AGUST D

sneak peek 01

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

.

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sneak peek 02

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing it against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

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It sounds like metal on metal, perhaps the jingle of keys or buckles knocking into each other as someone walks. 

Alcohol warms your cheeks and chest despite how revealing your red corset and miniskirt are. Still, you know that the sound following you ever since you left Jungkook’s Halloween party is real and not some alcohol-induced paranoia from walking home alone at two in the morning on Halloween. 

Jungkook hadn’t wanted you to walk, but finding an Uber so late at night would be impossible, and everyone else at the party had been too drunk to drive you home. 

Two blocks isn’t much at all.  

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

The sidewalk is empty when you twist around and try not to trip again. Streetlights cast shadows across the grass that could be people. Or animals. Or monsters. Creatures of the night. 

Taking a deep breath, you quickly unlock the gate that opens to wooden stairs leading to the backdoor of your apartment on the second floor. You rush up the stairs as quickly as you can in the stupid heels your best friend convinced you to wear because they’re sexy, and you both thought they might help you catch the eye of a certain boy. 

It wasn’t worth the trouble, though. The certain boy barely looked your way. 

For a second too long, you stall, fumbling with your keys to find the one that will unlock your backdoor. Your fingers feel numb from the cold, and your reflexes are dulled by whatever was in the punch Hoseok made. Perhaps that’s why you don’t know what looms behind you until its body has yours pressed against your door. 

Sticking your hands out, you try to stop yourself from hitting your face. It works, but now your arms are trapped between your body and the door. Your keys fall with a hollow thud, and for a heartbeat, the world is silent, like every creature in existence is holding its breath. 

Every creature except for the one crowding you against the door. It breathes, hot and heavy, against the shell of your ear, scattering goosebumps across your skin. You’re burning up from its body heat, the creature big and firmly pressed against every inch of you. 

But what makes your knees tremble isn’t the oppressive force of this thing sticking to you like a second skin. It’s the clink and then something cool and sharp pressed against your throat. 

You can’t swallow down your nerves without fear of your throat bobbing against what you guess is a large knife. 

“Are you scared?” a voice whispers. Soft lips brush the tip of your ear. Then a nose, buttoned and cold, drags along the side of your neck. “You’re being such a good girl, didn’t even scream.” 

Fear clutches your heart, but that voice strokes a fire in your core. It’s sick how you shiver against the man’s chest because you know it isn’t only because you’re scared of him. 

“You’re not funny, Yoongi,” you say with a shaky breath and do your best not to move too much when you talk. 

Yoongi chuckles into your shoulder, where he’s nuzzled his face. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” 

The knife glides down your throat at the point with not enough pressure to break the skin but just enough for it to feel uncomfortable. 

“Are you gonna let me in?” 

It’s not a real knife. Yoongi is your friend; he wouldn’t threaten you. Or, at least, you think he’s your friend. He’d ignored you all night, though. 

“Did you seriously follow me all the way here at two in the morning just to scare me?” You elbow him out of the way so you can bend down to retrieve your keys. 

“Yeah,” Yoongi admits with a gummy smile. 

Inside your apartment, you can get a better look at him. His costume is just his regular clothes with a Ghostface mask, though he isn’t wearing the mask anymore. It’s tied to one of his belt loops. The side bumps against the metal of his belt when he walks. 

Clink. Clink. Clink. 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

Yoongi’s grin grows. “Jungkook didn’t want you walking by yourself.” 

“Then why didn’t you walk with me instead of following me around like a creep?” 

You kick off your heels and take ginger steps toward the kitchen, the balls of your feet throbbing. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi shrugs. His pretty black hair falls against his shoulders and curls into his eyelashes when he tilts his head to watch you. 

“You knew I was there,” he doesn’t ask, just smiles when you roll your eyes. 

Catching your wrist, Yoongi stops you from crossing the living room to the kitchen. His grip on you is bruising when he yanks you into his chest. It’s claustrophobic and makes your stomach churn when you twist your wrist, and Yoongi doesn’t let go. 

“I’m thirsty.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, can’t manage to get any louder. “Let me go.” 

“Interesting,” Yoongi murmurs. “I’m thirsty, too.” 

You follow his eyes when he drops his chin to peer between your bodies. At the same time, you feel the cool edge of the knife drag up your thigh. The tip eventually catches on the edge of your miniskirt. In one swift motion, Yoongi flicks the knife up and cuts through the thin, stretchy fabric. A thin line of blood sprouts from the shallow cut his knife makes up the inside of your thigh. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, watching little dribbles of blood trickle down your leg. Heat spreads from the cut across your thigh and unfurls in your stomach. 

The dim lighting of your living room reflects in warm tones within Yoongi’s dark irises. Squeezing your wrist even tighter, he walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of your couch. 

“You liked it,” Yoongi points out with a tut of his tongue, his tone condescending and judgemental. The shame it stirs in your chest makes it hard for you to breathe. “Let me press you up against the door. Mark you up with this,” he twirls the knife around, making a show of how loosely he grasps it. 

“Yoongi.” 

Yoongi brings the knife to your lips to silence you. The tip glistens with your blood. 

“Keep quiet like a good girl for me, okay, sweetheart?” Yoongi kneels on the couch in between your spread legs. The position forces your ruined skirt higher up your thighs, exposing your sheer red thong. 

You watch in amazement as Yoongi drags the tip of his knife up your inner thigh until he reaches the edge of your thong. Lightly, he drags the tip along your clothed pussy. It doesn’t cut you, but you can’t stop shaking because it could, and you don't know what that would mean for you if you admitted that you kind of want it to. 

“Why are you–” 

“Shhh, don’t play so innocent,” Yoongi murmurs. He leans forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “You dressed up so pretty for me. Look so good in red; I wanted to see more of it on you.” 

The knife presses against the crease of your inner thigh and slices upward, giving you another shallow cut while cutting you loose from your thong. 

You moan when Yoongi drags his cold fingers along your folds, dig your nails into his forearm when he plunges two fingers into your pussy and makes your muscles flutter.

“So wet for me, fuck, you’re such a slut,” Yoongi moans as your pussy greedily sucks in his fingers despite the press of the bloodied blade against your throat. 

"Yoongi, please," you buck into his hand, urging him to fuck you faster. Your thighs sting from the cuts, and your legs are wet with little streams of blood, but you've never felt so close to an orgasm so quickly in your life.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take good care of you.” 

Halloween 2023 Masterlist

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

"Its really not normally this cold in autumn, agh!"

" pah, dont be so dramatic. You're just making excuses to lay your cold ass feet on my warm tummy to warm yourself up!"

" Its not my fault that i'm naturally freezing and youre a furnace, hubby."

" Blame your anaemic ass for that,wife. Not the weather…" the guy rolles his eyes and he sees the lady purse her lips and snort angrily, much to the guy's amusement. However, his pleasure seems to be only small, as now Yoongi now amusedly himself watches the lady stick her tongue out and quip back,

" Ah, then how 'bout you lend me your trench coat then, love. Since its not so cold for you, so it maybe is not much use for you, no?" , and Yoongi is aware of the ghost of a smile that hangs on his own face as he watches the guy visibly become pale and shake his head, suddenly squirming away from her hands which are on the coat's lapels.

And the bickering goes on for a few more minutes, Yoongi watches them with a silent air,laughing and snuggle onto eachother, and the lady speaks up,

" I wish if I could unmarry you."

" Ah, sorry, love. You're struck with me, and I love you."

The confession seems to melt her, resonding back with an eager I love you more, idiot, as he watches them both with wide smiles, cuddle closer for warmth.

Suddenly Yoongi feels the autumn wind flush against his cheeks to be cold.

Yet again, the strange feeling, or rather the sudden pang in his chest returns; and there's a faint thought inside him. He tries burying it inside him but however fails, as he himself desires that warmth, that protection from the cold. Not only the cold of the weather; but maybe also the cold Within which sometimes is scarier than the freezing cold.

And there's again the irrational thought bubbling inside him…Would that ever be you, that woman to him he's now made to make a match with; the woman whom he's yet to see or talk to; but hthe strange feeling in his heart won't fade from his system as he tries to shake any thoughts, yet its surprising how the faintest of the irrational of thoughts can turn into full time, disturbing thoughts which refuse to leave your head.

He cannot stop thinking about you. The person whose name he heard some few hours ago, the name which hasn't left his thoughts since then. Is that weird?

"_____." is his thought at present, and he still hasn't spoken out your name out loud. Is that weird?

He'll meet his fiance, for the first time.

He releases a breath; glances at his wrist watch. 5:30 PM, it reads. Alright, so he and gets up from the seat, because the time has come; and his troat slighty feels dry.

He prays that nothing weird or out of way goes by in the later hours today, for his heart feels that it's in a greater rush than he was ( he wasn't. nope. ) and fly out of his ribs.

As weird as that was, he prays that he didn't look like a creep of some sort; and walks out of the park.

Okay, now saying that out loud makes it weirder. Stop that, Yoongi. You can do it, he encourages himself and to his own surprise, turns back to glance the couple, maybe out of genuine curiosity, with whose curious eyes he met instantly, and Yoongi feels the hot rush of blood to his whole face. He doesn't know why did he do that, and turns back instantly.

Autumn this year indeed feels cold, Yoongi thinks.

Not only because its cold: so cold that it feels like a december when he's supposed to be wearing a crappy and itchy Christmas sweatshirt, dealing with the little rascals, his nephew and niece, and the viusal in his head makes his release a short breath; those two little kids, they don't..they maybe don't really know how much do they mean to him, and he hopes the little affection he shows to them can be enough for them, he can only hope.

And he hopes, almost with a desparate wish, that Christmas this year goes the same without any idifference in any part.

Yes,he was maybe exicted in this before as he had started but instaneously, a text on his phone washed off everything from his mind.

5:45 PM : received

min : "Don't try to squeeze your mind into something when its something not of your buisness, remember that "

He didn't open the text thread, and the notification was enough to make his lips press to thin line of annoyance.

Was this his marriage or his?

However, he cannot expect anything else from his father,so..

Here goes nothing, he thinks and enters his car, exiting the supermarket with some packets of gifts, a " token of love and promies ", something he couldn't get a grasp on, but however, he was told to do so, or maybe rather instructed to do so.

" Take some gifts with you. Eatables, mostly. Don't go on using that head of yours and buying somethimg that shall highly disppoint rather than pleasing, son. You have to impress, and so with a small token of love and to promise there's more in the future coming by".

His voice was full of what ' all that glitters isn't gold ' , and the word 'son' leaving his lips made Yoongi lose his mind totally, for he wished not many things, but to just not hear that word coming out of his lips and remind him that he was inherited of that awful man's blood within him.

It all began when his secretary, Jungkook entered his office, but not with his usual jouvial exprssion nor with his air of humor around him. Its once agin one of Yoongi's observations, that even if the young man tries his best ro remain professional within the office hours, he's never faking anything; doesn't need to.

Apart from being his secretary, he's his good friend, someone who shares his hot hotteok with Yoongi during lunch time and occasionally reminding him of him being a human and not a machine who just stays and works; accompanying him to his tours and making him smile the widest with his own. Interaction with someone younger often reminds Yoongi he isn't really that old as he thinks himself to be. In general, work with his friend isn't as terrible as without him, and even if he doesn't and won't admit that out loud, he looks forward to the young face of Jungkook.

Today, his face was nothing sort of what Yoongi is often used to, for the edges of his pierced eyebrows seem tense; showing that he's tense, though he tries his best to hide that behind that professional facade. Yoongi knows that its just the pretence and a sign of something not right.

And he was just right.

" Mr. Min, your schedule is, uh, disturbed. " I saw that coming, Jeon. But he bites that back, and motions him to speak further by a suggestive nod.

" Your, uh, er, father Mr. Min is coming to visit you.."

" Today? "

" Yeah, er… within twenty minutes."

Yoongi can tell how hard he's trying to not to stammer himself, knowing that maybe Yoongi and his father don't really share the best relationship, or even a relationship if to be called so.

" How did that happen? "

" A phone call. He approached me in that dry tone, asking about your schedule. I really didn't wanted to give it to him at the brink. Guess he read my hesistance and flipped me saying that he could get the access to it from his server himself , and this call was just a formality so its not suspected that he hacked into your systems or..er,.. I had to bite back a scoff, and.." At this he trails off and sighs, and Yoongi nods, knowing the young man's dislike towards his father and he was glad he didn't have to feign eitherwise.

" Its alright. Jeon. don't even expect anything better than that from him, and thanks for not pressing on it." Jungkook barely nods, almost as if still guilty.

" But what the fuck is he coming here for?"

" Dunno that. Laughed like a wolf when I sent him your schedule, almost as if it really was a formality and told me that he'll be here within 30, and the meeting would take " 10, or maximum 15, and would then vanish into thin air, not needing to see the " sickening" face of yours. As if his own face can make a dead man alive. The opposite, I beleive." At the sickening part Jeongguk makes inverted commas in the air with his pointers, with a scowl on his face. Yoongi didn't know if he should laugh at this, not only because the young man's usual patience seemed to be running low and was equally irritated, but because the situation was tight, and he bit back his thoughts of amusement. But the manifest of the terrible presence of his father made his head throb already.

maximum 15 minutes, ha? Let's see.

The " meeting " took way more longer than 10 or 15 minutes. So here now, he was, three days after the " meeting " with his father took place.

The traffic was surprisingly less as of today, or maybe he wonders why, is because of the different path he's taking. His phone gps shows that he's going the right path, and it would take him nearly more 20 mins to the red arrow on his screen.

And he doesn't miss the way his pulse has a visible change, again.

Alright, now as he tapped on the steering wheel as he waits for the traffic to be cleared. He thought, hah.

So to distract his mind, his sight trails off to his side seat, and Hershey's kisses, three boxes of them lies top on eachother and some chocolate bars packed neatly with a bow.

Shit, was he supposed to have the boxes packed too? He didn't know.

How could he? He never really.. had any sort of alliances with females except employees and his once used to be assistant before jeongguk.

For his male friends, a nice treat to drinks till they had passed out on the bar counter was enough for what he perceived as " gifts " , and yeah. His nephew and neice, were happy enough with treats of pizza's and chocolates. Well, maybe even some occasional toy sets, too.But he had never gifted them packed chocolates.. And for a part he thinks he's alright with chocolates as gifts…

But what if you didn't like choclates?

WHAT IF?

Ah…ha..ha.. maybe you did, because there had to be reason why Jeongguk had suggested him to..seeing he had quite experience with women, comparatively much more than Yoongi's himself. No wonder he had caught ladies staring or rather ogling at the younger man who drank carelessly and was so confident with them at all occasions, unlike Yoongi who had to pretend he didn't care, or rather was like..he didn't know how to be confident with them.

But one thing he didn't know is, that he was the centre of attention for ladies too, but nevermind that.

Nevermind the way that woman in the cash counter at the supermarket had such wide eyes, when she realised who indeed was infront of the counter, the same man who stood in the cover page of Vogue magazine this week. Nevermind the lady's whole crimson face when Yoongi shot her the faintest of smiles when the transaction was over, nevermind her trembling hands as she handed him the confectionaries. Nevermind her thoughts as she faintly wished that the chocolates were rather for her as she watched him leave. Nevermind.. all the times when Yoongi had not only women, but also men staring at him, he never really thought of it.

" Food is a way to one's heart, a thing I'd hate to agree with your father. " Jeongguk had said that with a confident nod, and continued,"..Ladies really like chocolates, you know? I know, I know.."

" But what if she doesn't like it? " Yoongi was typing an email, but his mind was on the coversation with jeongguk: He wouldn't be in peace till he gets to the roots of it. And he doesn't miss the way the younger cocks a brow with him with his lips turned up of what he can call as a smirk, and insolently had passed a laugh.

" There's no harm in trying, hyung. You're strangers, for now, and maybe that would be a way, a chance to know eachother better? "

So now he has reached the destination he was supposed to, cause the mentioned address seems this one and the same is shown in his screen of GPS. His heart feels like its on his throat now, and even in the faintest of the coughs may have the organ out in his hands. Almost. Its basically throbbing now, and Yoongi winces at the feeling: he's not used to this, because never in his life has he felt so nervous like this. Not even at the tightest of situations he has ever been, and now he can't tell if its one of them; it shouldn't be, because it apparently was just a meeting. He filled in deep inhales, and reminded himself of all what he was told to. He didn't want to; but maybe that was the human nature, to find solace in the matters which makes them feel even shittier. Or maybe that was Yoongi's nature, because all the siuations he had been nervous in, had all turned shit in the end.

No matter how hard he tried to keep everything at bay and work hard to be confident and tell himself that it shall be okay.

Not always hardwork brings success, he thinks.

He didn't want to overthink; he really didn't want to. He wanted this meeting to go totally plain as his father wanted it to be, without any "show-offs"..and the faintest part of him, throbbing with his impatient heart wants it to be eitherwise.

Only if his heart hadn't had reminded how irrational that smaller part iis, and how wrong, how painful, how utterly shit it had been the last time when he chose to choose that path, the path who wannted to feel, the part who wanted to be loved.

So he shuts down every thought inside him, and taking the boxes in his hands, gets down the car.

Alright Yoongi, alright. What worse can happen? Fighting.

He really hopes the worst doesn't really happen.

Outfit? check.

Hair? Double check.

Shoes? Check.

Breath? Deca-check ( not that he really had to do anything with it, nor his breath stank like garlic , but it matters anyway and was important. Very important. Thanks to the mint he was chewing. Thanks, bud.)

Chocolates in his hands? Check.

Despite his check list, a quick peek at the rear mirror and a shake to this long, flowy hair which parted so beautifully at his forehead and curled slightly about his nape makes him a bit more presentable. But he wasn't really thinking about his pretty hair or his way of presenting himself. He didn't absolutely know why was he so nervous, its just a goddamned meeting.

Yes, with the girl with whom he was getting married to.

Well..

Everything in order? All check.

Whew… here goes nothing again.

**

His surroundings for what he felt from his senses, was just fine art.

Artworks hung on photoframes of different cultures,and if possible he could even tell for some of them- all of them vulnerable enough to be held in a gallery or a museum. All of them finished with varnish, oil paintings, canvases, pieces of crafts which he knew, was a fine representation of the Korean culture; and such artworks which held significance to cultures around the world. Thick, beige curtains, fine Indian tapestry with bright colours, vermillion and corn yellow. Flower vases, beautifullyy blue with strokes of fine Chinese strokes. A statue of the Tree of Tenere, a Turkish rug on which his feet was placed on, he felt quite inferior to be placing his feet on the artwork: if he could, he would sit on it and observe the symbols and the colours woven so tactfully with geometrical patterns.

He felt quite, or maybe..really stupid, that even rotating his head to a full 360, it felt that it was not enough, and he ought to pay to watch such fine artworks as one does in a museum. Holy moly, he wasn't a much of an artistic person, but his enthusiasm was raised above the radar. And he could name the cultures of only a few, and couldn't name most of them; but he feels utterly, or somewhat in a bigger part, comfortable.

He was told that you were an artist, but fuck… were these all of your tastes? Were you really such an artistic person?

A happy thought had struck him the moment he thought about this, because he could have some help from his cousin Taehyung,who was just the right person to be seeked out, and with his help, he could engage in conversations all day long about artworks and maybe can even befriend you. That won't be weird or awkward.

He was currently seated on a soft tan sofa and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

The smile would've been a bit more natural, only if the presence beside him wouldn't have been there with his arms around Yoongi's shoulders, making Yoongi feel much stuffy and all more nervous. He didn't expect his father to be already seated in the humble house of Park's ( Though he has been here for only ten minutes, he felt that humble was the correct word to describe the house. ) with a saccharine smile plastered on his face, the smile which Yoongi knew oh, so well. The smile which at anyone's first glance would seem like a sweet, elderly smile, but Yoongi knew better. If not sweet, or elderely, a hellish bound intention was always behind that smile, and he at this moment prayed that let it be once, once, that his smile, if not genuine, be it not the one with its real meaning.

He wasn't afraid of it; he has never been; but he's scared for someone he is bound to.

The one sitting opposite to him, between Mr. and Mrs. Park, and within the sweet caresses of a comparatively little girl seated nearby, a soft smile adorning her cheeks; the apples of her cheeks slightly rising at every comment her little cousin makes, an occasional laugh leaving her lips.

You.

He was scared for you.

He has seen plrentiful of faces round his years of youth, and can read them like open book pages. The creases or the intensity of their eyes told him enouugh he needed to, and he knew enough. You, you held a bold, but a humble air around you,which he knew was necessary; which came with an innoncence. Not the innocence one would perceive at the first lance, because, the struggles of life evident within couln't affect the sweetness, the tenderness of your face; the innocence, which he feared, at the first glance, was unaware of everything and anything the man seated beside him was capable of. You were beautiful, unlike all the other women he had ben set up to or had seen: proudly buzzing about their wealth and indignance at the liberty. Who don't take a no as an answer.Those women, who didn't have simplicity as their cup of tea; All the bashful, prideful women.

You, were just the opposite. He has seen for only for some quick minutes, but he already knew that you are so, so different from all those people. You don't hesistate to laugh out loud; which he just loved, because you were aware how beautiful your laugh sounded. You didn't pretend for anything, you were just as you were. Your eyes told him a lot about you which even you yourself might not know; Even he was sure with the secretive, warning nudges of your mother at your side to behave, and Yoongi knows just as he was, you were told to be decent, too.

But you didn't pretend, and just were as you were.

" The more humble the heart is, the softer the head stands at the neck, " he remebers seeing that quote in the instagram story of Taehyung, but he's unsure if he remebers the exact one and has forgotten who had quoted that.

Within the soft ringing sounds of laughter he felt his father's hand twitch on Yoongi's shoulders, and he didn't give a fuck if it was a signal or some sort, and he couldn't care less. Just as he had expected, Mr Park and Mrs.Park were such kind people, their elderly love adding more to the humbleness of the house that Yoongi himself felt so much at ease and their behaviour towards them was so, so genuine and sweet that Yoongi had already developed a liking towards them ( and their fondness to the chocolates too, waah ) But however, there was something fishy indeed going on with his father.

When was it not?

And his suspicions were roused even more when his father groaned lightly, and removed his hand on his shoulders trying to be not much showy of his discomfiture. He guessed he's not used to meetings like these, with such hospitality, such kindness within and no facades on and meetings which actually aren't meetings and are something warm, something which a brute like him couldn't understand. Serves him right,Yoongi thought.

Presently, or apparantly, Mrs. Park was evidently aware of his father's actions and asked him if he was alright and if he needed him to whhich he answered so sweetly which made Yoongi shudder in cringe, " Ah, no, Mrs. Park. Old age has begun to tell on me, haha. If these children are growing up, we're all growing bckwards, ah. " Yoongi never particularly understood this statement, but it presently made the elderly couple smile and his father shift a bit. All the while, he could see whenever he peeked down to grab his cup of steaming tea, in his vision, that your eyes secretly were on him.. Almost as if you had something to tell, but your expressions devoid of such each time he actually looked at you; but eyes speak enough. The longing in your eyes were evident that you wanted to speak, but so far, he had only heard you intoducing yourself with a small smile and tall to your little cousin now dozing off to sleep in your lap.

And he doesn't miss the way your smaller hands stroke the child's hair as she sleeps profoundly.

And now his father with a small hum, began " Ah. Enough of us oldies speaking. If we don't let the youth speak together, that won't be fair at all!! " And with an equally cringing laugh which Yoongi hated, so much. " The new generation says, ' communication is the sole way out. Oh dear me, if you were only fifty years older!" Which was again returned with soft laughters and here now Mr. Park speaks up, his attention diverted to you, and with a small pat on your head md nods. nods, " Go, my honeybun. Young Mr. Min is a nice man, and talk to him as long as you want. " He didn't really liked to be called so by someone older than him and his sooon to be relative, but he hoped he could read your eyes which were on your father. But for your father, there was a certain hint of gratitude filled within.

" Ah, uncle….Yoongi, please call me Yoongi. "

And as he got up, he felt the demanding eyes of his own father burn through the back of the skull, seemingly wanted to him to look back, or make a signal, but he did nothing and got up to walk towards the far end balcony, as he saw you advance towards it with a slow pace so that he could catch up with her. Surprisingly, his pulse wasn't nearly so quick as it had been before, and he can only blame that despite not talking to eachother directly in any ways, he kinda felt at ease with you, and could even tell about you being on his head for the rest of the week. Well, not that he would actually say you that.

But however,he didn't miss the immense sense of satisfaction which filled his insides with his small rebellious act.

But he thought none of them when he felt, or rather he thought he hallucinated for a sure minute when he felt the touch, a brush of warm fingers. It was so slight, anyone could say it was barely there,or wasn't there, or was accidental. And he didn't want to think what he actually wanted to think. Because a flushed face wouldnt really be something for a great impression, and besides, he swears he felt within his periperhal vision, your innocent eyes, gazing directly at him. Oh, now, he really wanted to think that it wasn't just an accidental touch…

Goddamit Yoongi, focus!

**

" Its an anonymous quote. Or so, the sources have been too old to know who actually quoted that. " You answer softly to Yoongi's curious query when he asked if you knew about that certain quote, and he was slightly { read : v e r y } happy with himself that he didn't had to open the conversation with the awkward hii"s and hello's; moreover the mention of the quote had somewhat brightened your face, your eyes, and you seemed to be at ease more than what he saw in the living room.

" This is why I couldn't remember it properly, I suppose.." was his timid reply, just expectant of you knowing about the quote, he turned to lok at you directly, though you were still facing the sky, your side profile only being visible to him. Your expressions were oeaceful, but Yoongi desparately wanted to know what your thoughts were. He hoped his behaviour didn't make you feel uncanny or some sort..

Yoongi currently stood beside you in the balcony, silently basking in the cold fall winds ,watching the birds depart to their homes after the day's work as the sun finally lowered more and more down the horizon, the sky being a mix of light vermillion-pink with white clouds floating by. some occasional leaves glided swiftly through the soft breeze,it was a soft twilght.

Conversations with you were so easy, and hopefully not as awkward. You were smart, he found out, and just an art enthusiast as well. A confident, voice with tones of softness was how you sounded, and he really felt more and more at ease with you.

However, Yoongi's stomach churned, churned with such a plight of exictement,nervousness(?) and slight anticipation through the small conversation. The queation which bubbled, boiled inside his head since so long, he wanted to ask you, but definetely not in a weird way. You both were surprisingly still not at the topic of your marriage; it was a normal conversation, and as the minutes passed by, the urge increased, more and more, almsot getting irresistable.

And so again, here goes something.

" Do you want this marriage? "

Your eyebrows shoot upwards, and your eyes widen, and he sees,if anything, he can tell his question completely caught you off guard.

With some quick blinks, he sees you prepare yourself and finally turn to im. Your expression is still slightly of surprise, but however, he sees you release a breath.

" Before I answer you, Mr. Min…do you? "

He should've expected that. However, he didn't find it weird , because he isn't going to reply that he was curious to meet you, and didn't really ponder whether he actually wanted it or not, because he didn't really have an option eitherwise; to think and say yes or no. He was just told, as how examination dates are announced…you have no other option but to accept your fate.

Thats the hell of a comparision.

But now as he was asked….

He knows that you might be aware, too.

And so he decides to opt for a slow headnod, rather than any verbal response, because he's unsure of what to say, and he hopes,, through his nod, you can understand, I do.

His nod seems to have roused something in you.

He sees you look down, and waits for your answer. You're avoiding eye contact, not because you're shy, but something eitherwise.

" I don't. "

Oh.

Yoongi doesn't want to linger on it, he doesn't want to ponder on it. You don't want this marriage, and if so, he ought to leave immediately without your wishes. He doesn't wants you to be uncomfortable, and with a tiny nod which he's sure you noticed, turns his back to leave. But just as he moves forward, he feels the warm warm palm catch his wrist and give a tug.

He doesn't cares now about the way his heart struggled to get out of his throat again.

He catches your big, doe eyes staring intensely at him, with a flash of sadness, longing (??) within?

" Oh, Mr. Min…don't leave me alone.."

He now definetely feels the way his breath gets caught in his lungs. What do you mean?

" I don't mean it in such a way that I'm rejecting your proposal, Mr. Min. I wasn't really given an option whether to accept or reject..; I had to accept it, and I suppose it was the same way around you too? "

" It..it was. " he finaly had regained his power of speech, and now he didn't quite understand, but the small tug of his heart had stopped, and he rather felt releived, when he had ought not to, to know that you both were in the same boat.

You release your grip from his wrist, and sees you take a breath again.

“ I just said it because despite having no other options, I don't want to get married……" You muttered something in the end, which he quite couldn't understand, and suddenly a thought strikes him.

" Is it because you despise guys like me? "

And now he really wants to smile the way your eyes widen as big as saucers, and with your smaller palms spread out, you wave immediately,

"No ! no, no, Mr. Min, its not so! its really no so! "

He really didn't like you calling him Mr. Min, but he could drag on for now.

" It was a small jest, ___. I was kidding. "

You look releived, and suddenly the confidence is back in you as you set your eyes firmly to his own.

" Its not because of who you are or your position, Mr. Min. I do not care much about what the internet says, and I respect you as a person. " You smile lightly as you bite your lips, and Yoongi nods for you to continue further.

" Its because, after years of applying and getting rejected, it was the last chance for me to be finally a visual designer for Valentino,which despite having many limitations,is the star of my dreams; only if I could attend the event at Singapore past this month, which on my presence, would approve me for so in the last streak. But past this month…." you trail off once again, and past this moth was supposed to be the month of your wedding, as what he heard in the discussion back in the living room. He doesn't miss the way your features falter visibly, including your eyes, and there's such dejection in them which hurts Yoongi himself. If anything, he knows your fondness for art,as an artist yourself,your goals were high and this might be really a huge chance for you, and you ought to succeed in it, follow your dreams, and be who you are. Not instead get tied in the marriage alliances at this young age…

" You really want to be in that event, dont you? "

No reply comes back; but the way your lips are tightly pursed, he can tell your answer.

Within the flash of your eyes, he sees a reflection of his own youth age, when he too had dreams like yours; when he too had aspirations full of bright colours, but they all were crushed, one after another, so slowly hard, that it prepared Yoongi to never not set aspirations for himself ever again.

And he definetely did not want the same to happen to you, too.

Setting his jaw firmly that it must not happen, he sets to leave, because he doesn't wants to be the barrier to your hopes, your dreams. He shall talk to his father. And it doesn't matter if he isn't willinng to understand. He shall go immediately and talk about it, and maybe even…

" Mr. Min! " Your brows are now furrowed with a worried look; alsmost a scared look on your face.

" If you're thinking about it, don't, Mr. Min. "

He halted his actions. There was something pulling you back, and he doesn't know what is it. He wants to hear all of it, as he always wanted to.

" You're kind to have considered my situation so quick and I cannot be more thankful to you, Mr. Min. However,if not me, my parents…they..they've never asked me for anything since ever I grew up. Even though they're not really willing towards art, not once did they ever protest or complain about me pursuing a major in arts and not in buisness or biology as I was expected to," he was listening carefully to you, all the while observing your features of your face. From the curve of your jaw, to the apples of your cheeks, the colour of your skin, the bump of your nose, the little moles and your pouty lips, and your eyes, the fluttering eyelashes as you spoke. You're beautiful, he thinks.

Your face had a certain flash of pain within the charms of beauty, as you continue,

" and this is the only thing they've ever asked me. I don't want to run away from it, or deny it. The debt I owe them, is beyond words, and my dream holds little signifcance in light against them; and cannot be ever paid off, but I just sincerely hope it can somehow lift some of it atleast, off my heart. I will try my best to be a good wife, Mr. Min." You look up at him again, the soft breeze making some of your strands flow so gracefully, and a very soft feeling crept up his heart. He silently absorbed your words, happy to know that you're sharing a piece of your heart to him. As your eyes lock, theres's a determintion in your eyes, which he feels is a good omen, perhaps. ' I will, so please I beg you, please don't think about calling off our wedding. "

Our.

And who is he go against your wishes, when you yourself want this? A part of him hopes that your dream won't be totally crushed, and you to fight for it, but if this wedding helps you in something, he would be more than glad but makes no mentions of it. Inappropriately there was no place for words when you had so hopefully asked him to.

He sees a dried maple leaf drift in the wind, and in the darkening shadows of the sky, watched it take homage in your hair, which you're oblivious to. The urge to take it off itches in his palms, and he again ignores the flutter of his heart at your small smile while all looking at his own eyes so deeply, almost as if you're trying to read him, too.

Raising his hands to gently untangle the dried leaf from your hair, he beams off with a small smile seeing your flushed cheeks and surprised face.

" I'll try to be a good husband, too. "

He should've bought a beanie along with him, because damn. Its cold out now.

But he doesn't dare to lift off the shutters of the car, as he thinks he's going to suffocate off the energy which the old man is radiating off at this point. He knows not what pissed him off, and doesn't takes the slihtest of interests to know so. All what he wants to is to get rid of this man for now, lie in bed and think of what hapened today. He's driving silently, but can very well sense the anger of his father, but decides to keep quiet about it. The Parks at their departure were kind as ever, and you had a small smile on your face, even if small, it was genuine.

And your eyes spoke, as if speaking to his own, thank you.

And he had smiled back, or tried to convey it through his smile, always.

" What did you two talk about?" Ah, here he goes. Inevitable! He should've known better that Mr. Old Min likes to hear each details till the speaker's jaws froze, but his ears never bled. Despite that, he keeps awfully quiet, enjoying more and more as he observes the old man getting more and more pissed at his silence and finally bursts out with his rage, amplified with tremble of his old age, " You son of a devil, I fucking asked you something!"

" Glad to know you're aware of what you are. "

" You motherfucker, answer me decently. "

" To what?"

"What.did.you.two.fucking.talk.about?!"

" Oh, I forgot. Besides, you're not the one getting married, so chill, father. "

Oh-oh. He didn't really manifest the grabbing of his sweather's collars by his faher, but wasn't in the slightest surprised about that. He can feel the red hot man's anger, but the shield Yoongi has developed over the years is immune to anything.

" Despite telling you all what you were supposed to, you were with her for almost an hour. " The wrath of his anger snorts on his own, but he shoves it off.

" It wasn't an oral exam, I suppose,father?"

His grip on his collar falters, and he hears the man snort loudly. He didn't care about him, and there was no fucking way he would tell his father whatever you told him today. You both were still if more or less, strangers; still, but acquainteces, and you had trusted him enough to tell him much, and he won't by any means would share it to anyone else.

"Before I answer you, Mr. Min…do you?"

He had never thought so; or maybe he did. Since the moment he was told he was getting married, he was unsure. He had dated only like twice,and the experience wasn't really great. This is marriage, a tie of promise forever, which is undoubtedly a very huge thing. People aren't really often so faithful to keep promises, though they promise them like a piece of cake. Some promises, he knew, are hard to keep forever, and he was uncertain of the ties of marriage alliances.

After talking to you, the uncertainity in him has reduced? he feels at peace, but however there is an intruisive feeling in the back of his heart which made him feel obnoxious. Things today went especillly well,, and he was scared that it went too well.

He just hopes that it goes well-

" Its indeed sad that the chick's dreams for her becoming a designer for Valentino would be shattered by you, son. "

Yoongi felt his blood freeze.

He didn't look at him directly;but by his tone could tell that he had that smug look on his face. Indeed, the obnoxious feeling was just right.

" Not me, father. It's you,because you haven't given either of us any options. "

" Whether that chick marries you or not,it'll be easy to lure her. Innocent chick, she is. " He continues almost as if he didn't hear Yoongi. Yoongi already feels his blood boil to hear this old man call you names, and he takes some deep breaths to calm himself down. This old man is doing everything on purpose to rile you up, Yoongi. Don't let him succeed.

" Even if she had this marriage called off or not, she's going to be a boon for the Min Textiles Inc. already, " he leans back, and Yoongi has to grip the steering wheel harder till his knuckles turn white and the cold wind feels like a slap on his face as he tries his best to stay calm. He hates how right he was about this old bitch being fishy, and he can arely tip that off.

" You didn't listen to me, son. So whether you like it or not, that chick would be lured in here to design for us, without any further queries. Yeseul would definetely be upgraded more for the designs the chick would be making. At the firtst glance at her little gallery, I knew this chick had her potential-"

" You'll be using the designs of ____ without crediting her,but Yeseul? Don't you have an ounce of shame in you, old man? "

Yoongi's voice was filled with hatred,but this just was like a hide-and-seek game for the old man.

" And what about it, son? "

You were in your vulnerable state when you spilled your heart out to him, and whatever the hell this man was trying to do, would just be so unfair, that even thinking of it makes Yoongi recoil with anger. He would not let you be used by anyone.

" Even if I had told her what exactly I was supposed to, I just know your intention was the same.." Yoongi breathed out in a fury, wanting to kick this man out of his car.

" Ah, my son has grown up smart. " And the audacity the man had to grin, he nearly wanted to punch those pearly whites out of that disgusting mouth. But Yoongi contained himself in the calm box, as far as he could. If this had to be the plan of this old bitch, and if he's challeging him,

all fucking right.

He will marry you. He will protect you, with all what he has.

But surely at the moment he did not think beyond his words and what meaning do they possibly hold. All what he wanted was to keep you away from the parasitic man, because he knows how is it to be affected by a parasite.

He will not let your innocence, your sparkle snatched away from you by this terrible shit with his terrible ways, he won't get him get away with it.

He would not let him.

Turning on the ignition again, he filled in deep breaths of oxygen again, as the words of the old man filled his ears.

He closed his eyes, and suddenly your smile was almost infront of him. Almost as if you're standing infront of him again.

I'll protect you. _____ and will keep you safe. I will take care of you.

It's a promise.

And he couldn't wait to marry you.

well..

either way

you want this

and you’re ovulating!

it’s not your fault you’re this horny!!

even just his presence is making you want to pounce him

and now with you bent over the table

surrounded by dirty dishes

his groin pressed straight into your ass

you can’t think straight

he’s right

you can still have fun and enjoy as you’re trying for a baby

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when your robe is hiked up to your waist and your entire lower body is naked and exposed

you feel

extremely insecure

doing this in a not-so-dark room

but at least you’re bent over and he can’t see much anyways

his hands knead your hips and asscheeks under his palms, your breath becoming ragged

he runs a finger up your slit, a sudden grunt leaving his lips at the touch makes you glance over your shoulder

“now this,” he starts, “is what i’m talking about.” he brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks your slick off. “maybe i should be a bit rougher on you since you’ve always liked that a lot more.”

you angrily grunt. you turn your head again, pressing your cheek against the surface of the table. “shut up.”

the loud crack of your ass getting slapped rings in your ears and the heat spreads through your skin

“always got something to say, huh?”

hmmm

you do

you literally do

but…

“you like it, though,” you remark, trying to stifle a smirk

“hm,” he hums as he massages your asscheeks. “i do, don’t i?”

there’s a certain tone in his voice that you can’t quite put your finger on

you glance at him again and he’s staring straight at you. “i suppose i never liked the easy way,” he says and you’re not even really sure what he means by that

is he talking about you?

how you’ve just

never been an easy person?

…

well in all seriousness

you weren’t

and you will never be

you’re of the opinion that things should be earned

you say as you’re preparing ready to get rawdogged by your exhusband

he runs a hand up your spine which causes you to shiver

pathetic.

“i still love looking at you from this position, you know,” he starts and the ruffling of him pulling his sweats down doesn’t go unnoticed by you

“yeah? why’s that?”

“feel like i can do whatever i want to you and you’ll let me cause you enjoy it too.”

what the hell….

he’s SICK

“what does that even mea–”

SMACK.

“ow!” you screech but somewhere it sounds like a moan. a screechy moan if you will.

“see?” he chuckles and reaches for your wrists to pin them into your lower back with one hand whilst he tugs his boxers down with his free hand. “you like it. i also know it’s your favorite position and don’t tell me it’s not because we both know it is.”

you merely huff in response. “so? it’s yours too.”

he hums quietly.

“no, it’s not.” his free hand wraps around his shaft and he uses it to tease your wet slit

you close your eyes to concentrate and prepare but you can’t help but wonder what he’s on about..

“i fucked you from behind often because i knew you liked it. i like it too but it’s not my favorite.”

huh???

you were so sure it was

just because it was usually your go-to position whenever you had sex with each other

and you know he absolutely loves your ass and hips so you’re not sure where this is coming from now

you quietly ask, “then what is?”

he stays quiet for a few moments

“missionary.” he starts pushing into you which makes your mind go blank

you can’t even bring yourself to ask why but he lets you know nonetheless

“watching your face when you’re getting fucked is my favorite thing in the world.” he bottoms out, pelvis pushed straight into your asscheeks

your face?

he loves watching your face?

“the way your brows furrow and the way your mouth falls open. the way you struggle to keep your eyes open but do it to hold onto eye contact. it makes you look dizzy.” he simply chuckles and then slowly starts thrusting into you. “drives me fucking insane.”

…

why would he say this now

he used to say he just loved fucking you

no matter how he could have you he’d have you like that

why is he going into detail now??

he knows all the things you like

is it genuinely bc he just wanted to do all of your favorite things?

you do remember how much he loved kissing you in missionary

and you loved it just as much

especially when he did as he came inside. it genuinely made you think that giving birth to a whole sports team was worth it in that moment

(until the post nut clarity hit of course)

he keeps thrusting, dick rubbing your walls so fucking good that it makes your knees buckle

but he’s so close to your body and he’s still pinning your wrists against your lower back which causes you to stay pinned to the table whether your legs give out or not

“wha… what else do you like?” you manage to get out without sounding overly sexual

“hm,” he hums as he rubs your asscheek with his other hand. “i was never big on the daddy thing but hearing you on the phone earlier–”

“i am not calling you daddy.”

he laughs in response at how quickly you declined

“i don’t know, babe. you’re making a mess on the floor. i think you like that idea, if anything.”

fuck

you don’t know whether he’s lying or not

and with your hands restrained

hips caged in between his own and the edge of the table

you grunt in response

not much else you can do

and in the corner of your eyes you can see him licking at his thumb before bringing it to your asshole

rubbing the rim

you mewl quietly. he rubs all over your puckered hole, something he knows you used to enjoy

“fuck,” you mumble as his thrust pick up in pace, hips slamming into your asscheeks and recoiling against his skin

“i need to look at your face when you cum,” he whispers as he begins to slow down until he fully pulls out

he pulls you off the table by your biceps and turns you around in one swift motion, pushing you back onto the table and instantly spreading your thighs for him

you barely have the time to register what’s happening when he grabs ahold of his shaft and guides it back into your pussy

he slides in so effortlessly, proving your arousal

and if that wasn’t enough proof, the loud squelching sounds should be

he starts thrusting into you again, eyes staring down at you with such intensity that it makes you feel like you’re being stared down by a starved lion

he holds your thighs apart with his hands, hooked under the back of your knees as he snaps his hips into you

you can’t help but moan as you stare back, mouth falling open and brows furrowing together

exactly the way he likes it

he knows you do that once he speeds up and slams his hips into yours like he’s got something to prove to you

“rub that clit for me, y/n.”

FUCKKKKK

you could cum simply from hearing him say that

you mewl as you reach between your bodies and allow your hand to make it’s way down to your clit, the stickiness instantly coating your fingers as you start rubbing yourself

“how does it feel?” he asks, hairs sticking to his forehead because of the sweat that started forming there

you let out a sob that you hope is enough of an answer about how fucking good you’re feeling right now

unfortunately he shakes his head

“use your words, sugar.”

fuck fuckfuckfurkcudkcud

sugar

sugar.

it used to be his go-to nickname for you

:))

..

:(

and him saying it right now is both orgasm-inducing

yet bittersweet

it almost makes you stumble over your words

said you looked cold on the outside yet tasted and smelled so damn sweet

and he liked the irony

because your personality was the opposite of sweet

you suppose he was right.

“feels… feels so good,” you sniff, bringing your fingers up to your mouth, licking your own arousal off it whilst keeping eye contact with him

his eyes momentarily drop to your lips as he watched you wet your fingers with your saliva before you dive back to rub at your clit

he nods as he makes eye contact with you again

but his eyes are starting to occasionally drop down to your lips

and it’s getting harder and harder not to kiss him

maybe just once–

“cum on my dick, dizzy.”

oh

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

you don’t need much more

a few more circular motions on your clit and the consistent pounding of his hips, tip of his dick kissing your cervix repeatedly has you coming undone

your body shakes as your hands come up to squeeze at his biceps and chest, incoherent words and sentences falling from your lips in cries and ragged breaths

he simply nods as he watches you. “i know, i know.”

your entire body shakes, pussy repeatedly clenching around his shaft which you know is pushing him to the edge as well

“fuck,” he whispers, one hand coming up to gently tug your robe off your shoulder, exposing your breast to him

kneads it

rolls your nipple in between his fingers

does it again after wetting the tips of his thumb and index finger

you sniff again, tears rolling down your cheeks from the amount of pleasure he’s giving you

you haven’t had an orgasm whilst getting fucked in so long

you’d almost forgotten how fucking insane it is

mindboggling

insanity-inducing

“fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he whispers as his hips start snapping into yours at a quicker pace, indicating he’s getting close too

you simply continue to watch him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster, bottom lip trapped between your teeth

fuck. FUCK

it’s not even healthy how badly you want him to cum inside

pump you full

mark his territory

remind you who you still belong to

what are you saying? snap out of it!

“i’m gonna,” he pauses, “cum.”

your hands dip down the back of his shoulders, one up the back of his neck and you do it to pull him closer

your eyes drop down to his lips before you say, “put that baby in me.”

you say it with such a tone in your voice and a look in your eyes that makes yoongi almost feral

his thrusting only gets rougher yet sloppier, inconsistent

until he completely unloads inside of you

with a few more thrusts, he comes to a halt, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath

and now

when everything is more clear

you almost want to scream at the top of your lungs

you know you should’ve never broken those rules

you know you wouldn’t be able to resists for much longer

why are you bummed that it’s already over for this weekend and probably until you’re ovulating again?

…

???

or maybe not even until then? it couldve already happened.

exactly what you wanted

a baby.

pregnancy.

it could have happened already.

🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴

and it’s precisely why

you almost

asked him

to pull out.

to be continued.

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he stares at you, a frown slowly starting to form on his brows

“what?”

your lips quiver because of the way his voice is filled with

hmm

anger?

“i’m just–” you try to backtrack, “i was just wondering if you also just wanted the divorce and was waiting for me t–”

“stop, stop, stop,” he repeats, holding up his hand

oh shit

oh no

you shouldn’t have asked

you shouldn’t have

FUCK

“i never said i wanted to divorce. even when it happened, i never said i was fine with separating from you,” he tells you sternly, watching how little you’re becoming under his gaze

you start, “i just–”

“let me talk.” he cuts you off, sternly.

it’s enough to shut you up immediately cause he’s never been so abrupt

“i didn’t put up a fight because i know our marriage was going to shit and it was my fault. i saw the light in you die slowly yet i was worried about work. when you brought up divorce, i just didn’t feel right forcing you to stay with me.”

his words come out so precise

like he’s thought about this often

but he seems angry

you’re not sure though

angry at you?

angry at himself?

angry at the situation?

“but don’t ever imply again that i was ready to let you go.”

and with that, he turns the water off and turns around, stepping out of the shower

okay

now you feel guilty

really guilty

you sigh quietly and step out after him, watching how he dries himself off

he then wraps that towel around your shivering body and hands you one for your hair before stepping out

“i have,” you pause, trying to get his attention

just as he’s about to step out he turns to you, standing still in the doorway

“i have some clothes from seokjin.” you nod towards your room. “bottom drawer under the mirror.”

he stares at you for a moment longer with his infamous stoic expression before turning around again and heading into your room

you dry your body and reach for the bathrobe hanging up on the wall to put it on

you brush your teeth in silence

when you walk back into your room, he’s nowhere to be found

you head into the hall and when you arrive in the living room, he’s on the couch, tapping away on his phone

“i have an extra toothbrush, if you wanted it. it’s in the drawer under the sink.” you slowly approach him

he looks up at you from his phone, the light from his phone illuminating his face

making your eyes trace all the contours and details of his face

you don’t know what possesses you

but you reach to tuck his hair behind his ear and he just lets you

it’s quiet for a few more seconds until he gets up and quietly makes his way towards the bathroom

you stay in the living room, waiting for his return

you’re not sure whether he wants to stay or not

and it’s not that late currently

maybe you can both just

watch a movie or something??

but he didn’t immediately leave after his shower so maybe he wants to stay?

when he’s back, he blinks at you in confusion. “what?”

you turn to him and fidget with the rope of your bathrobe. “what?” you echo

“are you waiting for something?” he asks, still standing in the doorway

well

that’s embarrassing

“no, i just,” you pause as you look at the clock hung up on your wall

“it’s 9.30pm.. i thought maybe you’d be down to watch a movie together or something.”

the moment the words leave your mouth, the energy in the room completely changes

he’s staring at you, a frown present on his brows. “i don’t get it. i’m not even allowed to call you a term of endearment because you’re scared of our arrangement becoming too intimate but you want to sit together and watch a movie? you don’t think that’s intimate?”

what the hell?

you can’t keep the frown from creeping onto your brows. “what the hell is intimate about watching a movie together?”

“it’s intimate because we were once in love. please, don’t act dense.”

oh

he sounds really frustrated

you sigh and rub your forehead, not in the mood to keep discussing this. “alright then.” you turn on your heels and head back into your room

you don’t see or hear him for the rest of the night

maybe it wasn’t smart to ask that so soon after all.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

you wake up to the sound of the door clicking shut

you shoot awake in your bed, looking around to scan your surroundings

you hear the sound of someone kicking their shoes off

you reach for your phone and realize it’s 9:40am

you shove your feet into your slippers and start walking out of your room, peeking around the corner

you see yoongi walking into the living room with a coffee cup holder containing 2 coffee cups and a bag of what seems to be bread and more

you walk backwards into your room, trying to gather your thoughts

you silently head into the bathroom to freshen up before heading into the living room

he’s sitting on the couch with the bag on the coffee table, immersed in his phone as he sips from his coffee

“goodmorning,” you quietly say, rubbing the back of your arms to comfort yourself

he glances up at you and locks his phone, tossing it to the side. “goodmorning.”

you awkwardly shift your weight from one leg to another, nodding towards the couch. “did you sleep okay?”

he nods and brings his hand up to dismiss your concerns as he points towards the other cup of coffee with his chin. “i hope you didn’t change the way you drink coffee.”

is this his way of saying he remembers how you like your coffee?

you slowly nod and approach him, sitting down next to him

“you still remember?” you ask as you reach for it, as if that’s not what he just specified

he chuckles, “we were together for 8 years. i know i wasn’t your dream husband but you being surprised that i remember your coffee makes me feel like i was a piece of shit.”

a chuckle escapes you as well until what he says actually registers in your brain. you slowly turn your head to him just as you’re about to take a sip. “yoongi, you were my dream husband. you know how much i hated the thought of marriage and my general dislike of men. the fact that i wanted to marry you and have your children says a lot.” you take a sip as you watch him absentmindedly stare at the lid of his coffee

you watch as the gears slowly start turning in his head

he turns to look at you, lips twitching with the need to say something. “it’s funny, you know. the fact that i was able to marry you despite your strong dislike for men made me feel like the king of the fucking world. being loved by you was unlike anything ever.”

did he

just

?

he doesn’t give you the opportunity to say anything back

he asks, “have you been with anyone after our split?”

?????

huh?

you blink at him. “what?”

“have you been with anyone?” he repeats, no sign of judgement on his face

“uh,” you start, “no.”

his eyes shift towards his coffee cup again as he slowly nods.

“have you?” you quietly ask him, taking another sip.

he glances back up at you, brown eyes staring into yours with a certain look in them

and his lack of response is all you need to know

you clear your throat and rise to your feet. “let me set the table.”

you walk into the kitchen and start setting the table like you’re on autopilot, mind still clouded with what just happened

what happened though?

what was that

what do you even make of that?

just as you’re washing a cucumber by the sink, your phone rings

you reach for the pocket of your robe and pull your phone out

oh shit

💨💨💨💨

it’s your mom

you pick up and put it to your ear. “hello?”

“mommy.”

“oh! jun, baby. are you having fun?”

“yesh.”

“that’s good, baby. mommy is really happy to hear your voice.”

“i miss mommy also.”

“awe, do you?”

right as you’re lost in the conversation with your little angel

there's a presence behind you

his hands against the edge of the sink on each side of your hips, chest pressed into your back which keeps you caged in between his body and the sink

your heart starts beating out of control but you know you should just keep talking to jun

of course you should

stop thinking about why yoongi is so close to you rn

maybe yoongi just wants to hear his son’s voice. have you thought about that, you selfish bitch?

“yesh. also miss daddy.”

“you miss daddy?” you reiterate and the moment it leaves your mouth, yoongi slightly tenses behind you

“yesh. when daddy coming?”

“daddy isn’t coming, mommy will come to pick you up.”

“but when daddy?”

ugh this kid. begging for his dad.

“you will see daddy tomorrow after daycare. now don’t make grammy crazy, okay? be a good boy and eat your veggies.”

“yesh.”

“bye, baby.”

“yesh.”

you hang up and slide your phone back into your pocket

and yoongi’s chest is still pressed into your back

“what are you doing?” you ask him but continue to wash the cucumber as if his proximity isn’t making your brain malfunction right now

“heard you talking to jun.” he nudges your ear with his nose, slightly inhaling your scent.

“i think that dinner with both of us was really good for him. maybe we should do it more often. like weekly,” you suggest as you try to focus on the task at hand:

SETTING THE TABLE.

he nods, voicing his agreement until it’s quiet again

he hasn’t moved an inch from behind youz “i’m sorry about yesterday.”

you try your best to focus as you shut off the tap water and take a cutting board from the drying rack and balance it on the sink as you start cutting the cucumber into slices

“i’m sorry too,” you reply, trying your best to focus on CUTTING the damn VEGETABLE

because with the days leading up to ovulation, you’re so damn horny and you can’t even think straight with his breath fanning over your neck

he shakes his head. “i want to say i’m sorry. i would have loved to watch a movie with you but i feel like it wouldn’t have ended with just that.”

you try to act nonchalant as you reach for a bowl to put the cucumbers in

“meaning?” you quip, knowing damn well what he meant by that

“meaning i’m not sure you wouldn’t have ended up bent over the cushions.”

ohhhh

😂😂😂😂😂

yeah

right right

the FUCK

the instant the words leave his mouth, you press your legs together

you need to act

normal

BE NORMAL

your entire relationship, your love language was pushin his buttons and he liked it just as much

“is that so?” you muse, turning around with the little space he’s granted you

now your hips are pressed together as you glance up at him, almost feeling hypnotized

everywhere you look

he’s there

it’s like he’s in your head

his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before back to your eyes, just staring you down like he doesn’t even understand his own feelings

“let’s eat,” he says out of nowhere, pushing himself off you and heading towards the set table

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

it’s silent during breakfast

the sound of your combined chewing and sipping is enough to check you into a psychward at this point

“so,” he starts, “did you hear about namjoon getting nominated for his book?”

you quickly nod as you swallow whatever food you’ve been chewing on. “yes, of course. i’ve been invited to the award ceremony.”

namjoon is yoongi’s best friend and had asked you to be his matchmaker back in college

you ended up introducing your friend to him and they’re going strong on 4 years of marriage now

he slowly nods. “me too.”

you don’t bring up the fact you were allowed to bring a plus one because the same probably goes for him too

“are you gonna go?” he asks and you nod to his question.

“okay. me too.”

it’s next weekend

meaning it’s his week to have jun

“what are you planning on doing with jun?”

he shrugs his shoulders. “i asked my mom 2-3 weeks ago, she wants to stay with him.”

you slowly nod as you take another bite of your sandwich.

it’s quiet for a few more moments until you stretch your leg out under the table and accidentally brush against his shin

was it totally on accident, though?

his eyes shift to you and he slowly puts the rest of his sandwich down.

he rises to his feet and starts gathering the dirty plates

“what’s with the hurry?” you ask, nodding toward his uneaten piece of bread and also rise to your feet to help him

he shakes his head. “you’re impatient.”

“me?” you chuckle, teasing him continuously with that shit eating tone in your voice

“yes, you.” he’s suddenly right in front of you, taking the plates out of your hands and placing them on the table

he adds, “don’t start something you can’t finish.”

oh, he thinks he’s got you?

well

this is just his way

of saying he’d be ok

with it being like old times

time to push his buttons.

you quip, “oh, like when you asked me to marry you?”

???

okay.

girl

maybe that was

a little too soon?

you’re just in time to watch the clench in his jaw

but everything goes by really quick when you’re turned around and your hipbones are suddenly pressed into the dinner table

“wha–”

“be quiet.” his hands are on your hips as you lean on your palms forwards, mere inches away from fully being bent over the table

“last chance to back out now,” he states, matter of factly

quick

first comeback that pops into your head!

“unlike you, i am not a coward.”

oh, girl that’s—

SLAP

did he just

spank you?

“ow!” you screech in surprise

his other hand is suddenly on the back of your neck, deepening your bow as your chest is now fully pressed into the table

with his crotch pressed into the swell of your ass

and you want it so bad

damn fuckin ovulation.

and his words from earlier come rushing back to you

it’s not a bad thing to want to have fun with trying for the second baby even if the other person is your ex

right?

you look at him over your shoulder. “what was that for?”

“i’m serious, i’ll take you right here, right now. do you want it or not?”

you’re quiet

real quiet

until you finally gather the courage to speak.

“fuck yes.”

to be continued.

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"Listen, if you're too tired to keep going, you can quit," he reminds you, a devilish glint in his eyes. "People your height aren't usually very good at basketball."

You laugh. "Min Yoongi, you are short."

He smirks at you. "Weak comeback," he says. "But I was thinking."

"Yeah? About how to stop getting your ass kicked?"

"No," he says with a chuckle. "Why don't we raise the stakes?"

"A bet?" you guess. He nods. "What are we wagering?"

He smiles, runs over to his bag, and pulls out a pen. "Write something on your hand you'd want me to do, and I'll do the same. Whoever loses has to do what's on the winner's hand."

Odd, you think to yourself. But you write on your hand -- "dance with me", something you've always wanted to ask him to do -- and hand the pen back to him. "Deal," you say lightly, although the laughter on his face as he writes on his hand makes you nervous. Is he writing something super embarrassing? Last time you lost a bet to him you had to climb a tree at 3 AM and pretend to get stuck so that the nearest passerby would have to help you out. You actually did get stuck, and Yoongi has never let you hear the end of it.

"There better be nothing about a tree on your hand," you call to him as you go to pick up the ball. You can hear him laugh.

The game is one of the best ones you've played against him. You're both playing extremely well, and you think you might actually have him beat -- until he aces a 3 from almost half-court. Then, the momentum is all his. You're tied up until the game point.

"What's on your hand anyway?" you ask Yoongi, out of breath.

He smiles, brushing some sweat away with his arm. "The only way for you to find out is to lose." And then he turns around and lobs the ball over his head.

Unbelievably, it swishes in.

Your jaw drops. "You did NOT just do that," you exclaim. "That was literally one of the coolest things I've ever seen in my whole life."

He shrugs. "I'm always motivated by the reward. What's on your hand?" he asks, grabbing it before you can dodge. He reads it and then his gaze flicks up to you.

"Dance with you?" he says quizzically.

"Uh..." Suddenly, you're embarrassed -- although you're not sure why. It's just dancing, right?

He pats your hand. "Don't worry," he says, misreading your embarrassment for worry. "There's no mention of trees on here." He hold his hand up.

"What does it say?" you ask, mildly dreading the answer.

"You'll find out tonight. I'll meet you at six at the square. Wear your normal clothes," he says, already walking away.

"What?" you say. But he's already gone, waving you away.

At six you stand anxiously in the middle of the small town square. The streets are mostly empty -- it's a sleepy little place, and most of the locals are inside with their families.

Suddenly, you hear a voice calling your name behind you. For some reason, this time around, it brings a chill to your spine.

When you turn, Yoongi stands there with a single white flower -- a daisy. Your favorite. He beckons you over with his head, the hand not carrying the flower hidden behind his back.

Gripped with curiosity, you move closer. "Okay, what's that about?" you ask, gesturing to the flower.

He sighs. "Gosh, do I really need to explain everything to you?" He laughs when you look confused. "It's for you."

He hands it to you. And then, from behind his back, the music starts -- a nice slow waltz playing on the speaker he had hidden in his other hand. He sets down the speaker and offers you his arm, and suddenly you are spinning onto the dance floor escorted by Min Yoongi.

"How on earth do you know how to waltz?" you ask him.

"This is by far the easiest dance I've done in awhile," he says. "Plus, you wanted to do it, so I learned after the game."

"You learned this in like two hours?" you ask incredulously.

"I'm actually pretty good at dancing," he reminds you, pushing you under his arm for a spin.

"Okay, you're right. But the real question remains." He raises his eyebrows curiously. "What did you write on your hand?"

He smiles and stops dancing. Taking both your hands in his, he places the hand he wrote on on top of your opposite one. In his neat handwriting, you read the words:

"Kiss Min Yoongi."

You look up at him, alarmed. "Is this a joke?"

He scoffs. "Why would I joke about that?" He tugs your arms so they rest around his neck. Your faces are almost nose to nose. He smiles gently. "Is it okay, though?"

"Okay?" you choke.

"Like, do you want me to?" He looks suddenly worried. "I won't if you don't like me like that. I just thought --"

But before he can finish, you make up your mind. Standing on your tiptoes, you kiss him.

His smile when you pull away is brighter than the sun. "Out of curiosity," you say, still stuck in his embrace, "what were you planning to do if you lost?"

You hated Min Yoongi because you loved him and it appeared as if your love for him was not enough for him to return to you.

It felt dirty being with Yoongi like this in public, even if the pair of you were in the furthest room from everyone - and held no cameras. But you could not bring yourself to care - not now. Yoongi was willing to have you like you’ve desired for years and you were going to take the opportunity.

Yoongi had touched you like a man starved, fully embracing his attraction and arousal. His hands - so large and calloused - rubs along your skin, gripping your hips, to your ass to cupping your breast. He isn’t sure where he wants to focus on - you were far too enticing for his hands to remain on one body part.

You weren’t complaining. Your hips had bucked against his erection, wishing it was him inside of you instead - but you’d take anything you can get for now. Your kisses were sloppy, his tongue sucking onto your own. It was intimate and the teenage girl in you had dreamed of a time like this - but damn was it better than you ever imagined. 

Yoongi knew of your crush on him back then and now that you were a grown woman, it’s hard to deny you. Your eyes were what once made him soft for you, always willing to do whatever it was that you asked. Now, the same eyes were filled with lust and mischief - and full submission.

“I missed you.” you admit once Yoongi’s lips trail down your neck and on your collarbone. 

Yoongi grunts. “Yeah?”

You nod your head, leaning it back so Yoongi has full control to continue his suckling upon your skin. 

“I wish I could’ve stayed with you.” you continue, letting out years of desperation upon him. You had to sound pathetic, but you didn’t care. Yoongi was yours now - as yours as you wanted him to be. “I wanted to be your girl so bad.”

“I know.” Yoongi groans at the sultriness of your voice. There you were again admitting not only your love, but your need for him. “You’re here now.” is all Yoongi can say. 

Ten years is a long time to make up. He was no longer the young fool he was back when you left, but now a man. He had power no one else his age had. 

Not only that, but you weren’t the same little girl giving Yoongi those innocent heart eyes - you were a woman now. He didn’t have to hold back the urges any longer; he knew you could handle whatever he was going to give you. 

“You can be my girl now.” Yoongi knows he’s going to look back and think how incredibly horny he looks feasting on your skin, but he can’t allow himself to care now as lust takes over. His tongue dips out to lick at your skin while his teeth nip at it. 

“You sure you aren’t going to allow me to leave again?” you decide to joke, a soft moan slipping through your lips. 

“You aren’t going anywhere, Y/N.” Yoongi nips your neck once more, holding you even tighter against him. “Even though you know that you aren’t going to leave me again.”

How right Yoongi was.

This isn’t how Yoongi wants to have you - not in the back room of a club as if you were some whore for him. But he doesn’t want to stop - and you don’t want him to.

“I-I just got that!” you hiss when you hear the ripping sounds followed by your breast pooling out.

Yoongi groans at the sight of your bare breasts. He licks his thumb before pressing it firmly onto your nipple, gripping your breast entirely into his large hand. “I’ll buy you more.” he murmurs. 

It’s hard to be upset when Yoongi looks as hot as he does, eyes low and filled with lust. The thin material of the lingerie thong becomes sticky with slick due to Yoongi’s erection rubbing right along it.

“You’re so beautiful.” Yoongi grunts before engulfing your nipple into his mouth whole. He suckles on it like a man starved, his right hand gripping and tugging onto your free breast. His fingers find your nipple and begin to twirl it between his thumb and index.

Your mind is foggy with lust - this is all you’ve ever wanted. To be with Yoongi, to have him fully. You wished he could have been the one you laid with first, but that couldn’t be possible. Your father forbade you to be with a man such as him - it’s sad to believe that his sickness is what brought you back to Yoongi.

More.

Yoongi wanted more. He needed more of you.

Yoongi doesn’t want to be too rough - he’s unsure truly what you were into or not. And you were such a submissive woman that you wouldn’t complain if he had gone too far. He attempts to be calm and not fully go down the path of dominance - but even he has a hard time.

“Yoongi…”

Yoongi releases your nipple from his lips, a soft popping sound coming from it. His lips are wet when he presses them against yours. His free hand slaps against your ass, pressing you against his hardened erection even harder.

“I missed hearing you say my name.” Yoongi inhales deeply when he releases your lips. “I remember it sounding so sweet when you were young. Now…” Yoongi pecks your lips once more, a flushed look upon his face. “...now it slips through your lips with such need.”

You nod your head with a bite of your lip. “I-I do need you.”

Yoongi groans with a shake of his head. You don’t know what you do to him.

“I want to taste you.” Yoongi lifts from the leather couch, holding you in a tight embrace. “See if you were as sweet as I always thought you were.”

You nod your head hastily. There were times back in your teenage years that you would hear rumors of Yoongi and his tongue - as much as it pained for you to hear because it was never you - and just how amazing he was with it.

Your back hits the leather couch smoothly and it takes no time for your thong to be off. Yoongi’s face is so close to your sex, eyes fixed on it intently. It causes you to feel hot with embarrassment.

“Stop.” Yoongi slaps your thighs away as they begin to close. He hikes your legs to sit on his shoulders. “You’re already so wet.”

Yoongi is so close to your exposed sex that your world is beginning to spin. A soft whine escapes your lips when you feel (and watch) as Yoongi brings a hand up to your clit. Two of his fingers spread apart your lips, his tongue peaking out to lick a single strip upon your clit.

Your head falls back and hits the couch, your eyes snapping shut. You gasp in pleasure, the once shyness you felt now out the window.

Yoongi was now suckling on your clit, his fingers sliding down at your entrance, teasing the wet hole.

Your toes curl at Yoongi’s suckling, his fingers inching closer inside of you. 

Shit.

Shit,

Shit.

Yoongi never comes up for air, nor does his tongue stop twirling your clit. His fingers are pumping deep inside of you and you’re pondering if he was ever going to get tired. 

You begin to sob, the cries mixed with your choked moans. Your thighs clenched, caging his head in that you would have to remember to unclench them so you wouldn’t be the cause of his suffocation.

“Feels so good, Yoongi.”  you grit through your teeth, thighs quivering in great pleasure. 

Yoongi’s fingers pump even faster - how was that even possible? His tongue continues to lap vigorously.

You begin to shake your head, a familiar feeling bubbling between your legs. This couldn’t be happening - you couldn’t cum this fast. 

“S-Stop, Yoongi!” your hand slaps against his forehead to push him away, but Yoongi doesn’t bulge. He continues to lap with the same ravenous need, fingers curling inside of you that hits a sweet spot each time.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker up to watch as you cum, not caring about the wail that releases from your throat. You managed to not crush his skull with your thighs - not like he was complaining. 

Yoongi lifts himself from your wet clit, his fingers popping out of you. He wraps his tongue around his fingers and sucks, humming to himself. Your eyes manage to open to see Yoongi in the act - it causes you to groan in hot embarrassment.

“Tastes so sweet.”

You noticed just how wet Yoongi’s lips were due to your juices, but he doesn’t seem to care. He kisses up your thigh until he’s face to face with you. His lips fall onto your own, your arousal coating your lips, but you do not care. You want Yoongi entirely too much to care about anything right now. 

“Please fuck me.” you beg when Yoongi releases your lips. 

Yoongi shakes his head, sighing. As much as he wants to, he has gone too far by doing this with you now. Though you had no complaints, he allowed lust to overtake him to the point that his first time with you was in a club. “Not here.”

You sigh in defeat at Yoongi’s tone, the seriousness in it telling you that there was no point in arguing. 

“Don’t look so disappointed Y/N.” Yoongi wraps you in an embrace once more, pulling you up from the couch. “You’re still my girl. I respect you more than to take you here.”

You hated Min Yoongi.

You hated Min Yoongi because that night with you and him was weeks ago and you have yet to see him. When you had the following night, you were met with flickering eyes and pure ignorance by the men at the club - who all came there to gawk and look at women.

“You’re no longer needed on the floor.” your boss had told you when you prepared to go on stage. “Nor are you needed for private dances.”

You were left stunned and before you could question your boss, she had sauntered away. You were instructed to do nothing but serve drinks to people at the bar. You were new to this, never mixing drinks often until now. The job required you to cover a bit more, yet you still showed more skin than usual. 

And yet, even as you stand here serving men, they appear to avoid you like the plague. They speak without looking at you, pay without as much as a nod. It was weird, truly. Something deep in your gut told you it had to do with a certain Min Yoongi.

What you never understood - but guiltily never questioned - was the large sum of money for you at the end of the night. Your boss hands it to you in an envelope with a curt nod and a short “good job” before going on to the next. The cash was a large sum and insanely more than the rest of the girls who were performing - and you were just a bartender.

“Maybe it’s because you’re Suga’s girl.” Bunny had said, eyes wide at the large sum of money. “That has to be so exciting.”

Exciting it could have been if you weren’t being ignored by the man. By the fourth week, you were expected to see Yoongi once you saw the men he was with that night when you first saw him. However, he was not with them. They lingered around, eyes towards the stage as they drank from a bottle they brought in themselves. 

“Where’s Yoongi?” you asked the men as the night was slowing down. Eyes turned towards you for a moment, each of them wide at the sight of you speaking to them. “Hello?”

“We shouldn’t be talking to you.” one man - dark hair with glasses - speaks first.

“I-I…” you knit your brows. “Why not?”

“You’re Suga’s girl.” another one speaks - same dark hair shaved into a low buzz cut. “We respect you.”

“And shouldn’t be talking to you.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I’m not his girl.” you hiss - but they wouldn’t believe you. You came up to them asking for Yoongi after all. “I...can you just tell me where he is.”

The one with the glasses shrugs his shoulders. “We were told to keep an eye-”

“Shut up.” another man - wearing a hat - hisses. “He doesn’t want her to know that.”

What you were gathering by the men’s words was Yoongi had these men here for the sole purpose of keeping an eye out on you - and now you were even more livid. 

“Tell Yoongi I want to see him tomorrow night.” you tell them, eyes to look at each of their faces. 

The men nod their heads and you take your leave.

The following night was one of anticipation. You waited for Yoongi to arrive and when he had, you stood straighter. His eyes met yours and the moment you thought was yours was not. 

Yoongi ignored you. He strolled by without a second glance or a smile. He sat furthest from the bar with the same men - even more men than before - and ignored you.

Your heart sank and for a moment, you contemplated what you’ve done.

But your self pity was then met with anger.

Yoongi was avoiding you and you had not a single reason why. You and him hit it off the last time you saw him - he had taken you home insisting that he would see you once more. He had gone radio silent and now refused to look your way.

You have decided now.

Min Yoongi was going to act like you didn’t exist, then you were going to do the same. He didn’t deserve the luxury of calling you his girl if he was going to ignore you the entire time. You were going to have Min Yoongi come to you.

“How long have you been bartending?”

Your eyes widened at the man's question. He was the first in weeks to directly talk to you and make eye contact. 

“Not long.” you smile, showing your teeth. You manage to not look Yoongi’s way to see if he was watching you. “I’m actually new here.”

The man nods. “I can tell. You’re a little heavy handed with drinks.”

You laughed at any and every joke the man said - even if it did hurt your stomach to do so with such dramatics. 

“Another shot?” you ask the man, raising your bottle towards him. You made it your mission to show your breast as much as you possibly could - that and to bat your eyelashes. 

“S-Sure.” the man slurs.

You lick your lips. In that moment, your head turns and your eyes lock with dark ones. The club is packed and the music is blaring, but you can easily find Yoongi in the crowd. He isn’t far this time, leaning against a wall watching you intently. 

You continue to watch Yoongi, unsure how you managed to not fuck up. Your freehand grasps the man's chin, tip his head back and pour the alcohol in the man's mouth. You turn your eyes away from Yoongi when you see him stand straighter. 

“You’re a wild one.” the man says once the alcohol hits his throat. “Yeah?” you say, smiling at him. You engulf the man in a quick - unsolicited, kiss. It doesn’t feel right - you didn’t indulge in things like this with men you didn’t know. However, you wanted to piss Yoongi off when you knew he was watching.

You release the man's lips and giggle cutely. Your eyes turn once more and notice that Yoongi was not where he was when you last saw him. 

You flinch when the bottle in your hand explodes with a loud shot. You shuffle away from the man as another shot rings out. There’s screaming throughout the club and then running, women and men all scattering to get out. 

You look over the bar with wide eyes at the man. He’s clenching his thigh while blood oozes out from it.

“W-What the fuck?” the man hisses when he’s suddenly kicked to the side, discarded. Your eyes, painfully slow, raised to who it was.

“What were you trying to do, Y/N?”

MIn Yoongi.

Of course it was Min Yoongi.

“Yoongi did you-”

“Of course I did.” Yoongi interrupts you. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

You shake your head in disbelief. The club is slowly evacuated, leaving no one but Yoongi, you and a few of his men - and the man that has been shot and now staining the club's floor. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” you hiss at Yoongi. “You shot a man-”

“That you were using to provoke me!” Yoongi slams his hand down at the bar table as he yells. “I’m sorry.” he says with a shake of his head when you flinch at his tone. “I don’t want to yell at you, Y/N.”

You inhale slightly. 

“You knew what you were doing, Y/N. Trying to make me jealous.”

“Now you want to talk to me?” you scoff in disbelief. “After you ignored all this time? Had me stop performing because I was,” you lift your hand to do air quotations. “Suga’s girl.”

“You are my girl.” Yoongi hisses. “That’s why I don’t want you working in this club. This is why I pay you every night a large sum of money in hopes you’d stop coming back to this place.”

You’re silent at Yoongi’s words, and he continues. 

“I want you to go back to school and do what you were doing before this.” Yoongi sighs. “Come with me, Y/N. We can talk about it at home.”

You want to shake your head and deny Yoongi - you want to scream and yell that he didn’t deserve you after ignoring you. But then you look into his eyes and know that you weren’t going to do any of that.

“Okay.” you nod your head, caving all too quickly for the very man you claim to hate not too long ago. 

You round the corner just as Yoongi’s men gathered the bleeding man in their arms, taking him somewhere you were exactly unsure of. 

“He’ll be okay.” Yoongi assures, wrapping an arm around you. “Poor fool didn’t know you were my girl.”

The greasy-haired man beside Yoongi, with glee on his face as Taehyung stumbles backward, is sick. The two men clad in slate gray suits to Yoongi's right, standing out like the capitalistic pigs that they are, hurriedly bickering over the large-sum bet they placed on whether Taehyung would climb out of the circle alive or not, are sick. 

People are sick.

Taehyung brings his forearm to his face to wipe off whatever is left behind on his mouth. His curly hair sticks to his forehead and frames his face in clumps, so soaked through that the locks look a darker shade of brown. Without a shirt on to collect his sweat, Taehyung’s bare chest gleams in the dim lighting of the arena.

Cliche as ever, the underground boxing scene takes place in an abandoned warehouse located miles from the city. The police don’t bother patrolling the rural farmland, though Yoongi is sure there are cops amid the crowds here tonight, betting on his boyfriend’s wellbeing. Dirty money passed between clean hands is worth more than an arrest.  

“Looking for someone, pretty?” One of the suited men presses his fingers to Yoongi’s waist. He dares to slip his fingertips under the hem of his t-shirt to feel the warm skin of his side, just above the waistband of his jeans. 

“No,” Yoongi mutters, stepping to the side to distance himself from the man. A slimy feeling slithers down his back. 

Despite attending Taehyung’s fights for weeks, Yoongi made a rookie mistake: he let his eyes wander. Looking around makes a person appear lost, and nothing is worse than giving off an air of helplessness in a place like this. Sharks swarm any pretty face that stands alone in a sea of violence. 

Returning his attention to Taehyung, Yoongi does his best to keep the creepy man in his peripheral vision, just in case. 

When Taehyung pulls his arm back, Yoongi can barely make out a flash of teeth before his lips are clamped shut again. Yoongi is pretty sure Taehyung’s left incisor is chipped so severely it looks like it’s broken in half diagonally. Not surprisingly, Taehyung’s bottom lip is split straight down the middle. Yoongi has taken Taehyung to the hospital to get stitches in that same spot so often that he has started to expect the seam to bust open every time Taehyung steps inside the bloody circle.

Still, Taehyung’s split lip is nothing compared to the damage he inflicted on his opponent. By the end of the fight, the other man crumples into the gravel with ribs Yoongi knows are broken by how he wheezes through his mouth. 

Taehyung spits a final glob of blood and saliva before he hauls himself over the wooden barrier as the crowd screams and raves in enthusiasm and disappointment. It makes no difference to Yoongi how the sick people around him feel; he only has eyes for the tall, lean man shouldering his way through the crowd to the table of men near the warehouse entrance. 

Yoongi weaves through the crowd, too small to push anyone out of the way and instead forced to follow the natural flow of everyone shuffling toward the front doors, some to leave and others to collect debts. It feels like he’s swimming through molasses as he does his best to keep Taehyung in his line of sight. Sometimes Yoongi wonders if someone will assault Taehyung after a fight, some belligerent man hopped up on the high of testosterone and violence, upset that he’s lost yet another bet against Taehyung. Yoongi feels that as long as he can keep his eye on Taehyung, he’ll be safe. Never mind the fact that Yoongi could never protect him. 

Finally reaching the table, Yoongi watches Taehyung shove a wad of cash into his front pocket. It isn’t subtle in how it bulges against his thigh, but it’s the safest place for it to be. 

“Tae,” Yoongi calls over the roar of the crowd. 

When Taehyung turns toward him, he doesn’t smile. Yoongi receives a curt nod as Taehyung takes the flannel button-up he offers him. Button-ups are easier to put on. Yoongi has noticed that Taehyung often can’t lift his arms high enough to put on a t-shirt after a fight. Even with a buttoned shirt, Yoongi is careful to help Taehyung ease his arms into each sleeve. He pulls the front over his chest and begins buttoning the shirt. No longer does he cringe when his fingers get coated with sweat and blood from touching Taehyung’s dirtied body. 

Stepping back, Yoongi lets Taehyung lead the way out of the building once the crowd has died down. The fight officials count up their money, making Yoongi sick to think that Taehyung’s broken body puts money in the pockets of men who should be making an honest living elsewhere. 

“Can you drive?” Taehyung’s voice sounds like each breath flowing in and out of his throat hurts. Yoongi is sure his throat is raw from the animalistic sounds he makes during a fight. 

All the boxers make terrible sounds – cries, screams, and growls that rumble from deep inside their chests. Yoongi is convinced that there is nothing human about fighting. 

Taehyung doesn’t show the extent of his pain until he carefully eases himself into the passenger seat of their car. He groans a low sound that rumbles in his throat. He doesn’t bother putting on his seatbelt; twisting his torso around to reach it would be too much of a feat. Yoongi is a safe driver, though he wishes Taehyung would let him help. It’s pride that stops him. Yoongi is only allowed to assist Taehyung once they’re at home, far away from the judgmental eyes of the underground scene. 

It pisses Yoongi off, but he would never go against Taehyung’s wishes. As much as he cares for Taehyung’s well-being, he knows that Taehyung’s involvement in underground boxing is non-negotiable – no matter how many times they’ve fought because of it. 

They’re silent as Yoongi drives through the dark, with no overhead lights illuminating their journey toward the small town on the outskirts of the farmland. It’s nothing special, just a little farming town an hour or so outside the city. Yoongi and Taehyung grew up here, a speck on the map, one of those sleepy towns that people stop at during road trips to eat at the diner or fill up on gas. It seems more people are passing through the town than living there, though Yoongi knows that’s an exaggeration. 

With a sigh, Yoongi taps his fingers along the steering wheel to a song he’s made up in his head, too afraid of Taehyung’s potential mood swings to turn on the radio. Sometimes, Taehyung is hyped up after a fight, pumped full of testosterone and aggression. On those weekends, he wants to shout along to heavy metal on the way home and fuck Yoongi up against the front door when they get there. 

Some weekends, Taehyung is silent. 

On silent weekends, Yoongi knows not to say anything that might disrupt Taehyung’s attempt at finding peace within himself. He’s on edge during those moods, grappling with himself. 

Why? Why does he fight? Is the money worth it? Yoongi thinks they manage just fine without it, but it isn’t just the two of them that Taehyung has to worry about. There’s his mom, who is too sick to work, and his little sister, who is barely starting high school and too young to hold a real job.

In a town like theirs, poverty runs rampant, and there are few resources to help struggling families get by. They’re all in the same boat, scraping together what little money they have to live a life worth sharing. 

It’s why Yoongi dreams of one day becoming a famous writer. It’s a pipedream, he knows, but that doesn’t prevent him from trying. When he isn’t waiting tables at the local diner or tending to Taehyung’s wounds, he’s holed away in their living room in his favorite armchair by the window, a leather notebook in his lap and a ballpoint pen staining his fingers.

There are millions, no billions, of lives Yoongi could live through the pages of the short stories and poems he writes, written collections stashed away in a cardboard box in his closet because he doesn’t have a computer and isn’t sure if he’s brave enough to pursue publishing his work, anyway. But those lives he could live through his writing – oh, how attractive they are. Why be stuck in this one? 

Yoongi slowly pulls up to their driveway to be mindful of the potholes and bumpy gravel that might jostle Taehyung, whose face is scrunched in pain. Yoongi wants to fuss over him, but he thinks Taehyung is in one of those nasty moods and doesn’t want to risk irritating him. 

The arguments that come from Yoongi’s fussing when Taehyung is in a bad mood always end the same: 

Taehyung would fist rubber-banded rolls of money stained with his blood and hold them to Yoongi's face. 

“Do you know what this is, Yoongi?” Taehyung would say.  

Dirty money is what Yoongi typically wants to snap at him, but he always holds his tongue. Instead of speaking, he’d let his eyes wander. Taehyung is always breathtaking beneath the cuts, scabs, and purple-turned-yellow bruises marring his honey skin. 

“This is what keeps you off the fucking streets, love.” 

He’s never wrong. 

It’s in the darkest corners of town where Taehyung’s name is whispered. Women sigh his name when he walks past. They wonder how the rippled muscles of his back would feel beneath their delicate fingers or how the intensity of his dark eyes would feel staring down at them from above, the thin gold chain he never takes off, even in a fight, swaying in their face. Men speak his name in terse murmurs and can’t bring themselves to meet his gaze when he approaches them. The power that thrums from Taehyung like an electric current is palpable no matter where he goes or who he encounters. 

It’s understandable that Taehyung carries this reputation. In all the time Yoongi has known him, he has never seen Taehyung lose a fight. Taehyung can’t afford to lose.  

Once inside the house, Taehyung tosses the wad of money onto the coffee table. He already has his soiled shirt off by the time Yoongi hands him an ice pack. Watching him ease back onto the couch with an ice pack to his cheek where Donghun punched him is painful. His tooth isn’t as severely damaged as Yoongi thought, but he’s still worried. Yoongi is always worried. 

“I don’t want you coming anymore.” 

Yoongi's eyes grow wide. “What?” 

“It's not safe.” Taehyung doesn’t look at Yoongi, instead casting his stern gaze toward the bloody money. His voice is deceivingly soft, words slurred together, and teeth stained red. “I see how they look at you. You think I’m in there not paying attention, but I fucking see it.”

The air is heavy with testosterone during fights. Yoongi would be lying if he said the violently hungry, aggressive vibe doesn’t scare him just a little bit. Even though people in the underground scene respect and fear Taehyung, plenty of men are stupid enough to entertain the thought of taking Taehyung’s boyfriend for themselves, with or without Yoongi’s permission. The slimy guy in the gray suit tonight is a perfect example. 

But Taehyung often underestimates Yoongi’s strength. Sure, he is book-smart and dreams of a life more than this, but it doesn’t mean he’s soft. He can shoulder the weight of the world just like Taehyung can; it just looks different.

“I can take care of myself.” 

Taehyung drops the ice pack from his face and turns toward Yoongi. “I’m not asking for your opinion.” 

Yoongi tries not to flinch at the dangerous edge of Taehyung’s tone. He nods with his jaw set and his fists squeezed so tightly that he can feel his nails dig into his palms. 

“Good,” Taehyung rises to his feet, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

Yoongi waits in the same spot on the couch while Taehyung showers, washing away the grime and hurt he inflicted on himself and indirectly on Yoongi. It’s the only time Taehyung lets himself cry; Yoongi knows because he heard him once. Tonight is no different, although Yoongi knows better than to comment on the red in Taehyung’s eyes when he returns with his towel wrapped low around his hips. 

New bruises have formed over the splotchy old ones, decorating Taehyung’s body in an array of yellows, reds, and purples. His torso bears the brunt of the abuse, though his black eye and bruised mouth are darkening as well. 

Taking Taehyung’s hand, Yoongi leads him back into the bathroom to sit on the closed toilet lid while he retrieves the first-aid kit from the bathroom cabinet. The zipper pouch has become his best friend over the months since Taehyung allowed Yoongi to take care of his injuries. Tonight, the open wounds are small, just minor cuts on the bridge of his nose and the corner of his mouth. When Yoongi gently pinches Taehyung’s nose, he hisses. 

“Fuck, Yoong,” he tilts his head back to meet Yoongi’s eyes. His eyes are still wild, like an animal teetering between its fight-or-flight instincts. 

Ignoring Taehyung’s curses, Yoongi disinfects his wounds and does his best to focus on the task at hand, not on how pretty Taehyung’s moles are or how kissable his lips look, even with a bloody split down the middle of his bottom lip. However, it’s hard to focus when Taehyung stares at Yoongi with such dark intensity in his eyes. Perhaps Yoongi is wrong in assuming that Taehyung is in one of his nasty, quiet moods tonight. Although he may not be speaking, Taehyung’s presence is loud in their tiny bathroom. 

Yoongi shuffles between Taehyung’s legs to better reach the minor cuts on his face. With light touches, he brushes Taehyung’s damp hair away from his face to reveal another cut that slices through his eyebrow and part of his forehead. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Yoongi questions suspiciously and purposefully avoids looking into Taehyung’s eyes as he finishes dabbing the alcohol-soaked cotton ball on his cuts. 

“Looking at you like what?” There’s a tease in Taehyung’s tone that makes Yoongi’s cheeks grow warm. 

He lets out a small huff and straightens his posture. “You know.” 

“Do I?” Taehyung quirks an eyebrow. When Yoongi tries to step away, Taehyung’s hands squeeze the backs of his thighs, just below his butt, to keep him in place. “I don’t think I do. Maybe you should explain it to me.” 

“Maybe you should go to bed. It’s late,” Yoongi huffs again as he threads his fingers through Taehyung’s dark hair. “I need to cut your hair soon…” he mutters, accidentally letting his eyes wander toward Taehyung’s. He can feel Taehyung’s breath against the base of his throat from Taehyung tilting his chin up to stare at him. Their proximity makes Yoongi shiver, especially once Taehyung begins rubbing his palms up and down the backs of Yoongi’s thighs. 

Yoongi shouldn’t find a thrill in this. The fighting is morally wrong and bad for Taehyung’s mental and physical health. Excitement shouldn’t poison Yoongi’s veins and raise goosebumps across his arms as Taehyung’s hands lift higher to squeeze Yoongi’s ass in his large palms. Arousal shouldn’t build in his body when Taehyung roughly pulls Yoongi toward him, forcing Yoongi to grip his shoulders to keep stable. The only thing he should feel is guilt. 

He does feel guilt, but it’s drowned out by the heat that simmers in his body. Guilt is cold and ugly, quickly chased away by the fire Taehyung ignites inside him when he pops open the button of Yoongi’s jeans. 

“What did that piece of shit say to you at the fight?” Taehyung demands the answer as he rips Yoongi’s pants down his thighs, pulling his briefs down with them. 

It feels like a bad idea to answer him, but Yoongi wonders if refusing will be worse, so he chooses honesty. “He asked if I was looking for someone. And he…” Yoongi bites his lip to hold back a moan when Taehyung’s calloused hands slide over Yoongi’s bare ass, one hand pulling his cheek back while the other runs his fingers along Yoongi’s exposed rim. 

When Yoongi doesn’t continue his sentence, Taehyung lands a harsh slap against his ass. It doesn’t hurt, but it stings, making Yoongi’s entire body tingle. 

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing,” Yoongi says with a gasp when Taehyung’s middle finger slowly pushes past his rim. It's dry, but Taehyung is gentle, and it's only a quick teasing touch before both of Taehyung's hands are resting on Yoongi's hips. “But he touched me. Nowhere bad, but it made me uncomfortable.” 

Taehyung isn’t so much possessive as he is overprotective. He fully believes in Yoongi being his own person and has always been Yoongi’s loudest, most reliable supporter. His boxing money doesn’t just go toward supporting his mother and little sister. Taehyung deposits a portion of his earnings into a bank account he created to save money for Yoongi to attend the fancy university in the city one day. In addition to wanting to become a writer, Yoongi’s other dream is to graduate from college. Taehyung would do anything to give him that opportunity. 

So Taehyung’s anger at the gray-suited man isn’t because he wants to own Yoongi but because he knows this man put his hands on him without Yoongi’s consent. 

“I wish I knew who the fuck he was. I’d fucking kill him,” Taehyung murmurs, his voice soft despite how aggressive his words are. Some people hide behind bold claims, but Yoongi knows not to underestimate Taehyung. He has seen him beat a man half to death because in this world, it is beat or be beaten, and Taehyung is never beaten. 

“I wouldn’t let you.” 

Taehyung gazes up at Yoongi brightly, though his left eye is half-closed from the skin around it swelling. His black eye will be a nasty one this time around. He’s sure to wear it proudly. For the first time that night, a smile blooms across his face. 

“Are you the boss of me, little Yoongi?” Taehyung muses. 

“Obviously,” Yoongi quips now that he knows Taehyung is in a better mood than he initially thought. “You’re just bad at listening to what you’re told.” 

“You’re right about that.” Taehyung’s smile grows into a grin that shows his large teeth still stained a light pink from blood. It reminds Yoongi that there are parts of Taehyung that he can’t fix. 

It’s hard to concentrate when Taehyung’s hands roam Yoongi’s body, running up and down his bare thighs but never touching the place that aches for him. If Yoongi wasn’t used to Taehyung’s antics, their position would be humiliating. Taehyung’s legs on either side of him and his jeans halfway down his thighs trap Yoongi in place. The tight fabric is restricting, and he wants to step out of them, but Taehyung won’t give him any room to move. It doesn’t help that Yoongi is already getting hard, much to Taehyung’s pleasure. Taehyung’s dark eyes flit down to Yoongi’s neglected cock, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth to suppress a smirk. 

“You like it, though.” Twisting the hem of Yoongi’s t-shirt into his bruised and busted hand, Taehyung pushes his shirt up, slowly exposing his soft tummy. 

“Like what?” Yoongi swallows as Taehyung’s free hand follows the path of his shirt. The callouses on his palms scratch his sensitive skin. Opposites attract, Yoongi thinks. 

“When I don’t listen.” Taehyung brings the hem of Yoongi’s shirt to his face. “Bite.” 

Obediently, Yoongi’s mouth falls open to receive the fabric Taehyung shoves inside. With his shirt in his mouth, all of Yoongi’s torso is on display for Taehyung. Smooth, sensitive skin exposed for Taehyung to drag his fingernails down and watch the red tracks they leave behind and the goosebumps that follow. 

“You always listen, though,” Taehyung says with an appreciative hum when he flicks one of Yoongi’s nipples until it turns hard and perky. “Well, almost always. Sometimes, you give me trouble, but not tonight, right? You’ll be good tonight?” 

Yoongi nods his head but doesn’t dare open his mouth. 

Taehyung put his shirt there because he doesn’t want to hear Yoongi. It’s nothing against Yoongi, and he knows that. Impressed by his intellect and eloquence, Taehyung has always admired Yoongi’s mind. Whatever random facts or fantastical worlds Yoongi wants to share with Taehyung are eagerly accepted. However, tonight is different. Fights are draining. The overstimulation of dealing with screaming onlookers and hateful taunts by his opponent alone is enough to drive any person over the edge. Add in the jarring sensation of being punched and kicked multiple times, the smell of sweat and blood, and the disorienting lights shining on the ring, and Taehyung leaves each fight with his senses pushed into overdrive. 

Even though tonight doesn’t seem like it will be a quiet night, Taehyung is still tired. Yoongi knows him well enough to see the signs. Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists and holds his arms behind his back, one hand large enough to squeeze both of Yoongi’s dainty wrists in his palm. His grip is loose, though. Yoongi could pull out if he wanted to because Taehyung has used all his strength to fight for his earnings tonight. 

Still, Yoongi stands patiently with his arms behind his back as Taehyung flattens his tongue against one of his nipples and licks a stripe up his pec. He doesn’t need Taehyung to tell him to stand still despite how the sensation makes his body quiver and his cock leak. He told Taehyung he would be good. 

“You look good, all marked up,” Taehyung praises once he pulls away from Yoongi’s chest. 

When Yoongi looks down, he sees multiple hickeys darkening the skin around his nipples. He can’t help but think that he matches Taehyung now, except his bruises are made from love. 

Sucking dark hickeys down the middle of Yoongi’s chest, Taehyung’s mouth travels along Yoongi’s stomach until it hovers over his cock, now fully hard and throbbing in anticipation. Though Yoongi can’t get his hopes up that Taehyung will touch him. When Taehyung gets like this, Yoongi’s pleasure isn’t at the top of his mind. 

It’s okay, though. Yoongi wants to help Taehyung however he can. 

Rather than touch him, Taehyung pauses to blow on the wet tip of Yoongi’s cock. It makes Yoongi shiver, and he can’t stop himself from bucking forward slightly. The natural response makes Taehyung chuckle, something deep and dark that makes Yoongi tremble even harder. He whimpers into the fabric in his mouth, and Taehyung grins up at him with mischief in his eyes. 

“Am I being mean to you?” 

Yoongi nods and wiggles in Taehyung’s grip. One day, Taehyung’s exhaustion might make him go easy on Yoongi. 

Taehyung sticks out his tongue to lap at the very tip of Yoongi’s cock, licking clean the precum that has collected there. “I could be meaner, you know.” 

Ice glides through Yoongi’s veins when Taehyung releases his wrists. In one swift movement, he pulls Yoongi’s shirt off. 

“Turn around,” he commands, and Yoongi does so rather ungracefully, for his jeans are still tight around his thighs. Once Yoongi has his back to Taehyung, he feels him grab his wrists again, tugging them to the small of his back. He anxiously flexes his fingers as Taehyung ties his wrists with the t-shirt. The hold is much stronger than Taehyung’s earlier grip on his wrists, the knot tight even with the bulky fabric. Yoongi wouldn’t try to get out of it anyway. 

“Feel okay?” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse with desire and exhaustion. The sound of it makes Yoongi’s cock twitch. 

“Feels okay,” Yoongi confirms with a slight nod. “Feels good.”

“Because you’re safe with me, right?” Taehyung hums against Yoongi’s skin when he kisses the middle of his back. Yoongi’s heart flutters when he feels Taehyung push down between his shoulder blades, forcing Yoongi to bend forward slightly. “Right, hyung ?” 

“Yes,” Yoongi squeaks while Taehyung’s teeth dig into his right asscheek. Taehyung only uses honorifics when Yoongi is in trouble. 

“Good.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Yoongi sees Taehyung reach into the cabinet to retrieve a small, light purple bottle. It’s difficult to stay still when he hears the bottle cap pop open and the obscene squelch of the bottle being squeezed. 

“Now, don’t do that,” Taehyung scolds with a tug of the t-shirt tied around Yoongi’s wrists. “Behave, or I’ll fuck your mouth instead.”

It isn’t much of a threat because Yoongi likes when Taehyung fucks his mouth, but he knows behind Taehyung’s words is the possibility that he won’t let Yoongi cum, and that isn’t ideal. 

“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes softly. He lets out a shaky sigh as Taehyung slides two lubed fingers inside him. The glide is easy, and Taehyung soon presses a third in without any resistance. 

Yoongi is already stretched from them fucking the night before. Still, Taehyung fingers him because he likes to watch Yoongi struggle to stand up as he abuses his prostate, rubbing over it in tight, intentional circles until Yoongi begs him to stop. 

“Please, Tae, please fuck me,” Yoongi begs. He squeezes his eyes shut and does his best to stand still without his knees buckling underneath him. 

“You want my cock that bad? I give it to you every day, baby. Is it that good?” Taehyung laughs, and the embarrassment of resorting to begging makes Yoongi shake even harder. Taehyung removes his fingers and squeezes Yoongi’s hips to maneuver him out of the way when Taehyung stands. “Up against the counter. No, keep your pants on.” 

There’s something exciting for Yoongi about being tied up and restricted by his clothes when Taehyung is entirely naked. He faces the bathroom counter and confronts himself in the mirror. His eyes glisten with unshed tears from the frustration of Taehyung fingering him with no relief, and his dark hair is in disarray. 

Taehyung is worse for wear, though a guilty part of Yoongi finds his disheveled look attractive. He looks tall and strong, standing behind Yoongi. His towel has fallen in a puddle around his feet. The muscles in his chest and arms flex as he presses down on Yoongi’s back, forcing him to bend over the counter’s edge. He leans forward as well, draping himself over Yoongi’s back to bring his lips to the curve of Yoongi’s ear. 

“I want you to watch me fuck you,” Taehyung whispers, and Yoongi thinks he could cum just from the feeling of Taehyung’s tongue running along the edge of his ear and his thick cock brushing against the inside of his thighs. 

“I can do that,” Yoongi says with a quick nod. He locks eyes with Taehyung in the mirror once Taehyung stands upright. 

Taehyung runs his tongue along his bottom lip. Tapping the inside of Yoongi’s thighs – twice on each side – Yoongi knows it’s a silent command to spread his legs further. Without breaking eye contact with Yoongi, Taehyung pulls back one of Yonogi’s cheeks and uses his other hand to guide his cock to Yoongi’s rim. He doesn’t need to look down to know where he’s going; they’ve memorized each other’s bodies. With one last swipe of his thumb against his rim, Taehyung slides his cock into Yoongi in one sharp thrust that forces Yoongi’s body against the counter and knocks the air out of his lungs. 

“Fuck!” Yoongi curses, unable to hold himself up because Taehyung has tied his wrists behind his back. He slumps forward when Taehyung pulls back and snaps his hips into him again. 

The edge of the counter hurts when it presses into his lower stomach every time Taehyung thrusts into him, not to mention how his cock is caught between his thigh and the side of the counter. The discomfort increases when Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists and yanks hard on the t-shirt, forcing Yoongi’s upper body to lift from the counter. 

“What did I tell you?” Taehyung hisses as he fucks into him because Yoonstopsped looking at the mirror. 

Yoongi’s vision is blurry when he finally returns his eyes to the mirror. He can’t make out their faces; the tears are too thick on his eyelashes before they spill down his cheeks. Taehyung’s pace is relentless as he fucks into Yoongi with all the frustration, stress, and insecurity inside him. 

Giving Yoongi a reprieve, Taehyung reaches to tug Yoongi’s jeans down further until he can step out of them. Free from that restriction, Taehyung taps the back of Yoongi’s right knee. 

“Up here,” Taehyung grunts, helping Yoongi lift his knee onto the counter's edge. It opens him up even further and gives Taehyung a better position to grab Yoongi’s hips and slam into him more forcefully and precisely. 

The discomfort from the counter mixes with the mind-numbing pleasure of Taehyung hitting Yoongi’s prostrate with every thrust. It creates a haze in Yoongi’s mind that’s difficult to pull himself out of. However, he isn’t so far gone that he doesn’t notice when Taehyung’s rhythm falters. He breathes heavily against Yoongi’s shoulder, now slumped over slightly. The weight of Taehyung’s body on his is almost too much. 

“Tae,” Yoongi cries out, trying to blink away the tears in his eyes to see Taehyung in the mirror. “I’m here, okay? I can take care of you.” 

Slowly, Taehyung’s thrusts come to a halt. He stays inside of Yoongi, thick and pulsing against his walls. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, and his skin is flushed with exertion. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s as if he’s a sleepwalker finally coming back to himself, blinking away whatever fantasy world his mind had transported him to and returning to the reality in front of him. Yoongi watches with a broken heart as Taehyung’s face crumbles. 

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung apologizes in a small voice. He pulls out of Yoongi and steps back with his head hanging low. “Fuck, I’m just…” 

Yoongi gives him a gentle smile. “Can you please untie me?” 

With a sheepish nod, Taehyung unties Yoongi’s wrists and silently follows him into their bedroom. It’s dark there, not artificially bright like their bathroom. There are fewer stimulants to mess with Taehyung’s senses as Yoongi guides him onto the bed.

Yoongi’s knees dent the mattress where he straddles Taehyung’s hips. He leans forward to cradle Taehyung’s head to his chest with one hand and uses the other to position their fluffiest pillows behind Taehyung so that he can lean back on them once Yoongi lets him go. 

“You’re exhausted,” Yoongi points out, careful to be soft in his tone rather than make Taehyung feel like he’s disappointed in him. “Let me take care of you, okay?” 

Taehyung melts into the pillows. Despite the darkness of the room, moonlight illuminates Taehyung’s eyes as he stares up at Yoongi. His eyes are softer now than they had been, no longer blazing and wild. They stay soft, even as his fingers grip Yoongi’s hips as he sinks down on Taehyung’s cock. 

Rarely does Yoongi get on top, and the muscles of his thighs scream at him as a result, but he maintains a slow, sweet pace. Taehyung murmurs his praises, occasionally instructing Yoongi on how to shift his hips and what speed to take. 

“I love you,” Taehyung says with a shaky breath as he cums inside Yoongi, doing his best to pump Yoongi’s cock in his fist to bring him to his release quickly after. 

Yoongi presses his lips to Taehyung’s forehead as he whispers into his skin, “I love you, too.” 

A low whistle welcomes Yoongi to JK’s Diner. He rolls his eyes at his coworker once he slips through the front door, the little bell atop the door ringing in harmony with his coworker’s obnoxious tune. 

“Hello to you too, Hoseok,” Yoongi grumbles through a smile. He rushes past the bar counter to escape through the kitchen door, but Hoseok is hot on his heels. 

“Does your boy ever catch a break?” Hoseok flicks a thin wooden toothpick with his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other. It helps with avoiding cigarettes, apparently. Yoongi keeps his vices to a minimum so he wouldn’t know. 

Stashing his backpack in the employee closet, Yoongi trades it for a firetruck-red apron. He folds it in half, only tying it around his waist. In the pocket goes a little notepad and a pen clipped to the edge. 

“What?” Yoongi bows his head in greeting at the kitchen staff before he hurries out into the dining room again. There’s no need to rush; JK’s Diner never has busy hours unless a large group of travelers pulls into town. Yoongi is just like this sometimes. 

“I could’ve seen that shiner from outer space.” 

Yoongi doesn’t have many friends. A solitary child, he grew up with his nose in a book and his back to the rest of the world. It also doesn’t help that most people who amount to anything in life move away from their small town, leaving behind everyone too poor or too stupid to make it someplace else. 

Hoseok is one of Yoongi’s few friends from childhood who stayed home once he reached adulthood – for what reason, Yoongi still doesn’t understand. Highly intelligent, charismatic, and creative, Hoseok always seemed destined for greatness in Yoongi’s eyes. There’s an air of regality that Hoseok carries with him wherever he goes. His sharp features, stylish presentation, and heartwarming personality make it clear that Hoseok deserves to be somewhere much more interesting than here. 

“What shiner?” 

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “I just watched that man drop you off not even five minutes ago. The windows in his car aren’t that heavily tinted. He looks like shit.” 

Ignoring Hoseok’s unsolicited commentary on Taehyung’s appearance, Yoongi sits at the counter with a rag and a stack of laminated menus to clean. He tries not to think about how many grimy hands have touched all over them. 

“Are you going to work today?” Yoongi quips with a little tilt of his head, his eyes on the menus. 

“There’s no one here!” Hoseok scoffs. He slumps onto the barstool beside Yoongi and faces the door with his elbows propped on the counter behind him. “Don’t you ever worry about those city slickers getting revenge on him or something?” 

Yoongi pauses his work to look at Hoseok. “Revenge? For what?” 

“Well,” Hoseok begins with a shrug. “They’re all bigshots, right? Lots of money and power, coming down here to get off on poor people selling their bodies. You ever wonder if they get mad about losing money over Taehyung every weekend? I’m not trying to put anything in the universe, but I don’t know. Money makes people do crazy shit.” 

“Yeah…” Yoongi mumbles, slowly setting down the menu he’s been cleaning. Money makes people do crazy shit. “Taehyung is fine. Most of the people who watch don’t even know him. He doesn’t go by his real name.” 

If anyone knew that Taehyung had chosen “V” as his alias because of his love for Vincent van Gogh, he’d probably crawl into a hole and die. 

Hoseok doesn’t have a chance to explain himself further. The bell rings, and he claps Yoongi on the shoulder, saying, “I got it,” before slipping into his customer service persona to greet whoever has entered the diner. 

It’s hard not to mull over Hoseok’s question as Yoongi finishes up the menial tasks no one else wants to do. Wiping down ketchup and mustard bottles is anything but exciting, and it’s mindless enough that more stressful thoughts can occupy Yoongi’s mind instead. Is Hoseok right? Would someone hurt Taehyung over a lost bet? Yoongi can’t imagine why someone with lots of money would seek revenge over a bad gamble. If they’re so rich, wouldn’t the money they gamble hardly make a dent in their wealth? 

With a sigh, Yoongi moves on to his next task of updating the whiteboard hanging behind the counter with the diner’s daily specials. His handwriting isn’t the greatest, but it’s better than Hoseok’s and the kitchen staff’s. 

He’s finishing up a clever joke to go with the special when he senses someone hovering behind him. 

“Hoseok.” Yoongi looks over his shoulder to see Hoseok leaning against the counter. “Your nametag is upside down.” 

“Did you finish your scholarship application yet?” 

“You sure have a lot of questions to ask me today,” Yoongi points out with a glare. “No, I did not finish it.” 

Hoseok grabs a fork from a tub of dirty dishes he cleared off the tables after the last customers left while Yoongi was cleaning the coffee maker. Mustering a menacing expression, Hoseok points the fork’s oddly bent tines at Yoongi. 

“Are you self-sabotaging right now, Min Yoongi? This should be so easy for you! You’re so…” Hoseok waves the fork around like it’s a wand and he’s trying to poof everything away. “Creative, whimsical, an out-of-the-box thinker. You’ve got all these stories in your head.” With lightning speed, Hoseok taps the top of Yoongi’s head with the fork. 

Yoongi swats Hoseok’s hand away. “I’ve been busy.” 

“There is literally nothing to do here! How could you be busy?” Hoseok tosses the fork back into the bucket. “I guess getting stuffed by the town’s biggest dick probably takes up a lot of your time.” 

With lucky accuracy, Hoseok ducks when Yoongi throws the whiteboard marker at him. The marker flies across the restaurant and slides under one of the red booths, forever lost to the dust bunnies. 

“It does, actually,” Yoongi snaps, but he’s more flustered than anything. It sends Hoseok into a fit of maniacal laughter that has him gripping onto the chipped edges of the counter to hold himself up. 

“All I’m saying is,” Hoseok finally composes himself by standing upright and brushing off spilled salt from sticking to the palms of his hands, “that there’s no way to know if you’ll receive the scholarship if you don’t apply for it.” 

Biting his bottom lip, Yoongi lets his gaze wander past Hoseok to squint through the midday sun shining through the large windows. Today is Friday, which means Taehyung will fight tomorrow night. Since Yoongi can no longer attend the fights, he’ll have a few hours to himself. 

“It’s due soon, hyung. Promise me you’ll apply?” 

Yoongi holds out his pinky to answer Hoseok’s question. When Hoseok hooks their pinkies together, Yoongi reminds himself that he has always been a man of his word.

For the past few weeks, Yoongi has become obsessed with a man at the library. 

Well, “obsessed” makes him sound a little crazy. Perhaps “intrigued” is better – Yoongi has been intrigued by a man at the library. Yoongi isn’t sure why he pays so much attention to this man. The man is somewhat unassuming. He sits in the same corner of the library every Saturday afternoon. Considering how small their town is, Yoongi finds it odd that he doesn’t know who this man is. Then again, newcomers aren’t entirely unheard of, and Yoongi tends to keep to himself, rarely meeting new people anyway. 

Still, he feels like he should introduce himself to this man eventually. Perhaps if Yoongi wins the scholarship, he’ll tell the library man that he won it because he submitted a collection of short stories and poems he’s written, one of which was about the library man. 

The Library Man (is this title stupid? Boring? It seems boring) by Min Yoongi The library man is all mouth, eyebrows, and paper cuts on either hand. This one here is Parker.   He points. A slit between two fingers. Another one Gwen Brooks. For some, poetry reads as chicken scratch. For him, It is chicken scratch up and down brown fingers. Do we ask him why he doesn’t invest in some good lotion?   Perhaps a kindle? Clearly, he is far too brittle for Pantoums, haikus, and sestinas.  (should i make this stanza longer?? is "kindle" supposed to be capitalized?)  (is my audience going to understand the literary references in this?? i hope they know who gwendolyn brooks is at least) Who would like to break the news? Library man,  (do i write it like "Library Man"?)  We admire your dedication, but don’t you think It’s time We banned you from your self-destructive pining?   Take a vacation, library man, from your sedentary lifestyle.   There is more to life than thinly sliced books and paper cuts.   The library man touches his hands with literary war wounds.   What is a life without pantoums, haikus, and sestinas? (reminder: send to hobah for edits) (due date when??) (make sure tae knows this is about an old man and not some hot guy i've been staring at all month)

Yoongi slowly leans forward until his forehead rests against the table. 

He’s been sitting at the public library for two hours trying to summon the energy and, quite frankly, the courage to ask for access to one of the computers. Even though Hoseok still needs to edit “The Library Man,” Yoongi should type it up with his other poems and short stories. It will make the editing process faster and force Yoongi to live in the 21st century. 

So why can’t he just get up?

While tapping his pen on his notebook, Yoongi’s dark eyes scan the room. Aside from the old guy, there are only two other people in the room with him: the librarian and a little girl coloring at one of the tables. Yoongi knows the librarian, yet he can’t ask her for help. 

His pen slips out of his clammy hand and lands with a soft thud against the carpeted floor. No one looks in Yoongi’s direction, but he still worries. About what? He isn’t sure. There’s something kind of scary about being seen. Yoongi has felt like he has eyes on him in the past few weeks. Perhaps it’s because of his conversation with Hoseok at the diner and the seed it planted in Yoongi’s anxious brain. Will people start questioning Taehyung? 

Initially, Yoongi brushed the concern off, but now he wonders if that was a mistake. Just last week, Taehyung got into an unplanned fight as he was leaving the warehouse after a match. Two guys jumped him as he was walking to his car. Taehyung wouldn’t give Yoongi any details, but Yoongi isn’t stupid. 

There are only two reasons why someone would attack Taehyung after a boxing match: to steal his money or out of anger at the results of the match. Yoongi isn’t sure which is better of the two evils. In both situations, Taehyung comes home more broken than usual, and Yoongi must figure out how to heal the physical and emotional damage. 

Regardless of the motives behind the attacks, the situation has put Yoongi on edge. Despite asking numerous times, Taehyung still won’t let him go to the fights. Yoongi would say fuck it and go on his own, but they only have one car between them, and Yoongi would never ask someone to drive him to the warehouse. Even though most people in the town know how Taehyung spends his weekends, Yoongi won’t ever confirm it. It’s not necessarily embarrassing, but it makes Yoongi feel inferior as if he’s in the wrong. 

These circumstances aren’t ideal for writing. Yoongi has very little time before the end of the summer when his scholarship application is due. It’s a new scholarship the university provides for students interested in writing. On top of a scholarship for Yoongi’s good grades in high school and the handful of community college classes he took right after graduation, this writing scholarship could likely pay for all of Yoongi’s expenses – or at least most of them. Not to be dramatic, but this scholarship could completely change the course of his life. 

He just has to receive it first. 

To do that, he must finish the application and edit his writing portfolio. 

Yoongi’s phone loudly vibrating on the wooden table forces Yoongi out of his ruminations. He quickly grabs his phone so the sound will no longer disrupt everyone else in the library, though a quick scan of the room shows that no one is looking at him. 

Taehyung’s contact photo flashes on the screen. Looking at the time, Yoongi curses under his breath. He was supposed to pick Taehyung up from the auto shop fifteen minutes ago. 

After sending Taehyung a quick text, Yoongi crams his notebook and loose papers into his backpack. He grabs the lanyard with his keys and hurries out of the library. All his nervous fidgeting and overthinking made him lose track of time, and today is his day to have the car. 

Luckily, the auto shop isn’t too far away. Everything is close in a small town like theirs, which is a blessing and a curse in Yoongi’s opinion. It’s convenient, but sometimes Yoongi fantasizes about wandering the busy city streets, getting lost in new sights, and bumping into people he doesn’t know. The anonymity is highly attractive to a man who has grown up with the same people for twenty-three years. 

Taehyung isn’t outside when Yoongi pulls up to the auto shop. It’s hot outside, so Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Not that the inside of the garage is any better. The garage doors are open, allowing the smell of oil and car exhaust to waft out into the driveway. The smell mixes with the humid summer air, creating a disgusting layer over the atmosphere, making Yoongi cough as he enters the garage. 

To his right is a car raised on a lift just high enough for someone to walk underneath it. Hydraulic equipment and other strange tools Yoongi knows very little about hang from the ceiling and connect to fixtures in the wall. 

A brain-rattling clanking comes from the car to the left. A pair of long legs stick out from under the car. Black grease stains the person’s blue jeans in black streaks, as though the person wiped of their fingers on their thighs. 

Approaching the legs, Yoongi gently nudges the pair of steel-toed boots with the toe of his once-white Converse. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, yourself.” 

Taehung grins up at Yoongi from where he’s scooted out from underneath the car. His hair is pushed up with a grey headband and lays around his head like a lion’s mane. His black eye is healed now; the only thing marring his face is the black grease smeared across the apple of his left cheek. 

Why is it so hot that Taehyung knows how to fix cars? There’s no real reason for it to be attractive, but Yoongi can hardly keep his thoughts in order as Taehyung stands up and brushes off his grey muscle tee. Sweat glistens on his skin, and the veins in the backs of his hands and traveling up his arms rise to the surface. That shouldn’t be hot, either, but it is. 

“Did you forget about me?” Taehyung snakes his arm around Yoongi’s waist and pulls him against his chest to give him a quick peck on the lips. As chaste as it is, the kiss leaves Yoongi breathless. 

“I’m sorry. I was editing my writing, and you know how I get…” Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. 

Taehyung is nothing but endeared by him. He kisses the top of Yoongi’s head before letting him go. Yoongi follows him with his eyes as Taehyung puts away the tools scattered on the floor around the car. 

“Next week’s match is gonna be a big one,” Taehyung speaks without looking at Yoongi as he works. “I was looking at the numbers, and I think I could get you that laptop you were looking at. Eomma’s been feeling better, so she’ll probably get back to work soon, and I–” 

“No,” Yoongi interjects. 

Taehyung spins on his heel to narrow his eyes at Yoongi. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” 

“I’m not buying a laptop with that money.” 

“What’s wrong with my money?” 

Yoongi walks around the back of the car to where Taehyung leans his hip against the closed trunk. His heart is pounding in his chest as he stands in front of Taehyung, close enough for the toes of their shoes to touch. 

“You already know how I feel about it, Tae. Please don’t turn this into an argument.” 

“I’m not turning this into anything. You’re the one pushing back on me trying to help you. That’s the whole fucking point of participating in the matches, Yoong.” 

Yoongi mirrors Taehyung’s body language by crossing his arms against his chest. Typically a quiet person, Yoongi tries not to start shit with Taehyung, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. He has had this conversation with Taehyung far too many times. 

There’s so much potential in Taehyung that flows deeper than how well he can punch. 

“Yeah, and I hate it!” Yoongi feels the childish urge to stomp his feet. “You’re never around, Tae. You’re always working or fighting, and when you’re home, you’re hurt and angry and nothing like how you used to be. We used to have fun. We used to spend time together…” 

Taehyung grabs Yoongi’s wrists to pull him forward. The abrupt action makes Yoongi stumble slightly, and he falls into Taehyung’s embrace despite the frustration boiling in his chest. 

“You miss me?” Taehyung asks quietly, his eyes flitting between Yoongi’s gaze and his pink lips that Yoongi instinctually runs his tongue over. 

“Of course, I do,” Yoongi insists with furrowed eyebrows. “Do you really think I don’t?” 

Taehyung rubs his hand on his thigh. With his hand clean of any grease, he cradles the side of Yoongi’s face and encourages him to tilt his face upward. 

“That’s cute, love,” Taehyung says with a smirk that irritates Yoongi and turns him on. He hovers over Yoongi’s lips for a fraction of a second longer before slotting their lips together. 

Taehyung groans into the kiss. It’s wet and desperate how they devour each other, swirling their tongues together and pulling their lips between their teeth, nibbling until the other squirms. Yoongi fists Taehyung’s shirt to bring their bodies as close together as possible. When he feels Taehyung’s hard cock brush against his thigh, Yoongi presses harder against him without thinking. 

“I want you to show me,” Taehyung requests against Yoongi’s lips. Yoongi doesn’t have to ask him what he means. 

Gritty dirt and oil spills cover the garage floor, but Yoongi ignores the discomfort as he kneels in front of Taehyung. He looks up at Taehyung and watches him unbuckle his belt. Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, he tugs just far enough to release his cock, already hard and wet at the tip. 

They both have a fucked up way of showing each other they care. Taehyung puts his body on the line to make sure Yoongi has everything he needs and pushes himself to the brink of insanity to continue to provide for him. 

And Yoongi? He also gives his body to Taehyung to do whatever he wants with it because he knows Taehyung needs physical affection. When he spends his weekends getting hurt, Yoongi only wants to give him loving touches. 

Yoongi knows they’re going about everything in a fucked up way, but he still hollows his cheeks and sucks Taehyung’s cock into his mouth. He lets Taehyung dig his fingers into his hair and fuck his mouth, gagging every time his cock hits the back of his throat. 

It’s fucked up, but it’s hot. Yoongi digs his nails into Taehyung’s thighs and keeps his eyes locked on Taehyung’s dark gaze. It stirs the fire in the pit of his stomach and shoots electricity straight to his hard cock. 

“Fuck, baby,” Taehyung groans when Yoongi’s eyes turn glossy. He leans against the car when his legs start to tremble. “I’m sorry I’ve been so, shit, sooo…” Cutting himself off with a moan, Taehyung holds Yoongi still as he cums down his throat. 

Yoongi drags his tongue along Taehyung’s cock as he pulls back, keeping his mouth open to show Taehyung when he swallows. 

“Shit,” Taehyung pants. He motions for Yoongi to stand up and reaches between his legs once he has. “Did you already…?” 

Cheeks on fire, Yoongi nods sheepishly. He’s never cum like that, untouched and just from giving head. Maybe it was because of the possibility of one of Taehyung’s coworkers walking in on them or because it’s been over a week since they’ve been intimate. 

Taehyung kisses Yoongi to taste himself on his tongue. 

“You’re so hot.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Okay, but that doesn’t change the fact that you are.” 

Yoongi presses his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck in embarrassment. He stays there even when he feels Taehyung’s hands in between their bodies, tucking his cock back into his jeans and zipping them up. 

“I need to shower,” Taehyung whispers into Yoongi’s ear. “Wanna go into the city after? Have a date night?” 

“Yes, please,” Yoongi speaks into Taehyung’s skin, gently kissing his neck. 

Yoongi would be happy simply staying here in Taehyung’s embrace forever; he has never needed to be wined and dined. Anything is worth doing if Taehyung’s with him.

“Alright, here you go. Don’t try to tell me you don’t need it because I know you do, and I’m determined to make sure you finish this fucking scholarship application.” 

“But I don’t need it. I can just go to the library; it’s really not that big of a deal.” 

Hoseok slaps his hand on the table. The force makes the salt and pepper shakers rattle. “Listen to me, Min Yoongi! You’re living in the 1800s without technology in your home, so you are going to take my laptop, and you’re going to do all your creative magic to get this scholarship to go to college and become the influential writer we all know you can be, whether you want my help or not.” 

Yoongi opens his mouth to protest, but Hoseok pushes on. 

“If you don’t do this, I’m rescinding my friendship.” 

Yoongi gasps. “You cannot do that.” 

“Yes, I can. And I will.” 

Yoongi glares at Hoseok, who very eagerly glares back at him. They’re friends, so the tension between them is playful at its core, but it’s still tension nonetheless. 

Yoongi caves first because he doesn’t know how to say no to people. 

“Fine.” 

Hosoek squeals with glee and claps his hands together. His enthusiasm makes Yoongi smile as he goes back to refilling the salt shakers. It’s another slow day at JK’s Diner. Yoongi’s little notepad is meant to be filled with customers’ orders, but instead, it’s lined with little drabbles of story and poem ideas that pop into his head as he works. 

There’s supposed to be a bad thunderstorm later in the evening, so the diner closes early. The diner’s owner reassures the staff that they’ll still get paid for the hours they would have worked, which is kind of him considering the economy they’re in right now. 

With Hoseok’s laptop under his arm, Yoongi walks to the auto shop because Taehyung has the car today. He doesn’t bother asking Taehyung to come pick him up because he’s off early; the walk is good for him, and he knows Taehyung is busy. Besides, Yoongi enjoys watching Taehyung work. 

When Yoongi enters the garage, Taehyung shoots him a wink and presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. He swipes his tongue along the inside, exaggerating the obscene way it makes his cheek bulge. Although his coworkers don’t pay them any mind, Yoongi attempts to shoo Taehyung away out of embarrassment. He doesn’t need a reminder of what they’ve gotten into in this garage. 

“Do your job!” Yoongi hisses with pink cheeks. Why is he the only person in this town who actually works hard? Everyone else goofs off too much.

Taehyung sends Yoongi a flying kiss, smooching his palm loudly enough that the sound carries through the momentary quiet of the garage. A few of his coworkers snicker, and one even wolf whistles, much to Yoongi’s dislike. 

“Men,” Yoongi mutters under his breath like he isn’t one, too. “Gross.” 

There’s a waiting room inside the auto shop that’s air-conditioned and surprisingly clean. It’s there, in an uncomfortable plastic chair beside a coffee table stacked with old magazines, that Yoongi spends many of his afternoons when Taehyung works later than he does. With Hoseok's laptop balanced on his thighs, Yoongi click-clacks away on the keyboard. 

The days turn into weeks, only the bruised and bloody weekends serving as timestamps for Yoongi to keep track of how much longer he has before the scholarship application is due. Despite Taehyung and Hoseok's confidence in Yoongi’s writing abilities, he isn’t convinced that his skills are refined enough to receive such a considerable scholarship gifted to only a handful of incoming students yearly. 

But, fuck, would it feel divine if he received it! Not only would it completely shape Yoongi’s future, but it would be the validation he secretly craves.

When the dreaded deadline sneaks around the corner, Yoongi is so nervous about pressing the submit button on the form that Taehyung has to do it for him. They’re at the kitchen table, Yoongi sitting in front of Hoseok’s laptop while Taehyung bends over him from behind. 

“I can’t do it.” Despite Taehyung’s strong fingers massaging into Yoongi’s shoulders, he’s stiff with worry. 

“Well, love, you have to.” Yoongi crosses his arms against his chest in protest, and Taehyung sighs. “Or I can do it.” 

With his stomach churning like spoiled milk, Yoongi watches Taehyung’s large hand curve around Hoseok’s wireless mouse. His knuckles are scabbed over. It’s been a few weeks since Taehyung attended any warehouse fights. One of their neighbors has had some trouble with his farming equipment, and as the most skilled mechanic in town, Taehyung has spent a good deal of overtime working on the equipment. 

Yoongi isn’t pleased that it’s yet another thing taking time away from them being together, but he’s not-so-secretly happy that work has forced Taehyung to take a break from fighting. 

“Done.” 

The webpage congratulates Yoongi on submitting his application. It’s cute, but genuine pride swells in his chest when Taehyung wraps his arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of his head. 

“I got a good feeling about this, Yoong,” Taehyung murmurs, and Yoongi can feel the rumble of his chest against his back. While others may fear Taehyung, there is nowhere safer for Yoongi. 

“Do you?”

“You’re such a good fucking writer; are you kidding me?” 

Leaning back into Taehyung’s embrace, Yoongi closes his eyes and lets the stress melt down his spine. “You barely know how to read.” 

Taehyung’s teeth press into the apple of Yoongi’s left cheek. “Shut the fuck up. I know how to read.” 

“I don’t know…” Yoongie presses his hand against his mouth, but Taehyung knows he’s laughing at him from how his shoulders shake. 

“Hyung!” Taehyung whines, his lips having migrated to the side of Yoongi’s neck. “I’ve read your stories! Remember that one you wrote? The fantasy one about a demon and an angel falling in love? I cried over that. Did I tell you?” 

“Oh, that one was fucked up, wasn’t it?”

“Mhm, you’re wrong for that.” Taehyung nuzzles his face into Yoongi’s hair and inhales loudly. It makes Yoongi giggle. 

“You’re so weird, Tae.” 

“Sorry, I wasn’t the one who wrote about gay demon sex.” 

Embarrassed, Yoongi shrugs Taehyung off and abruptly stands up. “Don’t say that!” he exclaims, pressing his finger against Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung merely smirks back. 

“You’re such a freak, you know that?” 

“Oh, like you aren’t?” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. Yoongi presses his palms against Taehyung’s muscular chest as Taehyung tries to crowd Yoongi against the kitchen table. He’s got that look in his eyes that means nothing but trouble for Yoongi. 

“Want me to show you just how much of a freak I am, Yoongi-ssi?” Taehyung purrs. 

“I’m busy!” Yoongi ducks under Taehyung’s arms and sprints out of the room. It’s no surprise that Taehyung’s not far behind, a tiger hunting his prey. 

If Taehyung follows through with proving himself, that’s nothing anyone else needs to know.

The email stares at Yoongi, bold and marked with a red exclamation point to indicate its significance. Taehyung isn’t here to force him to open it, so Yoongi goes to Plan B: he calls Hoseok. Not even three rings sound and his best friend picks up, screeching into Yoongi’s ear, “DID YOU FIND OUT YET?!”

“I haven’t opened the email yet,” Yoongi admits in between chewing on his bottom lip. Hoseok’s laptop sits on the couch next to Yoongi. He’s curled up with his knees pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. “What if I didn’t get it?”

“OPEN THE EMAIL!” Hoseok screeches again. This time, Hoseok’s voice is less painful because Yoongi sets the phone on speaker and rests it on the cushion beside the laptop.

As he hovers his mouse over the email, all Yoongi can think about is how he wishes Taehyung was here. The auto shop is closed on Sundays, but their neighbor with the farming equipment issues called Taehyung for an emergency earlier in the day. Now it’s evening, and Taehyung still isn’t back yet. Yoongi wanted to wait for him, but the nerves were eating him alive.

With a sigh, Yoongi checks his messages with Taehyung one last time, just in case. He's been checking every few minutes, so he knows he won't find anything, but he checks nonetheless.

"Yoongi? Hello? Did you read it? Are you not going to tell me what it says? Do I need to come over because I will?”

Clearing his throat, Yoongi closes out his messages with Taehyung and returns his focus to his email. “Okay, I’m going to open it now. I might throw up.” It’s not an exaggeration. Yoongi made sure the coffee table was out of the way in case he needed to jump up and run to the bathroom.

“Stop being such a drama king and read the damn email!” Hoseok is supportive but also a bit annoying. It’s endearing, so Yoongi keeps him around.

The email isn’t long, but Yoongi skims it after seeing the first word: CONGRATULATIONS. Everything else is secondary. His eyes roam the white page, but all he sees is that first word, repeated in his vision until it’s a black blur of bolded letters and a money amount somewhere in the mix. Even the money is too difficult to process right now because, fuck! Congratulations! He just read the big C word on a scholarship email, and,

“I’m going to college. Oh my god, Hobah, I’m going to college.”

“FUCK YEAH YOU ARE, BABY! LET’S GOOO!! I’M GONNA START SOBBING, MIN YOONGI! THAT’S MY BEST FUCKING FRIEND, YASS BITCH!!” Hoseok whoops over the phone, and Yoongi hears something crash. He isn’t concerned; Hoseok is known to flail when he’s excited.

There was never a doubt in anyone’s mind about Yoongi getting into college. He applied to the university the moment Hoseok told him about the scholarship because he needed to be accepted into the university before he could possibly receive the scholarship.

Getting in was the easy part. Paying for college was the problem, and now Yoongi has enough money to pay for classes and have a little left over to cover book expenses, too.

“Oh my god, okay. We need to go out. Fuck, I hate that today’s Sunday. But we're going clubbing on Friday when we get off work. Just think, you’ll be able to spend all the time you want in the city! Oh, will you live in the dorms there? Taehyung is going to miss you…”

Hoseok continues rambling, his excitement fueling him as he talks himself in circles. It’s sweet, but Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He can see the front door from where he sits on the couch. He watches the doorknob turn as whoever is on the other side unlocks the door and pushes it open.

When Taehyung steps into the house, Yoongi’s heart falls like a dead weight in his chest.

Taehyung is covered in blood.

It stains his jeans around the holes ripped into them – holes that weren’t there when he left the house this morning. It stains the corners of his mouth and the edges of his nostrils. It gathers just beneath the surface of his skin as deep bruises form around his eyes and collarbone. It trickles down the side of his face, a red river flowing from the forest of his hair.

“Hobah, I need to call you back, okay?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a reply. He slams the laptop shut and tosses his phone as he shoots up from the couch, going over to Taehyung’s side.

“What the fuck happened to you!” Yoongi shouts though he doesn’t mean to. His hands are shaking so violently it hurts his wrists. He keeps reaching out to touch Taehyung but stops short because he doesn’t know, “Where does it hurt? Where are you bleeding? I can’t.” Yoongi struggles to speak through his sobs. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me, Taehyung-ah.”

“Shh, I’m okay,” Taehyung attempts to reassure Yoongi, but it only makes Yoongi cry harder.

“What’s wrong with you! You’re hurt, Taehyung! Why are you comforting me?”

Taehyung winces when Yoongi grabs his bicep to drag him down the familiar path to the bathroom. How many times have they made this journey? Knowing the exact number would make Yoongi feel sicker than he already does.

“Take off your clothes,” Yoongi instructs harshly, but he’s trying to pull himself together. Taehyung has been silent, and that scares him. “And get in the shower. I need you to get clean so I can, so, so I can s-see.” Yoongi tilts his head back and exhales out of his mouth while Taehyung strips out of his clothes.

Despite the potential mess, Taehyung keeps the shower curtain open while he showers. The washcloth Yoongi gave him turns red, then pink, as it bleeds out in the stream of water. The water in the bottom of the tub is pink, too. Yoongi watches it swirl down the drain because he fears looking at Taehyung’s wounds.

Taehyung clearing his throat startles Yoongi from where he sits on the edge of the bathroom counter, waiting.

“Did you get the scholarship?”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi nearly shouts again.

Taehyung blinks at him as he scrubs his chest clean. Blood still trickles from his head, and a few cuts across his ribs are long and deep enough that Yoongi worries Taehyung might need stitches.

“I asked if you got the scholarship.”

“You…” Yoongi covers his face in his hands and howls with full-bodied laughter that shakes him to his core. “You asked me if I got the fucking scholarship! You’re standing in a pool of your own fucking blood, and you want to know if I got the scholarship.”

“Yes, I did, and I do. Can you hand me a towel to dry off?”

Yoongi looks up at Taehyung, who has now finished his shower. He stands with the washcloth pressed to his temple. Yoongi feels insane.

Retrieving a clean towel, Yoongi forces Taehyung to sit on the closed toilet lid. At the same time, Yoongi tends to the wounds he can, muttering about how he will, yet again, need stitches, but he supposes they can wait until the morning to go to the hospital, considering how late it is now.

He waits for Taehyung to say anything more, but Taehyung stares expectantly at him. After a few minutes, Taehyung finally quirks his eyebrow at Yoongi.

“Oh my god, yes, I got the fucking scholarship.”

Letting go of the towel, Taehyung pulls Yoongi into his lap, crushing him against his chest despite the apparent discomfort it causes him.

“I’m. So. Fucking. Proud. Of. You.” Taehyung punctuates each word with a kiss on Yoongi’s forehead, eyelids, cheeks, lips, any inch of skin he can access.

No matter how upset and shaken Yoongi is, it feels good to melt into Taehyung’s embrace. His shoulders slump, and he lets Taehyung hold him upright, his large hands cradling Yoongi’s face. It’s exhausting, this emotional rollercoaster they put themselves on.

“I told you I had a good feeling about it,” Taehyung murmurs with a final kiss to Yoongi’s forehead. Once Taehyung pulls back to look at him, Yoongi opens his eyes, not realizing he’d had them shut.

His voice is small when he asks again, “What happened, Tae?”

Dropping his face into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, Taehyung lets out a shaky exhale. Blood might get on Yoongi’s t-shirt, but it’s an old one he doesn’t care about anyway. Taehyung’s comfort will always come before anything else.

“I went to the warehouse.” Yoongi tenses, but Taehyung coos and murmurs reassurances to him. “I went to the warehouse to tell them that I’m done, love. I was thinking about it ever since you submitted your application. I kinda thought, I don’t know… I wanna be good for you, Yoong. You’re gonna go to college and kick ass, and I’m so proud of you. I realized I wanna be someone you can be proud of, too.”

“I’ve always been proud of you, Tae,” Yoongi says with a slow shake of his head. “I hate that you hurt yourself like this, but I’ve always been proud of you.”

Taehyung nods slowly, and Yoongi knows he’ll need time to process that. Selfless to a fault, Taehyung doesn’t always do well with raw emotions and affection, especially in an emotionally charged situation. It’s fine; Yoongi is patient.

“Well, they didn’t like that I was backing out. Three guys, I don’t know them, but I know of them. I’ve seen them in other fights, never went up against them myself. Just a bunch of fucking dickheads those rich pieces of shit hire to do their dirty work. Fought dirty, too. Had knives.”

Taehyung doesn’t have to tell Yoongi the rest; the story tells itself. The image of three men attacking Taehyung when all he was trying to do was leave the right way, the honorable way. He owed them nothing, yet they punished him like he did.

Once Taehyung’s wounds are dressed to the best of Yoongi’s ability, and he’s dressed in clean clothes, Yoongi wraps Taehyung up in a blanket on the couch. He puts Animal Planet on the television because it’s Taehyung’s favorite and keeps the volume low so as not to contribute to his overstimulation. The two cuddle, Yoongi pulling Taehyung’s much larger body into his so Taehyung can lie between his legs and rest his head on Yoongi’s chest. It’s comfortable, even if Taehyung feels like he will crush Yoongi. There’s a comfort to that weight because Taehyung is here.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung whispers. Cute little meerkats scurry across the screen, but Taehyung’s dark eyes scan Yoongi’s face.

“Shhh,” Yoongi pushes back Taehyung’s bangs to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I love you.”

Taehyung burrows into the blanket with a cute little smile and rests his head on Yoongi’s chest again. “I love you, too.”

In the morning, Yoongi will drive Taehyung to the hospital, even though Taehyung will insist that he doesn't need stitches. He'll hold Taehyung's hand while he gets them because Taehyung can handle getting punched in the face, but he's afraid of doctors. As a reward for bravery, they'll get ice cream, and Yoongi will wonder if perhaps this is how things will always be now, if he'll finally have his Taehyung again, beautiful and whole.

It will be; he knows it will be.

all rights reserved © gimmethatagustd on tumblr & AO3

“I- uh.” You really can’t stand the idea of noise right now. “Maybe not tonight?”

“Of course. What did you do today?” He questions, sitting on the other end of the couch, his own plate balanced on his thighs.

“Not much, I watched TV and read a chapter of the book yoon gave me.” You dug the spoon into the food, not really attempting to eat.

It wasn’t your fault you had no appetite.

“Was the book good?” He asked in between a mouthful.

“It… I don’t really know… I couldn’t get into it.” You shrug, bringing the spoon to your mouth.

“It’s 5 pm and you haven’t done anything today have you?” Namjoon sets his plate aside in favour of moving closer to you.

“I miss him.” You mumble, putting your own plate on the table.

Yoongi would have scolded you if he were here, always complaining that it would mark the table despite the fact you always used hear absorbent dinner trays but that was the problem…

Yoongi wasn’t here.

You don’t know what exactly caused it but within a second you were bursting into tears, everything you’d managed to hold together ever since he left a week ago falling apart. “I miss him, I don’t even get to fucking call him.”

“I know.” Namjoon shushes you as he brings your head to his shoulder in an attempt to comfort you. “I’m so sorry this must be hard for you.”

“It was so short notice he didn’t even tell m-me.” You hiccuped, bordering between the lines of angry and sad was never a good place to be but you couldn’t help it.

Yoongi had waited until the last possible moment to tell you he had received his enlistment date and when he had received it he was shocked to see a date only 4 days away giving you absolutely no time to mentally prepare yourself for him to be gone.

“It’s so fucking unfair.” You cuss, unable to do anything else with your anger at the situation.

Namjoon didn’t say anything, he couldn’t, he himself knew how ridiculously unfair it was but still, he didn’t regret the group's choice, it was the only right way to deal with the situation. “It will pass quicker than you think. You won’t be alone.”

“Joon soon enough you, Tae, Jimin and Jungkook are enlisting too. It’s not exactly like anyone else knows about me and Yoongi. Other people just don’t understand it.” Yoongi had made a joke two days before he left telling you to cry with other armys about it because they would understand but it was looking more and more appealing as the days went past. “I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Another wave of tears came just seconds later and this time there was no reprieve, anytime you nearly stopped a memory of him would pop into your mind and the tears would start again. You hated how it made you seem crazy, seem overly obsessive but you knew Yoongi would be missing you just as much. You’d become each other strength in all the years you’d been together so now he wasn’t here, wasn’t just a phone call away, it felt like you’d lost a part of yourself, it felt like you’d lost your strength.

That’s how you fell asleep, curled in Namjoon's arms, sobbing in longing for the man who taught you how to love.

Namjoon waited until he was sure you were fast asleep before slipping out from underneath you, draping the gifted blanket over you as he tiptoed to the balcony to take his incoming call.

“Hyung.” Namjoon smiles into the phone. “How are you?”

“As good as I can be, you didn’t tell her right?”

“No Hyung. Are you sure we really can’t tell her about you-“

“No Namjoon-ah I don’t want to get her hopes up, that will only hurt her more if it doesn’t get approved. I’ll tell her if she knows I can call and I don’t want to do that to her. How is she? How are you? ”

“I’m okay.” Namjoon responds. “She misses you.” He continues, not going u into depth about the small breakdown.

“I miss her too.” He breathes, his voice a little strained in the way it gets when he is very obviously holding back tears. “Is she eating?”

Namjoon nodded before realising Yoongi couldn’t see him. “I brought her food she just seemed sad. Are you eating Hyung? Sleeping enough?”

Yoongi laughs as though Namjoon has said something absurd. “The food is shit. I’ve got this fucking melody stuck in my head and I just know it would sound amazing for the vocal line.”

“Ah, Hyung.” Namjoon laughs. “I’ll tell them I’m sure they would appreciate the fact you’re thinking about making their songs already.”

“I’ll probably forget it by the time I’m actually allowed to work on music.” Yoongi huffs.

“I doubt it.” Namjoon hears shuffling, already knowing it’s you. “I have to go Hyung she’s waking up.”

“Make sure she knows I love her okay? I’ll call you again to let you know if it’s approved.” Yoongi rushes out before Namjoon hangs up.

“What are you doing?” You ask him, shivering at the draft coming from the open door.

“Sorry.” He smiles, stepping back inside and closing it behind him. “Just needed some air. So… how about watching something?”

You don’t hate the idea as much as you did earlier, your little thirty-minute nap helping you feel a little better. “Sure.”

You watch 3 episodes of some drama before declaring it a night, Namjoon insisting you eat before he left which led to you both eating an oversized pizza. It leaves you feeling a little less lonely, especially when he tells you just how much he too misses Yoongi.

Namjoon comes over again three more times that week, each day following the same pattern. The days he didn’t come you resigned yourself to laying in bed, looking through pictures and videos you and Yoongi had taken in the past few months.

Today was one of those days, those days where you missed him so much and felt so alone that you’d texted Namjoon not to come, told him you just couldn’t deal with being around anyone else right now, so it surprised you when the doorbell rang consistently for five minutes until you finally gave in.

You groaned, shivering as the floor felt cold against your bare feet. “Namjoon I said not to-

“You really shouldn’t lay in bed every day.”

You froze, too afraid to move, speak or blink in case the figure in front of you disappeared.

“Baby.” He sighed, dropping his bag inside the door before pushing you inside lightly. “It’s me.”

“Fuck.” You sobbed, wrapping your arms around him as tight as you could. “You’re here. How are you here.”

He laughed, the sound of it melodic to your ears. “I did extra time so my training finished earlier. They could t exactly say no.”

“I just- I can’t believe you’re here I thought it would be at least another three weeks before I could even call you.” You bring your hands up to his hair, despite it being short you still love it. “I missed you.”

“Baby don’t cry I’m here now.” He sucked in a breath, his own eyes pooling with tears. “I get to stay for four days.”

“Really?” You pull back to look at him properly, a grin breaking out as he nods.

“Really.”

Despite the tears trailing down your lips he leans in to kiss you, his hand at the small of your back a comforting presence. “I love you.”

“I love you too Yoon.”

The next four days passed much faster than you would have liked but as you dropped him off at the camp again things felt different.

You hated how quiet the house was without him, where he would normally be playing piano, watching a new show jimin had recommended or cooking with a glass of whiskey in his hand, there was nothing but silence.

You were almost ready to give in to your tears again until you spotted a letter on the kitchen counter.

The perfect writing on the envelope already tells you who it’s from, you don’t hesitate in pulling out the paper and reading it.

Hello, my love,

I snuck away to write this whilst you slept, I’m not the best with words although I’m sure by now you’re absolutely aware of that but still there are only things that can be conveyed by words. If I was allowed to I’d write you a hundred songs but I’m a little short on time so I hope this suffices.

I want you to know just how much you mean to me, just how much your presence has brought me happiness, strength and comfort. You often thank me for giving you strength but you forget that you are the sole reason I keep going.

You cannot let the bad days consume you, although it’s okay to give up and take a break, you can’t let that feeling consume you. There is always a tomorrow, always another chance and I know that you will never ever fail because I don’t believe in failure, every attempt is precious, and every time you try to get up - even if it isn’t successful - is precious and I am so proud of you for it.

In the moments you miss me do something nice for yourself, eat a good meal, read a book you like, watch a movie you find brings you happiness and before you realise it I’ll be back, spending every moment possible with you because you are my home.

I will always be here, write me letters, send me messages, take pictures of the things you see and do and share them with me. I’ll always be apart of your life, I’m not going anywhere.

I love you eternally.

You wiped away your tears, holding the letter close as though it were him. You let the words sink in and silently you made a promise.

You’d keep going and do the best you could, you’ll be the best version of yourself when he returns because he gave you the ability to grow much like water does a flower.

And even if you couldn’t say it to him, you were sure he knew…

Yoongi must be the universe’s reward to you for every good deed you’ve ever done.

When Yoongi lets himself to be roped into joining in your newest fixation, it must be your good karma because you sat front-row for each one of your younger siblings’ school events.

When he reminds you to drink your water and not skip your meals, even going so far as to deliver both to you as often as he could, it must be the universe’s payment to you for watering plants and going on that one (1) mandatory tree planting activity.

When he gives you all the credentials to log into his premium streaming platforms even without you asking, it must be fate’s way of thanking you for not making a fuss whenever a barista messes up your order or when a stranger cuts in line.

Yoongi is the good in your life and he has been ever since you were teens, reminding you of what you’ve worked hard for in life because when he wasn’t so busy going through the same hardships you did, he would be at the sidelines waiting for you to finish.

Or he could be someplace else without even sending a lousy text regarding his wellbeing nor his notice that he can’t be at your awarding ceremony tonight because he’s busy doing his job, serving as a reminder that Yoongi must also be the universe’s punishment to you for your missteps and lapses.

When he comes and goes into your apartment freely as treats himself to your newly-bought groceries, it must be retribution because you lost your temper on your college roommate once for eating the leftovers you’ve been craving since the night before.

When he salvages all the spare batteries you have lying around to power up his huge clock back at his apartment, therefore leaving you to eventually spend a rainy night without flashlights because of a power outage, it must be payback for lowering the temperature in your breakroom even with the sign that specifically tells you not to.

Whenever Yoongi mentions his shapeshifting “career” (he argues that it is) to you, a gift he had been born with and one he really maximizes to the fullest potential and profit, you’re reminded how much of it is a curse to you.

Yoongi must be the universe’s greatest reward and punishment for you at the same time because while he’s your soulmate and you spend almost every day with him — you have to see him fall in love with everyone else but you, over and over again.

“You should be splitting rent with me at this point. You’re always here,” you groan as soon as you spot him on your couch, barely escaping the grogginess you’re still in from having a long night. 

His presence isn’t surprising anymore given the time you’ve been with him and how this exact situation has already played out tons of times before (him breaking into your place because he doesn’t want to be alone, you blissfully clueless until you hear raccoon-like searching in your kitchen) — it’s more irking than it is surprising, especially when you wake up at the wrong side of the bed.

“Do you not want me around?” Yoongi laughs heartily, unwilling to wipe his grin off when you don’t react. “That’s what I thought.”

He’s already beaten you to the TV and while he hasn’t had breakfast yet because he thought that the least he could do is wait for you to wake up so you could make it and the two of you can eat together, he’s getting there anyway.

“What type of horrible soulmate kicks out their other half that hasn’t had breakfast yet at 8 in the morning?” he hums, a faux pout on his face that rubs you the wrong way. You’re still pissed at him for not showing up at your awarding ceremony last night for being the top developer in your tech company, his lengthy apologetic text before you went to sleep still not doing its full effects.

“You don’t wanna tread there,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I have a lot on my chest, Yoongi. A lot of hateful, vile, factual comebacks.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, the smile on his face telling you that he’s taking this lightly; way more lightly than you’d like him to. “We’ve had this conversation a million times before, baby. Sometimes, people just aren’t meant to be,” Yoongi shrugs, his words embedded in you now from repetition alone. “Some soulmates are only platonic.”

“That’s what you want because you’re non-committal,” you hiss, the incoming headache you have for having this conversation too early in the morning making you sit yourself on the couch. Yoongi grins because he knows you won’t kick him out at this point, slinging an arm across your shoulders while you’re still glaring at him. “Your hustle or whatever you call it is falling in love with everyone but me.”

“Uhm, correction — it’s a career,” he tuts. “I have a gift, Y/N. What, I can shapeshift into other people and I’m not supposed to capitalize off of that?”

He had only started offering his services a little more than a year ago, a byproduct of his boredom and his producing internship at the music label falling through. It just came to him in a fever dream and a drunken suggestion from you, and one website domain purchase and a socialite with a lot of connections for a first client later, Yoongi quickly made bank.

SeeAndSaw’s a trial dating service led by Yoongi, one that would answer clients’ curiosities to whether or not they were compatible with a person, and that’s where his shapeshifting came in handy. His services continue to be used for a multitude of reasons, the most common one being to see if the client would match with their soulmates (or just a random person, he’s not particular like that) ahead of their meeting. He’s also become a handy instrument here and there, breaking up with people in his clients’ behalf because they were too guilty to do so, to becoming a stand-in for clients that needed to present someone to their families for occasions.

Yoongi acts far too casual to you and not only is its time’s fault, it’s also yours for keeping him around in any way you can have him, even if it’s just as a friend. 

“I keep professing my love for you every two weeks and I’m doing it now while you’re eating my leftovers. People would kill just to have a soulmate as dedicated as me,” you frown, slowly softening the more that you’re rendered awake. Yoongi’s right, you did have this conversation a million times before and it’s the realization of it all that perhaps, at rare times, makes it hurt less.

“We’ve had this talk before,” he sing-songs, digging into the carbonara you took home that he retrieved not even one minute later since you joined him on the couch.

“For someone who makes bank fake dating people, you sure do leech off of me a lot,” you grumble, effectively quietened when he shoves a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

“That reminds me,” Yoongi grins, building up to a dramatic gasp. “I love-…” 

He trails and trails and if only you didn’t know any better, you would know that Yoongi wouldn’t profess his love for you in your living room while you were still in your pajamas eating cold carbonara. Much less, Yoongi wouldn’t tell you at all that he loves you.

“I love doing that,” he agrees, disappointed for a second when you didn’t even react to him doing a cliffhanger about what or who he loves. “My treat for you this week is to get you a new mattress. You’ll be less grumpy in the mornings.”

“The mattress can stay for a little longer. Can you just get me a new alarm system please?” you say without missing a beat, having already thought long and hard about what make-up gift you wanted him to give you from missing out on your awarding ceremony. 

“Why? Are you okay? Did anybody attempt to break in?” Yoongi asks concerned, brows knotted in worry. He grunts under his breath, shaking his head. “I already told you to move into my apartment complex so many times. It’s much safer there.”

That’s also a conversation you’ve had a million times before, all circling back to your attachment to the first place that you bought with your own money. It’s not bad per se, it just looks like it when you show it side-by-side with Yoongi’s place.

“Oh. They already broke in,” you narrow your eyes, oblivious to the panic brewing in Yoongi.

“What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me?! Are you-…” he rants, stopping himself when he sees the irony. “Okay, I get it. You’re not funny.”

You and Yoongi eat cold carbonara in total silence, save for his grumbles of how you should never joke about your safety and yours for how he should start chipping in for your bills if he’s gonna keep showing up like this.

Yoongi swears he doesn’t find you funny. He swears it on his life when a few days later, a guy is sent to your house to update your security system. There’s a couple hundred packages of additional manual locks, along with Yoongi’s letter of how he still doesn’t find you funny, amongst other things.

Please guard your home. Don’t let anybody else in except me.

- Yoongi

( ♡ )

Yoongi despises change.

He’s with the elderly when it comes to online menus in an actual, physical restaurant, annoyed by them to the point that sometimes he just walks out. He can’t help it that he wants a nice, slightly greasy, and good menu because it just goes to show how great the food would be. 

He hates whoever invented and continues to advertise white cooking equipment that’s beyond impractical, knowing to himself that he would disown any friends or family he’ll catch using them. You spent a good two seconds more looking at a white ceramic pot that one time when you were online shopping, and Yoongi’s never been more determined to hurl your phone to the floor.

Yoongi also hates overly-modified cars and overly-decorated phone cases, because as much as it isn’t his business, he firmly believes that sometimes there are things meant to be left alone.

His voicemail is still the same one he had back in college and his standard ringtone for everyone remains untouched — everyone but you.

Yoongi knows that he’s in charge of his time given his very successful career and he worked around his whole schedule just to grant himself the luxury of sleeping in today. He wants to have himself buried in his cold sheets for longer but it’s your call that overrides his phone on Do Not Disturb, shaking him awake quicker.

“Yoongi?” you ask, too wrapped up in your internal to-do list to notice that he answered at the second ring. “Help me please.”

“Spider family in your cupboards again?” he yawns, rubbing the sleep off his eyes. God, he hopes it’s not that again. He isn’t the biggest fan of spiders either but at your insistence (and threatening last time that you’ll ignore him for a week), he forced himself to swallow down the unease.

“No, I woke up late,” you hum, once again oblivious that you’re intruding on Yoongi’s plans. He doesn’t mind though; not at all. “I just got a text about my package and I accidentally used your address again. The front desk received it.” 

Yoongi’s address has already become your secondary one at this point, from food deliveries from staying over to parcels you made him receive because you wouldn’t be home at the time. You’ve gotten used to utilizing his address, his home, so much that you forget which is which sometimes.

“Can you sign off on it as me?”

You know potential and convenience when you have it within reach, and the both of you know that your best friend slash soulmate gets a sense of pride whenever you need to utilize his shapeshifting abilities.

“Okay fine. I’ll even talk you up as a future tenant here because you’re taking my advice and moving to my building, right?” he caves in even if it took nothing for you to convince him, putting on a shirt before finding his slippers.

“What, what? Yoongi, oh! You’re breaking up,” you make a half-assed attempt in avoiding the offer once again. You could afford it with the salary you have now but aside your attachment to the place you have now, being closer to Yoongi in this context would precisely be the demise of you. “Thanks, Yoongs. Bring the package with you when you come over.”

Yoongi’s filial when it comes to you, that much you’ve noticed. He may not be in love with you but his loyalty to you is as clear as day, much of a soulmate’s but not exactly a lover’s.

It’s supposed to be like clockwork when he picks up his parcels (yours in this case) from the front desk but there’s just something he belatedly realizes now, his mouth in a grimace when he has to pry off your package from the receptionist who was unabashedly asking where you were.

He didn’t know that every time this would happen, or in any case wherein you came by yourself to his apartment and therefore passing by the front desk, the sleaze would flirt with you.

“Joohyuk from the front desk always comes off strong, huh?” Yoongi snickers the moment he enters your place, handing you your stuff instead of tossing it like he usually would.

“Tell me about it. He doesn’t give me a break,” you snort, unfazed that he doesn’t greet you with a hi anymore because your current visiting set-up has been executed many times.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with the unhinged anger in his brain that unfolds because from your response alone, you’re used to it. You’re used to feeling uneasy and he hadn’t caught on earlier than he should’ve, the guilt weighing down on his chest.

“Hey,” he calls out, his tone leaving you no room for objections. “I’ll receive your packages from now on.”

( ♡ )

You don’t know how you keep holding onto Yoongi despite him grasping you from afar.

It’s a melancholy enough as it is to swallow at the end of the day that Yoongi’s yours but not in the way you want him to be, along with the great possibility that it would always be that way. You don’t heed the reminder when you’re with him and that’s almost everyday of your life, the ache that you’re the only one pining after him remaining as a dull thrum. 

He seeks you in seasons but you look for him in all weathers, the great search of when you’d finally amount more to him still coming up unanswered.

You can handle seeing Yoongi often with the cue that you’re only friends despite the initials on both your ring fingers saying otherwise. You can manage with introducing him only as your close friend to colleagues and acquaintances because you don’t want to end up with a long-winded explanation how he wants you but really doesn’t.

Yoongi can deal with your moony stares at him every once in a while and your professions of love, whether sober or drunken. On the same vein, you can deal with the rejection he serves you every single time.

The both of you are adults who can handle each other, one more high-strung than the other, and it’s only in moments like these that you reach your limit. You’re awfully too aware of how easy it is for Yoongi to work, to be in love with people he only knows vaguely.

“I don’t like to see you when you’re at work.”

You’re momentarily caught with panic when you see a stranger in your living room, only being caught up to date when he’s sprawled across your couch in the same way that Yoongi does, the very same shit-eating grin he has on for giving you a fright.

You don’t know the guy at all and you don’t plan to. You try your best to separate yourself from Yoongi’s shapeshifting business, most especially his clients and the extensions of them that he has to portray. You don’t even want to hear the stories behind his appointments even if he begs for you to hear him out because he just wants someone to talk to. 

The moment you fully accept that Yoongi would belong to everyone but you is the day that you rue him.

And in a longingly heartbreaking fashion, you don’t hate Yoongi — yet.

He momentarily changes back to himself, sneaking a look at his watch to see how many minutes he has more of annoying you before going on a date just two blocks away from your place.

“Why?” he whines, and in retaliation, changes back to the stranger. “I’m Hong Dusik. I’m from the countryside, moved back to the city to do stocks, and my dimples are literally embedded in there. I’m my client’s soulmate and it’s their first date next week but she’s shy and she’s nervous, so she’s having a dry-run with me first.”

Tuning Yoongi out has become a skill you continue to hone and while it isn’t foolproof just yet, it’s helped tremendously when you want nothing more than to kick him (or any form he takes) out.

“Nice.”

“You’re icing me out, sweetie?” his voice lulls, the sweetness behind it cloying until you remember that you don’t know the guy it belongs to.

“My god, your dimples are deep,” you murmur, clutching your bag to your chest. “Switch back, Yoongi.”

“Why? Dusik’s a nice guy.”

You kiss your teeth with the annoyance of a hundred days built up, gritting out your answer that makes him falter momentarily. “I’ve heard already, but I don’t plan seeing Dusik or any other stranger in my home.”

“Aw, you’re so loyal to your soulmate, whoever he may be,” he coughs, shifting back to himself. At any other day, Yoongi’s playful nature would be met with one of your sarcastic remarks but he doesn’t get any this time, the ghost of a frown accompanying his lips.

He’s admittedly nervous when you don’t play along with him, but his urge to sneak one last word in overtakes his trepidation.

“My advice to get over me? Bone it out. Get it out of your system. Soon enough, my initials would fade.”

Come to think of it, Yoongi’s advice isn’t all that bad.

“If Dusik and his girl don’t work out, just send him to me,” you nod, retreating to your room.

“Good! I’ll-…” he grins, satisfied with ticking you off until your words sink into him, the double-take that he makes giving him an ache on his neck. “What?” Yoongi murmurs, “I didn’t mean it that seriously.”

( ♡ )

In a parallel universe or in a different life, Yoongi actually lives with you. In that reality, you’re still soulmates and the difference is that he loves you back. He doesn’t have the ability to shapeshift and you don’t have to profess your love repeatedly either.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi’s cooking you dinner. Dinner would be just takeout from a drive-thru that he transfers to plates because the two of you barely ate the bourgeoisie food at your awarding ceremony. You’re still the top developer in your tech company, but the difference is that he’s there and you get to introduce him as your soulmate and not just a friend who coincidentally bears the same initials on your finger.

In a parallel universe or a different life, Yoongi is your soulmate before he is your friend. He doesn’t condense your love for him as a mere obligation. He doesn’t bat an eye at your confessions because in that reality, he’s the one who loves you more than you love him.

You don’t have that life though — what you have at the moment is Yoongi, your soulmate, not being able to see what was wrong signing you up for a dating app. You wouldn’t have known if not for the couple hundred notifications you receive in your personal phone that you left at home.

You wouldn’t be this angry if Yoongi could just accept that he went out of line.

“How many times do I have to say it over and over again?” you yell, hands flailing around helplessly. The smug look on Yoongi’s face remains, strengthened only by his stubbornness. “I love you and it’s just always been you!”

This is not the life you pictured with your soulmate. In your head, you don’t even see a particular space the two of you would live in. The home you see in your dreams is ever-changing, the layout of it never staying the same. The only thing that stays in the life you picture is Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

“Why can’t you put me in your choices atleast? We’re soulmates and you’ve been my only choice but I’m– fuck!” you exclaim, sucking in a sharp breath when you feel a momentary stab at your chest. “You don’t even consider me to be a potential girlfriend even if my initials are on your finger!”

In another world, Yoongi doesn’t look at you with a clenched jaw when you speak your mind. The two of you have grown sick at this conversation but the difference in your world now is that you’re beyond angry at him, the frustration unmistakeable when you look at him.

“Why can’t it be me, Yoongi?” you seethe, fists clenched tightly that your knuckles turn white. “For fuck’s sake, when can it be me? When can it be my turn? When do you pick me?”

Yoongi didn’t mean for you to be heated with him. It was a practical joke, only following through with the half-hearted advice he gave you when he showed up at your apartment as Dusik. 

He just wanted to prove a point that you don’t want to give up on him as much as he doesn’t want you to stop trying for him. It’s selfish, he’s selfish. And if only Yoongi could focus on how conceited he is rather than the anguish he feels about you being angry and upset at him, he would wipe off the arrogance from his face.

“I hate your job so, so fucking much. It looks pathetic to me even if I know you must enjoy it a lot,” you burst, saying your truth that you’ve tried to minimize in order to make way for his self-esteem. “Your business is to be these random people’s dream guy but you’re mine. You’re my dreamboat, my ideal guy, my person! I’m your soulmate but I feel like shit. Just utter, hopeless shit that you visit almost everyday because you don’t want to be alone!”

He can’t put it into words but in the simplest way he could put it, being alone feels like a punishment more than it is a solace. Yoongi lives alone and he can handle it, but him tolerating it doesn’t mean that he loves it. 

It’s always been you and him, one way or another. In the trench of your love, waiting for Yoongi to come around is worth it. In the shore of your doubts however, the novelty of having Yoongi is starting to wear off.

You make up your mind then and there, the ascent from your trench to your shore increasingly coming fast by the day.

“Leave. You’re not staying the night here.”

Yoongi breaks by then, a dry sob leaving his throat while he tries to plead with the resoluteness in your tone.

“What kind of-“

“What kind of soulmate throws out their other half in the middle of the night?” you interrupt, knowing that Yoongi only mentions your status when he’s desperate. “The kind that doesn’t want to be soulmates anymore.”

You sound the most casual you’ve ever been and Yoongi’s annoyed at you for it, his eyes narrowed into slits. He’ll oblige for the night, on his way to the door when he looks at you.

“With all due respect, Y/N, screw you. You don’t mean that,” he mutters, chest heaving up and down. He’s convincing you as much as he’s convincing himself. “You’re just angry, you’re sad, and you don’t mean that.”

Your back’s turned to him when he leaves, or atleast attempts to do so because he doesn’t want to make his exit when you refuse to even look at him.

“I mean it right now, let’s focus on that,” you chuckle, already turning off the lights in the apartment without sparing a single glance at him. “Go away, Yoongi.”

( ♡ )

Unsurprisingly, you find Yoongi at your house the next day when you come home from work.

He probably has your key fob microchipped on him nowadays, your huge fight from last night not being enough to deter him from coming over. He’s a stubborn and mostly annoying stain you have in your life at the exact second, the two of you unwilling to apologize to each other.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you mutter, rolling your eyes when you set your bag down on the counter. You’re on a time crunch, the window you have of preparing yourself to look divine already closing down steadily.

“The fuck are you doing home?” Yoongi retorts just for the sake of it and simply because he wants to keep the conversation (if it was even called that) going, trying to ignore the fact that he totally bombed his comeback and makes up for it by staring at your leftover dumplings on his plate.

You’re busy fending for yourself, your eyes too preoccupied in rolling to the back of your head that you fail to notice Yoongi’s puffy with all the crying he did last night. You ignore him and go straight to your bedroom, not having enough time to multitask showering and fighting with him.

You’ve already went through your entire routine and dressed yourself up, the frustration in you only skyrocketing up when Yoongi’s still there in your kitchen.

“Either get out or move out of my way,” you say as you retrieve yourself a snack from your cupboards to munch on while you multitask, intentionally bumping your shoulder with him in the process. “I’m going out on a date.”

Yoongi heavily sighs, his fork clattering on the plate loudly. He tries to keep his emotions at bay because this is all his fault, the fight in his body tensing his shoulders.

“You’re lashing out.”

“I’m not lashing out,” you argue, looking at the clock to see if you could still fit in fighting with Yoongi between spraying your perfume and meeting your date by the front door. “Lashing out would be me bringing my date home and fucking him loudly in my room.”

He stabs the dumplings a little too harshly and a little too unnecessarily, fitting two in his mouth while clenching his fists because he knows a nasty remark is just bubbling to be said.

Yoongi’s being childish and your patience has already run thin to deal with him especially when you’re mad, the huff that leaves you sounding extremely personal.

“What are you even doing here? Go back to your house.”

“My appointment’s just at the next block. Your place is closer.”

“You could’ve just driven there directly instead of camping out here.”

Yoongi sarcastically smiles, his eyes in crescents as he makes a show of tilting his head. “Can I notspend time anymore with my best friend? My soulmate, even?”

“Stop saying the s-word,” you grit. “Don’t say that when I bring Jimin home.”

The resounding tension that envelopes the two of you finally snaps, manifesting into a scoff from Yoongi so offended and loud that it resonated in your apartment like a clap of thunder. 

“Jimin from high school? You’re exes for a reason, remember?” he exclaims, eyes blinking in disbelief because he figures he must’ve heard you wrong. “He broke up with you when he went abroad for college because he can’t do long-distance. What makes you think he’ll give you the time of day this time?”

None of his words register in your head, blissfully letting them fly over. Jimin only invited you to catch up and you obliged; it’s not like you didn’t have years of love amongst yourselves to shroud yourself in anonymisity. Plus, it’s not like he asked you to try again with him — it’s dinner. Just dinner.

“He’s already outside. Also, it’s clearly a short distance this time.”

“Don’t be smart with me,” Yoongi scoffs, standing up abruptly with his arms across his chest. “I’m gonna barricade the door if you come home with him.”

“Good. I can come home with him to his place.”

“I’ll barricade his door,” he retorts without even thinking, his brows knotted in exasperation.

“Go fuck yourself,” you narrow your eyes at him, letting your glare at him linger until you get to the front door. “While I fuck Jimin.”

“You’re so-“

Yoongi points an accusing finger at you, unable to finish his sentence now that you’ve left. You’re stubborn.

If he’s being honest, the thought of you merely giving Jimin the time of day makes him uneasy. It puts a void on his stomach and an even larger cavity in his chest.

And if Yoongi’s being more honest, he doesn’t even have an appointment nearby. He just wanted to be with you whichever way he can.

( ♡ )

Yoongi used to hate crossfit.

He hated even the concept of it because the trainers for it at the gym have a superiority complex when talking about it as if it was revolutionary; as if launching yourself a feet into the air while doing push-ups from point to point was groundbreaking.

Even his friend, Jungkook, knowsjust how much he hates it. He didn’t particularly have a preference when it comes to working out, but Yoongi’s random and unprovoked hate for random things is starting to rub off on him. They both hate crossfit… right?

Jungkook doesn’t know how to react when he sees Yoongi doing pull-ups with one hand diagonally while a kettlebell’s on the other. He doesn’t know what to feel seeing him agitatedly do push-ups while wearing a weighted vest and with his feet up on a medicine ball. 

Jungkook, for a fact, does not know what his cue should be when he sees Yoongi running 24kph on a treadmill with his eyes fixated on the phone in his hand, although he’s about 99% sure that this is not exactly crossfit.

He’s known him for years now and there’s barely anything between them that they don’t know about each other. Jungkook, however, doesn’t know the threshold of Yoongi’s emotional constipation, slightly concerned when he sees his friend’s mind drift elsewhere.

“Yoongi, are we okay there buddy?”

“Huh?” he squints, looking up from his dessert which he’s just been staring at the past two minutes.

Jungkook clears his throat, vaguely mentioning to the poor utensil in his hand. “You’re bending the fork.”

“It was already bent when you handed it to me,” he weakly counters, setting the metal down without much concern.

“I uhm, I really don’t think so.”

Yoongi only supplies with him a scowl and normally, being the filial and nosey friend that he is, it was cue for him to inquire what was going on. Jungkook likes including himself and it’s one of the numerous things he has in common with Yoongi, but it was clear as day just how differently it manifests for each of them.

Yoongi’s only been staring at the mocha crepe cake because he knows he would be incessantly interrupted by Jungkook once he started eating it, but come to to think of it, the younger hasn’t asked him even once.

He narrows his eyes at him, crossing his arms with a sly look to his face.

“What are you waiting for? I know you’re dying to ask me.”

Jungkook scoffs, rolling his eyes so passionately that Yoongi saw you in him for a second. “No, you’re dying to be asked. It’s always like this! You want to get something out of your chest but you always need me to ask first and then you pretend like you don’t like it.”

His face is far too straight and he got to the point really quickly with his delivery, his posture standing straight at the unimpressed look Yoongi gives him.

“Sorry. Your emotional constipation’s rubbing off of on me,” he hums sickeningly, batting his eyes. “Yes, Yoongi? What seems to be on your mind?”

Not even a second goes by before Yoongi breaks, his shoulders falling in recollection. “It’s Y/N. You already know my deal with her.”

“Of course I do. Aren’t we basically the same?” Jungkook tilts his head in thought. “Longtime best friends with our soulmates but the only difference is that the two of you knew at the beginning?” he continues, mixing his drink with his straw just to cushion the impending blow this conversation might inflict on him. “And uhm, that you spend every waking moment refusing her but magically, your friendship isn’t ruined over it?”

“You go on and on like an audiobook.”

He’s not the least bit offended because he does have the voice for it, but it wasn’t so audiobook-ish of him when his hands flail and his voice pitches in remembrance. “Oh also, you’re a shapeshifter! Poor Y/N has to watch you date all these people except her.”

“Which side are you on?” Yoongi looks down on his feet, the sigh that leaves him slowly weighing as much as the conflict in his mind. “There’s one more difference, by the way. I think she’s making me jealous.”

Now, Jungkook doesn’t flatter Yoongi all too much because his ego outnumbers his and that’s coming from him! But this is the one time that Jungkook has to hand it to him, his friend’s delivery and impeccable timing giving him the best chuckle he’s had this week.

“She’s intentionally making you jealous? God, Yoongi. Are we skimming over the fact that maybe she’s just grown sick of you?”

“You don’t get it!” he whines. “She’s entertaining her ex from high school. This stupidly blonde, stupidly genius, stupidly always available guy named Jimin! What a stupid name too. Seriously, he’s so-…”

The café’s well-lit and the acoustics are good too but there’s just this one cloud that forms above Jungkook when Yoongi mentions Jimin’s name, his brows suddenly furrowing in annoyance.

“Jimin?” he clarifies. “Jimin who?”

“This isn’t a knock-knock joke.”

The urge to smack Yoongi would always be larger than Jungkook’s intent to be the bigger person, his curiosity bursting at the seams. “What’s his family name, you idiot?”

“Why does it matter? You don’t know him anyway. It’s Park Jimin,” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he soothes the side of his head, equally as annoyed now. 

The gasp coming from Jungkook alone shushes the entire café, his eyes as expressive as ever and his voice even louder, forcing Yoongi to sink further to his seat until the onlookers take their eyes away from the table.

“You’re joking me!” he booms, running his hands though his hair in a frenzy. “Guy from Busan, stayed until high school, then went to Harvard for college?”

“How do you know him?” Yoongi questions but at this point the how doesn’t matter as much as the why, his friend’s expression enough to keep him at the edge of his seat.

“Because he tried poaching my soulmate too!” Jungkook exclaims, pausing between words because he’s still speechless. “It’s this long story. We’re distant family friends, then I almost lost my bond, then-…”

Yoongi shushes him, putting up a hand for the both of them to stay on track. “Can we get back to me? Can we put a pause on the Jungkook and soulmate show?”

They’re a duo of insufferable people, one more self-absorbed and insufferable than the other. Jungkook sees much of his past self in Yoongi despite the latter being older, the irony of the situation rendering him breathless.

“What do I do about Jimin? Surely, he has a soulmate and it’s definitely not my Y/N,” Yoongi desperately asks for advice even if he thinks it’s beneath him, rubbing his face with his hands.

Jungkook thanks the universe and his soulmate for shaping him to be a better person because he could now hear what he used to sound like back then and by god was he emotionally constipated.

“My Y/N?” he mimics. “Let’s get you back to bed, uncle.”

He makes the internal reminder to get Yoongi away from crossfit because the punch that lands on his thigh is definitely powerful, making him wince loudly that once agains puts the both of them at the center of attention.

“Ow! What?! You can’t just refuse to be a thing with Y/N but then gatekeep her the moment she entertains another guy. That’s not how it works, believe me! I’ve literally been there before.”

Yoongi can hear Jungkook, but he doesn’t exactly understand.

He’s not oblivious to continue refusing the parallels between him and Jungkook but surely, the way it worked out for his friend means that it would for him too, right? 

He’s in denial but he’s not there at the stage yet where he actually acknowledges that he is, stuck in the realm of hope that you’re not sick of him yet.

“Okay what if– what if we try to find out who this Jimin’s soulmate is? Look for them, pluck just one strand of hair, and I shapeshift into them? Then I’ll tell him to back off from other people and only focus on his soulmate!”

Jungkook winces, scratching his head. “That’s wrong. And unethical. You have so many things to unpack, Yoongi.”

“It’s not my fault I can shapeshift!” he exasperatedly sighs, briefly mirroring Jungkook by shifting to him just to prove a point.

“It’s your fault that you’re this constipated to be willing to go to great lengths just to steer Y/N away from Jimin!”

“What do I do then?” Yoongi groans, plunking his head onto the table. He doesn’t even have to raise his head for Jungkook to know that he’s nearing a dead end, his hope about to run out sooner or later. “What did you do?”

“I woke up. Figured I was too self-absorbed back then to realize that it’s always been her for me.”

Jungkook shakes his friend, prompting him to start eating the crepe cake he treated him to but refuse to eat because he’s still wallowing in worry over where he stands with you.

“Wake up, Yoongi,” he sighs, looking down on the markings on his own ring finger that he thanks the heavens for every single day. “The universe works in mysterious ways.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi prides himself for having 20/20 vision.

He’s always boasted about his vision not deceiving him even once, the constant praise whenever he gets his yearly check-ups fully seeping into his head.

He’s neither suffering from a hangover nor vertigo. Yoongi’s mind is in a sound and safe place which is why he doesn’t get how it could be playing jokes on him now, the most crucial of times he’s been going through with you.

Your soulmate mark has completely disappeared.

It simply cannot be true to how his initials disappeared overnight and you just woke up one day to see that they’re gone. Yoongi’s hand is gripping yours tightly as if you’d suddenly disappear too, the glare he has at your ring finger vacant and unnerving at the same time.

“It’s blank. Oh my god, it’s completely blank,” your eyes can’t seem to believe it too, a silent gasp leaving you in shock.

You’ve already said your piece but it’s not what Yoongi’s looking for. You’re not as distraught nor panicked as he is and he knows right there that you’re only fucking with him, making him sigh in exhaustion.

“It’s obvious why you didn’t study liberal arts,” he mutters, rubbing your finger furiously. It makes absolutely no sense when not a single hint of his initials peek through, the worry over his lack of a mark on you growing by the second.

“Huh?” Yoongi says under his breath, his pursuit of trying to get your stint to budge leading him closer to you to the point that your foreheads almost bump when he looks to you. “Okay, what’s the secret? You used pot concealer instead of liquid? You color-corrected? Tons of setting spray?” he tries, licking his lips that turned dry in exasperation. He’s running out of ways you could’ve executed this, mind turning up empty. “You uh, you got it tattooed over with your exact shade match?”

The dread that fills Yoongi is liquid hurt. It builds up from droplets and takes form wherever it flows, turning murky in contained and neglected spaces. He can’t move on from the hurt that’s in his chest when he glances at your empty ring finger and then to his that still has yours; that still links you to him, yet unreciprocated.

“Why is it not budging?” 

“You’re rubbing all the way to my bone,” you chuckle, unable to read the anxiousness behind his tone. He looks disturbed even, lips parted with no explanation coming to mind.

“You’ve got me, Y/N,” he painfully chuckles, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He bites too hard that he draws blood, eyes flickering ever so often. “Where did you hide the cameras this time?”

“Yoongi, I’m telling you! It’s really blank!” you chuckle but not as easily as the last time, sensing the atmosphere in the room that only favored you but not him. “Quick, walk into the wall. Let’s see if I feel it!”

He doesn’t know how you still have it in you to joke. He doesn’t know how you’re not panicking and as much as he’s figured that this is only one of the rare times where the universe favors you, he didn’t know it would result to this.

“First, I’m not walking into a wall. Second, you stop lying to me.”

“I’m not lying! I’m really serious!” your hands raise in defense, taking a step away from him. The starting notes of your laugh start to build but it never comes out fully because Yoongi interrupts you with a bitter laugh, throwing his head back in frustration.

You’re laughing. You’re unfazed and you’re laughing at Yoongi being at the end of his rope, his worry over losing his soulmate turning unrequited.

“Well then congrats on not having me as a soulmate anymore. I’m so happy for you!”

“What’s with the attitude?” you raise an eyebrow at him, scoffing in retaliation. It had only been lighthearted (for you, atleast) awhile ago and perhaps, maybe even humorous. You didn’t expect that he would receive the news like this at all. “No, congratulations to you, Yoongi, because you’ve been whining for years how you don’t want me and now you finally got it!”

The truth you say has been Yoongi’s for the longest time and the old him would’ve been thrilled because you finally got it. You finally got where he’s coming from and he didn’t need to deal with you pining after him but now that the realization comes here, one that you say to his face — it doesn’t feel good at all.

“Yeah, and I know and regret that now because I didn’t actually think the universe would listen!” his voice raises, pointing at his chest. “Fuck me for not thinking that the universe would stop to listen to my half-hearted wishes, am I right?”

“You’re right. Fuck you, actually!” you agree in spite, practically spitting your next words. “You’re so conceited. Why are you turning on me the moment you get what you thought you wanted?”

Yoongi doesn’t get it too.

He doesn’t get how he lets the flaw of his own insistence slip through his fingers so carelessly. He doesn’t even know what he wanted in the first place and it terrorizes him to know that he might just never know why, the answer for it only seen as a distant memory of you.

He doesn’t get how long he’s retained his insistence of preserving his safety zone by trying to deter you from loving him, when in reality, you’re the epitome of security itself. He didn’t think it through at all.

Yoongi didn’t think when he spent the past few years of his life rejecting your confessions and proposals in every opportunity that he could. Didn’t even leave you hanging from a thread of hope at all that he’d like you back; just a clean, straight refusal.

He didn’t stop to consider that the universe works in mysterious ways, because if he did earlier, he would’ve prayed to make you stay despite not being the type to get on his knees at all.

“Because I didn’t actually think we would stop being soulmates! I didn’t think that there’d be a reality where we aren’t together!” his voice cracks, his hands trembling at his sides. “It’s always been us, Y/N. I’ll always want you around.”

“Do you just want me around or do you want me?” you ask, the silence that follows after it being an accumulation of the ones you’ve had to spent alone when he rejected you. “I can’t be the background noise in your life, Yoongi. Not anymore. Y-yes, I know there are soulmates that are meant to be platonic but I don’t want that,” you stress, the tears springing to your eyes. “I can’t have that.”

It’s an ultimatum you didn’t know you would ever make at all.

“It’s either you have me as your soulmate or you don’t have me at all,” you say in strength, your thumb hovering about the ghost of his initials on your finger. “I can’t stand being your friend anymore.”

“You’d throw that away?” Yoongi croaks, taken aback. “You’d throw that– us away after all this time?”

“I would.”

“Your initials are still on my finger,” he reminds, sniffling as he pushes his hair back. This can’t be. You seriously can’t be posing this ultimatum to him, one that would determine both his present and future.

“Yours aren’t on mine,” you shot back. The lump on your throat is far too large to even swallow, each breath you take making it harder for you. “For the love of god, Yoongi, can you not deflect?” 

Yoongi’s the most panicked that he’s ever been in his life and in your surprising and rarely selfish nature, you don’t even pause.

“This is a big decision, Y/N! Can’t you please just give me some time to think?”

“No. You’ve had enough time to think when you’ve been stringing me around for years.”

The hurt that bubbles up in Yoongi comes like a riptide, unsuspecting yet just as devastating. There’s no pause between his words, much too smooth and articulate for someone who’s as panicked as he is now. They’ve stayed at the tip of his tongue before and lingered in the back of his mind even longer.

“I can’t think because I’m not sure about you, Y/N! I’m not sure if I’ve always kept you around because I want us to be more like soulmates than we are as friends,” he sobs. “I don’t know if I can love you how you love me.”

The liquid hurt in Yoongi’s bones solidifies but yours evaporates. It should hurt for you — you know that it should pain you the most now. You wait and you wait for the hiss before the sting but it doesn’t come. 

The weight lifts off from you instantly and you don’t even know why or how it happens. Whatever it was though, you let it carry your burdens for you. You only painfully nod, leaving Yoongi in your own house.

Yoongi can’t love you the way you love him — it’s the answer you’re looking for now, and it’s the same answer you swallowed down when you first professed your love for him years ago. 

.

.

.

Jimin didn’t expect you to report back to him this quickly and this late at night to say the very least, his sleepiness being pushed back when you stand at his door.

You slur the words but you’re not even drunk with alcohol. You’ve walked the long way to Jimin in order to take off your mind from your fight with Yoongi but there was just something n your system, one that made you even forget who you were fleeing.

There’s no Yoongi that comes into your mind during your walk, in fact, you were starting to think that the name didn’t even make sense to you because you couldn’t put a face to it. All you knew was where you’re going and who you were going to — only Jimin.

The more you walked and the more you came closer to Jimin, it was only him that filled your mind. In fact, you didn’t even know where you came from at this point, the details a blur in your head except for Jimin who’s standing in front of you.

“It worked. He bought it.”

It’s the last words that Jimin heard from you before you quite literally froze up, eyes closing solemnly despite standing upright until you open them again, the glaze behind it shining brighter the more you looked at him.

“Jimin, my love,” you drawl, squealing in delight as you launch yourself to him in a hug. “What a handsome soulmate I have.”

Jimin flushes at the realization, frozen in his position as he only puts his hand at the small of your back, patting you in comfort.

He needs some pen and paper, his notes, and the brainpower to calculate his next decision.

( ♡ )

Yoongi makes no move to drive himself home.

He doesn’t even have the willpower to leave from where you left him, his knees giving in to situate himself on the couch where he could sink further in his self-loathing. He has half the mind to recognize that you need the space, especially tonight, even if it means leaving the comfort of your own home because he (your demise) was there.

He doesn’t know anything, other than the fact that he’s repulsive and he wants nothing more than to go seek you but he doesn’t know where he should start; if you would even want to see him in the event that he finds you.

He considers calling your phone and at this point, he’d be contented even with the line ringing or you declining. Yoongi stays rooted in your house as a placeholder that he doesn’t even know you would be acclimated to having, stuck in the very space with no purpose at all.

He’s waiting for either you or a miracle and both revolve around him being able to see you for just one more time, then another, then again and again after so. He’s waiting for you and only you, and he didn’t even think you would come through the door in first place — much more with someone else.

The door beeps open and Yoongi launches himself from where he sat, his stance protective the moment his eyes land on you and Jimin.

The guy is just as shocked to see Yoongi of all people, lips parted open in surprise. Jimin’s just about to ask Yoongi what the hell he’s doing here in the first place but he’s cut off when you grumble against his neck, forgetting momentarily that you were clinging to him by the hip the whole time.

“What are you doing with Y/N?” Yoongi questions, taking large steps towards the both of you. There’s practically smoke coming off from the top of his head, his fists clenched at his sides,

“Taking her to her room, obviously,” Jimin scoffs, attempting to dodge past Yoongi with you in tow but to no avail, the latter’s arm outstretched.

“She’s drunk.”

“She’s not,” Jimin insists, punctuating his desperation.

He moves past Yoongi this time but he doesn’t get far at all, his arm being wrung tightly. His hand awaits on your back out of instinct, the whiplash putting the both of them on edge.

“Hey, buddy, Y/N’s drunk.”

Jimin groans, prying Yoongi’s hand off him just as easily as he clamped it. “She’s not drunk! Not in that way, atleast,” he mutters, putting you closer to his chest that sets off Yoongi further. “Just back off.”

“What do you mean not in that way?” Yoongi bursts, his vision darkening. He sets out a hand once again to get you away from Jimin, his hold on you much gentler. “Asshole. I said don’t-…”

“She’s drunk, but not actually drunk!” Jimin caves, pinching his nosebridge but not before swatting away Yoongi’s hand. The latter belatedly realizes that Jimin’s not even holding onto you to keep you steady, it was purely you clinging to him. Jimin can’t put it into proper, technical terms because he’s always known that Yoongi isn’t his equal ever since high school, dumbing it down the best as he could that it physically makes him shudder.

“She’s drunk… in love.”

“What?” Yoongi squints, his face contorted into confusion and disbelief at the same time. “Are you high?”

“I’m not high. I mean it!” he groans, throwing his head back. He looks at you while you slip in and out of consciousness, his thumb underneath your chin to get you to look up. “Y/N’s literally drunk in love.”

You being attached to Jimin doesn’t make sense. What Jimin’s saying now isn’t making sense. You immediately coming to your ex, Jimin, after your fight with him doesn’t make any sense. None of everything that’s happening is making sense and Yoongi’s head is bound to erupt any time, the migraine forming in his temples giving Jimin a smaller window to explain.

“My friends and I made this drug for our company’s upcoming breakthrough and Y/N volunteered to try it out.”

“You drugged her?!” Yoongi yells, eyes wide and furious.

“I think you have selective hearing,” Jimin grits, offended at the insinuation. “It’s this drug that’s supposed to temporarily desensitize you to your soulmate, okay? It worked because clearly your initials are gone from her.”

None of them should be making sense but it does. It scares Yoongi that this whole thing could be condensed down to an explanation because it only makes it much more real; much more vulnerable.

“So I’m still her soulmate?” he asks with a lump on his throat, his rage simmering down back into sadness.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Jimin snorts, running a hand through his hair. “It’d last for a week but we have yet to know all of the possible side effects,” he kisses his teeth, going through his internal checklist. “So far, we found out that although it desensitizes a person towards their soulmate,” he trails, perhaps a little bit amused if he was saying the truth. “They cling to the first person they see.”

How awful, Yoongi thinks.

“Y/N’s drunk in me,” Jimin announces with a grin. “She thinks I’m her soulmate.”

You’re waking up little by little and Jimin figures that your unconsciousness is only temporary and a one-time thing, considering that you’re back to trying to entangle all of your limbs with him in an eager embrace.

“Snap out of it, Y/N,” Yoongi says outloud to you, completely disregarding that Jimin’s still in the room.

He even makes a move to try and pull you away from him but to no avail, his interruption only making you raise an eyebrow at him. You look at Yoongi from afar despite being near and it’s haunting, the tilt in your head giving your sentiments away.

“Who are you?” you question genuinely, brows furrowed slightly. You turn back to the person you know most in this room at the moment, who’s none other than Jimin. “Who’s he, Jimin?”

“You don’t know this guy?” he questions, his mind computing rapidly.

“Not at all,” you confirm, not sparing a single glance back at Yoongi.

There’s a tense silence because all that Yoongi could hear now is the fuzz in his brain and the pulsing of his heart, his chest deflating in anguish.

“You promise me? You don’t know this guy at all?” Jimin confirms to you once more, assessing you deeply.

“I promise. I’d never lie to you,” you say with a frown, both of the guys knowing that from your tone alone, all you’re saying is the truth.

Jimin takes it down quickly, his tone more somber and less hostile than before.

“That’s another side effect then. Not only can it desensitize, but it also makes you forget about your soulmate completely.”

The two of them are talking as if you’re not in the room with them but it doesn’t make a difference otherwise because you’re only focused on Jimin, your eyes all endeared just by the silhouette of him alone.

Yoongi can’t will his mind to focus on just one thing, his frustration coming off as a strangled yelp.

“You’re shitting me! Make an antidote or something!”

“We still have to wait out the whole week.”

“It’s like you’re just asking me to slap you!” he grits, hand outstretched already yet retreating when Jimin mocks him in return, pointing at you whose head is turned from Yoongi. Of course, you think Yoongi’s your soulmate — of course you’d shower him with affection.

“Can you guys be any louder? I wanna sleep. Please take me to bed,” your attention’s only turned to Jimin, the guy nodding earnestly.

He’s about to coax you into your room when a voice cuts into the air, an eager tap being placed on your shoulder.

“I’m Yoongi.”

You look back at the guy who introduced himself, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but looks like he’s just begging to be given a sliver of attention.

You don’t mind him though.

“Hi, Yoongi,” you curtly respond, turning your back on him. “Take me to bed, Jimin.”

( ♡ )

Your vocabulary’s not affected by Jimin’s experiment at all, except for the fact that the word you utter most is his name and barely Yoongi’s.

He neither came home nor went to sleep, his mind not being granted even a single second of rest because all he can think about how this is only a mere, flawed glimpse of what you would be like if he wasn’t your soulmate anymore and it’s terrifying. It puts goosebumps onto his skin and instills the fear of fate on him, obvious by the way he’s only been functioning long enough for the past hours for the sake of reliving the same alternate reality again and again.

You come out of your room and there’s still that same dazed look on your face, eyes less crazed but more yearning. Yoongi awaits any reaction from you that would lead him to think everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours is only a figment of his imagination.

It’s early in the morning but the sorrow from the evening already hits you through a frown, your eyes darting everywhere.

“Where’s Jimin?” you ask, shaking your head. “Why am I still here?”

“You live here,” Yoongi answers, keeping his hands to himself. He begrudgingly makes the internal note to relay your momentary forgetting to Jimin later even if talking to him is the last thing he’ll ever want to do.

You gasp then, eagerly nodding your head because that one piece of information definitely traces back to you. “Oh, right,” you nod, your lip curling once again. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s not sure how he should answer that.

He’s unsure if he should answer that he’s here and stayed the night because he was worried sick about you after your fight, almost driven to passing out in overwhelm especially when Jimin brought you home.

He doesn’t know if he should say that in your home because it’s only rational since you’re soulmates, and that he dislikes being alone, and that being with you calms him down an infinite amount; if he could just skim over the fact that you barely have any recollection of him and will continue to do so for the next week.

Yoongi can’t determine to whether or not he should tell you that he wants to spend every second with you because should be the precursor for you to believe that you don’t want him anymore, he’s left with a memory of you, no matter how painful.

“Because I live here too,” he says a half-truth, trailing off in remembrance of you nagging him to go back to his house.

“We live together?” you question once again, your face contorted in confusion. “Why?”

You don’t even mean malice with it and Yoongi knows that exactly, the bit of realization even more painful because he knew that you would question him with snark and tears otherwise. In your foggy, Jimin-centric brain, it doesn’t make sense why you and Yoongi practically live together.

Because we’re soulmates, he wants to answer.

It’s the same question he asks himself because he doesn’t know how you let him either — when in reality, he already knows why and it’s because you love him. The even bigger question is if he was even deserving of you.

“Because we wanted to,” Yoongi leaves it at that, clearing his throat as he pushes a plate towards you that he put together on short notice. “Here’s breakfast. This is your favorite.”

You don’t even move to thank him curtly, head tilting in curiosity. You have all the questions yet he doesn’t know if he has all the answers, his heart hurting whichever way he addresses you.

“But why do we want to live with each other?” 

“Because we care for each other.” (Read: because we’re soulmates and because we’ve been friends and soulmates our whole lives and I don’t ever see us parting.)

You nod at Yoongi’s brief answer, stuck in staring off to space for a couple of seconds before you swallow down everything.

“Oh,” you hum somewhat satisfied. “You know where Jimin is?” you open a new line of questioning this time, tone picking up more. “Do we live with him or is it just the two of us?”

Jimin’s testing out his method of withdrawing himself this time, living out the remainder of the week by not making any contact with you and assigning Yoongi to report back to him. He’s not even meant to say everything to you in technical terms, knowing that he has to make up lies the whole week regarding Jimin’s whereabouts.

It’s only and should be a simple, trivial question regarding your living situation but Yoongi can’t help the hiccup that builds in his chest, heart heavy with nothing he can do about.

“Just the two of us,” Yoongi mutters, tracing your initials on his finger discreetly. It was one of the things you did when you felt like confessing to him silently, eyes not even meeting each other’s for you to tell him that you love him. He’s desperate to have you do it to him again — pathetically and helplessly pleading for you to come back to him again. “Always just the two of us.”

.

.

.

Yoongi finds it admirable that you grow warmer to him by the night, nevermind that you’re not doing it for familiarity but rather to get closer to Jimin through him.

Not once does he leave your side whenever you stroll back out to thr living room, plopping onto the couch to eat dinner made by him to which you aren’t weirded about. You no longer inquired him why he’s here, just accepting his presence because the back of your mind tells you that you’re used to him in the first place.

“I miss Jimin,” he hears you sigh for the umpteenth time, an automatic rigid smile painted on his face. He doesn’t want to hear about him at all actually, however he’d do anything just to get you to keep talking in the event that it’s the last he’ll hear from you.

“You don’t say,” he hums, tuning out his name as he tries to pretend that it’s his instead.

You can’t distinguish the far relaxed nature to Yoongi’s intonations because after all, you barely remember any of him and his quirks for you to compare his attitude to. For all you know, he’s just a calm and calculating person that you know in your life, one whose eyes just can’t stop straying to his hands.

Yoongi doesn’t want to feel like he’s mourning but the feeling in his chest is akin to it anyway, something resembling repentance rising out of it from nowhere when you let your curiosity get the best of you.

You’re unfathomably upset because Jimin’s nowhere to be found. One second you’re sighing and at the other you become molten aluminum at thrashing just to see him.

It’s painful to see you like this and he tries his best to gather you to his arms to calm you down, shushing you to the best of his abilities that annoy you even further.

“I don’t want you! I want Jimin!”

“I’m the only one you have,” he says just as urgently, releasing you from his hold but you melt to him anyway, in a fit of tears with your hands covering your face.

It hurts to see you yearn for another person who isn’t him (read: your soulmate) and it hurts more to even grasp that this could’ve been your vignette the whole time that he’s been working, perhaps even the whole time that you’ve been pining after him.

“But I don’t wanna have you,” you enunciate with a sob that wracks your body yet destroy Yoongi’s core, his intake of breath being shallower the more that you refuse him.

“Can you find him for me please? Did I do anything wrong? Maybe he’ll respond to your texts.”

“You’ve never done anything wrong,” he comes to his sense just to scold you, eyes narrowing of why you could’ve conjured up such a thing.

“But I must’ve done something,” you whine. “Jimin doesn’t love me.”

“It’s impossible not to love you,” Yoongi interjects faster than the impulsive thought had formed in your brain, his eyes stern and promising. “Your soulmate must be the luckiest bastard in the world.”

You hear him once again but you can’t understand him, the words meaning nothing to you because you aren’t even sure of the level of relation you had with him before your memory became hazy.

“But my soulmate doesn’t even love me back!” 

You have him there, ironic that you’re going through the same situation twice. You’ve went through it with Yoongi for years genuinely, while you’ve been going through it with Jimin for five days because of an experiment.

“He loves you,” he says it in confidence and assurance, his hands unknowingly making their way to grip your shoulders for you to look at him when he’s speaking the truth. “He’s a conceited asshole and he’s really flawed, but he’s trying his best to love you more than you deserve,” his voice cracks briefly, clearing his throat. “Must be hard to swallow down the fact that the universe is too generous to him because he has you for a soulmate. He must feel like he’s the scum of the earth because he has the greatest, most lovable person in the world loving him, and he used to take it for granted.”

It’s warm. Too warm, too personal, and too familiar — and in your head, Jimin is the only person in your head who fills all three boxes.

“Jimin feels like that?”

“Hmm,” Yoongi agrees, lying easily. “He also hopes that it’s not too late.”

In a moment’s notice, he furthers the distance between the two of you as if the oddly-spurred passionate conversation the two of you had never happened.

Your memory’s not acting up when you remember that you came out to join Yoongi to talk about Jimin, but now, you wouldn’t believe yourself that it’s actually the reason you came out.

This time it’s you who reaches out for Yoongi, clearing your throat.

“Who’s that?” you point to his ring finger, eyes peeking at the initials. It’s just like yours, the irony of it making you giggle. “That’s not me, isn’t it?” 

“And if it was?” Yoongi asks, eyes still gentle but his voice much too mellow to the point that you’d think he isn’t breathing.

“I wouldn’t believe you,” you answer, carelessly shrugging.

Yoongi purses his lips and he knows he should stop prodding now because the last time he did, it ended with him driving you right into Jimin’s arms to experiment him out of your life. He can’t hold his tongue now, even when he knows he’s bound to suffer from himself anyway.

“Why not?”

“Because if that’s me, then I should be in love with you right now and not Jimin,” you trail, your tone reeking obviousness. It’s clear enough for you, atleast, but Yoongi takes nothing but murkiness from it.

“Hmm,” he hums, pointing to your hand. “Why do you love Jimin if his initials aren’t on your finger then?”

“You got me there,” you snort, the words unwilling to roll off easily from your mouth. In fact, nothing forms in your mind anyway, just a mere vision that you can discern yet not verbalize. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it. I just love him.”

It’s a confession that sets you apart from the soulmate that Yoongi knows, all before you had been desperate enough to desensitize yourself to his very existence.

“You can’t explain love?” he asks gently, eyes lowering down in thought.

“Can anybody?” you counter resignedly, the concept of just settling for the fact that there’s things that are unexplainable being enough for you.

Yoongi feels the most alive that he’s felt since the past day, the smile on his face being so nostalgic and sentimental to you for some reason that it momentarily makes you dizzy.

“My soulmate can. She’d profess her love for me every chance she gets. Would do it in all the ways she could find.”

You can explain love. You’re talkative and you always have the right words to say. You have the stubbornness in you that when put to its fullest power, puts his ego to shame. You have the convincing power of a company in you, one that has nothing to its name and only its very being to prove with.

You can put love into words and it’s daunting how you can condense everything you’ve ever felt for Yoongi into the many confessions you give him. In your loud drunken spiels all the way to your silent telepathic stints — you’re the embodiment of love. You can explain love and it makes sense because you would know your own.

“She sounds like a handful,” you murmur, brows furrowed to how Yoongi describes someone who’s clearly not on the same wavelength as he is with lovesick dedication in his face.

“She’s my handful though.”

“Does she come by here often then?” your brows raise, your headache throbbing the more that Yoongi speaks to you.

“You already know her,” Yoongi smiles tightly, looking right through you. He looks at you like he’s a dog that looks for its owner, ready to be at your beck and call. “I just don’t know if you can’t recognize her.”

“Show me a picture! Maybe it’ll jog my memory,” you offer enthusiastically, already knowing that you’re missing bits here and there but maybe seeing Yoongi’s soulmate would push you to remember faster.

“Maybe another time.”

Yoongi’s turned solemn, breathing shallowly as if he doesn’t want you to have a clue that you’re even seeing him right now.

“It’s just a picture! You looked like you were gonna cry when you were talking about her,” you pout, giving in eventually. “Aw, come on! You’re not sharing her?” 

“No,” he answers almost immediately, masking his certainty with an uneasy chuckle. “I hope not.” 

( ♡ )

You feel fuzzy.

Fuzzy in the sense that you remember clearly the two days you’ve lived but operated with your mind from afar; every interaction and every word crystal clear.

Fuzzy in the sense that it’s overwhelming, the good kind this time, but still overwhelming to the point that you have to take a breather outside of your apartment that feels suffocating to be in.

You’re five days ahead of schedule, the effect of the pill that was supposed to desensitize you to Yoongi and have other as drastic side effects being cut early.

It’s only relief that fills you when you walk out and hear Yoongi’s light snores in your guest bedroom instead of the living room, alleviating your momentary guilt at leaving this time — but only to give yourself the space to think, of course.

It’s only solace that envelopes you when you screw your eyes shut and look to your ring finger while you hold your breath, the consolation of seeing Yoongi’s initials still on there satiating you.

You’re not in your room and not even in the apartment at all. You’re not at the hallway and not even anywhere in your entire apartment complex. You’re not at the convenience store nearby where you typically go on walks just to take your mind off things and buy yourself snacks. He’s already checked and checked — Yoongi can’t find you anywhere.

He fears the worst. The absolute, most heartbreaking worst. He can’t even fathom where he got the strength to dial your number on his phone because he thought he would be faced with nothing, the proof that you’ve cut all ties with him by disconnecting completely.

Yoongi doesn’t know what possesses him when you answer easily on the second ring, your voice lighthearted.

“You’re wrong,” you hum. “Your apartment’s easy to break into just like mine.”

“Where are you?” Yoongi asks first amongst the other hundred questions he’s been dying to do so, the relief that fills him unable to be topped. You’ve just said your location but he still asks, hesitant that this may just be some cruel joke.

You stay quiet at your side of the line, looking around his place with a fondness you can’t even begin to start tackling.

“I’m at home.”

There’s nothing that comes to your mind besides the fact that it actually looks like your home. It resembles your home when you only had a mattress on the floor and no bedframe when you moved in, when you started sticking up pictures with tape that you didn’t know would ruin the walls, and when you finally found your sense of the style and had the finances and time to do it — it resembles your home all at the same time.

There’s several pictures of you and Yoongi together that line up the walls and the shelves, notes written behind them in your handwriting that you didn’t think he would keep.

Your parcels that he received with your name on it are all gathered near the doorway, the flyers of your favorite restaurants hung up by the fridge. Yoongi’s house looks more like your home and it almost brings you to tears.

He never noticed it, in fact. Hasn’t noticed the way that his definition of his home has shifted to your taste and how his definition of love turned into you. It had been gradually building through the years that Yoongi hasn’t stopped to figure that your home has become his, all to the point that he’s been living in it the whole time.

“I’m waiting,” you mutter as soon as you open the door to Yoongi who had ran all the way here in a frenzy, chest heaving up and down. “I’m waiting for you to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do that and more,” Yoongi nods in earnest and immediately leaps in to kiss you, finally feeling that you’ve given him the opportunity to breathe. 

He kisses you so endearingly that you’re surprised you haven’t done it before with him because the way he does so feels like second nature. He breathes you in until he feels like he can exhale, catching his breath as he settles his head to the crook of your neck.

“I was waiting for that too,” you snort, speaking at the same time as him.

“What I said that night-…”

“I remember,” you interrupt. “You’re not the scum of the earth, Yoongi, and I’m not the greatest person in the world either.”

“Whatever makes you sleep at night,” he rolls his eyes even if he knows a fool would see that you aren’t anything short of great. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he apologizes, eyes flickering to yours. “But you don’t have to wait around for me anymore, okay?”

It’s a great mound of consolation that he’d be willing to trek over and over again if it means making up for everything he’s done.

“I can’t love you the way that you love me because nobody can compare to you,” he whispers, crossing his heart in promise. “But believe me, please, I’ll make up for all of the lost time and I’ll love you the best that I could.”

It’s a progress, a working one at that, wherein you’d meet Yoongi in the middle of.

“I can’t confess my love for you every two weeks-…”

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, playfully attempting to break off his hug to which he doesn’t let you.

“Because that’s too spread out. I’ll do it everyday,” Yoongi finishes, the grin on his face pleasantly annoying.

“You’re the worst,” you weakly offer, letting yourself into the moment of vulnerability by abandoning your defenses.

“You’re sounding like me,” he laughs, pressing just one more kiss to your forehead.

You’re the universe’s reward to Yoongi for everything he’s ever done, the resounding desire in his whole being to just be the best he could ever be for you reverberating throughout his home and yours.

“yes, yes,” she says as she swats your hands away and takes her grandson. “oh, my baby. sick and tired, aren’t you, baby?” she coos, snatching jun’s bag from your hands.

“i’ll pick him up tomorrow evening, alright?” you say with a deep sigh and rub his back while he hugs your mother

“yeah, that’s fine.” she kisses his cheeks and turns to you. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mom,” you whine, “don’t give him too much sugar and put him in bed by 9pm. i’m serious!”

“yeah, yeah, yeah.” she dismisses you with a wave of her hand

you sigh quietly and give one last kiss to jun before giving your mom one and then waving, heading back to your car

you wave at jun from your car and get into the car before driving back home

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

you take an everything shower, scrubbing all nooks and crannies, getting rid of body hair

not that yoongi ever cared

you do it for you.

you dry your body and do your hair

apply some light makeup

you wear a black teddy with a buttoned crotch for easy access and wrap your body in a silk bathrobe before you start cooking

you’re not sure if he’ll have eaten by the time he gets here

and you also need to eat!

so you’ll cook for YOURSELF.

of course… no other reason

time is so damn slow

but by the time you’re finished

7:30pm

you take your time tidying up around the place

applying perfume

applying some cuticle oil to your cuticles, checking your manicure

soft nude square nails

you brush your teeth

trying to do anything to pass the time

and then

your phone buzzes

your heart is beating out of control

you check

text message

from: yoongi

‘Be there in 5.’

AH.

why are u nervous?

chill

you’ve done this before.

just

CHILL.

you impatiently wait on your couch, staring at some random show that’s playing on your tv

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

it’s been 10 minutes since he sent that message, that piece of sh–

and like a gag in a sitcom, the doorbell rings

ah shit.

SHIT.

you take a deep breath and rise to your feet

chill. just RELAX.

you walk up to your front door and take another deep breath before opening up

and there he is, grey sweatpants, grey hoodie

the hood of his shirt over his head, hiding his black locks

fuck he looks good

you stare up at him, swallowing your nerves

“hey,” he quietly says

“hi.” you step aside to invite him in

he walks in and kicks his shoes off, looking around

“so, how have you b–”

“i didn’t invite you over for small talk,” you mumble as you close the door behind him and start heading down the corridor into your room

an exhale escapes him but he quickly follows close behind you

you walk into your bedroom and suddenly start getting more and more nervous

“you just wanna jump right into it?” he asks, uncertain

you turn to look at him, watching as he closes the door behind him and glances at you before tugging the hood off his head and revealing his beautiful hair

“i’m just doing what i think is best,” you mumble as you untie your bathrobe to reveal some of your body underneath but leave it on

his eyes instantly drop to your body, eyes staring at the strip of your lingerie and body that you’ve decided to reveal to him

your body is set on fire under his gaze

until he chuckles

what the fuck?

“what?”

“nothing.” he shrugs his shoulders. “just didn’t think you’d wear lingerie for me.”

fuck

you scoff, “i didn’t wear it for you.”

be serious.

he laughs this time as he starts closing the distance between you two and it all shoots a tingle right down your core

“no? why did you wear it, then?”

you almost choke as you try to moisturize your dry throat by swallowing quickly. “for me. feeling sexy turns me on.”

he slowly nods and moves his hand up to your arm, slowly tugging your bathrobe off one shoulder. “so, you didn’t wear this piece because it’s my favorite, then?”

fuck

“is it?” you glance down at the black teddy you specifically wore because it’s his favorite. “that’s coincidental.”

you’re a shit fucking liar.

“hm,” he hums and plays with the fabric of your bathrobe, his eyes glued to his fingers. “and you also didn’t do your hair cause i like it like that, right?”

😂😂😂(youtotallydid)😂😂😂

you huff. “you’re delusional.”

his lips twitch and you can only describe it as him trying to stifle a smirk. “if you say so, baby.”

you scowl at him. “what did i say about sweet talking?”

he chuckles and tugs your bathrobe further off your shoulders, letting it drop to your ankles. “i just called you ‘baby’, relax. scared to realize you never fell out of love with me?”

“you fucking wish,” you mumble as you instantly cross your arms over you chest, a subtle attempt at hiding your body from him

he leans down, face closing in on yours and just as you think he’s about to kiss you, he buries his face in your neck

“you still smell so fucking good.” his lips graze the skin of your neck and it sends a shiver up your spine

he knows how much you love neck kisses

damn him.

“i thought i told you no kissing,” you mumble but make no efforts to stop him, on the contrary, you tilt your head to the side to give him more access

he starts pressing soft kisses to your neck. “i’m not kissing you, i’m kissing your body.”

you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes

“will you let me touch you?” he asks, lips now grazing your earlobe

“yeah,” you let out in a breathy tone, sounding desperate as fuck

his hands find their way to your waist as he turns you around

the simple touch of his hands on your waist electrifies your entire body

you continue to press your arms into your chest, hiding your body

he doesn’t seem to notice as he starts pushing you back towards the bed

once your calves hit the side of your bed, you plop down and look up at him through your lashes

he tilts your chin up to look at him with his index finger. “i’ve missed this view, you have no idea.”

he really needs to stop talking before you pathetically beg him to come back home

you were serious when you set up those rules

“stop talking.” you move further back on your mattress. “and get rid of those,” you mumble as you point at his clothes

he simply chuckles as he rids himself of his hoodie and sweatpants, leaving himself standing there in his boxers

your eyes rake over his body

the strength you need to fight the urge to stretch your arm out and slide it down his chest to his stomach could be used to split a cliff

he reaches for the buttons holding your teddy together at the bottom, snapping them open which causes you to gasp quietly

he glances down at your exposed pussy, a frown creeping on his brows

“what?” you mumble, thighs clenching as you try to close them

suddenly feeling

extremely insecure

he keeps them open using his hands and glances up at you. “you don’t look prepared at all.”

fuck

he’s right

you were so busy getting ready, doing your makeup, shaving, showering, doing your hair that you completely forgot to prep yourself

“i,” you pause. “it’s the nerves.”

he sighs and glances down again. “i can’t stick it in like this, y/n, you know that.”

you stay quiet, silently staring up at him.

“i know you said no foreplay but–”

you cut him off. “and i meant it.”

he sighs silently and rubs his forehead.

he moves your teddy further up your stomach but you instantly stop him from exposing any more of your skin

he looks up at you with a frown. “what are you doing?”

you shake your head and tug the fabric back down to cover more of your stomach. “nothing.”

he stares at you and lets out a sigh of exasperation. “y/n, i’ve seen and memorized every inch of your skin. why are you hiding it from me?”

you grunt in response but he’s clearly not budging without an answer

“just because, okay? i just don’t want anyone to look at the scars and the stretch marks, they are just–”

“scars and stretchmarks?” he hunches over to stare at you head-on. “the scars and stretchmarks that are there as proof of you sacrificing your body for my son?” he asks. “the c-section scar that exists because you got sliced open to bring my child to life?”

you have nothing to say

you just stare at him for a while in silence, a slight pinch between your brows

and instantly, you’re reminded of the complications during jun’s birth

jun had stayed in the womb too long, he was overdue

didn’t want to come out

to the point it had gotten dangerous for him

you were told you needed an emergency c-section

or else jun could pass away in the womb due to the lack of oxygen supply

staying in your womb too long messed with his immune system and it’s the reason why jun is sick so often

yoongi climbs onto the bed, settling in between your thighs

“you think i give a single fuck about that?” then, he snatches the teddy further up again, exposing your body to him. before you can protest, he lowers himself even more and kisses the skin on your stomach

you slightly squirm under him, especially since he’s dangerously close to your exposed sex

but your thoughts are erased when you realize he’s kissing

your

c-section

scar

and your heart almost shatters in your chest

“my wife or not, you’re still the mother of my child. i’ll kiss the fucking ground you walk on as thanks for giving me my son.” he shakes his head as he glances down at your sex. “scars and stretchmarks,” he scoffs. “absolutely insane.”

you huff in response, hiding your eyes by draping your arm over the upper part of your face

it’s quiet for a little while

until you hear him sighing

“will you let me eat you out?” he asks, hand gently stroking up and down your thigh

“uh,” you mutter, palms starting to get clammy

fuck

well, what do u do now?? you said no foreplay and you were serious but….

“hey,” he calls out to you.

you look down to meet his eyes.

“we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to but i’m not going to hurt you by being hasty or because you’re stubborn. i’ll just get up and leave and we can try again tomorrow.”

FUCK.

you know damn well it’ll only be a matter of time before you’re head over heels for him again if you start breaking those rules you set up

what now?

to be continued.

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