#magicshopnet

[flurrys-creativity]

Touchdown

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook (BTS) x Fem!Reader; Genre: Hybrid AU, College AU, Angst, Fluff, SMUT, enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: dangerous actions as in climbing over fences and bleachers and running on handrails, probably some cursing or at least mentions of cursing, nudity, SMUT -> unprotective sex, slight nipple play, biting/marking, fingering, slight pussy slapping, penetrative sex, shower sex, jealousy sex, cockwarming, public, oral (m and f receiving), one kiss, also a sport accident, mentions of broken ribs and punctured lungs; Wordcount: 9.521; Event: Part of the Cock-Tales collab by @cremeandsuga​ The Touchdown is served now.

Summary: Being the club manager of your all inclusive college football team wasn’t always peachy but you loved it nonetheless. Until the new recruits arrived and turned everything you knew upside down. Especially the new star Jeon Jungkook had your mind spiraling.

You cursed underneath your breath as you rushed over the campus. How could you forget the training folder despite having packed everything last night?! You even asked Yoongi to send you a text, reminding you to pack everything. In the end you had to send him a text to remind you, which resulted in a little argument but both of you were used to that after years of working together.

A hiss escaped your lips when you had to jump over someone crouching down right in front of you to tie their shoe laces. You shouted an apology over your shoulder and hurried further towards the football fields.

The team was probably already assembled at the field, listening to the team captain’s speech. Some might even get baffled by his choice of words and how sophisticated he conversed. You snickered, imagining the dozens of question marks floating above their heads.

When you reached the field, you usually would run around the bleachers towards the official entrance but since you were late and didn’t want to waste more time than you already did by running back to your apartment to get that damn folder which you had forgotten when you had left on time. You pushed the folder into your bag while running full speed towards the bleachers. You jumped from the ground and leaped to the metal bars, using them to climb up and over the fence above the top row of seats.

Yoongi uncrossed his arms when he saw you running down to the group on top of the hand rail instead of the stairs like any normal human would do. His long dotted tail flicked anxiously behind him. Even though he trusted you and your instincts, running on such a small surface at full speed never sat well with him.

He would definitely scold you after the training. 

When you two met eyes, you grinned at him, jumping to the lower rows now. Your rhythm got interrupted when you noticed a shadow out of the corner of your eyes. You nearly lost your footing when you saw the hybrid next to you, jumping over the seats and rows just like you did. 

Yoongi took a few steps towards you, a futile move as he wanted to save you from losing your balance. He sighed in relief when you continued your reckless route and landed safely on the grass.

You shot daggers with your eyes towards the hybrid, who joined the new team members in front of Namjoon, bowing shortly in apology for being late. Only when Yoongi stepped into your view, did you calm down again - a smile quickly back on your lips. “Got the folder!” You grabbed your bag and pulled it in front of you, opening it and pulling the folder out. “Now you can finally check whether all new recruits are present or if someone else is running late.” 

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you looked around him to glare at the young hybrid. “Seems you’re alright then”, he muttered and opened the folder, turning around and walking over to Namjoon, who finally finished his speech.

“Listen up newbies”, he said calmly, not even raising his voice nor looking up from the folder. “I expect punctuality, persistence and pursuit from you all. Unless you’re missing a limb I don’t accept excuses for missed training.” Yoongi looked up, glancing with calculating eyes over the new members. “We’re the first all inclusive football team in this country. Even though more followed we’re still getting enough shit for it. That’s why we’re not doing anything half assed! If you can’t commit to this team, leave this instant.”

You observed the newbies, even raising an eyebrow as a silent challenge but none of them moved. They actually looked quite determined.

For the first time Yoongi looked up from the folder, smirking when he saw none of the new recruits moving. “Good. Today we’ll assess your strengths and weaknesses and sort you into the teams according to that. Namjoon, Shownu, Jinki, get your groups and start training for now. Newbies, you’ll stay with me and Y/N.”

The three mentioned team members nodded and stepped forward, motioning for their groups to follow them. Namjoon led the offence team to the right side of the field, while Shownu and the defence team walked to the left side. Jinki led the remaining members to the indoor training side.

You looked at the eight new recruits, scrutinising their physical features. Five of them were obviously hybrids just like Yoongi and yourself. Most of them had quite the nice physique and had at least some height. You were pretty sure the hyena hybrid got recruited for the basketball team as well.

“Introduce yourselves,” Yoongi commanded lowly and walked over to you, stopping right next to your form.

One after another hesitantly said their names, hybrid species if they had one and explained the reason they applied. They appeared to be a little shy and you could feel your lips curl upwards whenever one of them stumbled over their own words. 

“I’m JK, a snow leopard hybrid. I’m here because the sport looked cool.” He oozed confidence and it ticked you off.

“Looked cool?” You asked with a scoff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms in front of your chest. Your tail flicked animatedly behind your back, showcasing your annoyance with the young hybrid. “If you want to look cool, you should choose another sport. If you aren’t serious about this, leave immediately.”

“I don’t have to be serious to be good at this.”

Before you could pounce at him and scratch out his eyes, Yoongi interjected, thrusting the folder into your chest. “Alright. I’m Yoongi, the trainer, and this is Y/N our trusted manager of the club. If you ever need help with something you can ask her. Right now she’ll support your training until you can join the defence, offence or third team.”

One of them raised a hand, looking somewhat unsure whether he should be doing it or not. “Why are we splitted into three teams?”

Some of the other recruits snickered at the question, but Yoongi quickly shut them up with one glance.

“In games there is a defence and an offence team. Clubs that are large enough split their members into those teams and let them train specifically for these positions. Defence needs a different training than the offence for example,” you explained shortly, quickly continuing when you saw another hand rising. “The third team consists of step-ins. Should someone from the offence or defence team get hurt during a game one of them takes their position so we can continue playing.”

“Right and we’re here to determine, which team would profit the most with you joining them”, Yoongi continued, before he led them to the middle of the field and explained the first drill.

Once the training was over Namjoon came over to you and Yoongi, looking expectantly at the both of you. “Already some tendencies where to put them?” He looked between you and Yoongi, seeing the irritation in Yoongi’s demeanour and the annoyance radiating off of you. “What’s wrong?”

“We agree on most recruits and what position they should play”, Yoongi said, rubbing his hand over his face. “Except for one.”

“Because he should be a step-in. This kid doesn’t take the club nor the training seriously.” You puffed out, glaring at Yoongi for not understanding your point.

Namjoon looked between the both of you. “Are you talking about Jungkook?”

“Who?” Both of you asked and turned to the tall wolf hybrid, with various degrees of confusion displayed on your faces.

“JK? Jeon Jungkook? The snow leopard?”

While Yoongi nodded in agreement, you narrowed your eyes, containing the hiss within your throat. “He’s a natural”, Yoongi said, “that’s why I think he should be a tackle on offence.”

Namjoon contemplated the info he required, tapping his chin in thought. “I am not surprised to hear that.” He concluded with a soft laugh. “That’s why I told him to consider joining the team.”

“You know him?”

“Define ‘know’”, Namjoon laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, his wolf ears twitching slightly. “I saw him around campus a few times. He joined Jin and I when we played around with the ball during a free period.”

“What did you think of him back then?” Yoongi inquired, truly fascinated with the new information he got on him.

“I’ve never seen someone easily throw the ball on the first try like him. He assured me, he had never played before. Even Jin asked him like five times if he was sure because he picked up every move so quickly. Apparently he likes challenges. Honestly, I would bet my tail on winning every game if that kid joins the offence team.” Namjoon wagged his tail to underline his statement together with a laugh.

“It’s settled then”, Yoongi said and looked at you with a pointed glance.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes with a huff. “Just keep him away from me during the training.”

~~~

Even though they had dismissed your statement when you said it, they made sure to keep a safe distance between you and Jungkook. You even noticed other team members joining their efforts, despite not really knowing the reason for it.

Sadly though none of the members could help you outside of the training.

“Manager!”

You jumped in your seat when Jungkook suddenly plopped down in front of you with a wide grin. You took a deep breath, placed your hand over your rapidly beating heart and glared at the snow leopard hybrid. 

“I have a question and Yoongi has told us to talk to you whenever that moment should appear.”

“So?” You raised an eyebrow, waiting for his question so you could answer it and be left alone again.

“The first training.”

You sighed and closed the book in front of you, feeling it wouldn’t be as simple as you had hoped for with him. “That is not a question.”

Jungkook snickered slightly and shook his head. “Yeah, sorry, I’m not sure how to ask that.” He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit he had picked up from Namjoon you noticed.

“It’s been months since the first training. Just ask your question.”

“You’re right, you’re right. You arrived late at the first training, didn’t you?”

“So?” You narrowed your eyes, not getting what exactly Jungkook wanted to know from you.

“How come you climbed over the bleachers?” Jungkook rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, imploring your eyes with his dark ones.

Something like curiosity and admiration shone within them, slowly pulling you under his spell. You had to close your eyes and shake your head, leaning as far back as possible and crossing your arms in front of your chest before you answered. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He shrugged with his shoulders, laughing shortly. “It was the quicker way.”

“Don’t ask me questions when the answer is obvious.”

He tilted his head, thinking about what you said. “Is it really the fastest way for you?”

You hissed at him, too offended to even realise you did it. “What the hell are you implying?” You stood up from your chair and slammed your hand on top of the book. “Don’t even think about underestimating me!” You left before he was even able to say something, storming out of the library and only stopping in front of the bleachers.

“Is it really the fastest way?” You mocked Jungkook’s question, exaggerating your movements as you tried to portray him. “Just because I’m not a big cat doesn’t mean I’m any less”, you hissed and dropped your stuff on a seat in front of you. You jumped onto a handrail and balanced across it.

“Look at me”, you snorted and twirled around, “I’m so talented at everything! I don’t have to be serious to be good at this sport! I’m a natural.” You jumped up to the next railing, still impersonating Jungkook as you balanced along the small surface. “Everybody is friends with me, everybody is thankful for having me, girls and boys alike come to the trainings and games just to watch my stupidly handsome appearance. Which is only paralleled by my incredibly hot body.”

You reached the top of the bleachers, turning around and looking over the wide, empty field. A huff escaped your lips as you stemmed your hands into your sides. “Not to mention how sweet and helpful I am. Guess what, Jeon Jungkook is perfect in every aspect. People wish to be me or people wish to have me!”

Someone snickered behind you: “Which one are you?”

A surprised squeak escaped your lips and you lost your footing while you turned around to see Jungkook crouching on the fence behind the last row of seats, looking down at you with amusement.

He quickly jumped down and caught you, holding you in his arms before you would have injured yourself.

You cursed underneath your breath, both hands clutching his shirt in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Promise you won’t just leave again once I answer you?” Jungkook looked at you with wide, innocent eyes, silently begging you to say yes. He even refused to set you down, still holding you in his arms and close to his chest.

“Fine”, you grumbled and looked away from him, desperately trying to calm your rapidly beating heart inside your ribcage as soon as you realised it wasn’t pounding so hard due to the surprise anymore.

“I followed you because I wanted to tell you that I don’t underestimate you.”

“Great. Now let me down, Jungkook!” 

He hesitated, uncertainty flashing up in his eyes, but after you hit his chest, Jungkook reluctantly sat you back down. Though he kept his hands on your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your sides. “I really mean it”, he mumbled, gaze cast down. 

You sighed deeply and closed your eyes, it became harder and harder to lash out at him with every second that passed. You still wanted to tell him off but something about his demeanour made you hesitate. “Alright.” You opened your eyes again and looked Jungkook in the eyes, schooling your indifference towards him. “I believe you. Now, if you’ll excuse me. There is a training camp that needs to be planned.”

“Do you need help with that?”

A sting shot through your heart upon hearing his pleading tone. “No, thank you. I’m meeting up with Yoongi to do that.”

Jungkook dropped his hands from your sides and stepped back, refusing to look at you again. “Okay.”

You nodded shortly. “I’ll see you at the next training.” You looked one last time at him before you jumped down and hurried to your belongings, grabbing them and dashing away from the field.

~~~

“What’s got you so riled up?” Yoongi asked once he reached you, raising an eyebrow questioningly. His lips quirked up when he saw you jump slightly in your seat. “You seem slightly on edge for the past weeks now. I didn’t have the impression that planning the training camp would be this difficult for you.”

“It’s not the training camp!” You looked around with squinted eyes. “It’s the fact I successfully avoided him during training but he somehow runs into me everywhere else. AND,” you pronounce the word excessively, “he just sticks around instead of leaving again! My corner in the library was sacred since nobody ever came there but now he just invades my space! I can’t even say anything against it!” You dropped your head into your hands, groaning in despair while Yoongi sat down next to you with a snicker. “It’s not funny!”

“It kinda is. What do you have against him anyway?” He propped his chin up on his hand, leaning on it while his gaze implored you.

“He is annoying! That should be reason enough!”

“You think so?” Yoongi smirked and shrugged with his shoulders. “I’m sure you only think of him as annoying because you desperately want to be annoyed by him.”

You gasped loudly, pointing an accusing finger at Yoongi. Your mouth opened and closed several times, unsure how to rebut his argument. “How dare you”, you hissed after several empty attempts. 

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders again. “Normally you’d tell someone straight forward if you didn’t like them or if they should leave you alone. So how come you’re not doing it with him?”

“I am!” You stopped, staring blankly on the table as you recalled the moments you met Jungkook. “Am I?” 

“We’re in a training camp in a few days. If he truly gets on your nerves, just tell him. Should you have no reason for your annoyance, try to be nice to him.”

You grumbled something inaudible under your breath, knowing full well Yoongi was right. At least for the sake of the camp you’d try to lessen your hostility towards Jungkook.

So you thought. But when he arrived at the bus with luggage twice the size of even your own, you couldn’t help it but blow up on him. Jungkook made your irritation even worse when he only grinned at your nagging, looking the least phased with your critique.

Every day he continued to do the most ridiculous stuff, smiling from ear to ear whenever you scolded him for it. 

“I leave the rest to you”, you sighed, smiling tiredly at Jiwoo and Soomin, who joined the training camp to help you out. “I need to sleep early tonight.”

“Are you sure? It’s the last night here. Isn’t there some sort of celebration?” 

You shrugged with your shoulders, wincing when you felt how stiff they were. “I’m not one to party anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow morning again.” With that you left the field and walked over to the houses, quickly getting into your room and taking a long hot shower. 

You heard the rustle from the other club members as they got ready to celebrate and probably drink until the early hours of the next day. A snicker escaped your lips, thinking about how the newbies would always be dragged into drinking a lot so they would have to do the last training at camp with a huge hangover. Somewhat a tradition by now and you definitely enjoyed watching that specific training every year. Last year Hoseok had such a massive hangover he still acted drunk during the training, missing his target by a mile when he ran past Jinyoung instead of tackling him.

For a moment you contemplated whether you should join them or keep inside of your room. The long shower helped you enough to relax and you were sure seeing Jungkook getting drunk would lift your mood even more. 

Yet, you decided to stay in your room, snuggling onto your bed and grabbing a book to read. 

Hours passed and you still heard them party when a knock on your door interrupted your reading. You pulled some sweatpants on and walked over to the door, opening it with a quizzical expression.

“Manager!”

“Jungkook?”

“I have a question”, he announced with a lopsided grin, “and we’re supposed to come to you whenever we have one.”

You sighed and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “I know.” You weren’t quite sure if you thought of tipsy Jungkook as endearing or even more annoying. You weren’t even sure if he actually was tipsy.

“Can I come in for a sec?”

You stepped away from the doorframe without a word, watching Jungkook walk into your room with wide eyes. He looked around the room like a child would look around a toy store. You couldn’t help yourself but smile at the mental image, before you closed the door and followed Jungkook deeper into your room.

“Can I stay here?”

Your mouth dropped open in shock upon hearing this question. It took you several seconds before you were even able to answer him. “Are you drunk?”

“Not at all.” Jungkook sat down on the edge of your bed, looking up at you with a grin. “I’m quite tired actually but the guys are still going crazy in the room so I can’t sleep.”

“And you thought sleeping here would be an option?” You scoffed when you saw him nod, shaking your head in disbelief. “It’s a tradition to join that celebration, Jungkook.”

“Then why aren’t you there?”

“Because I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

You sighed in frustration. “Jungkook, please. You can’t sleep here.”

“Why not?”

You stopped and stared at him blankly, not coming up with any good reason to deny his request. You desperately tried finding something to say but came up empty handed every time. “Okay, fine. Fine. Just stay on one side of the bed!” You threw your hands up in disbelief and stalked over to your side of the bed, grabbing your book and placing it on the nightstand. 

Jungkook jumped up giddily, switched off the lights and rushed over to the other side of the bed, immediately climbing under the sheets.

You grumbled something underneath your breath before you got under the blanket as well. You took deep breaths, hoping to fall asleep as quickly as possible but your mind continued thinking about the hybrid next to you. Why did you even let him stay? You tried to sneak a peek at him from the corner of your eyes, feeling your heartbeat increasing. “Stop staring at me.”

He giggled softly and turned on his back, closing his eyes in the process. “Thanks for letting me stay. Don’t mind me being here.”

A scoff escaped your lips and you rolled your eyes in the dark, stopping shortly after when you got an idea. “I won’t”, you whispered with a wicked grin and started to undress underneath your blanket.

Jungkook’s ears swivelled around, a frown appearing on his face when he couldn’t place the sounds to an action. “What are you doing?”

“Taking my clothes off.”

He choked on air, coughing heavily upon hearing your answer. “You’re joking, right?”

“Nope.” You let the word loudly pop from your lips, dropping your clothes on the floor right next to the bed. “I normally sleep like this.”

“You do?” Jungkook swallowed harshly, his mind racing with a dozen thoughts. “Then, uh, don’t mind me if I do the same.”

For a second you forgot how to breathe, cursing inwardly when you actually heard him undress as well. This wasn’t what you had planned. You thought he’d leave the room in embarrassment, not take his clothes off too. You laid there staring into the dark with a blank expression, trying to find something to say or do.

“It’s quite cold in your room.”

“What? A snow leopard can’t handle the cold?” You snarkily replied, thankful for some sort of distraction from the heavy silence.

“No, no, I don’t mind”, Jungkook reassured you, turning to you, “I just thought it would be too cold for you. I mean the blankets are pretty thin.”

“I told you not to underestimate me.”

“I’m not, I’m not! I just can’t believe you’re actually…”, he hesitated, stumbling over the word, “... naked.”

You smirked, hoping to increase his nervousness until he would leave. “Well, I am. So what about it?”

He stayed quiet for a while, leaving you waiting with bated breath. “I don’t believe you.”

“Not my problem.”

Another long pause stretched through the dark, building the anticipation inside of you. “Come here”, Jungkook rumbled and wrapped his arm around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest. His hand slowly glided over your stomach and up towards your breasts, only stopping right underneath them. Jungkook’s thumb brushed over the side of your breast, making his breath hitch in surprise. “You’re actually… naked.”

“I told you I am.” It took everything within you to sound somewhat in control with his fingers brushing over your bare skin. You bit on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whimpering when he cupped your breast and squeezed it softly. “Jungkook, what are you doing?”

His thumb brushed over your nipple until it hardened underneath his touch. “I’m just checking”, he mumbled against your neck, nibbling and kissing your skin.

You arched your back, pushing your butt against his slowly growing member. A whimper escaped your lips when Jungkook started to slowly rut against your cheeks. You involuntarily clenched around nothing, feeling a tingle build up inside of your lower stomach.

“I really thought you hate me”, Jungkook mumbled against your shoulder, his hand wandering down to your hip. He squeezed the flesh of your ass cheek before he trailed along your thigh, grabbing behind your knee and pulling your leg up. “But those little noises you make let me think something different.”

“No, I do dislike you”, you breathed, weakly pushing against his abs behind you.

“I’m not convinced”, he chuckled, trailing his hand back over your thigh and towards your core. Jungkook grabbed the base of his cock and slapped it against your wet entrance, groaning in pleasure.

As if on cue you raised your hips a little, leaning half on your knees and chest. You whimpered again when Jungkook rutted against you, his dick rubbing along your entrance and the tip hitting your sensitive nub.

“Fuck.”

“Me”, you murmured without realising what you said, too drawn into the feeling of his quivering body above you. Your tail, which laid flush against your back, now brushed against Jungkook's chest - almost teasing him to do something.

“What?” 

“What?” You opened your eyes in surprise, feeling the heat rise into your cheeks. You were about to sputter some sort of excuse when a moan ripped through your throat from Jungkook biting down on your shoulder.

“I’d love to fuck you if you let me.” His ruts became rougher as he enjoyed the whimpers and moans he could elicit out of your mouth.

“Yes, please. Please, fuck me.”

Jungkook immediately wrapped one arm around your middle before he slid his cock inside your drenched walls. He groaned against your shoulder, licking and nipping over the spot he just marked prior. 

You wrapped your tail around his middle, encouraging his thrusts to get deeper and harder. Hearing him pant against your neck, sent shivers down your spine, which increased the tingle inside of you.

“Y/N?” His thrusts stuttered, feeling you clench around his length so suddenly. “Careful”, he panted, “or otherwise I can’t control myself.”

“Do you ever control yourself?” You teased, glancing over your shoulder with a smirk playing over your lips.

“All the time”, Jungkook growled, squeezing you closer against his body. “I wanted to ask where you want me to cum.” He kissed your shoulder blade, waiting patiently for your answer despite feeling on the edge of cumming already.

You felt the heat rising to your cheeks again. “Inside”, you mumbled and turned your face into the pillow, not wanting him to see how affected you were by his question.

“Are you sure?”

You snarled at him, forgetting your previous embarrassment for just a minute. “For once just do what you’re asked to do.”

Jungkook chuckled lowly. “But then I wouldn’t get your attention.”

You were about to hit him when his hold around you tightened, his moans becoming more desperate. Right before he came, Jungkook moved his hand down to your core and pressed one rough finger pad against your nub, letting fireworks explode inside your lower stomach. You trembled in his hold, limbs spasming uncontrollably from the force.

Once you calmed down Jungkook slowly pulled out of you, kissing your shoulder reassuringly when you whined about the loss. He quickly got up to get something to clean you, wiping you with a wet cloth before he pulled the blankets back over you. As soon as he had cleaned himself as well he crawled back into the bed behind you, wrapping once more an arm around your middle. “Sleep tight.”

~~~

Ever since that night you had tried to avoid him again, feeling all kinds of things with him near you, but to your dismay Jungkook became even more persistent in staying around you.

“What’s up between you and the newbie?” Huta asked you with a tilted head. The tiger hybrid continued to glance behind you and back up to your concentrated face. He had asked you to help him tape his shoulder and you willingly obliged but the constant death glares towards him made him slightly nervous.

“Which newbie? We have more than one.” You laughed softly, fingers gliding over his bare skin. You still wanted to smack the shit out of Huta for saying he got too old and needed taping now. 

“You know exactly which one I mean.”

“Nope, no idea.”

Huta snorted and squeezed your thighs as you stood between his own. “Denial doesn’t suit you.”

You laughed and swatted at his hands, even slapping his side with the tip of your tail. “Don’t be ridiculous! Today you’re especially humorous. It’s annoying.”

“Yet you’re laughing.” He grinned at you. The grin widened when you rolled your eyes and pushed against his forehead with one finger. “So, why am I getting murdered with his stares just because I’m near you?”

“Beats me.” You shrugged with your shoulders, placing the last tape onto his skin. “But if he continues focusing on us he’ll get murdered by Yoongi.”

As if on cue you heard the whistle blow and Yoongi calling for Jungkook to focus through a megaphone. 

Huta laughed again as he stood up and hugged you before he put his shirt back on and jogged over to the offence group. You watched him exchange a few words with Namjoon, rolling his shoulders as if to say he was all good to tackle the opponents again.

The rest of the practice was rather uneventful, until Jungkook started a fight with Huta despite having three other team members between them. You stood at the side of the field and rolled your eyes, calling for Yoongi to get the snow leopard of the field to cool down again.

Jungkook immediately stopped thrashing around upon hearing your voice, his gaze quickly finding you at the side of the field. He swallowed harshly, seeing the disappointed look in your eyes. He quickly mumbled an apology and hurried from the field, deciding to run some laps instead.

Even when the training finished and all the members returned to the locker rooms, Jungkook continued running. He didn’t even react when Yoongi called for him through his megaphone.

“What’s gotten into him?”

“Let him run off some steam”, you sighed and shook your head, eyes trailing the snow leopard around the field. “I’ll make sure he won’t overdo it.”

“Don’t rip him apart. He is our star player and we need him for the quarter finals in a couple of weeks.” Yoongi looked at you sternly, but once he realised you weren’t tense nor fuming due to Jungkook, he relaxed again. “Okay, I’ll leave it to you then.”

You sat down on the bleachers and watched Jungkook run his laps. Most of the members had already left the locker rooms again, waving you goodbye as they left. When even Jimin and Taehyung, who were always the last to change, left the lockers, you decided to stand up and stop Jungkook.

You stepped right into his path, waiting for him to either stop in front of you or run into you. Thankfully it wasn’t the latter option. “Get yourself together”, you scolded him, when he nearly toppled over trying to suck in as much air as possible. “You’re acting pathetic.”

Jungkook glared up at you. “So now you’re talking to me?” He straightened himself again, stepping closer to you until you had to look up at him. “Are you done flirting with other guys?”

You clicked your tongue and pushed him away. “Training’s over, Jungkook.” With that you turned around, ready to leave him behind.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook ran after you, falling into the same rhythm as he walked next to you.

“I’m going home. My job’s done for today,” you grumbled, feeling irritated by his accusation. You stopped in your tracks and looked at Jungkook, stewing in your own anger. “Listen here”, you hissed, “I still couldn’t care less about you, but if you continue to go on my fucking nerves, you’re going to regret it. We slept one time but it didn't change a thing!”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him towards the locker rooms. “If you didn’t care about me, why are you still here? Why aren’t you fighting against this?” He gently pulled at your wrist to underline his question. “You’re lying to yourself.”

You snarled at him but didn’t try anything else. Instead you almost willingly complied with his requests. You let yourself drag into the showers, helped him get out of your clothes all while Jungkook nibbled the skin along your throat. He had tried to kiss you but you only turned your head away so he didn’t try again, resigning to all the other spots he could reach with his mouth.

You hissed from the coldness of the tiles pressed against your back and quickly turned on the shower, letting the hot water drizzle down on your naked bodies. Next to the falling water the room got filled with both your whimpers and soft moans. 

Jungkook grabbed your thighs and hoisted you up on his hips, pressing your entrance against his throbbing shaft. He growled deeply as he entered you, his brows furrowing from the pleasure. “Mine.”

“I am not a thing to own”, you hissed between your moans, digging your nails into his back from the force behind his thrusts. 

“I still claim your pussy.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed with him after an especially rough thrust. “Yes, fine, fine. All yours. Happy now?” You gasped loudly when Jungkook bit down on your shoulder again, keeping you in place while he shot his load into you. For a moment you worried Jungkook wouldn’t be able to keep holding onto you with your spasms but he kept you firmly in his arms.

After both of you showered, cleaned yourself and got dressed again you two stepped out of the locker rooms, seeing that the sky had turned dark over the time you were inside.

“I’ll accompany you home”, Jungkook mumbled, pushing his hands into his pocket as he waited for you to move first.

Instead of telling him off you simply nodded and headed for your apartment. Both of you walked silently next to each other, which you were thankful for since you didn’t want to talk with him about whatever this thing between the both of you was. You were deep in your thoughts when you felt his tail entangled with your own. You shortly glanced behind you, biting on your lower lip to prevent yourself from smiling before you checked his blushed expression. You didn’t pull away, endeared by the gesture.

“I’ll see you around?” Jungkook asked hesitantly before you parted ways at your front door. His eyes shimmered with hope and uncertainty, waiting desperately for your answer.

“You know where to find me.”

Jungkook grinned softly and nodded, bidding you goodbye. He watched you enter the apartment complex and even waited after you vanished out of his sight.

~~~

You weren’t surprised seeing Jungkook a few days later at your usual spot in the library. You sighed softly and placed the books you had on the table, about to sit down on a chair next to him, when he suddenly pulled you on his lap. “What are you doing?” You squeaked and hit his arms that were now wrapped around your middle.

“Holding you”, Jungkook mumbled and leaned his head between your shoulder blades, sighing softly as he closed his eyes and slowly dozed off.

You simply rolled your eyes and grabbed the first book, reading through its contents. After a while you even caught yourself purring while Jungkook nuzzled closer into your form. You squirmed in his hold, embarrassed to show content with him around you.

“Don’t move unless you’re ready to deal with the consequences”, Jungkook growled into your ear, pushing you down on his hardening dick. “Unless you planned this all along with the skirt you’re wearing today.”

“I did not plan any of this”, you hissed and looked around in alarm. “I won’t fuck with you inside of a library!”

“Just warm it”, he suggested with a shrug of his shoulders.

You glared at him over your shoulder, the tip of your tail swishing around in agitation. Your resolve quickly vanished though when you saw his sleepy eyes and smile. “No funny business?”

“No funny business.”

You swallowed nervously but raised your hips nonetheless, letting Jungkook pull out his hard dick. You slid your panties to the side and carefully lowered yourself onto his length, suppressing a whimper inside of your chest.

Jungkook simply wrapped his arms back around you and resumed into the same position he had before, content with staying like this.

Even you had to admit to yourself that you liked being full with his cock inside of you. Though you’d rather bite your tongue off than say that out loud. Still, you dreaded the moment you had to go, knowing you’d whine from the loss. “I’m surprised you’re not trying anything”, you teased Jungkook, unable to concentrate on the book in front of you.

“Do you want me to try anything?” He shortly rolled his hips into you, grinning against your back when you whimpered almost inaudibly. “I think you want that, hm?”

“Don’t”, you breathed out, grasping his arm and digging your nails into his skin. “Not here.”

“If you say so.” Jungkook snuggled back into you, quickly dozing off once more. 

You sighed deeply and tried to concentrate on your book again. After a while you didn’t get as distracted by the feeling of his dick inside of you and were even able to read a few pages.

“That’s a sight I never thought to witness”, Jin laughed and plopped down on a chair in front of you, laughing even more when you jumped slightly and slammed the book shut.

Jungkook sleepily rubbed his eyes and placed his chin on your shoulder, looking tiredly towards Jin while he calmingly rubbed circles into your hips. “Never thought you’d walk into a library as well.”

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to others”, Jin scolded him with a playful glare, “just because you got dragged here by our lovely manager, doesn’t mean others need to be dragged here as well.”

“Then why are you here?” You asked, involuntary clenching around Jungkook’s dick out of nervousness.

“I joined Namjoon…”

“So much to not being dragged”, Jungkook snorted and shook his head.

“I wasn’t dragged! I’m willingly here!”

“Sure”, Jungkook yawned, “then what kind of book are you trying to find.” He smirked when Jin sputtered some nonsense, coming up empty handed in the end.

“So why are you two together?” Jin pointed accusingly between the both of you.

You immediately tensed, panicking as you had no idea what to answer him. Though Jungkook didn’t even hesitate as he answered: “It’s a cat thing. A polar bear like you wouldn’t understand it.”

“Did you need anything?” You chimed in quickly, before Jin would start an argument and get even louder than he already was.

“Ah yeah, are we doing a special training before the quarter finals like last year?” Jin asked, immediately forgetting about the dispute just now.

You shook your head. “No, we’ll meet up and watch footage of our opponents to discuss our strategy but we’ll just stick with our normal training routine. Otherwise you guys would have heard it by now.”

Jin thanked you for the information and left again, searching for Namjoon in the poetry section to tell him the news as well.

You exhaled shakily, slowly trying to ease your tension again. “We’re lucky it wasn’t one of the other cat hybrids that found us together.”

“If you say so.”

You ignored the hurt tone in his voice and stood up, fixing your outfit and grabbing the books. “We should concentrate on the quarter finals anyway.” You didn’t even look behind you before you said goodbye and left in a hurry.

~~~

The day of the quarter finals something felt off. You were restless the minute you had woken up, pacing around whenever you could instead of sitting down. 

“How many energy drinks did you have this morning?” Yoongi hissed from the seat next to you, placing his large hand on your bouncing leg. 

“None.” You stood up and walked up and down the short distance of the bench, eyes trained on the teams that came onto the field. “I just… don’t know.”

“We made a plan with the whole team. As long as we stick to that, nothing will be a problem.” Yoongi stepped next to you, gently pulling you back on the bench. “Trust our boys.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust them.” You watched how everyone took their positions, gnawing on your lower lip when you realised the offence team was the starting one.

The whistle blew and immediately both teams charged forward. You tried to follow the ball but with all of them huddled together you had no chance. “This doesn’t look right”, you murmured and turned to look at Yoongi, who stared at the field with a deep frown. 

At that moment you heard a blood curdling scream, followed by another whistle. Both you and Yoongi jumped up, trying to see what happened when the masses of players parted. Your blood froze, seeing Jungkook on the ground.

“Jungkook’s down!” Yoongi called, turning to the third team. “Changsub, get ready to switch in!”

You ignored his orders, eyes fixed on Jungkook’s body. Another scream left his lips when one of the members tried to lift him up. Before the referee was even able to call the medics, you were sprinting towards Jungkook already. You crashed onto your knees next to him, fumbling with the safety system of his helmet while you cursed under your breath. 

“Y/N?”

“What happened?” You pulled the helmet off of Jungkook, hands immediately clutching his cheeks as you scanned his face and head with worry.

“I’m sorry”, he apologised in a small whisper. “I didn’t follow the plan.”

“Why would you do that, you idiot?”

Jungkook chuckled and immediately winced upon the movement, clutching his side. “They were talking about you. Said they would crush us and then take you. Said what they would do to you. It ticked me off.”

“You idiot.”

By now the medics arrived next to Jungkook, asking you to step aside. They had to lift him on a carrier, making him cry out in pain again. You watched them carry him away, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.

“Keep us updated”, Taehyung said and patted your shoulder, nodding after Jungkook. “Go.”

You didn’t need to hear that twice, immediately rushing after the medics.

Yoongi already held out your bag, so you could easily follow them, shortly nodding as a reassurance that you should go.

When you arrived at the medic bay they told you Jungkook might have a broken rib and that he needed to be checked out at the hospital since he lost consciousness as well. For now they had stabilised him and waited for the ambulance to arrive. 

Only hours later did Jungkook wake up again, looking rather confused around the sterile room. His gaze landed on your resting form, half sitting and half lying on his bed. Though he cursed in pain when he tried to reach out for you.

You shot up and stared at Jungkook, needing several seconds to realise he was awake again. With trembling fingers you reached out to him, softly touching his cheek and brushing strands of hair out of his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused.”

You scoffed softly and shook your head, pulling the chair closer to Jungkook before you sat back down. “You’re at the hospital. Your stunt got you two broken ribs. One of them is on the verge of puncturing your lung. And you lost consciousness due to the pain.”

“What about the game?” Jungkook tried to push himself up but you pressed him down, looking at him sternly.

“It’s already over. We won, don’t worry.”

Jungkook exhaled in relief, shortly wincing from the pain. “So I’m able to join the semi final then.”

“Absolutely not! You’re not going to train or do anything physical until your ribs are completely healed again!”

“That could take weeks,” Jungkook protested.

“I can already hear we need an around the clock supervisor for him to heal properly”, Yoongi sighed as he stepped into the room, stopping at the end of the bed and looking at a pouting Jungkook. “Listen kid, I need you to heal properly. Not quickly, not half way. Without you we will have a fucking hard time to beat the reigning champions at the finals.”

“What about the semi finals?”

“We’ll figure something out for that.” With that Yoongi turned to look at you. “Can I count on you? Will you make sure he won’t do something stupid?”

Jungkook protested softly but quickly shut up when you agreed with Yoongi’s request. “What about training though?”

“I already called Jiwoo and Somin to cover for you.” Yoongi smiled shortly and leaned down on the end of the bed. “I’m also supposed to tell you to never run onto the field in the middle of a game.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “If they hadn’t been so useless I would have stayed put.”

Yoongi chuckled quietly, his gums showing from the amusement. “Knew, you would say that. But I have to admit, I’ve never seen anybody run as fast. You could be serious competition for Minho and he is a cheetah hybrid.” Yoongi grinned even wider, seeing how you rolled your eyes. “I’m just glad you didn’t get hurt as well between all those muscle walls.” 

Yoongi stayed for a while, updating both of you about the game and how everyone played, until the doctor came into the room and gave Jungkook the clearance to go home.

Yoongi drove you to Jungkook’s apartment and even helped you carry his stuff inside since you walked next to Jungkook.

“It doesn’t hurt. I can walk on my own”, the young hybrid complained without trying to separate from you though.

“You are pumped with pain killers. It will hurt once they wear off.”

You nodded in agreement with Yoongi’s chiding as you guided Jungkook towards his living room and placed him on his couch. “Don’t underestimate your condition now. If you need anything I’m right here so just tell me.”

“I need you”, he mouthed when Yoongi wasn’t looking, grinning mischievously while you tried to hide how flustered you were.

Once Yoongi bid his goodbye and left the apartment you sat down on the couch next to Jungkook. Silence filled the air between you two as you tried to find anything to say.

“Thanks for looking out for me”, Jungkook whispered and placed one of his hands on your thigh, squeezing it gently. “I’ll try not being a pain in the ass while you do that.”

“You should know by now that you’re always a pain in the ass”, you giggled and leaned against his shoulder, sighing softly in content.

“Just to get your attention.”

“Well, now you have it.”

Jungkook grinned cheekily. “And there’s no hybrid luckier than me. Just thinking about having you for a whole week until the next check-up all for myself, makes me the happiest hybrid in the world.”

You slightly turned on the couch so you faced Jungkook, nosing against his neck before you looked up into his eyes. “I still need to study.”

“Do it while you sit on my lap again.” Jungkook’s hand moved further up your thigh as his breath got heavier. He brushed his cheek over your head, his chest rumbling softly. 

“Needy little boy”, you purred and nibbled along his sharp jawline. You couldn’t help yourself but feel intoxicated by Jungkook. His scent clouded your senses and his touches made you almost delirious. 

Jungkook chuckled and threw his head back, giving you more access to his throat. “Well, I’ve been badly injured during a game. I had hoped you would blow it better.”

You licked over his throat. “If that’s what you need.” A satisfied smile stretched over your lips when you blew over the path of saliva and Jungkook shivered from the sudden cold feeling. Your hand rubbed over his bulge and you purred needily as you felt how hard he already was. “I’ll stop if you move”, you huskily told him before you crawled down from the couch and between his legs. 

You teased him a little longer before you pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard dick. One of your hands kept the fabric down while the other slowly pumped him. Through half lidded eyes you looked up at Jungkook, smirking when you saw him watching you. 

He bit down on his lower lip, brows furrowed in pleasure. Soft whimpers and moans escaped his throat. Jungkook raised his hand and brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear before he cupped your cheek, thumb drawing circles on it.

You purred softly and turned your head to kiss the inside of his palm before you leaned closer to his dick, making small kitten licks over the sensitive tip and along the prominent vein on the underside. With your tongue having the same texture as a real cat’s tongue, you could only imagine the pleasure it created. You suckled on the tip of Jungkook’s dick, slowly hollowing your cheeks while you moved further down.

Jungkook’s hand shot into your hair, pushing you even further down his cock. He groaned loudly, keeping you in place with your nose pressed against his pelvis.

You gagged around his dick. Tears welled up in your eyes and you desperately tried breathing evenly through your nose. As soon as Jungkook loosened the pressure on the back of your head, you pushed back, greedily sucking in air. Only for him to push you back down. You clutched his thighs, feeling incredibly aroused yourself. 

Jungkook guided your pace with his hand on the back of your head, groaning and moaning with the feeling of your wet cave around his dick. It only needed a few more pushes before he would cum down your throat.

He looked at you licking your lips after he pulled you off his cock, breathing heavily from his orgasm. An exhausted smile stretched over his lips. “What a sinful kitten,” Jungkook mumbled and offered you his hand to pull you back up on the couch. “I’ll offer you the same if you’re willing to climb up here and sit on my face.”

Your eyes widened momentarily, not having expected him to say something like that. You gnawed at your lower lip, worried you might lose balance and hurt him in the process.

Sensing your hesitation, Jungkook grabbed your hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Don’t worry”, he whispered and raised your hand to kiss your knuckles, “I will hold you in place.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Your heart pounded against your ribcage as you stood up and slid your pants and underwear off. Biting down on your lower lip, you hesitantly climbed on the back of the couch. You grabbed Jungkook’s hands to help you get in position.

Before you could even process it, Jungkook wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you down on his face. A loud yelp escaped your lips when he pushed his rough tongue between your folds. His nose nudged against your clit, quickly building the knot inside your lower stomach.

Your tail trembled first and your legs quickly followed. You moaned and whimpered, hands holding onto Jungkook’s dark locks. 

Still, he held you firmly in place. He only loosened his grip to help you back down, chuckling softly when you flopped down on the couch next to him using his thighs as your pillow. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, suppressing a yawn and blinking rapidly to stay awake. 

“Never been better.”

~~~

The following weeks you two were basically inseparable. Even though Jungkook’s check-up showed he healed perfectly and even faster than expected, you didn’t return to your own apartment. Instead you stayed at Jungkook’s place, wearing his clothes whenever you had to wear something. 

Hoseok was the one to notice it first, whining to you that you weren’t at home one night when he wanted to crash at your place after partying too much. To his dismay he had to go to Yoongi and get scolded for drinking so much close to the semi-finals. 

“I would have scolded you too”, you told him with a snicker and a pat on his shoulder. 

“But why aren’t you home at three in the morning? I’ve never witnessed you staying at a party after two. Where are you if not in your bed? And don’t tell me you were sleeping, cause I rang your doorbell for ten minutes straight.” 

“I stayed at Jungkook’s place, taking care of him, you know.” 

Hoseok raised an eyebrow. “What’s there to take care of? He’s already starting light training again, getting ready for the finals in a month since we won the semi.”

You shrugged with your shoulders. “Just making sure he doesn’t overdo it.”

“How considerate.” Hoseok grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows knowingly until you shoved him away with a scoff.

Once the others noticed how you and Jungkook kept close to each other as well, you started getting nervous. Somehow you weren’t too fond of all the attention. You even considered distancing yourself again but Jungkook made it almost possible for you. He stayed just as persistent as the first time ten months ago, purposefully showing up at places where he knew you had to be too. Jungkook became even bolder than before, linking pinkies when you two walked somewhere, kissing your cheek when he said goodbye and hugging you tightly when he greeted you.

At first you tried pushing him away or hissed at him for those touches but seeing his sparkling eyes and soft smile you stopped complaining. Instead you almost looked forward to it.

“Hey, Manager!” Jungkook crushed into you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and twirling you around. “I have a question.”

“I swear to god Jungkook”, you squealed, giggling softly when he put you back on the ground. “What’s the question?”

“I want to ask you that after we won the final.”

You squinted your eyes at him, feeling your curiosity building up inside of you. “Cruel.” A small pout formed on your lips. “But alright, I will endure the next hours patiently.”

Jungkook laughed and kissed your cheek. “That’s my girl”, he called over his shoulder as he ran to the other members for warm-up.

Somehow time seemed to stretch endlessly. You nervously sat on the bench next to Yoongi, your leg bouncing up and down once again.

“If you run onto that field again, heads will roll,” he said and placed his hand on your knee, pushing it down until you stopped moving.

“I don’t intend on running on it again”, you grumbled, “I just want time to move faster.” Your eyes followed Jungkook on the field, watching him play effortlessly. He pushed the opponents back like a paper wall, breaking through them and giving Namjoon the opportunity to run forward. Only a few more seconds of the game when the wolf hybrid got cornered. In a last effort he passed the ball back to Jungkook, who sprinted past the opponents. He even jumped over one of them to avoid getting caught as he ran to the last line.

“Touchdown!”

The whole crowd jumped up and cheered loudly, nearly drowning the whistling that signalised the end of the game.

Your ears rang while you watched your team storming towards Jungkook, burying him underneath a pile of members. Yoongi cheered next to you, doing his little happy dance before the rest of the members grabbed him and pulled him onto the field with them. 

You laughed loudly and followed them, hugging several members congratulating them until Jungkook stood in front of you. “I’m still waiting for your question”, you told him, shouting over the loud cheers of the team.

Jungkook grinned brightly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You bit on your lower lip, trying not to smile in overexcitement. You quickly lost that battle though, smiling cheerfully and jumping into Jungkook’s arms, hugging him tightly. 

“Is that a yes?”

You pulled his helmet off of his head and leaned down to his lips. “It’s a yes”, you murmured and sealed your words with a kiss.

© all rights reserved  

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​

[becomingbts]

Time Heals (sometimes) - 24

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates, who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the burning spotlights, the applause and the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she had believed to be broken.

Around 3.8k

Pairings: Y/N (fem) x OT7

Genre: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series, NSFW.  

Taglist closed!

Warnings: Mention of death, almost murder attempt, a lot of blaming, tears, ANGST.

Part 23 - here - Part 25

It had been a while since she had tasted the metallic liquid in her mouth. She had not even noticed that her teeth had pierced the skin of her lips, but the bitter aftertaste did not leave any doubt that she injured herself, even lightly.

Raya didn't cry, she had no strength left to cry. Panting heavily, she stared at the almost lifeless body of her sister. It made her wonder what the fuck she was doing with her life. She felt like she had just hit a wall and not a small one at that. What would happen to her now? Or maybe she should ask: what about them now... Since no one dissociated the two sisters once they learned about their relationship. Why did she have to carry the burden of the crimes of a sister who never felt like one? The words of her friend—could she still call her a friend, though—echoed in her mind, leaving scars that would probably never heal properly.

"Did you ever care for me as a person, or was it an opportunity to soothe the guilt you felt because of your sister’s doings?"

Raya had wanted to yell at her, to tell her she had never thought of it that way. How could she ever think something like that? Yet at the same time, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, Raya knew that there was some truth in (Y/N)’s words. It hadn’t been the only thing that had pushed her to help, of course. Guilt was a strong emotion, but it wouldn't have been enough to push her to help create a medical bond. There was so much more to take into consideration. So many things had happened, and so many feelings were burning in  her body. She still could remember how (Y/N)'s bond had been calling for help, almost enthralling every single soul, compelling their bodies to move in her direction and help her. But would it make it any better if Raya told her what she had felt? That her body had almost moved before her own consciousness could come to a conclusion? If she spoke about that day through a medical lens? Wouldn't it sound even worse? She sighed, afraid of the answer. She could have told (Y/N) a billion things, but out of everything, she had decided to stay silent. Her voice had been caught in her throat, unable to utter a sound after the panic had won over her body. Her eyes had avoided (Y/N)’s, but the dry chuckle she heard left little to no doubt about the reaction of her friend. She had only been able to speak afterward, and those words had been enough to set (Y/N) off.

“Why did you even go to their meeting? Can’t believe you’re that naive.”

It was evident that she had hurt (Y/N) beyond imagination. She had not been able to believe herself when she had spoken so cruelly, not thinking before the words had already escaped her. She had tried to make it better, to ask her to wait, not to leave the room before she could explain better, but (Y/N) had only turned around, telling her not to bother before she left without another word. She had deserved it to be fair. She had stuttered, thoughts jumbling together, and ended up saying the wrong things. She had felt cornered and betrayed when (Y/N) had asked her for the truth. So after all these years, all it took was one conversation with them for (Y/N) to be angry at her? After everything she did for her, their side of the story impacted her that much? Maybe she had been naive to think that her best friend would have wanted her side of her story too, instead of throwing accusations as if she had already made up her mind about the truth. They were (Y/N)’s soulmate, of course, she was at a disadvantage in the argument.

Her anger did not prevent guilt from flooding her mind. Raya groaned, annoyed at herself.

“I never told you it was me, you came to that conclusion by yourself.” 

The audacity she had to look into (Y/N)’s eyes and tell her that still baffled her. Maybe she had been angry about the whole argument. She couldn’t control her emotion, that was something. But to tell (Y/N) that kind of thing… She had known it would hurt her. Raya had felt defensive, and hurt that her friend would be so angry at her for helping. However, it couldn’t explain why she had felt the need to hit back, throwing words she had known would be hard to swallow. Raya threw her head into her hands, growing. Did she have to say those words?

Anger did not explain why she behaved that way. Raya pinched her lips. Jealousy was a terrible disease, it seemed. She almost laughed darkly at the thought. Raya had always been a rather jealous person. First, of her sister. Then of a bond linking eight people together. Then of (Y/N) with how easily she gained fans and popularity. Then lastly with (Y/N)’s soulmates. How could they be so lucky to have been gifted (Y/N) as a soulmate, reject her, and get a second chance? Why couldn’t it have been her? Was she not loyal enough, not caring enough? She had given (Y/N), Moon, everything she had to offer. Had that been too little?

She had foolishly hoped that it would have been something, that it would have changed something with her fate. When her own soulmate died, Raya firmly believed that if she ever were to get another chance at love, it would be from someone who also lost their soulmate. And (Y/N) looked like a gift from the stars. After everything she had gone through, Raya had found her person. A precious woman who would rather die than betray her. (Y/N) had been a broken soul when they met, yet that had not altered the strong personality she had. She was generous, loving, and giving… Raya believed she had never met someone who cared so much for her. After all those years of living in her sister’s shadow, someone finally saw her for herself, not as someone’s sister or someone’s daughter. She had found someone who loved her, who cooked for her, who took random selfies with her, who confided in her and she did the same in exchange. (Y/N) had lost her soulmates, severed the bond, and covered the mark with a tattoo. Had that not been an explicit enough sign that she would never return to them? Had that not been enough for her to start believing that maybe one day, once (Y/N) healed, they could have a future together?

Raya had been too naive, it seemed. Snorting, she realized how strongly she had believed that maybe one day, they could have had their happy ending together. She had believed that she would always remain by her side. Maybe she had been too hopeful, thinking that she had a chance just because she had believed that (Y/N)’s bond was no longer a threat. Could she ever beat the link one feels with their soulmate? She probably couldn’t. The only thing she had left was…

That abomination of a sister. 

The one who took everything from her and whose lifeless body felt like it would take Raya’s soul to her grave with her. She wanted to scream, to yell, to destroy something, and for a short second, her mind wandered to dangerous edges.

How long would it take for her sister to die if she were to strangulate her? 

The thought almost amused her. As a nurse, she could find very creative ways to participate in her sister’s demise, why had she bothered so long with that living corpse? Would (Y/N) forgive her if she were to kill the one who almost killed one of her soulmates? The idea felt too enticing. Her sister was so unresponsive, it would almost be too easy to do something, anything to put her out of her misery. She would just need to put her hands around the pale neck of her sister, and apply pressure-

Her mind suddenly quietened, dangerously silent, while her body froze.

Raya jumped back, hands leaving quickly the throat of her sister before she could do anything; before she could leave any mark. She had not even realized that her hands had moved, that she had actually followed her thoughts and acted upon them, but her body had moved before she could get a hold of herself. She panted, breathing heavily and irregularly as she shivered with terror. What had she been about to do? She was a nurse. She was supposed to save lives, and take care of people, not use her medical knowledge and access to patients with physical weaknesses to endanger them. What the hell just went through her mind to go that far? She had barely touched her sister’s skin but it had already been too much. What if anyone had seen her? What would have happened if she had done it? Raya stuttered back into her chair with trembling hands. Tears rolled down her cheeks while she tried to calm herself down. She had almost done the unthinkable. She had not done anything, thankfully, but the way her body had moved terrified her. She had been perfectly silent, almost as if she had expected a yell from her sister. She needed to compose herself. She tried to repeat to herself that she had not done anything, and her hands did not apply any kind of pressure. That had only been in her head. The rest had not happened. What was left of her sister was very much alive. Raya gritted her teeth. She hated her with everything she had but it was not a reason for her behavior. What else was she capable of?

A silent pair of eyes suddenly had settled on her, void and empty, yet strangely focused. However, Raya never noticed them, too overwhelmed by what almost happened.

Take one step forward, take two steps back.

That was exactly how Jungkook felt once (Y/N) disappeared into her room and did not come out of it the next day. It had felt so soothing to be able to be there for her, for his presence to alleviate the pain, even if it wasn’t much. He had hoped that maybe it would lead to more. Not a lot, just more of them as a unit. However, it did not. Or at least, not as of now. (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen. Jungkook knew that she was inside. Her shoes and her coat were there; everything was left untouched. Jungkook wanted to knock on her door, to ask her if she needed anything, yet somehow, he didn’t think that it would be appreciated if he did. Maybe he needed to wait for her to come back to him, just like she did the day before. (Y/N) probably needed to think over everything, breathe, and focus on herself for a little. 

Jungkook could understand, he truly didn’t mind. He just wished there was something he could do to help. He cooked breakfast even if she didn’t show up. He believed that maybe if he left it on the table and disappeared, she would come out to at least eat. However, she didn’t. Her breakfast was still on the table, her tea had gone cold, and maybe his hopes dropped a bit at the sight. He knew that he should be disappointed, yet he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. Maybe he should have knocked on her door to at least let her know that he had prepared breakfast for her, but he didn’t feel like it was something he was authorized to do, for some reason.

It was dreadfully silent, almost deafeningly. Jungkook could hear his own heart thumping painfully, his head hurt a little at the feeling. He lay down slowly, huffing a bit in annoyance at his own weakness. He knew his body was just seeking his soulmate. Yet, even if this reaction got him closer to her in the first place, he couldn’t help but wish to regain his autonomy. He didn’t feel trapped, but he knew that he was still required to stay here. Not only because his body told him to, but because he knew that the health of his soulmate also depended on him. Hence, even if he had not been brought here forcefully, he still felt the pressure on his shoulders.

Jungkook tried to shake those worries away, after all, he wasn’t the only one in this situation, (Y/N) was also in this condition. His health was also her responsibility, as much as he despised the idea of imposing himself in her life. It was still the reality of their situation. One couldn’t go too far from the other without hurting them. She had a decision to make with the others, though he didn’t want to disturb her, he knew that his presence was already too much, so how would she accept to be part of their lives?

Jungkook hoped, he desperately hoped that she would choose them. He truly wanted to whine and tell her that she could take all the time that she needed as long as she came to them one day but he knew better than to let his selfish self act up. The whole Raya thing was a bit deal for her, she was probably overwhelmed. Jungkook couldn’t expect an answer so soon, even if he was craving to hear acceptance from the lips of his soulmate. Maybe it was also his bond speaking. Since his body was aching because of the distance from his soulmate, his mind was trying to find other means of comfort, and other links to her, however, those links didn’t exist. She wasn’t staying with them, they weren’t living a comfortable and happy life of a bonded group. His mind and body were tired. Jungkook was tired, and in his foggy state of mind, the only thing he wished for was to curl up close to his soulmates. And all of them preferably.

Jungkook groaned, knowing it wasn’t possible. Resting an arm over his eyes, he tried to calm down, maybe he could take a short nap. It would maybe clear his ideas and help him with his overall exhaustion. Alas, his phone rang loudly next to him. Not moving, Jungkook didn’t take the call, letting the ringtone echo in the room. He sighed softly when it stopped and sighed, annoyed when the phone rang again a few seconds after.

Jungkook turned on himself, reaching for his phone as he saw Jimin’s name on the screen.

“Hyung, what do you want.” Alright, maybe there were other ways to greet his soulmate, but he was annoyed and tired. Jungkook just wanted to nap, for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t asking for the moon, was he now?

“I’m… glad that you miss me, I miss you too.” Jungkook chuckled at Jimin’s dry answer, “and to say that I stopped my game to call you just because your bond was pulling. Ungrateful brat.” Jungkook’s eyes opened slightly at that, and a small smile gently crept up on his face.

“I do miss you, m’ sorry. I was trying to nap, but my mind can’t seem to shut the fuck up, and then you called so I snapped at you. I shouldn’t have, though, sorry.” It got silent on the other side, and for a second, Jungkook wondered if Jimin had hung up on him.

“Wow, Jeon Jungkook recognizing that he is wrong? Without bickering first? What happened, are you alright? Wait, are you even Jungkook?” Well, maybe Jimin did deserve the previous greeting Jungkook offered because the younger man really wanted to just hang up.

“Fuck you.”

“Oh my, you sure are snappy today. What a charming prince you are, dear soulmate.” Jungkook groaned again.

“Why are you calling, it sure can’t be the only reason.” Jimin chuckled at those words, knowing that he was caught right from the beginning.

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I? I wanted to ask you if you wanted me to come, or to meet somewhere. I can feel your anxiety and it’s stressing Yoongi-hyung. Although he told us he was fine, he’s clearly uneasy, you know hyung.” Oh, he definitely knew his hyung, trying to give everyone the space they needed to neglect his needs in the process. It was a habit that the six of them were trying to erase. It wasn’t easy, after all, habits die hard, and Yoongi was a stubborn person. But they wouldn’t give up on trying to make him speak up about his needs and wants.

“I’ll… I’ll ask (Y/N) about it. I don’t know if she’ll be fine with you coming though…” He knew he sounded obviously suspicious, being that vague, but Jungkook wasn’t sure about what was happening between him and (Y/N). He didn’t have any other way to put it without crossing lines. Jimin noticed it instantly, sighing softly on the phone.

“Is she okay?” Jungkook looked at the ground, unsure how to reply. There wasn’t a good answer to this question, he thought.

“I’m not sure. She hasn’t come out of her room since yesterday after we shared a slice of lemon cake.” Jungkook was too nervous about the whole situation to wonder about Jimin’s silence.

“You made a lemon cake for her?” Jimin was obviously baffled, not mad, maybe a bit unsure, but certainly not mad. It took Jungkook a while to understand why his soulmate sounded so surprised, but once he pieced the puzzle together, he grinned softly.

“Ah, I promise next time I’ll make sure everyone’s here to have some. Though, hyung… It’s funny, it’s also (Y/N)’s favorite cake.” Jugnkook whispered, almost giddy at the information. It  was not something the media was aware of, nor information that fans had. It was a little something just between them, and the fact that everyone’s favorite cake from Jungkook was a lemon cake, made him happy. It was stupid, really. Just a little detail but somehow, it made him feel as if destiny had not messed up fully. As if, indeed, (Y/N) had always been there to fit in. Maybe he was looking at that with too much sentimentality. He shouldn’t get that excited over cake preferences, and yet he couldn’t find it in himself to stop the blooming feeling in his chest. It didn’t remove his uneasiness, but he definitely felt his cheeks warm up at the thought.

“It’s her favorite? Really?” There was a short pause before he continued, “that was unexpected.” Jungkook heard the implications of Jimin’s words, even if the older man didn’t say it: she’s just like us. He thought about it too, after all.

“Yeah, I was surprised too, but it’s cute. Somehow, it fits us. It feels like home, in a way.” Jungkook didn’t hear Jimin’s sharp intake of breath, too caught up in his own little world, yet Jimin’s voice brought him back to Earth without a warning.

“I do understand what you mean, but I don’t think you should imagine stuff like that…” Jimin murmured while Jungkook froze, “I understand, trust me I do. I wish it could be our home too, that she could be part of what we call home, but we don’t… We can’t, not as long as she didn’t take a decision. Yoongi-hyung was right about that, and we both know it. I think, deep down, we all do. I don’t want you to hurt yourself more than you already did.” Jimin was looking after him, he knew that, but he couldn’t help the defeated sigh that left his lips. He wished everything could just be easier for them. Hadn’t they suffered enough?

“I know…” Neither of them said a word, their bond was enough to understand each other without speaking more than that. Disappointment and hopelessness were easily shared through their connection, and Jimin decided that it was enough. Maybe he couldn’t do much about (Y/N) without being invasive and insensitive, but Jungkook… Jungkook, maybe he could help him, at least.

“Ask (Y/N) about me coming to see you, okay? Send a message and I’ll come wherever you want us to meet.” Jungkook nodded with a small smile despite Jimin’s inability to see him.

“I will, see you, hyung.” Jungkook didn’t want to move from his position, yet as he put his phone down, his feet led him in front of the door he had wanted to knock on for the past few hours. He looked at it, almost nervous, before gently knocking three times. He truly hoped that she was awake and that he wasn’t disturbing her. He could have sent a message, maybe it would have been easier. Yet, while he started overthinking, the door cracked open, and (Y/N)’s pale face appeared on the threshold. She didn’t utter a word, questioning Jungkook silently as she watched cautiously his every move.

For a second, he wished he could be swallowed by the ground.

“Hey, uh… I’m sorry if I woke you up…” She blinked a few times at his words, as if trying to process what he just said.

“I was awake. No worries.” Her voice sounded empty, disconnected from reality. Jungkook flinched ever so slightly, worried about her but not knowing if it was his place to ask.

“I know it’s probably not the right moment to ask this, but would you mind if Jimin were to come here to spend some time with me? You don’t have to join us, I just…” Jungkook wondered why he saw a glint of guilt in her eyes as he talked. Maybe she had noticed that he was desperate for some comfort from his soulmates and she had denied him without really meaning to. She had not been set on avoiding him, and yet, she had disappeared in her room, leaving little chances for him to find comfort in her presence, or lack thereof. Maybe it was that same guilt that pushed her to agree with a silent nod, retrieving to her room without noise while the door closed again. 

Jungkook sighed, taking his phone back in his hands before texting Jimin the address.

God, he wished everything was easier.

Taglist closed!

Uploaded : 16/02/2023

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[jiminsfault]

His Muse | kth

— pairing: Artist!Kim Taehyung x reader

— genre: fluff, romance | Non-idol!Au

— word count: 4.4k

— summary: Insomnia was keeping you up at night, so you decided to go out for a nightly walk in the streets of Paris, where you met Kim Taehyung, who is in desperate need of someone to inflame his passions again.

— warnings: Obviously mentioning insomnia but just surface-level, it’s extremely unrealistic in some aspects but let’s be romantic about it, depending on which way you look at it Taehyung could also come off as a creep tbh…lmao, essentially coworkers to lovers

— A/N: I started writing this in 2018… kept on writing bits and then dismissing it for months. Now, finally, it’s here. Been on my masterlist as “coming soon” for years, but I did it!

masterlist

»Why do you have to work like this?« you question your brain that is once again keeping you up at night. »This damn insomnia is going to be the death of me« you grumble, exhausted from your busy day and now suffering even more from the sleepless night ahead of you. Once you realized that you wouldn’t be getting any sleep, you decided to get up from bed and leave the hotel room to go on a nightly walk. Now you circle the block of your hotel for probably the third time. Maybe getting some energy out of your system will help make you sleepy.

As you continue your walk, you reminisce about all the things you went through to regain a healthy sleep schedule. You started with yoga on a regular day in the week, which quickly turned out to be too much effort in your packed schedule, since you already had to work two jobs.

You also tried therapy, which helped a lot, but eventually the costs piled up too much. Medicine was your last resort and got you to the point of actually sleeping through most nights, but of course you had to run out the week of your well earned holiday. 

Working two jobs was exhausting and you rarely had the opportunity to take multiple consecutive days off. So, you were planning on enjoying these days as much as possible — the lack of sleep, once again, disrupting that plan.

This is just your first night in Paris, the city of lights, love, and art. You had a tightly scheduled day right after your arrival at the airport, wanting to spend every day in its own way. 

So today you went sightseeing, visiting the most common things, like the Eiffel Tower. Tomorrow you planned on visiting one or two museums that a friend had recommended.

For the third day you didn’t really plan anything, expecting yourself to be far too lazy after two days of walking to do anything, so perhaps you’ll just lay down in bed and read a book. 

Had you known that you wouldn’t be able to sleep you would have of course brought more books with you on this trip.

The fourth day is actually a little secret of yours, you didn’t tell anybody about your plans — the risk of coworkers snitching on you was just too high. All of them were lovely indeed, but they do love to spread the newest gossip. 

The truth was, you were not only on this holiday to relax and visit a beautiful city, but also for a job interview. A well paying job in this beautiful city was a dream come true. 

You didn’t care to plan more than the fourth day, if the interview goes well you will truly just be savoring the last three days in this city before leaving and soon returning permanently. If the interview didn't go the way you wanted it to, you decided to just get an earlier flight, not wanting to be depressed in a place like Paris. It would be a waste of money and days you could spend earning more of it anyway.

You were wary of actually pursuing this job, teaching was far from what you did until now. Your past work experiences were all corporate jobs or part time jobs at restaurants, bars, and the likes. Seemingly not being able to stop your brain from rattling, you thought: what if someone better applies and they decide against you?

You’d be starting on step one again, having to apply at a multitude of different Art Universities to get the chance of an interview. 

All of a sudden you crash into somebody. A tall man is staring down at you in shock, big eyes and his mouth open. Your expression is probably mirroring his, the collision pulled you out of your thoughts.

»I’m so sorry!« you exclaim, rushing to look around for objects he might’ve dropped when you ran into the broad man. 

»It’s fine, guess both of us just weren't paying attention,« the man says and gives you a big grin. His cheeks lift up, giving him a cute and less intimidating look than just a few seconds ago.

You give him a once over. He’s handsome, his posture radiated confidence and his eyes were very sharp but now that he is smiling they had a nicer touch to them. You notice the uneven eyelids and a mole on the underside of his nose tip. You guess it isn't very visible for other people, but from your angle, being much shorter than the tall man, you see it clearly. His hands are hidden in the pockets of his long coat and his hair is partly covered by a barret. With the lack of light, you can only guess that it’s of a darker color. 

»Are you done checking me out?« His very dark voice, you note that you’ve probably never heard such a deep tone, managed to pull your attention to his face again. You didn’t notice that you’d been staring. The realization made you blush. It’s dark, so of course he won’t see it in the dimly lit streets, but you could feel yourself heat up.

You force out a nervous chuckle. On any other day you would walk away after you made sure to apologize and check for dropped items, but you couldn’t seem to continue your nightly walk this time around. »What are you doing out so late, anyway?« He asks, still smiling, looking into your eyes and waiting for your answer. 

»Uh, I was just… on a walk?« Great, talking casually to a stranger wouldn’t be on the list of your strengths, noted. But he laughs and to your surprise you’re not embarrassed by this, more amused and delighted. His laugh is very pretty, just like the man himself.

»Ah, I see. Well, I’ll let you continue your walk then, let’s pay attention to our paths from now on!« He gives you another smile before he raises his hand out of his pocket, notably very big, to wave a little and turn around. You stay there for a moment and watch him slowly walk away.

»He was nice,« you whisper into the cold air, smiling to yourself. The unexpected encounter made your mind less stressed, somehow. The stranger had a calming way about him. With newfound peace of mind, you decide to go back to your hotel room and try to get some sleep.

Your second day in Paris was lovely indeed. The art hung on the walls of museums was impressive and lovely to look at. Drawing had been a small passion of yours for long, but working every chance you get kept you from it for far too long. The sights were truly inspiring and so you decided to make your way to an art supply store to purchase a sketchbook and a few brushes. You could ponder about what you’d draw in a nearby park, perhaps? Nature in Paris was as beautiful as it gets.

With this plan in mind you made your way there, your phone navigation leading your way with your earphones in, trying not to seem as much of a tourist, but you probably do anyway.

Near the store, you stopped the route on your phone and put the device away in your pocket. When you open the door a bell above rings and echoes sweetly into the room to make notice of your entrance. Wooden shelves stocked with many art supplies fill the space. You could take your pick from any medium you’d like to paint with. Oil, water color, pencil,... You take it all in, think about what's best to buy and especially, what suited your bank accounts limits. Wandering along the shelves in deep concentration, you bumped into a hard chest. Just like last night, you come to face the same man. He still wore his smile and his eyes carried the same kind look.

»I see we were destined to meet again,« he said, his smile growing cheeky. »I was actually hoping to see you a second time. Do you often crash into people when daydreaming?« The man chuckles and holds his hand in front of his body, »official introductions are in order, I suppose. My name is Kim Taehyung.«

You returned his smile, although a bit more nervous as he seemed to be. »Were you really hoping to see me again or are you just trying to charm me?«

Your response made him laugh a little, but before he could say another thing, you told him your name. »Seeing you here must mean you’re into art?« You ask.

He nods his head yes. Delighted to hear this, you immediately start a conversation about art. Without hesitation, you ask him about his favorite medium, his style of painting and at last, his inspiration. At the last question he seems to lose his smile. Before, he joyously responded to all of your inquiries, but this one perhaps was too personal of a question. »You don’t need to share, if you’re uncomfortable,« you assure him.

»It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. It’s just that, as of right now, I’ve lost all inspiration,« he admits. »I was going to switch paints in an attempt to regain a bit of my passion.« Relating to this, you nod. Losing inspiration to do what you love — it is tough. No wonder his smile dropped at the mention of it.

You fear that your mishap might have ruined the conversation, but he bounces right back and returns all your questions, helps you choose the best products in your price range and wears his smile just like before. As a way of thanking him you invite him for coffee, but because of his plans he has to refuse. »Another time. I’m sure we’ll meet again.«

Before you could dare to tell him that you are in fact not a local like he is, he is already on his way and without exchanging phone numbers, impossible to reach. The prospect of not seeing him again before you leave Paris crosses your mind and sullies your mood. You suppose you’d just have to deal with it.

You go on to spend the rest of today and the third day of your stay painting the view from your hotel room window, a park and a bridge to distract yourself and get your mood back up. On wednesday evening you expected to have trouble sleeping before your interview the next day. But, to your surprise, your eyes feel heavy and sleep comes over you.

When you wake up, you get dressed and grab two of the paintings from yesterday, your previously prepared binder full of your older art and make your way to the interview. It was held directly where you’d work at — an art school. The thought of pursuing your life-long passion as a career is scary but imagining that this interview could be a success fills your heart with joy. Becoming an art teacher for students who live and breathe art just as you do seems like your purpose. For this reason, you want to try your best and hope to leave a great impression. 

As you stand in front of the university's art-department building you keep positive thoughts in mind. Every step that you take in the direction of the stairs, along the hallway and near the room you're supposed to enter, shakes you up with anxiety. Nerves are running rampant more than ever as you hold the door handle and push it down. A deep breathe in, and you step forward into the room.

The broad room is bright, the white and high walls complement the wooden floors. Beautiful art decorates the walls and windows. You suppose on other days this is where students work on their assignments. But today, there are no art supplies laying around, everything is cleaned up nice. When you look to your left, there’s a long table. Three people sit at the table, two of them are conversing quietly, the third is scribbling something onto a paper in front of him.

The woman on the far left looks to the door first and her face splits into a smile. »Hello! Do come in, please.« You nod and smile, close the door behind you and step closer to the table. The woman who called you in pointed towards folded chairs that are leaned on the wall. »Grab a chair! Apologies, we just came back from our break, so we didn’t get to prepare the room.« You assure her that it’s fine, grab a chair and introduce yourself before sitting down.

»Very nice to meet you. I’m Madame Dupont, next to me is Monsieur Batiste and at last, Monsieur Kim. Monsieur Batiste and I are both teachers here. While Monsieur Kim does give lectures, his profession is fully dedicated to the arts. You might recognize him by his Pseudonym, Vantae.« She introduces from the left, starting with herself and going to the right, leaving the man who hadn’t raised his eyes up until now for last. The mention of Vantae makes you almost jump, you were always very fond of his work. The opportunity to meet one of your favorite artists in person makes this interview so much better. You keep your eyes on him, waiting to see his face and as you meet his gaze, you are surprised to recognize the man.

Vantae or Monsieur Kim, as in Kim Taehyung, the man who you’ve spent a great deal of this Tuesday with, talking about art. How come it never crossed his mind to mention that he was in fact an actual artist, with great talent? The shock hits your gut deeply but you can’t let it show on your face or hinder you from making a good impression on the other interviewers.

You clear your throat and take a deep breath in. Madame Dupont, seemingly leading the interview, holds her hand out and asks for your documents and the binder with your art. While she and the others look through your portfolio and comment on aspects that they like, you begin talking about yourself, per their request. You tell them of your great love for painting and how you’ve always felt at ease with a pencil or brush in hand. One or two questions to your drawings are asked that you gladly elaborate on and after exactly forty-two minutes Madame Dupont, Monsieur Batiste and Taehyung stand up to each shake your hand. 

»It was great speaking with you today. We will definitely contact you in a few days and notify you of our decision. Your art is very promising and you would be a great addition to our team!« Monsieur Batiste beams when he speaks and holds your hand in both of his. The two others at both his sides nod in agreement.

Taehyung’s smile grows cheeky when you hold your hand above the table to reach for his. »Pleasure to meet you here today, Madame. I, as well, would more than appreciate your presence at this school,« he brazenly speaks. His words are laced with mischief, as are his eyes sparkling with.

You express your gratitude to receive the chance for this interview and emphasize that you’d love to take this job offer. A very positive feeling is settling within your chest as you leave the building and walk along the street. They were genuinely nice and made the interview a good experience. But the encounter with Kim Taehyung still sticks with you. He seemed to already expect you there, almost like he recognized you from the picture on your application to the school. It would explain why he was so sure to meet you again.

The call from Madame Dupont came exactly four days after you were back at home. The moment that your phone rings with a caller-ID you don’t recognize you pick up, already anticipating who it might be. »We’re so happy to tell you that you have been accepted as our next art teacher at the Pariser University of Arts!« She says, with almost as much excitement as you feel hearing it. »We want you to start as soon as you can move to Paris. Our team has been developing a schedule for you to adjust to teaching the students and we can’t wait for you to join us.«

After the call, you waste no time to write your resignation for your jobs and to prepare everything that needs to be done and taken care of before you leave the country — permanently.

After living in Paris for four months now, you can’t imagine leaving ever again. Work has been everything you hoped it would be and more. At the beginning you just followed Madame Dupont, Taehyung and Monsieur Batiste to their classes, attended to printing and copying documents and got to do the occasional stand-in class. Today, you’re still in training but get to work on your own most of the time. Your coworkers help you prepare for your classes and give you tips on how to improve student-involvement. You enjoy working, for probably the first time in your life. With time you’re starting to get along better with your coworkers — not only the trio that interviewed you, but also the whole rest of the teaching staff. But with Taehyung especially. 

The first week you arrived, he kept on teasing you about how shocked you were when you found out that he is Vantae. He also admitted to recognizing you from your application, when the two of you met in the art shop. »I didn’t notice when we bumped into each other at night, but the day after it clicked. I’m a very curious person, you intrigued me… I just had to get to know you,« he confessed back then. 

That day, he also showed you his in-school art studio. It is still a gorgeous sight, you’re in awe whenever you get to enter it. He only works there when he has lectures that day, so it’s not the full extent of what he’s tinkering with. Still, you can recognize Vantae in everything he creates. Even quick, messy sketches. But like he said in the art shop, inspiration has left him with blank canvases or unfinished projects and the frustration is always clearly visible in his face when he invites you to the studio. 

Last time you were there, he invited you to come see his studio at home. The thought of seeing the place where Vantae painted some of his greatest works intrigued you so much, you agreed despite being antsy about spending your time off with him.

This leads you to where you are now, standing in front of his door. You take a few seconds to actually ring the bell but once you do, it doesn’t take long for it to swing open and reveal Taehyung and his usual smile. He swings his arm into the room to ask you to enter and that you do. To the right of the entrance area is a flight of stairs, but Taehyung walks through the door frame in front of you, so you follow him.

»I was just about to make coffee before heading up to the studio.« He said. »Do you want a cup as well?« You accept the offer and look around his place. The living room in which you are standing was huge and flooded with light from the big windows. A bar separated the area from his kitchen, where he leans against the counter. Behind him, his coffee machine is buzzing away as it’s filling the cups he put underneath. Once they are full, he hands you one of them. Both of you add milk and sugar to your preferences and then Taehyung starts making his way back through the doorway and turns to the staircase. »Let’s go!« he cheers on his way up.

He talks a lot about the different Paintings on his walls, the ones he hasn’t finished yet and the ones he wants to start. He begins sketching at his desk and you sit next to him to watch. Over the last few weeks he asked you more and more often to just do that — he never explains why. By now it’s become routine though, so you don’t question it anymore.

Every once in a while Taehyung pauses and crosses out what he drew or he erases the pencil lines and starts fresh. You can tell that the longer he keeps at it, the more his patience runs out. With time, he stops trying to fix or cover up his mistakes, but instead ends up crumbling his paper sheet together and throwing the whole thing away.

He finally closes his artbook and looks over at you with tired eyes, pouting. You can’t resist the coo that leaves your mouth. 

»I can‘t seem to draw anything at all, lately. It frustrates me,« the earnest way he speaks about his thoughts and feelings makes you a little happy, you’re glad that he’s comfortable enough to confide in you like this.

»Maybe you need a new muse?« you suggest and absentmindedly bite your lip as you try to think of a solution to his problem. There needs to be something that could inspire him. You don’t notice him inching closer to you, not until his breath tickles your cheek. Taehyung isn’t pouting anymore. Rather than that, his face is full of mischief, like it was months ago after your interview.

»Can you sit still?« he hurriedly opens the artbook again, grabs a piece of drawing coal and gets to work. Your eyes widen with the realization of what he was doing when his eyes flicker up to your face and back down to the paper. Not wanting to interrupt the flow he seems to be in, you just sit still and wait for when he is done. When he is, he turns his artbook to you and shows off his work with a proud grin on his lips. It was beautiful, to say the least. 

»Would you mind spending a little more time in my studio? I would love to try this with oil colors,« he carefully asks. It’s late and a part of your brain tells you to not stay with a man that you’re slowly overstepping your work relationship with, but you know that you probably can’t sleep well tonight anyway, so you agree to stay with him, despite your better knowledge.

»I wouldn’t mind,« you say to his visible surprise. »I enjoy your company and your art. If I can help you regain your inspiration, I’m more than glad to do that.« 

To Taehyung, you carry the calmness of the ocean and he could really drown in your presence. Just looking at you puffing up your hair nearly makes him drool. Being alone with you for so long is going to make him crazy, he just knows.But you could really be the solution for the artist block that he has been struggling with for the past few months. What you said earlier made him realize that you already were his muse. Everytime you’re next to him when he draws, he feels himself regaining his inspiration little by little. Maybe all that was left for him to truly get out of his slump wasn’t to switch the medium but to find the right view to draw. 

After you find your position again, he starts a draft of the painting he had in mind. You are of course the main focus of it, but the hard part is to find out what background will do your beauty justice.

Late into the night, Taehyung finally finishes the painting. All the coffee in the world couldn’t keep the two of you up any longer. You grab your things and follow him back downstairs, but before you could announce your departure, he takes your hand. »You shouldn’t walk home alone this late. Please, stay here.« He almost whispers this and pulls you towards his chest gently. You think about it for a moment, staying at his place would really cross the line of professionalism. Finally, the thought of sharing a comfortable bed with a warm blooded, handsome man like Taehyung won you over. You sigh and nod your head.

»Let’s go to bed, then.« You both smile at each other.

He gives you a toothbrush and together you stand in front of the sink and exchange the occasional glance. His hands touch your arms, your waist and hips. Always gentle and they never linger for too long — it’s comfortable. The question of who takes the couch is never asked and on an unspoken mutual agreement you both slip under the same blanket, his arm behind your head and your back against his chest.

The darkness in the bedroom envelops you. You only feel Taehyung’s chest rise and fall while you fall asleep quicker than you ever did before.

To be woken up in the morning by Taehyung’s now even deeper voice wasn’t on your list of possible outcomes when you moved to Paris. Nonetheless you really enjoy it. The shirt he gave you last night to sleep in covers you enough to stay decent and in his opinion makes you look even cuter than you did before. Bedhead and all.

He serves two cups of coffee and egg on toast after you beg him to cook you some breakfast.

»Seeing you like this…,« he mutters. »I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, you’re way too pretty. Can’t have anyone steal my muse from me.« You laugh together with him and hide your face in your palms. His attention stays on you the whole time. He can’t help himself — he rounds the bar to where you’re seated and lays his hand on the side of your face. »I adore you,« this, he said in a very serious tone, unlike before. »Please let me take you out to dinner sometime.« You look up from your hands and see the earnesty in his eyes.

»I’d love to,« you respond and he smiles.

[opaljm]

nip it in the bud (m) – kth

➻ female reader x taehyung

➻ going to get a piercing au/completing bucket list au + my brother’s best friend au + tattoo artist!taehyung

➻ genres: smut, romance

➻ length & status: 10k words; complete

➻ rating & warnings: 18+; taehyung has tattoos and piercings, he and his big hands are illegal, tae's oral fixation is entirely out of control, nipple sucking/breast play, semi-public sex (? idk tbh), the pussy eating he does is sloppy and gross, squirting, nasty/messy sex, unprotected sex (wear a condom and be safe kids OR ELSE), riding, creampie, pussy stuffing cuz tae has a big dick (I don’t think you understand it’s GIGANTIC), multiple orgasms

➻ summary: You're not sure how you ended up here, but maybe a shitty ex and a horrible breakup had a hand in what placed you in front of the tattoo parlor. It was already a nerve-wracking experience, but what you never expected was seeing that the owner and artist giving you nipple piercings was your older brother's best friend you hadn't seen in ages. to make things even worse, he got fucking hotter.

➻ a/n: this was born out of a TikTok where I learned that tattoo artists have to make sure your nipples are hard before piercing them and then I yelled at @jamaisjoons, having an existential crisis about how hot that was. She is the one who told me to write about it 😌 and the reason the fic exists. The last time I got piercings was idk 16 years ago (yes I was 7 🥴). I also have zero tattoos so my knowledge of this is minimal I just wanted to write hot Taehyung sex. Hope y’all enjoy this mess regardless. beta-read by @taegularities @hantaev & @chateautae​ (she helped with the summary too🤩) my favorite tae accounts who have encouraged me so much during this arduous writing process! beta-read and banner made by @softestmuse! You all were there for me for so much during this whole thing and helped so much 🥺

⋆ my masterlist ⋆

Were you actually going to do this? Was this really happening?

As you stood in front of the tattoo parlor christened “Inked in Blue & Grey,” by the messily arranged jagged font that laid out the cobalt blue neon letters decorating the shopfront, you almost chickened out. 

When you had been scrolling through Yelp late at night two weeks ago, flitting between the stages of depression and bargaining as you made your way through the grief from the breakup between you and your ex, Donghyuk, your eyes had stopped on the highly rated tattoo parlor – 4.9 stars? That was practically unheard of, especially when they had reviews and ratings in the tens of thousands. It hadn’t taken much for you, with eyes hurting from the blue light of your cellphone in the late hours and a head aching from how wine drunk you were, to quickly find the link to their website and sign up for an appointment to get twin nipple piercings. Well, no one ever wanted a singular nipple piercing to your knowledge. But you had no doubt that there were countless people out there who had chickened out from the pain of the first to not follow through with the second one.

You slowly pulled your lower lip with your teeth, softly biting down on the plump flesh as you had your head tilted up towards the intimidatingly bright letters of the parlor’s sign. The last time you had gotten any piercings was in summer camp ten years ago when Yuju had stabbed your ears through with a sewing needle. The needle had been unbearably hot from having been heated by the flame of the fluid lighter she had snuck into camp by tucking it in the black Nike crew socks she had been wearing on drop off day. It had stung you with the quick flashing pain of a burning stab wound. 

Yuju had been your last resort to get additional ear piercings which you had thought were so cool after you saw your brother walk into the house one day with several new helix piercings to go along with his lobe ones. You had begged your mother for another set of piercings, tired of having the boring set of two you had. You wouldn’t get them in the cartilage like Jimin had but wanted to add to your lobe. Your mother had vehemently denied your protests and grounded Jimin for sneaking out and getting piercings with his best friend Taehyung. 

You had complained about it to your cabin mates, who had seen the scores of tween and teen campers swoon over your brother and his friends who seemed edgy and dangerous. Your friends however were immune to their appeal and knew that they weren’t much more than geeky nerds who carefully hid their embarrassing tastes in both anime and porn. Hearing thirteen-year-old Y/N complain about her plight in the late-night whispers covered by the chirping of crickets that kept the night camp counselors from checking in on your cabin, Yuju had jumped down from her bunk into yours and eagerly offered to help you increase your total number of piercings up to four.

Looking back, you had no idea why you had trusted Yuju’s dubious claims of working at the Claire’s in the mall close to her house for three months. Later on, you found out that it had actually been Yuju’s older sister who had had the nice mall gig. The incident had left you with piercings that kept getting infected until one of them finally closed up, and you were still rocking the asymmetrical ear-piercing look, almost a decade later with one dangly earring threaded with stars on your right ear while a cubic zirconium stud and gold bedazzled moon clipped your left ear. You never saw the point of getting them fixed and had avoided piercings and needles to the best of your abilities until now.

You thought you pulled off the mixed jewelry look pretty well, but your face instantly scrunched up with an unhappy frown when you remembered Donghyuk telling you to wear matching earrings when you went out on dates with him. You bit down on the flesh of your bottom lip harder as you recalled how Donghyuk had constantly berated you and put you down for the entire duration of your three-year long relationship. Your face twisted as though a bitter taste had flooded your mouth when you remembered that your mother had been expecting him to propose to you this year. Why had you begged him for another chance when he callously threw your arms off him as he stomped around the apartment gathering up his things, ignoring your pleas and requests for an explanation until he couldn’t take it anymore? Then Donghyuk had turned around to you, glaring at you with the heat of his hard black-brown eyes, staring you down resentfully from his towering height of 6’2.

“I broke up with you because I’m tired of having such mind-numbingly vanilla sex with a woman who never comes. You’re so boring and honestly, I’m just not attracted to you anymore, Y/N. I thought I could change the meek mousy weirdo. But after three years, it looks like I was wrong,” he had said with a caustic bite to the venomous hate he spewed from his mouth.

Yes. You remembered exactly why you had booked that appointment in the fuzzy high you had gotten from too much wine and “Emily in Paris.” You had been so livid. Of all people, Donghyuk thought you were boring? Unadventurous, and vanilla? You were the one who was always holding yourself back from being too enthusiastic during sex because he could only get off when he was doing you doggy style with his hand covering your mouth in what he thought was his attempt at BDSM in the bedroom.

Your eyes lit up with renewed heat and you found yourself marching forward to the door and swinging it towards you with a powerful pull as you made your way in. Your newfound confidence only lasted until you made your way to the receptionist. There, you found yourself fumbling once more.

“Hi, I’m Park Y/N,” you stammered nervously, “I – uh, I made an appointment for… um nipple piercings,” you whispered the last bit, embarrassedly as your neck straightened and you twisted your head around to make sure no one else had overheard you. “Two weeks ago? I made my piercing appointment a while back,” you finished more confidently.

The receptionist stared at you expressionlessly. “What time is your appointment?” she asked, tucking back a vibrant purple lock of hair behind her ear.

“It’s – it’s the one o’ clock,” you mumbled, clearing your throat uneasily. You had never been in an establishment like this before and dressed in your oversized sage colored waffle knit sweater and a pair of charcoal gray Lululemon leggings you felt wildly out of place.

“Alright Y/N, here are the forms you need to fill out before you do this,” she said easily, plucking out the thick stapled document out of a manila folder. “Just a reminder, this is a semi-permanent body modification and this will close up rather quickly if you go without wearing jewelry for too long. There are pages on your medical history and if you have any allergies on the front. Prices and payment information are on the pages following that. The documents explaining the procedure and aftercare are at the end. We’ll send you home with a list of instructions on how to care for your new piercings after your appointment ends as well.”

You blinked, overwhelmed by the staggering amount of information she had just thrown your way. As you sat down at the oatmeal colored sherpa sofa at the reception and read through all the health risks and warnings, making sure you were taking in all of the information, carefully signing all the lines and checking off all the boxes, you wondered if you were in over your head.

Technically, it wasn’t too late for you to turn your back on this. You would lose your deposit, but you could still walk away – pain free. What would Jimin do if he found out that you had gotten your nipples pierced? Probably murder you, based on how he had reamed you and Yuju out after your ears had gotten infected from swimming in the lake the camp had been located next to. But would you really let your overbearing annoying older brother control you even now when you were 23? And how would Jimin even know about you getting these very intimate piercings? 

You only saw him a few times a year. There was no way Jimin would be finding out about this, nipples were more discreet than ears and you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been around your brother in clothing that would even hint that you had boobs, much less nipples. Jimin had only ever seen you in oversized T-shirts, flannel pajama bottoms or baggy sweats, and giant zip-up hoodies when he had the fortune of being in your company. No wonder he sometimes forgot you were a girl. 

Once you finished up the paperwork, you made your way back to the girl at the front desk with the clipboard. Placing it down on the counter, you took out your credit card to pay up front, with your id card beside it as verification on top of the terrazzo surface, but she shook her head, “You pay at the end for the piercings and the jewelry you pick. Personally, I prefer nipple clickers,” she said wryly, twisting her lips into a smirk.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you mumbled as you watched her stand up and come around to you.

“Follow me, I’ll take you to the private room we have for the more intimate tattoos and piercings. There’s only one artist in today but he should be finishing up with his other client soon. You’ll probably only have to wait 5 to 10 minutes for V,” she threw her words over her shoulder carelessly as she guided you through the narrow hallway.

When she closed the door behind you and left you alone in the room, you felt rather like you were at the doctor’s waiting for your gynecologist to come in and the panic quickly set in once again. Should you have your shirt off and be ready for the piercing? Or would the tattoo artist be freaked out if he was instantly assaulted with the image of your breasts the second he opened the door? Should you sit up on the wide leather covered table or continue to stand while staring awkwardly at the door waiting for the artist to walk in?

As you looked around the small room, your eyes caught on the artwork decorating the walls. They were on white backgrounds that were framed and looked like post-impressionist portraits. The color scheme stuck to black and the primary colors, while the faces had the boldest of expressions painted over them. Extraordinary, you thought, as the door opened behind you.

“Hi, I’m V. I'll be the artist who is piercing you today. I see you’ve signed up for two nipple piercings?” A deep sensual voice flooded into the room, making you shudder involuntarily. 

You turned back and saw a male looking down at the clipboard with the forms you had filled out, his face was half covered by an indigo face mask dotted with silver embroidered stars while the other half was concealed by the soft looking black waves that were flowing forward as his bangs swept over his forehead and obscured his eyes.

“Yes, that’s right,” you nervously tittered, “Should I– should I take off my top?”

“Mmhmm,” he murmured, his eyes quickly sweeping over you, barely looking at you, as he continued on professionally, “Could you also take off your bra and tie back your hair before sitting up on the table?”

V turned around to the cabinets to get out the clamps and needles he would need to pierce you. As he bustled around gathering purple latex gloves and alcohol wipes, he asked in his soothing husky voice, “So what type of jewelry are we thinking? Titanium straight barbells? White gold hoops?”

“Which one is better?” you asked, shuddering in the air-conditioned room as your arms prickled up with goosebumps and you wrapped your arms around your naked upper half.

“Most people get the straight barbells; they find them to be the most comfortable,” V said as he tinkered around with the selection of nipple rings, “Titanium is hypoallergenic so it’s a really good metal choice. If you’re more sensitive to metals I would probably recommend gold but that’s a little more expensive. Any special closures you’re looking for? Star attachments at the end? Moons?”

“Just the basic white gold straight barbells with the star ends,” you muttered quietly. You’d worry about getting more decorative adornments for your nipples when they fully healed from the piercings and you were more accustomed to them. For now, the cute stars at the ends, instead of spherical stoppers, would be enough.

V readied everything on a small table with wheels that he pushed to one side of where you were sitting. As he pulled his gloves on, he said, “I’m going to clean your nipples and then I'll flick them to make sure they are erect enough that I can comfortably clamp them and pierce the needle through them, okay? Let me know if at any moment I am making you feel uncomfortable, sound good?”

You hummed your assent and V finally looked up from his equipment, an alcohol wipe in his hand as he reached forward for your left breast. Before he made contact however, his eyes met yours.

“Y/N?” he yelped in shock, his large gloved fingers brushing against your nipple for the briefest of moments in his shock before he recovered and recoiled from you as though he had been struck.

Your brows furrowed as you confusedly inquired, “Taehyung?”

The two of you stared at each other in shock. The male who was standing in front of you with the Van Gogh-esque vines and branches wrapping their way up his right arm  and covering his throat surely could not be the Kim Taehyung you had grown up with. This could not be your brother Jimin’s childhood best friend. This could not be the former bane of your existence.

“Yes,” breathed Taehyung, still gaping at you with his mouth wide open from behind his mask, not that you could see. You noted that he respectively maintained eye contact with you the entire time, not letting his eyes dip below your gaze. Shrugging on your muted green sweater you glared at him. The second you were covered, Taehyung gazed upwards to the rafters and murmured a not so silent prayer much to your displeasure.

“Y/N why are you getting your– ” Taehyung stopped, obviously struggling with how to word his question while not wanting to talk about his best friend’s younger sister’s nipples. “Why are you getting more piercings?” he said instead with what you thought was highly misplaced affront. “Remember when you almost died because of Yuju in eighth grade?”

Taehyung was so dramatic. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest, noting with satisfaction that a red flush was spreading across his golden skin as you held your gaze.

Taehyung had been a junior in high school and the camp counselor assigned to all the cabins in the row yours had been in the same summer Yuju had gone ham with your ears. He had also gotten his ass handed to him when Jimin had found out that instead of making sure the campers were asleep he had been sucking face with Jennie Kim every night.

You scowled, annoyed by how the Taehyung in front of you was a long way away from the gangly nerd with unattractive rectangle framed dad glasses and straight brown hair cut into an unflattering bowl cut that you remembered. Sure, everyone had always talked about how attractive Taehyung had been growing up, but you had never seen it. Taehyung had been a geek who had a penchant for weird outfits with his loose fit/too short culottes, brightly colored oversized crewnecks that were more hole than sweater thanks to his overeager hands when it came to snipping with scissors, and black beat-up converse lows. He had been the furthest thing from what you were into back in the day. However, the man standing in front of you right now? He was almost intimidatingly beautiful. A stunning Adonis, so gorgeous that even Aphrodite had fallen in love.

Taehyung had pulled off his mask and was frowning at you, his petal pink lips pressed thinly together. Your eyes widened when you noticed the glint of silver peeking out between his lips. Taehyung had a piercing on his tongue.

“Are you trying to police my right to have piercings?” you angrily demanded, “You work at a tattoo parlor! You have seven piercings.”

His beautiful dark brows pulled down as his wavy hair swept forward covering one of his eyes again, but he hectically moved his hair away from his face as he looked at you in abrupt alarm, “How could you possibly know that?!”

You froze in confusion, halting your impassioned tirade. Taehyung had seven piercings? You looked at him straight on again, your eyes flitting across his body, scanning him from head to toe. You had known about his five ear piercings. He had gotten them with Jimin when the two of them had still been in high school and you would see Taehyung everyday either at school or your house because of how often he would be over. The only facial piercing he had was his tongue. Where was the seventh? As your gaze drifted down his front, it stopped at his chest. Though you had been thinking about people with only one nipple piercing earlier, you somehow didn’t think Taehyung would be in that crowd. 

Your gaze finally stopped awkwardly at his crotch which was concealed by his black jeans. You stilled at the thought of Taehyung having a piercing on his cock and tried to look away quickly after you came to the realization. 

Unfortunately for you, Taehyung hadn’t planned on making it easy for you. A large veiny hand palmed at his denim covered crotch. “Are you having dirty thoughts about my dick, Y/N?” murmured Taehyung.

“I’m not!” you protested. “I’m just here for my piercing appointment so get on with it, Taehyung! Treat me like one of your usual customers!” 

You grabbed at the bottom of your sweater again and this time, instead of just holding it up above your breasts for Taehyung, you pulled the entire thing off. With your bare chest still heaving, you attempted to straighten your back, meeting Taehyung’s eyes confidently. 

Taehyung held your gaze with heat behind his chocolaty brown eyes for long interminable minutes. A sense of understanding seemed to pass between the two of you before he bit his lips and grated, “Fine, Y/N.”

Taehyung went back to the table where he had been preparing his equipment, making sure that he had gathered everything before pushing it along to stand right next to where you were seated. He sat down on a circular stool with wheels and slid towards you, using his feet to propel him forward.

Sighing once he was in front of you, he squirted hand sanitizer on his purple encased hands to make sure they were still clean, though he hadn’t touched anything other than your jewelry to resterilize them after his panicked realization that you were his client. He slowly and thoroughly rubbed his palms together, working the sanitizer in between his fingers, taking as much time as he could to delay the inevitable and then fanned them to dry. You were mesmerized by the size of his hands. They were so big they could probably cover your boobs with room to spare even though you were a rather busty girl yourself. You whimpered a little as you watched him at work.

Taehyung had heard you making that sound but he tried to ignore it. You were making it hard for him to think straight. He had never once thought that one day his dick would fall for Jimin’s crybaby little sister that he had annoyed at every opportunity he had gotten when he was younger. He had been trying to avoid direct eye contact with your uncovered upper half without much success. Your two voluptuous teardrop breasts seemed to be begging for his attention with their perky upturned nipples, hard due to the cold air drafting into the room. And below your breasts was your tiny waist and heavenly hips. You were shaped like the hourglass filled with black sand that he had for decoration in this room. 

He had already sterilized the white gold bars that you had wanted, and cleaning them a third time would only make you have an angry outburst again he was sure, but now it was time for him to get your nipples ready. He matter-of-factly ripped open an alcohol wipe, unfolding the drenched white sheet within the packet. It was finally time for him to touch you. He didn’t think he had ever been so unnerved in his life. 

Pulling the seat as close to the table that you were on as he comfortably could, he reached out for you. One of his large hands clutched your side, long fingers splayed over your ribs to hold you in place, as his other hand delicately swiped at your nipples with the alcohol wipe. You were frozen like a statue, not even daring to breathe as Taehyung was at work, his face only inches away from your breasts. Too soon, or so you had thought, his hands went away to grab the surgical scrub to further ensure that your nipples were as clean and disinfected as possible before he went to work and actually stabbed your chest to create the piercings. 

You sighed as his hands returned to your chest again. Taehyung had moved on from cleaning your skin to etching them with a marker to indicate where your piercings would be. He cupped the underside of one of your breasts with his left hand while his right hand carefully drew blue dots on either side of your nipples that were parallel to each other. He then switched over to your other breast and drew on the dots to replicate what he had marked before as symmetrically as possible. 

The scratchiness of the pen tip hardened your nipples even more than they had been and wetness pooled in between your pressed thighs. When he was done his palm was flat against your abdomen, pushing you back, “You’ll want to lie down Y/N just to be cautious. Some people get their piercings done sitting but there is the possibility that you’ll faint so I just want everything to be safe for you.”

As you laid back to rest on top of the butcher paper covering the cool leather of the table, you panicked. Taehyung was really going to do this. He was treating you like a paying customer, which you were, but you found yourself wishing that he wasn’t acting so professionally and had tried harder to dissuade you from getting these piercings, especially since you were having second thoughts about this. 

He finally returned to face you again, holding a steel contraption that looked like scissors but the ends were flat with little holes. He had his fingers threaded through the clamps he was going to use to hold your nipple as he pricked through it with a long sterilized needle. 

Taehyung sighed, “I’m going to have to flick and touch your nipples a lot. I’m sure you’re aware of that already but it might take a little more finagling than you thought. It might not be a one and done process where the clamps are perfectly on on the first try. Just, tell me if it’s too much or I’m making you uncomfortable and I’ll immediately back off. Okay, Y/N?”

You nodded mutely. You didn’t trust yourself to speak. What if you threw up all over Taehyung the second you opened your mouth?

Taehyung held your right nipple in between his forefinger and thumb, gauging its firmness before determining that it wasn’t erect enough. He flicked it with his finger, and you had to stifle your reaction, the hardness of his nail bed, even through the latex glove, catching you by surprise. Finally, he was ready to use the clamps.

You breathed through your mouth as the metal clamps pinched your delicate mauve areola to hold the bud of your nipple in place. Leaving the equipment dangling from the edge of your breast, Taehyung turned back around to grab the needle he had prepared. 

While Taehyung had been focused on the next step, you had managed to further your panicked state and were almost hyperventilating. Your lips were pressed tightly together and your hands had furled themselves into clenched fists that had your fingers digging into the thin white butcher paper beneath you, ripping it as your nails dug tiny indentations into the smooth leather underneath. 

Before Taehyung went ahead with the first of your piercings, he glanced at your face, like he did with all his clients to make sure that everything was still going smoothly. What he found had him putting the needle down again. Your face was white with fear and your eyes were filled with liquid. 

“Hey,” murmured Taehyung softly, his gloved hand cupping your cheek. “What’s up Y/N? You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“No!” you protested fiercely.

“Miss Park Y/N,” teased Taehyung, striving to adopt a lighthearted tone, “Come on, is it just nerves? You can tell me. If I know what’s wrong then I can help you fix it. Do you not wanna get these done today?”

You sighed, “Taehyung, it’s just. I don’t know. Why am I even doing this?”

“Hmm,” hummed Taehyung, steepling his fingers, his warm brown eyes glancing at you comfortingly, “A very good question. Why are you doing this? We don’t want you getting a piercing for the wrong reasons. What is it? Have you been down in the dumps and need some change? Well maybe it’ll help you but maybe it won’t and then you’ll end up with far more piercings than you ever thought you would.”

“Is that what happened with you?” you whispered. Now that Taehyung wasn’t actively working on getting your piercings done, you had covered your chest again with your hands cupping your breasts.

“Not exactly,” admitted Taehyung, “Maybe at first when I was getting the piercings with Jimin, but later on as I got more serious about art and creating, it became a way for me to express myself to the world. A way to solidify my character and what I wanted to be known for and associated with. I really had fun once I started adding the tattoos in,” he laughed huskily. His cheeks came with his boxy wide spread grin. You had missed Taehyung. Though granted, he had been annoying for much of your childhood, you’d had a lot of fun with him. You adored Taehyung, you realized belatedly. Though perhaps realizing it while you were topless was not the best time for your epiphany, you thought as blush took over you, blood rushing to the surface of your skin, painting your cheeks, ears, and chest a muted red.

“Will you tell me where the seventh piercing is?” you asked softly, pushing yourself up. 

Taehyung stared at you, his gaze going in between your face and your uncovered form, its heat was infectious and made your own skin flush even further in its wake.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “Although, you’ll have to tell me what pulled you into this studio today, first.”

You pouted, “It’s really dumb.”

“This is a safe place,” Taehyung smirked winningly. He repeatedly raised and lowered his thick, impeccably groomed eyebrows mischievously, “I won’t judge you, Y/N.”

“Yes, you will,” you groaned.

“Yes, I will,” admitted Taehyung easily, the ghost of a smile still painting his lips. “But you’ll tell me anyway, won’t you?”

“Donghyuk broke up with me,” you grumbled, “We were supposed to get married.”

Taehyung blinked, he vaguely remembered a baby faced male that was slightly taller than him with a mushroom cap haircut. He scoffed, “The audacity of some people. You were so far out of his league, it’s insulting that you weren’t the one to end things.”

You smiled weakly at Taehyung’s attempt to cheer you up. “It made my mind go all over the place. I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe I am unadventurous and boring. Maybe I am vanilla.”

“What’s wrong with vanilla?” complained Taehyung, throwing his hands up. His outcry of displeasure loud and clear.

You snorted, your gaze focusing on the length of his fluttering fingers for far too long, “Let’s not pretend you’re not one freaky mofo, Taehyung. But I don’t know, I just wanted to live a little.”

“So?” retorted Taehyung mulishly, “I am a man of diverse tastes. I can appreciate both vanilla and some of the more– experimental stuff.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, “I wanted to get nipple piercings, they're adventurous right? And it’s not because I think that if I do this he’ll get back together with me. But maybe he’s the one who kept me trapped and complacent. Maybe he’s the reason I’m not bold. I just wanted to try something new.”

Taehyung scoffed, “You didn’t have to go to such drastic and permanent measures. You can barely handle the nipple clamp. You would’ve cried and complained the entire month that you had to wait for your nipples to heal. You forget that, I know you. Oh Y/N,” Taehyung suddenly recalled, “You can’t do sexy stuff with your nipples while they heal so how exactly would that have helped you during your kinky adventures?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “You don’t know me that well!”

“No?”

“I’m gonna lose my deposit,” you griped. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“You are so dramatic Y/N,” Taehyung replied, “How can this be the worst day of your life?!” he demanded, “What about the day Donghyun broke up with you and pushed you head first through the five stages of grief?”

“Donghyuk,” you corrected. Taehyung made a face at you, contorting his handsome visage into something that made you let out a loud laugh, visibly showing he did not give one fuck about what your former boyfriend’s name was.

“It’s not a complete loss, Y/N,” Taehyung murmured. 

“Why do you say that?” you asked. 

Taehyung placed those devilishly sexy and large hands on your waist pulling you closer to the edge of the table to where he was seated besides you. You gasped at how his grasp almost entirely circled your waist until his widespread fingers were millimeters away from meeting each other. “Ever had sex with the owner of a tattoo parlor?” he breathed, his deep voice purposefully gravelly and husky. 

“No,” you murmured, hardly daring to believe that Taehyung returned your affections. The long buried feelings from your secret crush on Taehyung all those years ago, erupting once again in your heart.

“You don’t need to get piercings to make it fun, Y/N,” Taehyung tantalized.

“You’ll tell me about the seventh piercing?” you confirmed.

Taehyung barked out a laugh. “I’ll do you one better,” he murmured, “I’ll show you where it is.” He finished off with a rakish wink.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked, hands already moving forward to cup his chiseled cheeks and jaw within their grasp.

“Hold on one second,” Taehyung chuckled, peering at you playfully as he looked up at you from where his face was in between your palms. “I gotta do one thing first.”

Taehyung went to remove the metal clamps from your poor neglected nipple that had gone slightly numb from being within its confines this entire time. “My poor Y/N,” Taehyung softened his tone as he rubbed your breast to bring back the feeling. “I’m sorry for not doing this earlier.”

He ducked his head, his plush lips wrapping around the abused peak as he soothed it with warm wet licks and light suction. You let out a high pitched sound and then choked when the cool metal ball on his tongue slinked against your sore nipple as he twirled his tongue around the flesh. He was uncharacteristically gentle though he was spitting against your breast and spreading the welcome coolness around the hard peak.

You let your hands go up to his head, fingers raking themselves into silky soft black waves, holding him into place while he worshiped your chest. Soon, Taehyung switched over to the other breast, enveloping it in the warm wet heat of his mouth, as well. He was much rougher this time as he didn’t have to be careful. His teeth grazed the hard bud, nipping the nipple lightly as you found yourself letting out endless keens.

“Fuck,” muttered Taehyung finally pulling himself away, “How are you this sensitive and responsive? You would’ve had such a rough time with the aftercare if you had gone through with this.”

You shook your head, ignoring his question. “Taehyung!” you whined instead, “I need you.”

Taehyung scoffed lightly as a pleased smirk marked his lips. He ripped the purple gloves off, flinging them onto the side table. 

“Will you let me eat you out, Y/N?” he asked. “I’ve been dreaming of it ever since I saw those snaps on your private story for your 21st birthday.”

Your brows furrowed. For your birthday your friends and you had gone down to Cabo since it was close to spring break. You hadn’t even realized Taehyung was on your private story. Your brother Jimin certainly wasn’t. You had posted everything from videos of you skinny dipping with your friends in the hot tub, to full length mirror selfies of every itty bitty neon colored bikini you had worn on the trip. 

“I’ve had fantasies about you too,” you admitted as Taehyung’s hands slid down your waist to hug your hips, fingers digging into your charcoal gray leggings, ready to pull them off. 

He looked at you curiously, “Since when? Was I your sexual awakening?” he teased, his cheeks full in his joy. You wanted to bite those bread cheeks but you controlled the impulse.

“Hardly,” you retorted, “I was dreaming about Min Yoongi before I ever thought of you. But he graduated and went away for university. And you had that wavy silver brown hair. You looked so hot in your old school hiphop outfit you’d worn for Halloween senior year.”

Taehyung narrowed his eyes, “I was always hot, Y/N. It’s cute of you to deny it. But wow headbands really do it for you huh? Is that why you ran up to your room when we started watching It? I thought it was because you were scared. Had I known that you were sneaking away to shove your hand in your panties–” he trailed off.

“You would have what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Taehyung hit your hip lightly with his fingers, more tap than slap, making you lift your bottom so that he could drag the dark colored athletic fabric down your legs. 

“Why don’t I show you?” Taehyung said. 

With your leggings down to one of your ankles, completely off of the other, Taehyung took a hold of your thighs, swinging your legs around so they hung over the side of the platform you were seated on. You were facing him now, but he was so tall that even with the small boost your seat offered, you were eye level with him. He slid back the stool he was on, moving it out of the way. Then he sank to his knees so that his head was at the perfect height for the treasure that laid between your slightly parted thighs. 

With his left hand still grasping one of your thighs, he used his other hand to prod at your folds over the drenched fabric of your black seamless panties. His forefinger and middle finger stroked at your opening, hunting for your clit, slipping over the sodden fabric over and over. When you were so wet that his fingers went away, picking up enough evidence of your arousal that a transparent string clung to him before finally breaking off, Taehyung decided to move the panty off to the side, revealing the swollen dripping folds of your cunt to him. 

“You’re so pretty, gorgeous,” he sighed, “I want to feast on you.”

His fingers were curiously spreading you even more, parting the furling petals to your entrance, revealing the pretty wet hole to his hot seeking gaze as it desperately clenched around air, wanting something bigger and more substantial to close around.

“Taehyung please,” you pleaded, your fingers knotting into his unruly hair, as you attempted to move his head closer to your cunt.

Taehyung dipped down, his lips pursed at first, almost like he was kissing you down there, but he soon found his pace, tongue wildly thrusting into the hole and gliding over the folds. As he lapped at your entrance, he hummed in pleasure, rejoicing in the sweet poignant taste of you. 

As his tongue ran over your folds and the engorged bud of your clit, you shuddered and trembled. It had been so long since someone had eaten you out. You had been broken up with Donghyuk for two months, but it had been even longer since the last time he had gone down on you. 

He tongued at you curling the tip of his wet muscle to urge more of your juices into his open mouth. You tasted like heaven, “You’re so fucking sweet,” he furiously growled into you, his baritone sending vibrations through your most sensitive part. “I love your reactions. I could eat you out for hours,” he hissed.

When his teeth nipped at the sensitive bundle of nerves, you cried out his name, babbling senselessly, mad with pleasure. He wrapped his lips around it, sucking tightly at the bud. Your eyes rolled back at the pressure, the stimulation almost unbearable. You felt the prodding of two long fingers invading your entrance even as his lips continued its merciless assault on the swollen bud. 

“Taehyung!” you panted. Your fingers were almost digging into his scalp. “I can’t stand this!!”

Your back arched as he scissored his fingers furiously within you. His teeth and tongue were sloppily pursuing their war on your heated and engorged clit.

“That’s it Y/N,” murmured Taehyung huskily, “Give yourself to me.”

His fingers reached deep within you, dragging against your folds that gripped around it like a vise, clenching and unclenching in stuttered movements. He groaned at the tightness, the vibrations of the sound echoing through your opening, your clit fluttering at the stimulus.

“Another finger,” you susurrated, your words chased by loud keens and moans.

“Yeah?” Taehyung breathed out, “You think you can take that? I can barely even move the two I have in you now. Your pussy is clenching around me so much.”

“Want it Tae. Need it,” you babbled, “Need to prep for that big cock you’re hiding.”

Taehyung exhaled loudly through his nose, the gust of air falling over your oversensitized core. “Yeah, you dirty girl? You wanna prep for my fat cock? You need it,” he admitted. “I’m gonna destroy your tight little cunt,” He growled.

With another nip of your clit, this one harsher and more toothy, he stuffed a third finger in you, frantically pumping them and curling them to drag against the taunt muscles of your inner walls. The appendages were stretching you out gloriously. You closed your eyes as you edged head first towards your orgasm. Taehyung’s tongue danced over your folds, stimulating them even further. 

He breathed through his nose as he ate you out even more enthusiastically; he had been going at this for a long time but it would be worth it. His cock was a hard and heavy weight against the confines of his constricting dark jeans. You whimpered, lightheaded and overheated as the pressure at your core continued to build. You were stuffed to the brim with his nimble slender fingers pushing savagely in you. 

All it took was a swipe of his long tongue over your bud, the metal sphere of his piercing a hard heaviness digging into your clit, as his fingers found your g-spot and hit it brutally, and you let out a shrill scream, immediately gushing like a flooding waterfall. There were black dots in your vision as the edges of your eyes gathered with tears. You panted as you continued to squirt over Taehyung’s trapped fingers, drenching his hand with the evidence of your orgasm then trailing down his wrist. 

“Fuck,” swore Taehyung, “You fucking squirted. That’s so hot, gorgeous.”

He reluctantly moved his hand away from you, licking a wide stripe across his palm, tasting your sweetness, still not tired of your delectable release. What he didn’t consume, he wiped against the butcher paper covering where you were seated. You had your hands splayed besides your thighs, needing help to keep yourself upright. Your gaze drifted down to your crotch where the paper was sopping wet, dark, and translucent from where you had squirted all over it. 

This was why you never had sex in public; you were already getting a headache at the thought of Taehyung having to clean up and sanitize everything before his next appointment.

“Hey what’s wrong?” asked Taehyung, getting up from his knees. His hand went to his belt, unbuckling the black leather and loosening it around his hips. He undid his button and zipped open his fly, finally freeing his aching hard cock from the confines it had been resisting against.

You stared at his erection, pressing against the band of his underwear. “Is this really okay?” you asked.

“Going soft on me so fast?” Taehyung teased, “Thought you were gonna prove to Dongkyung that you were fun and freaky. I bet he’s never had sex outside of the bedroom.”

“No,” you protested, “I still want to. I just– I just wanted to make sure you were still okay with this.”

“Oh,” murmured Taehyung with a ravenous glint in his eyes, “I’m thrilled about this. I want to destroy you in a way that has you limping after. I want your pussy to have PDD, never wanting another cock.”

“PDD?” you asked, repeating the acronym with confusion heavy in your tone.

“Post-Dicking Depression,” Taehyung clarified with a faux condescending tone. You could hear the laughter in his voice that he tried to keep in.

“I don’t know if I want to have sex with a man who refers to it as me getting dicked down,” you scoffed, wiggling your butt backwards to move away from Taehyung who scowled and quickly moved his hands from his pants to your hips, holding you in place.

“But you want a dicking from me,” he sing-sang, “You used to have fantasies about me.”

“I used to have fantasies about Flynn Rider, that means nothing,” you retorted, your hands placed over his.

He narrowed his eyes, “That says less about me and more about you, gorgeous.”

He palmed his heavy cock through the cotton fabric of his briefs. 

“You sure you wanna stop right here, Y/N? Don’t wanna go for another orgasm?”

“I can’t leave you hanging,” you acquiesced easily, “Golden rule of reciprocation and all that.”

“You don’t always have to give back what you get in sex,” Taehyung frowned, “It’s not a business transaction, it’s a group effort. As long as we both enjoy ourselves, you don’t have to worry about me, Y/N.”

“You don’t want to have me?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious, “You seemed really enthusiastic about it earlier.”

“I’m dying to have you, but I only want you if you want me,” Taehyung clarified, his baritone wafting into your ears soothingly.

You smiled up at him, even though you were naked in this room that might have his assistant or coworkers knocking at any moment, even though he was completely dressed while you were not, you still felt comfortable with Taehyung. You put your fingers through the belt loops of his partially opened jeans, dragging it down his hips, over his ass, stopping midway on his thighs. Taehyung watched you, his jaw clenched and his eyes hard with the heat of his lust, thick dark brows furrowed as he bit his lips.

“Please, Tae?” you asked, “I want you. I want the heavy fucking that has me walking side to side afterwards.”

Taehyung snorted, “‘4.5 when I make the bed shake,’ huh.”

“Ariana is a legend,” you gasped, outraged at his little quip, your hands falling from where they had been clutching his ass. 

Taehyung just gave you one of his gorgeous boxy smiles that left you breathless before he went to free his fat cock from the cotton confines of his underwear. His cock bounced once it was free from its bounds, his length even more thick and imposing than you had imagined when you were sixteen, slipping your fingers down your throat and choking on them, pretending they were his dick instead. 

It was impressively girthy and you knew your fingers wouldn’t be able to wrap around it and touch at the ends. The mushroom head was flushed burgundy. The seventh piercing winked at you, a curved steel barbell turned towards you as a part of his king’s crown piercing that was threaded through his head, running along the ridge of his shaft. Your mouth watered - the tip of his cock was glistening with precum and you wanted to whirl your tongue around its bulbous head like it was the tastiest lollipop. 

“Taehyung,” you pleaded, your fingers going towards his crotch. 

Taehyung gently slapped your hands away. 

“Uh uh,” he chastised. “Behave, gorgeous.”

You spread your thighs apart, knees up and feet flat in front of you as you sat up with your hands wrapped around your calves, holding your legs open. Taehyung took hold of the meaty softness of your right thigh and pulled you towards him, settling in between you, his cock bouncing lightly, the tip brushing against your entrance as he used his hands to pull your legs around him. Your hands let go and fell backwards and you splayed your fingers and palms behind you to balance your weight as Taehyung carefully situated your lower half, pulling your hips up to be aligned with his so that he could easily slip in and out of you.

He slapped your flushed and swollen cunt with his cock, the proof of your orgasm mixing with his precum. After a few slaps, he finally began to guide his shaft into you. For a moment there you didn’t think the fat bulbous head would be able to breach your entrance even with how wet you were as your tight glistening hole protested around it, but a firm push later he was sheathed. 

“You like that, gorgeous?” he growled, “You feel that? You’re gonna wring me dry when I cum inside, aren’t you? Gonna creampie this fucking pussy. Have your beat up cunt leaking my cum for hours.”

You whimpered as your mouth sought Taehyung’s lips but couldn’t. Instead you found your tongue licking up a line up the bare expanse of his neck, tracing the lines of his tattoos, your lips following their path, leaving bruising kisses and kittenish bites. He moaned and his head ducked down, moving his throat away from you so that you could finally kiss him. At first your tongues twirled around each other, but Taehyung was a messy kisser. His teeth were soon nipping at your lips and his tongue was thrusting in your mouth, licking the insides of your cheeks, the roof of your mouth, not letting you pull away to breath and leaving you lightheaded. 

Taehyung slowly pushed himself in and out, not going more than an inch or two within you, giving you time to get used to the fullness. He was so thick, your walls were clamping around his girthy length like a vise and he was struggling to move, but the movement he was able to make had you keening and whimpering as the round ends of his piercing jewelry dragged against the ridged muscles of your walls, making them spasm uncontrollably at the feeling. 

As you grew wetter and wetter, your desperation increasing exponentially, Taehyung found himself getting lost at the sensations, thrusting faster and more erratically until his control was so frayed that he could no longer hold himself back. He slammed into you, the thick heaviness of his cock stealing your breath away as he was impaled within you. You tried to catch your breath but he continued to jerk inside you, the piercing hitting your g-spot and making you scream as white spots appeared in your vision. 

His pace then grew progressively more frantic and Taehyung found himself holding you up with his sheer strength which left you breathless at the display of power; you were no longer on the table, he was fucking you standing up. Your legs were wrapped around his hips and your head was at the side of his face, pressing kisses against his jaw and nibbling up to his ear. Your moans were an echoing throaty vocalization in his ears, making them burn as a pool of lust gathered in his gut and made his abdomen tighten. Meanwhile, your hands were flitting across the expanse of his back, under his shirt, leaving long scratch marks in their wake as your nails dug into his skin every time Taehyung thrusted a little too hard, his fingers pinched your clit, or his piercing found that glorious g-spot.

“God, Tae,” you panted. You could feel him so deep inside you that as you glanced down you saw that your tummy was bulging a little bit and you had to wonder if it was because of him. You pressed down on your stomach experimentally and then you both gasped as your walls clenched tightly around him, rhythmically pulsating around the entire length of his shaft, keeping him connected to you. 

Taehyung hadn’t forgotten your tiny clit, although it was swollen and not as little now. He thumbed at the responsive bundle of nerves; the pressure from his finger had you on overdrive, hyper aware and feeling like you might go ballistic at any moment. Your mewls were like music to his ears and propelled him forward, making him plunge into you so violently. You were bouncing on his length, your legs loosening slightly around his hips from the force that came with every time he rammed into you.

For your safety, he lowered you down to the table you had been sitting on earlier, making your back flat against it as he had one hand by your head holding him up, keeping himself from crashing into you, and one hand wrapped around your hip, snapping it up to meet his every thrust. The new angle allowed him to go even deeper and he found himself slowing down to enjoy the feeling of your folds fluttering around his shaft as he dragged it through your walls deliberately, penetrating you acutely. 

He was holding himself back, he didn’t want this moment to end but at your surprised cry when one of those thrusts hit your g-spot particularly hard, you suddenly gushed like a broken faucet around him, and then clenched his cock tighter than you had ever before, even as the stream of cum cascaded all around his shaft. He grunted before following you in your wake, the heat of his own release leaking out of his tip and mixing with yours. 

Somehow Taehyung was still hard around you, you noticed with surprise as your legs fell with no strength left in them, no longer making your body cling to Taehyung’s. You stared at him in confusion, your eyes wordlessly saying, What now?

Taehyung licked his lips, his familiar grin appearing sheepishly. “Ride me, gorgeous,” he dictated.

He hadn’t let you remove his cock from inside your pussy and he picked you up, holding you beneath your thighs, his fingers brushing against the cleft of your ass as he moved you two around so that he was now seated with you on top of him. 

One of your hands fluttered against his chest as you got used to sitting on him, the other was holding onto his shoulder. You inhaled deeply, your hands going up to stop his head from moving so that you could kiss him punishingly, neither of you parting to breath for long interminable moments. His fingers threaded through your hair that had long since fallen out of its bun, holding you in place, so that his lips could chase yours easily every time you tried to break apart from him.

He helped you with the first move, his hands gripping your hips and his long fingers dimpling into your skin as he moved you up, almost entirely off his cock that dragged enticingly along your folds as it slipped away, before slamming you back on his lap with enough force to have your teeth knocking against each other. 

You braced yourself with your palms on his chest, fingers curving over the broad length of his shoulders, slowly lifting yourself away from his dick before quickly and forcefully bringing your ass down, reluctant to let him withdraw completely. Each time you brought yourself back onto his cock, Taehyung snapped his hips up, impaling you with his thick impressive length. His fingers were bruising into your hips with how hard he was holding you in place. 

Your movements were erratic and feverish, following no rhyme or reason, only seeking fullness and release. He had you writhing on top of him wantonly as your hips swiveled to meet each snap of his, until his cock was hitting you again and again vigorously. But it wasn’t enough; he wanted to give you more. So Taehyung found himself squeezing two fingers into you alongside his cock, filling you even more than you had thought was possible, bordering on the side of painful. His palm was positioned up so that it was pressed against your clit. And with every bounce and jerk on top of him that had his cock and fingers moving deeper within you, his palm pressed against your puffy bud stimulating you endlessly. 

You screamed as you sprayed around Taehyung, coming again. As you writhed against Taehyung’s body, his arms kept you wrapped in his embrace, keeping you from injuring yourself, pulling any muscles accidentally. Your cunt was reluctant to release its grip on Taehyung’s cock, holding onto him tightly, and he found himself grabbing your hand, borrowing it for a second to have you squeeze his balls. And then Taehyung felt himself cum for the second time that day. He shuddered into your chest as his balls emptied themselves, getting lighter as streams of his warm cum shot into you, painting your insides with lines of white. 

You mewled at the feeling, wiggling on top of Taehyung in discomfort. He chuckled huskily, an airy yet throaty sound. Carefully, he withdrew from you, using one of his hands to keep the cum from pouring out from between your legs, his palm against your entrance keeping the hot liquid trapped inside you. After a moment he moved his palm away so that his fingers could play around in your folds, pushing the cum into every divot and crevice, the pads of his fingers massaging it in and then his fingers went back inside you, swirling the cum around your hole with his fingers messily. You let him play around, rubbing his mark into you even though it was fucking filthy and gross, but when his fingers brushed too close to your battered clit, your inner thighs spasmed with your muscles jumping, you found your hand frantically pulling at his wrists attempting to pull him away from your exhausted and overworked pussy.

“Taehyung, stop!” you whined. 

He glanced back at you sheepishly. “Sorry,” he murmured, an apologetic tone painting his words, “I got distracted.”

You snorted, “Yeah, you did.”

Taehyung pulled you off his lap and sat you down beside him, from in between your parted thighs, your pussy leaked out the mixture of both of your cum out onto the ripped and mangled butcher paper that looked as though it had gone through the wringer. Taehyung stood up to grab a bundle of paper towels from his work station and came back with them, bending down in front of you and starting to clean you up. Once he was done, he looked back up at you.

“I’ll give you back your deposit, Y/N. Don’t get the piercings today, okay?” he said, “And when you finally feel like you’re ready to modify your body for the right reasons, you can come back here and I’ll do it for free. A piercing, a tattoo, whatever the case. Just– just don’t think you have to change for a man. You are perfect as long as you like who you are.”

Your eyebrows dipped down in confusion as Taehyung stumbled over his words, painstakingly attempting to make sure that you understood him and realized that he liked you and you should like yourself too because you were perfect and no man was worthy enough to make you change. 

“Why for free, Taehyung?” you asked instead, uncomfortable at his sincerity.

Taehyung smiled nervously, “Well if you’re dating the owner, it’s the least I can do. Don’t you think so?”

“Who says we’re dating?” you teased, pulling him closer to you, making him stand between your legs.

Taehyung pouted and then huffily said, “Fine, have it your way. See if anyone in the Tri-State area takes you as a client then. I’m getting you blacklisted from everywhere so Jimin doesn’t kill me when he finds out you want to look like Post Malone.”

“Post Malone?” you questioned, laughing uncontrollably. “Taehyung, why would you offer to help me if Jimin would kill you instead of those other tattoo artists?”

“Girlfriends hold more weight than best friends,” he said mulishly, slumping forward and resting his forehead against your sternum.

“Yeah?” you asked, quilting your fingers through his hair, scratching at his head comfortingly.

“I’m also in love with you,” Taehyung confessed, turning his head so his ear rested against your chest. He could hear your heartbeat, you realized with a panic, and how it stuttered at his reveal. But his arms had slowly wrapped themselves around your form and you couldn’t find it within you to push him away.

“Really?” you asked needily, needing the confirmation.

He hummed, “I would do anything for you.”

“I think I’ve been in love with you too,” you admitted as well. You suddenly shoved against him. “It was you,” you accused.

“Hmm,” muttered Taehyung, instantly knowing what you had meant, “I can’t help it if I’m beautiful and you kept fantasizing about me while dating Dongbyun.”

“Tae!”

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution - Non Commercial - No Derivatives 4.0 International License

©OPALJM 2021

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Jungkook

Enemies to Lovers. It's cliche right? You'd think so, until it happens to you. Then, suddenly, it doesn't seem quite so black and white anymore.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Jeon Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook x you, Jungkook x reader, Enemies to Lovers

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Title: 10 Things I Hate About You

Have you ever hated someone so much that you want to die?

Have you ever had a lifelong enemy, an enemy so strong that when you think of them, it makes you want to puke and simultaneously jump out a window?

Someone who just rubs you the wrong way, pisses you off, makes you want to scream and pull your hair out.

Okay, so maybe you're being a little dramatic.

But you're not lying when you say the mere mention of his name-his stupid, ugly name-makes you want to scratch your skin off from the inside out.

Because there is no one-absolutely not one person on the planet earth-that you hate more than-

"Jeon Jungkook."

You glower down at the paper in front of you, tapping your pen end over end in a furious manner, forcing yourself not to look up as said bane of your existence brushes past the table where you sit toward the front of the classroom.

He smells good.

You instantly banish the traitorous thought from your mind with an audible hiss from between clenched teeth, and your knuckles turn so white on your pen that you're afraid you're going to snap it in two.

"Let's all give a hand for Jungkook. His thesis won the literary contest last week and is moving on to state levels of judging." The professor is saying, and when you glance up, you're incensed to see her hand on Jungkook's back, a smile beaming on her face, as she tells the class of his triumphs.

The rest of the class starts clapping, and it takes everything in your willpower not to get up then and there and leave the room.

You're in college for shit's sake. Didn't you leave this kind of participation award show back in elementary school?

Jungkook grins and waves, and you swear you hear every girl in the class audibly swoon under his doe eyed gaze.

Fake-ass narcissist.

Thankfully, before he can fully charm them all-and make you puke in the process-the bell rings, and class is dismissed.

You don't spare a glance back after stuffing your supplies into your backpack, hightailing it out of the classroom like there's a fire in your tracks.

Dammit. Out of all the master classes you could've taken. You get stuck with the one that has Jeon Jungkook in it.

"(Y/N)!"

You hear him call your name, but you don't stop, stalking forward across the bustling university main square, worn tennis shoes slapping the pavement, heavy backpack thumping against your back with every step.

He catches up to you easily.

Damn those long legs.

"Hey, you didn't clap for me in class today." He's not even breathless, and somehow, that just incenses you further.

"Yeah, because I don't give a shit." You snap back, eyes straight ahead, forcing yourself not to even spare him a sideways glance.

You know what you'll see.

Long tangled curls hanging over his forehead-messily perfect-tan, bronze skin that looks like how the ocean feels, wide doe eyes that you could get lost in, incredibly full, impossibly soft looking lips that you just want to touch-

Nope.

"Ouch. That hurts me." Jungkook jokes, still keeping in stride beside you. "I'd thought you'd care that I'm literally beating you at your own master's degree."

"You're not beating me." You get out between gritted teeth, swinging open the door to the common area of the dorms so hard that you're surprised it doesn't pull off its hinges. "You can't beat someone at a master's."

"Really?" Jungkook muses, and you swear, you're going to explode if he doesn't walk away from you soon.

You're still forcing yourself not to look at him, and a headache is mounting behind your eyes because of it.

His voice is smug and you can almost see the stupid smirk on his stupid face. "Because it sure looks like that's what I'm doing."

You stop in front of the door to the girl's dorm, and finally turning to glare at him, you widen your eyes comically and forge your fingers into the sign of a cross, shoving them into his chest. "Get thee hence, Satan."

Jungkook laughs, and if he were anyone else, the sound would be pleasant, but he's not, he's Jeon Jungkook, your worst enemy, and so instead of giving him one more second of your time, you turn and enter the dorm, slamming the door in his face.

*****

It all started with the stupid third grade spelling bee.

You and Jungkook had made it to the last round, neck and neck, head to head, and though all the parents and teachers told you it wasn't a competition-the hell it wasn't-it definitely was.

And both of you felt it-egged on by overly invested, strict parents and a sense of moral obligation-and all you knew was that you absolutely had to beat Jeon Jungkook or you would die.

So right before the final stage, you had exited the auditorium, butterflies in your stomach, and gone to get a drink of water to calm your nerves or some dumb shit.

And that's when you had seen him.

Jeon Jungkook. Standing at the end of the long empty hallway.

His head was bowed, and his fists were clenched, and you would have swore, if you hadn't known him better, that he looked like he was trying hard not to cry.

A tall, ramrod straight man-his father?-was standing in front of him, and you ducked behind the corner, inching closer to hear what they were saying.

"It can't be helped, Jungkook."

When Jungkook spoke, you heard the tremor in his words, say the way his fists flexed and tightened. "But what if I win the spelling bee?Will you stay?"

The man didn't move. "I'm not staying, Jungkook. Your mother and I are done."

Jungkook started crying then, and you had run away from the corner, and back to the auditorium, back to the spelling bee.

And that's why-and how-you had messed up on the last word-an easy word, Pharaoh-to let Jungkook win the spelling bee.

And he'd never let you live it down ever since.

But you'd also never told him what you'd seen either.

*****

"Hi, what can I get for you-"

Your rehearsed spill comes to a halt as you look up from the register to see Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you.

"What are you doing here?" Are the next words out of your mouth before you can stop them.

He looks smug. You want to wipe the stupid smile off his stupidly handsome face.

"Same reason as everyone else." He shrugs, and you try not to notice the way his broad shoulders stretch the sweater he's wearing. "I need coffee to function."

You lean over to grab the tip that was left for you in the jar on the counter from the previous patron and shoot him a sour look.

"Really? And here I thought you just ran on pure asshole energy gained through meta energy drinks and sorority bimbo sex. Oh wait." You hold up a finger before he can speak again. "Or maybe I'm confusing that with the asshole energy you get straight from the depths of hell and Satan himself. They're kind of hard to tell apart."

Something flickers across Jungkook's dark eyes, but you don't catch what it is, before he's leaning on the counter toward you, and a smug smirk is once again gracing his overly full lips.

"Keep talking like that, and people are gonna think you have the hots for me or something."

You gag and get as far away from him as the counter will allow. "No one, in their right mind, in the history of ever, would think that, Jeon. So keep daydreaming."

He grins and straightens up, blowing dark curls out of his eyes. "We'll see. Now." He motions with his chin toward the menu behind you. "About that coffee."

He raises an arched brow in your direction, and that self satisfied smirk that never truly left is back in full force.

"Satan needs his dark roast."

*****

You're crying in the third floor bathroom when Jungkook finds you.

You're so upset by the events of the night that you don't even think to question what he's doing in the girl's bathroom. Or how he even knew where you were.

You sniffle loudly, reaching up to swipe a hand across your dripping nose, and see the dark stains of your running mascara across your knuckles.

"God, I look so stupid."

Jungkook stands in the doorway to the stall, and you don't know if he's unsure of what to do-seeing you like this-or if he's simply just come to spectate your misery and revel in it.

Either way, the first words directed at him are, "If you've come to gloat, just get it over with."

You reach for another tissue, ignoring the way your prom dress looks spread out around your crumpled legs on the dirty bathroom floor.

Definitely not the magical night you had envisioned.

"I'm not here to gloat." Jungkook says over the sound of your sniffling, and you know he's lying, because why else would he be here?

"Yes you are." You retort back, though there's no bite to your tone, just exhaustion and heartbreak. "That's what we do. We gloat. So go ahead."

Jungkook hesitates, and you're sure he's trying to find the words that will hurt the most.

Finally, he says, "Well, in order for me to efficiently gloat over this situation, I need to know what happened first."

You laugh-the sound holds no humor-and wave the tissue in your hand toward the door. "Please. Everyone in the school knows what happened."

"I don't." Jungkook's voice is soft and serious.

How stupid. Pretending to care. You hate him. You really do.

You straighten up and manage to glare at him, though you're sure you look like a raccoon-eyes blotted with messed mascara, cheeks red and puffy from crying-and summon the most venomous voice you can muster in the moment.

"Jonny Kim-my boyfriend-was kissing Lin Eun in the parking lot" The words hurt to say out loud. "He brought me to the dance, disappeared for "drinks", and I caught them together. How-" You start to choke on your tears again, and you have to breathe hard for a few moments before you can start again. "How can someone do that? I gave him everything. Everything."

You don't want to tell Jungkook what all you gave to Jonny, but by the look on his face, he seems to understand the gist of what you're talking about.

"Anyway." You crumple back down beside the toilet and wave the tissue at him. "Gloat or not. I don't care. My night and life are completely ruined anyway."

Jungkook stands there for another silent moment, and then he leaves, and you're almost grateful-almost-that he chose to say nothing else.

You finish the night of your senior prom crying in the girl's bathroom.

However, Jonny Kim does get beaten up in the parking lot-the same parking lot-at the end of the night by an unknown assailant, so you guess there's a God of justice and retribution, or whatever.

Or maybe Karma just really is actually a bitch.

*****

Running into Jeon Jungkook is bad on the best day, but running into him at a party is actually the absolute worst.

You're tipsy and a little buzzed and altogether way too honest for anyone's good, especially your own.

"Are you serious? You're here?" You blurt out after bumping into-literally bumping into-Jungkook's chest.

Damn, he's ripped.

"Of course I'm here." Jungkook quips back, and you can hear the smile in his voice, though it's hard to focus on his face with the flashing party lights and the taste of alcohol on your lips. "I live here, remember?"

Dammit. You had forgotten this dumb party was at the frat house. Curse your roommates and your weak will.

"Don't smile at me like that." You spit out, annoyed and more than a little frustrated-mostly with yourself-that you're still within close proximity to Jungkook. "I seriously want to wipe that stupid smile off your stupidly pretty face every time I see it."

Jungkook's grin only widens. "You think I'm pretty? I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, (Y/N). And I can count on one hand all the nice things you've said to me."

"Shut up." You mumble out, desperately trying to get around him and away from him.

You might be buzzed, but you're not drunk, and you have enough sense to know nothing good will come of running into your mortal enemy in the middle of a college party.

Clichés and all that.

Jungkook follows you-annoying asshole that he is-and speaks over the music, leaning down to practically yell the words in your ear, "Wait, I wanna talk more about how you think I'm pretty!"

"I never said that!" You snap back loudly, trying to find one of your roommates to save you in the crowd of drunken, partying college kids. "And no one will believe you even if I did!"

Jungkook laughs and the sound is grating, like fingernails scratching on a chalk board.

"Go to hell." You spout out over your shoulder, right before you run into your roommate Yuki and her boyfriend Taehyung, who also happens to be Jungkook's best friend.

Great. You really need to stop literally running into people tonight.

"(Y/N)!" Yuki says excitedly, sloshing the drink in her hand over the rim of her cup, as she hugs you, and then glances behind you at Jungkook, dark eyes curious. "Where've you been?"

"Around." You say simply, before downing the little bit of alcohol that's left in your cup. You hold it up for her to see. "I need a refill."

But before you can leave to head to the kitchen-alone-Jungkook's fingers are closing around your wrist.

"What the hell?" You snarl out, glaring back at him, as you try-and fail-to remove your arm from his grasp. "Let me go, Jeon."

You are more than aware that Taehyung and Yuki are watching the exchange with more than a little interest, and you feel your cheeks flush, whether from the party or the alcohol or embarrassment you don't know.

All you know is you hate this. Hate Jungkook touching you, hate that he's here, hate that you're so close that you can almost see specks of golds in his caramel irises.

"(Y/N) and I are gonna head to my room for a bit." Jungkook speaks over your protests, fingers still vicelike around your wrist, his gaze never leaving your own, even though he's talking to your friends. "We have some stuff to work out-a long time in the making I think."

"No we're not-" You start to say, still trying to tug away from him, but failing, as he drags you toward the stairs.

Shit, he's strong.

You desperately try to convey to Yuki with your eyes to please help you, please step in, don't let this happen, anything but this.

But she and Taehyung are watching the two of you retreat with something akin to proud-maybe self satisfied?-shit eating grins on their faces and suddenly, you feel very much like this was all a setup.

Damn them.

It doesn't take long for Jungkook to pull you up the stairs and into his room, shutting the door behind you, party noises fading into a quiet hum in the background.

You stand stiffly beside the closed door after he releases his grip on your wrist-finally-and refuse to look at him.

He sits down on the edge of the bed and sighs, reaching up to rake a hand through his hair before he asks casually, "Do you want to sit down?"

You glance toward the bed where he sits, sheets dark navy and crumpled, comforter no where in sight, and instantly sniff, turning your nose up at the suggestion. "On that thing? No way in hell. Who knows what's on your sheets."

Jungkook shrugs and grins, leaning back against the headboard and resting his hands behind his head as he stares at you. "Suit yourself."

There is silence for a moment, and you allow yourself to glance around the room.

It's a typical frat boy's room.

Unmade bed, dirty laundry piled in the corner, workout equipment beneath the window, posters of various artists and rockers tacked on the walls with multicolored mismatched pushpins.

You scoff to yourself.

Typical.

Although-you note with slight interest-Jungkook does own an entire bookshelf full of classics, stashed away in the corner of his room, and by the worn covers, you're fairly certain he reads them often.

Curious.

"So." You finally say dryly, eyes darting back to where he reclines on the bed, still watching you, hint of a smirk curling up his lips at the corners. "Are you going to kill me and get this over with or what?"

Jungkook grins, and you force yourself not to think about how cute his bunny teeth are against his pink lips.

"Nah." He waves a hand at you dismissively, sitting up and crossing his legs beneath him, the bed creaking beneath his weight. "That sounds messy. And I'm not into dismembering and all that. Too much work."

You almost smile, but think better of it, crossing your arms over your chest as you level a glare at him. "Fine. I'll be going then."

You reach for the doorknob, fingers closing around the cool metal, when Jungkook speaks again, and this time, his voice is serious and unlike anything you've ever heard, especially coming from him.

It's almost soft.

"I was the one who beat up Jonny Kim in high school."

Your hand stills on the door, and you turn to look at him in shock, surprise making your jaw slack as you stare at him, although in a turn of events, he's now the one avoiding your gaze.

"What?" You ask, slightly breathless, thinking back to that night so long ago, a night you had forced to the back of your mind, trying to forget. "Why?"

Jungkook gives a half shrug, and picks at a loose string on the navy sheets pressed beneath his legs. "He was a dick."

"Okay, but so were you." You quip back, and you're loathe to admit that your voice is almost teasing. "Every high school boy I've ever met-and college ones too, as a matter of fact-are all dicks."

Jungkook looks at you then, and half of his mouth quirks into the start of a slightly sardonic smile, whether on your behalf or his own, you're not sure. "Yeah, but Jonny Kim was a megadick."

You can't help it. You laugh. "A megadick? Don't think I've ever heard that terminology before."

You tilt your head, a little voice in the back of your brain telling you to leave, to get out of this room and away from Jungkook-your enemy-but another voice, a louder voice, is telling you to stay and hear him out.

"What does one have to do to classify as a megadick, if I may ask?" You query, and the little voice whispers louder in the back of your mind, as your feet take a step toward Jungkook and away from the door.

Stupid.

The sardonic smile is curving Jungkook's entire mouth now, and you force yourself not to look down at his lips, his soft, entirely all too tempting, lips.

"I mean, cheat on their girlfriend at prom is probably at the top of the list." He says casually, cocking a brow at you, matching the tilt of your head, dark curls falling into large doe eyes.

"You beat him up because he cheated on me?" You ask stupidly, as if you're just now having a revelation.

Jungkook shrugs again. "I mean, yeah? I told you. He was a megadick. And he made you cry."

"Which you enjoyed." You snip back before you can stop yourself, because old habits die hard.

Jungkook's eyes find your own and hold them. "I didn't enjoy it. Regardless of how much we hated each other back then, I still never wanted to see someone hurt you. That would just make me the lowest type of person."

Something in his statement catches your attention.

Back then.

What the hell?

You swallow hard, and finally sit down on the bed beside him, legs almost brushing but not quite.

You take in a deep breath and release the tension from your shoulders. "If this is confession time-" You falter out, biting your lip, watching his fingers play with the string on the sheet rather than look at his face. "Then I have one too."

You glance up at him, and he's staring at you, and you try not to get lost in the black holes of his large pupils.

Focus. Seriously.

You suck in a prefatory breath between your teeth and decide that ripping off the band aid is gonna be easiest. No need to drag it all out.

"I lost the spelling bee on purpose."

It is Jungkook's turn to look shocked.

"What?"

You roll your eyes. "Are you deaf? I said-" You turn to face him, and your knees brush, and the warmth of his skin through the holes in his jeans is distracting enough that your voice loses a hint of its previous deadly sarcasm. "I lost the spelling bee on purpose."

"Why would you do that?" He asks, dumbfounded, mouth slightly open, eyes wide.

"I-" You hadn't thought about having to explain this part. "I wasn't spying, but I went out to get a drink before the final contest and I heard what your dad said to you."

There is silence, and you find yourself spilling forth confessions to fill the sudden gap.

"I felt bad, okay? You wanted to win the spelling bee to make your dad stay, and we both know you winning wouldn't do anything, but I wanted you to win anyway, and so I messed up the word. Which pharaoh?-c'mon give me a break-I could spell that with my eyes closed but I didn't know what else to do and-"

Jungkook shuts you up with his lips on yours.

Holy shit, he tastes amazing.

Like the slight burn of alcohol, and spearmint gum, and something akin to floral laundry detergent.

Let's be real, you don't want to kiss him back, but the way his lips slot to yours and fit perfectly, the way his tongue teases at the entrance of your lips, tangling with your own, the way his breaths feel in your open mouth.

Something happens okay? It's completely biological.

Nothing more.

Because you hate him. You do.

You allow Jungkook to press you back into the bed, straddling you, your fingers finding your way into the long curls of his hair, tugging at the strands at the nape of his neck, and he rewards you with a slight groan into your mouth, and god, suddenly you want more.

The final piece of the puzzle slots into place in your brain, a piece you didn't even know was missing in the first place.

You want him.

Your fingers slide down the planes of his chest-shit he's fit-and find the button of his jeans, stopping there for a moment when he breaks contact with your lips and stares down at you, eyes half lidded, pupils blown.

He's so pretty. Lips all red and raw from kissing, curls tousled from your fingers.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me you threw the spelling bee." He breathes out, and you're glad he sounds as breathless as you feel. "I gave you so much shit for that."

"And I can't believe you didn't tell me you beat up Jonny Kim." You retort back, fingers still playing with the button on his pants, although suddenly-this close-you're finally noticing the flecks of gold that dot his irises, like little stars in a constellation. "For me even."

He grimaces. "It wasn't for you. He was a megadick remember?"

You grin, you can't help yourself. "Yeah, yeah."

You pull him back down and cover his lips with yours.

Jungkook slides his mouth from your own and sucks kisses down the side of your throat, and you arch into him, earning another low moan, your fingers finally making the move to undo the closure on his pants.

"So is this like hate sex?" You pant out, and you're embarrassed at how breathy your voice sounds, but in the moment, with Jungkook's tongue tracing the hollow of your throat, you can't seem to care.

You feel him chuckle, his breath cool on the wet skin he has left behind, and his fingers graze the skin beneath your sweater, making you shiver.

"I dunno. I guess that depends." He pulls back to look down at you, eyes dark and lips wet, voice low in the back of his throat. "Do you still hate me?"

You clench your teeth, and he grins, noting the way you squirm in discomfort beneath him, before you finally force yourself to admit begrudgingly, "No."

You reach up and not so gently drag your fingers across the smile still curving his lips. "Though I still want to wipe that stupid shitty smile off your stupid shitty face."

Instead of continuing to eat crow, you grab the collars of his jacket and pull him back to you, effectively shutting him up and wiping the smile from his face as your teeth knock together and your tongues entwine in a sloppy, desperate kiss.

"Are you gonna take your pants off or what?" You snark in between kisses, tugging at the loosened waistline of his jeans impatiently.

"Are you gonna take your top off or what?" Jungkook repeats back smugly, fingers playing with the band of your bra beneath your shirt.

"I dunno. I guess that depends." You parrot him back like a brat, and the way his eyes darken has your stomach clenching into pleasant, anticipatory knots. "Do you still hate me?"

Jungkook pretends to think for a moment, and you roll your eyes.

He grins-that shit eating grin-but when he speaks, his tone is completely and utterly serious somewhere beneath the bratty teasing. "No, I don't think I do."

"Good." You say, before pulling your sweater over your head and pushing your fingers into the waistband of Jungkook's pants.

You let your hand slide down, down, and every slight groan that is pulled from Jungkook's lips, every sharp intake of breath, his hands clenched into the pillow on either side of your head, struggling to retain composure, is making you even more buzzed than the alcohol from earlier.

And then there is a knock at the door.

"Shit." You breathe out as you both stare at each other with wide eyes.

Your fingers that are in his pants flex reflexively as you both freeze, and Jungkook bucks into you in response, his own curse tailed off by low groan.

Without thinking, you slap your free hand over his mouth.

"Hey, guys?" Taehyung's voice comes through the door, and his tone is genuinely concerned. "Just wanted to check on you. You've been in there awhile and we wanted to make sure you didn't kill each other."

You glance at Jungkook, hand still over his mouth, your fingers digging into the sides of his jaw, and he raises his brows at you silently, as if to say go ahead, answer him.

"We're fine!" You call out, and you feel Jungkook's lips curve into a smirk beneath your hand at the way your voice is still slightly breathless. You tighten your fingers on his jaw a bit, and he winces at the pinch of correction. "Just talking it out. We'll be down in a sec!"

"Okay-" Taehyung replies through the thin door, and you don't think he sounds very convinced, maybe wondering by Jungkook's silence if you really had killed him.

You hear footsteps fading away, and you breathe a sigh of relief, finally dropping your hand from Jungkook's mouth as you slump back on the bed.

"Damn, that was close."

"Yeah, well, so was I." Jungkook jokes, earning himself a slap to the chest as you glare at him.

"Shut the hell up, Jeon." You snap back, though there's no real bark to your bite.

He chuckles, and his eyes lose the hint of humor, darkening again as he stares down at you. You feel the warmth starting to coil in your stomach again as his fingers trace the length of your collar bone and follow the curves of your chest to the front closure of your bra.

His fingers hesitate, however, and he seems to be debating something within himself.

Finally he asks, "Is this gonna be a one time thing?" He clears his throat, trying not to seem too serious. "I mean, the not hate sex, or whatever this is."

You shrug, reaching up to grab his fingers, placing them back on your chest. "I dunno. Guess it depends."

His lips quirk, and for once, you don't want to slap the smile off his face.

Progress.

"On if I still hate you or not?" He asks teasingly, fingers finally undoing the clasp on your bra.

You nod, flexing your fingers that are still buried in his pants, earning yourself another buck of his hips and a glare from Jungkook, as you give him a sweet innocent smile.

"Exactly."

[snackhobi]

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance. 

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t. 

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business. 

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always. 

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot. 

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to. 

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating. 

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?” 

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel. 

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs. 

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth. 

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement. 

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good). 

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself. 

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.” 

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too. 

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says. 

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him. 

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness. 

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy. 

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern. 

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin. 

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says. 

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates.  Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away. 

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him. 

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare. 

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead. 

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob. 

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment. 

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull. 

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair. 

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy. 

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features. 

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

 You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart. 

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you,  pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself. 

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause. 

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words. 

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness. 

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult  @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou  @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?” 

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin. 

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways. 

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children. 

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend. 

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).  

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder. 

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another. 

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds. 

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face. 

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before. 

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus. 

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs. 

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard. 

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous. 

A woman. 

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it. 

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone. 

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens. 

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high. 

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back. 

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you. 

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen. 

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears. 

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage. 

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees. 

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served. 

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation. 

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste. 

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed. 

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation. 

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit. 

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.” 

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.” 

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom. 

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi. 

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you. 

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan. 

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response. 

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus. 

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. 

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man. 

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket. 

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!” 

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver. 

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him. 

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch? 

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts. 

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker. 

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages. 

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.  

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie. 

You were exquisite. 

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it. 

Desire. 

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true. 

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming. 

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them. 

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION 

“The Park Angel?” 

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand. 

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!” 

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child. 

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively. 

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream. 

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing. 

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape. 

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet. 

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz. 

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee. 

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing. 

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter. 

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else. 

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly. 

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost. 

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.” 

Disaster struck at dinner. 

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence. 

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip. 

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. 

“I-I need—” 

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried. 

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall. 

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged. 

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically. 

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked. 

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his. 

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream. 

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat. 

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge. 

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.” 

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response. 

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain). 

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed. 

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.) 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice. 

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped. 

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away. 

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.” 

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset. 

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.” 

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again. 

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life. 

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice. 

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin. 

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once. 

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets. 

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you. 

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this. 

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles. 

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen. 

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars. 

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define. 

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring. 

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful. 

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves. 

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation. 

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions. 

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief. 

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle… 

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow. 

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

 “Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him. 

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through. 

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare. 

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest. 

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE 

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante. 

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?” 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!” 

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically. 

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress. 

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin. 

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses). 

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant. 

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard. 

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you. 

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table. 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning. 

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit. 

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity. 

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess. 

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you. 

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible. 

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.” 

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate. 

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.” 

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm. 

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. 

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another. 

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off. 

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed. 

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.” 

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.) 

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

“... Are you still in love with him?” 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way. 

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort. 

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him. 

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you. 

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded. 

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it. 

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?” 

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak- 

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you. 

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet. 

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.” 

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season. 

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines. 

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them. 

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it... 

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were. 

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame. 

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel. 

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass. 

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully. 

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before... 

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view. 

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event. 

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails. 

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd. 

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.” 

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go. 

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!” 

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend. 

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars. 

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.) 

Then it was your turn. 

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay. 

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach. 

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was. 

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray. 

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink. 

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest. 

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you. 

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation. 

And hope. 

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company. 

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey. 

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship. 

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it. 

The next move was yours and you intended to make it. 

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts. 

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra. 

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely. 

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one. 

He bit back a moan. 

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch. 

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago. 

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it. 

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving. 

Touch me… please. 

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath. 

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank. 

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens. 

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill. 

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno. 

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls. 

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled. 

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast. 

“Speak up.”  

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice. 

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands. 

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed. 

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse. 

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room. 

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture. 

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe. 

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast. 

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him. 

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph. 

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back. 

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed. 

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains. 

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!" 

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air. 

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce. 

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear. 

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast. 

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp. 

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details. 

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand. 

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face. 

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled. 

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed. 

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg. 

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long. 

Oh help. 

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation. 

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that. 

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately. 

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion. 

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking.  

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago. 

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness. 

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away. 

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening. 

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman. 

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner. 

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned. 

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word. 

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back. 

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look. 

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you. 

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly. 

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous. 

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction. 

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it. 

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me. 

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.  

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels. 

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play. 

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile. 

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket. 

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching. 

Oh boy. 

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him). 

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily. 

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate. 

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move. 

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid. 

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence. 

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.  

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply. 

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second. 

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t. 

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing. 

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties. 

“T-Taehyung—” 

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.” 

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this. 

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot. 

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment. 

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering. 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb. 

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward. 

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy. 

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive. 

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it. 

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there. 

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking). 

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt. 

Emotions were a funny thing. 

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior… 

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects. 

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor. 

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown. 

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said. 

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious. 

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—  

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now. 

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same. 

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing. 

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life. 

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you. 

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man. 

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again. 

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open. 

Well that’s great. 

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides. 

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod. 

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls. 

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy. 

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors. 

Reflection suite indeed. 

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours. 

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things. 

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost. 

He had to kiss you then. 

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more. 

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need. 

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn. 

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him. 

But not today. 

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure. 

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—” 

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good. 

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife. 

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication. 

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss. 

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed. 

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed. 

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it. 

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered. 

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening. 

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you. 

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin. 

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart. 

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him. 

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off. 

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing. 

Almost. 

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything. 

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate. 

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit. 

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were. 

Underneath a giant mirror. 

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction. 

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life. 

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face. 

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core. 

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart. 

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered. 

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half. 

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face. 

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high. 

Then he was kissing you again. 

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more. 

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure. 

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency. 

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered. 

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.” 

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft. 

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching. 

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered. 

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him. 

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?” 

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper. 

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you. 

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response. 

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward. 

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive. 

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him. 

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it. 

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal. 

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response. 

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance. 

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him. 

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust. 

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm. 

Then your world caught fire. 

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes. 

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name. 

The feel of him was indescribable. 

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality. 

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal. 

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close. 

You were his. 

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more. 

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass. 

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness. 

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind. 

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it. 

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound. 

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen. 

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.   

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.” 

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed. 

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart. 

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed. 

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust. 

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him. 

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.” 

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else. 

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision. 

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped. 

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.  

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash. 

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned. 

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin. 

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion. 

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass. 

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin. 

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding. 

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked. 

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[flurrys-creativity]

Sciamachy

Sciamachy (n.) - a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow

Pairing: Jung Hoseok (BTS) x Fem!Reader; Genre: Secret Agent AU, Fake Marriage AU, e2l, Romance, Angst, SMUT; Rating: nsfw, 18+, MDNI; Warnings: mentions of smuggling, going undercover, somewhat forced marriage, some cursing, smut, usage of toys, masturbating, fingering, humping, cum shot, aftercare, mentions of cheating, talks about illegal stuff, kissing; Wordcount: 5.741; Project: Idols over Flowers event by @k-vanity​ 

Bouquet: Roses (romance) and violets (angst) and a hint of lavender (crime and mystery) with elderflower (fake dating), amaranthus (marriage and co.) and thistle (own au a.k.a secret agent) as supporting flowers and cordyline (e2l) and silver dollar eucalyptus (only one bed) as greenery.

Summary: It needed just one glance and you knew you had to be aware of Hoseok, wanting to avoid him at all costs. Hadn’t it been for your boss revealing to you that Hoseok would be your partner during a big mission from now on. So now you were married to an agent, who seemingly tried to avoid you as much as you wanted to avoid him.

The moving truck stopped in front of one of the many similar looking houses in the suburbs. You heard the door of the driver side open and close again, yet you stayed rooted on the passenger seat with a distant gaze.

Trees lined along the street, all of them with the exact same distance to the next. No trash could be found on the street or the sidewalks. Kids rode their bicycles in the distance while others played hopscotch on the sidewalk, laughing and cheering.

You turned your head to the side, staring out of the window to your new home. Lush green bushes almost hid the pristine white fence surrounding the neatly kept lawn. A straight path led up to the porch and to the evenly white front of the house.

The dream for every newly wed couple.

So lost in thoughts you barely noticed how the door of the passenger side got opened and Hoseok stepped into your view, smiling brightly. You blinked a few times to focus on him, silently waiting for him to say something.

“Honey, don’t just sit there. Come out and look at the house.” He offered you one hand to help you out of the moving truck, showing the ever loving husband.

It took everything within you to keep the scowl from your face, instead nodding shortly and getting out of the truck with his help. You struggled to keep the facade of the doting wife - at least towards him. Yet the higher ups decided you two would make the perfect newly wed couple for this mission.

You grabbed a vase from the back of the moving truck and walked towards the front door of the house, only half aware of everything around you as your mind constantly drifted back to the day you learned about the mission.

~~~

You impatiently thrummed your fingertips on the table top. After you got called to the unscheduled meeting, you immediately got out of your work space and rushed to the room. Apparently not all participants had the same work ethic as you, taking their time to finally arrive.

The scowl on your face only deepened when Hoseok waltzed into the room with a bright smile - not even apologising for being late. Ever since he started working at the agency - excelling at absolutely everything with ease - you couldn’t stand him. His ever so cheery persona kind of spooked you and you just knew you had to be careful around him. One of the reasons you stayed clear of him unless absolutely necessary.

“Wonderful! Everyone’s here now!” Your boss clapped in his hands and motioned to the slide show he prepared, briefing everyone in the room about the situation.

A smuggler ring had settled down in the suburbs of your city, using the appearance of a happy family to hide their illegal business. 

Due to this - quite effective way - the agency had barely any intel on the smuggler ring. Most of the information your boss showed felt more like guesses than proven facts. Therefore he had decided to start an undercover mission, hoping to get a lot more intel with this.

~~~

You stopped in front of the porch, staring up at the house with an empty expression. Even if you were a true newly wed couple you’d probably still dislike the house and garden with absolutely zero uniqueness to any of the other homes on this street.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Hoseok asked you as he stepped next to you, wrapping an arm around your middle and planting a kiss on your cheek. He leaned down to your ear and pulled you closer into his side. “The neighbours are watching”, he murmured - his tone of voice suddenly ice cold, “at least try to act like you’re excited to move here.”

You raised one hand to cup his cheek and turned around in his hold, plastering a sickly sweet smile on your lips. “Can’t your wife be too stunned with this dreamlike change?”

You felt the tick of a muscle in his jaw as his cold eyes ever so slightly narrowed. He stared at you for a moment longer before his cheery persona took over again. Hoseok squeezed you once more and let you go, running back to the moving truck to get more stuff.

Your eyes followed him until he got hidden by the truck. Only then you felt able to breathe again, turning back to the house. You didn’t bother checking who of the neighbours had been watching as you walked towards the house, opening the door and vanishing inside.

With every house looking identical on this street, you thought the layout would be pretty much the same as well. You wandered around the empty rooms, making mental notes of doors and windows. 

While you roamed the house more agents dressed as workers from a moving company arrived. They helped Hoseok carry all the boxes and furniture into the house. You didn’t have to tell them where to bring all the stuff since everything got decided prior at the meeting.

You neither bothered pretending to guide the workers, choosing to go to the top floor instead. You walked to a window inside the master bedroom, silently observing the area. 

Two men came out of the house to your right, chatting with each other and even waving towards Hoseok, who carried another box into the house. He stopped and placed the box on the ground, greeting them as well. You watched them having a short conversation before they continued to be on their way.

Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook. Except for a parking ticket here and there they had nothing suspicious about them. At least on paper.

You turned your attention to your left after hearing a dog bark. A man with a brown toy poodle walked down the sidewalk. The second he noticed the moving truck a scowl settled on his face. He stopped momentarily in front of the house next door, eyeing the workers with suspicion. His gaze wandered to your house until his eyes landed on you.

Unsure what to do, you simply stood there meeting his eyes. Only after Hoseok came out of the house again and greeted him, did he look away. He didn’t greet back though and simply walked into his home, shutting the door behind him.

Except for his profession as a piano teacher and him having a dog, you knew nothing about Min Yoongi. Though this little encounter made you aware of being especially careful around him.

Lastly you turned your attention to the house opposite of yours. The target. You couldn’t see the lawn due to the trees that aligned the street and except for the windows on the ground floor all had drawn curtains, which would make observing quite hard.

According to your information, three people lived in that house. Kim Namjoon and his husband Kim Seokjin as well as his cousin Kim Taehyung, who frequently stayed over but had his own residence somewhere else.

“Any intel already?”

You jumped slightly, surprised Hoseok showed up behind you. “Not really”, you mumbled and shook your head, continuing to stare out of the window, “just to be careful around Min Yoongi. He noticed me up here.”

Hoseok hummed and stepped next to you, checking the surroundings for himself. “The Kims won’t make it easy for us, huh? Any idea how to get to them?”

“Once the agents leave we go to our neighbours and introduce ourselves with presents.” You sighed and turned to Hoseok. “Should we be able to enter their houses we need to hide a wiretap.”

Hoseok raised one of his eyebrows questioningly. “All of their houses?”

You nodded with a roll of your eyes. “Obviously. This is a neighbourhood and unless they are incredibly dense then they know what’s happening here.”

“Were you always that distrusting towards others?”

Without giving him an answer you pushed Hoseok aside, walking past him and back down to the ground floor. The last agents cleared out, nodding shortly towards you and Hoseok, who had followed you quietly.

“Guess, it’s showtime.” 

You rolled your eyes again and grabbed the little gifts the agency prepared, heading towards your main target: the Kims.

~~~

You had hoped the mission would have been done and dealt with within a few weeks or months at best but your hopes dwindled every time - especially after living with Hoseok for over six months already.

Outside of the house you two still presented the lovey-dovey newly wed couple but behind closed doors the atmosphere between you two resembled the tundra during its coldest season.

At least you became close friends with Jimin, Jungkook and Jin. Your little group would often meet up to chit chat or gossip and sometimes even Taehyung joined those meetings.

You also knew for a fact that Hoseok had become good friends with your neighbour Yoongi, often conversing with him from the porch during the evening.

The only person with no progress was Namjoon. Neither you nor Hoseok were able to get close to him, meaning you two were also unable to get more information about him. Though you had to admit you didn’t get much intel about the others as well.

They truly seemed like normal people living in the suburbs and some mommy drama was their highlight of the week.

“So, when will it be your turn, love?” 

You blinked several times, trying to process Jin’s question while Jimin and Jungkook stared at you with eyes as large as saucers. “Wha- What do you mean? When will what be my turn?”

“Be the main focus of our weekly mommy drama review.” Jin’s plump lips stretched into a smug grin as he raised an eyebrow. His gaze wandered down to your stomach and back up. 

Jungkook and Jimin followed his gaze as well, making you uneasy and hiding your stomach behind your hands. “I- no, Hoseok and I, we don’t-”

Jimin gasped loudly and grabbed Jungkook’s hand, clutching it hard enough so his knuckles turned white. “I thought you were just incredibly silent! But you haven’t had sex with your own husband?! For how long?!?”

“What?”

Both you and Jin asked loudly. Each of you for a different reason though. Jin was shocked about this revelation while you felt incredibly confused.

Jungkook snickered softly, waiting for Jimin to elaborate on his statement as soon as he noticed your confused expression. 

“Ah, we got several noise complaints from the previous neighbours because apparently they were able to hear us during sexy times.” 

You felt the heat rushing to your face, neck and ears, immediately knowing what Jimin was talking about. You had heard it too but as long as you moved to the other side of the house and kept your windows shut everything was fine. “Well, but, uhm, our bedroom isn’t towards your side of the house.”

“That’s what I told Jimin too”, Jungkook nodded, sharing a pointed look towards him.

“I know, I know!” Jimin waved his hands dismissively in front of his face. “And I believed that too. But your statement just now proves something else! When was the last time you had sex with Hoseok?”

You helplessly stumbled over your own words, knowing full well you never had anything physical with him - except for his cheek kisses.

“You don’t even remember?” Jin stared at you in disbelief, gently showing your side. “Shut up!”

“Okay, here is what you’re going to do, darling!”

“What?” You nearly choked on your own saliva, hearing Jimin’s determination. To your dismay he didn’t stop his explanation despite your resistance, telling you in excruciating detail how to move, what to do and what to say. Even demanding to meet up the next day again to hear every little detail of your night.

When Hoseok came back from his fake business job, you still sat at the kitchen table - the horrified expression never having left your features since the guys had gone.

“What’s wrong?”

As if you were in trance you turned your attention towards Hoseok, who stood at the entrance of the kitchen, staring at you quizzically. He still wore his suit and just loosened his tie.

“They’re expecting us to have sex.”

Hoseok choked on his own saliva, coughing violently while hitting his chest. “What? Where did that come from?” He looked at you, blinking away the tears in his eyes from the coughing fit.

“Apparently the walls are quite thin and our direct neighbours would hear if we had sex.” Your voice became smaller and smaller with each word. 

“Let’s move this conversation to the bedroom”, Hoseok suggested and immediately turned on his heels, heading towards the master bedroom. 

He got rid of his tie and shoes and paced along the room, while you trudged into the room and stopped in front of the large bed.

You only had one bed so all this time both of you had slept in it together. Though you built a barrier of pillows every night and kept as much distance towards Hoseok as possible. 

“Let’s just make some noises. I’m sure that will be enough.” Hoseok stopped pacing and nodded to himself. He then proceeded to change out of his working attire. “Start moaning or something.”

You sighed and started building the pillow barrier again. This was utterly ridiculous. Still, you moaned softly and added some whimpers here and there. Yet, it didn’t feel right or enough.

“Maybe we should do the real thing.”

“What?” You whipped around and stared at Hoseok in bewilderment. “You can’t be serious!”

Hoseok quickly raised his hands to deescalate the situation. “I didn’t mean together. Just, uh, masturbating. It would make the moaning more realistic.” He avoided eye contact and started rubbing his neck, desperately trying to cover up the redness spreading there.

“Probably.” You sighed and sat down on your side of the bed, closing your eyes to think this through. “Can’t we just play some porn with full volume?”

“Not using our voices? Really?” Hoseok clicked with his tongue. “Just be professional about this. We have to keep this masquerade going at all costs. It’s not like neither of us has ever heard someone else masturbate. We’ll just do it underneath our blankets. If you have toys, use them.”

“Fine.” You grabbed your sleep wear and walked off into the connected bathroom. As soon as the door closed behind you, you crouched down on the floor and hid your face into your knees. This shouldn’t be such a problem but something about this didn’t sit right with you. Knowing you’d pleasure yourself with him next to you made you incredibly nervous. And you didn’t understand why - after all you didn’t even like Hoseok.

When you emerged from the bathroom again, Hoseok was already sitting on his side of the bed - lower half covered by his blanket. He leaned against the headrest with his bare back, one arm crossed over his chest while he scrolled through his phone. 

You stilled when he looked up at you, his eyes roaming over your bare legs and up towards the large shirt that barely covered the top of your thighs. “Ready?”

You only nodded and climbed into the bed as well, turning to your nightstand and pulling the lowest drawer open. Next to a secured box, where your gun was placed, you had a small bag with two of your favourite toys. You pulled them out and closed the drawer again, hiding the toys underneath the blanket next to you.

Your heart pounded heavily against your ribcage and your hands quivered as you shimmied out of your panties. You exhaled sharply and grabbed the vibrator. 

Nervously, you glanced towards Hoseok. You could only see his face, shoulders and upper chest as the rest was hidden from your sight due to the pillow barrier. Though he would be able to see you. Hoseok didn’t look into your direction yet you still turned on your side and away from him.

As you turned on the vibrator you winced slightly, feeling as if the buzzing was way too loud. You closed your eyes and moved the vibrator towards your core, pressing it against your clit. A jolt of pleasure soared through your body but vanished just as quickly since your mind constantly reminded you of Hoseok’s presence. You bit down on your lip as a mixture of pleasure and uncertainty spread through your veins.

Hoseok exhaled shakily. He hadn’t thought the tiny whimpers that escaped your lips would affect him that much. His dick laid heavy on his lower stomach, pulsating and twitching with each little sound that came from you. He turned his head to look at you, noticing how stiff you were.

“Hey, Y/N”, he spoke softly and turned towards you, removing some of the pillows. “Let me help?”

You didn’t dare to look at him, quickly trying to blink away the tears of frustration. Instead you only nodded and laid on your back again. 

His long fingers danced across your thigh until they reached your hand with the still running vibrator. Hoseok gently pried the toy out of your hand as he kneeled next to your lower body. He tentatively pulled your blanket away, checking your expression every other second. “Tell me to stop as soon as I’m overstepping.”

You whimpered at his soft but clear tone and nodded once again, hiding your face behind your arms now. 

The second Hoseok had removed your blanket, his hands landed on your knees and pushed your legs apart, revealing your glistening folds. He kept your legs apart and moved the vibrator over your folds, making you twitch. 

Soon enough you couldn’t hold your moans back in, letting them increase in volume as well as your curses and whines. The sparks of pleasure shot through your body like little bursts of electricity. 

Hoseok pressed the vibrator against your clit and used something else to run over your wet entrance. You gasped once he passed it and pushed deep into your pussy. At first you thought it to be your dildo but once Hoseok curled his fingers inside of you, pressing against the rough patch, you knew it were his fingers. This knowledge spiked your pleasure even more and you arched your back, crying out loud. 

“Fuck, Hoseok, oh my god, please, please, oh shit, shit, shit.” You had your eyes wide open but you couldn’t see a thing, your body thrashed under the onslaught of pleasure as Hoseok continued to fuck his fingers into you. 

A scream ripped through your throat as you came hard onto his fingers. You sagged back into the mattress, spent from the orgasm and heavily breathing. 

Hoseok turned off the vibrator and placed it on the ground next to your bed - same with the dildo he found under the blanket. He was about to get out of bed when you stopped him.

“What about you?” You looked up at him with glazed eyes, holding on to his pinky finger with no strength at all. 

“I’m fine.”

You shook your head and softly pulled at his hand, indicating he should lie down next to you. “Please.”

Hoseok couldn’t deny your request and crawled next to you. He watched you silently as you pushed his blanket away, turned on your side and grabbed his arm to pull him with you until he spooned you. His initial confusion vanished the second you pressed your ass against his hard cock. “One sec”, he mumbled and removed his boxers. He pushed his hard on between your thighs, the mess he had created between your legs being the perfect lubrication.

You clenched your thighs experimentally and immediately received a groan from Hoseok behind you. “If you’re doing that I won’t even last a second”, he mumbled into the skin on your neck, placing a kiss on there right afterwards. Another groan left his lips when you clenched your thighs again. Hoseok wrapped his arms around your upper body, keeping you in place, as he started thrusting. 

Your own moans got mixed with his groans as he kept hitting your sensitive clit with the head of his dick. 

“Shit, you sound so fucking hot. I could get drunk on your moans and whimpers alone. Fuck, let me hear you, let me hear how good I make you feel.” 

As you cried out his name, Hoseok released his load. White spurts of cum covered your shirt and thighs, the warm, sticky liquid slowly descending down on the sheets.

Neither of you moved or said a word for a while, simply basking in the after sex bliss.

“You wanna sleep on my side of the bed tonight?” Hoseok asked with a teasing lilt to his voice, gently pulling you closer against his chest.

“Yes, please.” 

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and pushed himself up. “Let me clean you first though.”

You tried pushing yourself up as well. “I can help.”

Hoseok simply shook his head and hurried to the connected bathroom. He came back with wet wipes, gently cleaning you. He even helped you out of your shirt - careful so you wouldn’t smear his cum anywhere - before he cleaned himself.

Only a few minutes later both of you laid on his side of the bed, cuddled together. He held you in his arms, legs tangled together and his chin on top of your head. You quietly listened to his heartbeat and slowly got lulled to sleep.

“If you’re going to gossip about this tomorrow with the drama kings of our neighbourhood”, Hoseok spoke softly, “tell them I’m big.”

You snorted and gently hit his chest. “You are big! Don’t make it sound like you’re not.”

Hoseok chuckled lowly and wrapped his arms even tighter around your body. “What are you going to tell them though?”

“That it worked.”

“That what worked?”

“Jimin told me to do a lap dance for you. He described every move in great detail. If it weren’t for Jin he would have probably shown me with the help of Jungkook.” 

“Try it tomorrow”, Hoseok snickered, “let's see whether it actually works.”

You giggled tiredly. “Tomorrow it’s getting back to our mission.” You didn’t notice how Hoseok tensed momentarily before he agreed.

~~~

Over the next few weeks you noticed a change in Hoseok. On the outside he became much more clingy and touchy, using absolutely every chance to hug you, hold your hand or even place a kiss on your skin. Yet, inside the house he avoided you as much as possible - even leaving for work early and only coming back late into the night. Sometimes you weren’t even sure he slept in the bed anymore.

While a tiny part within your head was concerned about his behaviour, the vast majority of your mind pushed that voice to the back and focused on the mission. 

You sat on the bedroom floor with dozens of notes strewn around you. After all this time you discovered Namjoon worked in a private clinic as a doctor while Jin owned a chain of restaurants. Lastly, Taehyung was a social worker. And somehow all three of them had to be involved with smuggling. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, glancing at your alarm clock to see it was way past midnight already. With a deep sigh you pushed yourself up and cleaned the floor, hiding all the notes in the secret drawer underneath your weapon.

Right as you were about to close the drawer all the lights vanished, leaving you in the dark. You stilled momentarily and listened to your surroundings. You grabbed your gun when you heard some shuffling downstairs.

With silent steps you walked towards the window, hiding away from the moonlight. You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary despite the missing lights on the whole street.

Your attention turned back inside the house when you heard steps ascending the stairs. You hurried towards the door, standing beside it and holding your gun ready. Dark clouds moved in front of the moon and hid you away in complete darkness.

Someone stopped in front of the door and you prayed your beating heart wouldn’t be as loud as you thought it was. You leaned closer, getting a whiff of an unfamiliar scent through the small opening of the door.

The door opened and someone stepped into the room. Without hesitation you charged forward and pressed your gun against their head. “Don’t move or I’ll blow your skull away.”

“Woah, woah, woah, it’s me!”

Only after moonlight shone back into the room and showed Hoseok’s shocked expression did you lower your gun and step back. “Where were you?”

“Not important. What happened to the electricity?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Where. Were. You.”

“Just out, it’s not important.” Hoseok tried to deflect once again.

You stepped closer to him, tapping the tip of your gun against his chest. “I’m not asking again.” You caught that unfamiliar, flowery scent as you inhaled. Your hand started trembling from the thoughts racing within your mind. You pressed your gun against his chest. “Are you cheating on me?”

“What?”

“What?”

“No!” Hoseok placed his hands on yours with the gun, slowly pushing it down. “How could I cheat on you? We’re not even married! Anyway, do you really think I would risk blowing the mission for a fling?”

You dropped your arm, staring blankly at the ground. He was right. What were you thinking? “Right”, you mumbled and turned away, moving towards your nightstand. You tensed the muscles in your jaw, hoping to prevent your emotions from taking over. Even though you didn’t fully understand why you felt conflicted at the thought of Hoseok having someone else.

You tried shaking those thoughts and feelings but even days after that night they haunted your consciousness. 

“What’s on your mind, love?” Jin nudged your side, noticing you haven’t been present throughout the whole conversation.

A pout formed on your lips and you pulled your legs to your chest. “Why is it always you calling me out?”

The guys laughed heartily. Jimin even threw himself over Jungkook’s lap from the force. “It’s just that your feelings are like an open book to read. So what is it?”

You leaned back on Jin’s couch, sighing deeply while your eyes wandered around the living room. Before you could even stop yourself, you opened your mouth to say: “I think Hoseok is cheating on me.”

All eyes were on you, various expressions of shock painting their faces. 

“You’re messing with us, right?” Jungkook leaned forward, disbelief written all over his features. “He’s so lovey-dovey with you. Honestly, not even I am as head over heels for Jimin as this guy is for you!”

Jimin punched his shoulder before he moved over to your side, wrapping his arms around you to console you. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Do you have any proof though?”

You smiled sadly and shook your head. “Not really, just a feeling and the scent of a perfume of some sorts I picked up on him a few nights ago.”

“This calls for something stronger than tea”, Jin announced and stood up. He walked over to a cupboard and pulled several shot glasses out of it. Jungkook quickly got up as well, helping Jin and grabbing some of the alcohol too. As they returned Jimin poured the liquid to all of you and handed the shot glasses around.

You stared at the glass in your hand for a moment before you placed it back on the table. “If it’s alright with you I’d rather get myself a glass of water.”

“Are you sure?”

You nodded and got up, motioning Jin to sit down again. “I’ll be back in a bit, no worries.” You took a deep breath once you reached the kitchen. It annoyed you that this issue kept bugging you this much. You shook your head, you had to focus on the mission.

Your eyes roamed around the kitchen. Two weeks after your mission started, Jin had invited you to his home and you had used the chance to hide a wiring device inside the kitchen. So far it didn’t give you any intel though. Maybe it was about time to remove the device again. You leaned against the kitchen sink, staring at it deep in thought.

“Is it true what you said to the others? I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” Taehyung appeared behind you, tilting his head to one side. “Are you planning on doing anything about it?”

You turned towards him. “I wouldn’t know what to do about it. I don’t even know whether I’m right or not.”

Taehyung cornered you against the sink, hands caging you in. “You could always get back at him.” He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, cupping your cheek in the process. 

“Get back at him? Are you saying I should cheat on my husband?” You tilted your head and crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Also who would be willing to break the rules of matrimony with me?”

Taehyung smirked and leaned closer into you. “Maybe someone closer than you’d think.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Why do I have the feeling you’re talking about yourself, mister? Are you someone willing to break rules? Going against the current, huh?”

“What if that were the case?”

You hummed softly and placed your hand on his chest. “I’d wonder how far you would go. What are you willing to do?”

Taehyung chuckled lowly. “Only one way to find out.”

“Or you’ll just answer my questions”, you offered. 

Taehyung shrugged with his shoulders, tilting his head to the side again with a smirk, silently telling you to try and find out.

“Would you join an illegal street race?” You waited for him to answer before you asked the next question. “Would you take illegal substances? Or smuggle those?”

“That was two questions at once.”

“And you answered neither of them.”

“I’m actually hoping for you to ask the good questions now.”

You scoffed: “Like what?”

“Whether I’d kiss a married woman.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly but you kept your composure. “Would you?” You felt your heart pounding within your throat yet your voice wasn’t much louder than a whisper.

Before Taehyung could answer you or do something the silence of the house got disrupted by excessive ringing of the doorbell.

“Hoseok?!” Jin asked in surprise as he opened the door, unable to say anything else before he got pushed to the side.

You glanced over Taehyung’s back towards the entrance of the kitchen. When Hoseok appeared at the door, eyes furiously roaming around the kitchen until they landed on you, made you shrink down behind Taehyung.

“What’s going on?” Jimin, Jungkook and Jin appeared behind Hoseok, switching glances between Hoseok and Taehyung. 

You quickly used the chance to sneak out behind Taehyung and walked over to Hoseok. Your focus switched between his eyes, desperately trying to understand his motive. “Why are you here?” You grabbed one of his hands, uncurling his fist and playing with his fingers. “Did something happen?”

He glared over your shoulder towards Taehyung. Only after several deep breaths did he focus on you. “We’re going home. Now.” Hoseok didn’t wait for your answer. Instead he pulled you along and past the guys. He didn’t look back, ignoring the calls behind him.

Once you reached your house and he slammed the door shut behind you, you ripped your hand out of his hold. “What is wrong with you? Do you understand you could have blown the mission just now?”

“I don’t care about the mission!” 

You jumped back, surprised by the volume Hoseok used. You never witnessed Hoseok being angry and right now he appeared to be furious.

“How could I just sit back, hearing this bastard making a move on my woman?!” 

“Nobody knows you were able to hear us!” You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. “Also why would you even get like this when we’re not even a real married couple?”

“Because I fucking love you for gods sake!”

Your jaw dropped and you stared at Hoseok with wide eyes. “What?” You closed your mouth again, swallowing audibly and blinking several times. “If you’re trying to mess with me, this is not funny.”

“I swear to…” - Hoseok grabbed his hair and pulled at its strands, groaning in frustration - “I am NOT joking, Y/N!”

“Why?”

“Are you really asking me why I fell in love with you?” Hoseok shook his head as he closed the distance between you two. “You’re driving me insane, Y/N. Do you really need me to count all of the reasons I discovered over the time we’re living together?”

“What? 

Hoseok grabbed your hands, squeezing them with desperation. “I love you, Y/N. Please. I love the scowl you make when you’re annoyed. I love the twinkle in your eyes when you’re excited about something. I love the way you make a little dance when you taste something delicious. I love the way you stick out your tongue when you’re concentrating on something.”

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You felt your hands trembling even though Hoseok held them so tightly. “But I’m just part of the mission. I thought you stayed out so long because you actually met your loved one.”

“I stayed out trying to forget about my feelings for you at first. I wanted the mission to come first. I wanted to stay professional. So I followed Namjoon first and later Taehyung, who went to a strip club a few nights ago.”

“Are you crazy? They could have seen you!”

Hoseok laughed softly and shook his head. “I am crazy, yeah. Crazy for you. Crazy enough to question whether I want this mission to end or just keep living like this for the rest of our lives.”  He cupped your cheeks and wiped a few stray tears away. “Maybe we should come up with an explanation for the mess I created though tomorrow morning.”

You clutched his shirt, softly laughing through your tears. “You’re an idiot”, you sniffled as you pulled him down to kiss you. 

“I completely agree”, he mumbled against your lips, wrapping his arms around your body and holding you close to himself. “But it’s worth it.” He smiled into the kiss, giddy as you hummed in agreement.

© all rights reserved  

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ 

[becomingbts]

Time Heals (sometimes) - 19

Summary: 6 years ago, (Y/N) thought that she was finally taking her life into her hands, leaving behind a toxic and abusive relationship with a man who taught her she’d never be worthy of love. However, it became hard to ignore his words when she met her seven soulmates, who rejected her without even giving her a chance to prove herself. It took (Y/N) 3 years to realize that it wouldn’t be her end. She would live on to prove them all wrong; she would become what they all thought she wasn’t: someone worthy of love. And as she stands proudly on the stage, under the burning spotlights, the applause and the cries of the delirious crowd, she feels alive. Alive, just like the bond she had believed to be broken.

Around 4.7k

Pairings: Y/N (fem) x OT7

Genre: Soulmate AU!, Idol Y/NAU!, semi social-media AU!, ANGST (mainly), fluff, romance, maybe smut in the series, NSFW.  

Taglist closed!

Warnings: Mention of death, manipulation, depression, and near-death experience, Namjoon P.O.V might be slightly triggering.

NOTE: HELLO!!! I promised to try a bi-monthly update so here we are again!!! Thank you for being patient with me and always tuning with Time Heals! I hope you all will understand a bit more Namjoon after this chapter, I think I’m starting a crisis for some people here, I hope it won’t be too bad, lol! Please take well care, I hope you’ll enjoy this new chapter! Lots of love, feedback is always warmly welcomed!! It’s honestly what motivates me the most!! Love yoy and enjoy!!

Part 18 - here - Part 19.5

To say that Namjoon had been anxious when he first read (Y/N)’s message would be a euphemism. He had been scared shitless, proofread his own message at least five times before sending them while closing his eyes each time he pressed the “send” button. He hoped his answer didn’t sound nearly as panicked as he felt but maybe he tried too much to sound normal. As he read once more his messages, he sounded almost aloof and he hated it. The simple fact that he received a message from her, his... No- he should refrain from calling her his soulmate when she clearly said that she didn't have any soulmate any longer. It was only fair to respect her "choice" if he could call it that way. They didn't really give her a choice, to begin with, so he shouldn’t disregard her words and should refrain from crossing any boundary.

Namjoon wished he could explain his desperation in his messages. Explain how at loss he had been and despite him realizing that he could have done everything differently, he hadn’t found a different solution to their problem and had truly wanted to avoid hurting her. It sounded stupid, even to himself. Being unnecessarily harsh had only broken her further than he had wanted. Namjoon had merely wanted for their bond to emotionally break so that they would have less chance to accidentally bond. If it had happened, she wouldn’t have been alive as of now. However, could he truly not have done it differently? He wished that he could say no, but Namjoon knew that he could have tried something else. Would it have worked? He couldn’t know for sure, and maybe that had been what had prompted him to choose the most violent option. That way, he had been sure that no accidental bonding would happen, but now he could only laugh at how naive he had been because despite what he thought, an accidental bond did happen. Not with him per se, but between Jungkook and (Y/N). Namjoon was confused and terrified about that sudden bond. What if they weren’t healthy enough and that this unintended bond hurt her? Namjoon could only pray that it would not happen because he wouldn’t have any answer as to how to save their soulmate.

Regardless, despite how obvious it was that Namjoon had probably done the worst mistake of his life when he concluded that they needed to reject their last soulmate, it hadn’t been before. He couldn’t have known: information was so little about groups of soulmates that Namjoon had taken it over himself to find information and find a solution. His logic had been perfect, calculating every odd and making sure everything would be perfect and work out, but after years of thinking and guilt eating him alive, Namjoon desperately wished he did differently. As he read her replies to his messages, it was obvious that she also thought the same way. And she was right; he could have explained, he should have told her instead of breaking her past the point of no return, but what if it had gone wrong? What if they had bonded accidentally despite the physical distance and that their bond had started attacking her? How could he have forgiven himself if he didn't try to push her away and keep her safe from them? Realistically, he knew that he had not kept her as safe as he had wished. He had only pushed her to another outcome, hoping and praying for her to stay alive. Maybe that had been the solution of a coward who had refused to see the impact of his words, yet according to his calculation, she truly had a better chance of survival that way. That had been his logic and while Taehyung had been crying, begging him not to do it, to find another solution because, in his eyes, they couldn’t lose another soulmate because of Yongsun, Namjoon hadn't found any other way to protect her and he hated himself for it.

He wished he had found something else, he truly did. Oh, he could rant for hours about how he dreamt of a universe, a very, very, oh so lovely one, in which he told his soulmate everything, from the beginning to the end, explaining how he truly wanted only the best for her and knew that they couldn't be that best momentarily and that they might never be. He used to be stuck on how cruel that felt when he realized what it meant to him and his other soulmates. They might never be suited to welcome their last soulmate without killing her, and the realization crushed Namjoon to the ground.

Yongsun didn't just take a part of their youth with her, she took their hopes and dreams away, brushing every single wish they used to entertain to finally be complete. She left them yearning and empty, darkness surrounding their lives while they wondered if they’d ever see the sun again. They had waited so long for their last soulmate to finally show up, to get to meet her and start getting to know her, only for that person to play them, ruin them and leave nothing but crumbled hearts and dried tears behind. If Taehyung believed that he was the one at fault in the story, Namjoon would beg to differ. If someone failed to protect his soulmates, it was him, not Taehyung. 

Yongsun had been desperate; that was what Seokjin said, but Namjoon had never been able to care about her reasons. He could only laugh at that. Oh, if he wasn’t desperate himself to find back a piece of himself, of the young man that used to dream about his soulmates and not the guilt-ridden bitter man that he was used to meeting every morning in the mirror. Namjoon used to think of soulmates as a source of comfort and warmth. It was now only a source of stress and disappointment. A disappointment that Namjoon hated to be. If he had to pick one person to be the worst soulmate ever, he would choose himself in a heartbeat. Seokjin had tried to talk to him, to soften the edges of his turmoil, of the terrible anger that was consuming his whole being, alas to no avail. Namjoon's anger never burned out, only fueling him to search for more answers about their bond and to write more about his discoveries. His hands giving up on him had only been a dull reminder of the never-ending anger that was wide awake inside him. How could he ever explain why he was so angry at the world, at Yongsun, at everyone for allowing such a thing to happen to them, to him, to his soulmates? Why did no one rescue them? Why did no one help them? How could money get Yongsun safe after everything she did to them? He laughed again; the world had never been fair, yet Namjoon had never believed that their system would abandon them so cruelly. Even now that they were financially well off, their mind did not let them try to sue her, tired of being constantly in a fight with the person that destroyed their lives. None of them wanted to deal with her any longer. The simple thought of seeing her again sent chills to their spines, and starting the paperwork seemed insurmountable; it annoyed Namjoon. It only fueled his anger again, adding charcoal to his already hardly controllable fire. 

Namjoon was angry and everyone thought that his anger would slowly vanish, yet it only grew. That was maybe because he slowly realized how far Yongsun had gone to make sure everything would unfold the way she had expected it to. He saw the marks on Taehyung's skin, he saw the fear in Seokjin's orbs, and he saw death in Yoongi's ones. Namjoon heard Hoseok's broken cries, Jimin's silent gulps as he left quietly, avoiding fights and leaving everyone behind as much as he could, and Namjoon heard Jungkook's soul breaking each time a fight arose in their apartment. It was often silent, none of them wanting to admit how bad it was even once Yongsun was gone but they all knew that things would never go back to how they used to be. Namjoon rarely saw his soulmates smile as carefree as they once did and maybe, just maybe, that was also one of the reasons for his never-ending anger.

Yet, maybe what truly broke him was to see the despair in his eighth soulmate's eyes when he told her the words that he would forever regret. "Your name means nothing to us." If only that had been the truth, he wouldn’t be waiting for her to reply by now, eyes boring into his screen. Namjoon wished that it had been the truth. Her name meant so much, from hope to despair. Her name meant the world, and it meant dread. It held so much over them that it frightened him. His logic behind their rejection had been flawless, however, his fear of letting someone else hold so much power over them again was totally irrational. He had been terrorized to see the same scenario unfold because after all if someone was capable of doing what Yongsun did to them, how could they be sure that it wouldn’t happen ever again? Namjoon had been terrified at the simple thought, perhaps that had flawed his convictions as much as he claimed that it wasn’t the case. Because once he set that fear aside, the only thing that was left was his anger and his guilt.

How could he ever face her after all the damage he did, even if his intentions had been noble and his heart had simply been in the wrong place? He never thought he’d ever be able to face her again after everything he said, settling for knowing she was alive and living a life of fame and love. If Namjoon couldn’t give her all the love he had for her, he hoped that her fans would make the difference, somehow. (It was foolish of him to think, but he couldn’t help it, he only wanted the best for her). He tried to interact with her as her fan, but it felt wrong as if he was using anonymity to be close to her again, so he stopped as soon as he started. He couldn’t be that person to her, he had doomed himself already. Namjoon believed that he would never see her again, that he would only hear of her from now on that she was a celebrity. Oh, how naive he was.

He did meet her again and he hadn't known if he should be excited or terrified. Namjoon faced her in that hospital bed; he watched as her already pale face lost any trace of color after her eyes rested on his frame. He had not known what she had been thinking once she had realized who he was, but Namjoon had been pretty sure that he must have looked closer to a monster than a soulmate in her eyes. And could he blame her? Not at all. He just wished it was different. Maybe in another life, he'd get to make amends, to cherish her as much as he could, hold her tight against his chest and protect her from the rest of the world. Maybe in another timeline, he'd get to call her at 4 am just because he couldn't sleep and needed to hear her voice, even if she was in the room next to his. Maybe he'd buy a cute shirt for her, just because he thought of her as he saw it. Perhaps he'd pick her up from work, ask her how her day went, and give her a cup of coffee that he ordered from her favorite coffee shop just because he had shown up 10 minutes early.

Namjoon's anger might never die out because he knew that this would never be his reality and, to be honest, he knew that he did that to himself. Or did he really? Wasn't it mainly Yongsun's fault? If only Namjoon could put the blame on someone else than him, maybe he’d feel a little bit more alive. But how could he blame it on her when he hurt their last soulmate just as much? Namjoon hoped that he would never be seen like Yongsun, like someone who destroyed someone else’s life, but maybe in (Y/N)’s eyes, that was all he was. After all, he had been the one to deeply hurt his soulmate with his words, hoping that they would lose the connection and that she would survive the break of the bond. 

Namjoon's mind was at war. He couldn't decipher who he hated the most between himself and Yongsun. Maybe Yongsun had been a warning before he even did the biggest mistake that he deserves to be punished for. It should have opened his eyes. That despite everything, soulmates changed people for the worst, which could lead them to do mistakes and ruin other people’s lives. Sometimes Namjoon felt like everything was his fault, that he should have protected his soulmates—all his soulmates—better. He thought of finding her and apologizing, even if it wouldn't change anything. He thought of sending flowers to her place, sending her homemade meals to make sure she would rest and eat healthily. He wished he could have been there for her recovery, to help her navigate through life but he chose another direction and he could only blame himself. Namjoon dreamt of being the first person his soulmates would be thinking of when they thought of safety. How ironic it was that his soulmates didn’t even trust him enough for them to confide in him. Namjoon can recall a time when he used to try and get ready to welcome his soulmates in his life before he met any of them. He would die before telling anyone about it, but he took cooking lessons when he was younger, just so that he would be able to be a good cook for his soulmates. He also tried a bunch of other things, from pottery to wood carving, Namjoon wanted to be a steady man, trustworthy, and who would be able to love his soulmate to his fullest.

And instead, they got a coward. A coward who wasn't able to protect anyone. On the opposite actually, Namjoon was clumsy, blunt, and brutally incapable of protecting any of the souls that he was supposed to cherish and he hated himself for that. He wished he could have done much more for (Y/N) but he had known that he couldn't. How could he do better if he hadn't been able to protect his 6 other mates the first time something terrible happened to them? How could he protect someone he would hurt because of his own bond? He was broken. Yongsun broke the healthy link they used to have, the one that made him believe that as long as they were together, nothing could happen to them. Namjoon now knew better than to believe in those words.

"Your name means nothing to us." Instead, Namjoon wished he had told her: "my name should mean nothing to you, please run away while you still can, I don't want to disappoint or hurt you and I know that I will." He had wished that his face didn't hold so many bad memories and so much hurt for her to physically gag as she recognized him. He saw it; the moment her eyes found him, she instantly recognized him and probably replayed the only moment they “shared” before their reunion. He saw it, the hurt, the distress, and the hatred. He wished it had been different, and here he was, desperately waiting for an answer from her, wishing that he could see her in real life just one more time. Wishing that he could tell her how his heart had been aching to find her, to let her in that day, and that he regretted every single word he uttered. Namjoon wished he could tell her that he threw up a few hours after everything because he felt sick with himself, unable to look at himself in the mirror without seeing the ghost of who he wished he could have been for his soulmates. Namjoon wished he could tell her that his heart never broke so hardly as after their bond broke, that he had been left with a lump in his throat, dried lips, and tears staining his cheeks. That despite the hurtful words that he spat at her, he never wished anything but happiness for her, even if it had to be without them.

Seeing her happy on a stage was everything he could have hoped for her. Her smile was always small but genuine. Namjoon lost a lot of himself when he rejected their last soulmate, taking the main burn of the rejection, as he had been the one to be so vehement about it. Taking Jungkook's and Jimin's anger, brushing Taehyung's and Seokjin's tears away, ignoring the pang in his heart each time Yoongi and Hoseok refused to talk to him, being the most awful person in (Y/N)'s eyes. He'd take it all, as long as it would mean that he could try to protect them all. He did it terribly, he could only agree with this. But Namjoon's goal had never changed. He just wanted to protect them all. He'd take all the blames, all the harsh words if they needed him to. He just wanted them happy. And if (Y/N) needed to hate someone in particular in their group, then so be it. He’d be this person, the one to say the harshest words to make sure that their bond would remain broken. He couldn’t let her close, she would die in their arms, and Namjoon would never allow that. Maybe it was only hypocritical because, in anyone else’s eyes, he left her to die alone. Everyone heard the terrible words he told her, the way he pushed her away and blocked her from entering their home. But no one saw that he never left the chair in front of the window in his room, fully dressed with a bottle of water in his bag, ready to get out as soon as everyone would be away to find (Y/N) and bring her to the nearest hospital. No one—not even Taehyung—saw his research about the effect of performing a medical bond on a soulmate, or performing a medical bond after having already survived one. No one had known that Namjoon had decided that if the break of the bond happened to be too much for her—and it was likely to be—he would be ready to put his life on the line to medically bond with her to make sure that she would survive. Because if he learned one thing from his research, it was that performing a medical bond twice was likely to turn out badly, not for the receiver, but for the giver. Yet Namjoon couldn’t care any less. He wouldn’t let one of his soulmates die, he promised himself he would save them all and he did. Even when he saw, right after what happened, Hoseok and Yoongi running out of the house under the rain, he sprung into action, not wanting anything to happen to either of them, especially after everything that Yoongi went through. It had been enough. Yoongi went back home alone that day, but no one, except the three of them, knew about that. And Namjoon would keep it this way as long as needed because it hadn’t been enough and it would never be enough to explain why he acted the way he did, even if he tried his best to protect everyone at once. Hoseok and Yoongi had made it clear that day; that what he was doing would never undo what he told and did to her and he agreed with them. He shouldn’t have put everyone in danger that way, and shouldn’t have talked to (Y/N) that way, but his younger self had not found any other solution. Maybe he should have worked harder to find a different way to solve the problem but he didn’t. But now that he knew that everyone—including (Y/N)—was expecting answers, maybe this part of the story would need to be told. (One day, he kept on telling himself, one day he’d be ready even if he tried to escape this moment as long as he could.)

Namjoon put deadlines for himself to become the man that their soulmates could be proud of and he felt like he already missed them all. He truly didn't believe that he could be that person anymore. His mother used to tell him that she was so proud of him, that he had a gorgeous heart but he found himself thinking that his heart was most likely buried under ashes, just like his dream life went up in smoke. It had been hard, but Namjoon had come to accept it; to accept that he'd never find his happy ending with his seven soulmates and that he needed to be someone he wouldn't want to be for the sake of everyone. He decided to do damage control as much as he could. He had needed to be the bad guy, the one who had to destroy their future with (Y/N) to make sure that their bond wouldn't act up even with the distance. Namjoon would take the worst role to play if it meant that the others could feel a bit lighter about the one they had to embody. His life had nothing of a play, but if he needed to become a bad character for the sake of his soulmates, he would. Namjoon would do anything to soothe everyone's pain and brush their guilt away. There was so much he wished he could do better, so many emotions he felt swiveling through the bond that he wished to soothe. Yet, Namjoon felt like the more he tried, the worst the outcome was. Trust with his soulmates was almost broken, always walking on a thin line with them. 

Oh, how he wished that he could change that, that he could repair the broken trust between him and his soulmates and do something to bridge the cliff's gap that he once willingly widened as much as he could. And as much as Seokjin keep on telling him that it was never too late and that they could choose to become new people, he couldn't let himself believe that it could work. Not only because he was stubborn, but because Namjoon was afraid that he wouldn't be enough to repair the damages he caused. Powerless and useless was how he felt. How could he ever be enough for the soulmates he kept on hurting and that he let down more than once? How could he ever reduce the pain that he inflicted on their last soulmate, even if he tried his best to protect her? Namjoon did not have an answer to those questions and it terrified him. He might never be enough, why should he force himself into (Y/N)'s life when she obviously didn't want him to? Yoongi once told him that he had to fight for what he loved, but he kept on failing each time he tried.

However, Namjoon did not let himself linger on the thought; he kept on telling himself that he only did that to himself. He could have done it differently, he reminded himself plenty of times. And yet, he didn't. He ruined everything and the guilt was eating him alive. Nothing he did could ever alleviate the pain and despite Namjoon knowing that he had no right to think that way, sometimes, he wished that he died during Yongsun's episode instead of watching his worst nightmare become his new reality.

Jungkook came back to (Y/N)'s home with a sense of relief and exhaustion until he opened the front door and heard the distinct sound of glass (or tableware) breaking, instantly putting him on the edge. It threw him right back to that time with Yongsun when one of them said something she didn't like, she would throw a glass or a plate at them without caring about what they would need to buy again. It was always like that. She never cared about anything, only about her comfort and the way they made her feel. It was never the other way around. However, Jungkook tried to breathe as deeply as he could. He wasn't there anymore, and he would never be. The (Y/N) he met for real was not like that, was she? 

Breath uneven and heart pounding in his chest, Jungkook entered as silently as possible the apartment, removing his shoes as quickly as he could with his trembling fingers. He berated himself; he needed to stop associating (Y/N) with Yongsun, but his head wasn't listening to him. He kept on hearing Yongsun’s high-pitched voice yelling at him despite his attempt of brushing it away. He physically knew that he wasn’t there anymore, but his brain couldn’t let him in peace. He needed to sleep or to see the real (Y/N) so that his brain would let go of Yongsun's image. 

Staggering, he entered the kitchen with teary eyes, his breath even shorter than before, until his eyes found the blurry figure of his soulmate. She wasn't screaming, she wasn't throwing plates in anyone's face, no, she wasn't doing any of these things. Instead, she was simply standing in the middle of her kitchen, motionless, with pieces of glass in her hands. Jungkook let out a breath that he hadn't even noticed he had been holding until he noticed that (Y/N) was definitely not moving, it wasn’t just his eyes being annoying because he was on the verge of crying. Her eyes seemed to have caught something because her whole body was still. Carefully whipping his eyes, he tried to gauge (Y/N)'s expression until he noticed blood in her hands. Approaching cautiously, he wondered if she even heard him enter, with how out of it she seemed to be. He didn’t want to scare her if it was the case.

"(Y/N)?" His voice came out more shakily than he was hoping for it to be. "I'm… I'm back, what are you doing?" She finally looked up and Jungkook's heart stopped as he noticed a tear rolling on her cheek. What the hell had happened while he had been gone? 

"I don't know, Jungkook… I don't know." Jungkook watched her throwing the pieces of glass away, washing carelessly her hands while not even looking at them.

"Are you okay?" His heart was still pounding but he tried not to let it overwhelm him. Her eyes caught his watchful gaze and she didn't need words to reply. Something had obviously happened, but Jungkook couldn't get what exactly. 

"Did you know?" She simply asked, leaving him at a loss for words. 

"Know what?" 

"Why Namjoon was so hell-bent on rejecting me." Jungkook's eyes widened, so he told her? Did they talk? What did he say? Did he hurt her? Was that why she looked so broken right now? 

"He told you? What did he say?" 

"So you don't know." 

"He never told us." She almost snorted but she seemed too tired to do so.

"You trusted him even if you didn't know?" His silence was enough for her to understand that she was right, "it doesn't matter, now. Maybe you should read this, though." Her eyes fell on a few documents on the table. They were scattered on the surface and Jungkook could spot some highlighted lines. It seemed like she had already gone through it and he wondered what it all meant.

"Namjoon's and Taehyung's names appear in the writers. So maybe you'd like to know that they know about all that mess." And so she left him with his shaking body and ragged breath while a headache started to make itself known. His panic attack might have been slightly avoided, but the turmoil in his heart didn't seem to be stopping any time soon as his eyes rested on the crumpled paper.

Taglist closed!

Uploaded : 21/08/2022

Taglist: @sweetmoonlight9, @mickmoon, @dreamer95, @loveyoongles, @spicetouched, @jikooksgirl19, @summerevelyn, @springjade, @clevercoley, @prooteus, @sehun096rainbow, @ainsle-e, @ifyouareme, @sunshinee0-0, @fangirl125reader, @sea-nevermind-enthusiast, @ot-atlas, @thequeen-kat, @skyys-universe, @sichajeon , @yukiehyukie, @amxranthinesworld , @potate-oh, @mawwnsterr, @ celaenaelentiyavox, @dvoz-writes, @honeybaby-94, @ignixte, @ paradiseanouk, @missseoulite, @naajix, @maloriekane, @bunzom,     @nyamnomnamujoon  ,  @incorrect-assumptions, @hopetookmysoul, @010op10, @seaoffangirling, @purplelady85, @daddyjoonie, @ramaali1, @powiepow, @chimchoom, @miriamguerra99 , @midnight1199, @wannabestark, @fangirl125reader, @hannahdinse8, @powiepow , @ilovjaehyun, @wt-fxck, @louisavuittonswrld,    @lochness-butmakeitsexy, @squishymochiuwu, @yukiehyukie, @daydreambrliever, @fangirl125reader, @deathkat657 , @reallysparklychaos, @irony-of-living, @scentedsope,  @kim-jias-den, @honeyspillings , @tinyoonsblog,   @kawaiikpoplover268 , @leahknox​, @aliceoracleollormusic​,

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[jtrbluv]

p.o.v. | myg

summary: you were eight when you first met your soulmate. then you were eighteen when you realized that the boy who just got hired at the local record store next door, is also your soulmate. the issue at hand: you are the only one that knows.

pairing: yoongi x reader (fem)

genre: fluff, angst, soulmate!au, redstringoffate!au, college!au, high school!au

word count: 17.9k

warnings: PG-15, mentions of divorce, profanity, one year age gap (reader is 18, yoongi is 19), pg-15 food play (is that even a thing), yoongi works at a fucking record store

A/N: well damn. it's the way this is technically not even a week overdue but literally 7 or 8 months overdue... I'm so sry bae @koushiningg! i’d like to thank @allurence , @pjmsdior​ , and @bangtans-peaceful-piegon​ for beta reading!! y’all fr have my whole ass heart. and sorry in advance for any grammar mistakes or mistakes in general, this is unedited!!! 

— playlist.

You were only eight years old when you discovered Min Yoongi was your soulmate.

Living in a society where love was predestined all thanks to a little red string on your pinky, made you inescapably curious. So from the moment you gained the ability to string words together into coherent sentences, you would press your parents on everything you could about the scarlet thread on your finger, garnering knowledge the more your questions frequented.

Maybe it was the fact that the foundation of where you grew up was constructed around finding “the one” in order to achieve peak happiness. It was absurd. Yet everywhere you looked you were surrounded with proof in the most palpable of forms.

And in the plainest or most kitschy of ways.

Honorable mention could be your older cousin orchestrating the most flashy of proposals—quite literally renting a billboard on one of the busiest highways that read “Honey, I rented a billboard! Meet me back at the Silverlake Hotel for a special surprise! Yes, it’s Johnny. No, your eyes aren’t deceiving you.”

Your parents were high school sweethearts—meeting at the tender ages of fifteen and staying attached by the hip ever since.

Your dad was the one who was able to see the string in their case. And he would describe to you how only one person out of the relationship can see it—how it appeared to trail off into a gradient of nothingness—and how the closer he had gotten to your mother, both physically and emotionally, the more visible it was between them. It was only until he had confessed to her that she was able to see the connection between the strings as well.

You took pride in having the ability to visibly see the string for yourself, and being the one to discover who it would be connected to one day. But what you didn’t realize was how soon the discovery was going to be made.

Especially not when you were seven years old, clad in a purple unicorn hoodie littered with sequins and jeans that were embroidered with flowers—your knees scraped and small fingers soiled with sand.

“Are you okay?!” A small raven-haired boy shouted out, his small legs hastily sprinting to your side after seeing you face-plant into the wet sand.

Your thoughts are intruded as you noticed that the sand had a red thread trailing out the surface and into the air. The red thread emitted a golden sheen that you were able to see despite your hands carrying fistfuls of sand.

The boy that appeared to be around the same age as you was dusting the sand off of your sleeves and pants, dismissing your lack of response and how you were ogling at him with eyes that took up half of your face.

And then his hand brushed against yours.

“What are– ! Who are you?!” You exclaimed, ripping your hand out of his grasp only to gawk at how bright the string was glowing without any sand to obscure it.

“O–oh I’m sorry, you have sand all over you,” he tells you shyly, retracting his hands, as if you didn’t already know. “But my name is Yoongi, Min Yoongi.” He smiled sweetly with an evident gap due to the loss of his two front baby teeth. His small hand outstretched towards you, offering a handshake.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You timidly smiled back as you slid your palm into his, shaking his hand while unknowingly transferring all the sand onto it.

After you shake hands he rubs the sand on his pant leg, an adorable giggle escaping his lips as you mutter an nth number of apologies.

“Don’t worry about it!” He beams, his eyes turning back to an older, slender woman with a frown on her face motioning him to come towards her. “Sorry, but I think I should go back to my mom. She’s looking for me.” He said as he began to stand up.

“No, it’s okay! I don’t want you to get in trouble anyway.” You quickly told him as you continued to wipe your hands against your jeans.

He nods with a smile. “I’ll see you around Y/N. It was nice meeting you!” He beams as his little legs start sprinting in the opposite direction— the glow that surrounded the thread fading, the farther he ran.

You frantically waved your arms back and forth, exchanging looks one last time before walking back towards your family with only traces of a smile left on your face.

Here you are ten years later, still equipped with the same amount of clumsiness and childish outlook as you did when you were eight, except now you were eighteen and about to graduate high school.

You hadn’t forgotten about your soulmate, but the inevitable reality of growing up shifted your mindset—your priorities were centered around applying to colleges and trying to keep your grades up despite having a terrible case of senioritis.

The red string on your finger was serving as a solid reminder that you haven’t seen your soulmate in years and weren’t likely to see him anytime soon.

As the years ticked by, it became harder and harder to recall and visualize his features—as if there was a ticking time bomb in your memory nerves, only a matter of time until all the memories would be blown into bits and you would be left with a shoddy visualization of the boy you once ran into. You wondered if you would even be able to recognize him now if it wasn’t for the fact that you were quite literally, bound together by fate.

Occasionally, out of fear that you would forget his name and his face, you’d set aside time to relive the moment in which you met him ten years ago at a beach that was hundreds of miles away from home and felt light years away from the present. You’d shift into the desired reality where you’d get to come in contact with the boy that had a gentle aura, sweet smile, and kind-hearted actions. You never were able to find men, let alone boys like that these days anyway.

Yet the security of knowing and seeing your soulmate still wasn’t enough for you. As much as fate was able to bind people together by string, there have been many instances where the string, well, was just nothing but a string. Soulmates never finding their other half. Or spending their lives with someone that wasn’t destined to be theirs. Even the rarity that fate makes a mistake and the two predestined lovers just simply don’t click like they’re supposed to.

Even though fate bounded you two together, to what extent was fate willing to go through for your paths to crossover again?

Hint: More than you think.

You kick a pebble to the side of the road.

Letting out a sigh, you run a hand through your untamed hair, your feet taking you to a destination unbeknownst to you. You just need to get out of the house. Another glance at your sloppily scripted notes would leave your mind spiraling into an even deeper pit of frustration and laziness that you don’t have the energy to pull yourself out of right now.

In other words, you need caffeine.

You take a trip to the local coffee shop you are a regular at. The shop greets you with the soothing aroma of coffee beans—taking a moment to inhale as the scent wafts through the air. To your surprise, you see one of your good friends, Jisung, at the register. He’s in the middle of taking someone’s order until he gives you a sideways glance, having a double-take and waving to you after the customer finishes paying.

“Someone’s having a rough week, aren’t they?” He says under his breath, brows shooting upward as his eyes trail up and down your disheveled state.

You cross your arms, the cinch between your brows that hasn’t seemed to fade ever since the start of finals week deepening, “And somehow you aren’t because…”

“I’m smart and only took the classes required to graduate,” he reminds you, “the only final I'm concerned about is my dance final.”

“Well, lucky you,” your words trailing off as your eyes bore holes through the glass cabinet filled with an array of your favorite desserts. Maybe if you stare long enough, the glass will vanish and you can swipe a meringue without anybody noticing.

He smiles at your dismissive behavior. Your decision to make most of your schedule advanced placement and honors classes never boded well with him to begin with. He had warned you countless times about your demanding course load and how it was going to bite you in the ass later on. You both knew that he was right, but you also both knew that you weren't going to do anything about it. Per usual, Y/N.

“The usual?” He asks.

You nod, shoving your hands into your pockets to scrounge for your wallet, “Give me an extra shot of espresso.” You add.

He halts as soon as the words hit his ears, setting your cup down on the counter and turning back towards you with a quizzical look on his face, “Only if you don’t pull another all-nighter.”

“I swear I won’t!” you exclaim in an attempt to reason with him but to no avail, “I just need a little pick me up, because sadly, as much as I’d wanna pull another all-nighter, my body can’t take it.”

The crease of his brows deepen even more until he eventually relents— noticing the way your eyes are nearly half-shut and the bags are about ten shades darker than their usual tone, your shoulders slouched in your jacket that was already five sizes too big, “Alright, but I only believe you ‘cause you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

“A day and a half.” You correct.

“And a whopping five espresso shots later. And to think you call me the insane one.” He scoffs. You can almost hear the pout on his face if he wasn’t preoccupied with the espresso machine.

You let out a yawn, far too tired to banter with him right now. There was always plenty of time for that anyway. “Fine. We are both insane, actually no I think ‘stupid’ is a better word to tack on there, hence why we’re friends.”

He twirls around with a grin on his face, holding your drink in his hand as he places it on the counter. He's been only putting four shots of espresso the entire time he’s been making these drinks for you just because he doesn’t want to see the jittery aftermath and sudden caffeine crash that he knew could potentially occur. “Hey, it only took you three years to admit it.”

You roll your eyes, giving him a swat on the shoulder that he dodges, “Yeah, yeah… but hey, when are you getting out of here anyway?”

“I’m working a closing shift so I still have another hour left. Don’t worry about me, go home and finish up so you can rest. You have econ tomorrow right?” He asks while closing a lid onto your drink.

You sigh, more than ever wanting to slam your head against the counter, but you digress, “Yeah.”

“You’ll be just fine. Now c’mon get outta here and go back home.” He says while sliding your drink towards you and nudging you towards the exit.

“But I haven’t paid?”

“On the house.”

You set your drink down with a frown. “Han, no.”

He laughs. “Why not?”

“You already give me your employee discount every time I come here, just take my money.” You spit, shoving your dollar bills into his chest.

He giggles at your frustration, standing grounded despite you punching money into his pecs. God, this boy really needed to stop spending his days only dancing or going to the gym. “But I don’t want your money.”

You audibly sigh, not having a single ounce of energy to be arguing with him right now, but you yelp in exasperation, “Jisung!”

“Y/N!” He mimics your pleading tone in an obnoxious high-pitched voice that was octaves higher than your actual one, your hand plopping to the counter in defeat.

You grab his wrist, forcing his fingers open as you slap the bills into his palm and close his hand into a fist. You swiftly grab your drink and run out the door, momentarily pausing to peek your head through the door and yelling a “Thank you! Love you!” before scurrying out, fumbling with your coffee in the process.

He stares at the door incredulously long after you leave the premises, shrugging and shoving the money into the pocket of his apron.

Your hands are wrapped tightly around the cardboard cup, clutching it close to your chest in hopes that the heat would emanate to the rest of your body as you continue to drag your feet along the bustling sidewalk.

A few stores down from the coffee shop is the record store that’s had its doors open for as long as you can remember. Memories of the adorable elderly couple who always greeted you replay in your mind as you step foot inside.

It always personally irked you that you rarely purchased anything while you were there. One of the main reasons besides the most obvious one: not being able to just buy one, is the fact that you didn’t even own a record player to begin with. And displaying it on your walls like some wannabe ’pinterest indie grunge 90s aesthetic’ inspired room (which you would definitely have if you weren’t broke™️) was out of the question, because having only two vinyls on your wall is very much lame yet very much something you would do.

As if on cue, your legs involuntarily take you to the first table that’s right behind the door— which you have grown to remember is always full of their latest shipments and newest presses. You always made a mental checklist of the records that you would consider buying in the future once you had the money for them. The list is embarrassingly long to the point where you’ve sadly had to make a note on your phone reserved just for the occasion.

Your eyes are practically glued to the Selena album that sits in the box that you don’t notice the man trying to greet you.

“Um, excuse me miss, hi, are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Oh, I was jus—“

You freeze dead in your tracks— the record you were holding in your hand dropping back inside the shelf with a thud. The string on your finger is gleaming brightly as ever. It’s striking. It’s blinding.

And it’s directly connected to the pinky of the man standing right in front of you.

It takes you a few seconds to register that you look positively perturbed, and that the only justification you have, isn’t good enough because of course, he can’t see the string. Your jaw is practically down to your knees, blinking vehemently at the man that was standing still with a polite smile on his face, your eyelashes could probably counteract as a fan. It can’t be. Maybe if you blink fast enough he’ll just disappear.

Never mind, he’s still here.

No, there’s just no way.

Surely, there’s no way my soulmate is standing in front of me. Again.

Coughing into your sleeve, you barely manage to slip out, “I’mjustlookingaroundbutthankyou!” You say, the words coming out all at once, as you take a moment to gasp for air.

He chuckles softly, the distinct and unfamiliar noise akin to dripping saccharine to your ears, “Alright, just let me know if you need anything, I’ll be back there.” He says while cocking his head towards the register.

You nod as he starts to make his way back behind the counter. You slowly turn back towards the shelf, mentally giving yourself a nice big slap to the cheek acting like that after finally seeing your soulmate after ten years.

Ten years… oh my god.

Pretending to flip through more records, you start to converse with yourself in your head, trying to formulate a plan as to what your next move should be.

Now, the smart and most obvious thing would be just straightforwardly telling him that you two are soulmates and that you can see the string connected between the two of you.

But you are not smart nor good at befriending strangers.

You swallow down some of the anxiety in your throat, grabbing the Musiq Soulchild record that just so happened to graze your fingertips. You’re nearly tiptoeing to the register, the man looking up at you with a smile as you timidly place the record on the counter and slide it towards him.

“Musiq Soulchild, good taste.” He says, smiling as he exchanged a delayed glance between you and the record.

“I appreciate it.” You manage to whisper, staring down at your untied shoelace.

He scans the record as you whip out your wallet and look for your card. If you were correct, you had enough money to pay for the record, and by the record means just the record alone.

In hindsight, you would know better than to buy, sorry scratch that, go bankrupt for materialistic things just because there was an attractive guy as a cashier. Luckily, you had the justification of this particular guy being your soulmate so the whole act wasn't that lame. Even for you.

The radio silence isn't deafening thanks to the soft 80s rock humming in the background. Your head naturally bobs along to the beat of the familiar Tears for Fears song that your dad used to play in the car all the time. The tune alone isn’t able to rip you out of your thoughts as you watch the hands of the man in front of you drumming his fingers on the counter to the rhythm of the song.

His hands, are gorgeous. Dare you say the prettiest hands you’ve probably ever come across on a man.

Y/N. Stop it.

The thought of you coming back to the shop only to "coincidentally" run into your soulmate sounded ludicrous—your wallet already screaming at you and your mind wracking itself just to come up with conversation starters. Since your time was running out and his unprecedented presence here is piquing your interest anyway, you say,

"I don't think I've ever seen you here before."

His fingers pause on the counter, his head perking up, "Oh yeah, I just got hired here last week."

"O-oh that's cool," you stutter, stumbling on your words and struggling to sustain the flow of conversation. He smiles at you while he rings you up.

"Are you from around here?" He asks.

You nod, "Yeah, I've known this place for as long as I can remember. I guess Mr. and Mrs. Yang needed some extra help around the shop. You're the first person to be employed under them."

He hums, "They told me that when I got hired, I guess there's been an influx of vinyl purchases lately and they've been expanding their inventory. They thought they could use some extra help." He informs you while sliding you the receipt—carefully bagging the record with his lip tucked in his mouth. Cute.

Picking up the receipt, your eyes immediately scan for a name, specifically the one of the man ringing you up, "Ah, that makes a lot more sense.” Aha! Got it.

Cashier: Yoongi

You can’t even stop the words that come out of your mouth next, “Oh, fuck.”

His head shoots up, “Sorry?”

You snap your mouth shut, “Oh, nothing! Do you happen to live around here by any chance? I don't think I've seen you around this area before."

He shakes his head, some of the ebony strands of his hair falling into his eyelashes, "I moved here in the fall for college actually. I've been meaning to get a job but I wanted to get adjusted to school a couple of months before trying to branch out."

"Wow, that sounds so exciting, congrats!"

Thank God I just turned legal.

It took nearly all your willpower to keep your eyes off of the suffused piece of string and the way it swayed along with his hand movements. Instead, you let your eyes focus on the curve of his lips and the pink flesh of his smile. Just merely looking at him made you feel effervescent—as carefree and light on your feet as the child you once used to be. The same one that genuinely believed they had a shot with Zac Efron when they were younger. And the same child that had their feet frolicking against the sands and their eyes looking past the limitless blue water—running into a boy with a youthful grin but manners beyond his age, and droopy eyes that haven't changed since you first saw him.

He slides you your bagged record. You look up at him to see the apples of his cheeks raised into an endearing close-mouthed grin. You mumble a small 'thank you' and turn around to exit the shop before he stops you,

"Wait, I don't think I caught your name?"

An enormous lump builds in your throat. After all this time, you've managed to remember his name for the sake of already knowing that he was your soulmate, but what about him?

"I–I'm Y/N."

"Well, hi Y/N. I'm Min Yoongi, but you can just call me Yoongi."

You nod, clutching the record even closer to your body as you smile at him in acknowledgement. "It's been nice to meet you Yoongi, I hope you like it around here."

He leans over the counter, resting his forearms on the wooden surface as he speaks, "I'm not too worried about that," his grin widens as he takes in your stunned expression, "see you around Y/N, take care."

"You too, Yoongi," you reply with a small smile, turning back around to exit the shop with an empty wallet but a content heart with flushed cheeks to match.

"Was that Y/N?" Mrs. Yang asks as she leans against the doorframe to the break room.

Yoongi grabs a couple of boxes to the front of the store to organize, turning around to face Mrs.Yang, "Yes, it was, she just stopped by to pick up a record."

"Y/N bought something?"

He pauses to turn around to his boss, "Yes ma’am, she just bought one right now."

“Wow, that’s a first.”

The box he had just nearly slips out of his arms, but he manages to lift his leg up to support the base. His brows scrunch in confusion, reflecting back on you telling him that you’re an avid visitor of the store, “Ah, really? She was telling me how she comes to the store all the time.”

"That is true, she’s stopped by all the time ever since she was young. She just never buys anything when she comes here," Mrs. Yang chuckles, fondly looking back at all the times where you would casually stroll in just to routinely talk to the couple and go on about your day without purchasing anything. They never minded it of course, always treating you as one of their own and even offering you meals at times.

"Oh, I see," he drags out the syllable—the cinch in his brows dissipates the longer his eyes drift towards the exit.

Acquiring five hours of sleep is considered a feat to you. A trivial feat but a feat nonetheless. The duration of your R.E.M. would’ve been longer if it wasn’t for the thought of your soulmate keeping you awake. The fact that this fate-driven world could methodically bring you two together like this was something you wouldn’t have ever fathomed. At least not outside of the universe formulated by your deepest desires or the stories of other people’s firsthand experiences.

As much as the expectancy of being with your soulmate was so close within reach—nothing a few minutes of light jogging and a little sip of courage couldn’t withstand, you know you had many commitments you had to stay dutiful towards. You knew yourself enough to grasp that if you were to let your mind wander off towards everything of importance to you, you weren’t going to get anywhere or get anything done.

Most times, your self-control and habitual tendencies would swallow you whole—your heart’s voice speaking volumes louder than your mind. Your interaction with Yoongi caused your heart to transport back ten years in time, where you were able to mature quicker in the realm of romance than most of your peers.

The nights where you would go to bed thinking of him and wake up with the same visions of him corrupting your thoughts, were something you grew to gain control over as you aged.

After years’ worth of a hiatus, you dream of him again that night.

With one final down and more left to go, you head off to your local library after school to get some more work done.

You stop by at the coffee shop first—needing your daily caffeine intake to get you through the rest of the day. You don’t see Jisung there, but you quickly rewind back to the morning when he had told you he was going to practice his dance final after school. So with a cup of coffee in one hand and a backpack strap in another, you retreat to the first empty table you see.

Laying all your belongings flat on the table, you slump in the wooden chair—your head rolling back and hitting the top of the backrest. You look fixedly at the ceiling, trying to outline your game plan of how you were going to tackle your schoolwork today. If you didn’t adhere to it (which you usually didn’t), at least you can say that you thought about it.

You let your eyes flutter shut, basking in the stillness of the moment and the lack of brainpower you weren’t being required to use.

“Y/N?”

You jerk in your seat, your knee striking against the edge of the table as your eyes shoot open only to see the last person you wanted to bump into. His face is hovering a couple of feet above yours as he’s standing right next to you. His close-lipped smile is the only thing that envelops your vision for a few seconds before you tear your gaze away, your cheeks turning embarrassingly hot.

You don’t even hear him asking if you’re okay, the voices in your head yelling louder and the pain in your knee growing substantially as the seconds pass. You can already envision the big barney-like purple splotch that was going to be there.

“Yoongi? What are you doing here?” You blurt out, wincing at the obvious question considering the fact that he too, is a student and can go to the library whenever he pleases.

“I have midterms this week, and the library at my school is packed,” he says, widening the distance between you two as he moves into your field of vision once more, “is it okay if I sit here?” He asks while pointing to the chair across from you.

“Of course.” You quickly respond, rubbing at the spot where you hit your knee while trying not to noticeably grimace in pain.

He sits down across from you, starting to take his belongings out of his bag and setting them on the table. “Sorry for scaring you, I didn’t mean to.”

You chuckle nervously, running a shaky hand through your hair, “It’s okay, I should be studying now anyway.”

He nods in return, giving you a small grin before proceeding to his own work.

You’ve been staring at your laptop screen for half an hour now. Hoping that maybe if you stared long enough, the words would just magically materialize onto the empty word doc.

You purposely remained slumped in your chair, letting your screen obscure the view of his face so you could only see his eyes up to the strands of his tousled hair.

It wasn’t the first time you were forced to write an essay on a book you’ve never bothered to lay an eye on. Yet it was the first time doing so with your soulmate sitting right in front of you—your focus meter depleting rapidly as you continued to sneak glances at the top of his head.

After minutes of reading chapter summaries and trying to pick the best quotes that would correlate to the essay prompt, you sit back in the chair, taking a long sip of your coffee.

As you lean down to place your cup back on the table, you sideways glance at the man to see him yawning into his sleeve. He sniffles, the tip of his nose slightly pink as he blinks hard before proceeding to type on his laptop once more.

“Do you want some?”

“Hm?” His head peeps from the screen, his eyes peering towards you before glancing at the cup in your hand.

“Some of my coffee.” You reiterate, sliding the cup towards him.

He hesitates, his focus flickering back between you and the cup, “Are you sure?”

“I insist,” you assert, sliding the cup even closer to him, “We all need our caffeine.”

He chuckles, nodding in thanks to you before taking the cup into his hands and sipping into the contents. “This is really good.”

“It’s actually from that one place that’s a few doors down from the record store.”

“Ah, I’ve been meaning to try from there, but I just haven’t gotten the chance to.”

“I go there all the time, I’ll gladly vouch for the place.” You tell him as you step back to your seat.

He lowers his screen slightly, forcing you to see the entirety of his face— your focus meter blown to smithereens. “I guess you just happened to catch me on a rare day without coffee. I swear at this point, coffee is preeminent to water.”

Chuckling at his remark, you lower your screen as well, “Coffee is fucking amazing. I probably would've been knocked out cold by now if you hadn’t scared me.”

He scrunches his nose and you swear you almost audibly squeak at just how adorable he is, “I still feel bad for that, but I figured you would’ve been more mad if you knew that I just let you fall asleep there.”

“Well yeah, you’re not wrong about that.” You admit. You can hear him laughing on his end so you look up— the corners of his eyes are crinkled up and his gums are on full display. His shoulders are shaking as laughter escapes his lips. He’s beautiful. You can’t help but laugh along with him.

As your laughter fades, you sigh, “At this rate, I’m not going to get anything done. But is it bad that I'm not mad about it?”

“What grade are you in?”

“I’m a senior. I just turned eighteen.” Of course, you’d make that clear.

He hums in acknowledgement, “As much as I’d want to encourage you and tell you to keep going, it’d be hypocritical of me. If high school procrastination is harmful, then senioritis is just a lethal force of nature.”

You huff, “I couldn’t have said it any better than that.”

He fumbles with his jacket zipper, clearing his throat, “Do you need any help?”

“No, it’s alright. I know what I need to do… I just don’t feel like doing it.” You admit sheepishly.

He nods, his fingers start to drum in the table before he says, “Just take a nap then.”

A cinch forms in between your brows. “A nap? Here?”

“Yeah, I can wake you up,” he says nonchalantly.

You laugh at the thought of you potentially drooling all over the public desk, “I think I can manage without one.”

He clicks his tongue, his head tilting to the side, “It’s just a nap Y/N, it won’t hurt you.”

A nap does sound good. Especially after hearing him suggest it after saying your name. “I mean I guess, but I’ll only take like ten minut–”

“Y/N, cut yourself some slack. I can sense sleep deprivation when I see it.”

You gasp exaggeratedly, in mock offense. You hope he doesn’t sense the indication of worry there too because, shit, did you actually look as tired as you feel? “Wow, thanks.”

He chuckles, forcing another smile to come out of you, “The only two times I’ve seen you, you’ve had a coffee in your hand.”

“Well, maybe I just like coffee.” You quip. Okay, the eye bags aren’t that brutal today, thank God.

“And you just admitted to me that you almost fell asleep, but I woke you up.” Fuck I did, didn’t I.

You exhale deeply, raising your hands in defeat and surrender, “Fine Mr. Alarm Clock, choose a duration.”

“An hour.”

“An hour?” You stare at him incredulously as he smiles at your uptightness. “But I don’t want to keep you waiting here.”

“I was planning on being here all day anyway, it’s okay.” He reassures you.

“Fine,” you relent, “half an hour.”

“An hour.” He counters.

“Forty-five.”

“Deal.” He smiles. “I’ll wake you up in forty-five.”

You frown at him, using all your might not to smile at the way he was looking at you right now. With a deep sigh, you shut your laptop, scooting it to the side and crossing your arms on top of the desk. Shaking your head in dismay, you look back at Yoongi one last time.

“Forty-five,” he coos. You stick your tongue at him before placing your head in the nest you created with your arms, quickly drifting off to dreamland.

I don’t need to tell you what I was dreaming about, you probably know by now, you pricks.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. Wake up.”

Yoongi’s been trying to wake you up for four minutes now. His futile attempts at a hushed whisper yell are starting to piss off the people at the tables around you. He stills in his actions for a moment, not wanting to inconvenience anybody any longer.

Standing up, he leans down and reaches across the table, softly tapping on your sleeve, “Y/N.”

You groan, sliding your arm away from his touch as you fall back asleep once more. He sighs, looking languidly at the top of your head, considering another way to wake you up. But he refrains and taps your arm once again, not pausing this time. “Y/N, come on.”

“Hmph…” you groan into the fabric of your sleeve, your head slowly rising as you attempt to rub the sleep from your eyes. “Mmstop…” You mumble into your sleeve, squirming under the constant tapping on your forearm.

Your head shoots up from the crook of your elbow, your eyes still closed shut, “What?!” You retort loudly, the man sitting in front of you doesn’t react in the slightest as a chorus of shushes are all made towards you. You scratch your head, curling into yourself at the realization of what you had just done,

“Sorry, everyone.”

He blinks. “You’re awake.”

“I am.” You mumble softly, straightening yourself in your seat. It would be a lie if you were to say that you aren’t slightly alarmed to have his face be the first thing you see when you wake up. Then you soon remember that he had advised you to take a nap, in which you complied.

You’re far too drowsy to notice the way his eyes have been fixated on you this whole time, and it’s probably better that way. “Do you feel better?”

You nod, “I do.”

And with that, his lips curl into another close-lipped grin. “Go finish your essay so you can head home and sleep.” He advises, but by the way his mouth stretches into a big yawn afterwards, it seems like he’s in dire need of sleep more than you.

“Alright,” you reply monotonously, opening your laptop screen, the sudden brightness making you flinch, “only because you said so.”

Hours pass by a lot quicker than you account for. Picking up your phone in what felt like potentially half an hour but realizing that nearly that plus a whole two hours had ticked by.

All you could clearly recall was at one point, you decided that you were in critical need to purge out the thoughts inside your head about the man sitting across from you. You were so inwardly embarrassed to be ogling over the man who was just minding his own goddamn business. After minutes of fumbling through your bag to find your earphones, and additional minutes just to untangle the mess itself, you narrowly succeed.

It was tremendously difficult for you to stay in work mode when your mind was in complete disarray. You’ve barely been given time to process that your soulmate is once again back in your life—not just for a scant amount of time that only allowed for the exchange of names, not without a single clue of where their whereabouts are, and not without knowing what they look like all this time. You had all this information now, along with the maturity and ability to solidify this interconnection once and for all. Yet your inner diffidence and unease hindered you from having the confidence to reveal yourself to him.

You told yourself you were going to work up to it.

Eventually.

He inhales through clenched teeth, “Crap, sorry for drinking so much of your coffee.” He says as he clinks the cardboard cup on the table, the lack of swishing insinuating that there was nothing inside.

You wave a hand dismissively, “No, don’t worry about it. You made me take a nap anyway, you need it more than I do.”

His lips twitch into a lopsided smile, conveying that he still felt bad regardless, “Have you made any progress?”

“Yes, actually. I finished that stupid essay and now I’m just studying for another final. You?”

“Just working on a thesis paper that I had two months to work on, so the usual.” He chuckles dryly.

You grimace at the thought of the situation, knowing that you have been in that same predicament far too many times, “That sounds rough, I hope you can finish it soon.”

He snickers, “Shit, I hope I can too.”

You can’t help but laugh at the comical expression that paints across his face— yet the sound of him swearing in that husky, subdued voice of his causes a pang in your chest.

“Are you heading out soon?” You ask as you slowly shut your laptop.

He leans back in his seat, “Probably, or else I might end up passing out on this table too.”

“See, I am not the only sleep-deprived student in this world, Yoongi.”

“I never said you were Y/N, knowing myself, I’m probably worse than you.” He assures you, clicking away at his keyboard.

As you start to pack, you notice him examining the label on the cup before throwing the empty contents into a nearby trash can, swiftly making it in one go. “We might not know each other that well, but if it was up to us, the whole education system would be abolished,” you say.

What you don’t notice is how his focus immediately zeroes in on you after saying that. His eyes conveying an unreadable expression along with the slight quirk of his lip and brow that have you frozen stuck in your seat.

“Hm?” You squeak.

“You flatter me Y/N.”

You sputter at his words. “Uh—“

“What the hell, are you psychic or something?” He teases, cutting through the one-sided tension with a hearty laugh.

You manage to hide your surprise, reciprocating the laughter while trying to reply back with another rhetorical question, “Would you even believe me if I said yes?”

“For the sake of us just meeting, I will not answer that.” He replies, receiving an audible gasp on your end which makes him fold over even more.

You roll your eyes playfully, chomping down on your bottom lip to stop the smile that threatens to split your face in half. At last you stand up, slinging a backpack strap over your shoulder, “Okay, I think I’ll head out now.”

He nods, tending to his own belongings, “Are you driving home?”

“Oh no, I live like a ten minute walk away from here.” You inform him.

“But it’s pretty dark out right now,” he halts in his actions, his head turning towards the window as it clearly displays the lack of sunlight replaced by a navy sky, “I can take you home if you want.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s okay, I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“I think it would bother me more if I knew that something were to happen to you,” he counters, shutting his laptop and turning towards you.

You open your mouth to respond but are unable to formulate a rebuttal. His eyes soften as he takes in your lack of reply, voice going softer than usual, which was already soft to begin with. Why did he feel this sense to be protective over you? He just met you, didn’t he? “I won’t push you if you don’t want to. I don’t know why but… have we ever met before?” he asks while scratching the back of his ear.

“I—,” You can’t tell him the truth. At least not now. And so you don’t, “I’m not sure we have.”

He nods, “Hm, alright.”

“You can take me home.” You suddenly blurt out.

His brows shoot up in surprise, “What?”

You chuckle nervously, smiling in hopes that you appear less suspicious, “You can take me home,” you reiterate for both him and yourself.

“O-oh alright,” he stammers, standing up from his seat.

You follow him out of the library, keeping a safe arms distance away so he wouldn’t see the way your face was getting hot. You tap on your phone, pressing at the blank screen to emulate as if you were texting someone to avoid awkwardness and forced conversation. It wasn’t helping in your case but at least you could look a tad bit less insane.

He lets you into his car, asking you for your address so he could find the directions. His car smelled of pine and men’s cologne. It was very pleasant and not at all pungent like others you have encountered in the past. Before leaving, he fishes through his center console, pulling out his aux cord and offering it to you.

Bewildered is an understatement. To be in a car of someone that you barely know, let alone just met yesterday, and you’re being handed the aux? The amount of trust that runs through the notion is much deeper than one would assume, or at least that’s what you always perceived it as.

You point at yourself questioningly. “Me? Are you sure?”

He smiles, nodding and placing the cord in your lap. “I trust that you have good taste.”

“I am honored you think so for working at a record store.”

He smiles again. The same shy one that causes him to turn away most of the time from what you’ve noticed. You almost want to grab his face and turn it around just to see it. “I won’t judge, you can play whatever you want.” He says, turning away as he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

Obviously, you care. Plugging the cord into your phone, you begin to scroll through all your music, trying to find a playlist that you think would most match his musical preferences. After realizing that you were almost at your house, you quickly tap a song on your playlist for winding down.

His finger taps the steering wheel at the sound of the song starting, “Giveon?”

Good choice, Y/N. “Yeah.”

“See, I knew you had good taste.”

Your lips quirk up into a grin, “I’m happy you think so.”

The two of you sit in silence for the rest of the ride home. Coincidentally, the song comes to an end as he pulls up in front of your house.

You step out of his car, turning towards him before shutting the door, “Thanks for taking me home.”

He shakes his head. “It’s the least I can do for drinking all your coffee.”

You roll your eyes, smiling at him, “I told you it’s fine, all that matters is that it got drunk in the first place.”

“Whatever you say,” he huffs, “you should probably get inside, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

You nod, turning back to glance at your house before turning back to him, “Alright, I will. Thanks again Yoongi, drive safe.”

“Will do, goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight.” You say as you shut the door and wave through the window, trying your hardest not to look at the glowing string. He waves back before retracting his focus back to his steering wheel. You watch him drive off before going inside your house.

As you get yourself ready for bed, your mind is constantly bombarded with thoughts of your soulmate and nothing else. You go to bed once more with a new and unfamiliar warmth brewing deep inside your chest.

You dream of him again that night.

It had been awhile since you were able to have such good sleep. You rarely used the term ‘slept like a baby’ because frankly, you couldn’t relate. But last night was the closest sleep you had gotten akin to the phrase.

Pushing past through yet another final and being exempted from the other could equate to a not shitty day for you. Because of the progress you were able to make in terms of your studying (besides the fact that you spent half of your day with your soulmate), you make your way back to the library again in hopes of having another productive day.

Being the hopeless romantic you are, you had a sliver of hope, just a little that maybe he would come back here to work alongside you once again.

After an hour of sitting by yourself, you came to the conclusion that you were being way too optimistic about the coincidence.

With your hardest final being tomorrow, a subject in which you sorely wished you had never enrolled in, also cause of many migraines and frustrated tears, Calculus— you decide to get started on it since you knew it was going to be the most labor-intensive.

You’re nearly about to rip the hairs out of your head from staring at your math teacher’s crappy explanations and poorly drawn graphs until someone’s jacket swipes against your chair. Two cups are set down in front of you as a man drops his backpack to the floor and plops onto his seat across from you, slightly out of breath and hair sticking to his forehead.

Your eyes widen, smiling at the sudden realization of who was sitting in front of you, “Yoongi?”

“Hi, sorry, I went to go grab us some coffee,” he says while sliding a cup towards you.

“Wha— Yoongi you didn’t have to.” You tell him, the action alone almost literally brought tears to your eyes. It was so sweet. A boy just bought you coffee. And at small observation, it was your exact order to a T, too.

He shrugs, his lips pressed in a line, “But I wanted to.”

The gesture makes you speechless. He’s standing there with the smallest of smiles, a cardboard cup in his hand and the thread shimmering like a slinky between the two of your figures. Your chest heaves at the pure sight in front of you, rising and sinking before spitting out, “I— thank you.”

“It’s nothing, really.” He dismisses with a shake of his head, sounding like he just checked a box off his grocery list. But his gaze flickers to every spot in the library besides wherever you were, wanting to hide the way his face was turning completely flush. He hated how his face could convey so much about him even after trying to uphold a stoic attitude most of the time. Being with you had to be the most he’s ever struggled with in terms of this issue, though.

You’re willing away the instinctive notion to gawk at him like he was holding out an elixir that would add plus twenty years to your lifespan. Even though he was holding out a cardboard cup of plain coffee that probably cost him some spare pocket change.

He decides to occupy himself by setting down his belongings while avoiding your lingering gaze.

You were terrible at the art of subtlety.

But he thought it was so goddamn cute.

“What are you smiling at?” You speak up. He had been unknowingly grinning at his Business Law and Ethics textbook like a complete fool. Oh God.

Clearing his throat, he faux coughs into his sleeve to hide the hot pink tint that was decorating the apples of his cheeks. “T-this coffee… tastes really good.”

You let out a small chuckle as he swipes the cup off the table and begins to down the contents of the cup like he’d been deprived of liquids for the past week.

Damn it, you’re so cute.

His lips detach from the cup as he blurts out with his eyes wide, “I’m so… what?”

Your eyes mirror his, widening at the realization that you just said he was cute, out loud. Before you know it, your hand reaches out to snatch your coffee, taking one long swig before setting it down on the table with a thunk.

“I mean the coffee– like the packaging!”

His brows furrowed together, making you want to almost groan in exasperation for his need to mock you. There is definitely not anything rather special, or cute even, about a cardboard cup. “Wait, what about the packaging?”

“It’s biodegradable and… nice-looking.”

With the two of you frequenting the local library in the middle of finals season, many people seemed to have the same idea of studying here as well.

The most likely underpaid librarian is far too engrossed in her own recreational reading to try to settle the commotion of all the students in the library. And it just so happens that the children’s tutoring program had started its hours as well.

The noises were starting to overpower the lo-fi beats you had been routinely blasting into your ears, and it was beginning to get really hard to focus. Looking up at the man sitting in front of you, you could infer that he was struggling as well— fiddling with the empty coffee cup at his hand as he stared off at the children sitting at their miniature-sized desks and missing the lines of their coloring pages.

If you were mistaken, you can make out a lot of peers from school, and in all honesty, you did not want to be seen by them right now. Small talk was never really your forte anyway.

“Hey.”

Yoongi’s focus shifts to you with a raise of a brow.

“I think I might head home early, it’ll probably be easier for me to work there.” You tell him, already feeling the fragments of guilt poking at you since he already had the predetermined plan of meeting you here. And even buying you a coffee and remembering your exact order above all.

“I’ll make it up to you by buying you coffee next time, I swear.” You laugh off to relieve some of the guilt that was still eating away at you.

“Nah, it’s not needed. I was thinking of heading to my school‘s library in a bit anyway.” He responds with a deep sigh and visible fatigue in his features.

You stand there wordlessly, feet unwilling to move from their current spot, the guilt quite literally eating away at your ability to walk all of a sudden.

“Y/N.”

He snaps you out of your statued reverie. “What?”

He crosses his arms, “It’s fine I promise, don’t worry about it.”

Slouching, you slither your way back down to the seat, “No, I feel so bad.”

“But what did I do?” He smiles, the sound that comes out of his lips a little hesitant and akin to a chuckle but sounded more like he was trying to get a hairball out of his throat. You smile back.

“Nothing.” That’s the problem.

Jutting out his bottom lip in concentration, he sets his arms on the table to direct his focus towards you, “Okay, why don’t you just come with me then?”

You point at yourself, as if he was directing his question to someone else other than you. “Am I allowed to come in there with you?”

He nods easily, giving you the presumption that you were far too worried about it, “They don’t manage who comes in and out of there anyway. And you can pass as a college student.”

“Well, I hope I do. I’m literally going to be there in like a few months.” You note, because other than the piles of schoolwork all your teachers assign and the near lucid dreams about the boy sitting in front of you, college was another topic of interest that took up a lot of real estate in your mind.

“That’s true. Let’s head out then.”

You two leisurely vacate from the commotion of the library, hopping into Yoongi’s car and dipping before the parking lot becomes more filled.

The car ride had the same comfortable silence it had the first time. He handed you the AUX with the simple instructions of ‘Just play something that won’t put us to sleep.’ with a long yawn at the end to top it off.

And so you turned on the playlist that you prepared for the event of when you could finally drive on your own and blast whatever the hell music you wanted.

You can see his cute head bobbing to the rhythm as he continued to drive, and so you forced yourself to look away and lean against the window. The vibration of the bass against your cheekbone was the only thing keeping you from conking out entirely.

He pulls into the parking lot, and you finally sit up—taking a moment to scan the university and its rather large campus. If you thought the library parking lot was full then your eyes must have been undermining themselves because there was such a sparse amount of parking spots, you weren’t even sure how Yoongi managed to find one so quickly.

Catching sight of all the students roaming the streets, you begin to partake in your people-watching habits. One thing you could clearly detect was the bustle and hastened pace of the students, probably rushing to crash in their dorms or their next class or to snatch a free table at the library.

“Are you sure I can just go to the library here?” You ask him once more as you step out into the chilly spring breeze.

He leans against the car door, talking to you over the roof of his car, “There’s so many people that go here, I’m telling you they won’t notice.”

“What if I stick out?” You argue, a very shitty argument may you say.

He laughs, raising a brow at you, “Do you want to stick out?”

“I want to be practically invisible.” You joke, except you’re not quite sure if it’s really a joke after all.

“Alright,” he leans down to open his car, getting something that you can’t quite see out of the backseat. “Put this on.”

He throws the undisclosed object to you, and you bear hug it in midair to catch it. You unfold the wrinkled fabric in your hands, and read the big, imprinted letters of the university on the front of the sweatshirt.

“See. Now you’ll look more like a student than half the people that actually go here.” He says with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, setting your backpack down to slip the sweatshirt on. Pausing halfway, your face is buried in the thick fabric when the sweet scent of his cologne hits your nose. Dismissing it, you pull the rest of the sweatshirt onto your body—the sleeves were far past your hands, the hem reaching the middle of your thighs. Throwing the hood over your head, your eyes land on the red string on your finger that has implacably maintained its glimmer.

Looking up from your hands, you notice Yoongi’s eyes shift quickly to avoid yours. He presses a button to crack open his trunk, grabbing his belongings out before reaching out to shut it close.

“Pause, is that a guitar case?” You point out before he can shut the door.

“Oh,” he blurts out, almost forgetting that he had it in there, “Yeah, it is.”

Your eyes remained on the black case, amazed at the sight like you’ve never seen one before, “You play guitar?”

“A little.” He replies reservedly, a tint of pink spreading across his cheekbones.

“Can I hear you play one of these days? I have a feeling you're bluffing.” Your eyes narrow, trying to milk the true talent of this mysterious man out of him. You don’t know him too well, almost not at all, but you could guess that he has a lot of love for music.

He smirks, shutting the trunk close before leaning on it, “And why would I bluff?

“I highly doubt you just have a whole guitar in your car that you only play ‘a little’ of.” You assert, mocking his tone by making your voice go several octaves lower. His lips stretch into a grin, tucking his lips into his mouth to withhold the laughter that was about to seep out of his lips.

Walking through the campus, you stay closer to his side; in case of the situation that you would get lost in the crowd with a bunch of people you didn’t know at a place you have never stepped foot in until now.

“You look like one of those Harry Potter things.” He states without looking in your direction.

You glance towards him, brows scrunched in thought, “Dementors?”

“Yeah, those. I can’t even see your face and you’re looking at me. I think.” He teases while leaning down to meet you at eye level. You scrunch your face in disapproval, and he mirrors your face exactly—scrunching his nose and puffing up his cheeks before you two lose it and break out into laughter.

“I probably look two feet shorter with this on.”

“You do.”

“Hey!” You gasp, feigning and exaggerating the anger in your tone. You cross your arms, your hands still enveloped in the fabric and nowhere to be seen as you trudge your way besides the boy.

After so much walking, you two finally make it into the library.

The building was bustling with students, all clad in sweatpants and solemn expressions to express the mutual disdain they all carry for finals week. And you realize you are one and the same.

The library is quite big, standing at around four stories from what you can observe, with plenty of books and supplies along with plenty of open areas for these debt-ridden students to be spending most of their days and nights studying. Which was also going to be you pretty soon as well.

How exciting.

“I’d get us a study room, but they’re all reserved. And I think we’d both need campus IDs anyway,” he tells you, coming to a stop at a table that neared the corner of the first floor.

“No worries, I don’t mind wherever we sit.” You affirm as you sit across from him.

You guys resume your study session as if Yoongi didn’t have to travel through half an hour of rush hour traffic just to get here. Both of your books and pencils are scattered in a disarray on the table, the blue light from your computers shining on both of your faces per usual in hopes of getting another productive day of studying down, as it was the final stretch of finals week, and then graduation coming faster than you could comprehend.

Maybe you were in over your head, but just being here, sitting in a collegiate library with your head buried in your Calculus book and your soulmate just inches away—it seems like you were already getting a glimpse of the future and what it could entail. And for the first time in this entire year full of people telling you how fast things are going to come at you and how time just seems more like an illusion, without a moment to sink in what’s around you and dwell on the brevity of events.

It felt like you were beginning to accept this without the inclinations of fear creeping through your mind and body.

“Y/N?” Yoongi calls out to you. He notices that your eyes have been glued to the window for a fair amount of time, your chin propped on your palm as your curious, doe eyes stare into the swarming, bustling quad. “Are you okay?”

Yoongi knew you were very pretty from the moment he saw you, but it was the first time he was able to observe you, or admire you closely if he was being completely frank. The sun bathed you in it’s golden embrace, it’s bright streaks of light dancing upon you like you were the only one in it’s line of sight. It accentuated all your greatest features, kissing you with it’s celestial touch that made you look all the more ravishing and real and so intimate despite being more than an arm’s length away.

You know those few moments that you experience in your life where for that small, fixed moment in time everything just feels like it’s where it supposed to be—as if the moment was written in verbatim for you to live through, experience, and later on treasure and later look back on with fondness and a smile.

Your eyes shift to him, softening as you notice the gentle smile adorning his lips, his dim eyes twinkling from the effects of golden hour, in which you reply back with your own lazy grin. Your eyes tear away from his face before you could feel yourself falling into oblivion and for what felt like getting completely lost in his orbs without reservation.

You chuckle, eyes casting down back onto your laptop, “I’m fine, you?”

Yoongi didn’t know you all too well, and it was indefinite how long you would be placed in his life. But in this very moment, where it felt like you were the only one present in a library filled with hundreds, he knew that even if you were to leave tomorrow and you two were to never cross paths ever again after that, he wouldn’t be able to forget you.

Even if he tried.

And he was already scared of losing you, but then again, you weren’t even his to begin with.

You were under the sun’s bewitching kiss, but he was pretty sure that he wanted to kiss you just a little bit more.

Yoongi can’t seem to look away from you, “I’m great.”

Shutting the screen of his laptop enough for you to notice he says, “It’s getting late, do you need to be home soon?”

You shake your head, your hands reaching up to your hair and pulling the hair tie that’s just barely been holding your hair up and out of your face for the past few hours. “Nah, I told my parents I’ll be studying out late with friends. They’re pretty lax about curfew and stuff as long as I don’t show up home at like 4 in the morning.”

Your words emit a chuckle out of him, “Good to know, it’s the perks of finally being legal coming to fruition, huh.”

Nodding in agreement, your brows raise at how true of a statement it truly was, “No actually, as a joke I would make the argument of how they can’t micromanage me anymore since I’m eighteen, but then they agreed with me and I just ran with it I guess.”

The aftereffects of studying without much abating was starting to catch up to you—your yawns becoming more frequent as the sun started to set and people slowly started to simultaneously leave but also file in for some late-night, last-minute cramming.

“Are you leaving town for college?” He asks while shutting his laptop, giving you his full attention.

“Yeah, I am,” you sigh, “it’s actually not too far from here, but it’s like an hour and a half away from home so I’m dorming there.”

“You excited?”

You take a moment to think about it, deciding to just be outright. “Scared more than anything, if I’m being honest.”

“I can promise you it’s not as scary as it seems, it just takes some time to get adjusted to, of course. I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He tells you, and despite many people saying words so similar to his, the fact that he’s saying it directly to you makes you want to believe it just a bit more than all the others.

“You’ve probably heard the same inspirational spiel from so many people, so I’ll save you the headache.” He chuckles, knowing that he too, was just in the same position as you only a year ago.

“No but, I feel like you’re more trustworthy of a source considering you just graduated last year,” you reassure him, “instead of a bunch of 50 year olds whose tuition was probably the cost of a textbook now.”

“The fact that it’s true is just fucked. We’re set up for failure before we even start.”

You nod, both of your faces having the same expression of ‘tell me about it’ painted across them.

Yoongi pops up in his seat, “Is it too late for you to get food? I’m starving.”

“God,” you huff out in relief, “I was hoping you didn’t hear my stomach growling this whole time.”

He clicks his tongue, a smile spreading across his cheeks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

You shut your laptop this time. “But what if you weren’t hungry?”

As soon as you zip your backpack closed, he takes you by the wrist—slinging his own backpack over his shoulder. He glances over his shoulder back at you, his eyes crinkled up and his gums on full display. The first time you’ve seen him smile this bright all day.

His beauty is blinding.

“Let’s get out of here.”

“Never ever let me scarf down McDonald’s that fast ever again.”

He laughs, the raspiness of his voice making him sound like he was out of breath. Or he might be, but you’re too over-satiated to be aware of what was going on. “Please don’t yak in my car, I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Leaned back in the passenger’s seat, you get up slightly, just enough to nudge him in the shoulder. “Don’t make me consider it, asshole.”

“Alright, no Mcflurry for you then.”

“No!” You shoot up in your seat, leaning over the center console in which he holds the cup out the window.

He smirks, leaning in towards you, “I thought someone wasn’t hungry, hm?”

“I just ate too fast, I did not say anything about being full.” You explain with a frown, eyes glued to the cup that he was still holding out the window. “At least don’t waste the poor thing.”

He concedes, bringing the cup back inside the car and handing it to you, “Hold on, let me get one more bite.”

You nod while holding the cup for him, watching him closely in case he ends up downing the entire thing the moment you look away. He’s aware of your focus on him, and as the spoon is about to enter his mouth, he dips a finger in—leaning forward to smear it across your cheek.

“Yoongi!” You shriek as he drops the spoon into the cup and makes a run for it—fiddling with the handle of his car door and running out.

You run out as soon as he does, scooping up as much ice cream into your hand as you can as you scan the premises for any sight of that boy.

Because right now, revenge tastes sweeter than any ice cream.

Noticing a lock of hair peeking out from the rear end of his car, you inch towards his trunk, keeping your hand behind your back as you jump around the corner to face him.

His eyes widen in horror at the entire scoop of soft serve in the palm of your hand, and he attempts to make his pursuit, only to realize that you two were parked in between two other cars.

You manage to get ahold of his jacket sleeve, and instead of Yoongi running away, he relents. Turning around and accepting his defeat as you greet him with a smug smile, bringing your dripping palm into his line of vision.

“Okay, that’s just unfair.” He deadpans, staring into the obscene amount of ice cream in your hand, the cup got discarded somewhere along the chase.

Taking a swoop of it in your finger, you reach up to place a dollop of it right on the apple of his cheek—swirling it around to make a circle. You do the same thing on the other side.

“You look pretty,” you say, because he does. He always does.

He takes your wrist, dipping his finger into the ice cream before placing some of it onto the tip of your nose, “You look much prettier.”

“Mine as well stick a cherry on my nose at this point.”

“Oh, you know that would’ve been the first thing I’d do if I had one,” he teases, thinking you would make a very cute Rudolph.

Yoongi reaches into his car to get a couple of napkins as you try to get rid of the dripping, sticky mess on your fingers.

Before you realize, he gently grabs your wrist again, wiping your palm with the napkin before he could clean off any of the mess on his face.

You stare at him as he wipes your hand, the way he holds your wrist so delicately with his calloused fingers. Grabbing one of the bottles of water in his car, you saturate a napkin, before reaching up to help wipe some of the ice cream off his face.

“You don’t have to—“

You smile, hands leaving his face momentarily, “It’s fine.”

He stands there, unable to make eye contact as his eyes shift to every single thing surrounding you two except you.

You can’t make any eye contact either, thanking the dim night sky for the fact that he can’t see how fierce you’re blushing right now.

Grabbing a napkin from his pocket, he pushes some of your hair back with his other hand, leaning in closer to get a better look of your face before bringing the napkin up to wipe away the big smear of cream on your cheek.

You freeze at his actions, his face clean for the most part as he begins to wipe away at the mess he caused. Not that you were complaining anymore.

He takes a finger and swipes off the dollop of cream he put on your nose— pausing for a bit before inching forward even closer, smearing the remaining cream onto your lips.

Without thinking, you’ve been inching closer this whole time too, so close in proximity where all you can see is his face, all his beautiful details and lack of imperfections. Did he always have a mole on his cheek there?

When he finishes smearing the cream onto your lips he wipes the excess off his fingers with a napkin, eyes stayed focused on yours. And you realize this is the first time you two have held eye contact for this long.

Your eyes flicker to his lips, but you immediately regret it as the corner of his lip curls up to what would resemble a subtle smirk. You feel him lean in closer, your bodies millimeters from colliding in the already tight space between two cars— but he pauses in his spot before your lips can meet, leaning forward to whisper in your ear.

“Only if you’re okay with this, Y/N.”

His breath tickles the shell of your ear as he’s perched over your shoulder. Bringing a hand up to the nape of his neck, you gently guide his head back to meet face-to-face once again.

“I am.”

You’re not quite sure who closes the gap first, but your lips meet and a flurry of instant shockwaves shoot down your spine at the initial touch. He brings a hand up to the small of your back, pulling you in closer so that there’s no space in between your bodies.

While getting your first taste of him, the taste of the cold ice cream lingers on your tongue, and you’re wondering if this was just what exactly he had intended. You feel your mind go fuzzy, numb-like as he continues to kiss you, and you kiss him back, and you swear you’ve never felt more at home than you do right now— wrapped in his arms, lips against yours, and sending the gleam of the string glowing as bright as it ever been before as he continues to kiss you.

Your lips detached, and the two of you are almost out of breath, panting as you two stare at each other in bewilderment of what had just occurred.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he admits shyly as he tucks a loose strand of your hair away.

“I think I like eating my ice cream like that, I don’t know.” You tease, your hand reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Oh, do you now?” He scoffs, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead as you lean into his chest.

“Yes, I do,” you speak into his shirt, “but it’s getting cold, can we go in your car?”

He laughs as he opens the door he was leaning against, scooting so there was enough space for you in the backseat.

As soon as you get yourself situated, you sigh, your body slumping against his backseat, “Yoongi, I have something to tell you.”

“Am I in trouble?”

Quirking a brow, “Do you wanna be?”

“Possibly.” He says in a low whisper, a small grin etching itself onto his features.

Oh God, you don’t think your heart can handle much of this any longer.

“Okay, I’m not sure if you remember but I know I do,” you chuckle, your mind briefly glossing over just about how much of your time had been spent daydreaming about the boy sitting right in front of you— if he was doing okay, if he was smiling right now, how he looked, if he ate breakfast that day. You tell him, glancing up to stare into his eyes under the dimness of being in his car, “We’ve met before.”

His head tilts, brows raising slightly at the confession, “We have?”

“Yeah, now this might sound creepy as fuck,” you say, letting out a hollow chuckle in the air to ease your nerves, and to hopefully sound less like a sputtering fool, yet it was already too late for that, “but did you happen to go to Pacifica Beach 10 years ago? With your family?”

“No fucking way,” he deadpans, and you’re slightly taken aback at his choice of words, his expression unreadable, but you weren’t sure if it was because of the way your heart was beating erratically in your chest, or if it was because it was nighttime and the lights inside his car weren’t working, “Are you the girl? The girl that fell in the sand?”

Your jaw nearly drops to your lap, you shake your head, shaking off some of the astonishment and awe on your features, “You remember?”

“I mean, yeah, at the age of nine I thought you were pretty hot,” he confesses with a smile, making you laugh and alleviating the tenseness in your shoulders, thankful for the boy in front of you always knowing the right time to say certain things, a talent in which you wish you had, “Even for getting wet sand all over my favorite shorts.”

“I think I’m still as clumsy as I was ten years ago, unfortunately.”

“It’s cute, don’t worry about it.” He says like it was something so obvious. Like his words weren’t going to make you want to curl up in his seat even more. “How did you know it was me?”

Oh, here we go. You take a deep inhale, fingers grasping at the hem of his sweatshirt. “That's the thing… you know the whole red string soulmate thing.

You can’t make this out in the darkness, but his lips press into a thin line, he stares down into his lap while nodding at your words. “Yeah, what about it.”

Damn it, just say it already.

“The string is connected between us, Yoongi.”

His head perks up, “So that means—”

“Yoongi,” you whisper, reaching across the seats to gently take his hand into yours, “we’re soulmates.” You say just loud enough for him to hear, admiring the way his hand fits quite nicely in yours.

His head droops down, avoiding your gaze as he tries to slither his hand out of your grasp. Your eyes widen at his actions, creases of worry developing on your forehead at his lack of enthusiasm, or lack of anything for that matter.

He coughs dryly into his sleeve, awkward, and not at all seeming like he registered anything you had just told him. Like you just told him the weather forecast or that his laundry was done.

“I see.”

Scooting back towards the door, you stare down at your lap, wishing that the darkness of the night sky would swallow you whole and that you could take back the last ten minutes. If the genie of Aladdin popped up right now, it would be the first wish you would request.

The mood had evidently changed, in the matter of your brief confession and his lack of reaction thereof. The silence was thick like fog, suffocating you, encasing you, and you don’t think you have ever regretted saying something so much until this very moment.

Years and years spent imagining this very moment that you would confess to your soulmate the truth about your ability to see the string, was blown into oblivion. No chance to take it back, to reverse time and keep your words contained in the cabinets of your mind for safekeeping. Everything was all laid out. Whether you liked it or not.

And you just screwed it all up.

You can feel yourself nearing to tears, your eyes brimming to their capacity, eyelashes damp, “Yoongi, did I say something wro—”

“Sorry, Y/N,” he cuts you off, “I forgot I have to do some last-minute packing before I leave tomorrow. I’ll drop you off back home.” He says, immediately opening the door and retreating to the driver’s seat.

You quickly wipe the tears from your eyes as you quickly trudge to the passenger’s side, refusing to make eye contact with him as you plop yourself into his seat and stare out the window as he starts the car and leaves the parking lot.

He plays music from his own phone to avoid half an hour of silence. You two don’t say a single word the whole time, and you don’t bother to spare him a glance—letting the tears you were trying so desist, escape freely down your face and onto the sleeves of his hoodie as you stare out the window.

Finally reaching your house, you hastily get out of his car as soon as he puts it in park—not returning his hoodie, and not sparing a single glance behind you as you had no intentions of speaking to the man who had just ruined every ounce of longing and expectation you had to meet and fall in love with your soulmate.

As soon as you fall under your covers, your sobs wrack your body for what seems like eternity, unable to calm yourself down and instead deciding to cry all your feelings out— only able to fall asleep once your body grows too tired to cry any longer.

Min Yoongi was going back home tomorrow, and if you never spoke to him again after today, so be it.

Curse Min Yoongi for being the cause of your puffy, red eyes and lack of sleep the day that you graduate high school. This day was supposed to be a day of utmost prominence, given your age, and new beginnings—a close on a chapter you were sure you would look back on with both fondness and distaste with years to come.

But instead of focusing on that aspect of today, you could only dwell on yesterday. Yesterday night, in particular.

The day of your high school graduation, you were awoken to your phone blaring ceaselessly into your eardrums—your phone placed accordingly so you were sure that you would wake up early enough to get ready, save your damaged ears.

Your lids were heavy, and after what seemed like five alarms had passed you grumble out of annoyance as you swipe your phone off your bedside table. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turn on your phone to realize that the sound from your phone in fact, wasn’t an alarm, it was from someone calling you.

Yoongi was calling you.

At 4:30 in the morning.

You shoot up in your bed as you read the name that pops up on your screen. Pondering for a bit before swiping to answer, you bring your phone up to your ear.

“Y/N?”

“What do you want, Yoongi? It’s really early.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, you know I’m leaving today.”

You groan, “I’m also graduating today, Yoongi, Can you just tell me over the phone?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But this is something I need to tell you in person. Please, I swear it won’t be long, and I’ll buy you coffee and breakfast.”

You sigh into your phone, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last night, Y/N. It was cowardly of me, and I just need to explain some stuff to you before I go.”

“Okay.” You deadpan, holding back tears once more. Although they never really stopped, honestly.

“Alright, thank you, Y/N. I’m outside your house.”

You hang up, as you slide out of your bed, walking up to your window to peek through the curtains to see that he was, in fact, parked on the curb in front of your house.

Slipping on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, you brush your teeth and leave the house with your phone in your pocket and your heart no longer on your sleeve in the presence of Min Yoongi.

You stood in your bathroom for a little longer, contemplating and backtracking on everything that had occurred this past week—the insurmountable amount of highs in comparison to lows.

You couldn’t help but think that it was destined for you to meet Yoongi and as much as you could pretend to hate his guts, pretend that you don’t love him or like him, or hate him, he would find some way to slither himself back into your life.

But back when you were seven, getting visions of a boy you didn’t even know and having this gnawing feeling at your heart due to the fact that they weren’t beside you—how were you supposed to comprehend that back then?

That same sense of control you thought you once regained as you aged was seeping out of your fingertips. All those unanswered questions that had you brimming with ambivalence were getting answered one by one.

Everything you had imagined him to be was appearing right before your very eyes. From the way his own pupils carry stars that appear to be handpicked from the sky itself, to his round cheeks that you would puff up when he was concentrating on something, turning rosy whenever you’d say something to provoke him, his rough and cold hands that you couldn’t wait another minute to be held with. His mouth that speaks words of wisdom beyond his years, but also snarky remarks that make it hard to withhold your laughter. The natural, deep timbre of his voice and the raspy laugh that you could hear on repeat for the rest of your life.

He was everywhere. And he was everything but avoidable.

It took years later for you to realize that fate had its own way of working. Regardless of all the stunning people you had encountered, that had charmed you, that had you swooning for them—they were never going to get anywhere near the same effect that Min Yoongi had on you.

The only sand you were having to confront now was the hourglass tracking the amount of time you had been stalling to tell him— the final grains slowly making their escape to the bottom to join the rest of their friends.

You walk out your front door only to be greeted by him standing at your doorstep, a bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“Congrats on graduating today.”

Your eyes flicker from his face to the flowers as he hands them to you. You wordlessly acknowledge him, giving him a tight-lipped nod in appreciation as he turns around and goes to his car, you trailing behind him while keeping your distance.

You climb into his car, slamming the door shut and throwing your hood over your head—presuming the position you had the night before on the drive home, your chin in the palm of your hand as you stared out his car window with the flowers resting in your lap.

Yoongi looked over at you from time to time, knowing that he very well deserved this cold demeanor from you. He stayed quiet and kept driving to his destination, waiting until he would get there to say what he wanted to say.

You lull into sleep as he continues to drive, your forehead resting against the window of his car. At a stoplight, he glances over your figure to see your eyes shut and he makes a note to take his turns more carefully so he wouldn’t disturb you.

He parks on the side of the road as he reaches his stop. The car stops humming and your eyes peel open as he opens his car door. You slip your hood off enough to see out the window and you notice that you’re at the record shop you’ve probably been to hundreds of times, and now, Yoongi’s workplace.

He fishes out the keys in his pocket as he starts to fiddle with the door handle. It’s pitch black outside, no one to be seen while none of the shops on the downtown strip are open, or about to be open anytime soon.

Unlocking the door, he motions you to go in first. You step carefully into the shop, noticing how everything is in pristine condition— the shelves stocked for the most part and the floors sparkling.

“Is it okay that we're in here?” You ask, taking in the quietness of the store and how weird it felt being here without all the noise from all the people you’ve grown up on the same streets with.

“Yeah, they’re both out of town so we’re closed for the weekend.”

You nod, as you continue to window shop at all the records. Yoongi locks the door behind him, walking past you as he begins to make his way towards the back.

“Follow me.”

And you do, you don’t have a choice, really. He shuts off the lights to the store and pulls the switch to the small overhead lamp in the middle of the breakroom. The small, vintage looking lamp manages to illuminate the room just enough for you to observe the rest of the space.

It reminds you of a basement that older homes have, wooden and simple, but comfortable enough to be labeled as a break room. A couple of shelves filled with boxes stood in the corner of the room, the rest of their inventory, you assume.

A worn out leather couch stands on the other side, the leather fading to a lighter shade of brown a tad on the armrests, but still looking intact overall.

A mini fridge stood next to it with a microwave and coffee maker on top.

But the most noticeable piece of furniture in the room was the record player.

It stood off on its own, kept more hidden to be treasured aside from everything else. Unlike the other record players that you would always see in the store, this one looked different.

The others once were probably newer models, with improved needles, buttons and improvements in technology to make it easier to play whatever records one may choose. While the record appeared spotless and clean, it looked like no one had used it in a really long time. It stood on a wooden podium, kept safe in a glass case.

Tearing your focus away from the record player, your eyes scan for Yoongi as you find him patiently waiting for you on the leather couch. He’s hunched over with his arms resting on his knees, hands clasped together as he stares at the floor.

You sit across from him, squishing yourself against the armrest to be as far away from him as possible.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” You ask. He sits upright on the couch as he continues to look forward instead of at you. You do the same.

He sighs, turning towards you. “First off, I just wanna say sorry about last night. I completely blew you off when I know you had just disclosed something that was really important to you—“

“To me?” You cut him off, appalled.

“Y/N,” he calls out, and for the first time you look at him straight in the eyes, shooting daggers as you give him the most intense glare you could muster, “I don’t believe in soulmates.”

Your eyes soften on their own accord. You were shitty at concealing your feelings, and you were sure that your face was expressing the immense amount of sadness his words are making you feel. You turn away from him in hopes of him not noticing. You can feel your bottom lip quivering, another wave of tears threatening to deter your vision.

You scoff, feeling the beginning stages of anger starting to creep into your body. “Did you bring me here just to tell me that?”

Yoongi heart breaks upon seeing your face fall at his notions. “I’m here to explain why.”

Taking a deep breath, you stare back at the wall in front of you, giving him a perfunctory nod.

“My parents were soulmates, they met in high school, and got married right after they graduated.” The irony.

“They had me a year later when they both were in college despite having financial troubles, but from what they told me, that was when they were the most happy,” he explains, a crooked smile making way across his lips, “Knowing that they had a son on the way, and going to school, and being able to see each other between all the commotion and everything in between.” He continues further.

He exhales, shaky and hollow, before going on, “That day when you first met me ten years ago was the last vacation I ever went on with my mom.”

You look up, your focus slowly shifting towards him, the guilt managing to ignite through your system in flames, “Yoongi, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for something you didn’t do. It’s fine,” he tells you with a chuckle to help soothe his apprehension about the subject. “It's just… my mom left when I was still so young, and I had no idea that something was going on. It was like a bomb had dropped, you know. They were perfect in every way when I was growing up—stable jobs, a home they can call their own, always acting so civil and domestic and loving towards one another. I thought everything was fine, or at least it seemed that way. And then suddenly one day it wasn’t. We went from eating dinner every day together as a family to my mom sending me postcards every holiday and visiting once a year.”

You notice that the pace of speech starts to quicken the more he explains, becoming more frantic. Scooting closer to him, you place a hand on his, stopping him in his panic. “Yoongi, you don’t have to tell me if you’re not comfortable. You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation, okay? I was being selfish, and I should’ve been more considerate.”

He shakes his head, fingers curling around his as he offers you a small smile. “No, I want you to know, and I should’ve communicated better.”

You nod, enclosing another hand around his and squeezing it.

“I don’t know,” he starts off, more controlled, “It’s like she just stopped caring. And yeah, after that I just thought that soulmate shit was all for show. Because it just didn’t make sense to me how a red string can determine so much about a person's life when they can change the course of everything so easily.”

You hum, because his justification was very much valid. “No, you’re right.”

“Same with love, in a sense,” he continues, placing his other hand atop of yours as he sits back, the conversation coming easier to him, “to put so much of yourself into one person just seems so… I don’t know… unrealistic. All that vulnerability and trust that goes along with being in a relationship just seems like too much to ask for from one person.”

All you can do is nod. As much as you wanted to say that you were willing to go above and beyond for him, you know that your words wouldn’t be able to be evince what you wanted in place of actions.

“I think that’s why being with you scares me, in a way.” He admits, glancing off to not gauge what reaction his words had gotten out of you. He’d rather not see.

“Seeing this string so clearly makes me even more scared,” he explains furthermore, detaching his hand from yours to bring it up to his field of vision.

“You can see it now?”

“I started seeing it when you told me last night.”

A small grin makes its way onto his lips. “Even if I try not to think about you Y/N, there’s no way I can’t.” He tells you as he fiddles with the gleaming thread, intertwining it around his fingers before letting it fall loose around his wrist.

“I don’t know what this feeling is, do I like you? Do I love you? I’m not sure,” he says, “I just know that whenever I see you, I feel happier when you’re around. And that I wanna keep you safe and be the one that makes you happy, too. It sounds so simple, but it feels so complicated to explain.”

“I feel the same way, Yoongi.”

“I just- I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t want what we have to be temporary, to be short term. I don’t want you to just be another girl who exits just as fast as they enter. But whatever love is, I think I’d be willing to try with you.”

“Yoongi,” you say, tears brimming at the seams of your already swollen eyes, thanks to your previous flash flood from only a few hours prior, “you’re gonna make me cry, again.”

He scoots closer, his knees bumping into yours as his eyes gloss over you tenderly. You’re avoiding his eyes, using the back of your palms to blot the tears on your cheeks. “I’m sorry for making you cry in the first place.”

“Please don’t be sorry. I was being insensitive.” You counter, tasting the teardrops at the seams of your lips.

“How could you be insensitive if you didn’t know what was going on?” He declares. As you let your hands fall to your lap, your tear ducts managing to quiet down for a moment, you feel another pair of hands brush over your own. “How about we just forget what happened last night? We’re flawed, we’re human.”

You chuckle, twining your fingers into his. “I think I’d like that.”

As you turn to face him with a smile, he brings his hand up, looking as if he’s about to scratch his head. His hand pauses, decidedly running a hand through his hair, and moving carefully to reach out towards you.

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your dampened cheek, his touch so soft and gentle that the sensation is barely felt. But you know, oh you know it’s there. The rest of his fingers come to find their place around your jaw, as he uses his other hand to mirror the same motions on the other side of your face.

Yoongi has you almost entirely in his hands. And even with your cheeks wet, hair a mess, wearing clothes that were tattered and two sizes too big, and eyes swollen and red from all the pain he had inflicted upon you— he thought you were so beautiful. Stunning, nonetheless.

He stands up from the couch, holding a hand out for you in hopes that you would grab it. The iridescent string moving in waves as he reaches toward you. “Follow me.”

And so you do.

He brings you out of the break room and back into the store. Switching on the lights, you’re greeted by the overhead buzz of the lamps. Taking a glance out the door, you notice the sun’s rays beginning to make its entrance for the day. Yet it was still far too early to see any signs of civilization out.

“Pick a record.” He tells you.

“What?”

He smiles, all gums, “Pick anything. It’s on me.”

You shake your head, leaning against the register. “No Yoongi, oh my God. No way.”

“Why not?”

“It’s expensive.” You say, crossing your arms for added emphasis.

“And I work, I work here. Think of this as a graduation present.” He reasons, walking deeper into the store as he skims a hand along a shelf of vinyls.

You toe past the register, walking up to his side as you took his forearms in your hands. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he affirms, and the assuredness in his eyes makes you feel like there’s no way you could say no, “Now go pick something out.” He tells you, placing his hands on your shoulders and giving you a slight push towards the shelves.

Your eyes scan the possible hundreds upon hundreds of vinyls that took residence in the shelves, most of them likely artists you’ve never heard of.

Fingertips riding along the spines, you begin to seriously browse, already feeling bad enough for the act of getting an album for free. You didn’t want to add insult to injury by taking an eternity to pick something out.

Too occupied and immersed in finding something, because there’s so much inventory meaning a considerable amount of options to choose from. Narrowing it down to one began to be harder than you thought.

A pair of arms, bigger and clad in a black hoodie, wrap around your waist, hands securing at the curves of your waist as you get pulled in closer.

You feel the soft huffs of his breath tickling the nape of your neck, in which he later rests his chin in— holding you so tight in fear that he might lose you again.

Smiling at the sensation, you place your hands over his, gingerly rubbing the backs of his hands with your thumbs. You tilt your head to the side to rest yours over his tufts of hair, “Hi, there.”

“Hi,” He speaks into your neck, the tickling sensation making you squirm a little.

“I don’t know what to pick, there’s so much to choose from.”

You feel his head move, he nods into your shoulder. “Why don’t you just go to a random section and pick one blindly?”

“That’s not a bad idea, actually.”

Scanning what each shelf had been individually labeled with, you decide to make your way over to the most popular presses, Yoongi still pressed up behind you as you two shuffle towards the shelf. As you stop in front of it, you grab his wrist, slapping his hand over your eyes.

Blindly grabbing at air, your hands finally drop onto the albums, fingertips gliding over several before stopping at one unbeknownst to you. Hesitantly, you grab it, sliding it out of the other array of albums.

“Ready to look?”

“Yeah.”

He removes his hands from your eyes, your vision coming back to you. You look down to see Stevie Wonder’s ‘Songs in the Key of Life’ in your hands, and you’re more than elated about your pick.

Wow is the only word that manages to leave your lips.

He hums in shared awe, “We should play it.”

“Are we allowed to use the record players here?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Taking your hand, he leads you to the breakroom once more until he stops in front of the record player in the glass case, still appearing like it hadn’t been used or touched in years.

“Does it still work, you think?” You ask, feeling like you two were overstepping your boundaries even more by attempting to use this.

He wipes some of the dust off of the glass case with his sleeve, carefully unlatching it and lifting it open, “I guess we’re about to find out.”

To your surprise, the record player appears to be in mint condition aside from all the dust and debris that had gathered on the case. It looks practically new.

Yoongi lifts the arm, sliding the record out of the case and onto the turntable. He cautiously cleans off the needle before slowly placing it on the vinyl.

“If it works, can I pick the song?” You ask meekly as you tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. His hands and fingers, although appearing to be rough and calloused, were much more nimble then they seem as he carefully handled the antique machinery.

“Alright,” he huffs out, glancing over his shoulder at you, “it should be all set. Just tell me what track number you want.” He tells you, handing you the vinyl sleeve so you can find what song to play.

You already knew what song to play though. You just needed to know what number it corresponded to. “Track two.”

A small smile creeps onto his lips, as he shifts his focus for you back to the record player. Tucking his bottom lip into his mouth in concentration, he lifts the arm once more, his eyes scanning for the very next groove vinyl as he gently places it there.

You don’t realize you’re staring off into space until you feel a hand on your wrist— the contact surprising you a bit and making you jump. He smiles, motioning back to the record player as he gently tugs your wrist to stand next to him.

“Just press play right here.”

Hesitancy is what you feel. You’re not exactly sure why, it’s not like you’re being asked to do something grandiose or complicated. And regardless of how much sleep you had gotten or, at least wish you had gotten, he wasn’t asking much of you.

But you press it.

The vinyl gradually begins to spin, and you can detect the intro of the song— faint keys of the piano playing in a melody that brings a smile to your lips.

Yoongi looks at you fondly, you begin sidestepping to the rhythm of the song. He steps back to crash back onto the couch.

Reaching out a hand, you turn towards him with a pout, “Get up.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, feigning annoyance but the affection he holds for you clearly appears up more than the latter. He slides his hand into yours, letting you tug him up from the couch.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, hm?”

Glancing down at your hands, you see the string swirling around your figures, it’s light emitting a glow as bright as you’ve ever seen. Yoongi notices you looking down, and his eyes trail down to your hands. He reaches for them, slowly intertwining his fingers with yours, and squeezing them briefly before looking back up.

“Dance with me.” You say under your breath, detaching and bring your hands up to rest on his shoulders.

Your hands trail from his shoulders all the way down to his hands, grabbing both of his wrists and placing his hands on the small of your back. You look back up to see him chuckling at your assertiveness, and as you place your hands back on his shoulders, you can feel him bring your body closer to his, and so you wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, similar to those cheesy prom scenes in a coming-of-age movie.

Well, you two weren’t very far from that. You both had wide, lazy, and near foolish grins painted across your faces, eyes half-lidded and worn out from the day before. Rocking side and side to the beat of the music, the ends of his bangs falling into his eyes, his gums on full display as his smile does everything but fade.

The small overhead lamp that just barely served its function to illuminate the break room wasn’t on. It didn’t need to be.

Not when the man standing in front of you was finally here, his presence feeling extrusive almost. Even more than the string that’s been stuck to your finger all your life wasn’t compared to any of this— none of it prepared you for the moment that you would finally be standing in front of your soulmate, experiencing how it felt to be cherished and loved. You felt whole.

“You gonna miss me?” You tease, tilting your head as you rest your forehead on his.

He smiles, “I’m not going there for the whole summer you know, only a month.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” he affirms, pecking the tip of your nose, “then I’m all yours.”

You kiss him. It’s not as intimate as the kiss you two shared last night, but you’re grabbing him by the sides of his face, inching closer to slot your lips into his before pulling back with a smile.

He strokes a hand through your hair gingerly, his fingers hooking under your jaw “You’re beautiful.”

“Don’t miss me too much, eh?” You taunt, although you feel yourself automatically sink into his touch.

“Oh, shut up.” He cuts you off with a wide grin, leaning forward to shut you up with his lips.

thank u so much for reading!!! <3

masterlist

[opaljm]

yours, truly (m) – jjk

⟶ pairing: female reader x Jungkook

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genres & tropes: angst, future smut; arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, scorned lovers with a past, second chance romance, featuring ceo!jungkook & music producer!reader

⟶ summary: Ten years ago, you had run away from your family to pursue your dreams of becoming an idol. Eight years ago, those dreams were turned into dust and you were forced to beg your family to take you back in. Now, as a part of their agreement for making you a member of the illustrious Min family once more, you were forced to do their every bidding, including marrying the man you hated the most of all.

⟶ warnings/content tags: tension and hostility between Jungkook and the reader, flashbacks, talk of being a runaway teen, alluding to family problems/drama, producer shenanigans, dramatic jungkook, petty reader, this chapter is sfw!

⟶ length & status: 13k words; in progress

⟶ a/n: Hello welcome to Naia’s first (of several) long fics of this year. This is entirely free written which means there’s not really an outline. Outside of whatever chapter I am currently writing and a vague idea of how the only the next chapter after it will go, I am just going with the flow as far as the plot goes. So this is actually the third story of the Marital Bliss universe, however, you don’t need to read the other two fics before this to be able to enjoy this one. I will post the other chapter ones after this before I post chapter two for this fic. Just a head’s up. I plan on having the other two posted in May as well, though so don’t worry. I hope you guys enjoy this! Also sorry for the super long boring A/N at the beginning. You have @chateautae​ to thank for the surprise early drop lol! I hope you guys don’t mind that it’s not Friday. beta-read by the lovely @hantaev​. The masterlist will be linked after all three stories’ first chapters are out!​

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"𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚝

𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎, 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑,"

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

The mansion that the Parks had acquired for the night was certainly magnificent. The chateauesque building was built in the late 1800s, and with its blend of Gothic and Beaux-Arts architecture, it created a massive, ornate space that evoked a sense of splendor and grandeur. The inhabitants of the first floor, that had been completely opened for the celebration, only furthering that impression with the women in their long floor-length gowns, long ropes of pearls hanging from both their necks and ears, and giant golf ball sized stones adorning the rings on their left hands while the men were decked out in three piece dark suits, livening up their outfits with the pointed toes of their leather shoes, and the wristwatches on their right arms often going up to six figures. 

You were on the periphery of the wild crush of people, nearly hugging the edge of the room like a wallflower, a wine glass in your right hand, your wrist kept snapping, idly swishing around the burgundy contents of your glass. Your plush lips were wet from the constant sips you had indulged yourself in, stained a deep berry red from what must have been two or three, or possibly even five, glasses of cabernet sauvignon. Your gaze flickered to the starlet of the night, the main reason that all of you have congregated this evening. Little baby Park, your niece through marriage, was in her father’s arms in a petal pink flouncy Dolce & Gabbana princess dress. Her pin-straight black brown hair had been neatly arranged into a cute half down half up do, in one of the few designs she could have due to the short length of her hair, and the updo part was sticking straight up like a fluffy apple stem behind the diamond barrette that was holding it up.  

Her parents were celebrating her first birthday with a massive fete, though graciously they had decided to accommodate their guests and make the event on a Saturday, rather than the following Tuesday when her birthday really was, so baby Park wasn’t even a year old. She was an adorable baby you thought to yourself, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. You tried to keep your resentment from taking hold of you: your niece had done nothing to deserve your ire, she was an innocent babe. And yet, jealousy was still so hard for you to break free of, wanting your own little girl as well, knowing that you would probably never get her. 

Her mother joined them, the daughter instantly holding her arms out for her mama. Her mother was a gorgeous woman, two or three inches shorter than her husband, creating the perfect height difference between the pair. Other than the similar eye shape and color she shared with your husband, the siblings didn’t have much in common other than their otherworldly beauty that made them the most attractive people in any room they stood in. Every single member of your husband’s family was breathtakingly gorgeous, from your coldhearted parents-in-law, to your disgust, your husband, who turned heads wherever he went.

Based on observation, seeing your sister-in-law and her family in the passing for the last couple of days, you had a feeling that she was the favored parent. You felt like you were in the minority with your belief however, because any time anyone ever talked about your niece, the conversation shifted to how she was her father’s mini-me with plump cheeks, sleepy eyes, and the cutest pouty lips and how that must have also translated into her being a Daddy’s girl. 

It wasn’t that Jimin wasn’t a good father and didn’t spoil her needlessly, you just saw past the biased misogynistic lenses that everyone else had adorned and saw that all of the similarities between her and her father didn’t quite translate into her loving her father the most, but rather being just like him, down to sharing the same exact favorite person: the woman who had cozied up by her husband’s side and held her toddler daughter in her arms, a patient look of love and amazement painting her face as she attentively listened to her baby babble to her. But this could’ve all just been your alcohol-addled musings; you had rarely been sober any time you were in the presence of your family members by marriage.

You raised your glass for another sip, frowning against the rim before you could swallow the complex acidic burgundy liquid. If your sister-in-law was in the front with the rest of her nuclear family then where the fuck was－

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” your husband said, sidling up to you. 

Your frown deepened into a grimace, Jeon Jungkook looked good to your complete and utter disappointment. It was a thought that had plagued you every single one of the rare times he was in your presence. He was wearing a custom tailored suit from Louis Vuitton, his jacket was entirely open showing the bright white dress shirt underneath and his neck was missing a tie. You couldn’t even remember if he had left the hotel with a tie on, so careful were you in your avoidance and ignorance of your husband. He had made the right decision in getting rid of his tie if he had had one initially, you decided, even if his outfit looked a little incomplete. By its virtue of being all black, it went well with your midnight blue Alexander McQueen gown. 

“Have you been here the entire time?" Jungkook asked. “You disappeared pretty fast after they introduced us when we came in. My sister wanted to thank you for the birthday present you got, although she thinks we went a little overboard.”

You stared unseeingly into the murky red depths of your wine glass. You felt sick of it, you would surely hurl if you took another sip. You hadn’t even eaten, the waiting staff never quite made their way to the corners of the room with the hors d’oeuvres like they did with the alcohol. Dinner was in half an hour, you thought, but it might have been running late since no one else seemed as eager to sit down and eat like you were.

Jungkook leaned in, his overgrown dark bangs brushing against the side of your head as his frustrated whisper tickled over the shell of your ear. His hair which usually reminded you of a perfectly round coconut or a brown sugar soaked tapioca pearl, or perhaps you were just incredibly famished and hallucinating, had grown out enough that the tresses were wavy and framing his face in a devastatingly becoming manner. 

“I told you I was going to take care of the gift. You should’ve listened to me. Did you think I wouldn’t put your name on it? I’m not like that Y/N. At least she didn’t realize that this was a result of a communication error and thinks we just want to spoil our only niece.”

You couldn’t take this anymore. Your eyes continued to harden with barely concealed abhorrence and your teeth were so tightly clenched that your jaw was starting to ache. You simply did not have it within you to play one half of a happily married couple with Jungkook, right now.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” you announced abruptly, cutting Jungkook’s monologue short. You finally managed to dispose of the glass that had been holding your right hand captive for the entire evening by thrusting it at one of the waiting staff who had been conveniently walking by with an empty tray over his arm. 

“I’ll take you there,” Jungkook said. 

With one of your eyebrows raised, you asked, “Why? You’re not a girl. I don’t have to travel in pairs with men to go to the restroom.”

“I know,” Jungkook said with a defeated sigh, tired of your contrariety, “I just didn’t think you knew the layout too well. You’ve never been here before.”

“I’m fine,” you retorted, wrapping the sheer tulle cape that was sewn onto the dress’s shoulders, made of the same fabric and color as the rest of your gown just more transparent, even more fully around your form. You stalked away from him, your body tightened into a hard line as your figure made its way across the vast expanse of the room towards the interior exits. 

Jungkook almost let you go by yourself before he realized he hadn’t talked to you all that much today. He quickly started to move, his feet picking up speed as he followed along your footsteps. By the way your nude Kate, Louboutin heels hurried along that much more swiftly, he knew that you had realized he wouldn’t be leaving your side for the rest of the night. The glittering chandeliers overhead did excellent work casting light down on the entire room, the geometric prisms of crystals shining rainbow rays of light over your figures, making you appear angelic. Jungkook was enraptured as he followed in your footsteps, rushing to make sure you didn’t disappear from his sight.

[almost ten-ish years ago]

Dragging the toe of your shiny leather loafers along your left calf to help pull your white stockings back up, that had ridden down, pooling around your ankle, you found yourself lingering in front of the Chun-Ah Arts High School, reluctant to make your way inside, waiting to see if you would be able to see him again. You were sure you two were in different grades so you never really got to see him during school hours and knew that seeking him out then would be futile. But sometimes, you would get lucky in the mornings before he headed to the east where the school gymnasium and fields were and you headed to homeroom since you didn’t have any friends to hang out with in the mornings.

You had run away to Seoul two days after your fifteenth birthday, after getting an offer to become a trainee at a small entertainment company known as Big Shot, much to the displeasure of your rich family living in Daegu. They could hardly comprehend why you would want to throw away a life of security and wealth all on the pipe dream of becoming an idol. When you had moved to Seoul, your family had kicked you out of the will and taken away your trust fund, telling you that you would no longer be associated with the Min’s hotel chain legacy. 

The thought of your family made a wry smirk take over your lips; when you had dropped out of the Jeong Finishing School for Exemplary Girls, the first female in your family in generations to leave the school without honors, your family thought you had ruined your future. Little did they know, you would be starting your second semester of sophomore year at the fancy Chun-Ah Arts school in Seoul. 

When you first started at Big Shot, you had quickly realized that maybe you had been naive and living in a privileged bubble, having to dorm in a studio apartment with ten other girls. The type of jealousy and backbiting at the agency was different from the kind you had experienced in your all-girls school. Here the fights weren’t about boyfriends or stealing one of a kind Dior sweaters to dump in bright red paint for revenge. The sabotage was more physical, with girls trying to claw their way to the top to be the stand out talent in a group line up. The mind games were more psychological, with girls doing anything and everything to undermine each other’s evaluations, hoping to be that rare, that special individual, who would be considered talented enough to potentially debut as a solo artist. 

And then, as more trainees came in, soon there wasn’t enough time for the vocal coaches to teach everyone better vocal techniques, for the choreographers to help the struggling trainees memorize their dances, for songwriters to help aspiring rappers find their flow and improve their lyricalities. You were on the brink of getting cut and being thrown out on the street homeless, when your cousin Yoongi, the black sheep of the family, who was struggling to make his own dreams of becoming a music producer suggested that you apply to Chun-Ah as a scholarship student and make use of their renowned music department where it had famous retired vocalists and dancers as the teachers. With Yoongi’s help you were able to prepare for the entrance exam, excel in the interview and performance portions and even write a heartbreaking story of how you were a homeless youth who had been kicked out of her family for wanting to pursue her dreams. 

You had impressed the academy’s admissions panel greatly, allowing you to enter the school midway through the year, but since entering, you kept finding yourself disappointed with how things were at the school. For one thing, you would have thought with how rigorous and extensive the application process was, not to mention how expensive the application, uniforms, and tuition were, your classmates would have been more talented. You weren’t expecting them to be Maria Callas or Joshua Bell or Michael Jackson, but you did think they would be a little more talented than Vine dancers, Youtube song cover singers, and garage band musicians. Especially for individuals whose parents were part of the one percent and could afford to give them the best tutors and tools to excel. But on your second day of school, to your immense dismay, you found a sophomore abusing his 300 year old Stradivarius violin in front of the school’s giant Grecian inspired water fountain by basically grating the bow against the strings with how roughly he was playing﹣no scratch that﹣handling the instrument. 

It didn’t take you long to realize the sham that was the Chun-Ah Arts High School. The school created fake competitions with arbitrary rules where they would divide the winners for each category based on the biggest donors to the institute. It wasn’t based on talent at all. And based on these awards and accreditations buffeting their resumes and applications to illustrious foreign universities, the students at Chun-Ah would be able to get into the Fine Arts, Visual and Performing Arts, Theater, and Athletics departments, more easily than they would’ve been able to get into the more exclusive medical, law, or business departments and then easily change their majors once they were already accepted. 

If only you had known about the USA college admissions scandal that would become uncovered a few years later, which would reveal some of the more shady things that foreign students had done to get accepted with their American classmates. Of course, not everyone at Chun-Ah was a bad egg trying to take advantage of the system, but there were definitely enough that had you raising an eyebrow. You were sure you would have been angerier if you actually wanted the number one class rank, if you knew about the exam keys that could be bribed off of teachers manipulating the entire class rank system, but you were just here to hone your skills as a singer and performer so you generally left it alone.

That didn’t mean that you were excited to go to school each day though, there was bullying and backbiting at the agency and there was also more of the same at the school. Sure the rich kids and starving artists played by different rules and prized different things, but they all hated you, the common denominator. Every time you saw a girl laugh behind her palm at your ill-fitting uniform or make fun of the fact that you were a scholarship student, you couldn’t help but think to yourself how glad you were to have removed yourself from that life. If they had realized the Min in your last name stood for one of the most powerful families in not only Daegu but the entire country, you were sure they would’ve changed their tone quickly and begged to be your friends. Personally you were glad that your newfound poverty made them remove that mask of civility they donned for other people in their circle. 

But then you had discovered the voice, the tipping point of the scale that made you prefer school to the company and lie to your manager that you were taking extra lessons after school. During morning announcements one day, a period where you usually spend your time looking out the window and counting all the falling dead brown leaves in the winter, the school choir had been invited to sing the school anthem before Sports Day. There was a voice that stood apart from the rest. It was a male tenor, whose voice was soft and lyrical, a bright angelic tone following his words and painting it with a soothing harmony. You were immediately captivated, because not only was this your first exposure to real raw talent in the school but also because of the hypnotic beauty to the voice. You immediately found yourself wanting to know who it belonged to, and with a little eavesdropping of your classmates, you found out that it belonged to a mister “Jungkook,” according to Hair Spray Helmet and her minions Excessive Lip Gloss Applier and Overplucked Eyebrows, who all sighed dreamily as they fawned over him.

To your dismay, Jungkook was not only talented but also exceedingly attractive. The male would always wear either a gray or black Comme Des Garcons hoodie under his school jacket and occasionally have a red slouchy beanie perched on his head, in a devastating combination of prep and rockstar. His black gauges and staple wheat colored Timberlands were all it really took to cement your infatuation with him. And as a teenage girl with no family, who had to deal with the struggles of an idol trainee, you would take whatever small joys you would find wherever you could find them.

Today Jungkook was later than usual and as the first warning bell rang, you found yourself worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, wondering if you should already head into class to avoid getting a penalty mark on your record. As you had finally made up your mind, he ran past you, almost barreling you down as he tugged a much shorter girl behind him. The female looked fragile and angelic, probably the most beautiful person you had ever seen, excluding Jungkook but he was a male. You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood and swallowing it down, you found your gaze hardening in their direction as you made your own way to homeroom, which you were now late to thanks to him.

Fifteen minutes ago, when Jungkook was by his sister’s side and not waiting for his wife to come out of the restroom, he had been congratulating his sister for how well her marriage had been going, only two years in. His sister deserved happiness and she had found it with Jimin and their daughter in their new home. The pair had moved to the States before Jieun had been born as Jimin got an offer to be a Korean American pharmaceutical company’s COO. 

“How’s your marriage going with Y/N, we’ve never had a moment alone where I could check in with you,” his sister asked, smiling as she absentmindedly fiddled around with the two row diamond encrusted band of her gold Harry Winston wedding ring. “I know it’s still in its early stages. But, you like her right? So it must be going more smoothly than mine and Jimin’s was at the beginning. And I’m really sorry I missed it.”

Jungkook painted his face with what he hoped was a believable look of happiness and contentment, he didn’t need his younger sister to worry over him. “We’re fine. Y/N is just really busy all the time. You know how she’s a producer at HYP.E, and ever since father has been giving me more and more responsibilities at the company I’ve been busy too. We’re fine, we just haven’t really been able to see each other too much. It’s fine ___, maybe we’ll do a vow renewal one day and you can be there for that.”

“Right of course, that must be why we’ve barely been able to see her this past week without her getting swept away only moments after,” his sister nodded, “A vow renewal, that sounds nice.” Her smile looked a little forced after his answer, but she continued the conversation, “I have to thank you guys for getting Jieun so many presents. Frankly I think it’s a little much, but Jimin’s all for it. He thinks Jieun-ie deserves the world. But in between your presents that you dropped off at the house earlier and the shipments we’ve been getting the past two weeks from Y/N you both went all out. You really didn’t have to. She’s a growing toddler, spending thousands of dollars on shoes and dresses she can’t wear in two months is a little much.”

That must’ve been what you had gotten for his niece. Until this moment Jungkook hadn’t even known you would bother; he had thought to make up for what he thought would be your absence by signing off on gifts in both your names. 

“Did Jieun enjoy the toys I dropped off?” Jungkook asked, rubbing his palms together. His wedding band glinted on his left hand, mocking him.

“That tricycle you dropped off terrifies Jimin. He doesn’t want to let her on it, he thinks it’s a death trap.”

“No, no,” Jungkook protested, “It’s completely safe, it just looks badass and is also electric. She’s gonna be the coolest kid in her neighborhood as soon as she learns to take more than two steps without falling and can actually ride that thing.”

“Jimin’s very protective you know,” his sister murmured, a soft smile on her lips, “I think he’ll be more open to the bike in a couple of years.”

“I don’t blame him,” muttered Jungkook, “I would be protective too, if I had so much I cared for.”

“Oh she’s asking for me,” his sister exclaimed, it seemed that even half a room away, her eyes were always on her daughter. “Do you want to come with me? She loves her Uncle Googie.”

Jungkook let out an amused chortle, “Nah it’s fine. I think Jimin’s threatened by how much she likes me.” He stiffened his jaw and put on theatrics, popping his collar in self-admiration. 

“Don’t,” she protested. His sister clapped a hand over her mouth, covering up her accidental giggles, that kept easily slipping out. She had missed being able to converse and laugh with her brother, the one downside of moving away from home. “I don’t want him getting into another existential crisis that our children won’t like him. The nine months I was pregnant were hell.”

Jungkook’s responding chuckle was light and airy, “I’m just having some fun. You guys are great parents. Jieun is really lucky,” he admitted. “I think I am actually going to go look for Y/N, she’s missing out on all this familial fun. I’ll be sure to find you later when you’re getting Jieun ready for the cake cutting.”

“We’ll probably end up cutting the cake ourselves,” his sister admitted drily, “I don’t intend to have a knife in my one year old’s hand for longer than necessary. But, when you find Y/N, bring her around. We’d love to get a couple of pictures with the family to mark the occasion.”

But that was then. Right now, he was leaning against the gilded wallpaper that lined the walls of the hallway, a beautiful spread of cloudy white with cherubic angels that were adorned with golden halos and harps. There were multiple powder rooms that had been converted for public use, and you had spent way more time than he would’ve thought in the restroom. He was considering asking the next person to come by to ask you if you were alright in there since you weren’t answering his texts, but for now he would just have to scroll through the barrage of unread emails he still had sitting in his work inbox. 

Meanwhile in the powder room, you were making use of the serpentine shaped tête-à-tête that lined the center of the room, providing seating for those who needed a break from the partying, you supposed. It worked out well for you actually; instead of having to sit over an open toilet in your seven thousand dollar dress, not even the fancy toilets in Chateau French le French had lids on them, scrolling through your phone, you could just do it out in the open where sink area had seats in the middle. The smell of linen and potpourri was overwhelming, but you’d do anything to wait out your husband until he got bored enough and left. You opened up the snow app and took a few pictures with the flower halo filter, sending them off to the HYP.E producer group chat you had with your work colleagues, individuals you’d found yourself to consider like friends. 

Lee Sunmi Unni ♡: So cute Y/N

Min Yoongi (work): I thought this was a baby shower

Min Y/N: it’s my niece’s first birthday party

You scowled, your cousin was annoyingly and intentionally uncomprehending at times.

Min Yoongi (work): where is baby??

Min Yoongi (work): cake???

POTY Kim Namjoon: I know this is the fun group chat where we try to avoid talking about work things

POTY Kim Namjoon: Y/N you need to put out a fire for the new Stray Together album. They’ve suddenly decided that the second digital single won’t work after all. I’ve tried to help the situation, switching around the lyrics, adding more of a synthe vibe to the song. They hate it.

POTY Kim Namjoon: How soon do you think you could come back?

Finally. An excuse. You sighed in relief although you knew that redoing the second digital single completely from scratch would be a headache and a half this late in the game. But you would rather spend every moment of your waking and sleeping hours in the HYP.E building rather than spending another second in America with Jungkook, pretending you were the picture perfect newly wed couple.

Min Y/N: If you buy me the earliest redeye out of here, I can leave tonight and be back before noon tomorrow.

POTY Kim Namjoon: I’ll let the business manager know and handle the expense. See you soon Y/N. 

POTY Kim Namjoon: Sorry for cutting the party short.

Min Y/N: anything for the company 

Min Yoongi (work): ::eye roll::

After that message, you slid your cellphone back into the vividly dark blue clutch you had chosen for the evening. Taking a moment to tidy up your dress, the skirt had shifted around while you were comfortably ensconced in the cozy mustard yellow velvet seats of the tête-à-tête, you absentmindedly wondered if you should blot and powder your face, perhaps freshen up that pale pink MAC lipstick you had painting your lips. Anything to get through the tedious minutes at the party until Namjoon’s business manager emailed you the flight confirmation that had the departure time, you supposed. 

Jungkook, that oblivious husband of yours had picked steak for both of your meals for the evening, even though you had abstained from eating red meat at the wedding, due to your sensitivity to red meat. It wasn’t as though you were a vegan but you did avoid eating meat when there were alternatives. There had been a fancy lobster option too, your favorite, but you supposed you would have to have to do with the vegetable medley and creamy potato and mushroom side. As a grumble overtook your stomach, you wondered what the cake flavor was to celebrate your niece’s first birthday. Could one year olds even eat cake? Were they still breastfed? It was a good thing you were never going to let Jungkook touch you. You weren’t completely sure that you would make a great mother. Jungkook and you as parents was a recipe for disaster, your children would end up needing lifelong therapy.

To your utter disappointment, and he knew it too if the instant dimming of his features were anything to go by when he saw the deep scowl painting your face, Jungkook was still there waiting for you when you finally made it out. He peeled himself away from the opposite wall, his hair looking a little softer and more rumpled deeper into the evening. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning. “You took a while in there, I was starting to worry. I think I even contemplated asking one of the ladies waiting in line to go check up on you.”

You scowled, your eyebrows turning into an angry vee, with flashing eyes you hissed, “I’m on my period, you asshole.”

Jungkook stilled in embarrassment, “O-oh, I’m s-sorry.” he stuttered, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I was just worried that you had gotten injured or you were in trouble or something.”

“In the ladies’ room?” you scoffed incredulously. You sniffed and picked up the pace, heading for the dining area; you knew Jungkook would just follow in your footsteps, like the well trained dog he thought himself to be.

Almost as though Jungkook had heard your condemning thoughts, he lengthened his strides so that he was half a step of you while walking to your left. “We’re sitting with my sister and her family,” he notified you. 

He was attempting to take back control, not that you would hand it over so easily.

You stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway at his words. “Tell me something, Jeon, do you think I’m an idiot?”

Jungkook furrowed his brows at you, “Why would I think you were an idiot? Y/N, can you please stop picking fights with me? At least while we’re in public? I don’t understand what I ever did to earn your ire.”

You laughed hollowly, “You don’t, huh? Well let me educate you: I would prefer to live my life pretending you don’t exist, but somehow you seem to be against that idea.”

“Well, of course I am, Y/N. I’m attempting to make our marriage work,” Jungkook retorted.

You held your tongue and started to walk again, just another hour or so and you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, you comforted yourself. When you guys finally found yourselves in the dining area, Jungkook’s sister and her husband were gesturing at you two to go to their table which was placed on a podium that made their seats a little higher than everyone else’s and visible to the entirety of the room. Feeling spiteful, you pulled out your own chair before Jungkook could do it for you. The Parks, excluding the baby, stared at you two in bewilderment as Jungkook sullenly took his seat next to you. Your niece was belted into a high chair and let out a cry when she realized no one was paying attention to her. 

“Jieun-ie what’s wrong? You want Appa to hold you?” Jimin asked. You thought he was four years older than Jungkook, though you were not entirely sure as he hadn’t attended your wedding and was usually at work when Jungkook would force you to visit his sister and niece, which would make him about five years older than you, if your math was correct. The male looked dashingly handsome in his head to toe black Prada ensemble, a skinny dark tie contrasted his white button down that only peeked out at the top behind his closed suit jacket. His honey blond hair was slicked away from his forehead revealing a gorgeous hairline. You admired his nerve, rocking bleached hair, dangly Chrome Hearts cross earrings that adorned his ears, and chunky silver rings lined his right hand, leaving his left empty except for its wedding band, two layers of yellow and white gold that complimented his wife's golden ring. Jimin didn’t play by the same rules that the corporate assholes in Korea did, even Jungkook had gotten rid of his gauges when he had accepted his position at Jeon Pharmaceuticals, and you thought it made him look badass. Your niece had lucked out with some pretty awesome parents when they were so rare in the circles that you all kept with. 

“Abba no,” Jieun pouted, was that her name? You had honestly forgotten it. The toddler’s plump pale pink lips formed a little chick beak with every word she said as she attempted to enunciate to the best of her abilities.

“Appa,” Jimin said patiently, holding eye contact with Jieun. The tot’s face scrunched up and you felt like she was seconds away from a meltdown; if Jimin said the wrong thing one more time, it would be game over.

His wife sensed it too, which was why she immediately interrupted the silent war between father and daughter, “Or perhaps Jieun wants to have fun with someone new? She must be tired of us monopolizing her all the time, Jimin-ah. Jungkook oppa, would you like to hold her? Or you, unni?” she asked.

“M-Me?” you stuttered in surprise when everyone’s attention at the table went to you, “Um, maybe later when she’s a little older.” 

“So, maybe, on her real birthday next Tuesday?” she said agreeably. 

“May-Maybe,” you stammered. You didn’t even remember the last time you had held a child. Jieun was definitely the last child you were near, but before her, you didn’t think you had been around one since your cousin Sunye had given birth when you were in middle school.

“Jieun you wanna sit in Uncle Googie’s lap?” Jungkook asked the toddler, focusing his sparkling doe eyes on her. He stretched out his arms and to his delight, Jieun stretched hers out too, babbling “Googie, Googie,” as she stared, enraptured at her uncle.

His sister helped remove her from the high chair so that she could sit comfortably in Jungkook’s arms as the table waited for the servers to come around. But before they did, Jimin stood up and held out a hand to help his wife up so they could thank everyone for coming and give a short toast to their daughter. 

When the waiter put the filet mignon in front of you, you sighed glumly and wondered if you had past your threshold of wine for the evening. Sitting in the powder room had sobered you a bit, but you knew that you were going to have a massive hangover the next day. Though Jungkook was distracted with Jieun, it appeared that your sister-in-law had noticed that you were moving your food around with your fork, not really eating anything.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, “Is the filet mignon not cooked to your liking?”

“I don’t really eat red meat,” you admitted, “I have a sensitivity to it.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she worried, “We had vegetarian options too. Would you like me to go to the kitchen and ask the chef if he can wrestle up something for you? I don’t want you to go hungry.”

You smiled wanly, “It’s fine ___, I have to fly out later tonight to catch a flight back home to put out some fires at work. I’ll eat something in the waiting area or in flight.”

You felt Jungkook turn around, his stare burning through you, but you refused to acknowledge him. What did he care if you were going to South Korea early? It wasn’t as thought you two slept in the same bed or kept the same schedule.

“That could be hours from now,” his sister fretted, “Switch plates with me, Y/N. I got the lobster if you enjoy seafood. I had to give up being vegetarian during my pregnancy due to my anemia, and you know, I still struggle with my iron levels, the steak will be good for me.There’s nothing like a well done steak to compliment such an important occasion.”

“Um okay,” you said hesitantly. There was no way you were going to eat your plate and you had been thinking about the lobster all night. Your sister-in-law didn’t look too sad over exchanging plates either. You thought nothing of the exchange, so focused were you on enjoying your meal and avoiding the table’s conversation until she went to talk to the caterers about the cake and Jimin deserted the table, taking Jieun from Jungkook’s arms, to make his rounds as the host, ensuring that everyone was enjoying their meals and interacting with the guest of honor.

“Why did you do that,” Jungkook asked coldly, “You could have told me you didn’t like red meat when I was signing the RSVP. Look at their plates, she hasn’t touched the beef at all.”

You looked up from where you were dipping a piece of lobster into the delicious butter sauce, “You never asked me. You assumed what I wanted, just like you always assumed what I wanted. We had steak for our wedding luncheon too. I never ate a bite of it. But of course you never noticed it.”

There was a tiny pinprick of guilt in your gut when you noticed that her plate had been pushed towards her husband’s. Jimin had finished his filet it appeared, and was trying to help his wife with hers so no food was wasted. There was a piece of steak still speared to her fork and you noticed that her knife was lying next to where she had made the cut into the filet mignon. The center of the meat had a reddish hue to it. You blinked, it was medium rare. Hadn’t ___ said she was looking forward to eating your well-done steak? Ah, there it was: the deepening remorse you had been desperately trying to avoid earlier. You suddenly realized that she must have gone to the caterer’s not only to talk about the cake cutting time but also because she was famished and wanted a little something to nibble on.

“It’s not my fault,” you sniffed callously, “___ offered it to me.” You were not going to let Jungkook blame this on you. 

“You’re leaving tonight,” he asked.

“I am not talking about this with you right now,” you spat, “we’re at a party.”

Jungkook’s jaw hardened until there was a stubborn set to it, his lips were pressed tightly together, that little mole underneath his bottom lip contrasting sharply with his pale skin, “I am not letting this go, Y/N, you are not leaving before we talk about this, even if the conversation has to take place in the car before you’re dropped off at the airport.”

“It would be more convenient for you to ride home with your sister’s family.  Haven’t they offered you a room while you stick around for Jieun’s actual birthday?” you drawled, “you’re only wasting your time if you get into the car with me, Jeon.”

Jungkook glowered, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, “Actually no it wouldn’t be, because you turned down their offer to house us and I couldn’t stay with them, leaving my new wife in a hotel by herself, unless I wanted them to think that my marriage was already in trouble. Did you forget the person you are sharing that large suite at the Ritz-Carlton with?”

You let out a faint snort, “Our marriage is in trouble. By the way did I tell you? I want a divorce.” You laughed again mockingly, “Although, it’s never been consummated, so truly we should really be seeking an annulment. But I doubt you want that news to get out. So a divorce, it is. I’m tired of this bullshit, I’ll deal with whatever fallout there is, after the fact. I refuse to be shackled to you any longer,” you spewed venomously.

Jungkook stared at you; doe eyes giant in their surprise, mouth gaping in shock with bunny teeth visible in between thinned lips. Before he could so much as retort, the host’s table was suddenly full again with the Parks presence. 

“Who wants to eat some cake?” Jimin asked, holding a sheathed knife adorned with a bow in his hand. Two waiters were pushing a multi-tiered rustic cake adorned with fruit and bare of frosting on the sides. A naked cake you scowled, how disgusting. Why would they make a child eat a boring concoction of dry vanilla chiffon, probably sour unripe fruit, and deflating whipped cream? Where was the rich german chocolate and fudge frosting that you, yourself used to yearn for as a child and did so even now.

“Actually,” you interrupted, patting your mouth dry with a napkin and standing up, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave a little earlier than expected. I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity to enjoy cake with you all in the future.”

“Uh, yes of course,” your sister-in-law faltered, she looked in between you and Jungkook for answers, trying to catch either of your eyes, but you knew she would not gain any insight, definitely not from you and not now from Jungkook. She would have to at least wait until after the guests had left at the very earliest, for a moment when she could have a bit of privacy with her brother.

“Would you two be a dear and drive him home after the party? Oh actually,” you mused, in seemingly deep thought, “Could you two take him home with you, I’d feel awfully guilty about Jungkook staying all alone in our giant hotel room after I’ve left.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed ___. “Jungkook oppa, spend the rest of your time here in our home! Jieun would love to get to spend more time with you before you had to leave for Korea. And you know, I would love it too.”

“Well it looks like that’s settled,” you fixed a giant fake smile on your face, “You all have to get together with us the next time you’re back in the country. Saengil chukhahaeyo, Jieun-ie. Bye bye, sweetheart.” Your farewell was for the darling child and Jungkook knew it from the frown that got deeper and darker, although your sister-in-law and her husband would just think that you were doting on your husband.

You left without looking back although you knew that despite you getting further and further with each step of your nude Louboutins, Jungkook’s hard glare to your back never faltered.

[eight-ish years ago]

Jungkook hated university. His parents had turned down his offers at Seoul National, Korea, and Yonsei universities after the half of dozen acceptances that he had gotten from schools abroad. The most prestigious of the batch? Stanford University, where Jungkook had gotten into the business program, which had a heavy conversion rate of students then getting into the university’s MBA program for graduate school. As the son of the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in South Korea, and soon of all the four tiger countries if the expansion went as his father planned, Jungkook was expected to follow in his footsteps. After flying through his school courses at an accelerated rate, he was expected to move back to Seoul and take over the mantle at the company, just like his father wanted. His father would remain on the board of directors to keep Jungkook firmly under his thumb, but the plan was to have Jungkook take over the CEO position before he turned twenty-five.

But he hated university so vehemently. Getting a 110 on his TOEFL, acing his SATs, and even being on International Baccalaureate hadn’t really helped Jungkook understand the nuances of English language outside of an academic setting. And even though he understood 80-85% of what his classmates were saying to him, he didn’t always understand the slang, which would leave him scratching his head. Stanford undergrads did not speak the way his English tutor did, but then again the man had been a middle-aged Oxford graduate with a PhD in British Literature, who had moved to Korea after having a midlife crisis that had him chasing Asian women half his age in his spare time. 

His roommates were also kind of mean, although Jungkook wasn’t entirely certain if it was intentional or not. They talked too fast and when he would try to converse with them, they would stare at him blankly, making Jungkook stammer into a stop, self-conscious of his accent. 

He didn’t know why they hated him so much. At first he had thought it was racism, but then Jungkook had realized that one of them was an engineering student who had a full-ride scholarship and the other was a firmly middle class economics major that had taken out excessive student loans to attend Stanford. So in his attempt to be a more understanding roommate, sympathetic to their socioeconomic struggles, Jungkook had started offering them meals out on his dime or trips to San Francisco, where Jungkook would drive them and pay for everything they did. If anything however, that had just made the resentment build even more. Jungkook seemed to have hurt their pride.

Outside of the cold front that existed in his dorm suite, Jungkook was struggling a bit with his courses. He liked math the best because it was all numbers, no words. Nothing could get lost in translation there; there was nothing he could possibly misinterpret. But the first essay he had written, he had gotten back with an angry red C+ on the front. He had been horrified; in all his IB courses he had never once gotten anything less than a 92%. He hadn’t thought that his high school teachers had ever graded him more leniently. He had always done well in the written portions of his standardized tests too. But this professor who he was dealing with, was unaccommodating, even when Jungkook went to every single office hour. He was just about to start pulling his hair out in frustration. The professor didn’t understand how determined Jungkook was to do well in this class; he also didn’t understand what would happen to Jungkook if he didn’t do well in this class. 

Sighing, Jungkook folded up his Samsung Galaxy Book, lunch time was close to ending and then the dining halls would be closed for two hours to prepare for dinner. He wasn’t really in the mood to walk into town to grab something to eat either. He got up from his desk and stretched, their dorm had the worst natural lighting in all of the residential halls, with all of its windows facing another six story building that felt like it was only ten feet away. 

He grabbed his key card because one time he had forgotten it, and instead of responding to his texts and letting him into the room, one of his roommates had taken advantage of the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to get in, by having a girl over. Jungkook had ended up needing to ask the floor’s residential advisor to let him in with the master key. The fine he had to pay was nothing to Jungkook, who kept getting weekly deposits to his account from his parents. But the RA had opened the door and the first thing they both could smell was the musty scent of sex, and then as Jungkook walked into the shoebox room, he saw his roommate having sex with a girl on the bottom bunk. The girl had screamed and ran out, wrapping her body with his roommate’s sheets, past Jungkook and the RA who glowered at both offenders and said his roommate and the girl would be getting written up for having the opposite gender in the room and being in the room of the opposite gender with the door closed, just adding to the list of reasons that Jungkook’s roommates hated him.

At least the weather was nice today, he thought, as he walked up the hill to the Stern dining hall. Jungkook was getting really tired of American food; he would do anything for some of his mom’s kimchi and samgaetang right now. The last time he had been able to enjoy Korean food had been the farewell breakfast his mother had prepared for him before his plane ride to San Jose International Airport. He hadn’t ventured out to find the Bay Area’s Koreatown yet for two reasons: the first, he genuinely did not think he would get homesick so fast and the second, he was wary of interacting with NorCal’s Korean population because everyone knew everyone and he didn’t want any form of gossip or news about him getting back to his parents besides what he told them on his weekly phone calls home. 

It was the same reason why a month into the fall quarter, Jungkook was still relatively friendless besides the one or two friends he had made for each lecture to study together. His classmates didn’t generally hang out with him outside of that, though he had been making attempts to get closer, and he thought that sometimes it was succeeding. He found out that Bambam liked to play Overwatch like he did and they had talked about playing together sometime, although they hadn’t yet. There was a ready-made group of friends for him in the form of other Korean international students that were in the same circles as him and his family but moving to California was a breath of fresh air and Jungkook didn’t want to restrain himself any more than he had to. But making friends with complete strangers, even when he so desperately wanted to, was much harder, especially when Jungkook was so shy and an introvert.

He grabbed a tray inside of Stern, putting a heavily stacked cheeseburger on it, grabbing a Caesar salad side dish, and some garlic parmesan shoestring fries, he was ready to sit down. Ah, another conundrum, the dining halls were always full of students, with more waiting to be let in, so you would always have to sit with strangers. No one really seemed to mind when Jungkook asked if he could join their tables, but Jungkook preferred empty tables or ones with just one other occupant, it made him feel less like an outsider that was encroaching on a friend group.

“Can I sit here?” Jungkook asked, standing in front of those tiny tables that sat two. The person sitting in the other chair was wearing a monochromatic set of sweats in mustard yellow. He had a half eaten burrito bowl in front of him and was deeply immersed in the book that he was reading. The cover was a soothing amalgamation of natural browns and green, a black bowler hat was levitating above a sepia toned landscape that had a building in the distance. Jungkook squinted trying to make out the title, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, huh.

The male looked up, using his index finger to save his place, “Sure go ahead.” 

The two ate in relative silence although Jungkook’s neighbor was reading more so than eating, really. But at one point, he must’ve reached the point he was trying to read to, because he put down the book and returned to his burrito bowl with vigor, his eyes staring at Jungkook, burning holes through him until he decided to look up and acknowledge.

“Can I ask you something?” the man asked.

“Um sure,” stammered Jungkook nervously, he had a feeling that the male was not a freshman like he was, with how relaxed he looked in the dining hall, he looked like he belonged at Stanford unlike Jungkook.

“Do you like Korean food?” he asked, “The food here makes me want to gag, but I had to meet up with my group for a project, and couldn’t eat anything for hours. I felt like I was going to faint. There was no way I could make it anywhere further than here without refueling.”

“Um yes,” Jungkook replied, he had been eating around his burger, avoiding the heavily sauce drenched parts. He had no idea what ingredients made up the reddish white sauce but it was disgusting. 

“Cool, you wanna go into Ktown for dinner?” he asked, “I know this great soup place that’s dirt cheap. We all gotta save money somehow.”

Jungkook stared at him, dirt cheap? He didn’t know Jungkook was Jeon Jungkook; he didn’t know Jungkook was rich. “How did you know I was Korean?” he asked instead.

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, “I try not to guess where someone is from. You just looked like someone who would enjoy eating more than just American food day after day. Also, you’ve barely touched your meal.”

The salad was worse than the burger and the fries had tasted old and stale, “Um okay, we can go to dinner,” Jungkook eagerly agreed, “Or we could even go now, unless you’re busy.”

“No I’m fine, let’s go,” he said standing up with his tray, ready to dispose of everything, “My name is Namjoon by the way. Kim Namjoon.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook replied, also standing up, watching carefully to see if Namjoon’s face would change as he suddenly realized what family Jungkook was related to. Nothing changed however, maybe Namjoon was Korean American, thought Jungkook, hoping hard he wouldn’t have to lose his new friend.

Namjoon laughed sheepishly, “So here’s the thing about me, I don’t drive and I think the bus won’t be here for another hour or so, so how about we take some bikes?”

Jungkook held his tongue, should he offer up his car? But then sophisticated worldly Namjoon would know that Jungkook was rich and start forming certain impressions of him.

As Jungkook stood there contemplating, Namjoon interrupted his thoughts, “Yeah sorry, it’s not really hyung-like of me to not have a car but I’ll pay for your bike.”

“I guess then I’ll pay for our meals,” offered Jungkook.

“No, I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“But hyung﹣”

When you got off the plane, without even changing, your studio in the HYP.E building was the first place you went. There were a few eyebrows raised amongst the other employees as they saw you walking into the office at ten in the morning dressed to the nines in your fancy Alexander McQueen gown, but they said nothing and you were able to ignore them as you got into the elevator. 

Your computer took longer to boot up than you would have liked, but when you were finally able to have the file open, listening over the song you were forced to admit to yourself that there was indeed something lacking about it. The beat was too generic, too safe so to speak. You had no idea how to fix it without looking at Namjoon’s notes.

Fortunately, the man had emailed you a list of things that everything Stray Together’s main team had taken issue with for the second single. You looked over the lyrics for “God’s Hour,” the songwriting seemed to be a little too harsh for the disco and dance beat that was underlying it. The upbeatness of the song was already there and the lyrics seemed to encourage an intense rise to action too, but maybe there needed to be more instruments, a drum beat thrown under the rapid fire pace of Felix’s rapping, more synthe when Taehyun used his honey vocals. Perhaps you needed to lean more into the R&B vibe, play a little more into the hip-hop that the lyrics seemed to beg for, make it less ethereal and disco. The energy would have to remain the same however, this song was nothing if not a pumped up dance track. 

You were hunched over the desk for hours, working on the song until you noticed that it was almost two in the afternoon on the blinking neon numbers of your digital wall clock. It was a gift from Glitzy, the rookie girl group under HYP.E; you thought it came from their season’s greetings package this year but you weren’t too sure. You hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since you’d inhaled a small bag of cashews right before your plane had landed. Your stomach was growling and letting its presence known. 

Where was your intern? Surely the shuffling of the high school and college age interns between departments and producers hadn’t happened yet. It was still the spring, the summer batch hadn’t come in yet. You didn’t want to move, you wish someone else was here to take care of the smaller menial tasks for you. You definitely needed a large to-go cup of scalding black coffee and perhaps you could order a delivery of your favorite vegan ramen from that Japanese place three blocks away. 

Your finger was hovering over the submit order page of the delivery app when your door got unceremoniously flung open. Yoongi flopped over the small two seat sofa you had along the back wall for when artists need to come in your studio to work with you, or there are more than three people in the room. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, staring at your cousin. He was a grown man, of thirty-one (you had just celebrated his birthday last month) and he was throwing a tantrum in your room like a child.

Yoongi allowed himself a few more moments of flinging his arms around and kicking his feet before he covered his face with one of the cushions and screamed loudly into it. The cushion, a cute one of a blue koala, courtesy of a partnership Namjoon had had with LINE, was still on his face when he grumbled against it, “upper management wants the idols to have more involvement with the album. Says it doesn’t feel raw enough because they’ve barely done anything on the creative side of things.”

You could have been a bitch and played the devil’s advocate, going against your cousin and saying mockingly, ‘Well isn’t that good? The artists should play a role on the producing side.” But you knew what Yoongi meant. Most of the songs were around 70-80% complete, they just needed a couple of finishing touches, letting the idols mess around with them now could make everything have to go back to the drawing board and start afresh if any of the songs got any worse after their participation.

“Bang Chan was heavily involved with the songwriting for God’s Hour,” you offered, “Why don’t you let them work on their songwriting. Or you could do what I do. I just have Soobin sit in the room with me while I work on their album. He offers suggestions and I try them out. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t but it’s enough to get him listed on the credits as a producer.”

Yoongi sneered, “Ah yes, why don’t I have a bunch of teenagers just consolidate in my tiny ass studio and have them give me suggestions. What could possibly go wrong when Beomgyu and Minho are in the same room.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t be so disagreeably obtuse. You know what I meant. Get Yeonjun or Jisung to do something.”

“Hmph,” sniffed Yoongi, “Why are you still wearing that? You should go change.”

You glared at him but he was right; it had been bothersome getting your feet pinched by your red bottom high heels and though the dress was made of a comfortable material, it’s shape didn’t allow you to have a wide range of motion. You went to the invisible cabinets that lined one of the walls of your windowless studio. You usually kept a change of clothes or two due to the amount of time you spent at the company. You even slept here when you were particularly in the zone. 

“I’ll be back, but maybe you won’t be when I am,” you rudely suggested, urging him to silently leave.

“Or maybe I will,” Yoongi grunted, tossing the pillow over his head again. His long legs were hanging over the sofa’s arms so you took the chance to kick his shins as you passed. 

You stopped outside the door, your phone in your hand. You couldn’t remember if you had actually submitted the order to the restaurant and were trying to check it when you overheard the conversation that was flowing towards your direction from the two people that were walking down the hall.

“Ah Ryujin, you really got the bottom of the barrel this time for concepts didn’t you?” tutted Yun Benzo, one third of CEOs of the company, and in your opinion the most irredeemable and misogynistic one.

“Ah, sajangnim, I don’t think that,” Ryujin commented politely, “The company always picks great concepts for every comeback, I’m very thankful.”

“Still,” murmured Benzo, “You look horrible, that hair is too short. You look like your boyfriend broke up with you after leading you on with the promise of marriage for years. It looks like a poorly executed revenge cut.”

“Ah, well I don’t know about that, I think I pull off short hair relatively well,” Ryujin effused, trying hard to balance her tone between humility and confidence, striving to sound charming enough to not be seen as conceited by this sexist prick.

They were passing you when you blurted, “Hello sajangnim, Ryujin. Is that your new look for the mini album? It really suits you.”

“Oh unni! You’re back!” cheered Ryujin, “Will you be watching our countdown stage?”

“Of course I will,” you assented, “I worked hard on that album.”

Benzo looked you up and down icily, “I don’t know if you should be taking beauty advice from her. Ryujin, ask your coordinators and stylists if you can get extensions for that big stage.”

The fake smile on your face froze and you hugged the bag with your change of clothes. “You know I think I actually forgot something in my studio. It was good seeing you both,” you inclined your head in a show of respect before turning back to the door.

Yoongi looked up at surprise, “That was fast, how did you﹣oh,” he abruptly trailed of his train of thought, noticing that you were still in the same clothes.

“I forgot something,” you insisted. And then you walked over to your table where you had ceramic containers holding copious amounts of stationery. Your fingers looped through the holes of the scissors you had left in your pencil holder and always had forgotten to take back home. Well, it would now become useful again.

Yoongi’s eyes squinted in confusion but he said nothing as you made your way to the door again.

In the ladies' room, you changed into your oversized baby blue sweater and comfy Off-White cream track pants, sliding your Louboutin heels off one by one so you could pull up white ankle socks on each foot before sliding them into a pair of indigo Nike Blazer ‘77s. The corkscrew design, accents of baby blue, and floral embroidery softened your look but your stance was threatening as you stood in front of the sink and stared at the mirror across from you. Raising the scissors in your right hand to the opposite side of your hair, you snipped off a thick section of the hair held in your left hand. For the second time in your life, you were attacking your hair with scissors because of a man. As the dark locks of hair collected in the sink, you couldn’t find an ounce of regret within you.

After a final bit of finagling, you found yourself appeased with the length of your hair, it was a little longer than chin length and was actually very symmetrical all the way around, even in the back. It made you feel like a weight had been lifted off your chest, getting rid of all that hair you had to grow out for the wedding and photos, the hair that you had to keep even after getting married just because it made you look softer and more feminine, because it was more wifely.

You carded your fingers through your hair, raking it back so that it wouldn’t fall into your face, once you were satisfied with the way it looked, you gathered up all the loose hair and threw them away in the trash bin under the paper towel dispenser, slightly surprised that no one had come and interrupted you in the midst of your impromptu decision when every ladies’ room in HYP.E saw a lot of heavy traffic. Folding your dress over your arm and holding your nude pumps by their backs in your other hand, you were finally ready to leave. You pushed your back against the door to have it open and ducked out, inhaling sharply when you saw the two gentlemen walking in your direction.

A scowl took over your whole face when you noticed the white plastic generic ‘Thank You’ bag, embossed with red letters in one of their hands. An uneasiness settled in your stomach as the thought that it was probably your food hit you. Sighing, you made your way to them, deciding to pick the battle field and have the fight be on your terms.

“Oh Y/N, there you are,” Namjoon grinned, his dimple poking into his cheek as a giant smile took over his entire face. “Jungkook and I were at Tokkijung for a meal, we noticed an order getting ready to be delivered to the office while we were paying and it turned out to be yours. What luck, right?”

“What luck indeed,” you groused sarcastically, tucking one of your short new locks of hair behind an ear.

Jungkook was damn near hugging the three styrofoam boxes in the bag to his chest when his eyes shot to meet yours at your words. He still couldn’t believe the change in you﹣it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he had last seen you and since then you had managed to chop more than two thirds of your hair off. But still, it looked good on you, almost surprising was the fact that it suited you so well. The blunt cut sharpened your features making you look like a coquettish elven creature. Jungkook’s eyes were raking over your face, taking in every feature before they flitted over the rest of you. 

You looked so goddamn good he was almost losing his mind with how quickly his gut filled with lust, his collar suddenly feeling suffocating, and his blood rushing straight down. “I decided to add more food to your order,” Jungkook admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you had really gotten a chance to eat in between the party yesterday and now. I thought we could talk while you ate, and if it’s too much for you, I could help you finish it.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as you reached out for the bag, “It’s okay, I’m really busy today you don’t have to join me. It’s been a day from hell, the less said about it the better.”

Jungkook evaded your hand, stepping back and holding the food closer to his chest, “I don’t mind, I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You can do your thing; I won’t bother you. I’ve hung out at Namjoon’s studio plenty of times.”

“I’m surprised you came back so quickly,” you opined, “What about your niece’s actual birthday.”

“I don’t know that Jieun can tell time yet. I imagine that she thinks her life must either be one long endless day or that she’s trapped in some sort of a Groundhog Day situation with no way out. She won’t miss me. Her attention span is very short,” he snorted thinking of her fondly, “My sister and Jimin hyung were understanding. I don’t think I should be gone from the company so long in the future, so I have to thank you for playing a role in how early I returned.”

“And yet you’re here,” you mumbled under your breath. Namjoon didn’t hear you but Jungkook did, the smile on his face becoming more stilted, his eyes hardening with its bright sheen dulling. 

“Hyung, I’ll see you soon,” Jungkook piped up, “I don’t want to waste so much of my darling wife’s time out in the hall when she could be in her studio. We’ll be going now.”

“Of course,” Namjoon looked between you both and seemed to have finally noticed your new ‘do, “Wow, Y/N that haircut looks amazing, American hairdressers are something else huh?”

“Hmm,” you hummed blasély, shrugging. Jungkook’s scowl deepened since he wasn’t in on the secret as well. As Namjoon waved farewell to the two of you, you took off, knowing that Jungkook would follow in your footsteps and not leave you be. 

When you reached your room, you glared at the entrance, an acrylic neon sign saying “L.8 Universe” in cursive letters lit up by ice blue light the only decoration on it. Jungkook was an unignorable presence at your back, breathing down your neck ﹣figuratively, your soon-to-be ex-husband was too well-mannered to actually huff at your back. With a sigh, you opened the door just a hairbreadth to duck half your body in and check whether or not your cousin was still there. To your disappointment he was not, though he could have saved you from this pointless conversation about whether or not your marriage could be saved that Jungkook had aimed to corner you into.  

You sighed heavily before reluctantly opening the door wider and walking in completely, Jungkook following so quickly in your footsteps that he was almost stepping on your heels.

Sitting down on your ergonomic Sidiz Spiderman office chair, you rotated it around so you faced Jungkook who was putting down your food on the glass coffee table. To your constant state of utter dismay, when it came to him, the male looked regrettably good in his distressed light blue jeans that were hugging the length of his legs in a very becoming manner, revealing the sun-kissed skin of his knees through the giant holes he had worn into them. 

The yellow button down he had tucked into his jeans with the sleeves rolled up on made him appear casual yet put together and a black belt was wrapped around his waist, completing the ensemble.  His right wrist shone with his two-toned gold and silver Rolex. He even had the audacity to still be wearing his wedding ring, although you had to admit you had forgotten to take off yours, yourself. The draining effects of a fourteen hour flight were nowhere to be seen on his face, in contrast, you were looking worse for wear with your pinched dehydrated skin and chapped lips. 

“Jungkook why are you here?” you demanded tiredly, “Did you think that chasing me down would get me to change my mind? Jungkook I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about what clauses of the prenup we’ll be breaking by divorcing so quickly. I just want to be free.”

“You are so selfish Y/N,” Jungkook blurted, suddenly. He had always tried his best to be civil with you although you had revealed your distaste for him quite early on into the marriage. “This doesn’t just affect you. I’ll be punished too. And I’ll be damned if I have to reap the consequences for something you sowed. I won’t make this easy for you Y/N. Hear me out before you go through this and make things worse for both of us because I will fight you every step of the way.”

“What do you want Jungkook? Compensation? Fine, it's yours, it’ll have to be a yearly installment because I don’t have that much in liquid, but I’ll get you your money. I don’t want to be married to you. Why is it so hard for you to understand?!”

“You don’t even know me, Y/N,” Jungkook retorted angrily.

“I don’t want to get to know you,” you rolled your eyes. You played around with your wedding band. It was so ugly, not like anything you would have ever picked out for yourself. But you had refused to participate in any of the planning for the wedding, so in the end your mother had been the one to pick out your ring and she had chosen the most gaudy, obnoxious, and chunky piece of bling you had ever seen. 

“Don’t you think I deserve better than this?” Jungkook questioned, using his pinky to furiously brush back his bangs.

“Sure,” you agreed easily, “You deserve better than me. Let me divorce you so you can be on your way to a new wife. Perhaps, someone more congenial and straight out of Stepford who would delight in being the picture-perfect Mrs. Jeon.”

“I don’t want to deal with a new wife,” Jungkook grumbled. “Why can’t you just﹣”

“Why can’t I just what?” you parroted, trying your best to oppose Jungkook at every turn..

Jungkook exhaled loudly in frustration, “Stop being so contentious, Y/N, we’re both in the same boat.”

Your glare turned venomous as you thought to yourself, no we really aren’t. 

“Y/N please,” Jungkook pleaded, “Just one year. One year more from this date and then we can go separately in our different paths. Just give us a chance. I’m not asking for love, Y/N, you can’t ruin my life over this.”

You narrowed your eyes at Jungkook, glaring at him beadily, “And if I want to ruin your life? I see no reason to continue to stand by you.”

“Don’t pretend ﹣don’t pretend you are a bad person,” Jungkook groaned in frustration, “Just come on, Y/N, what’s one year of your life to you?”

So much, you thought mutinously, especially when I have to give it up to you. 

“You don’t know what I’m like when I’m wronged,” Jungkook blurted out, his voice shaky with how anxious he was that you were still going to refuse after it all, “You don’t know what I’ll do to ruin your life and make sure that you end up just as miserable as me.”

But you already were familiar with the ways that Jungkook could destroy you and everything you built. You scrunched your eyes shut as the telltale pinpricks of pain that hinted at a migraine began to flood your head. You were so tired of everything. But, what if you could bargain with him, you thought desperately. 

“One year, Jeon?” you murmured, a lethal tone lining your voice.

“Just one,” Jungkook acceded frantically. 

“And in return do you promise that when it’s over we will finally, completely be out of each other’s lives?” you asked, “Like we don’t exist for each other?”

Jungkook’s large doe eyes widened even more in his bewilderment, “If that’s what you want,” he agreed hesitantly. 

“One year, Jeon,” you conceded, “I’ll be counting down the days.”

“Not more than I am,” Jungkook replied, lying straight through his gritted teeth.

⟶ tag list: @taestannie @kaithezaftig @apollukee @alpaca1612 @somewhereinthestarss @ggukkieland @ysltae @moonchild1 @doiemarkzen @etherealuv @diorkookie @squishyjk @rooo-tah @thisartemisnevermisses @vettigirl @awixxx @jimidol @ppeachyttae @fan-ati--c @kimmieloveswho @bambuzlee @jwlmnbt @immaculateloser @daggerbeneathmygown @afangirllikeme-blog @she-is-dreaming @ducktan-sonyeondan @ladyartemesia @igotnotype @lilyflowerguk​

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This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution - Non Commercial - No Derivatives 4.0 International License

©OPALJM 2021

[shuadotcom]

Stuck | MYG (1)

› Summary: When Min Yoongi’s parents arrange for him to marry their top business competitor’s daughter, he’s less than thrilled, but being the filial son he is, he does what his parents ask to keep the business successful. You’re much less receptive to the news, and it takes your parents threatening your fortune to get you to go along with it. As expected, things between you and Yoongi go from bad to worse. It only takes half a year before it all comes to a head, leaving you both exhausted, heartbroken, and unsure of how to pick up the pieces.

› Pairing: Yoongi x Female!Reader (nicknamed Peach)

› Genre: Angst, arranged marriage au, chaebol au

› Rating: NC-17 (MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED)

› Words: 11.2k

› Warnings: Profanity, alcohol consumption, implied sex, lots of arguing amongst married couples, toxic parents( (especially Y/n’s mom), Yoongi is mean and pretty slut shamey, Y/n slaps Yoongi once

› A/N: This is part 1 of 2 of my part in the Sons of Midas collab. It took much longer than I would’ve liked to finish, but it’s finally here!!!! Part 2 is being outlined as we speak and will be out... soon 😳

Thank you soooo much to @bangtanhome​ and @oftenderweapons​ for being my wonderful betas. Ily both and you helped me so much to get this right, more than you know! 💛💛

PART 2

Min Yoongi is a lot of things. He’s practically a genius - his friend Namjoon’s IQ aside. Namjoon is book smart, but Yoongi is just as intelligent and doesn’t do half the dumb things he does. He’s talented, being able to play multiple instruments flawlessly, just because he loves music. He’s handsome, which isn’t just him boosting his ego. Anyone with working eyes can see that he belongs on the cover of GQ (which could very well be in his future if the business card he received from a publisher of the magazine is any indication).

The list of his positive attributes goes on, but he wouldn’t call himself committed. Determined, sure. Ambitious, absolutely. But committed in the relationship sense? No.

Being the son of one of the top electronic companies in South Korea makes dating hard for many reasons. Yoongi is usually working most of the time, and when he’s not, he prefers to be home, taking time to himself. That’s not to say he doesn’t go on casual dates, but those are usually just that: casual. The girls he meets are usually wealthy and lack the substance of a woman he requires, or if they’re not wealthy, they make it clear that they only want him for his status and fortune.

He does not commit, which is why when the words “arranged to be married” slip from his father’s lips, he can only stare back, slack-jawed.

“I’m sorry?” Yoongi asks, wanting to make sure he heard correctly.

“This industry is all about strategy. If we want to stay on top of things, we need to make moves, and if that means-”

“I have to marry a total stranger,” Yoongi interrupts with an attitude in his voice. One look from his father though, has him clearing his throat and apologizing for his outburst.

“As I was saying, if that means us having to adjust things in our personal lives to stay ahead of the industry, then so be it.” His father finishes. Yoongi should’ve known his parents’ sudden call for an impromptu lunch would be for something more than simply “catching up.”

“Besides,” his mother chimes in, “she’s not a stranger. It’s the daughter of SK International; Y/n. You’ve met and spoken with her numerous times.”

This is true. Yoongi knows very well who you are. Y/l/n Y/n. Better known in their circle simply as Peach. You’re an example of the women that Yoongi tends to stay away from. Wealthy, superficial, and extremely extroverted. He always hears through the rumor mill about you at the latest events and parties with a different date on your arm each time.

There’d been a time where he wanted to ask you out but decided you’re much too high-maintenance for him. That, and the fact that you had a brief stint with Namjoon. It wasn’t serious, but Yoongi wasn’t partial to his friends’ seconds, so he quickly abandoned the idea of getting involved with you. (This doesn’t stop him from looking at pictures of you that pop up on social media or online. You may be problematic, but you’re also attractive)

“I see,” is all Yoongi says, picking at the steak in front of him.

“I knew you’d understand. We want to do this quickly so I can finish getting the contracts written up. Sometime within the next month at least. Your mother has already been working with Y/n’s family and a wedding planner who’s taking care of everything.” Yoongi’s father speaks with such casualty as if he isn’t discussing signing his son away.

Yoongi stays quiet and nods the whole time, humoring his mother’s excited expression with artificial smiles of his own.

“Are you fucking serious?!” You screech for what seems like the eighth time.

“Y/n, I will only tell you once more to watch your tone with me.” Your mom warns, her tone as authoritative as usual, even over video chat.

“I’m sorry, but how can I watch my tone?! You just told me you’re signing my life away to someone I don’t even know!”

“I am not signing you away, don’t be so dramatic. And you know Min Yoongi, remember?”

Of course, you remember him. Min Yoongi is one of the finest men you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen plenty. Last year you wanted so badly to ask him out during a gala that you don’t even remember the purpose of. You’d had your eye on him for months, but you admittedly chickened out at the last minute. As good-looking as Yoongi is, he’s also just as intimidating. Those sharp, intense eyes had you tucking your tail and fleeing to hook up with the son of a smaller tech start-up instead. (You unapologetically thought of Yoongi the whole time)

Knowing who Yoongi is doesn’t overcome the thought of being married. You! Married?! Marriage is the furthest thing from your mind, let alone having a marriage arranged for you. You’ve had plenty of relationships, but none of them stuck around enough to entertain the thought of marriage and that’s completely okay with you. You don’t want to be married. You want to live in your cute apartment with all of your belongings and enjoy a good fuck in any room you want by someone new each time. This is the worst news you’ve received in a long time.

“I don’t care who it is. I don’t want to be anyone’s wife. What if I refuse?”

“Oh, that’s not an option,” your mom chuckles. “If you want to keep leeching off of me, you’ll marry Yoongi next month and you’ll like it.”

“Great, I can’t wait to marry a man that doesn’t actually care about me and would rather send me on extravagant vacations so he doesn’t have to deal with me.” You bite back, not caring how much of a low blow that was. You’re only growing increasingly agitated as this conversation goes on.

Your mom shoots you a look through the screen that has you shrinking back, but only a little.

“As I said Y/n, you don’t have a choice. You will be getting married next month. My assistant will be in touch with you with the details of your dress fitting and any other appointments the planner comes up with.”

“But-”

“Goodbye.” And with that, the video call ends, leaving you staring at your own angry expression on the black screen.

You let out a frustrated scream and plop back onto your bed. You force away the tears that prick at the backs of your eyes and try to think of any possible ways you can get out of this marriage.

After closing your eyes and coming up with nothing, you fall asleep, only to wake up later. The realization that you’re getting married in a month still weighs heavy on you as you mentally give up. Your mom always wins and this will be no different.

You had a Western wedding, per your mother’s choice. She claims it’s much chicer and on-trend.

Normal weddings look like so much work in the movies. Lots of running around and picking out flowers and plates and dresses. There’s always rehearsal dinners and bachelorette parties and then some kind of drama with the cake or the guests.

You don’t have to deal with any of that. Your mom’s assistant and hired wedding planner tackle everything. The only real appointment you have is the dress fitting, which you at least get to pick, then your hair and makeup the day of. You have no input on the flowers or the venue, which is a stale church your mom took you to all of once when you were little.

In the time leading up to the big day, you do your best to act as though nothing major is happening to anyone that isn’t in your close group of friends. Swan, Honey, and Candy, the closest of everyone you know, are nice enough to let you cry about it over video calls and in the group chat. Otherwise, you keep it to yourself and live your life as normal. The more you dwell on it, the more it gnaws at your mind.

After watching your parents in their loveless marriage for more than 35 years, the thought of ending up in a similar situation haunts you more than you’ll ever admit. Your parents are distant from each other and as a result, they’ve kept you at arm’s length all your life.

You try to text Yoongi a few times to get to know him more before this life change, but he is as cold over a text message as he often was anytime you’ve seen him. All you can do is hope you don’t end up in the same downward spiral that your parents are going through.

It isn’t until the day of the wedding that you finally see Min Yoongi in person after at least a year. He’s still as handsome as ever. Soft-looking dark hair that’s swept out his face, showcasing his beauty. Dark, sharp eyes that calculate you as you walk down the aisle towards him, and a black suit that he got tailored to perfectly fit his smaller, yet fit frame.

He gives you an artificial smile when you finally reach the altar that you expertly return, just as stale. The pastor immediately launches into the vows as you zone out, eyes scanning the room. You don’t recognize anyone in the pews except yours and Yoongi’s parents. Your mom’s assistant told you it would only be business people and the media. The press was told that you and Yoongi wanted to keep things small, which is why it was so quick with a “select” guest list.

For the rest of the ceremony, you operate on auto-pilot and the day carries on in a blur. You feel like you’re in a daze, only really coming to at the end of the day when you’re locked in the bathroom.

You married Min Yoongi. You’re now married. Legally, you are someone’s wife. The realization hits you like a ton of bricks as you feel panic start to grip your throat and tears well in your eyes. Try as you might, you can’t stop the sobs that slip out, only hoping no one hears you.

The next three months of being Min Yoongi’s wife are filled with frustration, to say the very least. To the outside world, you’re the perfect couple, but that can’t be further from the truth.

Both you and Yoongi’s parents make you move into a new penthouse apartment together. Since you’re now a married couple, you need to be seen as such, according to them, therefore you can’t live separately.

You put up as much of a fight that you can with your mom, which you of course lose, so you end up away from your luxury yet cozy, one-bedroom apartment that you decorated yourself, to a cold, almost clinical two-bedroom apartment that resembles an unlived showroom floor display.

Yoongi continually makes it obvious that he’s not happy. He barely speaks to you, and when he does it’s always an argument over something insignificant. The first week of living together, he bites your head off over not wiping up a splash of your coffee on the counter. The week after that, you get into an argument because you don’t pick up the mail that has his name on it from the mailroom, choosing only to grab yours. Which, in your defense, you simply forget about. You’ve been so used to getting mail for one that it slips your mind. You make sure he knows just how dumb he is before you storm out to meet a few friends at the bar.

Each day that ticks by is essentially nothing but a copy and paste of this. You either argue over trivial things around the apartment, avoid each other at all costs by going out with your friends to try and live a tiny resemblance of what your life was like before you became Mrs. Min, or stay holed up in your room.

Your room is the only place in the apartment where you get to be alone and in your own space. It’s also the only area of the apartment that you get to put any of your own tastes into. Your mom may have forced her choice of paint and furniture into it, but you at least can hang up artwork that you enjoy and cover the new bed in your own choice of linen.

The room is clearly the intended master bedroom with the king-sized bed, massive closet, and attached bathroom, but on day one of being married, Yoongi immediately retreated to what is most likely the guest room and stays only in there, so he makes his solo lodging decision early on.

This is fine with you. If you have to be trapped in a marriage with a man that doesn’t love you, at least you don’t have to sleep in the same bed as him.

You go through the days with no desire to see what’s in Yoongi’s room until one night. You were celebrating Honey, one of your closest friends, finally being back in Korea, so you’re rightfully a little more than tipsy when you get home. As soon as you’re through the front door, you hear the sounds of a piano playing through the apartment.

After spending a few minutes in the foyer simply standing and taking in the sound, you snap out of it and ungracefully tiptoe through the apartment to the source, heels in hand. Yoongi’s bedroom door is open wide enough for you to peek around the corner to see him seated in front of a keyboard in the corner of his room.

It’s the only real personal object in his otherwise empty bedroom that only has basic furniture in it. You spy stacks of books on his dresser and some notebooks, but not much else makes the room seem very lived in.

Yoongi is lost in the music with his eyes closed and a small, focused pout on his pink lips. His long fingers fly across the keys and his head bobs as he goes. This is the most peaceful you’ve ever seen Yoongi in any of the times you’ve seen the man. You don’t miss the way your heart jumps, just a tiny bit at how soft and calm the usually rude man looks. It’s clear he loves music as he loses himself in the melodies he’s playing.

Closing your eyes, you stand there and enjoy the music for a little while longer. If you associate the sweet sounds with the quiet, introverted version of Yoongi you knew of before you were married, it’s not hard to feel the crush that you originally pushed deep down creep back up.

Seeing him like this gives you an idea of how to possibly get through to the man you’re married to in hopes of building even a semblance of a positive relationship with him.

Yoongi equates his time being a married man to feeling trapped. Having to up and leave the apartment he has known and loved for the past few years only to move into one that he had no say in how it looks or where it’s located (of course it’s the halfway point between family companies) makes him miserable.

From the moment he walks in, everything just feels so fake, and wrong. The furniture looks different, feels, and even smells different.

It only takes a quick survey of the bedrooms to see which one is intended to be the shared master. He decides against this by deciding to live in the “guest room” and claiming it as his own.

Is he being moderately childish? Yes. Does he care? No.

Being entangled with you likely has its own set of drama that comes along with it, and having lived the calmest life as is possible for the son of a CEO, he’s not happy about that being disrupted. Maybe one day you’ll get a little more mature and you and Yoongi can even become friends.

Besides, you immediately get back to your own life soon after the wedding and are gone at all hours of the day with your friends, and likely other romantic partners, so what does it matter that Yoongi keeps to himself in his bedroom? If you want to live your way, he’ll do the same.

When he isn’t roped into pointless arguments with you due to the smallest inconveniences, he spends the next three months keeping to himself, working or playing music. He’s found that if he can stay away from you, there won’t be a need to get into a screaming match over him forgetting to lock the front door or not asking if you wanted anything from the store (which is ridiculous since you have a housekeeper that does the grocery shopping anyway).

Three months is a long time for someone to avoid speaking to the person they live with, let alone are married to, but Yoongi does a pretty good job, until one day when he comes home after a long day at the office.

He drops his bag and shoes by the door and shuffles into the kitchen to fix himself a drink.

With a tumbler of whiskey in hand, he collects his things and makes his way to his bedroom. The apartment is surprisingly quiet, but he knows you’re home because he can see the light emanating from your bedroom down the hall.

He’s ready to flop onto his bed and enjoy his drink when he sees a neatly wrapped box sitting in front of his bedroom door. Yoongi opens the door and slides the box in gently before setting down his drink and his bag and picking the box up.

Typically, when he gets mail he’s notified that he needs to pick it up in the mailroom or the housekeeper will tell him, so he’s curious about the box. After untying the white ribbon he shimmies the top off and digs through the tissue paper. Underneath the paper is what appears to be a miniature grand piano made of black wood. Yoongi picks it up, noticing the weight of it, and is further confused until he finds the silver knob on the back.

He turns the knob, which makes the tiny piano begin to play a classical tune that he’s unfamiliar with, but sounds beautiful playing through the room. A smile creeps onto Yoongi’s face as he further admires the music box, noting that his initials are carved onto the bottom. He moves to dig through the box and finds a folded note with a peach emblem on the front.

It’s not weird if spouses get each other wedding gifts right? I saw this and thought of the beautiful music you make. I hope you like your piano partner :) - Peach

There’s a smile on Yoongi’s face as he reads your note. He had been sure he only played piano when you were out, and the idea of you hearing him has a blush creeping up his neck, but your gift also flatters him. He was so sure you hated his guts, yet you got him a present, just because.

Taking a deep breath, Yoongi gently places the music box on his dresser and heads for your room, intending to properly thank you. When he pokes his head into your room, you don’t notice him, as your head is quite literally buried in a thick book in your hands.

Yoongi is taken aback by your appearance. He’s used to seeing you in tight dresses and small skirts, face full of makeup and accessories lining your arms and neck. The Peach he sees is different.

You’re cross-legged on your bed in black sweatpants and a light pink, oversized hoodie. Round glasses are perched on the brim of your nose and large headphones sit on your ears. He watches as a range of emotions flutters across your face, ranging from shock to anger, to happiness. His eyes flicker towards the floor next to your bed, seeing three hefty stacks of books, almost falling over from being haphazardly stacked.

You look like a completely different person and though it’s only a fleeting thought, he briefly notes how beautiful you look. You look like Y/n, not Peach, the party girl that everyone knows. The thought of seeing you privately from the outside world makes Yoongi’s heart jump.

He decides to leave you to your book and quietly heads back to his bedroom, deciding to thank you later. He also decides he needs to return the favor for you and starts to think up a gift to get you that he hopes you’ll like as much as he likes his gift.

Yoongi’s been so busy with work all week, that you haven’t had much time to see him, so you’re dying to know what he thinks of his gift. He surely has it, as the next morning after leaving it in front of his door, you saw that the box was gone. It wasn’t in the trash or any other room, so he must have kept it.

Your question is answered when you get home the next night after a self-care day and turn the light on in your room. You jump at first when you see the new armchair in the corner of the room, cautiously going over to inspect it.

It’s wide and looks to be made of thick, dark-washed wood. The seat is nook-like and the cushions are rose gold-colored and plush, made of some of the most comfortable fabric you’ve ever touched. The seat, backrest, and both sides are padded with this pillowy material. The real appeal of the chair is the fact that the structure of it is a bookshelf, all the way around it. You spot your book collection placed into the chair on every shelf, so when sitting, you simply need to reach over and grab a book to read.

You see a folded paper on one of the armrests and eagerly reach for it to read.

Slouching over your books on your bed is bad posture. Enjoy your reading in comfort and take care of yourself. - Yoongi

The way your heart flutters upon reading the note is ridiculous, but it feels good to know that Yoongi seems to like your gift enough to give you one in return. You can’t help but flop into the chair, sinking in and letting the cushions form to your body. You reach an arm over one of the armrests and pluck a book from the shelf, loving the convenience and the comfort of the chair.

You make a mental note to thank Yoongi as soon as he gets home and maybe start the work towards building something with him.

As luck would have it, you end up curling into yourself and falling asleep in your new chair. Yoongi catches sight of you like this later that night when he comes home, smiling so widely that he’s glad you didn’t see. He tiptoes into your room and places the throw hanging on your computer chair over you, making sure not to disturb you. He’s relieved you like the gift and he tells himself he’ll take the time to thank you properly tomorrow.

The next morning marks the beginning of the first string of pleasant interactions between you and Yoongi. Yoongi calls over a personal chef he’s used before to make breakfast for you, so when you finally stumble into the kitchen, you’re left standing in the entryway to gape at the spread on the dining room table. Yoongi’s sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone but puts it down as soon as he sees you.

“Hey, good morning.” He offers you what you’re pretty sure is his first smile in your direction.

“Good morning,” you smile back.

“I asked my chef to make us a nice breakfast. I wanted to do something nice and uh, thank you for the music box. It’s lovely.”

You have to keep yourself from gaping at the fact that Min Yoongi is not only being nice, but he also thanked you and has done another nice thing for you.

“Thank you too, for the chair. I love it a lot.”

Yoongi flushes at your words, looking away bashfully. It’s awkward between the two of you until Yoongi gestures to the table. You both sit, still silent as you begin placing rice and fish onto your plate.

Only the soft sounds of chewing are heard for a while longer until you decide to break the silence, asking Yoongi how he got into playing the piano. As if a switch flips in him, Yoongi’s eyes light up, and he dives into his background and how he fell in love with the piano after his parents forced him to go to a symphony when he was young. He hated it at first, but when the orchestra began playing, especially the pianist, Yoongi was transfixed and immediately begged for lessons.

“Simpler times in my life too, I suppose,” he shrugs, stuffing a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “What about you? I never really thought I’d see the great Peach with her nose buried in a book.”

“The majority of people I know don’t even think I can say the alphabet, let alone read entire novels.” You laugh, rolling your eyes. “My nanny when I was young used to read to me every night for as long as I can remember. The way she read was always full of emotion and very involved for a bedtime story for a toddler, but it made me love it. She also taught me how to read and eventually I was reading all the time, well at least whenever my mom wasn’t forcing me to go to events and all that. It’s my only real hobby outside of like… going out.”

Yoongi nods, offering a look of understanding. “Yeah, my father let me take piano lessons, but it was always an unimportant hobby to him. If it isn’t about the business, it doesn’t matter.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started! I feel like my mom has said some shit like that to me before. She’s never admitted it outright, but I know she just wants to parade me around for the paparazzi so people will know and remember the business; it’s been like that since I was a teenager.” Yoongi gives you a frown in response, but you wave it off. “It’s fine, I’m used to it. I’m just waiting until I can take over the company and do what I want with it.”

“We definitely have that in common.” Yoongi smiles at you, making your stomach flip yet again. It’s a little embarrassing how easily he can make you feel giddy, but you do your best not to let it show. This is the first time a conversation between you and Yoongi didn’t turn into a screaming match, so you remain as casual as possible.

That breakfast is the open door that you both need to begin to feel more comfortable with one another. That morning is spent with the two of you going back and forth about how exhausting being an heir is and snippets of how equally exhausting both of your parents are. You and Yoongi may be different in many ways, but you both share the same burden of over-controlling, never-around parents.

After that morning, Yoongi finds himself seeking you out more for conversation and vice versa. You eat more meals together, and eventually, a month has gone by and he’s texting you on nights that he’s coming home late from the office, asking what you want him to pick up for dinner.

You wish each other good morning and good night every day and offer one another genuine smiles. At some point, you catch yourself thinking about Yoongi when you’re not together and vice versa. He’s even initiated movie nights at home with you and the more public events you go to, the more his hands on your arm or lower back don’t feel so forced.

Yoongi, being the usually stoic man that he is, even feels comfortable enough to show extreme emotion with you. When Jimin, one of his best friends, tells him that Jungkook’s mother, another one of his best friends, was in a car accident and is in the hospital, he panics. He receives the news one day when you’re watching tv together, and you know something is wrong as soon as he answers the phone.

After he hangs up, he tells you what’s going on and that he needs to get to the hospital. Yoongi’s frazzled and rushes around the apartment as if he doesn’t know where anything is. You finally get up from the couch and grab him by the shoulders as he’s about to pace the hallway for the third time.

“Hey, I need you to calm down, okay? Just grab your bag and your keys.”

“I - yeah okay.” Yoongi turns to go into his room but stops to look back at you. “Can you, um, come to the hospital with me?”

You’re caught off guard, but agree nonetheless and head to your room to get dressed. The ride is silent, and Yoongi’s on edge the entire time, even as you stop to grab flowers. He finally relaxes when you get to the hospital with him and he sees his friends and Jungkook’s mom. You give your hellos to everyone, only knowing them a little, except for Namjoon who you know much too well. You smile at him and he returns it, very half-heartedly which isn’t a surprise given how much of a near recluse he’s become, but you don’t dwell on it. You’re here for Yoongi and Yoongi only.

That night, once you’re back home, and Yoongi’s much calmer, the two of you end up falling asleep on the couch together, not touching, but sharing the same blanket, which in itself is a feat.

A month and a half of peace goes by with no fights and no animosity in the apartment, which both you and Yoongi are thankful for. You’ve found yourself feeling much more zen in your everyday life.

Your phone rings when you’re neck-deep in the newest young adult novel you’ve ordered, disrupting your evening. You sigh, placing your bookmark in the book and answer it, seeing it’s your mom and rightfully bracing yourself.

“Hi, mom.”

“Wow, don’t sound so thrilled to speak to your mother.”

You take a deep breath, refusing to take the obvious argument bait. “I was just reading, that's all.”

“Is that what your time has been dedicated to? Is that why you look the way you do recently?”

“What?” You gape

“I saw a photo of you online from the Louis Vuitton event you and Yoongi attended last weekend. He looks as handsome as always, but Y/n, what on Earth is going on with you?”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with me?!”

“Oh come on, Y/n. It’s obvious how much weight you’ve put on. And who did your makeup? Your foundation looks awful.”

“Did you just call me to be rude to me?!” The anger that your mom usually causes you bubbles up, and you don’t notice how hard you’re gritting your teeth.

“It’s not rude, it’s criticism. And you should hear it from me before anyone on the internet.” She says casually.

“Are you sure? You sound like just as much of an asshole as people on the internet.”

“First of all, watch your mouth when you speak to me. Second of all, as I said, it’s criticism whether you like it or not. Besides, someone has to tell you so you can match Yoongi. We can’t have the future CEO of SK Min Electronics International walking around with an ugly wife now can we?”

There aren’t enough words to describe the flurry of emotions her words make you feel, but her mention of Yoongi as the CEO stops you. “What do you mean ‘future CEO’? I’m taking over SK International.”

Your mom chuckles in response and you hear the yipping of her dogs in the background. “Oh, Y/n, what? Did we not tell you? Your father and I decided we’d just merge the companies completely and have Yoongi lead the one, mega-company.”

“You can’t just make me not the heir anymore!” You jump up from the couch and begin pacing in irritation.

“We can and we did. Besides, you haven’t really shown that you can handle being CEO. I mean, before the marriage, you know very well that all of the articles published about you showed you out at another club or bar. And Y/n, the rumors about you and all the partners you’ve had are too much for you to be the CEO of the family business. Maybe you can start a makeup or clothing line instead.”

You’re silent as she prattles on with you barely listening. This phone call morphed from casual verbal abuse to news of your future completely changing from what you knew it would be for the past twenty or so years.

At some point, your mom decides she’s tired of speaking at you and says goodbye, barely waiting for you to respond. You sink back onto the couch, mind still reeling. It’s not the first time she’s nitpicked the way you look or behaved, but it’s the first time in a long time that it’s been so cruel and you let it get to you. Not to mention the fact that you will no longer inherit your family’s company.

Her sharp words keep replaying in your head and you eventually end up in a heap on the couch, sobbing. Yoongi finds you there after work and you’re surprised when he comes over to rub reassuring circles on your back and shoulders.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” He asks. Through teary eyes, you meet his gaze, seeing true concern. You’ve come a long way in the short time you’ve been married to Yoongi, and to have him here comforting you has to mean something right?

“My mom… she’s just… she just said some terrible things to me, as usual.” You sniffle, forcing a smile on your face. Yoongi’s grip on your shoulder tightens, almost protectively.

“Well, you don’t have to tell me what she said if you don’t want to, but I’m sorry.”

You blink at him, trying to make sure you heard him right. Yoongi apologized to you. He’s never said sorry to you. Sure, it wasn’t an apology for something he did, but it has to be a start.

Sitting so close to him for a few seconds longer gives you ample time to admire how soft his lips look.

Unsure if it’s the onslaught of emotions rushing through you, you lean up before you can talk yourself out of it and press your lips to Yoongi’s. You can confirm that his lips are as soft as they look.

Unfortunately, the moment is cut short when Yoongi pulls away harshly, pushing you back in the process.

“Y/n, what the fuck?” It’s at this moment that you realize the work you’ve put in to bridge the gap between the two of you is for not as Yoongi shoots you an intensely deep frown, similar to ones he’s given you before you had reached a truce.

“Sorry! Sorry I couldn’t help it but… Yoongi, we’ve gotten a lot closer lately, and we’re married. What do you say we go out maybe? Give this a real chance?” A voice in the back of your head is telling you this is a bad idea, but you’re not listening, too overcome with emotions.

“No.”

“Yoongi, come on, we-”

“I said no!” He snaps. “Did you forget that this is essentially a fake marriage? We’re not some happily wed couple. We’re not together!”

He’s right, but hearing the amount of venom in his voice when he says it still stings.

Pushing the hurt down, you quickly replace it with anger and pull yourself up quickly from the couch. “Alright, I get it! No need to be a fucking asshole!”

“Well, maybe that’ll make you remember it next time you throw yourself at me like you just did.” His change back to the asshole you knew, has you immediately on guard.

“Oh, give me a break I did not throw myself at you. I’m sorry I kissed you. I shouldn’t have done that without consent.”

“As if someone like you would get my consent.”

You scoff. “Okay, asshole, fucking forget it. With such a shitty attitude, it’s not like you get women asking to be with you anyway.”

“Why, because I don’t go out every night fucking anything that moves?” He shoots back.

“You know what Yoongi, fuck you, okay? I don’t know why I thought things were getting better.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why you did either. This is still a fucking nightmare.”

“Wow. Okay, I’m done. You make me sick.” You spin on your heel, stomping down the hallway with your room in mind.

“The feeling is mutual!” Yoongi calls at your retreating back, always needing to have the last word.

You slam your door behind you, immediately crumpling to the ground, sobbing into the plush carpet. First dealing with your mom, then having Yoongi be just as nasty, is all too much. You didn’t expect him to be in love with you, but you like to think you were growing closer to him the past two months, even having your old feelings resurface, only for him to trample over those without hesitation.

You had grown to know him as more than an arrogant, nasty tyrant. He could be sweet, funny, thoughtful, and enjoyable to be around. This Yoongi, the cold and mean one though, you thought was finally gone. You were wrong.

Letting yourself wallow for much longer than you should, you finally pull yourself off the floor. Mascara stained and face hot, you stare at your reflection and are filled with a sense of anger. Angry at your mom for treating you like shit your whole life and angry at Yoongi for treating you like shit for months and angry at yourself for crying over them both.

With a renowned sense of determination, you stomp to the bathroom for a shower and decide that if you can’t get appreciation from the people closest to you, you’ll find it elsewhere.

It only takes you an hour to get dolled up and into one of your shortest, tightest dresses. You shoot a text to the group chat with your friends, only to find out that they’re all busy for the night. While you could invite any of your other contacts, you decide not to bother and go alone. The attention you’ll receive will be the same either way.

Yoongi’s bedroom door is shut and the apartment is silent when you leave, but you don’t care. When your driver pulls up, minutes after you step outside, you have him take you to a nearby bar that you frequent enough that the bodyguards and bartenders all know you.

This is proven by a simple wave at the door and you’re let inside. You receive the same treatment at the bar, the small crowd surrounding it immediately parting to allow you to sit as the bartender working immediately comes over and places a rum and coke in front of you.

“Hey beautiful,” A voice immediately murmurs from next to you. Flirtatiously, you turn to the voice, seeing a handsome face smiling at you.

“Hi there,” you purr, and the man takes this as his cue to take the seat next to you.

“Peach, right?”

“Mmhmm.” You offer out your hand and the stranger smirks, taking your hand and placing a kiss on top.

“Wonwoo. It’s great to finally meet you in person, Peach. Are you as sweet as your name suggests?” He flashes you a wide smile that you find extremely charming.

“Buy me another drink and you just might find out.” You wink. He immediately calls over the bartender, ordering “whatever you’re drinking now” and asking him to keep them coming as long as you’d like.

You offer Wonwoo a genuine smile, acutely aware of the eyes of other people in the bar locked on you, and your earlier trouble at home is just that easily forgotten.

Yoongi is an idiot. He’s a huge fucking jerk. He keeps telling himself this all night after you disappear into your bedroom after your argument.

The argument that he admits he started.

He shouldn’t have taken the tiring day he had out on you. His father spent the day talking over every decision Yoongi tried to make, denying him any room to contribute in any of the many meetings they had to sit in. When he confronted him about it at the end of the night, he excused it with him not feeling as though Yoongi was knowledgeable enough, which led to some heated words and Yoongi storming out to go home.

When you kissed him, the way he reacted was wrong. He should have told you that he felt that things were complicated and that it’s better if you don’t get into a relationship right now. He’d be lying if he said getting close to you for nearly two months hasn’t had the earlier crush he harbored on you ease its way back into his heart.

But, he can’t be with you like that. How your relationship started is under false pretenses, and he doesn’t even know how to process his feelings. Not to mention he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to look past the relationship you and Namjoon had. It’s too much for him to try and dissect, so he’s opting not to get into that with you.

That’s not to say it’s what he wants. What he wanted earlier was to grab you and pull you into his arms. He wanted to grasp your face in his hands and let his lips collide with yours, and then maybe, just maybe, take you on the couch of your shared apartment.

He didn’t do this. Instead, he said things he shouldn’t have and sent the wedge that had eased its way out from between the two of you, back in with a vengeance.

After you storm to your bedroom, Yoongi sulks into his room and absorbs himself into his computer, headphones on, and music turned up to drown out the way he’s cursing himself for being an absolute moron.

Eventually, with tired eyes and a headache from staring at the screen for so long, he takes his headphones off. With a glance at the time, he sees that he’s been focused on his computer for at least three hours. His mind flickers to you as he stands to stretch, and he thinks about apologizing and seeing if any form of amends can be made.

This idea quickly leaves him when he suddenly notices the sound of you in the distance. He holds his breath and walks to his closed door, pressing his ear to the wood to hear better.

“Oh fuck.”

That’s definitely a moan he hears coming from you.

Yoongi’s face heats up at the thought of you touching yourself only a few feet away from him. He knows he shouldn’t, but he opens his bedroom door and creeps into the hallway. Your door is half-open and he can hear you letting out more breathy moans.

He makes it halfway to your door when he hears a moan that mirrors yours. A distinctly male moan.

Yoongi can’t explain it, but he suddenly feels rage run rampant over him. The earlier fight aside, the fact that you brought home another person to fuck in the place he also lives in has him seeing red. As much as he doesn't take your marriage seriously, he never thought about sleeping with someone else in your home.

He’s bursting into your room before he can stop himself, causing you to shriek in surprise. You’re completely naked, mounted on the lap of a strange naked man in your bed and Yoongi has the urge to drag the man out by his head of dark hair.

“Yoongi,” you slur out, “what the fuck?” He watches as you fall to your side on the bed, having lost balance.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He practically roars and sees the man sit up quickly. He immediately recognizes him as someone he’s seen at plenty of his mother’s fancy dinners. Jeon Wonwoo, the son of one of the country’s biggest accounting companies, that Yoongi’s father happens to have a large stake in.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” You sass and roll off of the bed, hands grasping for your dress on the floor.

Wonwoo does the same, eyes meeting Yoongi’s rage-filled ones as he hastily pulls up his underwear. “I - uh - she said you weren���t home.” He stammers.

“Well I’m standing right in front of you, aren’t I?” Yoongi grumbles. “And I suggest you get the fuck out of my house before I make a call to my father who’ll make sure your miserable life is ruined along with your family.”

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!” Wonwoo bows furiously more times than Yoongi can count and scrambles out of the room, arms full of his clothes.

Once he’s gone, Yoongi turns his fiery gaze to you as you sway next to your bed, dress pulled on backward.

“What gives you the right to storm in here?!”

“This is my house! I live here too, or did all the alcohol give you sudden amnesia?”

“So what? I can do what I want in my house!”

“And that includes sleeping with strangers?! We’re married, remember?!”

You let out a frustrated scream, tugging at your dress. “Oh spare me! A few hours ago you told me this marriage means nothing to you and now you’re inserting yourself into my fucking business and trying to take charge of my personal life. That’s not how this works, Yoongi!”

You’re right and Yoongi knows it, but dammit he’s too stubborn to admit how jealous he is.

“That’s not the point! Do you know how disrespectful it is for you to bring some other person into the house that you share with the person you’re married to only to fuck them loud enough for the whole building to hear?!”

“You know what, I’m done with his conversation. Leave me alone, Yoongi. Stop talking to me, stop thinking about me, and stop existing around me!”

“Fine, I will! As a matter of fact, I’ll go ahead and exist in my own apartment away from you!”

“Great!”

With a final venomous look shared between the two of you, Yoongi storms to his room, immediately packing a bag of clothes, his laptop, and anything else he can get fit.

He throws a final glance at your now closed bedroom door before he’s out the front door and going to the parking garage to take his car and go back to his own apartment.

Yoongi is gone for three days before his assistant shows up with a mover to collect the rest of the things he left behind. He hadn’t brought much in the first place, so it doesn’t take long.

“Did he tell you not to tell me anything?” You ask his assistant flatly, watching as she grabs the last box of knick-knacks. You’d been badgering Tzuyu since she showed up early in the morning to try and tell you when Yoongi would come back, but she was tight-lipped and turned you down each time.

You follow her to the front door, asking once more, and she turns to face you before you can finish the question.

“For the last time, Peach, I can’t say. All I’ll tell you is that I’m bringing this all to his apartment now.” Tzuyu is out the door before you can prod her with any follow-up questions.

It only takes a couple of hours before you find out what Yoongi’s plan is when you get the screaming phone call from your mom.

“What did you do?!” Is the first thing you hear when you answer. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you put the call on speaker. You’ve been rummaging in the kitchen for a few minutes before she called.

“What are you talking about?”

“Why the hell did I just get a call from Yoongi’s mother telling me they may be following through with a divorce?!”

The word ‘divorce’ has you faltering, your hand completely falling limp as you almost drop the bag of cookies in hand.

“A divorce?”

“This could ruin the business, you know! A divorce after being married less than a year will look so incredibly messy!

For some reason, even after having the apartment be empty for days, and all his belongings being taken out, the true realization that he wasn’t coming back and wanted to end things with you hurt. You’re aware this makes you sound like a fool, given the way you’ve interacted with him for the majority of your time married, but with your roller coaster of emotions for him, you’re more disappointed than anything to hear that he just wants it to be over.

“Y/n! Have you heard anything I’ve said?!” Your mom shrieks particularly loud, bringing you back from your thoughts.

“What?”

“Damnit, Y/n! Where’s Yoongi now?” She hisses.

“Not here. Pretty sure he moved back into his old apartment after we fought a few days ago.”

“Well, you better fix this! Your next major event together will be Jeon Jungkook’s birthday party so figure it out then. Make sure he does not go through with this divorce! Do something right for once for fucks sake!” She hangs up after that, leaving you no room to say anything else.

Stress washes over you immediately to the point that it’s suffocating. If Yoongi divorces you, the companies will be negatively impacted, which will lead to you taking even more shit from your parents - your mom especially - and this thought both terrifies and exhausts you.

In the same breath, you don’t know if you want to continue with someone who can be as wishy-washy as Yoongi can. It’s clear he doesn’t have his feelings together, and you’ve only had a short amount of time together to try and get closer with him, which hasn’t been incredibly successful, and you don’t even know if you want to try.

As she said, Jungkook’s party is the last chance you two have to try and mend things to stop the divorce. This seems much easier said than done of course, but you're not sure how successful it’ll be when all you do is yell at one another. You don’t even want to call him, as you don’t see that turning out well and you’re not even sure he’ll answer your call. All you can do is collect your thoughts in preparation for when you’ll see him in a week.

Yoongi hates how anxious he feels to see you when you arrive. He’s been outside of the yacht where Jungkook’s birthday party is being held for only a few minutes before you. When he pulls up first, the waiting paparazzi hound him, throwing questions at him as to why his wife isn’t with him. He supplies them with a tale about how you told him to go first because you were running late from a dance class. He waves off any other questions and ignores them until your arrival.

He watches as one of your bare legs peeks out from the open car door, followed by the other, and then you. Your dress is a light shade of purple and clings to your curves from your chest to your hips, stopping right above your knees. The black heels you clack in over to him bring you and he nearly eye level.

He can barely take his eyes off you and the sound of the flashing cameras behind him signal that neither can anyone else. You stop in front of him, something unreadable in your eyes as you take in his fitted Armani suit.

You bring your arms up and around his neck while his arms go around your waist and pull you into him. The two of you have shown faux affection in public so many times that you both know without saying anything.

The hug is quick and you pull away to pose next to him for the cameras, a strained smile etched onto your face. He copies you, turning to the cameras, and offers waves and casual poses. You only take a few pictures, as he feels just how stiff you are next to him. You take his hand as you walk through the paparazzi, throwing smiles at them until you get to the dock where attendants are waiting next to smaller boats that will take you to the yacht itself.

Yoongi’s hand stays wrapped around yours as he helps you aboard then follows suit after you. You both offer a few more waves to the cameras until they’re far enough that you can’t see them.

The smile you had been wearing slips from your lips immediately as you let out a breath. Yoongi watches as your eyes fixate on the large boat ahead, not glancing at him again. He’s sure your mom has already berated you about the possibility of divorce, so he knows you need to talk.

He hadn’t meant to say it, but the night you had your big argument and he sped to his apartment, his mother called and he was so angry that he exploded, saying he was staying at his old apartment and that he didn’t care what she and his father wanted, but he was thinking of getting a divorce as soon as possible. He asked her not to tell anyone, but she of course did.

Your mom sent him an email a few days later, apologizing on your behalf. She assured him that married couples get into spats all the time and that you would be able to reconnect and settle any issues. Knowing your mom, he knew it was all fluff and that she was sucking up to him, but he was curious as to how you took the news.

The question continues to swirl in his mind as you step onto the yacht.

“Hyung!” Jungkook’s voice takes him from his thoughts and Yoongi waves as the younger man approaches. He is so focused on you, that he nearly forgot the reason he was here, which is to celebrate his friend.

“Hey, Jungkook. Happy birthday!” Yoongi pats his shoulder, his young friend beaming up at him.

“Thanks, Hyung.” He turns to you as you reach out for a quick hug.

“Happy birthday, Jungkook” are the first words he’s heard you utter all evening.

“Thank you, Noona! I’m glad you could both make it,” The tone in Jungkook’s voice suggests that he knows something is going on between you two. Yoongi sighs, knowing his mother must have taken the information about the divorce further than just your mom’s ears.

Yoongi narrows his eyes at Jungkook who simply shrugs. “Sorry, Hyung, I’ve gotta keep making the rounds to everyone, but I’ll talk to you later!”

Jungkook whisks himself away before Yoongi can try and question him further, which only serves to confirm his suspicions.

Setting that conversation aside, he turns to you, a flute of champagne already in hand. Yoongi frowns, seeing you easily knock it back. He remembers how your drinking tends to loosen you up, making you prone to speak without a filter as the flashbacks of quite a few arguments play in his mind. You should talk about things before you have too many more.

“Hey, Y/n, we need to talk.” Your eyes flicker up from your phone as you truly look at him for the first time.

“About how you want to divorce me?” The question tumbles out as if you’ve been bottling it up for much too long.

“Yeah, that. Look, I said it to my mom that night we had the big fight and I told her to keep it to herself, but I mean, there’s a reason she’s known as our circles’ gossip column.” Yoongi chuckles, but you don’t return the gesture.

“So, what, do you just want to talk about the terms of the divorce? I won’t take your money or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s not why I’m bringing it up.” Yoongi says with too much attitude in his tone. You click your tongue at him and he shakes his head, taking a deep breath. He doesn’t know why talking to you always turns into a fight, but he does his best to stop himself. “What I mean is, she wasn’t supposed to blab to everyone. I’m not even sure if I want a divorce.”

“Of course, not. You can’t ever get your feelings together to talk to me about it.”

“Come on, Y/n, don’t be like this.” Yoongi feels his aggravation rise.

“Being like what? I’m tired of playing this game of emotional roulette with you. I feel like I never know the next thing you’re going to say to me at any given time we talk and it’s exhausting.”

“It’s not exactly fun for me!” He shoots back. Before you can answer, someone comes over and sweeps you into a conversation. Yoongi doesn’t know her personally, but he knows her name is Im Nayeon and that her family is one of the wealthiest in Korea - possibly even more so than both your families and a few other of his friends’. That’s why it’s in your best interest to entertain conversation with her.

She goes on for longer than Yoongi can keep track of and he isn’t even sure of what she’s talking about. Eventually, the three of you move to lean against a nearby railing as Nayeon is joined by her date and she continues going on about some trip she just got back from. As stealthily as he can, Yoongi eases his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through local news outlets and the updates he receives on his phone.

Everything is standard - stocks, new contracts, and mergers - all until he sees Jungkook’s name in a tabloid. The article mentions the name of Jungkook’s girlfriend in the title, and it doesn’t read like a particularly positive article about her and their relationship.

Yoongi scans the boat, looking for any sign of him.

“Right, Yoongi?” You call his name, elbowing him harshly in the side and making him jump.

“Huh?”

“I said, we’re still deciding where our first vacation as a married couple will be, right?”

“Oh yeah, right. Hey, I gotta go find Jungkook, okay? It was nice speaking with you, Nayeon.” He bows at the group before picking up the pace to find his friend. This wasn’t the best place and time to do this, admittedly, but if it was him, he’d want a friend to tell him this truth as soon as they found out.

He’d just talk to you later to clear things up and go from there.

You lose track of how many vodka and Red Bulls you’ve thrown back somewhere between five and six. You know Yoongi’s been off doing whatever he wants the entire time, but you don’t care. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s not interested in pretending with you further than some fake photos and equally as fake smiles, so he can do what he wants at this point.

Any buried anticipation you had about seeing him died when he left you in the conversation you had been trapped in with Im Nayeon. You know your friends are around here somewhere, but you’re much too tired to be social anymore. Nayeon chatted your ear off about her wonderful, perfect little life enough to make you want to jump over the edge of the yacht, so you were all socialized out.

Your mind flickers to whatever it was Yoongi tried to talk to you about the divorce, but you push it away. It clearly wasn’t important enough for him to stick around.

Besides, the bar seems like a better place to be than talking about your feelings and how miserable you’ve been.

“Another,” You motion to the bartender. The woman arches her eyebrow at you and you return the expression. This is all it takes to have her taking your empty glass and moving on to prepare you a fresh one.

“You know, you are much too gorgeous to be sitting here drinking alone.” You glance to your left, seeing a man who looks vaguely familiar slide into the empty chair next to you.

“Oh yeah? So who should I be here drinking with?” You scoff in response, eyes focusing back on the bartender as she adds the comical splash of Red Bull to your mostly clear glass.

“Well, I know you’re married to Min Yoongi, but he’s nowhere to be seen, which means you must need some company.” You roll your eyes at him, hands reaching for your full glass when it slides in front of you.

You take a generous sip, the alcohol burning on the way down. “And you think I want your company?” You turn in your chair, finally facing the man head-on. Taking in his expensive suit, slicked-back black hair, and tall stature, even when sitting down, the name Hyungwon pops into your head. His father owns a chunk of banks in the country if you’re not mistaken. This also isn’t the first time he’s tried to pick you up either.

“Oh, I know you want my company. Most women do.” You let out a bitter laugh, taking another swig. A previous version of Peach would’ve eaten this egotistical act up. You would’ve given him back a witty response of your own and there would only be a short bit of banter before you let him fuck you in some nearby closet or secluded part of the boat.

The you of today only feels exhaustion and slight disgust. Something seems to have shifted about the way you see the men in the circle you run in, and whether it’s Yoongi’s fault or some self-actualization bullshit, you’re not sure, but you don’t have time for it at this moment.

Your third gulp empties your cup, Hyungwon’s eyes on you the whole time. You take a deep breath as you set the glass down and fix him with a look that’s as intimidating as you can muster. The panicked look in his eyes has you thinking it’s working, but the sound of a throat clearing behind you makes it clear it wasn’t you.

“Hyungwon.” Yoongi’s voice, as hard as stone, has you even going rigid in your seat.

“Yoongi.” Hyungwon mumbles in response. “I was just asking your wife if she, uh, got to see the birthday boy. I wanted to give him my wishes again.”

“Jungkook was just with me. He’s just gone I’m afraid.” Yoongi says simply.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I’ll have to send him a text. Well, thanks Yoongi. See you around. Have a good night Peach, er, I mean, Y/n.” Hyungwon nods at you both before all but sprinting away from the cold eyes of your “husband.”

“Wow,” Yoongi huffs as soon as Hyungwon is out of earshot. “You can’t go a single night without whoring yourself out can you?”

You choke on your spit at that, turning in your seat harshly to fix Yoongi with a glare. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

He returns your look with the same intensity. “You heard me. Embarrassing me in our home is one thing but in public? How do you not have any shame?”

“First of all, you absolute asshole, Hyungwon approached me.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?” Yoongi laughs bitterly. “I bet if I hadn’t shown up when I did you’d already have his dick down your throat for everyone to see.”

The sharp sound of your hand connecting with Yoongi’s cheek is loud and crisp, catching the attention of everyone nearby, but you don’t care.

“I’ve let you get away with saying a lot of fucked up shit to me throughout this entire marriage, and it stops now. You’re not the only one with mommy and daddy issues, but the difference between the two of us is I don’t use it as an excuse to be cruel. You’re rude and miserable and take your own shit out on everyone around you.”

“And the way you party your sad little life away and fuck anything that’ll have you is a great way of coping with your issues?”

“At least I don’t treat people like shit, you heartless prick!”

You and Yoongi are both breathing heavily, staring each other down with fire in your eyes.

“Now listen to me, you -”

“No, you listen to me, Min Yoongi. I’m not going to let you talk to me however you want to anymore. For the past six months, I’ve let you get away with a lot of shit, but no more. You can do whatever the fuck you need to do about this marriage, but I’m not about to try with some asshole who doesn’t care about me. I’m done.” You slide off of your seat, stumbling only a little on wobbly legs.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ll do whatever I can about it whether my parents like it or not.”

“Good. Now, I’m going home so I don’t have to see your stupid fucking face anymore.” Your anger, having reached its peak only a few seconds ago, seems to be simmering down. That is until Yoongi decides to open his mouth again, to try and get the final word in.

“Try not to open your legs for anyone on the way home. I know how hard that is for you.”

Fists clenched and anger surfacing again, your eyes flicker to the full glass on the bar next to you. When did the bartender slip another drink to you?

You don’t think too much about it and instead reach for the glass, tossing the entire thing right in Yoongi’s face. His angry expression only intensifies into something akin to rage, but you don’t care to stick around and continue this game with him.

Turning on your heel, you beeline straight to the entrance where you came in and where you know there are attendants on standby to take anyone who wants to leave back to shore.

Judging by the gasps and the looks you received during the argument, you know there will be plenty of people in your circle talking about what just happened, and you know you’ll be getting a scathing phone call from your mom about this, but the only thing you want to do right now is get away from Min Yoongi, for as long as you can help it.

[snackhobi]

this is my part of the rockin’ around the christmas tropes collab with @yeojaa, @underthejoon @ladyartemesia, @ppersonna, @untaemedqueen, @xjoonchildx ✨ MERRY (early) CHRISTMAS Y’ALL

summary: yoongi is your favourite regular. he’s patient, polite, and predictable, a-large-black-coffee-to-go-please, no cream, no sugar, thank you. rinse and repeat. the seasons might change, but yoongi’s order stays the same.

and then one fateful day in winter, yoongi asks about the weekly specials, orders a cup of christmas and sugary sweetness, and everything starts changing.

pairing: yoongi x barista f!reader / word count: 14.8k / genre: coffeeshop!au, fluff, dash of smut (NSFW)

warnings: slow burn, terrible drink concoctions, pining, miscommunication (kind of/reader comes to incorrect conclusions based on literally nothing), the tiniest bit of swearing, heated makeouts, oral (m receiving), I think that’s it

a/n: I have a lot of people to thank: thank you to my loveliest most beautiful wife @yeojaa for the beautiful banner 🥺💖 thank you to @morndas for helping me name this fic and suggesting some of the awful weekly specials featured within 🥰 thank you to @yeoldontknow for letting me have multiple meltdowns at her and for letting me pick her brain about working in the music industry, and for helping me with plot points I wasn’t sure about!! 💕

also thank you to @hobi-gif for helping me brainstorm the original fic idea with her; she hasn’t beta’ed this fic because I am TERRIBLE and literally finished this like an hour before posting. that’s on me and not her. I am a shambles without her indomitable proof reading skills; any mistakes are down to me, and I apologise for that. I’ve only read this through like once, sorry in advance, I’m literally formatting this while I should be getting ready for work

Being a barista isn’t all bad.

Like, okay, you’re on your feet for hours at a time, the pay isn’t exactly the highest in the world, and coffee beans have a tendency to end up in the weirdest places (how did you get the light roast in your bra?)—but it’s not entirely terrible.

Here’s a (totally not comprehensive) list of good things about working at the Paradise coffee shop:

The free drinks (y’know, for taste testing purposes)

The free food (you probably eat more than you’re actually allowed, but who’s telling?)

Your coworkers (like Taehyung, who is—yep—currently shoving a whole mini panettone in his mouth)

Most of the customers are pretty nice, too (you have some lovely regulars)

(If you had to be more specific, there’s one regular in particular that you really, really like—)

(Yoongi appears like clockwork every week. Just after the Tuesday lunch rush, the bell above the door will sing out its greeting as he steps inside, ordering the same drink each and every time he’s here—a large Americano, to go, plain and simple and unadorned, no room for cream or milk, no added sugar or sweetener.)

(Yoongi really is the perfect customer. He has been from the very beginning, a point of quiet in a churning sea of hot, sweaty people all begging for frappés and milkshakes, the hottest point at the very peak of summer. The queue had been growing longer and longer, out of the doors as the blenders whirred their way through a neverending cascade of sugary, iced blends; the counters were a mess and all the baristas were running around and everything was chaos and in had walked this guy, all dark hair and dark eyes and dark clothes, even in the height of summer—you were ready for death at this point, hands sticky with syrup and apron streaked with flecks from almost every drink from the summer menu, and you’d braced yourself for some terse words, impatience and passive aggressive comments on the long wait—)

(—and this intimidating man had just patiently asked for an iced Americano, calm and quiet and polite.)

(You’d fallen a little in love, then and there. Fallen in love with that simple order, quick and easy to make, and fallen a little in love with the dichotomy of the man who looked like nothing but sharp edges being the softest customer you’d had all day. There was nothing rushed about his motions, no desperate need to get his drink and get away, no anger at having waited for so long.)

(He’d been ready to pay, too, no fumbling with his wallet or money; he’d tapped his card, easy and breezy and all lemon squeezy, but he’d left a tip in change, dropped almost thoughtlessly into the jar. He’d collected his cup with the smallest upturn to his lips, a tilt of his head, and then he’d left, other customers parting before him like the Red Sea.)

(The only thing that’s changed over the months is that the iced coffees of summer have changed into hot Americanos for the cooler months, autumn and now almost-winter, warding off the chill in the air. Everything else is the same; his dark eyes and low voice and patient smile, small but ever present, pressed lightly into the surprisingly soft line of his mouth.)

(So, yeah. Yoongi is your favourite customer. Even if you’ve barely spoken, really, the two of you dancing through the same short script each time he comes in—the longest conversation you’ve had so far is the one where you’d tentatively asked if he’d like a rewards card, and after a moment of contemplation, he’d quietly agreed.)

(You like to think that you’re Yoongi’s favourite server, too. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but—)

(Taehyung had been stunned into speechlessness, because, to quote his words exactly: “I tried getting him to sign up for a card last time and I swear he just pretended he couldn’t hear me? He just straight up didn’t respond? What?”)

(—you know Yoongi likes you at least a little bit.)

Anyway. You’re getting off the point. Paradise is a decent place to work, the people are nice, and the building is pretty and airy and welcoming and warm, toasty and cosy in the upcoming cold of winter. It’s one of the things that keeps people coming back, that lovely atmosphere.

Another thing that people apparently love about Paradise is the constantly changing menu. It’s not enough to have seasonal menus, no—you need to have weekly specials, apparently, to keep people interested.  It’s like a gachapon, but instead of cute little capsule toys, it’s a random mix of concoctions that are hit or miss.

“Well, I liked the Peachy Keen Jelly Bean,” Taehyung says, around a mouthful of sweet bread, still chewing his way through the panettone.

“You’d be the only one,” you reply, swiping a cloth over the counters and crinkling your nose  at the pile of coffee grounds you gather. “Iced peach tea with blackberry and vanilla and cherry and watermelon syrup has got to be one of the worst things we’ve ever served.”

That had definitely been one of the misses. This week’s special, though, is far more palatable, if incredibly sweet—Crystal Snow, a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream, dusted with powdered sugar, and a crystallised sugar stick to stir in. Sugar on sugar on sugar, basically. (Your teeth ache just thinking about it.) 

But there’s always something so fun about making the winter specials, no matter how sugary they are; the smell of the sticky syrups, the swirl of cream to top off the cup, the dusting of cocoa or cinnamon, everything mulled in the sweet warmth of winter. Even if the drink you’re making is questionable, you get so excited about it, genuinely enthusiastic when you recommend them to customers, carrying everyone into the spirit of the upcoming holidays. You’d hardly describe making coffee a billion times a day fun—it’s pretty exhausting, actually—but you’ve always had a weird affection for the winter menu and the weekly specials alongside it.

You don’t upsell the drinks because you have to. You do it because you want to.

(You’re pretty good at it too. Not a flex: just a fact. Your customer service is on point.)

The only person you’ve never tried to persuade into trying something new is Yoongi. He might not be rude or short tempered, but he clearly knows what he wants, and you hate the idea of ruining the easy flow of his visits. You’re not about to embarrass yourself by asking Mr No-Cream-Or-Sugar if he’d like a drink that's nothing but cream and sugar. Asking about the rewards card had been nerve-wracking enough, even if it had been worth it for the genuinely-unintentional-but-definitely-not-unpleasant brushing of your fingers when you’d handed the card over to him.

(Okay. Look. Yoongi is patient and pleasant and polite and cute. You never thought that you’d crush on a customer, but here you are. He just… oozes masculinity in an understated, self-assured way that has you internally swooning. He looks intimidating and serious but when he smiles his eyes go soft-soft-soft, his voice a low rumble as he gives you his gentle thank you, and everything about him is just so… attractive. Even the way he holds his coffee is hot, fingers loose around the lid as he makes his way out of the café, your eyes tracing every motion as he goes. Like. Come on. Of course you’re crushing on him.)

(Just a little bit, though. Just a little bit. It’s just an itty bitty crush. A teeny weeny crush.) 

The bell above the door chimes. Your kneejerk reaction is to snap your head over to see who it is—but you hold it together, instead letting your head turn at a normal, natural pace. It’s just an unfamiliar woman, rearranging the tassels of her long scarf with one hand and holding her phone with the other as the door swings shut, and you deflate.

(... It’s a small crush, you swear. It’s not like this is around the normal time Yoongi appears and you’d thought it was going to be him. Nope. Definitely not that.)

As the woman lingers near the counter, eyes flicking between her phone and the chalkboard menu on the wall above your head, Taehyung finishes licking the panettone crumbs off his fingers.

“It’s Tuesday,” he states solemnly.

“I know?”

“It’s just past two o’clock,” he continues.

“I know,” you repeat, glancing at him quizzically. “You told me what the time was less than five minutes ago.”

“I did.”

The bell chimes again. This time, a gaggle of giggling girls come bubbling into the café, cutting you off before you can ask what Taehyung is trying to say. You go to flick your cloth at him before thinking better of it, not wanting to rain dark roast everywhere.

“Go wash your hands,” you say, just as the scarfed woman approaches the counter, ready to order. A bright smile splits your face, voice rising into its usual peppy Customer Service tone. “Hi, welcome to Paradise! How can I help you today?”

She barely glances up from her phone as she orders, asking for a latte macchiato and croissant, a distracted ‘no thanks’ when you ask if she’s interested in this week’s special. Oh well. The girls behind her, though, all seem incredibly excited when they catch wind of it; they all eagerly listen as you describe what a Crystal Snow is, your eyes lighting up as you mime piping the cream and dusting the sugar on top, laughing when they ask if they can buy extra sugar sticks to take home, because of course they can, you’d be happy to do that for them, would they like those in to-go bags? Yes, the bags are cute, aren’t they, the snowflakes are lovely, you agree.

Taehyung’s just finished wiping the steam wand when you give him the next order. You see the way his face crumples before his brows lift and his lips purse, pleading as he looks at you with big eyes, and you just roll your own eyes affectionately.

“Yes, yes, I’ll make them even though you’re meant to be on the bar, it’s fine,” you say, and Taehyung’s whole face lights up.

You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough by now to know that it takes him until at least Wednesday to memorise how to make whatever that week’s special is. And there’s not a queue, so you don’t mind taking over, pulling espresso shots and steaming milk and pouring everything together, puffing air in Taehyung’s face when he peers at your cream swirling technique. (No matter how many times you’ve tried to teach him, he’s never been able to get it right, usually just farting a mess of cream out of the nozzle and hoping for the best. Results are… mixed.) Maybe the flourish you put into dusting the sugar on top is unnecessary, but, hey. It’s fun. You smile to yourself as you give a small flick of the wrist over each drink, powdered sugar floating down like snow, and, done.

You don’t like to toot your own horn but the drinks come out Instagram perfect, each latte glass set on a tiny napkin on a saucer, sugar stick on one side, and you take a moment to admire your work.

“They’re so pretty,” Taehyung says, and your smile grows wider.

The girls all agree, cooing over the drinks in a way that only makes your smile grow even more, wide on your face. You watch as they squirrel themselves away in a corner, talking and laughing and nibbling their food and sipping at their drinks, pleased at the way their eyes widen at the first taste.

Yeah, it’s the small things that makes your time here good. Being a barista is a thankless job most of the time, as relaxed as Paradise usually is, so you try to appreciate the small things. Like having fun when you make a drink, for example. Making nice customers happy. (Having cute regulars that you can quietly ogle.)

Actually, on the note of cute regulars—

“Your 2:15 appointment is here.”

You tear your attention away from the table of girls at the sound of Taehyung’s voice. “My what—?”

There’s someone in front of the glass display, hunched as they slowly and quietly peruse the selection of pastries and food inside—and you realise with a jolt that it’s Yoongi. You have no idea how long he’s been there, so distracted with patting yourself on the back for making a few nice drinks; oh, God, what if Yoongi had seen your pleased expression? Do you look smug? You probably look smug. Great, now he probably thinks that you’re a self-obsessed clown, honking your nose like some sort of narcissist. 

“You’re spiralling,” Taehyung points out mildly, voice low enough that Yoongi doesn't hear.

His surprisingly perceptive comment snaps you out of aforementioned spiralling, and after shaking yourself off, you glance over at him. “Why didn’t you serve him?”

He shrugs. “He didn’t seem like he wanted to be served so I just left him to it.”

To be fair to Taehyung, he’s not wrong. Yoongi is staring intently at a slice of carrot cake—even if he’s never ordered any before—and it’s not until you move to your usual spot behind the till that his attention finally rises, meeting your gaze with his deep, dark eyes.

Your inner schoolgirl feels like she needs to sit down. Your entire stomach and chest is a looping mess of frantic butterflies after making eye contact with the cute boy who you’re crushing on, but you’ve got a great poker face; you’ve worked as a barista long enough that you’re good at shoving your real feelings down, none of your internal turmoil playing across your face as you smile. Customer service mode activate.

“Hi, and welcome back to Paradise. What can I get for you today? The usual? Large Americano, to go, for Yoongi?”

You’re a little softer than you would be with other customers, a little more subdued, dialing down how upbeat you normally are to match Yoongi’s level. His lips lift almost imperceptibly, the faintest smile playing across his mouth, and it takes all your strength for your knees to not immediately buckle. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice is soft and low, faintest drawl at the end of his words, and yep, just your weekly reminder that you’re enamoured with him. Cool. “Yes, please, that would be great.”

He already has his card ready, you know he does. He always does; card to pay, loyalty card to swipe, tip to drop in the jar, quick and smooth and easy. This is normally where you’d rattle off the price—as if he doesn’t already know what it is—but you pause, thinking about how intent he’d been on the pastry display, as uncharacteristic as that is.

“Did you… want something to eat, too? I couldn’t, um, help noticing that you were eyeing up the carrot cake?”

Yoongi blinks, wispy lashes fluttering. You can see the muted surprise that flashes across his face, and you wonder if you’ve misstepped, thrown off the usual rhythm of his visit. It’s an unusual step away from your regular script, an ad-lib that he wasn’t expecting.

“Uh, no, thank you,” he says. “Maybe… next time.”

He’s polite as ever, thankfully. You’re not surprised at his answer but you do have to wonder why he was looking at the cake so closely if he hadn’t planned on getting anything; you know he likes getting served by you the most, if the evidence over the months means anything at all, but you don’t think he’d stare at cake just so he would avoid Taehyung. You’re making assumptions based on the fact he just drinks black coffee and literally nothing else, but you’ve guessed he doesn’t have a sweet tooth. (The only time he’s ever ordered food had been two months prior when he’d asked for a single croissant, and nothing since. Taehyung still talks about the croissant sometimes.) 

Well, it doesn't really matter. If he doesn't want cake, you're not going to force it on him, and the rest of the transaction goes as normal. Yoongi hands over his rewards card, fingers long and knuckles knobbly and altogether lovely, pays for his Americano—made by Taehyung, cup wrapped in the sleeve that you’ve written Yoongi’s name on, black sharpie bleeding into the cardboard—and smiles at you both when Taehyung hands it to him across the smooth wood of the counter.

“Thanks.” He gives you that slight tilt of his head that he always does, and you smile helplessly back. 

He’s a gentleman, through and through, even if he looks as distant as ever; dressed in all black, his ripped jeans the only splash of lightness in his dark outfit. Maybe you’re biased, but no matter what he wears, he looks stylish, somehow. It’s something in his aura. All cool understated elegance and power. 

And here you are, in your cream jumper under the dark mulberry apron of your uniform, a flower blooming next to the name on your badge. All chirpy customer service, smiling broad and wide as you go through the same motions over and over with each new person that comes in. Sometimes you wonder what Yoongi thinks of you, as different as you are to him, but at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter—because he keeps coming back, doesn’t he?

“Have a nice day,” you say as he turns to go, and when he glances over his shoulder and says you too, smile soft and eyes softer, you know he really means it. 

(And if your eyes always trail after him once his back has turned, who’s telling?)

“You’re staring.” Taehyung’s telling, apparently.

You tear your eyes away from Yoongi, bell tinkling as the door swings shut behind him. “He’s my favourite customer,” you say. As if that explains why you were staring.

“You’ve barely spoken to him.”

“He’s my favourite customer,” you say again, emphatically. “He comes in, he gets the world’s simplest drink to make, is always polite, always leaves a tip, and he goes. Literally the perfect customer.”

 “Alright, true,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered that before now. “Cute, too.”

You sigh. A little wistful. “Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, he is.”

Taehyung opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else when someone spills their drink on their floor with an unholy clattering sound, even if nothing breaks; without saying anything, both you and Taehyung raise your hands, eyes narrowing at each other.

"Rock, paper, scissors," you chant. Taehyung promptly loses, and the pout that forms on his lips doesn't disappear until he's finished mopping everything up.

(“Why do I always end up having to clean spillages?”

“Because you never win rock-paper-scissors. You always choose scissors, Taehyung. You literally always choose scissors.”)

The tradition of the weekly specials at Paradise is a weird one, truth be told. Each Monday whoever’s on the opening shift will enter the coffee shop and find that the board on the wall has been updated, the recipe typed up and laminated, waiting on the counter for the baristas. You all assume it’s the mysterious owner, who no one has ever seen, and no one even knows the name of, apparently.

“Someone has to know their name,” you’d said, once, back when you’d first started, only to receive a shrugs from everyone.

“I heard one of the old baristas say the owner’s name was Jackson,” Taehyung had said, and you’d just blinked at him.

“Huh?” you’d said, but Jimin had rolled his eyes and told you to ignore him, so you had.

This week’s drink is the Marshmallow World. As always, when you and Taehyung start your shift together, you read the recipe and follow it step by step to learn how to make it. Warmed milk, vanilla syrup, topped off with marshmallow fluff instead of whipped cream—not bad in theory, if you like sweet things, although it does pose one significant problem.

“It’s clogged my hole,” Taehyung says sadly.

You sputter on your own drink, desperately hacking your lungs out as you try to stop milk from going down your windpipe. “I’m-sorry-it’s-what,” you wheeze all at once, struggling for air.

Taehyung tilts his takeaway cup at you, gesturing at the lid. (All the mugs are still out back or on a rinse cycle so laziness had forced you to make do.) “My drink hole. It’s blocked,” he explains. “The fluff is getting in the way.”

So, yeah. It clogs people’s holes, apparently. But other than that, you have to admit it’s pretty nice, and if you drink it in the café (and thus out of a mug) then you’re fine. You just get into the habit of warning the customers if they order it to go and laugh about it with them and it’s all fine and dandy and everyone is happy.

It’s starting to get busier, now. The nights are getting longer and the days are getting colder and everyone’s starting to think about Christmas, which feels both close and far away, all at once. Close, because you still have presents to buy and there’s never enough time for it; and far, because the lights have yet to go up and Christmas songs aren’t dominating the radio yet and you have yet to experience the real winter rush. Students home for the holidays and families out to see Father Christmas and workers grabbing Secret Santa gifts, everyone desperate for something warm and soothing, hot and comforting in the face of the snow which has yet to fall. 

But there’s something in the air, that cool hush that lets you know it’s nearly here—the changing of the seasons, the burnt sunset colours of autumn melting into the iced blues and greys of winter. No matter if you prefer hot or cold weather, there’s something about the beauty of wintertime that’s undeniable.

And it’s a lot easier to sell something like the Marshmallow World on a day like this, the nip in the air almost solid, biting cold into the apples of your cheeks, nibbling at fingers that are so cold they feel frost-bitten. Once again, your genuine enthusiasm shines through, persuading people to give the drink a go, happy to add a shot of espresso for whoever needs it, desperate for caffeine to buoy them up through the day.

You’ve just finished laughing with a lovely old couple, wearing matching scarves and hats—awwww—waving them goodbye as they go to sit down, when you come face to face with Yoongi, blindsided by his sudden appearance. You’d been so caught up, once again, too busy giggling your way through the conversation with your other customers, able to persuade them to try one special to share alongside everything else they’ve ordered. 

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” you say. Your hand is still by your face after you’d given the couple a cute wave, and when you realise, you freeze. Flustered. Behind you, Taehyung is struggling to spoon the marshmallow fluff neatly on the vanilla steamer, making small noises of distress, but you’re too caught up in your own distress to really notice.

Once again, you have no idea how long Yoongi’s been there. You’re slipping. You’re normally aware of him as soon as he steps into the coffee shop. (You know, because you’re always aware of when a new customer steps in. Like any good barista would be.) Had he witnessed you enthusiastically waving your hands and talking about marshmallows and s'mores? Seen the way you'd grinned and laughed as you'd gotten excited over the weekly special, yet again?

Well, if he had, he doesn't seem perturbed at all. His usual smile is on his face, though you would swear it seems a little softer around the edges, almost fond. 

“Hi,” he says, and… that’s it. 

There’s no addition of his usual that would be great, and that’s when you realise you haven’t asked about his coffee. In fact, your fingers are still curled near your chin, almost like a claw. You clear your throat and let your arm fall to your side, fiddling with the tie of your apron. 

“Hi,” you repeat. Flounder for a second. Try to remember your usual line. “Large Americano?”

“Y/n.” Taehyung whines your name from the bar, loud enough that it catches your attention. “The marshmallow isn’t staying. Why do you keep recommending Marshmallow World? Why must I suffer through this torture? Every day I wake up and I make coffee—”

“Sorry, sir, one second,” you say, face scrunching in apology at Yoongi. 

“It's just Yoongi,” he replies, gentle, and your heart thuds in your chest. "You don't have to call me sir."

Your face feels warm. "Um, okay, Yoongi." You've said his name before, of course, said it dozens of times to confirm his order, but never like this—by invitation from the man himself, an acknowledgement of familiarity.

Taehyung makes another noise. Yoongi's expression turns into one of faint amusement, eyes drifting over your shoulder to your friend; when you turn around, you can see why.

The other barista’s managed to get marshmallow fluff all over the edge of the glass, on the handle of the cup, all the way up the spoon, on his fingers—everywhere except on the drink itself. It’s funny, in a sad sort of way.

“Wow.” You have no idea how he managed it, but you’re here to help. “Alright, go wash your hands, Tae. I’ve got this.”

The cup is a goner.  There’s no way you’ll be able to wipe off the sticky marshmallow. You’re acutely aware of Yoongi at the counter, able to watch your every move, but then you get distracted as you salvage Taehyung's attempt at a Marshmallow World. You just feel grateful that it’s a steamer so you can pour it into a new glass, not having to worry about layers of coffee and milk and foam; it’s a pretty easy fix. Good. (You don’t want to keep Yoongi waiting, as patient as he may be.)

It doesn’t take long to spoon the marshmallow on, whipped peaks in the sticky white, and by the time Taehyung returns you’re ready to present him with the picture perfect drink, not a single lick of fluff anywhere it shouldn’t be. You've got your hands on your hips as you survey your work proudly, and Taehyung sticks his tongue out at you.

“Witchcraft,” he says, and you laugh.

“You’re welcome,” you say. “Alright, shoo, go take this over to the table before they start wondering where it is.”

When you turn back, Yoongi’s watching you. Contemplative. You tamp down the flush that threatens to spill onto your cheeks, face burning, but before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Was that the weekly special?”

You blink. Blindsided. Yoongi’s never asked about the special before, never commented on the A-frame outside, the sign on the wall that sits next to the regular menu. No surprise there—why would someone who only drinks Americanos want to drink ninety-nine percent of the weekly specials you offer? “Um, yeah,” you say. “We’ve got the Marshmallow World this week.”

“Would you recommend it?”

You can’t help it. You light up. You love when customers ask for recommendations, and the fact that it’s Yoongi—whose blood must be made of coffee at this point—who’s asking about it? Americano Yoongi, asking about something without caffeine? Black coffee Yoongi, asking about a weekly special that’s nothing but sugar and sweetness? Something inside you switches on, a Christmas tree, all flashing lights and shimmering tinsel and excitement.

“Oh, if you like sweeter drinks, absolutely! It’s great for a cold day like today,” you gush. Maybe you should reel it in, far more exuberant than you usually are with Yoongi, but. You can’t stop. “It’s warm milk and vanilla, so it’s a lovely comfort drink, and we can add a shot of espresso too if you were wanting a little pick-me-up. And then you’ve got marshmallow fluff on top for some extra self-indulgence. We were meant to, uh, toast the top, actually, but we don’t have the necessary health and safety clearance for blowtorches. I guess you could do that at home if you really wanted to. Everyone likes toasted marshmallows, right?”

Yoongi hums, and you wonder if you’ve maybe gotten ahead of yourself. Oversold it. Maybe he was asking out of curiosity. Just because he’s asking about it doesn’t mean that he wants one—

“Can I get a Marshmallow World, please? Large, to go?”

—or maybe Yoongi is an official convert to the world of sweet drinks, changing after a lifetime of drinking unadorned, unadulterated black coffee. Holy shit. Holy shit? Holy—

“And a large Americano to go, too, please.”

(Record scratch. Freeze frame.  

Yoongi of-the-black-coffee is ordering his usual drink, and another. Both large. Too much for one person to reasonably drink before one of them got cold. He’s not ordering for one person; he’s ordering for two people. Of course Yoongi wouldn’t order something as heart-stopping as the Marshmallow World—not for himself, anyway. 

Mental maths. Two plus two is four, four plus four is eight; one large Americano and one Marshmallow World is two people. Yoongi and one other person is two people, a couple of people, a couple—

Oh, God.

A couple.

You’ve been crushing on a taken man.

You know how they say your life flashes before your eyes before you die? It’s sort of like that, but rather than remembering your life, you immediately recall every moment over the months where you’ve looked at him or thought about him with even the smallest iota of longing and you want to crawl under the counter and never come out. 

You feel weirdly guilty. Like… like you’re some sort of unintentional homewrecker. Even though, you know, you thought Yoongi was single and you haven’t made a single move on him and nor had you had any plans to. The guilt bubbles up inside you anyway.

All at once, you feel immensely, incredibly embarrassed. Of course he’s taken. There’s no way he wouldn’t be, as attractive and nice as he is, and you’ve just been sat here crushing on him like a big dumb idiot. 

You are the worst.)

You manage to squeeze this internal breakdown into the span of a few seconds. You’re grateful that you have your customer service face locked on, giving nothing away—from the outside the smile looks just like that, a smile, rather than the rictus of deathly mortification it actually is, burning through you like a wildfire. 

Yoongi seems none the wiser, just patiently waiting for some sort of acknowledgement of his order. Most of your brain power is still taken up with the mish-mash of humiliation and guilt that’s roiling through you. Luckily, though, the part of your brain that’s still in the moment (trying to drag you back to the real world, shame-faced as you are) forces you to move before things get weird.

“One large Americano, one large Marshmallow World, both to go.” You tap the drinks into the till on auto-pilot, dimly noting that Taehyung’s been pulled into conversation with the old couple at their table, having delivered their drinks and food to them. It’s just you behind the counter, no one else to man the coffee machines. “Let me get those started for you.”

Luckily, making the drinks means you can turn your back to Yoongi, oscillating through the five stages of grief as you fiddle with hot milk and coffee grounds and paper cups. You always take pride in your work—especially when it comes to Yoongi—and you take even more pride now, determined to make these drinks as lovely as they can be. His Americano is fairly simple, but the Marshmallow World requires a bit more finesse, and you lavish attention on the fluff, swirling it beautifully, even though you know it’ll stick to the lid anyway. 

(Okay, listen. Whoever this person Yoongi is seeing must be as nice as he is. They both deserve nice drinks.)

There’s something sweet about it, actually. Before the lids go on, you spent a second staring down at the drinks and the juxtaposition between them; black coffee and white marshmallow, bitter and sweet, night and day. It’s lovely, really, these two opposing things coming together. You wonder what Yoongi’s partner is like. Exuberant and bright, rather than his subdued warmth? A balance, yin and yang, opposite but complementary. 

(Isn’t that a nice thing to think about? Finding someone who’s different to you but matches you so well?)

You firmly press the lids into place, making sure they’re secure. The protective cardboard sleeve of Yoongi’s Americano has his name—the name you’ve memorised, written out countless times—while the Marshmallow World has a scrawled happy face, and an enjoy! on it, for this mysterious person who likes sweet drinks. You do sincerely hope they enjoy it. You really do.

“The fluff blocks the hole,” you warn, sliding the cardboard tray for both drinks carefully across the counter. “It’s probably a better idea to just take the lid off.”

Something flickers across Yoongi’s face, too fast for you to identify. But then he nods, lifting the tray up with equally careful hands. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says. 

He’s always polite to everyone, Taehyung and the other baristas, but he seems to smile at you the most. He’s smiling at you now, curling at the corners of his lips, and you smile back, fighting through ten layers of embarrassment and self-inflicted shame to do so. Just because he smiles at you the most doesn’t mean anything. You can smile at people and not have it be weird; it doesn’t mean you return their ill-fated attraction.

Why, oh why, oh why.

By the time Taehyung returns to the counter, having escaped the chatty, kind clutches of the elderly couple, Yoongi is long gone. Your fellow barista finds you crouched down in front one of the cupboards with your head in your hands.

“Y/n?” He sounds incredibly concerned. “Are you okay? Do you have a headache? Are you sick?”

You let out a quiet noise, a mix between a whale dying and a hippo trying to swallow porridge, muffled into your palms. “I’m such a doughnut,” you say. “Just an absolute doughnut.”

Taehyung crouches beside you. “A glazed doughnut or a jam doughnut?”

Your hands drop away from your face as you think. “Plain,” you say, eventually. “Unglazed. No toppings or fillings.” A little sad and disappointing. It seems fitting. 

Taehyung puts a hand on your shoulder, warm and comforting. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel embarrassed all over again, thinking about admitting your (now-squashed) crush to your friend. It was stupid in the first place, crushing on a customer, especially as you’d barely spoken to him; Yoongi might be cute, and nice, but your crush was silly and dumb and you’d been silly and dumb not to think that he was already in a relationship.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Just going through it. And by ‘it’ I mean life generally, you know?”

Taehyung makes a noise of understanding, patting your shoulder. “Big mood,” he says sombrely. He always knows what to say, empathetic to a fault.

“Uh,” a customer says, craning over the counter to see the two of you. “Sorry to interrupt, but can I get a refill on my coffee, please?”

That effectively kills the conversation, which is good. Keep yourself busy and distracted. By the time you see Yoongi next week, this crush will be dead and gone and you’ll be fine. Just fine. Absolutely fine.

He’s dyed his hair.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, the café is full of people, and Yoongi has dyed his hair.

You’d spent all of last Tuesday alternating between all-consuming guilt and embarrassment, Taehyung catching you with your head in your hands in one moment and furiously cleaning the steam wand the next, channeling your tumult of emotions into anything that will distract you. 

It had worked. Mostly. You’ve had a week’s worth of time since, to get over this month’s long crush, your brain consistently reminding you that Yoongi is in a relationship, with someone who’s probably lovely and attractive and all around just wonderful (just like him). You remind yourself about this every time you find coffee grounds under your nails, or notice milk flecked on your apron, soured and off-white after a day of work; your life isn’t a meet-cute, and you’re not the cute barista who falls in love with the cute regular. You’re the tired barista who makes more cups of coffee in a day than most people probably drink in a year, and Yoongi is the cute regular who’s already in a long term relationship and comes to Paradise just because he likes the dark roast you use. That’s as far as it will go, because this is real life, and not a romance film or novel. (Even if you wished that it was.)

You’ve come to terms with it. Really, you have. But then he has to step into the coffee shop looking like that, his hair bleached so blond it almost looks white, silver hoops in his ears, and he’s still dressed in dark clothes but he’s wearing glasses, no, this isn’t a drill, Yoongi’s dyed his hair, he’s all light and dark, soft and sharp, and you want to crouch behind the counter again. Because he looks so good and of course he’s in a relationship because he’s hot, and you feel dumb for not having realised it sooner.

You can’t hide behind the counter, though. There’s a queue of people, all waiting for your attention and your time, and it’s still just you and Taehyung; none of your usual Christmas temps are back yet, still away at uni, hence the we’re hiring! posters that are up for all the customers to see (and mostly ignore). The seasons are changing and the weeks are passing and the really eager people are starting to think about Christmas shopping; you swear you don’t even need a calendar, able to trace how close you are to Christmas just based on the amount of foot traffic the coffee shop gets. You’re definitely hitting peak.

But it’s fine. You have this down to a fine art. You and Taehyung are both good on the till and scarily efficient at making drinks and plating food, dancing past each other with an ease that only comes with time spent working together and friendship alongside.

People aren’t ordering the weekly special as much, either, not today. You can’t blame them. Candy Cane Dreams is a white hot chocolate, flavoured with mint and coloured green, topped with whipped cream and sprinkles of candy cane bark and red and green drizzle too; it’s… pretty overwhelming. So it means you don’t have to take over for Taehyung from the bar, focusing on smiling at customers and soothing them after their wait, taking their orders and shuffling them along as quickly as you can. You keep a smile plastered on your face as Taehyung pulls espresso shots and grabs tea bags and heats milk, routine and familiar.

When Yoongi steps up to the counter, you’ve barely had time to mentally prepare yourself, so focused on serving everyone else in the queue; it feels like a slap to the face, a kick to the knees, but then you take one deep breath and exhale. Long, deep, slow, forcing air out of your lungs and thoughts out of your mind, and you smile.

You’ve been so careful up until this point, wanting to keep Yoongi happy, wary of misstepping—but he’s just a regular customer. You feel more confident, now, less worried about breaking this tenuous thing you thought you’d had; less worried about what you’re doing being construed as some weird, roundabout way of flirting, because. You know. He’s in a relationship, so it doesn’t matter either way. He’s definitely not interested. You can talk to him like you would anyone else. 

So you say: “You dyed your hair.”

And, just like you suspected, Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered that you’ve broken your usual script. “Oh, yeah.” He reaches up, touches his head, as if he’d forgotten. “I did.”

“It looks nice,” you continue, because it does.

He’s smiling back at you. He looks pleased; maybe a little bashful, even, as surprising as that is. “Thanks,” he says, warm and genuine. (The tiny gremlin of a crush that’s still lurking in your soul lets out a wistful sigh.) “Can I get a large Americano and a—” he squints at the board— “large Candy Cane Dream, please?”

(One plus one is two, Yoongi and his other half, the sugar to his coffee.)

“Sure!” Your voice is bright. “I’m guessing the Marshmallow World went over well?”

There’s a brief beat of silence, but you don’t notice, too focused on typing Yoongi’s order into the till.

“Yeah, it was great,” he says after that moment of quiet, and you smile. Good. You’re glad they enjoyed it. 

“I’m really happy to hear that,” you say, genuine and bright. 

“What’s actually in the, ah, Candy Cane Dreams?” Yoongi asks, and you laugh, leaning forward conspiratorially.

“It’s horrendous,” you say in a low voice, as if you’re sharing a secret. “Have you ever seen green hot chocolate before?”

You’ve never spoken to Yoongi like this, easy and light, and it’s… nice. He gives no indication of surprise at your sudden friendliness after months of barely talking. If anything he looks pleased, and at one point he even gives you a smile you’ve never seen before, wide and wonderful, flashing his teeth and gums. (The crush gremlin rattles at your ribcage like prison bars, trying desperately to escape, but you don’t give it a chance.)

“Alright, let me just swap with the other barista, he’s still not gotten the Candy Cane Dreams recipe down.”

You hear a suspicious crunch as you make your way over to Taehyung. He turns to you with a guilty smile, edged with sugar, munching on shards of candy cane while his back is to the customers.

“You’re terrible,” you say affectionately. “Go take over on the till, I have a special to make.”

Taehyung glances over, sees Yoongi making his way down to the collection point. “Huh. Alright.”

The Candy Cane Dreams recipe might be a questionable one, but it’s definitely fun to make (watching the white hot chocolate turn green makes you feel like a kid all over again, mixing shampoos together in your bathroom and calling them potions), and maybe you’re overly generous with the candy cane bark, giving Yoongi’s beau more to nibble on and enjoy. It’s not Christmas yet but you’re already in a giving mood, so sue you. 

“Here you go.” You slide the drinks towards him, the man busy reading one of the vacancy fliers, eyes flicking away from the poster when you appear. Your lips quirk up. “Looking for a job?”

You’re expecting a huff of a laugh, a small shake of the head, but he answers you seriously. “Not me, but I have a friend who is,” he says, reaching to take the tray.

You realise your hands are still curled around the cardboard; you quickly pull away so that there’s no chance your hands will brush. (You might have shoved your crush down as far as it will go, but you have to be careful with your weak, gooey heart.) 

“We could do with any help, honestly. Your friend is more than welcome to apply.” You glance over at the queue, which is small but ever present, and you know it’ll only get worse as time goes on. “And, hey, if you ever decide for a change of pace from whatever it is you do, we’d be glad to have you, too.”

This gets a laugh from him, a warm burst of sound. (The gremlin points out that this is the first time you’ve heard him laugh, really laugh, a little raspy and a little quiet and altogether lovely; you beat the gremlin back with a stick.) “I’m better at drinking coffee than I am at making it,” Yoongi says, eyes soft with lingering amusement. “I’ll leave that to the experts.”

You might have gone off script, but the nod he gives you is his usual one, that familiar tilt of the head. “See you next week?” His eyes are dark, dark and deep, and it’s so hard not to fall into them, to fall all over again.

“See you next week,” you echo, hoping the smile you plaster on your face doesn’t look as forced as it feels, as you struggle once more. Yoongi is just nice, okay? He's just being nice, but still. He needs to let a girl breathe.

(He needs to let the gremlin of her crush wither away, instead of making it threaten to come back as strong as before, fuelled by his smile and his eyes and his everything.)

(... maybe you’re not as over this crush as you thought you were.)

It seems like the we’re hiring! posters actually worked.

“I’m Jungkook,” says the new starter, all crooked smiles and warm eyes and thighs so thick they threaten to split the trousers of the café’s uniform, ties of his apron emphasising his small waist.

(“Good lord,” Taehyung says faintly.)

It’s the last week of November and even though Jungkook is still learning the ropes, he’s a massive help, and you know he’ll be a lifesaver over Christmas. He’s eager, learns quickly, and gets stuck right in, material of his shirt straining across his shoulder blades when he rips a bag of coffee beans open with his bare hands, rather than having to use scissors like you or Taehyung. 

Taehyung watches with stars in his eyes as Jungkook pours the beans into the grinder. You cover your smile by sipping at one of the espresso shots Jungkook has pulled—full-bodied and dark, rich in your mouth. 

“This is really good, Jungkook,” you say. He looks over, eyes squeezing into a smile.

“Thought it would be,” he says, and you can’t help but huff a laugh into the tiny espresso cup. He’s cocky and competitive, telling you that he’d never made coffee before but he was going to do a better job than any of the other baristas here. He’s too endearing to come across as arrogant, though, and you have to admit that the coffee is good. (Not as good as yours or Taehyung’s, of course, but still. Pretty good.)

Taehyung coos at him and reaches out to shamelessly squeeze his bicep. “Jungkookie is a natural barista.”

Jungkook’s cocky smile turns equal parts pleased and flustered. You continue to sip at the espresso as Taehyung moons over him, then the bell above the door rings, and the mooning temporarily is put on hold. (Temporarily, because Taehyung continues to moon over him for the rest of the shift, insisting on doing the bulk of his training, which is fine by you.)

It’s the 1st of December tomorrow, so not only do you have to clean after the café is locked up, you have to put out all the Christmas decorations, too. But it’s more fun that it is work, the three of you dragging the tree out of the storage room and decorating it with a menagerie of tinsel and baubles; Jungkook lifts Taehyung so he can get the star on the tree, wrapping his arms around Taehyung’s waist and hoisting him up effortlessly, leaving your friend with a pleased smile on his face.

Jungkook is new, only on his second shift, but he’s slotted in so easily. He laughs at Taehyung when he wiggles his butt along to the Christmas songs you've put on to play, and he helps steady the stepladder as you string garlands of snowflakes on the ceiling, even if he doesn’t really need to. 

He absently readjusts the reindeer headband Taehyung had unearthed from the storage room and proudly placed on his head. “Yoongi-hyung talks a lot about this place,” Jungkook comments, offhand.

If you’d heard this a few weeks ago, you probably would have fallen off the stepladder, inner gremlin grabbing your heart with both hands and squeezing tight-tight-tight. As it is you only pause for a moment, one of the larger snowflakes cradled in your palm, before you go back to your job of hanging them up. 

“So you’re the friend he mentioned that needed a job,” you say. 

“That’s me.” Jungkook grins, boyish and bright, and you laugh. “He really, really likes this café. Wouldn’t shut up about it, even before he told me that you were hiring.”

You can’t imagine Yoongi gushing about a café to his friends, but then again, he clearly is passionate about his coffee. Jungkook will know him better than you, having a real friendship rather than this patron-and-customer back-and-forth that you’ve had, so who are you to imagine what’s normal for Yoongi and what isn’t? You didn’t even know he was in a relationship, after all. You don’t know anything about the guy, really. 

“Well, we appreciate his custom,” you say. “I know Yoongi is the one who actually comes in, but you can thank his other half, too, and I hope they enjoy their drinks as well.”

You’re too busy hanging the garland to see the way Jungkook’s face twists. 

“Huh?”

“You know. Yoongi always comes in for his Americano and the weekly special for his partner,” you say.

You’re focused on stepping down the ladder without falling to see the expression on Jungkook’s face, nose scrunched and lips pursed, like there’s something he’s smelled that he really doesn’t like.

“Did he say that to you? That it was for someone else?”

“Hm?” You pause in grabbing another string of snowflakes, glancing up. “Oh, no, I just worked it out, you know? Yoongi is a religious coffee drinker, why else would he order something that’s basically hot sugar water? I think it’s cute,” you add, belatedly. “That he always comes in to grab something for them, too.” 

(You wish you had someone to do that for you.)

There’s a beat of silence. Jungkook’s holding the stepladder, ready to move it, staring at you in a way that’s weirdly intense. “I see,” he says, like that isn’t weird or mysterious at all.

Then he drags the stepladder’s rubber feet across the floor with such a loud noise that Taehyung startles, bauble falling out of his hand and shattering. Jungkook, of course, profusely apologises and insists on cleaning it up—but not before making sure Taehyung is okay, of course, grabbing his hands and looking over them, as if the bauble had broken in his palms and not the floor. 

Taehyung looks immensely pleased. You just smile quietly to yourself, roll your eyes lightly, and go back to hanging snowflakes as Jungkook speaks to Taehyung, soft and low.

You think your favourite thing about training a new starter is witnessing their reaction to the weekly special.

“So,” Jungkook says, slowly. “You put in the whole gingerbread man—gumdrops and icing and all—and just blend it?

“Yep.” Taehyung’s reply is cheery. “Straight in and whizz it all up.”

This week, it’s You Can’t Catch Me, I’m the Gingerbread Frappé which is a) probably the longest name known to mankind and b) probably the most questionable name known to mankind and c) who orders a frappé in December?

These thoughts are clearly playing across Jungkook’s face as Taehyung coaxes him to drop the gingerbread man into the blender, and you’re too busy enjoying the consternation on Jungkook’s face to notice someone stepping up to the counter—until they clear their throat, that is, and you all turn. 

“Hi,” Yoongi says.

“Oh! Hi,” Taehyung says.

“Hyung! Look!” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook, wait—” you say.

“Whirr,” the lidless blender says.

It’s chaos. Frappé ends up everywhere, splattered over the counter and the floor, splashed across the wine-red aprons of both of your fellow baristas, as close to the blender as they were—saving you from any of the sugary fallout, unwitting human shields.

There’s a beat of silence, where you all stare at each other—

And then Yoongi laughs.

You’ve never seen Yoongi laugh this loudly, eyes squeezed so hard you wonder if he can even see, almost cackling as he laughs at Jungkook’s expression, joyful and loud and free. It’s another dimension to him, another new part you witness as Jungkook wipes gingerbread and ice off his face and Taehyung stares at the mess spattered across his hands and arms.

It makes you think of a paper crane. Yoongi is this unfinished thing in your mind, each new thing you learn about him another fold that you add, a flat sheet of paper turned into something entirely and wholly new. You wish that it weren’t so alluring, watching it come together, finding out more and more about this man you’ve technically known for months, but only recently started to get to know.

(You wish that it wasn’t so easy to keep falling for him.)

Once the counter is cleaned, both Jungkook and Taehyung retreat to replace their aprons, leaving you—once again—alone with Yoongi. He’d stopped laughing to tease Jungkook, to gently rib him, but you can see the smile that’s etched on his face, the echoes of mirth written across all his features.

“We usually train the baristas to keep the lid on, I swear,” you say, and Yoongi’s face splits into another smile.

“I was going to say that it’s an unorthodox blending technique,” and you can’t help but smile back at this, even if you’ve been trying not to laugh. Professionalism barely wins out, your lips trembling as you try to hold your giggling back, but Yoongi spots it anyway, looking pleased, like he’s accomplished something by getting you to (nearly) laugh.

You’re not laughing when you have to make one of the special frappés, though. You stare at the gingerbread man as you hold him above the blender, at his cheery iced face and his cute little buttons (not the gumdrop buttons), and brace yourself to drop him.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and let him go, before quickly slamming the lid on top and turning the blender on so you don’t have to look at the betrayal you’ve just committed. 

When you turn, Yoongi has an expression of sympathy on his face; for you or the gingerbread man, you can’t tell, but his face smooths the second he notices you looking at him, blinking innocently, as if there’s nothing unusual going on. It’s disarming, seeing that expression on his face, when you’d gotten used to seeing him act more reserved, but it’s cute.

(It is cute, whether you’re crushing on him or not. It’s just a statement of fact, okay? It’s nothing more than that. Even if that tiny gremlin of a crush still lives in your chest, scuffing its feet against your heart, reminding you of its presence when you least need it.)

(It digs its heels in when you put the frappé and Americano side by side, nestled snug in their cardboard tray. You slide it towards Yoongi and you’re a little too slow, fingers brushing his when he reaches for them; you’re surprised by how quickly he moves, how eager he seems to be reaching for his order, fingertips dragging across the back of your knuckles, and the gremlin kicks your heart, pulse rising just at that glancing touch. Even if you know it’s fruitless, useless, you can’t help but like Yoongi anyway.)

(“See you next week,” he says, and you can’t do anything but smile helplessly back.)

You normally love snow. You love waking up to the sight of it, pure and pristine white, adding another dimension to your familiar world—you love snowball fights and snowmen and snow angels, even if it all leaves you feeling cold, chilled right to the bone, nose running and hands freezing. The best part about winter is getting warm again, the season of throw blankets and hot water bottles, knitwear and scarves, tea and hot cocoa, all cosy and lovely and wonderful.

It’s a bit different when you have to work all day, though. You watch as the snow on the streets outside is threatened by the spray of salt and a thousand spinning car wheels and busy feet, ice turned to slush water; for now the snow is winning, though, and judging from the weather forecast, you think that’ll be the case for the rest of the day. You hope it lasts through to tomorrow, too; by the time you get home you’ll be too tired and it’ll be too dark to play in the snow, and it leaves you feeling disappointed and sad. 

(Winter is lovely but it can be a hollow season, too, something about the leafless trees and fogged windows making everything feel like an empty dream.)

At least Paradise is warm, even if you’re cooped up inside, safe from the still-falling snow that keeps trying to turn the world into an untouched, frozen wonderland. It’s quiet in the coffee shop today. Only the bravest of people have ventured out into the not-a-blizzard-but-basically-a-blizzard, plastered against radiators and putting drinks to their faces, letting hot steam heat their cold cheeks.

It’s why you’re both surprised and unsurprised when Yoongi appears, bell chiming above his head as the door swings shut and he stamps his feet on the front mat, knocking snow off his boots. He somehow looks disgruntled and soft all at the same time, a royal blue beanie on his head forcing his fringe down to sit messily over his eyes, bundled up warm even if his face is scrunched up and his cheeks are red from the cold.

“I hate cold weather,” he tells you once he reaches the counter, gloves peeled off his fingers so he can reach for his wallet, his nose tinged pink as he sniffs.

You proffer him a box of tissues. “You look like you need it,” you say gently, and he smiles at you, a warm hearth in the cold winter.

“Thank you.” His voice is equally as gentle as yours, and something aches in your chest.

It’s just you behind the counter right now, so you take Yoongi’s order and make the drinks too—one large Americano and one large Latteggnog (a basic latte made with eggnog instead of milk, rich and thick and creamy), this week’s special: everyone’s favourite Christmas drink, but with a twist of coffee. 

The quiet gives you time to think. Jungkook and Taehyung are out back, the older barista coming up with the most ridiculous excuses to take them away from the counter; you don’t mind that they’re taking the time ‘counting the coffee beans’, as deserted as the café is. 

The café is practically empty and Yoongi hates the cold but here he is, venturing into the ice and snow to get this person he cares about the drink they want, because they’re that special to him. (You hope they realise how lucky they are.)

You’re normally okay being single. Don’t really think about it. But there’s something about today, this moment, that has you reflecting; Taehyung has this budding thing with Jungkook, Yoongi has this steady thing with his love, and here you are, by yourself, alone. It’s hard to summon up your usual energy, going through the motions as you make the drinks. You tilt your head forward, dusting nutmeg on the eggnog latte, watching the way the sprinkle of spice settles delicately and softly in the foam. No flourish, no flick of the wrist, not today.

(There’s two cups in front of you now, but later, when you’re home, there’s just going to be one. Yours. Yours, and no one else’s.)

(When you get home, you’re going to do what any self-respecting single person would do: order too much takeaway, rewatch The Good Place, get emotional over Eleanor and Chidi’s relationship—they’re so different but they’re so perfect for each other, why can’t you have that?—mope for a bit, rewatch The Princess Bride, get emotional over Westley and Buttercup—where’s your cute farmboy who saves you from an evil prince?—mope a bit more, before finally climbing into bed and hugging a pillow to your chest in the space of having someone else there. You know. Perfectly normal single person things.)

When you turn to Yoongi, drinks ready and raring to go, you’ve forced a Customer Service Smile onto your face. They say that just the act of smiling makes you happier, right? Maybe if you smile hard enough, you’ll cheer up, chasing away this sudden sadness that lingers in the back of your throat, scratching at your lungs like black ice.

“Here you go!” Your voice seems too loud for the quiet hush of the café, but you roll with it anyway. “Enjoy your drinks!”

Yoongi takes them from you, hands carefully cupped around the tray, but his eyes don’t leave your face. He doesn’t return your smile, as convincing as it should be (even Taehyung struggles to tell between your real smile and your work smile, sometimes); he stands for a moment, looking at you.

You think he’s about to say something when he clearly thinks better of it. He tilts his head, like he always does, but you’d swear his expression is tinged with concern. “Thanks,” he says. Pauses. “The roads are really icy. Get home safe, okay Y/n?”

Blink, blink. Your eyelashes flutter. You suddenly realise that he’s never said your name out loud, never had a need to, even if he must have known it all along from the badge on your chest. It sounds so good in his mouth, soft and safe.

 “Oh,” you say, slow with surprise. “Thank you. I will. You, too.”

Yoongi nods again, as if to himself, before he turns to go.

He stops one more time before he goes. He stands at the open door, glances over his shoulder before he steps out, dark eyes meeting yours, as if checking that you’re still there, still tethered to the ground. Seems satisfied when he finds that you are. He gives you one last smile, all soft around the edges—that’s something you know intimately about Yoongi, that he’s soft through and through, even if he can look sharp, as cold as the ice outside—and then he goes, back into the falling snow to deliver a steaming sip of warmth into the hands of the person he loves.

(Your heart aches.)

It’s the week before Christmas. The whole world has that feeling it always does at this time of year—excited and bright, if a little frantic, the hanging lights in the city a backdrop to people’s last minute shopping, their breaths pluming out into the air as they rush around in the cold. The whole world feels full of life, that final push towards the end of the year; the hearth fire of Christmas before that weird in between before the new year, that held breath of potential, before the clock ticks over and the world is thrown into the next year.

Paradise has been busy. It’s like summer, only instead of sundresses and shorts, everyone is in knitwear and scarves, shivering as they wait to be served, desperate for a drink to warm them up, something to eat to fill their bellies. You spend more time in the coffee shop than you do at home, pulling overtime shifts to help your fellow baristas out—everyone thinks Christmas is a time of relaxation and coming together, but it doesn’t feel like that when you work in a customer facing job, oh no. It’s just non-stop busyness and being rushed off your feet.

(You’d barely had a chance to speak to Yoongi, café full when he’d stepped in, your pace frenetic as you’d danced around behind the counter with Taehyung and Jungkook; you’d slid his drinks towards him, his Americano and the special, and maybe your smile had looked more harrowed than you thought because he’d caught your hand and squeezed it.

“I hope you get a chance to rest over Christmas,” he’d said, concerned and sincere, as you’d stood in stunned silence, not expecting that almost-intimate touch, gentle against your skin.

“I will,” you’d said eventually. Yoongi had seemed to suddenly realise he was still touching you, fingers clasped around yours, and he’d withdrawn quickly, giving you a smile that felt like a whispered secret, before leaving you to deal with the ever-growing queue.)

Suffice to say, it’s been a long week, and you’re tired, and your feet hurt after all the running around you’ve been doing, and you just want to go home. You just need to finish the close, need to finish setting everything up for the open tomorrow, need to finish cleaning everything, and then you can get some sleep.

At least, that’s what you thought. Instead, you’re standing across from Jungkook and staring at him incredulously. You can feel a headache coming on.

“Wait.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “What do you mean, we need to deliver some coffee?”

You don’t know if Jungkook is being deliberately obtuse, but he just stares at you as if you’re the one talking nonsense right now, and not him. “We have a customer order to deliver,” he says.

“Yes, I gathered that,” you say. “I just mean, why did no one tell me sooner?”

Paradise doesn’t do deliveries, as such. You cater for events, and you technically do deliveries then, but it’s less ‘one coffee to go’ and more ‘enough sandwiches and pastries and bagels and coffee to feed an entire office’. It’s not that you can’t bring someone their order directly, it’s more that you just… don’t.

“Taehyung took the order,” Jungkook says, as if that explains everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose again. You can’t ask Tae about it, the other man having had to leave just as you’d been about to flip the sign to closed (‘Jimin says Tannie peed in his shoes again! I have to go clean it up! I’m so sorry, I swear I’ll cover a close for each of you next time!’), so it’s just you, and Jungkook, and the slip of paper on the counter between you. You’ve worked with Taehyung long enough to trust his judgement and his decisions, as inexplicable as they might seem sometimes, but you do think it’s weird that he’s taken this delivery on board.

“It’s not too far from here,” Jungkook adds, peering at the address on the paper. “It won’t take long.”

“We have to finish closing, Jungkook,” you say. 

He shrugs casually, carelessly. “I’ll do it, I don’t mind. You can just do the delivery and then go home straight after, it’s whatever.”

“It’s not whatever,” you mumble. “Why can’t you deliver it?”

“You’re the senior barista, you’re a better representative of the brand,” he says, and you have no idea where he pulled that from. (You blame Jimin. You know they’ve had shifts together, and Jimin is too smooth-talking for his own good.)

As much as you want to argue, you can’t help but cave, because the prospect of getting home early is one that you’re not about to sniff at. (You’d worry that Jungkook would get home late, what with the amount of prep he still needs to do for tomorrow, but you half suspect that Taehyung will reappear at some point, anyway.) You’re too tired to want to argue. “I just want to say this is a one off, and normally we cater for events, we’re not really a delivery service, okay?”

“Duly noted.”

It’s a simple enough order, anyway—it’s just two drinks. The first is a large quad shot latte with caramel and toffee syrup, extra whipped cream and cinnamon on top (something you’d definitely order, you think, indulgent and milky and with enough caffeine to kick you up the ass). Jungkook dutifully cleans as you start the second drink. The special this week is far, far less sweet than normal; a Rudolph the Red-eyed Reindeer: a simple red eye with a pinch of holiday spice, coffee with an extra espresso shot and topped with cinnamon and nutmeg. You take in a deep breath, swallowing down the warm smell and letting it flow through you before you double check the details on the note.

It takes you a second as you squint at the address, wondering why it looks familiar—and then you pause. This is Yoongi’s office, you think to yourself, and it feels a little like there’s an apricot pit sitting heavy in your stomach, heavy and hard. Paradise had catered a breakfast for them last week, and it hadn’t been on your shift and so you hadn’t gone, but—you’d heard enough about it from Jimin, the type who gets to know everyone and everything the second he walks in the door. You’d heard about the team that Yoongi manages, found out that Yoongi works in music, in artist and repertoire, and when you’d had the chance to Google exactly what that meant, you’d been bowled over. He has such a complex, high skilled job, and here you are, struggling to get a job with your degree, hence the barista thing. (Thanks, economy.)

You hastily shuffle past the address, trying to ward off your sudden sense of inadequacy, focusing on the name instead. What sort of name is Suga? you think to yourself, and then shrug. Probably one of the workers had enjoyed the breakfast the other week and was still hanging around before going on holiday for Christmas, or something.

“Alright, I’m off.” You’re ready to advance into the cold outside: coat on, scarf looped around your neck and hat secure on your head, cardboard tray of drinks clutched in your hands. “If you need help closing, just call me and I’ll come back, okay?”

“I won’t, but, thanks,” Jungkook says, equal parts self-assured and reassuring. “Don’t fall on your ass!”

It is icy outside, the entire world a winter wonderland, beautiful but cold and daylight long gone; snow drifts slowly from the sky above, dusting your shoulders and the top of your hat, flakes caught so softly by the weave of your clothes. It’s the kind of day that’s perfect spent indoors, curled up with the people you love, warmed through and through—and here you are, picking your way across the pavement slush to deliver a coffee to someone. (You’re not even getting paid for this.)

At least it’s not too far, really, just a few blocks away. The building is small, which is a plus, because it means you won’t have multitudes of rooms and offices to trawl past to get to your destination. The receptionist is more than helpful, too, when you say that you have a delivery for Suga; she gives you exactly directions and then she smiles at you, pleasant and pretty and lovely, and that gremlin that’s still clinging desperately onto your feelings for Yoongi whispers: what if this is Yoongi’s girlfriend? She’s beautiful.

Shut up, you think, before smiling back and thanking her, and heading on your way.

This close to Christmas you’d think that the building would be almost empty, but you’d be wrong. It’s not a buzzing hive of activity but there are still people walking around, speaking behind closed doors or laughing through open ones, decorations and tinsel hanging from the ceiling. Up ahead you see a someone come out of a room, shutting the door behind them before they walk in your direction. It’s a man who looks like he’s just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine and as you pass in the corridor he pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. Not suspicious, just surprised.

“Uh, I have a coffee for Suga,” you say without prompting, as if he was about to accuse you of some sort of nefarious scheme and your coffee delivery is the only thing saving you from that.

“Oh,” mister-model-handsome says, suddenly smiling widely, like this is all perfectly normal and not weird at all. He’s got some of the poutiest lips you’ve ever seen. “You’re nearly there, he’s just down the corridor and on the right. Have fun!”

“Uh, you too?” you reply. (Is he Yoongi’s boyfriend? He’s tall and broad shouldered and incredibly attractive, with the type of smile that makes people’s hearts race, and Yoongi definitely deserves someone like that.)

Your destination seems to be the office the (probably) model just came out of. You look around the corridor, which seems to be deserted now, the hubbub of people elsewhere in the building. You knock quietly, not wanting to disturb the hush that’s filled the air around you.

A beat. Then: “Come in,” someone says, voice muffled through the door.

It swings open easily at your touch. You stand on the threshold, mouth open around the announcement of your delivery when the words die on your lips.

Yoongi’s there, sitting behind a desk and his head bowed as he scribbles something in a notebook. He doesn’t look up. “Shut the door,” he says. Dumbstruck, you do just that, and it’s not until the door’s quietly clicked shut that he starts to raise his head. “Hyung, I already said that I don’t need to eat—”

And then he spots you standing there.

He stops mid-sentence, mouth open, eyes widening. He looks as shocked as you feel, utterly taken aback and agog, and even now you can’t help but notice how good he looks. He’s in a black button up, sleeves rolled to the elbow and top button undone, revealing the pale skin of his collarbones. It’s another juxtaposition, the Yoongi that you’re familiar with (an aura of effortless authority and attractiveness) in a place you don’t know at all, completely professional, his desk neat and the entire space put together. There’s a tastefully decorated tree in the corner but it doesn’t throw off the balance of the room at all. 

“Uh.” You cough lightly. “I have… a delivery… for Suga?”

Yoongi stares at you.

“Is this… not the right room? I can go,” you mumble, gesturing over your shoulder with a thumb.

This seems to snap Yoongi out of whatever thoughts he was having as he shakes his head. “No, this is… Suga’s office,” he says. “I just didn’t order any coffee.”

You open your mouth. Shut your mouth. You don’t have an Americano on the tray, but he’d probably like the red eye, coffee with extra coffee, no sugar or cream. Just a little pinch of spice. 

“Maybe it was a surprise, or something? Couples get each other gifts all the time.”

Yoongi’s lips quirk up. “I’m not really the type that gets surprised with gifts.”

Something about this strikes a discordant note in you. He’s always delivering gifts of coffee—he deserves those expressions of love returned to him. You can’t help but say as such.

“You’re always giving gifts, though,” you say. “Those weekly specials. I wouldn’t be surprised if your other half is returning the favour.”

Blink, blink. He looks perplexed. “I don’t have an other half?”

Your mouth opens again. “Uh,” you say eloquently. “What?”

“I… don’t have an other half? I’m… single?”

“You’re…” Your face scrunches up, wrinkled in confusion. What? He’s… what? “But you always buy two drinks?”

Silence. Then: “I… the Americano is for me,” he says. “I usually just pour the special away. I only started ordering them because you got so excited talking about them and making them. I never planned on drinking them.”

Your mouth falls open, soft around a quiet breath, a soft oh. “You—wait. You ordered them because I got excited about them?”

Yoongi’s eyes are so dark, so gentle; melted chocolate, warm. “You started to talk to me more, after the first time I did,” he says, and you know you had. Because you thought it was safer to talk to him, though you were secure in the knowledge he wasn’t single—but he is single. “So I kept doing it, because I wanted to talk more to you. I thought you knew? And that’s why you started having real conversations with me.”

You’re frozen in place, eyes as big as dinner plates. Min Yoongi, your futile crush, who looks as sharp as a knife but is as sweet as spun candyfloss, has been coming back week after week—for you. He’s not in a relationship, and he’s been flirting with you.

Or at least he thought he had been. You, however, hadn’t even realised.

“I was going to ask you on a date after Christmas,” he continues, calm and steady, as if your brain isn’t melting. He’s still sitting behind his desk, and there’s something about his tousled hair and bared lower arms—watch on one wrist and a few bracelets on the other—that has your heart pounding, that casual air somehow not at odds at the weight of the surroundings. Because the world is a backdrop to Yoongi, and he makes it work.

“What the fuck,” you say. You realise you’ve never sworn in front of him when something flickers in his eyes; not a bad flicker, no. Definitely not. “I thought you were taken.”

“I’m very single,” he says lightly, belying the weight behind the words. And then his eyes drop to your hands. “You said you have a coffee for me?”

Which leads to this: Yoongi, in his chair, you, leaning against his desk. He’s taken the red eye (of course) while you sip at the latte, relishing the punch of espresso, the flavour of the syrups.

You’re both staring at each other as you drink, air in the room growing thicker by the moment, when Yoongi breaks the silence. “This is probably the only weekly special I’d actually want to drink.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Black coffee with more espresso? That’s you all over,” you say. “The other specials aren’t so bad, though. I think you just need to give sweet drinks a chance.”

You’re speaking without thinking, but the second those words leave your mouth, the air turns electric. Yoongi’s still staring at you, unwavering and intent, and everything inside you is melting, leaving you flushed and hot. The smile hasn’t left his face, which had been warm but it’s changed, evolved, edged with something sharper.

“If you say so,” he says. His eyes are on your lips. “Let me try?”

His fingers are so gentle on your face, hands cupping your jaw as he tilts your head down. All your thoughts leave you. There’s nothing in your mind but Yoongi, his warm hands and dark eyes, the heat of his body so close to yours, his mouth; you can’t help but look down, tracing the shape of his lips with your gaze, a small soft pout that’s so at odds with the weight of his intensity. 

When he kisses you, it’s featherlight. Barely the softest of pressures, the potential of something more—and then he pulls you in deeper, and there it is, that heat flickering in your stomach jumping into a full fire. The kiss turns hot and wet as he licks the flavour of caramel and toffee syrup out of your mouth, and he tastes like coffee, dark and bitter; you make a noise against his lips and he swallows it down, pulls you closer.

You’re straddling his knees, a little awkward and cramped in his office chair, but you don’t care. You’ve been wanting to kiss Yoongi for so long, even when you felt like you shouldn’t, thought about his dark eyes and pink mouth, the curve of his lips, the paleness of his hands; a steadying presence around your waist, holding you in place.

When you pull apart, Yoongi’s lips are flushed, kiss swollen. It looks good on him. Really good on him.

“I’ve thought about that more than I’d like to admit,” he says, and you can’t help but feel warmed by it, the realisation that you’ve wanted to kiss him but he’s wanted to kiss you, too.

“This really isn’t comfortable,” you say, wriggling a little—your ass is starting to go numb, sat on Yoongi’s knees—and Yoongi sucks in a quick breath at the way you’re all but squirming in his lap, even if he doesn’t say anything.

Oh, you think. 

When you move away, he lets you go without protest, hands sliding off your waist. It’s not until you fall to your knees that Yoongi realises what you’re doing, his eyes widening.

“Y/n,” he breathes. “You don’t have to—”

“Please, Yoongi, I’ve wanted to do this for months,” you say. Maybe it was a little crass to start with, wanting to get on your knees for a man you barely knew just because he was hot and polite to you, but now you know he wants you back. You’re not about to let this opportunity pass you by, staring up at him between his knees, hands braced on his thighs. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He looks torn, just for a second, eyes darting away from your face and to the door. It’s shut, but it’s not locked, and though the building is quiet there’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk in at any second.

Without thinking, you lick your lips. Yoongi’s eyes flicker back at the motion, watching how your tongue moves, and you can see how he crumbles.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he says, and you dig your nails into his trousers, electricity shooting through you.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down,” you warn, and reach for his zipper.

It’s a struggle for him, you can tell. He’s already biting his lip by the time you’ve tugged his trousers and boxers down, hardening under your grasp, and you knew his dick would be as pretty as the rest of him. You don’t have the luxury of worshipping him the way you want to, acutely aware of the fact you’re in his office, but it doesn’t mean you’re not going to make Yoongi feel good. It’s dirty and messy, the way you suck his cock into your mouth lewd and wet, lavishing attention on the most sensitive parts; his hips jump as you circle the head with your tongue and jerk the rest of his length with a hand. 

Everything’s sloppy with spit and precum and Yoongi’s biting off curses, hand tightening in your hair as you take in as much of him as you can, relaxing your throat and swallowing him down, down, down. When you look up at him through your lashes he looks wrecked, the paleness of his skin flushed pink, and you can’t wait to see that all over. Can’t wait to see Yoongi entirely bare in front of you, when you have the luxury of time and pleasure.

But there’s something about this, too, that has your heart racing, cunt throbbing. You’re running your spit slick lips down the side of his shaft, tonguing the throb of the vein there, when you hear footsteps nearby, muffled through the door. It doesn’t sound like they’re coming in this direction and Yoongi seems almost entirely lost to the feeling of your mouth on him, but you flick your tongue across the spot where the head of his cock meets the shaft and he bows forward, swallowing down the noise that threatened to spill from his lips. He’s so fucking hot like this, falling apart under your hands and mouth, and you know he’ll give as good as he gets.

“Gonna cum,” he rasps. You smile up at him before taking his cock back into your mouth, jerking him off hard and fast as you lick and suck—and when he cums it’s with a noisy exhale of breath, a muffled groan, and even as you’re swallowing down his cum and mouthing at him until he winces with oversensitivity, you’re imagining what he sounds like when he doesn’t have to be quiet.

He’s not shy, either. You’ve barely tucked him back in when he’s reaching for you, kissing you. There’s no taste of coffee any more and you shiver, molten and boneless at the way his tongue presses into your mouth.

“Still want to take me on a date?” 

You’re being cheeky, voice light as you joke, but Yoongi’s responding look is equal parts serious and affectionate. He sweeps a thumb over your cheekbone and you relax into his hands, feeling like a cat that got the cream. Here you are, on your knees in his office, the glittering lights of his Christmas tree thrown across your hair and skin, warmed by the touch of a man you’ve wanted for months but never thought you would get.

“Of course,” he murmurs, gentle-gentle-gentle, as if you hadn’t just sucked his soul through his dick—and you love that about him, love his inherent soft core, his big heart. You might not know him as well as you’d like—not yet—but you already know that much about him. “I owe you a present, too.”

Your face scrunches. “What, because I gave you a blowjob?”

At this he laughs, mouth split wide and gums on show as his whole body shakes with the intensity of it. “No, because you brought me a coffee,” he says. He still has your cheek cupped in his hand, palm warm against your skin. “But if you want to say it’s because of the blowjob as well, then sure.”

“There’s plenty more where that came from.” You smile at him, gentle expression at odds with the meaning behind the words and your position—still on your knees.

You don’t know if they ache when you stand, because Yoongi is kissing you again, distracting you. And it’s easy, this back and forth you have, comfortable as you finish the (now lukewarm) coffees and get ready to go, because Yoongi insists on walking you home. Because he’s a gentleman, your gentleman, and he even holds the door open for you.

You’re not sure if you can reach for his hand, if that would be too forward in his place of work, if he doesn’t want to when this thing between you is so tentative and new. But you’re barely halfway down the corridor when he stops you with a gentle hand on your arm; when you look over, he’s smiling at you, and then tilts his chin up.

“Oh!” You stare at the huge bundle of mistletoe above you, tied with red ribbon and messily taped to the ceiling. It brings a smile to your face. “Oh, how cute.”

The hand on your arm shifts down. Yoongi weaves his fingers with yours.

“You know about the tradition, right?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and it’s not just from the lights from the ceiling above, turning his dark eyes into warm chocolate, deep brown. “Kissing under the mistletoe?”

You can’t help but blink, surprised at his sweetness, his forwardness. There’s nothing to say that someone couldn’t walk by right now, to see the two of you hand in hand under the mistletoe, but Yoongi doesn’t care at all. He’s staring at you like you’re the only other person in the world, and you feel like a fountain of champagne is bubbling inside you, heady and sparkling and light.

“I think I’ve heard of it,” you say, and he’s still smiling, a small thing, just for you. “Do you think you can show me?”

And he does, with his hand in yours, your lips against his, and up above, the mistletoe sparkles.

(Your phone rings. Caller ID says it’s Taehyung, but when you pick up, he’s not the one who speaks.

“So.” Jungkook sounds knowing, his voice bordering on smug. “How did the delivery go?”

In the background you can hear someone crowding close, put it on speaker, Kookie, I want to hear too, and you can’t help but smile at Taehyung’s eagerness.

“Good,” you say. Yoongi’s palm is warm against yours and you swing your joint hands together, looking at him, entranced by the way the snowflakes dust his eyelashes. The sky above is dark and the wind around you is cold, but the man beside is so bright and warm. You feel wrapped up in it. “Yoongi says he’s going to kill you, by the way.”

“He won’t,” Jungkook says cheerfully, loud enough that Yoongi can hear. He looks fond.

“Well, tell Taehyung I’m going to kick his ass for lying about Tannie peeing on Jimin’s shoes,” you say.

“You won’t,” Taehyung says, equally as cheerful, and you can’t help but smile.

“No, I won’t,” you say. 

You think about the seasons. You think about the man walking beside you; the man who says he hates cold weather, but has kept his gloves off so he can feel your hand against his. The man who came out in the snow to order a drink, just to make you smile. The man who looks like winter but feels like spring, something cold bursting into potential, new life.

In the depth of winter, under the snow and twinkling Christmas lights above, Yoongi squeezes your hand.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​ @vensulove

[ladyartemesia]

The Mark of Yun-Ki

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Hybrid/ABO AU  • Royalty AU • Fantasy AU • Daechwita AU

Summary: For a thousand years the tiger god Yun-Ki has marked the heirs of the Min Empire and thus only a marked heir can inherit the throne. When the beautiful daughter of the Min Emperor’s loyal warlord rescues a mysterious tiger hybrid from the imperial prison, she unleashes a secret that the throne would kill to protect. The young emperor claims to be the chosen heir... but who really bears the Mark of Yun-Ki?

Word Count: 8600

Rating: Explicit

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. MINORS PROHIBITED. I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY INTERACTIONS WITH PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 18. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Warnings: ABO/Hybrid sexual dynamics and mating, claiming/marking/biting, explicit sexual content, impreg, a brief mention of slavery, rut/heat sex

Content Notes: All flashback scenes are in italics. In this universe, being a hybrid has a distinctly spiritual/mystical connotation. 

Acknowledgements: This story was not easy to write, but... in spite of the (or perhaps because of it) I have never been prouder of anything I have ever written. It was definitely a new type of challenge and it took multiple people who are extremely special to me to bring it to life. 

To @ppersonna (Lindy) and @taetaewonderland​ (Donna) ... You are truly beautiful souls. You encouraged me relentlessly, let me bounce ideas off of you, and continue to be such wonderful friends. You filled in the gap every time i doubted myself. You never let me think less of myself. I adore you. Thank you so very much. Truly.

To @lemonjoonah (Lemon) and @xjoonchildx (Ana)...You saved this story. I grew frustrated with it so many times and you never ceased to provide brilliant insight into JUST what I needed to add or take away to really bring this world to life. You are lovely friends and the time you spent helping me build (and rebuild) this story have made it truly sparkle. Thank you for your care and fabulous friendship.

To my Angels in the BTS SMUT HUB... So many of you gave me ideas about this story and encouraged me to keep writing. When I really struggled, you sent me countless messages of support and love. You are truly my people and my heart is so full of affection for you. 

“Why is he blindfolded?”

The guard beside you shifted uncomfortably. 

“The Emperor ordered that his eyes be covered at all times.”

Your gaze traveled covertly over your surroundings, assessing the dimly lit chamber with practiced disdain. 

“Leave us.” 

“My lady, I cannot—”

“Do you know who I am, soldier?”

Your voice slashed through the air like an icy whip. 

“Y-yes, my la—”

“Then you know it is unwise to displease my family.” One jeweled hand came to rest dramatically on your chest. “Your daughter is not yet fifteen ...it would be such a pity to orphan one so young.”

The soldier bowed almost too quickly. 

“I will be outside, my lady,” he bowed again and again as he backed toward the door, “I meant no disrespect.”

It slammed shut. 

Then you were alone… save for the notorious prisoner bound and blindfolded in the cell before you. 

He was clearly aware of your presence, but made no move or sound of acknowledgement, not even when your footsteps brought you to the very edge of his enclosure. 

“Prisoner AG-D2... name unknown... crime unknown...” your hand travelled up to your hair to withdraw a long silver pin, “no date of birth, no date of arrest...”

The prisoner jerked suddenly when the sound of your pin tripping the cell’s iron lock reached his unnaturally sensitive ears. 

His nostrils flared as an almost familiar scent - buried beneath a decade of fury and fear - curled through him. 

“Who are you?” he demanded.

The words were more of a growl than a question, but the only answer he received was the sound of his cell door creaking open. 

“Why are you here?” he tried again. 

Lonely silence greeted his query and he wondered idly if you meant to intimidate him. 

It will take more than that, pet. 

“I am here to tell you a story...”

The prisoner barked out an empty laugh at your strange reply.

“I love a good story,” he whispered bitterly. The corner of your mouth twitched a bit at his spirit. 

His clothes were worn, but well cared for and the body beneath them was sleek and strong. 

Wrists tied together, eyes covered… but still every inch the proud warrior. 

This was not a man accustomed to being bound. 

“You were not raised like the rest of our people... The tales of our customs and our gods were - deliberately - never taught to you...But it is past time that you knew of them.”

He grinned, granting you a wicked flash of razor sharp fangs.

“Are all the Emperor’s prisoners tortured with fairytales?”

“Charming,” you snorted, dragging a small stool from the corner of his cell. The prisoner’s ears flicked curiously at the sound.

“Aren’t you afraid of me, storyteller? What if I’ve been imprisoned for devouring beautiful women like yourself?”

You shook your head in amusement as you settled onto the stool.

“Have you devoured many beautiful women then?”

“Oh absolutely-” his grin took on a decidedly sinful slant, “but I doubt that’s why I’m here.”

Strange fluttering erupted in your chest at his words.

You resolutely ignored it. 

“Then why are you here?”

The prisoner was silent as he considered whether or not to be honest with you... In the end, it didn’t really matter one way or the other. 

“I don’t know,” he whispered, “I was told the Emperor himself gave the order... I was never told why.”

Your fingernails dug painfully into the palm of your hand, but you offered no other outward reaction to his words.

“And what do you know of the current Min Emperor?”

“Not much... Stories say he is young and handsome with the temper of a demon… And his people endure it because he is the favorite of an ancient god.”

Your jaw clenched.

“That is correct. Our citizens are privileged to serve and obey the Emperor because the great tiger god Yun-Ki has chosen the House of Min as his sacred bloodline. It is believed that the Mins are descended from Yun-Ki himself...”

“How ironic,” the prisoner scoffed, “considering that the Mins despise hybrids. They claim we are the unnatural children of the spirit realm and the earth. Surely they would be ashamed to be the product of such… blasphemy.”

Feminine laughter filled the air. 

It had been so long since the bound man had heard anything so beautiful. The ache it stirred in him was nearly as foreign as the sound itself. 

“Yes it does seem rather hypocritical... especially in light of the events which bring me here.”

Your scent was stronger now. It tugged at the edges of his mind in broken pictures and flashes of sunshine. He knew it...

But he could not recognize it. 

Nor could he explain the heat it began to stir in him. 

“Yun-Ki’s chosen heir bears his sacred mark … Every child of the emperor’s seed is checked for it the moment they are born. And no concubine or wife of the emperor is ever so exalted as the one who produces a marked heir... except of course, the mother of our current emperor.”

The prisoner leaned forward, fascinated in spite of the strange circumstances.

“The dowager empress is widely revered. I may not know your fairytales, but a hybrid’s ears are better than most. My guards speak of her often.”

You nodded.

“The dowager is indeed very highly regarded… though she is not the emperor’s true mother.”

“Madam…” he shook his head. “What nonsense is this? And how could it possibly affect me?”

You chuckled softly and the small hairs on the back of his arms rose up in response. 

“Patience, prisoner, the truth I offer you is worth more than both our lives.”

“The fine jewelry I hear clinking around your neck is worth more than my life, lady,” he hissed. “Speak your peace and spare me these cryptic declarations.”

It took every ounce of self-control you possessed not to flick him right in his arrogant nose. 

“As you wish,” you replied tightly (and with heavily affected sweetness). “The story begins with our current emperor’s father. The old emperor was a man of warfare and when his spies discovered that the Prince of neighboring PyonKang planned to invade our territory, he marched his armies in and occupied the small kingdom without mercy…” You paused here significantly. “He even took the Prince’s sister as his war prize.”

The prisoner snorted. 

“Did he know what she was?” He smiled coldly. “The royals of PyongKang do not share your nation’s distaste for hybrids or the pleasures of mating with one-”

There was a sharp spike in your scent when he spoke the words; a darker - richer essence than the one he detected earlier, but this time he had no trouble identifying it. 

Arousal. 

Blood churned chaotically beneath his skin, rushing to answer your body’s unspoken request. His mind clouded suddenly and for a moment…

He could almost taste you. 

This is dangerous. 

The fabric of your gown rustled as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat - driven to relieve some of the unexpected pressure in your core. 

“He did not know. The lady bore no hybrid indicators. So the emperor assumed - quite incorrectly - that she was not a hybrid.” 

“I’ve heard of such things…” he sighed, sifting through his memory till he found what he was looking for. “A physician I met in Eastern Wei discovered that some hybrids manifest internally. They retain the outer shell of a human, but their inner parts reveal the truth.” His head tilted as he recalled the old doctor’s exact words. “The face of man could hide the heart of a snake.”

You drew your lip between your teeth and nibbled it nervously. 

“You are correct. Except, in the case of the emperor’s war prize concubine, the face of a beautiful woman hid the heart of a tiger.”

The man before you scrambled to his feet in a move so sudden and unexpected, you nearly cried out. 

“You mean to tell me that the current Min Emperor is a tiger hybrid? Surely I would have heard of it. The world would have heard of it.”

You drew a deep breath - almost as if to brace yourself for the words you planned to speak.

The prisoner’s eyes were covered, but he could still make out shapes and shadows through the rough cloth. Your shadow seemed unnaturally still. When you spoke again, your tone was softer and the sound of it resonated deep within him like the bells of the old temple near his childhood home. 

“The princess of PyongKang became pregnant and gave birth to twin boys. The younger was strong and pale - gifted with the strange golden hair so many of the Min bloodline seem to possess. But his elder brother...”

Your hands opened and closed reflexively in your lap as you worked to calm your pounding pulse. 

“... The elder brother’s hybrid heritage was quite evident.”

You moved then, advancing slowly and carefully until you stood before the prisoner face to face. Your scent swelled erotically with every step until it wrapped around him like a velvet vice. The urge to lean into it - into you - was nearly unbearable. 

“One of the twins bore the tiger god’s mark... but not the one who sits on the throne now.”

Your hand stretched slowly toward the edge of the prisoner’s blindfold. 

“The old emperor executed his hybrid concubine immediately, yet even he was not bold enough to kill Yun-Ki’s chosen heir...”

Your fingers hovered a hairsbreadth from his skin. Once you touched him, everything would change. The truth you chased for eleven years would be within your grasp. 

“He sent the child to a poor family of fox hybrids who worked and lived on the estate of his most loyal warlord. The boy was never to know what he was… who he was...”

You could almost feel the moment he grasped the implication of your words. The subtle bond that always hummed strangely between you remained strong despite the years of separation. 

“The warlord had a daughter who loved to ride her horse near the lake.” Your voice trembled ever so slightly as you continued. “One day the horse was startled by a snake and it threw her into the water...”

A single tear wet his blindfold as the alluring tendrils of your scent merged chaotically with the treasured echoes in his mind. 

“Tiger hybrids hate the water,” you whispered, gently drawing the cloth up over his head, “but you dove in to save me anyways.”

Your lungs and throat burned from coughing out the water you swallowed, yet the pain was far preferable to the finality of drowning. The heavy fabric of your gown weighed you down as soon as your body crashed into the lake. 

Death reached for you, but the strange boy cradling you tightly to his chest had pulled you back before you were lost to its embrace.

“Little one, can you hear me?”

His eyes scanned frantically over your small drenched form for signs of serious injury, but you were completely distracted from your almost untimely end by the two feline ears twitching conspicuously amid the boy’s sodden curls. 

“You’re… You’re a cat!”

The boy’s jaw dropped open indignantly. 

“I’m a tiger hybrid! Not a cat.” He shook his head irritably. “Have you never seen a hybrid before?”

“I’ve only heard of hybrids. I’ve never really seen one-”

Your fingers itched to touch the soft fur of his ears and you stretched forward almost absently to do so till he lashed out and snatched your wandering hand. 

“What are you doing?!” 

“Oh… I was going to...pet you?” you murmured sheepishly, prompting an irritable growl from the boy. 

“Little One, you do not pet tigers.”

He stood to his feet abruptly, dumping you into a soggy heap in the process. It took considerable effort for you to pull yourself upright while wearing four layers of thoroughly soaked cloth, but you eventually managed to regain your bearings and scramble after him. 

“Wait! Come back please I EEP-” 

The water dripping off your dress made the grass rather slippery… Both legs flew out from under you and, for the second time in less than a minute, you found yourself flat on your back. 

After a few moments of gazing miserably into the sky, a familiar face hovered over yours. 

“What a strange girl you are, Little One.”

You grinned.

“What is your name, tiger?”

He sighed deeply and held his hand out to pull you up. 

“I’m Yoongi.”

“Hello, Yoongi.” You tried to manage a proper bow, but only ended up losing your balance again. Yoongi grabbed your sleeve just in time to prevent you from crashing face first at his feet. 

“You’re completely hopeless,” he chuckled, endeared in spite of himself. 

Then you smiled. 

It was a fierce, blinding thing and Yoongi became aware of a subtle yet profound shift deep within the recess of his soul; something his primal half recognized immediately, but his human mind could not begin to comprehend. 

“No one’s ever said that to me before, even though I know they all think it.”

“And why is that?”

You shrugged. 

“They are probably afraid of my father.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in alarm. 

“You’re the warlord’s daughter?!”

“Yes,” you replied with all the haughtiness a ten-year old could muster, “and I’m quite used to getting what I want.”

Yoongi felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth. You were such an adorable little brat. 

“And what is it you’re wanting now, Little One?”

You nibbled your lip for a moment, suddenly shy before the handsome hybrid boy whose beautiful feline eyes danced with unconcealed mirth. 

“I want you to be my friend.”

Thirteen years later, those same golden eyes locked with yours as a strangled sob bubbled up from the back of his throat. 

“Little One?” his face lit suddenly with pure joy “...is it you?”

You surged toward him then, unable to hold back another moment. The impact sent you both crashing against the wall and down to the floor in a sobbing heap. 

Tears poured over the front of your dress from where his head was buried into your shoulder. 

“How did you find me?”

“I told you I would,” you laughed as you fumbled with the ropes around his hands.

“You were a twelve-year old girl. Forgive me if I wasn’t overflowing with confidence.”

“Your mistake.”

Yoongi grinned. 

“Still a brat I see.”

“Always,” you grunted, finally tugging his hands free.  

He wasted no time gathering you in his arms and you melted happily into him, letting his deep purr rumble up against your cheek as it had when he held you all those years ago. 

Suddenly he drew back, wrapping his hands around your shoulders to steady you in the wake of his withdrawal. 

“Why would you tell me such a preposterous lie before revealing yourself? You shouldn't even speak such things aloud. I have no idea why I’m here - let alone how you got to me but-”

Your finger pressed against his lips to silence him. 

“It may be preposterous, but the story I’ve told you is no lie,” you whispered, “and there is more - though it will not be easy to hear.”

Yoongi’s gaze wandered over your face again, drinking in every feature. You were such an awkward child, yet your fierce spirit made you beautiful to him even then. 

You were his best friend.

The woman in his arms, however, was a far cry from his childhood playmate. Your lush curves pressed against him in ways that were distinctly un-friendly. 

He cleared his throat, dragging his thoughts away from the temptation you presented.

“Tell me... please.”

“Yoongi...The mark of the tiger god is a slash from his claw - directly over the eye. It is a symbol of his influence on the vision and perspective of the emperor.”  

Yoongi’s fingers lifted to trace the long scar over his right eye almost absently. 

A scar he never remembered earning. 

“You cannot mean...”

He searched your features frantically for any hint of deception. But there was none.

“When your father lay on his deathbed, he called your brother to him and revealed the truth... Though I think the prince already suspected that his mark was not genuine. It was burned onto him as an infant. He uses make-up to make it appear smooth and dark like his father’s... like yours.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched in fury as he gestured to the scar, “So this is why they came for me?! Why they dragged me away that day?!”

Your fingers tightened their hold on him as the terrible memory resurfaced. 

Two years after he fished you from the lake, Yoongi remained your constant companion. He was much taller than you now and, at fifteen, his form and face began to show hints of the man he would become. 

You however, had barely grown an inch and were still a harrowing challenge to your small army of exasperated caretakers, many of whom were profoundly relieved when you slipped away to cause mischief with your best friend. 

Yoongi was teaching you how to build a rabbit trap near the old temple ruins when a sound like thunder shook the ground beneath your feet.

“That’s strange…” he muttered, scanning the clear skies overhead, “it does not look like a storm-”

Your startled gasp cut him off abruptly and Yoongi turned to discover that the roar he had mistaken for thunder was actually the pounding of horse hooves galloping toward you both. 

“Get behind me!” he shouted, baring his teeth in a menacing snarl. 

But there were far too many of them. 

You had fought back - desperately holding on to his hand until one of soldiers struck you... and even then you chased the horses for near a mile screaming the same words over and over.

“I’ll find you, Yoongi! I’m coming! I promise I’ll find you! Yoongi!... Yoongi!”

“They were your brother’s soldiers. He ordered them to kill you... but they were also reluctant to harm the marked heir. So they sold you to a merchant guild in Eastern Wei and told your brother you were dead.”

Yoongi was silent for a long time, letting the truth of his birth settle within him. The pain in his chest grew till it was nearly palpable; so heavy and bitter he could almost touch it in the air around him.

“All this because I am a hybrid? My own family would murder me to keep my tainted blood a secret?”

“Technically, your brother is a hybrid as well. He has been careful thus far not to leave any concubine with child, lest the truth be revealed.”

Yoongi snorted.

“How will he sire an heir?”

“I believe he was working on a solution to that particular problem when he discovered that you were…less dead than he originally thought.”

“But… how? The merchants trained me as a warrior to protect their investments. I travelled and fought through most of Wei and Song… I did not return to Min territory till the day his men ambushed our shipment…” He shook his head incredulously. “At the time it seemed so strange; they left a hundred pounds of silver, and took only me.” 

You sighed. 

“One of the soldiers who kidnapped you from my father’s lands foolishly attempted to blackmail the Emperor with the revelation of your continued existence.”

“That is… shockingly stupid.”

“Indeed. Your brother stabbed him through the heart and tortured the others till they revealed your fate. After that... it was only a matter of time.”

You reached forward to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. Warm fingers suddenly closed over your hand, keeping it in place as Yoongi pressed his forehead to your palm. 

“...And how did you find me?” he asked softly, letting his lips graze the sensitive skin of your wrist. Your pulse scattered against his mouth, stirring a primal satisfaction deep within him. 

“I-... I searched for years, bribing and bullying my way to the truth of your identity. When I received word that the Emperor discovered your whereabouts and intended to kill you himself, I knew he would bring you here…” you grinned, “so I paid off half the prison for the privilege of your company.” 

Strange heat spiraled out from every place his skin met yours. You were starting to forget some very important information.

“We must leave soon. Money can only buy so much indulgence.”

Yoongi nodded and pulled you to your feet, brushing dust and hay from your skirt as you steadied yourself. 

“I have two horses waiting for us at the south entrance of the fortress. I’ve mapped out the best path- oh-”

You were almost to the door when his hand wrapped around your waist, drawing you to him till every inch of your back pressed against his chest.

“Someone is coming,” he hissed.

You barely found the presence of mind to nod. Your body was on fire. Yoongi’s grip tightened as the footsteps in the hall grew louder. 

You knew he would be handsome, (he and his brother looked so alike) but you were unprepared for the sheer magnetism a fully grown Yoongi possessed. He was mesmerizing even with his eyes covered and his hands bound.

With his body flush against your own, he was devastating. 

The door handle shook.

“Get behind me,” Yoongi growled.

And then something happened.

Something you were not expecting at all.

Claws sprang out from each of his fingertips. The sharp points of his fangs doubled in length.

His shoulders and jaw elongated and a chilling snarl split the air around you..

And for the briefest instant - it was as if the earth ceased to turn on its axis.

A spirit shifter. 

They were rare - beyond rare - not one in a hundred thousand hybrids had the gift. Legends and stories claimed that a chosen few possessed the ability to channel their qi directly into their animal spirit and embody it physically.

To witness a spirit shift was incredible in and of itself.

But when he shifted-

The door opened and the same guard you sent away earlier walked back through...

And promptly fell to his knees.

“Please Great Father, I have served you well all my days. Have mercy!”

Yoongi drew back in confusion and turned to you, but you were still in complete shock and in no position to explain -  so he was forced to improvise.

“I- I... shall of course be merciful.”

It took a moment to regain your senses, but it was immediately apparent that the poor guard had the same realization you did in light of Yoongi’s transformation.

Excellent.

“Sir,” your voice only shook a little when you found it again, “you will clear the passage to the South Gate immediately, and then you will go home, take your daughter and any coin you have and disappear.... Am I understood?”

“Yes,” the guard sobbed as he stumbled back blindly. 

Yoongi’s claws and fangs began to retract. There was the faintest sound of bone and sinew shifting as the rest of his body returned to normal.

“....Great Father?” he whispered. 

It was a strange, softly spoken question - one you yourself could not quite comprehend the answer to.

“Our people have countless… images...idols - paintings of tiger god Yun-Ki, the Great Father of our nation. They are in every house, every street… His face and form are everywhere. And you...- when you channeled your tiger spirit and shifted-” 

The words caught in your throat, you were almost afraid to speak them.

“Yoongi...You are his exact likeness.

It was raining the day you and Yoongi discovered the old smuggler caves near the coastal border of your father’s estate.

A weak spot in the cavern roof had washed away and he’d fallen through…

“Yoongi! Merciful gods! Can you hear me!”

Yoongi groaned and shook himself to clear the shock of his sudden descent.

“I’m alright, Little One! Just-”  he hissed as another dull wave of pain twisted though his leg “- just a little sore.” 

“What can you see!”

Yoongi smirked. Always the curious little tigress. 

His nose twitched as he inhaled stale air 

“I think it’s a...tunnel of some sort… but - there’s an old torch here.” His cat eyes shone eerily from the depths of the cave when he turned up to look at you. “Toss me your flint.”

Yoongi’s sight worked well in the dark, but yours was still hopelessly human. A few strikes of flint later, however, and the torch blazed to life, revealing long passages in either direction. 

“These are not natural formations,” he observed, running his hand along the obvious tool marks in the wall. 

“You mean someone dug them - like pirates?!” 

It was impossible to hide the thrill in your voice. Yoongi snorted.

A right proper little lady, you were.

“How will you find a husband if you only get excited about pirates and smuggler caves?”

“Why would I want a husband who didn’t get excited about pirates and smuggler caves? He’d be a wicked bore.”

“Listen I hate to shatter all your romantic daydreams, Little One, but most men are wicked bores, women too if I’m being honest,” his mind suddenly flashed back to the pretty young maid who let him kiss her behind the stables last week “-though they certainly have their moments.”

He sighed and made his way back to the sink hole where you were poking your head down expectantly.

“I suppose you mean to jump down here then.”

You grinned.

“What a clever kitty.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed in disgust. 

“Call me a ‘clever kitty’ again and I’ll let the ground kiss your bratty arse.”

“Nonsense,” you laughed - jumping without hesitation into his waiting arms. “You’ll always catch me.”

He pulled you close when the weight of your body fell against his - just as he had a hundred times before - yet this time something felt… strangely different. The laughter and unshakeable trust in your gaze was suddenly enough to leave him breathless, and - for a moment... it was as if nothing existed beyond the feel of your warmth on his skin.

“Yes,’ he whispered, letting his hold on you tighten ever so slightly, “...always.” 

The network of tunnels and rooms hewn into the rock stretched for miles beneath the surface and it took months of mapping and marking for you to navigate them with ease.

Yoongi was not surprised that you brought him here…

It was your secret place; a haven where you played as children. 

His gaze lingered briefly on the feminine swells of your breast. 

You were not children anymore.

He cleared his throat, forcing his eyes away from your exquisite body to take in the space around him. 

The old caves were a bit... cozier than he remembered. 

There were food stores, a weapons cache of fine blades, two bedrooms, and even a library.

“You’ve been … busy,” he observed. 

“I knew I’d find you eventually...” You began to light the other oil lamps around the room, filling the previously dark cavern with a warm glow. “So I took the liberty of transforming it into a proper hideout.”

“It’s strange…” he murmured, meeting your gaze at last, “I spent so many nights wishing I was here - wishing I could see you just one more time… and now I am here - and you’re here,” his gaze drifted absently over your form once again, “yet I am at a loss for words.” 

But it was more than that...

Something had begun to stir in him, something dark and primal and he knew in his bones it was all to do with you. The longer he was in your presence - the longer he inhaled your scent - the more persistent it became. 

“How long have you been able to channel into a spirit shift?”

Yoongi chuckled.

“And there it is.”

“I think I’ve shown admirable restraint.”

“Far more than I would have guessed.”

Your mouth dropped open in mock indignation.

“Is this how you treat your beloved childhood friend and dashing rescuer?”

He grinned.

“Gods I missed you, Little One.” 

“Good,” you said. Then you raised your eyebrows expectantly and Yoongi smothered another laugh.”

It was comforting to know that some things would never change.

“I was ten the first time it happened. I didn’t know what it was. I was... frightened by it - so I didn’t tell anyone.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I thought they’d say a demon had possessed me or some other nonsense. But - a few years after I was sold - I heard a storyteller speak of spirit shifting so I started to collect old scrolls about it and…” 

He shrugged nonchalantly and your jaw dropped.

“You taught yourself how to spirit shift?!”

“Are you impressed?”

You bit your lip, letting your eyes wander over the sharp planes of his jaw and the strong lines of corded muscle flexing beneath his thin cotton tunic. He was a wiry youth when the soldiers tore him from your arms, but he had returned as a man whose mere presence was enough to unravel you. 

“Very.” 

Lazy heat slowly uncurled deep in your belly. You blushed and looked away, wondering at the bold turn of your thoughts. Yoongi continued to quietly take in his new accommodations until your voice broke the silence. 

“I’m sure you have many questions.”

“I do - though… I am not sure I want the answers.”

Your lips tilted in a playful smile. It was infinitely more lethal than one you frequently unleashed as a child, yet the warmth blooming in his chest was the same. 

“What happens now?” he whispered, drawing strength from the silent encouragement you offered. 

“That all depends on what you choose to do with your newfound freedom.”

Your fingers came up to unlace the ties of your cloak, sending a fresh wave of your fragrance in his direction. Every time he breathed it in, the high became stronger, more potent. His hands dug ruthlessly into the chair beneath him as you continued, oblivious to the havoc you were creating. 

“My father has quietly begun gathering supporters in your name. Years ago he was ordered to hide you, but he was never told why…” 

This is madness.

His body was beginning to ache. He struggled to make sense of your words through the thickening  haze of tormented desire. It felt like the cruelest twist of fate. For years he longed to be close to you, but now he was - for the sake of his sanity - desperate to get as far away as possible. 

“... He began to suspect the truth the day we snuck into the wine cellar and I dared you to jump into his meditation pond.”

Yoongi winced, momentarily distracted by the memory. 

“You promised he was still on campaign! Imagine my surprise when the General Jung dragged me out of that wretched water by my neck scruff.”

The indignant look on his face was so endearing - so utterly Yoongi -

“I was clearly mistaken,” you managed to snort before laughter overwhelmed you both. 

The moment provided some much needed clarity.

Get a hold of yourself. Remember who she is - what she means to you...

What she has always meant to you. 

“No matter the circumstances of your first meeting, Father is devout in his allegiance to Yun-Ki. He credits his success in battle to his divine favor. He would never betray the true heir.”

Emotions too numerous and unpleasant to name swirled uneasily in Yoongi’s chest at your words. He felt each syllable burn heavily within him like molten lead. 

“But why risk this? A revolution means bloodshed - chaos. I have no desire to bring suffering to our people.”

Your gaze locked with his as he spoke - triggering a spike of awareness so sharp that he was forced to turn away… Whether to hide his own uncertainty or to escape your effect on him, he did not know.

“Your brother is running the country into the ground,” you whispered finally. “Our people are already suffering. He is not fit to be emperor. My father and many others believe you are the answer to our prayers.”

Yoongi was silent for a long time. 

“What if they’re wrong? What could I possibly know about ruling a nation? I was a shameful secret for my first fifteen years and a merchant slave for the last eleven - and now-” he faced you again with a bitter scoff,  “ I am nothing…”

“No.”

Fury propelled you up out of the chair and across the room to him in seconds. 

“Those were circumstances thrust upon you through no fault of your own. They are not what you are.”

Your hand reached forward tentatively to trace his scar and he froze- letting the strange magic of your touch wash over him.

“You have been tested by these challenges again and again and you have prevailed… You wore the mark before your soul and body were one. The trials may have given you the strength to claim your throne, but you were born worthy of it.” 

Strong fingers wrapped around your wrist before you could pull away. Golden eyes locked with yours and your heart stuttered painfully in your chest as he pressed into your palm. 

Yoongi tried to ignore the fire kindling beneath his skin, even as his instincts raged to debauch you, he had pushed back. 

Until now. 

You were too close - the pull was too strong…  and he was helpless as one thought - one word overpowered his senses, burning the wavering threads of resistance in a blistering wave of desire. 

Mate. 

“Do you know why I did not recognize you at first -  in the prison?”

Your breath trembled as his mouth brushed across your pulse. 

“Th-the blindfold?”

He shook his head. 

“I would not need my eyes to see you. I knew the pattern of your scent better than I knew my own.”

“Oh?” 

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips and Yoongi growled, twisting your body till your back slammed against his chest. 

“Did you never wonder why you always lost at hide and seek?” 

The heat of his breath danced over the delicate shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I always assumed you were cheating.” 

Yoongi grinned wickedly. 

“The scent of a woman is deeper - richer - than the scent of a girl. It shifts and twists into something irresistible - something that lures her mate like a fly to a spider’s web.” His lips ran idly down the side of your neck. “If he breathes it in, he’ll never escape it.”

Every word he spoke curled through your senses like sips of the sweetest wine. Your eyes fluttered shut as an unfamiliar emptiness began to throb in your core. 

“Yoongi?” you whimpered. 

“The woman who walked into that cell did not smell like the impish hellion from my childhood.”  He nuzzled gently into your nape and inhaled with a decadent shudder. “She smelled like a temptress from my darkest fantasies.”

Then he nipped harshly at the base of your neck and you cried out - only to moan in artless pleasure when he soothed the hurt with his tongue. 

Many of the pinch-faced matrons your father forced to “mentor” you in lady-like behavior over the years had offered dire warnings regarding the dangers of allowing any man close enough to touch - but they never mentioned the hunger; the aching need that shot through you at the slightest contact- 

Perhaps the matrons were right all along…

Desire drenched the soft folds of your womanhood in a slippery heat. Yoongi’s arms wrapped around your body; the warmth of his chest spread across your shoulders - and it all felt perfectly - deliciously - dangerous. 

To resist was pointless.

You had always belonged to him. 

A hand came up to grip your jaw, titling it so your lips were almost against his. For a moment his gaze simply traced over the contours of your face while his breath mingled intimately with yours. 

“You’re so beautiful, Little One.”

He spoke it softly and with such conviction, almost like a prayer. 

Merciful gods. 

You would give this man anything he asked for. 

Yoongi lowered his forehead gently against yours in another attempt to calm the frenzied need pumping through his system. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me,” he groaned, “what you’re still doing to me.”

“What have I done?”

Your voice was so innocent, so adorably confused, yet the sound of it only drove him closer to oblivion. 

“You’ve triggered my rut, you terrible brat,” he snarled. 

“I - I don’t understand-,” you stuttered. 

“It means that all I want - all I can think about - is parting your sweet thighs and burying myself here-” his hand snapped forward to cup you directly through your dress and you gasped as a sharp bolt of pleasure tore through you, “in this rebellious little cunt.”

The sensation was merciless - almost brutal - in its intensity; a heavenly sort of hell that found you grasping his wrist and grinding into his palm for relief. 

“Yoongi,” you whimpered, melting against him helplessly. For one glorious instant you felt his fingers move in tandem with you body-

Then he wrenched himself away with a furious growl and you nearly wept in frustration. 

“Run,” he hissed. 

He was on the other side of the room now, hands gripping into the small writing table with such force that you could hear the wood begin to splinter. 

“I have a minute of clarity left - maybe less. You have to go - take the horses-”

“But-” you started forward and he snarled, baring his teeth in a manner that would have terrified anyone else.

“Now, woman!”

Your jaw clenched and Yoongi almost laughed. 

Ever the stubborn little tigress.  

“Please,” he whispered desperately. 

A flash of hurt shone in your eyes for a split second before you closed them, dropping your head in defeat. 

“...Will you let him have me as well as your throne then?” 

Yoongi froze.

“What... did you just say?” 

Each word was spoken carefully in a tone you had never heard from him before. Golden fire flashed dangerously in his gaze. 

“Your brother has sent me an official proposal of marriage, offering to make me the empress in exchange for my father's loyalty.” You drew a deep breath and met his gaze again with quiet determination. “He suspects that our family is aware of his secret… I believe he intends to present the first non-hybrid child I bear him as the true heir.”

The words hung suspended in the air between you for the space of a single moment and then-

You were hoisted up against a wall with Yoongi’s mouth crushed ruthlessly into your own. 

“Never,” he growled, dragging his teeth down over your jaw. “You will never belong to him.”

His claws sliced into the fabric of your gown - tearing it from your body like damp paper till you were clad in nothing but a thin linen underslip. The heavy scent of your arousal flooded his senses, further inflaming his need. 

“You are mine.” 

“Yes - gods yes,” you breathed, latching onto his shoulders as he ravished your neck. Your body burned with want and his touch was the only balm. 

Yoongi’s hands gripped into the soft flesh of your thighs, wrapping them around his waist as he hauled you over to a small cot in the corner of the room. His mouth latched on to your nipple and he sucked it noisily right through the cloth till it clung wet and transparent against your breast. 

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging and coaxing him in mindless delight. You wanted him everywhere, needed to feel his skin against yours. Eleven years of desperate longing poured out of your body in broken moans as his hands explored you with bold intent. 

“Please,” you begged, clawing at the ties of his tunic till it fell away from him entirely.

His was magnificent, all sleek lines and defined muscle, reminiscent of his feline nature. A collection of wicked looking scars marked his light golden skin and your heart broke anew for the boy who endured such savagery. 

“Don’t look so sad, Little One,” he purred, licking into your mouth, “they are my trophies.” 

“And am I your prize?” you whispered, untying his pants while he palmed your breasts greedily.

“Nothing so trivial.” He drew the shell of your ear in between his teeth. “You are the sword in my hand,” his fingers fisted into the last scrap of fabric separating your body from his and rent it in half, “the arrow in my bow...” 

You gasped when he gripped the curve of your backside and ground your aching core against his thigh.

“The only goddess I ever prayed to.”

The delicious friction arched your body into his like a marionette. His chest rumbled in satisfaction as he pressed you back into the blankets to mouth a line of red marks down over your chest and torso till he reached your sopping center. 

“What a pretty little hole,” he murmured, inhaling deeply. His finger brushed over your swollen flesh and you whimpered, clenching desperately around nothing. 

“Yoongi-”

You were near delirious with a want you didn’t fully comprehend, craving a fulfillment you had never experienced and could not find the words to ask for. 

But Yoongi understood the fire clawing through your body, even if you did not. 

“Does it ache, Little One?” he crooned, letting his lips skim your entrance with each word. “So wet and empty…” 

Then he pressed a lewd open-mouthed kiss over your trembling mound and you nearly fell apart right there. 

“Such a needy pussy,” he sighed, plunging his tongue deeper into the recess of your body till you were writhing uncontrollably. 

You were wholly unfamiliar (and frankly surprised) by this wickedly intimate act, but the bold heat of his gaze latching on to yours as he feasted on the sweetness between your legs was instantly addictive. Your head fell back in mindless pleasure as you rode his mouth with wanton desperation.  

It was filthy - scandalous - 

Gods, you never wanted it to end. 

Another messy wave of arousal bloomed from your core and Yoongi felt himself grow painfully harder in response. 

The beast in him raged to simply claim you - to ram your virgin pussy down over his cock till your belly was swollen with his seed, yet even as the demands of his rut became nearly unbearable, he fought to hold back. 

You had waited eleven years for him to be your first - your only. Unless he took care to stretch you beforehand, it would hurt. 

But heavens help him you smelled so good and you tasted even better. 

He would not last much longer. 

Your eyes flew open as Yoongi slid two fingers into your wet channel. It burned a little at first, but when they curved into a spot you didn’t even know existed, you threw your head back and screamed. 

Yoongi bore down on your thighs to keep them in place as he suckled your clit and worked his fingers in your soaked cunt. A foreign tightness pooled deliciously in your belly until he abruptly withdrew and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

“No- no please - I need-”

But you were cut off when Yoongi flipped you on your stomach and yanked your hips up -  propping you on your knees with your face pressed into the mattress. 

“I know what you need, Little One,” he panted, driving his fingers back into your heat from a new angle that felt even deeper. 

“Yoongi,” his name poured out of you repeatedly as you gripped into the sheets and sobbed in delight. 

“This pretty little cunt is mine,” he hissed, smacking his hand down on your ass to drive home his point. 

“Your pleasure is mine.” His thumb rubbed over your sensitive nub with renewed intent as the wet sounds of your desire echoed through the chamber. Then his fingers pulled back again - only to be replaced by the hard length of his cock sliding through your folds to coat itself in slick. 

“Your child will be the true heir,” Yoongi pressed the thick tip of his shaft to your entrance, “because it will be mine.” 

Then he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one exquisite thrust. 

Pain and euphoria shot through your system in equal parts as Yoongi pulled out and slammed in again, setting a punishing pace right from the start. 

“Oh my gods,” he gasped, throwing his head back in primal abandon as your walls clamped around him, “-so tight.” 

Your body submitted wantonly to his onslaught. Yes, there was pain, but there was also so much pleasure - you could no longer separate one from the other. 

You wanted all of it; everything he could give you.

His hands gripped your hips as he pounded into you. The sounds your mouth and pussy made were gloriously obscene; a raunchy chorus of wet smacks and lewd wails that he would close his eyes and savor if he wasn’t utterly mesmerized by the sight of his hardness ramming into your greedy hole again and again. 

“That’s it, Little One, you take me so well.” 

Yoongi pulled you back against his chest with your body still fully impaled on his cock. You barely had time to process the change before he began thrusting into you from a new angle, leaning forward to taste your mouth once more. His hand lightly gripped your neck while he kissed you - savoring each soft whimper against his lips. 

The warmth of him behind you - around you - was intoxicating. He was unnaturally strong and he ravished your willing body like an animal, yet you had never felt more safe - more cared for…

More complete. 

His free hand came up to squeeze and smack your breasts while he whispered pretty, dirty praises against your skin. 

“Look at you, Little One,” he panted, “falling apart like this on my cock.”

Teeth began to scrape significantly at the apex of your neck and shoulder and something hot and wonderful bloomed in your chest. That area was sacred to hybrids and he kept coming back to it. 

You unconsciously clenched tighter around him and he hissed in pleasure. 

“What would your father say if he knew, huh?” 

His hand shot down to smack your clit and you gasped. 

“If he knew you let a beast like me have you -  that you opened your legs and let me fill this fertile pussy?”

The pace of his thrusts increased and you found yourself hurtling closer toward that elusive razor sharp edge. You were going to break apart and there would be no putting you back together. 

“Will Daddy still support me when he finds out what I’ve done to his precious little girl?” Yoongi growled in your ear. 

“Yoongi please I’m - ahhh AH - please-”

Gods you were so close.

“They’ll all know,” he vowed. “When you’re swollen and heavy with my cubs - then your father, my brother - any man or woman who looks on you will know that you’re mine.”

“Yes! Yoongi-” 

“You want that, Little One? You want me to breed you?”

You nodded furiously and Yoongi slapped your tits sharply. 

“Then say it,” he snarled. 

“Breed me, Min Yoongi!” you begged, using his true name for the first time in his life. “Show them all who I belong to.”

A gutteral roar filled the cavern as Yoongi tangled his fingers in your hair and yanked your neck back, exposing the glistening column of your throat and shoulder to his fiery golden gaze. 

“So be it,” he swore, licking a long stripe over your neck as you shivered in anticipation.”

You knew the ritual; the final step in a claiming, when you would bind together, heart, body and soul. 

“I will be your mate,” his lips dragged over your skin one final time, “ and you will be my empress.” 

The moment his fangs pierced your skin you shattered, clamping down on him like a vice. Yoongi followed soon after, flooding your womb with his seed as he called your name into the night. 

The next few hours were the most intimate of your life... 

Yoongi whispered soft words of adoration across your skin as he gently cleaned you with his mouth and the rags you stored in the cave. 

You had never felt so utterly wonderful. 

Or so completely spent. 

Exhaustion pulled you into a heavy slumber and you awoke sometime later to Yoongi licking tenderly at the claiming mark on your neck. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked after you hummed and burrowed deeper into his arms. 

“No… it’s just sensitive…”

Comfortable silence stretched between you for several minutes before Yoongi spoke. 

“You know,” he coughed sheepishly, “when I imagined meeting you again, I can’t say this is how I saw it playing out.”

“Oh? You didn’t predict that I would be irresistible? That you would have no choice but to succumb to my charms?” You grinned. “How incredibly short-sighted of you.”

Yoongi laughed and reached down to playfully swat your backside.

“Heavens no, you unspeakable little brat. You were still a child when we separated...” He sighed, letting his hand curl idly into your hair while he sifted through the memories. “As I grew older... I would often think of you - perhaps try to picture what you might look like - what you might be doing...”

The answer left your lips before you could stop it. 

“I was looking for you. I was always looking for you.” 

A familiar purr rumbled up from his chest and you pressed eagerly into the sound. 

“I did not foresee this either…” you whispered, “and yet… I am not surprised by it.” Your fingers wandered to trace mindless patterns accross his skin. “Is that strange?”

He shook his head. 

“Our bond was always there. The mark is simply a seal - a completion.” 

“Did you know all along, then?”

Yoongi was silent for several moments as he searched within himself for the answer. 

“I think… on some level I did. We were just so very young… But I was always drawn to you.” 

His hands drifted up to cup the sides of your face, letting his forehead rest against your own as he spoke.

“When they ripped you from my arms, I felt as if they had ripped away a piece of my soul.” He drew in a deep unsteady breath. “And now - for the first time in eleven years… I feel truly whole.” 

You kissed him then. 

It was not a fierce kiss of passion like the many you shared in the heat of your tempestuous lovemaking...

It was a soft brush of lips that offered sweetness and devotion in exchange for the bitterness of the past. Tears and quiet laughter echoed intimately between you as the years of separation and pain faded away... 

Until only one question remained. 

“...So what will you do now?”

The stories spread from village to village like flood waters in a rising tide. 

Yun-Ki himself had come down from the heavens to reclaim his throne.

He rode at the head of a massive force with his heavily pregnant mate and the great warlord, General Jung, at his side. 

His numbers grew daily with no bloodshed as town upon town surrendered and welcomed him. 

After all…

Who would raise their hand against Yun-Ki?

The cheers of the people swelled to a deafening roar as he climbed the palace stairs, walking boldly past the imperial guards who fell to their knees in his wake. 

The man upon the throne rose with fear and fury in his eyes as the truth he fought so long to destroy finally stood before him... 

“Hello, Brother.”

Endnote: Thank you so much for reading my story. If you enjoyed it even just a little bit, please tell me! I promise I treasure each word of feedback like gold. I worked so hard on it, but beautiful feedback is a priceless reward. 

Ask My Muse: Feel free to ask any of my characters from this work any questions you might have. Send in an ask to hear their side of the story!