#settings has a pencil sharper for a head hehe

[labyrinth-guard]

Heehee Stanley Parable Art Dump

Been thinking about them since i first played it last year [in december :p]

[sopewriters]

dream within a dream

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader ; Jungkook X Reader

Genre: smut, angst; college au

Word Count: 9000

Note + Warning(s): unhealthy relationships, somewhat dub-con in the middle. additional warning for potentially shit writing because this was completed through multiple short bursts

music inspo: demons + nervous

title inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s poem. Hehe.

His name is Min Yoongi.

You notice him on the first day of your Intro to Calculus class. He’s sitting in the furthest seat from the front, hunched in on himself with his glasses perched precariously on his nose as he skims through some sort of book. Even as he does that, he looks stunning; all sharp edges and dark, gorgeous eyes.

You figure it must be your math textbook and, for a brief moment, pity this beautiful boy. No one ever buys those; he’s clearly just blown his money. Looking closer, though, you’re immediately proven wrong.

He’s reading a rather large book, so it can’t possibly be math. You can see EDGAR ALLEN POE emblazoned across the cover in fancy lettering and so, you realize with a start, he must be reading poems. He’s even got a little pencil in his hand, letting it run over the ink printed into the pages, and you wonder—

“What’re you looking at?” An elbow jostles you uncomfortably underneath your ribs, and you start a little in surprise; your friend is looking at you with a question in their eyes.

“Nothing.” You hope to god your cheeks haven’t given you away. “I can’t wait to leave, that’s all.”

“Relax!” They laugh, mirth sparkling in their eyes, “We haven’t even started class! It’s probably not even that bad.”

“I know.” You chance a glance back at the boy, eyes widening when he looks up, meeting your gaze head-on; it’s electric and you let your eyes drop immediately. “I’ve got a good feeling.”

  He always sits in the same spot. Wearing those same glasses as he doesn’t pay attention to lecture, as he pours his efforts onto the words branded into that lumpy book he constantly carries around. As he looks at the book like it’s the center of his world.

You wonder how it’d feel like if he were looking at you someone like that. Would their heart beat out of their chest as that heavy gaze keeps them rooted to the spot?

Your finger taps against your wrist as you bite your lip, and you force yourself to look back to the front of your classroom.

You can’t stare at him, you tell yourself sternly, that’s creepy and completely unnecessary.

But you can’t stop your eyes from seeking out those emotionless features, those blazing eyes, the rings glinting prettily as they straddle those slender fingers.

You wonder what it’d feel like to wrap your hands around his. But that’s invasive, considering you don’t talk to him, ever.

You really should.

  The first time you see him in a place that’s not the classroom, your footsteps falter as you freeze in surprise. It’s not as though you don’t know he exists outside class, it’s just that…seeing it with your own eyes is a little startling. Though, it shouldn’t be surprising that he’s in the library of all places.

You bite your lip when you see that he’s got that book of his with him, and that he’s writing again. Except, this time, it’s in a blank notebook splayed across the table. You don’t know what comes over you then—perhaps something in you subconsciously decided it was tired of the inaction—but your feet march you to the poetry section so you can grab the first book you find—a collection of Robert Frost. Your body steers you to the boy’s table, even as your brain screams at it to stop, let’s just leave now, and your hands drop the book on the oak wood with a soft thunk.

This obviously draws the boy’s attention, and he blinks up at you in thinly veiled surprise, the expression quickly filtering off his features for something a little more disinterested.

You say nothing, heart pounding ridiculously against your chest; instead, you just drop into the chair that you’ve just pulled out, and flip open the book, choosing not to answer the unasked question posed by your unwilling companion.

You try not to yawn, by the time you’ve finished the first poem. The words are jumbling up in your head, seared into the back of your eyes, and you wonder what was going through Frost’s mind while he wrote these… things. Poetry never makes sense, never will. You’ll probably never like it, so you don’t understand why you’ve done this to yourself.

“You’ve been staring at that page for a while now.” Whatever it is that you expect, it isn’t for the boy to suddenly speak up, an amused glint in his eyes. Oh, those pretty eyes. “Do you really like Frost that much?”

You have half the mind to ask how he knows you’re reading Frost, but luckily remember that it’s probably on the cover.

Instead of completely embarrassing yourself, you just shrug.

“A friend recommended me to start here.” You say, pulling the excuse from your ass. “I’ve never really read poetry before so.”

There. Not a complete lie.

There’s a pause as the boy narrows his eyes at you, and your throat dries up, goosebumps breaking out across your skin.

“What’re you reading?” You hope to distract him and are relieved when he takes the bait and gives you some much-needed room to breathe.

He doesn’t say anything, just tilts up his book so you can see the cover with a lazy smile tugging at his lips. It doesn’t send a jolt of excitement up your spine; definitely not. Your hands tremble as they turn over a page in your own book.

“Lovecraft?” You question as steadily as your voice allows, and thankfully the boy takes it at face value and doesn’t push it.

“Yeah.” The smile spears into something sharper, a smirk. “Fucking genius.”

The sound of his voice saying the expletive like that doesn’t do anything to stop the trembling in your arms, and the intense expression that crosses his cold features doesn’t help matters along.

“Probably not for my level.” You joke hesitantly, offering him an unsure smile.

The boy stares at you, and you take the time to glance over his dark locks, swept to the side. A beat later, he sets the book down, an indiscernible expression on his face as he inquires, “Would you want to learn?”

“Yeah, it sounds fun.” The smile doesn’t leave your lips.

Something lights in his eyes and you feel like you’ve made the right choice. Warmth courses through you as his smile turns more genuine.

“Yoongi.” He introduces himself, sticking his hand out, and you can’t believe this is actually happening. Sometimes, spontaneity really can pay off.

“ ________ .” You say back with a grin, and take the proffered hand.

It feels warm and right.

  It’s when you’re trudging back home after a particularly devastating writing class that you run into Jeon Jungkook.

Your back aches—especially the area between your shoulders—and you can’t wait to collapse into your bed and hopefully regain some sense of feeling in your muscles. The strap of your backpack feels tight as you slowly make your way along the sidewalk, face betraying how exhausted you are.

Your earbuds are comfortable, having been popped in at the very start of your journey back home, and you tiredly bob your head to the soothing rhythm of the song being blasted through them. In this world, it’s just you and the music filtering through your ears, and—

“Fuck, look out!”

You’re barely given time to react when a hard, warm body crashes into your own, sending you crashing onto the pavement with an undignified squawk leaving your lips.

“Fuck!” The same voice says again, and while you’re normally a reasonably tempered person, you’re tired and want to go home, damn it. “I’m so—”

“Fuck off.” You say brusquely, picking yourself up off the ground and whirling around to stare the guy in the eye. He’s easy on the eyes, dark, ruffled hair and smooth skin, but your knees ache and your elbow stings and you’ve got a huge zero in your patience reserves.

His eyes widen, like he can’t believe what you’re saying, and a quick glance tells you that he’s carrying a skateboard; that only serves to fuel your anger, the flames flickering in your eyes.

“You think that just because you can zip around on your pretty little skateboard wherever you want, that it gives you the right to nearly mow someone down!” Your voice pitches as you grow more agitated, the sun making your skin prickle uncomfortably. “Well, new flash: it doesn’t. Fuck you, man.”

The boy’s staring you with shocked eyes—ha, like he didn’t expect to get called out on his bullshit—before an anger stirs up in his dark brown irises. That’s exactly the kind of reaction you should’ve expected, honestly.

“Okay, you don’t need to be such a bitch about it.” His mouth, pink and soft, twists unprettily as he stares heatedly at you. “It was a fucking accident—”

“Oh, was it?” You mock, crossing your arms defensively as you let your rage swim free. “You have fucking legs, so you might as well use them, you entitled little prick.”

His eyes narrow, and you can see his jaw clench, and stare smugly back at him, eyebrow raised. He’s not actually going to punch you or anything, not unless he wants his ass reported. And, honestly, you’re not afraid to do exactly that.

“Fuck off.” Is all he says, mirroring your words from before, as he grabs his skateboard and brushes past you towards one of the buildings, and you laugh scornfully at his retreating back.

“Yeah, run away!” You call spitefully, bristling as the boy doesn’t even bother calling anything back. “Rude ass little—”

You cut yourself off with a huff, stomping your way back to your building, closing the door shut behind you with a loud slam. Dropping your stuff on the ground, you let yourself fall onto the sheets face-first, wondering why on earth you always have to deal with assholes.

Not Yoongi though, obviously. Yoongi’s…he’s nice. A little intimidating, a little cold sometimes but, ultimately, a decent guy. Not like some people who go around running people over with their skateboard.

Alright, enough thinking. You need to relax and forget all about this horrible encounter, and the most obvious thing you can do right now is ignore the mountainous pile of homework you’ve got to do and go watch a bunch of vines. Or something.

  It’s only two and a half hours later that you realize—

“He was going to say sorry, fuck!” You whisper-yell in horror, planting your face in your hands and bemoaning, “Why do I always have the shittiest luck?”

  Of course, you receive no answer. And, this time, maybe you don’t deserve it.

  “You okay?” Yoongi asks you one day, as the two of you sit across from each other in companionable silence during library hours; the fact that he even cares enough to ask sends warmth blooming in your chest.

His eyes are blank, as they peer at you over the pages of his newest book, another one of Poe’s collections, and it makes you both uneasy and a little heated under your skin, sparks sizzling as they race to the very tips of your fingers.

“Yes.” You say, then frown. “No. Not really.”

“Oh.” Yoongi says, and turns back to his book. You bite your lip, and he sighs. “It’s okay if you want to go home early today.”

“Oh.” You parrot similarly, and nod a little listlessly. “Yeah, I think I’ll do that.”

You shove your books into your bag, standing with little trouble even as the weight on your back tries to pull you back down. You linger a little uncertainly, waiting for Yoongi to look up from his book; which he eventually does, with an eyebrow cocked.

“Bye.” You give him a smile, and he gives you a non-committal sigh in return. Taking that as your cue to leave, you walk out of the library, headed straight home.

It still feels a little surreal, honestly; you can’t believe Min Yoongi actually hangs out with you. It feels a little like being star struck, every time you’re in his presence; and, how could you not be? Min Yoongi looks like he’s been crafted lovingly from the hands of God himself, and is certainly smarter than he is gorgeous—and that’s saying something.

But even the giddiness of spending time with Yoongi can’t inflate your mood long enough. You’re not even half-way home when you bite your lip, guilt beginning to stir up in you as you recall that boy from a week ago; the one who knocked you off your feet, quite literally, with his skateboard. Regardless of your temper at the time, you shouldn’t have snapped, and you really want to apologize; but, now that you’ve worked up the resolve to do that, he’s nowhere to be found.

As though on cue—and, seriously, is your life a drama waiting to happen? —a yell sounds out; this time, you’re not tired, and you’re actually prepared to essentially dive aside to not get run over. The sound of wheels hurtling along a sidewalk can be heard, and feet drag against the ground to slow themselves down.

“Oh, it’s you.” A familiar voice says, displeasure evident. You look up in slight disbelief to see the boy from last week, like he’s just magically appeared because you just thought about him. “Are you actually going to let me apo—”

“Sorry!” You cut him off, making his eyes go wide; your eyes, on the other hand, quickly drop down, trailing past the rips in his jeans easily to land on his ratty sneakers instead. “I was in a terrible mood last week and I took it out on you, and that was unfair of me I know, I’m really sorry—”

“Whoa there, slow down.” Hands come to grasp your shoulders, and concerned eyes peer into your own; you shift uncomfortably until he gets the message, letting go of you rather quickly with burning cheeks. “Uh, sorry. But no, it’s alright, don’t worry about it, I guess.”

It’s strange, seeing him so weird and quiet. Granted, you’ve only seen him once, and he was yelling at you, at the time, but he doesn’t really seem like the kind of person who’d be withdrawn at all.

“No, it’s really not.” You frown, diverting your attention to what’s happening at present. “I shouldn’t have done that, even if I was tired.”

“Well.” He says after a moment, “What do you want me to say?”

It then occurs to you that you have absolutely no idea.

“Um,” You draw out, eyebrows knitting together as you try and figure something out, “Let me buy you coffee?”

At his wide eyes, you quickly backtrack with, “N-not like that, I meant... as a-an APOLOGY!”

“Alright, alright, I got it!” He laughs, eyes crinkling up; and you notices he looks a little bit like a bunny when he does that. “Calm down!”

“I’m calm!” You insist, making him devolve further into snickers; you sigh, knowing you’re probably already going to regret this. “Anyways. Coffee, tomorrow at 4?”

“Sure.” He grins disarmingly at you, and you roll your eyes at his suave moves. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. Jeon Jungkook.”

“I’m ________ .” You offer, and that’s that.

 Except, you realize the next day, that’s not that at all. You hate yourself for doing this to yourself; you’ve entirely forgotten that weekdays at 4 are reserved solely for library time with Yoongi. And, there isn’t a time of the day when you’d ever consider missing out on it.

Yet, here you are.

Guilt churns away at you as you cautiously eye Yoongi during math class, in the morning. As usual, he’s penning something in his journal, those same glasses sitting precariously on the bridge of his nose, and just the sight of him is enough to send sadness broiling in your gut. You can’t believe you’re going to do this – but you’ve done this to yourself, so you have to stick it out.

Class drags on and on and, as it does, the anxiousness brimming in your gut rises, higher and higher until your hands are shaking on your thighs.

You’re going to do this.

You intercept Yoongi before he can even leave, dismissing your friend’s startled call of your name with a wave of your hand; the boy comes to a stop before you and raises an eyebrow.

“I won’t be able to make it to the library today.” You say in a huff. Yoongi’s impassive expression remains unchanged. “But I’ll definitely be back tomorrow!”

“Okay.” Yoongi shrugs, shifting the strap of his bookbag on his shoulder and tilting his head. “If that’s all…?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” You stumble out of the way, something uneasy turning in your heart as you watch him leave. Biting your lip, you ask yourself what you even expected; Yoongi’s obviously come to associate library time with actually reading and not hanging out with you. It’s fine, expected even.

You just need to try harder.

“What was that about?” You startle when your friend’s voice sounds out from behind you; spinning around, you give a bashful chuckle.

“He’s my library buddy.” You confess to them. “You remember I told you about him?”

“Oh. Oh.” They seem unimpressed for the most part, and you catch up to them as they begin walking out. “He’s Min Yoongi, huh?”

“Yeah.” You grin at them, but it falters when you see a strange expression twist their features. “…what’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.” They shake their head, pushing open the door. “Nothing at all. Excited for your date?”

“It’s not a date!” You exclaim, and they laugh, clearly not buying it. “It’s not, oh my god!”

You only have eyes for one person, after all.

“Sure, if you say so.” They smile good-naturedly. “Let me know how your date with Jungkook goes, yeah?”

“It’s not a date.” You huff out again, annoyed. “But whatever.”

“Scary.”

“Shut up!”

  “Hey.” You hurry to where Jungkook’s sat, sliding into the booth opposite to him. “Sorry for changing the location so last minute.”

“It’s fine.” The evening sun casts a light that softens the lines of his face, highlights the warmth in his eyes as he shakes his head with a small smile. “I was in the area, so it actually worked out.”

“Oh, good.” You let out a relieved sigh. “Apparently the coffee house is being remodeled now; I only found out today. Sorry again.”

“It’s fine, don’t sweat it.” His grin grows. “Besides, a diner works for me. Feels more like a date this way, huh?”

Not this again.

“Shut up, you aren’t funny.” You grumble at him, hiding your face behind the menu as he shakes with laughter. “Anyway, did you find something you want?”

“I’ve already ordered.” He says with a straight face, and cracks up at the indignation on your face. “Nah, I was just messing with you! I only got here a couple of minutes before you did.”

“Cool. Choice of drink?” You ask tersely, already regretting this. To think, you could be sitting in peaceful silence with Yoongi directly across from you…

“Don’t be like that.” Jungkook sighs, though amusement still flickers in his golden-brown irises. “Anyway, I’ll get some fries and banana milk.”

“What?” You stare at him, stupefied. Your earlier irritation has been struck in one fatal blow.

“It’s on the menu.” He shrugs and, to your shock when you squint at the offending words, he’s right.

What kind of diner…?

“Oh wow.” You say, eyes wide. “Okay then.”

Calling over the waitress, you rattle off your orders in succession, watching her leave with an air of satisfaction because – hey, you sounded like a Competent Adult, for once.

Then, Jungkook laughs softly. “A chocolate shake, really?”

“Hey, you got banana milk.” You defend. “And besides, chocolate shakes are good for all ages! They’re a classic! They can’t ever let you down! You could literally give me one any time of the day and I’d drink it, they’re that—”

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender, and your cheeks heat when you realize you’ve been blabbering on about chocolate shakes, oh my god. “Hey now, none of that. It’s cute when you ramble.”

“I’m sorry.” You groan, dropping your head on the table with a muted thump. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, oh god.” Jungkook reaches over and ruffles your hair lightly, making you perk up and glare at him. “Anyway, tell me about yourself. I feel like we’ve only really just yelled at each other, and that’s not a lot to go on.”

“Right, well, there’s nothing much to say.” You say unsurely, still in the process of patting down your hair. “I’m majoring in ___________, I hate college right now, and the only thing that makes it all bearable is—”

You cut yourself off, cheeks burning. You can’t believe you were about to say Min Yoongi, right to a stranger’s face.

“…chocolate shakes?” Jungkook offers quietly, wearing a knowing grin as you duck your head bashfully.

“Yeah. Shakes.” Your hands twist into your shirt anxiously, and desperate to change you ask, “what about you?”

“Oh, there isn’t much for me to say either.” His fingers drum at the table. “I’m an econ major, but I’m only really doing it for my parents. What I really want is to be a pro skateboarder.”

Your eyes widen, and your first instinct is to laugh; this guy can’t be serious, can he? But, then you see the earnestness in his eyes, the determination in the set of his mouth and the retort dies on your lips.

“That sounds really great.” You say sincerely, looking right at him. “Do you have any idea how you’re going to get there?”

There’s a pleased curve to Jungkook’s lips as he leans back. Thanking the waitress as she sets down your drinks and food, he pops a fry into his mouth. “It’s all about getting good, first. I can’t be super rusty and expect anyone to take an interest in me, can I?”

“I guess not.” You acquiesce with a half-smile, taking a sip of your drink and – ah, heaven on earth. This is true nectar.

“That good?” Jungkook’s voice cuts into your daydream. “You look like you’ve just experienced nirvana.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, unable to be embarrassed right now. “Too bad you’ve only got that banana milk, huh?”

“Hey, don’t diss the subtle flavor of my banana milk!” Jungkook defends playfully, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “Anywho – tell me more about yourself. What classes are you taking this semester?”

And, as you begin to regale him with tales of your misfortune with your Intro to Research professor, time seems to fly by. At the end, you’re loathe to leave, and he notices, smile showing all teeth.

“We can meet the day after tomorrow.” He promises, squeezing your shoulder amicably. “Around five, same place?”

“Sure.” You agree; and this time, that really is that.

  There’s something different about Yoongi today.

His gaze isn’t liquid as usual, doesn’t gloss over you as it usually does. Instead, it feels dark, almost heavy, as you take your regular seat across from him.

You bite your lip, heat stirring in your chest at the sight of Yoongi’s eyes, so black, so bottomless as they seem to devour you whole.

“What… what did you pick out today?” You ask hesitantly, breath stuttering when his gaze doesn’t shift away.

Finally, his eyes cut away, and you can breathe for a moment.

“Tennyson.” He answers, tone curt; then, he looks up again. “But you’re not really interested in that, are you?”

You freeze. “What?”

Yoongi snaps his book closed, leveling you with a look. “I know you didn’t come here for poetry, that day. You’re here for something else entirely, aren’t you?”

“N-No, that’s not it—” Your lungs seize up in your chest, and your head pounds. “Yoongi—”

“I don’t mind.” He says nonchalantly, and that puts a swift stop to your stutters. You can only watch as he types something into his phone, barely able to react when your phone buzzes quietly in your pocket. His voice is low, hushed as he leans over to your side of the table, “come to the address I texted you tonight, 7PM. If you do, I’ll assume we’re on the same page.

“If not…” He trails off, getting up, and you can only watch as he, for the first time, properly smiles. “Then I guess this is good bye.”

He leaves, just like that, and it takes you all of ten minutes to muster up the courage to look at your phone: and find that he’s sent you a location.

To an apartment. His apartment.

Oh lord.

  He greets you at the door with a lazy smirk, beckoning you in with an easy curl of his fingers.

“Did you find the place easy?” You can barely hear his voice over the pounding of your heart. You’re in Yoongi’s apartment, and you can hardly believe it; much less the reason you’re even here.

“Y-Yeah.” You only remember to answer when Yoongi clears his throat. “I could, th-thanks.”

You let out a startled noise when hands come from behind you to cup your hips and draw you into a firm chest.

“Hey, relax. It’s just me.” Yoongi’s soft voice breathes into your ear; and it definitely does not help you relax, of all things. The blush that rises to your cheeks is the strongest it’s ever been. “God, you’re so fucking pretty. C’mere.”

His hand comes to tilt up your jaw, and you can feel the heat of his body as his lips slide over yours, soft, and so, so hot. It’s like he’s devour you, and you’re helpless to do anything but let him, let the soft caresses he showers on your sides mold your body to his, soft sounds leaving your lips as he trails his mouth over your throat, hands rubbing at your thighs.

It’s all too much, and you don’t even realize you’re moving till you’re falling backwards, hitting the mattress with a moan, Yoongi’s shirtless form following suit. Hazily, you reach out a hand, and give a small whine in protest when his hand intercepts yours, pinning you down by the wrists as he lavishes more kisses on your puffy lips.

“Are you tested?’ He breaks away, sliding his hands under you to cup your ass, drawing a low moan from your throat as he slides your jeans off and the chill slowly begins to seep into your skin. That quickly changes when Yoongi’s hands run up your legs, igniting fire in your veins.

In response to his question, you shake his head, something tight in your chest when he clicks his tongue.

“Do that soon.” You can’t hold back a gasp when he cups your crotch, fingers rubbing against the wet patch in your underwear. “I really want to fill you up here; I bet you’d feel so good around me, too.”

The thought of Yoongi actually filling you up makes your knees grow weak, your legs tremble. His touch, in itself, is fiery hot, and you wonder how it’d feel to have him cum in you, would it burn? You don’t get to think of it for very long, legs parting easily when his fingers dig under the elastic of your underwear, stroking cleanly over your folds, before dipping lightly into your hole.

You can’t help but tighten instinctively, wanting them to stay inside, and can’t even find offence in the way he chuckles because he obligingly slides them back into you and, god yes, twists them just so.

“You like this?” He teases you, hand sliding under your shirt and scorching your skin. “Tell me how much.”

“Feels so good, amazing.” You gasp out obligingly, hips twitching as you try to get those fingers of his deeper in you; a dry sob breaks from your throat when his hand leaves your chest to pin them down instead. “Yoongi, please—”

“Not yet.” He leans over you to take your lips with his; and the sight of his sculpted body arched over you like this makes the blood rush to your head dizzyingly fast, and you grow embarrassingly slick around his fingers. “Oh? Now you’re just dripping, aren’t you?”

You shake your head and choke on a whine when his fingers cease all movement.

“Want to try being honest with me?” His voice is significantly colder than you’ve ever heard it be, and it lights a panic in your chest that won’t go away.

“I – I am!” You squirm, panting when Yoongi begins massaging inside your hole again, sweet relief, but not enough. “I’m wet, just for you, I swear—”

“Good.” He cuts you off, and tears actually brim your eyes this time when pulls his fingers out easily. “Oh, none of that. It’s not fair that I’m doing all the work here, right?”

Staring uneasily at him, you shake your head. He… has a point there. He’s the one who’s been touching you; you haven’t done anything in turn yet.

“Exactly.” Yoongi scoots against the headboard, fiddling with the zip of his pants and pulling out his cock, giving it a lazy stroke. You stare unabashedly, heat pooling in between your legs; this is going to be inside you soon. “I need you to get this nice and wet for yourself; we don’t want it to hurt, do we?”

You shake your head, crawling in between his legs at his prompting. Dazedly, you wonder if there’s something you need to ask about right now – something you need to confirm before you take him into your mouth – but then he’s cupping the base of your neck and drawing you closer to his cock and all thoughts are being wiped from your mind as your mouth falls open and—

You gag at the girth of it as it slides in, hot and heavy on your tongue, struggling to breathe.

“Breathe in through your nose.” Yoongi’s voice is breathy, and you take his advice the best you can, mouth dropping further open as you inhale and exhale sharply through your nose. “Good girl. That’s what I like to see.”

Warmth effuses through your chest at the praise, and you suck at his cock with renewed vigor, wanting to hear those words again.

“You like when I tell you when you’re being good for me?” You startle momentarily when fingers slide over your hole, moaning quietly around his length as he rubs between your parted legs. This feels so incredibly dirty, somehow, but you don’t protest because it still feels so good, and, moreover, it’s Yoongi.

You’d do anything for him.

“Or would you prefer I let you know just how good of a slut you are?” You almost quake at that, and can practically hear the smile in Yoongi’s voice. “Alright then; option B it is.”

A hand cups the base of your neck again, though the fingers don’t stop rubbing at you, pushing your head down to accommodate more of his length in your mouth. You gag silently around it, tears springing into your eyes from the way it hits the back of your throat—and then you can breathe again, pulled into his lap.

“You would’ve looked so good with a mouthful of my cum.” He rubs at your lips, until they’re nearly oversensitive, twinging. “But there’s always next time, isn’t there?”

It’s only when he grinds upwards that you realize the head of his wet cock is pressed against your covered hole; your knees tremble as you continue to straddle him, trying your best not to collapse onto his chest.

There’s the sound of plastic crinkling; Yoongi’s knuckles brush against you as he slides on a condom with practiced ease, and his hand presses down on your lower back. Your eyes roll into your head when he pulls aside your underwear and finally slides into you; oh god, the heat, it burns so good and you don’t want it to ever stop.

“That good?” His chuckle reverberates as you collapse onto his chest, unable to hold yourself up. “Figures that a slut like you would lose her mind at the sight of a cock. Would just anyone do, then, as long as they make you feel good?”

Horror fills you at the mere thought and you quickly shake your head, a breathless “n-no!” leaving your lips. It’s only Yoongi, you want like this, “only y-you, Yoongi, please.”

“Ah, you sound so pretty saying my name like that.” A pleased hum makes your chest flush with warmth. “I really want to cum inside you, now. I bet it’d feel good for you too; sluts like that, don’t they?”

You dimly wonder what it’d feel like to feel his cock without anything in the way; you tighten around him at the thought of how warm it’d be inside you, how it’d make your head go deliciously blank.

“You want that too, huh?” He rolls his hips, making your mouth drop open in unbridled pleasure. Your nerves sing at every touch, growing closer and closer to the edge. “Get tested tomorrow, then, and come over again. I’ll make you feel even better.”

Tomorrow? Hazily, you think to yourself that there’s something you’ve promised to do tomorrow; but then he hits that spot in you, the spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes, and your mind goes blank.

“I – ah, Yoongi, oh god – I will!” You promise, and he rewards you by flipping you over, mouth put to work on your bruised skin.

Your arms link around his broad back, and your mind drifts.

This must be heaven.

  “So, you had sex with Yoongi?” Your friend looks at you incredulously, the next morning. “Girl, are you insane?”

“What’s wrong with that?” You frown, sipping at your chocolate-flavored drink. “I mean, yeah, it wasn’t really what I had in mind, but this works too!”

“You’re unbelievable.” They shake their head, and something in you grows cold. “It isn’t like you to settle—”

“What, just because I’m sleeping with him, I’m unbelievable?” You fight to keep your voice low. “So, what, am I a slut to you too?”

“What?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!” You grip tightens around your cup, the only sign of your simmering rage. “I’m not settling for anything, you don’t understand! Besides, he’ll see things my way soon.”

“Really?” They raise an eyebrow at you, and it rubs you entirely the wrong way. You’re not stupid, the way they make you seem. “To me, it looks like he wants something with no strings attached – tell me, how exactly is this going to end well?”

“It will.” You stare resolutely at your cup.

“Wow. Great answer.” They say, sarcasm oozing from their words, before they grow serious. “Look, I care about you, okay? I don’t want to see you make a mistake—”

“I’m not a child.” You snap, finally. “I’m tired of you being so condescending all the time; you aren’t better than me, so just keep your damn opinions to yourself!”

Your friend stares at you with wide eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to care, too incensed.

“I only told you about this because you’re supposed to be my friend.” You say reproachfully, hands curling into fists. “Friends are supposed to encourage and support each other; why can’t you do that?”

“Because this is obviously not a good decision for you!” They burst out, frowning. “I’m not about to support a decision that’ll only hurt you.”

“Wow.” Your chair scrapes against the floor as you stand up. “Wow. Fuck you, man.”

You grab your drink, ignoring the startled look on their face, and walk away. Paying no heed to their shouts of your name, you pull out your phone, dialing a number.

The line rings, until an unfamiliar voice picks up.

“Hi.” Your voice is firm. “Is this Keystone Hospitals? I’d like to make an appointment.”

  This time, Yoongi greets you at the door with a smothering kiss, and you barely make it past the doorway before he’s sliding a hand up your skirt and rubbing at your favorite spot. It doesn’t take much longer after that for your underwear to slide down your bare legs, for your skirt to be rucked up.

“Ah! Mm, Yoongi.” You gasp out, hands cupping the base of his neck so you can kiss him properly as he massages you between your legs. “We’re – oh – not even inside yet—”

“Sorry, you looked so good I couldn’t wait – you should wear skirts more often.” He molds his body against yours; a perfect fit. “Did you get the results?”

You can’t take in enough air to answer as Yoongi grinds against you, thrusting his clothed erection against your bare folds, until he pulls away expectantly.

“Yeah.” You grin breathlessly at him. “All negative.”

“Good girl.” A pleased tilt to his lips as he kisses you again, makes you fall limp in his grasp. “Let’s celebrate that, shall we?”

“Please.” You mewl sweetly, and don’t utter a word of protest when he lifts you up and takes you there, right up against the wall.

  “That was good, wasn’t it?” Yoongi grins at you, and you can’t help the flutter in your chest as his mouth moves lazily against yours when you go in to kiss him.

“Mhm.” You agree, fingers unthinkingly sliding in between your legs at the feeling of cum slipping out. It really did feel as good as he promised, and you can’t wait to feel it again and again – as many times as he’s willing to let you. “Could I use the shower?”

“You could.” You pause, knowing from his tone that there’s something he intends to follow up with. “But, I think it’d be much sexier if you went home just like this. You’d like that too, right? Knowing my cum’s inside as you walk around, with none the wiser, feeling it dripping with every step you take?”

Your cheeks heat up, and your hand rubs lightly at your crotch; you’ve never thought about it before, but…

“O-Okay.” You approve, bending over to grab your panties and sliding them on. It feels a little weird, but the thought of making Yoongi happy bolsters you on; it takes hardly any time to get your skirt on after that. “Is this… is this okay?”

Yoongi smiles softly at you, causing flutters to erupt in your stomach.

“Come here.” He beckons you forward, and you slide into his lap like clockwork, sighing at the feel of his warmth. “You’re such a good slut for me, baby; this is absolutely perfect.”

You sigh out a pleased little hum, and breathe in his scent; muted, musky – entirely Yoongi. “I’m glad.”

“Alright, you should get going.” He sets you down gently, stretching. “We should do this at the library next time – Sunday? Hardly anyone’s going to be there.”

“In public?” Your cheeks burn red. “I – I don’t know, Yoongi, that just seems—”

“Hey.” His hands are warm – always so warm – on your cheeks, though his gaze is cool. “Do you trust me?”

“I – I do.” You admit reluctantly, rewarded with a soft kiss.

“Good girl. If you trust me, you won’t need to worry about it; just meet me there this Sunday, at seven – okay?”

“Alright.” You lean in again, wanting to feel Yoongi’s soft lips again, and sigh in satisfaction when he meets you halfway. “I’ll do that.”

  It’s only when you get home that you even bother to look at your phone – and your eyes grow wide, ice spreading in your chest. Eleven messages from Jungkook, and two missed calls.

Fuck. Fuck.

You could hit yourself – you were supposed to meet Jungkook today, that’s what you’d forgotten. Wasting no more time, you immediately call him back, heart in your throat.

‘Finally realized I exist again?’ He picks up, but his voice is the very opposite of its usual cheeriness. The worst part is, you can’t blame him. ‘What do you want?’

“I’m so sorry.” You rush to say, lungs rattling in your chest. “I swear, Jungkook, I never meant to ditch you today, I just got – really sidetracked and it was wrong of me not to let you know, I just—oh god, I’m so sorry.”

‘…that was a really shitty thing to do, you know.’ He says quietly.

Your eyes water. “I – I know.”

‘I waited there for two whole hours.’

The tears spill over. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a sigh, and the slight rustle of fabric – clothes? Blankets, maybe? You aren’t too sure.

‘Don’t do it again.’ He says finally, and the pressure on your chest eases somewhat. ‘I was pretty bored with just banana milk for company.’

“I won’t!” You promise, a relieved laugh erupting from your throat; he’s forgiven you, how’s he so kind? “I swear, I won’t! I’ll – I’ll make it up to you; does tomorrow sound okay?”

‘My, my, plans on a Friday night, when you should be hitting the books?’ Jungkook teases, and the sound of it is so familiar it makes you collapse onto your bed. ‘Nah, I’m free, but only till six. I’ve got skateboarding after.’

“That works for me.” You assure him, “and I won’t randomly disappear this time.”

His laughter is genuine, crinkly over the speaker. ‘That would be nice.’

  Your semester quickly flies by, just like that.

You still haven’t spoken to your friend since that day; they haven’t even bothered trying to get in touch with you. If they really cared as much as they said they did, they’d have tried checking in by now, you tell yourself. You’d do it yourself – but they were in the wrong, and you refuse to bow down to their whims, not when it’d send out the wrong message.

You still meet up with Jungkook; going to that diner has become a near-daily event, by now, and you never tire of hearing his laughter at a particularly witty joke you’ve cracked or wheezing until your chest hurts when he talks about embarrassing skateboarding errors he’s made in the past. You’ve taken up drinking soy milk, much to his chagrin; when he asks you why, you just give him a half-shrug and say it’s time for a change.

There’s no way in hell you’re telling him it’s to make yourself look better for Yoongi. Speaking of which…

You’ve started spending nearly every night at Yoongi’s place; you’ve even got a portion of his closet reserved for your skirts and dresses, and a smaller section for your blouses. You’ve come to realize he really likes you in them; it might be the fact that he can appreciate your legs, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s just so easy for him to dip his hand between your thighs – but, either way, he has no complaints and neither do you. Most nights are spent in his arms, filled with him inside you and you’re almost there, you can feel it.

As you enact your plan, you notice that Yoongi’s lost the cold, brittle edge in his eyes that always seemed so ever-present; it’s given way to a softness in his gaze when you make him breakfast, or gift him a book of poems or a plushie he really wants and the sight of it sends a happy thrum up your spine every single time.

Everything’s almost perfect.

.

.

.

.

.

Until it’s not, of course.

.

.

.

.

.

“I really like you, ________. Would you – would you go out with me?”

Jungkook isn’t looking at you, eyes on the pavement, and that’s for the better because you don’t even know what to say. You can only imagine what kind of expression you must be making because when he looks up, he bites his lip and drops his head back down.

“I’m sorry.” He apologizes then and, for some reason, that makes you so impossibly sad.

“Don’t – don’t say that.” Your voice wrangles its way out, breathless. “But – how? Why would you even like me, it just doesn’t make sense—”

You cut yourself off when warm, calloused hands grasp your own, impossibly gentle.

“Don’t say that about my feelings, please.” His eyes are resolute, earnestness shining through. Almost vindictively, the sun casts its light on his handsome features again; only, this time, there just something incredibly tragic about it. “They’re genuine. And I can’t say exactly why I like you, ________, just that I do. I look forward to every time I get to hear your terrible jokes, every time you go on a rant about how unfair your professors are; I look forward to being with you. It’s comfortable, and it makes me happier than I remember ever being.”

Your mouth is dry, and you lick your lips unthinkingly.

“I – I don’t know what to say.” You try, voice coming out hoarse. “I just – oh, um, wow. I’m flattered, but—”

“But you don’t feel the same way.” There’s a sad curve to Jungkook’s mouth, and your hands feel cold when they’re dropped. “It’s alright, I understand.”

“I’m sorry.” You blurt out, trying to make this better, somehow. “I mean, you could be feeling friendly feelings and – and I’m sure you’ll find someone—”

“________.” He holds up a hand, making you stammer to a stop. “Please don’t.”

“…I’m just making it worse, huh?” You say dully, and he gives you a pained chuckle.

“Yeah, a bit.” He agrees, sighing heavily. Your heart weighs down in your chest, and you bite your lip, trying to keep a lid on your emotions. “And you don’t need to blame yourself – it’s not your fault, okay? I just… I just—”

“Need some time?” You offer quietly, and watch as he takes in a deep breath and nods. “That’s fine; whatever helps. I’m only sorry that I’ve hurt you.”

“It’s fine.” He shakes his head, taking a tiny step back. The sight of his downturned lips makes your heart hurt. “I just – I guess I’ll get going then. See you around someday, ________.”

“Yeah. See you.” You quietly watch his retreating back, unable to explain why tears burn at your eyes, sobs catching in your throat before they can fully escape. Turning around, you stumble back inside your dorm, falling onto the bed.

Jungkook’s gone.

  You visit Yoongi’s place near constantly after that – some days even pass without you even stepping back into your room. The sight of his dark eyes is almost enough to patch up your bleeding heart, and you reach for that relief with your hands outstretched.

“He confessed to you?” You nod from where you’re nestled into his side. “Oh, wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I.” You admit quietly, watching as he disinterestedly flips through the pages of Plath’s Greatest, as though on autopilot. “I told him I already like someone else, though.”

Your chest burns as you wait for him to ask; just ask, and I’m all yours.

“Oh?” His fingers stop mid-flip, before they resume their movement. “I see. That’s too bad, then.”

…he didn’t ask.

You deflate, but shrug anyway, not wanting to let it on. You’ll just have to work harder, then, and get him to actually notice you. Then, maybe everything will work out.

“Do you mind if I go home?” You ask softly, and Yoongi shakes his head, unconsciously lifting an arm to let you slip out from his side. You feel cold immediately once you do but do your best not to show it; there’s no reason he would mind – you clearly aren’t contributing much just by sticking around, after all.

“Bye.” He waves a hand and you answer in turn, slipping out the door.

The next time he invites you over, you vow to yourself, you’re going to do something about this.

  Except, the next time he contacts you is over two whole weeks later. You’ve spent this entire time with a cold anxiety gripping your chest; wondering what you might’ve have done that could’ve ticked Yoongi off, wondering what you could possibly do to make everything better, to earn his forgiveness.

Which is why when your phone buzzes in the middle of your class, and it’s Yoongi’s contact that shows up, you waste no time in shoving your things into your backpack and leaving in a hurry. Your fingers shake as they fumble with the phone and slide to accept the call.

“Yoongi?” You ask hesitantly, something hopeful in your chest at the thought that he might be calling to tell you to come over, to tell you he’s in the library or – or something.

There’s only silence, and a sharp intake of breath.

‘________.’ It really is Yoongi’s familiar, gravelly voice that filters through. But there’s something – something’s off, and it makes your stomach clench. There’s a hesitation in his voice that was never there before, and it feels wrong, so wrong it makes you sick. ‘I’ve been thinking and I need to tell you – I don’t want to do this anymore.’

The world moves like molasses. So do the words that leave your mouth.

“What… are you saying?”

Your heart pounds. He’s joking. He’s joking. He’s got to be joking, this is – this is a trick, right?

‘I – I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.’ Yoongi confirms your worst fears, and you brace yourself against the wall. ‘But, ________, it’s not—’

You can’t listen to this, can’t just let him rip your heart out like this, and you waste no time in hanging up. Through your blurry vision, you see Yoongi’s caller ID pop up on screen again and cut the call again. The tears trail down your face, dropping on your screen as you block Yoongi, not wanting to see anything that could remind you of him right now, not when you’ve been such an idiot.

Your friend was right.

Sobs leave your throat and you wipe at your tears, grabbing at the straps of your backpack and sprinting out of the building, uncaring at how you must look right now with your cheeks wet and hair flying about wildly.

You just want to go home.

All you want to do – all you feel you can do, right now – is throw yourself onto your bed and cry and sob and scream into your pillow until your voice runs itself hoarse. And, you don’t know how, but you ultimately reach your room and get to do exactly that.

You try to reach for your phone to call your friend, before your fingers spasm and stop, and the phone falls out of your slack grip. How could you forget? They don’t like you anymore. You can’t talk to them, not after you’ve driven them away. And you can’t call Jungkook anymore either, not after he’s asked for space, and oh god, what have you done?

No one likes you anymore.

Eventually, you manage to peel yourself off the covers and stumble to your bathroom, dry sobs leaving your raw throat at what you finally see in the mirror; puffy, swollen eyes, mouth bleeding from teeth dug in too deep, splotchy, discolored cheeks.

Unsightly. Is this why Yoongi stopped liking you? Why everyone stopped liking you? Or maybe it’s because of you; you being such an idiot that you’ve made everyone hate you. Is this really what you deserve?

Your fingers are white as they grip at the sink, and you sob hysterically into the mirror – you can’t tell yourself that you don’t.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, voice nearly entirely lost, as you drop to the bathroom floor and hug your knees to yourself. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

 I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Please forgive me.

  There’s no one around to hear you.

Min Yoongi [5:54PM]

______ please, pick up, let me explain.

Please

I think I’m fray. It means I don’t feel sexually attracted to you anymore because I’ve come to really like you... romantically.

Min Yoongi [6:01PM]

Please pick up?

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I didn’t know.

Min Yoongi [6:09PM]

______?

Min Yoongi [6:15PM]

Yeah, true, I guess it is pretty weird. 

Sorry.

                                              [messages not sent]

yoongi’s actually not an asshole this time - well, not completely anyway. fraysexuality is a real thing, yes - it’s part of the gray spectrum - but it’s admittedly obscure.

written by: midnight!