prelude 2. cigarettes & thunderstorms - masterlist here pairing: gambler!yoongi x gambler!fem!reader genre: strangers-to-lovers, age gap, intro to mafia/bodyguard au rating: explicit content. MDNI!!!! summary: he shows up a second time. but does he stay? warnings: oral (f. receiving), usage of slut, motorcycle riding, angst, bantering, dialogue heavy, smoking, implied drug dealing/usage, tiny bit of fluff, flashback of secondary school relationships, referenced underage drinking, scars, theft, implied gang activity/violence, 97% smut lolol, oral (m. and f. receiving), tit/ass smacking, biting, masochism, cock warming, yoongiâs kinda a dom, readerâs kinda shy but mostly a brat, bantering, dialogue heavy, reader cries, a crumb of fluff, yoongi pov (he's going thru it) wc: 23k notes: i decided to upload the last installment of the prelude. pls enjoy :) <333 divider: @/thecutestgrotto
â6 years ago Boys. Theyâre so messy.
All four of you had been in the hotel room for only 15 minutes but already the floors and counters were littered with beer cans and food containers. Jin wouldâve had an aneurysm if heâd seen how quickly things had turned into chaos.
You were sitting on the edge of one of the beds, sulking as you watched your brother get ready. He was choosing which snapback better matched his outfit while Tae leaned over the sink in the bathroom, smearing a charcoal pencil under his waterlines. Jimin, on the other hand, was on the bed opposite you, laying on his back with his phone in the air, playing some game. Heâd been the first to get ready.
âCanât I go? Please?â you whined.
âNo,â Jeongguk huffed, saying your name in a harsh tone.
âWhy not?â
âBecause Jin would skin me alive if he found out I took you to an underground poker game.â
âOh, câmon!â Tae intervened, stepping out of the bathroom, flashing you a wink. âYouâre gonna cave just like you always do, so save yourself the trouble. You know Jin hyung would never do anything to his two precious babies.â
âYouâre too nice to her,â Jeongguk grumbled, fixing his small gauges.
âSheâs so cute, I canât help it!â Tae exclaimed, your brother rolling his eyes.
âSheâs just my lame, annoying sister.â Your jaw dropped, entirely hurt, and Jimin sat up to look between you and your brother with a frown on his face. If only you could hug him without Jeongguk throwing a fit. His hugs always made you feel better.
âYouâre so mean!â Tae came to your defense. âShe loves you and thatâs why she wants to go everywhere with you. Maybe you should be nicer.â
Jeongguk shook his head defiantly, narrowly missing the pillow you chucked at him. But then he looked at you with a grimace, and you shot up on your feet with a smile at the familiar look of reluctance.
âDonât wander off or be a pain in my ass,â your brother pointed a stern finger at you to which you stuck your tongue out before giddily bouncing over to the bathroom where Tae was finishing up with his hair.
âThanks, Tae,â you murmured softly as you stepped up next to him.
âOf course, little angel. I always got your back.â You smiled at his soft elbow nudge in your side. âHeâs really the lame and annoying one. Not you.â
âI heard that!â Jeongguk called out in an offended tone.
âGood!â Tae shot back, grinning widely as you giggled. âGo get ready. We have to leave soon to catch the bus.â
****
The bar was musty, smelling of cigarettes, gross men, and booze, and the dim lights had a green smokey film floating underneath, creating a spooky atmosphere.
âGuys, do you really think we should be here?â Jimin asked nervously, wringing his hands. You stared, wanting to hold one of them.
Tae turned around from where he was standing beside your brother and hopped over with a smile, hooking an arm around Jiminâs neck.
âAw, itâs okay, Baby J. We have my big pitbull to protect us, remember?â Tae jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Jeongguk. Jimin shoved him away.
âHow about this?â Tae booped his nose, and you found it cute the way Jimin wrinkled it in response. âWhen I win, Iâll use the money to replace your shit car.â
You stifled a laugh as Jimin kicked at his shin and Tae skipped away with a laugh, stopping beside your brother who was rolling his eyes at your antics. But he smiled shyly when Tae slung an arm around his waist.
Jimin looked grateful when you hooked your elbows together, both of you sparing a look at your brother to make sure he didnât notice. Jimin quickly pinched your cheek that flushed under his touch, heart racing when he soothed it with his thumb.
Youâd get around to telling them eventually.
Jeongguk got in a small argument with a server who thought his ID was a fake, and her eyes widened in shock when your brother turned around to reveal the family emblem permanently drawn on the back of his neck, hidden by the lid of his hat. Your stomach churned at the sight. In a few years, youâd have to get the same tattoo.
The very reason why you hated crows.
The server ran off to retrieve the owner, who walked briskly towards your group, eyes hardened.
âDo you know what the boss would do to me if he found out I let you kids in here?â The bar owner exclaimed in a hushed tone, looking around as if Jin was lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce.
âI wonât tell if you wonât,â Jeongguk shrugged, adjusting the snapback. âBesides, I just turned 19, so Iâm legally allowed to be here.â
âWhat about your friends?â Your brother glanced back at the three of you. Jimin looked like he was about to throw up and Tae consolingly rubbed his back.
âHeâll be 19 in December, and they have IDs saying theyâre old enough.â Jeongguk pointed at Tae, and then at you and Jimin.
The man nodded at you and you did your best to maintain a calm demeanor. âEven her?â
âSheâs my kid sister, she goes everywhere with me. Iâm basically her permanent babysitter.â You flipped him off.
âYouâre making me walk a tight line, kid,â the owner sighed.Â
âBut alright, come on.â
âYouâre the man,â Jeongguk grinned, looking back and beckoning you three to follow him.
âHopefully not a dead one anytime soon.â Your brother laughed as he walked past him, clapping him on the shoulder.
âNah, youâll be good.â
As Jeongguk led the way through the bar towards some stairs in the back, ignoring the side-glances you all received from the grown men playing cards, you noticed Tae looking around, scanning every table, every face.
âAre you looking for someone?â You asked Tae when your brother got caught up ordering a drink.
âYeah, an old friend of mine from back home.â
âIs that why you wanted to come here?â
He hummed with a wistful frown. "It was a long shot but I still wanted to see if I could run into him. He brought me a couple of years ago and taught me how to play.â
A sad look appeared on his face, so you didnât think he wanted to talk anymore about it.
At the poker table downstairs, Jeongguk sat down among the men like he owned the place, Tae right beside him. You pulled up a chair to sit behind them as cards were dealt and chips stacked. Jimin disappeared into the bathroom and didnât come out for a while.
When the first river was dealt, Tae leaned back to whisper into your ear,
âRemember, itâs all in the eyes, little angel. You can always tell someoneâs true feelings in their eyes.â
You nodded, intently watching Tae and your brother play, paying attention to the other men as well, trying to catch their tells.
Jimin returned with a tight smile on his face, and you both squeezed onto the chair, taking his hand into your lap since Jungkook was too engrossed in the play.
Your brother won a few rounds, smug as ever, but Tae won more and just gave him subtle nudges of his shoulder and whispers in his ear. You reminded yourself to tease him about the blush on his face later.
When the game ended, Tae emerged victorious, and all four of you celebrated with some shots at the bar, Jeongguk making you vow that youâd never tell Jin.
Back home, Tae kept his promise to Jimin and bought him a nicer car. Still old and used, but less prone to breaking down.
For your birthday, he gifted you a keyboard, and it became one of your most prized possessions. With it, you composed a piece for Jimin who recorded and saved it on his phone, often playing it in his car whenever you two got some alone time, holding hands over the gearshift while you avoided looking at each other.
Some of your favorite memories. Ones that shaped you, seared a forever nostalgic hole in your heart. Ones that feel like they existed in another lifetime. Ones youâd give anything to relive.
The hotel room is smaller than you thought.
The queen-sized bed is located in the middle of the room, facing the terrace that has a clear view of the ocean. Around the corner of the foyer and hallway closet, is the bathroom; on the other side of that is a small nook with a mini fridge underneath an L-shaped counter, two armchairs on either side. Itâs cozy. But cold.Â
Quiet. Youâre getting tired of being alone.
Your bags are wet, so you unpack everything to check that nothingâs ruined, rushing to get out your sketchbook. Flipping through the pages, youâre relieved that thereâs no water damage. That would be very fucking unfortunate and you donât need a panic attack right now.
After being caught in the rain, stuck in a basement with greasy men and cigarette smoke, and fucked in a cleaning closet, a hot shower is just what you need. But you donât scrub your skin too hard. Because his touch still lingers.
You can still feel the tingle left by his fingers digging into your hips, hand wrapped around your wrist, mouth molded against yours. You donât want to lose that feeling. Even though you lost him.
You want to scream at the top of your lungs. Why the fuck did you let that man go? You know, in your heart of hearts, that youâll never meet someone like him again. You won his money - he didnât owe you a goddamn thing and yet he came after you when he thought you were in danger. That had to mean something, right?
The thought of what wouldâve happened if he hadnât shown up makes your hands feel clammy, despite the steamy shower stall. Who knows what intentions those men had, aside from forcing you to give them the money back. You can fight, but your odds were against you with a group of vengeful thugs. And you donât have your knife - it wouldâve gotten confiscated at the airport and it means too much to you to risk that.
But you do have another weapon, pretty much guaranteeing that you couldâve walked out of there alive. With one flash of the back of your neck, those guys wouldâve backed off and run for the hills.
You donât mull over if Yoongi would join them; instead, spend the rest of your shower fuming, hot water incomparable to the burning in your veins. Because of him, mostly. For being such a jerk even though you didnât do anything wrong, even though you tried being nice to him. For acting like youâd been the bane of his existence but still fucking you. And for sending you into a confusing whirlwind but not leaving you any time to catch up. And still making you want him.
Maybe youâll just go to bed and forget him. Do some sketches, get a headstart on upcoming assignments, and go home tomorrow pretending that there isnât some strange crack in your soul left by a man you just met.
Youâre just about to start your skin care routine when three knocks rap on the door. You freeze. Itâs almost the middle of the night, who the fuck- Oh, shit. Wait. It canât be those guys. Wrapped up in a robe, you tiptoe out of the bathroom, mind racing as you formulate a plan if it is them. Pressing against the door, thinking about the possibility of shimmying your way off the balcony since youâre only on the second floor, you peer into the peep hole, heart flatlining when there isnât a group of thugs outside, but a familiar mop of blonde hair.
What the hell is he doing here? Whatever the reason is, youâre way too relieved that itâs him. Teetering on elated, everything youâd come to peace with in the shower is wiped away at the sight of him standing outside your door, hands in his pockets, staring down at his shoes.
You swing open the door just as he turns for the stairs, like heâs giving up. His eyes are wide when he faces you, narrowing as they fall on your robe-covered body.
âYou just keep turning up, donât you? Were you a stray cat in a past life?â You tease, snickering at his glare as you lean on the door. He sighs, stuffs his hands further in his jacket, glares harder at the threshold.
âI lied to you about the buses.â You smile softly at his confession.
âI know. They run till midnight.â
âAnd I donât have a friendâs place to crash.â
âI figured that.â
He doesnât elaborate, doesnât tell you what heâs here for, if he wants something. You already told him youâd give him money, you have more than enough, but youâll be disappointed if thatâs the only reason why heâs at your door.
âSo, what? You showed up just to tell me that you lied?â
âNo,â he mutters, shaking his head before snapping up to meet your gaze. The fire in his eyes is blazing.
âFor this.â
And suddenly heâs crowding your space, large, warm hands holding the side of your face. Again. And you barely have time to blink much less breathe before his lips crash onto yours. You thank your lucky stars.
He backs you into the wall behind the open door, and your heart runs in your chest when he starts kissing you just as hungrily as before. But this time, he makes the effort to angle your face with his in a way that he can kiss you passionately, with purpose, with heat, with his tongue meeting yours, exploring between your lips, into your mouth, like heâs trying to steal your breath away and you let him, kiss him back with equal fervor. He kisses you deeply enough that you can feel the effects all the way down to your toes, almost to the point of having an out of body experience, nothing youâve ever felt before. He kisses you like he has no intention of stopping.
And you donât want him to, but when you lift your arms to loop around his waist, bring him closer, his jacket is cool and wet, and his body vibrates beneath the layers. You break the kiss to catch your breath and tell him he feels cold, but apologies tumble through his swollen, pink lips.
âShit, I donât know what I was thinking, I should-â He takes a step back and you think heâs going to run again, so you grab the side of his damp jacket to keep him in place. Keep him near you.
âYouâre shivering.â He stiffens, but the back of his shoulders visibly tremble. You move past him to close the door, gesturing for him to take off his shoes.
âDo you want to shower?â He regards you for a moment, shoulders tense, and then nods, once. Directing him to the bathroom, you offer a small, warm smile but just as he reaches for the handle and opens the door a crack, you stretch your arm to land a hand on the frame, effectively blocking him.
âAdmit that you think Iâm pretty first.â
His eyebrows furrow, he blinks, and then swivels on his heels to head for the front door. Your loud laugh echoes after him.
âHave fun sleeping in the rain!â He exhales a frustrated breath and another snicker fills the space in response as he turns back around.
âCome on, itâs not like youâll be lying. For once.â
âWow, pretentious, much?â he quips.
âStubborn, much?â
His lip curls. âAnnoying brat.â
âGrumpy jerk.â Itâs enchanting, how quickly you match each otherâs energy, hostile but with no real bite.
He scowls and tilts his head up to the ceiling, like heâs wondering what heâs gotten himself into. And your delighted grin glows at him.
âSo, whatâll it be?â His glare flickers to you with a piercing glint.
âYouâre pretty,â he grumbles, and even though you heard him, you lean forward, cupping your ear, wanting to hear it loud and clear.
âHm? What was that?â
He speaks through clenched teeth. âYouâre really fucking pretty. So there.â
âDude, why do you look like youâre about to pop a vein?â You cackle and he runs a hand down his face.
âIf it makes things any better, youâre not too bad looking yourself. Iâd even go so far as to say youâre handsome. Like really fucking handsome,â You mock him and grin when he glowers at you. You nod to the bathroom.
âGet in there.â Twirling around, you just miss the way his cheeks tinge a subtle shade of pink.
As the door closes, your cheeks buzz with a dopey smile you canât drop, color painting a part of your soul thatâs been dormant for a long time, awoken when he showed up on your doorstep because he wanted to kiss you again.Â
âHey, can you do me a favor?â you call out. âWould you mind handing me my clothes? Theyâre on the sink.â
âHavenât I done you enough favors?â From his one small moment of vulnerability, you forgot that heâs a fucking asshole.
With a huff, you knock on the door rapidly, holding your breath as the handle clicks and the door swiftly swings open to reveal Yoongiâs dark, narrowed eyes. Are you disappointed that heâs only dressed down to a black-tee, still in his jeans? Youâll never admit it. One more glance would show you that theyâre unbuttoned, belt removed. The same jeans that were smacking on your ass back in the-
âWere you hoping Iâd walk in on you naked?â
He cocks his head with a slight smirk. âI was hoping youâd walk in here naked.â
Oh, heâs smooth. Pulse dancing, you school your expression to conceal how flustered you are.
âMaybe I wouldâve if you were nice. Can I have my clothes?â You hold out your hand and he glances down at it, a sigh leaving him as he brings his arm into view, passing over your sleep clothes.Â
You snatch them with a cheeky smile and walk away to change. The door doesnât shut until youâre around the corner.
Fully dressed and pretty much ready for bed, jet lag starting to get the best of you, youâre sitting at the white counter next to the window, re-checking all the designs in your sketchbooks when the door opens and Yoongiâs bare feet pad on the floor. You tense with the urge to turn around and see whether or not heâs appearing as what youâre imagining in your mind. Towel wrapped low on his hips, chest bare, body lithe and sleek and beautiful. When he passes behind you, the air around you thickens with his musk, the clinging scent of hotel soap and shampoo. Your legs cross under the table.
He stands adjacent to your seat, and you sneak a glance up at him peering down at your sketchbook, shaking a small towel over his wet hair. But heâs wearing a damn robe, sash tugged tightly around his waist, his clavicles and center of his chest just barely peeking out, two chains accentuating it. One is medium-length and studded with tiny diamonds, the other a long collection of stainless steel beads that hold two dog tags from his military service.Â
He's still lithe and sleek and beautiful, covered up or not. You retract your gaze and pretend to draw, cheek warming against your fist. Heâs so attractive, itâs not fair.
âAre you an architect or something?â he asks as he drops in the seat across from you, towel falling around his neck. His tone sounds accusatory, like he canât fathom you being in that kind of profession, but you donât take it personally. You figure itâs just another one of his asshole-isms.
âNo, Iâm just minoring,â you reply without looking at him. âThese are some sketches Iâm playing with for my thesis project in the spring.â
âHow proactive. Theyâre, um,â he clears his throat. âTheyâre decent.â
Heâs still leaning over, so with a bashful smile, you slowly push the book to his side of the table, permission for him to examine more closely.
âThanks. My friends and I are talking about opening up an architecture firm after we graduate, and theyâre looking at me to take care of the business portion of it.â
âHm.â He sounds indifferent, but he glimpses at you while you talk, so you think heâs at least listening. As soon as you stop, though, his eyes return to your sketchbook. And heâs not just flipping through them. He takes his time with each page, each design, even the messier ones with all the frustrated scribbles and eraser marks. Sometimes he leans in and squints to get a closer look at the smaller details and⊠No one has looked at your pages like that. Not even your friends. Or brothers. The only exception is your professors, but thatâs for a grade. Something glimmers in your chest. Something warms.
You change the subject so you donât dwell on it.
âWhat did you major in?â Your question sparks a slight frown on his face as he flips a page.
âI didnât go to college. Not for me.â
You nod in understanding. âThen, what do you do? Or you just gamble for a living?â
âYou and all these questions.â
âFine. Be boring,â You huff, crossing your arms.
âI work on cars,â he reluctantly mutters. Perking up at that, you sit a little straighter.
âYouâre a mechanic?â
He hums in acknowledgment and you launch into a mainly one-sided conversation about your favorite makes and models, wishing you could tell him about your brotherâs extensive car and bike collection. You smile when he at least indulges you in his current vehicle choice - an Elantra. Ooh. Sporty.
Youâre a tad too giddy when you ask, âDo you race?â
âI can. But I donât.â
âMaybe one day Iâll beat you at that too.â He just sighs and shakes his head, and you wear your shit-eating grin as the conversation comes to a stand-still. Now that youâre not sure what else to say and he doesnât seem too keen on entertaining more questions, you wait for that awkward tension to settle between you but it never comes.
Itâs just⊠quiet. Except for the sound of your breathing as you ponder explanations for why your heart is pounding that doesnât have to do with the man sitting across from you, still engrossed in your sketches.
Itâd be nice if he gave you an indication that he was interested in doing anything besides this and kissing you, but you suppose the fact that he accepted your invitation to shower instead of just fucking you in the foyer and hitting the road again is indicative of he can now at least stand being in your presence.
âSo, fixing cars makes you enough to gamble a few million won away at an illegal poker ring? All in one night?â
He glances at you with a glare, flipping another page. âOkay, smart ass. What do you think I do?â
âHm, I donât know,â you pretend to think. âSell stuff.â He doesnât look at you, a slight down tick at the corner of his mouth.
âStuff.â
âSubstances?â Narcotics is the word you want to say, but donât. Scrutinizing another drawing, impassiveness covers his face.
âAnd would you have a problem with that?â
âDo I seem like I would have a problem with that?â His attention flits to you for a small moment and then stays down.
His silence is enough to say that he doesnât want to talk any more about it and you wonât press him even though youâre a nosy little shit because you donât want to make him uncomfortable. But you do want to let him know that youâre not one to judge.
If he is a dealer, you know just how easy it is to get into but so much harder to get out of.
âWell, whatever it is, shitâs tough out here, and sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, yâknow?â
He doesnât say anything after that and so you let it go. But thereâs still something else on your mind.
âCan I ask another question?â
âNo,â he deadpans, and you ignore him.
âWhat was your plan after you dropped me off?â
He brings your book to the edge of the table and sits back in the chair.
âI was gonna go to a sauna, but I forgot I gave the rest of my cash to the cab driver.â
Your brow quirks inquisitively. âCab? Werenât you just on a motorcycle?â
Whole body stilling, he focuses on nothing for a moment before quietly grumbling, âI paid him so heâd tell me where he took you.â
You gawk at him as everything sinks in. A ring of promise glows around the surface of your heart when you realize he went out of his way to find you.
To look out for you. To protect you. And expected nothing in return. Despite the fact that you kissed him, showed him you wanted more, he didnât try to invite himself up. Just took off into the night without looking back. Like he didnât just save your life. Like you donât owe him for fucking stabbing someone for you.
âYou really came looking for me,â you marvel. âWhy?â
His jaw clenches, Adamâs apple bobbing as he swallows. But he doesnât say a thing, just shakes his head with an annoyed frown. Ugh, heâs being so fucking difficult, with this wall around him that you desperately want to infiltrate. How hard is it to be a little vulnerable when he came back to you on his own volition?
âYou and your attitude,â you scoff. âWhatâs your problem?â
He doesnât respond to that either, so you reach over to pull your sketchbook out of his grasp, slamming it closed on the table. You repeat your question with a harsh glare and he returns it with equal intensity.
âYou,â he admits darkly, eyes hardened. âYou are my problem.â
âThen what are you doing here?â His lips pull into a line and he stares at his flat hand on the table. You sit back again, dejected fingers rubbing over your sketchbook, watching him refuse to look at you.
You stand up before your brain gives the command, feet gliding around the table, heart pounding with each step, and end up next to his chair. He stares up at you with a pinch between his brows as you nudge your knee against his, and even though he looks confused, he turns away from the table to give you more room to stand in between his legs. Jet lag be damned, you dip a knuckle under his chin, holding his head up. His pupils on you are so dark, more than theyâve been all night as he doesnât blink.
You canât tell if heâs nervous, or scared, or upset, or a combination, similar to the complexity running in your veins.
âYouâre the annoying one.â You stick a knee next to his hip, a hand on his shoulder, a pretense to lowering yourself into his lap. He cocks a brow. âYou canât even tell me you want me.â
âYou think I came back for what? A hot shower?â He says it so sarcastically in a slight snarl. It doesnât phase you.
âYeah, and a place to stay,â you murmur, resisting the temptation to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear.
âI wouldâve figured something else out. Not my first time with nowhere to go.â
You frown at the thought of him being stuck in places where he wasnât comfortable. Or safe. Even if he only came back so he wouldnât end up spending a night in the rain, you would let him stay. You might put him up on the floor but at least heâd be inside.
When he doesnât say a word, your other hand falls on his shoulders to finally settle yourself in his lap. his chest heaving in a deep breath. As you sit over his pelvis, his hands flex, but remain dangling off the arms of the chair. Your eyes fall to the chains glinting on his pale chest and you hook a finger around the diamonds, lifting the small circular pendant, noticing a tiny inscription. You glance at him, silently asking for permission to study it. He just stares so you take that as a yes and lift it to get a closer look.
                                 For my sonja,                                                MYG
A soft smile on your lips, you drop the pendant and trail down to the tags that sit on his sternum and examine the carved information. You donât know why it interests you that you have the same blood type.
âAre you dangerous, Min Yoongi?â The question pours out of your mouth, testing out his full name on your tongue. He squints at you with mirth.
âItâs a little late to ask that.â
Shrugging, your thumb runs over the metal tags, waiting for his answer.
âIâm not a stalker or a serial killer. Good enough?â It should be. But you have to be sure.
âIf you wanted to hurt me, you wouldâve done it by now, right?â
A few beats of silence pass, and vines of trepidation for his truth start to creep up your spine. But then warm, calloused yet soft hands coast up the sides of your thighs to rest on your hips. The vines spark with flames, traveling over every cell of your skin, ignited by his simple touch. Trepidation becomes suspense.
âI donât hurt people who donât deserve it.â
The implication should scare you. That he hurts people. Maybe even does it for a living. But you know, peering deeply into his dark, brown eyes, that he isnât a threat to you.
He stabbed someone right in front of you, and instead of being afraid like you shouldâve been, you ran away with him. In the middle of the street, soaked to the bone with piercing rain, you grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him like your life depended on it.
And youâre about to do it again.
Lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your heart dips when he flinches away, ever so slightly. You drop it back on his shoulder, smooth it slowly, daringly, down to his left pec, fingers under his robe. Your breath hitches when you feel how strong his chest is, throat tightening when your palm radiates with the fast rate of his heartbeat.
Too fast to be normal. Too fast to hide that heâs affected by you.
âDo you want me?â you whisper, voice scared of rejection. His jaw ticks, his hands moving to your waist, pressing you forward and down on the thick solid length hardening beneath you. You gasp.
He grits his next words through clenched teeth, like itâs hardÂ
for him to say them, all while staring deep into your very soul.
âI wanted you the second you sat down at that goddamn poker table.â
Just like that moment in the rain, before you got on his bike and held onto him while he drove you into safety, you donât think before crashing your lips onto his. He opens his mouth to welcome your tongue, and you lick over it with meaning.
The two of you set in motion a greedy and lascivious rhythm of sloppy tongues and experimental grinding hips, his fingers curling into the plush of your ass, encouraging the roll of your center over his erection. Effectively ruining your shorts with arousal, he sucks on your bottom lip, then moans when your hand sneaks into his lap and boldly squeezes his twitching length.
âIf I suck your dick, are you gonna leave me on the floor again?â you challenge over his mouth.
He pulls away with a frown and a cross in his brows as he looks at you expecting some kind of an apology. But he doesnât even open his swollen mouth, just pushes at your waist until you stand up from his lap, and before you can question what heâs doing, he kisses you again, gripping your waist as he walks you back to the bed. Hands slipping up to your ribcage, he lowers you down, heart hammering to the surface of your chest as he holds himself above you, one hand on your side, the other pressing into the comforter next to your head.Â
Warmth pools in your belly as his chains fall in between your breasts, then slide to rest on the base of your throat. You smile in between his lips, lifting a hand to tangle in the links.
âYou better not break my jewelry,â he utters, tongue nudging your bottom lip to encourage your mouth open, and without opening your eyes or breaking from his enticing mouth, you grab his hand and encourage it towards your breast, shirt covering your pert nipple.
He softly squeezes a handful of your tit and you arch into him with a moan, his lips between yours curving up in a smug smile. Kissing you once, twice, he drags his mouth down your jaw, to your neck that you strain so he can bruise and bite at your skin. You curse when he moves to mouth over your clothed tit, gently pulling your nipple between his teeth to test out your reaction. You bite your lip with a moan and reach up to curl your fingers in his hair, squirming when he flattens his tongue over the tiny sting.
âSo sensitive,â he smizes, cocksure. He laps at your tit once more before nosing down, fingers bunching up your shirt to reveal your stomach, moan escaping you when his lips graze your bare skin, every touch leaving a trail of blazing fire.
âIs this supposed to be an apology?â You rasp breathlessly.
He shrugs and you roll your eyes as he stands, eyes locking with yours while he drags down your sweats, your lungs constricting with each inch of skin he unveils. You know he already fucked you, knows what your pussy feels like, but he hasnât seen you yet and your cheeks heat at the thought of baring your everything to him.
âDonât tell me youâre shy,â he muses when your legs close in their bent form after he fully removes your sweats, tossing them back onto one of the chairs.
You shake your head in denial, but your eyes that refuse to open, refuse to see him staring at you, say otherwise.
âWhereâs that dirty girl who wanted to get fucked in a closet by a stranger?â
âDonât you mean slut?â
âFine,â he smirks. âBring back the dirty slut who practically begged me to fuck her in that closet.â
âSure, as long as you donât act like a prick anymore.â
Smirk falling, he rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side as his hand smoothes over your lower stomach, fingers dipping into the hem of your-
âCute panties.â
âTheyâre shorts.â
âYou call these shorts?â He snaps the fabric strained around your thighs. âLeaves little to the imagination.â
âWell, thatâs good for you, right? Arenât you too old to have an imagination?â He quirks a brow, lifts his head to level you with an entertained gaze.
âSays who?â
âSociety,â you shrug, and he exhales an unamused huff.
âWow, good argument. You should sign up for a debate team.â
âI was actually on one in school.â
âSo why arenât you any good?â
âShut up!â You admonish, and he snickers. If you really think about it, itâs crazy how easy it is to fall into conversation with him like this. And incredibly insane how it does really funny things to your heart.
A stuttered gasp pours from your lips when he cups your heat, rubbing his flattened fingers back and forth. You hiss when he pokes over your covered hole, panties/shorts soaked with your arousal.
âDamn, you get so wet for me,â he muses, tongue poking past his teeth as he pulls your panties to the side. Fuck, just that movement alone is enough to put a flutter in your stomach.
âA little grinding on my lap is all it takes, huh? Or do you just really like being called a slut?â
âScrew you.â His dark chuckle shamefully turning you on, he pulls back his fingers to circle feather-light around your clit. You pull your lips in and shut your eyes to lock away a moan.
âWeâre getting to that.â His hands slide under your ass, eyes trained on you as he pulls off your garment, and you take a deep breath when he pushes your legs apart.
âScoot up.â With his hands holding your thighs, you wiggle your way back until your head nears the edge of the mattress, lust coursing through your blood as he lays down in between your legs, licking his lips at the sight of your bare cunt. You relax into the soft comforter as he starts off with dragging his lips on the inside of your thigh, humming as he goes along, and arousal builds at the vibrations on your skin. Glancing down at the appealing sight of his head between your legs, youâre tempted again to run your fingers through his soft locks.
âYou could really use a root touch-up,â you think out loud. He huffs, breath hitting a spot on your thigh where he was sucking a small mark.
âAh, hell. Can you be quiet?â
âJust saying.â He clicks his tongue.Â
As you break out into a laugh, your expression drops when his dark eyes fixate on you and he spits, loudly, right on your clit before dragging his tongue in a thorough, languid lick through your folds. Back arching with a moan, your hand flies into his hair, pulling a low growl from his throat. He pauses at your clit, nose nudging it before he sucks in a breath, tightens his hold around your thighs, and buries his face in your pussy.
He consumes you, flicking his tongue in some places and slurping in others, going back to the ones that you respond to more - itâs like you just served your pussy to him on a gold fucking platter and heâs savoring you like itâs his last meal.
Fingers tangled in his soft, damp locks, you use your other hand to stifle your whines that heâs drawing out with his expert tongue.
âDonât hold back for me, dollface,â he insists over your clit. âYou canât get us caught this time.â
Resolve crumbling, you barely register the fact that he called you âdollfaceâ as your hand smacks onto the comforter and unrestrained, needy moans fill the room. He grunts in response and your trembling thighs squeeze around his head as he latches onto your clit, suckling and licking to add fire to the flame in your gut.
âFuck, Yoongi!â you whimper, muscles tensing as the impending snap looms closer.
âMm, keep saying my name just like that,â he purrs, lazily kissing your clit.
âYou mean you want me to?â You antagonize, not entirely brain dead yet. âAfter all that grief you gave me about-â
He suddenly draws back, forcing you to groan at the peaking orgasm he just snatched away, hips involuntarily chasing after his mouth.
âSay my fucking name,â he demands.
âDo something that will-â
His mouth wraps around your clit and he starts sucking in rapid motions, not stopping even as you writhe and squirm with pathetic cries, strong arms immobilizing your thighs.
âYoongi- Yoongi, please!â you shriek, coming with another wanton wail of his name, gripping his roots, and a low, rough growl licks into your pulsing cunt.
Vision blurring with tears as he continues his assault on your clit, you sob at the threat of overstimulation, pushing at his head until he detaches. He kisses your dripping slit one more time just to have you jolt and curse, and then finally lets you catch your breath.
âYou got a condom?â he asks after your blood pressure has simmered down to a somewhat normal level and you can comprehend your own thoughts again.
âUm, no?â you rasp, glancing down to his slick mouth and chin. âI thought you had those on deck.â
âI used my last one.â
âWhen?â You manage to joke. He glares at you through his bangs, shaking his head, and you donât do well to hold back a laugh.Â
âOh. Bummer.â
He sighs, and then dots kisses through your folds before latching onto your clit again. Pumping his long fingers into your cunt this time, he gets a little lazy, but it doesnât make it any less sensational. You lose count of how many times you come but youâre sweating and dripping and just a mess by the time you pass out.
You wake up on your stomach feeling heavy, but so, so good. Lifting your head, you look around, wondering what year it is. Youâre still in the same spot you fell asleep in, but thereâs a robe laid over you, covering your lower half. Over your shoulder, Yoongi is back at the table, scrolling through his plugged-in phone, and you silently thank the universe that you werenât just dreaming him up. Because that would be devastating.
Rolling over, you slowly sit up and shift towards the edge of the bed, legs feeling like jelly before you even put any weight on them. You stand up with the robe and nearly lose your balance.
âYou alright?â his gravelly voice carries across the room.
âI think I almost died,â you admit as you walk around the bed, rubbing your eyes. He smirks at his phone, looking a little too proud of himself. âHow long was I out?â
âLike an hour?â
âShit, Iâm sorry. That jet lag really got to me.â
âJet lag, huh?â He frowns and you roll your eyes.
âYou can take the credit for knocking me out.â
You walk away from his cocky grin to head for the bathroom.
After doing your business and admiring the subtle marks he left on the inside of your thighs, you realize how exhausted you are. From the plane, from all the events of the day, from your however-many orgasms, and you should be spent, ready to sleep like a rock through the night.
And yet, thereâs a hunger gnawing in your chest. A greed in your gut. He gratified you beyond your imagination, and you still havenât gotten your fill. But he ran out of fucking condoms.
You wrap the robe around your waist as you head back to the table, avoiding his gaze as you squat over your duffle.
Rummaging through it, you know a condom isnât going to be anywhere in there no matter how badly you want there to be. Damn it. Are you that desperate? For this man, with that devilish tongue and monster in his pants? Hell fuckinâ yeah.
âYou looking for something?â
âOh, uh, I forgot to pack a toothbrush,â you stutter, tucking back a piece of your hair as you rise. âDo you think we can go to the GS25? Itâs only a couple miles away.â
âItâs kinda late.â
âItâs open all night.â
âFine,â he sighs, standing and taking his used towels to theÂ
bathroom, shoulder just barely brushing yours as he passes you.
When both of you are changed, he lingers in the doorway of the bathroom where youâre standing in front of the sink, fixing yourself up in the mirror, and you donât anticipate him to step in and appear mere inches behind you. You watch him fix his mussed hair, not sparing your reflection a single glance. Without the mirror, youâre not sure if you wouldâve even noticed his stealth presence unless he touched you. You canât even hear him breathing. And it makes you shiver. Just as nervousness sprouts at his proximity, you twist around to make an escape, immediately regretting it when you come face-to-face with his devastatingly handsome face and dark eyes that dart down to your lips. On pure impulse, you reach up to tussle his hair and scurry away as he turns around with a sharp, âYah!â
Next to the front door, his glare sears into you as you leanÂ
down to put on your shoes, laughing when he nudges you so that you lose your balance. You guess you deserve that.
He parked his bike near some bushes in front of a stone wall farthest away from the main lot of the hotel, close to the ocean. You canât help but skip towards it, excited to go on a ride again. When you reach it and glance back to see that heâs still catching up, you impulsively swing your leg over and settle into the leather seat.
âWhat are you doing?â he asks as he approaches you with a glare. You shoot him a sheepish grin over your shoulder.
âCan I drive?â
âThatâs something you ask before you get on the bike.â
âOh. Well, can I?â With a shake of his head, he sighs and you half-expect him to scold you off, but instead he grabs the helmet resting on the rear seat and holds it out to you.
âPut this on first.â Pressing your warming cheek into your shoulder to hide your shy smile, you reach back and accept it, slipping it on. He looks reluctant as he slides onto the seat behind you and you twist forward, a throb rushing down your spine when his hands slide onto your hips and he adjusts himself to sit pressed lightly against you. He leans forward and youâre encased by him as he sticks the key into the ignition, shows you the switch that will bring the bike to life by tapping it twice, hand returning to your hip once you turn it and the engine rumbles alive loudly, vibrating beneath you.
Revving the handlebars, exhilaration flows into your veins as you look down at all the specs on the dashboard.
âYou know how to ride, right?â He mumbles into your ear, sounding skeptical. You smirk.
âRemember what happened the last time you misjudged me?â Before he gets a chance to respond, you grasp his hand and pull it around to your stomach.
âHold on tight,â you say in the lowest pitched voice you can muster in a poor attempt at imitating him from earlier in the night. He sighs and moves his other arm around your waist, and just as your heart starts to beat out of your chest, you kick back the stand, find your balance on the pedals, and rev the engine before taking off down the road, secretly wishing this road stretched on forever.
His fingers curl into your covered skin, presses his chest into your back and it encourages you to lean forward and speed up. You go a little too fast, but he doesnât say anything, doesnât give you any indication that you should slow down. And when you arch your back, the hard bulge poking your ass tells you that he doesnât mind the speed at all.
You pull up to the convenience store in under five minutes, the parking lot empty and Yoongi tells you to park it off to the side.Â
âI think you liked that more than I did,â you say after hopping off the bike. He stays in the seat as you remove the helmet and hold it out, grinning up at him.
âYou like it when a girl rides your bike, Min Yoongi?â You lilt teasingly, the biggest shit-eating grin on your face clashing with his fierce glare.
âGo get your shit, you brat,â he grumbles, teeth gritted.
âYouâre not coming?â You glance down at the glaring problem in the front of his jeans. âOh, I guess you need a minute.â
His lip curls and he digs his foot into the pebbled asphalt, making you leap away with a giggle when he kicks a small pile at you.
Walking backwards, you blow him a kiss, laughing your way into the store when he returns it with a middle finger. A smile remains on your face as you start looking around for the toothbrush you lied about not having. At one point you realize that your cheeks hurt from still smiling. Is that the effect he has on you? Itâs been a minute since a man, (or anyone, really) has made you smile like this.
Perusing the aisles for some midnight snacks, the doorbell chimes and when the cashier offers a monotone welcome, you perch up on your tiptoes to spot a black beanie making its way to the opposite corner of the store.
As you lean into a fridge for some drinks, he steps up into your periphery, and you take a quick glance, smiling at the bandana thatâs wrapped around his face again.
âYou want anything?â He shakes his head and you sigh, closing the door and turning around with a hand on your hip.
âCan you not be difficult for once and just pick something? Because I donât share.â
He steps up to you. âI know youâre not calling me difficult.â
âI am.â You challenge, unintimidated despite being nearly nose to nose. âGet something.â
Keeping his glare on you, he reaches into the fridge and pulls an item out to drop it into the basket. You roll your eyes at the fact that he didnât even look at it and grab a few more of what he picked, letting the door slam shut.
You pinch the bandana and give it a few gentle tugs, getting right in his face. âIs this what you stuffed in my mouth earlier?â
âYes. And Iâm tempted to do it again.â
âOoh, kinky.â
âMaybe I just want to shut you up.â
âThereâs more than one way to do that.â His dark eyes flash.
âKeep it moving.â
He lingers behind you as you finish shopping, but disappears once you head to the checkout. When he comes up behind you and casually tosses something on the counter next to your snacks waiting to be scanned, your whole face floods with heat as you stare at the box of condoms. A 12-pack. Large. You gulp, and the flush seeps down to your toes. This is what you came for, but a flood of embarrassment streams into you at the thought that he planned the same thing, or he caught onto you. To offset some of the flood, you swipe the box and hold it up to him.
âDonât you need these in a smaller size?â
His eyes flicker up but he doesnât look at you. Just turns and walks away, leaving you to fight down a laugh. Glancing back at the cashier, youâre grateful that her face hasnât changed, even as she rings up the condoms. She could probably care less if you robbed the whole store.
Rushing out to the empty parking lot, youâre met with the loud revving of the Ducati and the sight of Yoongi wearing his helmet, looking over his shoulder at you through the open visor.
âMin Yoongi, donât you dare leave me here!â you yell, stopping in your tracks when he flips down the visor, throws up a peace sign and zooms onto the street.
Your jaw drops. That. JERK! He canât be serious. You run out to the end of the lot, looking up and down the empty stretch of road but heâs nowhere in sight, just the descendo of the engine hanging in the air.
The engine grows louder and he zips by you, sitting straight, one hand on the throttle, the other in the air, pointing a finger at you. Is he⊠laughing? Itâs your turn to flip him off and you almost scream his name again when he suddenly pulls a sharp u-turn and heads back your way. You donât expect it, but youâre incredibly impressed as he starts drifting in wide circles around you, his leg coming down to balance himself as the bike sharply turns, showcasing just how experienced he is and fuck if that isnât attractive. And he knows exactly what heâs doing. Turning you on. But you pretend to be unbothered, crossing your arms as if this dangerous man on this dangerous bike isnât looping around you like a vulture honing in on its prey.
âAre you done?â you tilt your head once he skids to a stop a few feet away in front of you, ignoring the ringing in your ears caused by his incessant drifting.
He switches off the engine and leans up, flipping the visor to reveal the top part of his face, arms dropping and crossing.
âAre you?â His dark muffled voice sends a shiver down your spine.
âWhat?â
âDone making a fool out of me.â Blowing a raspberry, you walk up to him, set the bag behind him with a wide grin.
âI donât think you need me to do that.â He stares at you over his shoulder for a second before twisting around to grab the handlebars and just as he turns the ignition, your hand halts him by his elbow.
âYouâre not gonna leave again.â
âThen get on.â
You watch, mesmerized, as he takes off the helmet and runs fingers through his hair, casually holding it over his shoulder for you to take.
This feels better, sitting behind him, arms around his waist, head between his shoulder blades so you can watch the trees lining the road and spot lights of the street lamps go by in a blur.
Alive. You feel so fucking alive. The danger of riding on this bike, trusting this man with your life once again. Stretching out your arm, you let the wind fly freely through your fingers, helmet blocking your periphery from catching the turn of his head for a few seconds before focusing back on the road.
He parks the bike in the same spot as before and you get off and return the helmet.
âUsually when guys go out of their way to show off like you did, theyâre trying to compensate for something. Just letting you know.â
He looks at you with night in his eyes as he steps up in front of you, peering directly into your soul, and the pit of your stomach rolls with heat.
âYou know damn well that I donât have anything to compensate for,â he says slyly, eyes flickering to yours in a way that excites you. Oh, this cocky bastard. If only he wasnât so fucking right.
âOr maybe you need to be reminded.â
âIsnât that why you got these?â you ask, shaking the bag in his face.
âI also need to restock my wallet.â
You scoff, pointing at yourself. âAnd Iâm the slut?â
He grins and your cheeks heat when he just stares for a moment, then takes off in the direction of the hotel without another word.
As you reach the stairs of the building to your room, he stops and you turn to him looking down to the stretch of neatly tailored lawn sitting across from the buildings, a few tables and chairs with closed umbrellas spread out in front of the stone wall, the dark ocean a pretty view from afar.
âItâs about to rain, so Iâm gonna go smoke. Iâll be right back.â
âCan I come?â
âNo.â He turns away and your heart cries to go after him, like some clingy, ankle-biting dog.
Stopping after a few steps, he looks back at you pouting and tilts his head.
âDonât you do what you want anyway?â The dark night canât hide your bright smile as you bound up to him.
He settles on the table closest to the short-stacked stone wall, wiping off the seat with the end of his sleeve before sitting down and taking out a box of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. You want nothing more than to sit in his lap again, and, thankfully, thereâs an old spot of something white and dirty on the opposite chair that the rain didnât wash away.
So without warning, you approach him and ignore his repeated look of confusion as you invite yourself into his lap with an arm around his neck.
âUm, thereâs a chair over there.â
âIt has bird shit on it,â you reply simply, adjusting yourself to sit sideways, legs hung over his knees. His arms hover in the air.
âSo?â
âWould you sit there?â
âNo.â
âThen shut up.â
Disregarding the click of his tongue, you lean over to try and snatch away his cigarette, but he holds it up out of your reach.
âThis is my last cigarette and you already owe me one.â You sigh indignantly and lean back against the armrest, gawking as he pats the box against his palm to discharge the final cigarette, crushing the cardboard as he lifts the stick to hang loosely between his lips. He fires it up with an attractive flick of the lighter and cup of his hand around the end, sucking in a drag and letting the stick sit between his teeth as he pockets the empty box and lighter. Smoke filters out of the corner of his mouth as he removes the cigarette with two fingers, blowing the stench to the side, away from you. A string tugs from your heart at the considerate gesture. You redirect your attention to the design on the front of his jacket, grabbing the side to inspect it more closely.
âIs this a tiger?â
âMhmm.â Is his response, tone disinterested as he flicks ash. Some falls on your thigh and he lightly brushes it away. His touch burns.
âYour favorite animal?â He shakes his head, still doesnât look at you, blows more smoke away.
âItâs just a design.â
As you watch him smoke, the cigarette slowly withering, he lifts his hips to reach into the back pocket of his jeans, crotch rubbing the back of your knees, making your thighs squeeze together. He multitasks checking his phone and taking a drag, a frown appearing at something he does or doesnât see on his screen. A thought occurs to you that creates a sinkhole in your chest.
âAre you expecting a call from your girlfriend or something?â
âWhy, would that piss you off?â He remarks in a mocking tone, and you start to get up but his arm around your waist and a throaty chuckle traps you in place.
âI wouldnât have fucked you if I had one. I wouldâve still wanted to, but I do have a bit of self control over here.â
âYou? A man? Self-control?â
âWeâre not all disgusting pigs,â he mutters.
âWell, youâre a rare breed.â Lifting his head mid-drag, his eyebrows raise, a subtle smirk on the corner of his lips.
âSo I bet you feel real lucky you met me.â
âIs your- oh wow, look at that,â you pretend to muse, putting your hands up to the side of his head as if measuring it. âYour headâs getting bigger. Not a good look for you.â
With a roll of his eyes, he waves your hands away, unlocks his phone to scroll through his messages that hold no new notifications. Staring at his screen, the desire to have your number and thread on there increases, a lump forming in your throat, unsure if you should cross into that territory.
âNo girlfriend,â he assures you, locking his phone to let it fall face down in his lap. âIâm checking to see if my deposit came through. Iâm shit broke until then.â
Your eyes rove over his side profile, going back to that scene in the poker room, how blankly yet confidently he slid all of his chips into the center of the bet, thinking he had the winning hand.
âI could tell youâre a pro at poker, why did you put so much at risk?â
He sighs and looks away, staring across the compound as he takes another drag.
âBecause you really sucked at first, and I thought you were just some dumb, overzealous kid who didnât know what she was doing playing with the big boys like that. But youâre good, Angel. Too good, and I fell for it.â
âYouâre a dummy,â your tone is soft, touched by his genuine admission and acknowledgement of your skills. You press a finger into his temple and push a little. He leans away with a small smile.
âI know.â
The ocean is dark and covered in white-caps, brewing in preparation for the storm. Listening to the waves crashing down below, you think back to your musings in the shower.
âMaybe I owe you for stabbing a dude for me.â Wind blows in your direction as he peers at you unsurely.
âIâm no hero.â
You shrug. âI just want to pay you back for going through all of that trouble.â
âWouldnât it make me a prick to take your money for something like that?â
âNot if Iâm offering it.â
As you wait for him to argue, your phone buzzes in your hoodie and you quickly pull it out, anxiety forming when âbiggest broâ flashes on the call screen.
âOh, hang on, sorry, my brotherâs calling.â You clamber out of his lap and stand, answering when youâre a few feet away.
âHey,â you say quietly, somewhat relieved to finally hear from Jin. Even though if he knew where you were, he wouldnât be. âWhat are you doing calling me on my regular cell?â
âWell, birdie, I havenât heard from you otherwise and oh, I donât know. Wanted to make sure youâre still alive. Is that okay? How were your summer classes?â
You smile, start pacing in front of the stone wall. âI barely survived, but I made it out. And Iâve made a lot of progress on my project ideas.â
âThatâs good to hear. Send me some pictures of your designs one of these days. Any other good news you want to tell your big brother?â
âLike what?â
âHmm. Like are you seeing any booooooys you might want to bring home some day?â
You cringe, a bit spooked by your brotherâs 6th sense for knowing everything that goes on in your life. You spare a quick glance to the boy sitting behind you on his phone, turning your back to him just as he looks up at you, and walk a little further away.
âLike youâd approve of them,â you grumble. Youâre sure as shit he wouldnât approve of that man, especially if he found out about your little tryst in a fucking cleaning closet, at an illegal gambling ring no less. What Jin doesnât know wonât kill him.
âWell, not if theyâre jerks!â
âI could bring home a literal prince, and you and bro would interrogate him like he was threatening national security.â
He laughs. âOh, come on. You know I want you to find someone nice who makes you happy.â
âHow can I do that if I move around every eight months?â you ask defensively, that bitterness for your situation enforced onto you by him and your father bubbling to the surface. âI donât think Iâm gonna meet anyone whoâd want to be with me like that.â
Silence hangs over the line.
âYou never know.â You roll your eyes. It seems he underestimates the kind of men that are around everywhere you go. They barely want to stay the night, much less follow you to the ends of the earth. You feel a prick of wonder if the man whose eyes you can feel on your back would.
âWell, either way, Iâm too busy to date. Maybe Iâll have to wait to move back home to settle down,â you rush out, eager to put an end to this topic. âSpeaking of which, do you think I can come back to see bro for his birthday?â
You can sense through another bout of Jinâs prolonged silence a big âNo.â
âItâs not a good idea, birdie. Not right now, heâs not doing well.â Jin takes a deep breath. âHe almost relapsed.â
Your heart drops and you have to squat to combat the nausea filling your gut.
âThat just makes me want to come home even more.â
âHe doesnât want you seeing him like this.â
Your palm lands against your forehead. âSo what, am I just never going to get to see either of you again? Like Iâm just gonna go the rest of my life living abroad? Do you know how much I hate the idea of that?â
Dead air meets the line again and you stand, suddenly overwhelmed by the notion that he might never let you.
âWeâll talk more about that when you finish with school, I want you to focus on your studies. Donât worry about your brother, heâll be alright.â
You do worry. You worry so much about him, sometimes you canât sleep at night. You almost tell Jin that youâre in Jeju, that you could take a flight home tomorrow and just see them real quick but you have a feeling he would be less than enthusiastic and might turn it into a whole lecture about how irresponsible it is for you to fly back home unannounced. Among other things.
âWhatever.â You peek back to where Yoongiâs staring at his dark screen.
âHey, donât be like that, okay? This is just something we-â But youâre over this. Thereâs no point in arguing with him. He never lets you win.
âSorry, Iâm gonna go now.â
âI donât want you to be upset.â
âIâm not,â you lie in a grumble. âIâm kind of with someone, so I should probably get back.â
âOh?â his tone changes to curiosity. Oops. âWho is this âsomeoneâ?â
âA friend. Iâll talk to you later.â
âHmm, alright,â he sounds unconvinced. âWell, be safe, you hear? And donât let me go this long without hearing from you unless you want me to go gray with worry.â
âDonât you already dye your hair?â
âYah, you little punk! Iâll get you for that one.â
âSure you will. Iâm hanging up now. Love you. Tell bro I love him too and that it wouldnât hurt to call me once in a while.â
âI will. Love you too, birdie. Call me in a couple days.â
âYes, sir.â He chuckles, says bye, and waits for you to hang up.
Dropping the phone from your ear, you stare at it while contemplating whether or not you should call Jeongguk. Well, he'll hear from you one way or another. As you walk back over to the table, you type furiously in your brother's message thread, too caught up to hear Yoongi call your name at first.
"Huh?" You whip your attention out of your phone to him staring up at you with a neutral but soft expression.
"You good?"
"Uh- Yeah, sorry, I just need to-" You don't finish your sentence as your attention drifts back to the text that demands Jeongguk to tell you he's alive. Once you're satisfied that your message might get through the stubborn bull that is your brother, you send it and pocket your phone, finally giving your full attention to Yoongi, although anxiety lingers in your fingertips.
"Here," he says, leaning forward and lifting the nearly finished cigarette with the orange end pointed towards you. "Looks like you need it more than I do."
You blink at him, and reach down to accept the cigarette between your fingers.
"Thanks," you say as he sits back with his arms crossed over his chest, legs spreading wide. Taking that as an invitation, you move to sit back down on his lap like it has your name on it. He huffs in annoyance but uncrosses his arms to rest them over your thighs, fingers raising to gesture for the cigarette. You inhale a drag before passing it over.
âDoes your brother usually call this late?â he queries, voice soft and a touch hesitant, and you stare as he places the cigarette between his lips.
âNow whoâs being nosy?â
âYou eavesdropped on me earlier!â You smile, but it falls as you think about Jeongguk and what might've led him down this path again.
"My brother, he uh-" you scratch the wrinkle between your brows with your thumbnail. "He almost relapsed."
You glance at him, regret filling you when he doesn't look up from the ground, and obtain the cigarette again.
"Sorry," you mutter, taking a drag as you contemplate getting up from his lap again. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Are you gonna go see him?" he asks quietly. You tense, delaying your answer because you didn't expect him to ask that.
"I would, but he doesn't want to see me."
âHe called to tell you that?â
You shake your head. âNo, that was my oldest brother.â
âDamn, two brothers. Thatâs gotta be tough.â
âYeah," you scoff, exhaling smoke. "Theyâre both older and annoying as fuck.â
âSo you get it from them.â You canât argue with that.
âWhy don't you just go see him anyway?â he asks softly after a stretch of quietude, waves crashing in the distant background. Your cheek turns to look at him, mildly bewildered, his eyes flitting between you and the ground.
"Because they think I'm still abroad. Are you trying to get to know me or something?â you deflect, because you really don't want to get into it.
âNo, just making conversation.â He shrugs, a pout on his lips that mirrors the one that appeared when he told you his name.
âYou didnât want to do that earlier.â
âFucksâ sake,â he says under his breath, plucking the cigarette from your fingers. âItâs easier for you to just call me a fucking jerk.â
âYouâre a fucking jerk.â He chuckles while taking a drag, exhaling smoke through his nostrils.
âAnd Iâm trying not to be one right now, okay?â
âWell, donât wear yourself out.â
âYouâre gonna do that for me when we go back in, right?â He cheekily winks, demeanor doing a 180, and you mimic being annoyed but really youâre imagining all the ways you could do just that.
âYâknow, you have a really good libido for such an old man.â
His smirk flips to a scowl and when you laugh at his disdain, he pushes at your waist, a little harder than you think he meant to because you end up slipping off of his lap and onto the ground with a surprised squeal.
âOh, shit!â he exclaims, reaching down for you as you groan in mild pain from your ass falling on the hard, wet lawn. You glare up at him when he visibly canât hold back his amusement while he tries to grab your elbows to help you up but you only slap his hands away.
âI didnât mean to push you.â Heâs still laughing when you manage to get up and walk away but he grabs your wrist and you look back to see him throwing down his cigarette, a grin on his face as he doesnât let you out of his grip.
âHey, câmere.â
âNo,â you mumble stubbornly.
âIs your ass okay?â
âWouldnât you like to know.â
âI would.â
âGet lost.â
âNo.â
He tugs you close and smirks now that youâre speechless, hands daring to go lower, waiting for you to have a problem, but you donât, just allow him to glide his large palms to your ass.
âFeels okay to me.â He gives a squeeze and even though heat creeps down into your gut at the lust pooling in his eyes, you put your hands on his chest and push. He steps back with a grin and lunges after you with a hand on your elbow, laughing lowly when you playfully fight him off but he doesnât let go.
Then a bolt of lightning strikes the atmosphere, freezing you in place, and he steps up next to you, unphased as you wait for the impending clap of thunder. Rain cascades from above and you both look up to the sky, droplets falling on your faces as you stare at the night darkened by the fast moving storm clouds. Your eyes lock and you share a look that reflects something you canât describe - A boom shakes the world around you, nerves jumping and driving you to take off back towards the hotel, not realizing until you look over your shoulder that Yoongiâs hand is in yours as he runs behind you, a wild smile on his face.
Just as you reach the stairs, you glance down with wide eyes at both of your empty hands.
âI left the bag!â you exclaim, flinching as lightning flashes again. He looks over the distance you just crossed and jogs back over without hesitation or urgency despite the heavy winds.
Hugging yourself as you shiver under the onslaught of stinging rain, you silently beg him to hurry up as he strides back over to overshadow you, staring down with a furrow between his brows and a blink at your lips. Even though you want to interpret the way heâs looking at you through his wet bangs sticking on his face, youâd much rather get the fuck out of the storm but as soon as your foot turns to dart up the stairs, his hand curls around the back of your neck and pulls you forward until youâre up on your toes.Â
Pulse stuttering and eyebrows rising in shock and awe as his mouth collides with yours, youâre rendered still and breathless as he steps up to press your drenched bodies together, kissing you fervently, tipping your head up for a better angle. Storm water pours between you, and you both taste it after his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, droplets rolling down his face and into your mouth and you drink it up along with the taste of him. You donât know whatâs gotten into this man, but whatever it is, youâre living for it.
âWeâre gonna catch a cold if we keep making out in the rain,â you murmur, lips still brushing his.
âYou canât get sick just from some rain,â he retorts. You roll your eyes and tip up to kiss him chastely before twisting around to run up the stairs, not looking back as you shakily unlock the door. When his presence emerges behind you, a nervous smile breaks out on your face as you finally turn the key. The sky roars again, forcing out a laugh of adrenaline as you barrel into the door to hastily get inside.
The first thing that drew you to Min Yoongi was his voice. Husky and mystifying, like a storm settling down on the distant horizon after a night of raging, dragging you into the dark depths of lust and filth and enthrallment. Then his hands, warm between your legs and even warmer wrapped up in your fingers.
Now, itâs his hooded brown eyes as he stares at you, pressing you into the wall of the foyer, shoes off, hat and bag and bandanna dropped. Your blood roils when he leans in close, his face dewy, flushed, and beautiful. Ethereal.
That small pinch in his brows returns, and just as youâre about to crack at him with a defensive âthe fuck are you looking atâ to rival the pressure in your chest, he raises a hand to press on the wall above your head. Leftover rain drips down the tips of his stringy bangs as his slow blinking stare moves to and doesnât falter from your mouth.
He cups your chin, running a thumb down the corner of your lip, underneath it, an unreadable expression on his face and then he kisses you again; soft, gentle. Slow.
Youâre pressed between his chest and the wall as he licks embers into your mouth, your hands sliding up to his clothed, solid muscles. Once on his shoulders and under the jacket, he drops his arms so you can shove it down to the floor, hands falling to your waist and gripping tight, pushing your hips into his.
In a somewhat coordinated fashion, he moves you over to the bed, and you end up in between his legs again as he sits on the edge, letting him tear off your jacket and shirt and unclip your bra, strewing them over the bed. You comb through his wet hair as he trails his lips down your sternum, across your breasts. His mouth attaches on your bare tit, lips pursing and tongue lapping against the bud, making your head tip back in bliss.
Your nails scratch his scalp and he purrs over your skin, mouth alternating between your nipples as you end up touching over his shoulders, the wet cling of his t-shirt.
âCan I take this off?â you request softly, pulling at the fabric on his shoulder.
âTurn the light off first.â Your eyebrows knit and you want to ask what heâs hiding from you, but youâre sure if you made the request, heâd comply without question. You kiss him before moving away, his hands lingering on your waist until youâre out of reach.
Prior to casting the room into darkness, you remember to retrieve a condom - the very reason you ventured out in the middle of the night. You toss it in his direction that he catches with ease and move back to the table, stuffing the bag of food in the minifridge and finally switching off the lamp.Â
When you return to him, you waste no time yanking off his shirt, and he raises his arms with a chuckle at your eagerness.
The only light comes from a distant lamp outside, and the occasional illuminations from the storm, allowing you to at least see the silhouette of his torso. In awe, you drag your hands down, smoothing over his chest, tracing the subtle lines of muscle as you kiss him. But your eyebrows furrow when you pass over a small area of raised skin on his right shoulder, just under his collarbone. You run your thumb across it, stomach dropping when you feel that itâs particularly⊠round.
This shouldnât come as a surprise. But it shocks you, only because you hate the thought of where he got it from. And how many more just like it he has.
When you part, your meddlesome tongue loosens to drop a blunt question, but his tough hand pulls your wrist away from that spot.
âDonât say anything,â he pleads under his breath, and your heart twinges at the pain radiating from that soft whisper and you have no desire to inflict more of it. Fingers tenderly tangled in his hair, you tilt his head up and kiss him with your silent promise that this is territory you wonât ask questions about. He sighs against you, shoulders deflating.
âMy turn,â you mumble, trailing kisses down his jaw, his neck, to his chest and sternum, sinking to your knees. He spreads his legs as you work open his belt and jeans, pulling them down with his boxers, tantalizingly slow. He kicks them away once they reach his ankles and you plant your hands on his thighs, slowly caressing up to his hips, humming at his soft skin.Â
âThe universe took its time with you, huh?â you muse, straying from his exposed dick so you can feel over his slightly toned stomach, and clarify in a murmur,
âI mean all of you when I say that.â
Nothing answers you, but you donât mind as you gently wrap your fingers around his hard length, long and thick and barely able to fit in one hand. He takes a shuddering breath and leans back as you let spit fall onto his tip, spreading it with your thumb to mix with the precum that dribbles out at your ministrations.
As you take him into your mouth, the low growl that tapers on the end of his sigh as you wrap your lips around him and suck only makes you wish you could see more than the silhouette of his expression to know what youâre starting to do to him.
Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you prepare to take more of him in. His hips jerk as you bring him further back into the wet heat of your mouth, both of you moaning when he hits the back of your throat and he apologizes for his involuntary thrust.
Dismissively shaking your head, you take him even more and pause, doing your best to accommodate him, tears squeezing from the corners of your eyes shut in concentration. He bucks his hips again, moaning when you take him a little further and gag, goosebumps covering your skin as he brushes back a loose strand of hair on your forehead.
âFuck, dollface,â he groans, fingers pressing into your scalp, and you keep going to draw out more of his sounds and praise, pairing it with twists of your hand on his shaft.
Jaw aching, you divert a little attention to his balls, and your clit throbs at his loud moan as you suck one into your mouth, continuing to jerk his shaft.
It doesnât take long for him to mutter out, âShit, Iâm close.â
"Already?â Because of course you have to tease as you bring your mouth back to his shaft.
âIâve been hard for hours.â
âPoor you.â
He scoffs and pushes at your head to send you back down on his dick, so you increase your pace of twisting and bobbing, salivating at his breathy moans warning his release.
Suddenly, he sharply inhales and stands up, knocking you on your haunches, large palm on the top of your head angling it back. Lightly smacking your hand away, he pushes into your mouth to thrust in and out with your tongue laid flat on a thick vein.
With one buck of his hips and then another, he pulls out, growling as he rapidly jerks himself, knuckles tapping your lip and chin.
âFuuuuck,â he drawls as his release ropes onto your tongue, and your eyes close at the heat sliding down your throat, swallowing all of him down.
âGood girl.â And then youâre roughly tugged up by your elbows to stand chest to chest with him, lips smashing onto yours with an immediate tongue in your mouth.
You let him kiss you in this fiery way of hisÂ
âLay down. Iâm gonna ride you.â
âOh, are you calling the shots?â He muses, plopping back down.
âIâve been calling the shots this entire time. Problem?â
âYeah,â he puffs. âStill you.â
Shaking your head, you lift yourself by your knees onto the mattress as he maneuvers to rest against the headboard, fingers trickling the outsides of your thighs as you straddle him.
You squint as he sticks his two middle fingers in his mouth, rolls them over his tongue, and pulls them out with a lewd pop. You fall forward to grab onto his shoulders as he slides through your folds and curls into your cunt, scissoring you open.
âCan you come just from my fingers, dollface?â
âNo, I need you.â
A rumble of thunder fills a pause before he asks, âNeed me? How.â
âFucking me,â you rasp. âPlease.â
âI didnât think you could be so polite.â
âLike youâve had great manners,â you grit.
He chuckles and removes his fingers, sucking them into his mouth again. Your thighs shake, pussy throbbing, desperate to be filled again.
After he finishes tasting you, he locates the condom and tears it open while you take the time to rise on your knees, hands on the back of his head, kissing and licking along his neck, under his jaw, over the small hoops in his ear. He hums and leans into the marks you make on the column of his throat, arm flinging to the side to dispose of the wrapper before one hand goes to your hip, the other to the back of your neck, tugging you down to lock his mouth with yours.
Slowly sinking into his lap, you grind over his protected length that bobs in response. Lips locked, you reach between your legs to grab his dick, moving the head to gather up your slick, and when thatâs not enough, you retract your hand to spit in it and jerk his shaft to lube up the rest of him. He hums deeply in approval, tilting towards you and leaning back on his hand as you slowly guide him in.
He breaks the kiss and your skin prickles with the sensation of his eyes roving up and down your naked form, palm coasting down your side to your back and ass. Breathing shakily, your nerves freeze from the pressure of it all.
âRelax.â His sultry tone lodges a pathetic moan in your throat.
âI am, youâre just fucking big,â you snap and he chuckles, massaging and kissing over your breast.
âYou took me just fine before.â
âI was desperate.â You hiss as his teeth tease your nipple.
âMmm. And now you want to take your time? Donât stroke my ego too much.â
âYouâre right, itâll get as big as your head and no one wants that.â He smacks the side of your tit in retaliation and you yelp at the sting, but a dirty tingle in your gut wants him to do it again.
âAnnoying fucking brat.â
âYou werenât saying that when you were fucking my face just now.â
âBecause your big mouth was full and you couldnât talk back. It was actually kind of nice.â
Keeping your head down, you take a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse, but you can still feel him checking out your naked form, hand smoothing over your waist. You want to do this, but you canât relax.
âCan you maybe just⊠not look at me?â you request quietly, pressing your fingers into his shoulders to pass over some of your stress.
âWhy? Am I making you nervous?â Heart thudding at his teasing tone, you clap a palm over his mouth and push him away to get him out of your face. He falls back against the headboard with a harmless laugh, both hands resting on your thighs.
âWhat are you- oh,â he says as you unmount him, only to turn around to sit over his lap, knees on the inside of his legs, breathing freely now that youâre not facing him. You adjust your stance with your feet wiggling under his thighs, and he shifts down a little closer, head of his cock landing on the center of your ass and with a small moan, you lift up so he can prod your entrance but not push any further, seemingly waiting for you to take the lead. Finally out of your head, you feel a little less pressure and slowly sink back onto him.
âFuck, there you go,â he hums as you completely sheathe him and find your bearings, basking in the fullness. Then the soft murmur that follows flings your pulse into a frenzy.
âI meant what I said earlier. Youâre beautiful.â
And just like that, his simple assurance, which you (for once) believe whole-heartedly, gives you confidence. You start out slow and gentle, this position not one youâre wholly experienced with, but one that takes some of the performance pressure off. Fighting for breath, you arch your back, and receive a small hiss in response, and then, a growl.Â
âLean forward a bit,â he encourages, palm pressing on your lower back and your nerves tremor at the tender velvet in his tone. Accepting his guidance, you let out a wanton moan as your adjusted posture allows him to fill every inch of you at a delicious angle.
It takes a second to find your rhythm, what movements and angles give you the most pleasure, silently grateful for his hands on your ass supporting you.
âYeah, use me,â he grunts, a harsh swat and grope of your ass sending a pleased yelp to the ceiling. âMy good fuckinâ slut.â
You stutter out a whimper, the possessive term something you could get dangerously hooked on, despite doubting that he means it literally. Heâs just caught up in the moment. Right?
Grinding back on him, slick sounds of his hard cock sliding in and out of every inch of your core mix with his gratified purrs.
âDamn, this pussy is driving me crazy.â
âGood.â He huffs and swats your ass.
âBrat. Whereâs my bandana?â
âYou want me to go get it?â
âNah. Stay right here.â
Lightning flashes, and his words sends a shiver down your spine just as thunder cracks. You watch the windows in front of you rattle with natureâs vibrations and for a moment as you roll and grind on him in a somewhat sloppy rhythm, you focus on the tempest whirling around outside, blackening the ocean, dark waves smashing up on the stone wall near where you were just sitting on Yoongiâs lap as he smoked.
But then he starts uttering praises and pleased hums, hand never straying from your ass, and your mind goes blank as you focus on your motions to evoke more of his enticing sounds.
Thighs starting to ache at the exertion, you find purchase with your fists on the mattress between his legs and arch forward, jaw dropping in a gasp when his cock hits a spot so deep inside you that you see infinite, sparkling galaxies behind your closed eyes. Riding through the strain, you whimper in ecstasy as he moans behind you, kneading your ass in continuous support of your riding.
Ultimately, your muscles give out in exhaustion, so you groan and tip forward, fingers finding his ankles as you stop to catch your breath and he grabs onto your waist to hold you in place.
âYou alright?â
âIâm tired.â
âHad enough?â You shake your head.
âGood. Iâm not done with you.â His promise is gruff as he pushes you off and handles you to the head of the mattress, stuffing pillows under your head before standing on his knees outside of your legs, forcing your ass into the air with a firm grip on your hips. Adjusting one of the pillows to comfortably prop yourself up, you use it to muffle a moan when he lazily slaps your clit with his cockhead, circling it a few times before gliding to your fluttering hole.
Hand pressing down on your spine, he rolls into you, easily finding that patch of nerves and hitting it with steady thrusts. You bury a prolonged moan into the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in a telepathic prayer, thanking the universe for throwing this dangerous man in your life when you least expected but needed him most.
Youâre not alone now.
And then he fills you to the brim, making you whimper as he starts fucking you at a languid pace, completely contrary to the ardent rhythm he set in the closet, but you take it with pleased moans. But at some point you find yourself moving on your own accord, whining your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate to bring out that demon in him.
âYou keep trying to take over, dollface,â he muses, letting go of your hips completely when you donât stop rocking back on him.Â
âNot that Iâm complaining, but I thought you were tired.â
âMaybe I want you to go harder.â
He hums, smoothing both palms over your ass to your lower back.
âIf you want something, you could try that polite thing again.â
You suck in a deep breath. âFuck me harder. Please.â
âPlease, what?â
âPlease, Yoongi!â
He chuckles and then slams into you, sending your conscience to travel in another plane of existence, fucking you until youâre so far gone, you donât even realize youâve been chanting his name like a song you never want to stop singing.
âNot gonna lie, I hate you for winning my money, Angel,â he grumbles, bringing you back down to earth. âFuckinâ hustler.â
âIs that why you really came back?â you taunt out in between moans. âSo I could make it up to you?â
He suddenly stops and roughly yanks you up by your shoulder, handful of your tit, pinning your back to his chest.
âYou made it up to me in that closet,â he tells you thunderously. Another bolt of lightning brightens the room for a split second, a boom from the sky responding loudly a few seconds later. But you barely notice over the blood storming in your ears.
âI came back because I canât get you out of my head. Happy?â He says it like you shouldnât be, lips ghosting the shell of your ear.
âAre you admitting that you like me?â
âIâm not fucking admitting anything,â he snarls, distracting you from the scorn in his tone with his fierce re-entrance after he lets you fall, snapping into you and picking up his unwavering pace.
Dare you say impassioned?
The echoes of squelching matches the smacks of skin as he pounds into you relentlessly, cock plunging deep and rigorous, and your mind dissolves when his balls roughly slap your clit.
He angles against your spot and keeps his momentum there, the fire in your belly growing hotter, tightening your muscles, heightening your whines, jellifying your mind.
âYou gonna come again for me, hm?â he coos in a cocksure timbre.
Smug bastard, you say to yourself, not realizing youâve spoken out loud until he delivers another smack to your ass with a low chuckle.
Grabbing your hip, he lowers himself on top of you, chest pressed into your back, sinking you further into the mattress. Mewling as youâre heated and weighed down by his flushed skin, he curves his arm around your head so your face is nestled in the crook of his elbow, driving into you at a fast, consistent pace.
âYoongi!â you wail, breath collapsing as he fucks you to your peak. âDonât stop! Please, Iâm-â
The words catch in your throat as your climax approaches, and he reaches under to stroke your clit, the muscles on his bicep flexes just as he growls right in your ear, âCome.âÂ
The simple word muttered in his low, lusty tone is the final push to the edge of a tsunami-esque wave of pleasure, mouth hanging open soundlessly. For once youâre speechless, like the force of your orgasm depleted all the brain waves responsible for forming cohesive sentences or even thoughts. His mouth sucks hard on the back of your shoulder, rolling his hips at a sharp pace so he can drag his dick through every inch of your core. He hits you deep over and over and over as you pulse, violent and overpowering, and you feel the need to scream. The only way to muffle yourself is by biting something and the closest thing is his bicep. So you scrape your teeth on his bulging muscle, and he groans, grabbing your ass as his elbow tightens a pinch more around your head.
âHarder,â he demands in a growl, and you obey, clamping down. The divots youâre leaving in his skin are enough to nearly draw blood, but it doesnât seem to phase him as he ruts into you.
In fact, you think itâs spurring him on.
He slides up, tags on the back of your neck, clenching the sheets beside your head and burying his face in your neck as he uses the support of his thighs to ruck into you with thorough, earnest thrusts. Is he trying to split you in half?
In the midst of your spiral, your heart palpitates upon just barely hearing him whisper with lips and chains weighing on your skin,
âFuck have you done to me?â
You shudder. You could ask him the same question.
And then he pulls out of you, lifting up so an onslaught ofÂ
slightly chilled air encompasses you. You donât have time or the mind capacity to object before his hands on your waist roll you onto your back and, bleary eyed, you gawk up at his pallid features blurred by the darkness - his broad chest heaving, biceps flexing, damp blonde bangs and long chains dangling in the air.
His fingers brush up your sides, trailing across your stomach, kneading into your breasts and your skin prickles with sweat and electricity. He ducks his head to kiss down your neck, your sternum, then to lick over your nipples.
Oh, god. Can he feel how fast your heart is pounding? Itâs not just from the aftermath of your orgasm.
He continues his descent and on his knees hunches over, fingers digging into your ass to tip up your hips. Your back arches with a pitiful moan when he ravenously slurps at your cunt, drinking in your cum and humming gravelly as he swallows. At this rate, heâll make you shatter into pieces and you donât think you can handle it.
So you weakly wrench his hand from your hip, and he sets you down, pulse faltering when he slips back inside you before falling forward to hover above you, one hand on the headboard.
He shifts to fuck into you so deep, and when you reach up to tangle your fingers in the links, he drops his arm from the headboard, caging you in.
Getting high off the sounds of him breathing heavily and moaning darkly, head ducked to watch his hips clap against yours, you slide your hands up and down his torso, brows pinching when you coast over more areas of raised and jagged skin; some long and linear, others small and circular like the one by his clavicle. So many violent scars on his ribs, his chest, his back.
Just like you expected.
And at that, unexpected tears prick the corners of your eyes. Soon the sides of your face flood, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down so you can hide the streaks in his neck, biting your lip in a poor attempt to stop your cries.
A few intense thrusts in, you moan, but a small whimper followed by a sniffle slips out, and his hips roll to a stop, pulling halfway out and lifting to plank above you. You shut your eyes to avoid his stare, more tears squeezing out.
âHey, you crying?â he asks this gently, no judgement in his hushed tone. Concern? Maybe. Care? âŠ
âIâm fine.â The croak in your voice betrays you.
âWe can stop.â
âNo, itâs-â you scramble for anything but the real reason youâre shedding tears for him. âIâm glad you came back. And not just for this.â
He doesnât say anything and you donât expect him to. Although you want nothing more than to know what heâs thinking about you, about what you just said, about the fact that youâre laid up beneath him fucking crying, youâre content with the fact that heâs just still here.
âI get scared thinking about what wouldâve happened if you hadnât shown up.â
Okay, thatâs real. You doubt that the symbol on your neck wouldâve deterred those men from getting what they wanted when youâre so far from home.
âHmm, a girl like you can fight, no?â
âYou maybe,â you quip with a sniff. He chuckles, breath and tips of his bangs tickling your forehead. âBut not all those guys at once.â
âWell, then I guess youâre lucky I found you just in time,â he says, voice soft and small.
âAnd youâre lucky Iâm letting you stay here for free.â
âSo, weâre even.â
âNot yet.â
Fisting his hair, you tug him into a searing kiss, free hand sneaking to his ass, eliciting him to moan over your tongue and move again.
Legs bent next to his waist, your nails rake up and down his back, scratching harder when he grunts and increases his rhythm, face dipping to pant against your throat.
âWhere can I come?â
âDoesnât matter,â you wheeze, and he growls, sucking a sloppy bruise under your ear.
Your teeth end up on his shoulder, and you bite like you did before, hardly anticipating the sharp hiss that he sucks in as he surges forward, balls deep, spilling heavily into the condom.
âMm, Angel,â he moans, staying in a spot inside you that sucks him in tighter as he comes, hard and drawn-out, dick pulsing wildly in place, purring for an entire low and long exhale.
âShit, I meant to-â He starts pulling out and you curl a hand over the side of his neck.
âItâs fine.â You make a mental note to get a pill first thing after you wake up.
âYou just-â
âWhat?â But he shakes his head.
Softening inside you, he starts to pull out, but a spike of panic has your knees pressing against his sides, arms wrapping around his neck to hold him in place.
You donât want him to leave at all.
âNo, stay,â you whisper, scared that as soon as this moment is gone, everything will be over. âJust for a minute.â
Silence permeates the air, and more panic joins the energy wearing off in your veins as you fear you just messed everything up. He kisses the side of your neck.
âGotta clean up. Be right back.â
You want to protest, but youâre sure youâll sound pathetic, not in your right mind. Biting your tongue, he pushes himself up and slips out and both of you moan at the loss.
Your bottom lip juts in a deep pout when he climbs off the bed and shuffles away to the bathroom, the snap of the condom coming off accompanying him.
When the door closes, you roll onto your stomach to plunge your head under the pillows, floating back down to earth and into reality -Â that you just slept with a stranger and it was the best goddamn sex of your life. You want to scream into the bedding to release all of these emotions mounting inside of you, ones that you could define if you werenât so afraid of them.
After a minute or a century, the edge of the mattress dips and the pillow lifts from your head, but you just bury your face further into the sheets.
âOh, good, you didnât die this time either,â he teases, the humor in his tone at your expense making you never want to roll over.
âFucked you quiet, huh? Finally.â You shove your middle finger back in his face because thatâs the only part of you that can move at the moment. He pushes it away with a laugh and a gentle tug on your elbow forces you onto your side and you begrudgingly take in the cool air stenched with sex. Room still swathed in darkness, youâre unable to see how heâs looking at you but at least notice that heâs once again covered by the robe.
âYou should get up.â
âBossing me around?â
âFine, get a UTI for all I care.â You scoff as he stands, then raise yourself up with your arms crossed over your chest. Youâve barely moved but your ass is already so fucking sore. Youâre gonna pay for that when you have to hop back on a long flight later.
âIâll just bill you, then,â you mumble as you start to walk past him, gait uneven, whipping around with a squeak when he lands a lazy but heavy palm on your bare ass.
âYeah, okay. Get your pretty ass in the bathroom.â
You flip him off before swiveling around and scurrying away. The light flickers on and heat inundates your cheeks when you just bet he did that to stare at your behind while you walk away.
After cleaning yourself up, you spot the sweater he hung up on the doorknob, now completely dry, not thinking twice about grabbing it to slip on. Finders keepers. Itâs so soft and it smells just like him and you want to sleep in it forever andâŠ
Damn girl, you need to reel it back - you just met the fucking guy. Itâs barely been half a day.
When you emerge, heâs back at the table with his phone plugged in again, staring at it with a frown.
âStill no deposit?â
He shakes his head, glancing up with his brows furrowed and one cocks as you pass by him for the mini fridge.
âUh, what are you wearing?â You shrug nonchalantly.
âA sweater I found.â
âIâm getting it back.â
âWeâll see.â He scowls at your cheeky smile, reluctantly accepting the water bottle you pass him. Spotting the remote by the outlet, you reach over him to grab it, switching on the TV hung up in the corner of the room across from the bed and then giving him the control.
He regards you hesitantly before taking it. As you sit down across from him, rooting through the snacks you bought and passing them out between you, he flips through the channels.
In the background, the news plays, and as you start eating, the reporter starts giving updates about the weather.
âStormâs letting up in the afternoon,â Yoongi announces softly, picking up a snack, the pitter-patter of calm rain hitting the windows behind him.
Mid-chew, you glance over your shoulder to the forecast displayed on the screen, predicting a decrease in precipitation over the next few hours.
âHm. So Iâll be able to fly out then.â The words turn sour in your mouth as you focus back on your food, and his next question turns your thoughts grey.
âGoing home?â
âNo,â you sigh, picking at the wrapper. âMy brother would be pissed if I popped up out of nowhere. And Iâve already skipped two classes anyway, so.â
He tisks, shaking his head. âI canât believe I slept with someone who plays hooky.â His growing smirk gets smacked with your balled up wrapper.
âDidnât you literally stab a guy?â
âTouche.â You match his playful smile and go back to eating and listening to the news in comfortable silence.
Exhaustion seeping into your bones, you think about how slowly itâs killing you how much youâre coming to like him. Even more so that youâre struggling to find the confidence to tell him. Because you two are about to part ways - who knows if this is meant to be more than a one night stand.
âHere,â you say, taking out the box of condoms and tossing it at him. âRestock your wallet.â
He peers at you curiously but doesnât touch it at first, just what you were hoping for. You canât stop the disappointed frown when he ultimately reaches into the box and takes out a few square foils.
âI hope your next fuck treats you to something better than a moldy closet.â
Oh. So then heâs not expecting this to last. Not what you were hoping for.
âWell, I hope your next fuck sends you into crippling debt,â you sneer and he gazes at you with a diminished light in his eyes that you hold with a lasered glare.
You get up, chair loudly scraping the floor, and snatch the wrappers from your side and his to furiously throw them away. You know this reaction is strange and out of character, feeling so rejected when youâre accustomed to one night stands. But something about this man - you canât help it. And itâs really not fair.
That pisses you off even more.
You storm in and out of the bathroom to aggressively brush your teeth, and then head for the bed, heart jumping when heâs standing right there in the small hallway. A hand around your elbow stops you from passing him in your path of fury and you twist to face him with a hard-set expression, not expecting his unsure frown.
âYouâre flying out.â
âAnd?â you snap.
âAnd I donât stay,â he states firmly, letting go of your arm. âMuch less stay in touch.â
You exhale a short, calmer breath, resolve softening. âYouâre staying now.â
You wait for him to say that itâs because itâs still raining. But he doesnât - eyes just darting between yours, frantically, like heâs looking for something. Your chest tightens because you donât know what heâs expecting to find.
âWell, if you donât want to exchange phone numbers, we could write letters or something,â you half-joke, knot in your gut unraveling.
âYeah?â He lifts a brow. âAnd how would that work? I move around a lot.â
âHm. So do I.â
His jaw clenches as he bows his head, pressing three fingers into his eyes, and then offers you his palm, expression flat and begrudging.
âGive me your phone.â
Itâs hard to not let the excitement show in your smile, but your cheeks beam with a radiating heat as you scramble around to snatch your phone out of your discarded hoodie, practically shoving it into his hands after you unlock it.
Your nerves vibrate and a smile dances on your lips as you watch him type in his number, eyes downcast when he passes over your device displaying his newfound digits.
âDoes this mean you like me?â
âNo,â he gruffs, frowning, and your eyes roll at his stubbornness.
âWhatever. I donât like you either,â you lie.
âThen why do you want my number?â
âSo I can bother you from a different time zone.â He lunges for your phone.
âDelete it right now.â
âNo! Too late!â You hold your device high in the air but donât back down from his advance.
âAngel, I swear-â
âWhat are you gonna do about it?â His eyes narrow at your challenge, lips pulling into a line when he glances down at yours.
As you turn to walk away, he grabs your shirt by your waist, yanking you towards him and into a kiss, one that has butterflies whirling through your bloodstream, limbs melting like butter. Until you feel his fingers slither over your wrist and attempt to pull your phone out of your grasp, lips lingering on yours, do you lean away when you realize he kissed you as a ploy.
âNice try.â He glares at you and, smirking, you kiss him again. He scowls when you pull away with a grin and turn back around to crawl into bed. While you get comfortable under the covers, news reporters covering some more about the storm, you watch him collect his shirt from the floor and frown at it still being wet. You almost take off his sweater and give it back but youâre so damn comfortable and warm in it that you canât help but be selfish.
âI have a shirt you can wear,â you offer a little shyly. âYou mind handing me my duffle?â
When he nods after a slight pause, he picks it up and sets it on the edge of the bed, waiting for you to dig through and pull out one of your favorite graphic tees. He takes it with a quirk of his brow, staring at the design on the front and you donât care if heâs judging.
âIâd rather just wear my sweater.â
âIâm wearing it.â Duh. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at the graphics.
âWell, youâre definitely getting this back.â You snort and tell him to hurry up so you can go to bed. You pay him no mind as he trudges away muttering something under his breath. You grab one last thing from the bag, making him turn around with a tap on his elbow.
âHereâs an extra toothbrush. Toothpaste is on the sink.â
He doesnât look at you as he takes it, murmuring a quiet âThanks,â and then disappears into the bathroom.
When he returns, you peer over the headboard to see heâs wearing your shirt, long enough to fall past his waist, partially covering his boxers, and you almost squeal in delight.
âThat looks cute on you,â you say as he shuffles towards the table, voice cracking with the threat of laughter, barreling out when he grits âShut upâ and flips you off.
âWhat? It does!â
He shakes his head in denial and reaches for his phone, probably checking for his deposit yet again, and with a silly idea, you grab yours to type out a message.
5:03 You: Night cutie
After it sends, you stare at him as his phone buzzes and he stares at it, biting your tongue when he quickly sets it back face down.Â
âI could block you,â he grumbles as he stands beside the bed, hands on his hips.
âJust like you couldâve pushed me out of the closet? Or like I could make you sleep on the floor?â
His head tilts. âActually, that might be better for my back.â
âGo right ahead, old man.â He grimaces and picks up a pillow to land it in your face. Holding it against your chest, you fall back against the headboard with a giggle.
âCâmon,â you say, patting the bedding beside you. âI donât bite.â
His eyes narrow, holding out his right arm to present the deep set marks from your teeth in the skin just above his elbow. Your eyes widen in delight. âThis begs to differ.â
Rising on your knees, you crawl to him, peering up with a sly smile when he doesnât resist as you reach for his arm.
âIt might bruise.â He shrugs and you tilt your head, analyzing it and experimentally pressing the pad of your thumb against the divots, and he shifts. You blink up to his hooded eyes, the subtle tongue flick on his bottom lip.
âYou like that?â you tease, smirking at his failure to deny it. âHm, I got a little masochist on my hands.â
Continuing to press over the marks, you bat mischievous lashes as his pupils dilate.
âDonât start, Iâm beat,â he says, moving his arm back.
âAww, is it past your bedtime?â
âThatâs getting old.â
âYeah, like you.â He sighs in exasperation.
âYou walked right into that one,â you snicker.
âJust scoot over,â he mutters, shooing you away as he takes the covers you offer and lifts a knee onto the mattress.
âI thought the floor was better for your back.â
âIâm not sleeping on that nasty ass floor.â You blow a raspberry, heart skipping a beat as you side-eye him situating himself next to you, leaving a significant amount of space between you that you pretend youâre not disappointed by.
âSo are you stuck here for the time being?â you find yourself inquiring through a yawn as you turn your attention to the TV. He hums, adjusting the pillow under his head.
âUntil I get paid enough for a plane ticket.â You stare at his side profile for a moment, debating whether or not you should offer to pay for his ticket, but decide against it, figuring he would say no again.
âYouâre welcome to stay here until then,â you pose gently, not taking it to heart when he just gives you a side glance and a single nod.
For a moment, you pensively chew the inside of your cheek.
âAnd maybe you can drop me off at the airport?â His eyebrows lift, a mild uptick on the corner of his mouth.
âMaybe.â A blip in your heart conjures up a smile.
ââPpreciate it.â
âMm,â he hums indifferently, turning his head to roll his shoulders and crack his neck.
After turning off the TV and pulling the covers up, your body is drawn to his warmth so you shimmy your way towards him. But just as your head hits his shoulder, he leans away, and you do the same, like youâve suddenly become magnets of the same polarity. Glancing up to his side eye and clenched jaw, you realize your small action showcasing your desire to be close crossed a boundary of something heâs not comfortable with. You respect it, but you canât deny that it hurts a little.
âI donât do that,â he says, no malice in his tone, like heâs just stating a fact.
âOkay,â you murmur, shifting to your side of the bed with guilt crawling through you. âIâm sorry. Night.â
A tiny tug in your chest, you turn on your side, back facing him, and settle into the sheets, closing your eyes and focusing on the rain softly hitting the windows to help lure yourself to sleep.
Just as youâre about to drift off, your eyes fly open as his weight dips behind you, a tentative hand on the dip of your waist, elbow nudging the back of your head. His legs brush behind yours and you donât react, as if any sudden movement will scare him away. But your heart runs like the wind.
âThis is your imagination. Got it?â
Huffing, your smile turns into a grin as you cheekily wiggle back so your body slots ever so lightly against his, ass barely touching his pelvis.
âSince itâs my imagination, I can do this?â you probe, poking your toes between his legs to slide your calves together. He hisses and kicks his feet back.
âNot when your feet are freezing!â
You giggle and he pushes at your hip but doesnât move away. Finally, he settles and your eyes close, wishing your heart to not go into overdrive.
âI meant to thank you,â you whisper, disrupting the tranquility.Â
âFor everything.â A soft exhale flutters over your scalp. âAnd I ho-â And then his palm flies up to cover your mouth.Â
âPlease go to sleep.â
Bringing his arm down to curl over your middle, you expect him to move it as you nuzzle into the pillow and close your eyes once again, his face plastered in your mind as you finally succumb to sleep.
His arm pulls you just a bit closer.
When Yoongi wakes up with your head next to his shoulder, itâs light out and youâre fast asleep. Youâre stunning, even in slumber.
Reaching under the pillow, he panics for a second when his gun isnât there. Oh, right. He left it in the bushes by the bike. He did well to hide it on him in places you wouldnât find it, thanks to his quick hands and quicker thinking. He had it tucked in the back of his waistband when he found you in that restaurant, and if he hadnât gotten a hold of those chopsticks, last night wouldâve ended a lot differently. You donât deserve to see something like that. Something heâs seen and committed countless times - but he doesnât want to think about that right now. Itâll ruin this whole thing.
He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed, checking his phone first, noting that itâs almost noon. He shakes his head - itâs been a while since heâs slept in like this but you two were up very late last night after all. And you wore him the hell out. He's exhausted, mostly physically, but the sleep he managed wasn't interrupted by terrors inside his mind or out. For once.
He frowns when thereâs still no notification of his deposit, just a text from Lin telling him to call, and sighs, gently places his phone back down. Heâll deal with that later.
In the bathroom, he waits until heâs started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off your shirt and then his delicate, most treasured silver chain, placing it on the corner of the sink to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest as he steps into the stall.
The warm water gloriously cascading down his chest, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. This is something else heâs not accustomed to - showering in the same place where he hooked up with someone. Especially for a second time. He wasnât lying when he said heâs not the type to stay the night. But itâs different with you. With you, he feels⊠safe. Like he doesnât have to run. Itâs an odd relief.
Grabbing soap and a cloth, he starts lathering his body, and when he passes over the teeth marks you left on his bicep, his head tilts back with a moan at the slight sting. He props a hand on the wall to stare at the nasty bruise blooming on his arm, a smile curling his lips at the memory of your teeth sinking into his skin while you came hard around his cock. He wishes youâd bitten harder. A lot harder. He wouldnât mind having a scar from that. Heâs not sure what that says about him.
He likes the way it hurt, likes it even more that you caught on, paid attention to and cared about what he liked, dragged your teeth along his clavicle, biting sharply into it to drive him to the hardest-hitting orgasm heâs had in a long time. His dick stirs to life thinking about you mouthing and nipping all over his body, making marks on his hip bones, and he craves the opportunity to bury deep in your cunt again and stay there.
Thereâs a strange tightness in his chest when he thinks about how youâve made him feel since the moment he fucked you in that closet. Maybe even before that. Maybe when you shoved in his face how much better you are than him at poker. Maybe when you walked into that dingy room with an air of confidence he didnât expect.
Pretty. Alluring. Badass. Fearless.
Irresistible.
His heart hasnât raced for someone like this in⊠well, he canât remember. He hangs his head, water dripping down the back of his neck, pouring off of his chin and ends of his hair and he watches it all swirl down the drain.
He needs to get it the fuck together.
As he starts rinsing off, his ringtone suddenly blares, loud and shrill, and he scrambles out of the shower, haphazardly throwing a towel around his waist, darting out to grab his phone from the table.
âSorry,â he murmurs when he sees you squirming under the sheets, pillow punched over your head to drown out the noise. He squints at the caller ID and his temple throbs, so he quickly answers, whispers âHang onâ into the speaker, and picks up his boxers and robe that you wore on the way to the door, peeking over his shoulder to where youâre settling back into sleep.
âHello? Suga, you there?â the voice on the other line asks. His friend, Lin, one of the few people he actually trusts, rarely ever calls with good news.
âOne sec,â Yoongi mutters as he balances his phone between his cheek and shoulder, dropping the towel and yanking on his boxers. He swings on the robe before propping open the door with his sneaker, peering through the crack to make sure you havenât gotten up and followed him.
âI donât have all day, man.â
âWhatâs up?â he asks, jogging down the stairs in his bare feet. The stone pavement is wet and cold. It smells like more rain.
âYou need to get your ass back here because Axe is livid about the deal. Heâs blaming you and if you donât come and fix it, heâs gonna make you pay with your life.â
A cloud fills Yoongiâs lungs. He canât die. Not yet.
âIs my deposit coming through?âÂ
Lin laughs. âIf heâs not cutting our checks, heâs definitely not cutting yours.â Yoongi really, really wants to knee his friend in the nuts for laughing at a time like this.
âI donât have any fucking money for a plane ticket,â he whisper yells, glancing around to make sure no one is around.
âThatâs your problem. You gotta find a way back âcause heâs got thugs in Jeju thatâll take care of you for him.â
A stressed hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling and tugging like thatâll make him think of a solution.
âYouâre also supposed to be in charge of handling that shipment coming through. Donât miss it or youâll really be dead.â
âI wonât,â he promises through gritted teeth. âIâll be back in a few hours.â
âI hope so.â
The call drops and Yoongi almost throws his phone to crack on the concrete, but he has one more shot at not being totally screwed. He dials another number, eyes closing in relief when it picks up on the fourth ring.
âItâs a little early to be calling,â the familiar male voice chirps. âWhat can I do for you?â
âHey, Iâm sorry, but do you think- would you mind wiring me an advance? Please?â Fuck, heâs never been one to beg. Itâs pathetic. âIâm kind of in a spot right now and my deal in Jeju fell through so Iâm not getting any money any time soon. I hate to ask but-â
âWhy donât you have any money?â Shame. Guilt consumes him.
âI lost it gambling.â
âI see.â Thereâs a pause and Yoongi holds his breath, thinking he just flushed his whole life down the drain. Oxygen whooshes out of his lungs when the man he will eventually owe his life to continues.
âWell, you canât play away all of your money like this, understand? I wonât tolerate having my funds being used to get yourself out of situations that you shouldnât be in in the first place, especially when you havenât earned it yet. Iâll let it slide this time but if it happens again, then youâre out. I wonât be able to help.â
He nods solemnly. âI understand.â
âGood. I canât wire any until tomorrow, but youâll receive a decent amount to get you through until your next job, okay?â
Fucking shit. He canât wait that long. He wants to ask if thereâs any way he can get enough now for a plane ticket home, but he canât risk getting out of the good graces of Don Kimâs son.
âYeah, thank you. And again, Iâm sorry.â
âI know. Actually, this might be a way to make up for some of it. My brother isnât doing so well, and I have to go out of town for a while soon; do you think you can check in on him while Iâm gone? Iâve been trying to get him back into boxing and I know he enjoys doing that with you.â
âSure. I have some stuff to take care of first though. Iâll head up in the next couple of weeks?â
After he does some damage control and manages a risky deal without ending up dead or in prison, heâll play babysitter if it means he can keep his secret other job. And his livelihood. Sol may be a troubled kid, but heâs generally easy to get along with. Sometimes when heâs sober and in his better moods, he makes Yoongi think of that kid back home. The kid heâs doing this whole canât-die-yet thing for.
âOkay, great. In the meantime, have you gotten anything on Axe that I can use?â
Yoongi looks around again, squats next to a wall and cups his mouth to muffle himself. âHeâs planning to intercept a shipment trucking out of Incheon and I think itâs coming from one of your suppliers. You might have a mole.â Oh, the irony.
âHm, interesting. I just caught a cop working undercover in the harbor, so heâll have some intel if he knows whatâs good for him. Keep me posted.â
âI will.â
âAnd hang in there a little longer, D. Weâll get you out.â
God, he hopes so. Yoongi knows these things take time, itâs less dangerous that way, but heâs been trying to get out of this game for years. Well, out of one and into another, but at least this time heâll have a little more security.
He has to figure out how to scrape his way back home. He slinks back inside while trying to come up with lies and excuses to weasel his way out of this, but itâs hard to come up with ones convincing enough because in the short time that heâs known you, heâs learned youâre smart enough to see right through his bullshit.
He looks over to your bag sitting on the floor, remembering the wallet you stuffed all of your cash in.
Fuck.
He could ask you to spot him enough to get on a plane, but after all the times he adamantly denied it when you offered to give him some back, never anticipating that he wouldnât get paid, he knows youâll ask questions that he wonât be able to answer.
But he could also just⊠take some cash and dip out before you wake up. But he really doesnât want to do that. Doesnât want to become the person he tried to hide from you. Even though you figured out that heâs a dealer with a habit for getting himself into dangerous situations, you didnât completely write him off, giving him a chance to show you heâs not entirely a bad person.
But he is. And heâs far, far worse.
He considers it - coming clean to you about everything. Well, at least the part about him being in a tough situation and if he doesnât make his way back soon, he might as well be six feet under. He thinks youâll understand, having gathered that you know about his side of the world, experienced some of it - whether through friends or boyfriends or whomever. Does he think youâre better than that, better than him? Yes. Youâve got shit going for you, more than heâll ever have. You donât need someone like him dragging you down. You deserve a life where youâll make something of yourself. One that you wonât get with him. But he thinks he can spend just a little more time with you, at least until you have to go to the airport. Heâll take you there, maybe kiss you one last time, and pretend that his heart wonât sink when you turn your back on him. Heâs used to being the one to leave. So it hurts like hell to be on the other side.
Heâs conflicted as he returns to where youâre still sleeping. A little of the cloudy afternoon sky has made the room a light gray and despite the regret churning in his gut, he catches himself smiling when he hears you snoring softly.
Just as he turns to change, you shift onto your stomach, head still under the pillow, and a small etching on the back of your neck right below your hairline catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts, so he carefully sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued.
The ink has the shape of something with wings, so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart freezes and plummets to the floor, smashing into pieces. Itâs a bird, but not one he expected to see on your skin.
A crow.
And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, talons digging into an upside-down human skull.
How did he miss that?! Thatâs what he gets for always fucking in the dark.
To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, edgy, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of a direct relation to the family of enormous power, made by generations of blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo on his back (a tiger, clawing at his left shoulder blade) belonging to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that will be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.
Holy shit. He might throw up. He just fucked the daughter of the countryâs mafia kingpin, the sister of the man he was just on the phone with, the one you were probably talking to earlier. If Atlas doesnât want his mole playing around with his money, he damn sure wouldnât want him playing around with his sister. If that man found out all that he did with you, Yoongi would die a slow and gruesome death, heâs sure of it.
Thereâs no way heâd make it out alive. And Yoongi has promises he needs to keep. He canât do that if heâs sleeping with the fishes.
His stomach clenches, though, thinking about what your reaction will be when you wake up and heâs gone, leaving you with nothing but his sweater. Because he knows how you looked at him throughout the night, like you felt something for him, like you might want something more than sex. And you not knowing all of his sins, or that thereâs nothing he can really offer you, made him feel like he was good enough for you to let him in like you did, to touch you, kiss you, fuck you, just⊠be with you. In a normal way. Where you werenât expecting drugs and/or money at the end of it.
With your wit and your charm and your smart goddamn mouth, you managed to knock down a wall that dismantled his normal cold exterior, penetrating a part of him that heâs had to lock away.
(Itâs scary how easily you did that. And Min Yoongi doesnât get scared. Not for himself).
You turned his world upside down in less than a day. For most of his life, heâs been living on the dark side of the moon, but with you, he got to see the sun for a little while. You offered him your spare toothbrush when he didn't ask for one. Sharing a meal, staying the night, giving you his number, fucking cuddling with you. How you got him to do something normal is beyond him. He doesnât do that because heâs never deserved it.
So who is he kidding?
Because at the end of the day, for someone like him, good things never last. Heâs sinful and marred. Heâs been to prison, for fucksâ sake. The bike that he came to your rescue with, drove you around on - he stole it. Saw the man who parked it, pretended to bump into him, and managed to slip the keys out of his pocket. Granted, you being the reason behind losing all of his money kind of fucked his opportunity for getting around town in an honest, law-abiding way, but he canât blame you. He severely underestimated you and paid for it. Literally.
Heâs a liar and a gambler and a thief, and thatâs the tamest part of his sins. Heâs had blood on his hands thatâs not his. Far too much to ever really wash away. He canât take the risk of your brother finding out that a crook and a murderer like him messed around with the most precious jewel in that family.
They donât know his name, and now heâll make sure they never do.
How can he explain that to you? He knows that makes him a coward.
So he comes to the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his chest hurt. Because he thinks - thought - that he could feel something deep for you, something he was starting to. Maybe even... No. Thatâs so damn foolish. Someone like him doesnât deserve to love, much less be loved back. All the more reason to coat his heart in tar, make it impenetrable to him and anyone else.
In the days and weeks and months to come, he'll force it to forget you. He has to. And that will only make him colder and more bitter.
Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.
He leaves the robe in a pile next to the bed, quickly and quietly pulling on his jeans, shirt and jacket, and grabs his phone and contacts case from the table, staring vacantly at your backpack until he comes to the conclusion that he has no other choice. He doesnât have time to pickpocket or hold up a gas station.Â
Glancing towards the bed to make sure you havenât stirred, he reaches into your bag, finds your wallet, swallows down the disgust for himself, and pulls out enough cash that will get him a plane ticket, food that he can stretch over a week, and gas thatâll get him to where he needs to be. Eventually to Incheon. He shoves the wallet back in its place, folds the cash into his jacket, and hauls ass to the door so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered.
It isn't until he's zipping away on the motorcycle that heâll ditch on the side of the road, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. For the rest of the way home, his motherâs words ring in his ears - heâs a fuck up whoâs lost all chances of redeeming himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out.Â
He hopes heâll never see you again.
It's better this way. He did you a favor.
When you wake up, itâs not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.
Itâs the frigid, deserted sheets next to you. The quiet, hollow room. The robe on the floor, embedded with the scent of his musk, sex, and cigarettes. The condoms left on the table.
Okay. Donât jump to conclusions. Maybe he stepped out, went to get food or more cigarettes.
But with what money?
So you find your phone, ignoring the disarray of the room as you click on his message thread that holds your text he left on delivered, and start a call.
One ring. Then another. Then a click and you open your mouth to ask him where the fuck he is, but instead youâre met with a robotic voice.
âWeâre sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable. Please try again later.â
You shoot confusion at your screen, a cold front moving into your chest from your fingers. You call again.
One ring. Fast pulse, bated breath. Then three ascending beeps.
âWeâre sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected. Please hang up.â
A piece of your soul collapses. Loud ringing blares in your ears as you stare at nothing, as everything sinks in.
What was the point of him giving you his number if he was just gonna block you? What was the fucking point of leading you to believe that he wanted more than just a one night stand if he was going to leave before you woke up?
It takes all of your willpower to not chuck your phone clear across the room, to have the screen crack so you canât see the numbers he typed in only hours ago, mocking you now that he blocked you.
Now youâre nauseous with embarrassment. Anger. A heart disintegrated. Made worse by the sweater youâre still wearing, engulfing you with the comforting scent that youâve been wanting to drown in. You rip it off and throw it on top of the robe, a tear slipping down your cheek.
Once you dare a look in the mirror, itâs his marks all over your skin. The lingering smell of him in the bathroom from the shower he took. The silver chain on the sink that dangled on your throat and back when he fucked you like youâve never been fucked before. The touch of his hands all over you, his mouth on yours that you wonât get rid of for weeks, no matter how hard you scrub. The sound of his voice in your ear, some of his words making things stir in your chest that felt like a prelude to what couldâve been love.
How could you be so stupid?
Youâd been so vulnerable and open with him. You feel like you spilled your guts and all he did was pick them up with bare hands, chuck them in the trash, and set it on fire, looking back with no regrets.
After shoving the sweater and chain deep into your duffel, you leave in a flustered hurry, eager to escape the room encapsulating a passage of time that will torment your subconscious. Near the airport, you rush into a pharmacy for a morning after pill, because youâll be damned if you get knocked up, especially by someone who doesnât have the fucking decency to say a single word before dipping out after a night like that.
When you get out your wallet to pay, the wad of cash stashed there is significantly lighter. In a bathroom stall, you hastily count out just how much.
Motherfucker took 500,000 won. The betrayal just increased tenfold. He fucking played you.
You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to go back in time and make sure this night never happened.
Most of all, you want to call your brother. Because he would hunt Min Yoongi down.
But doing that would mean also telling Jin that youâve been in Jeju this whole time and that you were gambling, which would not go over well. So you leave and go back to your life separate from the place now tainted with memories that ruined the good ones.
Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. And for fucking stealing from you. You know what your father (if he ever really cared) and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like youâve done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and stifle them in the dark regions of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you canât see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family.Â
Youâll become hardened and vindictive but maybe now the lesson will stick. Because for the years to come, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his voice, will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.
If you do, he'd better watch his fucking back.
.
.
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thanks for reading!!! pls like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!! i'd love to hear your thoughts <333
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I haaaate that I came across this fic so early onđđ Its so good and now I have to be patient and wait for updates. Think it might be my new fav























