Wings; Min Yoongi - Book 1

☾5 | Lust (m)

m = mature content

I should be scared, running away letting my feet pound into the earths body while my own pants for air.

This was one of those situations where your mind and heart fight, their limbs entangling and twisting in a gruesome battle to the death.

Yoongi has emotions, maybe he doesn't have humanity, but he feels something too.

I won't be like all those scientists, with their arrogance and pride in their veins, never understanding the mind of the person they are inflicting pain onto so carelessly.

His wings feel so soft, the feathers are like cotton bending underneath my fingerprints and engraving thoughts and memories in my brain. My feet pad the floor beneath us, I can see his muscles tense when I walk behind his stature. The fear slowly dissolves when I close my eyes to caress his wings and the feathers adorning them so beautifully; so perfectly.

They stretch long and wide, bigger then my body put together three times. I can feel the resent and hatred on his skin as it leaks like blood onto my body. I find myself losing my sanity when I step closer, and touch softer. I want to heal the wounds on his body, to feel him ease and smile. I want the edges of his eyes to scrunch in the sunlight, and to see his body doubling over clutching his stomach from laughter. I know how cruel his world has been, I can feel the memories and footage falling and crackling into the palms of my hands. I look, helplessly clutching onto him for just an ounce of joy, the emotion that makes you happy, but in his world; I see none.

Insanity, that's what I've fallen into.

Or at least, that's what the world would depict of me. Picking my brain, sputtering forsaken words from their tongues. That's when I rest my forehead onto the crevice of his back, between each of his wings.

"I won't give up on you."

My faint whispers trail down his spine, and for the first time since he's shown himself to me, I feel his muscles relax in defeat and safety. I know the uncertainty is walking on his bones still, but my fingertips tracing the details of engravings and spirals on his upper chest calm him so the uncertainty isn't there anymore. He turns around, surrendering his wings behind his back again, even though they rest there in the daylight, a part of me misses the soft crystal night feathers caressing my palms. I look into his eyes, nothing but hardness cracking along the irises, like winter ice. When he breathes out words, the ice breaks and I feel the cool water soothing my burning skin.

"Can I pleasure you?"

Normally, I would be flustered, and a part of me still is, with the pink heat on my face and nose. But oddly, I don't hesitate or stutter my answer, feeling entranced and drawn to his soft skin.

"Please."

It was one of those occurrences where your jaw drops in awe, and your heart pounds in your chest from the connection felt. He droops his eyelids, fluttering to my lips, then back to my eyes. He brings his head down, ghosting his breath over the corner of my mouth. When he places an open-mouthed kiss there, my eye lids close around my eyes, welcoming the darkness and wanting to feel only his touch. His breath seeps from his lips and entangles with mine when he holds my head in-between his hands, feeling my skin like a gentle breeze.

No other words were needed when I felt his warm tongue dangerously caress mine. His hands slide around my waist, pulling my body closer to his, and I press my lips closer, wanting, needing more.

His kiss is addicting, like his drug.

But no powder could compare to the heavy toxin that is him.