#au agust

[ravenffxiv]

Au Ra August Day 1-A New Dawn

After the liberation of Doma, Makoto takes some time to reflect.

[azuramarigold]

A Phoenix Rises from the Ashes

After a tragic accident over a hundred years ago he had learned one thing - He can't die. Now, he adopted a new name - Phoenix - as a phoenix rises from the ashes. However, was it meant for this to happen in order to meet the people that came across his long life?

Day 2 of the AU-gust Writing Challenge 2023! - Immortals! Character: Phoenix Wright Thought of Phoenix as the first thing because of his name and the legends of the mythical bird.

AO3 DAY 1

The first time he had “died” it was the most excruciating pain he had ever experienced in his life.

            The young man had been working with the other factory workers when suddenly there were told to evacuate. Everyone was in a state of panic, trampling one another, throwing each other to the ground to make sure they were ahead.

            But none of them were going to escape.

            Whatever project they were working on had overloaded, causing the entire factory to explode. Glass and shards of metal shot through his body like bullets. When he placed his hands on his stomach, a piece of pipe had greeted him as it had impaled him from behind.

            There was no escape except to accept the embrace of death – so that was what he did.

            Except… he didn’t die.

            He awoke God knows how much later, the area around him decimated. A hand to his head in confusion, he simply got and began walking, not noticing the trails of ash dropping behind him.

**

Not much had changed for him in the next hundred or so years – he had decided to go with a new name: Phoenix.

            After all, when a phoenix dies, they rise from the ashes, right?

            Phoenix had done many things over the century. He had learned medicine and had become a doctor in different fields in different countries. The clinics he was in were quite successful for the most part.

            Until random warlords came in and blew his brains out.

            But, he rose again and left – the people had to believe that he was dead. How would they react to someone like him?

            Phoenix at one point had become an engineer. He was part of a team that helped develop nuclear technology. It was an interesting experience to see how that technology came together.

            That was until he saw it firsthand when he took a small getaway to Hiroshima, Japan and was literally blown away by the thing he helped with.

            Had to scrap that life too.

            Phoenix had been many things – a teacher, a construction worker, a pianist, an architect, and many odd things in-between. It wasn’t until he decided to settle in the Los Angeles area around the year 2012 that he wanted to do something different – art.

            He wanted to be part of something meaningful for once. It was a good thing that he happened to look quite young despite being over a hundred years old. What Ivy University didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

            Good thing at one point in his life he was good at making documents as he was able to forge himself a very convincing birth certificate for admit into the college. He also had forge himself a vaccination record, documentation about parents and bank statements to get himself cosigners for an apartment; luckily that was paid off quickly as he had many stashed bank accounts over the years that had accumulated funds with great interest.

            It was a lot of work – but getting himself into the art program at Ivy University before the first day of the new semester was a synch. No one suspected a thing and every one looked at Phoenix like he was a dumb, naïve twenty-one-year-old boy who didn’t know his head from his ass.

            And that was perfect.

            However, it didn’t help that Phoenix had also decided at the time after watching a court case on the television that being a type of lawyer would be interesting too – sometimes he was overzealous with his interests. After all, he was never a lawyer before either. He honestly didn’t want to wait until he was “killed” again to start that career path, so he took law as a minor.

            As he was in the basement one morning of the courthouse, looking at old court files for a law assignment he was working on, a young woman rushed down the stairs. Her blood-red hair was so deep it looked as though it came from her veins themselves. Her large, youthful brown eyes were darting around wildly, her hands gripping a white laced parasol.

            Then their eyes met.

            For the past hundred years there was something that Phoenix could say that he had never done – he had never been with anyone. He had thought it would be too dangerous and too suspicious as he didn’t age and of course when he “died” he had to immediately skip town.

            But there was something desperate in this young woman’s eyes…

            And that was where the trouble had begun.

            A glass heart-shaped necklace was given to him – thrusted upon him actually – as she stated that she liked him. How could that be? They had never met before!

            Despite being someone over a hundred years old, what Phoenix did in that moment was the stupidest thing he had ever done.

            He trusted that woman – Dahlia Hawthorne – completely.

            Phoenix and her dated for eight months. There were no incidents as far as he knew. She was actually quite sweet and kind, often cooking him nice foods that he thought were cute. Occasionally he surprised her with a romantic dinner that he had cooked himself as at one point in his many years he was a chef.

            By the fourth month of him dating her he had gained a new experience in his life – she was the first person he had ever made love with.

            Then out of the blue a young man she had previously dated began to warn Phoenix that she was dangerous and had stolen top chemicals from the pharmacology department. In Phoenix’s experience when he was a doctor, medicine had come a long way – so the chemicals that this Doug Swallow guy listed were very unfamiliar to him.

            There was an argument, and of course, being the passionate person that he was, Phoenix aggressively pushed Doug to the ground and stormed off. However, he felt guilty about potentially hurting the young man, so he had turned around to go assist him.

            Only to see Dahlia crouched over the corpse of Doug.

            “Oh, Feenie… this isn’t what it looks like…” she had said sweetly, but her tone seemed forced. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

            Phoenix could add to his long list of life being on trial of accused murder though.

            He doesn’t know why, even to this day, why he tried to cover her for as long as he did. Even his lawyer at the time, Mia Fey, was beginning to grow frustrated and annoyed. It was then Phoenix made mistake number two.

            He consumed the necklace that Dahlia had given him the day they met… right after it was revealed to be potentially laced with deadly poison that had put an attorney in a coma eight months prior.

            Either luckily or unluckily the poison didn’t kill him. Well, it did, but it didn’t. Phoenix had gone through his normal cycle in the bathroom of the courthouse where he ate the necklace behind locked doors.

            The burning sensation that he always went through was never bearable, no matter how many times it happened.

            When his body “dies” all his cells began to combust simultaneously into flames, leaving nothing but ashes behind him. It was starting life anew – a phoenix rising from the ashes. To be honest, he lost count how many times he had gone through this process. But it did confirm one thing to him.

            Dahlia had never cared for him – she had tried to kill the lawyer eight months prior.

            And the bottle of cold medicine that she had stolen from Phoenix as he was a little under the weather… she had laced it with the same poison in an attempt to kill him.

            Although a dark tough did cross his mind at that point: How shocked would Dahlia would have been to see Phoenix consume the poison and “live”?

            It didn’t matter in the end as Dahlia Hawthorne was arrested for the attempted murder of Diego Armando from eight months prior, the attempted murder of Phoenix Wright, the murder of Doug Swallow, and stealing highly toxic chemicals. The young woman was put in cuffs and dragged off, screaming curses to anyone who would listen.

            The lawyer that had defended him, Mia Fey, offered to mentor him with his legal path from there on out. There was something about her that he knew he could trust – an energy that she emitted. So, he took her offer fully.

            For three years he studied like a “normal” person and became a lawyer – he honestly could’ve done it much faster, but it would’ve been suspicious. Phoenix ended up with his own shiny Attorney’s Badge and began to work as a Junior Partner with Mia at her own firm of “Fey and Co.”.

            It was a nice change of pace – no extreme dangers. Phoenix even debuted as a lawyer defended a friend he had made from one of his “odd” jobs from the pass from murder. It went like a breeze and he was able to find the true culprit in no time.

            Then a couple of nights later when Mia had invited Phoenix out for some drinks, he re-learned his lesson on why he never got close to anyone.

            Phoenix arrived to the office to see that his boss, his mentor, his beloved friend was slumped underneath the window. Blood was dripping from a wound on her head, already beginning to clot as she had been sitting there for a an hour.

            Mia Fey had been murdered.

            A small girl was sitting by Mia’s side, bawling her eyes out, her chest heaving as she gasped for breath. The girl begged at whatever god she could pray to for her sister’s life back.

            Sister…?

            Mia had never mentioned a sister to him before…

            The girl – who he learned was Maya Fey – was then promptly arrested for the murder of Mia Fey. It was ridiculous and made no sense at that logic – Phoenix had tried to point that out multiple times. The detective in question, however, was hearing none of it as he stated the proof was because Mia left evidence of her writing the name of her killer behind.

            Maya’s.

            Phoenix had instantly felt connected to the young girl – he couldn’t put his finger on it. She was an odd one as she was a Spirit Medium in training. Maya was constantly wearing her acolyte robes, purple and white, and had her raven black hair in a top knot with decorative purple beads in the front holding two strands of her hair.

            Seeing her behind that glass in the Detention Center – she looked so small and helpless. It was no place for her to be.

            Despite Maya trying to reject his offer of being her attorney – Phoenix insisted on it. He was going to defend her. After all – Mia would’ve wanted it, right?

            Odds were stacked against the two of them – a dark past unraveling that Phoenix had only heard whispers through the grapevine over the years. A dark corporation that specialized in blackmail had ruined Mia and Maya’s mother’s reputation as a Spirit Medium due to an old murder case from fifteen years prior. So, Mia was doing digging of her own to get all the evidence against the man – Redd White – to get the names of politicians, people in the high legal system, cops, and so on to finally put him away.

            Mia was killed for it – but with Phoenix and Maya’s teamwork they were able to force Redd White to admit his guilt.

            The two had become inseparable since that trial as Phoenix felt an extreme protectiveness over Maya. They had done a few trials together and when it came to the trial of the rival prosecutor they had faced since Mia’s murder, it was the first time Maya realized there may be something different about him.

            “Hey, Nick…” Maya had asked when they two where at Gourd Lake doing their investigation for Miles Edgeworth’s trial.

            “Hmm?” Phoenix had replied with a hum absently. He never really responded to a nickname for his name, but with Maya he had made an exception.

            “Why aren’t you wearing a coat…?”

            “Wha…?”

            It was true that at that moment Phoenix wasn’t wearing a coat, just his traditional blue suit he liked to wear for court. Maya on the other hand was bundled in a winter coat with a small purple hat and gloves.

            “Oh… I’m not cold…” he half-lied.

            At one point in his long life, he had frozen to death. Ever since he had risen from those ashes, he no longer could feel cold or get frost bitten. He had no idea why that happened – he noticed when he was shot a few times after getting killed by bullets that they hurt like a son of bitch, but they didn’t kill him again. It was the same with stabbing. Or a broken neck.

            “Nick…”

**

The trial against Miles Edgeworth ended up being acquitted – although there were a few tough calls.

            One, the prosecutor for the trial was Manfred von Karma – who was Miles’ mentor. The man was evil and devious and had cornered both Phoenix and Maya in the evidence room at the police precinct. The devilish prosecutor had a high voltage taser that should have highly illegal to use and tried to strike Maya with it.

            Phoenix would never let that happen – so he was struck with it instead. His body was jolted with thousands of volts of electricity until he felt that familiar burning sensation. He crumpled to the ground and von Karma had run away with the evidence he needed to have stayed hidden. Maya collapsed to the ground next to Phoenix with tears in her eyes as she tried to call desperately for help.

            “No, I can’t have someone else I care about die on me again…!” Maya had sobbed. “Please don’t…!” Her hands had brushed against his hand, and she yelped when the skin flaked away in ash.

            A gasp had escaped from Phoenix as though it was the first time he had ever breathed oxygen, his hand clenching to his chest.

            “I guess I can scratch that off the list…” he’d murmured.

            Maya had looked at him with wide eyes. “What… the HELL was that, Nick!?” she demanded.

            Phoenix at the time jumped away from her, his back hitting a file cabinet. “Ah… hold on, Maya… I can explain… sort of…” he insisted meekly.

            “What’s with these ashes!?” she’d nearly shrieked, her hands gesturing to the ashes that were dusting the floor and files.

            “Uh… we need to clean that up…”

            “This is not helping, Phoenix Wright!”

            “Okay, okay!” Phoenix had then taken a deep breath. “I… sort of can’t die…?” he’d said it like a question.

            Maya had given him a perplexed look. “What do you mean…?”

            “It means I have been alive for over a hundred years and have never aged,” he pointed out. “I have been shot, stabbed, nuclear bombed, ate poison, died of hypothermia, starved to death, died of dehydration, and now have been electrocuted and I’m still kicking.”

            Maya then blinked. “So… all my ‘Old Man’ jokes are legit…?” she had asked innocently with a coy smile.

            Phoenix had gawked at her. “You just saw me die and come back and that is the first thing you think of!?” he demanded almost angrily.

            Maya had merely shrugged. “Nick… I’m a damn Spirit Medium, this is probably, like, in the top five weirdest experiences I’ve ever had,” she nonchalantly said to him.

            Phoenix’s secret was out – he didn’t have to keep lying to Maya about himself anymore. And it was a great weight that was lifted from his shoulders.

            Once the trial had ended – Miles Edgeworth had kept eyeing Phoenix oddly. It was as though he was finally recognizing him from somewhere.

            “I do want to thank you for all your work here today, Phoenix,” Miles told him, reaching his hand out for a handshake.

            “Oh, yeah, the pleasure is all mine, Miles,” Phoenix sheepishly smiled. “What are friends for?”

            Miles raised a gray brow. “So, you recognize me too, then?” he finally asked.

            “Uh… recognize…?” Phoenix echoed curiously. “I’m sorry… I’m afraid I don’t…”

            Miles gave a small shake of his head. “The factory over a hundred years ago…” he calmly recalled.

            Phoenix went rigid. In all his years, he had never spoken to anyone about that.

            “The one who tried to warn everybody when one of the machines overloaded…?” Miles prodded. “That was me… I was too late…” He crossed his arms in a nervous matter, his right crossing to his left and gripping tightly. “So many of the workers… they were throwing each other to the ground and hurting each other to get to safety…”

            “How… how do…”

            “But you didn’t do that…” Miles continued, ignoring him. “In fact, you saved me…”

            Maya was invested. “So… you have the same thing as Nick, Mr. Edgeworth?” she asked softly.

            Miles looked down at her. “Yes…” he replied. “I too have died many a times over the years… the burning sensation and the ashes…” He then touched his hair. “It’s happened so often that my hair has turned permanently gray.”

            Phoenix raised his hands. “Whoa… wait… back up a minute here…” he insisted. “How did I save you?”

            Miles gave a small smirk. “Oh… I guess I should elaborate…” he chuckled lightly. “I was the son of the owner of that factory. The workers were mining and refining some sort of fossilized meteorite from thousands of years ago…

            “There was radiation, which back then many people didn’t have experience with. When one of the machines cracked a meteorite… the radiation leaked out and affect the machines and caused them to overload.” Miles took a deep breath, remembering the details. “I was close to one of the sites and noticed the machines going haywire… so, I went to try to warn the other workers.

            “My father was not pleased… he wanted you all to keep working, to keep digging. I refused to let it continue. The radiation kept leaking and I warned you all to the best of my ability… my father was angry and tried to throw me against a machine – but you… you Phoenix…” Miles trailed off.

            Phoenix rubbed his head, trying to recall that night. Ever since that first death, he barely had any recollection of what had happened. However, the more that Miles talked, the more the man began to feel familiar. Instead of wearing the burgundy suit that Phoenix was familiar with, he recalled Miles wearing a wine-colored waistcoat with a cotton white undershirt and a black newspaper boy-styled cap on what was once his dark brown hair.

            Phoenix remembered at that instant. He remembered the machine was being overloaded with energy. Miles’ father was enraged from the young man trying to warn the workers and had tried to throw him against the machine. Phoenix, who was running one of the machines, had stopped dead in his tracks from trying to evacuate and stopped the man from doing so. It was futile as the machine still exploded.

            The glass shards going through his body… the metal… the steel pipe…

            “Are you implying that the radiation…?” Phoenix finally whispered.

            “Gave us some sort of immortality?” Miles finished. “Yes… the meteorite was obviously not from our solar system…”

            “Why us…?”

            Miles shrugged. “That… I am not sure…” he honestly said. “But whatever the reason… I’m glad to have seen my friend again…”

            Phoenix then felt a small hand clasp into his. He looked down to see Maya smile up at him.

            “And I’m glad I got to meet you too, Nick…” she told him honestly. “I think Mia may have known something different about you… we Fey’s have this uncanny ability about this stuff.”

            Phoenix blinked at her. Even though he potentially can live forever – he didn’t want to leave Maya behind at all. During his years he had never put much thought into trying to cure his immortality – but after meeting Maya and a few other people recently he rather stick around and age with them.     

            “You know what… I’m glad too…”

Notes:

- There will be a PART 2 of this eventually lmao... - Also, LIGHT GHOST TRICK REFERENCE WHHHHHATTTTT? MEEEEEE? If you haven't played the game yet, I'm not spoiling anything - GO PLAY IT! - Not gonna lie these AU Writings are cutting into "The Found Turnabout" and "Born to Run", even though I tried to write a few of these ahead of time. Whoops.

[teenietinytangerine]

[melancholy-of-nadia]

the a(myg)dala (explicit) | myg

title: the a(myg)dala (explicit) pairing: mafia leader/detective! agust d x right handman! f. reader ; gang leader! yoongi x right handman! f. reader rating/genre: explicit (18+) ; angst , thriller , smut ; haegeum au , my agustdverse summary: You wake up in a lavish bedroom with no recollection of memories of who you are. The only person who holds the key to this mystery is the owner of the house, Agust D, a mafia boss masquerading as a police detective. He claims you’re his right hand (wo)man and that he needs to protect you from someone who’s after you, as well as a treasure he’s searching for. With danger lurking and your memories a blank slate, can you trust Agust D to uncover the truth, or is there more to his story than meets the eye? note: i have been planning this in my head (like the delusional girly i am) since daechwita came out in 2020, but it wasn't until 2023 with the haegeum mv that it truly solidified me wanting to put together my thoughts to create this. i started out with Distraction and Infatuation as test one shots to gauge at the interest, and now it has lead me to create the first actual chapter of this series. this series is dedicated to my bestie the biggest yoongi smut luvr i know @daegudrama and to my favorite yoongi fic writers @jcoles and @theharrowing. also this is kinda unedited i apologize for any mistakes sndksfjladsafbjka i will edit later on. warnings: the following series is intended for a mature audience and may contain graphic language, graphic violence, weapons (guns/katana swords/chopsticks), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, gambling, murder, gang activity, memory loss/amnesia, sassy and on guard reader, unreliable characters, haegeum!agust d, haegeum!yoongi, tale of two MYGs technically, LMAO, TEAM SUGA! appearances as mafia men, assassins, slow burn, fight sequences, power imbalance, future smut scenes that may contain some bdsm elements, multiverse implications, tattoos, etc. drop date: october 29th, 2024, 9:00pm pst word count: 5.5k – –

The world slowly comes into focus, the haze of unconsciousness lifting like a dissipating fog. You blink, your eyelids heavy as if weighed down by lead. The room around you is unfamiliar, dimly lit by a lamp on a nearby table. The scent of damp wood and something herbal lingers in the air. You try to move, but a sharp, throbbing pain in your head forces you to stay still.

Panic surges through you. Where are you? Why can’t you remember anything?

You glance around, the room’s details gradually becoming clearer. It is small and sparsely furnished, with wooden walls and a single window covered by a thick, faded curtain. But the strangest part is that you can't recall how you got here or what happened before. Your mind is blank, a void where your memories should be.

Well, almost blank.

Two things are certain in your mind: your name—whatever comfort that brings—and the image of a man, his face marked by a prominent scar, entering this very room. Yet, in the memory, the man looks different—his features more vivid, his clothing distinct. He is wearing a green jacket. You cling to that detail as if it were a lifeline in the sea of confusion.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of the wooden floor. You turn your head—slowly, cautiously—and see him. The man from your memory stands at the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and relief.

“You’re up? You’ve been asleep for a couple of days now.”

His voice is deep, carrying a warmth that contrasts with the sternness of his appearance. The scar on his face is unmistakable, and yet something about him seems off, like a piece of a puzzle that doesn’t quite fit.

“Who are—” you start to ask, but the words catch in your throat as a sudden, stabbing pain shoots through your temples. You wince, pressing a hand to your forehead as you try to steady your breathing.

The man’s eyes narrow, his concern deepening. “Easy, doll, don’t strain yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

Doll?

His tone is soothing, but it only heightens your unease. Why does he look so familiar? And why does the memory of him in that green jacket feel so significant?

“I... I can’t remember… why can’t I remember?” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your fear and confusion. “I can’t remember anything, except your face. But you looked different... the green jacket...”

The man frowns, clearly troubled by your words. He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, as if trying not to startle you.

“Listen,” he says gently, grasping your cheek. “You’ve been through something traumatic. It’s normal to feel disoriented. But you’re safe now, alright? We’ll figure this out together.”

His reassurance does little to ease the growing tension in your chest. As he speaks, you can’t shake the nagging feeling that there’s something he isn’t telling you—something important that lies just beyond your grasp.

But for now, with your head pounding and your body weak, all you can do is nod and hope that the answers will come soon.

His phone rings, the sound slicing through the uneasy quiet of the room. The man glances at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before pulling the phone from his pocket. He answers it without a word, his face hardening as he listens to the person on the other end. After a tense moment, he turns away, stepping out of the room.

The door creaks shut behind him.

You wait, the minutes stretching into what feels like an eternity. Ten minutes pass, then thirty, and still, there is no sign of his return. Your unease grows. Why hasn’t he come back yet? What was that phone call about?

The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as your anxiety gnaws at you. You try to stay still, but the silence is suffocating. You need to get out of bed.

With some effort, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as your body protests the movement. Every muscle feels sore, as if you’ve been through something physically draining. Your feet touch the cool floor, and you slowly stand, swaying slightly as the room spins for a moment. Steadying yourself, you look around, eyes settling on the door.

You have to investigate. You need to understand what is happening.

Just as you take a step toward the door, it swings open with a soft creak. You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as a new figure enters the room.

It is a woman, dressed sharply in a tailored black suit that contrasts her bright orange bob cut. She moves with an air of quiet confidence, her eyes locking onto yours with a steady, calm gaze. She seems close to your age, though something about her presence feels more mature, more composed.

“Hello,” she says, her voice smooth and professional. “My name is Adora. Apologies, as Mr. Agust had to step out unexpectedly, but he kept me up to speed with everything going on and told me to help care for you in the meantime.”

You blink, taking in her words, still processing the situation.

Mr. Agust? That’s his name?

Adora approaches the small table by the bed and sets down a neatly folded bundle of clothes. “I’ve brought you some clothes,” she adds, gesturing toward the bundle. “I imagine you’d want to change into something more comfortable.” She glances at you, wearing a white spaghetti-strapped nightgown. Yeah, you need to change out of this.

“Who… who is Mr. Agust?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse. The question has been burning in your mind ever since you woke up.

“Oh! The man who was just in here before me. Agust D,” she says happily. “He’s been looking after you since… well, since the incident.”

“The incident?” you repeat, confused. “What happened to me?”

Her smile fades, and a shadow of concern crosses her features. “I’m afraid that’s something only Mr. Agust can explain to you. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

She steps back, giving you space, and nods toward the clothes again. “Go ahead and take a shower before changing. I’ll wait outside if you need anything.”

And once again, you are left alone.

You grab the bundle of clothes, the fabric soft under your fingers as you unfold them. A white, long-sleeved collared shirt, a plaid skirt, and knee socks—an odd combination. Your brow furrows. Is this a school uniform? The thought seems out of place, considering everything else, but you push it aside. Right now, getting cleaned up and dressed feels like the first step toward reclaiming some control.

There is a small door beside your bed that leads to a bathroom. You open it and are greeted by a modest, clean space. The tiles are cool beneath your feet as you walk toward the shower. Your mind feels murky, still clouded by the lack of memory, and every detail around you seems both unfamiliar and strangely mundane at the same time.

As the hot water sprays down from the rain showerhead on the ceiling, you stand still for a moment, letting the warmth wash over you. It feels good, the steam wrapping around your sore muscles, loosening the tension that has built up since waking. Slowly, you begin to move, running your hands through your hair, watching the water swirl around your feet. You glance down at your body, your movements still careful, as though you fear something is waiting beneath the surface of your skin.

And then, you notice them—bruises. Small, fading marks dot your legs and arms, some yellowing at the edges, others still dark purple. Scrapes, too, healed over but unmistakable, mar your skin. You gently touch one on your forearm, wincing at the slight sting.

What happened to you? Frustration bubbles up inside you, making your throat tight. Every mark tells a story, a piece of the puzzle that should be obvious. But all you have are fragments, and none of them make sense.

You close your eyes, trying to summon any trace of a memory, something that could explain the bruises, the scrapes, the pain in your muscles. But there is nothing. Just emptiness.

Your hands shake slightly as you rinse off, the water turning from soothing to overwhelming. You finish quickly, the hot steam doing little to quell the storm of confusion and frustration rising within you.

Stepping out of the shower, you catch your reflection in the small, fogged-up mirror. You wipe it with your hand, staring at yourself, but the person staring back looks just as lost. No answers. No clarity.

With a sigh, you turn away and dry off, pulling on the strange outfit—first the crisp white shirt, then the plaid skirt and knee socks. The uniform fits well enough. Did you used to wear this before as well? You're left wondering too many things...

After slipping into a comfortable pair of slippers that you find beside the bed, you step out of the room for the first time. The hallway greets you with a soft, dim glow, revealing that evening has settled in. Shadows dance across the walls as you cautiously make your way forward.

Adora is sitting in a chair by your door, casually scrolling through her phone. At the sound of your footsteps, she looks up, her orange hair catching the light.

“Miss! All done? Do you need anything?” she asks, standing up swiftly with an attentive smile.

“Yeah, all done,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... want you to show me around. I’m having a little trouble recalling some things.” You hesitate, wary of revealing too much. If people know about your memory loss, they could use it against you. But surely Adora had been informed by Agust D beforehand, right?

Adora’s eyes softened. “No worries, Mr. Agust did mention this detail to me.”

You’re correct.

“I’ll show you around and get you updated on the things I’m cleared to inform you on,” she adds.

Cleared? The word hangs in the air, making you wonder just how much is being kept from you. Still, you nod. “That’s fine.”

Adora leads the way down the hall, and your tour begins. The mansion is far larger than you anticipate. As you move from room to room, it becomes clear that this place is no ordinary home. The architecture is grand, with high ceilings and long corridors lined with dark wood paneling and expensive-looking art. Every room seems carefully designed, exuding luxury and power.

Your bedroom is relatively simple compared to the rest of the mansion—modest in size with muted tones, though the bed is large and soft. Across the hall, Adora points out Mr. Agust’s room. Unlike yours, it is locked, and she makes no attempt to open it. The door itself is dark wood, with intricate carvings around the frame. You can only imagine what is inside.

Next, she leads you to his office. It’s a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a grand desk made of polished mahogany, and a large window overlooking a courtyard. Papers and files are neatly stacked on the desk, though Adora makes no comment about what they contain. The room has an air of importance, almost like a command center.

The kitchen and dining area are expansive. The kitchen, spotless and gleaming, is staffed with a few workers who nod politely as you pass. The dining room is more formal, with a long table capable of seating at least a dozen people. Crystal chandeliers hang overhead, casting warm light across the room.

The living room is one of the most impressive spaces—a large, open area with plush leather sofas, a marble fireplace, and a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The windows here are larger, revealing a darkening city skyline.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in Bangkok. Thailand.”

Bangkok? You know what that place is, but it’s not a location you expected to be in.

As you explore, you begin to notice more people moving through the mansion—mostly bodyguards, dressed in black and stationed at various points. Most of them seem to be Korean, their stoic expressions and quiet movements blending into the background. It’s strange to see so many of them here. A mansion in Thailand, filled with Koreans—it doesn’t add up.

Your curiosity gnaws at you, but you know Adora isn’t the right person to ask. Whatever this is, it feels delicate. You’ll have to wait for Mr. Agust.

After what feels like hours of walking through corridors and staircases, Adora finally leads you to the dining room, gesturing for you to sit at the long table.

“I received word that Mr. Agust has just arrived,” she says, offering you a gentle smile. “You’ll meet him here. The staff has set out some tea and desserts for you while you wait.”

You look at the table. A silver tray holds a pot of tea and an assortment of small pastries. The aroma is sweet and comforting, but the anticipation makes your hands tremble slightly as you reach for a cup and serve yourself some tea.

“I’ll come back to join you two, along with some of the other guards,” Adora continues. “Mr. Agust will be here shortly.”

Interesting. You’re not sure what to make of this situation.

The dining room grows quieter as you sit alone with your thoughts, nibbling on a cookie to stave off the nerves.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoes through the hallway outside the dining room. You freeze, your pulse quickening as the door swings open. A group of men enters, all dressed in dark suits, their expressions stern and composed. They move in unison, fanning out to take seats around the table, but one man stands out from the rest.

Agust D

He strides in with a commanding presence, his sharp eyes surveying the room as he walks. There’s an air of authority around him that makes the space feel smaller. His dark hair is slicked back, his expression unreadable as he takes the seat at the head of the table.

The sleeves of his shirt are stained red… You don’t want to know if that’s blood, but it’s the only thing you can assume.

 Adora re-enters the room soon after, gliding in with her usual grace. She takes her seat across from you, her calm demeanor unwavering as she folds her hands in front of her. The tension in the room is thick, though it seems invisible to her.

Agust turns to you, his gaze piercing but calm. "I hope you’re feeling a bit more settled," he says, his voice low and even.

Yeah, sure, settled, you think, fighting the urge to laugh. Settled is the last thing you feel in this... “house.” 

You nod slowly, feeling the weight of the room pressing down on you. “Yeah, I suppose,” you mutter, unsure how to respond. You reach for a cookie from the tray in front of you, more out of nervousness than actual hunger.

“I know this place might be overwhelming,” Agust continues, leaning back in his chair. “This is no ordinary home, as you’ve probably gathered by now.”

You swallow hard, the cookie crumbling slightly in your hands. No ordinary home is an understatement. The size, the guards, the secrecy—it all screams something far beyond the normal.

“To formally introduce myself, my name is Agust D. I’m the chief detective for the Asia-Pacific Police Force here in Bangkok. Comprised of officers from all Asia investigating international crime,” he says, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth as if daring you to believe him.

You nod slowly, though something about it doesn’t sit right with you. “That’s... interesting,” you begin carefully, “but I don’t think that’s all. There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“Smart girl. You’re sharp, I’ll give you that.” Agust’s eyes gleam, and a chuckle rumbles from his chest. “No, that’s not all.”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “I am a leader of this mafia family you’ve been seeing.”

Your hand freezes mid-bite, the cookie slipping from your fingers and falling onto the table. Your heart skips a beat. Mafia? Your mind races. Organized crime? How the hell did you get involved in something like this? Fear snakes up your spine as your hands begin to tremble slightly. You can feel your throat tightening, your body responding to the panic rising inside you.

Agust’s eyes soften just a fraction, as if sensing your fear. “Relax,” he says, his voice calm, almost reassuring. “I’m not going to hurt you... you’ve been working for me for quite some time before all of this, after all.”

“Working for you?” you echo, incredulous. None of this makes sense. You shake your head, unable to comprehend. “Me? I... I don’t think so. I mean why would I–”

Agust’s smile returns, and he leans back in his chair, his hand disappearing beneath the table. “It is you,” he says firmly, interrupting you. Without warning, he tosses something across the table.

You flinch, instinctively reaching out to catch it—your hand closing around the handle of a heavy object. What the— A sword? Its weight is oddly familiar in your grip. You stare at it, eyes wide, your breath catching in your throat. The scabbard is intricately decorated with a blossom pattern that triggers something deep within you, something familiar.

You’ve seen this before... You’ve used this before.

Grainy and fragmented memories burst through your mind of a time when you’d used this. “Go ahead,” Agust says, his voice quiet but commanding. “Try it out.”

As if under a trance, your fingers move on their own, sliding the blade free from the scabbard. The polished metal gleams in the low light, its sharp edge whispering of battles fought and blood spilled. Before you realize what is happening, you have gotten onto the dining table, moving with fluid precision toward Agust that startles even you.

The bodyguards around the room react instantly, rising from their chairs and drawing guns, all pointed at you. But you don’t stop. You can’t stop. Your body moves on its own, and within a second, you are standing over Agust, the tip of your blade mere centimeters from his throat.

The room is dead silent. Agust doesn’t flinch. He merely raises a hand, a calm gesture to his men. The bodyguards look at him in hesitation, but slowly lower their weapons, keeping their eyes trained on you.

A chuckle escapes his lips. “Did that jog your memory?” he asks, his eyes gleaming with amusement, as if he has been waiting for this moment.

You stare down at him, your chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I... only a little…?” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the sword in your hand feels so familiar, so right, but your mind is still a blur of confusion.

“So much bloodlust you’ve got hidden in those eyes. Are you going to cut me down this time, doll?” he asks, his voice teasing, yet there’s a glint of seriousness behind his eyes.

This time? What does he mean by “this time”? 

Despite the odd question, your heart skips a beat.

“W-What?!” you stammer, not understanding what he means. You pull the blade away, stepping back and lowering it to your side. Your hands are still shaking.

Agust smirks but says nothing more about it. Instead, he leans back, seemingly unfazed by how close he has come to death. “So, do you want some of the answers I can provide?”

Enough of this cryptic stuff.

You blink, still trying to process what just happened. “Are you actually going to answer me this time?” you ask, your voice sharper than intended.

Agust chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than you are. “That depends on what you want to know.”

“Hmm…” You hesitate for a moment while Agust signals his men to sit back down. They sit down, resume their positions, and the tension in the room seems to dissolve as if nothing happened just moments ago.

“Now tell me, doll,” Agust says, leaning forward, his eyes locked onto yours with a predatory intensity.

“First of all, who am I? Why do you keep calling me ‘Doll’?” you shoot back, your tone sharper than intended.

Agust lets out a deep breath, almost as if your question bores him. “You don’t have a name, as far as I know, so I call you doll. It’s cute, isn’t it?”

You give him an exasperated roll of your eyes, and he chuckles, as if he expects nothing less. “But besides me, everyone else calls you ‘Dove’—your code name.”

“Why am I here?” you press on, hoping for a more substantial answer.

Agust’s grin grows wider. “Great to see you moving on to this point,” he says, resting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “I’m protecting you. Your life is at stake, actually.”

You scoff. “Protecting me from…?”

“Someone.” His tone is vague, and your irritation flares at his refusal to offer more.

“Could you be any more vague?” you mutter, rolling your eyes again, daring him to give you something concrete. “Who is it?”

Agust’s expression shifts, his jaw tightening slightly. He clearly isn’t used to being questioned like this. Just as he opens his mouth to respond, one of the bodyguards at his side, a man with sharp features and an intense gaze, speaks up.

“I don’t think you should ask that right now,” he says firmly. “Just for the sake of your life.”

“Yijeong,” another bodyguard—a much older man with long black locks of hair—warns in a low voice.

Yijeong shrugs, his eyes unwavering. “I’m just looking out for her safety.” It doesn’t sound sincere, to be completely honest.

Agust gives a subtle nod, silencing the exchange with a single glance. Then he turns back to you, his gaze slightly softened. “Anyway, it’s exactly as I said,” he continues, his voice smooth, almost practiced. “As part of my daytime role, I’m a detective. And I’m also an underground mafia boss.”

You stiffen, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a shroud. He isn’t done. “The person after you wants something that you hold the key to—something that we both want.” His tone is steady, a faint glint of ambition in his eyes. “I met you a few years ago and decided to let you live here, by my side, in hopes of finding it.”

You take a shaky breath, your mind reeling as you try to process this. “And I’ve been here ever since… as your right-hand man?”

Agust leans forward, his voice low yet intense. “That’s right. You were essential to our operations. I need you back in action, though. There’s a lot at stake here. We need to find this thing as soon as possible and get rid of this other person trying to kill you.”

You try to wrap your head around the idea that you’ve been living a life entrenched in the shadows of the criminal underworld, working closely with Agust and his organization—yet you can’t remember any of it. The weight of it presses heavily on you, disbelief twisting in your gut.

“So, you’re telling me,” you begin, your voice slightly unsteady but determined, “that I’ve been involved in this… mafia life all this time and now, because of some freak accident that you won’t disclose, I have not a single memory of it?”

“Precisely.” His eyes are fixed on you, unwavering. “Once you start easing into things again, I’ll tell you,” he says, his voice gaining an edge, “but now, I need you to decide.”

The frustration bubbles up within you, and without fully realizing it, you blurt out the most pressing question in your mind. “And what if I refuse?”

“Refuse?”

“Yeah, I mean, this sounds great and all… but I’m not about this mafia life and fighting whatever gang rival you have. Maybe you are mistaken about me.”

“Then…” A dangerous gleam flashes in Agust’s eyes, and before you know it, his hand moves beneath the table. In one swift motion, he pulls out a sleek, polished handgun, the metallic click echoing as he cocks a bullet into the barrel. You flinch, eyes widening as he aims it in your direction, his expression dark but laced with amusement.

“I’ll just kill you right here.” He pauses, letting the threat hang in the air before he lets out a dry laugh.

Holy shit.

What the fuck is that switch-up!?

You knew this man is insane, from the moment he handed you a katana and nearly let you cut him down.

He chuckles softly, an unsettling sound that made your heart race even faster. “Honestly, this could work in my favor anyway.”

Agust tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he keeps the gun trained on you. "Then he will never get his hands on you. Ending it here sounds like a fine choice, doesn’t it?” His tone is almost casual, as if he were discussing nothing more consequential than the weather.

Your throat feels tight, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. His words hang in the air, blending with the heavy silence of the room. The other men seated at the table look on, stone-faced, while Adora remains calm, her eyes studying you carefully. You can tell she’s a little worried for you.

“You really think you can just kill me off?” you manage, trying to mask the tremor in your voice. “All this talk about me being your right hand, about me holding the key to something you need. If I’m that important, you can’t just get rid of me. Then you’ll never find what you’re looking for.”

Agust’s lips curl into a smirk. “Oh, doll, I like that fire,” he says, lowering the gun ever so slightly but keeping his gaze locked on yours. Great, just what you need—a compliment from your potential murderer. “You’re right. I can’t just let you go that easily.”

He leans back, his gaze unwavering as he places the gun on the table, almost within reach yet tantalizingly out of yours. “Let’s make something clear,” he continues, his voice softening yet holding that sharp edge. “You’re right. You’re valuable to me, too valuable to throw away—at least for now.”

For now? That’s comforting. What does ‘for now’ even mean in this context? You thought you were friends for a long time by now. Doesn’t sound like it from this.

The tension in the room lessens slightly, though your pulse is still racing. Agust’s words feel like a reprieve, but only just; you know there’s always another game behind his every sentence, and the stakes are dangerously high.

“Alright,” you reply, forcing a bit of calm into your voice. “Then tell me more. You say I’m the key to something… What is it exactly?”

Agust shrugs, crossing his arms, his expression unreadable. “For now, let’s say it’s a treasure—one that’s extremely valuable to both me and… other interested parties.” He gives a small, almost lazy wave of his hand, brushing off the details as if they’re minor inconveniences.

“Other interested parties?” you press, sensing he’s holding back. “Like the person you’re supposedly protecting me from?”

Agust’s eyes narrow slightly, as though debating just how much he wants to divulge. He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair, and gives a curt nod.

 “Yes, exactly like that person. But don’t worry about…them,” he says, his voice dipping lower, almost like a threat wrapped in reassurance. “With me around, you’re safe. They won’t touch you. Besides, doll, you led them on quite a chase right before the accident that happened to you….And now, they know better than to mess with one of the biggest mafias in Bangkok, especially one that has the police wrapped around its finger.”

The words settle over you like a heavy blanket, the weight of the implications sinking in. You haven’t just ended up here by chance, nor is this some benevolent offer of protection. The people after you aren’t merely rivals—they’re people who chased you, people you evaded in the past. And now, you’re under the protection of not just any organization, but a criminal empire with authority woven tightly into Bangkok’s very fabric.

“Wrapped around your finger?” you echo, incredulous but with a hint of fascination you can’t suppress.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair as though he’s merely recounting a successful business venture. “Yes, Bangkok’s finest wouldn’t dare cross me. I’m a chief detective, after all. It’s all very convenient, don’t you think?”

Right, because every girl dreams of being involved with a chief detective who moonlights as a mafia boss. What’s next? A romantic comedy?

You feel your pulse throb in your temples in disbelief. “So that’s why they won’t come after me here?”

“Exactly,” he replies, his tone almost smug. “To come after you here would be a death sentence for them. And they know it.”

You mean, you can’t argue with that logic. Guess you’ll have to stick around this madness for a while.

You slowly slide off the table, feeling the lingering tension in your limbs as you settle back into your seat at the far end of the dining table. Agust watches you with that familiar smirk, clearly pleased with the subtle shift in your demeanor. Once seated, you exhale, steadying yourself before meeting his gaze again.

“And if you continue to stay here,” he begins, his tone softer but laced with intent, “there’s a chance your memories will eventually come back, piece by piece. Trying to leave and figure it all out on your own would be… risky, to say the least.”

He’s giving you an out, it seems, yet he isn’t. The faintest hint of a choice dangles in front of you, a chance to regain who you are—or escape before you learn too much.

Agust’s gaze never wavers. “If you want answers—if you want to understand what’s locked away in that mind of yours—staying is your best option.”

Adora’s gaze is unwavering as well, as though silently urging you to take Agust’s offer. You glance at the others around the table, all of them still and watchful, a powerful, immovable force surrounding you.

“And if I don’t stay?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighs, though his eyes hold the barest glint of amusement. “Then I suppose you’ll be putting all that fire to good use. Running from a lot of people… including me.” His smirk softens, but his words are as sharp as ever. “The most dangerous game. It’s your choice, doll. But remember, what’s waiting for you out there isn’t likely to be as welcoming as here.”

Nice way to put it. A warm welcome with care followed by a bullet?

You lean back, trying to process everything. It’s surreal—being told you’ve been living some double life as the right hand to a mafia boss, that you’ve led people on a chase through Bangkok, and now, because of all this, there are people actively out to get you. Just yesterday… well, whenever “yesterday” is, you have no memory of this life. And now, Agust is offering you a choice. Either stay here and trust him to help you find yourself again, or leave and risk everything on your own.

You look down, hands fidgeting on your lap as you think it over. Realistically? You don’t have a lot of options. Even if you leave, where would you go? How would you survive with no memory of who you are? Just the idea of stumbling around Bangkok, a city you barely even remember, trying to outwit… whoever is after you seems like a suicide mission.

Besides, there’s something oddly reassuring about Agust, even if his methods are a bit terrifying. He doesn’t look like he’s about to pull any punches, and for some reason, that makes you trust him more. He isn’t hiding who he is or what he’s capable of, and he isn’t sugar-coating the risks. The entire mafia thing is insane, sure, but something in you stirs with a strange familiarity when he speaks about it. It’s as if you’ve known all along, buried somewhere deep down.

You steal another glance at him, noting how he’s watching you, calm and expectant. He isn’t pushing you, just waiting for you to come to a conclusion.

Finally, you sigh and look up, meeting his gaze. “Fine,” you say, exhaling as if to release the last bits of resistance. “I’ll stay. You protect me, and I… I’ll do whatever I did before and help you get what you’re looking for. If this is my best chance at getting those memories back, then I’ll take it.”

A satisfied smile curves Agust’s lips. “Good girl. I knew you’d come around.”

Adora, who’s been watching from across the table, gives a small and excited nod, and the other bodyguards exchange glances. The tension in the room eases, like the whole crew has been waiting for your decision.

“All right, then,” you say, half to yourself. “Guess I’m back to… whatever this is.”

Agust chuckles. “Welcome back to the family.”

–

–

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for this series! ➸ a(mygdala) pilot one shot #1 - distraction and one shot #2 - infatuation ➸ all fics masterlist

a/n: thank you so much reading! apologies for the very dialogue heavy first chapter in this series as I needed to set up the vibe and expectation of reader and Agust D. We'll get more into the mafia bitty gritty in the next chapter as well as eventual smut in later chapaters for these two before shit goes down hehehehe im sorry it'll be a bit of a wait since it's slow burn... but there will be a ton of charged up tension leading into it heheheheh

i had planned to release this earlier this month but after a very intensive job hunt for the past year + 7 months, i finally found a new job! yay! cries... so future updates will take some time. but please please feel free to send me your thoughts or suggestions on things you'd like to see in this series in the future and i will make sure to incorporate it. :) until next time!

[btsugarush]

Hide & Seek | myg (m.list)

❝do you find me sadistic?❞

summary: desperate to rid yourself of crime and murder for the sake of your unborn child, you escape your mafia husband and start fresh with a new man and new identity; but just as life seemed perfect, your former husband shows you that he isn’t too keen on letting you go. you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?

pairings: mafia boss!yoongi x f!reader, kim taehyung x f!reader.

warnings: smut, violence, blood and gore, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, tattooed!yoongi, gunplay, use of guns/swords, dom!yoongi, manipulation, abuse, drugs, decapitation, possessive behavior, kidnapping, angst, murder, strong language, torture, 18+, minors dni.

author’s note: oop, another one. hope the anons get mad like it truly affects their life and send hate. anyway my favorite movie in the whole world is kill bill, and when i saw this image of yoongi with a sword it gave me kill bill vibes, so yanno i had to do that for the one time.

©btsugarush. please do not repost.

000 |

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards Masterlist

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader

genre: mafia, e2l, sloooow burn, age gap

summary: As the youngest daughter of the most powerful family in the country’s crime syndicate, you never thought you would be forced to takeover your father’s money-laundering casino. Due to unforeseen circumstances, you and your brother, Jungkook, are left in charge to carry on with business. But in the absence of your father and oldest brother, Seokjin, the two of you are targets of rival bloodthirsty mobs desperate for power and turf. You must be protected but the man who’s assigned as your bodyguard is someone you never thought you would see again. This wasn’t in the cards.

warnings: violence and murder (not explicit), one incident of partner abuse, guns, drugs, alcohol, smoking, gambling, smut (eventually), ANGST!!! So much angst, trauma, PTSD, character death

Snippet

Teaser 1

Prologue - 6.7k

Part 1: play nice - 19k

Interlude: strangers pt. 1 of 2 - december 2, 2024 - est wc 9k

Interlude: strangers pt. 2 of 2 - pending

[vhyunjinverse]

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.

[hoseoksluna]

TANGERINE | myg (m)

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x fem!reader

genre: smut, fluff — comfort

rating: 18+

summary: yoongi has figured out a way how to make your life easier.

word count: 3.5k

warnings: brief sexual intercourse — controlled riding, anxiety, crying, feelings of fear, provider!yoongi, hoseoksluna's inner child trope, smoking habits as a form of coping.

luna's note: i wasn't planning to post anything as i was just trying to stay alive this week. i tried to write something, but the words felt weird, so i thought i was to abandon writing for the week. that is, until i saw a reel of a guy, a girl and a tangerine (not spoiling it for you). so i ran to my yoongi and allowed him to make me feel better. this took two days to write, and i hope you enjoy. i love you all with all my heart. thank you for all your comforting messages. i read them everyday. mwah. luna loves you so much.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

It was the color of the ripest, the sweetest tangerine that unfolded across the pendulous clouds, undulating around their soft, puffy bodies before it entered them, saturating them with its potent tint. You had just finished your cigarette on the darkened street outside of your home with your boyfriend by your side, who had dropped the last hour of his office work and came straight to you—simply because he sensed that you needed him. 

Yoongi knew by your curt, short sentences, which lacked your usual zest and life, that something was wrong. He didn’t suffocate you with useless questions about the evidence of your sadness like anyone in his place would, but instead got inside his car and sped down the road, still wearing his midnight blue military shirt and dress pants that never fit him right. You always thought that detail perfectly illustrated how he doesn’t belong there, how he shouldn’t, in fact, be there at all. 

But the office work does him good, thankfully. He gets the job done and gets to come home right after the fifth hour of the day—into the warmth between his music-strung walls. Sometimes, you wait for him there with dinner ready on the stove. Sometimes, he asks where you would rather spend your night, attuned to your moods and wishes like no one in your life is. They’re as important to him as the fact whether you’ve eaten at all, as you have the tendency to forget. Especially, when you sink inside the wooden cube of your sadness. 

He knows, intimately, the color of the wood that once used to be a tree. Spent time inside that stifling confinement with you on many, many occasions. But something about this occasion is different. 

It seems as though he’s no longer willing to dwell inside that unlit space with you. 

On his way to you, he had called your favorite restaurant and ordered you a big bowl of beef broth with hotteok on the side. It’s the reason why he didn’t come up to your apartment, but instead called you and told you to come down so that you would both wait for the food to be delivered and go back inside. You grabbed your winter jacket, with your pack of Marlboros and your white lighter in your pocket, and, slipping your feet inside your thick-soled, fluffy outside slippers, you went down to him as fast as your legs allowed you. Your muscles were weary, influenced by your mental exhaustion, and they appeared to have loosened upon the sight of him, leaned against the sleekness of his black car, still wearing his military uniform, made discreet by the largeness of his long puffer coat. 

At this point of your three-years long relationship, he doesn’t have to get out of his car, but he does—despite the fact you’d recognize his car even if your vision failed you. He does it out of his unfailing respect for you, and he had told you so, once upon a time. Guys that don’t get out of their cars for their girls are lazy and they don’t give a f—they don’t give a damn about them. 

He never liked to swear around you. Said your ears were too precious to hear something so indelicate. Your heart swelled with a wave of such premature love for him at that time. It had been just the beginning of your relationship when his honesty, which bore such colored words as these, worked into the flesh of your too wounded heart. You knew, right then and there, that he was the one for you—the one you dreamed about having, the one you searched for in your closest and in strangers alike. No one was like him and it cost you welts that he regards as birthmarks, pathways of stars on your body that he likes to kiss. Likes to take care of. Likes to caress.

Husband, he became to you. At the freshness of it all. 

His eyes were glossy as your feet took you to him. You wore your fuzzy, pastel-hued sleep pants with a few sizes too big sweatshirt of the same material that had the resiliency to protect you from winter’s cold alone. Your smoking sweatshirt, your sleep sweatshirt, too. Someone had comfort food or characters; you had a soft, teddy bear sweatshirt that you clung to. Yoongi didn’t reflect any surprise to see you dressed in this outfit. His mouth was lopsided in a firm line as he sprung from his car and swathed you in his arms, cradling your head in his hand, which he then pressed into the crook of his neck. The wind filtered through your unbrushed hair, tousled from your post-work lazing around, and his palm smoothed down those little hairs that have always managed to get on your last nerve. 

He kissed them, too. Tamed them, for the sake of your mental health. 

That hug and that gesture of his unknotted your sadness, giving them airways to breathe through. Naturally, while inhaling the briskness of the winter’s breath, you pulled away, and Yoongi knew what you needed next. He fished a pack of his Raisons and while you smiled at the little elongated, elegant cat drawn on it that resembled him more than anything, he nudged the butt of the cigarette between his lips, lighting it up for you before he placed it between yours, holding it as you took a drag. 

Your heart palpitated—as if he did it for the first time in this lifetime, but he didn’t. 

Acts of service was his love language and him lighting up a cigarette for you was one of the many ways he showed you how much he loved you. You never grew tired of it. Hell, you never got used to it. It invariably flooded your irises with a wetness of tenderness, no matter how many times a month he would do it for you. 

No one could ever love you like he loved you. 

The tangerine tinges cast a certain glow of homely familiarity as you quietly smoked your cigarette, sharing it with him every two puffs. And once he threw it out for you in the makeshift glass jar ashtray you stash in the thickness of the bushes lining the pathway to the apartment complex, the tinges darkened to the midnight blue of his shirt uniform and Yoongi took your hand and hid you away into the heated snugness of his car. 

There he began to talk. 

“Did something happen at work?” 

You could only nod. Could only scoff with hatred for the cursed building and let out an unnecessary remark that felt necessary for your heart, for your mental well-being. 

“Like always.” 

And at times like these, when you emerge from the difficulties of your workplace, he never opens the suggestion of you finding another job. Your family members and friends, they always fling it at you, not aware of the deeper difficulty that would come with your leaving. They don’t understand that you have to push through, but Yoongi does—because he has done so many, many times throughout the eleven years of his idol journey. 

You’re most thankful to him for it. 

“Why didn’t you call me on your lunch break?” he asks, taking your flaccid hand in his, warming it up with gentle squeezes on his lap. His eyes glide over the side of your face, softly demanding your response, and you blink at the sudden pressure. 

Something has changed. Something feels bigger than your vision is able to take in. 

“I—I forgot,” you say, truthfully, inhaling this severity of the shift, and you straighten your spine, prepare yourself for whatever it is. “I’m sorry. I blanked out and then I ate, and then I had to go back to work.” 

Yoongi sighs, lifting your hand to his lips. “I could’ve helped you.” He kisses your knuckles, made rough by the winter’s icy touch. “I could’ve done something that would prevent you from going home like this.” His lips pucker against your upper knuckles, and then he turns your hand and rests the side planes of his face against that little half-cocoon of your palm. “Is that not what I’m here for?” 

Guilt compresses your clavicles, traveling all the way up to your throat. As you thickly swallow, a lump forms inside that column, triggering your tears that haven’t had the chance to pour out just yet.

“I know you don’t like to talk about what happened. I respect you don’t want to relive it, I understand, but it’s my responsibility to help you,” he rasps, his tone so low and woody, mimicking the surface of your sadness and destroying it in the process, for it punctures you in your gut, buzzing your butterflies for him with vigor. “I’ve thought about this for a long time and I came to a conclusion while driving to you.” The same glossiness that you saw filling his eyes liquefies and the extent of it all breaks his voice as he continues to speak. “Do you see your future with me?” 

Something akin to a rock bashes against your heart and your stomach drops. 

The panic doesn’t settle in. Not just yet. Not until you verify that you understood the meaning of his words in the way he was trying to get them across. You need clarity before the principality of it can force your world, your life to collapse over your delicate head.

“Are you breaking up with me?” you ask, whispering—because if you use your full voice, it’ll break just like his, and you’ll break, too. 

Like the tangerine hue unfolded across the clouds, pain permeates his countenance in the same way. Wrinkles dig into his skin as his features pull in, twisting them while he comprehends your question. The breath he lets out is short, coated with a kind of heaviness that you know by heart, that you know is induced by the enemy that carries the name ‘anxiety’. 

And then his phone rings. 

Yoongi wipes off his tears, lifting his head from the premises of the warmth of your touch. Clears his throat. Presses the green button on the screen of his phone. 

“Yeoboseyo?” 

He nods his head as though the other person on the other side of the phone call could see him, hums, talks and apologizes while you stand at the edge of the earth, about to be flung out into the bottomless space by one singular, uninterrupted sentence directed towards you. 

That much power he has over you; that much he means to you. 

Yoongi ends the phone call without saying goodbye, a fatigued huff of air escaping the small hole of his mouth as he stares down the screen of his phone, contemplating something. You can’t think about what it is, you can’t pivot on your feet and run away from the cliff to help him. Not when this is a life or death situation and you can’t breathe. 

“My boss just cursed me off for leaving an hour early without excusing myself,” Yoongi explains without sparing you a glance, his eyes glued still to his phone that he soon rubs with both of his hands whilst he tries to compose himself. “I fu—I hate it here so much.” 

A stab to your gut. You relate to him, relate to him in such heavenly and beyond heavenly measures that the tears that flow out next are for him, too. But this can’t be the matter to flesh out, not right now. You murmur his name, painfully so, bring him back to the airy context of your relationship because you need to know if you still have him. 

Yoongi glances at you, at last. This thumb and forefinger are instantly drawn to your chin and he tilts your head to him, leaning over. He doesn’t kiss you on your lips. No, he kisses the glimmering traces of your tears upon your cheek, which are the only source of light upon this sphere. No sun, no moon in sight. Only your tears, only the remnants of it—the tears that are so very often internal, let out merely on the inside of your body. Never in front of him, never externally. 

His kiss is hard, demanding once again, but this time you don’t know what he’s seeking. 

“Don’t cry,” he purrs against your skin, against the shine of your tears—and because he didn’t ask about the reason behind them, you perceive what he’s truly demanding. 

Mending. 

Solace. 

Mollification. 

There, beyond those wishes, hides his regret. You feel it strongly, as if it were the veins that lined translucently your skin. He’s not the only one who’s attuned to your moods and wishes; you’re connected to him by an invisible string, which lets you in on the different hues of his heart, his emotions, his lacks and his wishes. It’s a team play that works, watering each other like that, and right now you need to overbrim with the essence of his intelligence, dominance and spoken word. 

You need the truth. 

“Are you leaving me?” you ask again, choosing alternative words with more softness, demanding his response with more power than he ever used. There’s no time to give substance to the reasons—perhaps they were already painted on the sunset you both watched together while sharing a cigarette. You simply need to be shown the roads of yes or no. 

Yoongi blinks in this proximity, his wispy eyelashes brushing against your cheeks, and he withdraws, piercing his gaze through yours in a certain pensiveness, pain and poignancy that makes this even worse. 

“I want to marry you.”

You gasp in a soft manner, which is an oxymoron to the firework that begins to pelt against your internal flesh. Your vision blurs in the speed of light, your liquid emotions pouring down and following the trails your past tears left behind without an ounce of care. Yoongi purrs as he witnesses it, his hand coming to pat down your unruly hair, giving heat to your cold fear, but the sound he makes isn’t of endearment. 

It’s one full of ache. 

“For the longest time I thought about how I could make your life easier,” he begins to explain, his thumb rooting at the apple of your cheek to collect all of your ceaseless tears. “I know you can’t quit your job right now just like I can’t quit mine so I had to think of other options.” He wipes the digit on the underside of your bottom lid, catching the blackness of your mascara. “And the only option is that I buy a house in the future, I marry you and I pay for your health insurance.” His mouth cracks into a half-smile that ripples beneath the blurriness of your vision. “You can be at home, focus on your hobbies. Maybe you can get an income from those, too. Whatever you’d like.” 

You can’t hold yourself back from hugging him, and Yoongi can’t hold himself back from manhandling you and placing you on his lap. He rubs your thighs, let your feet rest on your seat, and he goes the extra mile to take off your slippers to be even more comfortable while you cling to his neck. And the way you transform into a little girl taken care of is the ultimate ointment to your stress-induced sadness. Its airways burst into smithereens, dispersing off and away from your system, and you begin to breathe in the aroma of his car and his personal scent as a girl forever changed, forever provided for. 

He kisses your forehead, cradling your jawline. “That’s why I asked you if you see your future with me. I want to do that for you. I want to set you free from your stress and take care of you because I can.” 

You whimper against the column of his neck, your fingers sinking into the length of his hair at the nape. “Of course I see my future with you. I can’t see myself with anyone else, Yoongi. I love you; you’re too important to me.” 

The purr he emits next is different, covered with an overflowing fountain of love and pleasure for you from your words, and the sound penetrates your mind, untwisting all of those bad thoughts and pushing them away. “I love you, too. You want to marry me, baby?” 

He pulls his lips away from your forehead to look down at you, that glossiness once again overwhelming his eyes, and you nod. “I do.” 

And with those words, you perhaps did tie the knot somewhere in the spiritual realm. 

Yoongi pecks your nose. “Are you gonna let me take care of you?” 

You hesitate, shy all of a sudden, thoughts of how it’s not right, how you don’t deserve it, how it makes you less of a woman than you are resurfacing in your mind—and it is as though Yoongi can read them because he smooths out the wrinkles on your forehead with his thumb, fighting them. 

“It’s your decision, think about it,” he says, softly, sweeping the belly of that digit down the slope of your nose. “And in the meantime when it gets bad again at work, I want you to remember it. Use it to distract your mind from the stress, even if you end up declining my offer in the long run. Nothing changes, I’ll still marry you, baby.” 

The thoughts, once again, wither in the overgrown bushes of your mind, and calmness like a tide washes over your folded body on his lap. You nod, tucking that reminder into your heart to remember later in the future, and you rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat the accompaniment to your ultimate peacefulness. 

Yoongi reposes with you for just a minute. He, then, begins to rummage through his glove box and only stumbles across a small tangerine that nearly gets lost in the width of his palm. He peels it for you while you watch—and once he’s done, he takes the ring finger of your left hand and holds the body of the fruit at the long tip of your nail. 

“I, Min Yoongi, promise to take care of you until the day I die,” he proclaims and slides the tangerine down the length of your slender finger until it sits at the base like a true promise ring. 

You hiccup, overloaded with another onrush of tears, and you scramble up to kiss him. And you do—you give him so many kisses until his lips are puffy and until your moment is again interrupted by another phone call. And it’s not his boss, who’s calling him this time around. It’s the food delivery guy, with your hot beef broth and hotteok in his bag, and together you step out of the car with carmine-wash cheeks. 

Inside your apartment, Yoongi watches you eat. Sitting on the sofa beside you with his elbows propped on his knees, his blush deepens with each spoonful of soup you take to your mouth. And when you begin to share your soup with him just like you shared your cigarette with him, Yoongi is so smitten, so endeared that he can’t let out a full sentence without stuttering, without messing up so bad that he hides his face in his hands, his gummy smile prominent and lighting up the living room. 

And then you’re in bed, but the love making isn’t as quick and lust-dripping like it traditionally is. Everything about the snap of his hips into your core is slow, yet meaningful as if he was fucking his promise into you. You’re supposed to be riding him, being on top like that, however Yoongi isn’t letting you. He’s fleshing out his promise of being the provider by having your wrists in a tight grip behind your back while he pounds your future into you with hard, yet controlled thrusts that empty your brain out of every little left-over fragments of your negative thoughts and emotions. His breathing is ragged as he works so hard, breaking a sweat as he changes your life, holding you upwards by your neck, maintaining an authoritative and vigorous eye contact that throws you over the edge. 

But it’s not the edge you feared so much. 

The bottomless space is a sea of his love he’s dipped inside of, ready to catch you with his arms stretched out in your direction—and he does. Together you swim in the afterglow of your orgasms, swim out into the openness of your shared future with you as a stress-free little girl and Yoongi as the provider. 

Yoongi breaks your wooden cube as he feeds you the half-moons of the tangerine he used as a promise ring and you chew them while half-asleep on his chest—because, truth be told, you don’t need it anymore. You have his promise to envelop you from the inside, to keep you safe and to keep you feeling comforted, even when he’s away in the office and even when he’s travelling around the globe, singing for the world and for your tender heart. 

You’re his wife and he’s your husband—and the bitter spirit of life can’t touch it. 

You’re protected, and you’re taken care of. 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

BACK to masterlist

[chaoticpuff17]

Amygdala

masterlist

part 18

Namjoon’s showing up at the restaurant had not been a part of Margot’s plan, and Yoongi’s resulting reaction had been a less than ideal outcome to their outing.

The ride back to the penthouse was tense and silent, Yoongi’s hand’s clenched around the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckled turned white. The entire interaction at the restaurant had left him with a vein in his forehead throbbing so badly that Margot was half afraid that it was about to burst. The other worry that kept playing through her head was that he was going to turn the car around and punch Namjoon in the face.

Despite the dark cloud that remained around him the entire journey back to the penthouse, Yoongi didn’t say a word the entire time. The entirety of his focus remained on the road. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing Margot had yet to see. She hoped for everyone involved that it wouldn’t blow up in their faces, but from what she knew of Yoongi, if he was still anything like the Yoongi that she had known, it didn’t bode well for any of them that he was stewing in his anger.

Yoongi’s anger had always run cold. He didn’t react rashly. If he was going to retaliate for the incident today, it would be well thought out, and he would strike where it hurt. It was the disadvantage to Yoongi’s particular brand of anger. At least when someone lashed out in the moment, it was over without any time for them to plan out something worse, but Yoongi would think through the cause of his anger and the target of it and find exactly what would hurt most when he retaliated.

Margot hoped that he wouldn’t strike back, but she also knew he was unlikely to forget what had happened.

She had started coming up with contingency plans the moment he’d shoved her into the car. She wasn’t confident that any of them would work, but she at least had contingency plans if she needed them which she had the very distinct feeling that she would. Placating had worked to get him out of the restaurant without any punches being thrown, and she was hoping that it would work again once they made it back to the penthouse. If there was anything that Margot had experience in, it was the art of placating people.

Growing up, her own parents had been constantly at odds with one another, and it had been Margot and her sister’s jobs to help smooth things over. It hadn’t worked in the long term, their parents deciding to split up when Margot was in high school, but she couldn’t help but think that that had been for the best. The pair had had a penchant to ruin anything they touched including their own lives and their children’s, but the skill of smoothing over turbulent emotions which was going to server her very well if she planned on surviving Yoongi and his delusions.

Yoongi continued in his seething silence as they arrived back at their building. Silently, he dragged her out of the car and to the elevator which had turned out to be a horribly awkward ride as Yoongi remained silent the entire time, quietly fuming and adding onto Margot’s anxiety.

The silence was slowly killing her, but she was too afraid of what would follow once it was broken. She didn’t know what Yoongi was thinking, but her own wild imagination had come to the conclusion that it was something horrible. Yoongi’s tight grip on her hand hadn’t helped to ease her anxiety either. His grip was almost bruising in its intensity as though he was afraid that she would slip away from him the moment that he let go. To his credit, that particular fear wasn’t all that delusional. If Margot had had her way, she would have run for the hills already.

As they entered the penthouse, Yoongi slammed the door behind him, one of the few outward signs of his current dark mood, and released Margot’s wrist as he stalked into the kitchen. Here in his own space Margot noted that he looked less like the predator and more like a puffed up kitten.

Slowly, Margot followed him into the kitchen tentatively calling out to him with the modicum of confidence that had returned to her.

All thoughts of Yoongi looking like an angry kitten quickly fled as he turned his gaze towards her. He hadn’t looked at her since dragging her out of the restaurant, and she was frozen in place by what she saw in them. She didn’t think that she’d ever seen such anger in Yoongi’s eyes, not even when he had realized that she was trying to flee from him. Yes, he had been angry then, but something about this was different. This held something darker and more territorial, and it was narrowed in on her.

Before she could react, Yoongi was striding back across the kitchen towards her, reaching her in only seconds. His hands came up to frame her face, eyes searching for something there though she didn’t know what.

They stood there for what felt like ages, Yoongi’s gaze focused in on Margot and Margot staring back in wide eyed apprehension until finally Yoongi spoke.

“I didn’t like seeing his hands on you.”

“Namjoon’s hands?” She asked, speaking slowly and carefully as though to a feral animal. She wasn’t entirely sure that Yoongi wasn’t one in this situation.

“Don’t.” Yoongi hissed, thumb brushing across her cheek bone in a motion far gentler than his tone. “Don’t say his name.”

“He’s just a friend.” She kept her tone even and placating still uneasy by Yoongi and his actions.

“He wants to take you away from me.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mari-ah. I know what he wants to do. I saw the way he tried to play hero.” Yoongi’s hands fell away from her, one of them running through his hair in a hurried motion that left the strands falling in all directions.

“He’s a cop.” Margot pointed out. “Playing hero is literally part of the job.”

“I saw the way he looked at you.”

She scoffed at that. As nice as Namjoon was and as much as Tae-il might like for her to date a young man just like him if not Namjoon himself, nothing had happened between them apart from the fake date he’d taken her on to get her out of talking to Yoongi that one evening.

“And how does he look at me?” She asked, crossing her arms under her chest and waiting for Yoongi to answer.

He scowled, crossing his own arms over his chest. “You know how he looks at you.”

“He’s a friend, nothing more.”

Yoongi chuckled, a twisted little smile on his lips though the expression had no joy in it, only bitterness. “He’s a man, Mari-ah, and you are a beautiful woman.”

“You’re jealous.”

He bristled at that, his whole body tightening up at the accusation. “I have nothing to be jealous over. You’re my woman, and he can’t have you.”

“I’m not your woman or anyone else’s for that matter.” she pointed out. “You kidnapped me. That doesn’t make me your woman. Technically speaking it makes me your prisoner.”

Yoongi’s gaze narrowed, his jaw clenched. “You’re mine, jagiya. You were mine the moment I laid eyes on you again.”

She sighed deeply, tucking a stay strand behind her ear. “That’s not how that works, Yoongi. You don’t get to unilaterally decide we’re in a relationship just because you want us to be in one.”

Yoongi paused, looking at her strangely as though her words were too ridiculous to comprehend. “Jagiya, this is forever. What we have will be forever.”

“We don’t have anything.”

He sighed deeply. This was an argument he had a nagging feeling they would continue to have until Margot gave up her delusions of leaving.

“What we have is everything, jagi. I love you, and you love me.”

She spluttered out a noise that was more of a squack than anything else at that. “I certainly do not!”

“Jagi…” The warning was clear in his tone, but Margot proceeded on, all previous caution thrown to the wind in favor of her current indignation.

“You can’t just decide that I love you even if you have lost your damn mind! You are a fully grown man not some delulu twelve year old! You have to realize how crazy you sound!”

“Mari-ah.” he cautioned again not liking where this was going at all.

“I would literally rather step on glass again than be here with you!”

Yoongi’s gaze hardened, his jaw set as he fought to reign in his own growing temper. “That’s enough, Mari-ah.”

“I would be lucky if Namjoon wanted to take me away from you! At least he’s not fucking delusional!”

Yoongi cut her off, one hand reaching out lightning quick pulling her in by the back of her neck as he ducked down to press his lips to hers.

A small “eep” escaped Margot at the unexpectedness of the action, and she stood there frozen as Yoongi’s lips moved fervently against her own. It was passionate and frenetic. It was both jealous and tender, conveying all of the emotion that Yoongi didn’t have the words to say in that moment.

Yoongi had certainly been touchy before since coming back into her life, but he had never crossed the line towards intimacy like this. She knew his intentions. He’d made them more than clear especially after kidnapping her from her home, but he had not acted on any of his delusions in such an intimate way until now, and Margot didn’t quite know what to do with herself.

It wasn’t as though she’d never been kissed before. She had, but she’d never been kissed by Yoongi, and that had been something of a dream of hers back in her college days. Her crush on Yoongi had been a dream that she had let slip away as the years went by and had been completely crushed as soon as he’d walked back into her life as a delusional criminal. As much as her mind knew that this was wrong that it wasn’t what she wanted, another part of her that was still that girl from college was swooning.

No one had ever kissed her like this before. No one had ever kissed her with such passions, such need. He held her as though she was something precious, as though she was going to slip away if he moved even an inch away, and the part of her that was a romantic swooned a little more at that, but as Yoongi pulled away, resting his forehead against hers as they both caught their breath, the part of her that knew who and what he was took over.

She brought her hands up to grip his wrists, gently beginning to pull his hands away from her and was mortified to realize her hands were shaking as she did.

“Enough, Mari-ah.” He rasped, staring deeply into her eyes as he did. She opened her mouth to say something, but Yoongi shook his head, stopping her before she could get a word out. “I can take a lot, Mari, but I can’t listen to you say you hate me. I can’t listen to you say how you would prefer another man. Please, Mari-ah.”

She nodded dumbly, still a little dazed from the suddenness of his actions and a little taken aback by the vulnerability in his eyes. In that daze, it suddenly hit Margot that he was entirely serious. He couldn’t stand to hear her talk about Namjoon as an option. He couldn’t stand to hear her say she hated him. He might have been delusional about her feelings, but his own were one hundred percent genuine. He actually had feelings for her.

She had thought that every declaration of love, every affectionate gesture had been a product of his delusions. She had assumed, or rather hoped, that with time he would snap out of his delusions. He would realize that he didn’t know her any more, that he certainly didn’t know her well enough to be in love with her, but that wasn’t the case.

Staring into his eyes in that moment with him staring back into hers, Margot had the horrible sinking realization that Min Yoongi was deeply, madly in love with her.

“Fuck.”

[dollfaceksj]

♯♯MASTERLIST

✱ MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT. ✱

✱ all works are written by me. no reposts. ✱

✱ all works contain mature themes. ✱

✱ banner by @archivedkookie. ✱

✱ mainly yoongi & jk fics. ✱

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

⇢ i tend to write bratty y/ns. if that’s not your thing, i doubt my fics will be enjoyable to you.

⇢ ♤ [ angst ] ⋆ ♧ [ fluff ] ⋆ ♡ [ smut ]

⇢ ✎ [ wip ] ⋆ ✄ [ on hold ] ⋆ ✓ [ completed ]

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ escapism. | knj (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ✄ ]

↳ [ namjoon x fem!reader ⋆ drugdealer!namjoon ⋆ divorced!y/n ⋆ plottwist ⋆ drugs&gangs ⋆ strangers ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | knj ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✄ ]

↳ [ drugdealer!namjoon x fem!reader ⋆ acquaintances ⋆ pwp ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ the end of a movie i’ve seen before | knj ✦ [ ♤, ✓ ]

↳ [ namjoon x reader ⋆ friends with benefits ⋆ sad ending ]

COMPLETED

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ met him last night | ksj (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✓ ]

↳ [ nerd!seokjin x fem!reader ⋆ plot-twist ⋆ porn with plot ⋆ two-faced seokjin ⋆ two-shot ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | ksj ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✄ ]

↳ [ incubus!seokjin x fem!reader ⋆ neighbors ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ schemin’ | myg (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ♧, ✓ ]

↳ [ ceo!yoongi x fem!reader ⋆ producer!yoongi ⋆ artist!reader ⋆ boss/employee ⋆ infidelity ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ can’t afford love | myg (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ♧, ✎ ]

↳ [ yoongi x fem!reader ⋆ exhusband!yoongi ⋆ divorced!au ⋆ mom!reader ⋆ dad!yoongi ⋆ exes ⋆ second chance ]

DISCONTINUED

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | myg ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✎, ✓ ]

↳ [ yoongi x fem!reader ⋆ exes ⋆ second chance ⋆ porn with a lil plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ ornery, scandalous & evil | myg (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ✄ ]

↳ [ yoongi x fem!reader ⋆ age gap (post uni) ⋆ brother’s best friend ⋆ enemies ]

COMING NOT SO SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ bitter | jhs (m) ✦ [ ♤, ♡, ✄ ]

↳ [ hoseok x fem!reader ⋆ divorced ⋆ infidelity ⋆ porn with a little plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | jhs ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✄ ]

[ hoseok x fem!reader ⋆ established relationship ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ everybody loves somebody | pjm (m) ✦ [ ♤, ♡, ✓ ]

↳ [ jimin x fem!reader ⋆ best friends ⋆ fwb ⋆ hanahaki disease ⋆ one-shot ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | pjm ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✄ ]

↳ [ jimin x fem!reader ⋆ brother’s friend ⋆ camgirl!reader ⋆ porn with a little plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | kth ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✄ ]

↳ [ showbiz!taehyung x manager!reader ⋆ co-workers ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMING SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ pending. . .

━━ S E R I E S ↴

·˚ ༘ taste of a poison paradise | jjk (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ✓ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ fuckboy!jk ⋆ university ⋆ toxicity ⋆ improv ⋆ crack drabble series ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ devoted to you | jjk (m) ✦ [ ♤, ♡, ♧, ✎ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ best friends ⋆ plot-twists ⋆ lots of conflict ]

COMING NOT SO SOON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ O N E, T W O & T H R E E S H O T S ↴

·˚ ༘ reminder | jjk (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ♧, ✓ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ proboxer!jk ⋆ exes with benefits ⋆ second chance ⋆ three-shot ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ the pink pill | jjk ver (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✓ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ best friends ⋆ porn without plot ⋆ one-shot ]

COMPLETED

·˚ ༘ still don’t know my name | jjk (m) ✦ [ ♡, ♤, ✎ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ frenemies ⋆ neighbors ⋆ porn with plot ⋆ collab three-shot ]

COMPLETED

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

━━ D R A B B L E S ↴

·˚ ༘ see you like that | jjk (m) ✦ [ ♡, ✓ ]

↳ [ jungkook x fem!reader ⋆ fwb ⋆ porn without plot ]

COMPLETED

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

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[sweetestofchaos]

to: you | m.yg x reader

the morning after is a little weird...

❅ agust x reader [modern day blackthorn character]

❅ prompt: “I’ve decided we’re not leaving this bed.” “Okay but, what if I get hungry?” “Well, I’d feed you, then take you back to bed with me. Does that sound alright?” and “it's just a little something.”

❅ wc: 1.1k

❅ warnings: smut - fem receiving oral - squirting - hybrid/magic shifting - mentions of a gun

❅ a/n: written for Merry Chaosdays 1K Follower Event, requested by @secfir. I love that I am able to bring Agust to life a little more. Having him act outside of Blackthorn is such a fun little treat to myself! Thank you for sending in this request.

❅ part two to Here's To You

❅ line, stars, mdni and support dividers made by @benkeibear

❅ send in your requests here

When you wake the next morning, you aren’t surprised to see the space beside you empty. Sighing, you snuggle deeper into the blankets and try to fall back to sleep. The sound of your bedroom door opening makes you roll over and grab the gun that is tucked under your mattress. Sitting upright in bed with it aimed at the door, you are ready for a fight; uncaring about being completely nude. In the doorway, Agust stands in a pair of black sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His face is unimpressed, lips pulled down into a scowl. 

“Easy killer,” he grumbles and walks into the room with his phone clutched in his fist.

“Y-You’re still here?” 

Agust tosses his phone on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed, looking over his shoulder as he asks, “Is that an issue?”

“N-No?” You hide the gun back under your mattress and rub the sleep from your eyes. Well that was a fun way to wake up. Moving to get out of bed, you freeze as Agust speaks up once more.

“I’ve decided we’re not leaving this bed.” 

You stare at the side of Agust’s face. You have never seen him look so…normal. His dark hair is messy and unkempt, his face is still puffy with sleep and you can see a little dried drool in the corner of his mouth. He looks human. His words take a moment to click in your mind and you shrug your shoulders laying back in bed and wiggling underneath the sheets.

“Okay but, what if I get hungry?” You pout up at him and Agust raises an eyebrow before he crawls onto the bed and gets under the covers as well.

 “Well, I’d feed you -” Agust’s voice gets muffled as he slips further beneath the blankets, his dark hair tickling your stomach as he settles between your thighs. “Then take you back to bed with me. Does that sound alright?”

Well you would be a liar if you tell him it sounds horrible, so you nod your head and carefully tangle your fingers into his dark hair. Agust hums at the touches and presses his lips to your hips, nipping at the flesh before he licks the apex of your thighs. Your body relaxes into the mattress as Agust’s lips trail lower and lower, wrapping around your clit before he sucks harshly. Your whine, your spin trying to snap in half as two thick fingers suddenly fill you. The world around you fades to white noise as you are pushed over the edge one to many times in the span of an hour.

Sweaty and panting, you lay in bed wreaked. Beside you, Agust sits up with a grunt and rolls his shoulders. You watch as he stands and pulls his sweatpants on.

“Thought you weren’t leaving the bed?” 

Agust huffs a humorless plume of smoke and opens the door, “Pretty sure my dick isn’t enough to feed you.” Agust states and he slams the door shut just in time to avoid the pillow you throw his way. 

You wipe at the corners of your mouth and look at your hands; spotless. “Asshole,” you grumble to yourself and carefully roll out of bed. You walk over to your closet and go right to the shelf you are hiding a gift. Grabbing it, you hurry back to the bed and sit upright with the box in your lap. You can hear Agust banging around in the kitchen and it pulls at your heart. Is this how he would act if the two of you were in a relationship? Looking at the wrapped gift in your lap, you start to second guess yourself. Is it too much? Will this small act of kindness push Agust away?

You don’t have very long to dwell on the thought before the bedroom door is pushed open and Agust walks in with food that you know for a fact isn’t from your fridge. 

“What’s that?”

“Where’d this come from?” 

The both of you speak over each other and Agust raises an eyebrow. You sigh and pat the space beside you on the bed. Caring the food over to the bed, Agust and you switch items. You watch as Agust looks down at the gift in his hand silently. His face is void of any emotion, his eyes are dark and cold.

“It's just a little something.” You mutter as you shove a piece of fruit into your mouth. “Don’t make it more than what it is.”

Agust nods his head once at your words and carefully unwraps the gift in his lap. He stares at the familiar book and touches it lightly. The black scales on his shoulder seem to darken and spread down to his shoulder blade to which you gulp. Maybe it was wrong of you to get him such a gift after all?

“Where did you find this?” Agust’s voice is a mix between a hiss and growl as he turns the book over in his hands.

“That week I was away? He had a contest in his hometown, so I went…and I won.”

Agust’s head snaps to you at your words and his eyes are bright gold. His face is more dragon than human, more sharp lines, black scales and something else but he is still just as beautiful.

“D-Do you like it?” 

Agust grins, his fangs sharper than you have ever seen them before. 

“You have outdone yourself, pet. Should I get you a reward?” Agust’s words make your head spin and your core clench around nothing. You know he can probably smell your arousal from how his eyes seem to dilate and he licks his lips. “I’m suddenly very parched, pet.”

In the blink of an eye, the food and book are gone from the bed. You are on your back and Agust has his head buried between your thighs once more. His tongue is wicked as it pulls more and more of your arousal from you like a steadily leaking pipe. The pleasure is blinding, hot and overwhelming as you feel your soul fighting to stay within your body. You feel so light and so heavy, it’s a welcoming feeling. As if you are in the middle of the ocean and Agust is the only thing holding you above water…

Tears fall from your eyes as the pleasure consumes your being. Every fiber of you, inside and out is alight with the endless tug and pull of your release. Something inside snaps and Agust growls as a gush of liquid drowns him mid suck. Greedily he swallows down everything you give him, his cock rock hard as he ruts against the bedding. This is the second time he has ever made you squirt and he is just as surprised as the last time but pleased nonetheless.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he crawls up the bed, looming over you he grins. “I’m not done thanking you yet, pet.”

[azuramarigold]

Let's Write A Story Together

Maya Fey is a famous author that has gotten herself into some trouble - someone is leaving letters at her home and gifts at her events claiming to be a secret admirer. Obviously creeped out and paranoid she turns to her lawyer sister who refers her to her junior associate, Phoenix Wright, to help Maya with the case.

Day 3 of the AU-gust Writing Challenge - "Writer"

** TRIGGER WARNING: There is stalking involved! **

Day 3 of the AU-gust Writing Challenge - this one being "Writer"! I chose Maya to be the main character as the "writer" as I've read many fanfics of her being a fanfiction writer herself for "Steel Samurai" lol

AO3 DAY 1 DAY 2

Day 3: Writer

No one told her that her life of being a famous author was going to be this extreme.

            Maya Fey was a Young Adult fiction writer – famous for writing romance novels based on spirit mediums in a reclusive village and young samurais that acted almost like princes to said mediums. It was something of a fantasy that she thought she would have since she was a little girl since she grew up in a small town and wished to be whisked away by a knight in shining armor.

            It started with small writing competitions that she did in middle school and high school. She won some awards. Her sister encouraged her to continue her writing and creativity. Maya ended up going to community college and got a small degree in creative writing and literature.

            After a few years of short stories being published that were not too successful, she decided on a novel instead. It was an overnight sensation to the point where people demanded sequels – so that was she did. She wrote a few sequels and they ended up being turned into a small television series that did a cross-over with the “Steel Samurai” TV series.

            It was amazing to be recognized for once for her talents in her writing. Maya felt on top of the world.

            That was until she kept getting many gifts and letters from a “Secret Admirer”. It really freaked her out as it was going directly to her loft and didn’t have her address written on it. Maya found that she was looking over her shoulder constantly, eyeing every event to see if there was anyone out of the ordinary.

            After three months of constant paranoia, she finally had to ask her elder sister – Mia Fey – for legal advice as she was a lawyer.

            “A stalker situation?” Mia mused when the two were in her office at “Fey and Co. Law Offices”. “I’m afraid I personally can’t take your case due to conflict of interest…”

            “Aw… really?” Maya whined.

            “My junior partner can help you though,” Mia informed with a smile. “He’s still a little new but I think he can help you out.”

            “New?” Maya questioned skeptically. “Hasn’t the guy been working for you for a few years now?”

            “He had to take some time off the last couple of years,” Mia mentioned with a grimace. “He’s getting back into the swing of things.”

            Maya gave a groan, “So, you couldn’t give me a referral to Grossberg or even Diego…?”

            Mia rolled her eyes. “You met Phoenix one time, cut him some slack,” she lightly laughed. “He’s a good guy.”

            “He said he didn’t like samurai stuff…” Maya pouted as she crossed her arms.

            “Do you want a discounted, low-profile case or not?” Mia sternly asked her little sister, suddenly cutting off her playfulness.

            Maya jolted. She would much rather have this stalker case on the down low. “Okay… fine… when is he in?” she finally sighed in defeat.

            “Oh, I’m free right now actually,” a low voice said from behind her chair.

            Maya yelped as she spun around to see Phoenix Wright standing behind her. He was much taller than her, about a foot and a half, and broad shouldered. As always he wore his traditional blue suit with black dress shoes and a red tie. However, since the last time she had seen him - which she’ll admit has been a few years - he had added a pale blue almost gray waistcoat underneath and his suit wasn’t buttoned up all the way. In the left breast pocket of the jacket, he had a golden chain that was sticking out that was peculiar.

            “Nice to meet you again, Ms. Fey,” Phoenix greeted with a small smile. He still had his jet-black spiked hair, but this time he had a stubborn piece that was sticking down his forehead. It took all of Maya’s willpower to not try to slick it back as it was annoying her. In the last few years his jawline squared up a bit more with age and maturity, however, his dark blue eyes still sparkled with the same immature wonder that he had when they had first met.

            “Uh… likewise, Mr. Wright…” Maya replied meekly. She felt herself slump down her chair, resisting the urge to pull her light purple rain jacket over her head to hide in embarrassment.

            Mia gave her younger sister a sly look. “Well… I must go investigate a crime scene,” she announced. “Phoenix, you have the key to lock up when you’re done if you finish the consultation early – don’t work too hard you too!” She then gathered her white leather purse and gave a wink and clacked away out of the office with her white heels.

            Phoenix gave a sigh, “Alright, we can head over to my desk over here…” He then led Maya to a smaller desk in the office that was an oak brown. It was still nice, but not nearly as extravagant as Mia’s. He had a small laptop that was open, and a few legal pads spread about; there were more doodles of random characters than there were legal notes, however. There were a couple of picture frames on his desk, but they were facing him so Maya couldn’t see who they were of. “So, a stalker, huh?” Phoenix then asked casually.

            “Uh… yeah…” Maya admitted wearily.

            “I usually do murder cases,” Phoenix wistfully said, twirling a pen between his fingers. “But might as well nip it in the bud before it turns into one, right?”

            Maya grimaced. “If that was your attempt of a joke… that was in poor taste…” she told him with a deep frown.

            Phoenix made a face. “Uh… sorry… that was my bad…” he sheepishly whispered as he rubbed the back of his head with a free hand. He then went over to his laptop. “So… about five books in your series, huh?” he commented with a low whistle. “That’s impressive… I think the last time we had talked you had only two…?”

            “And now I’ve also written three mini novellas,” Maya smirked confidentially.

            “My daughter likes the TV show, and she loved the crossover with the ‘Steel Samurai’,” he said offhandedly. Phoenix then realized what he said and then immediately tried to backpedal, “Oh, what I mean was-”

            Maya gasped, “I didn’t know you had a daughter!”

            “She’s… adopted…” he explained slowly. “I adopted her a couple of years ago after a trial went south…”

            Was that what Mia meant that he took a couple of years off…?

            “What’s her name?” Maya asked lightly.

            Phoenix glanced over from his laptop. “I’m sorry?”

            “Your daughter… what’s her name?”

            “Trucy…”

            “Oh, that’s a lovely name!” Maya complimented with a smile. “How old is she?”

            “She… just turned ten last month.”

            Maya gave an awkward chuckle, “Oh, good thing you said she was adopted because you look way too young to be a dad to a ten-year-old!”

            Phoenix gave her a side look with a small smirk. “Yeah… I’ve been told that…” he mentioned. He did a few clicks on his laptop, which Maya had to suppress a giggle as he was comically slow at it as he used one finger at a time to type. “Okay… when did you start noticing the stalking?”

            Maya put her hand to her cheek. “I don’t know… maybe five months ago…?” she guessed. There was slow typing. “It was a couple of letters at first… I noticed my address wasn’t written on them and they were all the same handwriting…”

            “No return address either?” Phoenix pressed lightly.

            Maya nodded. She then continued, “Then there were flowers at random book signing events. I thought they were from the venues until I noticed it was the same handwriting…” She then started to rub the upper part of her arms as though she were getting a chill.

            “Have there been any incidents at your book signing events or book tours?” Phoenix then asked curiously. “Or at any of your tours involving the TV show?”

            “I… don’t think there was anything odd…?” Maya confessed, her putting her head in her hands. “It’s just… really creeping me out. I know a lot of die-hard fans go to most of my events… I recognize some people’s faces… but could one of them really be a creepy stalker?”

            Phoenix gave a small shrug. “You’re famous and we are in Los Angeles… sadly, even someone of your stature could end up being crazy,” he pointed out.

            “I’m not crazy!” Maya shouted angrily.

            Phoenix raised his hands in defense from his laptop. “I didn’t say you were!” he insisted, his mouth twisted in a frown and his eyes furrowed angrily. “I just said someone of your stature – as in petite and cute!” Again, he realized what he said as a blush crept on his cheeks. He shook his head violently. “Anyway, first things first – we don’t have any useful information here to file a petition of a restraining order.”

            “A… restraining order…?” Maya echoed.

            “That is correct,” Phoenix said. “It is the first line of defense against a stalker. Unfortunately, depending on the stalker, they end up breaking it. However, because they do it is immediate jail time.”

            Maya raised a brow. “What… if it becomes violent…?” she asked in a small voice.

            Phoenix shook his head. “Oh, I won’t let it come to that…” he assured.

            “And how so…?”

            “Because I have a little girl that happens to know a few… tricks and we are going to find out who your stalker is right away and rest assured, they’ll never bother you again, Ms. Fey!”

            “Maya.”

            “Hmm?”

            “You can call me ‘Maya’, Mr. Wright.”

            A chuckle escaped the attorney. “Then, you can call me ‘Phoenix’.”

            She tapped her chin. “Nah, I think I would rather call you ‘Nick’,” she told him, noticing his eyes widen slightly.

            “Uh… okay…”

            Maya didn’t hesitate to sign on the dotted line of the contract that Phoenix had drafted up for her.

**

Maya didn’t get anything from the stalker for two weeks – which she thought was strange.

            Phoenix had stopped by her loft the couple weeks after the consultation per Maya’s request since she was out of town, his ten-year-old daughter in tow with a box of magic props in both of their hands. The girl was dressed in a magician’s uniform complete with a black unitard, pink cape with a teal diamond clasp, white gloves, white boots, and her brunette hair tied back and under a pink top hat. Her ocean blue eyes were large and round, filled with wonder and excitement.

            “Oh, hello,” Maya had greeted the young girl. “You must be Trucy, right?”

            “I’m Trucy Wright, yes!” the small girl beamed, trying not to chuckle at her own joke.

            Phoenix gave a laugh. “She loves that her last name is a pun now…” he explained to Maya, him rubbing the back of his neck nervously with a smile. He was not wearing his blue suit that she was used to seeing him wear. Instead, he wore a light blue, short-sleeved button up with jeans and white sneakers.

            “Are you going to be my new Mommy?” Trucy asked suddenly. “You’re very pretty like Daddy says you are!”

            Maya was taken aback by the sudden question, feeling her eyes go wide. “Wha…?”

            Phoenix slapped a hand over his daughter’s mouth. “HA HA HA!” he forced a laugh. “Aren’t little kids adorable!?” he stressed with a forced smile. With a low hiss Maya could hear Phoenix say to Trucy, “Trucy Artemis Wright… how many times did I say on the way over here not to mention that!?”

            “At least twelve, Daddy!” Trucy happily squealed loudly.

            Phoenix took off the girl’s hat and patted her head. “Okay… now go rig what you have to rig, my little Magical Girl!” he told her with a wink.

            “Okay, Daddy!” Trucy went off like a whirlwind.

            “Uh…” Maya then said nervously.

            Phoenix gave a small jump. “Oh, I’m sorry about Trucy!” he apologized. “She just… get’s excited when meeting a new person!” he explained gently. “Especially if they are a woman…”

            “How many times did she try to ask my sister to be her ‘Mommy’?” Maya asked slyly. Mia was a drop-dead gorgeous woman with assets in all the right departments to boot with intelligence and a great job– of course Trucy would get attached and want someone like that in her life.

            Phoenix gave her a confused look. “Huh? Oh, none…” he told her honestly, him giving a light chuckle as he scratched behind his head again.

            Maya gave a surprised look. “Wait… what…?”

            “She was ‘Aunt Mia’ right on the spot,” Phoenix shrugged.

            Trucy finally came back by the front door and was putting her final touches. She had apparently rigged a pully system from the front door that would alert Maya if someone was there. In turn a mechanism would activate and cause blue dye to explode from a balloon that was rigged behind the mail slot on her door. A camera would take a picture that was rigged in the corner of the doorway.

            “Wouldn’t it have been easier… to get a doorbell camera…?” Maya offered, a slight frown tugging her lips. “I could’ve done that from the get-go.”

            Phoenix and Trucy looked at each other.

            “Then that wouldn’t be as fun!” Trucy shouted with a pout. She then took off her hat and pulled out a rubber chicken to put next to the door. “For good luck!” she stated as her father rolled his eyes, not understanding how a rubber chicken would be for good luck.

            “Anyone can be caught on a camera,” Phoenix pointed out as he crossed his arms. “But the blue dye will really catch the culprit! Can’t miss someone with a bunch of blue!”

            Is that why he wears a blue suit for court…? He’s a good-looking guy but sometimes he’s a little out there in the head…

            “I have a regular mail carrier, you know!” Maya snapped at him, finally getting angry. “And what about guests that drop by?”

            Phoenix grimaced. “Shit… I forgot about that…”

            “‘Plan B’, Daddy?” Trucy offered sadly.

            “Yeah…”

            A piece of mail went through the mail slot, causing Trucy’s contraption to go off. The loud scream of the mail carrier pierced their ears as Maya opened the door. A large man was in front of the door, a large splotch of blue die on his face and on his mail carrier uniform.

            “Ohmygosh, Mr. Carrison!” Maya gasped in shock. “I’m so sorry…!”

            All the mail carrier did was hand the rest of her mail personally, one of them a personal letter and told her a young man from downstairs handed it to him to give to her, turned his heel, and left. Maya stood in her doorway dumbfounded as the letter was in her hand.

            “I’ll… deduct the cleaning bill you’re going to pay for from your legal fees…?” Phoenix meekly offered.

            Maya only looked at the letter in her hand – again it was her name and no address. It was the same handwriting from her stalker.

**

Maya sat in a bookstore at a table with a stack of books next to her – it was the last one in her series she had written, and the store asked her to do a signing.

            It was a smaller store – and she loved going to the smaller places to help them boost their business. When it was a little slower, she was typing on her laptop, working on the next book in her series, sipping on green tea with a bit of honey.

            “Can you sign a book for me, Ms. Maya?” a familiar small voice asked.

            Maya looked up from her laptop to see a familiar pink top hat. Trucy was bobbing up and down, clutching in her hands the first book in Maya’s series. Phoenix was standing behind Trucy, him glancing slightly away.

            “Oh, of course Trucy!” Maya said excitedly to the young girl. “Is this the first time you’re reading one of them?”

            “Yes, it is!” Trucy squealed giddily. “I really like the TV show! But Daddy says that the books are always better then the movie or show!”

            Maya glanced over to him. “Did he now?” she asked with a small smile. “Well… your daddy is ‘Wright’.” She gave Trucy a small wink, which caused the young girl to giggle and Phoenix to roll his eyes, but Maya saw the smirk on his face.

            “Thank you, Ms. Maya!” Trucy said happily as she took her newly signed book and trotted away.

            Maya closed her laptop and pushed it aside. “So, how did you know I was going to be here?” she asked Phoenix when she noticed he didn’t immediately follow her. She gave a devious smirk, “Am I sure you’re not my stalker and trying to just make a quick buck off of me by being my lawyer?”

            Phoenix gave her an exasperated look. “Oh, ha ha…” he sarcastically laughed. “As much as that would amuse you, Trucy learned about this event from her school.”

            Maya raised a brow, knowing that there was more.

            “And Mia mentioned it too.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

            When Maya was about to say something smart back at him, there was a small commotion of someone stumbling through the aisleways. Someone was knocking into the bookshelves, some books falling to the ground and being kicked away. In the person’s arms was an array of different balloons and an arrangement of flowers.

            “Got a special delivery for a Ms. Maya Fey,” the person announced, a male voice. He began setting stuff on the table and he immediately gawked at Phoenix. “Yo, Nick! How have ya been!?”

            “LARRY!?” Phoenix shouted in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here!?” he then demanded.

            Larry gestured at the items as though it were obvious. “Uh… delivering?”

            The delivery man, Larry, was tall and lanky, his light brown hair sticking off to his right side messily, and his goatee was kept neatly trimmed. He was wearing a navy-blue jacket with a logo on it that depicted him from a delivery service along with wearing a pair of jeans and sneakers.

            “Oh, hi again…” Maya greeted with a small wave, she looked slightly nervous and offput.

            Phoenix shot her a look. “You’ve… met him before…?”

            Maya gave a shrug. “He’s always the one that delivers this stuff at my events…” she informed him as she looked for the sender’s card.

            “Well, I’m off!” Larry announced with a grin. “More deliveries!” He promptly left.

            Maya grimaced as she saw the card with the handwriting. “Really!?” she gasped in shock. “Again!? Why…!?”

            Phoenix then took the card from her and for once really examined the handwriting. His eyes immediately furrowed in anger. “Oh… that son of a bitch!” he growled.

            Maya jumped at Phoenix’s tone. “Um… hey… what’s the matter…?” she then asked him gently.

            “I know this handwriting…!” Phoenix told her, his voice tight. “Can you watch Trucy for me for a… an hour or two?”

            Maya glanced over at Trucy, who was sitting at a table a few feet away happily reading.

            “Yeah… I can watch her…”

            “Thanks, I’ll be right back.”

📓📓📓

Phoenix was pounding on Larry Butz’s door – his fist repeatedly colliding against the wood.

            He had run back to his apartment and dressed in his blue suit and grabbed his briefcase. As he heard Larry grumble that he was on his way to the door, Phoenix adjusted his tie with his now sore hand. It was taking everything he had not to bulldoze his way through into the apartment.

            The door opened and Larry appeared, no longer in the delivery “uniform” but in his light orange jacket and white t-shirt combo.

            “Oh, hey, Nick!” Larry greeted him with his dopey smile. “What’s up, man?” Phoenix then proceeded to pull out a letter from his briefcase and handed it to Larry. “Uh… what is this, Bro?”

            “A restraining order,” Phoenix lowly said. “Follow it very well.”

            “A… restraining order!?” Larry squawked in shock as he began to read it. “From Maya Fey!?” He looked up at Phoenix. “Aww… dude… why? She’s so cute!”

            Phoenix glared at him with a clenched jaw. “Stalking,” he simply said.

            “S-Stalking!?” Larry sputtered. “I-I have never done that!”

            Phoenix gave a wolf-like smile. “Oh… really?” he simply asked. He then proceeded to pull out the few letters of many that Maya had received over the last six months. “Then what are these?”

            “Anyone can send letters, Nick,” Larry huffed, crossing his arms.

            “With the same handwriting as you!?” Phoenix demanded angrily. “No address to her whatsoever!? Flowers and gifts at every event she has!? And you happen to be the delivery driver!?” He then pulled out another record that he pulled up at his work laptop at home and printed before coming to the apartment. “Let’s see… you started your delivery job… oh wow… six months ago…! But you were fired after tapping into addresses for personal gain.”

            Larry’s brown eyes widened. “Hey, man!” he shouted as he threw open his door wider. “Everyone at that job did that, not just me!”

            Phoenix scoffed, “Yet, you’re the only idiot that was caught?”

            “Dude!”

            “Don’t ‘Dude’ me!” Phoenix screamed, throwing his papers at Larry. “You were stalking her! For what!?”

            Larry scratched his cheek. “Well… she’s pretty cute… I’ve said ‘hi’ to her, but she really didn’t want to talk to me… so I expressed my feelings through letters…” he explained in a small voice, putting his two forefingers together.

            Phoenix wanted nothing more than to punch Larry in the face.

            “Why are you caught up with her anyways, Nick!?” Larry then demanded. “You seemed pretty cozy with her!”

            “I’m her lawyer!” Phoenix explained, his face flushing red.

            “Oh, people’s lawyers just go to their events with their daughters and buy their stuff!?” Larry threw in his face. “And go to their lofts to hang out off the clock? I think I recall you mentioning you thought she was a nice little thing a few years ago when you first met her!”

            Phoenix had enough and punched Larry in the jaw. “You’re talking about my boss’s little sister!” he shouted, feeling his heart pounding in his ears. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

            “Dude… what the fuck…!” Larry groaned in pain, rubbing his face.

            “Follow… that restraining order!” Phoenix growled through clenched teeth. “Or you’re going to jail, Butz.”

📓📓📓

“That description sounds a lot like my Daddy!”

            Trucy was reading over Maya’s shoulder of what she was typing on her laptop. Maya’s face immediately turned crimson as she slammed her laptop shut.

            “What…!?” the raven-hair author stammered. “N-No, it isn’t!”

            Trucy crossed her arms and looked slightly to the right. “Ms. Maya, that was a terrible lie…” the young girl pointed out. “You clutch at the hem of your shirt when you lie… you know that right?”

            Maya just stared at the young girl with wide, dark blue eyes. “Uh…”

            “My little girl is perceptive,” Phoenix’s voice interrupted as he joined her at her small table.

            “Oh, you’re back!” Maya said happily, a smile on her face. She then noticed that Phoenix was cradling his hand. “What did you do…?”

            “That asshole stalker isn’t going to bother you anymore…” Phoenix muttered. “Just like I said…”

            Maya gaped at him. “What… did you do…?” she repeated, this time her voice stern, trying to sound like her sister.

            “I punched Larry in his damn face,” Phoenix nonchalantly said.

            Maya put her face in her hands. “Nick… why…?” she whispered.

            “I gave him the restraining order first…” he pointed out.

            “Then you should’ve left it at that!” she insisted, her voice going high.

            “Not when he was going on about trying to validate why he was doing it!”

            Maya then slapped Phoenix’s now swollen hand. The attorney hissed in pain and tears sprung into his eyes. “That’s what you get!” she scolded him angrily. “You big dummy!”

            “OW!” Phoenix whined, him bringing his hand to his chest.

            Tears were Maya’s eyes too. “But… at the same time…” she then whispered softly, just barely loud enough for Phoenix to hear. “That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me…” She then took a deep breath and decided to just go for it. She leaned forward across the table and pressed her lips against his. “Thank you…” she softly said.

            “Is that a tip for my great service or…?” Phoenix murmured against her lips with a smirk.

            “That’s later…”

            Trucy then sprung up between them from the side of the table. “As much as I want a new mommy, Daddy, this is gross as I am ten,” she told him, her hands on her hips.

            “TRUCY!” Phoenix yelped as he jolted backwards, his chair tipping as he collapsed onto the ground.

**

Ten months later and a new book in Maya’s series was released – it being the conclusion.

            Either consciously or subconsciously she had written this plot based on her recent events. It was about a spirit medium who had gone and met a man from a samurai village – who wasn’t a samurai that studied fighting physically but studied law instead. The young maiden got herself into trouble with another samurai who tried to entice her with nice gifts and sweet written words, but she refused the advances as the other samurai was an unknown entity.

            The samurai who studied law offered his services to the young spirit medium, along with his young daughter who studied magic, to find the culprit who was causing the maiden such distress. Come to find out, it was the friend of the law samurai – and the betrayal caused a duel to the death where the stalking samurai was slain as the law samurai was passionate for the maiden and wanted her protected. After the duel, the law samurai asked the spirit medium’s hand in marriage, and it was accepted.

            “You know, they’re calling this your weakest work,” Phoenix commented after reading a review from an online blog.

            Maya, who was sitting on one of the red couches at Fey and Co. Law Offices with Trucy, braiding the young girl’s hair, only gave a shrug.

            “They just have to read in-between the lines,” she huffed with a smile. “And… done!” She informed Trucy that her hair was done, and the small girl jumped off the couch excitedly.

            “Thank you, Maya!” Trucy said happily as she ran off to the reception area of the office.

            Phoenix gave a smile as he saw his daughter run off. He looked back at his laptop. “They don’t know if they want to include this one in the next season of the show…” he remarked to Maya. “I think it’s the best one!” He gave her a large smile.

            Maya rolled her eyes. “That’s because the main male is based off of you, you dummy,” she laughed at him as she poked his cheek when she approached his desk.

            “Needs more law though…” Phoenix commented with a sigh. “I can help in that department…”

            Maya gave a small glance down to him. “Well maybe in the mini novella…” she pointed out. “We can add a court scene to it…”

            “Oh…!” Phoenix beamed happily. “That would be fun!”

            “And… there might be a surprise in there too.” She then grabbed his hand that was on his desk and placed it gently on her stomach.

            “And… what…?” he asked in confusion. “Are you hungry…?”

            She gave him a hard glare. “No…” Then she gave it a second thought. “Well… yeah, I am… but that’s not what I’m trying to say!”

            Phoenix raised a brow. “Okay… maybe spell it out for me…?” he told her. “I need some incriminating evidence on what you’re trying to tell me here, hon…”

            Maya dropped his hand from her stomach and stalked over to her purse and began to search. When she found what she was looking for she threw it as hard as she could to Phoenix with a loud “TAKE THAT!”

            A white stick smacked him across the face and landed on his lap. As he picked it up and looked at it Trucy came back into the main part of the office with Mia in tow, her excitedly talking about a magic show performance she was going to do.

            “Wait… your pregnant!?” Phoenix shouted at Maya in shock, finally clicking together what she had been alluding to.

            A loud squeal erupted from the young girl in excitement as she literally tossed Mia’s hand away from her own. “A new main character, yay!” Trucy cheered as she ran up to Maya and threw her arms around her gently, her cheek affectionately on Maya’s still flat stomach.

            “Yes, Nick…!” Maya happily informed as Phoenix had gotten up from his desk and wrapped his arms around her in a hug, burying Trucy between them.

            “Daddy…!” Trucy complained. “I can’t breathe…!”

            Mia gave a small smirk as she went to her desk, happily eyeing the small, but growing family. “Can’t wait to pre-order that book,” she laughed blissfully.

Notes:

- Will I ever expand upon this? Perhaps... I enjoyed this concept. - Why did I choose Larry as the "antagonist"? Because... Larry. Think about it, in the FIRST GAME WITH THE FIRST CASE he went to Cindy Stone's apartment and was trying to bug her when it was obvious she was no longer interested in him. He is superficial when it comes to dating. In "Trials and Tribulations" he had even mentioned the reason why he wasn't in "Justice for All" was because he FOLLOWED A GIRL TO JAPAN and he was dumped. In the games he's not "creepy stalker level", but he had potential to get there, he was just "dumbass energy". - In this fic I would say Phoenix is about 28-29 while Maya is about 21-22.

[keehomania]

el dorado (엘도라도) — min yoongi (민윤기)

✧.* 18+

the sun had barely risen, casting its first golden rays upon daegu as you stood on the balcony of your lavish penthouse, overlooking the city. the view was both magnificent and disheartening. from the north, the cityscape gleamed with the brilliance of affluence. skyscrapers glittered like diamonds, their glass facades reflecting the morning light. luxury cars, sleek and polished, glided silently along the pristine roads, while high-end boutiques and gourmet cafés beckoned from below.

yet, beyond the northern skyline, the stark contrast of south daegu lay sprawled in muted colors. there, the city’s essence was raw and unrefined. the buildings were worn and aged, their facades bearing the marks of countless years. streets teemed with vendors selling their modest goods, and the air carried the hum of industrious activity mixed with a tinge of despair. the people moved with a sense of quiet resignation, their eyes reflecting a daily struggle for survival.

in the comfort of your penthouse, surrounded by opulent decor and the finest amenities, the divide between north and south daegu felt as though it was etched into the very fabric of the city. it was not merely a physical separation but an emotional and social chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. you sipped your coffee, the rich aroma filling the air, and contemplated the weight of your father’s legacy and the monumental task ahead.

the less fortunate lived on the other side of this divide. min yoongi's world was a reflection of the south—a realm defined by resilience and resourcefulness amidst hardship. it was in these gritty streets that he had forged his path. his life, a stark juxtaposition to yours, was marked by constant striving for a break from the shackles of poverty. his family’s modest home, with its peeling paint and cramped quarters, bore witness to years of struggle. yet, amidst the scarcity, there was a certain warmth, a community spirit that thrived even in the face of adversity.

el dorado—the very name conjured images of opulence and mystery, a shimmering city of gold nestled somewhere beyond the known maps of the world. in the realm of myth and legend, el dorado was not merely a place but a symbol of ultimate wealth and grandeur. it represented the unattainable dream of countless adventurers, a beacon of hope and avarice that has captivated imaginations across centuries and continents.

visions of el dorado were as varied as they were vivid. imagine a city where the streets were paved with gold and the walls of grand palaces were adorned with intricate mosaics of precious metals. rivers of liquid gold flowed through lush, verdant landscapes, and the very air sparkled with the dust of untold riches. in that imagined paradise, luxury was not an aspiration but a reality woven into the fabric of daily life. the legend assured that only the worthy could come across the city of gold, and you were sure it was your destiny.

the rain fell steadily, its rhythmic patter blending with the mournful strains of a distant funeral dirge. the sky, a dismal gray, wept alongside the mourners who had gathered to pay their respects. the gravesite, a somber and serene expanse, was blanketed by a fine mist, rendering the scene both melancholic and ethereal.

you stood alone beside your father’s freshly turned grave, the elaborate marble headstone gleaming under the droplets of rain. the memorial photograph of your father, framed in an ornate silver plaque, looked back at you with a serene yet distant gaze. his eyes, forever captured in a moment of composure and strength, seemed to echo the weight of the legacy he had left behind.

tears traced paths down your cheeks, mingling with the raindrops as you stared at the photograph. the sight of his image brought a piercing ache to your heart, an overwhelming flood of grief that threatened to consume you. the grandeur of his achievements, the opulence of his life, and the unfulfilled promise of his dreams all seemed to converge upon this solitary moment.

in the midst of your sorrow, you sensed a presence—a subtle shift in the atmosphere. turning slightly, you caught sight of min yoongi standing nearby. he was positioned just a few feet away, his figure slightly obscured by the veil of rain. unlike you, who was consumed by the weight of personal loss and duty, yoongi’s attention was fixed intently on the grave.

he was soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes clinging to him in a manner that mirrored your own state of disarray. yet, his focus was unwavering, a silent vigil in the midst of your personal anguish. his posture was rigid, his gaze unblinking as he regarded the headstone, the significance of the scene seemingly etched deeply into his expression. you could not quite discern the thoughts behind his solemn demeanor. his presence, though unexpected, seemed to be an unspoken tribute to your father, perhaps a testament to the respect he had for the man who had employed him. there was no hint of intrusion or disrespect; instead, there was a quiet solidarity in his silence. you couldn't place the look on his face. then again, you didn't know him all that well, having had only one encounter. you removed your gaze from him, your thoughts drifting back to a memory that seemed both distant and vivid.

it was a hazy afternoon, the sun casting dappled shadows on the gentle waves as you slept on the deck of your family's yacht. the tranquility of the boat had lulled you into a peaceful slumber, the soft rocking of the vessel a gentle cradle. the serenity of the moment was abruptly disrupted by a muffled sound, a soft rustling that stirred you from your nap. blinking groggily, you opened your eyes to find the boat's interior bathed in a soft, golden hue from the afternoon light. it was then that you noticed a figure moving stealthily near the scuba gear locker. you immediately recognized him.

he was hunched over, his movements deliberate but not quite smooth, as if he were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. your curiosity piqued, you sat up, the slight creak of the boat’s deck betraying your awakening. as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, yoongi glanced up and froze, his expression one of startled surprise.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and mild amusement. the question hung in the air, and for a moment, yoongi seemed at a loss for words. he fumbled with the equipment, a sheen of nervous sweat glistening on his forehead. “i’m just topping off the tanks,” he stammered, his voice wavering. his eyes darted to the empty, wet scuba gear spread across the deck, and a flash of panic crossed his features.

you raised an eyebrow, noting the strange sight of the wet, empty gear. “topping off the tanks?” you repeated, your tone laced with skepticism. “why is everything soaked and empty then?” his panic was palpable now, his usually composed demeanor shattered by your direct questioning. “please, don’t tell your father,” he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. there was an earnest desperation in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

you studied him for a moment, the gravity of the situation mingling with a growing sense of mischief. “caught his employee red-handed,” you said with a teasing smile. the amusement in your voice was barely concealed, and you watched as yoongi’s face turned an even deeper shade of worry. his eyes widened, and he took a hesitant step toward you, his hands wringing together nervously. “i’m really sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “i didn’t mean to—”

seeing the sheer anxiety in his eyes, you decided to ease the tension. “relax,” you said, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i won’t say a word. consider it a secret between us.” a look of immense relief washed over his face, and he let out a soft sigh of gratitude. “thank you,” he said earnestly, his gaze meeting yours with genuine appreciation. “i promise it won’t happen again.”

in that fleeting moment, the air between you shifted. the playful teasing had given way to a quiet, unspoken bond—a shared understanding that transcended the usual dynamics of employer and employee. yoongi’s smile, though nervous, was heartfelt, and it lingered for a moment longer before he turned back to his task, working diligently to restore the equipment to its proper place.

the penthouse, usually a haven of opulence and comfort, felt uncharacteristically hollow as you walked through its vast, echoing spaces. the grandeur of the high ceilings and the sweeping views of the city did little to ease the emptiness that weighed heavily upon you. your father’s presence, once a commanding and reassuring force, was now conspicuously absent, leaving behind a palpable silence.

you wandered aimlessly, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpets that stretched beneath you. each room you entered seemed to whisper reminders of him—the elegant furnishings, the carefully curated artworks, the personal touches that spoke of his life and personality. yet, despite the luxury and the meticulous design, the place felt colder, more distant, without him.

as you moved through the penthouse, you found yourself drawn to his study—a room that had always been shrouded in an aura of secrecy and reverence. it was a place you had rarely entered during his lifetime, a domain reserved for his most private thoughts and intricate dealings. you hesitated before the door, a feeling of intrusion gnawing at you. but curiosity, combined with the pressing need to understand the extent of his plans, urged you forward.

with a deep breath, you pushed open the door, and the scene before you struck you with a jolt. the study was in disarray, a stark contrast to the usually immaculate order that characterized your father's workspaces. the once pristine desk was now cluttered with scattered papers, some strewn haphazardly across the floor. the large window on one side of the room had been shattered, the jagged edges glistening ominously. rain had begun to seep in through the broken glass, pooling on the hardwood floor and mingling with the debris.

you stepped further inside, your heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and determination. the chaos was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that had consumed your father in his final days. you moved cautiously, your eyes scanning the room for any clue that might shed light on his final projects.

approaching the desk, you began sifting through the papers. most were invoices, financial reports, and documents related to his various investments. yet, amidst the mundane clutter, one document caught your eye. it was partially crumpled and stained, its edges rough and disheveled. bold, black letters emblazoned across the top read, “el dorado.”

your pulse quickened as you carefully unfolded the paper. the document revealed an intricately detailed map, its aged surface marked with symbols and annotations that hinted at a journey. the map depicted a labyrinth of rivers, mountains, and dense forests, converging on a central location that was highlighted in a golden hue—a conspicuous nod to the legendary city of gold. as you studied it, the countless stories your father had told you about el dorado surged back into your memory. you had always dismissed them as fanciful tales, embellishments of adventure and myth. the allure of the lost city seemed trivial compared to the realities of his empire.

but now, seeing the map and the evident planning that had gone into it, the fascination with el dorado took on a new, unsettling significance. it was not merely a whimsical obsession; it was a meticulously orchestrated pursuit, a strategic endeavor to uncover something of immense value. the realization dawned on you that your father’s fascination was, in fact, a grand plan—a plan that had been in motion for years, driven by a desire to find the lost city and secure its treasures.

the weight of this discovery pressed heavily upon you. the idea that your father had been so consumed by this quest, to the point of neglecting other aspects of his life, was both astonishing and disconcerting. yet, it also clarified your path forward. the map was more than just a relic of his dreams; it was a tangible link to his legacy, a call to action.

yoongi sat on the edge of the docks, the cool evening air ruffling his hair as he took a slow drag from his joint. the sky was a muted canvas of twilight hues, the fading light casting long shadows over the wooden planks beneath him. beside him, his friend leaned back against a crate, his own joint smoldering between his fingers. the gentle lapping of the water against the pilings below created a rhythmic, soothing backdrop to their conversation.

hoseok broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. “so, now that your employer’s gone—how do you feel about it?” yoongi exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression guarded. he scoffed lightly, not entirely surprised by the question. “don’t joke about it,” he said, his tone more serious than hoseok’s casual demeanor suggested. “the man was alright for a chaebol.”

hoseok chuckled, his eyes narrowing with a hint of cynicism. “they’re all the same, are they not? it makes no difference whether they’re alive or dead. they’ve got their own world, and it’s nothing like ours.” yoongi’s gaze shifted to the water, his attention wavering as he became lost in thought. hoseok, noticing his friend's distracted demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “what’s on your mind, yoongi? you seem a bit off.”

yoongi took another drag from his joint, the embers glowing softly in the gathering darkness. he let the smoke curl around him, his eyes distant. “gold,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. hoseok laughed, a hearty sound that seemed to echo off the water. “isn’t that what we’re all thinking about? gold’s always on our minds.”

yoongi shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, enigmatic smile. “gold, the city of gold.” hoseok’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of puzzled interest. “the city of gold? you mean that old myth?”

yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly as he met his gaze. “it’s not just a myth. i overheard him talking about it before he passed. he was obsessed with it, claimed he was close to finding it.” hoseok’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “you’re not serious, are you? that’s just another tall tale.”

yoongi’s expression was resolute. “no, i’m serious. there’s something to it. i’m going to be the one to find it.” hoseok’s skepticism remained evident, but curiosity was clearly piqued. “and how exactly do you plan to do that?”

a smirk played on yoongi’s lips as he took a final puff from his joint, the smoke drifting lazily into the twilight. “the way to a father’s heart,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial, “is through his daughter.” as the sun dipped below the horizon, the night deepened around them, casting the docks in shadows. the promise of adventure and discovery hung in the air, mingling with the scent of the sea and the lingering smoke. yoongi’s resolve was palpable, his plans set into motion by a mix of ambition and strategic maneuvering. the city of gold was no longer a distant dream, but a tangible goal.

you lay on the couch in your father’s study, the room dimly lit by the desk lamp that cast a soft, golden glow across the walls. the study, once a place of bustling activity and intense focus, now felt oddly still and desolate. the silence seemed to amplify your thoughts, turning them into an echoing din that made it impossible for you to drift into sleep.

staring up at the ceiling, you found yourself lost in the labyrinth of your mind, the weight of your father’s death and the revelation of his secret quest pressing heavily on your shoulders. the map of el dorado, now carefully hidden away, was a constant reminder of the journey that lay ahead—a journey you felt compelled to undertake in his memory.

just as the darkness of the room began to weigh on your eyelids, a sudden crash shattered the stillness. your heart leapt into your throat, and adrenaline surged through you, jolting you into action. you threw off the blanket and forced yourself out of the couch, your footsteps quick and quiet as you approached the source of the noise. the study door creaked as you pushed it open, and you peered into the hallway. the light from the study illuminated only part of the corridor, leaving the rest shrouded in shadow. the crash had come from further down the hall, and you moved cautiously, every sound magnified in your heightened state of alert.

as you rounded the corner, you saw a figure bending over a cluttered pile of papers. without a second thought, you sprang forward and tackled the intruder to the ground, your instincts driving you to protect your father's possessions. the person let out a startled yelp, and in a swift, unexpected move, they flipped you onto your back.

you found yourself staring up at a familiar face, eyes wide with equal parts surprise and disbelief. it was yoongi, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. he was sprawled on top of you, his body tense, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“this is the second time you're breaking in,” you murmured, struggling to regain your footing as you pushed against his chest. he blinked, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find an explanation that would make sense. he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the scattered papers on the floor. “i’m looking for clues,” he finally admitted, his voice a blend of awkwardness and sincerity. “about the city of gold.”

you wriggled out from beneath him, sitting up as you processed his words. “the city of gold?” you echoed, the phrase taking on new significance. “you mean el dorado?” he nodded, his expression earnest. “yes, el dorado. are you familiar with it?”

you met his gaze, your mind racing as you considered the implications. “i am. i found a map in my father’s study. i plan on finding it to honor his memory.” there was a brief pause as the weight of your statement settled between you. yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing his next words. “i wanted to find it too,” he said slowly, his voice revealing an undertone of determination. you studied him, trying to discern his true motives. there was a hunger in his eyes, a drive that went beyond mere curiosity. yet, you were willing to overlook his hidden agenda if it meant achieving your own goal.

taking a deep breath, you considered what your father would have wanted. the thought of working with yoongi, despite the tension and underlying motives, seemed like a practical step forward. he had valuable knowledge and skills that could aid in the search, and his involvement could provide insights that you might otherwise miss. “i think,” you said finally, your voice steady, “that we should find it together.”

he looked taken aback by your suggestion, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. “are you serious?” you nodded firmly, your gaze unwavering. “yes, i am. if we work together, we might stand a better chance of finding it.”

he studied you for a moment longer, his expression a mix of skepticism and intrigue. slowly, a small, hesitant smile began to form on his lips. “alright,” he said, his tone softening. “let’s find it together.” the agreement, though tentative, marked the beginning of an unexpected partnership. as you both stood up and began to gather the scattered papers, the realization of the task ahead settled over you. the search for el dorado would be fraught with challenges, but with yoongi’s help, you felt a renewed sense of purpose.

yoongi’s gaze swept across the study, taking in the chaos that had taken over the room. the once meticulously organized space was now a disheveled mess, with papers strewn haphazardly across the floor and a window shattered, letting in a cold draft. he arched an eyebrow as he observed the scene, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

“what happened here?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. you shrugged nonchalantly, brushing a stray piece of paper from the edge of the desk. “i assumed someone broke in. the place was like this when i arrived.”

his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the room, his gaze lingering on the scattered documents. his attention shifted as you approached the desk and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper with a careful touch. the map was worn but unmistakable, its edges frayed from years of handling. as you spread the map out on the table, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “is that really it?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

you smiled, nodding as you smoothed out the creases. “this is the map. the one my father was obsessed with. it’s supposed to lead to el dorado.” yoongi joined you at the table, leaning in to examine the map closely. his fingers traced the intricate lines and markings, his expression one of awe and admiration. “south america,” he murmured, glancing up at you with a look of impressed disbelief.

your satisfaction was evident as you watched him study the map. however, your attention was soon drawn to a piece of paper lying beneath it, partially obscured by the map’s bulk. the paper was covered in scribbles and notes, and yoongi’s eyes fell on it, scrutinizing the words written in a frantic scrawl. “tocord ele boosin,” he read aloud, his brows furrowing in confusion as he deciphered the jumbled letters.

you scanned the same paper, noting the erratic handwriting and the repeated name. “it seems like a display of a meltdown,” you said, your tone nonchalant. “my father must have been trying to piece something together, but it looks like he lost control.” yoongi shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the paper. “no, this address looks familiar. i’ve seen it before.”

you turned to him, intrigued by his sudden revelation. “really? where?” his gaze sharpened as he tried to recall the information. his eyes widened as he connected the dots, the seemingly random scramble of words taking shape in his mind.

“doctor lee soobin,” he said aloud, the name forming clearly on his lips. a jolt of recognition struck you, and your eyes widened in surprise. “how do you know that name?”

he shook his head, his expression a mix of skepticism and irritation. “doctor lee soobin is infamous in the south. he’s considered a madman by many, but he calls himself a scientist. his research is unconventional, and he’s been the subject of numerous rumors and gossip.” you considered his words, the implications settling heavily in your mind. “so you’re saying my father was involved with this doctor soobin?”

yoongi nodded, his gaze serious. “it’s possible. if this address is linked to him, then it could be a significant clue. he might know something about el dorado or at least be connected to the search in some way.” with the map and the mysterious paper in hand, you and yoongi began to organize the information, your minds focused on the path ahead. the study, once a place of solitude and grief, had transformed into a hub of discovery and anticipation.

as yoongi began to gather his things, preparing to leave the study, you hesitated. the urgency of the moment had given way to a more practical concern. you cleared your throat, trying to mask the unease you felt. “wait.” he paused, looking back at you with a mix of curiosity and confusion. “what’s up?”

“it’s late,” you said, forcing yourself to sound casual. “it’s not safe for you to walk back to the south at this hour. you should stay the night.” his eyebrows lifted in surprise, his expression shifting from confusion to something akin to amusement. “are you serious? you’re offering me a place to stay?”

you nodded, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “yes. it would be safer. i don’t want you risking your safety just to chase after a lead.” his gaze softened, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets with a thoughtful smile. “seems like you just want an excuse to sleep with me,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

you scoffed, a reflexive smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “as if,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. but as you caught sight of his playful grin, you hesitated. “or maybe you’re just looking for a chance to get out of walking back.” he chuckled, the sound a warm contrast to the chill in the air. “well, when you put it that way, who am I to argue?”

he seemed genuinely appreciative, and you could tell he was touched by the gesture. you took a deep breath, holding his gaze. “you can either thank me or leave. your choice.” yoongi’s grin widened, and he gave you a nod of gratitude. “thank you. i’ll stay the night.”

as you prepared the guest room for him, your thoughts were occupied by the unexpected turn of events. the night, once marked by sadness and solitude, now held the promise of collaboration and discovery. you couldn’t deny the strange comfort in having yoongi nearby, and the prospect of working together on this quest gave you a sense of purpose you hadn’t anticipated.

the first rays of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. you stirred, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and turned to see yoongi still sprawled across the guest room bed, his breathing slow and even. you scoffed quietly, a mix of amusement and exasperation tugging at your lips. as much as he claimed he didn’t need it, it seemed he did appreciate the comfort of a bed after all.

slipping out of bed, you padded softly down the hall to the kitchen. the house was still, the quiet punctuated only by the soft sounds of your movements. you set to work, the familiar ritual of brewing coffee providing a comforting rhythm. the rich aroma filled the air as you prepared two cups, your hands moving deftly as you thought about the day ahead.

you were just reaching for the ice cream when you felt a presence behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling before you heard the quiet, raspy voice. “do you really plan on having ice cream for breakfast?” yoongi’s voice held a note of bemusement, startling you slightly.

you turned, a small smile playing on your lips as you saw him leaning against the doorway, hair tousled and eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “it’s not ice cream for breakfast,” you corrected, holding up the carton. “it’s called an affogato.” he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a skeptical smile. “i’ve never heard of it.”

“then you’re in for a treat,” you replied, turning back to the counter. you scooped chocolate ice cream into two glasses and poured the hot espresso over them, watching as the ice cream began to melt and swirl with the coffee. he watched you, curiosity piqued as you handed him one of the glasses. he took it hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment before he lifted it to his lips. his eyes widened slightly as he took a sip, the unexpected blend of hot and cold, bitter and sweet, surprising him.

“do they really not sell these in the south?” you asked, taking a sip of your own affogato and savoring the way the flavors danced on your tongue. yoongi shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no, the best we get is a black coffee. this is different. good different.”

“i’m glad you like it,” you said, warmth spreading through you at his approval. you both sipped in silence for a few moments, the quiet companionship settling comfortably between you. once you had finished, you set the glasses aside and began discussing the day’s plans. the journey south loomed ahead, the thought of it filling you with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

“we need to figure out the best way to get there,” you said, pulling out the paper with the address. “do you know the area well?” his eyes flicked to the paper, and he nodded, a confident gleam in his gaze. “i know it by heart. just follow my lead.”

you handed him the paper, trusting his assurance, and began gathering your things. as you moved around the kitchen, preparing for the journey ahead, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. yoongi’s presence, once so enigmatic and distant, now felt like a steady anchor. with your bags packed and the house secured, you both stepped out into the crisp morning air. the world outside was waking up, the city stretching and yawning as it greeted the new day. yoongi glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips as he motioned for you to follow him.

the morning air was cool and crisp as you walked side by side with yoongi, the city slowly waking up around you. the streets were beginning to fill with people, the sounds of daily life rising to a gentle hum. you followed him to the train station, the two of you moving in comfortable silence. when you arrived, he fumbled with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

“damn it,” he muttered, pulling out his wallet only to find it empty. he looked at you with a sheepish grin, “looks like i’m broke.” you couldn’t help but smile at his predicament. “don’t worry about it. i’ll cover the fare,” you assured him, stepping up to the ticket counter and purchasing the tickets.

the train ride south was a journey into another world. as the landscape outside the window changed, you were struck by the stark difference between the two sides. the bustling, affluent north gave way to a more rugged, hardscrabble environment. the buildings were older, many in disrepair, and the people looked worn and weary. it was a side of the world you rarely saw, and it filled you with a strange mix of curiosity and unease.

yoongi broke the silence, his voice low and serious. “you should really talk to the police while you’re here, about your father’s office.”

you scoffed, not bothering to hide your disdain. “i’m well aware someone broke in.” he looked at you, a frown creasing his brow. “you should find out who the asshole is.”

“i’ll think about it,” you replied, your tone dismissive. you could feel his eyes on you, trying to understand your reluctance. he couldn’t quite grasp why you wouldn’t use your influence to get the police to do your bidding, but he didn’t press further.

as the train approached the station, you felt a sense of apprehension settle over you. exiting the train, you stepped into the southern town, the stark reality of it hitting you hard. the streets were rough, lined with potholes and crumbling sidewalks. the people moved with a wary kind of urgency, eyes always on the lookout.

passing by the police station sent chills down your spine. the building was imposing, a reminder of authority and power, but also of the corruption and fear that often came with it. you met yoongi’s gaze, seeking reassurance. “do you know where to find the doctor’s house?” he nodded, his expression serious. “yeah, follow me. watch your step.”

you took in the south, grimacing at just how rough people seemed to have it. the poverty and struggle were palpable, a sharp contrast to the world you knew. the journey to the doctor’s house was a winding path through narrow, crowded streets. the further you went, the more apparent it became just how different life was here. when you finally reached the doctor’s house, you were taken aback. the building was old and beat-up, its once-white paint now peeling and faded. the windows were cracked, and the front steps sagged with age and neglect. it was a far cry from the pristine, well-maintained homes you were used to.

“is it safe to enter?” you asked, eyeing the dilapidated house with suspicion. it looked as though it had been abandoned for years, the once-white paint peeling and the windows dusty and cracked. yoongi chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “when we were kids, we used to dare each other to knock on this door. no one ever had the guts to actually do it.” he saw the grimace on your face, the look of horror that flickered across your features, and laughed. “don’t worry. it’s not as bad as it looks.”

you hesitated, watching as he approached the door and knocked. the door swung open with a creak, revealing the shadowy interior. “see? open already,” he said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile. you trailed behind him, the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet as you called out, “doctor lee?” your voice echoed in the empty space, but there was no answer. the house was a mess, furniture overturned and papers strewn everywhere. it was clear someone had broken in.

“this is a bad idea,” you started to say, turning to him. but before you could finish, a man tumbled out of a closet, wild-eyed and desperate. he tackled yoongi to the ground, hands tightening around his throat with a feral intensity.

you locked eyes with yoongi, his expression shifting from surprise to helplessness under the man’s strangling grip. your heart raced, and you frantically looked around for something to help. spotting a crowbar on the floor, you grabbed it and swung at the man’s head. the blow wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was enough to loosen his grip.

yoongi pulled himself free and pinned the man down as he thrashed. you approached cautiously, meeting the man’s fearful gaze as you crouched beside him. “i’m (y/n) (l/n),” you said, your voice steady as you showed him the letter you had found in your father’s study. the man stopped thrashing, his eyes widening. “are you—his daughter?”

you nodded, and yoongi loosened his grip as the man calmed down. “my father recently passed away,” you said, pausing to steady your voice. “i’m here on his behalf, for the city of gold.”

the man sighed, gesturing to the trashed room. “as you can see, i’ve had a few uninvited visitors.” you nodded, feeling a pang of empathy. “my father’s study was broken into as well.”

he gestured for you both to take a seat, offering you cups of water. “were you friends with my father?” you asked, curiosity tinged with sadness. he scoffed, a bitter smile curling his lips. “we were, until money got the better of one of us.” he paused, noticing your discomfort. “though i regret not attending his funeral.”

yoongi cut through the tension. “so, where do we go from here?” the doctor analyzed the letter, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. “you have the map, so you’re more than close to the gold. all you need now is the gnomon.”

you frowned, puzzled. “what are you talking about?” he leaned forward, his expression serious. “the map is nothing but a guide to the temalacatl. the gnomon, if found, comes with a translation. once placed on the temalacatl, if the timing is right and the moon hits it, the final clue to el dorado is revealed.”

you and yoongi exchanged stunned glances. “how do we get the gnomon?” he asked. the doctor leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. “in the south’s museum. the gnomon is one of the artifacts. no one has suspected it to be a clue, but rather a display of el dorado’s existence.”

you turned to yoongi, your mind racing. “how do we get it?” he shrugged, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “you have money, just buy your way in.”

you sneered at his teasing, but before you could retort, the doctor cut in. “no amount of money could match its value. your best bet is to break in,” he paused to adjust his glasses. “i have a friend who monitors the cameras, someone who owes me a favor. he’ll turn a blind eye.”

you smiled, feeling a step closer to your goal. “thank you,” you said, gratitude coloring your voice. “be careful,” the doctor warned, his eyes serious. “this journey is more dangerous than you can imagine.”

with renewed determination, you and yoongi left the doctor’s house, your minds set on the path ahead. the stakes were higher than ever, but you felt a sense of purpose guiding you. the city of gold was within reach. you trailed after yoongi, watching him closely as he navigated the streets with ease. he suddenly changed direction, and you couldn’t help but ask, “aren’t we going to the museum?”

he shook his head, his expression serious. “we need to go to the police now.” you rolled your eyes. “it’s no big deal, yoongi.”

he stopped, turning to face you with a look of determination. “after seeing the pattern in the doctor’s house, it’s too dangerous not to. we can’t take any chances.” you sighed, accepting defeat. there was no arguing with him when he had that look in his eyes. “fine.”

you followed him back to the border, the path to the police station feeling longer and more daunting with each step. as you approached the building, a sense of dread settled in your stomach. yoongi noticed your hesitation and opened the door for you, his presence a small comfort. the room fell silent as you entered, all eyes turning towards you. the heavy atmosphere was suffocating. then, you locked eyes with him. his gaze was icy as it settled on yoongi, a cold glare that sent shivers down your spine.

“what are you doing here?” jungkook’s voice was laced with hostility. yoongi turned to you, confusion evident on his face. you took a deep breath, deciding to break the tension. “this is yoongi, my friend. and yoongi, this is jungkook, my ex-boyfriend.”

jungkook’s displeasure was palpable, but so was yoongi’s. the air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. you cleared your throat, trying to diffuse the situation. “we’re here to report a break-in.” jungkook looked shocked, his cold demeanor softening slightly. “why didn’t you come in sooner?”

you shrugged, attempting to downplay the situation. “i thought it was no big deal.” he sighed, frustration mingling with concern. “it’s always because of the gold, isn’t it?” he shook his head before saying, “i’ll report it further.”

you turned to leave, but jungkook grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. yoongi’s eyes narrowed, his stance becoming protective. “be careful,” he said, his voice softer, a hint of the old familiarity breaking through his stern facade. you met his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of the past. “you too, jungkook.”

you and yoongi left the police station, the tension from the encounter lingering in the air. he remained silent, his mind clearly preoccupied. you walked side by side, the city’s noise fading into the background as your thoughts consumed you. “ex-boyfriend?” he finally asked, his voice gentle. you nodded, though the encounter had left you rattled. “dad forced us to break up, long time ago,” you paused to smile, but there wasn't a trace of humor on your face. “didn't approve of him being from the south.”

your words seemed to be a reminder to him, one that made his gaze harden and his throat close up. one that told him—no matter how close you were, no matter how nice you were to him, you would still be different at the end of the day. you would be the one with money and food on a silver platter, while he would be absolutely no one.

the two of you headed back in the right direction, the urgency of your mission weighing heavily on your minds. you turned to him, breaking the silence. “it’s too early to break in,” you said thoughtfully. he nodded, considering your words. “do you have any suggestions?”

you paused, your eyes drifting over his attire. his clothes made it painfully obvious that he was from the south. a smile tugged at your lips as an idea formed. “there’s no way you’re gonna blend in dressed like that.” his eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “what are you on about?”

you took his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “point me to the nicest clothing store you know. i’ll be your sugar mommy for the week.” he looked defeated, a sigh escaping his lips. “i can’t believe you’re gonna customize me.”

feigning offense, you raised an eyebrow. “are you so against being my barbie doll?” he feigned sympathy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “i assure you, i’ll be the perfect lab rat.”

you pulled him into the most expensive store you could find, which was a challenge in itself given the area. the saleswoman looked stunned as you entered, her professional demeanor momentarily slipping. “what can i help you with?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. beaming, you placed your credit card on the table. “bring out your most expensive attire for my good friend here.” she looked delighted, probably not used to customers willing to spend so much money. “of course,” she agreed eagerly, glancing at yoongi with a gleam in her eye.

you sat on the plush couch in the waiting area, enjoying the luxurious surroundings. yoongi’s look of betrayal made you smile. the first outfit he tried on was a sleek black suit with a narrow tie. you shook your head, unable to suppress a chuckle. “too funeral director.” next, he stepped out in a flamboyant red ensemble, complete with a matching hat. you winced, struggling to keep a straight face. “too circus ringmaster.”

the third outfit was a gaudy, bedazzled jacket and pants combo that sparkled under the store’s lights. you laughed outright, shaking your head. “elvis, can i get an autograph?” his expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement, but he finally emerged in a classic, well-tailored navy suit that fit him perfectly. you stepped forward, adjusting his tie with a satisfied smile. “now, this is perfect.”

he smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “glad to hear it, because it’s my turn to customize you.”

your turn to look mortified, you opened your mouth to protest but he was already leading you to the women’s section. the first outfit he chose was a frilly pink dress that made you look like a cake topper. he grinned as he saw your expression. “my little pony, where've you been?” you nodded, rolling your eyes. the next outfit was a tight leather ensemble that made you feel like a character in a spy movie. “too dominatrix,” he remarked with a smirk.

the third was an extravagant, sequined gown that you could barely move in. “too disco ball,” he said, laughing at your discomfort. finally, you stepped out in a simple, elegant dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. his eyes widened, and he stared at you, stunned. “you look stunning.”

blushing under his intense gaze, you mumbled a thank you. you paid for the outfits, the saleswoman’s eyes gleaming with delight at the hefty commission she’d just earned. as you left the store, you couldn’t help but feel a newfound confidence in your new attire, matching yoongi’s sophisticated look.

he looked around, assessing the bustling streets, then turned to you. “it’s still too early for anything,” he said thoughtfully. you glanced at him, reminding him with a gentle smile, “you didn’t have anything for breakfast. how about lunch?”

he hesitated, a tinge of guilt in his eyes. “i feel bad for leeching off you.” taking his hand, you squeezed it reassuringly. “we’re working together, aren’t we?” his heart fluttered at your touch and words, an unwelcome reminder of the emotions he tried to suppress. he hated how he felt, knowing there was no logical reason for his heart to react this way. you were out of his league, a fact he couldn’t forget.

you both opted for a local restaurant, a cozy place with a warm ambiance. as you sat down and began perusing the menu, you couldn’t help but comment, “there really aren’t any affogatos here.” he chuckled, the memory of the sweet taste lingering. “welcome to my world,” he said with a grin. after a pause, he asked, “you promise to make me another one?”

“of course,” you replied, your eyes twinkling. “i’ll make as many as you want.” you both ordered your meals and settled into a discussion about the gnomon. the restaurant’s hum provided a comforting backdrop as you outlined your plans.

“it’s crucial to get the translation that comes with the gnomon,” you emphasized.

he nodded, confidence in his gaze. “that won’t be an issue.” he paused, then asked, “how will we get to south america?”

you smiled, enjoying the chance to surprise him. “i’ll take one of the company’s planes and call the pilot.” his reaction was priceless, a mixture of awe and disbelief. you leaned in, your smile widening. “welcome to my world.”

as the food arrived, you took a moment to appreciate the simplicity and warmth of the place. the dishes were hearty and comforting, a stark contrast to the opulence you were used to. the conversation flowed naturally, a balance of light-hearted banter and serious planning. his eyes sparkled as he spoke about the next steps. “we need to figure out the museum’s security layout. breaking in won’t be easy, but if we time it right, we’ll have a small window.”

you nodded, absorbing his words. “we’ll need to be in and out quickly. any delay could be disastrous.” the weight of the task ahead pressed down on both of you, but there was a strange comfort in sharing this burden. the restaurant’s charm and the simplicity of the meal offered a brief respite, a moment of normalcy in the midst of chaos.

after lunch, you both felt more grounded, ready to tackle the challenges ahead. as you exited the restaurant, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm glow over the city. the streets seemed less daunting now, each step bringing you closer to the heart of your mission. he glanced at you, a determined look in his eyes. “ready?” you nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “ready.”

the two of you walked in silence, the setting sun casting long shadows across the city. the south seemed to blend seamlessly with the encroaching darkness, the streets and alleys taking on an almost sinister feel as twilight gave way to night. as you approached the museum, yoongi unexpectedly took your hand into his. startled, you turned to him.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a low whisper. he squeezed your hand gently. “act natural,” he replied, his eyes scanning the area. it was only then that you noticed how many people were around, their movements and chatter blending into the evening’s backdrop.

taking his lead, you relaxed, entwining your fingers with his as you began to circle the park in front of the museum. its grand structure, despite its worn exterior, loomed ahead of you. you locked eyes with the security camera in front and quickly looked away, trying not to appear suspicious.

as the crowd began to thin, you tugged yoongi’s hand and led him toward the museum’s entrance. the lady at the front desk looked up, informing you with a tired smile that they were about to close. you laughed lightly, flashing her a charming smile. “we’ll be out soon,” you promised, pausing to straighten yoongi’s hair. “i just have to show my boyfriend the dead sea scrolls.”

she smiled and nodded, her suspicions seemingly allayed. yoongi leaned in and whispered, “what are you doing?”

“act natural,” you murmured back, trying to suppress your own nerves. suddenly, you heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. before you knew it, he had pushed you into the nearby janitor’s closet. the space was small and cramped, your bodies pressed close together. you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as yoongi placed a finger on his lips, signaling for silence. his own breath was unsteady, and his face was inches away from yours.

he leaned in closer, his breath warm on your cheek. “are you okay?” he whispered. uou nodded, your eyes meeting his. he smiled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. the closeness was electrifying, your shared anxiety heightening every sensation.

when the lights finally dimmed and the building fell silent, you carefully opened the door and slipped out. the museum, now cloaked in darkness, seemed even more imposing. you began your search, moving stealthily through the exhibits. the shadows played tricks on your eyes, and the vast emptiness amplified every creak and whisper. as you moved through the museum, a sinking feeling of defeat began to settle in. you found nothing of use. but then, yoongi tugged your sleeve and pointed upward. you followed his gaze and saw a narrow staircase hidden in the shadows.

you ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, each step creaking beneath your weight. your hand found its way back into yoongi’s, a silent reassurance. as you reached the top, you both froze. there it was—the enclosure, and the sign reading “kalingo's gnomon.”

a smile of disbelief spread across your face. you couldn’t believe it. carefully, you began working on the enclosure. yoongi kept watch as you bypassed the security measures with trembling fingers. the thrill of the illicit act coursed through your veins, making each second feel like an eternity. finally, you managed to open the enclosure. the gnomon was a beautiful artifact, ancient and intricately designed. hidden inside it was the translation you needed. you held it up triumphantly, your eyes meeting yoongi’s in a shared moment of victory.

but the triumph was short-lived. the distant sound of police sirens shattered the moment as panic surged through you. “that asshole set us up,” he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

there was no time to waste. grabbing his hand, you pulled him away, clutching the gnomon tightly. you ran through the darkened halls, your footsteps echoing in the empty museum. the sirens grew louder, closer. desperation fueled your movements. you found an emergency exit and burst through it, emerging into a back alley. the cold night air hit you, but you didn’t stop. you ran, yoongi right beside you, the gnomon weighing heavily in your hands.

the sound of police sirens echoed through the streets, the lights flashing ominously in the distance. you navigated through the narrow alleys, your breath coming in ragged gasps. every corner turned, every shadow passed, you felt the urgency of your escape. yoongi pulled you toward a hidden passage, a narrow corridor between buildings. you squeezed through, the gnomon clutched tightly to your chest. the passage opened up to another alley, and you kept running, the adrenaline driving you forward.

finally, you reached a more secluded area, the sirens now distant. you stopped to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. yoongi was beside you, his own breath coming in heavy gasps. “we made it,” he panted, a triumphant yet exhausted smile on his face. you nodded, clutching the gnomon. “we made it.”

the museum was abuzz with activity, police officers scattered around like ants after a disturbed nest. flashlights cut through the darkness, illuminating exhibits and casting long shadows on the walls. the chief stood in the center of the chaos, his voice a steady bark of commands.

“secure the perimeter!” he ordered, his eyes sharp and uncompromising. “i want every exit covered. jungkook, get up here and find out who’s behind this.” jungkook, who had been examining the front desk, straightened up at the sound of his name. he moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he approached the chief.

“the security cameras were disabled,” he reported, frustration edging his voice. he glanced at the monitors, now lifeless and dark. the chief's frown deepened, but he gave a curt nod. “find out how they did it and who was involved,” the chief instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

jungkook’s jaw tightened as he turned on his heel, a sense of urgency propelling him forward. he moved through the museum with swift efficiency, his eyes scanning for any clue, any sign of who might have been responsible. when he reached the staircase, he took them two at a time, his breath coming in controlled bursts.

reaching the top, he found the enclosure that housed kalingo's gnomon. or, rather, what had housed it. the case was empty, the artifact gone. jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his fists clenching at his sides. the dim light of his flashlight revealed the remnants of the security system, bypassed with a level of skill that spoke of careful planning. his frustration bubbled over, and he slammed his fist into the nearby table, the sound echoing through the empty halls. he took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. his eyes fell on the empty case once more, and a bitter scoff escaped his lips. he knew who had done this, knew it with a certainty that gnawed at his insides.

“it was you, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. the emptiness of the museum echoed back at him, the silence heavy with the weight of his realization. he stood there for a moment longer, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of how you had outmaneuvered them all. the artifact was gone, and with it, a part of the plan he had thought was secure.

you turned to yoongi, your voice firm yet laden with the urgency of the situation. “we need to go back to the north,” you told him. he arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “why?” he asked.

“it’s too risky to stay in daegu,” you replied. “we need to leave for south america as soon as possible.” he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. the two of you made your way to the train station, blending into the evening crowd. as you waited for the next train, you pulled out your phone and called the pilot, an old friend of your father’s. you spoke in hushed tones, the urgency clear in your voice.

“can you get the plane ready for tonight?” you asked, the anxiety creeping into your tone. there was a brief pause before the pilot responded. “everything will be ready in an hour,” he assured you. you thanked him and ended the call, turning to yoongi with a relieved expression, repeating what the pilot had told you.

the train arrived, and you both boarded, finding seats near the back. exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, the adrenaline from the heist beginning to fade. you settled into your seat, the rhythmic clatter of the train lulling you into a state of relaxation. before long, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off, your head coming to rest on yoongi’s shoulder.

he stiffened at the unexpected contact, his heart fluttering as he glanced down at your sleeping form. the sight of you sleeping so soundly against him was disarming. he felt a rush of emotions he couldn’t quite name. he questioned his motives—was he really in this just for the money? he needed to be selfish, to think of his own survival, but the sight of you, so vulnerable and trusting, made him feel something far less selfish.

as the train neared its destination, he gently nudged you awake. “we’re here,” he murmured softly. you blinked, disoriented for a moment before reality set in. together, you made your way to the penthouse, your exhaustion evident in every step. he noticed and asked, “are you gonna be okay?”

“i’ll be fine,” you assured him, though your voice betrayed your weariness. as you walked, yoongi’s leg began to nag him, the feeling practically unbearable. he brushed it off, telling you it was nothing. you arrived at the penthouse and discovered that your father’s study remained untouched, the mess from the break-in still present. the police hadn’t been there.

“it’ll be okay,” yoongi said, his voice a soothing balm. you nodded and began packing the necessities. as you did, you took a moment to examine the gnomon. the translation depicted various symbols in an ancient, foreign language, their meanings written beside them: moon, wisdom, light, vision, and finally, gold. the gnomon itself was beautiful, meticulously crafted.

yoongi’s voice broke your train of thought. “pretty, isn’t it?” you met his gaze, his eyes soft and gentle. you smiled, your heart warming. “beautiful,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. with a final look around, you locked up and stuffed the gnomon into your backpack. together, you and yoongi made your way to the runway, the weight of the artifact and the journey ahead pressing on your shoulders. the night air was cool, filled with the promise of escape and the unknown.

as you and yoongi reached the runway, the scene before you was a mixture of mechanical roar and illuminated metal. the plane, sleek and powerful, rumbled softly as if it was eager for the night sky. yoongi's eyes widened in awe, his fascination with the aircraft evident in the way he stared, his expression a blend of wonder and disbelief. the pilot, a tall man with a warm smile and a firm handshake, stepped out from the cockpit. he greeted you with a friendly nod. “good to see you,” you said. “i’m sorry for the late call.”

“it’s no big deal,” the pilot replied, waving off your apology. he then turned his gaze to yoongi, his curiosity piqued. “and who’s this?”

he stepped forward, offering a polite bow. “i’m min yoongi, a friend of hers.” the word “friend” felt strangely hollow to him. he wasn’t merely content with being your friend. he wanted to be more, to be someone who mattered deeply in your life. the pilot didn’t seem to notice the subtext, merely acknowledging yoongi with a nod.

“so, where are you headed?” the pilot asked, checking his watch. you sighed, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. “we’re going to colombia.”

the pilot’s eyes widened slightly. “long flight,” he remarked. “but we’ll get you there. please, board when you’re ready.”

as you and yoongi began to make your way to the aircraft, a sudden, unmistakable wail of sirens pierced the night air. panic surged through you, your instincts kicking in. “hurry,” you urged him, your voice sharp with urgency. yoongi, wincing as his injured leg flared up, struggled to keep pace. you reached out, steadying him as you both hurried up the stairs to the plane. his face was a mask of determination and anxiety, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten in the rush to escape.

as the sirens grew louder, the police cars drew nearer, their flashing lights painting the runway in ominous hues of red and blue. the pilot, already in the cockpit, began the pre-flight checklist with practiced efficiency. the engines roared to life, the sound growing louder as the plane began its ascent. with a final, frantic glance over your shoulder, you and yoongi took your seats. the plane began to move, its wheels vibrating with the power needed to lift off the ground. the rumble beneath you grew more intense as the aircraft picked up speed, racing against the encroaching sirens.

outside, the police cars skidded to a halt, their occupants scrambling to make sense of the situation. the sight of the plane accelerating down the runway, its engines a symphony of raw power, left them momentarily stunned. the aircraft surged forward, its nose lifting, and with a shuddering roar, it took off into the night sky. the plane ascended rapidly, the lights of the runway and the police cars below shrinking into the distance. the sirens grew faint, the chase turning into a distant echo. Inside the plane, you and yoongi exchanged glances, a mix of relief and exhilaration in your eyes. the weight of the gnomon in your backpack felt lighter somehow, the imminent danger replaced by the thrill of the escape.

as the plane settled into its cruising altitude, the rhythmic hum of the engines provided a steady backdrop to the tense quiet between you and yoongi. the dim light of the cabin illuminated his features, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a sharp wince escaping him each time he moved. you turned to him, concern etched into your expression. “what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with worry.

he waved it off with a weak smile. “it’s nothing,” he replied, though his strained tone betrayed the lie. skeptical, you pressed further, and to his surprise, you pushed him back down onto his seat with gentle insistence. “you’re not fooling me,” you said firmly. as you knelt by his side, you began to roll up the leg of his pants. the fabric pulled away to reveal deep, bleeding scratches on his calf. your breath hitched at the sight of the raw, inflamed wounds.

looking up at him, you asked softly, “why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he offered a sheepish smile. “i didn’t want to be a bother,” he said, his eyes softening with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude.

you shook your head, a mix of frustration and tenderness in your gaze. “you’ve never been a bother,” you assured him. from your backpack, you retrieved a small medicinal kit and set to work. xarefully, you cleaned the wounds, your hands moving with practiced ease. the antiseptic stung, but yoongi gritted his teeth, his eyes locked on you as you worked.

the moment your eyes met his, a fleeting silence filled the space between you. the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and you could see the same flutter of emotions reflected in his eyes. the simple act of caring for him felt charged with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

when you pressed a fresh bandage onto the wound, your fingertips brushed his skin lightly. you hesitated for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the bandaged scratch. the touch was soft, and the warmth of your lips left he momentarily stunned. he stared at you, his heart racing, as you pulled away with a smile. “i’m gonna go change,” you said softly, standing up and heading toward the bathroom.

yoongi watched you leave, a wave of conflicting thoughts crashing over him. a part of him urged him to follow you, driven by a desire he couldn’t quite understand. another part cautioned him against it, whispering that he had no right to expect anything more. despite the hesitation, his longing prevailed, and he found himself following you down the narrow aisle.

to his surprise, the bathroom door was ajar. peering inside, he caught sight of you as you began to undress. his breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he saw you peel the dress over your head, revealing your bra and panties. the sight of you, so vulnerable and unguarded, made his pulse quicken. for a brief, uncomfortable moment, he felt like an intruder. the guilt was almost overwhelming. but as soon as you turned around, meeting his gaze with a knowing smirk, all sense of propriety melted away.

“i knew you’d follow me,” you whispered, your voice teasing and confident. his gaze softened as he took in the sight of you. “smart girl,” he murmured under his breath, his voice thick with emotion.

without another word, he crossed the threshold into the bathroom, his intentions clear. his hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you with a desperate urgency. his lips were warm and insistent against yours, the kiss deepening with every passing second. he lifted you gently onto the sink, your body pressed against the cool surface. his arms wrapped around you, holding you securely as the kiss continued. the world outside the small bathroom faded away, leaving only the intimate connection between you two. the air was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and the steady thrum of the plane’s engines, a rhythmic accompaniment to the closeness you shared.

his hands began to roam, tracing the curves of your body as he kissed your neck. you moaned softly, arching into his touch, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. he fumbled with the clasp of your bra, finally freeing your tits to his eager palms. they were soft and warm, and he took a moment to appreciate their perfection before taking one into his mouth, suckling gently. you threw your head back, the pleasure of his touch sending shockwaves through your body. your hands found their way to his belt, deftly unbuckling it as his own hands worked on your panties. the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

his cock was already hard, straining against the fabric of his pants. with trembling hands, you reached down and freed him, stroking the length of him as he moaned against your skin. he was velvet over steel, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the power he held in your grasp. the need to have him inside you grew stronger with every stroke, your pussy wet and ready. you spread your legs wider, inviting him closer. he stepped between them, his cock brushing against your thigh as he positioned himself.

his hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and gruff. you nodded, your eyes locked on his. “yes, yoongi. i want you, all of you,” you whispered. with that, he plunged into you, filling you up in one quick motion. the suddenness of it made you gasp, your eyes widening with pleasure and a hint of pain. he paused, giving you a moment to adjust before he began to move, his hips rocking into yours in a rhythm that was as old as time itself.

each thrust was punctuated by a string of dirty words that only served to heighten the intensity. “fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “you feel so good, baby. so fucking good.” you responded with your own vulgarities, urging him to go harder, faster. the pleasure built in you like a storm, threatening to break at any moment. your breath grew ragged as you clung to him, the muscles in your thighs tightening around his waist.

the bathroom was a cocoon of passion, the only reality that of your bodies joined together. outside, the plane continued its journey, but in that moment, you were both in a world of your own making. he picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more forceful as he approached climax. you could feel him swelling inside you, and the thought of him cumming, filling you up, was almost too much to bear.

as you reached the peak of pleasure, your body spasmed around him, tightening like a vice. he growled low in his throat, his own orgasm crashing over him. he pumped into you once, twice, before stilling, his cock pulsing with release. your eyes met in the mirror, both of you panting and flushed. the aftermath of your encounter was a heady mix of satisfaction and awe.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him deep inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of his warmth. finally, he pulled out, a trail of cum connecting you both. you watched in the mirror as he tucked himself away, your eyes never leaving his. without a word, he helped you down from the sink, and you stepped into the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor. the moment was raw and unfiltered, and you both knew that what had just happened was more than just a casual hookup. it was a declaration of something deeper, something that could not be contained by the confines of any social class.

as yoongi pulled his shirt and shorts back on, you noticed the shift in his demeanor, a soft, contemplative smile on his face. he crouched down before you, his gaze steady and reassuring. his eyes searched yours with a warmth that made your heart skip. “this was meant to happen,” he said gently, the sincerity in his voice undeniable.

you tugged on a shirt and shorts, trying to compose yourself, but his words lingered in your mind. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice slightly uncertain as you tried to make sense of the sudden shift in his tone.

with a tender smile, he reached out, taking your wrist gently and pulling you closer to him. you were startled by the sudden contact, but his touch was soft, almost comforting. “you feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. a shiver ran down your spine, the gravity of his words sinking in. you understood perfectly what he meant, and the truth was unmistakable. You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving his.

you then asked, “did you agree to help me because of the gold?” your tone was casual, but there was a hint of something deeper, a vulnerability that you rarely showed. he thought for a moment before responding. “yes, i did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “but it’s more complicated now.”

his eyes softened, and he took a deep breath. “if you wanted me to leave without a single piece of gold, just to keep you, i’d agree,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. the weight of his words pressed heavily on your chest. the sincerity of his offer was palpable, and it touched a chord within you. without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. this time, the kiss was tender and filled with a sweetness that spoke of unspoken promises and deeper emotions.

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm, reassuring embrace. his touch was gentle yet firm, as if he was afraid to let go. “i promise,” he murmured into your ear, his voice a soothing balm, “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

as he settled into a comfortable position beside you, his exhaustion finally overtaking him, you couldn't help but be captivated by the serene expression on his face. his fingers, though initially restless, gradually stilled and began to curl around the string of your shorts, his touch soft and almost tentative. it was a small, intimate gesture, one that spoke volumes about his trust and the vulnerability he felt in this moment.

you watched him with a tender smile, your heart swelling with a warmth you hadn't expected to feel. the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply was soothing, and the occasional twitch of his fingers only added to the sense of closeness between you. you reached out with a gentle hand and began to stroke his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers like water.

the rhythmic motion of your hand on his head seemed to calm him even more, and you could see the tension in his shoulders gradually easing. his face, now relaxed and peaceful, was a stark contrast to the strained expression he'd worn earlier. as you continued to stroke his hair, a sense of contentment washed over you. you could feel the weight of the day’s events lifting, replaced by the simple joy of having him close.

the dim light of the cabin illuminated his features in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows that accentuated his relaxed expression. each breath he took was steady and rhythmic, and you found yourself enveloped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. there was something profoundly comforting about watching him fall asleep, the trust and connection between you palpable.

your own eyelids began to droop as the soothing motion of your hand on his hair combined with the rhythmic hum of the plane. the exhaustion of the day’s events, coupled with the calm of the cabin, lulled you into a state of tranquility. with one last, affectionate brush of your fingers through his hair, you allowed yourself to lean back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. soon, sleep claimed you as well, your body relaxing into the cushioned seat. the warmth of his presence and the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing created a cocoon of comfort around you.

the jarring sound of the cockpit door sliding open snapped you from your slumber. startled, you glanced around, your heart racing as the plane lurched violently beneath you. yoongi, still groggy, looked up with wide, alarmed eyes as the pilot’s voice cut through the chaos.

“we’re being shot at,” the pilot’s voice was strained but controlled, “we’re heading towards the sea. brace yourselves!”

the words barely had time to sink in before the plane shuddered again, the turbulence throwing you against yoongi. the once smooth hum of the engines was now a discordant roar, the plane tilting violently to one side. the cabin lights flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as the aircraft struggled to maintain altitude.

his hand gripped yours tightly, his face pale but determined. “do you remember what i told you earlier?” he shouted over the cacophony. his voice, though steady, betrayed his underlying fear. you nodded vigorously, your own heart pounding in your chest. fear clawed at your insides, but you managed to force a shaky smile. his reassuring gaze was your anchor amidst the turmoil. without a word, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his warm lips a stark contrast to the cold sweat that coated your skin. “nothing will happen to you,” he promised, his voice low and fierce. “i promised.”

the plane shuddered again, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, “prepare for impact!” the words barely registered before the plane began its final, harrowing descent. the cabin filled with a cacophony of alarm bells and frantic shouts. you clung to yoongi as the plane lurched and pitched, the sensation of weightlessness making your stomach churn. he pulled you close, his arms a steadfast shield against the chaos.

with a heart-stopping jolt, the plane hit the water. the impact was brutal, the fuselage groaning and buckling as it collided with the ocean’s surface. water sprayed violently through the shattered windows, the once sleek interior now a scene of disaster. yoongi’s grip tightened around you as you were both thrown against the seatbacks, the force of the crash sending waves of cold seawater surging through the cabin. the cabin lights went out, leaving you in near-total darkness save for the sporadic flashes of lightning outside. yoongi pulled you from your seat, his movements urgent but controlled. “we need to get out!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the ocean and the crackling wreckage.

you both stumbled toward the emergency exits, the plane listing heavily to one side. with adrenaline coursing through your veins, you forced open the nearest emergency exit, the rush of cold seawater flooding in as you leaped out into the chaotic surf. he followed closely behind, his strong arms encircling you as you were both engulfed by the freezing sea. the water was a violent, tumultuous mess, the waves crashing over you with relentless force. you fought to keep your head above the surface, clinging to the debris and floating wreckage that bobbed around you. yoongi’s grip never wavered, his hand firmly clasped around yours as you struggled to stay afloat amidst the disorienting swirl of water.

in the distance, you could hear distant cries and the sharp crack of gunfire, the sounds merging with the roar of the ocean and the wreckage. the fear was palpable, but yoongi’s steady presence kept you focused. you both swam with powerful, determined strokes, using any piece of floating debris as leverage to propel yourselves toward the distant shore. the journey was grueling, each stroke through the water a battle against exhaustion and the pounding waves. every moment felt like an eternity, but his reassuring presence and the glimmer of hope that came with nearing the shore kept you going. the distant lights of the coastline finally came into view, a beacon of salvation amidst the chaos.

when you finally reached the shore, your legs nearly gave out as you collapsed onto the wet sand. yoongi, equally exhausted, pulled himself beside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. his eyes were full of concern as he reached out to brush the wet hair from your forehead. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice strained but sincere. you nodded, the weight of the situation hitting you as you took stock of your belongings. the gnomon, the translation, and the map were still secure, clutched tightly in your backpack. you knew you had to run, that the danger wasn’t over, but for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to rest, the cool sand beneath you a small comfort after the nightmarish ordeal.

the oppressive heat of the jungle enveloped you both as you sprinted through the thick, tangled foliage, the weight of the humid air pressing down on you. the map you clutched in one hand was a precious guide through the dense undergrowth, each step a challenge as you navigated the uneven terrain. the trees loomed like sentinels, their thick branches entwining above you, casting fleeting shadows that danced in the flickering light of the dense canopy. the cries of unseen creatures echoed through the thick air, mingling with the rapid pounding of your heart.

yoongi ran beside you, his breathing ragged and uneven, the adrenaline driving him forward despite the exhaustion. his eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. the map led you through a labyrinth of green, the path seemingly endless as you pressed on, guided by the urgent need to escape and survive.

as the dense forest began to thin, you emerged into a small clearing that revealed a scene both unexpected and alarming. before you lay a group of makeshift cabins, their structures rudimentary but functional, scattered across the clearing. the people gathered there, clad in worn clothing and armed with an assortment of weapons, looked up in confusion as you and yoongi stumbled into their view.

the first shot rang out, slamming into the ground just inches from where you stood. the deafening crack shattered the moment of stunned silence, and yoongi's instincts kicked in. “we need to move!” he shouted, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards a nearby hill.

the shouts and cries in rapid spanish grew louder, and the threat of a fight was imminent. despite yoongi’s desperate pleas to keep running, you stopped abruptly. he turned to you, his eyes wide with concern. “what are you doing?” you reached into your backpack and, to his astonishment, pulled out a sleek pistol. the weight of the weapon was reassuring in your hand, the cold metal a stark contrast to the sweltering heat. as the cries grew nearer, you positioned yourself behind a nearby tree, your focus sharp as you aimed. the first shot echoed through the clearing, and the sound of a body hitting the ground followed soon after.

a tense silence fell, broken only by the distant rustling of the jungle and the pounding of your own heartbeat. the sight of the armed group retreating was a small victory, and you took it as your cue to keep moving. you turned to yoongi, who watched in disbelief as you wrestled with your backpack, pulling out a second pistol and handing it to him. “here,” you said, your voice steady despite the situation. “you’re gonna need this.”

he took the weapon with a mixture of awe and amusement, his eyes narrowing as he took in the situation. he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were from the south.” you couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “that’s funny,” you replied, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “my boyfriend’s actually from the south.”

the comment left yoongi momentarily flustered, his cheeks flushing a shade darker as he tried to regain his composure. you watched with amusement as he stumbled over his words, clearly thrown by your unexpected jest. his flustered reaction was a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere, adding a moment of lightness to the chaos. “let’s go,” you urged him, still smiling as you began to lead the way up the hill. the weight of the pistols and the urgency of the situation kept you moving, despite the lingering laughter and the adrenaline that surged through your veins.

the climb up the hill was strenuous, the incline steep and the jungle’s undergrowth relentless. every step was a struggle, but the sight of the jungle stretching out below you and the promise of safety spurred you onward. yoongi, now more focused, followed closely behind, his earlier embarrassment replaced by a determined resolve. as you reached the top of the hill, the dense forest stretched out before you, a sprawling sea of green that offered both cover and a potential escape route. the distant shouts of the armed group faded, replaced by the relentless buzz of insects and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

the jungle seemed endless, its thick, humid air wrapping around you like a heavy, suffocating cloak. the undergrowth scratched at your legs, and the sweat trickling down your face made each step feel like a monumental effort. the map clutched tightly in your hand felt like it was growing heavier with each mile, and despite the fleeting moments of adrenaline, fatigue began to seep into your bones.

after what felt like an eternity of walking, you finally had to stop. you slumped down onto a large, flat rock, your breathing ragged as you tried to catch your breath. yoongi, equally exhausted, immediately knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern. without a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water. the cool liquid felt like a balm to your parched throat as he pressed the bottle to your lips, tilting it gently so you could drink.

as you took the water, yoongi’s gaze was unwavering, his worry etched into the lines of his face. once you’d finished drinking, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a firm, reassuring hug. the embrace was warm despite the humid air, a small but meaningful comfort amidst the chaos. “don’t give up,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “remember why we’re here. we’re so close.”

his words, combined with his steady presence, gave you a renewed sense of determination. you nodded against his shoulder, drawing strength from his embrace. with a deep breath, you stood up, feeling the weight of exhaustion but also a spark of renewed resolve. he helped you up, and you both continued on, the map guiding you through the darkening forest.

the path became more challenging as night fell, but the promise of reaching your destination kept you moving. the moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting an ethereal glow on the trail as you pressed on. eventually, the sound of rushing water grew louder, a welcome symphony amidst the quiet of the jungle.

you emerged into a small clearing, and the sight that greeted you took your breath away. before you stood a magnificent waterfall, its cascading waters shimmering in the moonlight. the scene was nothing short of magical. the waterfall tumbled down from a high cliff, creating a misty veil that danced in the cool night air. the pool at its base was clear and serene, reflecting the moon’s pale light.

a smile spread across yoongi’s face as he watched your reaction. “do you like it?” he asked, his voice filled with gentle amusement. you nodded, awestruck. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder. “i remember my father telling stories about a waterfall just like this one. it was part of his tales about el dorado.”

yoongi’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a shared understanding passing between you. the waterfall’s beauty, combined with the shared memory of your father’s stories, made the moment deeply emotional. it was as if the waterfall itself was a bridge between your past and the present, connecting you to the stories and dreams that had driven you this far.

you both set up camp for the night near the base of the waterfall. the sound of the water was soothing, a constant, rhythmic lullaby that provided a comforting backdrop to your efforts. yoongi worked alongside you, his movements methodical and efficient as he helped you arrange the sleeping bags and set up a small, portable cooking area. the familiar routine of setting up camp offered a small measure of normalcy in the midst of the chaos.

as the camp was finally set up, you both sat down on the grass, the waterfall’s mist gently cooling your skin. you looked over at him, who was gazing at the waterfall with a thoughtful expression. there was something profoundly peaceful about the scene, a serene contrast to the turmoil and danger that had marked your journey so far.

you joined yoongi in watching the waterfall, the soothing sound of the cascading water providing a sense of calm. the moonlight cast a soft glow over the scene, illuminating the mist that rose from the pool below. you felt a deep, soothing connection to the moment, a rare opportunity to reflect and find solace in the midst of the ongoing struggle.

as you sat together in the stillness of the night, you could feel the exhaustion slowly melting away, replaced by a profound sense of tranquility. the world felt smaller and more manageable, with the waterfall standing as a reminder of the beauty that still existed amidst the chaos. eventually, the fatigue of the day caught up with both of you. you lay down on your sleeping bag, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you settled into a comfortable position. yoongi lay down beside you, and for a while, you both simply stared at the waterfall, the sound of the water creating a rhythmic lullaby that seemed to echo the beat of your hearts.

the moon’s silvery light filtered through the canopy, casting ethereal shadows across the forest floor. you stirred awake, the intense brightness of the moon penetrating even the depth of your sleep. the waterfall’s gentle murmur was a soothing backdrop as you pushed yourself up, blinking against the stark contrast of moonlight and shadow. beside you, yoongi shifted and slowly roused from his sleep. his eyes, still heavy with fatigue, met yours with a mix of curiosity and concern. you motioned for him to follow as you began gathering your things, the urgency of the quest fueling your movements. the map, now slightly crumpled from its journey, was securely tucked into your backpack, and with a quick glance at him, you headed back towards the trail.

the jungle was even more enigmatic under the moon’s pale glow. the sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air, their calls mingling with the rustle of the leaves. your steps were careful, the ground slick from the earlier rain, but determination guided you as you followed the map’s instructions.

after what seemed like an eternity of navigating through the dense foliage, the trees finally began to thin out. the faintest hint of a clearing emerged, and you and yoongi came to a sudden halt as your eyes adjusted to the sight before you. there, partially obscured by undergrowth and moss, lay an array of stone blocks arranged in a circular formation. the structure had an ancient, solemn feel to it, with stones arranged in a pattern that suggested a deep significance.

both of you stood in awe. the arrangement resembled a grave—an ancient tomb perhaps—yet something about it seemed to pulse with an undeniable energy. you approached the structure with a cautious reverence, your eyes scanning the weathered stones for any inscriptions or clues.

as you examined the array more closely, your heart skipped a beat. there, in the center of the stone formation, was a circular depression, perfectly sized for the gnomon you had carried from the museum. the realization hit you like a jolt of electricity. this was no mere grave; it was the temalacatl, the ancient aztec stone disk that had been lost to legend. yoongi’s face lit up with a triumphant smile as he moved closer. he pressed a soft, celebratory kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. his eyes were alight with the thrill of discovery, and for a moment, the exhaustion and danger of your journey were forgotten in the joy of this breakthrough.

carefully, he retrieved the gnomon from your backpack. with a precise and practiced hand, he placed it into the center of the temalacatl. it fit perfectly, the gnomon slotting into place with a satisfying click. as the moonlight streamed through the canopy, it illuminated the gnomon and the stone disk below, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow. the symbols on the gnomon began to glow with an otherworldly brilliance, casting their reflections onto the surrounding stones. your breath caught in your throat as the illumination revealed ancient glyphs on the temalacatl. the sight was nothing short of breathtaking; the symbols seemed to come alive in the moonlight, their meanings unfolding before your eyes.

“write everything down,” you instructed urgently, your voice barely above a whisper. yoongi, still in awe, nodded and quickly pulled out a notebook and pencil, capturing every detail of the illuminated symbols. as you both studied the glowing symbols, you read aloud the translations of the ones you recognized: “man,” “moon,” “light,” “vision,” “gold.” each word felt like a piece of a larger puzzle falling into place. the symbols began to fade, the light dimming until only the moonlight remained to highlight the ancient carvings.

you and yoongi huddled together, scrutinizing the symbols and comparing them to the translations you had written down. the process was meticulous, each detail requiring careful consideration. the illuminated symbols had revealed a pattern, a message encoded in the ancient language. after a series of detailed cross-references and careful matching, you both reached a conclusion.

he looked up from his notes, his expression reflecting the gravity of your findings. you took a deep breath and read aloud, your voice steady despite the enormity of the revelation: “he who is under the moon needs not light to see the gold.” the words hung in the air, their significance slowly sinking in. the message was clear; it was not the physical light that revealed the treasure, but rather a deeper understanding, guided by the celestial influence of the moon. it was a profound realization, a testament to the wisdom of the ancients and the power of the celestial realm in guiding you to your goal.

“what does it mean?” your question hung in the air, reverberating with a weight you could scarcely comprehend. your heart pounded with the intensity of the revelation, but before yoongi could respond with any further insight, another voice sliced through the silence.

“indeed, tell us,” the voice demanded, its tone cold and authoritative. “what does it mean?”

both you and yoongi turned towards the shadow that had emerged from the dense foliage. the moonlight, once a gentle guide, now cast a harsh light on the intruder. your breath caught in your throat as the figure stepped into the clearing. a tear-streaked smile graced his face, one that spoke of a complex web of emotions—pride, relief, and something else, something darker. he moved toward you with a deliberate calm, his eyes reflecting both sorrow and triumph.

“you did it,” your father said softly, his voice filled with an almost paternal affection. “i knew you would.”

the words, spoken with such a mix of warmth and finality, shattered something deep within you. the emotional dam you had been holding back broke free, and you began to sob uncontrollably. the sight of your father, after all you had been through, overwhelmed you. you stumbled back, instinctively clinging to yoongi, seeking comfort in his presence as the reality of the situation sank in.

your father’s eyes shifted to yoongi, his expression turning to one of cold calculation. “your silence will be well rewarded,” he said, his voice carrying a note of sinister finality.

panic surged through you. “what does he mean?” you asked yoongi, your voice trembling as you turned to him. the realization of betrayal was sharp, the knife of distrust cutting deeper with every passing second. you watched as his face fell, his expression crumpling into one of despair. your father’s gaze remained fixed on you, unyielding. “don’t you know? it took a lot of money to convince him not to tell you about me.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. betrayal surged through you, mingling with your grief. anger and hurt bubbled to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you slapped yoongi across the face. the sting of your hand on his cheek seemed to punctuate the pain of the moment. his eyes were wide with tears as he blinked them away, the hurt evident in every feature. “i’m sorry,” he managed to say, his voice choked. “i needed you to be safe.” the raw emotion in his voice made you cry harder, unable to calm down. you had trusted him implicitly, and now that trust lay in tatters. the anger slowly ebbed away, leaving you with nothing but exhaustion and a profound sense of betrayal.

your father’s approach was gentle as he reached out to stroke your hair. “i had to leave,” he explained softly, his voice soothing despite the turmoil. “you saw what they did to my study. i knew you would find the trail. i knew you would find me.” tears streamed down your face as his words washed over you, but you didn’t have the energy to resist. the emotional drain of the journey, combined with the shock of his unexpected reappearance and yoongi’s betrayal, left you numb.

“don’t be mad at yoongi,” your father continued, his hand still comforting. “he needed to be someone you could trust to make sure you were safe. it was the only way.”

you watched as yoongi knelt beside you, his face etched with regret and pain. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “i needed you to be safe. that’s all that mattered to me.” the sincerity in his apology, coupled with the exhaustion that had begun to overpower your emotions, made you too tired to respond. the weight of everything that had happened, from the dangerous chase through the jungle to the heart-wrenching betrayal, had left you drained.

as you followed the map in silence, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. you refused to look at either your father or yoongi, the emotional chasm between you all too wide to bridge in that moment. the forest seemed to close in around you as you walked, each step heavy with the burden of recent revelations.

as you walked through the dense foliage, the tension between you, your father, and yoongi was palpable. the weight of your father's unexpected reappearance, coupled with the sense of betrayal, made each step heavy with unresolved emotions. the moonlight cast a silvery glow over the path, illuminating the scene in an eerie, almost ethereal light. breaking the silence, you finally asked, “how did you know i’d find you?”

your father’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his expression filled with a mixture of pride and affection. “you're my daughter,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “the only one i have. i never doubted you. i always knew you’d find your way.” his words were a balm to your wounded heart, but they also served to deepen the confusion and sorrow swirling within you. you turned your gaze to yoongi, whose face was illuminated by the moonlight, the tear streaks on his cheeks glistening like silver trails in the dim light. his eyes met yours with a mixture of regret and longing, and the intensity of his emotions was almost palpable.

your father’s voice cut through the silence once more. “are you dating him?” he asked, his tone casual yet probing. the question hung in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures. you didn’t respond, the silence stretching into an uncomfortable pause. with a light-hearted chuckle, your father continued, “well, if you are, you have my approval.”

the words, though intended to be reassuring, did little to ease the tension. you remained focused on yoongi, whose silence spoke volumes. the complexity of your relationship with him, mixed with the recent revelations, made any further conversation feel almost impossible.

as you pressed on, you suddenly stumbled across a cave partially submerged in the water. the sight halted you in your tracks, the dim light of the moon reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, casting a shimmering glow on the entrance of the cave. you paused, your heart pounding with anticipation and trepidation. yoongi’s voice broke the silence, filled with apprehension. “is this a dead end?”

you turned to him, a determined glint in your eye. “only if you want it to be,” you replied, your voice steady and resolute. without further hesitation, you stepped into the water, the coldness biting at your skin as you waded deeper.

your father shook his head in disbelief, his expression a mix of resignation and concern. “i won’t make it down there,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. he turned to yoongi, his eyes serious. “take care of her.” the weight of his words settled heavily on yoongi’s shoulders. he nodded, his gaze never leaving you as you continued into the water. the cave entrance loomed ahead, its dark mouth beckoning with a promise of what lay beyond.

you glanced back at him, who gave you a reassuring nod before following you into the water. the chill of the water contrasted sharply with the heat of the jungle, and each step forward felt like a step closer to both resolution and revelation. as you entered the cave, the water rose to your chest, then your neck, and you finally took a deep breath as you submerged, guiding yourself into the unknown depths. the cave, shrouded in darkness, seemed to swallow you up as you swam forward, the sound of your movements echoing off the stone walls. the air was thick with the dampness of the underground world, and the only light came from the faint glow of the moon that seeped in through the entrance.

yoongi’s eyes darted to a narrow, submerged entrance in the cave, partially obscured by the swirling water. he pointed it out to you, his voice strained but determined. “there,” he said, the water dripping from his face and mixing with the sweat of exertion. “that’s our way through.” with a nod, you both dove into the water, the cold embrace momentarily startling you but quickly overshadowed by the urgency of the moment. the underwater passage was cramped, the water pressing against you as you swam with quick, determined strokes. your breaths were short and hurried, the cave’s darkness enveloping you completely.

the tunnel seemed endless, but eventually, you felt your feet touch solid ground. you surfaced, gasping for air, and took in the dimly lit cave around you. the cave's ceiling arched high above, its jagged edges silhouetted against the faint light that filtered through the entrance behind you. the air was cooler there, and the sound of dripping water echoed softly, a rhythmic accompaniment to the anxious beats of your heart.

in front of you was a sheer drop, with a gap leading to another patch of land on the other side. the jump required looked daunting, and the void between you and safety seemed to stretch endlessly. the sight made your heart race with a mix of fear and doubt.

yoongi squeezed your hand, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i know you hate me right now,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “but i need you to know that i love you.” the intensity of his words took you aback. despite the betrayal that still stung, you could feel the sincerity in his voice, and the confession seemed to bridge a chasm of its own. “i love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought back tears.

with a sudden, determined grin, yoongi stepped back, bracing himself. without further hesitation, he took a running leap and soared over the gap. the space seemed to hold its breath as he landed on the other side with a solid thud, his form illuminated briefly by the moonlight. your fear spiked, but his encouraging smile reassured you. “i’ll help you up,” he called, his voice echoing back to you.

you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the jump. with a final glance at yoongi’s outstretched hand, you leaped across the void, your heart pounding in your chest. his hands caught yours with a firm grip, and he helped you scramble up to his side. relief flooded through you as you stood on solid ground once more.

as you both entered the water again, the cold of the underground lake was a sharp contrast to the warmth of your fear-induced sweat. you swam through the dark water, the only sound being the echo of your strokes and the distant, intermittent drip of water. reaching the opposite shore, you were greeted by an oppressive darkness. the cave was pitch black, and the vast emptiness before you seemed to absorb any hint of light. you turned to him, voicing your concern. “it might actually be a dead end,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration.

he shook his head, refusing to give in to despair. “i don’t believe it,” he said firmly. he paused, the realization dawning on him. “he who is under the moon needs not light to see the gold,” he recalled, his face lighting up with sudden comprehension. “needs not light to see.”

your heart skipped a beat as you reached for your backpack, pulling out the waterproof flares you had packed. “three flares,” you said, glancing at him. “twenty minutes each. one hour.” yoongi nodded, his expression determined. “we’ll use them to explore.”

you struck the first flare, the brilliant orange light cutting through the impenetrable darkness. the cavern in front of you came alive with a sudden, warm glow, revealing intricate patterns etched into the stone. the illuminated symbols seemed to beckon you forward, their shapes dancing in the flare’s light as if guiding you deeper into the cave’s heart. the sight was both mesmerizing and exhilarating. the path ahead was illuminated, leading you further into the cave. you and yoongi exchanged a look of resolute determination before plunging into the illuminated darkness, the flares lighting the way to whatever lay hidden in the depths.

the flare’s light carved a path through the dense darkness, guiding you and yoongi deeper into the cave. with each step, the cavern walls seemed to pulse with a golden glow, hinting at the marvel that lay beyond. as you rounded a final bend, the flare’s illumination suddenly gave way to an awe-inspiring spectacle.

you both froze, your breath catching in your throats as the room came into full view. the cavern stretched out before you, a vast, breathtaking expanse of shimmering gold. the walls, ceiling, and floor were encrusted with gold, every crack and crevice glistening with a rich, golden hue. the light from the flare reflected off the gold, casting dazzling patterns across the cavern's surface and creating an ethereal glow that made the entire room seem to pulse with life.

the sight was nothing short of magnificent. you felt as though you had stumbled upon a forgotten world, a treasure trove of immense beauty and unimaginable wealth. gold hung from every corner, cascading in delicate strands, and the floor was scattered with golden relics and artifacts, each one telling a story of a bygone era. yoongi's hand tightened around yours as he pulled you gently into the heart of the cavern.

his eyes, wide with disbelief and wonder, met yours. with a joyous smile, he leaned in and planted a tender, congratulatory kiss on your cheek. “we did it,” he said softly, his voice filled with pride and relief. the words hung in the air between you as you both took in the sheer splendor of the room. it was as if you were standing in the very heart of a legend come to life, the stories and myths you had heard becoming tangible reality. the gold seemed to sing with a history long forgotten, and the room itself felt like a living testament to an age of grandeur.

you moved towards the piles of gold scattered around, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cavern. yoongi helped you fill your bags with chunks of raw gold, the weight of the precious metal a satisfying burden. each piece you picked up seemed to hold a piece of the cavern’s magic, and the act of collecting it felt like a ritual of its own. as you both worked, you took moments to pause and admire the room once more. the golden light played on your faces, highlighting the awe and wonder in your eyes. It was a place where history and legend had merged into something tangible and breathtaking, a reality that far surpassed any story ever told.

once your bags were filled to the brim with gold, you paused to take one final look at the cavern. the scene before you was so stunningly beautiful that it was almost surreal. you knew you would carry this image with you forever—the shimmering gold, the sense of triumph, and the shared wonder of discovering something so extraordinary. with a final, lingering glance at the cavern, you and yoongi began your journey back. the return trip was a mix of careful navigation and unspoken understanding, both of you focused on retracing your steps through the dark, illuminated only by the faint, dwindling glow of the flares.

emerging from the cave, you were greeted by the cool, crisp air of dawn. the first light of morning kissed the horizon with a soft, golden glow, a stark contrast to the dark, glittering realm you had just left behind. you and yoongi stood at the cave’s entrance, the early light painting a serene picture after the chaos you had endured. overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment and the relief of having succeeded, you turned to yoongi and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. it was a moment of pure, unguarded emotion—a celebration of your shared victory and the bond you had forged.

but the peace was shattered abruptly. a gunshot rang out, echoing through the tranquil morning. the bullet struck the tree above you, the sharp crack splitting the air and causing you both to jerk in surprise. you spun around, your heart pounding as you took in the sight before you.

standing there, calm and menacing, was your father. his eyes, once filled with warmth and encouragement, were now shadowed with a mixture of resignation and fear. the most chilling aspect, however, was the gun pressed firmly against his temple. your breath caught in your throat, your relief swiftly morphing into dread.

“i knew you would find it.” the words hung in the air, each one a knife twisting into your heart.

yoongi’s arms instinctively moved to shield you, his protective presence a stark contrast to the danger that now surrounded you. the world seemed to shrink to just the three of them—yoongi, your father, and jungkook, who had guided you there, now at gunpoint.

your father shook his head sadly, the gun still pressed to his head. he spoke softly, trying to convey his message despite the dire circumstances. “it isn’t worth it,” he said, his voice trembling. the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. jungkook was not just any adversary; he was the one behind the failed museum heist, the reason why the break-in was discarded, the one who had been after the same treasure you sought. everything fell into place—the clues, the tension, and now, this horrifying confrontation.

desperation surged through you. “drop the gun,” you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. “leave my father be.”

to your astonishment, jungkook momentarily lowered the gun, a fleeting hope flickering in your chest. but it was quickly extinguished when he aimed the gun back at you. “you’re right,” he said with a chilling calmness, “you’re the one i should be shooting.”

yoongi’s grip on you tightened, his body a shield against the threat. jungkook’s gun shifted to target him instead. “don’t be a hero,” he ordered, his voice icy and unyielding.

tears streamed down your cheeks, your heart breaking at the sight of the man you loved being placed in such danger. you leaned into yoongi’s embrace, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so sorry,” you choked out, the weight of your apology heavy with the knowledge of the peril you had brought upon him.

yoongi’s eyes were filled with an intense, unwavering love. “i love you,” he said fiercely, “and no amount of gold could ever compare to you.” his words were both a comfort and a heart-wrenching reminder of what was at stake. he held you close, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. the love in his eyes was unwavering even in the face of imminent danger. you turned to your father, whose eyes were full of regret and sorrow. he met your gaze with an apologetic smile, and you saw him mouth an “i love you.” the sight made your heart ache, the final, heart-wrenching goodbye unspoken but deeply felt.

a scream rose in your throat, but before you could utter it, the scene unfolded in a blur. your father lunged at jungkook, his actions fueled by a mix of desperation and bravery. the two of them collided, struggling fiercely. the struggle was chaotic, and in the turmoil, they both tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

you watched in horror as they fell, your father’s figure disappearing from view. the sound of their impact was muffled by the distance, but the sight of their lifeless forms on the ground below was clear. the sight of their bodies, unmoving and broken, left a raw, aching void in your chest.

yoongi wrapped his arms around you, his own tears mingling with yours as you both stood there, grief-stricken and devastated. his embrace was the only thing grounding you as you both wept. the cavern, the treasure, and the journey seemed insignificant compared to the unbearable weight of loss that now pressed upon you. in the cold light of the morning, the world felt empty, hollow. the triumph of your discovery was overshadowed by the profound sorrow of your father’s death and the jungkook's betrayal. yoongi’s presence was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming grief, his strength and support a beacon in the darkness of your loss.

the journey back was a somber one. as you and yoongi made your way through the tangled undergrowth, the golden dawn now a distant memory, you both climbed into the small boat you had left tethered by the shore. the morning’s light was gentle, casting a muted glow over the rippling water. the boat’s wooden frame creaked under the weight of your sadness and the burden of the gold you had decided to leave behind.

yoongi’s touch was gentle, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder as you sat side by side. the silence between you was profound, each of you lost in your own thoughts. the distant sounds of nature—the lapping of the water against the boat, the chirping of birds—seemed almost foreign against the backdrop of your grief.

as the boat glided over the shimmering surface, yoongi reached into his bag and pulled out a small, glistening piece of gold. His fingers were deft as he used a small tool to carefully engrave your father’s name into the metal. the delicate scratch of the tool against the gold was the only sound that marked this poignant moment. his movements were meticulous, his concentration evident as he worked with steady hands.

when he was finished, he held up the gold piece for you to see. “this is for him,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. with a heavy heart, you watched as yoongi released the engraved gold into the water. it sank slowly, disappearing beneath the surface, leaving ripples in its wake. you clung to him, the weight of your loss pressing heavily on your chest.

the boat journey seemed endless, each wave a reminder of the pain you carried. the hours passed in silence, the water reflecting the sky’s changing colors as the day progressed. when you finally reached the shore, the sight of the city brought a mix of relief and apprehension.

the moment you set foot on solid ground, the press was there, waiting for you. the bright flashes of cameras and the clamor of questions assaulted you. “why did you disappear?” one journalist asked. “did you have anything to do with the museum break-in?” another queried.

yoongi stood protectively beside you, his presence a steadying force as you fielded the questions. “we were on an expedition,” you managed to say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “we discovered something significant, but the details are still being finalized.” the press thronged around you, but yoongi guided you through the crowd and into the waiting car. the drive back to the penthouse was a blur, the cityscape slipping past the window in muted colors. when you arrived, the penthouse was an unexpected haven of calm.

inside, the weight of the world seemed to lift slightly. you sank into bed, yoongi’s arms wrapping around you with a comforting warmth. the events of the past days felt like a distant dream, and the victory you had once celebrated now seemed bittersweet. he held you close, his breath warm against your skin. “i’m so proud of you,” he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. “you did it.”

in the quiet of the night, as you lay beside him, you whispered, “i did it.” the victory felt hollow against the backdrop of loss, but yoongi’s presence was a balm to your wounded heart. you felt a flicker of hope amid the sadness.

the next day was a whirlwind of ceremony and celebration. the city honored your discovery with a grand ceremony held in your names. the venue was adorned with gold accents, a tribute to the treasure you had uncovered. as you and yoongi stood on the stage, the applause and cheers from the crowd felt distant and surreal. the ceremony was a testament to your achievement, but the joy was tempered by the sorrow of your recent loss.

later, in the quiet of your kitchen, you found a moment of peace. yoongi leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious smile. “what are you making?” he asked, his tone light. you looked up from your work, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “you fulfilled your promise,” you said, placing a cup of affogato in front of him. “now it’s my turn to fulfill mine.”

hia eyes softened as he took in the gesture, the warmth of the moment soothing the lingering ache in your heart. he took a sip, his expression one of contentment. as you joined him, the kitchen became a sanctuary—a place where the echoes of the past week could be put aside, if only for a moment, to savor the present and the future you were beginning to build together.

✧.*

a/n: ok outer banks crossover!!! i was gonna kill yoongi off ngl

[itssunshinetoday]

D-Day - the series

Track 5 - SDL

[yearofinstitutionalization]

197/638 One Suga a day while he is away

[yoonmetogether]

Not In the Cards teaser!

pairing: bodyguard!Yoongi x CEO!fem reader

genre: mafia, e2l

summary: yoongi realizes something about you, about himself, and runs. It's what he does best afterall.

warnings: implications of sex, angst, trauma, yoongi has a dark past. i hope y'all will stick around to find out, this is a long winded story i'm sorry! also reader uses a pseudonym as it’s relative to the plot.

minors dni

wc: 1k

teaser I part i. I part ii. I

When he wakes up next to you, it’s still dark out and you’re still fast asleep. Your face is just a silhouette to him, but he knows you’re beautiful, even in slumber. His heart jumps when he remembers you’re in his hoodie and he doesn’t think too much about how much he likes that. 

How is it possible to like someone he just met this much? He hands it off to the (great fucking) sex he just had. 

He does his best not to disturb you as he maneuvers out of bed and into the bathroom, needing to wash off remnants of sticky sex and sweat now that he’s cognizant. He waits until he’s started the shower to turn the lights on, ignoring his reflection as he takes off his favorite silver chain and places it on the shelf above the toilet to avoid any drains, dog tags swinging on his chest when he steps into the tub.

You're still sleeping when he returns so he quietly gets dressed, trying not to hate putting back on the clothes he wore yesterday now that's he's freshly showered but it can't be helped. A little of the sunrise has made the room a low mix of blue and grey so he can see you better as he goes to the nightstand to put on his watch. He looks over at you and smiles to himself when he hears you snoring softly. You shift on your stomach, facing away from him and just as he turns to leave the room for a morning cigarette, an etching on the back of your neck catches his attention. He has yet to put in his contacts and it's still not bright enough to see well so he slowly sits on the edge of the bed to have a better look, curiosity piqued. It has the shape of some kind of bird or plane, something with wings so he leans a little closer, pressing a fist on the mattress to hold himself up. He expects the wings to be that of an angel, a nod to your name, but when he finally sees what it is, albeit a bit blurry, his heart stops and drops to his stomach.

It is indeed a small bird but not one he expected to see on your skin. A crow. And it's drawn as if it were flying high in the sky, it's talons digging into a human skull. To anyone else, its meaning is ambiguous, but to him, to others like him, it's the symbol of enormous power, made by blood, money and greed. He would know - he has a tattoo that speaks to the gang he got caught up in as a teenager that branded him to force his loyalty. A gang that could be shredded and not missed by the organization that owns the symbol tatted on your neck.

Shit. Being who he is, relying solely on intuition and reading between the lines, he had a gut feeling that you may not be as innocent as you seem. To the average bystander, maybe. But not to him. The crow on your neck confirms it.

And for the first time in a long time, he's terrified.

Before seeing that, he'd already considered leaving before you wake up, doubting what good would come out of him staying. You don't need someone marred and sinful like him in your life.

But now if you find out about the coiled cobra on the back of his left shoulder, one of the many reasons he didn't take his shirt off or keep the lights on once you both fell into bed, he’ll be screwed for a whole different reason.

So he makes the decision that there's nothing for him to do but leave you in the dust and never look back, tacking this night onto the murky cloud of his many mistakes. Even though it makes his heart ache. All the more reason to coat it in tar, making it impenetrable to him and anyone else. In the weeks to come, he'll force it to forget you.

But it will only make him colder and bitter. Forlorn. He fucking deserves that.

He grabs his phone and his keys he left on the couch and hauls ass to the door and down to the lobby so you don't wake in time to see him disappear without a trace. But in the rush, he forgets the one thing most precious to him that he took off before he showered. It isn't until he's zipping away on his motorcycle towards the ferry, blaming the cold and whipping wind for the tears piercing the corners of his eyes, that he realizes and curses himself. The one thing he was supposed to never lose, to always take care of, he forgot. His mother was right - if his grandfather was still around he’d be so disappointed. For the rest of the way home, his mother’s words ring in his ears - he’s a fuck up who’s lost all chances to redeem himself. No one will want him. So going forth, that's what he carries with him every day when you come up in his thoughts, no matter how hard he tries to keep you out.

It's better this way. He did you a favor.

When you wake up alone, it’s not your empty stomach that makes you feel nauseous.

You rush to the convenience store for a morning after pill, because you’ll be damned if you get knocked up, especially not by someone who doesn’t have the fucking decency to leave a note, much less a phone number, after a night like that.

Fuck him. Fuck him big time for being just like everyone else. You know what your father and brothers would say - that's what you get for letting your guard down. Naive and weak-minded people only get themselves hurt. So just like you have done countless times, you pick up the pieces of your heart that were stomped and crushed and left for dead, and bury them in the recesses of your mind, keeping all of your pain to yourself. Pain is weakness, especially the kind you can’t see on your skin, and weakness is forbidden in the blood you share with your family. Maybe now the lesson will stick. But for the years to come, his eyes, his touch, his voice will haunt you in your dreams and your nightmares. You hope to all hell you never see him again.

If you do, he better watch his fucking back.

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part i. coming soon!!! masterlist

thank you for reading! this is all very nerve wracking to me bc i'm an anxious girl and a perfectionist when it comes to writing and i kind of pulled this scene outta my ass so i could get a teaser out there so i'm not 100% confident about it.

but let me know what you think here or leave a comment if you want.

xxx - claret

thanks k bye :)

p.s this is what i imagine as reader’s tattoo