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Everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet. From head to toe, Min Yoongi is the sun of your universe. Every action and every gesture proves that he’s the world’s best boyfriend.
You two have been dating for just over 2 years now, and it’s nothing short of perfection. At the beginning of your relationship, Yoongi could be mistaken as cold and uncaring; but his shy and thoughtful feelings are what brought you two together. It took some time for you both to become familiar with each other. Yet, Yoongi was determined in his attempts to get to know you. A rough relationship, still fresh and sensitive, bloomed into one of trust and time. Each touch that whispers against your skin says, “I know you, I understand you, I love you.” What Yoongi can't convey with the words that tongue-tie him, he settles to portray in his body language.
His hands always feel so solid from the way they sink into your skin, assuring you of his presence and affection for you. Candy-coated words slide down your throat while he kisses you, mumbling confessions between breaths; “God, I’m so in love with you,” a breathless kiss in between, “I’d do anything for you.” No word he speaks is dishonest and each letter weighs with the seriousness of his admission. His eyes blind you in a heated red with how much fire burns beneath them. Burnt brown eyes, almost burdensome, frequently border on urgent. As if no matter how many times he says the words, it’ll never be enough for you to understand his devotion to you.
Yoongi is loyal, kind, sweet, and everything else in between. You have no doubt that Yoongi will always continue to remain a constant comfort in your life. Although, no matter what way your brain has interpreted his presence, everyone else seems to think otherwise.
Regardless of who you cross paths with, friends, family, or foe, they plant seeds of doubt into your pretty little head. These troubling thoughts fester with wicked intentions and ideas. In Yoongi’s words, “The filth these people spit at you are just lies. Twisting themselves into your opinions and trying to cut me out. They’re just jealous. Don’t talk about them again.” When Yoongi speaks about the people that spill the blood that corrupts your mind, his face turns sour and his eyes shadow dark slits. This harsh look has played on your mind enough for you to stop bringing up the subject completely.
Yet these off comments and anxious looks continue to devour your mind. Whispers pick up in the wind about how Yoongi is a liar. They talk about the dead eyes that contradict the expressive cat-like ones that follow your motions. His heavy hands on your hips don’t match up to the tight grip he takes to the back of your friend’s necks. A warning, or a friendly gesture; you and those around you seem to have two very different ways of deciphering the deeper design of Yoongi’s actions.
Today you felt like you were living life in a maze. Chasing demands from not only your boss, but Yoongi too. You spent the day running around the city until the sun set.
You vividly remember how this morning had gone. Walking in through the elevator, shots of minimalistic grey meet your eye. Stale flowers and sweet perfume waft into the wind. You can’t help but feel small in the presence of such expensive luxury. Girls and guys decorated like dolls in diamonds. Even the blood on their hands shines like rubies. A strike upon the back of your head interrupts your staring.
“What are you doing standing there doing nothing? I’ve got things for you to do.”
You’ve run yourself down running around like a headless chicken. Searching across town for the products and tasks you’ve been sent to complete. Vain efforts that are impractical and impossible.
Once the hand hits 5 and your work is done for the day, Yoongi had texted you asking a few favours. No matter how drained you were, you could never refuse a request from him. You dragged your drowsy self into the driver’s seat and prayed the time would go by fast.
It did not. It seemed as if Yoongi was persistent that you stay running into endless walls and dead-ends. Too many things out of stock, nonexistent, or a million miles away. The stars start to shine in the sky, mirroring the way your eyes glisten with galaxies of exhaustion.
The drive home is a blue blur. Your head mixes up time with tiredness, and your sore eyes paint watercolour tears over your surroundings. This bleary fog blinds you, and once it lifts the slightest bit, you find yourself standing at the front door.
When you walk through the door, you wish you hadn’t. Yoongi’s kneeled over someone, it would look intimate if it wasn’t for the muffled screams and rageful roars that harmonize in the air. He’s shouting at her, choking and stumbling through laughter that never seizes. She’s trying to scream, but his hand holds a rag that’s shoved halfway down her throat. A dirted knife is held in his other.
You can barely recognize the women beneath her own blood and carnage, but you manage. You’re able to distinguish the bleached blonde hair that he rips from her scalp. The array of hair sprawled out around the two bodies guides your eyes to the bejeweled earrings you set your sights upon only hours earlier. This gore has glossed over the diamonds, leaving them dull and lifeless.
You remember the face that matched the gems, young and confident. That pearly white smile that once had you feeling envious has been knocked off her cocky grin. You’re able to pinpoint her place above you. Her, the idolized icon and you as her dirty dog.
She’s your manager, or maybe she won’t be when Yoongi’s finished with her. She adopted you to be her pet. A plaything to possess in her position of power. Always replaceable and inevitably desperate, you played along with her game to keep your job. It paid well and the benefits were more than anyone could ever hope for. In a game of pain and promise, you chose the former in order to receive the latter. This tiresome torture laid an ache in your heart, yet Yoongi was there to stitch back the pieces. Giving yourself up to be teased and toyed with by a tyrant allowed you to have a peaceful life with Yoongi, separate from the harm.
Yet sometimes, in the blue afternoon when the world is set to silence, the stinging sadness slips through the cracks. You’ve never been good at keeping things hidden from Yoongi, and you’d like to assume the same for him too. You strained your sore throat through the crying and told Yoongi about everything that happens daily at work. Her taunts that leave you tense and the impossible tasks she’d give only to punish you after you failed to complete them.
Your rampant rant had left you tired and you leaned up against his chest. The only sound that made sense in your mind was the rushing red flowing through his heart. A serene song that serenades you to sleep. You counted the beats as you drifted off into dreamland. 1, a heart that keeps Yoongi alive. 2, a heartbeat that means he’s here. 3, a heartache that tears him apart.
You couldn’t see it then, off in euphoria while Yoongi laid wide awake. But a bloodshot look with black pupils bled misery down his features. Hot and steady, sorrow fell off his face and the teardrops kissed your skin. Yoongi’s head and heart had been set ablaze into a state of chaos. Hot fury and cold desperation confused him. He’s angry and sad all at once. Although, much like any other time, his rage outweighed the anguish and fiery eyes ignited.
This was 3 days ago. Yet now you stand amidst an annihilation. The bloodbath soaks every surface of your home. Lost pieces of hair, skin, and claret carnage find their way upon tabletops and splattered across the walls. The sight steals your breath, making you a mute statue in this red revelation. After minutes of struggling with a swollen tongue and stolen speech, you squeak out his name in surprise.
“Yo-Yoongi,” the words leave your lips tainted in tragedy. You can barely make out a single syllable from the flood of nausea that rushes through you. You sound so betrayed, it sends a hot hell-fire burning through Yoongi. The knife clatters to the floor when he whips his head up to face you.
“Y/n!” His gasp is laced with feverish panic that leaves his heart racing. Liquid white agony tangles itself through his veins.
Once Yoongi directs all his attention to this distraction, the victim on the ground struggles against the dark burden of death. Her shrill scream pierces the silence as she whips her head back and forth in hysteria. Her own mindless panic causes her to smack her head against the wooden floorboards 10 times over. Blood sprays every which way as she mindlessly flails her lost limbs. It’s pathetic to watch her squirm under the inevitable circumstances. Severed stumps replace what was once her arms. Her legs fare no better; mutilated beyond repair, the joints cause their appendages to stick up in an unflattering way.
The girl’s ear splitting shrieks muddled together with her own blood continue on without stopping. The inhumane noises are both maddening and horrifying to two different people.
Yoongi feels his irritation rise to a breaking point. The fucked up bitch lying desperate on the floor is trying to ruin his chances of explanation.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roughly grabs her head and bashes it into the floor until she stops screaming. She’s left a mangled mess upon the ground. Skin slit in every direction, and cuts ripped apart from the force of his anger. Brain matter spills out the back of her dented cranium. Her whole body twitches before falling into a limp pile amongst the bloodshed.
Yoongi stands back up from his place knelt over her corpse. He frantically attempts to wipe off the scarlet sins that stain his hands. With a wild fever, Yoongi rubs his hands raw onto his pants and shakes his head in stress. You can see the way the stress sinks into his eyes as well, red-rimmed and tearing up as they stare into you.
“Y/n, y/n please. Please listen.” Each word is slurred together from the tears and terror that take hold of him. He rushes toward you in desperation and you watch as his eyes widen when you step back. “Please, this doesn’t mean anything. I still love you, I LOVE YOU!” His hopelessness destroys his composure as he begins yelling in order to get his message across. Seeing you flinch and fail to hide the fear in your watery eyes leads Yoongi to take a different approach. “I love you, I love you. This is just proving how much you mean to me.” He’s reached you now. Standing six inches away and tugging your figure to fall into him. “I’d do anything for you.” He mumbles his declaration in a low tone. He matches your misty eyes and stares into you.
He holds half your weight, keeping your knees from giving in and dropping you downwards. He keeps you pushed gently against the wall and pressed into his chest. His hands keep your head cradled gently as he moves to hug you close.
He lays kisses along your jawline and makes his way up, hoping that if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to subdue the sadness. He’s counting the crystals as they fall and making sure they don’t double.
Yoongi hates seeing you cry. His hands shake along with yours as the remorse for his actions flows through him. Although don’t be mistaken, his repentance should not be confused with regret. No, Yoongi doesn’t regret killing that filthy bitch at all. Pride swells in his chest and he chokes back a smile from reminiscing on her screams. Yoongi instead is regretful of not being more careful. He should’ve hidden this better. Shouldn’t have gotten caught up in the rush and been careless with his decisions. He wishes you never would’ve seen that.
Your tears leave tracks in the bloodshed he’s spilled upon you. Your cries have been shushed into small sniffles, but you feel all the same. Shock has taken over your limbs, leaving them heavy for him to carry. All thoughts have been blown out of your head at the drop of this bombshell.
What were once lipstick marks are now bloodstains. He continues to kiss the pain away. Dragging his lips slowly up your neck and back down lower. These ruby smudges leave raised marks when his caressing begins to hold back an anger. If you could get your mouth to mutter easy words, then you would tell him that his lips sting. His kisses feel like bleach to bare skin. The trails he traces down your body leave shadows of his sins. Each peck he places on your pink cheeks holds the memories of the shouts he yelled only moments prior.
“Let me get you cleaned up.” His husky whisper is placed at the base of your jaw. He pulls himself away far enough to look in your eyes. Your foreheads almost touching and your warm breath being shared between you. When you don’t resist he places a final kiss to your lips before steadying you against him once more.
He’s patient and careful in the way he puppeteers your movements. Taking control of each limb as if it’s his own. He towers over you with the way he holds you. Your feet placed atop his, he walks you two, slow and steady, to the bedroom. Placing you down on the bed, he keeps you safe with your head nestled into his neck. He kisses the top of your head and lingers. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he asks a question that only stills in the quiet.
“Good?” There’s no response. He bends down a tad bit further to try and look into your drowsy eyes. Your head hung so heavy against his collarbone only lets him move so far. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” He takes off your top, moving to your pants, and then follows with your underwear. Empathetic emotions sway his movements as every action is taken bit-by-bit. Taking your body’s behavior as a guiding force on what causes your anxiety to jump. Strong, sharp movements cause you to recoil and a voice that resembles even a hint of a shout or gravely tone sends shivers up your spine. Your goosebumps travel across Yoongi’s skin too.
Now you’re left bare and sensitive under his skin. Yoongi works to avoid your empty eyes. Instead, he makes sure to support your vulnerable soul. You’ll remain in his arms where he’ll keep you warm and safe. He clings to your fading existence as he takes you into the bathroom. He holds a patient pace, wary of the wind that might steal away more pieces of you.
He tears his clothes off in a blur, focused on attending to you. Sitting you on the edge of the bathtub, he reaches over to turn on the shower. Each minute is counted in Yoongi’s head as he waits for the water to warm up. One hand extended out to feel the heat, and the other rested on the crown of your head. You rest against his stomach, forehead sticking to his stress induced sweat. So limpid and lazy, you don’t even take the chance to outstretch yourself and grasp onto him. His waist is cold without your arms wrapped around it. Your brittle breath against his belly-button only startles the man instead of teasing a lustful heat that such a position would usually bring. You just lay like a dead doll against him. So silent and still you can almost hear the snakes that stir up a storm in his stomach.
When the water is a tender temperature, Yoongi picks you up from the meat of your thighs and slides you two into the steam. You stay standing under the water for a while; waiting and watching as time continues its cascade. Yoongi tries to take away all the blood smeared across both of you. Slender hands slide across your skin, rubbing at the red until it washes away.
His actions soon become more aimless as he grows selfishly desperate to feel your soul. His hands laid heavy upon your hips. His grip tightens and he places meaningless pecks anywhere he can find. His fingernails press a little too deep into your pink flesh, yet there’s no reaction to the pain. His hands work in a flurry to fist any piece of skin he can latch onto. Your wet bodies are so close you’re on the verge of blurring into one. So close, yet Yoongi still can’t feel you. There’s no life beneath his fingertips.
Your despondency startles him. Usually your energetic nature is what he relies on most. A permanent piece of his life that never changes and never falters. Just looking at you now, feeling the cold statue in his arms, he wants to cut himself to shreds attempting to bleed out this displeasure. Even if it is his own doing, he’ll make sure he’s also the one to fix you.
Yoongi starts by shifting you both so you can sit in the base of the bathtub. He reaches to the shelf above your head and grabs the shampoo. His hands work their way through your hair. He detangles the knots from both your curls, and hopefully your mind. Yoongi has always been so meticulous in everything he does. He takes long, languid movements to assure no soap gets in your eyes. And when a droplet slips past his grasp, he’ll kiss away the escapee while grimacing at the suds his tongue tastes.
His caring efforts are used to calm himself just as much as they are meant for you. He’s trying to distract himself from his uneven breathing that edges the line of a mental breakdown. His rasping continues as he now reaches for the second bottle above you.
Once again, Yoongi works to lather the conditioner in his hands before smoothing it through your hair. He’s petting you how someone would comfort a dog, or console a crying child. Each easy touch he makes in order to not startle you any further. When he grabs the soap, he’s diligent with his motions. Efficient at scrubbing you clean, but tender in the way he maneuvers you.
An hour washes itself down the drain. The water has run cold and the stream has cooled away. Yoongi takes your hands and wraps them around his neck before picking you up. He places you on the bathmat and reaches to grab a towel. You're patted dry before being wrapped in the dirty towel. Lifted up again, the man in front of you takes another dry towel off the rack. Yoongi is shaking from the frigid temperature that creeps around him. This feeling could be the least of his worries and he only pays attention to scaring away the icy droplets from your hair. He smooths your hair in one stroke with the towel then follows up by softening your strands with a brush. This two step process continues until Yoongi has been completely air-dried by the bitter cold. Random but repeated chills bite along his bare back and stir up shivers.
Atrophy sets in when Yoongi begins to dress you. You're shock-still and there are no signs of it stopping. Unstirring and motionless, set to fall unless Yoongi was there to hold you. It’s significantly more difficult to dress you, so Yoongi only settles for underwear and one of his shirts. He decides to only wear boxers, opting to show you the most humane and vulnerable parts of himself. He leaves himself defenseless, ready to accept anything you give him. You’re pulled and pushed until you settle into the sheets. Both Yoongi and the bed wrap around you. Clinging to every empty space of you, they work to make you warm and soft for sleep.
Yoongi pushes himself closer against you and tugs at the covers to bring them up higher. His bitten lips lay resting on the nape of your neck. He navigates his hands through the blankets to find your own. He noses the back of your neck and wishes pretty pleas for you to wake up like none of this ever happened
“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His melody of the sincerest apologies sings you to sleep. His hymn echoes off the shadowed walls of the bedroom and settles into background noise. The soft words vibrate against your back, almost resembling a purr. Saccharine sorrys and repeats of “Don’t be afraid, I’d never hurt you,” are mumbled until Yoongi loses his voice. His sore throat stings with a metallic taste.
Feverish determination ends up sedating his sorrows. He’ll guide you into his good graces once again. He’s patient and gentle. As time tumbles onwards, he’ll be the best boyfriend once again, because everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet.