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harvest moon, recall your youth

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Yoongi wakes up warm.

Las Vegas is always hot. That’s something he’s learned in the last week. The sun burns bright like the lights, and the desert air leaves his lungs stinging, like the remnants of ash. Like smoke billowing out. It leaves him drained, and tired, and thirsty, aching for home.

But this is different. This isn’t Las Vegas warm. For one, Yoongi can hear the air conditioning humming through his hotel room. The frigid air leaves gooseflesh and shivers down his arms. His exposed feet. This warm feels heavy, a little sweaty. A little sticky. But weighted. Sure. Comfortable. This warm wraps itself around Yoongi’s waist, his legs, his ribs. This warm breathes in. It breathes out. Leaves hot, sticky breath on Yoongi’s neck.

This warm flits through Yoongi’s hungover memory like a firefly. Buzzing and bright. A warm body behind him, over top of him. Big warm hands on his thighs, palm prints leaving bruises like painted hands on paper. A warm mouth over his. Too sweet vodka. Champagne bubbles. Giggles that fizz and pop like a cork. This warm pushes. Memories of his thighs being stretched, legs pushed back to his head. Warm between his legs. Delicious, thick, wonderful warmth that left him breathless, keening, whining.

This warm said, “C’mon, sweetheart. You look so good for me.” This warm had eyes that matched. Skin that matched. Warm skin like honey. Like sunshine. Like daffodils and summer and the orange and pink and purple over the morning ocean.

Jesus--is he still drunk?

A name whispers through the haze. God, Yoongi’s throat was sore screaming it. Begging for it.

“Fuck me harder,” he’d said.

“Lemme come,” he’d said.

Please, please, please, fuck I’m so close,” he’d said. He’d begged. He’d whined.

The name, on the tip of his tongue now, what the fuck was it, had said, “Just a little more. Be good, darling.” And Yoongi, Yoongi, had held on. Had shivered and trembled and keened, feeling pleasure build and spark like a livewire. Yoongi had been a good boy, a good, darling boy, look at you, and he hadn’t come. Not until the warm, the what-the-fuck-was-his-name, had said he could.

And Yoongi had come. He’d shook, thighs quivering, come dribbling over his stomach and chest. He’d felt warm (always warm) fingers running through it, gathering it up, pressing it into his bitten pink mouth.

“Open up, sweetheart,” the voice, the warm, the what is his fucking name said. And all Yoongi could do was open up, let himself be fed and used and tended to.

“God, you are beautiful,” he heard, between the long blinks of exhaustion. “I’m so lucky you married me.”

Alarm bells, in the back of Yoongi’s head. Faint. Then warmth. Then sleep.

Now, there’s still the warmth. Still the delicious ache in Yoongi’s hips and thighs and ass. But the bells ring louder. They’re melodic. Bells with bass, deep and soothing and cracked with sleep.

If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it. If you liked it when you should have put a ring on it. Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh

“What the fuck?” Yoongi mumbles. He finally opens his eyes. His head is pounding, spinning. His mouth tastes like cotton. The warmth shifts, then leaves, and all Yoongi has is goosebumps and his own naked skin. “What the fuck?”

“Oh,” someone says from behind him. “Are you awake?”

“Fuck no,” Yoongi says. He forces himself to turn around. Everything hurts, aches. God, it aches in the most beautiful way. He could write a song about how good he hurts right now. “Why are you awake, stranger in my fucking bed?”

The stranger blinks at him. He has long, dark lashes and big, brown eyes. His hair, tinted silver, falls into his face. He’s so close that Yoongi can see the mole under his eyes. The exact shape of his cupid’s bow. His delicate, doll-like bone structure.

“I always wake up early,” the stranger says. He stretches, long and lazy like a cat, and Yoongi realizes he’s naked as well. His thighs (big, big strong thighs, fuck those thighs) flex and contract. He spreads out, and in the sunlight, the jeweled piercings in his belly button and nose shine like a crystals. “Usually I do yoga, but I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

Yoongi blinks. “That’s--considerate.” He squints. The voice chases the hazy memories in his mind. The warm, the voice, that mouth. That mouth between Yoongi’s legs, on his nipples. Sucking grape-wine bruises into his neck. “Thank you, uh--”


“Taehyung,” Yoongi repeats. “Taehyung?”

Taehyung nods happily. He smiles, turns towards Yoongi like he’s telling him a secret. “But you’ve been calling me Taehyungie, because you said it was cute.”

Yoongi shuts his eyes.

You wanna go up to my room and celebrate, Taehyungie?”

“I like you calling me that.”

“Yeah? It’s cute, like you.”

Yoongi groans. “Jesus, fuck, I’m so hungover.”

Taehyung’s eyes widen like saucers. “You need water? Pain pills?” He slithers out of the bed, and even through the migraine, Yoongi can appreciate the plumpness of his ass, his soft, golden stomach. “Hold on, I think they keep medicine in the bathrooms.”

“You don’t have to wait on me,” Yoongi calls weakly. His throat is sore. From screaming. God, screaming for dick. “I can take care of it myself, Taehyung.”

Taehyung appears again, frowning. “Taehyungie,” he corrects. “Remember?”

“No,” Yoongi admits. “It’s like one big drunken sex blur for me right now. I can barely remember my own name.”

Taehyung leans at the edge of the bed. He doesn’t seem bothered by his dick swinging directly in Yoongi’s line of sight. He doesn’t seem bothered by much. “Min Yoongi,” he says. “You’re 27. You’re a classically trained pianist. You like dogs, and breakfast food, and candy corn. Which is nasty by the way. Like, so nasty, Yoongi. Your cheeks get pink when you drink. When you smile my heart kind of jumps. It did that last night, like, four different times. You like being fucked, like, a lot. I also like fucking you. Also, a lot. You’re really nice.”

Yoongi squints. He refuses to blush at the awed adoration in Taehyung’s voice, the way his voice deepens with earnestness. He refuses to shiver, tremble, shake at the way Taehyung’s fingers lace with his like--like they belong there or something.

“How drunk was I?” Yoongi asks. “Did I seriously tell you my whole life story before we hooked up?”

“No,” Taehyung giggles. “Silly Min Yoongi. You told me your life story before we got married. Then we fucked. Like a honeymoon, you know?”




“Yoongi? Shit, are you gonna throw up?”


“Hooooooly shit,” Hoseok says. He’s relegated himself to the bed, head laid in Yoongi’s lap with this no good, terrible, awful smug grin on his face. “You’re telling me the Min is now off the market?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yoongi grumbles. “I was drunk. We were all drunk. You were drunk!”

Hoseok shrugs. “Yeah,” he admits. “But all me and Joonie did was fuck and then regret it. Then we dyed our hair to make ourselves feel better about our bad decisions."

It’s true. They’d bust through Yoongi’s hotel room door looking like the sweetest, most nauseating cotton candy. Hoseok’s hair is now lavender, falling into his eyes like fresh lilac. Namjoon’s hair is pastel pink, and mixed with his dimples, he looks cute enough to make Yoongi throw up. He hates his friends.

"Yeah," Namjoon says flatly. "Totally regretted it. Ha ha. Can't believe we did that. Crazy, right?"

Yoongi ignores him.

Taehyung, fully dressed now, has relegated himself to the long window seat in the corner of the room. He’s back in his clothes from last night, his going out clothes. Yoongi tries very hard not to notice that these consist of leather pants, a mesh crop top, and a metallic collar that snaps snugly and firmly at the base of his throat.

It’s hard to think sexy thoughts though, with the way Taehyung has curled into himself, knobby knees pressed into his chest and his big hands locked together like he’s afraid to let go. He hasn’t met Yoongi’s eyes in at least thirty minutes, ever since Yoongi had a mild massive freakout in the bathtub, including a frantic, whispered phone call to Joon to come over here right fucking now all while Taehyung knocked on the bathroom door, asking if Yoongi was okay.

Now, Namjoon takes a deep breath. “Alright,” he says calmly. “This really isn’t that big of a deal. People get married in Vegas all the time.”

“Not Yoongi,” Hoseok interrupts helpfully. “Like, of all the people I would imagine getting married in Vegas, Yoongi would be, like, negative one thousand on the list. The only person with less chance of getting married would be me, don't you think, Joonie?"

Namjoon closes his eyes and sighs. “Anyway, this is an easy fix. You just need an annulment.”

“An annulment,” Yoongi repeats. “Right. So we just have to--” He blinks, fingers stalling from where they’ve been running through Hoseok’s hair. “How the fuck do you get an annulment?”

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung blurts out suddenly. “You were so cute at the bar and you called me cute, and I just--nobody ever looked at me like you did?” He picks at his nails, shoulders hunched up and his hair falling in his eyes. “That sounds so pathetic. You were drunk, and I was drunk, and we don’t even know each other and why the fuck would you want to be married to me? You’re like a super cool musician, and you’re hot, and you have the best laugh I’ve ever heard and--fuck, I’m pathetic, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck--”

“Hey,” Yoongi says sharply. He pushes himself off the bed, ignoring the disgruntled oww Hoseok lets out when his head hits the bed. “What the fuck?”

He kneels in front of Taehyung, careful of his sensitive stomach and pounding head. This close, Taehyung’s cologne from last night lingers on his clothes. He smells like sweet liquor and sage and something sharp. Like tree bark. Woods. Dirt after a fresh rain. Yoongi grabs Taehyung’s hands. His nails are picked and bleeding, bitten down from where he’d been stress-gnawing on them. Yoongi grabs his hands, intertwines their fingers like Taehyung had done last night, pushing into Yoongi like he was something fragile. Delicate. Special. Grabbed his hands and held him together while Yoongi fell apart.

“Hey,” Yoongi says again, voice gentling. “Taehyung.” He leans in, chin resting on Taehyung’s thigh. “Taehyungie.” He waits until Taehyung looks up. Looks into big, wide eyes still smudged with last night’s makeup and the puffiness of a drunken, fucked out sleep. “You’re not pathetic. You’re--” Yoongi swallows, struggles, pushes through. “There was a reason I decided to marry you last night, right? Why the fuck would I marry somebody who was pathetic? I wouldn’t.”

Taehyung sniffs. Jesus. “You were drunk.”

“You were too,” Yoongi counters. “So if you’re pathetic, I’m pathetic too, huh? Is that what you’re calling me now?” He tilts his head a little, smile grazing the edges of his mouth. “Thought you said I was cute.”

“You aaaaare,” Taehyung whines. “But you didn’t want to marry me, and now I feel like a fucking idiot. I am a fucking idiot.”

“Britney Spears got married in Vegas,” Hoseok says suddenly. “Maybe you two were onto something.”

“Are you bringing up fucking Federline right now?” Namjoon asks. “Federline during a crisis?”

“I’m bringing up Britney,” Hoseok says. “An icon, a legend, a queen.”

“Which one of us is Britney?”

Hoseok winks. “Taehyungie, of course.”

Taehyung laughs. Giggles. This terrible thing that makes Yoongi’s insides do a somersault. “You feeling better, Britney?” he asks. “No more tears left to cry?”

“That’s fucking Ariana, Yoongi. Jesus.”


Yoongi pushes himself up and fits himself on the window seat next to Taehyung. He knows he’s being weird. Clingy. Open. But he’s hungover and feeling sick and married, so. Sue him. “So, what’s next?”

“Annulment,” Namjoon says. “We can get it done back home and just mail Taehyung the papers since it’s our last day here. Should be easy.”

Yoongi nods. The excitement of the morning has started to die down. He feels the exhaustion creeping in from a hazy sleep and being fucked beyond this mortal plane. He lets his head fall on Taehyung’s shoulder, whatever, Hoseok, fuck you, and closes his eyes. Lets the calm, even tone of Joon working through the steps lull him into a doze.

“So,” Joon is saying, “Taehyung, just give me your address, okay. I’ll mail you the papers after Yoongi signs, because he’ll probably forget and you two will be married forever and give me a heart attack.”

“Well,” Taehyung hedges. He shifts, uncomfortable, and Yoongi lets out a mewl before he can help it, whines at his warm pillow being taken away. “Uh, you can just mail them to Jimin’s couch?”

Yoongi’s not really asleep, not really awake, but even without opening his eyes he can imagine the look on Namjoon’s face.

“Okay?” Namjoon starts. “Does Jimin’s couch have, like, a street?”


Jimin’s couch does have a street, and a street number too. It had taken Taehyung calling three different people, twelve different times in order to get it.

Now, Yoongi looks at “Jimin’s couch”. It’s leather, not too small, but small enough that Yoongi knows Taehyung’s feet hang over the edge when he lays down on it. It’s covered in pillows, two blankets folded up on the end cushion.

“It’s pretty comfy,” Taehyung tells them. “Jimin gave me lots of pillows, and we found these blankets at HomeGoods! They have little zzz’s on them for sleep. There were these other ones that had dream catchers on them, but, like, cultural appropriation, you know?”

The Jimin part of Jimin’s couch stands with his arms crossed in the middle of the room. The whole place is open concept, exposed brick and shining granite and crystal clean floors.

“Taehyung,” Jimin says. “Can you explain to me one more time what happened? I don’t think I understand.”

“Married,” Taehyung repeats for the fourth time. “To Yoongi.” He points, and Yoongi stares hard at the floor. “He’s really nice, Jimin, I think you would like him.”

Jimin frowns. “Taehyung, honey, can I talk to you in the kitchen?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes. “Jesus, we’re not gonna murder the kid. Yoongi is a nice guy. They were drunk. They got married in Vegas. It happens.”

“Yeah,” Jimin tosses out. “In the fucking Hangover. Not in real life to my best fucking friend. And, sorry, who are you again? Tae, how many of these people did you marry?”

“Just the one,” Taehyung says, rifling through a bag of clothes. “Jiminie, can you be nice while I change? My choker is starting to chafe.”

He leaves, and the room goes silent. Jimin is all of Yoongi’s height, meaning not tall at all, but he draws his shoulders up and tilts his chin and suddenly Yoongi feels immensely small.

“Sit,” Jimin says, and they find themselves clamoring to obey. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, eyes lasering in on Yoongi. “What the fuck did you do?”

Yoongi’s small, dainty and delicate and skinny, but he can square up with the best of them. He glares, fingers balling up into fists. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I did exactly what Taehyung said I did. Got drunk and married him.”

Jimin scoffs. “Yeah, bet that was real funny for you, huh? Pick on Taehyung just because he’s a little different. Make him think you like him, and then make him look stupid in the morning.”

“Taehyung is not stupid,” Yoongi spits back. “Some kind of fucking friend you are, if you think so.”

“I know he’s not!” Jimin yells. “But why the fuck else would you marry him? You like him? You don’t even know him. You just wanted to fuck him, you piece of shit.”

“Okay, hey,” Namjoon cuts in. “Let’s settle down, spitfire. Taehyung seems like he can make his own decisions.”

“Jesus,” Jimin mutters. He crosses his legs, and Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon all look away. He’s naked under his silk robe, hairless and smooth and muscular. There are hickies decorating the inside of his thighs. “Sure he can,” Jimin says scathingly. “That’s why his yoga studio got foreclosed on and he’s been couch surfing for three months until I found out and made him come here.” Jimin lets out a long, deep breath. “I’m cleaning up after him. Annul this shit, and leave him the fuck alone.”

“Jiminie?” And there’s Taehyung, swamped in an oversized hoodie and black leggings. He’s barefoot, and Yoongi feels something jolt at the way his toes curl in, the way he digs his feet into the floor.

“Taehyungie,” Jimin breathes out, guilt and panic flooding his features. “How long have you been there, sweetheart?”

“You’re loud when you’re telling everyone how useless I am.”

Jimin curses, stands up and tries to adjust his dick underneath all that silk. “Honey, you are not useless. I just--I worry about you, Tae. I worried when you opened your studio, and I worried when it closed, and now. Tae, you got drunk married in Vegas. What am I supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” Taehyung says. “You’re not supposed to do anything. This is my life, Jiminie. You don’t have to--to clean up after me like I’m some big mess.”

Taehyung crosses his arms, hugs himself so tight it’s like he’s barricading himself against the world. Yoongi stands up, he doesn’t know what else to do, feels himself put a hand out, and suddenly there’s Taehyung. Taehyungie. Warm in his arms like Yoongi has come to expect in the last few hours.

“Sorry,” Taehyung murmurs into Yoongi’s neck. “I promise I’m not usually like this.” He sniffles, whimpers when Yoongi rubs his back. “I’m just hungover and sad and married. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi murmurs back. “I’m hungover and sad and married, too. We can make it a party.”

“Why are you sad?”

“Because,” Yoongi says. “My husband’s a fucking yoga instructor and only fucked me into a pretzel like once last night.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” Hoseok says. “I sense it’s time to fucking go. Joon, you think it’s time to fucking go?”

“It’s time to fucking go,” Namjoon agrees. He goes to shake Jimin’s hand, rethinks it, and pulls back. “It was, uh, not nice meeting you. But, you know. Nice apartment.” He looks at Taehyung. Joon has this way of connecting to people. The way he’ll look at you and see all your hopes and dreams and the things that keep you up at night. He looks at Taehyung and says, “You’re gonna be okay, you know,” and politely turns away when Taehyung tries not to cry. “You ready, Yoongi?”

Yoongi nods. Looks at Taehyung. He’s washed away all his makeup, taken off his studded choker and leather pants and covered his soft, golden tummy. He looks different in the light of his home, Jimin’s home. He looks soft and sweet and vulnerable. Looks kind. Looks open. Looks warm.

“Seeya, hubby,” Taehyung says, fingers still tangled with Yoongi. “We had a good run.”

“What happens in Vegas--” Yoongi starts, “you take home to your lawyer, apparently,” Hoseok finishes, eyebrows raised, and Yoongi tries to ignore the headache that starts to set in.

“Dumbass,” Joon says, pushing Hoseok towards the door.

“Bye, Taehyungie!” Hoseok yells. “Next time we’re in town marry me, okay? I wanna get fucked like a pretzel, too.”

“Get the fuck out,” Namjoon tells him with one final push. “We’ll wait outside, Yoongi. Take your time. Hoseok will be dead when you’re finished.”

“I like them,” Taehyung says softly. “You have good friends.”

Yoongi glances behind Taehyung, to where Jimin isn’t even pretending not to eavesdrop. “You do, too.”

“God,” Taehyung mutters. “You haven’t even met his two boyfriends. They make Jiminie look like a little chihuahua.”

Yoongi huffs out a laugh. “I find that really hard to believe.”

“There’s that laugh,” Taehyung says softly, fingers tracing over Yoongi’s mouth. “I meant what I said, you know. It’s the best one I ever heard.”

“That’s so fucking greasy, Taehyung.”

“Taehyungie,” Taehyung corrects, a small, teasing pout on his chapped lips. “You have to call me Taehyungie until we’re not married anymore, Min Yoongi.”

“Hey,” Yoongi says suddenly. “Did we change our names? Am I--what’s your last name?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jimin mutters.

“Kim,” Taehyung tells him. “So either I’m Min Taehyung or you’re Kim Yoongi. Which one do you like better?”

Yoongi ducks his head to hide a smile. Taehyung is. Goofy. Silly. Funny. Absurd. He makes Yoongi laugh. He’s cute. He fucks like a god. He’s so fucking nice. “I’ll be Kim Yoongi,” he says quietly. “Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you.”

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Taehyung says somberly. He lifts Yoongi’s hands up and kisses the knuckles, his ring finger, the dumb fucking musical notes Yoongi has tattooed on the meat of his hand. “It’s been my pleasure, Kim Yoongi.”

God, this is so stupid. Yoongi had been drunk, and angry, and blogging married, and now suddenly he feels his throat close up, feels the stinging wetness when he tries to blink it away. He zeroes in on the tender way Taehyung holds his hands, his trembling, aching smile, the way his bangs fall into his eyes. Yoongi thinks of the way Taehyung kissed him last night, drunk and messy, but still so sweet. The way he gripped Yoongi’s waist. The way he said god, you are so beautiful. The way Yoongi remembers now, how Taehyung had brushed his hair out of his face while Yoongi was at the brink of sleep. Had run a warm, wet rag over Yoongi’s belly, his thighs, between his legs. The way Taehyung had whispered, “Are you really mine?” and Yoongi had brushed it off as a dream. Some made up words that had settled in his subconscious.

This is so stupid. Yoongi near tears in someone else’s apartment. In 223 Jimin’s couch street, married to a beautiful man he’ll never see again. It’s so stupid, how Yoongi thinks of his too big apartment in New York. The near empty fridge and the bed that’s just for him and Holly, and the way the sun sets through the windows and highlights Yoongi’s lone shadow.

He takes a deep breath to say goodbye. To say thank you. To say you’ll be okay, kid, because Taehyung is bright and kind, and he has people who love him. Yoongi opens his mouth.

Says, “Come home with me.”

Takes what happened in Vegas back with him.


This is how it goes:

Taehyung wakes up extremely early in the morning. It’s the end of summer, the air settling into the breezy sway of autumn, and yet Yoongi finds Taehyung up with the sunrise most mornings, blankets tossed all over the balcony as he sits, stretches, handstands, converses with the chakra gods (that’s wrong, Yoongi. Chakras are actually very powerful. I have a book--well, I had a book. Maybe it’s still at Jimin’s and he can mail it? Oh, it’s on chakras. To be honest, I think your root chakra could use some work. Oh, yeah hold on, I have to hold this handstand for another twenty seconds) while the sky turns from purple-blue hues to warm, milky peach.

“I spent eight years living with my grandparents on their strawberry farm in Daegu,” Taehyung tells Yoongi one morning. Yoongi is not fully awake, but he is listening, because the Taehyung that rises with the sun is a quiet Taehyung, a Taehyung who will only say things once, almost as if he doesn’t truly want you to hear.

Yoongi wants to hear.

“She did yoga every morning at dawn,” he says quietly. “My granddad didn’t do it with her, but he would get up and make tea and breakfast. And when she was done, she would come in, and they would eat together. They did that everyday.”

He says, “When she died, my granddad spread her ashes at the edges of the fields. It’s a good place. Away from the bugs and the birds that try to mess with the fruit. He was really sad when she died. Then I came here.”

This is how it goes:

“Yoongi, this brochure says there are ferries.”

“....yes? Do you mean like in New York, or just ferries in general? Because, yes. To both.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’re not really that funny, you know.” He presses the brochure flat onto Yoongi’s home workspace, where he likes to compose and brainstorm and work, and says, “I want to go on a ferry. Can we? It can be like a honeymoon.”

Yoongi scoffs. There are a million messages from Namjoon in his inbox, about lawyers and papers, and that a-word neither him or Taehyung will say. They’ll get there, but for now--"You want to honeymoon on a ferry in New York City?"

Taehyung nods. "Jimin said New York was a dirty city, but look, Yoongi. They have islands! Maybe we could suntan on the beach. Are they nude beaches? I hate an uneven tan, really, it messes with my whole aesthetic."

This is how it goes:

"How are Hoseok and Namjoon? They never come visit. Do they hate me?"

Yoongi has declined two dinner dates this week alone. "They're really busy," he lies. "Workaholics, the two of them. Never even have time to eat."

"Oh," Taehyung says, squinting at the various pans he has spread across the counters and stove. He's an incredible cook, and Yoongi will extort this for as long as he can. He never needs to measure, he just knows exactly what he needs and how much of it to put in.

("It's all science, you know," Taehyung tells him. He's wrapped up behind Yoongi, big hands over Yoongi's as they chop onions, then peppers, then tomatoes. Taehyung is hard against Yoongi's ass, and it's fine. It's totally fine. "It's easy," he keeps on, "Like, chemistry."

"Okay," Yoongi starts with a frown, "But chemistry isn't easy."

"Sure it is," Taehyung says simply. "I graduated Summa Cum Laude as a chemistry major. Don't burn my stir fry, Yoongi, and I'll eat you out later, mmkay?")

"What do they do?" Taehyung asks. Tonight it's chicken and shrimp alfredo, and the smells emanating from the kitchen are just--"Yoongi? Did you hear me?"

Yoongi blinks. "Who?"

Taehyung sighs, brandishing his spatula like a weapon. "Hoseok and Namjoon. What do they do?"

Oh. "Oh," Yoongi says. "Hoseok just got promoted to Chief Resident in his pediatric residency at NYU School of Medicine. That's why we were in Vegas celebrating, before his schedule gets even more fucking hectic."

"Hoseok is a doctor?" Taehyung asks. "But he seems so. So--"

"Stupid?" Yoongi inputs helpfully. "Yeah, he's pretty committed to living life as seemingly carefree as possible. It drives Namjoon fucking crazy. Namjoon's a speech pathologist, by the way. He does Korean and English rehabilitation."

"That is so cool," Taehyung breathes out. "And you're just a boring musician? I married the wrong guy--ahhhhhhhhhhhhh"

Yoongi tackles him, all his legs and arms and fading silver hair. "Say that again, punk."

Taehyung stares up at him from the kitchen floor. He's been playing around in Yoongi's performance makeup. Today he has on midnight blue shadow at the corners of his eyes, smoky and sensual and alluring. It clashes with the cropped sweatshirt he put on after his shower, the little squish of his belly peeking over his leggings. "You're okay," Taehyung whispers. "Not the worst guy in the world to drunk marry."

"Is that a fucking compliment?" Yoongi squawks. "We've been married for 22 years and have six kids and all you can say is--"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Taehyung giggles. "God, watch my fucking alfredo sauce, Kim Yoongi."

Yoongi keeps Taehyung pinned beneath him, and he watches the sauce. It bubbles delicately, simmers with heat. Simmers like Yoongi on delicately warm nights like tonight, with the balcony doors open and Taehyung's weird ass jazz music playing and Holly asleep on the sofa after Taehyung tired him out with cuddles.

"Tell me more about Hoseok and Namjoon," Taehyung says suddenly.


"Because they're your friends," he says stubbornly. "They care about you. I wanna know more about them."

Yoongi shifts, shivering a little at the friction that gives between them. He leans down and presses a kiss to Taehyung's pillowy tummy, his bejeweled belly button. "I don't know," he admits. "They used to date? I mean, they even got engaged. It ended--really badly. It took years for them to be civil again and even longer to be friends. They're still in love with each other, and they're stupid. Anything else?"

Taehyung leans up, presses a kiss to the bruise he left on Yoongi's neck last night. "Love makes people kinda stupid, sometimes."

He presses another kiss to Yoongi's ear, and then his mouth. He whispers, "Watch my sauce," and Yoongi--

Feels stupid.



Hi Yoongi,

This is your best friend, Namjoon. You may remember me as the person trying to help you annul your drunk Vegas marriage.

Yoongi, what the fuck? I sent you a copy of the annulment papers??? To sign??? You have six months, and I think you should get it done sooner rather than later, right? I mean, you have a stranger living with you. I think Taehyung is a good kid, but you know what I mean.

Sign the fucking papers, PLEASE. Why do you live to make my life a living hell? Isn't that Hoseok's job?

I can't believe this is what I'm doing at my fUCKING JOB.




first of all im yoongi's best friend so back off bitch

second of all im typing this while im trying to swallow a sandwich whole between patients so before u ask joon NO IM NOT USING PROPER GRAMMAR IT'S A POWER STRUCTURE FROM THE WHITE MAN ANYWAY FUCK U

i think its cute that yoongs and taehyungie are getting some d before getting that d. you get it? d for dick and d for divorce. god i hope the hospital doesnt rly monitor these emails. Im fucked.

anyway heys yoongs maybe we could all get together and discuss. you know how friends do? i think they call it communication and also not being an ass. seems like you and joon have that in common. yikes too soon? hey joon rmr how you called off our engagement and now ur trying to rush our friend into annulling his marriage. good times




Have either of you considered therapy instead of hashing out your relationship problems in my professional inbox?

To answer your question Joon, tonight I'm going to take Taehyungie out to dinner and then beg him to choke me out with his dick when we get home.

Also, he says hi.



"I didn't say hi, but it was polite of you to lie. Oh, that sounds fun," Taehyung says, reading the email over Yoongi's shoulder. "Where are we going for dinner?"

"That's the part that sounds fun?" Yoongi says incredulously. "You're thinking about dinner?"

Taehyung stares at him. "You want me choke you with my dick on an empty stomach? That's fucked up, Yoongi."


Jungkook comes barrelling into the Genius Laboratory on a Monday morning. The kid's always full of too much energy, smiling at all the staff and handing out homemade cookies. It's annoying, Yoongi thinks, mouth full of chocolate chip.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he asks. He hasn't seen the kid in weeks, and every time he stops by his studio, it's been empty, piano collecting dust. "You can't just disappear from work. This isn't the Kardashians."

Jungkook smiles. "What's the correlation between pianists and the Kardashians?"

Yoongi takes another cookie. "Shut the fuck up."

Jungkook laughs, settling himself backwards in one of the extra chairs in Yoongi's studio. He puts his hands on his chin and spins around, humming a little tune under his breath. Yoongi feels his hackles rise.

"Did you poison these cookies?"


"Did you hire someone else to poison these cookies?"

"I don't make enough money for that. It would definitely be a DIY murder."

"Did you fuck up those audio samples I gave you?"

"Nope, safe and sound."

Jungkook keeps twirling in the chair, fast enough to make Yoongi dizzy. He keeps humming, louder and more obnoxious, until it hits Yoongi like bricks.

The Wedding March.

Yoongi reaches out and stops Jungkook's chair, stomach dropping at the smug look on his face.

"I know something you don't know," he sings, and Yoongi kicks his chair until it smacks into the opposite wall. "Ow, what the fuck."

"Tell me," Yoongi says. "Who the fuck told you? I swear if Namjoon roped you into his bullshit--"

"Calm down," Jungkook soothes, pedalling his way back over. "Jesus Christ, you'd think a newlywed would be a little more relaxed. The boy toy not doing it for you, Yoongi?"

"I will compose a track for your next album if you tell me what the fuck you're talking about," Yoongi bargains.

Jungkook sits back, scanning Yoongi up and down. "I want two songs and an invite to karaoke night."

"You know karaoke night is exclusive." Jungkook shrugs, moves to get up. Yoongi is a weak, stupid man. "Fine. Fucking fine. One karaoke night. On the night of my choosing."

"You also buy my drinks."

"What the fuck is this, deal or no deal?"

Jungkook waits, shoving another cookie in his mouth.

"Deal," Yoongi says finally, feeling played.

"Okay so," Jungkook bursts out, like he's just been waiting to let this out. "You ever heard of Kim Seokjin?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes. "Let's see, Kim Seokjin, the first Korean to ever have his face plastered on the side of his own casino in Las Vegas? Only every other day from my mother, Kook."

"Your mom likes Seokjin?"

"He's peak perfect child. God, I hate that guy. My mom always used to ask why I couldn't be more like him instead of wasting my life."

"You're an internationally renowned, award-winning pianist," Jungkook points out.

Yoongi shrugs. "But is my face on the side of a fucking casino?"

Jungkook bites into another cookie. "You have to admit, it's a nice face, though."

"Sure," Yoongi concedes. "But what does Kim Seokjin's perfectly proportioned face have to do with you extorting me?"

Jungkook grimaces. It's that grimace Yoongi's been seeing for years, ever since he discovered Jungkook playing on an out of tune piano in the middle of the mall four Christmases ago. Somehow, he'd still made the song sound beautiful, even in the midst of a thousand different conversations and voices clamoring to be heard over his notes.

"What song is this, kid?" Yoongi had asked.

Jungkook had grimaced, the same one on his face right now, like he didn't really want to answer. "It's an original. I wrote it." He'd shrugged, picking at his fingernails and turning red around the ears. "It sucks, I know."

Yoongi stares at him now four years later, the same dumb kid he'd taken under his wing and his company. The same one he'd take on tour with him next year, so the world could hear the music from fingers that would outsell and outdo Yoongi one day.

"What the fuck did you do?" he asks.

"Okay, so listen," Jungkook starts, "Remember a few months back when I signed up for that sugar baby website? And you told me to delete it, because when I turned up in pieces you didn't want to have to buy a new suit and deal with a voice changer for my funeral and Dateline special and Lifetime movie?"

Yoongi blinks. "What the fuck did you do?"

"I didn't delete it," Jungkook admits.

Yoongi groans, head dropping into his hands. "That's why you've been taking so many business trips? You've been fucking expensing my company so you can go to fuck knows where and see your sugar daddy? You get reimbursed for that shit?"

Jungkook grimaces. Again. "I think you're getting a little off topic."

"Jesus fuck," Yoongi mutters. He tries to remember that he trusts Jungkook, respects him, maybe even loves the kid. He tries to envision the perfect expression when he knocks on Mrs. Jeon's door and tells her the dumbass Formerly Known as Jeon Jungkook has been cut up and flung out into the ocean, but hey, they recovered his fucking toe. Here you go, Mrs. Jeon, here's your son's toe. Hope it was worth his sugar.


"Go ahead," Yoongi sighs. He leans back in his chair. He could be home right now. Taehyungie is home. He'd texted Yoongi a picture of himself curled up in the big California King bed, the only thing visible being one eye and his mop of hair. Being home with that sounds so much better than the bullshit Jungkook is spinning right now. "Just go ahead and get this over with."

"So," Jungkook hedges, "Kim Seokjin is my sugar daddy." He waits for a reaction. Yoongi has none. He fucking refuses. Fuck this shit. "And you know his empire, his business is huge and--well. People always need a right-hand man, right?"

"Jeon Jungkook--"

"So, of course Jin has one too. Only it's his partner. You know, like, in life. His life partner. Civil partner. Like, husband basically. My sugar daddy has a husband who helps him run his business, is what I'm saying."

Yoongi throws his hands up. Today's a wash. He's got emails piling up from producers and composers and fucking Namjoon and Hoseok. He's got a Taehyungie in his bed and all the--stuff that comes with that. Jungkook's sugar daddy crisis will have to be rescheduled. Maybe in like three weeks? On a Wednesday.

"This has been absolutely fascinating, Kook," Yoongi says, gathering up his laptop and his phone. "I thank you for confiding in me. Your absolute stupidity has been noted."

He goes for the door. He can see it. He'll grab the handle, turn it, and make a break for it. He'll be in his car. Maybe stop for Chinese on the way home. Perfect.

"Park Jimin," Jungkook says suddenly, and all Yoongi's visions and dreams and dinner for the night wash away. "That's Jin's partner. That's how I know about Taehyung. Jin actually offered to, uh. Well. Taehyung was kind of me. Before, you know, me. Like, kind of their sugar baby." Jungkook scratches at his neck. "He's really nice? Weird as fuck. And, you know, unemployed. But nice?"


Destiny's Mild
Hoseok, Joon, You

Ok so

holy shit what happened

I literally didn't say anything???
How did you know something happened

my spidey senses were tingling
and also you N E V E R text first
tell me before joonie gets here so i can say i knew first

@Joon I need your advice
and like
If you say I told you so they will never find the body

well we all know he can't ever resist saying I told you so
so @Joonie do i still get everything when you die or did that end
when you broke off our engagement in front of both our families and
all our friends asking for a friend

Hey Meredith and Derek, can we focus on me
and my problems
for like
one second

i'm meredith but continue
incredibly proud
of your growing pop culture knowledge


Please donate at the link below to save the children

How the fuck did they let you become a doctor

i studied my ass off and committed to following my dreams knowing
i'd have my best friend and fiance by my side
im empathetic and have a positive happy personality
little do they know its become a mask to hide the way
my broken relationship has fucked me up beyond repair and
turned me into a bitter asshole
but as the kids say i am ASLEEP

…...holy shit seok

lmao i mean bro idk guess i just got lucky making it
through med school lol

Ok so we're gonna circle back to you
In a private chat
And unpack some of that
But first

cool plan lay it on me

Wait, I'm here

lmao excellent timing
yoons let's hear it
i have an appt in 30 min to bury myself alive

Well make room for me because
Turns out
My husband
Used to be a sugar baby for Kim Seokin
You know Kim Seokjin

The one with his face on the side of the casino?

is he the one with the face and the building
and the face on the building

There is more

As my patients would say

Taehyung was a sugar baby?
He was sleeping on a couch

He was kind of their sugar baby
IDK all the details

Which means you haven't talked to Taehyung about this

Me, confront my problems?
It's more unlikely than you think
And, yeah. Their.
Park Jimin is Seokjin's boyfriend/lover/partner/whatever the fuck

h o l y s h i t
you know what you have to do now right

I agree with Hoseok, Yoongi.
You need to get Taehyung's side of the story.

i was actually gonna say hop on a train frosty the snowman style
freeze to death
maybe come back in a few years like the winter soldier
and forget all this ever happened

Can you be serious for once, Jesus Christ

I sense a disturbance in talking about me

sure i'll be serious

Ok please don't do that

i think it's ha ha ha funny as fuck that your advice to yoongs

How many times have I tried talking to you?
You always brush me off.

Hoseok has left the chat

Real cool, Joon

Not now, please.
Talk to Taehyung
It might not be a big deal.
And maybe you two won't end up hating each other

You two are the world's best PSA for open, honest communication
Stop fucking with my best friend
I'll talk to Taehyungie

I thought I was your best friend?

Who told you that?


Yoongi wakes up with a hand around his dick.

In his half-asleep, shaky, dream-addled mind, it feels like the best thing in the world. It is the best thing in the world, shuddering into consciousness with Taehyung's long, thick fingers wrapped around him, circling in the most devastating strokes. Yoongi goes to arch his back, to push into the feeling and finds that he can't. Taehyung's got his other hand, massive and strong and veiny, spread against the soft underbelly of Yoongi's stomach. Yoongi can't move, can't do anything but accept the torturous strokes, and his heart beats, this elevated, adrenaline-filled thump thump thump, he doesn't feel scared.

He feels safe. Taken care of.

"Oh fuck, Taehyungie," he whines. "You're gonna kill me."

Taehyung hums, lips dangerously close to the meaty jiggle of Yoongi's inner thigh. "Don't wanna kill you," he murmurs, voice sleep-deep and lazy, "Just wanna make you come, pretty."

"Fuck," Yoongi breathes out. His fingers grip at the sheets, desperate for something to hold on to while Taehyung bites purpling bruises into his thighs. It stings, throbs, soothed only by his tongue afterwards. Leaves Yoongi shaking and begging and wired like a spark. "Fuck, Taehyungie--oh shit--I had wanted. Wanted to talk to you."

Taehyung hums, in the middle of sucking another bruise into the soft peach of Yoongi's skin. Yoongi is ripe, and soft, and Taehyung handles him like a fruit on the cusp of withering away. Gently. Laps at the pre-come that leaks onto his hands and down Yoongi's thighs. "Talk," he murmurs, "Jesus, you taste so sweet. How are you this sweet?"

"Mm not," Yoongi stutters. "Taehyungie, fuck." He grabs at Taehyung's hair, the mess of it from the bed, grips his fingers in and feels his stomach flip when Taehyung hisses. "I'm serious."

"Me too," Taehyung says. "C'mon." He soothes another red wine bruise, this one on the bottom of Yoongi's belly, nestled right above his dick. "You taste too sweet, but I'm listening. You taste like honey," he says. His fingers curl tighter, and Yoongi suppresses a tremble. "My honey boy? I'm listening."

He takes a little mercy on Yoongi. Takes the hand off his dick and hides his smug, pleased smile at Yoongi's whine. His mouth doesn't move away though, steadily nipping and biting and digging into Yoongi's thighs.

Yoongi breathes a little, squirms at the sensation of being so close to coming and feeling his body wind down, the release settling warm in the pit of his stomach.

"Good?" Taehyung asks softly.

Yoongi nods. The grip he has in Taehyung's hair loosens, softens into running his shaky fingers through the strands instead. Taehyung kisses his thighs, his dick, the soft squish of his stomach.

"Do you know Kim Seokjin?" Yoongi asks him.

Taehyung tilts his head back, enough so he can look up at Yoongi's face. "Yes," he says simply. "Do you?"

Yoongi shakes his head. "No, but--" He bites his lip. "My--protege? That sounds fucking pretentious but that's what he is. He knows him. Really well."

Taehyung furrows his eyebrows. He rests his head on Yoongi's leg and looks contemplative. "That's...nice? Can I go back to getting you off now? That made more sense to me."

Yoongi blows out of breath. This is stupid, and he wants to come, and Taehyung feels so good on top of him, warm and heavy and safe. "His name is Jeon Jungkook."

"Holy shit," Taehyung says. "You know Jungkookie?"

"I know Jungkook," Yoongi confirms.

Taehyung groans, burying his face in between Yoongi's legs. "God, I'm guessing he told you all sorts of sordid shit about me, huh? Fuck, fine." He goes to get up, starts untangling himself from Yoongi's hold. "I'm guessing you wanna know?"

"I would love to know."

Taehyung lets out a pitiful sound. "Ugh, whatever. I told you I graduated as a chemistry major, right?"

"Yeah," Yoongi says flatly. "Totally easy chemistry. I remember."

Taehyung rolls his eyes. "I got a job in a research lab right out of college. It was cool, I guess. Like, I got to work on experiments and publish some articles and blow shit up, but." He looks up at Yoongi with big, wide eyes. "It was so boring. It wasn't fun and it was soul sucking and stressful and I hated it."

Yoongi strokes Taehyung's scalp, his ears, his cheeks. "Okay, so then what."

"So," Taehyung starts. "I went to a psychic, right?"

"Oh, of course."

"And she told me I needed to take a risk. To chance it all. And obviously that meant Vegas, I mean, like. She couldn't have been more clear."


"So, I cashed out all my savings and moved to Vegas. That's where I met Jimin. I was fucking up in Jin's casino one night, like totally losing major cash? And Jimin just--it was like he knew I needed someone to tell me to stop," Taehyung says. "He asked me what the hell I was doing throwing away all my money so badly and I told him."

Yoongi hums. "So he made you his sugar baby because you don't know how to gamble?"

Taehyung laughs, this breathy thing that makes Yoongi shiver. "I guess? I don't know. He took me home to Jin, and they just. Spoiled me, I guess. Made me feel special." Taehyung runs a finger up Yoongi's thigh, traces around a bruise. "Kind of like you did that night we met."

"Greasy," Yoongi whines at him.

Taehyung shrugs. "They've been looking out for me for a long time. And, I mean, yeah we fucked? But it was just--a comfort thing? I don't know." Taehyung flops over, and Yoongi misses the weight of him. "I felt like such a fuck up after I lost the studio. Jin had helped me get it, and I swore I could handle it." He sniffs, and Yoongi sits up, alarmed. "God, it's no fucking wonder they went and found Jungkookie. I mean, who would want to a fuck up like me?"

Yoongi shoves him. "What the fuck?"

"What the fuck?"

Yoongi glares. He shoves at Taehyung's shoulder again, pushing until Taehyung's on his back staring up at him. "What the fuck do you mean who would want you? I married you, didn't I?"

"Drunk," Taehyung reminds him. "And you didn't even remember it." He laughs, this terrible thing that cracks like the sunlight between the blinds, casts a shadow on the sharp angles of his face. "God, it's gonna get annulled, and I'll be the epitome of forgettable. It won't even fucking exist."

"Shut the fuck up," Yoongi says heatedly. It simmers under his skin, this anger, this absolute feral feeling that screams mine mine mine. "Why the fuck would i forget you? How could I?"

"Yoongi--" Taehyung murmurs.

"No," Yoongi tells him. "Shut up. I'm mad at you. Get up."

Taehyung gets up. "Why?"

Yoongi shoves himself out of the bed, feels the chill from the air conditioner spread down his spine. "We're taking Holly and walking to that disgusting gluten-free bakery you like. Get dressed, asshole."

Taehyung blinks. "Are you--are you mad at me? For sleeping with Jimin and Jin?"

"I'm mad at you for doubting my amazing taste in drunk husbands," Yoongi tells him. "I said get dressed."

Taehyung crosses his arms, plants his feet stubbornly. "I basically whored myself out," he challenges. "Fucked a billionaire and his partner for a place to stay."

Yoongi walks away. "I can't hear you," he calls. "I'm busy getting dressed."

"I sucked Jin's dick the second night I met him!" Taehyung yells after him.

"Great!" Yoongi yells back. "He's really hot! Secure the bag!"

"What does that even mean!"

Yoongi slams the bathroom door shut. His dick is still hard, his heart is pounding, and he has this beautiful boy in his apartment, screaming at him. "It means me and Holly are leaving in fifteen minutes to buy your favorite disgusting scones whether you're dressed or not!"



There's silence, just the sound of Yoongi furiously brushing his teeth, and Taehyung aggressively going through clothes in the closet. Inexplicably, Yoongi is grinning in the mirror, dumb toothpaste smile and all.

"I really like you!" Taehyung yells suddenly. "Asshole!"

Yoongi spits, rinses his mouth out. "I really like you too," he calls back angrily. "Dumbass!"



"I'll be ready in ten!"

"I'll be ready in nine!"


Destiny's Mild
Joon, you

You added Hoseok

Oh yeah I forgot
Kook is Kim Seokjin's sugar baby now
Crazy right


to the fbi agent reading this chat im being held here against my will but


Karaoke night is a time-honored tradition.

It started back in college, when Yoongi needed to hear music that wasn't his own and Namjoon was so tired of transcribing English and Hangul and Hoseok had somehow managed to have a full-scale breakdown over his biology textbook. They'd set everything aside: responsibilities, inhibitions, reality, and taken the train to the gayest, loudest, most obnoxious karaoke bar in Brooklyn. They've been coming twice a month for years now, so much that they don't get stopped at the door, just waved in and kissed on the cheek by whatever bouncer's there that night.


Hey so
Don't come to karaoke tonight
Thanks in advance

Okay….can I ask why?

1) I promised Kook he could come, and you two are annoying together
2) we're gonna be talking shit about you with Hoseok
Figured you wouldn't want to hear

What am I supposed to do instead?

Jesus are we your only friends?
Fucking loser
I don't know, Joon, think about why you fucked up
the best relationship of your life?????????
Just a suggestion

I can't read suddenly, I don't know

Since when do YOU meme

Hoseok likes them so I figured I would learn.
Please don't tell him.

Hey Siri why is Namjoon's life so pathetic

Did she answer?

Yoongi has left the chat

"Oh my god," Taehyung says. "This place is perfect."

For a Thursday night, it's pretty packed. There are people everywhere, in the booths and up against the walls and sat at the bar. Yoongi grabs hold of Taehyung's hand, leads him through the crush of crowd.

He's in his going out clothes again. He's switched out his usual silver nose stud for an ocean blue one that glitters under the pulsing lights. His crop top, a soft, worn t-shirt that has QUEENS written over pictures of the Golden Girls, falls just above his belly piercing, a gold dangling piece of jewelry that settles smoothly over the softness of his stomach. His jeans, carefully and beautifully deconstructed, show the perfect amount of skin. Taehyung's hair, messily and accidentally grown out, is pulled back into a low bun that hits the nape of his neck.

Yoongi will stop staring eventually.

"How are we going to find somewhere to sit?" Taehyung murmurs, breath sticky and hot against Yoongi's skin. "You wanna sit in my lap?"

Yoongi pulls at him again. "Kook is saving us a booth. I'm not sitting in your lap."

Taehyung beams. "We'll see."

Jungkook waves from a corner booth. "Yoongi! Taehyungie! Over here!"

"Yikes," Taehyung whispers. "He really is cute as fuck."

"Are you trying to make me jealous?" Yoongi asks.

Taehyung scoffs, reaches around to pinch at Yoongi's round, flushed cheeks. "Yeah, right. I can only handle one baby boy at a time, sweetheart."

"Fuck you," Yoongi mutters, but he accepts the kiss Taehyung gives him before he slides across the booth towards Jungkook.

"Jungkookie!" They wrap themselves around each other like old friends, and Jungkook winks at Yoongi from over Taehyung's shoulder. "I've missed you, bunny. Jimin and Jin did, too."

"I know," Jungkook tells him, rolling his eyes. "They FaceTime me, like, every two hours just to see what I'm doing." Jungkook pulls Taehyung in, and they squish in on one side of the booth, leaving Yoongi alone on the other. "How are you? Is Yoongi being a good husband, or is he total trash? Tell me the truth."

Taehyung giggles into his hands. They had a few drinks at the apartment before they left, and Yoongi knows Taehyung tastes like vodka and fruit. It's visible in the way his cheeks and neck turn pink, the way he falls into Jungkook when he laughs, grabbing onto his arm.

"Mhm," Taehyung hums happily. He rests his head on Jungkook's shoulder, throwing a doe-eyed, tipsy smile in Yoongi's direction. "He's a very nice husband." He reaches a hand across the table, and Yoongi meets him halfway. It's automatic. "I'm going to miss him a lot."

Jungkook throws a sharp glance at Yoongi. "Tae--" he starts, voice soft. Gentle. Like Taehyung is a fragile, breakable thing.

"Jungkook," Yoongi interrupts. "Go order us some drinks, would you?" He slides his credit card over. "Rum and coke for me and a cranberry vodka for Taehyungie. Bye."

Jungkooks sighs, sliding over Taehyung to get out of the booth. "Did I make you sad?" Taehyung asks. He's leaning on his hand now, palms squishing his cheeks. Yoongi feels drunk off of him alone. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not sad," Yoongi says. He takes a deep breath, feels his heart jump into his throat. "You're not allowed to be sad either. It's Hoseok's night to be sad, remember?"

Taehyung nods, face lifting like a man on a mission. "Hoseok," he intones somberly, "We are gathered here today--"

"Okay, no," Yoongi interrupts. "I'll start if off, okay? Oh shit, there he is."

Hoseok is zig-zagging through the crowd, leather jacket layered over his hospital scrubs. He's wearing his glasses, and his hair's a mess, and Yoongi feels a protective fire start to burn in his gut for his best friend. He's going to fucking put Hoseok back together with his own two bare hands if he has to.

"Hey," Hoseok says, breathless by the time he reaches them. "Hey, Taehyungie. You look hot. Yoongi, you look. Alive."

Taehyung laughs again. "Hiiiii, Hoseokie. You look tired. You want a drink? Yoongi's paying."

Hoseok glances at Yoongi, smiles when Yoongi nods reluctantly. "I sure as fuck do. I want bourbon."

Taehyung stumbles out of the booth, and Yoongi reaches out a hand to steady him even though he can't reach. "I'll help Jungkookie at the bar," he says. He puts a hand on Hoseok's shoulder, face straight. "We are gathered here today, in a holy intervention." He looks at Yoongi. "Was that it?"

"Perfect," Yoongi tells him and absolutely does not watch Taehyung walk away, faded jeans hugging his ass like a dream.

Hoseok sighs, settling into the booth with exhaustion. "Where's Joonie?" he asks. "Late as usual?"

"Not coming," Yoongi tells him. "Figured maybe you could have a break from him tonight."

Hoseok makes a face. Runs his fingers through his hair. Bites his lip. Forgets that Yoongi knows all his tells for when he's feeling stressed the fuck out. "I'm fine," he says finally. "You don't have to worry. Me and Joonie are fine."

"Right," Yoongi says. "That's why you two fucked in Vegas and have been at each other's throats ever since."

Hoseok blinks. "In my defense," he starts, "you got married to a total stranger in Vegas. Fucking my ex-fiance seems minor in comparison."

"But I actually like Taehyungie," Yoongi stresses. "You and Joon act like you hate each other, Seok."

"You know that's not true," Hoseok says quietly. His face is grim, stripped of his usual smile and silly expressions. He just looks. Empty. Sad. It makes Yoongi want to punch something. "You know that's not true, Yoongi."

Yoongi sighs. He knows. He knew years ago, when Hoseok had fallen apart in a room full of people who loved him, sobbing into Yoongi's chest, a constant what did I do wrong Yoongi what did I do why doesn't he love me anymore that Yoongi can still hear sometimes, in the silence between them. He knew when Hoseok had stopped answering everyone's calls, only reassuring them he was still alive through sporadic messages through his sister. That's how Yoongi had really known: when Hoseok had emerged six months later, smile firmly glued on his face, laughter cracking in his throat, declaring that him and Joonie has been friends before and a broken engagement wouldn't change that. Yoongi had wondered then, and he wonders now, where all that love and hate and heartbreak could go. Where it could be stored away if not in the little nooks and crannies between your ribs, the dark places where things grow and cling like ivy. He sees now, that it's been growing in Hoseok all this time, festering, curling around his lungs and up his throat like an overgrown garden. Like thorned roses.

"I know," Yoongi says, and he reaches out for Hoseok's hand, squeezes it tightly and watches him crumple like unsteady cards, eyes furiously blinking in the disco-colored, manic lights. "You don't have to pretend with me, Seok."

"Yes, I do," Hoseok croaks out. "You don't get it, Yoons." He holds his hands over his stomach, one still entangled with Yoongi's. "It hurts, it hurts so bad if I let it. It feels like a fucking hole that won't close. And every time I see him, it just fucking gets deeper."

Jungkook bounds over at that moment, the worst moment, face shining and bright. "Got the drinks. Did anybody--" He takes in their solemn expressions, the way Hoseok freezes and blanks out. "Shit, did I interrupt something?"

"No," Hoseok says suddenly. Both Yoongi and Jungkook watch with varying degrees of horror as he visibly puts himself back together, as if the cracks were never there to begin with. What emerges is the Hoseok Yoongi remembers from years and years ago. The one that disappeared from them and came back again, untouchable and unreachable, a smile sharpened into armor. "Is that my drink, Kookie? Thank you."

He knocks it back without another word to the two of them, and Yoongi sighs, cranes his neck behind Jungkook. "Did you lose Taehyungie?"

Jungkook points to the other side of the club. "He's signing up to sing! He's actually really good, did you know?"

Yoongi did not know. "What are you two singing?"

Jungkook shakes his head. "I'm just gonna be his front row groupie. He's singing by himself."

"Ladies and gentlemen," the MC calls out, almost as if on cue. "We have a newcomer tonight. Are you all going to give him a warm welcome?"

The crowd cheers, shakes in anticipation.

"That's what I like to hear. Well, here he is. He's Taehyung, he's a little drunk, and he's cute as fuck. And sorry fellas, this one's taken."

Taehyung appears on stage, soaking in the attention, the applause, the appreciative whistles. He gives a little wiggle, sexy and suave, and blows them a kiss. "Yes, I am very much married," he says, voice deep and echoing in the microphone. He looks around for a minute, face lighting up when he spots their table. "There he is! Hi, Yoongi! Hi, that's my husband, everyone! Isn't he cute? Hi, sweetheart!"

Yoongi slinks low in the booth, dutifully waving back, cheeks aflame. Jungkook jumps up and down, waving his arms.

"And that's Jungkookie," Taehyung says to the crowd. "I'm not married to him, but he's also very cute."

Laughter. Everyone loves Taehyung. Yoongi feels warmth like a flickering candle in his chest, at his side where Hoseok leans into him, laughing a little at his embarrassment.

"Pretty boy," says Taehyung, addressing Yoongi once more. "I'm afraid I kept a pretty big secret from you. I know a lot of things happened at our wedding that you don't remember, but I should have told you this." He takes a deep breath. "I serenaded you. Full on performed for you before reciting my vows. I hope the audience enjoys this as much as you did," he finishes with a wink, and the crowd fucking loses it as the lights dim. A chair appears in the middle of the stage, seemingly out of thin air.

"C'mon!" Jungkook yells. "We have to get up by the stage. C'mon, c'mon!"

Yoongi looks at Hoseok, who waves him away. "I'll watch the table," he promises. "I definitely will not get messy drunk and try to blackout away from all my problems. Go!"

Yoongi goes, led by Jungkook's hand.

The crowd seems to part like magic as Taehyung settles on the chair. The bar will always give out props, do a fun, gay, obnoxious stage if the participant is willing to play along, but this seems so coordinated, so well thought out.

Yoongi feels played.

"Hey," he calls, leaning into Jungkook's ear as they approach the front. "Why did you wanna come here tonight?"

Jungkook snorts, pushing Yoongi in front of him and steadying him by the hips. "Are you really that stupid? Taehyung planned this, dumbass. Now watch."

Yoongi watches.

The beat drops, and Taehyung leans his head back, exposing the long, sweat-glistened line of this throat. His legs spread open, and he looks at the crowd, at Yoongi, through slitted, sultry eyes. He brings the mic up.

Driver, roll up the partition, please
Driver, roll up the partition, please

The crowd screams, and Taehyung smirks, runs light, tickling fingers over his exposed stomach.

I don't need you seeing Yonce on her knees

He rolls up, a sensual move that sticks Yoongi in place like glue. Taehyung falls to the floor with a grace Yoongi didn't know he had, tilts his head as he gets on his hands and knees. Licks his lips.

Took forty-five minutes to get all dressed up
And we ain't even gonna make it to this club

There are wolf-whistles, cheers, someone yells take it off, honey, in the midst of it all, but it sounds like white noise to Yoongi. All he can see is Taehyung, his glittering jewelry, his metal dyed hair, the gloss on his lips.

Now my mascara running, red lipstick smudged
Oh he so horny, yeah he want to fuck

He rolls over on his back, arches up with a hand placed ever so delicately over his dick. He doesn't take his eyes off Yoongi.

He bucked all my buttons, he ripped my blouse
He Monica Lewinski'd all on my gown

Jesus, fuck.

Taehyung smiles, does this sensual, smooth turn so he's back up on his knees, fingers trailing down his chest and his stomach, reaching up to catch around his neck as he sings in this awful, terrible, deep honeyed voice.

Oh there daddy, daddy didn't bring the towel
Oh baby, baby we better slow it down

Taehyung's fingers in his mouth, sucking on them the same way he does Yoongi's dick, and it's like. There's just Taehyung. There's just Taehyung and Yoongi, and Yoongi can't understand how the fuck he got lucky enough and drunk enough to marry this man. It's unfathomable. It's unimaginable. It's unreal.

He's hard as fuck.

Time passes in a haze. Yoongi hears the crowd, hears the yells, hears the bass and thump of the music. He feels Jungkook shaking him, hears the holy shit, Yoongi, holy shit are you seeing this. He feels the alcohol buzzing through him, burning his throat and his chest and leaving his mouth dry. It all passes in a haze, until suddenly it's over, and Taehyung is in front of him, grinning and laughing and pressing kisses all over Yoongi's face.

"Was I good?" he asks, as if Yoongi hasn't been put into a mild coma from the shock of it all. Taehyung presses closer, breath smelling sweet and tangy and strong like liquor. "Did you like it?"

"Taehyungie," Yoongi breathes out, fingers digging into Taehyung's waist, his sweat-slick skin, the soft slope of his stomach. "You were fucking beautiful up there, what the fuck?"

Taehyung scrunches his nose. "Beautiful, huh? Not sexy? Totally fuckable?"

"All of the above, you absolute menace," Yoongi tells him. "How the fuck did you even come up with that?"

Taehyung shrugs like it's nothing. He tucks a loose strand behind his ear, his bun coming undone. "Wanted you to remember something from our wedding," he says. "Wanted you to remember me, sweetheart."

Jungkook gags from beside them. "Are you two done? This is nasty."

Taehyung winks at Yoongi before turning to Jungkook, blinking innocently. "Jungkookie, do you remember that time I walked in on you with--"

"Okay," Jungkook interrupts. "Shut the fuck up now. Let's get some more goddamn alcohol."



Don't panic

Yoongi what the fuck
I just woke up to 5 missed calls from Hoseok
4 voicemails
And texts I cannot even begin to decipher

Delete everything if you value your life

Why?? Is he okay??

I'm taking him home, he's fine
Just super drunk
He's currently vomiting outside the bar
It's fine

I'm coming to get him

It's cool, Kook is calling us an Uber
He's fine

Yeah, he sounds totally fine
Slurring and crying into my voicemail
Yoongi what did you do?

I'm drunk, cold, and horny
My best friend is sobbing and throwing up on a sidewalk
My husband is trying to sing him a lullaby
Jungkook keeps trying to send the Uber to the White House to "fight that orange bitch"
I don't have time for your dumb questions right now

Take care of him please

I always do, you asshole

Love you too, Yoongs



Subject: Yoongi Min and Taehyung Kim - Annulment

Good morning Mr. Min,

I am following up on the annulment proceedings between you and Mr. Kim. As we have discussed, per state regulations, you have six months to annul a voidable marriage. I have not heard back from you regarding the status of signatures on the annulment paperwork. Please get back to me at your earliest convenience.

Thank you, and have a great day.

Si-hyuk Bang, Esq.
NY Family Law


Message has been deleted. Undo?


Yoongi wakes up in an empty bed.

The sun has long since risen, and he hadn't heard Taehyung get out of bed for his morning. Yoongi stretches his hand out, and the other side of the bed is cool. Taehyung's been gone for a while.

Yoongi groans.

"Hey Siri," he calls out, voice croaky from disuse and alcohol and a drunken, drooling sleep. "Why the fuck is my husband not in bed with me?"

He hears giggling, the pitter patter of bare feet. Suddenly the bed creaks, bounces under the weight of bodies.

"Hey Siri," Taehyung calls out sweetly, mouth pressed up against Yoongi's neck. "Why is my husband so obsessed with me?"

"Ugh," Hoseok says, shifting from where he's fallen on the other side of Yoongi. "Are you two always this disgusting?"

"Hey Siri," Yoongi starts, and cackles when Hoseok smacks him in the face with a pillow. "I thought I called my husband," Yoongi says when he gets free. "Did I get married again and forget?"

"Buy one get one free," Hoseok tells him with a yawn. "Although I don't know how you deal with a husband that wakes up at the asscrack of dawn to do yoga."

"It's calming," Yoongi and Taehyung say at the same time.

"Jinx!" They yell again, and Yoongi's dumb, stupid, totally bad idea of a smile gets lost in Taehyung's mouth, tongue sweet like sugared tea.

They pull back, and the three of them lay like that for a moment. Hungover and sleepy and warm.

Into the quiet, the intimate closeness of the bed and their limbs and their bodies, Hoseok says, “Joonie told me he still loved me. That last night in Vegas.” His voice is calm and muted. Like recounting a dream. Or a very distant memory. “One minute we were drunk and fucking, and the next minute he was holding my hands and kissing me and he said. He said he still loved me with everything that he had.” Hoseok blinks, eyes like dark, unknown tides against the shore. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Taehyung reaches over Yoongi’s waist, reaches across a vast, blue ocean and the mountains and hills and valleys between them. He wraps delicate fingers around Hoseok’s wrist like an anchor. “Hoseok,” he says carefully. “Would you like a hug?”

Hoseok is silent for a long, long time. Yoongi doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Waits like a buoy, for all the lost things to come back. “Please,” Hoseok says eventually. “I think I would like that very, very much.”



[image attached]
They fell asleep again

Are you sharing this with me out of the kindness of your heart?
Or because you're trying to tell me I'm an idiot
Because I know


I'll leave it up to your interpretation

I am a dummy
The dummiest
Please help me

What the fuck have I been doing for the past few years


Holy shit, all caps
Just me?

Invite your husband who you're happily married to
That will really help me out

I'm telling him you said that

Taehyung scares me
He has too much power


"Jesus Christ, Joon," Yoongi groans. "I swear to god Taehyung isn't here. Come in."

Namjoon slinks in. He looks terrible, hunched shoulders and a thin face and dark half-moons under his eyes. He's wearing an old college sweatshirt, one that says JUNG on that back, the hood pulled up over his greasy bangs.

"You look like shit," Yoongi says accusingly, reaching out to poke at Joon's sunken stomach and the hollows of his cheeks. "Have you even been eating?"

Namjoon snorts. "I'm full," he says, waggling his eyebrows, "on heartbreak."

"Okay," Yoongi tells him. "Get out."

"Nooooooo," Namjoon whines. He clings to Yoongi's arms, letting himself be dragged over to the sofa where the two of them collapse. Namjoon settles himself in Yoongi's lap, curls himself up into a ball.

It's a role reversal, reminds Yoongi of high school, then college. Reminds him of when his brain went static and dark and empty, when his thoughts leapt like shadows and he laid awake at night, staring at the ceiling for hours. When he used to lay in Namjoon's lap, like this, eyes stinging, throat closed. Said I think there's something wrong with me, and Namjoon had just said okay. Said I'll help you. Said you're my best friend, Yoongs. I love you.

Now, Yoongi drags his fingers through Namjoon's limp hair. Time has changed them, changed the way they talk to each other, the way the space between them hangs silent sometimes, bitter, empty. Changed the way Yoongi used to think even though Namjoon was younger he knew everything, could fix everything. He doesn't think that anymore.

None of them know everything. Not all things can be fixed.

Yoongi had learned that in the months after the broken engagement. Had learned that Namjoon could be insecure, and selfish, and cruel. That he could be frightened. Angry. Silent. Yoongi learned that the three of them had a foundation that could be shaken, that could be cracked. He had learned that at any time that foundation could split like a fault line and leave someone on the other side.

"Do you hate me?" Namjoon asks quietly. He has his face turned towards Yoongi's knees, back in a long, curved c-shape. "I already know Hoseok does, but what about you?"

Yoongi is struck silent. In the months following their broken engagement, he'd thought he hated Namjoon. Hated the way he'd made Seok cry. Hated the way he couldn't articulate why the fuck he'd decided to end it. Hated the way he'd looked just as heartbroken, and devastated, and ruined. The way he'd just accepted that Yoongi hadn't called him, texted him, checked on him during the time Hoseok had gone into hiding.

"How could I ever hate you?" Yoongi wonders quietly.

Namjoon is his brother. His best friend. Namjoon is late nights and soothing strokes on Yoongi's back when he couldn't sleep. Namjoon is reminders to take your pills, Yoongi and don't forget your appointment, okay? Namjoon is quiet nights on university rooftops thinking about if they didn't make it. If they couldn't graduate. If they had to live on ramen and sleep and cheap granola bars forever. Namjoon is the first person through the door at Yoongi's first big concert. The first person backstage to hug him, to cry and say that was fucking beautiful, you asshole.

Namjoon is a big fucking mess in Yoongi's lap, the one who made him open and vulnerable. The one who made him take risks and trust people.

"I love you, dumbass," Yoongi tells him softly. "You've done some really stupid shit. Like, massively stupid. Like, I can't believe how stupid. But so have I, okay? It doesn't make you the worst person in the world."

Namjoon sniffs. He's so sensitive. He reaches up to wipe his eyes, and suddenly Yoongi is thankful he can't see his face. He's always been a sympathetic crier. Being a Pisces is so fucking stupid.

"I fucked up so bad, Yoongs," Namjoon croaks out. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know if I can."

"Tell me," Yoongi urges. "Just fucking tell me, okay? Tell me, so I can fix it. That's what I'm here for, you big dummy."

Namjoon shakes his head. "It's stupid. It's so stupid." He's gasping, trembling breaths and trembling, wet eyelids, and trembling hands. "You're right, I'm stupid. Every time you say it, it's true. I know it's true."

"It is not," Yoongi tells him angrily. "If I had known you were going to be an idiot about it, I would have never called you that in the first place. Oh my fucking god, Joon."

Yoongi shakes at Namjoon's shoulder, makes him look up. His face is splotchy red and streaked, his lips bitten and gnawed and chapped. "You are not stupid. You are in love, and sometimes love is fucked up. Sometimes people in love fuck up." Yoongi wipes Namjoon's face with his thumb, and it's only a little bit gross. "Just tell me. I promise I'll make it okay."

Namjoon turns the other way, knees bent up and his face smushed against Yoongi's stomach. He takes a few, steadying, shuddering, painful looking breaths. "I still love him," he says quietly. "I think I love him more now than I did before."

"Then why aren't you with him?" Yoongi asks. "He fucking loves you too, you know that."

“You didn’t hear them,” Joon says. “I couldn’t tell you, because you would just—“

“I would what?”

“You would say they were wrong. But they weren’t, Yoongi, they were right. I mean look—“

“Okay, okay, okay,” Yoongi soothes. “Okay. Who were these people telling you whatever things? I’ll go kick their asses.”

Namjoon laughs, this disbelieving, quiet thing muffled into the extra material of Yoongi’s sweatshirt. “Everybody said it. Everybody knew.”

“Kim Namjoon,” Yoongi says firmly. “Tell me right now.”

Namjoon is silent, mouth pressed together almost like he’ll hold back the words by force. Or as if they’ve been there the entire time, just waiting for Yoongi to press. To ask. Jesus, he thinks angrily, why the fuck didn’t I just ask?

"That I was just holding him back," Namjoon says quietly. He laughs again, and Yoongi hates it, he fucking hates it. "That he could do so much better than me, and they were right."

"How the fuck were they right?" Yoongi asks angrily. "You're perfect for him."

"Do you even remember what it was like?" Joon asks him angrily. He bursts upward, balancing himself on Yoongi's bony thighs and knees. "Back in school? When he was constantly at the top of his class and getting nominated for all these scholarships and internships?" Yoongi reaches out for him, and Joon flinches away. "I was studying two languages and fucking failing my anatomy classes, and Hoseok still wanted to find time to help me study. We'd set up study dates, and he had to back out of every single one."

"Joonie," Yoongi says carefully. Because he doesn't remember this. Because he didn't see this. Because things were falling apart, and Yoongi just--didn't notice? Didn't care?

"I know it wasn't his fault," Joon says tiredly. "God, how could I be mad at him for being the best and the smartest and the kindest person I've ever fucking met? What kind of asshole would I be for getting mad at that?"

Namjoon curls up again. Knees to chest, like protection. Like he's holding himself together. "His third year in med school, you know what I found?"

Yoongi shakes his head, afraid to speak, afraid to breathe.

"He'd already had offers for internships and residencies," Namjoon says. "From all over the country, Yoongi. From all over the world. I remember--" His voice cracks, his breath stutters. He recovers. He hides it. "There was one, god, I don't even remember where it was from. I'd found it in his trashcan, you know? Whatever, no big deal. But it--it was so worn, Yoongi. I could look at it and see the way he'd read over it so many times, probably memorized every word of the offer. It had been folded and reopened and probably stashed in his pocket for so long, until he'd just--thrown it away."

Namjoon swallows. "He never would have gone anywhere I couldn't follow."

Yoongi knows that. He knows that.

"And I thought, what the fuck," Namjoon tells him. "What the fuck am i doing? His parents kept asking me how my language classes were going, as if they couldn't believe I was wasting my time like that while Hoseok was out trying to save the world. My mom kept saying we were too young to get married, that neither of us even knew what else was out there. But I did know. I fucking knew everything out there, I wanted to see it with Hoseok."

The room is quiet. Namjoon's sniffling, quivering breaths. The sounds of Yoongi's fingers rubbing over his back. Years worth of words unsaid settling between them.

"I didn't know," Yoongi says eventually.

"I know," Namjoon tells him with a shrug. "I didn't want you to know, I guess. I was so fucked up in my head, and I had talked myself into thinking the worst shit about myself, I didn't want to get out of that hole. Usually, you can talk me out of it, but--"

"I wasn't there," Yoongi finishes. He'd been locked in his piano studio, his room, the library. He'd been unreachable by phone, by email. He'd been I'm busy, Joon, we can catch up later, right?. He'd been late to one of Hoseok's award ceremonies. Forgotten another. "I'm sorry," Yoongi breathes out. "Joon. Joonie, I'm so fucking sorry."

"Hey," Namjoon says sharply. "I did this. I fucked it up. Not you, not Hoseok. Just me. So, shut up."

"We're gonna fix this," Yoongi promises. "I don't fucking know how, but. It's me and you, right?"

Namjoon nods, leans in until his head is pressed against Yoongi's shoulders. Yoongi refuses to let go. "You, me, and Hoseokie," Joon says quietly. "I love you."

"Disgusting," Yoongi tells him. "I love you more."


Subject: RE: Yoongi Min and Taehyung Kim - Annulment

I will no longer be needing your services. Thanks.




What time are you getting home
I wanna talk pls
Kind of important

Read at 4:56pm



Read at 5:03pm

I'm calling and you're not answering
You always answer for me
Where are you?

Read at 5:17pm

Taehyung what the fuck



Sorry I know you're working a double shift
But have you heard from Taehyungie?

what's going on?

Nothing, it's fine
Just being paranoid, I guess

you're a terrible liar
keep me posted



Hoseok said you're looking for Taehyung?

Hoseok is a dead man
It's fine
I'm just worrying over nothing


Fine, I'm mildly freaking out
Tell anyone and I'll cut your tongue out
And send it to your parents in a box

I'm sure the FBI agent reading this chat just jotted that down
Let me know if you need me to come over

I don't

I'll be there in an hour if you still haven't heard anything from him




[youtube voice] I WAS ATTACKED


Incoming call: Unknown

"Taehyung?" Yoongi asks frantically. "Is that you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Listen here, you little skinny ass punk," a voice says into the speaker, and it's definitely not Taehyung. "I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you're messing with the wrong Kim, bitch."

"Oh, yes," someone else says in the background. "That was a good line. Call him a skinny ass punk again, too."

Yoongi blinks. He knows that voice. He's heard that voice before. Hungover in Vegas. Over Skype with Taehyung. Through the phone speaker while Taehyung cooks and Yoongi watches him from the counter.

"Park fucking Jimin?" he asks incredulously. "What the fuck?"

"Oh shit," Jimin says. "Go back to threatening him, Jin."


The other person, who is apparently Kim fucking Seokjin, sighs. "Jimin, you didn't even let me threaten to break his legs before you gave us away."

"What the fuck is going on?" Yoongi asks. "I'm, like, kind of busy right now, so I really can't--"

"Yes, you can," Jin says. "You sorry ass scrub."

"Ooooooh," Jimin calls out. "Get him, Jade!"

Yoongi sighs. Settles down on the couch next to Holly and buries his fingers in his fur to keep himself from throwing his phone across the room. "Is this about Taehyungie?"

"Oh, so he has a brain after all," Jin drawls. His voice is bright, almost pleasant, as if he would stab Yoongi in the eye and offer him a bandage afterwards. "Yes, this is about our beloved Taehyungie. Question for you, Yoongi: who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Have you talked to him?" Yoongi asks. "He's not answering my texts or my calls. Where is he?"

Jin sniffs haughtily. "That's a lot of questions from someone trying to end their marriage over a text message," he says. "Who even does that, by the way? Are you really that tacky?"

"Okay," Yoongi cuts in, irritation simmering under his skin. "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I'm not trying to end my marriage over a text," he snaps. "Or at all, what the hell?"

The phone is silent.

"Okay," Jin says carefully. "There seems to be a miscommunication. Not on my part," he adds, "because I've never been wrong a day in my life. But let's clarify. You're not trying to divorce Taehyungie?"

"Annul," Jimin corrects. "Because they got drunk married, remember? Like idiots. In Vegas."

"Annul, divorce, break Taehyungie's heart," Jin lists off, "whatever. You're not trying to do that?"

Yoongi's head is spinning. He feels the adrenaline from the past few hours catch up with him. His head spins. He wants Taehyung. "No," he says firmly. "Who told you that?"

"Taehyung," Jimin and Jin say together. "He said you wanted to talk. Haven't you ever seen a movie? You don't tell people that over text, Jesus Christ. You had Taehyung freaking out for nothing, asshole."

Yoongi breathes out, pulling himself to his feet and looking for his shoes. "Where is he? I have to talk to him. In fucking person, I guess."

"Good boy," Jin coos. "Go get your man. And don't make me have to threaten you again, it's bad for my aura."

Unknown has shared a location with you.

"You're still a skinny ass punk," Jimin yells, just before Yoongi hangs up.


Destiny's Mild
Hoseok, Joon, You

False alarm
Everything is fine

what happened???

You found him?
Is he okay?

Too many questions
I think I'm about to get engaged????


You know what? I don't want to know.
You know what that is?


Yoongi finds Taehyung in the dog park by their apartment. It’s near dusk, but there are still a few dogs and their owners roaming around. Taehyung seemingly has taken ownership of a small poodle with a pink streak in its hair.

“Jin told me if I moved from this spot, I wouldn’t live to see another day,” Taehyung says when Yoongi sits down next to him. “He’s kind of scary when he’s being caring, you know?”

“I know,” Yoongi says flatly. “My legs were threatened. Would you carry me around if Jin hacked them off?”

“Of course,” Taehyung snorts. “Piggyback you all over the world, sweetheart.”

Yoongi scoots closer, so their shoulders are touching. The poodle in Taehyung’s lap squirms onto its back, and Yoongi rubs its little rounded belly. “Pretty girl,” he coos. “Prettiest girl in the whole world.”

“I want another dog,” Taehyung says suddenly. “So Holly can have a brother or sister. Maybe both.”

Yoongi hums. “Okay.”

Taehyung glances towards Yoongi and away. “And a cat, too,” he says, almost like a challenge.

“I’m allergic,” Yoongi tells him. “How about two more dogs and something boring. Like fish.”

Taehyung thinks. Yoongi wants to reach out and touch, but he doesn’t. He waits.

“We can each name one dog and one fish,” Taehyung says finally. “That’s fair.”

“That’s fair,” Yoongi agrees. “Anything else?”

In the distance, someone whistles, and their poodle friend bounds away with one last lick at their hands. Taehyung curls in on himself without something to occupy his hands.

Yoongi waits.

“I want to open another yoga studio,” Taehyung says quietly, voice getting lost in the sunset and warm hues of the day’s end. “I know I was stupid the first time, but I could do it this time, I promise—"

“Hey,” Yoongi cuts in. “You don’t need to convince me. If you wanna open another sunrise ass yoga studio, then do it.”

He does reach out this time, presses fingertips to fingertips and settles when Taehyung presses back.

“You can’t leave if I fuck it up again,” Taehyung says. He does look at Yoongi this time. His face reminds Yoongi of a long time ago, of a hotel room in Vegas. Of Taehyung saying I’m sorry I’m sorry why would you wanna marry someone like me? “If it sucks or nobody comes or the fucking bank forecloses on me again,” he grabs Yoongi’s hand tighter, “you have to promise you’ll stay. You have to promise. You brought me here, and now I want to stay. I want you to stay.”

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says softly. He can’t help the incredulity in his voice, the utter confusion that Taehyung actually looks unsure. As if Yoongi hasn’t been promising, hasn’t been saying yes since a drunken, “I do,” in the middle of the desert. “I’m not going anywhere. Til death do us part, dumbass.”

Taehyung’s shoulders drop in relief, but he still bites his lip. Still looks like Yoongi might put him on a plane back to destination: Jimin’s couch. “You were drunk when you said those vows.”

“So were you,” Yoongi argues. “Did you mean them?” Taehyung nods, and Yoongi knocks their shoulders together. “So did I.” He stares at Taehyung’s golden honey skin, his hair that shines in the dying light like glitter, his piercings that light up like their own little stars. “I’ve seen what overthinking can do,” Yoongi admits. “I don’t wanna be like Hoseok and Joon, overthinking things that feel right just because it might not make sense.”

Taehyung smiles, finally. “You don’t think me and you make sense?”

“Absolutely the fuck not,” Yoongi says. “But I think we do okay.”

Taehyung nods again, firmly this time. Determined. “Til death do us part, Kim Yoongi,” he says.

Something in Yoongi melts. Snaps. Falls into place. He doesn’t think, just moves. Goes from sitting to balancing in the grass on one knee, and his heart is in his throat.

Don’t think, his heart says. Just do it. Just do it.

“Taehyung,” Yoongi says solemnly. “I don’t remember meeting you. Or marrying you. I don’t remember you serenading me, and I don’t remember saying our vows.” He stares up at Taehyung, his big, warm eyes, his calming, steady presence. “But I remember your smile, and your kindness. I remember the way you made me feel good, made me feel safe. I remember the way you took care of me. I want to make more memories with you. I want to remember it all.”

Yoongi clears his throat. His face is burning, cheeks flushed. Everything in him says stop, you’re making an idiot of yourself, shut the fuck up, but Taehyung’s face makes him keep going. So Yoongi keeps going.

“I don’t know if I love you yet,” he admits. “I mean, I don’t know your favorite movie, or your favorite color, or your favorite Marvel character, and any of those could be big fucking deal breakers.”

Taehyung laughs.

Yoongi keeps going.

“But I could love you,” Yoongi says. “I think it would be really easy. So. Taehyung. Will you do me the honor of staying married to me?”

Taehyung laughs in Yoongi’s face. Yoongi would feel embarrassment, humiliation, if not for the way Taehyung grips Yoongi’s hands, the way he’s nodding and sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“You are so sappy, pretty boy,” Taehyung croaks out. “My baby boy. My husband.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi hisses. “People can hear you.”

“Hey!” Taehyung yells. Heads turn. People look. “I’m married! Look at my husband! Isn’t he cute!”

People clap. Cheer. Yoongi hides his face in Taehyung’s stomach. “God,” he mumbles. “I hate you.”

“That’s too bad,” Taehyung teases. “I think one day I might love you.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi says again. “Please shut up.”



i've done something terrible

I'm not burying the body
But I'll be your getaway ride

that's actually very thoughtful
but no

What did you do

i invited Joonie and Hoseokie to dinner



Taehyung refuses to tell Yoongi anything about dinner.

"Taehyung," Yoongi implores. "They're still working things out. I don't even know the last time they've been in the same room."

Taehyung rolls his eyes from over his simmering pot of meatballs. "They've been talking for the last two weeks. They meet up at the dog park. Neutral ground, you know? Plus, you can't get mad with all those cute little puppies around."

"How do you know this?" Yoongi squints. Neither Hoseok or Joon have mentioned talking or even breathing near each other any time he's been around either of them. "How do you know more than me?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "You still doubt my power," he says, tone disappointed. "I am all-knowing and all-seeing, Kim Yoongi."

"Oh yeah?" Yoongi asks. "Did you see this coming?" he asks, biting at the back of Taehyung's neck until he squeals. "Not so all-seeing now."

"You're annoying!" Taehyung yells, brandishing his spatula, but the doorbell rings before he can do anything.

They both freeze.

"You get it," Taehyung says finally. "They're your friends."

Yoongi scoffs. "Oh, now they're my friends. You're full of shit."

"You'll be full of something tonight if you're good, sweetheart," Taehyung calls behind him.

At the door, Hoseok looks like he might be sick. Namjoon is bouncing on his toes behind him, looking for all intents and purposes like he might jump out of his skin.

"Hi," Yoongi says warily. "You two look lovely."

"Shut the fuck up," Hoseok mutters, slinking past Yoongi. "Taehyung promised me alcohol. Give me alcohol."

Namjoon clears his throat, following behind Hoseok so closely, he's nearly stepping on his ankles. "Maybe you shouldn't drink too much," he suggests. "Never know when you might need to make an informed decision."

Hoseok blinks at him. God, Yoongi might actually have to bury a body tonight.

"Taehyung," Hoseok yells out. "We are getting white girl wasted tonight!"

"I only have wine!" Taehyung yells back. "This is a classy motherfucking affair!"

"This is bullshit," Hoseok hisses, disappearing into the kitchen.

Namjoon is still bouncing on his toes, wringing his hands together and looking generally manic. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Yoongi asks.

He jumps. "Nothing. Why, does it look like something is wrong? Fuck, can you tell? Shit, do you think he knows?"

"Do I think who knows what?"

Namjoon freezes, then relaxes, all the breath rushing out of him at once. "Holy shit," he says. "Taehyung really didn't tell you. I love that kid."

"Okay, one," Yoongi snaps, "don't call him a kid. It's weird. Two, tell me fucking what?"

Namjoon lunges, wraps Yoongi in a hug so tight, it feels like it might bruise. He's still trembling, but the energy seems to be good. There is nothing Yoongi would ever do to ruin it. "I love you," Namjoon murmurs. "Thank you for always being there for me."

"Love you too?" Yoongi questions.

The rest of the night passes.

Hoseok downs two glasses of wine before the rest of them are done with their first servings. Namjoon watches him nervously, frowns slightly at the pink flush on Hoseok's cheeks, the way his shoulders loosen and he slouches slightly in his chair.

"Are you okay? You're not drunk, right?" he asks.

Hoseok sighs. "I'm not gonna throw up, if that's what you're worried about."

"I'm not," Namjoon says quickly. "I mean, if you feel sick you should tell me. But I just wanted to--"

"Hey, Namjoonie," Taehyung cuts in. "I bought a strawberry shortcake. It's in the fridge. Can you get it for me?"

Namjoon nods quickly. Nearly knocks over his chair on his way out.

"What the fuck is up with him?" Hoseok asks. "He's been on my ass all night."

"I think it's sweet," Taehyung says dreamily. "It shows that he's trying to be present in your life. That he cares."

Yoongi squints at him. "What do you know?" he asks accusingly.

Taehyung smiles. "About love? Just a thing or two." He sticks his tongue out at Yoongi.

Namjoon comes back. His hands are shaking as he sets the cake down. A little icing gets on his skin. He doesn't even seem to notice. An innate, preternatural, shuddery feeling sends a shiver down Yoongi's back. He feels his heart speed up. Feels a sense of something settle over him.

"Let's have a toast," Taehyung suggests. He refills all their glasses, only gives Hoseok a quarter of what the rest of them get. "Consider shutting the fuck up," he says cheerfully, when Hoseok goes to complain. "Namjoon, why don't you start?"

Namjoon chokes on the sip he'd been taking. His face is red, he's sweating. His nails are bitten down and raw. He shrinks under their gazes. "Okay," he mumbles.

He stands up, sits down again. Decides once more to stand. He looks tall and bumbling and nervous, and Yoongi's heart clenches. "Well, first I guess I want to toast to--to friends," he says carefully. "I've been lucky to somehow manage to get stuck with the best people in the world, and I think," he continues softly, "I think I am a much better person for knowing you all."

He takes a deep breath. "I also want to toast to family. Friends that have turned into family. Yoongi and Hoseok," he turns to Taehyung,"and you, Taehyungie. You guys are my family, and I--I think we all have days or weeks or months--" He laughs suddenly, this choking thing that startles Yoongi into moving before he feels Taehyung's nails digging into his thigh, keeping him in place. "For me, I've had years where I hated myself, but with you all, it's become bearable. It's become something that I know eventually will end."

They're all silent. Hoseok's eyes are wet, Taehyung is beaming, and Yoongi--Yoongi feels heartache and goodness and light. He feels like all the bad things in the world couldn't bring him, them, his family down.

"And lastly," Namjoon says, voice shaking, "I want to toast to--to love." He turns to Hoseok, whose face immediately begins to crumple. "Hoseokie," Namjoon says gently. Softly. A nickname that holds all the love and heartbreak in the world. "Hoseokie, I've loved you for as long as I've known what love is. I doubted myself, and I doubted us, but I have never doubted you. You are the sun and all the stars in my sky. You are the person that can make me laugh on my worst days. The person I think of at night and first thing in the morning. The first person I want to tell all my good news to."

Namjoon begins to cry, and he wipes away his tears. Hoseok doesn't bother, face streaked and wet and flushed pink. "I know I've fucked up, and I know I've hurt you. The fact that you can even talk to me, much less look at me, makes me the luckiest man in the entire world. I've done absolutely nothing to deserve you, but I want to keep you anyway. I want to--Hoseokie, I want to deserve you. I want to make you happy, and make you laugh, and make you feel good for the rest of your fucking life." He drops to one knee, and Yoongi gasps, breath knocked out of his chest. He hears Taehyung laugh wetly, but Yoongi can't move his eyes away. Can't breathe.

"Hoseok," Namjoon says again, and suddenly there's a ring in his hand. The same one from years ago. The same one Hoseok gave back to him with that awful, plaster-fake smile on his face. Hoseok sobs, and Namjoon grabs his hands, holds them tight. "A few years ago I did something very selfish, and I promised myself I would never act like that with you again. Well, I lied. I'm going to be selfish one more time, okay? Hoseok, will you--will you do me the amazing fucking honor of marrying me?"

Hoseok buckles under the weight of his tears. He falls into Namjoon's arms, chest heaving, these awful trembling cries hiccuping through him. He uses his fists and beats at Namjoon's shoulders, his chest, pushes him away and pulls him in all at the same time. Gasps out I fucking hated you I love you I hate you how the fuck could you do this to me and Namjoon takes it all.

Taehyung clears his throat, and Namjoon startles, blinks wet eyes and nods at him. "I know you might be wary of another engagement with me, so I came up with something else."

"What the fuck, Namjoon?" Hoseok croaks out. "What are you doing?"

"Marrying you," Namjoon says simply. "If you'll have me. Let me show you."

He gathers Hoseok up, and Taehyung leads the way through the dining room, through the sitting room, out onto the huge balcony Yoongi paid big bucks for. Now, what he pays doesn't feel like nearly enough.

There are gold lights strung up around the railings and plants. Rose petals cover the ground. In the middle of the balcony, Jungkook and Jimin stand, holding up a huge, glittering sign that says Hoseok, will you marry me?

Hoseok laughs. This screechy, clogged thing. "You're a little late," he tells them. "He already asked."

"Well forgive us," Jungkook says dryly. "We were a little busy setting up for your wedding ceremony." He drops his side of the sign and leans over the railing to call down below. "Jin, it's time. Fire that shit up!"

"Language, Kookie," Jin calls back, but they all hear the flicker of a switch, a loud humming, and suddenly Hoseok's fucking face is being projected onto the side of Yoongi's apartment.

"What the fuck?" Yoongi cries. "Another fucking Korean guy's face I have to live up to? On my own fucking building?"

"Namjoon," Hoseok breathes out. "What is all this?"

Namjoon shrugs. "I figured that maybe engagements weren't really for us," he says shyly. "Maybe we could learn a lesson from Taehyungie and Yoongi and just go straight to the wedding?"

"You still haven't said yes," Taehyung reminds him softly, and smiles when Hoseok tries to cover his face as he starts crying again. "Oh Hoseokie," he coos. "You really are a Pisces cusp."

"Yes," Hoseok murmurs through his fingers. "This is absolutely the dumbest thing I will ever do in my life, so fuck it. Yes. Fucking marry me, you piece of shit."

Jimin steps forward. "That's convenient," he says, "considering I flew all this way to officiate this dumbass wedding."

There are tears, there is cursing, there is Jin, claiming Yoongi's bottles of wine like he lives there. There's Hoseok and Namjoon and the most hard-won, hard-earned I do's. There is a marriage.

"I can't believe you coordinated all this," Yoongi whispers to Taehyung, when the wine has made everyone quiet and sleepy and contemplative and happy. Jungkook is languishing on Jin and Jimin's laps, and Hoseok and Joon are in their own world, their own orbit. "I fucking--"

"Do not even say it," Taehyung interrupts. "I'm saying I love you first, so save it."

Yoongi huffs. Kisses him. Taehyung tastes like sweet red wine, and pasta sauce, and love. Yoongi doesn't say it. He thinks it. He thinks it so fucking hard.

"Are you sad we didn't get a wedding like this?" Yoongi asks instead. "Pretty lights and friends and your face on the side of a building?"

Taehyung hums, rests his head on Yoongi's shoulder. "No," he says finally. "I think our wedding was perfect. A pretty boy and my name with yours."

"Disgusting," Yoongi tells him. I love you, he thinks. I love you I love you I love you.

"Stop thinking it," Taehyung says. "I'm all-knowing."



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What the fuck are these pictures

oh yeah
forgot to tell you
they sent our wedding pictures
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[image attached]
I like this one best
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oh sweetheart
that was before we even got inside the chapel
love you

Send me the rest
Love you