, his long hair tousled and face serene, lips slightly parted with steady breaths. Dread fills your gut as you peel back the covers. The sight of blood staining the white sheets freezes your breath, a scream clawing its way out of your throat, piercing the quiet of the room.

Yoongi bolts upright, momentarily disoriented, his eyes darting around the room for danger. His gaze falls on the crimson-stained sheets and your trembling form. Panic flashes across his face as he instinctively reaches for you.

“Are you hurt?” he asks, his voice low and raspy with sleep, cutting through the air like a blade.

You force yourself to calm down, the panic subsiding as you realize the source of the blood. “No, it’s just my period,” you pant, trying to steady your breath and racing heart. It hits you with a mix of relief and embarrassment—over a month since your last one, but the sight of the stained sheets fills you with shame.

Yoongi’s tension eases, his shoulders relaxing. “Oh,” he says, understanding dawning in his eyes. There’s no danger, just the harsh reality of life. He gives you a comforting look, a rare softness in his hardened gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you ramble, sliding off the bed, mortified by the mess. “I didn’t wear underwear because my panties were ruined, and I didn’t want to trouble you for your boxers. I don’t even have pads or tampons.” Your words tumble out in a rush, the embarrassment amplifying every second.

Yoongi sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Relax, it’s okay,” he says, his voice steady and reassuring. “You can take some of my boxers. I’m not stocked up on pads or tampons, but you can just use cloth that we wash.”

If you weren’t in a slight panic, maybe you’d notice how good he looks with bed hair and his bare torso, but instead, you rush out to the bathroom, still blushing from the unexpected intimacy and the rawness of the situation.

Yoongi joins you, a pair of his boxers in hand, as you futilely try to dry yourself with toilet paper. It’s no use.

“You should take a bath and wash off the blood,” he says, placing the boxers on the countertop. “I’ll take care of the bed.”

You nod, desperate to rid yourself of the blood, and without a second thought, you grab the edges of the black t-shirt you borrowed and pull it over your head, not caring that Yoongi is still there, probably watching you. His presence feels oddly comforting in this grim reality.

“Nice ass,” he smirks as you step into the shower. You can’t believe he finds you attractive in this state—blood running down your thighs. How can you really look appealing like that?

He’s either weird or into some strange shit.

You don’t reply, just shut the curtain fast, turning the showerhead on and letting the warm water caress your skin. The blood washes away, swirling down the drain as you clean yourself thoroughly. Damn, you really hate your period. Stepping out of the shower, you grab a towel and dry off. You spot some ripped cloth Yoongi left for you to use as makeshift pads.

Yoongi is incredibly kind, you realize, and it brings a rare smile to your lips. You dress with the makeshift pads stuck in his boxers and then walk out, covering your breasts, not wanting to wear the shirt you slept in. The warmth of the shower lingers, but the cold reality of the dystopian world waits just outside the bathroom door.

In the bedroom, Yoongi has replaced the bloodstained sheets with black ones, blending seamlessly with the oppressive gloom outside. As he turns to meet your gaze, you can’t help but blush, standing there before him semi-naked.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow again?” you ask, your voice shaky with unsaid emotion and a confusing undercurrent of attraction.

He nods and rummages through his dresser, pulling out another black tee. You can’t help but wonder if black clothing is the only thing he owns, as if he’s trying to match the bleakness of the world.

“Thank you. I’ll just find my bra in my backpack,” you quip, the words sounding hollow as you step out next to the bed and search through your belongings.

“You don’t have to wear one, you know. You’re free to do whatever. If you’re more comfortable without one, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his voice gentle yet firm. His words halt your movements. He’s right. You don’t really want to wear a bra; you’d only wear it because it’s the ‘proper’ thing to do. But he doesn’t seem to care about such trivialities, and comfort sounds far more appealing in this bleak reality.

You stop searching for the item and simply pull on the shirt he’s given you, the fabric soft against your skin.

As Yoongi gets ready with a shower and fresh clothes, you wander into the kitchen, your stomach growling. The dull ache in your abdomen also reminds you of your period, and you curse under your breath. Pain meds would be nice, but you have no idea where Yoongi keeps them. The thought of asking him feels like a small admission of vulnerability, something you’re not entirely comfortable with yet. But the pain is relentless, and in this world, there’s no room for stubborn pride.

Yoongi emerges from the bedroom, catching sight of you clutching your stomach. “Do you need painkillers?” he asks, his tone a mix of concern and practicality. He gestures to a cabinet. You nod, biting your lower lip as you move to find the pills, swallowing them with some water.

In the kitchen, you both work in a synchronized silence, preparing a simple meal. The quiet between you isn’t awkward; it’s a welcome respite from the chaos outside. As you eat, the distant sound of bombs punctuates the air, a grim reminder of the world beyond these walls.

Afterwards, you settle on the couch, the weight of the day pressing down on you. Yoongi sits beside you, the proximity offering a strange comfort. The silence stretches, filled with the unspoken understanding that, for now, survival is enough. The faint echoes of destruction fade into the background as you allow yourself a rare moment of peace, nestled in the fleeting safety of Yoongi’s makeshift sanctuary.

“Do you think we’re safe here?” you ask, turning to face Yoongi abruptly.

“For now, I think so,” he replies calmly, his gaze fixed on the flickering light from a nearby candle. The distant cacophony of destruction outside barely registers with him.

“You have a radio, right? Have you heard what’s going on?” Your curiosity is tinged with desperation. Three weeks of aimless wandering have left you clueless about the extent of the chaos—whether it’s confined to your city, your country, or if fleeing abroad could offer safety.

“Yeah, I do. It started with our country and the neighboring countries that were bombed, but now it’s escalated into a full-blown nuclear world war,” Yoongi answers, his voice tinged with resignation. “They say this might be the end of the world as we know it.”

Your throat tightens.

The end of the world.

Fuck.

It’s a phrase that carries weight beyond comprehension. You fall silent, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Yoongi notices your unease and his hand gently encircles yours, a silent gesture of reassurance amidst the chaos engulfing the world outside.

“I understand you’re scared, and it’s okay. I’m scared too,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the dimness, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of something indiscernible. His honesty offers a rare comfort amidst the uncertainty that permeates every corner of your existence. “But there’s not much we can do about it, except try to stay alive. Frankly, I’m happy you’re here. At least we have each other in this shitty world.”

His sincerity touches you in a way that words struggle to express. Despite the looming dread, his presence brings a semblance of solace. “I guess you’re right,” you muse softly, a fleeting smile gracing your lips. The mere thought of not facing this bleak reality alone lifts your spirits more than you’d expected. “I’m also happy to not be alone anymore.”

“Come here,” he invites, arms open, a silent gesture that beckons you to his side. Initially hesitant, you meet his gaze with a questioning stare before relenting, offering a gentle smile as you scoot closer. His arms envelop you, pulling you into a comforting embrace as you rest your head against his shoulder.

In this moment, amidst the chaos and uncertainty, you allow yourself the luxury of comfort. It doesn’t diminish your strength or resilience; it’s simply a reprieve, a respite from the relentless struggle for survival. You listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, its reassuring cadence grounding you amidst your racing thoughts, reminding you that in this fractured world, even fleeting moments of solace are worth cherishing.

You’ve been grumpy for days—blame it on your period, though Yoongi has tirelessly tried to ease both your pain and your sullen mood. He’s taught you the art of baking sourdough bread, introduced you to new games, and even guided you through painting sessions, all while the world around you crumbles bit by bit. Each night, he holds you close, his warmth soothing both your body and your restless thoughts. If you denied feeling a spark between you, you’d be lying. It’s an unspoken tension that has simmered since you first met, and you’re certain he feels it too, though neither of you acknowledges it or acts upon it.

The reason for your inaction eludes you—is it fear of rejection, uncertainty about what this attraction truly means amidst the chaos, or simply the desperate need for companionship in a desolate world? You wrestle with these thoughts, wondering if your feelings are genuine or born out of circumstance. Perhaps that’s why you’ve held back, because deep down, you want to desire him for who he is, not just because he’s the only person around, and certainly not solely out of physical need.

You realize you’re nearing the end of your period because since yesterday, every little thing Yoongi does seems incredibly arousing. Folding laundry becomes a sensual act as you watch the muscles in his arms move, his focused demeanor igniting a fire within you. Even mundane actions like drinking water capture your attention, the movement of his throat and the bob of his Adam’s apple now irresistible to you. It’s clear you’ve got it bad, and you feel like you’re slowly losing your sanity.

Yet amidst this chaotic world, you’ve come to a profound realization: it’s not merely Yoongi’s availability that attracts you, but the essence of who he is.

“Do you want to get drunk?” he asks abruptly, pulling your attention away from your swirling thoughts after dinner. Both of you sit motionless, avoiding the cleanup that beckons. You blink at him, incredulous, but the idea holds a strange allure. The prospect of drowning the world’s chaos in alcohol for a fleeting moment seems oddly appealing.

“Yeah. What do you have?” you inquire, leaning forward across the table, eager to hear his answer.

“Only the hard stuff,” he replies with a smile, rising to clear both your plates.

You nearly choke on his words, a momentary blur conjured by your horny mind. The double meaning triggers a rush of both embarrassment and arousal, betraying your thoughts once again.

You assist in tidying up, your heart pounding inexplicably loud in your ears. There’s a nervous energy tingling through you, a strange excitement, as you settle onto the couch. Yoongi locates two mugs and heads to a well-stocked cabinet filled with an array of hard liquors. The sight leaves you momentarily impressed — the man is prepared for anything.

Returning with a bottle of whiskey, he notices your slight frown, likely recalling your distaste for its taste. Yet, any strong spirit would elicit a similar reaction from you. He sets down the bottle, retreats to the kitchen for ice, then returns to pour the amber liquid into your mugs.

“Thank you,” you quip, raising the mug to your lips and taking a cautious sip, grimacing at the harsh taste, eliciting a chuckle from Yoongi. He sips his whisky casually, as if it’s a ritual he’s performed countless times before — which, given his ease, might very well be the case. The amber liquid seems to suit him, and you strive to mimic his nonchalance, the flavor gradually becoming more palatable with each swallow. Eventually, a subtle warmth spreads through your body, a faint buzz that hints at relaxation in this tumultuous world.

He pours more whiskey into your mugs, and you drink, feeling the world blur around you, but Yoongi remains sharply focused in your gaze. His laughter cuts through the haze, accompanied by glimpses of his pearly white teeth and endearing pink gums, as he shares stories of his friends and their reckless escapades.

“Then Jungkook would leave the poor girl hanging,” he chuckles, a deep, resonant sound that brings a smile to your face and colors your cheeks.

“But that’s so bad,” you manage to reply between sips. Despite being thoroughly drunk by now, you relish Yoongi’s company and the friendship you now share. His presence makes the chaotic world feel momentarily lighter. You’re grateful he’s as intoxicated as you are, though you suspect he handles his liquor with more finesse.

Your eyelids flutter, cheeks warm as your gaze lingers on Yoongi, captivated by his sweetness and kindness amidst the dystopian chaos.

“What?” he chuckles softly, catching your prolonged stare.

“Your lips look really soft…” The words slip out, your filter completely gone, the confession hanging between you like an unspoken truth.

“Kiss me and find out,” he challenges, a glint of mischief in his eyes. His gaze, deep and compelling, draws you closer until your noses almost touch. With eyes closed, you lean in, meeting his lips in a gentle press. The warmth of his skin against yours, the taste of whiskey on his breath, sparks an unexpected thrill. Your hands find his, fingers intertwining, and a soft moan escapes your lips, lost in the softness and warmth of his kiss.

Your mind swirls, a dizzying mix of alcohol and the intoxicating scent of Yoongi enveloping you. You feel intoxicated by his presence, as if he’s a drug you never want to quit. Kissing him feels like an escape from the harsh reality of the world outside, a brief reprieve where everything is right.

But as you reluctantly pull back for a breath, both of you panting, his eyes are filled with desire and a knowing smirk. Without hesitation, he leans in again, kissing you fiercely. His urgency overwhelms you as he presses you down onto the couch, your hand instinctively gripping his neck, desire pooling in your stomach. You ache for him, craving more than just his touch.

He pulls away with a grunt, his voice rough with desire. “I really want to fuck you. But I want to do it sober.”

You groan softly, the heat of the moment tempered by the clarity of his words. Alcohol fuels your desire now, but you yearn for a clear-headed connection. You nod in agreement, and he pulls you up from the couch, his touch firm and purposeful.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other in bed in other ways,” he adds suggestively, leading you toward his bedroom. You follow eagerly, a wide smile spreading across your face, anticipation tingling in your veins.

In the bed, little else happens beyond kissing, the alcohol still clouding your senses. You manage to undress each other and slip under the covers; your bodies drawn together by an irresistible pull, seeking solace and warmth. More kisses follow, each one infused with a sense of fleeting bliss and exhaustion. Eventually, Yoongi spoons you as he always does, enveloping you in a cocoon of affection that feels more profound than anything you’ve experienced before. It’s a fleeting moment of respite amidst the chaos of the world crumbling outside.

When you wake, the throbbing pain in your head pulls you back to reality. You groan softly, slowly coming to, feeling Yoongi shifting beside you. His arms are still wrapped around you, in a comforting embrace.

His voice, thick with sleep, breaks the morning silence. “Morning. Do you have a headache too?”

You chuckle softly, nodding as you nuzzle your back into him, his warm, nearly bare body—save for his boxers—shielding his erection. “Yeah,” you groan, feeling the fatigue lingering, yet also acutely aware of Yoongi’s touch, his fingertips gently tracing over your bare skin.

“Want to take a shower together? Might help with the headache,” he suggests, his voice still husky with sleep. You nod, both of you slipping out of bed and padding into the bathroom together.

There, you shed your minimal clothing—a shirt of Yoongi’s for you, his boxers for him. It’s the first time you’re both seeing each other naked, a realization that hangs heavy in the air. For a moment, you simply gaze at each other, skin tingling with anticipation and desire, yet neither of you utter a word. You silently drink in each other’s presence, wondering if he finds you as appealing as you find him. The way he licks his lips with hunger suggests he does. You study his body: soft yet lean, pale skin a testament to a life spent indoors, away from the harsh realities of this broken world.

His dick appears soft, yet it pulses with undeniable arousal, sending warmth through your skin and stirring a primal desire between your legs. His appearance is captivating, his dark brown pubic hair adding to his allure, compelling you to join him in the shower.

He turns on the water, and as it sprays over both of you, a shared chuckle breaks the tension. “Do you want me to wash you?” he asks, his voice low and thick with need. You nod, craving the touch of his hands on your body.

Yoongi finds some minty soap, lathering it in his hands before placing them on your skin. Instantly, you relax, feeling like putty in his strong hands. His touch is soft yet firm as he moves from your neck down your back, to your ass, and then along your thighs and legs. His hands travel back up to your neck, then, standing behind you, they move to your front. He slowly caresses your breasts, teasing your nipples into stiff peaks, and continues down your stomach, past your crotch, and along the front of your legs. The intimacy and the warmth of his touch make you feel more alive than you have in a long time.

Shivers cascade down your spine, heat flaring not from the water, but from Yoongi’s touch. Your breathing quickens with each passing moment, his low and raspy grunts filling your ears.

Your knees grow weak, and a blissful moan of his name escapes your lips as your head falls back to rest against his collarbone. “Do you like it, babe?” he murmurs, his voice a deep, seductive rumble that sends electric tingles down your spine and a rush of arousal pooling between your legs.

Your body quivers, and you bite your lower lip in a futile attempt to contain your desire. Finally, you relent, panting, “Yes.”

His pet name for you sends your mind spinning with thoughts of him, intensifying your longing. You gather your courage and turn to face him, your eyes hooded with desire. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze sweeping over your soapy, naked form with clear appreciation. His hands continue their journey, gliding over your skin, teasing and igniting every nerve.

“I want to wash you too,” you pant with a chuckle, grabbing the soap and lathering it in your hands. You place your fingers on his warm, sturdy chest, gliding over his pectorals and teasing his nipples, drawing a soft, whiny chuckle from him. Your hands travel down his stomach, deliberately bypassing his half erect cock, moving instead to his legs and down to his feet. Then, you make your way back up, sliding your hands over his back, down his shoulder blades, to his firm, round bum, which you squeeze with playful delight, before caressing down his thighs.

You’re now sitting, face to face with his erection, and you can’t help but stare. To you, cocks have always just been cocks, but his looks almost like a work of art. It grows longer with arousal, and you stutter at the thought that he isn’t even fully hard yet. He already looks so long and girthy, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you.

You glance up at him, his eyes dark as obsidian, his mouth slightly agape as he watches you. Your hands move to his dick, now free of soap. He releases a needy groan as you wrap your fingers around him, beginning to stroke gently.

He keens at your touch, his back pressing against the shower wall, panting as the warm water sprays over you both. The only sounds are his grunts and the rhythmic patter of water, so you keep going, pleasuring him with your hand, feeling the intoxicating power of his reaction to you.

“Fucking hell, seeing you like that on your knees… you’re making me weak,” he pants, his black hair plastered to his head, his face flushed with a deep blush.

You smile, relishing the effect you have on him, and it spurs you to stroke him faster. In a surprising move, you wrap your mouth around his cock. He grunts in pleasure, relishing the sensation of your warm, wet mouth enveloping him.

You breathe through your nose, setting a slow, deliberate pace. His hands find purchase in your wet hair, fingers gripping as his body trembles with each movement of your lips and tongue.

He pants and grunts your name, the sound echoing in the steamy shower, until he gently pulls you off. “It’s really good. But I don’t want to come yet.” His voice is ragged, filled with both desire and restraint.

You rise to your feet with a smile, capturing his lips in a deep, fervent kiss, moaning softly into his mouth. Your hands snake around his frame, pressing your body tightly against his. His cock presses against you, igniting a wildfire of need within you. Pulling back, you gaze into his eyes, the intensity of your desire mirrored in his dark, lust-filled gaze.

“Let me finish washing you up, and then we can continue this in bed,” he suggests with a teasing smile. You nod, shivering as his hands glide over your body, washing away the soap with gentle, deliberate touches.

Just as you’re about to step out of the shower, he grabs your hand, stopping you in your tracks. “I haven’t washed your hair yet,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

Your stomach does a somersault, a horde of butterflies threatening to escape. No one has ever done this for you. No one. He steals your breath away with how soft and caring he is, while he still maintains his roughness.

You walk back to him, and he’s already ready with shampoo in his hand, lathering the liquid on your scalp. You moan in delight at its minty scent filling your nose, feeling and loving the drag of his fingers on your scalp, giving you a thorough clean. Then he washes the soap away and does the same with the conditioner focusing on the ends of your hair. When he’s done, you turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and kiss him.

It’s wild to think that at first you were put off by his strong behavior—though he did point a rifle at your head, and killed a man in front of you—but this, this is truly something special you could never have imagined. Never had you thought you’d fall for this rugged, rough, but also very sweet and soft man.

You don’t say anything, but gesture for him to let you wash his hair too. You find the shampoo and gently give him a scalp massage, pulling moans of your name from his lips. You squirt a bit of conditioner into your hands and lather the ends of his hair. He closes his eyes while you work, and, damn, he looks so handsome, so serene like this.

You give him a chaste kiss. “I’m done.”

He chuckles, and you each do a final rinse, making sure no soapy residue is left. Then you both step out of the shower and grab towels to dry off. Playfulness bubbles between you, even though you’re both aroused, the tension almost tangible in the steamy bathroom.

“Do you have a condom? I’m not on the pill anymore, and I didn’t make it to my appointment to get an IUD inserted,” you ask, already debating whether you want to risk it. With no birth control, you run the risk of getting pregnant, and you don’t really want that, but you also really want to fuck him.

“I have condoms,” he says, opening a cabinet and pulling out a large box.

“Holy shit, 500 condoms! What are you going to do with those?” you ask, flabbergasted and laughing at the absurdity. You’ve never seen a man with so many condoms. You wonder if he has a lot of sex or what his deal is. Did he plan this?

“Before you ask, because I can already see those wheels inside your brain spinning, it was a good deal, and it was a long time ago, but they’re not expired yet,” he chuckles, the sound low and deep, shrugging slightly as he scratches his still wet hair.

You laugh, taking the box from his hands and walking naked into his bedroom. The absurdity of the situation doesn’t dampen your desire; if anything, it heightens it, making the moment feel even more surreal and intense. The world outside might be falling apart, but in this room, you both find a strange and intoxicating solace.

“Do you fuck a lot of women, Yoongi?” you ask teasingly, holding the box in your grasp.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year, so no,” he chuckles, though his tone darkens slightly.

“So what are you going to do with all these then?” you ask, grabbing a foil packet and watching as a few more tumble out.

“Hopefully fuck you many times,” he teases with a grunt, standing before you at the edge of the bed. “Would you like that? Fuck like rabbits until the world falls apart?”

Your heart races at his words, the raw intensity of his desire matching your own.

For a moment, you had completely forgotten the state of the world, but with him, it hardly matters. “Fuck yeah. Take me on the bed, then fuck me in the shower, the kitchen, the couch, the floor—I don’t care, just get inside me,” you rasp, sitting down on the bed.

He pushes you down, and you giggle as he hovers over you. You shimmy further up the bed, and now he’s eye level with your exposed pussy. He licks his lips teasingly, his gaze dark and hungry. “Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice a sultry whisper.

You giggle, spreading your legs wider to make space for him. “Yes, please,” you breathe, your voice catching. You don’t care how needy you sound; the anticipation electrifies your skin, your body already trembling with desire.

One of his hands grips your thigh, and you let out an airy moan as he squeezes, drawing closer. “You look so pretty,” he murmurs, his voice a sultry promise. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

The world outside fades away, replaced by the intensity of his gaze and the heat of his breath on your skin. As he leans in, your senses ignite, every nerve ending alight with a mixture of need and surrender.

He takes a moment to savor your pulsating pussy, still damp from the shower, small water droplets glistening on your skin. With both hands, he gently parts your folds, groaning at the sight of your exposed hole. With eager anticipation, he dives down, his lips latching directly onto your sensitive clit, making you grab the sheets in pure ecstasy. His tongue traces a path to oblivion, and for that moment, you’re consumed by him, and him alone.

His tongue is a perfect blend of warmth, softness, and roughness, unforgiving in the way it laps and sucks at your clit, sure to bring you maximum pleasure in a short amount of time. It’s insane how skilled he is with his mouth, and you arch into his expert touch, your fingers tangling in his long black locks instead of the sheets. The world outside is forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his tongue and the undeniable connection between you.

“Yoongi... it’s so good,” you moan, feeling your pussy clench around nothing. “Fingers, please.”

You can feel him smirk against your folds, his mouth never leaving your clit as a finger teases your entrance. Slowly, he slides the first digit inside you, and you let out a needy moan, relishing the small stretch as he works you open.

“Like this?” he asks, momentarily pulling away to flash you a teasing grin, fully aware of the power he holds over you and how much he’s affecting you with his skilled tongue and probing finger. The anticipation and his relentless teasing send waves of pleasure coursing through you, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You bite your lip and nod, your body trembling as he begins to finger you with increasing vigor. It doesn’t take long before he adds a second finger, the slight stretch sending jolts of pleasure through your core. Your fingers clench in his hair, your legs closing around his head as you edge closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, tugging at his hair, the desperation in your voice driving him to suck harder on your clit and thrust his fingers faster. The intense rhythm of his movements sends you spiraling, each stroke and flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

Sucking noises fill the room, amplifying your sense of being utterly consumed by bliss. Your heart races, each beat echoing in your ears as you gasp and moan his name, the sound raw and desperate. The coil inside you finally snaps, and you clench around his fingers, your release surging through you like a tidal wave.

“Yoongi…,” you moan, your body vibrating with intense pleasure, tingles cascading over your skin. Your clit throbs with oversensitivity under the relentless ministrations of his tongue. He pulls away, smirking at you with lips glistening with your essence, the early morning sun filtering through the curtains and catching on the wet sheen.

In your bliss, you barely register that it’s the first time you’ve seen sunlight in weeks. The world outside may be changing, but in this moment, nothing else matters but Yoongi and the ecstasy he’s brought you.

"You taste so good. Are you ready for my cock, babe?" he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, savoring your essence.

“Yes, please, fuck me now. I want you and your dick,” you pant, your voice laced with need. You’ve been waiting for this moment for days, finally free from your period. Not that it would have stopped you, but you’ve stained the poor guy’s sheets enough already.

Yoongi moves closer, tearing open the foil packet and pulling out a condom. He puts it on with practiced ease, then pushes your legs further apart, kneeling in front of you. He spits on his cock, teasing it with his hand, and the sight sends a shiver down your spine. He’s finally going to enter you, filling you completely, and the anticipation is almost unbearable.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice low and filled with desire. You nod eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. One of his hands squeezes your thigh, and you feel the head of his cock teasing your waiting entrance.

No one has ever called you beautiful before, and you’re momentarily speechless. Instead, you give him a shy smile, your face heating with a blush.

Slowly, he begins to enter you, and you moan at the delicious stretch as he pushes in deeper. Yoongi grunts, “Shit. You’re so tight!” The comment makes you chuckle, inadvertently tightening your walls around him.

“Fuck. Don’t do that yet. I’m seriously gonna come any minute if you clench like that.” You stop laughing, trying to steady yourself, focusing on relaxing your inner muscles to give him space.

Finally, he bottoms out, fully sheathed inside you. “Damn. You’re really squeezing my dick. I’d forgotten what this feels like,” he gasps, his voice filled with pleasure and awe.

“Hopefully it’s good?” you ask breathlessly, your arms reaching to hold your thighs and press them down to your stomach, giving him even deeper access.

“Fuck, yeah. It’s amazing. You’re amazing,” he groans, smiling as he begins to pull out only to thrust back inside you, eliciting a moan of pure pleasure from your lips.

“You too, Yoongi, you’re amazing,” you murmur, biting your lip, reveling in the sensation of his thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy with each powerful movement.

He leans down, your legs falling to the side, and captures your lips in a heated kiss while continuing to thrust into you. Your tongues dance together, and you taste yourself on his lips. He groans into your mouth, the sound driving your lust higher, and you teasingly bite his lip.

He kisses you again, then pulls away to trail kisses down your throat, over your collarbones. The intimacy of the moment strikes you, making you realize how deeply connected you feel with him. You’re consumed by this, by whatever it is that you and Yoongi have right now, and it feels overwhelmingly perfect.

His lips trace a path down to your breasts, latching onto a nipple and teasing it stiff with expert flicks of his tongue. He sucks hard while his other hand finds your other nipple, rolling and tugging it between his fingers. You writhe beneath him, moaning uncontrollably as waves of pleasure surge through you. Your hands lie flat beside you, completely surrendered to his touch.

“Fuck—Yoongi! Do you… do you want me to ride you?” you gasp, your voice choked with pleasure.

“You want to?” he asks, his mouth leaving your breast to meet your gaze, eyes dark with desire.

“Yes, otherwise I wouldn’t ask,” you chuckle breathlessly, pushing him away gently. He gives you his hand, helping you up from the bed. He lies down, his cock hard and glistening with your juices, ready for you. You crawl over to him and straddle him with vigor, your stomach burning with lust. Grabbing his cock, you guide it to your entrance and then slowly sink down, letting him fill you completely.

“Ah, fuck. It’s so good!” you moan, your body shuddering with pleasure as you begin to ride him, each movement bringing you closer to ecstasy.

When you look down, his eyes shine with awe and raw arousal, his hands gripping your hips as you begin to set a steady pace.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he rasps, your name escaping his lips in a passionate grunt.

“I always look good,” you chuckle, feeling bold and safe in his arms, reveling in the rare self-praise.

“Shit. Confidence looks sexy on you,” he moans, his hands sliding from your hips up to your breasts, fondling them with a firm, appreciative touch.

You smile back, your thighs working overtime to bounce on him, hands braced against his chest. You lean down to kiss him, pulling away just enough to whisper, “Yoongi, I’m close again. Are you close too?”

He grunts, his cock twitching inside you, a clear sign of his impending release. “Yeah, I’m close. I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long.”

“Will you please touch my clit?” you ask, your eyes hooded with lust. His fingers land on your clit, working circles, sending electric pulses through your still-sensitive nerves.

“Shit,” you moan, followed by his name, as your body clenches and you release fluid around his cock, stopping your movements and panting for air.

“You did so good. Let me take over now, ‘kay?” he asks, biting his lip. You nod, feeling blissfully tired. His hands travel back to your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust up into you. His pace is fast and hard, hitting your already sensitive g-spot, making you cry out in both pain and pleasure, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck,” is all he says as he comes into the condom, filling it with his warm release. You scream his name and shake, slumping down onto his chest.

“Are you okay?” he asks, gently nudging your cheek, feeling the tears there and brushing them away.

Out of breath, you manage to say, “Yeah. I think I came again.”

He chuckles, stroking your hair as he hugs you close. You linger in the moment, savoring the intimacy—him still inside you, albeit softening. It’s blissful. The safety he provides, his minty scent, the warmth of his embrace. You feel cherished and secure in his arms, wishing you could stay like this forever.

“Damn. I feel so tired now, but at least I don’t have a headache anymore,” you chuckle, your head resting on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart gradually syncing with yours.

“Me too,” he laughs, the sound resonating through his chest, filling you with warmth.

“Maybe we should just stay like this until you get hard again, and we can go for another round,” you suggest, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his warm skin.

“You’d like that, huh?” he teases, his hands threading through your hair.

“Yeah,” you affirm, feeling overwhelmed by his presence yet craving more of it.

Safe to say, you remain nestled together, igniting another round and many more throughout the day. You’re amazed at Yoongi’s stamina, though he did mention something about his balls aching, so as night falls, you settle into a comfortable embrace in bed.

In the days that follow, you fuck on every imaginable surface, putting those 500 condoms to good use.

One day, the sun that had graced your windows for weeks disappears, replaced by an eerie gray sky again. The familiar sound of something flying in the air makes you shiver and crouch down in fear.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, his face etched with concern. The fear in your eyes tells him something’s terribly wrong.

“Bombs,” you mutter. As the words leave your lips, the first explosion shatters the ground nearby. You scream, terror coursing through you. Not this again. You thought you’d grown used to it, the bombings having become sporadic and distant. But now, they’re hitting too close to home.

Yoongi rushes to the window and peers outside, his expression tense. “It’s close. We can’t stay here. We need to leave,” he says, urgency lacing his voice.

Your eyes widen in fear and panic. “What do you mean? Leave?”

“Yeah. It’s not safe to stay here anymore. We can take the truck, try and stay alive. It’s better than staying here and dying,” he says, already moving about, pulling out pre-packed bags.

“You have ‘to go’ bags ready?” you ask, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yeah. I didn’t think I’d have time to pack anything in a rush,” he explains, four bags already laying at your feet. “There’s food, water, clothes, and a medical kit,” he says, then walks up to you, looking you in the eyes. “It’s going to be alright, okay? You’re safe with me.”

You gulp and nod, the sound of another explosion reverberates through the walls, shaking the ground beneath you, fear propelling you into action. Grabbing two of the bags, you follow Yoongi outside to the truck.

The world outside looks bleak. Thick clouds of smoke and ash cover the horizon, turning everything gray. Trees are falling, and in the distance, buildings blaze with fire. The scene mirrors the devastation of your hometown—bombed, ruined, and left you with nowhere to go. Now, you wonder, where will you go?

Your ears ring, and your head spins. Your breaths come quick and shallow as the acrid smell of fire, death, and destruction fills the air. You’re tired of it, longing for the world you once knew. But that world is gone, replaced by this new reality of chaos.

You follow him to the truck, glancing at Yoongi. Despite everything, you find solace in his presence. This new life may be filled with death and destruction, but with Yoongi by your side, you know you have a fighting chance.

“Hurry. We need to grab more supplies from the shed,” Yoongi urges, pulling you along after you’ve tossed the bags into the truck.

Inside the shed, Yoongi opens a large box, revealing an arsenal of firearms stashed from top to bottom. Your mouth falls open in disbelief. “You have more than just one rifle?”

He chuckles, the sound tense against the backdrop of imminent danger. His movements are swift and precise. “Yeah. Like you guessed, I was prepared for this.”

You gulp, the gravity of the situation sinking in. You’ve never met anyone like Yoongi—someone so prepared for the worst, for the end of the world. Someone ready to fight for his life, and now, for yours too.

He hands you something, and when you look down, you realize it’s a knife, sheathed in worn leather. “Why are you giving me this?”

“To defend yourself. You said you could handle yourself, so use this,” he replies, his shoulders shrugging as he stuffs a variety of guns into a backpack, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as if it’s just another day in the office.

“Yeah— with my bare hands. I’ve never used a knife before, let alone a gun,” you stammer, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. The world has become so twisted that now you need to carry a weapon just to stay alive.

“I don’t care. I’ll do my best to protect you, but if something happens, you need to be able to protect yourself,” he says, his voice firm but his eyes soft. He hands you a leather harness, and you look at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Put this on, so you can holster a gun and the knife,” he says, motioning for you to turn around as he helps you secure the leather harness.

“You make it sound like it’s zombies out there,” you gulp, the gravity of the situation hitting you hard. Everything is escalating again, and you know you need to leave—fast.

“Babe, it might as well be zombies. It’s either them or us.”

You freeze for a moment—those words, ‘them or us’ send a chill down your spine. Even though it makes you feel sick, you know he’s right. If you want to survive, you might have to make some very uncomfortable decisions. You clench your hands, fastening the leather harness around your shoulder, then holster the knife and the small gun Yoongi has given you. You pray you never have to use it, but if it comes down to it, you know it will always be you and Yoongi before anyone else.

Yoongi hurriedly grabs more supplies from the box, stuffing them into his backpack and securing them to the belt he now wears. You notice an additional knife, a smaller multi-tool, flashlights, batteries, and finally, he hauls canisters of fuel into the truck’s bed.

“Come on, let’s get going,” he urges, darting around the vehicle. You yank open the passenger door, heart pounding, and jump in. Yoongi climbs in, turns the key in the ignition, and the truck roars to life.

As Yoongi reverses out of the driveway, a low-flying plane thunders overhead. You glance out the window just in time to see a bomb drop. The next moment, your ears ring painfully as your home for the past months disintegrates in a fiery explosion. Plywood, drywall, banisters, and concrete fly through the air, and you scream, tears streaming down your face.

Yoongi remains unfazed, his focus unbroken as he speeds down the main road, leaving the obliterated remains of the house behind.

From the window, you watch in horror as the house disintegrates, consumed by smoldering flames. The structure collapses, reduced to rubble in seconds. Gulping, you feel your body tense and your mind race, barely processing the close call.

“Try to take deep breaths,” Yoongi advises, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Placing a trembling hand on your chest, you focus on its rise and fall—proof that you’re still alive. Everything will be fine once you escape this nightmare, you tell yourself. Everything will be fine. But no amount of positive thinking can mask the grim and harsh reality. Tears blur your vision as you cry, the enormity of your new world crashing down around you.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Yoongi says, his hand landing on yours, grounding you. It always does. You’ve only known Yoongi for a few months—maybe half a year—but time has become a strange, elastic concept since the bombings started. Despite the short duration, you’ve grown dependent on him, on the safety he provides. The thought of losing him, like you lost your friends, terrifies you.

“I just hope we make it out,” you choke out between sobs, your fists clenching and unclenching. You know you need to calm down; fear won’t help you now. But the prickling sensation of dread crawling under your skin feels all too real, a constant reminder of the uncertain future and the precariousness of your life.

His grip tightens, offering a small but significant comfort. “We will,” he assures you, his voice steady despite the chaos. “I promise.”

The landscape outside the truck is almost unrecognizable. The once lush green trees and bushes are now gone, replaced by gray ashes and fire. Everything is barren, dying.

Bombs continue to drop around you, each explosion sending a shiver down your spine. A lump forms in your throat, but you’re thankful for the truck’s metal shell that muffles the sounds of chaos. You don’t have to hear the people dying, unlike back in the city where the screams still haunt your nightmares.

The road is bumpy, marred by craters and debris, a cruel reminder of the unrelenting reality of your new life. Each jolt and rattle of the truck underscores the harshness of this world, a stark contrast to the life you once knew.

“If anybody comes up to us, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?” Yoongi’s voice is stern, his grip on the steering wheel like a vice. You gulp and turn your head towards him. “What?” you ask in disbelief. You don’t want to shoot anyone. Your hand finds the gun holstered in your harness. You really don’t want to.

“You don’t know what people want. They might want to kill you. Just shoot them in the leg so they can’t walk,” he explains, his focus sharp on navigating the wreckage of the desolate road. The once-bustling streets are eerily empty, a haunting silence hanging in the air.

You think about his words for a moment, trying to rationalize. Shooting someone in the leg isn’t as bad as killing them, right? It’s a compromise you can live with, or so you hope.

“I really hate this,” you groan, your tears subsiding. Your heart still races, but you force yourself to focus on Yoongi, his voice, and the urgency of getting the hell out of this town. The reality of your situation presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, but you know you have to keep moving forward.

“Where are we going?” you ask, changing the subject. You don’t want to think about killing someone, or shooting them. Better think about something else.

“One of my friends’ places, maybe we can stay there,” Yoongi says, his voice thick with emotion. You can tell he’s worried about his friend—wondering if they’re okay or not.

“Jungkook. Remember I told you about him?” he asks, a fleeting smile crossing his lips. It’s a melancholy smile, tinged with fear and uncertainty.

You nod, gripping the door handle as the terrain grows rougher. The world outside the window is unrecognizable, a desolate wasteland of gray ash and smoldering fires. The once lush and vibrant landscape is now barren, dying, the remnants of civilization crumbling away.

Time blurs as you drive, the hours indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, you spot the outlines of houses on the horizon, but they are no longer standing. They’re crumbled and reduced to rubble, much like Yoongi’s home. The sight tightens your throat with dread, an eerie premonition of what might await you at Jungkook’s place. Your heart breaks for Yoongi, for the fragile hope he clings to in this devastated world.

Yoongi stops the car in front of the destroyed house and jumps out of the truck. His face is unreadable, but you catch glimpses of sadness and anger as he clenches his fists and frowns, taking in the wreckage.

You get out too and join him, your throat and heart tightening at the sight. You scan the ruins for any sign of his friend but find no one. You’re unsure if that’s a good thing or not. “Maybe he made it out?” you suggest, your voice meek and filled with sadness as memories of losing your own friends flood back, and tears well up in your eyes.

“Maybe,” Yoongi responds blankly. You reach out and grab his hand, lacing your fingers with his, offering the support and comfort he’s given you so many times before.

“It’s going to be okay,” you reassure him, slowly beginning to believe your own words. With Yoongi by your side, you feel like you might actually have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Thank you,” he whispers, leaning into you. The ashy air caresses your cheek as you both turn back to the truck.

You get in and drive off, the road ahead uncertain, but the bond between you stronger than ever. You’re in search of a place to stay, a place to escape this relentless dystopia, and for the first time, you feel a glimmer of hope.

It feels like you’ve been driving forever, the sky a perpetual twilight, offering no clue to the hour. You push through, finally finding a piece of nature that remains green, untouched by the devastation. Yoongi stops the car and begins unloading the bags, including some you hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve got a tent too?” you ask in disbelief. By now, you shouldn’t be surprised by his preparedness, but each new revelation still catches you off guard.

“Yeah. We can also sleep in the truck though,” he replies, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger.

“The tent is fine. But do you think we can keep warm?” you wonder aloud, unsure of how cold the night might get. You can’t even recall what month it is—April, May? The days and weeks blur together in this endless struggle.

“Yeah, we’ll just huddle together,” he assures you. His confidence is comforting, and you believe him. He sets up the tent with practiced ease, pulling out a thin mattress. After a small meal, exhaustion overtakes both of you, and you head into the tent. Yoongi wraps his arms around you, his body warmth making you feel safe and secure.

Despite your weariness, you struggle to fall asleep, feeling restless. Sensing this, Yoongi soothes you with his hands, leading to you making love, feeling the spark between you, so vital in this broken world, helps you finally drift off to sleep, your bodies intertwined, finding solace and unity in each other amidst the chaos.

In the morning, you think, the air is thick with smoke, small rays of sunlight filtering through the dense clouds above. You stretch and yawn, watching as Yoongi builds a fire, the two of you eating a small meal to regain some energy. The warmth of the fire and his presence beside you offer a fleeting comfort in the bleakness of the world. As you kiss, savoring each other’s company, the air feels warmer than you expected, a small reprieve in the otherwise harsh landscape.

As you sit there, a sense of unease washes over you. The hairs on your arms stand on end, and you lift your head from Yoongi’s shoulder, scanning the area for any signs of danger. The rustling in the nearby bushes makes your heart race, but you see nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Yoongi asks, pulling you tighter against him.

“I just feel like we’re being watched…,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, as if afraid the very air might betray you.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have made the fire,” he replies, his voice tense. “It gives away our position.” He drags his feet through the dirt, smothering the fire with soil and stones.

“Just to be safe, I think we should move,” he suggests, standing up and pulling you with him. His grip on your hand is firm, reassuring.

You nod, the weight of the situation sinking in. Better to be cautious than caught off guard. The world around you is hostile, every shadow a potential threat. Together, you gather your things and move on, seeking safety in an uncertain future.

Then you get back on the road. You’ve traveled so far out that you have no idea where you are, but you hope you’ve left behind whatever presence you felt before. You turn to Yoongi, smiling at him, feeling a glimmer of safety and happiness despite the bleakness of your life. He’s your light, keeping you hopeful in this desolate world.

Suddenly, a harsh sound pierces the air, followed by a deafening explosion. The earth shatters next to the truck, sending it spiraling into the air. You scream, clutching onto anything you can, as the vehicle flips and lands on its roof. Your seatbelt catches you, holding you in place as the world turns upside down. The ringing in your ears is unbearable, distorting your voice as you try to speak. “Yoongi—are you okay?” you manage to choke out.

He grunts, “I’m okay. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” you pant, feeling the blood rush to your head. The urgency to escape floods your senses.

Yoongi frees himself from his seatbelt and falls to the ground with a thud, groaning in pain. Despite the agony, he pushes through, helping you free yourself and dragging you out of the wreckage. Both of you are alive, miraculously. The injuries seem minimal—Yoongi’s knuckles are bleeding, but that’s about it. You look around at the desolate landscape, the truck lying on its roof, shattered glass everywhere, and you realize just how close you came to losing everything. But as long as you’re together, you have a fighting chance in this godforsaken world.

“Fucking hell, my head is spinning,” Yoongi grunts, wincing in pain.

You suggest grabbing the bags from the wrecked truck, finding some painkillers for both of you, and treating his bruises. He nods, his eyes scanning the desolate surroundings. “We should ditch the truck and move on by foot,” he says, standing up and looking toward a large hill on the horizon. “Maybe we can make it up there?”

“Good idea,” you agree. You grab the bags, your weapons, and, hand in hand, you begin navigating the rough terrain. The landscape is a mix of green patches and dying vegetation, the minimal sunlight choking out what little life remains. Without photosynthesis, you wonder how anything will survive.

You walk until exhaustion sets in, reminding you of the long trek you made before meeting Yoongi. Weary, you decide to make camp, forgoing a fire pit this time. Setting up the tent, you collapse into sleep, the days and nights blending together under the perpetual gray sky.

One morning, after what feels like endless walking, you attempt to scale the hill. It looms vast and imposing, perhaps more of a mountain than a hill. As you drag your tired bodies up the elevated trail, Yoongi breaks the silence. “Do you also feel like we’re being followed?”

You nod, a shiver running down your spine. You’ve felt the presence since yesterday, a constant shadow lurking at the edges of your perception. But what can you do until it reveals itself?

“Keep your hand close to your gun and knife, okay?” Yoongi instructs, his voice tense. He remains on guard, eyes darting around as you continue your climb. You don’t have the energy to chase shadows, especially when survival depends on reaching the top of this mountain hill. The weight of the unknown presses down on you, every step a reminder of the perilous world you now inhabit.

The air grows thinner and colder as you ascend, prompting you to make camp again. You eat and attempt to sleep, though you’re always alert, wary of whatever or whoever is following you. Despite the tension, you manage a light sleep.

In the morning, you stretch your body and gently kiss Yoongi awake, then strap on your leather harness and weapons. As you step out of the tent to grab something to eat, your blood runs cold. A man is rummaging through your supplies, his eyes wild with hunger. He turns, and your gaze locks with his.

Panic grips you.

Yoongi emerges from the tent, instantly assessing the situation. His hand flies to the gun in his jeans pocket, drawing it with practiced speed as he steps beside you. The man looks between you and Yoongi, unafraid. He’s a mess, dirtied by war and bombs, eyes red and feral. For a fleeting second, you wonder if he’s even human.

“Touch her and die,” Yoongi warns, his voice cold and venomous.

The man charges at you, and for a moment, you freeze, memories of a similar encounter at Yoongi’s house flooding your mind. But this time, your instincts kick in. Your hand finds the gun, you draw it, and aim at the stranger’s leg. Heart pounding, you clench your teeth, close your eyes, and pull the trigger.

A scream rips through the air.

Yoongi is at your side in an instant, taking the gun from your trembling hands. The stranger falls to the ground, clutching his thigh as blood oozes from the wound. You pant furiously—you did that. You hurt someone. The realization makes you feel sick.

“You just defended yourself. It’s okay,” Yoongi reassures, patting soothing circles on your back.

You nod, trying to believe him. You didn’t kill the stranger; you defended yourself. It’s a grim comfort in this bleak reality, but it’s something.

“What should we do about him?” you ask, still panting, your body tingling with the aftershocks of adrenaline.

“Just leave him,” Yoongi replies with a shrug, quickly gathering your things and dismantling the camp. The stranger’s screams of pain echo through the air, but Yoongi shows no mercy, just cold pragmatism. You’re grateful he doesn’t kill the man outright, though you know he will likely die anyway.

You move on, leaving the wounded stranger behind to fend for himself. Deciding against climbing all the way up the mountain to avoid the bitter cold, you continue your journey. Time becomes a blur of setting up and breaking camp, bombs still scattering the ground around you, but you keep pushing forward, driven by the hope of escaping this nightmare.

Eventually, you find a small hill overlooking the sea. The view is hauntingly beautiful—a stark contrast to the desolation around you. “Do you think we could swim to safety?” you ask, staring at the sparkling blue water, a surreal contrast to the barren landscape.

Yoongi chuckles darkly. “I think we’d die of exhaustion and drown before making it to another country or island.”

“We’re probably gonna die of radiation anyway now,” you spit, setting your bags down on the ashy ground. The sea, still blue and inviting, feels like a cruel joke.

“Yeah, we might feel some radiation effects in a few years, if we’re alive by then,” Yoongi says, putting his bags down too.

You both sit in silence, the weight of your predicament settling in. The world as you knew it is gone, replaced by a harsh, unrelenting reality. But for now, you have each other, and that fragile connection gives you the strength to carry on.

For a moment, you just stare at each other, surrounded by a world that has fallen apart, crumbled into something unrecognizable, gray, and dead. But he’s alive, and so are you. You’ve made it this far, and it makes your heart pound. Your lips crash into his—hungry for his touch, for the feeling of being alive, for safety.

The kiss ignites into a frenzy of lustful touches as you strip, indifferent to the fact that you’re outside—there’s no one else around anyway. You kiss him deeply, touching him like it’s the last time. The world is ending, and your desperation fuels your desire. You grip his hard cock, your mouth finding him, sucking, kissing, pleasing until he stops you with a growl, saying he wants to be inside you. You want that too. Laying down on the ground, you welcome him into your warm walls like you’ve done many times before. He knows how to please you, his touches and kisses driving you wild.

You want this moment to last forever, but you’re acutely aware of the uncertainty of your future. You don’t know if you’ll be alive tomorrow, next week, or next month or even in a year. But you know Yoongi, and he grounds you.

With him, it’s okay if the world is ending—as long as you have him.

Bombs continue to fall in the distance, and tears escape your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of your probable fate. But at least you have Yoongi by your side. Your breaths mingle, your hands lace together, and he kisses your neck, making love to you like it’s the last time.

Time on this earth feels borrowed. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kisses, feeling breathless and alive despite the encroaching darkness.

→ Author’s note(2): hi! Since I posted the teaser I’ve been really stressed, lol. Because I felt so pressured by your expectations, so I really hope that this has turned out well 🥹 I love that so many people are interested in the story, so I just hope I did it justice! Please let me know? Again, this is based on my very real fears, but mingled with fiction. I tried my best to make an open ending, so you’re free to interpret it as you please (this is very intentional because of something I might explain later, lol). Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed it. I had my husband beta-ing it, and he fixed at lot of my poor gramma, got flustered by the smut and said it was too descriptive, and it said this wasn’t as detailed as I usually write smut 🤣 Anyway, he said he wanted more ‘survival’ with oc and Yoongi— and I completely agree. But I don’t have any more words, and I’m honestly afraid to make it too much into ‘The Last of Us’ or something else I watched (seeing as I’m not really familiar with writing apocalyptic stories, lol). But I hope it was still okay, at least 🥹

What did you think?? 💜

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