#myg solo

[bangguks]

UGH! 😮‍💨

#suga: road to d day #suga #agust d #myg #yoongi #d-day #dailybts #dailydaegu #usersky #chypernet #trackofthesoul #houseofddaeng #clubzerooclock #btshoneyhive #*gifs #bts edit #bts gifs #myg solo

[jaxonah]

photo dump from AGUST D in Chicago💘

#myg #the man you are today… #agust d #kpop #bts #min yoongi #suga #suga photo #concert #solo tour #d day #amazing #gorgeous #my myg

[kiestrokes]

My Personal BTS Solo Album Rankings

🗝️Note: this chaos is brought to you by my shared brain rot with @chans-room. Again, this is MY personal opinion. FOR CONTEXT!!! My fave genres of music are (in no particular order): Alt, Indie, EDM, R&B and Rock. Top Artist is LAUV. Other current/always faves (in no order): Queen, The Rolling Stones, Linkin Park, Adventure Club, Bastille, J. Cole, T-Pain, Latto, Kiana Lede, Chance, etc etc my R&B and rap list is too long.

Ranking Format (Album: # of songs like/track list 🩵 fave song)

Agust D 4/10 🖤 so far away (ft. suran)

Hope World 6/7 🌸 P.O.P (Piece Of Peace) Pt. 1

mono. 5/7 ☔ Seoul (prod. HONNE)

D-2 7/10 🐈‍⬛ 28/People

Jack in the Box 9/10 ❤️‍🔥 Future/Safety Zone

Indigo 8/10 💙 Closer (with Paul Blanco, Mahalia)/All Day (with Tablo)

FACE 5/6 🩷 Alone

D-DAY 7/10 🩶 SDL

Layover 4/6 ✈️ For Us

GOLDEN 9/11💛 Yes or No

Edit: oh yea I made a playlist, it’s solo albums in order. No solo songs. Strictly albums, mixtapes, that vibe.

#bts #bts solo careers #bts solo albums #myg #jhs #knj #pjm #kth #jjk #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #suga #agust d #j-hope #rm #v #hope world #mono. #d-2 #jitb #jack in the box #indigo #face #d-day #layover #golden

[flvrmin]

[EPISODE] Agust D ‘AMYGDALA’ MV & Jacket Shoot Sketch - BTS (방탄소년단)

#bangtanbomb #bts #myg: D-DAY #myg: solo #video

[ressjeon]

relief | myg (m.)

pairing ⇢ yoongi x reader (hints of ot7)

genre/au ⇢ smut, fluff, idol!au, long time ??

summary ⇢ the nerves have been shaking Yoongi’s usual confidence while preparing for his first solo tour — what a relief that you’re here then.

wc & rating ⇢ 3k | 18+

warnings/content ⇢ dom/sub dynamics, grinding, protected sex, riding, emotional sex?, praise kink, groping, semi-clothed sex, size kink, breast play, temperature play, orgasm control, yoongi’s hands are everywhere help, aftercare, pillowtalk <3

a/n: it's been a year since yoong's tour kicked off so i wanna celebrate with this, along with my return here! never thought i'll do this cuz i don’t usually write nor read this au but he won again on the poll last year so here we are XD! this is mainly inspired by what i was feeling while watching the live stream of both his shows in the first city of his d-day tour! pretty divider by the amazing @cafekitsune <3

after the final song, you were just as surprised as the crowd around you. a faint chuckle leaves you at the way Yoongi ended his concert.

of course, you should've expected that he'll pull something like this. 

“i’m so proud of you yoongs” 

you greet him enthusiastically as soon as you spot him at the entrance of the hallways near his dressing room. he’s smiling so wide, reaching you at once with his airport-like walk like how he exited the stage quickly earlier.

you beam once he catches you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders despite how sweaty he is.

“it went well” he giggles lightly, caging you in his arms before grabbing your hand to bring you to the backstage area where you both can see the audience without being seen.

the gummy smile plastered on his face never wavered as he watches the fans dispersing outside and you have an inkling that it's reminding him of the world tours with the boys before.

“i told you it would” you whisper once he turns to you, leaning in to give him a peck but Yoongi’s hand reaches up to grab your neck, pulling you in to catch your lips once more and deepen the kiss.

a small whimper elicits from you, both from being needy and worry that any staff might see you both like this but Yoongi seems to not care. it must be the adrenaline and the whiskey combo he had during the concert cause his calloused hands start roaming your body. 

a total opposite during soundcheck where he’s simply cuddling you while waiting during the delay that he almost fell asleep.

though Yoongi's performed in front of millions of people for a decade now, he still feels anxious since he’s doing this on his own and it’s been a long time since he met his fans in person. he was naturally nervous about this but you’ve been doing your best to support him so he's really grateful that you’re here.

teasing him earlier when he put those yellow sunglasses on while you rake your hand through his luscious locks thankfully helped ease his nerves.

"yeah yeah i saw the cat edit"

“you’re so cute”

.

a firm grab of your ass reminds you of where the two of you are, nudging Yoongi slightly to release you. both breathless from the kiss, he’s looking at you in bewilderment until you gestured him to the waiting staff who’s here to take his post-concert pictures.

“pics first” 

he only answered with a pout after releasing you but he followed. you on the other hand couldn't look at the photographer as embarrassment floods you, immediately retreating to the dressing room to wait for Yoongi there.

grabbing another glass of Henny, you scroll through your phone for updates on what’s going on outside. you did sneak out earlier and lined up with fans to get some merch and talked to some of them because well, you are one of them.

loving the boys and their music is one thing you share in common.

.

after a while, the door opens, revealing a smiling Yoongi like he hadn’t been teasing you this whole time.

maybe that was part of his plan but you’ve been patiently waiting. it even came to the point where you can't wait to be all over him now that everything’s done for the night.

placing your empty glass of brandy on the small side table, you drop your phone on the couch before approaching Yoongi. he chuckles when you hastily drag him toward the couch before climbing on his lap.

he doesn’t mind really, knowing how needy you get after he performs like you were in the past. he might’ve unintentionally teased you like he does to everyone else but it's one of the things he loved about you. 

how easily you get turned on in every little thing he and the others do but especially for this. knowing his voice can make you crumble instantly gives him that satisfaction that he didn’t know he had when he first met you.

“you’re worked up this much __?” he teases, hands situating themselves on both sides of your waist. “is it the black or white one?” he adds nonchalantly, pertaining to his outfits prior to the one he’s wearing right now.

“shut up, you know what your voice does to me” you whine impatiently, clutching the silver bone necklace around his neck before leaning in to kiss him again.

ah, the chain, another one that you love seeing on him. he'll always be fascinated with your favourites no matter how long you've been with them.

you deepened the kiss this time and Yoongi welcomed them with fervour. it’s his turn to get lost in the moment now that you’re needier than him. his ending fit riled you up this much that now you’re grinding yourself desperately on him but hey, he’s not complaining. 

his hands smooth around your covered thighs after, lingering between the crease of your legs before he releases your lips.

“i’m surprised you’re wearing leggings, you hate it” 

“it’s cold”

“explains the sweatshirt too” he muses, one hand tugging the baggy sleeve of your white tour sweatshirt with both his aliases on your chest.

his heart warms seeing it on you, the way you’re proudly wearing him even though this whole thing between you and them still remains a secret. his hands creep underneath your top, caressing your sides that hasten your roll against his crotch.

you lean in to kiss Yoongi once more but he grabs your sides, stopping you.

“want it off though” he whispers, the mischief in his eyes shifts to a demanding one.

his darkening orbs are looking straight into yours, making you squirm against him. you didn’t waste any time at once, taking off both your sweatshirt and your bra in a frenzy, much to Yoongi’s satisfaction.

you’d know with that cocky look resurfacing on his pretty face.

now that you’re bare in front of him, Yoongi can see your crotch rubbing along the top of his denim zippers. he could watch you like this, let you get off on your own until you cum like he’s done many times but he relents.

lately, he’s been so busy with the tour preparation that he missed seeing you this needy. he reaches down to cup your pussy, not surprised to find you drenched knowing how easy it is for you to get wet. 

you squirm at his touch, trying to get more friction by rubbing your swollen clit on the buckle of his belt. he knows it's you silently wanting his fingers to help you get off but his hand abruptly leaves you.

frustration looms on your face, your lips turning into a frown but Yoongi grabs your body closer and instantly latches his mouth on your tits, earning a surprised shriek from you.

“yoongi!” 

you didn’t mean to be loud but with how Yoong’s been licking your pebbled nipples and occasionally nibbling them, you’re starting to forget that there are still people outside the door who can hear you both.

one hand of yours takes a handful of his messy jet-black hair, pushing his face more into your chest. he groans and continues to nip around one tit while his other hand plays around your neglected breast.

kneading and pinching nonstop, you’re unable to hold in the whiny moans coming out of you as your other hand grips his shoulder. you’re relishing it, the rough feeling of callous fingers against your now-swollen nipples. 

taking a glance down at Yoongi, you notice how wet he is. he's drenched in sweat but my fuck does he look even hotter when he does. his mouth releases your peppered breasts, opting to fondle your clothed pussy this time.

“don’t tell me you’ve been wet since the first song” he teases and you look away from his heated gaze. he got his answer when he felt your cunt twitch through your clothed core. rough pads of his fingers rub you faster, more of your slickness seeping through your leggings to his hands.

he was clad in all black earlier, one of your favourites so he wasn’t that surprised.

“yoongi..” you’re panting, almost begging him with the way you're gripping his hair and shoulders. you need him to do something, anything more than teasing at this point. 

it surprises you when Yoongi grabs the empty glass of Henny that you put aside on the table earlier, taking the ice to his mouth and he’s back to assaulting your breasts. he rolls the ice cube with his tongue around your nipples, making you shiver at the cold and wet sensation.

you’re whimpering, legs shaking as the band on your lower abdomen threatens to snap with how Yoongi’s cold and wet fingertips fondling your core. the multiple stimulations are pushing you nearer to your orgasm. you’re not sure if he’s aware or not, if this was his plan all along.

“..oh fuck” 

“hmm?” 

“yoongi..i don’t.. wanna cum in this” 

you cry, eyes mustering your neediest look towards him, hoping he’ll listen to your pleas. and Yoongi did, his hand leaving your drenched pussy and mouth releasing your breast. relief courses through you, smiling at him despite the uncomfy feeling of your leggings sticking to your core.

“of course, you don’t, always wanting to cream my cock” 

he doesn’t say it in a mocking manner, the hint of adoration coming forward within his hooded eyes. you get off of him once his hands release you, quickly shimmying down your leggings while he unbuckles his baggy pants and boxers.

you didn’t miss him whipping out a condom from his front pocket, making you suspicious with your arms now crossed over your chest. 

“and why-”

“you’re here and i did remember you love being fucked anywhere”

he answers right away and your face morphs in shame, arms sliding down to your elbows, revealing your breasts again to Yoongi.

you hate being paranoid like this though you know he’s always been prepared. and he’s right, you do love it when they fuck you anywhere they like whether it be on the venue, in their vans or in their hotel rooms. 

it’s one of your favourites when you join them on tours before.

“yoon–..” you try but he beckons you closer and helps you back onto his lap, kissing you right away and ignoring your protests because he knew right away what you were gonna say.

“none of that hmm? lemme get you ready”

he took himself out and put on the condom already before his hands skitter around your inner thighs.

“no” 

he quirks a brow at you, wanting to make sure if that's what you want. even though you’re stark naked figure’s been enticing him to just fuck it and ruin you like you’ve been begging for, he's been a pro at controlling himself to prepare you.

huffing before wrapping your hands around his neck, you squeeze his nape as an answer. 

you just want him inside you and you don’t wanna wait anymore.

a smirk graces Yoongi's face at your impatience before helping your body up to grind on him again.

now rubbing your bare pussy against his dick, you enjoy watching him seethe with each friction. your hips circle until his swollen tip catches your entrance, pausing just to tease him. one of his hands scrambles to grip your hip and you chuckle before lifting yourself, grabbing his dick and lowering slowly.

“fuck,fuck,fuck” 

you watch Yoongi close his eyes, a plethora of curses coming out from his mouth. you’re whimpering in return, pussy walls fluttering around him to try to accommodate his thick girth.

“big..fuck, yoongi” you cry, tears threatening to well in your eyes. 

you love the feeling though and he knows it but Yoongi still tries to comfort you, roaming his veiny hands around your body till he reaches your breasts.

you start moving your hips slowly, planting your hands against his clothed chest as you try to take more of him. his hands fly on both sides of your waist, feline eyes also watching you while you’re slowly adjusting to him.

“more..” he grunts, prompting you to go faster as he tightens his grip on your waist. you try to roll your hips faster then deeper until you bottomed down.

pausing for a bit, you couldn’t help but lean in and whine against his clothed shoulder with how his cock’s filling you deliciously. 

he has other plans though, releasing a deep groan after you unconsciously clenched around him. he starts fucking up to you, pouring all that adrenaline rush coursing through his bloodstream. 

a loud moan escapes you when he finds that soft spot, causing you to pull back and again note the cocky smirk emerging on his handsome face.

“yoongi..fuck” 

“shhhh”

he silences you with a finger on his puckered lips, hips bucking up to you faster while he repeatedly hits that spongy spot again.

you struggle but you wanna be good for him so you close your eyes and force yourself to keep your moans in. it results in you gasping instead, small whimpers still escaping you with how magnified everything feels. 

“you listen really well baby” amusement laces Yoongi’s tone, eliciting deep moans after when you clamp around him with the praise. his groans spur you to ride him faster but you’re starting to feel the burn on your legs.

he must’ve felt you slowing down cause you found him grinning once you reopened your eyes. gritting your teeth, you dig your nails into Yoongi’s clothed shoulders and call his name in a whimper, biting your lip to hold back your release but his praise makes you crumble.

"yeah? come on __" he gauges you, kissing you at once to swallow the moans that you couldn’t keep in once you reach your peak.

he slows down his pace, letting you ride your own high as his mouth peppers your jaw then later your neck with kisses. his hands continue to caress your naked body until they reach down on your ass.

you let out a surprised yelp when he squeezes them hard, causing you to grip his damp hair once he starts fucking up to you again. 

calling your name with a deep groan, you whimper by his ear in response as he chases his release. he’s relentless with his fucking, groping your ass nonstop until you feel him explode in the condom.

you do miss it when he fills you up but you both can’t risk anything while he’s still on tour.

“shit..” he chuckles after releasing you, pushing his hair back with a satisfied look on his face but it shortly disappears when he notices the small tears in your eyes.

“was i too rough?” he worries but you shake your head. 

“you know i love it” you reply with a quick peck to his now perplexed face. he doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue. 

“i just got emotional..you know” 

a small smile of relief breaks into Yoongi’s face, stroking your naked back while you’re both coming down from your highs. 

“i’m glad you’re here” he whispers, kissing your forehead. you don’t fucking know why you're suddenly emotional but it could be because of oxytocin flowing through you right now.

“the seesaw acoustic made me cry” you sniff, nuzzling Yoongi's clothed chest that’s a bit damp now, mixed with sweat and your tears but neither of you mind it.

“why? the lyrics still?” 

he did remember you crying after hearing it for the first time years ago, the lyrics being the sole reason of it.

“it’s just.. i don’t know, it reminds me of when you guys were touring before” you admit, melancholy in your voice while you reminisce watching his solo performance during their last world tour as a group. 

“thank you” he pauses, looking away from you. “for staying with us after all these years”.  he takes your hand and plays with it as he says those words.

you adore this side of Yoongi and now you feel bad for doubting him earlier. meeting them years ago and staying this entire time meant a lot of hardships that you went through together with the rest of his members.

“i miss all of you together” you give Yoongi a quick peck on his heated cheeks before giggling, all the sadness gone at the sight of him blushing. he sits up right away and grabs your face to do the same on your lips before lifting your body off of him.

“you see each of them all the time more than i do, i’m jealous”

he gets up, pulling off the used rubber before picking up your clothes that he threw around earlier. he emerges in front of you after, wet wipes in his hand as he parts your sore legs.

“who knows, maybe me and Jimin will drop by” 

he stops, letting out a snort and you raise a brow at him, mind suddenly alert to the possibility.

“he’s coming right?” 

“idk babe” he’s got that teasing smile and you wanna cry. 

“yoonggiiiii..”

“is this why you came here?”

“no” 

you’re back to sulking because the boys won’t tell you anything either. it’s something they’ve all kept a secret cause even Jimin won’t budge earlier when you tried to get the answer from him during pillow talk. 

however, Yoongi surprises you amidst your sulking when his head’s suddenly between your legs, licking up a stripe of your swollen folds, causing you to whine at the sensitivity.

he knows you’re tired so he stops your hand from grabbing his damp hair.

 “later” he mutters, licking his glistened lips as he wipes your pussy. 

you didn’t reply, still lying down on the couch while trying to put your bra, panties and leggings back on. getting up would be impossible so you wanna stay on the couch for a bit to cool down.

“i wanna surprise everyone okay? and you’re always on stan twitter”

he gives up, grinning at you with that adorable gummy smile before grabbing another glass of whiskey on the table. 

then instead of wearing it back, you throw your merch shirt at him.

“YOU GET DEETS BECAUSE OF ME” you yell, earning a deep chuckle from Yoongi.

then he pulls out his phone and takes a picture of you, sending it to your group chat with a thumbs up caption. the others surprisingly replied immediately, with Jimin responding with a wink emoji.

oh they will pay for this.

e/n: it's been a long time lmao how are y'all? btw i wrote this during those two days and haven't opened it in almost a year now so 😂

#bts smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi #yoongi imagine #bts suga #min yoongi #bts yoongi #suga x reader #bts imagines #bangtan #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts x you #suga #bts imagine #yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #min yoongi smut #kpop smut #kpop imagines #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios

[ugh-yoongi]

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That��s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

#btshoneyhive #btswritersclub #kvanity #bangtantheatrenet #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts angst #yoongi imagine #bts imagines #bangtan #yoongi

[alphabetboyluvr]

masterlist

all fics are posted to wattpad first (don't judge a girlie by her primary upload platform </3)

i write about the stars, boys who are carved like greek sculptures, and the inability to communicate in a healthy, functional manner. and i also like to write about bangtan sonyeondan in relation to all of those things.

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

no translations | minors dni | don't be a dick x

JJK

SERIES

THROTTLE

pairing: boyracer!jk x fem reader - mutual disdain to lovers synopsis: in which jeon jungkook hates speed limits, the local government, and the way that min yoongi looks at you. current wc: 160,244 warnings: explicit language, drug usage, violence, dangerous driving, smut, and themes of an adult nature. not a mafia au, but teeters around the edges of it. organised crime and corruption are at the heart of the story. the characters have questionable morals and do dumb shit. be prepared to hate them as much as you love them. jungkook is a tittie luvr. no further questions.

BAD DECISIONS - link will take you to the clubdionysus tumblr!

pairing: bartender!jungkook x female reader | strangers-friends-lovers, fwb synopsis: it’s simple: write your deepest darkest fears on origami birds and string them up on jungkook’s ceiling. when they fall—which they inevitably will, thanks to his cheap daiso washi tape—you have to face the fear. set it free. the issue? you’ve a fear of intimacy. jungkook, a fear of rejection. and you’ve both got the capacity to make some incredibly bad decisions. current w/c: 450k notes: smut, fluff, a lil angst, bartender!jk, student!jk, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers (?), fwb, deal arrangement, undefined relationship (they’re just friends! just besties!!), miscommunication, idiots in love, emotional slow burn, bucket list (a.k.a. the birds 2024 note: wattpad took down bad decisions as part of their 2024 purge </3. it's now hosted on it's very own tumblr (clubdionysus) and over on ao3!

BAD DECISIONS SMUT INDEX

ONE SHOTS

extended - 5k words or more

ONCE THE THRILL EXPIRES

pairing: college!jungkook x female reader synopsis: your housemate-turned-fwb takes another girl home after a night out wordcount: 5.8K notes: angsty, smutty turmoil. it’s not that bad, but it definitely isn’t a happy lil number. fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), vaginal sex, doggy, protected (!!) sex, lil spanks, jaykay sorta makes out with her ear???, jaykay is a fawk boy who needs to learn self-control, oc is holding out for something that’ll never happen, multiple partners in one night (jk), jk calls the reader diz (dizzy)

LANDSLIDES

pairing: officeworker!jungkook x female reader (coworkers) synopsis: jungkook asks you to dog sit over chuseok. he doesn’t ask you to steal the empty spaces in his head, the dreams he’s yet to have, nor the idea of you always just being ‘you’ to him - and yet, like a thief in the night (with his own damn dog as your accomplice), you do. wordcount: 6.8K warnings: fluff more than angst, but it’s not clean cut - there’s also a touch of smut. office worker jk, fuck boy (but kind!) jk, mentions of his workplace escapades, oc is dating mingyu (yay), oc sorta fancies jk (boo), solo masturbation (m), vivid thoughts of shagging (jk is a perv! wow! unlike me to write him as randy bastard!), lots of facetime calls, oc and jk are fundamentally flawed as a pairing, genuine friendship, daddy kink? ig? but like kinda sweet?, jungkook has a complex brain house and you’ve been banished to his annexe!! he also has a thing for claw clipped hair lol

ONE SHOTS

short - under 5k words

something borrowed

- mafia au | forbidden love

dance with the devil

- royalty au | former lovers

KNJ

ONE SHOTS

short - under 5k words

back to you

- idol au | exes

KSJ

MYG

SERIES

HUSH

pairing: rockstar!yoongi x female reader | mutual disdain - lovers (but also strangers - lovers? kinda?) synopsis: in which you work for your brothers band by day and accidentally anonymously sext his bandmate on the regular by night! whoops ! current w/c: 17.5k notes: okay, where to start with this one lmao, sexting! and i mean… a lot of sexting (so much sexting oc will probably get early-onset arthritis in her thumbs), yoongi is a dick, he also hates nepotism, and in turn, you. oh yeah, you’re jin’s sister, you work with the band on tour. jin, yoongi, tae, jk and joon are in The Scouts aka the hottest band since sliced bread. jimin is their tour manager, hobi works up in the head office (he’s sleazy and i love him). slight love triangle, one-near-footjob (and counting!), eventual smut, a little angst, dating app that is exclusively for celebrities / people in the public eye, one incredibly inconvenient pairing, yoongi calls the oc clementine / clemmie and it’s cuter than it sounds, idk how else to explain this, mistaken identity i guess? although not really? look, just read it lol. smut warnings will be on chapters individually!!

PALLADIUM

pairing: dilf!yoongi x reader // friends to lovers, slowburn, eventual smut synopsis: min yoongi is urgent.  in the way he bites his nails down to the bed, and the way his sore fingers type out desperate sentences just minutes before deadlines, he is urgent. how he prepares jaehyun’s day bag before grandma comes by, and how he double checks everything is packed, he is urgent.  the requests for you to watch over jaehyun each and every deadline day are, always, predictably, urgent. but the way min yoongi falls in love with you is slow. gradual. tepid. until, like everything with min yoongi, it becomes urgent.   wordcount: 3.2K notes: three part series, fluff, angst, eventual smut, yoongi is incredibly conflicted, the oc is just as dumbfounded by the way she feels, lots of feelings!!

JHS

PJM

KTH

ONE SHOTS

short - under 5k words

sundae (kinda love)

- childhood friends | angst

#bts fanfic #bts masterlist #byholly #jungkook fanfic #namjoon fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook x reader

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

afterimage, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is afraid. Afraid to break down the wall between what I want to say and what I cannot say. How someone answers tells him a lot about he can trust them or not. He wants to trust the smile that breaks rules. He shouldn't, but he wants to.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; jaded views of the music industry; a layered conversation of worldviews, coping mechanisms, and overwhelming sexual tension; smut (fem reader, ripping stockings, heavy petting, fingering, very minor restraint, m-receiving oral, spit kink, penetrative sex); non-BTS!AU - solo music artist!long-haired!Yoongi x writer!reader; Yoongi’s POV

--

“What is something that you want to say but you cannot say?”

Those careful eyes surveyed him closely. After a moment, she answered with, “Just a game, right?”

He smiled. Tipped his half-full whiskey glass towards her. She didn’t have one. Nothing in front of her but the walls in her eyes to keep him out. Not complete darkness though. There was a door if he really looked deep into that stare. Locked. But a door was a door. Any door could always be unlocked.

She was inviting him to break in.

“Yeah. Play along.”

They sat on the floor, his smoked-glass-topped coffee table in between them. Everyone else was gone. Only them left, somehow. She had lingered for a beat and he had turned it into a melody. Sit down with me. The request was met with measured silence and sharpened obedience. No nervousness in the face of danger. He wondered if she would take his question seriously or if he would be disappointed once more. In hindsight, it was a silly worry. She was not the others.

Her eyes followed his whiskey glass.

Voice calm.

“People only like success when it comes from suffering. When you’re happy and successful, they hate you.”

Her lashes shifted and then she was directly watching him. Piercing. Daring him to back away. Daring him to run. He was not the type to run. The intensity in that gaze tempted him though. He took a sip instead, both to smooth over the shake in his hand and the sudden cold in his throat.

“What about you? What do you want to say, but cannot?”

Min Yoongi kept his smile on.

“I hate them,” he replied.

Her lips parted. Not really from what he said, but the venom and bitterness ravaging his otherwise even, mild tone.

“I fucking hate people.”

There had been so many here. Quite a number, right here in his home. People who called themselves ‘friend’ when they were around him. Oh, he used the word too. He used to avoid it, but no longer. That was the way it was in this industry. Friend. Friends help friends until money became much more important and then ‘friend’ became only a word. Money was always more important. If not money, then ego. If not ego, then…

“People pretend they like you but, if you watch their words, you will see how they love to slip in that one aspect where they think better than you. If they are not trying to make you feel inferior, then they think they can be the one to make you better.”

Those eyes were following him.

No.

Not following.

Already there.

“They think they know you,” she finished for him.

He raised the glass to keep something between him and her.

“Do you think you know me?”

A moment of silence and knowing.

“I thought I didn’t, but now I think I do.”

She must have wondered why she was here tonight. A celebration, but something she was only barely part of. He thought, too, that she shouldn’t be part of the guest list. But there had been some kind of mix up and he wasn’t the type to take back an invite. It was fine. One more person wouldn’t impact the cost that much. She came alone. Didn’t even drink. The reasoning behind this moment mattered little. What mattered was that it was happening.

What mattered was that he was afraid.

People avoided fear, pain, the unknown, but Min Yoongi was not people.

He lowered the glass and placed it on the coaster. “Tell me another thing you want to say. But can’t.”

She looked at the whiskey glass with a lack of whiskey. Lashes shifted and then back to him, half-smiling.

“Alcohol is an excuse to escape.”

He didn’t smile. “Or a way to cover up,” he added.

Half to full. “You don’t need to cover up.”

Yoongi didn’t mind lying a little to be polite. He didn’t mind putting on his best when he wasn’t feeling his best for the sake of not dragging down the mood. Yet, to himself, he did no such thing. He knew his tendency. He knew what he was doing to himself. He wasn’t sure he was going to do it, though, because he was afraid.

Fate implied nice things. The correct word was inevitable.

“Who said anything about me?”

She kept her smile and changed the subject. “Do you think creation only comes from suffering?”

He frowned.

“No.”

She nodded.

“Me neither.”

She leaned back. It was an invitation rather than a retreat.

“But no one ever praises it as the best work you have ever done either.”

Her dress shirt was crushed black velvet. Buttoned all the way up to her slim neck. He knew she wore a fitted miniskirt tonight, one with a silver zipper detail that stopped at the waistband. Sheer black stockings. Velvet heels that matched her top, currently lined up by the door. Small purse and long coat present on his sofa.

She would have to pass by him to retrieve them.

“Even if by technical means, it is the best work you have ever done. Even if it’s the most expansive personal exploration you have ever done. Even if you are proud of how far you have come. Lyrically, melodically, vocally. People don’t like it… as much. Not unless it comes from suffering. Then and only then do they eat it up, finding pleasure in devouring your pain.”

He tracked her with his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

She didn’t smile. “You didn’t. I did.”

Yoongi was afraid to stand up and pour himself a little more. Not that he couldn’t take it. He could. It was the shimmering nervousness eating away at his limbs that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to reveal.

“I’ve gone on too long. Your turn. What do you want to say?” she asked.

Not yet.

He breathed out and answered.

“I knew from the moment I met you that you knew me.”

Her forearms leaned against the edge of the coffee table. One hand poised over the table, fingertips not quite touching the glass. No fingerprints. She humbly tilted her head. Visible puzzlement. “I only played a very small part in the marketing. Just the written portion. I was a little surprised that they wanted to have a separate position from the marketing director.”

“I made the request.”

His elbow was resting on his raised knee. Fingertips loosely on the rim of the glass. He wore a designer suit as the host and for the celebratory occasion. The honey-mocha-colored blazer was now draped over the back of the sofa, leaving him in the slacks and tan silk shirt. His black hair currently reached past his jaw. He had it half-tied back to look presentable. Now, he was wishing that he had taken out the hair tie to have this conversation. As if on cue, she swept back part of her long hair over her shoulder, exposing her right ear.

His eyes followed the action and then met up with hers.

Vigilant.

He raised his head. Instead of elaborating, he asked again.

“What can’t you say?”

The silence was loud.

“Everyone has an ulterior motive when they speak to me,” she murmured. Not quite looking at him. Lips barely moving. “Everyone plays nice but, in the end, everyone wants something.”

He had to remind himself to breathe. “Don’t you?”

Her gaze flickered back. “Don’t I what?”

“Want something.”

Pause.

“Want someone.”

She hummed softly.

“You don’t think I could have someone if I wanted them?”

There was an edge to her tone. She placed her elbows on the edge of the table and laced her fingers together. Almost rude, if Yoongi had been one to care about etiquette. She had beautiful hands. Hands that could tell stories.

“Or, rather, are you of the opinion that people are might to be kept? That I, as a woman, must desire to keep someone, hold them, and base my worth on whether or not I can keep them in my grasp?”

A faint smile.

Not a kind one.

He really needed that drink. Gripped the top of his glass.

“I want to keep someone,” Yoongi confessed softly. “Someone who knows me.”

He lowered his knee.

He got up, breaking their shared gaze. Walked over to the bar and poured himself a little more. Drank it slowly to savor the burn that always came with whiskey. And yet he continued to drink it. He wondered why she agreed. He wondered why the skittering in his veins wouldn’t go away. He wondered why he let himself be in this position.

He wasn’t one to build sandcastles.

Exhale.

Yoongi left the glass behind and turned back around.

She was still sitting on her side of the coffee table on the pillow he had provided. Relaxed shoulders, elegant legs together, had shifted her weight to her hip to be more comfortable. One of her elbows was still on the edge of his coffee table, hand hanging down. She had sensed that she was in his line of sight and turned her head. Lashes lowered. Lifting.

The faintest tick of her eyebrow.

His hands found their way to his pockets.

“You want to keep playing this game?” she asked him.

He tilted his head, looking down at her frame.

“I don’t think either of us were playing a game.”

Eyes back up.

Standstill.

He smiled. “You’re too blunt and honest to be afraid to say what you want to say.” He let out a sigh from tiredness that wasn’t physical. “Me, I’m restricted by my choice of profession. Expectations. Public image and shit. You never know what someone says behind your back. You never know what harmless thing you said comes back to bite you. You never know when friend become foe.”

She remained seated but there was no question that they were standing on the same playing field.

“Am I considered friend? Or foe?” she asked.

He still had a chance to end the night.

Could have right here.

Yoongi stepped forward. Closed the distance. Squatted down, hiking up his slacks and resting his elbows on his knees to be eye level. In his expensive designer clothes, this casual action was almost laughable. No one was laughing. They both knew the difference between appearance and true self. In his heart, he was still the young kid protecting a dream no one believed in. Now, people saw him as someone who achieved that dream. Someone who made it. Someone who had it all. Money, ego, and loneliness. He hesitated to keep anyone. Everyone wanted something. Couldn’t blame them for it. But.

The air was thin up high.

“You’re right.”

Something flickered in her eyes. He nodded.

Exhale.

“What you said about alcohol. I use it to escape. My thoughts, mostly,” he admitted. Tapped the side of his temple. “It’s a cage in here.” Pointed to the window, to outside. “A cage out there. Good or bad, expectations are a cage that fuck with your head. A cage to keep you in the dark.” He gave her a wan smile. An honest one. “You can still find light in the dark, even if you’re caged. You just have to let go. I learned to let go. People liked that… but not as much.”

She nodded. Didn’t reply. Nothing to reply to. He continued as he watched her eyes.

“But you don’t drink alcohol.”

There was something in there. Even in the shadows of the low lighting, he could see them.

“You are not trying to escape. You actively rebel against the cage of expectations. You don’t look for the light.”

Sparks.

“You are your own light.”

The corner of her lips rose.

“There’s more than one way to escape.”

There was gravity here. Telepathy. Inevitability. He lowered one of his knees, leaning in slightly. Her eyes followed his hands, then back up to his face. Yoongi knew he shouldn’t. He was someone and people were dangerous. Her hand raised, resting on her chest. Her fingers slid across black velvet. Tracing the button placket. Just because they were alone didn’t mean that this moment would stay alone. He knew that. She could hurt the life he had made for himself. He was afraid, yes.

But not intimidated.

She leaned forward. The scent of musky warmth, somewhere between blessed fruit and wicked temptation. He breathed in, keeping his gaze torso up. 

“I don’t let people project their expectations on me,” she finally said. “The world demands. I question it and it seen as resistance. Insolence. People judge you solely on their moral compass that you had no say in. If they find a flaw in you, it is always on their terms.” She shook her head. “No. I will not live by their compass or on their terms. I choose what possesses me. I choose what makes me and what is left behind.”

His eyes followed the shape of her lips.

“I create my afterimage.”

He knew from the moment that they met that her hands could tell stories. He wondered what else they could do.

Wondered if they could make him fall apart too.

“Do you ever lie?” Yoongi asked.

She answered honestly and with a kind smile.

“Everybody lies.”

Lowered her hand from her chest. Placed the other on the floor. The distance between them was respectful but their shared gaze was closer than close. It wasn’t what was said that revealed the most. It was the words unsaid that revealed all. Her eyes tracked his. He followed the path created. He could blame the whiskey but that would be discourteous to the moment, to the feeling, to her. She sat up, to her knees. Stance no longer relaxed.

Now they were both on their knees.

Her whisper set his world on fire.

“Something you want to say, but cannot say?”

He held the tremble of his breath and now he couldn’t breathe.

“I really hope your method of escapism is what I think it is,” he replied.

That spark in her eyes gleamed. She moved her hands from her lap to behind her back. He could see the edges of her fingertips wrapped around her elbows. Yoongi recognized this feeling. It was the same exhilaration he felt when the melody and lyrics hit that sweet spot of the soul, the instant he knew he had gotten it right, the moment of a song becoming more than just sound.

“You can say it,” she urged gently. “I am not ashamed.”

He felt the side of his lips rise.

“I shouldn’t use sex as escapism.”

The tip of her pink tongue traced the edge of her smirk. A soft sigh, and she tipped her head back, exposing her neck. Her hair slipped along the line of her shoulders, framing her face. Downcast gaze. Then, a shift. Sensuality and sharpness.

No obedience.

“Good thing I don’t abide by your rules.”

The door was open.

He let his gaze linger on her face for a moment. Then, down. Down. The silver zipper was to the side of the skirt, along the center of her upper left thigh. Instead of zipping downward, it unzipped upward, towards the waistband. Decorative and functional. Sitting for a period of time had caused the article of clothing to hike up. Previously, Yoongi had never allowed himself to even consider it. Too dangerous to be disrespectful when others’ eyes were watching, and he had no desire to torture himself with impossibilities. But that was the past.

And this was the present.

He looked back up to watch her reaction.

Reached forward.

She kept her hands behind her back and her knees together.

Yoongi gripped the zipper pull and pushed the slider up her thigh.

The sound of metal teeth teasing apart. Then resistance. The delicate evisceration of fragile threads being torn apart. Obvious destruction. He could hear it. She could feel it. He saw himself in the shadows of her eyes as her stockings ripped from being caught in the skirt zipper. He didn’t look down. She didn’t stop him. Up. He had to scoot closer. She did not flinch. He hit the end of the tape.

He let go.

So close that their breath was mixing now.

His fingertip traced the rips, grazing over soft flesh threatening to spill out.

“I apologize. I’ll pay for it,” he murmured.

An open-mouthed smirk.

“For what?”

The zipper ended all the way up past her hip.

“Nothing is happening here.”

Then she raised herself, spreading her knees. Her skirt split apart further. Her hand raised, cradling his jaw for a split second before she leaned in and claimed his lips.

A kiss was evidence to intention. A kiss could reveal when someone wanted to be liked, when someone was trying to impress, when someone was desperate to be loved. A kiss showed Yoongi who meant well and who was selfish. Soft, insistent, angling her head to deepen the taste. She kissed with intent to bed him. With intent to feel him and his heart.

With nothing to hide.

He matched her intent, burning in it.

Hot and low, she whispered into his mouth.

“Rip it.”

He curled his fingers under the thin nylon. Soft, smooth skin under his knuckles. Tension in his grip and in the electrified air between their lidded eyes. Centimeters between them that felt like nothing. Her sweetness and resolve tingled against his lips. He pulled. Her breath stilled in her throat. The tearing sound was violence in the silence. He dug his fingers into the stockings, creating more holes, shredding them. Her fingertips by his ear pressed inward. Breath shallowing. His free hand settled on her other thigh with the stocking still intact. Slid up, stopping at the raised hem of her skirt.

His murmur shaking as he spoke.

“You wanna fuck me.”

He could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. Her touch left trails of goosebumps.

She promised with a question.

“Who doesn’t?”

His fingers danced up, up, tearing holes with his nails. The ghost of pain flitted over her features, but there was no fear. She closed her eyes, shuddering. Her fingers stopped at his hair tie. Lips to lips again, and he felt her other hand rise, steadying against his temple and tugging his hair free as he ripped her stockings apart. Pressure and breath and lust. Tongue against tongue. A curtain of black cascading around their faces, his long hair falling forward, and then they were closer, knees to knees, his hands on her thighs.

Squeezing.

Her hands in his hair, tangled into the darkness.

Every kiss made him want more, more.

Her hands tumbled out of his hair and slid past his shoulders, fanning over his back.

His fingertip outlined the center seam. Pressed down on it. Followed the dip down. She sucked in a breath from his throat, stealing it from him. The heat pooled in his core. A shared throb. His teeth caught the edge of his lips. A nick of pain. Her arms around his neck, and they were eye-to-eye, on their knees, saying nothing and feeling everything, his touch tracing her covered slit and her fingers twisting into his silk shirt, clutching fistfuls. He wondered why she didn’t touch him.

One look into her eyes and Yoongi knew why.

There was dampness. He pressed deeper. She spread her knees more, stretching the rips and making them worse. He hooked a finger along one. Guided the tear. Had a destination in mind. Dug his knuckle into soaked fabric. Her eyes slid shut. Shuddering breath. Hips rolling towards him. The uncomfortable strain traveled up his torso. He pulled his other hand on her thigh back, his jaw clenching as he adjusted himself.

A faint smile lingered on her lips.

No need for words. That was enough of a response.

He placed his palm back on her thigh and grinded circles along the top of her pussy.

Her lips parted, exhaling a lustful breath.

The slinky material of her panties molded to her folds. He ran his fingertips along her covered clit, pressing the thin fabric taut, drenching it with her slick. Heavy sweetness mixed with her decadent perfume and his fresh cologne. He pushed the pantyhose seam out of the way. Rubbed steadily, building the pace, gripping her thigh and feeling his own cock swell with carnal want.

“Take more.”

Her whisper dark and forceful. Two minds on the same one-track wavelength. Her eyes opened ever-so-slightly. Teasing gaze.

“Put your fingers in me.”

His fingernail followed the edge. Pulled back, sucking in a breath as the scent of sex strengthened. He met her stare with his own desire, into her eyes and bathed the light of the open door within them, suddenly feeling unashamed, unafraid, no longer any need to cover up, sliding two fingers into warm, tight heat.

Fuck.

Her eyelids fluttered. Tip of her pink tongue wetting her lower lip. He curled his fingers inward. She shook her head and he straightened them at the wordless instruction. Deeper, all the way to his knuckles. Her inner walls clamped around him. He pressed his thumb at the top of her pussy, using the pad to flare open the folds, finding what he was looking for when she softly moaned, right in his face, feathery breath washing over his lips.

She started the pace, hips rocking, her arms around his neck. She didn’t break eye contact. Neither did he. Slid his fingers out and then pushed back in, answering her want. Answering her force with his force, speed with her speed. Breathing quickening, the haze creeping into her eyes, and he pushed for the edge, tightening his jaw as he felt her pussy shiver around his fingers. Moved his grip from her thigh, finding himself unable to control his strength and instead turning it towards himself.

“Yoongi…”

He pressed his palm against his throbbing erection, wincing as the aching pleasure strummed up his torso. Even this faint stimulation was making him heady. Deeper. No sound but sloppy wet smacks and ragged breathing, stroking himself through his slacks and driving his fingers forward, tension at his fingertips and pulsing from her to him. Skin hot, muscles tense, staring at her parted lips and listening to the melody of her moan.

Yoongi leaned forward and kissed her as she came onto his hand.

Her nails twisted into the beige silk, raking along his shoulder blades, and he needed them on his fucking skin. He could feel her inner walls shiver violently, sweet honey seeping down his palm and sticking to his knuckles, and that shiver traveled through his nerves and up his arm, all the way to his head and scattering his better judgement.

Shouldn’t.

The kiss broke.

He pulled his hand away, breathing hard.

She lowered one hand and took his wrist, raising the mess to his lips.

All societal rules forgotten under the influence of complementing lust.

He curled his tongue around his middle finger. The taste was distinct and spread over his tongue, staining it with lustful memory. He watched her smile as his lips closed around his own fingers. Sweet with a hint of sour, stronger and more impactful than any other. The taste of her cum remained even after he pulled his fingers out and leaned in to kiss her once more.

A shared tension, and yet.

She broke the kiss. Shaking air, layers and heat and the gravity of the situation sinking in. She breathed against his lips, not looking at him.

“I… I can…”

He interrupted.

“Come closer.”

Wound his arm around her waist. Body to body. Her arms shifted, and he caught her left wrist with his left hand, pinning it to her lower back. She glanced up at him, curious. He looked back, strands of black clouding the edges of his vision. A second of connected eyes and his free hand hovering by her hip, debating on whether or not to say what he wanted to say.

“I can’t have you touching me yet,” he finally let himself admit. “Still afraid of your effect on me.”

His fingers danced along the curve. His eyes on her lips, remembering their softness against his.

“Let me give you one more orgasm.”

The edge of her mouth curved upwards. “Can’t refuse that, can I?”

Yoongi lowered his head. Nearly forehead to forehead. More than just give some, get some. Saturated scents, her and him, tension racing, his fingers slipping downward. Held breath, leaning against him. His knees against the hardwood were killing him. He didn’t care. Traced her slit, trembling at the smooth wetness. Pressing, coaxing, his lips to her jaw, following the lines. At first only the ghost of a touch, then harder. Kisses to tongue. Slow strokes to gentle circles. The experiment of teeth in the pocket of her neck and under her ear. Her free hand gripped his shirt, yanking him closer, her head tipping back, giving him more access.

The quiet breathing turned into breathy moans.

He set skin alight with his mouth. He knew how much pressure to apply so it wouldn’t leave a lasting or obvious mark. He noted the flinches of when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and paired it with the movement of his fingers, amplifying the pleasure. Slid two fingers in but didn’t move them. Only to provide fullness and feel her walls constrict and shiver. Built up the pace, kept it consistent.

Tightened his grip on her wrist.

Her hand let go of his silk shirt.

He clenched his jaw as her palm covered his clothed cock, her fingertips pressing into the fabric.

Raised his head. Found her eyes and they were already on him. It was not an easy angle nor convenient, but she didn’t stop and he couldn’t find the words to resist, seeping pleasure snaking through his core and down his thighs, face to face, unavoidable, her juices seeping down his fingers and her throbbing pulse at his fingertips, closer, harder, faster. Her low moan drifting into his open mouth, closing his eyes as the tingling sensations clawed up his back and head, desire aflame.

Her name falling from his lips in a rasp.

He knew she was watching him and he knew she saw all of him in this moment.

Then she came apart in his hands with a sigh, leaning her forehead against him, a smile with a bitten lip, pussy shuddering and thrusting her hips into his hand, taking him down, down with the racing rhythm and overwhelming shivers. Colliding, lips to lips, hunger, her hand gripping his thigh.

Creating a craving.

He shouldn’t have but he had no intention of stopping here.

She unzipped her skirt as she stood up. Pushed it down. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Crushed velvet skirt, ripped stockings, hair messy and tumbling over her left shoulder, pausing as she realized he was taking in all the details. She took him in too. Ceased silk. The thin fabric of his slacks that did nothing to hide his erection. His previously neat black hair now a sweeping mess over his cheeks.

Small smile.

“Still afraid?” she asked, knowing the answer.

He began to unbutton his shirt.

“No.”

Emotions of this caliber made him more attentive. More aware of the moment. Not a source for inaction but a reason for action, the reason to take her hand and hold it tight. There was no reason to hide now. It meant more to be in the present. Out of his head and into the insistence of hands fanning over bodies on the walk to the bedroom and into the hunger in catching lips between breaths. The aftermath was for the future.

Red knees.

Tangled arms.

They fell onto the bed and he let her hands tell a story.

They were warm. Exploring his skin with softness and hardness. Delicate pads across his collarbone. Digging fingernails dragged down his back. Followed his lines and pressed her lips to the inflamed skin, searing it with lustful fire. He sank his fingers into her thighs, then up her ass. Fanned over her back, gasping. Lips down his torso making an invisible path of kisses. The faintest touch on her shoulders and then gliding into her hair, pushing it out of the way as her mouth covered him.

Tongue around his hard length, dripping saliva.

Molded the wet muscle to the underside of his cock and applied varying pressure as he slid in and out of her mouth. Her hands spread over his hips, decorating him, running the sensitive head along the roof of her mouth and then back into the tightness of her throat, relaxing around him to press just a little deeper.

He gripped her hair harder.

Deep. Steady, flaring her tongue along the base of the head and making him twitch from the added burst of pleasure. His chest felt tight, trembling. Her hands pressed him into the mattress, not letting him escape, forcing him to feel it all. Eyelids fluttering from the brutal bliss. Skin prickling, unable to contain the overwhelm. Up and down, her hair spilling over his thighs, wet, constricting, the tips of her fingernails indenting his skin, closer, his lips parting.

A rough groan.

The precise sting of the high shooting through him and his palm pushed down, gasping as he felt the shuddering jerks and seeping release flood her mouth. She swallowed and he bit back the hiss, sensitivity bordering on pain, but that was its own exhilaration in a way. The suction ceased slowly. Her tongue continued, soft and slick, blanketing his tingling nerves with saliva and then licking it off, sending ecstasy in waves, up his chest and down his legs.

He stayed hard with soft stimulation.

She wrapped her hand around his cock and leisurely stroked it, extending the pleasure as she sat up.

Something in those shadowed eyes.

She smiled.

“Something you cannot say?”

Yoongi raised himself to his elbows.

His hair curled over his forehead and part of his jaw. Closed his hand around hers and made her tighten her grip, keeping it slow. Building the pleasure. Shuddering. Looking into her eyes and he knew what he wanted to say.

“Spit in my mouth.”

She raised her eyebrows.

He cocked one.

She leaned forward and he could taste himself in her saliva.

His entire body jolted when she spat in his open mouth. He hooked his other arm around her shoulders, pulling himself up and kissing her fiercely, the electricity of wrongness driving the lust, pumping himself with her hand and surrendering to her tongue. He had never asked for that before. Didn’t know if he was interested but most importantly neve found himself comfortable enough to make such a request. It felt wrong somehow, as a man.

Wrong, but delicious.

“Do you have condoms?”

“Yes.”

Her hands glided over her thighs, spreading them as he rolled down the condom. She knew her body. His skin still burned from where she touched him. A tactile afterimage. He watched her spread her glistening pussy lips open, twitching at the obscene image. He placed a hand on her thigh and thrust in, following the hunger in her gaze and the tension in her knuckles. She exhaled in sensual approval, pinning her own legs to her chest. His palms hit the mattress, gasping at the depth. The wet tightness sucked him in, closing in and massaging his length. An uncontrollable jerk of his cock and they both moaned, heat radiating.

She tapped his arm.

A smirk.

“Don’t hold back, Yoongi.”

He smirked back.

The hard, shocking force of hips to hips. Hers rising, his driven downwards, making them both snap their heads back at the power. Pleasure to borderline pain. Chasing a feeling, a primal appetite, a taste soaked into his tongue, and there was no going back, shallow breath, racing heart, finding each other once more, his head hanging down with a cascade of black strands along his periphery, knowing eyes and a devious smile underneath him. Rougher, hitting that angle, so deep and so tight that it sent a wave of boiling shivers up his spine, gasping as the tip of her pink tongue traced her teeth.

Erratic exhale and hazy gaze.

The ecstasy eating him inside out.

Her hands sliding up his arms, delicate caress in contrast to the harshness, stories behind those fingertips, fuck me with everything you’ve got, hesitancy that belonged to someone who knew and could see right through dishonesty, and he lowered his torso, his palms shifting up higher, using all of his power combined with gravity. Her legs sandwiched between their bodies, the position making breathing more difficult, but she wasn’t asking him to stop.

Not with that fire in those eyes and the way her hips smacked into him.

“Are you close?” he whispered.

A gasp with an edge. “Y… Yeah.”

His fingers twisting in the sheets. Burning. Growling.

“Take it.”

Meant it.

Hard, deliberate smacks, sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of the head rubbing against her rigid inner walls, heady throb, clenching all around, maintaining the tension to avoid hitting his own high too soon, there, almost there, his eyes screwed shut and only hearing her torn moan, shuddering, and then it hit him, thrusting in and hit with multiple points of contact, her powerful spasms shattering through his nerves and knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He lost his control.

The grimace sliced through his jaw and the orgasm shot up his body, hers combining with his, a match to gasoline that made his spine pull back, helpless moan as it spread through his chest, his head, his thoughts reminding him that it was dangerous to want this, that he shouldn’t want this, that it was not advisable to think this was anything else than what it was.

Equally breathless, clawing for oxygen.

One of his elbows hit the mattress, his fingers curling into her hair.

Shaking eyes to shaking eyes. He kept telling himself not to want more. Her hand drifted to his chest, settling there. His heart was beating so hard that he could feel it in his throat. Under that gaze, in the light of her open door, she held his quivering heart in her hand and invited him to say what he wanted to say.

Even now, Yoongi could taste the vivid mixture of her and him on his tongue.

“I can’t… I can’t say that was by best work.”

She raised an eyebrow, panting hard.

He smirked.

“Haven’t fucked you a second time yet.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m going to need that money for my new stockings. In person, along with a formal apology. On your knees preferably.”

She had a smile that broke rules.

He didn’t know it then, but it would become a memory he would always have. A smile he would come to see many times afterwards. In nights, in days, in dreams,  in moments he learned to call just theirs, a constant afterimage that appeared when he searched for a memory to comfort him in times of hardship.

A smile to light the dark and break him out.

“I look forward to it,” Yoongi promised.

--

masterpost

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x you #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

[hoseokhasmyheartxx]

41 - Yoongi 😏🤭💜

Love So Loud | MYG

*Pairing: Yoongi x gn!Reader

*Word Count: 2k

*Genre: established relationship, fluff, bit of angst, idol au

*Warnings: no warnings really on this one, but still, MINORS DNI. 18+. alcohol consumption, non-sexual shared shower, bit of crying, Yoongi is just super soft in this one ok?

*Summary: Yoongi returns home from his stateside solo tour, and all you want to do is take care of him.

*A/N: i got hit with an intense desire for someone to be at home waiting for catboy when he gets home from his tour, and this is what happened. thanks for requesting this! sorry it took so long to get to. I hope you enjoy it!

Prompt from this post!

Main Masterlist

“Yoongs!” you shrieked, overjoyed as you threw yourself into the open arms of your boyfriend.

Wrapping your arms around him, you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his vanilla and grapefruit scented cologne. You felt his big hands against your back, heard him sigh against the side of your head as he enveloped you in one of the most comforting hugs you’d ever received.

Four weeks wasn’t very long for the two of you to be apart. But Yoongi’s schedule had been so hectic the entire month he’d been in the States, you’d barely gotten to talk since he left. You’d followed the news and updates of his tour, so you knew what a success it had been (which didn’t surprise you at all). You’d watched as fans across the country were amazed by his performances, astounded by his energy every night. But now that he was home, in his comfort zone, with you… it was an entirely different story.

“I made you your favorites. I hope you’re hungry,” you said as you finally let go of him. He smiled down at you, his long hair falling in front of his face before he had the chance to push it back. It seemed like it had gotten longer since you last saw him. You reached up to tuck his hair behind one ear, hand resting on his neck as you finished.

“You’re so good to me. I don’t deserve you,” Yoongi replied with a small smile, holding onto your wrist as he leaned down to kiss you. You melted into him, his soft lips touching yours once, twice, three times before he pulled away.

You shook your head, responding with, “Don’t be dumb. Of course you do. I love you.”

Yoongi’s eyes lit up as he replied, “Me too,” following you into the kitchen of his lavish apartment, hand holding yours tightly.

As soon as Yoongi had sent you his flight details, you’d gotten to work. You’d gone shopping for his favorite foods to cook for him, his favorite whiskey so he could relax after his trip back home. You had the key code to his apartment, and you’d let yourself in about an hour before he was due to land, so you’d have time to prep everything before he got home. You’d even tidied up a bit while things were cooking, since a little dust had started to settle on some of the surfaces around the apartment.

“Sit,” you commanded, pointing at the bar stools positioned at the kitchen island. You poured a glass of the whiskey you’d brought, setting it down in front of him as he plopped onto one of the stools. He shot you a small smile as he brought the glass to his lips, sipping from it slowly.

You reached for your serving tools, adding meat and japchae to two plates. As you did so, your mind wandered, hoping that your boyfriend would have the energy to tell you what was wrong. You could sense there was something going on with him from the minute he’d walked in the door, and all you wanted was for him to be comfortable enough to confide in you about it. Sure, he could just be tired, worn out from his month of touring, but you knew him better than that.

Placing both of your plates down on the kitchen island, you sat on the stool next to his. The two of you settled into a comfortable silence, the scrape of chopsticks on plates and the occasional thump of glass hitting granite the only sounds around you.

Yoongi let out a satisfied sigh as he placed his chopsticks on his plate, having finished his food before you. You glanced over at him, waiting for him to say something, anything.

“You okay?” you asked, tilting your head slightly as you looked at him.

He sighed again, taking a few deep breaths, still not speaking. His eyes were bloodshot, brows furrowed, lips in a straight line. You studied him, not wanting to pry, but you couldn’t help but worry.

“I’m just… so tired. Profoundly exhausted. You did all of this for me, and I have no energy to do anything for you,” he finally said. “I’ve been gone for a whole month and I can’t even show you how much I missed you.”

Your eyes widened, finally understanding where his thoughts were. Yoongi’s love language was acts of service. You’d known that since your first date over a year ago, when he’d cooked you your favorite foods in this same kitchen and refused to allow you to lift a finger to help him. Now, you watched him, his head hanging low, with a sad smile on your face. Sometimes you hated the way the world made him feel, like he always owed someone something.

“Yoongi.. I don’t need anything from you. I did this because I wanted to, not because I expected something in return. I just want to take care of you tonight,” you answered, gently touching the back of his hand with your fingertips.

He flipped his hand over, enclosing your tiny hand in his large one, and brought it to his lips. Kissing your knuckles one by one, you felt your heart swell. Yoongi wasn’t always great with words, but he showed his love in other ways, so quietly, yet so loudly. You took your hand from his grasp and stood, taking both of your plates to the sink. Returning to the island where Yoongi still sat, you ran your fingers gently through his hair, placing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Come. Let’s shower,” you prodded, tugging on his hoodie. He nodded, following you silently into his bedroom. Grabbing towels and pajamas for the both of you, you entered the master bathroom, closing the door behind you with a loud click. You watched as Yoongi turned on the water, fiddling with the shower knobs until it reached the temperature he wanted. He reached behind his head, grabbing the neckline of his hoodie and pulling it and his shirt off at the same time, sweats coming off next. You undressed next to him and followed him, stepping into the large shower, closing the glass door behind you.

Yoongi stood under the stream of water, letting it run down his shoulders and back before tipping his head back, running his hands through his hair to get all the strands wet. He reached for his shampoo, but you beat him to it.

“I told you, I’m here to take care of you tonight,” you responded as he gave you a questioning look. Pumping a few squirts of his shampoo into your palm, you tapped his shoulder, gesturing for him to move out from under the water and turn around. As he did so, you reached up and began lathering the soap into his hair. You gently scratched your fingernails into his scalp, massaging his head, making sure to get all of his hair clean. You tapped his shoulder again, and he silently turned to rinse his hair. As he did, you grabbed his washcloth and added his favorite citrus body wash to it, waiting for him to finish.

“Turn around,” you directed him. Yoongi turned, his back to you, and you began slowly rubbing the cloth over his shoulders. He leaned his forearms on the shower wall, resting his forehead on his hands, as you continued washing his shoulders and back. As you gently scrubbed, you noticed that his breathing had become labored and shaky. Your hand slowed, but never left his back.

“Hey.. Yoongs?” you tried, hesitant. You took a step closer to him, standing at his left side with your hand still resting on his lower back. He turned his head to the side, wet strands of hair sticking to his cheek and neck. He glanced up at you, a few stray tears falling from the corner of his eye. You squeezed the meat of his lower back, stepping closer until your whole torso was touching him. You wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your cheek on his shoulder blade.

“No one has ever taken care of me the way you do.”

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t often that Yoongi expressed his feelings like this. He tended to be the most vulnerable when you were in the shower together, stripped bare, nothing between you. But still, the few times he had really opened up to you, it took you by surprise. You knew by now that staying quiet, letting him get out whatever he had to say, was the best course of action, and he’d thank you for it later.

“I just— I feel like I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you. All of this? You, cooking for me, washing my hair.. I see it. I see you, and I love you. I love you, ____. More than I could ever put into words. And I hope you never forget that,” Yoongi finished, voice shaky, tears flowing more freely now that he had allowed himself to really open up to you for the first time in months.

You kissed his shoulder blade, squeezing his waist tighter. You sighed, then responded, “I love you. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s perfectly okay for you to need someone; that’s what I’m here for.” You kissed his cheek, the two of you moving then to finish showering quickly.

You dried yourselves and dressed wordlessly, Yoongi changing into a pair of black sweats with no shirt, you having picked an oversized t-shirt of his from his closet to wear. After dressing, you brushed your teeth and washed your faces, then exited the bathroom into his large master suite. You climbed onto the middle of his king size bed, patting the space in front of you. Yoongi padded his way over to the bed and sat down, legs hanging off the side. You tugged his arm and he scooted back, resting cross-legged in front of you.

You sat up on your knees, beginning to massage his shoulders gently. He dropped his head down, relaxing into the feeling. As you continued, you gradually upped the pressure, finding knots as you went. Every once in a while, Yoongi would groan when you hit a particularly sore spot, but for the most part, he stayed quiet. You’d worked your way halfway down his back when you realized he hadn’t made a sound in quite a while.

“Baby?” you whispered, giggling as you realized he’d fallen asleep sitting up. You tapped his shoulder gently, and he stirred.

“Hmm? Oh.. sorry. I’m so— so tired,” he said, words slurring through his half-asleep state.

You ran your hands over his shoulders and lifted yourself to gently press a kiss to his cheek.

“C’mon, you need some sleep,” you said, gesturing to the pillows behind you. Yoongi moved with no resistance, the two of you settling in under his large down comforter.

As you got comfortable on your side, Yoongi pushed himself all the way against you, molding his body to yours. Wrapping his arms around you snugly, he nuzzled his face into your back, his warm breath seeping through the fabric of the shirt you’d stolen from him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, squeezing you tight in a back hug.

“I’m always here to take care of you, Yoongs,” you whispered back, gripping his forearm with your hand to return his hug.

Within minutes, Yoongi was fast asleep, quiet snores escaping his lips. You drifted off right behind him, at peace in his strong embrace. You knew that, no matter how the world made him feel, you’d always be there to pick him back up, to help him stand on his own two feet again if he let you. He knew that, no matter how much he closed himself off, you’d always be the one person he’d let in, the one person who would love him despite everything.

He slept peacefully, finally home.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #suga x reader #suga fic #suga fanfic #suga fluff #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #yoongi #min yoongi #suga #BTS Yoongi #BTS suga #btsafterdarknet #thebtswritersclub #btshoneyhive

[yoon-kooks]

better than sex | myg | 3

🍑Pairing: Yoongi x Producer!Reader

🍑Genre: fluff, smut, studio!au

🍑Summary: As Min Yoongi’s studio neighbor and self-proclaimed nemesis, you’ve always seen him as someone who knew how to maintain a clean, well-put-together image without any careless slip-ups. But after nearly walking in on him with a hand around his cock, you gain a new perspective that leads to steamy fantasies in your bedroom and much-needed inspiration in the studio for Bangtan’s next album.

A week before track submissions are due, you give Yoongi a taste of the dirty demo, and now the selfish bastard wants to claim it for his own solo album. In exchange, he offers to help you produce another Bangtan track by the end of the week. Your only condition is for this track to be better than the sexual fantasies that inspired its predecessor.

🍑Word Count: 2.3k

🍑Parts: 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 [discontinued after this chapter]

🍑Warnings: this is the last part im posting for this series even though it was supposed to be longer, the ending here isnt conclusive but im posting it for anyone interested! if you have questions about the couple or where the story wouldve went, feel free to send some asks🥹 no smut in this chapter btw

🍑Wednesday🍑

Yoongi🍑👹 [6:47PM] “We’re filming near the BigHit building if you want a break from the studio”

Y/N💅 [6:48PM] “is there free coffee👀”

Y/N💅 [6:48PM] “asking for a friend”

Yoongi🍑👹 [6:49PM] “There’s a whole taco truck here for dinner”

Yoongi🍑👹 [6:50PM] “And free coffee for your friend”

Y/N💅 [6:51PM] “okay ill be there in a sex🐁”

Yoongi🍑👹 [6:51PM] “Sex?”

Y/N🐭 [6:51PM] “SEC”

Y/N🐭 [6:51PM] “fuck you”

You don’t really want to see Yoongi after an embarrassing typo like that, but you can’t say no to free food and coffee. Besides, the studio gets awfully boring and lonely when the boys aren’t around all day. It’s been like that as of late, aside from your late-night studio sessions with you-know-who. In times like this, you’re grateful the boy thought to invite you out for a change of scenery.

After throwing a cardigan over your shoulders and tucking your mini lyric notebook into your pocket, you step out of your studio and head over to the address Yoongi sent you. Your tummy immediately starts to feel like shit, but it isn’t hunger. It’s the kind of nervous feeling you get on a first date—except this isn’t a first date. It’s just the first time you’ve been invited by one of the guys to go behind the scenes of something other than music production.

Just as you’re about to message Yoongi about your arrival, you spot Jimin and Taehyung waving their tacos at you from right outside the area for filming.

“We’ve been expecting you, Y/N,” Taehyung says as if he’s the butler of some royal mansion. It matches his slicked-back hair and fancy gentleman costume that he’s only partly changed out of.

“Yoongi told us you were dropping by for table scraps or something.” Jimin hands you a to-go box loaded with tacos. It’s still nice and hot. “He said you’re like a little mouse scurrying around for free food.”

“Great. Did he just invite me over here so y’all can insult me?” You narrow your eyes at the boys, even though “little mouse” is the most endearing insult you’ve ever heard.

“He wanted to see you, obviously,” Taehyung shrugs. “Bro won’t shut up about that track you’re working on with him. Said you came up with a pretty sick hook.”

Oh, so he’s insulting you and complimenting you. Sounds about right for the nemesis you know.

The boys bring you inside to what looks like the set of a cologne commercial. Who knows. Maybe it’s actually a personal moisturizer for self-pleasure in that black bottle they’re advertising. 

One by one, you spot and say hi to the rest of the guys. Seokjin and Namjoon are getting their makeup touched up, Jungkook is devouring what appears to be his second box of tacos, and Hoseok is looking over the shots he just finished. The only person unaccounted for is the boy who called you over here.

Then you look over to where all the cameras are pointed. Yoongi is lying comfortably on a leather couch, legs propped up on the armrest. He holds the black bottle up and studies it like he’s reading a book. 

He looks good on that couch, but not nearly as good as he looked on the one in your studio last night. On your couch, he had a different look to him. He wasn’t the calm and well-mannered idol you see posing for the camera now. He was very much into finger-fucking you and making a mess out of you on your couch. And it was hot as hell.

Still, you have to admit you’re here drooling over him in his suit and tie like he’s the CEO of your heart or something. You’re not used to seeing him in anything other than sweats or jeans since there’s apparently no one worth impressing in the studio end of the BigHit building. And as much as you adore his naked face and casual look, Hot CEO is definitely a style he should adopt more of.

“Did you come here to stare or to eat?” Yoongi asks as soon as he gets a break from the cameras. No hi, no how are you. Just more slander. It should be illegal to be mean and handsome at the same time.

You came because he invited you! And because you like free food! And because maybe he’s nice to look at! But you’re not going to waste your breath on telling him something he already knows.

“I heard you called me a little mouse.” You cross your arms as he takes a long sip of water. “Is that your new pet name for me?”

He chokes on his water. Good. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.” Aha, you were right. And to be honest, you wouldn’t really mind him calling you his Little Mouse from now on. “It’s because you sent that mouse emoji earlier.”

Ah, yes, the infamous mouse emoji that came right after your infamous sex typo. Good to know he hasn’t burned that cursed text from his memory the way you have.

The boy points to the box in your hands. “You should eat.”

“Did you eat already?” you ask, fidgeting with the notebook in your pocket. A tiny part of you is hoping he hasn’t so you can eat together. Then he’d have some time to look over the lyrics you’ve been working on for the song.

He shakes his head. “Now’s a good time—”

“Yoongi, we need you back for maybe 30… 40 minutes?” a camera guy calls out. You thought this was supposed to be Yoongi’s turn for a break. You thought this was your turn with him.

“I’ll be there in a sec,” he says, pulling you around the corner to a narrow hallway. The strong grip around your wrist is an odd mix of comfort and clinginess. “I heard the tacos are good. You should eat before they get cold.” In other words, eat without him because he doesn’t have time for you.

“They’re already cold.” You don’t mean it as a complaint. If he ate with you, you’re sure a cold meal would be just as satisfying as a hot one. But the thought of eating cold tacos all alone is kind of pathetic. And that makes you sad.

With a frown, he takes the box from you and pulls a taco out, examining it closely like the hottest certified health inspector in town. You’re suddenly hungry. The taco does look quite appetizing in those hands of his. Anything he touches becomes a thousand times prettier.

He takes a small bite as if whatever’s yours is his. You don’t mind, though. At least you know he’s getting some food in his stomach before returning to work.

But then he turns the taco to you and holds it up to your lips. You feel a piece of tortilla cling to the corner of your mouth as you bite into your dinner.

“Good, right?” The boy picks the tortilla bit off your cheek and pops it into his mouth before you can hide the mess from him—can’t get anything past his eyes.

You nod as you munch on the taco. You’ve never heard of a mouse being fed like royalty. But you have to admit, you kind of like it.

Satisfied with your answer, Yoongi tucks the half-eaten taco away with the rest of them in the box. You reach for the box, but he pulls it back out of reach.

“You’re not gonna grab some coffee too?” he asks.

You’d long forgotten about the coffee. Besides, what’s the point if you can’t enjoy it with the biggest coffee enthusiast you know?

“Maybe next time.” You swipe for the box again like a cat making a move on its prey. But once again, he holds the box as far away from you without actually distancing his body from yours. You both know there’s nowhere to run with that taco box in this narrow corridor.

“How about tomorrow morning?” he casually throws out. What, like a coffee date? Like an actual date? There’s no way. “I’ll pick it up on the way to the studio.”

Right. He can’t be seen out in the open with anyone other than his members and managers. You just wish so badly that that wasn’t the case.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Besides, the two of you are just friends. A coffee date with him is asking for too much. You feel yourself shrinking against the wall and fail to notice the way he studies the hint of disappointment in your eyes.

Before you know it, his lips find yours. They’re soft and lazy but also comforting—more comforting than any cup of coffee you could’ve gotten from here. And that’s when you know the small trip you made tonight was all worth it. Any time you get to spend with him is always worth it, no matter how short it may be.

“I’ll surprise you with something good,” he hums against your lips before finally handing the box back to you and walking toward the cameras. “See you around, Little Mouse.”

When you get back to your studio, all you think about while eating your cold tacos is Yoongi kissing you again. This time was different, though. It wasn’t prompted by sexual tension or frsutration. It was the kind of kiss you’d give when parting with a lover after a perfect night spent together. What business did Min Yoongi have with sending you off like that? You’ve heard of superheroes being charmed by the enemy, but you won’t let yourself be that easy. Not that way.

So after you take the last bite of your tacos, you shake off the thought of his soft lips and reach into your cardigan pocket for your notebook. It’s time to get back to work.

But the pocket is empty. The one on the other side is empty as well. Oh fuck. The notebook with all your lyrics is gone. All your hard work is suddenly gone. You must’ve dropped it on your little outing for free food.

And that’s not even the worst part. There are things in there no one else is supposed to see. If it falls into the wrong hands—i.e. Yoongi’s large veiny hands—you’re going to lose your goddamn mind.

You should probably go back and find it before the enemy does.

As soon as you step out of your studio, your body smacks right into a solid chest. You square up on instinct like it’s some late-night intruder, but it’s just Yoongi. And he’s got his stinken hands on your notebook. Of course he does.

“Oh good, I was looking for that,” you say as innocently as possible before swiping your paws at him. He takes a step back along with the notebook.

“First of all, ouch.” He rubs his chest right where you’d collided with him. “Second, you’re welcome for returning this safely to you.”

“Thank you, Yoongi. You truly are the best,” you mutter, somewhat distracted by the hand on his chest. It’s so veiny. “Happy now? Can I have my notebook back please?”

“Wait.” He holds a finger up like you’re a puppy in training. You only obey because you really need the notebook back. “What are all those lyrics in here?”

“For the song we’re working on, obviously.” A half truth.

“Some pages have dates from years ago.”

“Well you weren’t supposed to see those.”

“Well I read all of them.” He finally hands the notebook back, but it appears to be too late. He knows your secrets now. “It’s a waste of good lyrics. Assuming you weren’t planning on using them after all these years.”

“I’m not.” You cling to the notebook as if there’s anything left to hide in it. Anybody who’s read them could tell those other lyrics weren’t written for Bangtan songs. They were clearly written for you, from your perspective. Your unfiltered feelings, good and bad, make up approximately 99% of those lyrics. You might’ve even written soft shit about Yoongi. 

“Okay, well, I’m glad I got to read them at least.” He leans against the doorframe. You’d expect him to be smirking after reading all the sappy things you’d written in that notebook, but he’s well-behaved tonight. “I wouldn’t be mad if you put out your own music eventually.”

“Very unlikely.” Although you appreciate him subtly supporting everything you do when it comes to music. “I already have my hands full with you, don’t I?”

“Oh, am I too much for you to handle?” There’s the smirk.

“Perhaps.” You press both hands into his chest and walk him backward to escort him out. There shall be no smirking or charming boys in your studio tonight.

“I have to head back before we wrap up.” He nods in the direction of the shoot as your hands continue to rest on him. “Will you still be around in an hour?”

“Nah, I’ll probably be out of here in about twenty minutes.” You pretend to check your phone even though you know you’ll still be in the studio for at least a few more hours. You’d rather not encourage him to come back and extend his already long day. “I just need to jot down a couple of ideas first.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He starts walking away before turning on his heels. “Oh, by the way, there’s been a change of plans about the morning coffee.”

Your heart sinks. No coffee? Got it.

“The photoshoot was supposed to be a two-day thing, but since we’re finishing it up tonight, I don’t have any work scheduled for tomorrow.” A free day? For Min Yoongi? Unheard of. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. Just bring your guitar. And that notebook.”

“You forgot the part where you tell me what the actual plan is.” You’re skeptical. He’s being sneaky, and that’s never a good sign.

“I told you it’s a surprise.” He dips before you can protest.

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #suga smut #suga x reader #suga fanfic #bts fluff

[bangguks]

SUGA ROAD TO D-DAY SETLIST 🔥

#suga: road to d day #suga #agust d #myg #yoongi #d-day #dailydaegu #dailybangtan #dailybts #trackofthesoul #usersky #chypernet #annietrack #houseofddaeng #clubzerooclock #gfx #*gifs #*gfx #myg solo #a whole day here bc of freaking photoshop 😮‍💨

[sailoryooons]

Suga's How-To Guide | Masterlist | myg (m)

☾ Pairing: Camboy!Yoongi x f. reader 

☾ Summary: Min Yoongi has been a cam boy for a few years now. The work is easy, the money is good, and he has loyal viewers. When he approaches you and asks if you want to be his muse for a ‘how-to’ series, your view on the infamous Yoongi changes.

☾ Word Count: 25,083

☾ Genre: friends to lovers, pwp

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Part of Hali’s Happy Agust

One: Tr(eat) Them Right

→ Min Yoongi gives you an appealing proposition: You've never cum from oral, he happens to have a how-to series featuring it. It's an offer you can't refuse - right?

Two: Buzzed

→ When Yoongi asks you for another oral feature - this time with a newly added element - who are you to say no?

Three: Mouthful

→ Getting over your fear of your face being on camera is easy when you have a mouthful of Min Yoongi

Four: Interlude One

→ Yoongi proves that the camera doesn't have to be on to hangout.

Five: Solo

→ Yoongi has to fly solo for tonight's session, but it doesn't mean he's not thinking about you.

Six: Interlude Two

→ You come to a conclusion on how you feel about Yoongi. Hopefully, he's in a forgiving mood.

Seven: Play

→ Yoongi wants to play with you a little for the camera.

#haliiimede writes #bts smut #bangtan boys #bts fanfic #min yoongi fanfic #bts min yoongi #min yoongi smut #yoongi smut #bts yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #suga bts #suga fanfic #suga smut #halishappyagust

[missywritesfor7]

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

Next chapter | Masterlist

In the spirit of the season I thought I’d give the first chapter of this new fic to you all 🤗 I haven’t fully worked out the specific day, but I’ll be posting a chapter a week after the new year so stay tuned! 💜

Ch. 1: Love

Time seems slow when you’re in the middle of it. Even slower when you’re looking forward to something. Yoongi spent 21 months away from his home, his members, Army, his family, and his girlfriend who he had only been dating 3 short months before he had to leave.

Yoongi and Hyeri had known each other before, both being under Hybe as artists. Na Hyeri, stage name: Rainbow, began her idol career with a short lived girl group called Two Piece under a much smaller company. The group disbanded after just two mini albums, and a lot of attention thanks to their company infamously mishandling everything from money to the artist’s safety and well-being. When the smoke died down, Hyeri signed with Hybe as a solo artist and has made a name for herself in the few years since her solo debut.

She first met Yoongi when he produced a song that she performed for a tourism campaign. The song made waves across social media and beyond and Hyeri found herself gaining a mass of new fans. The first time they ran into each other after the campaign took off, Hyeri jokingly thanked Yoongi for the new fans. That turned into an hour long conversation that was the beginning of a new relationship.

After endless texts, phone calls, and sneaking to see each other around the company building whenever they could, they became official. To themselves mostly and close family and friends. Yoongi told the rest of the members and Hyeri told her best friends and former bandmates, Haeun and Minji. To the rest of the world they’re just label mates who worked on a song together.

Being under the same company made things easy. Moving in together 2 months later made things even easier. Yoongi’s enlistment however, made things harder.

For 21 months Hyeri lived alone waiting for Yoongi with the rest of the world. His few vacation times never seemed long enough and his discharge date seemed like it was centuries away.

Then he was back. And just like that those 21 months didn’t seem so bad after all. Things were as they had been before with all seven of them back together again.

Hyeri had begun taking more and more acting jobs so she was fairly busy, but always left a note and a snack for Yoongi when she’d leave before him. Other times she would give him a soft kiss when she’d come home late and find him already asleep. Yoongi always sent her a meal if she were home and he wasn’t. The nights he spent in his studio instead of home he would make up for with more gifts than necessary. Jewelry, stuffed animals, posters of himself, and the occasional pair of shoes despite him telling her he wouldn’t buy her shoes since she already has so many.

Once the group’s big post-military comeback had concluded, Yoongi felt truly happy. He was back with his brothers making music and seeing Army again, and he had his girlfriend by his side who he’s deeply in love with. All felt right in the world.

Yoongi had begun working on new music for the group’s upcoming full length album. He’s been in his studio much more instead of home, but it’s not too bad. Hyeri finished shooting her small parts in a drama she was cast in and had begun working on a couple of songs for the soundtrack. When she was done recording for the day, she would come by Yoongi’s studio and spend as much time there as she could since she knows he may not come home that night.

This day is like any other. Hyeri finished her final recording session and dropped by Yoongi’s studio with a dinner of his favorite cheat meal, noodles. They both sit on his couch eating, chatting, and cuddling a bit once they’ve cleared their bowls.

“I think this may have been my last recording session,” Hyeri says with her legs rested across Yoongi’s lap.

“So you’re really going to do it?” Yoongi asks.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I know it’s going to suck and you’re going to hate it, but I just…” she pauses and looks up at his face. He may be expressionless, but she knows that’s just him trying to hide his disappointment.

“Hybe is more of a music company, you know that,” she continues. “I just really think I’ll have much better acting opportunities with JJS since they’re such a successful acting agency.”

JJS is one of the top entertainment agencies in the acting world. They house some of the best entertainers in the industry, from romance movie heartthrobs, variety show comedians who have become household names, and even action movie baddies. Hyeri had been looking into switching companies so that she can embark on her new career as a full time actress. She’s gotten a number of roles through Hybe already. Mostly a few commercials and a couple of small cameos in tv shows. For her, switching to JJS could mean finally getting her breakout opportunity to send her acting career soaring.

“I know we won’t get to see each other like this anymore,” she says. “But we’ll still see each other at home. Don’t be mad,” she pouts.

“I’m not mad,” Yoongi says caressing her leg. “I told you before I would support you no matter what you decide.”

“But you still don’t like it.”

“It’s fine. We’ll see each other at home, right?”

“We never see each other at home,” she pouts more.

“You just said…” he chuckles shaking his head and pulls her closer to him. “We’ll make it work. I want you to follow your dreams. Don’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“Are you sure you’re ok with it? Do you think it will make things hard?”

“Not as hard as me being away for 21 months,” he chuckles. “Trust me.”She nods and he gives her a reassuring kiss.

Hyeri goes back and forth on whether she’s making the right decision. Yoongi constantly tells her she is but she’s struggling to believe it. She spends less time in the company building since she’s not working on anything and will be leaving soon. That means she’s been home alone a lot. It’s nothing new to her, but she’s starting to realize how hard it may actually be. Especially when she starts working again.

Yoongi is the perfect support for her. He keeps her sane and assures her that he’ll stand by her no matter what she does or where she goes. Sure it will come with challenges, but he knows they can make it work.

Things start off fine. News of Hyeri signing with JJS was met with lots of support from her fans. She immediately landed a small supporting role in a movie and Yoongi couldn’t be happier for her.

Shooting on the movie began and that became the true test of their relationship. They rarely saw each other. When one of them would leave or come home, the other would be asleep. Yoongi would even spend less time in his studio so he could be home on the off chance that she gets there early. She never did and he would spend another night falling asleep alone.

It’s frustrating for them both to be so close yet so far from each other. Yoongi has completed the majority of his work on the songs for their new album. Even with endless recording and dance practices, he still can’t seem to find enough to do to keep his mind off of the empty space in his bed that smells like Hyeri.

They text when they can but it’s never enough. They miss each other and start to feel like they were able to talk to each other more when he was in the military. No matter how hard they try or how bad they want it, they can never seem to get their schedules to line up.

One day that finally changes. A month into Hyeri’s shoot, and about a month before Yoongi embarks on another BTS comeback era, they find an overlap in free time in their schedules. Yoongi had a gap in his schedule that gave him a bit of free time. He typically would spend that time in his studio. However, Hyeri had a last minute cancellation that gave her the rest of the evening off.

Yoongi only has an hour to see Hyeri so he rushes out and tells her to meet him at a nearby restaurant for dinner. He would rather see her at home so they can be in private, but the further he has to go, the less time that will leave him with Hyeri. He’s so desperate that he doesn’t want to lose a second.

Since time is limited and privacy is important, Yoongi chose a small snack food place that he and the members had been going to for many years. They always have a table in the back away from the public eye for them. It’s private enough and a quick meal.

Yoongi arrives at the restaurant first. He doesn’t have to wait long before Hyeri arrives, though to him it felt like hours. She looks around a moment then runs to give Yoongi a long kiss filled with so much pent up longing.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” Hyeri says kissing him again.

“I missed you,” he says stealing one more kiss before she takes her seat across from him.

“I wish we had time but I’ll take this over nothing,” she says quickly scanning the menu. “There’s so much I want to tell you about the movie shoot! It’s been so much fun and everyone has been really cool. I really think I made the right choice. I just wish it didn’t keep me away from you so much.”

“I know, Bow,” he says, calling her by the shortened version of her stage name, Rainbow. “You’ll have more time once the shooting is done. Then even more time when you finish all the promos.”

“I know, baby, but aren’t you guys going on your world tour around the time I finish shooting? I know things haven’t been finalized yet, but we really wouldn’t have much time together before you’re off traveling the world.”

Yoongi knows she’s right and it breaks his heart to see the sadness in her eyes. Their server comes by to take their order before he can think of something to say to make her feel better.

After placing their order and sitting in silence a few moments, Yoongi reaches across the table and takes Hyeri’s small hands into his.

“I wish I could take you with me,” he says forcing a smile.

“I don’t know,” she chuckles trying to lighten the mood. “You might get sick of me then.”

“I won’t get sick of you,” he chuckles. “Even when you’re annoying, you’re still beautiful.”

“Are you trying to romance me, Mr. Min?” She jokes.

“I was only stating a fact,” he chuckles.

“Admit it, Yoon-gya, you like me,” she laughs calling him by the nickname that never fails to make him laugh.

When Hyeri first met Jin he was speaking so fast she could hardly understand him. When she heard him shout “Yoongi-ah” it sounded like “Yoon-gya” to her. After they began dating she asked Yoongi why Jin calls him “Yoon-gya”. Yoongi was confused at first, but once he realized what she was saying he never let it go. In return she calls him that whenever she’s messing with him.

“I love you,” he chuckles. “But still…you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will, babe.” She shakes her head knowing he should know better. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s going to take more than an enlistment and a world tour to get rid of me.”

He gives her hands a light squeeze and flashes his gummy smile in happiness. Both of them are soaking up each other’s presence in this rare moment they have together. They continue talking about work and things they haven’t been able to tell through text. Their food arrives and they continue chatting as they eat.

That hour is much too short. It only felt like a few minutes to them, but they look and now it’s time for Yoongi to return to the office for his scheduled recording session. It’s hard for them to let each other go. They stand in front of the restaurant lingering a moment trying to find the courage to leave.

“I’ll try to stay up for you,” Hyeri says.

“Hopefully we can make it quick. I’ll come straight home once I’m done.” He reaches for her hand out of habit briefly forgetting that they’re out on the street. She doesn’t stop him though. She takes his hand for just a brief moment to feel his warmth a second longer, then let’s go.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long,” she smiles. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he smiles.

They both head to their cars and go off their separate ways. They hate to leave after finally getting a moment of togetherness. That only gives Yoongi a much greater sense of urgency the rest of the evening.

When he returns to the studio it’s clear to everyone he’s trying to get things done quickly. He has no time for small talk or getting off track with mindless conversations. The sooner this is done the better.

“Hyung,” Jimin says exiting the recording booth. “Take it easy. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“She’s waiting for me,” Yoongi says with no further explanation.

“Ah,” Jimin nods. He knows exactly what Yoongi means. He knows what Hyeri means to Yoongi so he doesn’t need any further explanation. “Get in there and finish up then.”

Before Yoongi, Jimin is the last one to finish recording. Now that he’s done he switches places with Yoongi to help things move along faster. Jimin doesn’t mind staying a bit later so Yoongi can get home. It takes a little longer than Yoongi would like, but he finally finishes and rushes off to go home without giving Jimin a second look. Jimin follows him out and simply laughs to himself at how flustered his hyung is. He knows Yoongi is in deep.

Yoongi returns home at 1am hoping Hyeri is still awake. When he steps inside all of the lights are off and he fears he may be too late. That is, until he reaches the bedroom and he can hear the shower running.

Hyeri had just gotten in the shower after finishing a late meal. She was fighting her sleep in hopes that Yoongi would be home soon. She decided to hop in the shower in an attempt to stay awake just a little longer.

She leans her head back and closes her eyes as the water runs through her hair and down her back. The warm water is relaxing so she stands there not moving for a few moments. She takes a deep breath and just then she can feel a hand on her waist.

She opens her eyes to see Yoongi entering the shower and pulling her close to his bare body. She isn’t sure how he managed to get home and get undressed without her hearing a thing, but it doesn’t matter. She instantly wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“I’m so glad you’re still awake,” Yoongi says in a low tone. “I feel like I haven’t gotten to hold you in way too long.”

“I know,” she says kissing him again. “I never knew I could miss you so much when we live together.”

He feels the same but rather than saying so, he pulls her in tighter for a heavier kiss. His hands trace every wet part of her body until he reaches between her legs and softly teases her clit. He lives for the breathy moan she lets out at the feeling of him. The sound he’s missed, the feel he’s missed, the taste he’s missed. It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

He continues kissing her, slipping his tongue into her mouth and swallowing every sound of hers until he presses her back against the shower wall. His level of arousal is almost unbearable in this moment. So many missed connections and lonely nights are overflowing and poking her pelvis in the process.

“I love you so much, Bow,” he growls lifting her leg and wrapping it around his waist.

“I love you too, baby,” she whispers anticipating his entry that is much desired.

He presses her into the wall harder and takes his tongue on a tour of her neck and chest until he reaches her tits. He loves to see her like this. Melting in his arms and breathing heavily for what he’s about to give her.

He fills her up slowly sending waves of heat through her body until he can’t go any further. He pauses in place and stares her down. He could die in her big brown eyes that are staring up at him with lustful anticipation.

He starts slowly. Easing in and out of her delicately as if she were made of porcelain. In his mind she is. Right now, she’s his beautiful porcelain doll that he’ll never break.

“You feel so good,” he whispers taking her lips again.

She tightens her hold around his neck and arches her back pressing her chest into him more. It’s her silent way of telling him she wants it faster and harder. She wants his love to break her.

He takes the hint and picks up speed while pressing her harder against the shower wall. Her unsteady breaths fuel his powerful strokes more and more. Her moans sing a song that he’ll never get tired of. He can feel that overwhelming pressure within him getting closer to exploding out of every part of him.

The way her nails dig into the back of his neck lets him know she’s just about to lose it. He’s just about to lose it. Her pussy tightens around him sucking his oxygen out.

He growls at her, becoming more relentless and desperate with each stroke.

“I love you so fucking much,” she pants.

The rhythm of his hips sends her over the moon. Her nails dig deeper into his skin as she searches for some bit of stability. He lets out a deep purr when his muscles start to tense and his vision begins to fade.

“I love you,” she repeats kissing his neck. She continues to hang on to him until his hips slow to a stop and his purrs decrease to heavy breaths.

“I love you too, Hyeri,” he says once he has his voice back.

He slides out of her and kisses her softly. She lowers her leg from around his waist and smiles up at him.

“I don’t think I’ll have trouble falling asleep tonight,” she says.

“Good,” he says nipping at her bottom lip. “You only have about three hours before you have to leave.”

“Perfect,” she sarcastically huffs dreading her very early call time that she could have been well rested for had she not stayed up waiting for Yoongi. “I guess I should get to bed then.”

#bts #bts au #bts fanfic #bts fic #cross posted on ao3 #bts smut #angst #yoongi au #min Yoongi #Yoongi #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #Suga #suga au #suga smut #suga fic #suga fanfic #suga x oc #yoongi x oc #idol au #tw alcoholism #tw depression #established relationship

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi BPP

that fandom implosion you talked about previously, will happen sooner rather than later. JK is getting full on radio from day 1 apparently. On one hand wow, great, on the other, Like crazy could have and SHOULD have been the song of the summer.

There are so many moving parts beind the scenes, which we do not see that decide the kind of promo a song will get...Not negligible being the producer who is working with JK is a big deal in the industry,

anyway I would be very interested to read your take on this.

a radio DJ confirming the news https://twitter.com/JJRyanOnAir/status/1677384733989433344?s=20

***

Hi @atlantis315

Your link.

I’ve replied to your question here. Also copy-pasted the main gist of my views here:

“I think BangPD still fully values each and every member of BTS, and I don't think any member is being mistreated, abused, or grossly mismanaged. But BangPD is not their father, and his motivation to produce profit is more agnostic/cynical than a lot of ARMYs want to admit. But at the same time, you either trust BTS to handle their business as capable adults, or you don't. It's really that simple for me. More than anybody else, they know their own situation, and are certainly capable of handling themselves.”

*

Also, given that all D2C sales are now rendered moot for US charts, I’m very happy Jungkook’s song will be sent to radio, to make up for not having the tool that other releases have had to some degree. And it seems Scooter has a hand to do with that anyway, so while I find Scooter to be kind of a creep, I’m glad Seven gets the chance with radio to leave a mark of his own.

This doesn’t mean I think Like Crazy couldn’t have benefitted from being sent to radio. Without Scooter involved it’s unlikely to have gotten many spins (BTS with Dynamite/Butter peaked at ~80M AUD+ in radioplay, Miley Cyrus does 100M AUD+ on average with Flowers), but radio still would’ve been a boon for Jimin. Just as I think it would have been for Hobi, Joon, and the others. But also, a big part of me is okay with them not all having equal promotion tools. Not every solo release has had CDs, Tiny Desk performances, tours, festivals, remixes, multiple versions, and now radio. In Chapter 2, expecting them all to receive “equal treatment” in the outcome of promotion tools during their initial solo projects, isn’t something I think is worth losing sleep over. Because as I’ve said, I cannot want more for the rapline/Jimin/BTS’s career than BTS themselves, I cannot love them more than they love themselves, and I certainly don’t know more about their circumstances than they know themselves. If Jimin, Jungkook, Hobi, or anyone needs to handle BigHit because they believe their career is being mismanaged, they’re the last people who would hesitate to do something about it, especially at this point in their careers.

Also, far as I’m concerned, any member who gets achievements and records no matter how it compares to my biases, deserves it.

I agree with you that there’s a lot of moving parts behind the scenes. But. The hysteria over Ryan simply saying Seven is getting serviced to radio, (not even that it’s expected to impact radio - which is a very different thing), was due 100% to how fully solo and manti sentiment has permeated into the fandom. In my humble opinion. A few things fuelled the reaction to that announcement:

- First the chaos started as backlash from PJMs to the insults and ridicule Jimin suffered from other solos (JJKs, KTHs, MYGs, Blinks, Barbs, etc) when his promotion tools (mult versions/remixes etc) were announced, all while ARMYs pretended that abuse wasn’t happening to him or were oblivious to it. It would be infuriating for PJMs to see JJKs having access to a tool that in theory should make it easier to rack up achievements for the song.

- Then there’s the anger from many people who love Jimin and have had to deal with an unpredictable roll-out environment, between BB randomly deleting sales in the 10s of thousands (when for previous BTS releases they’ve only tried to delete a few thousand sales at most), and no immediate clarity from BigHit. Having radio as a tool would’ve made handling that disastrous handicap significantly less stressful for ARMYs, and overall would’ve helped Jimin. There’s a strong case for why BigHit should factor radio in for Jimin and other members especially now going forward, even if it might not be really played. But again, if they don’t, it’s not something I see as my personal wahala.

- The akgae theory of preferential treatment and company favourites for jikook has been almost fully absorbed not just in solo spaces, but also in ARMY spaces primarily through shippers - and that’s how it always happens. The reason taekookers are the only people alongside Tae solo stans claiming that Beyond The Story is a HYBE psyop, is because they’re the only groups of people who have drank the koolaid about Tae’s neglect at the hands BangPD for the other members’ benefit. A lot of jikookers now believe the same for Jimin, and PJMs hold that belief as a canon creed anyway. Which is a bit funny IMO when you hear how JJKs see the whole thing. Because the similarities in narratives are so uncanny lol.

- Nobody asked but I personally think BangPD is out of touch. He seems to have really fanciful ideas that sometimes make me wonder how solid is his grasp of the situation he’s in. He strikes me as a bit complacent, but again, that’s just me looking from the outside in and it’s ultimately BTS’s business to deal with their boss and manager of ~13 years. Not mine.

There’s a few more factors that influenced why shit blew up a couple days ago IMO, even before the song is released, but anyway, I saw your ask earlier but didn’t care to involve myself in the hysteria on Tumblr/Twitter right away. So please see the above as a summary of what I think if you’re still curious.

Like Crazy is still stable because a lot of ARMYs are streaming it. Solos and locals too, because it’s just a very good song that’s easy to listen to and catchy as hell. FACE is not the only solo project we’ll see in Jimin’s career. I doubt it’s even going to be a significantly defining album outside of being his debut. I need a lot of people to breathe deeply and think about what exactly is happening here in this team of seven men, not just in the universe of maknae-line narratives and myths.

Or you know, just do whatever you like. My opinion is unpopular, and so I think the implosion is pretty much on track for 2024. Hopefully I’m very wrong lol.

#jimin #park jimin #Jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts #bangtan #K-pop #kpop #Hybe #BigHit #jikook #bts army #bts fandom #fandom behaviour

[solarwynd]

Sorry for the take but I’m SO glad we have separate funds ‘cause now I’m sure money is not spent on buying 123456789 remixes of you know who.

This narrative has begun by mygs, hasn’t it? First, we “stole money”, now we “don’t spend it on Jimin”.

Antis should get a life… All these pathetic talks about funding and boycotting and Jimin only loves army (with the recent “pjm” by ayo).

They are better leave Jimin alone. And pray that he signed his solo contract with Hybe. Otherwise they are so doomed.

There hasn’t been a major instance of army fan bases using money meant for other members for another. At least publicly to my knowledge. I’ve dealt with one in the past and they’ve always made sure to separate funds.

In recent times, yea mygs have perpetrated that funds were stolen from yg. (which isn’t true. they were just mad the actual sales were not bigger than what they turned out to be) Armys have always been skeptical of solo fanbases though. I used to be too up to when I stepped more onto the solo side and realized there was nothing nefarious going (with jimin’s). Armys are just overly stringent on anything that isn’t branded as OT7 that they demonize it unjustly.

#definitely raise hell for jimin’s more and are lenient or just ignore other member’s bases but are we shocked? #I’m not in tune with solo contracts though just the group’s because that’s what’s been openly announced #I just remember seeing that the individual image rights were lapsing somewhere around late last year #don’t know what happened with that

[stormblessed95]

I just wanna say how heartwarming it is to see people loving on their biases and working together to spread positivity in the name of their bias. I’m OT7 and my bias is Yoongi and I saw you mention in a post about a Jimin praise kink and I feel like I have a unique kinda kink where I seek out all the members’ individual fandoms and observe how they work to uplift their biases lol. I only do this to positive fanbases (no akgaes/other member antis). It’s like I’m watching a family discuss and organize what their doing to better their household (household meaning their bias). I dunno why I love doing this but I spend several minutes (or hours) a day perusing many of the members biggest fans. I like how PJM’s (and you and many Jikook blogs) are coming together to lift up Jimin and share streaming strategies and how to proceed for his album debut. I just came from lurking a KTH community and how they were discussing how to show Tae more love after people were hating on his insta follow. I watched how some KSJ’s where brainstorming ways to keep Jin’s presence alive to fill the void until he returns from enlistment. The MYG’s are thriving right now with Yoongi’s new brand endeavours (and his long hair haha). I really liked the conversations I heard from the KNJ’s about how they are proud of Joon for expressing himself well in his recent album and how proud they are of him speaking up when his private conversations were released by the press. JHS’s are always having a great time it seems supporting every new thing Hobi does and hyping up his solo career. The JJK’s are humouring me with the way their setting up their own cute little restaurant tours based on Jungkook’s. It’s not always rainbows and sunshines when I visit these little communities for each member because it always seems like they face a ‘challenge of the week’ but I admire the efforts of these fans to maturely discuss how to pull through as a team/fanbase. Of course I follow group related accounts who speak positively on BTS as a group but I just love visiting the individual stans to see what conversations they’re having and what ways they decide to support their biases. I literally have a Twitter list for each separate member (not so much for charts/voting/streaming) for kind/cute/funny accounts that like to discuss among themselves on the current status of their bias. It also enables me to be scarily updated on each members’ every move since their Stan’s get the newest info right away. I have almost found a community for each member on Tumblr too but it’s a bit harder on here since the anon asks sometimes brings negativity against other members which I don’t like. I dunno why I felt the need to share this with you Storm lol sorry if I’m cluttering your inbox. xo

This is nice, just a nice message about fandom to recieve instead of people just complaining. There are a lot of postives here too 🥰 also somewhat related.... people reacting to Yoongis music are some of my favorite to watch. So if anyone has good recs, let me know too!

Thanks anon!