#a breath of fire x min yoongi | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ki-yomii · 8 months ago

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baby, don't go | myg

➥pairing | ex!min yoongi x f!reader, mentioned f!reader x omc ➥word count | 5.1k ➥warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, squirting, hand job, finger fucking, porn w/ plot, angst w/ a happy ending, alcohol, exes to lovers, implied cheating (omc is a fuckboy), implied getting back together (reader & yoongi still low key love each other), idol!yoongi ➥summary | "hii can I request for an exes to lovers trope with yoongi 😭💖 lovee your ficss" you find out your boyfriend is cheating on you. thankfully your ex Yoongi is more than happy to distract you. ➥notes | hope you enjoy this anon 😘💚 omc & ofc are named after characters from one of my favourite k-dramas (personal taste iykyk)

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Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Standing beside you, your friend Kae-In takes a swig of whatever's in her cup - a sickly sweet concoction of fruity soju and Chilsung, most likely - and coolly surveys the backyard.

Small groups of people dot the manicured lawn, others lounging by the fire as they catch up with one another. It's been far too long since everyone's schedules aligned like this.

Years in fact, and there are several who came in from out of town.

Ordinarily you'd be over the moon, but as it were you can barely drum up enough false excitement for your best friend. Let alone others you haven't seen in forever.

Cocking her hip, Kae-In puckers her mouth. "The alcohol isn't even that good." She sighs, pretty face scrunching in disappointment. "Some party this is turning out to be."

Your hard cider, still more than half-full, hides an awkward, ill-fitting smile.

Having nursed your own drink for the last hour, whatever might've been enjoyable about it is long gone. Any refreshing coolness and bright, punchy taste replaced by amber liquid far past room temperature in your clammy palm.

In fact, the fizzy warmth and tart aftertaste of moldering apples turns your stomach with every half-hearted sip.

"At least there's cute guys here - some of them have really grown up."

Her breath ruffles the fringe of her bangs when she huffs, casting an eye to the glass bottle strangled in your grip.

"Are you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

You shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine - gotta be the DD just in case, y'know?"

"Girl, you're ALWAYS the DD. C'mon, you gotta live a little sometimes."

The nonchalant scolding stings, even if it's meant almost entirely in jest but it's not Kae-In's fault. She doesn't know. No one does. You couldn't muster up the courage to tell her the truth.

Not yet.

It's still too fresh. The wound too raw to go poking around with clumsy fingers.

"Don't be like that," you say with a faltering smile. "I'm having fun."

LIAR.

In actuality, you're a few frayed threads away from snapping. Stuck clinging to the edge of sanity by the fingernails as you battle back tides of crippling grief and blinding rage.

Have been since the first few messages came rolling in; questions with videos attached. There's a part of you grateful they reached out, while another altogether wishes you hadn't seen.

At least not until morning.

Would one more night spent in ignorant bliss have been too much to ask for?

Now you're riding a corkscrew of emotion, one that roils and chafes as ceaseless images parade past your eyelids with every blink. Each one as crisp and clear as the first time you pressed play.

The swirling lights, the heady thrum of bodies. A darkened corner. Your boyfriend of three years who said he couldn't make it. His hand sneaking beneath the hem of a cheap, glittery skirt. The dip of his head as he tucks into the curve of a neck, mouth open and smiling against bare skin.

You shudder, stomach rebelling. When you swallow, it's like trying to down buckets of sand.

Kae-In, none the wiser, flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that makes one of us. I guess." Shrugging, she turns to you and asks with a furrowed brow, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem... a little off."

Panic grabs you by the throat.

This was supposed to be a night full of fun and laughter. You're not supposed to be suffocating in a crowded backyard. On the brink of tears and trying to act like your life hasn't imploded.

Alone - by your own doing, which is even worse - to deal with the crushing weight of an inevitable breakup. The painful extrication of two lives entwined.

How a relationship three years in the making can be shattered in a minute and forty-five seconds is mind boggling. You had it all, and now...

You thought you were going to marry him.

The whiplash of it all almost makes you laugh but only so you don't break down in great, heaving sobs. A heartbreak you're not sure you'll ever recover from. Not for the loss of him but rather the decimation of your trust.

"I'm okay, promise! No need to worry."

The lie weighs heavy on your tongue. Tastes of ash as the words you really want to say hover in the back of your throat, a breath away. Only they can't make it past your lips, stuck to your teeth like hard candy.

"It's just been one of those days."

Your shoulders shoot towards your ears when she hums in response. Fingernails picking at the corner of the sweating cider label so you don't have to meet Kae-In's piercing gaze. You know she can see right through you, and you hate it.

What started as a fun night of planned mayhem turned into desperate distractions though this party has done very little in terms of brightening your mood.

Instead, watching everyone you know have a good time while you stand on the side lines, a stranger in a sea of people, feels more akin to rubbing salt in an open wound.

Miserable but acting like you’re not; waves of bitter loneliness threatening to pull you under because you don’t want to ruin the night.

“Is this because Chang-ryul couldn’t make it?” Kae-In pats your back sympathetically. “What bullshit excuse did he give you this time? I swear, he always does this. Just wait. I’m gonna hit him next time I see him.”

Oh, you don’t even know, you think. You’ll definitely want to do more than hit him.

Your heart throbs at the sound of his name, and isn’t that funny? Such a simple thing - nothing but syllables and letters strung together - and yet it has the power to unmake you completely.

Your tongue swells as you struggle to swallow. Words burn like bile as you force out a laugh; brittle, scraped up from the depths of your chest

“I’d pay to see that,” you croak. Your knuckles ache from how tightly you’re gripping the bottle. “But - no. C-Chang-ryul has nothing to do with it.”

You hate that you stutter over his name.

And perhaps that’s why you don’t want to tell Kae-In just yet.

She’s always hated him.

Always said he was no good. Just another fuckboy looking for beds to warm and hearts to break. And she’s right.

God, why does she have to be right?

You know she’d never hold it over you, but the thought of admitting it - out loud - makes you want to vomit all over your shoes. You need time to stitch your edges back together. Too raw and ragged.

You only just found out.

Your pride can’t handle any more hits right now.

She thumbs her nose with an inelegant snort. “Whatever you say. I could take him in a fight. That boy ain’t shit.”

Your laugh startles you - the first genuine one of the evening - and you shake your head fondly. A soft smile tugs at your lips.

“Oh, no doubt. But really, I’ve just been in a weird mood.”

The twist of her lips shows she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, but she’s kind enough not to press. Instead, she spends the next while distracting you with tales of her various escapades of the week.

And it helps for a time, truly.

But then you feel a buzz against your thigh, a ding echoing up from your pocket. Your stomach turns to lead, drops to your feet. Without looking at the screen, you pull the cell out of your pocket with shaky hands and quickly flick the ringer off.

Meanwhile, Kae-In watches silently with sharp eyes, and an even sharper frown though she declines to comment on your behavior.

“Anyway,” she continues once she has your attention, “as I was saying, did you see little Ji-Seok? Dude shot up like a tree! Last time I saw him he was as big as a bean sprout.”

You hum, worlds away.

“You could at least act like you’re paying attention,” she sucks her teeth before a smirk starts to slowly tug at her lips, “How about we talk about something - or someone - I know you’ll be interested in?”

Guilt sparks but slowly gives way to dread. You know that expression. Have gotten into trouble more times than you can count because of it.

Heart tattooing a rhythm against your rib cage, you sputter, “Oh no. No! Do not look at me like that.”

“C’mo-on!” she wheedles. “You’re absolutely right. We should be talking about,” she points at someone across the yard with her cup, “Yoongi instead.”

Currently leaning back against a stone wall making up part of the fence, Yoongi nurses a beer. Sticking out like a sore thumb now that he’s making it big as an idol, no longer as mundane as the rest of them.

Hushed whispers follow his every move, his bleached hair and flashy outfit commanding all sorts of covert attention.

The sharp cut of his shirt flatters his lean frame, the black leather jacket over top emphasizing the width of his shoulders. Dark jeans cling to his legs, as tight as a second skin, and causing your attention to stray where it shouldn’t.

And his eyes - oh, how you ever forgot is beyond you.

Dark, hooded, deep, and hungry; intense as they drag over the planes of your face like the caress of his fingers.

Shit.

You shove Kae-In’s hand down with a loud smack before she makes an even bigger fool out of you in front of another ex.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hiss. “That’s so rude!”

Not to mention embarrassing as fuck.

“Y’know,” she pauses to wiggle her brows and shoot you an impish grin, “I bet Yoongi would be more than happy to remind you of how rude he can be.”

You smother a groan in your hands, heartache temporarily forgotten. “I can’t believe you. Seriously. We’re no longer friends.”

“Bitch, you love me. And anyway, you know what I can’t believe?” She asks. “You!”

She gestures towards him again amid your flailing attempts to stop her. “Look at him. Like goddamn, you had it good.”

You take a sip of cider to give your hands something to do, nearly blanching at the warm liquid. Refusing to respond or look up as the topic of conversation watches like a hawk, gaze heavy.

How can he still make you weak-kneed after all this time?

He wasn’t even touching you and you still feel his presence down to your toes, setting your teeth on edge.

You hear your own heartbeat, your breathing shaky, sparks of awareness dancing along your spine. Heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks.

“Knock it off, I’m serious.”

“No, when are you going to get that Chang-ryul isn’t good for you?”

You swallow roughly, all the moisture leaving your mouth.

“Yoongi was the best boyfriend you ever had and treated you the way you deserve. And you know he’s never been interested in anyone but you. Hell, he’s barely looked away from you since he got here and the break-up was years ago.”

You shift, perspiration breaking out on your brow. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“When will you give it up?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head. “I know you regret how it went down between you guys. Now that he’s here - when you finally have a chance to make it right you just - just - ugh!”

Shooting her a weak half-smile and a shrug, you turn your attention to the small glowing fire pit.

Other’s are gathered around it, relishing in the glow of warmth that wars against the balmy summer breeze cutting through the air. Focusing on the dance and flicker of the flames is a needed moment of peace in entropy.

Though you know it isn’t going to last - not with a motormouth for a friend.

“So-o, what are you waiting for?”

“Sorry?”

She nods towards Yoongi subtly.

He’s finally busy with his own conversation, his gummy smile a quick flash of brightness. “When are you going to stick it to Chang-ryul and hop on that dick?”

“Oh my god!”

Kae-In shrugs. “What.”

“Don’t 'what' me. Seriously?”

A bony elbow digs between your ribs. You wheeze.

“C’mon,” she says, “You already know it’s good with him, and you deserve someone who’s there for you 110%. Someone who will treat you right. You know I worry about you.”

A wave of emotions threatens to completely drown you in that moment, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Her tender concern - her care - feels altogether too much and not enough.

As overwhelming as a tsunami; your heart a raw, exposed nerve.

All you’ve ever wanted was to be loved.

To feel like someone’s first and only choice.

You used to think Chang-ryul was someone who could provide that. What a fool you’ve been. Men like him don’t fall in love, they only pretend to.

They sneak inside your heart and take what they want from your bed. To him, you’re nothing but a fun little stop; a footnote, read and forgotten.

Your heart squeezes, shuddering from a pain your palm can’t soothe away.

It’s a terrible idea.

But maybe…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to lick your wounds with someone you know cares about you. Has always cared about you, and probably always will.

Clearing your throat, you consider his profile from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi's always made you feel wanted. Looked after you as though you were something rare and precious.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that.

Somehow, some way, he senses you looking because he pauses mid-sentence.

Turns to meet you head-on, tracing your face with what can only be called greed. Stopping short when they catch on the lip trapped between your teeth.

Something akin to hunger cuts across his face.

His brows dip low, a palpable heat flooding the inky depths of his eyes. Shadows deepen the lines of his face, the shifting firelight highlighting the flex of a jawline for days, burning halo gold in his hair.

It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with.

Usually preceding a hand-shaking, mind-numbing fuck session where his cock gets as deep as it can, rutting hard and fast, bringing you over the edge again and again until you’re left a wrecked mess.

Your heart jumps, gallops headlong into a rapid beat.

You feel the rush of blood in your chest, every breath stuttered, stomach lurching. Shaking. Jittery. Tongue tied in a thousand knots and you haven’t even said a word.

It was much easier to pretend you weren’t so magnetically drawn to Yoongi when you weren’t riding the single’s train. When he was away in Seoul chasing after his dreams.

Now that he’s got downtime and your relationship has hit a brick wall? His mere presence sears you to the bone. Drags you in like a black hole.

And that?

So not good.

Swallowing roughly, you tear your attention away. You’d forgotten how intense and blindly bright he can be.

There’s a throb developing in your temple, sharp little darts of pain lancing through your skull. An impending headache if you don’t get some air that doesn’t taste like wood-smoke and cheap alcohol.

“I think I’m gonna head in for a bit. Need to get away.”

You shake your head and toss your bottle into the bin on the way inside, Kae-In shouting her acknowledgement with a thumbs up. Makes you promise to contact her in case of any change in plans.

Nearly everyone’s outside so it should be less crowded, more quiet. Most importantly, away from Yoongi and that penetrating stare which makes you more flustered than you care to admit.

Alas, the kitchen isn’t empty not for long.

You’re lounging against the counter, elbows bent, head rolled back and stinging eyes closed when the back door creaks open. Biting off a groan, you swivel your head to the side.

When you see it’s Yoongi who follows you in, you almost slip and brain yourself on the tile. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, heart beating out of control; scrambling into a more flattering posture while patting down your hair.

He chuckles, his nose scrunched and smile coy.

Seeing him happy always makes you tender, weak.

It seems that hasn’t changed a bit.

No amount of pictures or videos do it justice. Granted, Yoongi looks good any time, any day. But seeing his whole face light up like that in person? Utterly priceless.

It’s a struggle to breathe properly around the lump forming in your throat.

Of course, it has to be him.

Wiping your palms off on your thighs, you greet him with an awkward wave, “Uhhh, hey - hey there, Yoongi.”

Oh my god. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission.

“Y’know what,” you say, “I was just about to head back outside…”

As you pass by, he catches your arm.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, callouses dragging across your pulse. Your gut clenches, an unexpected bloom of warmth shooting through your core at the sight of his broad palm holding you captive.

His grip is firm but loose enough that you could pull away.

All it serves to do is remind you of nights spent beneath his body, the slide of sweat-slick skin, the taste of him heavy on your tongue, pussy filled to the brim with cock. His rough voice music to your ears, prideful as he gloats about how well you’re taking him.

"Leaving so soon?” He asks silkily.

A hard tug sends you slamming into the wall of his chest.

Air rushes from your lungs, your hands trapped against his collarbones. Firm muscles contract beneath your palms, his body shoving into your touch.

Twisting your fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt, you look at him from beneath your lashes. Your voice whisper soft when you say, “Yoongi…”

His dark eyes, the colour of a rich espresso, track the path of your tongue as you wet your lips. Fingers drag over the soft line of your neck, tracing your fluttering pulse.

Touch feather light as it stops by the corner of your mouth, pressing down on the swell of your lip.

“I haven’t said hello yet.”

Eyes wide, all you do is watch and wait with baited breath. Stunned into silence at his proximity. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, the smell of his expensive cologne nostalgic.

Your body recognizes his, responding all the same. The connection between you electric, overwhelmingly so.

His head bows, bleached strands brushing your forehead. The tip of his nose rubs yours. You get lost in counting his eyelashes, tracing the bridge of his nose to the carved slope of his cheeks.

Surrounded by him, the urge to resist what’s happening is nearly non-existent. Though you wish it wasn’t so easy to be caught by him.

“One of the guys said something interesting,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face; mint and beer. “It's about you actually.”

He flashes the smile that sends your heart soaring, your stomach flipping.

The slightest peek of a metal chain resting in the crook of his neck, surrounded by a very tempting patch of skin you want to taste, has you a little dumbfounded, absentminded.

“Oh?”

You really hope you don’t sound as frazzled as you feel but the haughty superiority of his slow appraisal of your body, the cocksure smirk on his lips states otherwise.

You really wish you could knock him down a peg but confidence looks amazing on him.

Always has.

“They said you have a boyfriend now. Is that true?”

You manage the slightest shake of your head in the negative - no, not anymore - your heart thundering in your ears.

Your breath catches in anticipation just before Yoongi closes the remaining inches between you with a hum of approval.

His head tilts to the side as he slots your mouths together in a kiss that’s got your toes curling. A filthy wet slide of lips, his the slightest bit chapped, send you under, liquid warmth filling your belly.

You inhale sharply, a moan vibrating against his lips.

Melting into the cage of his arms as his hands clamp down on your hips possessively, tugging you closer. Pressed stem to stern like this there’s no hiding the evidence of his desire.

He’s already half-hard in his jeans, his erection pressing against the zipper.

His eyes are hooded when he pulls away.

“Wanna take this somewhere a little more private, baby?” Yoongi asks, running his nose up the length of your neck and inhaling.

How is this my life, you think, dazed.

His hips grind forward against you so there’s no mistaking what you’re dealing with. “It’ll be just like old times.”

After an awkward fumble and an elbow to the side, you settle on the downstairs bathroom. He follows, quickly pinning you to the door while struggling to toss his leather jacket over the sink.

With a flick of the lock, you’re finally alone without any possible interruption. The door muffles most of the ruckus outside, leaving you hyper aware of every hurried breath, every low-throated murmur.

For a long while it’s nothing but a mess of lips, his body molding to yours. Easy to fall back into the old rhythms of your relationship as though you never left it.

He holds you down.

His fingers in your hair, on your jaw. His tongue gliding over your lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slide back out through his teeth.

You meet him kiss for kiss, your hands finding their way into his back pockets, tugging, groping, loving how he bucks up into the cradle of your hips in response.

A sweet ache settles low and deep.

“Yoongi,” you sigh. “Fuck, I forgot how much you like to tease.”

His thumb circles your nipple through your shirt, teasing it into a sensitive, stiff peak that shows through the thin fabric.

The caresses send soft pulses straight to your clit, the intensity getting stronger and stronger the rougher he is.

Before long, you’re aware of how achingly empty you are.

Yoongi nips the corner of your jaw.

“Never forgot how fun teasing you is,” he murmurs into the silk of your skin. “How wet you get for me.”

“Shit, you can’t just say something like that.”

“Can’t I?” His laugh, genuine and vibrant, sounds through his chest and into yours. “You can bitch all you want, but I know you love it.”

A smile, all teeth.

“Isn’t that right, baby?”

You glare at him weakly through half lidded eyes.

Two can play that game.

“Fuck!” Yoongi bites out, those impossibly dark eyes sliding shut when you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

His breath whooshes from him in a loud exhale, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s cheating.”

You smirk, feeling him throb in your hand.

”What were you saying, Yoongs?” Humming, you rub your chest against his, using a fingertip to trace the outline of his shaft. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Spearing you with a weighted look, Yoongi shoves you back into the door harder than before, the wood creaking under the pressure. Fist resting on the frame next to your head, his body cages you in.

Every shuddered inhale has the planes of his firm chest pressing into yours with the expansion of his lungs. His hips buck up into the softness of your palm with a grunt.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he cautions.

Competitiveness is a gift and a curse.

Not one to be outdone, you brush away any lingering reservations - which being honest, there weren’t many left. His relieved groan when you tug out his cock reverberates through you.

Shit, that’s so unfair.

Yoongi already sounds wrecked yet you’ve barely touched him. How the fuck are you going to get through this without completely combusting when he actually cums?

Thinking that maybe focusing on what you’re doing will help, you look down.

Big mistake.

Dark designer jeans circle his thighs, low enough for his cock to spring free.

Flushed, curved towards his belly, the head swollen and sticky with pre-cum. The shaft a decent handful that pulses when your palm skims the side.

Feminine appreciation at the sight has velvet heat pooling between your thighs, pussy clenching at the thought of him inside you.

Sex with him was always stupidly good.

All those veiled lyrics about his skill in the bedroom far too accurate for comfort.

Since you broke up, you haven’t been with anyone that comes close to his ability in getting you off.

He’s ruined you.

His face burrows into the crook of your neck with a low groan. His breath puffs across your skin, shivers racing down your spine.

Low voice full of grit, he says, “Shit, baby, that feels…”

Hot palms anchor themselves to your hips.

“Wait a sec,” he says, body twitching with aborted thrusts, strong fingers kneading. “Wanna do you too.”

Heart jumping, you let go of him long enough to yank your shirt over your head and kick off your pants before returning your hand to his cock.

In the meantime, he rucks his shirt up under his armpits. You can’t help but make a noise in the back of your throat as the length of his torso is exposed.

All that soft, smooth skin stretching over his stomach as he flexes. You have to fight down the urge to run your tongue along the outline of his hip.

Mouth slack, Yoongi pushes up the cups of your bra. Watches laser-focused on the bounce of your tits as they drop free, subtly swaying with every jerk of your wrist.

His hips fuck up into the circle of your hand while one of his own inches down to brush the crease of your thigh. Your hips tilt towards his touch, desperate for friction.

“Oh god.” He moans, calloused fingers dipping between your folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

You wiggle, whining against his lips as you meet in a messy kiss. His touch is light, gentle, barely there as he traces the length of your slit.

You’re trembling, skin too tight, body feverish. “Stop teasing, I want you inside me.”

Those seem to be the magic words because Yoongi gives a rumble of approval, using his thumb to spread slick over your swollen clit in tight circles.

Heat coils in your belly, electricity racing down your spine. Your thighs splay as wide as they can, making room for his hand.

His knuckles brush your skin.

Dipping down to your entrance, Yoongi works on spreading you open with shallow thrusts until you take three fingers comfortably.

Your needy sighs and soft moans bounce off the walls.

His low murmurs right in your ear as the pads stroke your walls, his wrist flexing. He’s hitting all the right spots, still remembering how to get you off years after the fact.

You’re quickly turning weak-kneed and wet eyed.

“Fuck, Yoongs, right there,” you keen, baring down on the digits nudging your g-spot, your grip tightening around his shaft.

You grind your palm over the swollen tip, gathering beads of pre-cum.

He hisses, thrusts off beat.

Fingers nudge up suddenly, pressing deep and holding in retaliation. White lightening crackles behind your eyelids, thighs twitching, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty girl.”

Your world narrows down to every filthy slide of his cock in your hand, every gush of slick as he stuffs fingers into you over and over again until you’re a writhing mess against the door.

Your nerve endings are alive with pleasure, the stimulation too much and not enough.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, doubling his efforts, wrist working faster.

Dapples of sweat litter his brow, his eyes staring into yours, glazed over and lusting.

Fuck, he’s handsome like this.

It’s a little embarrassing how bad he’s got you but between the blissed-out expression he’s wearing, the weight of him in your hand, and how full you are, you know this orgasm is going to be quick, messy.

The pace of his hips pick up, his breath hitching in his throat, length twitching and thickening in your grip.

He’s getting close, his touch rougher, more force behind the snapping thrusts of his hips, teeth nipping at the side of your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you say, breathless, twisting your hand on the upstroke. He smothers a grunt in your shoulder. “Give it to me.”

It doesn’t take much more to bring him to the edge.

A particular spread of his fingers has you jolting, a sudden, intense spike of pleasure shooting right to your clit.

In turn, you unintentionally massage his cock, knuckles bumping the underside of the swollen head.

He’s a goner.

Cumming with a low, wounded whine and a shuttered thrust, Yoongi smacks the door with his free hand. Thick spurts of jizz make an absolute mess of his stomach and your knuckles.

Sagging forward like a doll with cut strings, all his dead weight bears down on you.

He pants, small tremors wrack his frame. “Baby,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I missed you s’much.”

“Missed you too,” you reply, using nice, languid strokes to wring the last of his orgasm out of him. “More than I thought I did.”

In lieu of a response, Yoongi wiggles his fingers inside you, rebuilding the rhythm he lost. He flutters them, curls up against your walls, peppering kisses along the length of your jaw with a hum.

Slick drips down his wrist, the sloppy sound of him finger fucking your cunt blending with a surge of desperate moans.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Yoongi says against your chin. “So fucking hot, wanna see you cum.”

Your back arches, your fingers digging into the width of his shoulders, head smacking the door with a dull thud.

“Can you do that for me?”

Nodding frantically, you fall apart with a broken gasp. Clamping down so hard he can’t move, the cramps softened by the throbbing heat washing over you. Blood rushes in your ears as your pussy gushes around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, tone heated. “You did so well for me.”

By the time your brain comes back online, you’ve forgotten all about Chang-ryul and the constant vibration of your phone where it’s shoved - forgotten - into your pocket.

The only thing that matters is Yoongi with his tender kisses and greedy hands.

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bunkoos-mole-enthusiast · 5 months ago

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Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors:) Sleepwalking: Due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend's band. You thought you've both made peace with it, but suddenly he's very eager to prove to you that first love never dies. https://taexual.tumblr.com/post/728185560199577601/sleepwalking-1-jjk

I'd Love To Stay But That's Simply Insane: Jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you're a goal-oriented top student that's known his rich and complicated family since childhood. You don't want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do. https://taexual.tumblr.com/post/616477412997414912/id-love-you-to-stay-but-thats-simply-insane

Pub Golf: One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. https://taleasnewastime.tumblr.com/post/667208016185212928/summary-one-night-one-stupidly-hot-man-who-just

Yes Coach: You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point. https://taleasnewastime.tumblr.com/post/653257951195365376/yes-coach

Tempter: 𝐓hey told tales of the twilight creature to the loveless ones that roamed the woods at the sun’s setting hour. When the orange rays crept through the living, breathing trees and painted the soil gold, made the poison ivy too beautiful and inviting to 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩. They spoke of a beauty that they could not describe, of a voice that reflected the purity of heaven alongside the burning fires of hell as he prayed upon them. https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/615289283146842112/%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%8C%F0%9D%90%8F%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%84%F0%9D%90%91-%F0%9D%98%9B%F0%9D%98%A9% F0%9D%98%A6-%F0%9D%98%9B%F0%9D%98%B8%F0%9 D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%AD%F0%9D%98%AA%F0%9D%98%A8%F0%9D%98%A9%F0%9D%98%B5-%F0%9D%98%8A%F0%9D%98%B3%F0%9D %98%A6%F0%9D%98%A2%F0%9D%98%B5%F0%9D%98%B6%F0%9D%98%B3%F0%9D%98%A6-jjk

Raven Unit: With your life at risk and several people around you dead, your loyal head of security makes sure your safety is taken care of when he’s out of the picture. Three ruthless, dangerous and deadly men take on the task to protect and hide you, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok and the one in command, Jeon Jungkook. https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/189288109708/raven-unit-i-m-jjk

Hate Me: You really do hate Jeon Jungkook. You hate everything about him. From his strong veiny arms to his obnoxiously pretty face. https://themfchase.tumblr.com/post/632321712395026432/hate-me-m-jjk The Art Of Wanting: You find a baby in your store and in turn, a dilf finds you. https://www.tumblr.com/venusiangguk/643372881526554624/pairing-jungkook-x-reader-dilfjk-x-grocery?source=embed

Down The Rabbit Hole: Yoongi's sister buys tickets to the Autumn ball held within the Meadows, a notorious city known for its hybrid inhabitants where she hopes to meet a certain bunny princeling. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781145 Rabbit Season: Predator met prey like an Animal Planet rerun of lions devouring antelopes in large, unremorseful bites. He took every aspect of this game seriously. He was competitive where most might not think so in this particular arena. His behavior projected through television, even while in person, was an act, perhaps the best he’d ever performed in front of his every day audience. https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781727

#bts jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic recs #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts fic recs #bts smut #bts imagines

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mggsv · 8 months ago

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WIFE !

Min Yoongi x black!f reader || (18+) || reblogs would be appreciated! <3

warnings: role play, Yoongi is called “Suga” or “Agust” throughout the story, mascara, crying, hair pulling, dom!yoongi, reader has locs, edging, degrading, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), using a safe word!, praise, soft ending.

“Tell me something,” he murmurs, “the fuck are you good for hm?” He takes a deep breath, eyes shutting briefly before staring into your almond shaped brown ones.

“You can’t cook, cleanings fine- but you suck with kids.” Your eyes water, gasping slightly. “You can’t be a good mafia wife if you can’t understand half the shit that goes on.” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Seems like the only thing you’re good at is taking dick, am I right?”

The pink head of his cock pop’s out of your mouth, spit alongside your mouth as you panted. Fat, black tears seeped from the side of your eyes. Suga sighed once more, cock twitching at the sight. A fucking mess you were. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His leaking tip rubbed against your plump lips, your lip gloss mixing with the cum. All Suga could do was smirk. He enjoyed it. “Yes..yes sir.” You whimpered. Your cunt throbbed around the toy he had inside of you and you hated it. He knew just how needy you were after all.

“If that were the case..should I have married you?” His ring covered fingers reached down to stroke your cheek, wiping the tears from your face, mascara ruined. “A whore could do the same.” His hand found your locs, put up in a cute ponytail with a pink ribbon, and pulled your head back. “Y- Suga.. please..” You trembled, eyes shutting at his grip tightening. Felt so fucking good. Your pussy ached for his attention- anything from the man who wrecked you with just a few words. You whined loudly, his other hand going around your neck. The toy inside of you buzzing even more. It had your legs straining against the floor. “You’re a good wife aren’t you?” He smirked, cooing softly at his doll. You gasp, hips rocking forward. Between the toy and his hands you were on fire.

“Mmmhm..m’a good wife m’promise..”

“And If I fill this hole up you’ll be a good mother, too, won’t you?”

“Mhm!” Your eyes open, hips jerking. Your stomach had a pooling feeling. “Cum-“

“Now you know it’s not that easy.”

Muttering softly, Suga motioned for you to stand. He hummed at your body, taking in how breathtakingly beautiful you looked. Cunt wet with slick spread on your inner thighs, nipples hard and wet with his spit, bite marks all on your shoulders. A mess. His touch lost, the toy cutting off abruptly. “Please..” you sniffled. Cute. He found you absolutely adorable.

“Spread your legs for me.” He leans forward, tongue licking along your v line. Getting closer..so close. The flick of his tongue to your clit sent you over. “Fuck!” You reach out for his hair, Suga lapping at your clit, sucking as you came. Your cunt squeezed around the toy until it fell on the soft rug beneath you. Suga’s hand landing a smack to your ass. Shaking, he kept his mouth on your sensitive cunt.

His thumb dragged your slick, playing with how wet you were while he made it worse.

“Have a seat.” Leaning back, Suga starts stroking his cock. Flushed and red, he adjusts for you, your body fitting perfectly over him. His cock teased your hole, groaning at how wet you sounded with just the tip slipping inside of you. “Oh fuck..oh fuck-“ You throw your head back, finally getting what you wanted. His cock buried deep inside of you, taking it to the hilt. He shudders against your chest, your nails digging into Suga’s arms while you leaned against him.

“Look at that..taking it in all at once.” His tongue darted out to lick small stripes upon your chest. You started to move slowly, gasping at the noise. His size was..insane, but enough for you. Suga grips your hips, another groan ripping from his throat while you squeezed around him. So sensitive you were, after just cumming. At some point you didn’t have the strength anymore to lift yourself. He held you at an angle, hips lifting while he fucked into you hard and slow. “Knew you could take it like a good girl.”

A small whine leaving you breathless, sounds growing louder by the second. And god it hurt so good, you didn’t know what to do but enjoy the ride. Suga talked to you but you couldn’t hear a thing, too lost into everything. Lost..you knew where you lied with him. No matter what.

“..at me.” It was all a blur. “Look-“ You gasped, his cock hitting a certain spot inside of you. So deep, you squeezed onto him. Eyes watering once more. “Suga-“ You felt your head being lifted back, you saw the ceiling, illuminated by the candles lit around the room.

“Angel.” It was like everything stopped. You hiccuped, legs shaking as you blinked the tears away. Yoongi looks at you, frowning softly. He was quick to stop, but..

“You- safe word. Yoon-“

“Shh..” He knew you inside and out. That small motion of quietness was enough. He knew you were tired, fucked out. He had came inside of you minutes ago.

Kissing your delicate shoulders softly, Yoongi stood carefully, slipping out of you with a loud hiss. The night ending with you in his arms, hand rubbing all over your body as he took care of you. Delicate kisses lingering all over your body, a warm bath, and Yoongi’s voice putting you to sleep.

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cybsoo2 · 10 months ago

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heated red

╰┈➤ synopsis — Min Yoongi is a man of duality. Familiar with the sugary sweet side, you can’t help but be shocked at what hides behind closed doors.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!suga x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 3.5k

╰┈➤ content warning — murder, … DETAILED murder, gore, violence, strong language, yandere behavior, angst

Everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet. From head to toe, Min Yoongi is the sun of your universe. Every action and every gesture proves that he’s the world’s best boyfriend.

You two have been dating for just over 2 years now, and it’s nothing short of perfection. At the beginning of your relationship, Yoongi could be mistaken as cold and uncaring; but his shy and thoughtful feelings are what brought you two together. It took some time for you both to become familiar with each other. Yet, Yoongi was determined in his attempts to get to know you. A rough relationship, still fresh and sensitive, bloomed into one of trust and time. Each touch that whispers against your skin says, “I know you, I understand you, I love you.” What Yoongi can't convey with the words that tongue-tie him, he settles to portray in his body language.

His hands always feel so solid from the way they sink into your skin, assuring you of his presence and affection for you. Candy-coated words slide down your throat while he kisses you, mumbling confessions between breaths; “God, I’m so in love with you,” a breathless kiss in between, “I’d do anything for you.” No word he speaks is dishonest and each letter weighs with the seriousness of his admission. His eyes blind you in a heated red with how much fire burns beneath them. Burnt brown eyes, almost burdensome, frequently border on urgent. As if no matter how many times he says the words, it’ll never be enough for you to understand his devotion to you.

Yoongi is loyal, kind, sweet, and everything else in between. You have no doubt that Yoongi will always continue to remain a constant comfort in your life. Although, no matter what way your brain has interpreted his presence, everyone else seems to think otherwise.

Regardless of who you cross paths with, friends, family, or foe, they plant seeds of doubt into your pretty little head. These troubling thoughts fester with wicked intentions and ideas. In Yoongi’s words, “The filth these people spit at you are just lies. Twisting themselves into your opinions and trying to cut me out. They’re just jealous. Don’t talk about them again.” When Yoongi speaks about the people that spill the blood that corrupts your mind, his face turns sour and his eyes shadow dark slits. This harsh look has played on your mind enough for you to stop bringing up the subject completely.

Yet these off comments and anxious looks continue to devour your mind. Whispers pick up in the wind about how Yoongi is a liar. They talk about the dead eyes that contradict the expressive cat-like ones that follow your motions. His heavy hands on your hips don’t match up to the tight grip he takes to the back of your friend’s necks. A warning, or a friendly gesture; you and those around you seem to have two very different ways of deciphering the deeper design of Yoongi’s actions.

Today you felt like you were living life in a maze. Chasing demands from not only your boss, but Yoongi too. You spent the day running around the city until the sun set.

You vividly remember how this morning had gone. Walking in through the elevator, shots of minimalistic grey meet your eye. Stale flowers and sweet perfume waft into the wind. You can’t help but feel small in the presence of such expensive luxury. Girls and guys decorated like dolls in diamonds. Even the blood on their hands shines like rubies. A strike upon the back of your head interrupts your staring.

“What are you doing standing there doing nothing? I’ve got things for you to do.”

You’ve run yourself down running around like a headless chicken. Searching across town for the products and tasks you’ve been sent to complete. Vain efforts that are impractical and impossible.

Once the hand hits 5 and your work is done for the day, Yoongi had texted you asking a few favours. No matter how drained you were, you could never refuse a request from him. You dragged your drowsy self into the driver’s seat and prayed the time would go by fast.

It did not. It seemed as if Yoongi was persistent that you stay running into endless walls and dead-ends. Too many things out of stock, nonexistent, or a million miles away. The stars start to shine in the sky, mirroring the way your eyes glisten with galaxies of exhaustion.

The drive home is a blue blur. Your head mixes up time with tiredness, and your sore eyes paint watercolour tears over your surroundings. This bleary fog blinds you, and once it lifts the slightest bit, you find yourself standing at the front door.

When you walk through the door, you wish you hadn’t. Yoongi’s kneeled over someone, it would look intimate if it wasn’t for the muffled screams and rageful roars that harmonize in the air. He’s shouting at her, choking and stumbling through laughter that never seizes. She’s trying to scream, but his hand holds a rag that’s shoved halfway down her throat. A dirted knife is held in his other.

You can barely recognize the women beneath her own blood and carnage, but you manage. You’re able to distinguish the bleached blonde hair that he rips from her scalp. The array of hair sprawled out around the two bodies guides your eyes to the bejeweled earrings you set your sights upon only hours earlier. This gore has glossed over the diamonds, leaving them dull and lifeless.

You remember the face that matched the gems, young and confident. That pearly white smile that once had you feeling envious has been knocked off her cocky grin. You’re able to pinpoint her place above you. Her, the idolized icon and you as her dirty dog.

She’s your manager, or maybe she won’t be when Yoongi’s finished with her. She adopted you to be her pet. A plaything to possess in her position of power. Always replaceable and inevitably desperate, you played along with her game to keep your job. It paid well and the benefits were more than anyone could ever hope for. In a game of pain and promise, you chose the former in order to receive the latter. This tiresome torture laid an ache in your heart, yet Yoongi was there to stitch back the pieces. Giving yourself up to be teased and toyed with by a tyrant allowed you to have a peaceful life with Yoongi, separate from the harm.

Yet sometimes, in the blue afternoon when the world is set to silence, the stinging sadness slips through the cracks. You’ve never been good at keeping things hidden from Yoongi, and you’d like to assume the same for him too. You strained your sore throat through the crying and told Yoongi about everything that happens daily at work. Her taunts that leave you tense and the impossible tasks she’d give only to punish you after you failed to complete them.

Your rampant rant had left you tired and you leaned up against his chest. The only sound that made sense in your mind was the rushing red flowing through his heart. A serene song that serenades you to sleep. You counted the beats as you drifted off into dreamland. 1, a heart that keeps Yoongi alive. 2, a heartbeat that means he’s here. 3, a heartache that tears him apart.

You couldn’t see it then, off in euphoria while Yoongi laid wide awake. But a bloodshot look with black pupils bled misery down his features. Hot and steady, sorrow fell off his face and the teardrops kissed your skin. Yoongi’s head and heart had been set ablaze into a state of chaos. Hot fury and cold desperation confused him. He’s angry and sad all at once. Although, much like any other time, his rage outweighed the anguish and fiery eyes ignited.

This was 3 days ago. Yet now you stand amidst an annihilation. The bloodbath soaks every surface of your home. Lost pieces of hair, skin, and claret carnage find their way upon tabletops and splattered across the walls. The sight steals your breath, making you a mute statue in this red revelation. After minutes of struggling with a swollen tongue and stolen speech, you squeak out his name in surprise.

“Yo-Yoongi,” the words leave your lips tainted in tragedy. You can barely make out a single syllable from the flood of nausea that rushes through you. You sound so betrayed, it sends a hot hell-fire burning through Yoongi. The knife clatters to the floor when he whips his head up to face you.

“Y/n!” His gasp is laced with feverish panic that leaves his heart racing. Liquid white agony tangles itself through his veins.

Once Yoongi directs all his attention to this distraction, the victim on the ground struggles against the dark burden of death. Her shrill scream pierces the silence as she whips her head back and forth in hysteria. Her own mindless panic causes her to smack her head against the wooden floorboards 10 times over. Blood sprays every which way as she mindlessly flails her lost limbs. It’s pathetic to watch her squirm under the inevitable circumstances. Severed stumps replace what was once her arms. Her legs fare no better; mutilated beyond repair, the joints cause their appendages to stick up in an unflattering way.

The girl’s ear splitting shrieks muddled together with her own blood continue on without stopping. The inhumane noises are both maddening and horrifying to two different people.

Yoongi feels his irritation rise to a breaking point. The fucked up bitch lying desperate on the floor is trying to ruin his chances of explanation.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” He roughly grabs her head and bashes it into the floor until she stops screaming. She’s left a mangled mess upon the ground. Skin slit in every direction, and cuts ripped apart from the force of his anger. Brain matter spills out the back of her dented cranium. Her whole body twitches before falling into a limp pile amongst the bloodshed.

Yoongi stands back up from his place knelt over her corpse. He frantically attempts to wipe off the scarlet sins that stain his hands. With a wild fever, Yoongi rubs his hands raw onto his pants and shakes his head in stress. You can see the way the stress sinks into his eyes as well, red-rimmed and tearing up as they stare into you.

“Y/n, y/n please. Please listen.” Each word is slurred together from the tears and terror that take hold of him. He rushes toward you in desperation and you watch as his eyes widen when you step back. “Please, this doesn’t mean anything. I still love you, I LOVE YOU!” His hopelessness destroys his composure as he begins yelling in order to get his message across. Seeing you flinch and fail to hide the fear in your watery eyes leads Yoongi to take a different approach. “I love you, I love you. This is just proving how much you mean to me.” He’s reached you now. Standing six inches away and tugging your figure to fall into him. “I’d do anything for you.” He mumbles his declaration in a low tone. He matches your misty eyes and stares into you.

He holds half your weight, keeping your knees from giving in and dropping you downwards. He keeps you pushed gently against the wall and pressed into his chest. His hands keep your head cradled gently as he moves to hug you close.

He lays kisses along your jawline and makes his way up, hoping that if he tries hard enough, he’ll be able to subdue the sadness. He’s counting the crystals as they fall and making sure they don’t double.

Yoongi hates seeing you cry. His hands shake along with yours as the remorse for his actions flows through him. Although don’t be mistaken, his repentance should not be confused with regret. No, Yoongi doesn’t regret killing that filthy bitch at all. Pride swells in his chest and he chokes back a smile from reminiscing on her screams. Yoongi instead is regretful of not being more careful. He should’ve hidden this better. Shouldn’t have gotten caught up in the rush and been careless with his decisions. He wishes you never would’ve seen that.

Your tears leave tracks in the bloodshed he’s spilled upon you. Your cries have been shushed into small sniffles, but you feel all the same. Shock has taken over your limbs, leaving them heavy for him to carry. All thoughts have been blown out of your head at the drop of this bombshell.

What were once lipstick marks are now bloodstains. He continues to kiss the pain away. Dragging his lips slowly up your neck and back down lower. These ruby smudges leave raised marks when his caressing begins to hold back an anger. If you could get your mouth to mutter easy words, then you would tell him that his lips sting. His kisses feel like bleach to bare skin. The trails he traces down your body leave shadows of his sins. Each peck he places on your pink cheeks holds the memories of the shouts he yelled only moments prior.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” His husky whisper is placed at the base of your jaw. He pulls himself away far enough to look in your eyes. Your foreheads almost touching and your warm breath being shared between you. When you don’t resist he places a final kiss to your lips before steadying you against him once more.

He’s patient and careful in the way he puppeteers your movements. Taking control of each limb as if it’s his own. He towers over you with the way he holds you. Your feet placed atop his, he walks you two, slow and steady, to the bedroom. Placing you down on the bed, he keeps you safe with your head nestled into his neck. He kisses the top of your head and lingers. Grabbing the hem of your shirt, he asks a question that only stills in the quiet.

“Good?” There’s no response. He bends down a tad bit further to try and look into your drowsy eyes. Your head hung so heavy against his collarbone only lets him move so far. “Tell me if you’re uncomfortable.” He takes off your top, moving to your pants, and then follows with your underwear. Empathetic emotions sway his movements as every action is taken bit-by-bit. Taking your body’s behavior as a guiding force on what causes your anxiety to jump. Strong, sharp movements cause you to recoil and a voice that resembles even a hint of a shout or gravely tone sends shivers up your spine. Your goosebumps travel across Yoongi’s skin too.

Now you’re left bare and sensitive under his skin. Yoongi works to avoid your empty eyes. Instead, he makes sure to support your vulnerable soul. You’ll remain in his arms where he’ll keep you warm and safe. He clings to your fading existence as he takes you into the bathroom. He holds a patient pace, wary of the wind that might steal away more pieces of you.

He tears his clothes off in a blur, focused on attending to you. Sitting you on the edge of the bathtub, he reaches over to turn on the shower. Each minute is counted in Yoongi’s head as he waits for the water to warm up. One hand extended out to feel the heat, and the other rested on the crown of your head. You rest against his stomach, forehead sticking to his stress induced sweat. So limpid and lazy, you don’t even take the chance to outstretch yourself and grasp onto him. His waist is cold without your arms wrapped around it. Your brittle breath against his belly-button only startles the man instead of teasing a lustful heat that such a position would usually bring. You just lay like a dead doll against him. So silent and still you can almost hear the snakes that stir up a storm in his stomach.

When the water is a tender temperature, Yoongi picks you up from the meat of your thighs and slides you two into the steam. You stay standing under the water for a while; waiting and watching as time continues its cascade. Yoongi tries to take away all the blood smeared across both of you. Slender hands slide across your skin, rubbing at the red until it washes away.

His actions soon become more aimless as he grows selfishly desperate to feel your soul. His hands laid heavy upon your hips. His grip tightens and he places meaningless pecks anywhere he can find. His fingernails press a little too deep into your pink flesh, yet there’s no reaction to the pain. His hands work in a flurry to fist any piece of skin he can latch onto. Your wet bodies are so close you’re on the verge of blurring into one. So close, yet Yoongi still can’t feel you. There’s no life beneath his fingertips.

Your despondency startles him. Usually your energetic nature is what he relies on most. A permanent piece of his life that never changes and never falters. Just looking at you now, feeling the cold statue in his arms, he wants to cut himself to shreds attempting to bleed out this displeasure. Even if it is his own doing, he’ll make sure he’s also the one to fix you.

Yoongi starts by shifting you both so you can sit in the base of the bathtub. He reaches to the shelf above your head and grabs the shampoo. His hands work their way through your hair. He detangles the knots from both your curls, and hopefully your mind. Yoongi has always been so meticulous in everything he does. He takes long, languid movements to assure no soap gets in your eyes. And when a droplet slips past his grasp, he’ll kiss away the escapee while grimacing at the suds his tongue tastes.

His caring efforts are used to calm himself just as much as they are meant for you. He’s trying to distract himself from his uneven breathing that edges the line of a mental breakdown. His rasping continues as he now reaches for the second bottle above you.

Once again, Yoongi works to lather the conditioner in his hands before smoothing it through your hair. He’s petting you how someone would comfort a dog, or console a crying child. Each easy touch he makes in order to not startle you any further. When he grabs the soap, he’s diligent with his motions. Efficient at scrubbing you clean, but tender in the way he maneuvers you.

An hour washes itself down the drain. The water has run cold and the stream has cooled away. Yoongi takes your hands and wraps them around his neck before picking you up. He places you on the bathmat and reaches to grab a towel. You're patted dry before being wrapped in the dirty towel. Lifted up again, the man in front of you takes another dry towel off the rack. Yoongi is shaking from the frigid temperature that creeps around him. This feeling could be the least of his worries and he only pays attention to scaring away the icy droplets from your hair. He smooths your hair in one stroke with the towel then follows up by softening your strands with a brush. This two step process continues until Yoongi has been completely air-dried by the bitter cold. Random but repeated chills bite along his bare back and stir up shivers.

Atrophy sets in when Yoongi begins to dress you. You're shock-still and there are no signs of it stopping. Unstirring and motionless, set to fall unless Yoongi was there to hold you. It’s significantly more difficult to dress you, so Yoongi only settles for underwear and one of his shirts. He decides to only wear boxers, opting to show you the most humane and vulnerable parts of himself. He leaves himself defenseless, ready to accept anything you give him. You’re pulled and pushed until you settle into the sheets. Both Yoongi and the bed wrap around you. Clinging to every empty space of you, they work to make you warm and soft for sleep.

Yoongi pushes himself closer against you and tugs at the covers to bring them up higher. His bitten lips lay resting on the nape of your neck. He navigates his hands through the blankets to find your own. He noses the back of your neck and wishes pretty pleas for you to wake up like none of this ever happened

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” His melody of the sincerest apologies sings you to sleep. His hymn echoes off the shadowed walls of the bedroom and settles into background noise. The soft words vibrate against your back, almost resembling a purr. Saccharine sorrys and repeats of “Don’t be afraid, I’d never hurt you,” are mumbled until Yoongi loses his voice. His sore throat stings with a metallic taste.

Feverish determination ends up sedating his sorrows. He’ll guide you into his good graces once again. He’s patient and gentle. As time tumbles onwards, he’ll be the best boyfriend once again, because everything about Yoongi is sugary sweet.

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pennyellee · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER II - sponsalia

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, kidnapping, mentions of God, mention of drugs, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, mentions of death, overwhelming, violence, sexual tension

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 6,7K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER III

sponsalia (n.) engagement

The heavy rain casts a hazy veil over the world around her and the sound of them reminds her of the storm that rages within. The last memory is coming through the light once she opens her eyes and sees, now, familiar surroundings. Lost and trapped. She wishes this to be only a mere nightmare she will wake up from. Her voice sore and barely audible, she whispers into the quiet room illuminated by the fire from the fireplace, “Why did you let this happen, my lord?” Knowing deep down that her question will remain unanswered, she longs for just one response—

“A twist of fate, perhaps, my little dove.”

She does not dare to turn herself to the voice, never before feeling such overwhelming fear. Her heart aches with sadness and is reigned by fear and perhaps a tinge of disappointment at her inability to escape and flee the spars of this world.

“No courage now? You displayed enough when you injured one of my men,” he chuckles with a sly grin, thoroughly intrigued by the woman lying in his bed.

“Is he alright?” She rises from the bed, unaware that every word she utters draws him even deeper.

“Are you concerned for his well-being or worried that this sin will lead you to hell?” He arches an eyebrow, curiously expecting her answer.

Lowering her gaze to her trembling hands, she stammers, “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I just needed to get away.”

‘A pure soul,’ he contemplates silently. This very woman might just be his endgame. He is determined but wishes to interrogate more. Seizing the opportunity when her guard momentarily falters, he taunts.

“Get away from me? Or was there something else, darling?” He knows he knows it all and a lot more, yet he is so intrigued to hear it from her.

“Can I leave?”

“No, —” he said quickly “—I asked you a question.”

“Why can’t I leave?” Y/N asked again, more determined to get a real answer once she started to feel an epiphany about her situation.

“Why would you want to leave?” he counters.

And for once, she started to think strongly about what awaits her once she leaves. Apart from her oppressive home, where punishment or death looms, she has nowhere else to go. Y/N failed to get away.

“Are you from the Yakuza?” she mutters, finally realising he never disclosed his identity.

“Min Yoongi,” he simply uttered his name, knowing it will answer her question. Her pupils are dilated, and her breathing gets shallow.

“Will you answer my question…. Y/N?”

Her heart races, desperately trying to regain control of her breath, but her mind remains scattered. Min. His name echoes in her mind. He stands before her, the man her father would never make peace with. It always comes down to two choices — either they strike a deal or engage in a bloody war, murdering each other’s men. Here he is, right in front of her. She has fallen into the arms of the enemy. Not only will her father punish her for running away, but now she also faces another punishment for being caught by an enemy.

“It seems there is a lot on your mind now, darling. Let me alleviate some of your burdens,” he says standing up from the low armchair by the fireplace, walking towards the bed. Her instincts urge her to retreat, her eyes welling up with tears of sorrow and fear.

“Don’t be afraid of me. If you play your cards right and obey, I promise nothing will happen to you, my love,” he murmurs, using a term of endearment that catches her attention.

“That’s it, baby. Breathe and calm down,” he whispers soothingly.

She locks eyes with him, drawn into their depths, a place where few dare to venture. Nobody dares to look directly into the leader’s eyes. She, even in this state, does so.

“Your father can’t punish you no more. You can find the freedom you seek by my side,” he says, his gaze fixed on her, memorizing every detail.

“What do you mean?” She asks with a newfound venom in her voice.

“You think I would allow your old man to marry you off to Yamamoto’s retarded excuse of a son and assure Tokyo’s alliance with Hong Kong?” He laughs.

“Heaven sent you to me, my love.” he continues, a sickly chuckle escaping his lips.

“And if you’re wondering how it benefits me to have you here, darling, I believe you’re smart enough to figure it out.”

She realises that if she refuses to marry the yakuza boy, the alliance will crumble, and her father will lose leverage against Seoul and the Mins who reign here. Y/N didn’t plan to marry a Yakuza man nonetheless, but she for sure never planned to stay in the middle of the chess board.

“I must admit, I found it admirable that you’ve managed to run away from China, through Luen’s north side, to our territory in the south, very brave,” he points out, acknowledging her efforts. “—and get to Jeju, right to Chan-yeol—” he says.

“You made it so easy for me. Thank you for that.” There is a hint of pleasure in his voice when he continues to speak.

“I bet your Sire didn’t expect that at all,” he grins. “You have a fire in you, my dear, —” he focuses back on her, “—and I cannot wait to tame you,” his voice shifting from casual to intimidating.

“You will make a fine wife,” Yoongi states.

“I’ll be no one’s wife. You must think me a fool if you believe I’ll marry you or anyone else from your circus,” she spits out defiantly. He stares at her silently.

“Careful,” he finally warns, surprising her with his calm demeanour. To get or inherit the position of leader, one must possess the patience of steel and a wise, calculating mind. All this and more, is embodied in the young leader, Min.

“I have my ways to persuade you that I’m the best thing that ever happened to you. You’ll realise that along the way,” he says, seemingly playing with her mind. ’Lord, please, you must have mistaken me for someone else,’ she silently prays.

“Care to elaborate?” she dares to ask.

“Your little cousin and her husband, and their little adorable son —” he trails off.

“You wouldn’t,” she quickly interrupts him.

“Oh, I would, darling. And even more. What about your sister, hmm? Isn’t she turning eighteen soon? My right-hand man is ready to take a wife...” he taunts.

“You cannot play with lives! Not with mine or others —” she snaps.

“Yes, I can, my little butterfly—” he says, gripping her chin forcefully and bringing her closer to his face, locking eyes with her.

“People follow me and worship me as if I were a god. My wife won’t be excluded. Or do you wish for bloodshed and potential homicide?” he mocks.

“Be grateful I saved you from that imbecile you were supposed to marry,” he adds, releasing her chin as she immediately rubs the numb spot with teary eyes.

“After all, you’ve just become a peace offering, my dear. God has a plan, and we shall obey the lord,” he asserts. She raises her eyes back to him, the tension between them palpable, amplified by the continuing rain outside, playing its role in the orchestra of her sorrow.

“You don’t have a choice, darling,” he declares, his words stinging her soul as they hang in the air.

“Either you stay under my protection, be a good girl, marry me, and obey, or I’ll deal with your clan brutally,” he states, rising from the bed and walking toward the door.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to negotiate the terms with your old man.”

“Get more rest.” He looked at her for the last time and closed the door behind him. A click of the lock follows. Only now, she allowed herself to cry out loud.

’You said that if I’ll help myself, lord will help me too.’ She cried, desperately. Run away from the oppressed life of a future mafia wife, just to get even closer to marriage and marital duties, autonomy out of reach.

The overwhelming sense of loneliness and fear of an uncertain future weighs heavily on her. Would it be easier to go back home, and get beaten up and punished? Or would it be easier to stay and accept she will never get away from this life?

There is something she sees in his eyes, but she cannot figure out what it is. She’s exhausted from the run, from all the thinking and future battles she will have to participate in. Her eyes are slowly closing, and her consciousness is failing her again.

“Good morning, Buin,” a voice called out, causing her to squint her eyes from the sudden stream of light entering the room. Grumbling, she pulled the blanket up higher to shield herself.

“Doctor Kim will pay you a visit today, Buin.” the voice continued, and her eyes snapped open. Reality set in, and she realized this wasn’t just a bad dream — she wasn’t home.

“A doctor?” She said, successfully ignoring how she called her the lady of the house.

“Sajangnim requested that we draw you a bath so you can relax and clean yourself,” the little lady replied with a big smile, clearly infatuated with her “Sajangnim”. Rolling her eyes at the maid’s innocence, she welcomed the suggestion of a bath. This westernised hanok must have a bathing room hidden somewhere in its wooden maze. Accepting the white hanfu offered to her, she eagerly anticipated the chance to have her long hair washed. It had become a tangled mess after days of neglect. Maybe she would finally be able to wear her hair down, something she had never been allowed to do before. Her scalp was always sore from the numerous hairpins and clips used to hold her hair in the complicated styles she despised. And perhaps, she could even cut her hair.

“We’re here, Buin,” the maid interrupted her thoughts, leading her to a wooden door that swung open. The sight of a bathroom in a house, a luxury reserved for urban dwellers, reflected the wealth of the syndicate.

She entered the room, and the maid closed the door from inside. The water was already in the large wooden bathtub, steaming hot, beckoning her to submerge herself. It was spacious enough for her to float on the surface if she wanted to. The maid prepared her soaps and other hygiene products. She will clean herself as she graciously declined her help.

“Sajangnim said that if you were to resist his hospitality and commands he gave us, he shall come and help you himself.” The girl said with no emotion in her voice. She memorised it by heart.

“You can tell Sajangnim to stay put,” she muttered in response.

“Buin—” the girl attempted again but Y/N waved her off. She didn’t want to treat the poor girl in this mean manner, but she desired an alone time.

“Please…just wait outside.” Y/N pleaded. Reluctantly, the girl obliged, but she was certain she would report back to her master in a heartbeat. Besides, Y/N had nowhere to escape within the confines of this room.

She shed the lightweight hanfu and slowly lowered herself into the steaming water, feeling her muscles gradually relax. At least for a moment, her mind started to ease the running thoughts, calming the storm down.

Until she heard his voice. Her body immediately tensed up. She strained to listen to the conversation — or rather, the series of commands directed at the poor gal.

“Doctor Kim has arrived, make sure she is ready in the master bedroom in fifteen minutes. Tell the staff to prepare lunch for us in the garden after.” His voice was gone after this, and a soft knock followed.

“Buin—” the maid’s voice called softly, and by that time, Y/N was already hurriedly putting the hanfu back on.

“I’m coming,” she sighed.

She stopped the servant girl once she wanted to put her hair up in a bun. Now back in the room, sitting in a closet the devil managed to obtain for her as if he knew she will come. It was full of beautiful qipao’s but also some Korean hanboks and even some traditional Chinese beizis if she wanted to get more comfortable presumably. Among them, she noticed some lingerie, which internally made her nauseous with anxiety. Her hair was longer than she remembered, as she rarely wore it down.

“I suggest you keep the hanfu while Doctor Kim is here and then we shall clothe you in a dress.” To say she was scared and nervous about what this Doctor Kim will want to see or do was understandable.

“Here she is!” A loud and cheery voice echoed in the bedroom. “You caused quite a commotion, sweetie. I’m thrilled to finally meet you,” said the handsome man who entered the room with a leather suitcase and white coat.

“Doctor Kim, I presume,” She assumed. He was undeniably attractive, much like his Kkangpae. But she wouldn’t admit that for some time.

“For you, sweetie, it’s Seokjin. We’re going to be family, after all,” he smiled, attempting to put her at ease. He couldn’t help but notice her guarded demeanour. She scoffed at his proclamation, as expected.

“So,” he clapped his hands together, “let’s talk about you and your health, darling,” he said while searching for an empty file with her name.

“I want you to know that I won’t tell him a damn thing unless it’s necessary, you can trust me,” he stated.

“Except whether or not I’m a virgin, right?” she retorted in a cocky voice, mocking the messed-up mafia system.

“If you want to start with that, you can lie down, and I’ll check,” he sassed back with a smirk. Something told her they would only be friends for a very brief moment as long as she remained in this place.

“So, are you?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“What if I’m not?” she tilted her head to the side. He chuckled.

“I see your point, but that wouldn’t free you from the engagement. He would simply have the man who touched you slaughtered to show his power,” he explained. She straightened herself, taking a deep breath.

“And even though I have to check anyway, it’s not just about your chastity,” he said. She did know, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable spreading her legs for a stranger.

“Let’s leave that until the very end, shall we?” he smiled at her.

“Have you consumed any contaminated water while you were on the run?” he surprised her with the question.

“No, I don’t think so...” she stammered.

“Besides hurting Hoseok-ssi, did you fight with anyone else and get injured?” So that was the man’s name.

“Is he okay?” she asked, deflecting his question.

“He’s fine, but you should apologise once you meet him. He meant no harm,” he replied. Well, she hadn’t meant any harm either; she just wanted to escape the scene quickly. She nodded in agreement.

“When was the last time you were sick, honey.”

“Sometime last year.” He hummed in response.

“Do you have a family history of any medical conditions or diseases?” he continued with the examination.

“None that I’m aware of,” she shrugged.

“Any reproductive problems in your family?” he asked more seriously.

And here it comes—reducing her to merely a vessel, even before marriage. Just in time, the devil appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. “Not on my side,” he interjected.

She didn’t want to give him a glance, but her body failed her. His black hair was tucked behind his ears, a scar shining in its glory on his face. He smiled. And for a moment, she got lost in his eyes again. He’s having an impact on her, and he knows.

“Y/N?” Seokjin called her name to get her attention back to him.

“No, not in my lineage,” her gaze fell again as she listened to what he was asking her.

“Do you smoke?” He asked with curiosity in his voice.

“Uhm, no.” She answered honestly. Y/N had been around cigarettes a lot, but she had never smoked one herself.

“Very good, do not start. It’s not worth it,” he gave his younger brother from another mother a side-eye, and the younger one just rolled his eyes in response. It made her chuckle a little, hoping they wouldn’t hear it. He did but didn’t say a word. Yoongi wanted her to be comfortable around him.

“Alcohol?” he asked while jotting down her previous answers.

“Occasionally?” she questioned herself, as she couldn’t remember the last time, she had a drink.

“Hmm,” he hummed again and wrote it down.

“Do you have any problems with your monthly bleeding?” Seokjin looked into her eyes and glanced at his brother.

“No…” she said awkwardly, gulping down.

“When was the last time you ate?” He looked into her eyes, and she realised she couldn’t recall, nor did she feel hungry until now. Was it the adrenaline?

“I think it was the morning I left Shenyang, five days ago,” she replied.

“You went from Shenyang to Incheon in 5 days?!” He raised his voice which caused him a mean look from his leader.

“How are you not exhausted to death?!” He continued.

“I had some intense drugged sleep. Thank you for your concern, though,” she answered honestly.

“She needs to eat, but she has to do so carefully to avoid upsetting her stomach. Don’t let her overstuff herself,” he instructed his companion. She was starting to feel ravenous; she hadn’t eavesdropped on their conversation, but rather, she was lost in her thoughts, preparing for what would come next.

“Beautiful, I need you to lie down for Seokjin now,” he snapped her out of it.

“What?” with him inside the room?

“It’s not necessary. I can tell him what he needs to know without that,” she protested.

“It’s a rule we follow, dove. We don’t want you to—” she cut him off.

“You just want to know if someone have fucked me before or not. Otherwise, you wouldn’t care,” she spat out. He seemed taken aback by her sudden change of attitude. This is the fire he wanted to desperately extinguish, at least towards him. Jin looked very much shocked but also amused when he glanced at his friend that was startled by this petite Chinese woman.

“I need to check for other reasons as well,” Seokjin said, clasping his hands together.

“Why can’t you just retrieve my medical file?”

“You have a medical file?” He asked, surprised. It was very rare for someone to have a medical file, especially at times after the war, apart from when a young one went to study. An entrance examination was always needed.

“Yes. Send a letter to my college.” She said, not realising she slipped a piece of valuable information out.

“College?” Yoongi asked, clearly shocked. Seokjin wasn’t looking much less surprised than him. She gave them questioning looks, knowing full well why they were so astonished.

“W-What did u study?” Jin stammered the question out. She wasn’t meant to inherit her father’s empire, but she was destined for an arranged marriage to another powerful family. Higher education wasn’t supposed to be part of her life. However, this would explain why she hadn’t been married off at eighteen. They had sent her away to study.

“Nursing.” She shrugged as if her words carried no weight.

“My, my,” said Jin, stroking his chin.

“I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no. As of now, a big no,” she looked at her abductor, confused.

“As of now is good with me!” he clapped his hands together.

“Now, please leave, brother. I don’t think she’ll ever comply if you’re here. I’ll bring her to the garden afterwards,” Yoongi wanted to object, but when he saw the pleading distress in her eyes, he nodded and left his bedroom.

The young leader was proud that she hadn’t tried to run away or throw a tantrum yet. He didn’t want to resort to violence or coercion.

Stone pathways meandered through the garden, inviting one to explore its every corner. She was absorbing her surroundings with a teacup in her small hands. The air was fragrant with the scent of autumn. The wind was a bit chilling as the end of October was nearing. Snow will fall soon. A small pavilion she found herself sitting in beside a koi fishpond that sparkled in the sunlight, felt too peaceful.

“You look absolutely stunning,” said he, his gaze fixed upon her petite figure draped in a flowery pink qipao, her hair elegantly tucked behind her ears. She radiated a natural beauty, untouched by face powders or lipsticks. He loved this vision, an embodiment of purity and innocence. Little did he know, beneath her facade of grace, lay a sharp tongue that defied even the will of God.

She sipped her tea; Y/N ate a little bit of rice and seaweed soup to drive off her hunger. As she admired the garden’s serenity, she found herself drawn not only to its peacefulness but also to the possibility of escape it presented. Perhaps she could run back to Incheon and board a ship that would carry her far away from this place.

“You should know that ‘pretty’ is just a word, and your compliments and pet names won’t win me over. Use my name,” she scoffed, challenging his attempts to woo her.

“That doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he was determined to break through her defences.

Y/N shot him a piercing stare, a skill she had acquired swiftly. She pondered the enigma of the man before her, wondering how in God’s name she could resist his charm.

“I appreciate that you haven’t attempted to escape yet,” he murmured, sipping his tea. Y/N was no fool; she knew that throwing a fit every second she was held captive would only lead to further confinement. For now, she decided to falsely embrace the last moments of autumn in this beautiful garden, she already scanned in her mind.

“I won’t be very keen on you if you’ll try to,” he warned, his tone shifting unexpectedly. Did he seek to intimidate her, or was he afraid she would succeed in slipping away?

“You seem eager to ask me questions,” said she with cockiness in her voice. Acting tough would make it harder for him to break her will. Not like she counted on a prolonged stay.

“I do,” he hummed in agreement. “But are you willing to answer them, my sweet?” Her eyes rolled at the nickname, accompanied by a scoff. He sighed.

“I’ll answer anything you want, and you’ll answer mine. Deal?” he proposed, a smile playing on his lips.

“That’s quite the cliché, you know,” she declared, placing her cup down just as he eagerly reached to refill it.

“But if it gets you to talk to me, darling, I’ll graciously accept the cliché,” he replied smoothly.

“I know what you want to ask,” she interjected. He was curious about how she managed to study for years without being married off.

“My aunt was very dear to my father. She persuaded him,” she confessed, her words carrying a burden that still weighed on her mind.

“Naturally, my father had intended to marry me off instead of allowing me to pursue my studies. It was still on the table. However, the last war, as you surely recall, brought forth injured, disabled, and dead.”

“I had just turned eighteen. So, my aunt negotiated that I would study nursing in Shenyang instead and be useful to the clan this way. My father saw the merit in her argument and delayed my marriage to whatever his name is—” She explained, her nonchalant tone contrasting with the mention of the man she was meant to marry and the affection she held for her late aunt.

“But my aunt passed away recently and there was no reason for my father to let me stay in Shenyang after I ended my studies. I became more useful to him if I married that boy, as your clan sent a warning. He needed the allyship.” She sighed.

“So I ran the moment we buried my aunt and I was sent back to Shenyang to get my diploma and return.” He listened attentively, aware that her trust was not easily won, and that loyalty would be crucial in their future together. She was still cautious around him, and he wanted her to open up to him even more. It would be a lot easier for her to trust him. But he knew better than that. Trust is earned, and it goes both ways.

“You never met him?” he inquired, referring to her failed engagement.

“No. I don’t think I even remember his name. Father always called him Yamamoto, never by his first name,” she replied. He knew his name well, having encountered him during negotiations for a deal in the past. Officially, Korea remained under Japanese rule, but within the underworld, clans were locked in fierce conflict. Yoongi, longing for peace, knew that Wang’s treaty pact with the Yamamoto clan was a significant obstacle. However, with Y/N’s presence here, the plans could be easily altered. According to the plan.

The cold young leader is not only aiming for her father’s empire and making peace for his clan, he longed for a woman like her. It was about time the leader of the clan took a wife to secure the lineage. Although there was a male heir in her family, who could potentially pose an obstacle, he was still too young to step into the role. Y/N, as the eldest heir, a female, would become an integral part of Yoongi’s plans to secure the future of their clans.

“You crave the throne, don’t you?” she asked, cocking her head and chin defiantly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him.

“I want you too.” She chuckled at his response.

“I’m merely a convenient excuse, am I not?” Y/N smiled too sweetly.

“You’ll kill m—” he rose from his chair, not even letting her finish. Grabbing her by her shoulders in a steel grip with a penetrating gaze.

The fragile cup slipped from her trembling hands and shattered on the floor. A nearby maid prepared to clean up the shattered shards. “Leave us!” he barked at the startled girl; his voice filled with anger. Y/N’s eyes widened. He was even more aggressive and intimidating than before.

“I could—” his voice seething with fury, “— I could gather man and slaughter your entire clan, keeping you as a trophy, a symbol of my power.” The threat hung in the air, and she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. Fear was coursing through her, yet she resisted letting it control her.

“Matter of fact—” he continued, his grip tightening on her shoulders, eliciting a whimper of pain from her, “—you will be a symbol of the magnitude my power has, no matter if your father and family remain alive. So, it’s on you. The fate of your kin rests in your hands. Their survival hinges on your decisions and how well you’ll cooperate.” He tightened his grip again, eliciting another whimper of pain from her.

“But I will never dispose of you,” he growled through gritted teeth, his tone a mixture of possessiveness and frustration. Gathering her courage, she managed to speak again, her voice trembling but filled with resolve.

“You cannot manipulate me like this. Do you think I’ll fall for this fucked up scheme? I have spent my entire life under the orders of others, forbidden from making choices for myself! And you have the audacity to use my innocence thinking I will willingly crawl into your bed and love you like a devoted lover.” Venom in her voice and the desperate tone made him fall for her even more.

“I’ve only recently met you, so spare me your attempts to deceive me that you’re being my saviour.” Y/N has enough fire to still conquer and fight him back. “I refuse to be a passive participant in this game.” She shall not take it lying down.

“I’m giving you a choice—” he asserted, his voice laced with a dangerous undertone “—either you’ll walk down the aisle to me or there will be bloodshed. I won’t send you back to your father nor will I relinquish you easily.” His eyes locked onto hers, and she could see the darkness consuming his pupils when anger consumed him.

“Call it love, obsession, or whatever you please, but no matter what imbecile attempts you make to fight or flee, we will inevitably end up together nonetheless,” he declared with conviction. Was this the fate God had laid out for her? Her faith wavered, and if he didn’t assist soon, she shall forbid him altogether.

“You just want to fuck m—” he cut her off abruptly, his voice low and seductive.

“I can either fuck you hard or I can make love to you,” said he, whilst setting her left arm free and sliding his to her thigh, caressing it sweetly.

Breathing started to become harder for Y/N. Unfamiliar sensations welled up in her lower belly whilst his touch was sending shivers through her body. Was this attraction? Excitement? Mother told her this is how love is supposed to feel. Butterflies in her stomach. But she certainly wasn’t in love with her captor.

He sensed her confusion and distress, leaving her to fall back to the chair. Finally letting her breathe freely. Yoongi sat back in his chair, collecting himself and the three-piece suit he wears today.

“Loss of words, innit?” He chuckled.

He was filled with pride, an overwhelming sense of it, knowing the impact he had on her. She dusted her thighs and straightened her dress.

“Remember, it’s your call. Either you’ll go willingly or with coercion,” her gaze piercing through him for change.

“I’m still waiting to hear back from your father, but before we proceed, I need to go over some rules I expect you to follow before and after we’re wed,” he said, picking up his cup of tea again.

“I know the rules. Just because I went to study doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared to be the wife of any higher-profile mafia member,” she replied, and he chuckled.

“What’s so funny, care to share?” She asked her sass back.

“Not those kinds of rules. I know you’re prepared for that. But entertain me, baby. What do you think I’ll ask of you?” he said, grinning mischievously, his chin resting between his thumb and forefinger.

“You’ll hand me the household finances after, not like I already agreed, I see no ring yet —”

“—not interfere in business affairs, maintain a low profile to avoid unnecessary attention, and be nothing more than a pretty face, spread your legs and pop out heirs.” He listened to her, amused. She is vaccinated with these dynamics as her mother underwent the same and taught her to do so. However, to Yoongi’s unluckiness, she inherited her whim and flame too.

“You don’t need to manage the household; we have people for that. But if you wish to change anything in the budget, you of course can, sweetling,” he responded, surprising her with his contradictory words.

“I don’t want you to be just a pretty face because you have to. Your fire will be beneficial for me once in a while. If I ever tell you to sit still and look pretty, it would be a matter of life and death, a means to protect you, —”

“—See? I can be very good.” He said, sipping his cold tea, leaving it in his mouth to warm a little while he is thinking. He found great joy in evoking emotions from her.

“You can involve yourself in the business as much as you desire, but I doubt you’ll want to engage in those activities. For your safety, I would sleep better if you were always by my side once we’re engaged and married shortly after.” He stressed out the last word.

“Once we’ll be engaged and wed, your loyalty to your father will transfer to me, and me only” he emphasised his voice firm.

“I won’t force you to be intimate with me after the wedding night, although I’m sure you’ll come to desire it,” he said with a sickly grin, causing her stomach to churn. She needed a moment to process everything he told her by far.

“I saw how you reacted to me earlier. You will enjoy our time in the bedroom, surely.” He spoke as if it wasn’t taboo.

“I-” she stammered and hesitated. He stunned her. Broke down to her core, and he wanted to dig even further.

“I’m aware.” He replied to her unspoken utterance.

She leaned into her chair further, feeling so small suddenly, so inexperienced. Y/N remembers a boy with black hair and green eyes who she had a crush on. He kissed her one night under a cherry blossom tree in their garden. Her father got to know, and she never saw him since.

“All of this comes with one rule: obedience. You will obey as a good girl, and everyone will be happy,” he declared firmly.

“But disobedience won’t be tolerated,” he added, his tone unwavering.

“I want our marriage to be right, as it should be. I won’t force you to be intimate with me. I mean it,” he tried to assure her.

“—Apart from the wedding night, which speaking of, I still didn’t say, ’Yes, I will’.” He laughed and got up from his chair. Her choices and chances were limited. Even if she would manage to escape, he would go on a killing spree till he would get her back. Min Yoongi was very much interested and devoted to marrying this young female.

He knelt on one knee in front of her. A scenery one could perceive as a loving couple is ready to pursue a life journey together. She hadn’t expected him to propose before her father’s agreement, let alone in such a proper manner. Y/N knew better, she just wanted to tease him back.

This wasn’t how mafia members typically behaved, especially the Kkangpae, who never bowed or knelt to anyone. A sign of respect and reverence. Is she to be fooled again? Was he trying to earn her trust with this pretentious act or is he truly showing her respect? Countless questions stormed her mind, causing her inner turmoil. A thunder and lightning bolt within.

He pulled out a velvet little box from his inside pocket and slowly opened it before her shocked figure. The ring glistened in the light. She hates to admit it, but it was marvellous. The delicate band, crafted from shimmering gold, was embellished with intricate filigree that snaked its way around the band in a dance of beauty. Sapphire, shining atop the band surrounded by smaller diamonds, a starry night sky, each one a glimmering testament to the masterful skill of the jeweller. The ring must be older than she or him.

“Miss Wang—” said he, staring into her soul and making her look away from the ring. “—You would honour me if you shall decide to spend, thou life by my side. I promise to protect you and respect you if you have me.”

Confusion would be the correct term, as just moments ago, he held her in a punishing grip, issuing threats. She mustered the courage to ask him once more. “Why?”

He smiled at her so widely. This smile was different. “Please don’t give me any sweet bullshit or I swear—” he interrupted her.

“All you think is my reason — is my reason. I’m not going to lie to you. Just know…this is God’s will, and God presented you to me as a life companion. You can put your fear aside and stand up to me. You’re a challenge I’m determined to embrace, and God knows I’ll do my best to make you mine,” he explained, his tone serious and earnest.

Would God allow him to do anything to conquer her and this world? His words resonated deep within her soul, stirring something within her. Will Father punish her once he will arrive here if he is even coming here? He has to. She knows. If she will get engaged, he will have to come and give him his blessing.

Mother. She wanted to desperately hide in her mother’s arms. Is she ready to confine herself to someone else than her mother, sister, or aunt? Her poor aunt must be restless in her grave. She wanted only the best for her. A different life than the one of someone’s wife; at least that’s what she believed.

“So, what will it be? Shall I send my man to gear up or—” She didn’t let him finish. Y/N didn’t want anyone else to die or get hurt because she wanted her freedom so selfishly. She questioned her faith and wondered if this was truly the path that had been laid out for her.

Is this her path?

“I will.”

It must be.

He smiled brightly. He is one step closer to orchestrating in her heart. It’s her verdict whether it will be an easier or difficult and rocky path. He took the ring out of its box, reaching for her left hand. Sliding the ring on her finger.

Slowly, he raised her hand to his lips, gently placing a kiss on her skin. He didn’t break eye contact the whole time, which made her uneasy. Y/N didn’t expect the leader to close the distance between them and lean to her, still holding her hand. Her breath picked its pace, and her lips parted a little; she gasped when he was getting too close. Y/N felt so stiff and frozen. Almost brushing his lips with hers—

“Sajangnim—?” A voice echoed. Unwillingly and frustrated, he turned his head to the staff member of the household. Y/N turned her head in the opposite direction, her chest heaving rapidly as she struggled to catch her breath.

“What?!” he barked; his anger evident.

“Mr Wang is on the telephone.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“How long will she be out?” Asked the leader, pacing front and back in his office. It had only been a few minutes since the son of his late father’s captain of the front force had brought her back to their territory. She appeared serene as he carried her into his room and gently laid her on the bed. Although he had a maid ready to change her clothes, he couldn’t resist the urge to do it himself.

“Hopefully she’ll sleep most of the evening and night,” Chan-yeol replied.

“I see,” answered the leader, trying to mask his concern. He realised how much he yearned for her presence.

“Everything will work out right, Kkangpae?” Chan-yeol asked, seeking reassurance.

“Of course. How is your wife, Chan-yeol?” Yoongi replied confidently. He vividly recalls her disparagement of this plan, as if her opinion mattered to him. She had shown a protective instinct towards her, much like her mother had. It stirred conflicting emotions within him.

“She won’t be a problem, I promise.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear. It was only natural to be afraid of someone like Yoongi.

The plan was for her to reach Jeju Island, and stumbling upon the warehouse was a mere coincidence—a twist of fate that strengthened Yoongi’s belief in their union. The way she looked into his eyes made him breathless.

His heart burned for her even more than ever before.

to be continued

author’s note: yall I have to say I didn't expect that much of love for my baby. Thank you all beautiful creatures! Feels very surreal. Thank you for all the love, reblogs and comments. I love you, I see you. I hope you enjoyed the first and second chapter and will look forward to the next one ♥ Stay tuned for the preview of chapter III soonish ♥

Also I tried to add everyone who asked to the tag list, and if you want to be in too or you ain't tagged properly, comment or dm ♥

Shout out to Bex the queen @chaoticpuff17 for beta reading this chapter and shout out to all her bombastically good fics!! ♥ ily♥

Love you!!!!

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction.

let's be friends chummers ♥

lots of love,

𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖓𝖞𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖊

taglist: @chaoticpuff17 @honsoolgloss @jingerbreadoutofstock @moocow778 @janura26 @dinosolecito @yoongislatinagff @xyahrinx @ruhmoojeonjunkook-blog @hi12345567 @nochue @deltamoon666 @bbkissme99 @darkuni63 @nansasa @sazsazsaz @missmin @strxwbloody @royallyjjk @jaiuneamesolitaiire @shadowyjellyfishfest

©pennyellee. please do not repost

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 2 years ago

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shower, m | myg | nyangnyang au

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. Easy, though, when your husband was Min Yoongi.

warnings: husband!Yoongi x wife!reader; shower smut (fem reader, getting each other off - handjob / fingering); domestic fluff and a hangry fluff that interrupts (nyangnyang!au)

You weren’t sure what it was like to love someone else.

But you knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It must be different for other relationships. For one, you always showered together when you could. It was the norm rather than a special moment. Sometimes you had deep conversations about a random concept on his mind or yours. Sometimes you would end up uncontrollably laughing about the way he said something and spent the next ten minutes trying not to snort while Yoongi shook his head at you, it wasn’t that funny. Maybe it wasn’t, but it was funny to you and that was what mattered. Sometimes you didn’t say anything and he didn’t say anything. Both of you immersed in your own hygienic tasks, except when you washed his back. You were flexible enough to wash your own, but there was a time when he wasn’t able to, so now it was a habit for you to soap up his broad shoulders.

You knew what it was like to love Min Yoongi.

It was like falling in love every day.

“Stop slouching.”

“I’m not slouching.”

You punched his lower back with the sudsy bath sponge.

Yoongi stopped slouching.

You placed one hand on his shoulder and scrubbed away at your husband. The funniest thing about you and Yoongi was that you were basically the same person. In mannerisms, preferences, even outlook on people. Different talents, of course; you didn’t know jack shit about music just like Yoongi wouldn’t know how to formulate a sentence with intricate syntax to display an emotion without directly stating it. But there was something about you and him that made you feel so sure in this world of unsure. A shared, unshakable calmness that could not be disturbed by anyone on the outside.

You tapped his shoulder, indicating him to turn around.

He did, wiping the last of the cleanser off his face. Black locks swept forward and plastered to his cheeks in messy waves.

Your eyes found his.

The world a storm, and in those dark brown orbs was the calm.

You wondered if anyone else felt this.

The hot water thundered down in rivets across his fair skin, washing away the puffs of white, and Yoongi smiled at you. You smiled back, but a different kind of smile, leaning forward and circling your arms around his neck as if slow dancing. Chest to chest, faces close, almost sensual, except that you were rinsing out the bath sponge behind his head.

Your husband cocked an eyebrow.

It sounded like summer rain.

The air hot and heavy.

It took a certain kind of person to fall in love with the same person every day. The kind of person that understood themselves well and yet was always trying to find a new evolution of self. Simple but complex. Alive in dichotomy. Someone who believed the impossible was possible, ah, of course it was, because he was right in front of you. You leaned in, wet hair and skin, breath to breath. So many thoughts in this silence that later he would have to piece them together in songwriting. For now, you exhaled, slow and steady, over his lips already parting to receive.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were seducing me,” he murmured.

The corner of your lips quirked upward. “You don’t know better. You’re already within my grasp.”

There was the ghost of a laugh in his calm tone.

“Oh, no.”

You closed your eyes and you could feel his thoughts, feel them in the water and his skin under your arms, in the air between you and him. Anticipation, patience, waiting for the moment. The water that went with the flow that was your fire. He spoke to you even when he didn’t. In his songs, in his eyes, in his body, and you closed the distance, lips to lips, insistent comfort, fanning your fingers in his hair and on his back, still clutching the bath sponge, and he pressed back against you.

Breathing life into your throat.

You used to think, I can’t show when I’m weak otherwise someone will take it and use it against me, and you knew Yoongi used to think that too. I must always be strong. You both liked to say you got married for any other reason other than I love you, because I love you was too loaded of a phrase to a pair of people that didn’t really understand what it meant – until they meant each other and realized I love you meant you taught me I’ll be okay with or without you, so I’ll be with you when forever ends.

You pushed him into the wall, turning so the water was half on you and half on him. You felt Yoongi smile, and you caught his lower lip with your teeth, lightly growling in warning.

“Cold?”

“A little bit,” you mumbled, letting go and adjusting your arms, reaching over to hang the bath sponge on its hook.

“You wanna warn me next time?” he chuckled, half of his hair cascading over his face. Open-mouthed smirk and sparkling dark eyes teasing you. His fingertips ghosted your waist. “I’ll always give you anything you want.”

You returned his playful smile with added deviousness.

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

What Yoongi and you both understood way before this strange feeling called love…

Was, of course, sex.

He raised his eyebrows. You opened your mouth, slathering your palm with saliva right in front of his eyes. Tongue between fingers, a second that felt like hours, too fast and too slow at the same time, and then your hand shot down, wrapping around his half-hard cock, pinning Yoongi to the wall with your dangerous smile and devious gaze.

He gasped against your lips.

Low moan drawn out. Your hand sliding up and down, feeling him pulse under your touch. Water running down your back, steam and warm air and stolen breath and his name an additional caress, ah, Yoongi, lips to lips once more, fervent and intense. No way to describe the feeling except perfection. Trapped in lip-lock and droplets sliding between hot bodies, hand around hardness, and you felt something else, swift and sly, a deft movement snaking between your legs.

The side of your mouth retreated.

“You better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” you muttered.

“Don’t think then, my love,” was the response.

You almost moved away, but Yoongi’s free hand was suddenly cradled around your wet hair, and then it was shortened breath, fingers sliding into your slick heat, and now you were following the same rhythm. Deep, rough, fast, a contest as much as it was pleasurable, sharing tongue and breath and matching smirks, fuck, this guy really doesn’t back down, huh, but it was a fond thought, one you approved of because you didn’t know when to back down either, spreading your legs more and feeling him moan into your mouth as he thrust deeper, your pussy closing in around his fingers, squeezing tight. You had a competitive nature.

Yoongi knew that.

Thus, you were now testing to see who would cum first.

“You can’t outlast me,” you purred.

“That’s not the loss you think it is,” he hummed, one hand still in your hair and the other knuckles deep, shuddering into your touch. Fuck, he was doing that thing with his eyes again, lowering his lashes and with that glint of mischief behind wet black strands, sliding slightly on the tile to be below you. Letting you see the edge of his lower lip between his teeth along with his intense stare.

You…

Yoongi cocked his eyebrow at you again.

A muscle in your jaw twitched, involuntarily tightening at your husband’s annoying power bottom display that was doing too many things to your nether regions, including the sudden throbbing heartbeat pulsing around his thrusting fingers.

The lip bite turned into a flat-out smug smirk.

You adjusted the pace to the exact speed and pressure that would get him off, not too tight but locking your fingers to provide the consistent power, watching his eyes cloud and lashes flutter, rough groan sliding out of his lips, uncontrollable flinch rippling across his chest muscles.

“F-Fuck…”

Those dark brown orbs closing and he moaned in your face. Hips shivering, shoulders locking, his hand falling from your head and hitting the shower wall, tense fingers splayed on the tiles, and then you felt and saw the orgasm wash over his features, immediately pausing your hand.

Jerking pulse in the palm of your tight grip.

You couldn’t feel the cum due to the showering water, but you knew he had hit that high from the shuddering of his chest and his hard cock twitching, almost forgetting his fingers were in you.

Until he started moving them again.

Fast, hard, too easily from the flowing slickness seeping down your legs.

You bit back a cry and tipped your head back, shutting your eyes, burning waves flaring from your core and getting hotter, and Yoongi knew the pace, the angle, the depth, all so well, sliding another in to complete the feeling of escapable fullness. Your forearm was shaking, anchoring your free hand on the wall beside Yoongi’s head, other hand still around his cock, ghosting your caress over him, still hard so he must be looking at you. Taking in all the details of your closed eyes, wet hair stuck you’re your shoulders, rivers of water down the curves of your chest, hard nipples dripping, so close, slick and hot and his.

Yoongi whispered your name.

Smoky and sexy and wonderful.

The side of your lips quirked upwards, mirroring his familiar expression.

It all cascaded down, down, there, and you sighed out, electric bliss all over your nerves and skin, inner walls clenching around his fingers and your heard Yoongi sigh too, content and in lust, feeling your pussy squeeze and shiver around his three fingers buried all the way inside.

You closed your thighs around his hand, pressing softness around him.

“What a nice feeling,” he murmured and he wasn’t talking about his own orgasm.

“You gotta take your hand out sometime.”

“Not any time soon. It’s nice and warm in here.”

Then, both of you heard it.

“Nyaaaaow.”

You felt your eyebrow twitch.

Opened your eyes and looked back to see your husband looking at you with a narrowed gaze and an upturned mouth.

“Did you feed Nyangnyang?” you asked.

“I thought you fed her?” was the emotionless response.

“Nyaow.”

“I thought you did.”

Somecat was headbutting the bathroom door.

“Fuck. I must have forgotten to fill her bowl after washing it. I wanted to get in the shower,” Yoongi grumbled under his breath.

“Nyan.”

“Yes, Nyangnyang, I hear you,” you called back to the white fluffball behind the door with your husband’s three fingers still stuffed in your pussy as he lifted his shoulders off the shower tile. “We’ll feed you as soon as we finish up.”

“Nyan.”

“Bossy.”

“Like her dad.”

Yoongi blinked slowly, unimpressed, at your quip.

You didn’t need him to say it to know that he meant, of course, definitely, just like me. Right? Yup. After all, your husband always said that the wife was always right when she wanted to be. Heh.

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

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

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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

Text

isn't it romantic? | myg (01)

ENTRY ONE: Me Before You

⟶ SERIES MASTERPOST

Many things in life have a polar opposite: left and right, night and day, yin and yang, you and Min Yoongi... Hopeless romantic meets gloomy cynic. The only thing you seem to share is a magazine column but even then, you still can’t seem to understand how Yoongi can be called ‘The Love Doctor’ when he is the antithesis of everything love represents.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader; side/past taehyung x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: coworkers to lovers, magazine writers au, fluff, angst, eventual smut; central themes of cheating (not between yoongi and oc), swearing (a staple in this household 😗), one bit is a lilllll suggestive?, mentions of drinking, i think that's it hmmm, barely edited bc u know how we do

word count: 5.1k

note: this is the yoongi brainrot speaking !!! the banner for this entry is one of my all time favorite pics of him and i will find a way to use it in everything !!! but erhm yeah iir is officially starting and i'm very curious to see what y'all think about it 😗 please like it haha jk no i'm serious please like it it's my baby

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I waste my breath on a prayer, you don't care, I was never a part of your plan, You can't make a God of somebody, Who's not even half of a half-decent man.

I Burned LA Down - Noah Cyrus

Half your life, you hated blue.

You often associated it with so many bad things - loss, betrayal, loneliness. The great big storm. The end of life.

Most of the pigtails-wearing girls in your class disliked it because it was often a boy’s color. You hated it because of a stranger on a beach.

Then you discovered Blue Side (as ironic as the name was), the magazine that everybody and their mother was reading. There was this column - the Love Maze (as corny as it sounded) - that had your 15-year-old self hooked from the first article you read, “Flirty Pickup Lines to Text Your Crush”. It gave you a nice little distraction from the reality of your fucked up family.

You’d get home from school and dive right into it. You could count on the maze for a new article every day, covering all kinds of things - cute little quizzes, daily love horoscopes, relationship tidbits…

You started reading it religiously because it was stupid, and fun, but it was more than that too. They covered real-life stories of actual people, which you’d never really thought about. For the most part, it was tedious. Rekindling with an old flame whilst grocery shopping, accidentally spilling coffee on a stranger who then asked you out on the spot, etc. Things like that. You found them so… unremarkable.

But then it went beyond that, when they told their stories looking back on years and years after that first happenstance. How there was love in the mundane. How there was love every single day, even on the bad ones. How there was a spark that two people cared for and nurtured into a warm fire that never burnt out.

How there was love.

How there was always love.

To you, that was magical. It was something you’d only ever heard about in fairytales when you were a kid.

You still remember the exact moment when it all changed for you.

You met Kim Taehyung during your third week at Blue Side, where you were a wide-eyed assistant editor who somehow wiggled her way into a position there, and he was an effortlessly charming graphic designer.

Admittedly, the first time that you two had ever talked, wasn’t under ideal circumstances. You were tucked away behind the office building, nails digging into your palms at 3PM on a sunny but freezing afternoon, willing your tears to stay where they belonged. You’d felt severely underqualified, like you were only flailing about, trying to keep your head above water but something kept pulling at your feet, not stopping until you were at the very bottom. People always talked about how your early 20s were the most beautiful and freeing years, when you could truly live and feel your youth blossom all around you. But that just wasn’t true. Those were the loneliest years of your life.

Taehyung had found you then, while he was out for a quick smoke break. He could’ve made a lame excuse and left, or simply pretended to not notice you were even there, but he stayed. He approached you and asked what was wrong. He offered you words of reassurance and encouragement even though you were nothing but a stranger to him.

You were touched by his simple act of kindness and his endearing smile. Maybe it’s because you’d never been offered much kindness throughout your life that his small gesture seemed like everything. In a way, it was everything. He looked like the kind of fairytale love that you’d only seen in movies, only read about in Love Maze. To this day, a part of you still thinks that you fell in love with him the very second he asked, “Are you okay?”

The timing felt right.

Taehyung felt right.

He, too, was like the sun in the middle of a cold and isolating winter.

You remember the color of his sweater, and it was then that you realized blue didn’t have to be so bad after all.

[15:39] You: what r u doing tonight?

[15:45] Tae ♡: probably just head home after the gym. play a couple matches with Jungkook. hope i don’t die boiling water for ramen and hit the hay early

[15:46] Tae ♡: miss you :(

[15:49] You: thanks

[15:52] Tae ♡: mean

[15:53] You: lol 😇

[15:54] You: i miss you too <3

[15:56] Tae ♡: can’t you come back earlier?

[15:58] You: there’s only a week left. you’re a big boy, u can handle it :)

That was a lie. You were already on the train when you sent him that text, bouncing your leg all the way back to the city at the mere thought of surprising him with your early return. You’d taken a leave from work to visit your family, spent some time somewhere quieter, away from the hustle and bustle of the big city.

You watch as the scenery passes by, fast-paced like you’re in a montage. The rest of forever is right around the corner. You wish you could skip to your happily ever after and not have to rewind the tape ever again.

When the diamond on your ring finger catches the sunlight coming from outside the window, you allow yourself a blissful sigh as you gaze at the jewelry adorning your hand. But if you’re being honest, it doesn’t fit anymore, at least that’s what you’ve noticed over the past month. It’s a little loose now, not quite noticeable but you can still make out the slight difference if you concentrate hard enough. You should get it resized soon, maybe later this week now that your schedule has cleared up earlier than expected.

Three weeks is a lot of time to spend around only your family, you realize. You thought you could do it - seeing that you hadn’t been back in a while - but the second you stepped foot into your childhood home, you remembered what a dysfunctional household you had.

It was nice while it lasted, which wasn’t very long. You did all you could, bit your tongue and tried to suppress that unresolved anger until it eventually became too much to handle. Your mom has always been a complainer. Nobody likes talking about it, but she’d bring up the same old shit almost every day even though you all know what happened. Your dad would just sit there and listen as she berates him in front of you and your sister, and you suppose he keeps quiet because there’s really nothing to be said in his defense. It was his crime, and this is his punishment.

Sometimes, you wonder why dad still stays. Sometimes, you wonder why mom still lets him.

You just wanted to go, even though this was supposed to be home. You want to leave every time you visit, and it’s a haunting feeling that keeps following you around your whole life. Why is home always a place you want to leave?

When you arrived back in the city, the first place you went to was Taehyung’s apartment. You lounged about, enjoying the much needed silence after two whole weeks with your family, killing time as you waited for your fiance to return from work.

You thought about you and Taehyung, and how your wedding was only months away but this was still his place. You wondered why you hadn’t moved in yet, though it wasn’t for a lack of trying on his part. Even though you spent most days of the week at Taehyung’s, you still had your own place.

Twenty minutes before he was usually supposed to come home, you ordered from his favorite restaurant, so he would have a proper meal once he was back, instead of half-assing his dinner with flavorless ramen like he’d planned.

But Taehyung didn’t come back, and the food has been cold for hours now.

You glance at your phone again.

11:02 PM.

No new notifications.

The last message you sent him was around 8:30 - just a simple Whatcha doing? - but he hasn’t replied.

There’s a small part of you that goes into a dark place, and you physically have to shake off the thoughts. Taehyung has never given you a reason not to trust him, but still, the wandering thoughts can’t help themselves. Is it insecurity, or paranoia? Or have you been programmed to be skeptical after everything that’s happened?

Maybe he’s just caught up with work. Maybe the guys at the office had last minute plans. Maybe Jungkook showed up unannounced and dragged Taehyung into one of his shenanigans again. There’s a lot of reasons to explain why he isn’t home when he said he would be.

You wait for him. Sometimes, waiting is all you can do.

You don’t get any indication of life until some time after midnight, when the door opens and you hear him stumble into the hallway. The first thing that escapes you is a sigh of relief - relieved that he’s home, safe and sound, and not out there somewhere doing things you would really not even let yourself imagine. You sit there on the couch, shrouded by darkness, now even more committed to making him squeal out of his skin after (unintentionally) making you wait for hours like that.

You carefully listen to the sounds coming from down the hall, trying to time when you’ll jump up and shock him.

There’s his shoes dropping to the floor carelessly. There’s some shuffling as he moves about, navigating his way through the dark. There’s a light thud, the sound of something hitting the wall softly.

A sharp intake of breath. His familiar groan, muffled. A whimper, feminine.

Your mind instantly blanks, and that nervous breath from before has suddenly found its way back into your lungs, growing in size until you stand up and say, “Tae?”

Somebody shrieks, and it’s neither you nor Taehyung.

When he switches on the lights, you don’t know what to focus on first - your fiance with his shirt unbuttoned, red lipstick smudged around the corners of his mouth; or the woman next to him with her back against the wall, hair disheveled, one strap of her pretty blue dress pulled down.

Huh.

If this was what you wanted, then you suppose you succeeded.

Taehyung stares at you, eyes blown wide, mouth opening and closing dumbly as he searches for words. “Y/N, I-” he stutters, “w-what are you doing here?”

You’ve seen this exact moment in movies, read it in books and online posts on the Blue Side forum from people seeking advice. You witnessed your own mother go through it when you had just learned how to read.

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as you steady yourself. You’re not sure what your face is showing, if it’s even showing anything at all. You’re being pulled apart in every direction. Things that you felt as a child are things you never wanted to feel as an adult. It’s not until now that you finally understand why mom hasn’t gotten over it, even though it’s been decades. This is the kind of hurt that chases you wherever you go, never relenting until it makes sure it has a home deep within your bones.

You inhale a shaky breath, and take a step back when Taehyung starts approaching you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice cracking on the apology.

You don’t want to hear any of it. You don’t want to be here anymore. For the second time today, you’re leaving home. For the second time in your life, home is being taken away again.

Somewhere in the back of your head, a tiny voice echoes, There it is.

You run out of there, feeling like the ceiling is going to collapse on you. You hear him call out your name, but his voice drifts further and further away as you move. Taehyung isn’t even following you. The faint scent of whiskey on his breath follows you out, but not him.

You keep moving until you’re out on the street, until you can’t even see the building anymore. You shiver from the chilly air, and the influx of emotions that threatens to make you burst. Lightning cuts across the night sky, flashing bright for a split second before everything dulls into darkness again. The forecast said it was going to rain tonight, you recall. Your phone in your bag vibrates the whole time, but still, no one follows you.

Your feet slow to a halt when the first drop of rain hits the ground. You’re not even sure how long you were walking, but now that you’ve stopped, you notice the shiver is gone. You’re standing completely still, and that those seismic waves in the center of your chest from earlier are nowhere to be found.

Oh. You’re doing it again.

Heavier drops start to dampen the earth.

You don’t know where else to go.

Not your own apartment. Not now. No, it’s too empty there.

Maybe it’s a sign from the universe, that you’re just undeserving of a place to belong.

You open your phone to find his name on your screen, next to the words (7) missed calls. You ring up the only person you can, and when she finally picks up, you say, “Can I come over?”

Even when your voice cracks, you don’t cry. The earthquake never comes.

Sohee takes you in like the good friend she is. You’re grateful that she was someone you could count on to always have your back at work, who then turned into one of your best friends outside of the office too.

She gives you some clothes to change into, and doesn’t question anything when you ask if you could spend the night. Though, you have a feeling that she knows who this is about. She leaves you alone to get some rest, but it’s probably because she has work in the morning too, and it was already 1:30AM when you interrupted her peace and quiet with the call.

You don’t sleep a wink that night.

Instead, you think about your mom, and how she must have felt when she found out about your dad’s infidelity, time and time again. It’s true what they say, children really don’t know a lot about their parents.

How did she feel when she first found out? You can’t imagine what it must have been like, going through all of that while having two kids to think about too.

You feel bad that just yesterday, you’d been so annoyed with her that you cut your trip short.

Outside Sohee’s windows, the sky cries, like it’s grieving in place of you, its tears drowning the earth in waves of sorrow. For a moment, you consider stepping out there, to feel the rain on your face and in your hair. But in the end, you stay inside, where you’re sheltered and dry.

You don’t realize that the sun has risen until Sohee knocks on your - well, her - door.

She cracks it open gently. “Babe?” she asks, tentative like you’re a cornered animal, ready to bolt at any given moment. “Are you up?”

You lie in her bed, feeling so foreign in your own skin. You reckon your eyes must be bloodshot from the lack of sleep. You haven’t even cried once.

“I’m alive,” you tell her, as you stare up at the ceiling. There are no stars here, just plain cream-colored paint.

“Okay,” you hear her say, then she pauses for a moment, clearly not knowing how to proceed.

Sohee approaches you, sits on the bed, and gives you a smile. She pats your hair, and it reminds you of your sister. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong? I have some time before I meet Namjoon for breakfast.”

You sit up, reaching for your phone on the bedside table. It’s been switched off since you got here, and when you turn it back on, a flurry of texts light up the device until the screen lags. Messages from Taehyung, asking where you were, begging you to tell him if you were safe.

You open the texts to show him that you’ve read them. That should be enough of an answer.

You test the words in your mouth for a moment. “Taehyung cheated on me,” you say, thinking that if you verbalize it, it would be real and you would finally feel bad. That it was just a delayed reaction, that you were just too in shock to process anything. You want to feel bad, but it doesn’t work.

Sohee’s eyes widen almost comically. “Are you fucking serious?” she asks in disbelief, half because of the nature of the news itself, and half because of how calm you are.

“He cheated on me,” you repeat and still, nothing surfaces. If anything, it backfires. You can physically feel yourself doing it again - shutting down. “I caught him last night.”

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. This isn’t a normal person’s reaction after they found out their fiance was cheating on them.

But.

It is a you reaction.

You keep doing this, even when you don’t mean to. You ran away last night, and you’re running away now. Your body shuts out every negative emotion until you feel nothing at all. It’s stupid that you do this, and it’s stupid that you don’t know how to stop doing it.

Fight or flight, and you choose flight every time. Every single fucking time.

You wish you could give Sohee something, anything would do. Scream, cry, go back to your apartment to set fire to all of Taehyung’s belongings. Anything would be better than this complete lack of emotions you’re showing.

You watch her face as it happens, things that you should be feeling but aren’t. She’s mostly shocked, angry, but not hurt. How could she? She wasn’t the one being played for a fool. You wish you could ask her to give you some of that anger, even if it’s only a fraction.

You don’t see Taehyung again until two days later, when he shows up at your door. Even when he’s standing in front of you, words spilling from his lips like prayers instead of apologies, you just feel… empty.

You let him inside, and the second that the door closes behind him, you fill up with unease. All your walls are up again, your system on high alert. Everything in your body is telling you that there’s an intruder in your space. Your feet are ready to bolt, just itching to get out of there Go, your head says, you’re not safe here.

Taehyung approaches you, tries to hold your hand, but you just shrug him off. The man in front of you visibly deflates, and despite the way his face falls, you don’t soften.

The first thing he asks you is, “Why didn’t you cry?”

“What?”

“You don’t look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “Did you cry?”

Reluctantly, you admit, “No.”

Then he just stares at you. When his judgmental gaze holds yours, you feel guilty. Guilty that you’re not mourning the death of this relationship. Guilty that you’re just letting it go, but the truth is you don’t have any fight in you. You don’t see the point in trying to salvage what’s no longer alive.

“Do you even love me?” His voice is hard when he asks this, like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay.

“Of course I love you,” you say, but it lacks conviction. You both know it. The words sound so flaccid coming out of your mouth.

But you love him.

You do.

Did?

“Then why didn’t you cry?”

How do you tell him that you can’t? That you don’t know how?

How do you tell him that if you could, you would reach inside and claw out your feelings like digging for water in a desert.

What the hell is wrong with you? This isn’t a high school crush, or a casual summer fling.

You two were supposed to get married, for fuck’s sake. You were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him. If there’s anything that could make you break through those godforsaken defense mechanisms to let the hurt in, it should be this.

“Did you kiss someone else just to see if I would cry?” you ask. Your voice is even, and you can see that it makes Taehyung more frustrated than he already is.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. You notice his blue sweater, and you stop him before he can say anything else. Obviously, it looks a lot more worn than it did back then, but over the years you’ve always found it endearing. It’s the first memory that you have of him. It was always something you could cherish.

Now, you can’t even bear to look at it.

It’s then that you realize it doesn’t matter what answer he gives you. Yes? No? It genuinely doesn’t matter. There is nothing that can make you see him the same way ever again.

You run your thumb over the ring on your finger, twisting it for a moment to memorize the feel of it. It’s the last thing that ties you to him. “You can have this back,” you say, handing the piece of jewelry back to him.

When a relationship ends, especially for a reason like this, people tend to think it’ll go down in a kdrama-esque fashion - crying, slapping, throwing water in the other person’s face. But that’s not what this is. It’s not cathartic; sometimes the end of a relationship is just a fizzle, doesn’t even make it to a fullburn. It might be unsatisfying, but it happens every day. It’s not always a pivotal point; sometimes it’s just a point.

Taehyung stares at the object in his palm. “That’s it?” he asks in disbelief. “We’re breaking up?”

“What else is there to do?”

“You’re not even gonna ask me anything? Who she was, how it started, how long it’s been going on?”

The other morning, Sohee had asked you to elaborate after you told her what happened, but there was just not that much to tell. You were there. He brought someone else home. End of story.

It was enough for Sohee to call him every name in the book and curse his entire bloodline though.

You suppose that’s a reasonable reaction. Taehyung cheated. You never thought he was a person capable of doing that. Three years of your life, down the drain. There’s nothing left to save.

“Okay,” you shrug tiredly, like you’re just having a casual and dull conversation about the weather. “Who was she? How did it start? How long has it been going on?”

Your name comes out of his mouth, sounding like a scoff. “Ask it like you mean it.”

“But I don’t mean it,” you say. “What difference does it make? Knowing doesn’t change the fact that you still cheated on me. You know what I’ve been through and you still fucked it up. You did the worst thing you could ever do to me.”

“Fuck, I know that!” he groans, throwing his hands up. “I messed up badly, and I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m so fucking sorry. I will never deny that what I did wasn’t wrong. But have you ever stopped to think that maybe you’re to blame for this too? You never want to admit that it could be your fault too.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. I keep having to put up with your baggage.” Then he shuts right up, barely even makes it through the last syllable before he’s squeezing his eyes shut for a second, clearly realizing that out of all the things he could’ve said, that was grossly out of line. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean th-”

And now you’re getting angry for the wrong reasons.

“You cheated but somehow it’s my fault, right?” you snap. “Boohoo. Sorry that you’ve had to put up with me all these years. I’m such a burden, right? Fuck you, Taehyung.”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“I think you should leave.”

You think it’s the steel in your voice as you say this that makes him stop arguing.

He holds your gaze for a moment longer. You’re someone who tears up when you see stray dogs, who cries alongside the fictional characters in your favorite show. And yet, as you watch your own fiance leave…

The door clicks shut as he exits your life, but everything he said stays behind, clings to your walls and festers like mold.

The second you step onto the floor, everyone grows quiet. Lively chatter turns into hushed whispers. People go back to making their morning coffee, side-eyeing each other in a way that’s not meant to be very subtle.

You quietly make your way to your desk, all the while feeling the nosy pairs of eyes on you as you walk. You don’t know how word got out, but you were sure that everyone would know eventually. You just didn’t expect it’d be this soon. Sohee would never do that to you, and you highly doubt that Taehyung would go around broadcasting his infidelity.

As you set your stuff down, you make eye contact with the new intern who sits a few spots away from you. You haven’t had the chance to talk to her much, but she’s a nice girl. She gives you a small smile in greeting, and even though you know she doesn’t mean to pity you, you can still see it in her eyes.

A minute later, Sohee comes up to you. “Hey, babe,” she says, leaning on your desk with two plastic cups in her hands. One iced latte and one mango smoothie. She puts the yellow-colored beverage down and nudges it toward you, a little lackluster and unlike her usual playful self.

“Thanks,” you say, taking the smoothie with a smile, commenting, “Interesting morning so far. Never thought I’d ever be the subject of office gossip.”

“Yeah, about that. Do you know who was Taehyung’s… uhm… y’know?”

It’s okay. She can say it. You can handle it.

You already feel nothing, and there’s nothing you can even do to rectify it. Might as well lean into it, right?

Or maybe you should just go to therapy.

“No,” you tell her. “I didn’t want to know.”

“Well, uhm, now that the whole office knows, I think you should hear this from me first…” Sohee bites her bottom lip as she gauges your reaction. When you only sigh and give her the go-ahead, she continues, “It was Yura from Marketing.”

“What?”

“Yura from Marketing. You know the one. Brought muffins for the whole office on her first day? A little too bubbly for my taste. But yeah, she was at work the other day and suddenly burst into tears at, like, 10AM, and that’s how everybody found out.”

Of course. Even though people here are surrounded by celebrity gossip on the daily, nothing beats the good old-fashioned office affair. Why bother with celebrity gossip when you have front row seats to live drama unfolding ten feet away?

You take a sip of your smoothie, swallowing down the inkling of irritation that tickles the back of your throat. “Well,” you say, “I’m glad the downfall of my relationship is like a circus animal for them to gawk at. Can’t wait until they move onto the next big thing.”

“Honestly, it might blow over sooner than you think. The Love Doctor is back today.”

“What?” Your ears perk up at the mention of his name, glancing up at her in surprise as you put your drink down. “Doesn’t he work at the Paris office?”

“He used to work here. We joined around the same time. Then he transferred to Paris a few years ago. Nobody even knows why. One day he just upped and left.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he’d be here? I didn’t have time t-”

“Calm down, sweetcheeks, I only just found out,” Sohee chuckles, holding a finger against your mouth to shush you. “We all know you used to have a major lady boner for him.”

“I do not.” You don’t even know what he looks like, just his name when it appears in the byline of an article. “I admire him.”

Which is true, you do admire him. He’s your own version of a freaking rockstar. Though, you have to admit that Love Doctor is a huge cliche of a nickname, and significantly reduces the scope of his brilliance. The way that man writes makes it seem like he’s experienced lifetimes and is now here to pass on his wisdom.

He doesn’t feel like a mere magazine writer like yourself. There’s something in his words that turns you inside out, makes you experience things that you’ve never even gone through. He flows like poetry, and leaves you stunned every time.

Okay, maybe you do have a lady boner, but for his brain.

Which… is probably something you should never say out loud.

Someone walks in then, a man you’ve never seen before. He looks around your age, if not a couple of years older. He bypasses all of the other desks without saying anything, not a single Hi or Good morning. He doesn’t look like the type to speak if not spoken to.

Then he walks over to where you and Sohee sit, and sets his bag on the empty desk next to yours.

You look at Sohee, and she just shrugs.

It can’t be him. Surely, it’s not…?

“Min Yoongi,” she says in greeting.

Oh, it is.

He spares her a nod before he looks away again. “Sohee.”

Is that the Parisian way? Is that how people normally greet someone they haven’t seen in years? Sohee and him were only colleagues, but still, the least you could do is pretend.

You’re not one to judge a book by its cover, but c’mon, seriously? Were you wrong for expecting the person who writes about love in its most raw and beautiful form to look… not like Grumpy Cat personified? It makes you even more fucking intimidated. And he’s going to be sitting next to you? The fuck?

As he sits down, you blink, still a bit dazed, not sure how to process this. Sohee gently pushes you forward, which makes you nearly stumble right into him. You turn to her with a glare, but she just motions to him, mouthing ‘Go on.’

You clear your throat, wiping your hand on your pants before you hold it out. “Hi, I’m Y/N. It’s so nice to finally meet you,” you say, trying to sound as professional as you can. “I’m really looking forward to working with you.”

He glances at you, and reaches out to meet your outstretched hand in a barely-there handshake. “Yoongi.”

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kittyscupcakeandbunny · 2 years ago

Text

A BREATH OF FIRE × Min Yoongi

[Hybrid gods AU]

INTRO

Run little girl

Warnings: mentions of blood, death, killing.

Keep breathing. Don't slow down. Run. Run. Run.

I hear their disgusting laughs behind me as i take a turn to the forest. How stupid of me thinking this was the best decision. But how could i know? I've been careful all my life, never going to parties, never staying up late after work and always making sure i wasn't alone at night. But today, it felt uncanny from the beginning of the day. I can't find the words to describe how it felt like some thing was going to happen, from the moment i woke up to me walking to my silly job at a coffee shop and then to my coworker asking me to work her late night shift, i thought why not? Nothing ever happen, why would it now? Right.

Wrong.

One moment i was waiting at the bus stop to go home, the second moment a car pulls up and two men are now following me non stop.

Why?

Why did i agreed to do a late shift tonight?

Why?

More then anything I was angry with myself for thinking i would be safe at night.

My chest was hurting at this point but i couldn't stop. I just kept running. Even when the trees would cut through my skin as i blinded made my way deeper and deeper inside the darkness of this endless forest. I would fall on my knees and go back to my feet, even if i was bleeding the fear and adrenaline keeping the pain away and i knew that if i survived this tonight tomorrow it'd probably hurt even more.

I can't keep going like this.

Defeated and tired, for a moment i stoped and looked around me, checking my surroundings i couldn't hear a thing. No bird. No wind. Nothing.

Everything was dark and the fear of what might happen to me now was suffocating.

I refuse to become a victim like this. I refused to die by the hands of those pigs.

Turning to my left i stared running again. Their laughs and disgusting comments were getting closer.

I had to do something but nothing came to my mind. Running was all i could do now.

My breathing was so loud i almost didn't hear it. But then the sound of water falling went through my ears and i decided to fallow it instinctively. From where I was i could already see a bit of the moon light ahead of me, lucky for me it was a full moon tonight and it's light was shining bright.

So i let it guide me.

Until I fell right in front of a lake.

A low groan came from my lips as i used my hands to stand up, the pain from the fall pushing me back down but i held on, my hands now even more bruise then before. An angry puff of air came out of my lips as i saw blood on them, how fucking lucky. As i slowly averted my eyes up to look at my surroundings the two men were standing behind me i saw their reflections on the lake.

They both stood stood there looking as if i was a fool, a victim, the prey they've been waiting for.

I was sick to my stomach at the sight of their disgusting smiles.

- well well... - one of them said.

- aren't you a runner huh?! - the other laugh, he was holding a baseball bat. They were old and looked like pigs - too bad is over now.

Quickly i made sure to stand up and grabbed whatever stone i could that felt sharp enough to cut while doing so. I would fight to the end of this.

- it was fun... - one of them said approaching slowly - but the hunt is over. Now is time for the real fun...

- you can do this the easy way and... start stripping, or you can do it the hard way - the other one took a knife out of his pocket and pointed at me, a wicked smile on his face - And let us do it.

Anger was building inside me as i watched them looking at each other as if they won, as if I was a mare piece of meat.

I knew my chances were low, for that i had only one choice to make. They were two and stronger then me, there is no way i can win. But at least one i can take it down.

- i would rather die... - i said holding the stone against my neck.

Even if it meant me.

They only laughed.

- come on princess... you don't have to be like this - the one with the knife started to approach me making me held the stone tighter against my neck.

- we all just wanna have some fun...

Looking over to the moon and the beautiful night sky, what a sight the moon must have of me.

I... would really...

How many death as have you witnessed in silence dear moon?

Rather die...

His sickening voice was cut out and silence by the sound of a slash.

I felt the wind blow against my face slowly and the smell of blood.

All it took was one breathe.

So fast that I almost didn't saw it happening.

So quietly.

In a flinch of a movement, his head was cut off so easily. Right in front of me. Still my eyes could not believe what i was seeing.

Until the body of the man fell right in front of me.

The moon was shining so bright now i could clearly see every inch of his features, the way his black hair fell over his eyes. They were made of a golden yellow color that just didn't seem real, nothing i have ever seen. And the scar on his right eye. A bloody scar.

He licked the drop of blood on the corner of his mouth, smirking at my direction. A devilish smile, yellow eyes shining even brighter under the moon light. He looked like a God, shining in his fancy clothes and unbiased by the blood on it.

All i could do was watch.

As he moved towards the other men holding his sword towards him, the man didn't move all he did was stare as the creature in front of him killed him in a glance with horror in his eyes. The mysterious creature didn't spare him much time as he slashed his sword against the man cutting his head off too.

So much blood. The smell was suffocating.

From the back i saw his ears standing behind his head falling down as he breathed, slowly looking up and smiling.

He was not human. I could clearly tell.

Have I really died already?

The smell of blood was so clear and the wind now blowing against my face, finally I could hear the trees and the birds singing again. As if all nature knew that now it was safe.

Slowly he looked at me not moving, a smirk on his lips. Then he guarded his sword walking in my direction.

- you owe me now human... - he said coming closer, nearly inches away from my face - how are you gonna repay the fox for saving your life?

His voice was calm and low, almost a whisper. Taking the stone from my hand that i didn't even knew i was still holding hard against my skin, his touch was cold and it woke me up from the dream i thought i was in. This is real.

- breath little human... - he said and softly caressed the strand of lose hair off my face. At his command i finally breathed.

- you are in shock... - he mumbled, almost sounding like a cat purring. His golden eyes looking stray into mine made me feel warm.

Then slowly he lifted one finger and pressed on the center of my forehead, and i felt the heaviness and tiredness took over me in a second.

With one hand he held me by the waist, as i slowly feel into a slumber. The other hand he used to push my hair back so he could whisper the last part before i fall completely asleep.

- now... you owe the fox two wishes.

Next?

Note:

Sorry for any grammatical errors hehe. It's a rough post.

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts drabble #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #hybrid #fantasy #a breath of fire x min yoongi

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liveyun · 1 year ago

Text

𝐀 𝐏 𝐑 𝐈 𝐂 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 — 𝟏

banner by @itaeewon 🌹

pairing. min yoongi x female reader (oc)

genre. arranged marriage au, angst, fluff, eventual smut

w. mention of parent death,overthinking ; anxiety, smoking, yoongi falls sick; he's confused; fluff?

wc. 10k 🤕

previous | chapter index | next | taglist form

The voices in his head refuse to shut up.

He's driving back home, but his wish to lie in bed has long faded. A bitter taste lies on his tongue for now, constantly feeling the bile rise up to his throat and making him want to puke out.

The wind flushing against his skin is freezing cold; but he doesn't think of the cold or the autumn wind now. Neither the smell of stir fried Kimchi nor the smell of fried chicken or the snacks and meals, for he's passing through the streets of Seoul right now, a starless, dark night.

But the smell of fried Kimchi pancakes seems to have paused his flurry of thoughts, if anything, the smell: the smell itself provides a small comfort to him. If it would've been some other day, he thinks, Jeongguk might've dragged him here and made him eat till they belched and slept with full, happy stomachs. It wasn't often that he used to visit the streets or pass by them; and neither was it often when he used to eat out. But if by any chance it'd be an outing, or a random pass-by the streets, with Jeongguk , he'd know that he's not gonna return home with an empty stomach.

That kid had a bottomless appetite and seeing how enthusiastic he was about his food made Yoongi feel full.

Yeah, he was invited to dinner meetings all the time, but the familiarity of a homely place like such where one didn't have to pretend, to be prideful or maintain fine airs about them, or couldn't burp or sigh at the taste of the delicious food, was not it. Or could wipe your runny nose at the spicy seasoning floating through your taste buds. Something as mundane as chewing felt like a sin in such places.

They're meant to be just for business. Nothing else.

But here, you can curse and swear with soju running raw in your blood, enjoy the local cuisine market on screen with elderly uncles; letting yourself free without any worries for tomorrow. A place where you weren't monitored all the time; or were expected to behave; a place like such, Yoongi realized, he cannot recall if he had recently visited.

A very strange sense of nostalgia washes over him.

A very weird one. He didn't know if such nostalgia was supposed to feel this intense, not when he has memories floating in front of his eyes.

He almost feels like he's seeing everything in front of him. He doesn't realize his pupils are shaking wildly because it's all the memories which are flooding in his system, the memories which he has already buried within the cobwebs of a dungeon in his heart and never wants to pull them out. His throat feels dry, and even a huge gulp of saliva doesn't help.

It's funny how tight situations can have variations too.

He feels the taste fresh in his mind, his mouth. The taste of flesh against his own mouth, rough and inexperienced, hot and needy. So hot, so raw, the breath and the bitterness of coffee his own tastebuds tasted as his warm muscle sneaked into the cavern, wet and warm, full of smokey eagerness: he had wished the night never to stop.

He did not want the night to break to dawn.

His first kiss.

Funny, because the younger him had drowned in the feeling, and the feelings, the raw actions were seemingly reciprocated with such urgency, that his own hands were restless, roaming all over where they could reach the soft, warm flesh,and how he wanted that time never to end. His veins were caught in a fire he burnt himself in, a burn which has left scars forever in their wake.

Once started, everything has its end destined in the pathway.

Daegu. A similar, very similar fast food street. In between the dark, damp walls where the rotten leftovers were left to the scavengers,were possibly dumped, the smell so pungent and foul, a place so dimly lit, but the flames inside his heart were bright enough to burn the whole place.

He hadn't thought of how terrible the place was, or how it grossed him out now. The memory of the place is hazy, just as fragments of burnt paper, but the feelings still coursed through his veins like hot iron. And so the blurred lights of the stalls merge with his sight now to his memory, and suddenly, it stops.

The nostalgia felt like the dust flying in a hot summer noon, like the loo, which everyone tries to avoid.

And the tightness in his chest isn't nearly as tight as it used to be all the times the memories flooded him.

He doesn't really like nostalgia. It is a feeling which always hangs within your memories, a strange emotion which always leaves a trail of melancholy behind it, no matter how good the nostalgia might feel to be. No: there's always a feeling, ratther, a question in your mind about what if. A desire to live a life based on the past, totally ignoring how good your present can be.

Humans are never really happy with whatever they own, because suddenly they know the worth after it's already too late. You can only mourn.

But not anymore, though.

" Yoongi? "

Broken from his trance, Yoongi looks to the source of the voice. Even before looking at the person he knows it's him through the smooth, steady voice. An unfairly proportioned, carved-by-the-god-who-took-her-time face, with curious, bright almond eyes almost covered with black, fluffy tresses of hair greets him.

Ah, yes, he has to crane his neck up to look at the man.

Kim Seokjin.

Kim Seokjin, his senior, and one of his bestest business partners one can ever wish for. A friend he always looked up at. (quite literally?) The CEO of Kim Corp., Seokjin might be a man better visioned, more experienced, more thorough, and even more free-minded than Yoongi is, with a sense of humor enough to make you wheeze till tears on a gloomy day, or even annoy you at your best. An unfairly handsome man who seemed to age backwards and maybe could accidentally be casted to any movie and you won't even catch him slip.

One of the bestest friends you could ask for.

Yoongi found himself smiling at him more widely than he was used to.

"Hyung. "

The older man's eyebrows shoot up at the sky. Sure, he has seen Yoongi smile, or try his hardest to feign to do so too, but oh boy. You don't see Min Yoongi grinning at you often, for why the grin seems a bit too genuine ( mind you, he was more than happy to see him smiling like that. A smile which he feels can brighten up anyone's day.) : a smile which somehow made the cheese tteokbokki resting in his tummy dance, but well...

For now, all he does is offer the plate of cheese corn dog, piping hot towards the grinning man, silently urging him to take one.

“I'm sure my eyes don't spread misinformation, but is this really Min Yoongi whom I'm seeing here at this street, standing here, letting the world look for free?”

"I definitely cannot tell you about your eyes, if you offer your corn dogs to every stranger you meet on the street...so I can't really tell if it's anything to you, though. ''

Yoongi shrugs, and Seokjin rolls his eyes, wrapping his free arm around Yoongi's smaller figure with a snort, leading him to the stalls nearby, but not before flooding him with a river of questions to Yoongi who occasionally answers one or two.

“Jokes aside, I can tell you have a lot to tell me. Hey, don't gimme that weird stare: that works only with your officials. Tell me more, and all that can happen above a nice platter of crispy fresh kimchijeon, ha, the aroma!”

And Yoongi had no chance but to comply. Above all, he was thankful to have such a jouvial company at such a night.

“You gotta be shitting my dick.”

Seokjin audibly chokes on the bite of his crispy pancake, and with a muffled cough, looks up at Yoongi. He again has one of his expressionless façade on his face, and Seokjin just maybe needs some time to process the why's and how's of questions popping in his head.

“I'd rather prefer a toilet.”

Yoongi says that almost nonchalantly, as if he's discussing how hot Seoul is. Unbelievable, but so Yoongi of him, he thinks. He shallows down his food, and presses his lips to a straight line, which screams that if you don't tell me right now...

and Yoongi knew that look way too well.

But however, again it surprises Yoongi himself again as all that he does is to shrug with a smug face and the man opposite him visibly frowns with his jaw open.

" Yoongi, my dude, you're getting married. You're getting married ! That too, all of a sudd— ”

Seokjin puts down his chopsticks to the plate, shaking his head as he gulps his food down. Shit, he was nearly choking on his rice..

“You- you're on the top among the powerful bachelors of South Korea, " Seokjin emphasizes with a click to his chopsticks, pointing it towards the man in the question.

“The last time I was told the stats, a certain Kim Seokjin was on the top, actually..”

Yoongi shrugs again, raising his brows with a playful smirk which only infuriates the man opposite to him. With the same energy, Yoongi clicks the chopsticks back, making a small circle in the air with the edge.

“It's you, actually..”

"Hey, that's not at all what I meant! "

Seokjin’s voice is full of excitement, pitched to the extent that Yoongi slightly flinches at the intensity. It's high enough for the customers beside their tables to peer curiously at them, some frowning or some chuckling. Seokjin visibly flushes, and Yoongi has his lips pressed to a thin line now. He's trying his hardest not to cackle, and the older man looks like he's trying to spot a place to bury his grave and sink in.

Seokjin quickly snatches away a napkin to divert the attention, clearing his throat and wiping his grease smeared mouth with the napkin.

And then, with a far more hushed tone, he continues.

"Wanting to know about your tea was a bluff bro, a bluff ! It's not often I see you in a casual sweatshirt and jeans. It's not often I see Min Yoongi in front of me snacking on Yachaejeon like the good ol times. I just wanted you to eat.

To spend time with me. To gain some weight because you're skinny. Because you don't eat. I just thought we'd be either heading home sober, catching up with what we've left behind or get wasted on a bar stall later at night, but you dropping a bomb like that wasn't it!"

“You're not calling my marriage 'your tea', are you, hyung?”

Yoongi's eyes are now narrowed to slits, almost like a cat’s when he's about to pounce on you, throwing daggers to Seokjin's way, who just nervously laughs, cheeks flushed a deep shade of red.

"Definitely not, my dongsaeng, haha.. All what I was saying......is, that if it hadn't been our fateful meeting, would I have ever even known about this te— errr, your marriage? "

Yoongi shugs again.

"Don't think so. Word spreads fast. Mr. Kim hangs out often with the old man, so even if not, I was sure to be expecting your cheeky ass at my wedding, though. "

Yoonngi casually takes a sip of his soda, swirling the can in his hands to fizz it up, but soon realizes it has been a grave mistake to have said this to Seokjin who looks so shocked, almost to the point he sees his large, curious eyes glossy with fake emotion.

"This just proved you don't care about your hyung anymore."

Seokjin croaks, wiping the non existent tears from his cheeks. He almost looks like a dejected hamster, Yoongi thinks, but keeps that to himself. Yoongi is about to respond, when Seokjin suddenly scoots closer to him, and almost squeaks. He was almost lured to think that Seokjin was offended, but the mischievous glint in his eyes tell otherwise.

"Tell me, have you seen them already or not? Or shared a text? "

"I met her in person today itself, some few hours ago. I kid you not, hyung, don't- don't stare at me like that,” he quickly retorts as he sees how Seokjin's eyes widen comically, a thick eyebrow arching, “Your eyes shall pop out of your sockets if you do so. "

But just as soon, Yoongi watches his expressions go devoid of any amusement, exactly as he sees him during the office hours. Like the CEO Kim everyone knows and shits in fear, too.

Still not as serious as that, because the glint still sparkles in his eyes and food is stuffed in mouth, making his cheeks squish out as he chews noisily.

" Tell me, what is she like? "

RECEIVED : 8:20 AM

seokjin hyung : Another day, another slay 🔥

wake up lazy cat

bruh

…

RECEIVED : 8:35 AM

hey plz check i sent some money to u. get some food ur skinny

SEEN 8:35 AM

me : it's not there

RECEIVED 8:40 AM

seokjin hyung : HA

HELL OF A MEAN GUY YOU'D CHECK ONLY FOR MONEY! 💔

SEEN 8:45 AM

me : i’m a businessman for a reason.

RECEIVED 8:45 AM

seokjin hyung : rude (⁠ ⁠；⁠∀⁠；⁠)

SEEN 8:58 AM

me : 👍

RECEIVED 8:58 AM

seokjin hyung : i hope u haven't forgotten abt our deal

SEEN 9:20 AM

RECEIVED 9:20 AM

seokjin hyung : what.

DELIVERED 10:00 AM

me : o yea i forgo

Yoongi makes a small tsk as his fingers accidentally tap on the send option, without him getting the chance to type the last "t".

And it somehow surprises him, because Seokjin, who replies within seconds, hasn't responded back, yet, and already two minutes have passed.. suddenly, a ping makes him look back to his screen and surprisingly the sound came from the talkie on his desk , now ringing continuously.

He receives the call, and is greeted by the crisp voice of his secretary. However, he's quick to recognise the distaste in his voice, too. But he doesn't press on it, because as far his voice is normally just as professional as he usually maintains, and is good at it. His voice is crisp, but Yoongi can read the irritation well-hidden behind it.

" Good morning, Mr. Min. May I let you know your schedule for today?”

“Well, Jeon, I suppose you know better?"

With a quick hum, Yoongi now sees the tabulated form of his schedule on his laptop screen. Cool, just as he thought it would be.

Another meeting with the designer group Jung's for the winter fashion week collaboration, which should end by almost 11:45, or max 12.

Okay. One excursion to the base point of d-7 duplex. Should stretch till 12:30, alright, another visit to the sketching department to see the collaboration work in progress, and the estimated time for visual sketches is done already? Impressive. Reviewing these would take his most time, as he is supposed to be commenting on them all before the designs are confirmed for the higher base project.

Maybe that's one of his favorite things to do, because he loves to see the raw skills float in front of him, the passion in their explanations, such young aspiring artists blooming with their artwork, and the creativity in their visualization of the ideas he could only admire as outfits.

He's glad to have such skilled visual artists as the roots of d-7,which he hopes he can express his gratitude once apart from a way other than just paying them wages..

Visual designing may seem easy, but there's really nothing in this world called easy.

Visual des-

“after years of applying and getting rejected, it was the last chance for me to be finally a visual designer for Valentino,which despite having many limitations,is the star of my dreams; only if I could attend the event at Singapore past this month, which on my presence, would approve me for so in the last streak. But past this month....”

His mind wanders back to your sweet face. That was random. The sadness and the helplessness laced within your voice made him close his eyes, and just again, he feels as if he's back to yesterday on the balcony at the Park's, with you standing beside him...

“That chick would be lured in here to design for us, without any further queries. "

The sudden, bitter voice makes him snap his eyes open, focusing back to the screen. He couldn't just..

What's this?

13:00

Lunch with Mr. Old Min.

His first instinct is to call Jeongguk right away, and ask whatever the fuck is this.

Does that old bastard think that any circumstance like this would make him desirable enough to be seen daily? He can barely stand him for a few minutes, now, for lunch? It's not like he actually has ever maintained the ‘ideal’ father status ever even now or back when Yoongi was a kid.

Ha.

And for what, prey? If it's about any bullshit he spoke about yesterday, he wasn't sure if he could bear it anymore.

Yoongi wasn't sure if his suspicions were actually correct as he feels like a man like him would have nothing to talk about but that, about how this marriage is a step towards his son's future, but he knows better.

It's all business to the old man.

He rubs his eyes, dejectedly. This is just the beginning of the day, and woah, what a start.

Well, he had no other options but just so exhale and say fuck it all, and start the day.

No matter how hard he tries to ignore the shrill, annoying voice of the lady in charge presenting the presentation, a draft of the outfits designed inspired by the renaissance, he cannot help it. He doesn't even know how and why are the sparkling elements added to the outfits relevant to the era where everything designed was a result of prolonged, deep thinking. When people were evolving.

Elegance and sophistication were a close observation, but chic was not the style how Renaissance was based on. And this lady is trying her best to explain otherwise, saying that maybe these are inspired but they as well should have the cliche of the 21st century as well, as Yoongi thinks that it's not at all a good idea.

Blending trends with the original idea might not be the best out there, especially when it feels like the outfit design looks rather frumpish.

The lady in charge is simply groveling to win hearts but by the bored looks, Yoongi knows that many are thinking similar to what he is. Yoongi was rather impressed at how fast the design was finished earlier in the day, but now he feels that maybe it was all in vain. There's a small spark of hope inside him which says that maybe the other team has a better idea than this, and let time be no further wasted in this experiment.

It could've been, only if the theme was different.

He tries to keep a straight face, maintaining his professionalism with a rigid posture. A quick peek all over the conference room convinces him just exactly that his thoughts match with everyone else in this room, especially the head of the illustration team, whom he's acquainted with. Jung Hoseok. Everyone else in this room is at least trying to suffice the bland explanations, but he's not at all even trying. He looks pissed, his eyes shooting such criminal offensive side eye glances that Yoongi almost wishes to laugh, but he knows better.

A glance to Jeongguk, and he sees the poor kid struggle to keep himself from frowning, hard. Jeongguk is one of the most creative people he has ever seen, and he often wonders why he is not putting his skills at the right place, rather than having a major in business and being in that field.

To be the jack of all trades is hard, but Jeongguk excels them all.

Besides, most of today's schedules were totally messed up, and the meetings one after one were delayed for one reason or another. It's nearly 12:30, he notices by the giant wall clock above the whiteboard. The toe of his left shoe taps slightly to the floor with a rhythm, getting roasted second by second by the never ending speech.

He only wishes if the main points were jotted down here..

“Painters like Michelangelo, made it clear with the carving of—”

“ It would be much appreciated if the real point is explained, rather than just beating around the bush, Miss Choi. Irrelevance is highly avoided. ”

Hoseok’s raspy voice takes over the shrill voice of the lady who visibly is embarrassed, too flustered to gather the correct words to speak. Yoongi is somewhat thankful that someone finally spoke up, but he feels a tad bit bad for the girl : her idea was nice, and rather creative, just not fitting the winter nor the theme actually fit for the week or the topic. Or is it actually the nervousness which seems to creep out from her to him making him feel bad for her, because a few moments ago, Yoongi himself was close to losing it all.

His words have her fumbling with her files, something Yoongi knows is because of fear.

His gaze meets her nervous ones right to the opposite end of the table, and he sees defeat in them right in the moment he sees the pupils shake. He's been in this field for way too long to understand that helplessness, that dejection.

He sees her step back with a bow, mumbling something which he couldn't hear. She nods lightly, and sweeps back to her destined place.

Yoongi silently wishes if she could fight back for herself. If she could point out the valid information, but seems like she wasn't prepared for that. She wasn't prepared to be interrupted, too.

And so it's not really surprising when he notices the whole conference room having a thick air of tension and Yoongi does not have to assume anything. The members of the Illustration team are visibly intimidated by their head, who's now tonguing the inside of his cheeks, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration.

Yoongi knows that the prompt response has been shit from his side— he doesn't even know who's to blame now.

Maybe he needs to speak up.

“Rather strange for the total prompt, but overall, better than what has been used for add ons, ” Yoongi begins, attracting the attention of the whole team, and everyone present seems to be a bit more attentive, a bit better with their posture, including Hoseok as well, whose eyes are on him.

All eyes are on him.

Normally, or even in a parallel universe, or him some ten years ago would've freaked out, fidgeted, squirmed on his seat- but now he barely feels the effect on him. It's all a daily basis thing, all calculating eyes on you and all what you're left behind is to just think, think and think about what meaning they could possibly hold behind them. Nervousness and fear flooding in your veins you're left with sweaty palms and a quivering mind, but for Yoongi, he was used to it all.

He does not care now.

“ Mr. Min, I think better— ”

Hoseok begins but Yoongi knows what he's about to speak on. He wishes the prompt to be given to Yoongi’s department. Yoongi wishes otherwise, because just because of a mismatch of prompts, he doesn't want any more dilemma to choose— the Jung team is overall flooded with skill, and he wishes them to bloom; he knows that this batch was particularly picked for the newcomers who are freshly picked from the team of art and management resources. D-7 are a group of professionals, but Jung Team are known to be ametures.

He scrolls mindlessly through the internet, but maybe not too mindlessly.

And so he raises a palm to stop the younger man speaking, and thinks it is rather bold of him to quirk a brow in return. Well yes, maybe he wasn't used to being questioned after that, so. Maybe he wasn't used to it all.

“ I think a few modifications need to be done at some point, otherwise it's all good. ”

He sees Hoseok's jaw drop slightly. He sees all the other members present in the room having their eyes widened, including the girl who was just presenting— What did they expect? Yoongi watched the gears in their brain work quickly, and by the time Yoongi spun the paperweight in his fingers, he blinked at Jeongguk, and the younger quickly took the initiative.

Funny, he thinks, because never in these ten years had Yoongi ever been so in place with an assistant, and it has been seven years since Jeongguk has been his assistant. Never had he ever talked about how a blink, not even a nod could signal him to do the deed of ending for the day.

Well, Jeongguk knows him just as he knows Jeongguk, he thinks. Maybe, maybe it's not vice versa to this point.

Subconsciously, his lips quirk upwards at the sight of the younger getting up, fixing his coat.

“ I think we should wrap up for the day, everyone. ”

His voice, professional as ever, echoes in the room and suddenly everyone's business like manners breaks, relaxing in their seats. Yoongi too, let out a breath he didn't know he was holding onto.

Jeongguk’s round eyes meet his own, and Yoongi nods, slowly watching the members leave one by one, a small hum of conversation peeking in between them all. It's rather comfortable , he thinks. Yoongi relaxes back in his seat, loosening up his tie knowing well that his schedule for the day has ended. Well, not really—

“ It was gracious of you, hyung. ''

his eyes flick through to see Hoseok’s curious eyes set on him, and in his peripheral vision can see Jeongguk cock a brow at him, somewhat questioning like. Hoseok’s cold and competent demeanor has been shed off totally, as his child-like countenance holds surprise towards him.

“ That was the least I could do, Hoba. ”

Yoongi replies with a short hum, and he knows that the human bunny must have his eyes jumping out of his sockets to hear him talking to someone informally, something which doesn't happen often in the office premises. Hoseok’s face blooms in a heart shaped smile, his whole soul brightening up. That's a contagious smile.

He hears a sound of surprise from Jeongguk, on turning to him. He assumes that he's great at hiding that too, because he quickly clears up his throat and nods. Yoongi smiles a bit at him, and upon collecting the files, the three men head out for the rest of the day.

Yoongi is trying his best to not just fucking slam the plate of roasted shrimp on this man’s face.

He wishes absolutely nothing but a comfortable bed because his back hurts from sitting in such a straight posture for hours, not even having the time to stretch his aching limbs. Not to mention this uncomfortable suit which was once comfortable, but he's been wearing it since the morning— is he to blame?

oof, a part of him wished to roam nakey nakey in his home, but that..eh, cannot be.

He totally cannot ignore how fancy this place is, and he can see the whole Seoul from the large, spacious windows. Rooftop restaurants usually feel nice with a vibe so free and open, but not in front of this man who makes him want to deliver straight punches on his face and dislocate his jaw. The younger him was forced to oblige by his father's commands, but the him now doesn't see why can't he just fucking trash this old man till he—

He bites back the anger rising up to his throat. It's not often his father wishes to “ see him ” and be polite all of a sudden, not when it's because of him Yoongi has a bitter time managing something he didn't wish to even engage in. But maybe he has long gone through the stages of grief and acceptance has been his companion, so he has to grit his teeth the hardest to tolerate it all. He has seen it all. He has endured it all. Does he still have to?

“ Why aren't you eating, son? ” Oh, right. You wanted me to be here just to eat.

“ I’m not hungry. ”

Yoongi tries, or desperately hopes his lie isn't blatantly obvious, because he knows his tummy has been rumbling for an hour or so, but there's no way he'd be dining with this man. Not only does he hate how this old man has no etiquettes, chewing loudly or arguing with a damn waiter for a toothpick, he also hates his presence in common.

If he knows Yoongi well, Yoongi knows him just as well too, to know that this is just an excuse and he wishes to do something else, and that's enough to silence down his hunger.

“ Have you chosen any destination for the wedding as of yet?”

I knew it. Yoongi knows how selfish this man can be, and for him this question doesn't make any literal sense. He just met you yesterday, and there's no way..he expects Yoongi to move so fast, like that. What does he think he's in, 526 AD?

“ No. ”

Yoongi found himself speaking before he could think properly, seeing the old man in front of him wipe his mouth and cock a brow. Alright, if he's trying to communicate silently.. he guesses time has taught him better. To keep this non permeable layer on the top of his persona especially infront of this man, he knows he does it well. He won't utter a single word, because for the sake of fuck, he just saved your number in his phone a few hours ago! You cannot just expect him to do anything related to the marriage so quick, especially when his father's initiative had him tossing around his bed sleeplessly the whole night.

He would not let him use his fiancee for the profit of his own company. It's fucked up, not only in a single way but more than one. He's not much of a family guy, but marriage cannot be one sided- and for you, maybe he's lowering himself down enough to try and be a good guy for you, but does this old man ever even think of something which isn't business?

“ Do you not think time’s enough? You were told about the marriage a week ago already, ”

the man's voice has annoyance laced within, and Yoongi nearly snorts at his audacity.

“ Is it your wedding or mine, father? ”

“ You need to make it quick, ”

his retort comes back, and Yoongi can't help but feel satisfied at his growing anger. He knows to play the game, because this old man has been acting as if it's his own marriage. First, he gives you no other options and keeps on his emotional blackmail of never getting a partner who has been in his life for more than a year, second, for how it can benefit the Min family as the only heir.

Yoongi has long ago swept away the anger suppressing the guilt of his own mother being in his life for less than his teenage years, but he's tired. He kept on running forward without noticing how much this old man hurt him, but there has to be a time where you need to stand up. Maybe not for yourself, but for people who're soon going to be a part of your life. It's not always about yourself, but people you care about.

Yoongi found it ridiculous. Marriage just to make kids and raise them up like a handful of peas let out in a open windowsill. Just to make kids. And even possibly, money.

Yoongi found the idea suffocating at first. His own parents’ failed marriage had a big contribution in his way of thinking how arranged marriage can also be a forced marriage if the goal is only to lengthen the generation, not at all thinking that the parents involved are also humans. Humans with feelings cannot be forced to live a life destined to be forever with expectations, which could often either lead to success or failures. But to Yoongi, success in lives like these were forced failures masked with the stench of cash to make them look lavish.

So the thought of making it "quick" is enough to make him hiss in irritation. His eyes are now narrowed to slits towards the old man, anger slowly making its way to fog his already hunger ridden brain..

“ Why. ”

“ I've already told you, son. ”

“ What, Yeseul isn't talented enough as you promised she was to the team? ”

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, visibly watching the old man try his hardest not to crumble down to flames. Comically, one would see smoke coming out of his ears. It makes Yoongi snorts out a humorless snort.

“ It's none of your business, do you get that? ”

The old man nears slightly with his neck down, eyes set firmly on Yoongi. As a child, the stare used to scare him the fuck out of his balls, but now this stare is enough to make him stifle a laugh. The manipulative stare which he expects everyone to become his puppet with. Well, I just hit his nerve.

“ My wedding, and none of my buisness, you say? ”

“There are other ways I can ask her to, I'm just trying to make it seem well ordered. ”

Again he goes. The same manipulative tone. If he thinks that his position can get him everything, maybe even if his arms reach longer than Yoongi’s imagination do, but Yoongi knows it well that he's all bark but a rare bite.

He would not let this happen. He knows his father is a corrupt man, who uses unfair means in his business. This is why D-7 is owned solely by Yoongi, who was once under partnership with his father. Yoongi has totally bought all the shares, making D-7 go public and him being the biggest investor. Thrusting in people not eligible enough to be in art, his father had already infected the industry more than enough, and now he wouldn't absolutely let the small shares marking the small partnership to the old man rise up.

“ Genuinely asking you. You could've opted any other way you're insinuating, but why this, out of many? ”

Not a pretence, but out of pure curiosity. He may as well as think this to be many reasons why he can bother Yoongi, but the pricking question hanging in the margin of the sword, that the danger lies just in the end.

Nepotism can be buried by the strength of dollars, but in some cases revolting unscrupulous businessmen like him, he knows that this would be a hot topic for the media. And the mere thinking of using someone so innocent and dragging to this pit of hell is honestly enough for him to throw up. You're already a hell of a talented designer, and if he wishes to invest your designs under the name of his good for nothing wife to whoosh up the sales, he'd rather not marry you.

That's.. a different thing now, isn't it?

His father keeps quiet. Yoongi feels the burn of his stare digging holes in his skull, however, lets out a deep laugh at the end.

“I guess you're naive enough to not know how profitable it can be for both : her, you, and even me.”

“ At least I know for Yeseul, it is not. ”

“ She's your mother,”

Stepmother, he almost wishes to hiss the word out, but saying it out loud would definitely make bile rise up to his mouth, because his already starving self cannot physically bear any more stress than already he has been carrying around. He's not ashamed to say that his stepmother is younger than Yoongi himself, and an absolute gold digger, who he doubts even has a degree of graduation.

Such an ostentatious person gets often compared to Mrs. Min, his mother by all the rising gossip every single day. Yoongi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, knowing that this conversation would rather have such wounds pricked up inside his heart which would have him bleeding longer than he could bear.

“ No. ”

He sees the old man flare his nostrils in anger, kissing his teeth: and Yoongi doesn't even feel a bit sorry for it. It is what it is. And he would not make any fuss about it. He'd rather call that woman his sister than his mother, and seriously? Yoongi doesn't give two flying fucks about who she is. Yesterday the discussion didn't go too well, and he felt a lot more bothered than his manifest could muster, but he knows that his father's current wife, Yeseul, has no skill or whatsoever to be the president of the corporation his father owns. It is what it is.

And not even an exaggeration, he knows that it's all the glitters and gold which attracts her to this sophisticated man; it wouldn't be long time from now when he'd be left again with a balding head and an empty bank account.

Someone younger than Yoongi himself and he wants to call them his parent.

Ha.

And that's the reason why the old man wishes to hire ____ to work under him, but in the end the credits would go to Yeseul, because apparently that woman had promised his team to be a better visualization designer.

He wants Yoongi to marry you, so that the hiring would seem rather natural, and Yoongi thinks that it would only drag you more to the mud of the industry and gossip, which he does not want.

“ More like my junior. ”

Yoongi cocks his brow, sipping some water from the glass nearby his wrist.

“ Remember that she's my wife. My legal wife, and your mother. ”

A bitter scoff escapes Yoongi, his nostrils flaring at his sentence as he peers down to his empty plate.

“ She is not my mother. ”

Yoongi makes sure he stresses on the word not, dragging out each syllable with a rough taste on his tongue. He can tolerate many things, but not the absence of his mother, which has left a gaping, open dent in his soul forever. The only gentle presence he ever had in his growing years was her, the only person he called his family, that too, is no longer present with you.. he could feel his stomach churn with anger.

He had a single mother. And though she was no longer with him, he does not consider anyone else to be in the same position as his mother. A mother who raised him up, sacrificing everything for him. Despite having another parent, him, he never even had his shadow touch any of them. He feels anger totally cloud his mind, now that the gentle touch of your soul had touched him, he was about to lose it all.

“ I fucking dare you to even lay a finger on ___, her you fucking stink. I’ll make sure that no amount of money can heal you afterwards.” Yoongi growls loudly, raising a sweaty palm up and ordering for the bill.

Yoongi is out of his head, and he totally has lost his sense of rationality. Triggering the pain of his dead mother along with barrelling his fiancee to this topic makes him a person he doesn't know yet. Yoongi is done with this conversation, this sick conversation about his morally grey buisness.

And he totally misses the somewhat shocked and fearful, agape mouth of the old man in front of him as Yoongi sweeps his coat out of the headrest after paying and marches out of the venue without taking a look back. his head is throbbing with pain and stomach is wild with ugly sensations.

He wishes to take this slow, talk to you more and atleast befriend you and be comfortable before any preparations, but this situation.. he doesn't fear his father anymore, but. It's you. It's you who he fears because of the industry, because of the dirt which smears every part of him. He's used to it, he had to make himself so, but he cannot let someone as pure as you be contaminated.

Once again it's all a haze infront of his eyes. The strong wind hitting his face from the open car window does nothing to soothe his burning thoughts, and neither does the low humming of music in the radio. It all feels a blur.

He remembers not much, or rather forces himself not to. After that, eh, meeting with that old man, the only thing he knew was to call Jeongguk and ask him to clear all his schedules for the day.

The voice from the other side sounded very concerned, but Yoongi is thankful he only asked whether he's alright and let the topic drop without dragging it much. He just hopes that Jeongguk understands. And then he's straight up driving somewhere he doesn't know where, but he's tired. Mentally, physically, and every way possible.

He's tired of thinking so much. He's so tired he totally missed the constant buzzing of his phone on the center console.

Little does he know that not receiving his calls has sent Seokjin to hayware.

All what he knows are the words, the flashes of memories which float infront of his eyes and the constant struggle to keep himself as where he is and not getting lost in the moment, to fall back within the memories. The constant ache in his head which replays your voice saying, “ I don't ” and the picture of your sweet face. The constant scowl he remembers of his father saying he wants him to marry you only for his own profit.

Did you really mean to sacrifice your passion for a stupid marriage?

His grip on the steering wheel is so tight, his knuckles have turned white. What if the old man approaches you and lures you to work for him? Yeah, of course for an outsider that business would look so organized, so well planned, but only people like Yoongi know the truth.

He's the sweetest to anyone who doesn't know him well. Hell, even he believes that the woman he married might not know him any better. He could sell your soul to anyone in front of you with you being totally oblivious.

All that glitters isn't gold.

He knows your passion for art even if he doesn't know you. He knows that maybe you'd be willing enough to work for that man, but would that be okay if that woman, Yeseul takes all the credits and you've lost your deserved recognition? Would you be able to manage to be afloat on the dirty smear of the industry without blaming yourself?

Would you hate him? He won't listen to shit. An artist has every rights to be credited and if it's snatched away by every means, he really wonders if you'd be alright with it. Alright with the theft. He doesn't gives a single fuck about the ever shitting media who just needs a topic to whisk on untill it's shit. He just cares about you.

Wait..

Does he—?

But one thing he already knows is that the news of his marriage would be enough of a bonfire starter.

He's now leaning on his car, aching limbs begging to have a seat but the tension in his spine doesn't budge.

Even if he had promised himself, he finds himself slipping down his mask, each time the memories of his happy self, his young happy self with his mother comes to his mind and the realization floats that he cannot rewind those memories any more. She's no longer with him.

All he knows is the burning sensation of nicotine filling his lungs all down to his toes, and the puff of smoke released out releases his tension, even by an inch if that is, too. He breathes out the smoke through his nostrils, fidgeting with the small silver lighter in his hand. He knows that it's a shitty, wrong way to cope up with anxiety , although his healing nails thank him for letting them be.

But at least the cigarette does not tell you anything. It does what it's supposed to do, what it's meant to do, what it's made to do, and dies.

So much like a human.

The park he's standing in the corner of is noisy, but somewhat tolerable. The warm air is making him feel stuffy, and the cool place has the least effect on him. The place feels..nice. He blinks twice, feeling his eyes burn with the hot weather, too.

Somehow his mind convicts back to you.

And somehow, knowing very well that his father's company is filled with back stabbers.. somehow if the information is leaked abroad, would you be alright?

God fucking damn it. Why is he thinking about all these when you're possibly oblivious and thinking of your marriage?

What are you doing now?

How are you?

How did your day go?

Why would you want to marry a guy like him?

All these thoughts are totally enough to make him squirm. Why does he care? He just met you yesterday. He knows not much except some things, but still, the pull to just know about you is eating him up right now. It's just crazy how the thought of you not liking him irks him a Lot, like, a Lot.

Shifting the cigarette to his left hand, he reaches to get his phone from the console. His throat feels dry as fuck, almost feeling as if it'd crack up.

He'd kill for a bottle of water, but well, even swallowing his saliva feels like a mountain breaking down on him. It's been a long time since he checked on his phone other than calling his secretary. He should've checked, because the upcoming projects do have connections to files which only he has access to. Well.

.. alright, there's a spam email.

…..next, a Google chrome updat—

…..?

…

[ Seokjin Hyung : 95 missed calls ]

[ Seokjin Hyung : 350+ unread messages ]

Yoongi felt a sweat bead run down his temple.

He totally forgot about the fact that he was supposed to meet Seokjin nearly an hour ago, and when he sees the endless thread of texts, he almost feels like tearing up.

The poor man had texted him since 12:30 asking if his schedule is light enough for their meeting, or he'd meet him some other day. The texts get vigorous after each text, angry emojis and random keyboard smashes asking him about his condition. The guilt is slowly building in his lower tummy to know how considerate his friend is, and how ignorant he was to him.

They had a deal about visiting the local mall and hitting the game zone, but..

He wishes to call him, so bad. His throat is running dry, and the throb of his head deepens, more. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he desperately wishes he had the courage to call him and talk, and maybe actually share his problems, but he knows Seokjin would be so mad… not that it's like Seokjin is a person who's out of control, but as a caring friend, he sometimes gets a bit overactive.

He knows Seokjin would be the only person who'd understand him better than anyone else, but maybe calling him after he's cooled down would be the best option. He knows Seokjin isn't that level headed, but he deserves an explanation, and maybe he isn't ready right now.

And so he leaves the texts as they are, texting back a single “i’ll call u back asap”, and navigates to his contact list. He's contemplating hard, right now. The “ favorite ” starred contacts stare at him, Seokjin, Jeongguk, Taehyung, and then..yours. His fingers hover over Seokjin’s for a while, and then, over yours.

Maybe it's not the right option to call you. Nope, not at all. Why would he even think that? You two aren't even friends. Not when he doesn't know if you're free enough to talk to him, not when he doesn't know if his call would be a disturbance.

Not when he feels like his call would annoy you. He shouldn't, because it's been just a day you've shared numbers, and wouldn't it be too early to call and just ask,“Hey, whatcha doing? ” Nah, that would be way too awkward. Way too—

“ Mr. Min? ”

A soft voice chirps beside him, knocking out all the air out of his lungs. He has never been this reactive to a voice, blame his fucked out state. He catches himself turning immediately to the source of the voice, arms beating flat against his windowsill, gasping.

Wildflowers.

He's met with a faint smell of honey, and jasmine, and the mixed smell of wildflower bouquet that greets him, the cluster of yellow and small lavender flowers resting with the lush greenery among them. His brows furrowed slightly at how a bouquet of flowers is what he sees in the beginning rather than the voice, but a small moment of realization takes place when he sees the person hiding behind the gigantic bouquet.

“ Fuck. ”

He doesn't notice how a cold breeze caresses his flushed, hot skin, as a pair of warm, doe eyes stare up at him.

You.

“ ____? ”

“ Did I scare you off? ”

Your lips quirk upwards, a hard attempt to hold back your giggles to see how flustered he looks, surprised till the extent you'd say, if comically, he looks like a cat caught playing with boxes at midnight with his fur sticking up in all the directions, wide eyed and mouth agape.

His eyes are still wide when he relaxes visibly in your presence, sighing down with a smile.

The faint smell of tobacco greets you and subconsciously scrunch up your nose. You're not a big fan of cigarettes, and maybe it's your instinct to shove away the smell. You didn't want to assume too much, but maybe you did get the bad boy vibes from this man. So his smoking didn’t really phase you as much as it should've.

Light beige shirt with rolled up sleeves and tailored pants. Pretty, flowy black hair parted on forehead, and pale skin flushed with a sheen layer of sweat. He looks really..handsome but also very adorable with those flushed cheeks, but also, so..tired at the same time.

His eyes scream for rest.

Out of so many people, you have to admit it. Min Yoongi was the least of your expectations. A simple walk from your favourite florist to back home, there's a lovely little park, where you often visit for giggles and laughs, and honestly speaking, you couldn't even imagine Yoongi standing there, even if it was in a far corner.

You didn't really wish to say that, but a La Rose Noiré standing in the corner had actually attracted more attention than he'd even ever intended to. Would that be a co-incidence to say that he didn't leave your mind even if he had physically left your home hours ago, and now that he's standing in front of you?

His eyes lack the glint they had yesterday. His shoulders seem unfairly tensed, even if his posture is leaned back. You don't know him, yet, but there's a certain hue of coldness around his shoulders, and all the calculating gazes and stares he gave you yesterday, you somehow found the way to nudge into the warmer side of him, or so you assume.

He doesn't seem to be the most affectionate of a person, or so you assume, again. The internet, irrespective of their own words, never fails to regard him to be made up of stone. Is that anything new, though? you beg to differ. His quick consideration of your whole situation despite being demanding for both of you assured you that this man wasn't the man stealing the headlines and trends on twitter. Even if that was the bare minimum, you appreciate it.

“ I— I just didn't expect you here. ”

His words lag behind with a flurry of coughs and furrowed brows, and you see him shuffling his phone back to his pocket, crushing his cigarette underneath his shiny black shoes meanwhile. He doesn’t seem too well, you see.

His skin is paler than usual, and his silky hair slightly unruly, some strands sticking to his forehead. His skin seems to be a bit more flushed, too. He seems uncomfortable in general, and he covers his mouth to sniffle back a sneeze.

“ Mr. Min, are you not well? ”

No verbal response comes back, but a quirk of brows is enough to answer you. So unreadable, you think. But it does not take rocket science to figure out, does it? Without thinking twice, your palms reach up to his slightly sweaty forehead.

You have to tip toe a bit to reach up to him, but that's alright. Was your palm too cool or his skin burning that it felt like his forehead was a preheated yok?

No, you realize.

“ Mr. Min, you're burning up! ”

Not much of a response comes back, but his eyebrows simply shoot up a bit more, and a bit more coughs which seems to have flushed his face, even more.

He grunts something in response but you miss it, and your palm cupping his warm (and surprisingly soft ) cheek, the action catching him and you both off guard. His eyes widen and so do yours, feeling a heat wave rush up to your face. He coughs, and you immediately remove your hands from his cheek, your palm tingling faintly afterwards. And maybe your whole body too, with embarrassment.

Dear god.

You didn't really mean anything….er. Having the habit of being a bit too affectionate to your siblings would actually make you slip accidentally, you couldn't even imagine. Especially when it's..your fiance.

“ S-sorry. ”

You cringe inwardly at how fucking small you sound, especially hating the stutter that came with it. You wish the earth could suck you up before this conversation advances, right here and right now. It was an accidental touch, a touch which was more instinctive than intentional, yet you do feel that fuzz in your stomach, the fuzz which makes your heart skip miles.

He gives you a small head shake, rubbing his neck with his hands, not before muttering out an it's okay.

You feel relieved a bit, knowing that at least you didn't creep Yoongi out. Or who knows. That undecipherable gaze, those dark brown pupils and that neutral expression. You cannot really say what's going inside his head, and you can only pray otherwise. Oh dear..

Only if you had known Yoongi, you'd have known the effect of your cool touch on the poor guy. Of course you'd miss how Yoongi's heart felt like it's up to his mouth, trying to jump off it's way out to you.

Fuck, what was happening with him?

( literally ).

“ Mr. Min, you need to get some rest. Your.. your fever’s quite intense. ”

You see him clear his throat, running a big hand through his ruffly hair. He nods with a sigh, and you actually notice how pale he looks. He looks disturbed, sick and tired all together, and you suddenly ponder how much and what actually happened to him to be this stressed, but you don't whip on it.

“ Have you eaten? ”

Even if he was already pale, you see color draining down from his face even more, almost as if he himself was yeeted to a moment of epiphany. He wets his lips with his tongue, shaking his head, silently eyeing you for your reaction.

He has not eaten anything as well.

“ Mr. Min, make a call to your home, right now. To whoever is waiting for you. ”

His face morphs to a baffled expression, and you have to think that this was the only expression he has clearly shown you today. But whatever it is. You nod as a confirmation, confusing him even further. As you were told, his father and he live alone separately, but there has to be someone back home, right ?

“ Mrs. Kang…my caretaker would be present at my house, but..why? "

His voice seems way too groggy for his own good, and you can't help but pinch your eyebrows in concern. It seems that even talking is taking a lot of effort for him.

“ Call her, and let her know you won't be home tonight. ”

You have to bite your inner cheek to process how the word home sounds when you say that out loud, because another expression breaks out on Yoongi’s face : his lips part in a slight pout, asking a silent explanation from you. Another small adorable expression.

You bite your lips to cease the smile wanting to break free to see this man so cute that you have to stop yourself from giving in and squishing his cheeks. Who'd know that such an intimidating guy such as himself would be a small, steamed mandu when confused?

Well, at least you didn't. Dear me, he's way too adorable for his own good.

That would be inappropriate. Not after whatever you’ve just done.

Mentally preparing yourself once again, you advance just a bit more closer to him, pretending to offer him the bouquet in your hands.

“ Because you'd be resting at my house today, Mr. Min. ”

a/n : hello and i hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of apricity 🤪 of course, this is an all new, re-written chapter which i finished in a single day after four months of procrastination 💪🏽🤕

all sorts of feedbacks are always welcome, and, i’m always open for an ask or a text hehe ;D

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theharrowing · 1 year ago

Text

Collateral 19: The only lifestyle I have ever known

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 18.6

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ warnings: tickling, semi-public quickie, handsy creep makes mc spiral, playful possessiveness, feelings as messy as mc's panties are after letting 3 men cum inside her, threats from a fresh face, graphic violence and gore (gun fire, mc wields a gun and a knife, man's head go boom-splat, major character injury, panic attack & blind rage, mc's body count increases from 1 to 2, yoongi gets his scar.)

🗡️ note: these warnings are serious!!! heed them!!! take them seriously!!! on a lighter note, pretend everyone's hair is correct in the mood board ok lolol also yes that is Bibi, who is called Hyungseo in this chapter.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! and shout out to @colormepurplex2 for putting some blood on our kitten's face for this mood board!! i appreciate you both!!! 💜

🗡️ posted on august 2023 | read on ao3

Waking up between Yoongi and Namjoon again is akin to waking from a dream only to find yourself in an even better dream. You roll onto your side toward Yoongi, who sleeps on his back, and you nuzzle into him, wrapping every limb around his body as tightly as you can. Yoongi grumbles and tenses before he relaxes, and then he turns onto his side and tangles his limbs in response, reaching a leg and arm past you to the sweating body on the other side.

You used to hate it when partners would try to hold you in the morning, ripping you from blissful unconsciousness into the waking world with their stinky breath and sweaty skin. With a grumble and a shove, you would always break free and twist to your side, wrapped in your blanket alone.

But Yoongi and Namjoon are your home. Their heavy bodies and warm morning breath ease you into the day, wrapping you in a loving embrace that you hate to have to break free of.

And just when you close your eyes and sigh into the feeling of Namjoon curling against your back, outlining the shape of your body perfectly with his, a phone ringtone blares, causing the three of you to groan and sign in tandem.

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, leaning to kiss you on the forehead before slowly dragging his limbs away from the tangle, muttering lowly as his shrill ringtone disturbs the peace.

"Who the fuck is already calling you?" Namjoon complains against your shoulder, wrapping around you tighter as Yoongi's warmth disappears.

Yoongi's response is incomprehensible raspy nonsense, and then the sound ends just as he mutters, "Yes?"

After a pause, Yoongi grumbles, "Seokjin-ssi, I am offended that you thought I would forget. Of course, we will be there tomorrow evening. Alright, talk to you later."

The sound of the phone clattering against Yoongi's nightstand follows a sigh, and Yoongi rolls back into his rightful place, wedging your face against nude pecs while he reaches over you to give Namjoon's lifted face a kiss.

The two of them groan, squeezing you between firm, increasingly hot bodies, and you begin to shove at Yoongi's shoulders, fighting for your life, grumbling, "You're suffocating me, you idiots!"

"You're just jealous Joonie got the first good morning kiss," Yoongi teases, backing up before bending down to plant his lips against yours.

"No morning breath kisses!" you attempt to complain through lips pulled tightly together, shoving Yoongi away despite loving the soft press of his mouth against you.

"Was Seokjin reminding you of the gala?" Namjoon asks just as Yoongi decides to begin tickling you, which has you screaming and pushing him away with flailing limbs.

"He was," Yoongi grits as you manage to plant both hands firmly on his chest and shove hard enough to topple him momentarily back. He pounces once more, flinging his entire body over yours, and Namjoon manages to get your left hand held down, then reaches over you to pin down your right arm, filling your senses with his delightfully stinky musk.

"You monsters!" you scream with your arms awkwardly pinned beside your head, uselessly flailing your legs while Yoongi sits and dances his fingertips over your ribs. "I'll kill you both!"

"Awe, our little wolf is threatening us with murder," Namjoon teases, "as if she has it in her to kill another man."

"Especially two as handsome as us," Yoongi adds, lightning up on tickling enough to make you open your eyes and watch him waggle his eyebrows.

As soon as Yoongi's fingers touch down on your ribs once more, your eyes squeeze shut, and you squeal, "Your looks won't save you from my wrath if you don't release me!"

"Awe your wrath," Namjoon teases, and his hot, stinky breath wafts as he leans close. "How adorable."

"I watched you torture a man, I know how to do it, now," you grit through your teeth, swaying your body left to right hard, hoping to throw Yoongi off. "Maybe Taehyung will teach me how to use his katana."

"Graduating from dagger to katana," Yoongi drawls playfully. "How quaint."

Namjoon adds, "But our sweetheart has never seen me with a sword before," piquing your interest despite how you fight for your life.

Each breath heaves from your lungs, pained laughter coming out in exhausted bursts against your will; if you could control your laughter to not give these jerks the satisfaction, you would. Nothing about the hellish feeling of being tickled is actually funny.

In a burst of genius, you scream, "Sakura!"

Yoongi sighs and halts his fingers, and when you open your eyes, he tongues the inside of his mouth.

"That was a dirty move but also a wise one," Yoongi mutters, clearly as amused as he is annoyed. "Nice work, darling."

"So, did you forget about Seokjin's event?" Namjoon asks as Yoongi leans forward, caging your head with his hands and smiling sweetly at you. You attempt to catch your breath, still panting from the onslaught.

"I did," Yoongi responds, grinning.

You roll your eyes and begin to laugh, and Namjoon releases your hands finally and wiggles back into a laying position beside you, laughing as well. "I want to sleep more," he grumbles as he throws a leg over your legs and snuggles up to your side, close enough to your armpit to make you jerk when he speaks because every tiny sensation still tickles.

"More sleep sounds nice," Yoongi mutters, leaning close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your eyebrow, and to your temple, before laying back down.

You begin to grumble that you would also love to sleep but that Yoongi has woken you up with all of his rambunctious behavior. But as limbs settle over and around you, and you become sandwiched once more between the two of them, heaviness claims your eyelids, and you begin to drift off.

When you wake up again, it is from Namjoon peeling out of the tangle. You grumble and roll toward him, attempting to reach out and bring his warmth back to you. Yoongi wraps around your back, humming something unintelligible into the nape of your neck before his breathing evens out and he is back asleep. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift once more, stirred only by the feeling of Yoongi peeling away.

The sun is bright by the time you wake up for good, flooding into the room, causing you to squint as you stretch and yawn, slowly flailing your limbs in the large, empty bed.

"Where is everyone going?" you grumble, peeking one eye open to find a tuft of dark, wavy hair sticking out from the closet. Yoongi's smile is almost as bright as the afternoon sun, tugging at your heart.

He responds, "Work, darling," with a smirk, then disappears back into the closet.

"Ugh!" you complain, petulant. If Yoongi and Namjoon go to work, who will be around to hug and kiss and spoil you? "Work is stupid!"

"You should go to Paradise!" Yoongi calls from the closet.

You should go to Paradise. It has been several nights since you last visited, and you miss Jimin and Hyejin. And, if you are being perfectly honest, you miss Jeongguk. Jeongguk will certainly give you plenty of attention to make up for what you are missing from the other two, but you worry just a little that desiring and receiving it from him may make you greedy.

"You just want to shove me off onto Jeongguk," you whine, teasingly.

Yoongi chuckles as he exits the closet, buttoning a black shirt that is tucked into black slacks. "Are you upset about that?"

With a pout, you sit up and whine, "I guess not," making Yoongi laugh so hard that he stomps one of his feet. Since coming home, there is a lightness to Yoongi that you are certain you have never seen before. He laughs so openly and with his whole body, sometimes flinging himself all the way to the floor, onto his knees. It is so nice; he truly seems happy.

"Namjoon and I have a meeting today that may take several hours," Yoongi begins as he approaches, still smiling but no longer laughing. "Then I have to take one of our potential clients to dinner and for drinks. She is an old investor and was a good friend of my mother, and she has her sights on one of my hotels. After we schmooze and convince her to open her pocketbook, we will come by the club. Sound good?"

You hum and nod, considering what you might wear to Paradise while scooting toward the edge of the bed, wearing only one of Namjoon's oversized shirts.

"What if Jeongguk seduces me?" you ask with a raise of your brow, biting back a smile when Yoongi gives you an incredulous little smirk of his own.

He gets close, resting his hands on the edge of the bed, caging you in. Yoongi is musky and sweet, and you lean in close, holding firm eye contact and basking in his bouquet.

"Do you want to fuck Jeongguk again?" he asks low and curious.

Goosebumps cover you, sending a thrill along your spine, and you bite your lip, batting your lashes while pretending to consider his proposition.

"I don't know," you say, attempting to sound coy. "Maybe."

Yoongi hums, deep and slow, leaning close enough that his breath is warm on your face. "Well, then if he seduces you, you should let him have you."

"You don't mind?" you ask softly, genuinely concerned about crossing some sort of line, should something happen while he is away.

"As long as you are happy and communicate openly, I do not mind."

Unsure what to say, you hum in response. You want to kiss Yoongi until you are dizzy, but you worry about your breath being sour and keep your lips closed tight. Yoongi leans and kisses you on your temple, eyebrow, and cheek, then straightens out.

"If you wanted to shoot me a text and let me know, I would not object," he says with a waggle of his brow, making you giggle.

You lift a hand and gently shove at his shoulder, teasing, "You just want to picture me getting fucked, you pervert."

"Of course I do," Yoongi rasps, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before standing up straight. With a wink, he adds, "Don't be shy, pretty darling."

The moment you step foot into Paradise, Jimin prances over with a warm smile and his arms open wide. He wears a satin black shirt tucked into black slacks, and his boots click-clack in a familiar song.

As soon as he wraps his arms around your neck, he begins to jump, and you do your best to jump along with him, feeling stunned that he is this happy to see you. "I have a surprise," he sing-songs, drawing the word long and happily, and you do your best to reciprocate his hug before he pulls away.

"You can't see it until your birthday, but I have been working hard on something," he continues, still hopping around now that you are no longer embracing.

Although your approaching birthday has been in the back of your mind, this is the first time it has felt like a tangible event. You blurt out, "How did you know my birthday is coming up," feeling anxiety and excitement swell behind your ribs.

"Oh, please," Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. "Yoongi has not shut up about it for over a month. He has been very insistent that we throw you an extravagant party; why do you think renovations on this place happened so fucking fast?"

Stunned and so dreadfully in love, all you can do is stare at Jimin as the words sink. You cannot believe that Yoongi has been in cahoots with the guys for over a month, and he has not let it slip at all to you. This means that even before the trips to Paris and Hong Kong, he must have been beginning to plan something.

"Renovations—" you mutter, mouth opening and closing until all you can say is, "Wait, what?"

"You silly little dove," Jimin teases, booping you on the nose with one of his manicured fingers. "You really have no idea what you have done to this man, do you?"

You knit your brow and slowly shake your head, and Jimin's smile widens.

"Being with you has changed him. It's noticeable."

Stuck like a deer in headlights, you stand and stare at Jimin, attempting to process his words. Sure, Yoongi was a little gruff and not always the most friendly person to be around when you were first brought to the mansion—even in moments when he was being kind—but you had assumed he behaves that way any time new people are brought around.

Jimin giggles, leans in, and plants a glossy kiss on your cheek. Then he walks away, clearly amused, and you continue to stare for another moment until a familiar floral musk breaks your spell, alerting you to the presence of a certain someone.

Truth be told, you have been a bit nervous in anticipation of seeing Jeongguk again. Especially since Yoongi has given you the green light to play around with him—provided Taehyung has done the same. Rather than turn around and greet him, you take a fortifying breath and wait for him to make the first move; it never takes long for him to.

"Dollface," his voice greets slow and deep and so close to your ear that you actually gasp despite already being aware of his proximity. "My, do you look ravishing this evening."

Warmth floods your cheeks; you dressed in a black mesh corset top tucked into fitted black slacks tonight specifically in the hope that Jeongguk would get an eyeful and want to bend you over Jimin's desk. The black material that covers your breasts is thin, and embroidered into the ribbed black mesh of the top are little black dragons that remind you of Namjoon's tattoo. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Tilting your head toward his voice, you mutter, "Thank you," surprising yourself by just how shy you suddenly feel.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," Jeongguk says. The feeling of two warm hands gently gripping your bare forearms causes you to let out a shaky exhale. "Come to one of the private rooms with me?"

The private dance rooms are all equipped with cameras, making your anxiety spike higher, but you nod and allow him to give you a gentle push through the club, to the hallway. The sound of his and your black leather boots clacking against the floor is surprisingly loud under the bass-heavy club beat, ricocheting through your mind while the music thrums just under your skin.

Once the two of you enter the hallway, you turn your head, finally getting a glance of black satin almost entirely unbuttoned, tucked into black slacks. You attempt to sound innocent as you ask, "What is it you would like to discuss?"

The chuckle that greets you in response is sardonic and inviting, and you continue to look ahead until Jeongguk places a hand on your arm and guides you through a door on the left.

The room is rather small, with a round mirrored table and metal dancing poll taking up most of the space. Surrounding the table is a deep green velvet horseshoe couch with thick, rounded arms and backrest. You walk over to stand near the side of the couch and lean against it while the door closes and locks behind you. Instinctively, you glance up at the camera and stare, wondering if it is a coincidence that there is no little red light flashing; it must not be recording, after all.

"Don't worry, doll," Jeongguk says with a grin as he approaches, "I shut that camera off."

"Is that so?" you ask with a slight tremble in your voice.

Jeongguk is stunning with his dark hair coiffed off his forehead. He has a light dusting of black powder around his eyes accentuating just how dangerous they are, and as your gaze travels down to the mess of silver chains draped around his neck, and lower, to the exposed valley of his chest, you do your best not to swoon.

"Yoongi hyung sent me a very interesting text this evening," Jeongguk responds with a lift of his pierced eyebrow.

You attempt to sound as if you have no idea what he might be talking about as you ask, "He did?"

Jeongguk hums and closes in slowly, causing your pulse to quicken gradually with each step he takes. "He did."

You swallow thickly, tilting your head. "And what did it say?"

The grin returns as Jeongguk slides a tattooed hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He thumbs around one-handed for a moment, then reads, "Our little darling has the green light to play around with you," He glances up and adds, "Discreetly, of course."

"Of course," you mutter softly.

Jeongguk slides his phone back into his pocket. "How are you feeling today?" he asks, voice sweeter than you expect.

Unsure exactly what he might be asking, you fumble, saying, "G-good. I feel good."

Jeongguk lifts his hands and places them on your biceps, then slowly rubs down to your elbows and back up. "Not too sore?"

Ah, of course, that is what he is asking. You did feel the aftermath of him fucking your brains out when you woke up this morning, but it eased throughout the day. Although you are certain that if he slid his thick, pretty cock back inside, your walls would ache. The thought alone has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together.

"No," you respond, wetting your lips and watching as Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement.

Jeongguk's hands slide down past your hands, then he hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your slacks and says, "We have to be quick, but I could be gentle with you, just in case."

He leans in and stops with his lips so close to yours that the slightly sweet whiskey-hinted scent of his breath joins his already enticing fragrance. You want to close the gap and claim his lips, but you wait, staring into his deep, round eyes.

"I don't want you to be gentle," you whisper, gaze falling to his lips in time for them to curl into a smirk and close in.

You moan as Jeongguk kisses you, wasting no time licking over the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. As you open your mouth and dance the tip of your tongue over his, Jeongguk hastily undoes the fly of your slacks, yanking your hips to rock against him as he figures out the clasp and pulls down the zipper.

He shoves the garment to the floor, and as soon as you lift your right foot to free it from the pant leg, he takes your thigh and lifts it, spreading you wide to rake his clothed erection over you. The friction is just enough to make you whimper, and you angle your hips in an attempt to press yourself against him even more.

"Matching mesh panties," Jeongguk groans as he reaches between your bodies and cups your cunt with his palm, squeezing and rubbing in firm, long movements.

"Fuck," you whisper, feeling a burst of arousal quake down your spine.

He leans close once more, lips against yours as he grits, "You drive me fucking crazy."

In a rush, you reach for Jeongguk's pants and begin to undo his button and fly, swallowing every hiss and groan as your knuckles graze his erection. And as much as those sweet sounds urge you to drop to your knees and swallow him deep into your throat just to hear a symphony of his pleasure, you need him to fuck you right now.

Jeongguk takes over and pushes his pants and briefs down, and you shift around to sit back on the wide, velvet arm of the couch, leaning on your elbows and spreading your thighs wide. The look on Jeongguk's face is one of desperation, and you bite your lip at the sight of his pretty cheeks blushing. Knowing you have this kind of an effect on the man who had absolutely nothing nice to say to you for the longest time has your ego inflating to great heights.

"You are so fucking sexy," Jeongguk groans as he pushes your panties aside with one hand while dipping two fingers into his mouth and reaching down to rub the pads of his fingertips over your clit and down to your entrance. You gasp in tandem as he circles your hole and presses broth fingers inside. "Always so fucking tight."

"Please," you whimper, feeling just as needy as he looks. "Please, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk nods and removes his fingers, then spreads your arousal onto his length as he pumps himself a few times, closing the gap between you. Without a word, Jeongguk sinks his cock in deep, giving you no time to adjust to the stretch as you bow your back with a moan and take every inch he has to offer. Your walls ache just slightly enough for the pleasure-pain to make you dizzy.

"Fuck, doll, that's it. You take this cock so well."

You mutter, "Holy shit," punch-drunk from how good he feels, letting your head loll back.

"Eyes on me," Jeongguk instructs, and you lift your head and meet his gaze, watching his mouth fall agape, mirroring yours, while he pulls his hips back and slams them forward.

Jeongguk spears you open so deliciously, you struggle to keep your head lifted and eyes open. And he wastes no time picking up a pace that has you moaning and crying his name.

"Probably shouldn't be so loud," Jeongguk groans as he places the fingers that had been shoved inside your cunt moments ago in front of your lips. You open your mouth and accept his offering, sucking your taste from him as you attempt to stifle your moans.

He fucks you hard and fast, and you squeeze around him, matching his rhythm and working yourself toward orgasm quickly. Eager to cum—knowing that there is no way this quick and dirty hookup will last too long—you reach your hand between your legs and begin to touch yourself. The velvet of the couch feels rough against the one elbow that anchors you, but the hint of pain adds to the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge.

"That's it, cum on this cock," Jeongguk urges, sweat glistening over every inch of skin that you can see.

The twirl of your fingertips matched with the unrelenting drive of Jeongguk's hips has you plummeting past the edge of sanity. And his words certainly help. All you can do is whimper and sob around his fingertips, and your eyes flicker closed before widening as pleasure trembles and quakes through each inch of you.

"Want to fill you with my cum," Jeongguk groans, pressing his fingers against your tongue hard enough to make drool pool in the edges of your mouth. "Want you to walk around feeling me drip out of you. Want my hyungs to find your panties soiled and sticky. That sound good to you, dollface?"

Although you know you will come to regret this choice as soon as the afterglow fades, you do love the idea of Yoongi and Namjoon touching you and feeling Jeongguk's dried cum in your panties. It is filthy in the best possible way, and you yearn for it.

You mutter, "Mmhmm," and attempt to nod your head while sucking greedily on Jeongguk's fingers.

Jeongguk fucks impossibly harder, attempting to stifle his moans through grit teeth, sounding absolutely heavenly as his low voice lilts high and pretty. You should not feel so smitten by Jeongguk when he is balls deep and filling you with his cum, but he is absolutely stunning, and it is impossible to ignore.

As his hips tremble and still, he drops his fingers from your lips and leans close, supporting your legs with both arms as he lays you back and kisses you deep and hungrily. The two of you moan and whimper, gnashing lips, teeth, and tongues as if your lives depend on this exchange.

Jeongguk breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily. His skin is warm and glistening with sweat, and you lift your arms to wrap them around his shoulders.

"This is dangerous," Jeongguk mutters, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, humming a curious, "Hmm?"

"How will I keep my hands off you now that I know how amazing you are?"

This soft, sweet side of Jeongguk still takes you by surprise, and you find yourself feeling shy once more as you mutter, "Shut up," at a loss for anything else to say.

"I mean it," he says, pressing his lips to yours and moaning when you lean into the chaste kiss. "I don't want anything as serious as Namjoon has with the two of you…this is strictly physical. But you really are amazing, doll; you know that, right?"

"Stop," you respond, attempting to shove Jeongguk away. He remains firmly nestled inside you and crowding your personal space, and although you enjoy his presence, you are beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic.

You know that this is strictly physical—you wouldn't want it any other way. So why does him saying it aloud make your heart feel just a little too heavy?

The fact is, you are only in a romantic relationship with Yoongi and Namjoon, and you know that you would not be able to handle it if you and Jeongguk became anything more than two friends who bicker and fuck. But in these moments when he is caring and sweet, there is a tiny part of you that thinks you would like a little more between the two of you.

"Alright," Jeongguk says with a soft chuckle, standing straight and pulling his softened cock from inside you. "I have to get to work."

Jeongguk looks absolutely disheveled and fucked out with blush-reddened cheeks, covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot help but laugh as you imagine him returning to the club with a straight face, going about his business as if nothing has happened. You wonder if he cued Jimin in on the fact that he would not be on the floor for however long this little tryst lasted or if Jimin might be searching for the two of you at the moment.

"Good luck with that," you tease, sitting up and immediately attempting to stand, doing your best not to allow any of Jeongguk's and your cum to drip onto the velvet couch.

Jeongguk reaches out and lightly grabs your elbows, steadying you as you bend out of his grasp and begin shuffling your leg back into your slacks. With a series of small hops and wiggles, you are back in your clothing, and you clasp and zip the fly, then run your hands down the front of the tight mesh corset top.

"What are you wearing to Seokjin's event?" Jeongguk asks, stepping close and using the pad of his thumb to wipe under your right eye, where you assume a little makeup has smudged.

"I have no idea," you admit, imagining Yoongi will want to shop for something bespoke tomorrow morning. "I usually let the boss dress me. He seems to enjoy it."

"Gross," Jeongguk responds with a playful crinkle of his nose, muttering to add, "Please tell me you do not call him boss in bed."

You swat away Jeongguk's hand, which has hovered beside your cheek as you break out into laughter. Jeongguk pretends to be affronted, holding his hand close to his chest as if you have wounded him. Once the laughter dies, Jeongguk reaches both arms to drape over your shoulders, forcing you to step close.

"Well tell the boss I request something with a nice long slit up the thigh for easy access. Maybe something that really hugs all your curves."

With a scoff, you search Jeongguk's face for a hint that he is joking, and although he is behaving playfully, he truly does seem serious.

"So bossy. You forget who I am supposedly engaged to, hmm?" you tease, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes. "Because it is not you, Jeon."

Jeongguk steps closer, forcing you to tilt your head to look at him. He leans until his lips are a hair's width away.

"I'm aware of who you are pretending to be engaged to, dollface," he spits in a tone that could be mistaken for anger if you could not see the smile and glimmer in his eyes, even this close. "That does not mean I won't be pulling you into some secluded room to fuck you while your boyfriends have to stand idly by and wait for us to return."

"And why would you do that?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

Jeongguk gently sucks and nibbles at your lower lip, causing you to gasp and whimper, then he pulls back with a smirk and says, "For fun."

You roll your eyes and shove Jeongguk back, causing him to lose balance just enough to stumble. Then he opens the door and mutters, "Ladies first," holding his hand out as your invitation to exit.

The music playing in the club is loud and upbeat, and although it had been coming through the speakers of the private room, you had been too distracted to really notice it. As you make your way down the hallway, past the dancer's green rooms and Jimin's office, the bass reverberates through you in a rhythm that is intoxicating and overwhelming. You would love a drink right now.

Although you are sure it would not matter if you returned to the main room with Jeongguk, you decide to hang back a few paces and then veer off toward the ladies' room in the opposite direction of the bar, not looking back to check whether Jeongguk notices. And as soon as you step into the small brightly lit space and check your reflection, noticing small tell-tale signs that you definitely just had sex, you take in a deep breath.

This whole situation with Jeongguk is fun, but there is a sense of trepidation that surrounds it, now that you have had a little time to let this entire situation settle. Both Yoongi and Namjoon have given you enthusiastic consent to fuck their best friend, yet you still fear that eventually, at some point, they might change their minds. And although you know that you would absolutely, without a doubt, agree to stop fucking Jeongguk if they asked you to, you already fear that emotionally, it could tear you apart.

You definitely crave Jeongguk's attention. You appreciate how different it feels to be flirted with by him than it feels with Yoongi and Namjoon. You enjoy the thrill of knowing that all of it has to be done in secret when it is not done at someone's home—and Jeongguk has already proven to be the type to like secret, semi-public sex. Being claimed and used by him is thrilling in a way you have not experienced much before.

As you dry your hands and exit the restroom, you curse yourself for continuing to have the same train of thought stuck on repeat. You are far too sober to ignore the fact that already the thought of being something more than a fuck buddy for Jeongguk has begun invading your mind. Already you are asking yourself why you are so dead set on trying to talk yourself out of even humoring the idea.

And it is not as if you can walk into the main room—or anywhere, for that matter—and fully ignore his presence, or try to block what just happened out. With each step you take, you can feel the mix of body fluids squelching just inside your cunt, threatening to drip out. Even if you tried to wipe yourself off, there would be no way to fully cleanse yourself of him.

Perhaps it is not even him you would wish to cleanse yourself of; perhaps you are simply reconciling the idea that you are capable of becoming attached to people rather quickly, and you know just how fucking dangerous that can be.

You make your way to the bar for one whiskey sour and then two. Hyejin is out sick for a few nights, meaning Jeongguk is busy. Jimin seems to know what the two of you were up to just based on the judgmental upturned-eyebrowed gaze that follows you whenever the two of you are even briefly within proximity of one another.

By the third whiskey sour, two familiar men walk into the building. You spot Namjoon first, wearing his black shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest. His short brown hair is styled off his forehead, and he wears a thin black choker around his neck. Rather than wearing his standard black slacks, he has black skinny jeans that almost appear shiny, outlining each curve of muscle in his thighs.

And then Yoongi follows, and something in the air feels as if it shifts. Yoongi on a normal day is breathtaking—pretty in ways that make you stop what you are doing to watch him. But tonight, his hair is messy and wild, and he wears a shiny bomber jacket with hints of gold and burgundy that shimmer in the club lights. A leopard print scarf is tied around his neck, and he wears a black shirt with a low, rounded neck, tucked into very tight black jeans.

Yoongi scans the room, eyes landing on you first, and you clench tightly to the cold, damp glass in your hand as he makes his way over slowly, like a beast on the prowl. Namjoon follows, dimples creasing his cheeks as his gaze rakes over your form. As they approach, you catch hints of black ink on Namjoon's honey skin peeking from his shirt, and notice both of them are wearing a dusting of black eyeshadow.

"Darling," Yoongi greets with a smile, lifting his arms up, beckoning you to hug him. You shift to the side just enough to set your drink on the bar behind you and to your left, and then you step forward and allow Yoongi's arms to engulf you. With his lips pressed to your temple, Yoongi softly rasps, "You look absolutely stunning, tonight."

"Thanks," you mutter as your heart pounds, and you lift your hands to his hips. Yoongi's musk is more floral than usual, and you close your eyes and bury your nose against his neck and the scarf tied around it, then drag your lips over the soft, warm skin.

When you finally take a step back, you rub your hands over the fabric of his jacket, which appears almost metallic, feeling rough tiny sequins lightly scratching against your palms.

"I like your jacket," you say as your eyes move from the pretty, inviting material to Yoongi's even prettier, even more inviting face.

"Then it's yours," he responds with a smirk, causing warmth to flood your cheeks.

"I like it on you," you clarify with a lift of your brow, then you push at the material enough to lift it and have a peek at his bare shoulders, realizing that he has a tank top on, adding, "Although I suppose I would like it off of you, as well."

Namjoon approaches on the right and leans an elbow on Yoongi's shoulder. His gaze is dark and hungry—piercing, almost—and there is a bloodshot quality to his eyes that suggests he is either high or he has been drinking.

"This jacket truly does look lovely on the floor," Namjoon says with a wink, turning in time to watch Yoongi roll his eyes and crack a smile that shows off his gums. Namjoon chuckles, and the sound is deep and pretty and makes your heart pound.

You are curious about so many things, including what drove them to get so dressed up tonight, and how their meeting went with the possible hotel sale. But you open your mouth with the intention of finding one of those topics to ask about when Jeongguk steps into the peripheral and wraps an arm around your waist.

"Hey, hyungs," he greets in a playful tone that gives you goosebumps.

Yoongi and Namjoon nod to Jeongguk, but their gazes flit between the two of you, and to the hand that holds you just under the ribs.

You expect one of them to tease you—it must be obvious that you fucked, or that you have become closer in some manner—and you are a bit surprised when Yoongi cocks his head toward Namjoon, eyes still on you, as he says, "Aren't the two of them gorgeous together?"

Namjoon hums and nods, and suddenly, you want to squirm away and create space between you and Jeongguk. You feel scrutinized in a way that is unfamiliar but that you liken to parents meeting a romantic partner for the first time. It is not Jeongguk's presence that embarrasses you, but the way they acknowledge his presence, making you feel like an insect trapped under a magnifying glass.

Namjoon keeps his elbow on Yoongi's shoulder as he glances around the space, eyes slowly trailing around. "You, Jimin, and Hyejin are doing well, it seems."

"Business is booming," Jeongguk responds as his hand gently rubs small shapes against your side, fingertips playing lightly with the threading and ribbing of your corset top. "Jimin is the genius of the operation; Hyejin and I merely do what he tells us to."

"Well you seem to be doing it well," Yoongi says, holding his chin high with a proud glimmer in his eyes.

The hand on your side tenses then relaxes, and you turn your gaze to Jeongguk, who looks at you with a shy smile, then turns back to Yoongi to mutter, "Thank you, hyung."

"You seem happier," Namjoon adds, dropping his arm to his side, then stepping in to play with Jeongguk's satin collar. "This style suits you, and your attitude has improved substantially."

"Hyung," Jeongguk whines, attempting to step away from Namjoon but hitting his elbow against the bar.

This makes Yoongi chuckle, who teases with a playful, "Our little Ggukah is all grown up."

"Ugh," Jeongguk complains, dropping his hand from your side before walking away, making the three of you laugh.

"He's so easy to rile up," Namjoon jokes, to which Yoongi says, "Too easy."

The three of you settle at the bar with drinks. You finish your third, and they slam a few shots to catch up. By the time you are setting down the fourth drink and excusing yourself to the restroom, both men are handsy and whining about letting you go.

"I have to pee," you complain, yanking your wrist from Namjoon's eager grip.

"Fine," he groans with a pout and puppy dog eyes that have you scoffing and shaking your head.

You are surprised by how much you stumble through the club on your way to the ladies' room. To be fair, you were more excited to dress up and get pretty this evening and barely touched any food before heading over here—something the three of you will need to remedy before heading home. The light of the bathroom is too bright, and you sit just a little too hard on the toilet, squeezing your eyes closed to try to focus them a little better when they open, causing the stall to be nothing but a tan and red blur.

After washing up and checking your drunk but agreeable reflection, you make your way back through the club. But before you can reach the bar, a customer—some older man you have never seen before—grabs you by the bicep.

"Are you available for a dance?" he slurs, filling your chest with anxious trepidation, which you attempt to swallow down while yanking your arm uselessly. "I see you here all the time, but you're never on stage."

"I don't work here," you respond through grit teeth, pulling your arm from his grasp and stumbling two steps backward.

The man frowns and opens his mouth to shout something slurred and incomprehensible, and in a blink, you are surrounded by Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin.

"Do we have a problem?" Yoongi asks in a firm, direct tone that is as intimidating as it is sexy.

"Boss M-Min," the man stammers, eyes moving between Yoongi, you, and the others. "No, sir. S-sorry."

Jimin pipes up, "If I see you lay a hand on another woman in this club—employee or not—I will have you kicked to the curb," causing the older man to stand tall, suddenly appearing offended. But he does not respond with words; he merely nods his head and turns away, returning to his seat at a small round table facing one of the side stages.

"Sorry about him," Jimin says, stepping close and placing his hands on your shoulders.

Only now, when you finally have a chance to breathe, are you aware of the panic that fills you, squeezing at your chest like thorny vines snaked between your ribs, threatening to make you collapse.

"I need some fresh air," you mutter quietly as you turn out of Jimin's light hold toward the back exit and struggle to move your feet more than three steps.

Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist and assists you with walking to the exit. "Does that happen often?" he asks low and sweet, voice as comforting as it is concerned.

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "Never."

Frankly, you are shocked that it has taken this long for a man to accost you—a thought nobody should reasonably have. But considering the atmosphere and your proximity to it, you have come to expect some of the customers to be a little sleazy. Sure, men have whistled, shouted, and made lewd gestures before, but nobody has ever grabbed onto you.

Once the back door is open and the cool night air hits you in a somewhat uncomfortable burst, you tense up and curl into Namjoon's chest, having to somewhat waddle sideways as you fully step out and maneuver both bodies beside the door. You shiver, but a second and third body close in on you.

"Want me to throw him out?" Jimin asks, burying the other side of your face against his chest.

"No," you mumble.

"Alternatively," Namjoon suggests, "I could bring him out here and gut him like a fish. Paint the street with his blood and fill the night with his screams."

The tone in Namjoon's voice is so dead serious that it makes your stomach churn. "No thank you," you mumble, burying your face into his soft shirt and softer skin in an attempt to block out the mental image.

At moments like this, you remember the men you love are part of a no ordinary civilian men. Has Namjoon gutted someone before? Does he enjoy the way it feels to pierce and slice flesh with a blade? Can he stomach the smell?

"I have to get back in there," Jimin states with a sigh, hugging the group of bodies tight and practically suffocating you in satin before backing out of the bunch. "If you change your mind about that guy, let us know."

Jimin steps back, and you hear the door open, followed by the loud burst of upbeat club music before it closes, muffling the noise to nothing more than bass reverberating through the walls. Yoongi wraps himself over your shoulders, chest pressed into your back, and you rest against Namjoon, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of the two of them kissing.

"Jeongguk mentioned he left us a gift," Yoongi drawls after a quiet moment, and you gasp.

You had somehow forgotten all about what transpired between you and Jeongguk earlier, but now that it is at the forefront of your mind, the damp cloth between your legs feels somewhat cold and uncomfortable.

Before you can say anything, one of Yoongi's hands begins to travel down between the press of your and Namjoon's bodies, fingers grazing over the thin material covering your breast, making you shiver as your hard nipple is lightly touched. As his hand moves lower, you take a slow, fortifying breath and hold it, eager not to give yourself away too much.

Just the gentle graze of Yoongi's fingertips passing over your waist and hip has your eyelids fluttering. And when he reaches between your legs, presses against your soiled slacks, and groans, you let out the breath in a shaky exhale, gripping onto Namjoon's shoulders, lest you collapse.

"My, my," he groans, making Namjoon hum in question. "She's soaked, Joonie. Is this all you, darling? Or is it him, too?"

You huff an embarrassed sigh and attempt to relax your grip on Namjoon as you mutter, "It's him, too."

Namjoon reaches between your legs and touches eagerly—almost roughly. You whimper and take a dizzy step back; if it weren't for the tight proximity of bodies, you may have fallen into Yoongi.

"Naughty, naughty," Namjoon teases, cupping his hand over both your clothed cunt and Yoongi's wandering fingers. "What do you think, hyung? We can't just let some runt stake claim on our pussy without having it for ourselves."

Yoongi chuckles deep and sardonic, and you bite back a smile of your own. If it weren't for their eager touches and inviting tones, you would be laughing over the mental image of three dogs pissing on the same hydrant to claim dominance. Only, instead, they are your sexy boyfriends and their equally sexy best friend, and their little rivalry involves wanting to fill you with their cum.

"I know a spot," you all but moan, looking up to find Namjoon staring at you hungrily.

"Oh?" Yoongi asks playfully, pressing his fingertips against you in a slow circle.

With a nod and a whimper, you say, "Just so ha-happens there are rooms in this very building, meant for that very thing."

Yoongi steps back, taking his warmth and hand away, and your skin feels almost shocked by how cold it is.

"Lead the way," Yoongi suggests, and you fumble a couple steps back, still holding onto Namjoon's shoulders, before turning toward the door.

As soon as you walk back into the building, the music is loud and overwhelming. You take Yoongi's hand and lead him to the hallway, making a pit stop at Jimin's office door, which is ajar just an inch. You knock, and hear his soft, "What is it?" then peek your head in.

"Anyone in the executive suite?" you ask nervously, biting your lip.

Jimin squints then grins and shakes his head. "It's all yours, dove. Have fun!"

The sing-song manner of Jimin's tone makes your cheeks warm, and you mutter, "Thanks, Jimin," as you step back and return the door to its almost closed state.

Namjoon takes your other hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it does very little to calm your pounding heart, but you are still a bit on edge, unsure of what to expect. Neither of them seems upset, but there is still that fear in the back of your mind that it could change.

You know that you should give both men a little more credit; Yoongi and Namjoon have been nothing but open, curious, and honest with you about their desire to share and experiment. This threesome only exists because of their experience and eagerness to have this kind of relationship. So why do you worry so much?

Past the private dance rooms, the hallway takes a left turn. Changbin sits on a chair in a small enclave that is black from floor to ceiling and looks like a dead end. At your approach, he straightens out and stands, then bows.

"Boss," he says, standing tall and strong and stepping aside to pull back a curtain to reveal a black door with a small keypad. "All rooms are empty, so you can take your pick."

"We plan to use the executive suite tonight," Yoongi says with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "Jimin has already been made aware."

"Of course," Changbin responds with a bow of his head. "Enjoy."

Everyone who has access to the lower level has their own eight-digit code for the keypad. This way, Jimin is able to track who goes where, and stragglers cannot simply find their way down there. Not that the door is ever left unmanned.

You punch in 19931994 and listen for the mechanism to whine and click, then you press the door open with your palm. It is heavy, and the moment the three of you are through, it closes tightly behind you, though Yoongi reaches back to push against it anyway.

The stairwell that snakes you down under the building is lit in fuchsia, and the music is slower and more sensual—some R&B track you cannot identify with a singer whose voice alternates between soft and breathy, and quick and raspy. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, a long fuchsia hallway greets you, and Namjoon releases your hand and walks ahead to the end of the space. When he reaches the door just a few paces before you, he turns and crosses his arms over his chest.

With a stern voice and sterner expression, Namjoon says, "I want you to undress and position yourself exactly how Jeongguk had you, understand, baby?"

You respond, "Yes, daddy," without hesitation, and although Namjoon's eyes widen ever so slightly, his stern expression does not falter.

Namjoon steps aside, and you enter your passcode on another keypad and walk into the dimly red-lit space, past the bed, to the white leather sofa. The arms of this sofa are not quite as wide as the ones on the green velvet couch, but they are wide enough.

Wordlessly, you strip your slacks off but keep the left leg still hooked in the fabric, then you sit on the sofa arm and rest back on your elbows.

"Didn't bother to undress you," Yoongi practically snarls as he takes his place before you and undoes his belt buckle and fly. "Just a quick and dirty fuck, huh?"

"Yes, sir," you respond through a somewhat shattered breath.

"I'm guessing no foreplay?" Namjoon asks, taking his place beside Yoongi with his arms once more crossed over his chest.

"No, daddy."

Yoongi tsks and shakes his head. Namjoon chuckles.

"Poor girl," Yoongi teases with a pout, sliding out of his pretty shimmery jacket, which Namjoon takes and places neatly aside, on the bed. "I was really looking forward to tasting you."

The thought of being denied Yoongi's tongue fills you to the brim with frustration, but you let your eyes rake over his toned, bare arms as a distraction. Yoongi is far more muscular than he appears under the long-sleeved shirts he wears, and even a glimpse of his bare skin drives you wild—has you thanking the fashion gods for tank tops.

"He groped me over my panties," you inform Yoongi with an innocent smile. "Cupped his hand over me, rubbed and squeezed a little."

Yoongi steps forward and grabs your cunt firmly with his palm. "Like this?" he asks, and you gasp as your head lolls back, whimpering a soft, "Just like that."

"What else?" Namjoon asks.

"He spread and lifted my legs," you mutter as Yoongi palms roughly at you, pressing moist mesh against eager nerves. "He held my right leg with his arm."

Yoongi removes his hand only long enough to lift and spread your legs, yanking slightly to get you into position. Although Jeongguk is a little taller, you line up with Yoongi just right, and you attempt to swivel your hips in search of friction, but Yoongi's palm returns.

"He pushed his pants and briefs down, and pulled my panties aside," you continue. "Then he licked two fingers and touched me a little."

With a lift of his brow, Yoongi brings two fingers to his doll lips and wets them with his tongue.

"He only touched my clit briefly, but he did finger me," you specify.

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's hips and finishes unzipping his pants, then he pushes them, along with his briefs, to the floor. The sight of Namjoon's arms around Yoongi, while Yoongi stands hard and leaking, makes you dizzy, and you lick your lips, watching Namjoon step back and pull his arms away, wishing Namjoon would continue to touch him—longing for the way Yoongi falls apart just for him.

Yoongi reaches between your bodies and pulls your panties aside, then swirls over your clit once, twice, three times, building your arousal quickly, only to make it dissipate before his fingers dip inside, and you groan from the feeling.

"Messy, messy cunt," Yoongi teases, lips parted as he plunges deep inside. "But still so fucking tight."

"Please fuck me, sir," you beg, absolutely needy for Yoongi's cock.

"Is that how you begged him?" Yoongi asks, pulling his fingers out and stroking his hard length.

"Yes, sir," you admit, panting.

"And did he fuck you, darling?"

"Yes, sir. He fucked me hard and deep."

Yoongi closes the minuscule gap between you and sinks his cock all the way in one fluid motion, pushing a moan from deep within your chest and lighting your body on fire. Yoongi feels thick and familiar in the most dizzying way, and you scrape your fingernails against the sides of the leather armrest in an attempt to hold on.

"Did he kiss you?" Yoongi asks, leaning close and pulling his hips back, only to slam them forward.

Some part of you wants to lie and say no, he did not kiss you, but you swallow thickly and admit, "Not during sex."

"After?" Yoongi asks with a smirk, pulling back and slamming forward once more.

You sob through the word, "Yes!" and Yoongi's sharp smile grows bigger.

"Did he do anything else?" Namjoon prompts, and you huff out a sigh, wishing Yoongi would set a pace and fuck you, already.

"While he fucked me, I was being too loud, so he put his fingers in my mouth," you admit.

Yoongi pulls back and slams forward again. "Being too loud, hmm?"

You whimper and nod, saying, "We weren't down here. We were in one of the private dance rooms."

"He couldn't even bring you down here to fuck you?" Namjoon teases, cocking his head. "Aren't there cameras in those rooms?"

Finally, Yoongi sets a pace and begins to fuck you, and as you attempt to say he turned that camera off, all you can do is moan a broken, "He t-turned," losing the rest of the sentence.

Yoongi lifts his hand and slots his fingers between your lips before you can attempt to say another word, and you suck hard, doing your best to keep your eyes on him. The taste of your arousal on his fingers is different from the taste you left on Jeongguk's—a bit subdued but still just as heady.

You whimper and babble uselessly around Yoongi, drool falling from the sides of your lips while you suck. Although this is meant to be just a quickie, Yoongi does not rush; he has nowhere else to go. By the time you lift your hand to touch your clit, you are already fast approaching orgasm.

"Did you touch yourself while Jeongguk fucked you?" Namjoon asks.

You nod, and Yoongi removes his fingers for you to say, "We had to hurry, and I wanted to cum."

"Greedy girl," Namjoon teases with a wink and a smile, making you smile in return.

Your head bobs as Yoongi fucks you, and he says, "Well, then, touch yourself, darling," before returning his fingers to your lips.

Just one pass over your clit has you crumbling, and you suck hard, squealing. Yoongi's pace quickens, and the hand on your hip grips bruisingly.

"That's it, darling; cum for me."

As you clench around him, chasing your high, Yoongi's head rolls back, and he groans deep and pretty. The sight of his dark, messy hair and sweat-slicked neck is so inviting, you continue to clench just to push him over the edge as your high begins to crash.

You reach for Yoongi's leopard print scarf to pull him close for a deep, hungry kiss—much like the one you shared with Jeongguk, only softer. Yoongi does not gnash and nip as if this is the last kiss you will ever share; Yoongi sucks gently and licks firmly, filling your mouth with his sweet, needy moans.

It is not long before Yoongi's hips are trembling and stilling. And your grip on him is so tight that you feel him twitch and empty inside you.

"Fuck, baby, your pussy is heaven," Yoongi groans against your lips. "Absolutely perfect."

Overcome with emotion, you continue to grip tightly to his scarf and lick into his mouth. Yoongi chuckles lightly and hums as you tease his lip, indulging you before pulling back and straightening out.

"Did you kiss him like that after?" Yoongi asks, cheeks tinted with blush and hair messy.

"No, sir," you admit, letting your head dip downward while keeping your eyes up and on him.

The smile that graces his lips is pretty and loving, and he stares for a moment, catching his breath despite being the breathtaking one.

Yoongi bends to pull up his pants and get himself situated, then steps back. You feel his release dripping from your cunt, and you almost begin to sit up when Namjoon approaches and begins to undo his belt.

"Think you can handle one more?" Namjoon asks with a grin that dimples his cheeks.

"Don't think I have much of a choice," you respond with a bite to your lip, eager to feel him inside you.

Namjoon's smile falls, and his hands drop to his sides. "Of course you do," he says sadly, making your heart clench.

"I know that," you insist, sitting up quickly, instinctively reaching your hands toward him. "I was just being cheeky; I know you would never do anything that I don't want."

Every feature on Namjoon's face is sweet and soft, and his lips tug into a smile once more. "Sorry," he mutters as he steps close and leans forward. "I get in my head sometimes."

You reach out and take Namjoon's shirt just as you held Yoongi's scarf, and Namjoon stumbles forward before bending closer. "You're sweet," you say as you slot your lips together and hum. Namjoon is pillow soft with hints of whiskey, and you sink into the feeling, eager to drown.

Slowly, you pull from the kiss and say, "Fuck me, daddy," watching as his lips upturn.

"So bossy," he teases as his hands reach for his slacks and begin working open the button and fly.

"Please," you add, releasing Namjoon's shirt and leaning back on your elbows, spreading your thighs wide. "Make me forget what Jeonggukie did to me."

Namjoon practically snarls as he shoves his pants and briefs down, and he somewhat forcibly cups your wet, used pussy, sending a shiver of arousal through you.

You hardly have a chance to breathe with the way Namjoon kisses you—hot and rough and demanding. And although he follows the same formula Yoongi had, with very little instruction given, the pace and ferocity with which he fucks you has you momentarily forgetting even your own name.

For Seokjin's event, Yoongi has bought you a simple black satin evening gown with a plunging v-line and spaghetti straps that cross over your exposed back. The back v-line dips dangerously low, and, much to Jeongguk's excitement, there is a high slit up the right thigh.

You stand in Yoongi's closet, staring into the mirror along the far back wall while Jimin finishes getting all of your hair pinned up. Yoongi wraps various delicate silver necklaces around your neck in search of the perfect one while Namjoon and Jeongguk chatter lowly in the bedroom about something or other, and you swear you hear Taehyung's deep voice at some point, as well.

Yoongi finally decides on a dainty silver chain with no charm for you to wear and begins to search the drawers in his closet's island for a matching piece for himself. Meanwhile, Jimin exits the closet, and Jeongguk steps in.

"I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to give you your birthday gift early," Jeongguk says.

Surprised, you glance at him through the mirror before turning to regard him fully. Jeongguk is in his typical Paradise garb—in fact, all of the family men wear black satin and black slacks, with black and silver accessories. Jeongguk's hair is styled away from his forehead with a freshly short chop and sharp undercut.

"After that guy touched you at Paradise, I thought you should have it," Jeongguk continues. "Especially since we'll be at the casino tonight; there's no telling what kind of seedy characters might be there."

Taehyung pops around the corner, holding onto a small, rectangular box, and Jeongguk nods for you to take it. You reach for it, and Taehyung says, "From both of us."

"Of course," you respond with a smile, feeling your heart burst as your fingertips rub over crushed velvet. You have a feeling there must be some kind of weapon inside, based on Jeongguk's hint—a knife, judging by the size of the container.

As you open the box, Yoongi leans in close, and Namjoon takes a step into the space, glancing over Jeongguk's shoulder.

"I, uh—"Jeongguk begins as you crack it open, and you halt your movement to look at him. "I hope it's not too insensitive, given…well…you'll see."

You hesitate a moment, then continue opening it, gasping at the sight of the gift. Nestled against what appears to be black lace is a switchblade. The handle is black lacquer with mother-of-pearl decorations of flowers and birds. It is gorgeous and dainty, and when you lift it, the weight is surprisingly heavy. The blade that springs out is thin and appears to be very sharp, and you twirl it in your fingers as your eyes well with tears.

"This is beautiful," you say, finally looking at Jeongguk, then to Taehyung. "Thank you so much, you guys."

"It's sharp as fuck," Taehyung says with a grin. "And if you ever need it to be sharpened, just stop on by."

"There's a strap, too," Jeongguk adds somewhat shyly. "Hence why I thought…"

When he trails off, you giggle. Clearly, Jeongguk knows about your method of killing Seungri all those years ago, and it is a sweet thing for him to consider.

"I love it," you say before he can spiral, and when his features turn soft and his smile brightens, warmth rises to your face. Somewhat sheepishly, you add, "And I like it a lot more than a gun."

"Well," Namjoon urges from over Jeongguk's shoulder, stealing your attention. He winks as he says, "Try it on."

You set the box down on the island and pull out the bundle of lace, which happens to be a thigh garter. With a scoff, you turn to Jeongguk and teasingly ask, "Is this why you wanted me to have a thigh slit tonight?"

As everyone's attention turns to Jeongguk, he visibly balks, rolling his eyes. "I can have many reasons for wanting the things I want," he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

You unfurl the thigh garter and step into it, attempting to ignore all the eyes that watch as you bend and hike it high up your leg. Once it is in position just under the top of the dress slit, you grab the knife and attempt to decide where on your leg it might be most secure.

Taehyung steps in and asks, "May I?" holding his hands toward your thigh, and although you cannot begin to fathom what he is asking for, you are flustered enough to nod and say, "Yes."

"There is a little piece of elastic inside," Taehyung says as he squats and delicately begins to snake two fingers under the band and feel around. Thankfully, he finds it quickly at the front of your thigh, and he gently begins to rotate it until that part is resting on your outer leg. Holding his palm out, he says, "Knife."

You hand Taehyung the knife, and he slides it into the band, securing it in the elastic bit. As he stands, you reach down to feel it. It only takes a few adjustments of the band's height and position on your thigh before it is perfect. Granted, when you look in the mirror, the entire weapon is visible in this particular dress.

"Stunning," Yoongi says in a tone that is dark and rich with desire.

"I agree," Namjoon adds, and you glance up to smile at everyone through the mirror before turning your attention back to your reflection.

"And a perfect accessory for tonight," Yoongi adds, making you look up at him. "That paired with the engagement ring will tell everyone loud and clear just how deadly our little darling is."

Ah, yes. The engagement ring.

You look down at your empty hand and mutter, "Right, I should go get the ring," before turning and waiting for the wall of men to part and let you pass.

At the thought of the ring—and Yoongi's statement about you being deadly—your heart feels heavy. Anxiety fills you as you pad barefoot through Yoongi's room, past Jimin, who sits on the bed, scrolling through his phone, glancing up with a soft smile.

In the mansion, there is a light clattering of voices. Members of the family security team are downstairs waiting to escort you to the event, and Yoongi’s cooking team is in the kitchen finishing something sweet and full of carbohydrates, the smell of which wafts throughout the large mansion.

Time seems to slow as you walk to your room—a room you hardly visit anymore. The familiar and unfamiliar sights and sounds are as comforting as they are daunting, and all the connotations of being part of this gentle but looming chaos fills you with dread.

Do you want to be deadly? The prospect feels heavy.

And after Yoongi's heroin relapse and stint in rehab, you worry about the prospect of being more entrenched in this lifestyle than you already are. Getting further involved in this business can only put you more at risk. And if Yoongi plunges off the deep end over losing one of his men, what could become of him should something ever happen to you?

Sure, you are merely playing a role tonight—dressing in a way that sends a message, and wearing a ring that symbolizes something fake. But your position at Yoongi's side is anything but fake, and standing there publicly is a huge hazard to your safety.

You heavy-blink and realize you are standing in your dark bedroom, staring toward the bed. Light filters in through the windows, but it is the faint and golden glow of a setting sun. A particularly loud laugh echoes through the mansion, snapping you fully out of your trance, and you gaze around for the ring box, which sits Tiffany-blue on your bedside table.

With a sigh, you approach and grab the ring box, snapping it open and stopping to stare at the giant rock inside before pulling it out and listlessly tossing the open box onto your bed. The ring is heavy as you slide it onto your finger, and your heart clenches at the weight. There is a part of you that hopes one day for this weight to support something real. But can you really become a mafia wife?

Although you hear soft footsteps approach, your gaze lingers on your hand and the ring that adorns it. Yoongi's soft voice asking, "Darling?" causes tears to well in your eyes, and you take a deep, fortifying breath before turning to regard him.

Yoongi is gorgeous, leaning against your door frame with his brows gently tugged into a concerned frown. As he studies your eyes, he stands straight and slowly steps forward. Both of your hands are clenched in front of your stomach, and he takes them in his, rubbing his thumbs against your palms until your grip loosens.

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?"

A chuckle works its way from your tummy, and you gaze down sheepishly at your conjoined hands, then back at Yoongi's face. "I don't know where I would even begin," you admit, feeling the urge to cry and swallowing it down.

"You look a little overwhelmed," Yoongi says, and you scoff, nodding.

"I think I am."

Yoongi licks his lips and hesitates before asking, "Does it have to do with the ring?"

You swallow thickly. "A little," you admit.

Yoongi's grip on your hands tightens then releases, and he wraps you in a hug, pinning your arms to your sides. "Well, you do not have to tell me right now if you don't feel comfortable, but just know that I always value whatever is on your mind. Especially if it is stressing you out."

"I just…" you begin, closing your eyes and nuzzling your forehead against his neck, doing your best not to rub away any of the makeup on your eyes.

With a sigh, you change your path, voice weak as you say, "I love you. And Namjoon. You're both amazing and you have been so good to me."

As you swallow thickly, feeling anxiety rise, Yoongi prompts you, saying, "But…"

"But this lifestyle terrifies me," you admit, voice trembling. "And this ring is so heavy and what it symbolizes is so huge, and I…I don't know, Yoongi. I don't know if I can handle all of this."

Yoongi says nothing, but he does sigh. His arms squeeze tighter, and the silence that drags causes you to ramble.

"I know Namjoon said that the only way out of this lifestyle is death. And I can't…my heart aches imagining all the horrifying possibilities."

"Namjoon told you that," Yoongi mutters, sounding as disheartened as you feel.

"He wasn't trying to scare me," you insist, lifting your arms to return Yoongi's hug and forcing his arms to slide up to your shoulders. "We were just discussing you, and us, and…all of this."

"It's true that there is a target on my back," Yoongi says, sighing, sounding more resolved than before. "But I am protected. I employ the strongest and smartest on this peninsula. I don't want you to worry about me, or Namjoon, or yourself."

"How could I not?" you practically sob, feeling tears rise and squeezing your eyes closed.

"Shhh," Yoongi whispers, rubbing his hands on your back and taking a step out of the hug. "We should talk about this soon, but now isn't the time for worries like these, darling. Jimin will kill you if your makeup smears, and Seokjin will kill both of us if we arrive late."

The playful tone makes you laugh, and you sniffle, nodding your head and looking Yoongi in the eye, taking in his warm, almost sad expression. You know that Jimin would be nothing but sympathetic to your tears, and that Yoongi is only joking, but the image of Jimin's angry little snarl flashes in your mind anyway, making you laugh more.

As if on cue, Namjoon arrives, looking over Yoongi's shoulder with a wide smile that falls into a concerned frown. "Everything okay?"

"As a matter of fact, everything is not okay," Yoongi says, turning to Namjoon with a faux glare that makes him widen his eyes with worry. "Why are you filling our darling's pretty little head with images of us dying."

Namjoon gasps, looks at you, and then back at Yoongi, asking, "When did I ever—"

"You told her the only way out of this lifestyle is death."

Recognition hits, and Namjoon sighs, stepping in and slinging an arm over Yoongi's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you once more. Namjoon leans to the side, low enough to say softly into Yoongi's ear, "I told her that while you were in rehab and she was lamenting over how badly she wishes you could leave all of this behind."

When Yoongi blinks, his gaze hardens and then drops. "I can't just do that," he says with bitterness in his tone.

"I know," you respond. "It was selfish of me to—"

"Loving someone is never selfish," Namjoon interrupts nicely, then he squeezes Yoongi's arm. "And you know damn well that she has every right to find what you do horrifying, Yoongi. Be gentle."

"I am gentle," Yoongi pouts, eyes still on the floor.

"Alright," Namjoon says, "Shall we? Seokjin will kill us if we're late."

Unable to hold back a smile, you nod and say, "Let's go."

"This conversation isn't over," Yoongi says in a tone that makes you nervous before softening as he says, "but I appreciate you telling me what is on your mind. And I don't mean to get defensive, this is just…well, it's the only lifestyle I have ever known."

To a certain extent, it is also the only one you have known. Only you were at the behest of powerful men and used as a plaything, and even a weapon, in lowly ranks, hoping for a way to escape to a better life. Sleeping in the bed of powerful men and standing at their side is something else, entirely.

The casino is packed, and you already regret having to wear high heels on the carpeted floors, feeling each step sink slightly. Cigar smoke and the stench of an amalgamation of types of alcohol permeate the air, and the barrage of sounds from various betting machines blaring over shouting voices overwhelms.

Yoongi leads you through the center of the casino, and you attempt to keep your head held high and your focus on nothing ahead of you, allowing all the flashing lights to bokeh into spots. When you finally blink everything back into focus, Seokjin is at the center of the room surrounded by a crowd of men.

Try as you might, you have no idea what the hell this event is for. Each time you ask, you are met with a vague response and conclude that this must simply be a celebration of Seokjin and his beloved House of Cards.

About an hour in, you are buzzed from whiskey and champagne and find yourself stumbling to the restroom near the bar. Although you are not quite intoxicated enough to be bumbling around, these heels are doing you no favors, and you find yourself griping about it under your breath. The stalls are all empty, and you sit longer than necessary on the toilet just to have a breather somewhere quiet and off your feet.

When you exit the stall to wash your hands, a woman in a blood-red evening gown with her hair tied high on her head smiles at you through the mirror. You smile back, mostly just to be polite, and wash your hands before turning toward the exit.

"Quite the rock you got there," the woman comments, making you stop in your tracks. Her voice has a sort of practiced shrillness to it, like she is only pretending to care. "What kind of man can afford a ring like that one?"

Unsure whether you are interested in having this conversation, you turn your head, smile softly, and respond, "A powerful one."

The woman hums and says, "I guess so."

You turn back toward the door and exit.

As soon as you return to the bar, you notice that Yoongi and Namjoon are no longer there, but Jeongguk is, so you approach him. His eyes brighten instantly, and he downs his drink, then stands up straight and approaches, taking you by the elbow and spinning you in the opposite direction.

"What are we—"

"Boss Min asked me to escort you to the second floor," Jeongguk responds a little too loud, and you bite back a smile.

"Right," you respond, not buying his ruse.

But he does lead you to the elevator, up to the second floor. Only everything is locked and dark, and there is no one around.

"I can't take it anymore," Jeongguk mutters as he leads you into the banquet room—which he has the access code to—and through the long, vacant space, to the coat check closet where Yoongi first dropped the bomb that he was going to propose to you. "The dress, the knife…you are so fucking hot, dollface."

You say nothing as he closes the door behind you and then switches on the light. There is a low wooden countertop below a partial door, which is closed, and you kick out of your shoes and lean against it. If you are going to let Jeongguk fuck you, you need to do it in a position that is comfortable for both Yoongi and Namjoon to do the same.

Jeongguk is on his phone, thumbing around while smiling, and you almost berate him for giving someone else your attention while you are standing here waiting for him. But then he turns off the screen and slides the device into his pocket with a devious grin.

"Let's see how far we get before my hyungs arrive," he mutters while sinking to his knees.

You are drunk by the time you leave, used and satiated, feeling the squelch of cum between your legs. Jeongguk stares longingly at Taehyung from the passenger seat, but occasionally his gaze flits back to you, making your cheeks warm.

Yoongi sits to your right with Namjoon to your left, and although the vehicle is spacious, Taehyung had insisted on everyone strapping into a bulletproof vest, adding bulk to your bodies. Being that this event was widespread and it is likely that Ryujin's team could have caught wind, he rambled about being safe rather than sorry. Plus, there was mention of someone showing up to the event…some woman whose name you do not remember, who made everyone suspicious.

Ahead of you is the vehicle containing Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin, as well as two members of the security team, one of whom resembles Changkyun, though you are unsure whether it really is him. They are leading the way to Paradise, where Jimin insists on having an after-party.

As you drive through the city, a plume of dark smoke rises into the air, causing you to sit up and bend to better look out the windshield. "There's smoke ahead," you mutter, feeling worry in the pit of your stomach.

Just then, Yoongi's phone rings, shrieking and anxiety-inducing, and you sit back, staring ahead at the billowing smoke.

"Yes?" Yoongi says as he answers, then says, "Jimin, speak slower."

"Is that Paradise?" Jeongguk asks as you get closer, and you feel panic rise.

"She what?" Yoongi asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Looks like it's right across the street."

As the vehicle approaches, you realize that Paradise is not on fire, but the building directly across from it is. The building in question is part of a group of warehouses that, as far as you know, have recently been vacant.

"We're right behind you," Yoongi instructs. "Fire workers should be on their way, but we'll assess Paradise for any damages."

The street is eerily empty as Taehyung pulls into the alleyway beside Paradise and shuts his lights off. Although this area is somewhat recently developing nightlife, slowly tearing down all the warehouses like the one currently in flames, there are still usually people littering the streets. Seeing nobody is concerning, even with Paradise closed for the night.

"Strap up just in case," Yoongi instructs, and Jeongguk opens the large glove compartment and begins pulling out handguns.

As everyone removes their seatbelts, Namjoon turns and gets onto his knees on the seat. He reaches back into the trunk, and you hear the sound of velcro parting. Then he hands you and Yoongi handguns, which you take with shaking hands.

"Remember what you learned," Yoongi says as you stare at the weapon in your trembling palms, feeling its cold steel and familiar weight. "Take in a deep breath, line up your shot, and squeeze the trigger as you exhale."

At a loss for words, you nod, then swallow thickly. This is the absolute last thing you want to be holding in your hands tonight. Luckily, you switched your heels for ballet flats once you got to the vehicle, at least.

Taehyung and Jeongguk exit the vehicle first while Yoongi and Namjoon stay put. You sit forward anticipating having to leave, and are a bit surprised when they do not. Through the rearview mirror, you watch as the two of them walk to the street with their guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants and glance around. Then Taehyung turns and waves for the rest of you to join him.

"We should take the side door inside," you say, and Namjoon hums in response, though you are unsure what the nature of his hum is, exactly.

Yoongi opens his door first, and Namjoon follows suit. "Go with Namjoon," Yoongi instructs, and you shift, then turn slightly to your left, waiting for Namjoon to exit.

Yoongi walks toward the street and Namjoon follows, but you hesitate. You do not want to be on an eerily silent street in the middle of the night while the building across from yours is billowing with smoke. This matter should be left to the fire department, and your family men should get the fuck home.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon softly calls, making you gasp, realizing the space between the two of you as you scurry ahead to catch up.

"I don't like this," you mutter, shoulders scrunched to your ears as you glance around the street. The sides of the bulletproof vest are rough and scratchy against your bare arms. "We should leave this to the professionals and go home."

"We are the professionals," Namjoon responds as you turn the corner and begin to walk toward the entrance of Paradise where Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin are all congregated. Jimin tenses as you approach, then sighs and relaxes when he sees that it is you.

"Suited and strapped?" Seokjin teases, despite having a handgun tucked into his waistband. Hoseok has a fucking shotgun resting against his shoulder, and his smile is so blindingly bright that you struggle to reconcile the sight. Beside them, Changkyun and another man stand with what appear to be semi-automatic rifles in their hands.

"Safety first," Jeongguk slurs, clearly wasted despite how steadily he stands.

"Any whispers?" Yoongi asks, and Seokjin blinks a few times then shrugs, saying, "None."

"Hmm," Yoongi taps his fingertips to his bottom lip, long fingers dancing as he speaks. "This is certainly a tactic to get our attention…but why? Where are they?"

You are not eager to find out who the message comes from or where they are, and you approach Double Seok and Jimin, sliding in close beside them.

"Do we think this has anything to do with the sudden appearance of Hyungseo?" Taehyung asks. "There had been whispers of her helping in Busan."

Yoongi shrugs. "What could it mean? Unless she really is working for Ryujin, I can't imagine what her place in any of this would be. And why would she be setting one of Lady Choi's buildings on fire just to get our attention?"

"Why don't I take our dove inside?" Jimin suggests, and Yoongi turns his attention to you.

You must look as terrified as you are, because Yoongi nods and says, "May as well. I don't need either of you getting hurt."

"Why don't we all get inside?" Jimin suggests. "We can assess the situation at a safe distance."

"Through what window?" Hoseok asks, and he is correct to do so; Paradise has no windows.

"Stand in the fucking door, then," Jimin snaps, "I don't know."

From the distance, the siren of a fire truck screams, and you sigh with relief. The sound is piercing as it approaches, but it is a reprieve from the haunting silence and it fills you with hope

As soon as the truck pulls up, workers pile onto the street and begin to put out the fire, minding your group no business. It takes a while, and everyone watches as hoses hooked to hydrants do their work.

Although it probably lasts around a half hour, you and everyone stand transfixed. Once everything is under control, the workers pack up and leave without a word to any of you, as if they were never here at all.

Eerie silence returns and is met with the smell of burnt wood and plastic. You feel sick to your stomach staring at the corpse of the building before you, partially caved in while bits of a frame stand amongst the wreckage, scorched black.

"What is the message?" Yoongi asks.

"Shall we go inside and wait it out?" Namjoon asks.

"I'll stay and stand watch," Hoseok says, dancing his fingertips over the handle of the shotgun.

"Me too," Jeongguk slurs, and you feel the urge to insist that he does not.

Jimin turns and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and uses several to open the various locks. Then he opens the door wide, holding it for you to approach and step inside. Namjoon begins to follow suit, for which you are thankful, and he looks over his shoulder to say, "Yoongi. You should join us."

Yoongi takes two steps toward the building, and the sounds of heels loudly clacking against concrete can be heard, pulling everyone's attention. You look up to find the person approaching is the same lady who commented on your engagement ring at the casino restroom, and she is coming from beside the building to the right of the one that had just been on fire.

The woman has changed from the blood-red evening gown to what appears to be an equally blood-red leather bikini top and denim mini skirt. Her hair is down, hanging to her breasts, and it looks wet, as if she were among the flames as they were being put out.

"Now, now, gentlemen," the woman calls from across the street. "Retreating so soon?"

"Hyungseo," Yoongi calls, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who you surmise is called Hyungseo, walks across the street, swinging her arms loosely to her sides as if to a song that nobody can hear. As she gets closer, you can see that her makeup is smeared in black smudges, and there is a somewhat crazed look in her eyes.

She pouts as she approaches Yoongi, fixing him with a curious stare. In her heels, she is nearly as tall as he is, but there is an intimidating aura to her otherwise lithe frame that makes her presence feel gigantic.

"I come on behalf of my team, asking for a truce."

"Your team?" Yoongi scoffs, cocking his head. "What team?"

"Didn't you hear? Your pretty little ex has stepped down."

At this, Yoongi and all the other men straighten their posture. Yoongi is the first to respond, asking, "She what?"

Under his breath, Taehyung mutters, "So the whispers are true."

The smile that graces Hyungseo's lips is sharp and devious, and she glances around at all ten of you, then back to Yoongi. "You're outnumbered," she drawls in a teasing tone, elongating each syllable as she cocks her head slowly.

"What kind of truce? What do we care if that building is burnt?" Yoongi asks.

"That building," Hyungseo somewhat mumbles, rolling her head listlessly to the side to glance at it, "belongs to a very powerful woman who will no doubt have your head on a pike when she finds out you burnt it down."

"We didn't burn it down," Namjoon responds angrily.

Hyungseo shrugs. "Sure you did. And she is going to be very confused as to why you did, considering you so generously high-balled her for ownership of one of your less flashy hotels."

"Go on," Yoongi says with a sigh.

"You see," Hyungseo continues, "Lady Choi is very well-connected and has family in our organization. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to buy a hotel in Seoul in order to keep an eye on you guys. A keep-your-enemies-closer kind of situation, if you will."

"So she owns some shitty, vacant buildings, and you set fire to one of them to frame us?" Seokjin asks with a laugh in his tone. "You realize this building is covered with security cameras, and that your little ruse will be easily discredited."

Hyungseo shrugs and says, "We'll see about that."

Jimin already appears to be pulling the footage up on his phone, and you watch as his brows knit. "Boss," Jimin says nervously, "this man…he looks a lot like you from behind."

"Except I was at the casino all night," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Hyungseo responds, "are you sure about that? Because my team noticed there was about an hour and three minutes during which you were nowhere to be found. You and your right-hand man, in fact. And how strange that this fire happened to start around the exact same time. She smirks as she adds, "Where were you, Yoongi?"

Yoongi sighs. "I was fucking my fiancé."

"Your fake fiancé," Hyungseo corrects, causing Yoongi's shoulders to square once more. "And what about Namjoon? Was he also fucking her?"

"The nature of our relationship is none of your business," Yoongi responds, to which Hyungseo holds up a hand as if telling him to stop.

"Don't worry, darling. Ryujin has told me all about the nature of your relationship. And the thirty-seven minutes during which your pretty little whore and Jeongguk went missing before you and Namjoon disappeared? Should I not question the nature of their relationship, too?"

Jeongguk pulls his gun and cocks the hammer, filling you with fear and dread. As he lifts it level with Hyungseo's head, you gasp and squeeze your eyes closed.

"Down, boy," Hyungseo mutters listlessly, rolling her eyes. "No need to get so defensive."

"I think we've heard quite enough," Yoongi says, holding out a hand to Jeongguk and lowering it. Jeongguk follows the command and drops his arm down, pointing the barrel of his gun to the ground.

"So…" Hyungseo drawls, appearing bored. "Truce?"

"Fuck your truce," Yoongi responds sharply. "You're just trying to frame me, and I am not playing your games; we can arrange a meeting with Lady Choi and settle this like adults. She happily set the price she wanted for the hotel, but I can always ask her for less. And I can buy that burnt mess your team made if it assuages her worries. Regardless of the so-called family she has on your side, she and my mother were old friends; I'm not afraid of her or of you."

"Hmm, I'm afraid we can't do it that way," Hyungseo says as she scratches her head and begins to walk backward to the street. "Lady Choi may have had an allegiance with your family back in the day, but now your mommy and daddy are dead. She could give a fuck about the Min runt—her words, not mine."

Jeongguk lifts his gun again, and this time, a shot is fired from across the street, appearing to narrowly miss him as he ducks out of the way. You gasp, feeling terror take over so abruptly that your legs tremble and you nearly fall, gun gripped uselessly in your fist.

Everyone but Jimin reaches for the guns they have holstered just as another shot is fired and the men begin to scatter, taking cover. You run into Paradise, making way for Jimin, but he hesitates by the door, calling for Yoongi, who rounds the corner into the alley.

Men charge from around the burnt building across the street, and although it is safe to say your men are outnumbered, if this really is everyone, they are not outnumbered by a lot. Still, fear quakes through you, and you nearly sink to the floor, holding the door cracked open.

"Jimin!" you whisper-shout until he finally snaps out of his daze and enters the building, closing the door tightly behind him.

"What the fuck are they doing?" Jimin mutters, trembling fearfully. "Why didn't any of those idiots take cover inside?"

A fist pounds on the door, causing you to scream. From outside you hear, "It's Kyun. Let me in."

Jimin holds his gun up with a shaking fist and cracks the door, then steps back, pulling it open wide.

"You two retreat," Changkyun instructs. "I'll watch this door. Is there an alley door you can watch in case the men try to enter from there?"

"Yes," Jimin says, nodding his head somewhat maniacally with a distant look in his eye. "I can go to the back door."

Jimin turns and runs toward the back exit, and you stand in place, unsure whether you could will your legs to move if you wanted to. Despite calling it the back exit, it is along the nearby left wall, just past the main floor.

Gunfire is heard outside, along with shouting. You walk to the left wall and stand with your back against it, attempting to take deep breaths. Each exhale comes out in a sob as tears begin to pour. You cannot fathom anything happening to one of these men, and the prospect is horrifying.

You wish they would have all come inside when you could take cover in a back room or even in a basement, but even you are not foolish enough to think any of those men would turn down the chance to kill their opponents instead.

Changkyun opens the door, and you watch with wide, horrified eyes as he rapidly fires bullets through the crack, then slams the door shut. Some shots from outside are much louder than others, making you flinch and jump with each sound. Gunfire rages on, causing tears to spill as your shoulders are held high and tense around your ears, making them ache.

And then, suddenly, it is quiet.

"Do not open this door for anyone," Changkyun instructs. "I am going to get the men back into their armored vehicles and return for you."

"Okay," you mutter softly, nodding.

"Lock it behind me and then get away from it, just in case. Everything is armored, but the walls are safest."

You nod some more, humming in understanding. Changkyun exits, and you shuffle over quickly to turn all five locks, then back away before turning toward the back exit.

Each breath you take is loud in the large, empty building. You turn to locate Jimin, who should be standing near the back exit, and fear spikes when you do not see him. Had he gone outside? You feel a pull to go investigate but stand still, eyes wide and staring toward the closed door.

And then, it flings open, and you watch as a man you have never seen before comes charging in, weapon drawn. You begin to back up but hit the wall, and he spots you, lifting his weapon.

Panic pulsates through you, and you lift your gun far slower than you should to defend yourself. The man smirks and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly his head jerks to the left and explodes, sending blood and brain matter flying against the hardwood floor and a nearby round wooden table. You scream at the top of your lungs and fall against the wall, sliding to the floor as Hoseok steps in, shotgun still lifted.

"We gotta get out of here!" Hoseok shouts, but try as you might, you cannot lift yourself from the floor, and you shake your head, feeling your body tremble so hard it makes your head ache.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon's voice calls. You search for him, but the edges of your vision are black, and all you are able to make out is a form of black that is vaguely human-shaped approaching in the dim room. "Come on. We gotta go."

Strong arms lift you, and you scream, struggling to comprehend anything but horrific fear. You are stood onto your feet and hugged tightly. Slowly, the scent of Namjoon's cologne comes to the forefront, but so does the brassy scent of blood, making your guts churn.

With Namjoon's help, you begin to walk, and as you step past the man who has painted the floor red with his blood, you close your eyes tight. Cool night air hits you and snaps you harshly back to reality. You have to swallow down the urge to vomit, shivering violently in your scant evening gown, feeling sweat that has pooled beneath the thick vest start to cool.

"Jimin, just get into our trunk," you hear Yoongi insist, and you gasp happily at the sound of his voice.

"Fine," Jimin sighs. "I don't want to walk back to our car, anyway."

Bodies litter the street, sidewalk, and alleyway of men dressed in black and holding guns. On the hands of those you can see is a tattoo of a black dagger, the tip of which is red, dripping with a single drop of blood. You wonder if they belong to a gang that marks all their participants in this manner.

The trunk of the sedan is opened, and Jimin rounds the vehicle to get inside. Just then, Seokjin pulls up in his vehicle, and Hoseok runs over, jumping into the front seat. Jimin hesitates and must decide that, since his ride is here, he will just get in with them, because he closes the trunk and takes off running toward the vehicle.

Jimin reaches the sidewalk and abruptly turns to the left, pulling his hands over his head and ducking. Hoseok shouts, "Fuck!" as he flings his car door open, but he is too slow. You hear a gun fire just as Jimin jerks and then crumbles, hitting the pavement. You are so filled with rage and fear that you begin to run toward Jimin.

All you can hear is your own heart pounding in your ears as you turn the corner and find a man standing with his gun lifted. Hoseok and Seokjin stand from the open vehicle doors and raise their weapons, and you do the same.

In a flash, every ounce of fear in your body transforms into anger, hate, and adrenaline. The world seems to screech to a halt as you pull the trigger in tandem with the other two and shoot. The man whose smoking gun points to you—to where Jimin stood—falls back, crashing to asphalt seconds after his brains splatter, and you advance, unconcerned about your surroundings.

Voices shout around you, and you fire one more shot into the man’s head, which lurches uselessly from the ground and then crashes back with a squelch of blood and brain matter. And then another shot, walking until you are straddling his ribs with your ballet flats, firing again, turning his head into bone and sinew mush. Again and again, until click, click, click, your gun is out of bullets, and you scream bloody murder—enraged, as if one more bullet wound will undo the harm this battered corpse has caused.

You raise your arm high in the air, intent to smash the butt of your gun into what is left of his face, but are stopped by a strong, immovable force. You hardly register the solid, warm arms that wrap around you, and as you are pulled from the man, you kick your legs and scream, furious with the world. Your heart continues to pound dizzying and loud, and you are certain that you would rip every last man to shreds with your bare hands if you could—god, if only you could.

Incensed screams rip from your chest as you are dragged backward, feet hitting the asphalt, unable to keep up with the movement. The scent of flowers and springtime greets your nose in waves, bringing Namjoon’s calming voice into the forefront for only a moment, though you cannot, for the life of you, make out what he is saying; shouting and the overwhelming scent of blood takes over too strongly, tugging you between heaven and hell.

In a surge of anger, you reach for the switchblade at your thigh, grip onto the handle, and pull it free. You know that the man is dead—there is nothing recognizable left of his face—but the urge to slice him open and tear out his insides is palpable and unforgiving. You will not be satisfied until his bleeding fucking heart is in your fist.

Namjoon's grip on you loosens, and he shouts something incomprehensible as you attempt to lunge forward, only to be caught again in his grasp. You press the small lever on the side of the knife as hands reach for your weapon, and in a fit of panic and rage, you flail your arm, desperate to keep a tight hold of the knife and continue on to your battered target.

And then, things blur and slow down. Your arm is yanked back, and as you rip it forward again, you feel the knife catch, but you are too caught up in the movement that you do not stop—all you can comprehend is blinding rage at the man whose brains are splattered on the ground. Screams and shouts are deafening, and although you can make out certain words—Yoongi…face…blood—nothing fully makes sense.

The knife is ripped from your hand at the same time the arms around you release, and when you turn to scream at Namjoon for keeping you from attacking the man whose bullet stole something precious and sacred from you, you find Yoongi standing a foot away, hands up to his face, with blood seeping from between his fingers.

"Sweetheart, don't—" Namjoon begins, blocking your view with his arms held out around your sides. But you are frantic, and you do not understand what has just happened; how the fuck is Yoongi injured?

Taehyung wraps an arm around Yoongi and spins him, ushering him away to a sedan, and you panic, desperate to go with him. Faintly, you think you see Jimin on some kind of stretcher with his neck and head braced, and you wonder where that came from. Did Taehyung have something like that handy? Can it actually fit in one of the vehicles?

The fighting all around you was so chaotic that now, even as it seems to be over, your adrenaline is too high for anything to make clear and perfect sense; no sound registers and every light trails in a dizzying spell before your eyes.

"Yoongi!" you scream, and Namjoon holds you tighter, keeping you from the one other person you need to be with the most. You scream, "Let go of me, fucking let go of me!" attempting to claw Namjoon's arms away from your middle as Yoongi is helped by Hoseok into the back of the same large black vehicle that Seokjin and Taehyung are lifting Jimin into the back of.

Jeongguk steps in front of you, face stern and streaked with tears, and he firmly—roughly—grabs onto your shoulders, gritting his teeth as he holds you steady.

"You've done enough," he says sharply, piercing into your heart, and hot streaks pour down your face and cloud your vision as you fail to make sense of what the fuck is happening.

"Yoongi—" you mutter, jaw clattering as your body trembles in the cool night air, shaking your head and getting onto your toes in an attempt to see over Jeongguk's shoulder. "What happened, where is he going? I need to go with him, please, I need to go with him!"

"You need to calm the fuck down and breathe," Jeongguk retaliates angrily.

"Jeongguk, what happened?" you ask, quaking with adrenaline and searching his face for answers. His anger is understandable, but you cannot figure out why it seems to be directed at you.

Behind him, Namjoon's face falls to his hands, and gripped tightly in his fist, pointing outward, is your open switchblade.

"Namjoon," you whisper, finding your voice wrecked and unable to project.

"Let's get you into this vehicle," Jeongguk sternly says, steering you toward Seokjin's sedan.

"But they—" you begin, watching as Namjoon walks away and climbs into the very back of Taehyung's vehicle. The seats appear to be down, and Yoongi is sitting beside Jimin's stretcher with his head tilted upward, holding something over his face.

"They have to receive medical attention," Jeongguk says. "And you need to go with Seokjin hyung."

Changkyun and the other man are in the back seat of Seokjin's vehicle, and Hoseok sits staring ahead as Jeongguk ushers you into the one empty seat, behind Hoseok.

"You're—" you begin to ask, and Jeongguk interrupts, saying, "I'm going with them," before slamming your door shut and walking back to Taehyung's vehicle.

You attempt to open the door, but the handle moves uselessly, keeping you trapped inside.

"Seat belts!" Seokjin sing-songs with a hint of exhaustion in his tone.

"What happened to Yoongi?" you ask, frantically watching Seokjin, who glances into the rearview mirror with a frown.

"What do you remember about everything that just transpired?"

Searching your memory, you shake your head. It all happened so fast, and Yoongi was behind you, so there was no way to see how he was injured.

"After we sh-shot…" you stammer, unable to finish the sentence, "I pulled out my knife to stab…" you trail off once more and squeeze your eyes closed, realizing now how ridiculous it is that you wanted to continue attacking a man who was already dead. When you open your eyes, Seokjin is still frowning, eyes on you through the rearview mirror. "And then Namjoon took my knife away. So then…what happened to Yoongi?"

Seokjin continues to watch you for just a moment, then he sighs with a light shake of his head, turning his gaze from you to the road. And you want to demand answers, but when he puts the vehicle in drive, the words die on your tongue. You still do not understand, and you spiral, asking yourself the same questions over and over. How could Yoongi have gotten injured? What could have happened to him?

"Seems you got a little carried away and don't fully remember everything," Hoseok says from the passenger seat directly in front of you. "It happens, especially during emotionally intense situations like this. Let's get you home and prioritize the others getting taken care of, and then we will all touch base with what happened."

"Wh-what do you mean by got a little carried away?" you ask, shaken.

Hoseok hums and responds simply, "The rage you seemed to experience, shooting the man repeatedly despite him already being dead and then attempting to turn the brunt of the weapon on him, followed by pulling out your knife…it was a very irrational but very typical drive to continue punishing the man for what he had done." There is a chuckle on his voice as he adds, "I remember my first blind rage."

"Me too," Seokjin responds calmly, eyes on the road.

The unnamed security guard hums mmhmm as Changkyun says, "Me too."

Your eyes well with tears as you attempt to recount everything, but you only remember it in fragments. Jimin crumpling to the ground, you running and lifting your gun, Namjoon lifting you kicking and screaming, and, finally, Yoongi bleeding.

"I don't…fully remember…" you mutter, eyes unfocused on the black leather seat ahead of you.

"Although we do not recommend charging into battle around a corner like that, you may have saved me," Hoseok says with a chipper tone. "My shotgun was empty, and I had been reaching into the glovebox for another gun, but you were quicker on your feet than I was with my hands."

"You only had one gun?" Seokjin asks, turning briefly to Hoseok before looking ahead at the road.

"I know," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "Uncharacteristic, huh? I came out with a glock on my thigh but gave it to Namjoon mid-fight when his clip ran out. Seems none of us were fully anticipating what was to come."

"For once, I had no insider news," Seokjin laments, and you think you hear a pout in his tone. "I miss having someone on the inside."

Although you are sure Seokjin means no offense, there is a very blasé manner in which he seems to be mentioning the death of Hyunjin that makes you stiffen—makes your stomach churn.

Conversation dies down, and you close your eyes with your head tilted against the window. And suddenly, you are coming over the hill with the mansions in view. Yoongi's home has its lights out—save for the security lights outside—and there are no vehicles in the drive. You assume that everyone is at Taehyung's place, and the thought of going home to Yoongi's cold, empty bedroom is daunting.

"Would you like to come with us for the time being?" Seokjin asks, and it takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. You glance up with a start. "I'm not sure how long the others will be, but we have a spare bed you can rest in."

"Or you can attempt to distract yourself with some television," Hoseok suggests.

You nod, unsure whether either of these options sound good, but eager to do anything but return home alone. "Alright," you mutter, swallowing down the overwhelming urge to cry.

"We'll make some hot cocoa and give you a change of clothing," Seokjin recommends, and you nod listlessly, heavy-blinking.

With a sigh, you stare out as Seokjin pulls into the very start of Yoongi's driveway and does a u-turn. Although you have never been to their home, you remember Namjoon telling you that it is on the opposite side as his, meaning their driveway would have been before Yoongi's. And, sure enough, when they pull into the driveway, past the loud metal gate, it is nearly a picture-perfect replica of Namjoon's home.

Hoseok is gentle as he guides you out of the sedan to his front door while Seokjin walks ahead and unlocks it. Although you are surprised by how gelatinous your bones seem to have become, Hoseok appears to have anticipated it, holding you steady around the waist.

Their home décor is nothing like you would have imagined, and you wonder what Victorian-age vampire prince decorated. Everything is crushed velvet with hand-carved accents and gold leaf, similar to Yoongi's home but with more tones of blood red and emerald green. The wainscoted walls are littered with paintings and sconces, and everything is dark wood with upholstery in he same deep shades.

Hoseok runs up the stairs two at a time and quickly returns with a set of black pajamas—a button-down shirt and pants. You change in the downstairs bathroom, which is all gold and black marble, then return to the living room to the smell of hot chocolate and find Hoseok on the nearby chaise clicking through streaming services.

It is not long before you curl up and fall asleep to the soft sounds of low chattering while some drama you have never heard of plays in the background. Twice you wake up screaming to the sight of watching a man's head explode before giving up on sleep and continuing to watch TV while the sun slowly begins to rise.

i'll keep it a secret 비밀로 할게

your corruption and sin 네 부정과 죄

reveal everything 전부 드러내

friendly reminder: there is no major character death tag!!!

only 3 chapters left 😬😬😬 how are we feeling??? everything is going to spiral to the end, and then there will be a sequel (i know i say this a lot but it seems i need to remind some!!! this is not the end the end, but we are building to an end.)

if you would like a laugh, while searching for an ot7 pic that includes yoongi with long hair, the only one i really found with everyone's hair almost correct (jk and sj aren't quite accurate) all i could find was this years festa pics:

imagine the collateral family men in pastels hehe.

also, yoongi wore this outfit to Paradise:

woof woof bark bark bark imagine him in this fit with his long hair and current muscle bulk.

anywayyyyyyyyy thank you so much for reading!!! comments and reblogs make the world go 'round!!! and likes are appreciated!!! stay hydrated, i love you!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they've gotten too big to contain as one!

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#yoongi mafia #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jungkook x reader #yoongi smut #namjoon smut #jungkook smut #bts mafia #bts smut #bts angst #bts poly #namjoon mafia #jungkook mafia #fic: collateral #Spotify

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colormepurplex2 · 2 years ago

Text

Blood Bride | Here Comes The Bride

↳ vampire!Yoongi x human!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers/Lovers | Accidental Marriage ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,449 ⚠️ Blood (drinking, spilling, mild play), hypersexual advances/blood makes you SUPER horny, teasing, kissing, unprotected sex, voyeurism/exhibitionism, creampie. Yoongi has big fangs and an even bigger ego

⇽ Previous Chapter ◅ Back to chapter list

“Let me go, you fucking psyc—“ your shrill exclamation turns into a guttural scream as those blood-stained canines sink into your neck so quickly that all you see is a blur of motion before fire races through your veins. You can feel the way the fangs shred your skin and muscle, parting them with ease.

Your arms and legs go rigid, and your toes curl inside your shoes. It feels like molten rock is being poured down your spine. The intensity only lasts a moment before it’s replaced by a mind-numbing cold.

There is an intrinsic moment where everything goes fuzzy, and blackness creeps into the edges of your vision. The cold fades into a haze of mild tepidity as you feel the sucking pull of your life’s blood being drawn from your neck.

The smell of hot metal and ash fills your nostrils with every panicked breath you manage to suck in. Coppery liquid gurgles up your throat, making you cough. You watch as red droplets mist into the air in front of you, splattering and catching in the glossy strands of black hair falling around the man’s face.

He pulls free from your neck. The crimson completely takes over the brown of his eyes. “Gods,” he pants, blood frothing at the corners of his lips to bubble down and drip from his chin. “Willing blood always tastes the sweetest. Your body wanted to fight me, but deep down, I could feel your heady desire.”

“No,” you protest weakly.

A throaty laugh has more blood slicking along his lips. His blood-coated tongue pokes out, licking at the corners of his mouth. “Deny it all you want, my beloved. You and I both know the ways of your soul. It would have been impossible for you to break that damned hundred-year-old curse otherwise. A curse only broken by a willing sacrifice, just a small prick of blood to seal the wedlock union and release me from my stone tomb.”

You sag heavily against the man’s chest, your body finally giving out. “Please,” you whisper around a bloody gurgle.

“Right, right. Apologies, my beloved. It seems I’m a bit rusty with my gentile manners. Here we go,” he states in a lightly cheerful manner as he adjusts his hold on you to bring one of his own wrists to his mouth. The soft sound of his teeth parting his own flesh is reminiscent of sifting sand. Thick, black blood oozes from the open wounds when he pulls away. That hot metal and ash scent intensifies when he presses it against your gasping mouth. The flavor of his blood bursts on your tongue in a bloom of acrid bitterness that chokes your senses.

“No—pffth,” you gag, trying to spit out the offending substance. The more you struggle, the more that seems to make it into your mouth. You flail your arms and kick your legs as best you can but only manage to get your free hand clutched into the silky material of the man’s shirt and a knee pressed firmly against one of his thighs.

An involuntary swallow takes down a mouthful of blood. It settles in the pit of your stomach like lead. “You’re fucking crazy!” you exclaim, finally wrenching your mouth away as you try to twist out of the hold you’re in. “J-ji-min!” Your tongue feels thick, and a new warm sensation begins to set in, deep in your chest.

You continue to struggle, your eyes catching a glimpse of Jimin’s crumpled body now lying against the wall beside the stand lamp. The camera he was filming with is shattered into bits, scattered between where he was standing and where he is now.

“Jimin? Is that the name of the gift you brought me? What a thoughtful wedding present.” A dark chuckle follows. It sends that warm sensation careening south, compounding into a startling throb between your thighs.

“Oh god,” you gasp. Your body involuntarily tries to curl in on itself. The arms holding you let loose, and you crumple, hitting the dirty stone floor hard. “What’s happening to me?” You can’t help the anguished cry that comes with that question as you clutch at your chest and stomach. It feels like you’re being twisted from the inside out. Your heart gives a few more pitiful beats before seizing up in a painful cramp.

The man steps off the marble block, tutting softly. He crouches down beside you, resting an elbow on a bent knee with his chin in his upturned palm, his other hand reaching out to finger a sweaty piece of hair clinging to your forehead. “It’ll be over soon, my beloved. Did you not read the inscription?” he muses with a smirk on his face, nodding toward the front of the marble block. “It’s fairly clear, wouldn’t you agree? Silly me not to think someone might misunderstand, I suppose. You see, once I reached my one-thousandth year, it was imperative for me to take a bride per the rules set forth by the Grand Elder. Well, obviously, that did not pan out, as you may surmise. My sire thought me entirely too selective and prideful. The punishment for my reluctance was that my coven and I were entombed here until a willing offering became my bride themselves.”

As if to punctuate his statement in agreement, the three coffins rattle again. “I don’t…” you try to deny or reason with him, but the pain magnifies, and you can feel your heart squeezing even more, to the point you’re sure it has stopped. Cold fear curdles in your stomach like ice against the fire that’s kindling below it.

“They’re impatient,” he chuckles. “We can not blame them, though, can we? Just a moment, my beloved, I must see to my court. You will be fine. The discomfort has almost passed.”

The stone is rough against the side of your face as you writhe and groan in agony. Your lungs ache, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you feel like you’re slowly suffocating. The blackness curtaining your vision begins to recede, giving you a clear view of the man walking over to the first coffin. The swagger in his step and utter indifference to your plight has your upper lip curling in a silent snarl.

A slight grin curls the corner of the man’s lips as he turns and perches on the coffin lid. It gives another rattle, which makes the man chuckle and pat the top. Those blood-red eyes lock onto yours. With his free hand, the man crooks a finger at you, beckoning you toward him.

“Fuck you,” you hiss, sucking in a sharp breath as the pain in your chest flares before it subsides to a minor ache. Your breath wheezes out and then stops, your lungs seeking no relief with an inhale. “What have you done to me?!” You shove onto your knees, patting your chest and throat, frantically seeking to feel your heartbeat or pulse. Nothing responds under your probing fingers.

“Now the fun begins,” the man says, his grin kicking up a notch. “In three…two…”

“Oh,” you moan, throwing back your head and squeezing your eyes shut at the intense throb that vibrates between your thighs. You can feel your body squeezing and pulsing with subtle aftershocks that remind you of a fleeting orgasm. You can’t help the trembling plea that warbles from between your lips, “Please.”

The man huffs a soft laugh. “Come, sweetling, help me with my friends. It seems there is something in my way; and then I’ll help you.” Another rattle comes from the coffin he’s seated on. “Yes, yes, my friend, I hear you.”

It feels like an internal switch flips. You only want the man sitting casually a few feet away from you. Your pupils blow wide, making you blink rapidly as saliva pools under your tongue. The taste of him, ash and hot metal, is palpable. You lick your lips and start towards him, headless of the rock debris that bites at your knees and the palms of your hands. Crawling like this should be degrading, but that awakened primal urge is more potent than any desire to retain your self-respect.

Every movement you make has the need burning inside you hiking higher. By the time you’re kneeling in front of him, you’re panting, and a light sheen of sweat coats your neck and forehead. “I need you,” you whine, gripping handfuls of the thick linen material of his pants and pressing your face against his inner thigh. You inhale deeply, savoring the sultry and warm scent of hot metal and ash.

Slender fingers gently thread through your hair, calming at first, but then a fistful is gripped tight, and your head is pulled back. “Be good for me, and I’ll be good for you.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the stinging pain from how tight your hair pulls at your scalp. “O-okay,” you mewl.

The sound of electrical static emits from your back pocket before Taehyung’s voice is muffling through the denim of your jeans, “Everything okay down there? Could have sworn I heard a loud crash and a scream.”

You fumble with shaking fingers to get the walkie out of your pocket. It nearly slips between your fingers, but you manage to cling to it.

“What sorcery is this?” Yoongi sneers at the device. “A warlock in your pocket?”

You shake your head vehemently. “It’s just a walkie-talkie! If I don’t say something, then my other friends will come looking for me.”

“Say what you need. Be mindful that I will have no qualms disemboweling a fiend if I have to.” There is a biting edge to Yoongi’s words and you can see the promise in his eyes. At this moment, though, you’re certain you’d do anything to please him if only so he will give you the relief you so desperately need.

“T-tae, everything is okay,” you pant after clicking the radio button. “I just, um, I fell down, that’s all.”

“Roger that. See you in an hour,” Taehyung responds then the lines go silent.

“Good girl,” Yoongi praises, his sneer morphing into a pleased smile. “Now, see this symbol here, sweetling?” He asks, using the hand in your hair to direct your face toward the top of the coffin. The red symbol stands out in stark relief against the darker wood.

“Yes.” The walkie drops from your limp fingers, clattering to the stone floor, forgotten.

“It’s a nasty little thing—combustion charm triggered by those of my kind. I need you to break it—” he holds up a hand when you try to protest “—it’s easy enough to do, as long as you haven’t fully transitioned. It will only burn a little.” The hand in your hair eases, slipping down to cup your chin. A gentle pressure guides you up until you’re standing, bent over, so you’re at eye level with him. “Do this for me, and I will reward you greatly, my bride.”

Your eyes flutter shut as soft, cold lips press against yours. You can feel the distinct shape of those protruding canines through the thin skin of his lips as they press against yours in a barely-there kiss. Hunger blooms inside, sending you forward in a desperate attempt to deepen the kiss. The man indulges you with a chuckle, letting you press your mouth adamantly against his. His lips taste faintly like cinnamon and spice. You greedily run your tongue over their curved shape.

“More,” you plead, pressing your body along the front of his as best you can with him still seated on the coffin. You grip the front of his silky shirt, trying to bring yourself even closer.

“Soon,” he murmurs against your lips. “First, my favor. Grab a shard of stone.” His strong hands grip your arms and force you back a half-step. “I need you to break the enchantment interring my friends. Just a scratch through the symbol should do the trick. Hurry now, sweetling.”

You turn and crouch down to snag up a chunk of stone debris. As you straighten up, your line of sight sweeps over the crumpled body near the bottom of the stairs. “Jimin,” you whisper, your body automatically stepping forward.

“Uh-ah,” the man behind you tuts softly. “We’ll get to your gift in a moment.”

With your attention focused on Jimin, you become keenly aware of a cloyingly sweet smell wafting from his direction. “What’s that smell?” Saliva pools around your tongue again, reflecting the wetness gathering anew between your thighs. “It smells so good,” you whine. Before you can take another step toward Jimin, a hard hand clamps around your arm and hauls you back.

“I forget how hard it is to control the urge at first,” amusement flavors his words. “Scratch through the symbols, sweetling, so I may give you your reward.”

All you want to do is follow that mouth-watering scent or fall into a manic sexual frenzy with the monster sitting atop the coffin. With a frustrated grunt, you lash out at the coffin lid where the man is seated, intent on doing as he says so you can finally get what you want.

The stone in your hand bites through the wood, scoring a deep gouge through the bottom of the red symbol. A spark of heat engulfs your hand and travels up to your elbow. The rock clatters against the lid as you release it with a pained hiss.

“Ow!”

“A momentary pain, sweetling, but you’ve managed to do it. Hurry, strike through the other two while I open this one.” The man nods toward the other two coffins, scoops up the chunk of stone, and presses it back into your hand. “A small taste,” he muses before cradling the back of your head with a hand and bringing his mouth crashing against yours. A low, feral snarl rumbles from deep in his chest as his tongue forces its way past your lips. Warmth blooms inside your mouth as his tongue sweeps against yours, contrasting wildly with the cooling sensation of his lips. “Now, do it!” he grates out, ripping his mouth from yours and shoving you toward the next coffin.

As you lurch toward the next coffin, driven by how your body responds and aches to return to the stranger behind you, you’re faintly aware of the sound of splintering wood and hushed voices.

Scoring the remaining two coffins leaves you clutching your hand, scowling from the burn ignited by the broken enchantments. You’re kneeling by the last coffin, leaning heavily against the side of it with your hand pressed to your chest. “Everything hurts,” you huff aloud to yourself.

Footsteps crunch through the dirt and debris littering the floor beside you. “You’ve done so well. Once Hoseok is free, you’ll have your reward. Not much longer,” the man says, smiling down at you. He raises a fist and slams it down onto the center of the lid. The wood buckles under the force, dust and wood splinters raining around you.

“I ought to shove a fistful of silver down your throat, Yoongi,” comes a snarky voice from within the crumbling coffin. “Do you know how unbelievably dull it has been to be trapped here with only my thoughts? Absolutely maddening.”

“I’d consider it dull company if I were locked away with you, too,” murmurs a voice coming up behind Yoongi. A tall, dark-haired man comes into your line of sight. His grey shirt and linen trousers are covered in smears of dust and specks of wood splinters that he’s dusting off as much as he can. “At least you had room to move around. These coffins were not exactly made for someone of my stature.”

Yoongi glances back, a fond look on his face for the man walking up. “Namjoon, ever the one to speak of the logistics. I am sorry, my friends,” he bends, reaching into the coffin, and comes up with a spritely and slim man gripping his arm. “If I had not been such a fool, we would not have been in this situation.”

“Yet, we were. Though, I suppose, we are free now thanks to your…uh, whatever she is,” the remaining man comes into view, his arms crossed over his chest. He glares at you. The small streaks of dirt on his apple cheeks does nothing to take away from the breathtaking beauty he possesses.

“Seokjin, let us not allow our previous state to color our current one. We do have manners,” the man Yoongi called Namjoon says, giving Seokjin a pointed look before turning an apologetic one on you. “What a dainty little creature, how delicate. I assume you have started the process?” he continues, gazing toward Yoongi.

Yoongi scoffs, continuing to help the last man out of his coffin. “You wound me, friend. I know it has been a while, but you could at least act like you still have faith in me.”

“The last time we placed our faith in you was when you promised to wed Pylia. Yet, look where that landed us,” Seokjin remarks, deepening his glower.

Hoseok waves his free hand in the air, letting Yoongi guide him over the lip of the coffin with the other. “Do not think to bring up that conniving bitch, Seokjin. You know as well as I that she was no good for Yoongi. I would take a hundred more curses of entombment before seeing him attached to that leech. Good to think she is well and rotting in the ground somewhere by now.”

“Please, gentlemen, if you held your bickering a moment, I would like to finalize the bond with my bride,” Yoongi sighs, turning away from the three men and focusing on you. He crouches down, coming eye-level with where you’re still leaning against the side of the coffin Hoseok was in. “Hi, sweetling. Thank you for helping me free my friends. I do apologize for Seokjin’s poor manners, but Namjoon and Hoseok have at least kept their heads over the years, it seems.” A derisive snort comes from behind Yoongi as Seokjin turns and stalks away.

“What’s this?” Seokjin calls, the irritation in his voice replaced by surprise and awe.

Yoongi glances back, peering around the base stone he was interred upon. “Ah, yes, my wedding gift. Come, sweetling. You have met my friends; now let me meet yours.”

His cold fingers wrapping around your arm elicit a soft moan from low in your chest. “Yes,” you suck in a short breath and desperately grab for any handhold you can get of him. Your fingers tangle in his hair and clutch into the material of his shirt again. Before you can lean in and capture his mouth, he’s chuckling and pulling back to stand. You follow him up, your body moving with a mind of its own; your hips press firmly against his side, and your lips find the soft spot of flesh below his ear.

“So eager,” he smirks. “There is but one last step. I am sure you will enjoy this as much as we will.” He ushers you as best he can, with you still clinging to him and nuzzling at his throat toward the far side of the room back to the staircase leading up.

You’re so focused on how his body moves against yours; the friction and rub of fabric along your skin with each step you take elicit small sighs of pleasure from you. There is a moment when awareness ebbs through the cloudy haze of lust filling your head when your senses register something else, something subtly familiar. A tangy sweetness permeates the air the closer you come to the stairs.

“Mmm,” you moan, mouth-watering as you finally relent and lift your head from Yoongi’s neck. “What is that?” you whisper huskily.

“That, sweetling, would be what you called ‘Jimin’.”

That name lands like a swift kick in the gut. “What? Oh no, Jimin!” You shove away from Yoongi, quickly untangling yourself and dropping to your knees beside the slumped form of your best friend.

“Careful now,” Yoongi chastises. “You are in a heightened state of being. Getting too close without the proper control could trigger a blood frenzy, and then, well, you may hurt the poor fellow even more than he seems to be already.”

The hand you had suspended in the air as you were reaching for Jimin drops immediately to your side. You don’t want to hurt him. “Help him, please.”

Yoongi kneels on one knee beside you, his dark red eyes roving over Jimin as if in assessment. “Only you can help him now, sweetling. I can hear his heartbeat, but it is quite faint. There is not much time. Here,” he says, gently shifting Jimin’s body, so it comes to rest face-up, “be swift.” Jimin shudders slightly, his eyes moving rapidly behind his closed lids. Blood covers half his face and plasters his hair to his forehead.

You suck in a ragged breath that brings that tangy sweet smell into your lungs. An ache throbs in your jaw and echoes between your thighs. “What can I do?”

“Just a bite,” Yoongi whispers, “to start a new adventure for you both.” He delicately lifts Jimin’s arm, twisting it, so his wrist is presented to you. “I know you want it. I can feel the change in your breathing and smell the arousal now beginning to seep from your body.”

A full-body shudder racks through you as you fight the urge to latch onto Jimin’s proffered wrist. Your eyes water and you subconsciously drift closer, stopping when your lips brush against the warm skin along the side of Jimin’s arm.

A soft, tantalizing thrum beckons just below the surface of Jimin’s skin. It’s so faint that you’d missed it before, but now being so close, it’s like a siren’s song mournfully drifting on a warm summer breeze.

“Just bite him already,” someone sighs from behind you, clearly disgruntled. There is a hint of aggression in the voice that has all your receptors firing at once. Your instinct surges to the surface, replacing any hesitation that remains.

Ecstasy spills on your tongue as your teeth sink into the soft flesh held daintily between Yoongi’s slender fingers. The ache in your jaw coalesces into sharp points; you can feel your canines elongating and piercing further into the meat of Jimin’s wrist.

“That’s it, beloved. You’re doing so well. Focus on the way his heartbeat feels against your tongue. The moment it stops, you have to also stop,” Yoongi murmurs encouragingly in your ear. You can feel his body pressed against yours. His free hand slides under the back of your shirt, and surprisingly, it’s not nearly as cold as it was before. It’s actually quite pleasant.

He rubs a slow circle on your lower back, and then his hand slides around until it rests on your lower belly. Yoongi shifts so he’s kneeling behind you, his knees to either side of your body. Soft lips press against the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder, placing featherlight kisses.

You suck in a mouthful of Jimin’s blood, letting it slide down your throat with a slow swallow. Yoongi slides his fingers down, flirting with the top of your jeans before teasing beneath the fabric in playful flits and caresses. You shudder against him, nearly ravaging Jimin’s wrist.

You’re faintly aware of Namjoon kneeling down on your other side. The other two men are but small presences that register somewhere behind you. It’s easy to feel the moment Jimin’s pulse ceases. “I will take care of it from here,” Namjoon says lightly, holding out his hand in front of you.

“Let go,” Yoongi instructs, his voice laced with authority and husk. You reluctantly pull off Jimin’s wrist, letting it flop into Namjoon’s waiting palm. “Good girl.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and a chill ripples down your spine. “Fuck,” the curse is liquid on your lips, bubbling with the blood now dripping down your chin. It turns into a ragged moan as Yoongi’s fingers dip even further and press against the front of your panties.

“Do we really have to stay here while he fucks her?” comes the same disgruntled voice from before. “I would much rather go find my own warm body to sink into.”

“Hush, Seokjin,” Hoseok admonishes. “I am sure the two heartbeats I can feel upstairs will satisfy you once Yoongi is done here. There is a process to these things, you know that as well as I.”

“Hoseok is right,” Namjoon says matter-of-factly. He gathers Jimin’s limp body in his arms. You watch as he brings one of his wrists to his mouth, and much the way Yoongi did to you, he opens the skin with his fangs—which are shorter than Yoongi’s you note—and presses the oozing wounds to Jimin’s lips.

Jimin’s body convulses, his eyes spring open and swivel until they land on you. They go wide as he takes in the sight of you slouched against Yoongi with his hand shoved down the front of your pants. Jimin tries to speak, flailing in Namjoon’s arms, but from under your lowered lids you see the moment Namjoon’s blood triggers something inside of him.

“Fuck!” Jimin finally jerks his mouth away from Namjoon’s wrist. He writhes, twisting in the other man’s lap. “What have you done to me?!”

“He’s feisty; how cute,” Yoongi murmurs softly. “What a wonderful gift, indeed. Jimin, right? Well, what we have done is allowed you to join my sweetling here in a lifetime of eternal power and glory. You are now a part of my coven.” Pausing in his explanation, Yoongi finally pushes your panties aside and delves his fingers into your wet slit. “Oh, that’s wonderful,” he crows, laughing as you moan loudly and thrust your hips forward to force his fingers deeper. “Mmm, I am sure that by now you are feeling the effects of Namjoon’s blood. A mild side effect of the vampire venom, but a wonderful attribute if I do say so myself.”

“I need you,” you plead, trying to twist around in Yoongi’s arms and seek further pleasure.

“Stop touching her!” Jimin yells, drawing your attention back to him.

“Minnie, chill out. Isn’t this what you wanted? For my vampire fantasy to come true?” you snarl the last part, baring your newly elongated fangs at him.

Jimin groans, the sound is slightly pained. “Oh, holy hell, what’s happening to me?” Namjoon loosens his hold enough that Jimin rights himself and ends up sitting between Namjoon’s knees.

“Shh, you are entirely too pretty to have such a sour look on your face,” Namjoon coos, wrapping his arms around Jimin again. He intentionally places one of his big hands on Jimin’s belly, letting his fingers splay out across the flat expanse. “Just watch as Yoongi takes care of his bride, then I will take care of you, I promise.”

Yoongi slips his hand from inside your pants, much to your disappointment. His nimble fingers had only just begun stroking languidly over your clit, barely scratching the surface of the desire and ache that has been burning inside you since the moment he exploded from his stone prison and sunk his fangs into your neck.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, throwing a frantic look back at him.

He chuckles, poking at the tip of one of his fangs with his tongue. “Why, sweetling, I have not yet begun.” You cry out as Yoongi shoves you forward onto your hands and knees, hiking your hips up in the process. “Beg for it,” he growls, shoving his hips against your ass so you feel the very prominent evidence of his own arousal.

“Please, please. Please!” you beg as requested, thrusting your ass out in invitation.

The seams of your jeans groan and stretch with how quickly Yoongi snatches them down. The button snaps and the zipper pops from the force. Red streaks mar your hips and thighs where the rough denim abrades them.

“Stop that! What are you doing?!” Jimin grunts, straining against the hold Namjoon has on him.

Hoseok comes around and kneels beside Namjoon, working his fingers around one of Jimin’s hands. “It is quite simple. They are blood mates and this is one of the more enjoyable points. We will be lucky if they are not coupling once every hour for the entire next moon cycle.”

“Mmm, we shall see how well my self-restraint holds up,” Yoongi muses, a wicked grin tugging at his lips. You feel like you’re burning up, panting to try and get more oxygen into your lungs even though your body no longer demands it. “You are absolutely dripping, sweetling. This cunt looks utterly divine, I look forward to tasting it. But, first—” the drawstrings holding the front flap of Yoongi’s trousers closed slip free under his slender fingers “—your reward, as promised.”

A shuddering moan bubbles from you as he notches the head of his cock at your entrance and firmly kicks his hips forward in one fluid motion. Your mouth gapes open, eyes watering from the intrusion, as your body protests the initial stretch. His hips retreat and surge forward again, setting a relentless pace. Obscene sounds emanate from between your thighs and pour from your mouth.

“Yes!” You rock back into each thrust, surprised and thrilled with the near instant response from your body. Your arousal peaks and you’re left hovering on the precipice of an orgasm. Deep inside, you can feel that all it would take is a command from your body to send you into oblivion.

“Watch close, pretty one,” Namjoon murmurs to Jimin, who is now shamelessly rubbing his ass against Namjoon’s crotch. Hoseok is using his hand holding Jimin’s to caress and massage the front of your friend's jeans, which are straining with Jimin’s very apparent erection. “This is what having a blood mate means.”

Yoongi tilts his head back, opening his mouth wide. His fangs glint in the light from the skewed stand lamp before he whips down and buries them into the side of your neck from behind. His hips continue to pound into you, the angle forcing him even deeper. He wraps an arm around your waist and brings the other around and presses the inside of his wrist against your lips. Your body responds on instinct, lips curling back and your own fangs sinking into his flesh.

The taste of sweet nectar explodes on your tongue at the same time as your body locks up in a fit of the most powerful orgasm you have ever experienced. Your vision flickers, ebbing in and out of clarity. “Fuck,” Yoongi growls into your neck, the vibration sending further shocks down your body. You throb and pulse around him, coaxing his own release.

“They can feed from each other indefinitely,” Hoseok says softly, his voice barely carrying over the residual moans and grunts coming from you and Yoongi. “Mated for the rest of their existences.”

“W-will that happen to m-me?” Jimin whines, mouthing at the side of Namjoon’s throat.

“Maybe one day,” Hoseok nods. He encourages Jimin to open his jeans so he can slip his hand inside. “For now, you have us. You are bonded with our coven, a part of our whole. We will give you everything you need. Though, right now you need—“

Hoseok is cut off by the sound of shuffling footsteps coming down the stairs. “Hey, Jimin, you guys okay down there? It’s been over thirty minutes since we were all supposed to meet upstairs.”

“It seems our new friend will be getting exactly what he needs soon,” Seokjin intones, speaking for the first time in a while. He’s lounging against one of the open coffins, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the bottom of the stairs curiously. “I wonder if either of them will scream.”

“I hope you two aren’t fucking,” Taehyung’s voice echoes from the stairs, coming closer. “You guys aren’t answering me on the walkie, and I can’t think of many reasons why you wouldn’t be—“

“What the fuck!” Jungkook exclaims as he and Taehyung come around the final bend in the stairs and see what awaits them.

“Don’t hurt them,” you manage to sigh, barely holding onto consciousness as Yoongi pulls out and cradles your limp body against his.

“Oh, sweetling, we will not hurt them…much.” Yoongi offers a toothy smile to Taehyung and Jungkook, who are frozen at the bottom of the steps, gawking at you and Jimin. “Seokjin, welcome our new friends.”

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