#grey haired yoongi

[jimpagne]

I’m kinda thankful I’m somewhat similar to BTS in age bc I always know that when they turn old and wrinkly imma be right up there with them 😭

And then there will be Jin, who will still look like a teenager (vampire allegations were proven true).

[btsstaysgold]

Can we just pause and take a moment to appreciate how pretty Park Jimin is?! ><

(crtto)

[kithtaehyung]

minted: three (explicit) | myg

title: minted: part three (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: masterlist | one | two rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: at this point, you would do anything to forget. including the unthinkable with a gangster. note: sooo this series basically saved my writing slump haha. i am still having the time of my life and i’m so excited to show y’all more of this minted universe. and to also show you just how spicy things can get❤️‍🔥 note 2: this is ofc a present for hali @sailoryooons that spiraled into a whole universe. still always gonna thank nary @joonary for letting me use the vendor reader idea, as well! also happy birthday to @remmykinsff @awbells @keylime4eva @aaclariww and @noshit-cantfindagoodone!! to everyone else having a bday around this time, this is my gift to you hehehe. warnings: language, drugs, alcohol, slow burn, murder mentions, gang activity, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, chains bc of course :)), world-building, reader is still sassy, yoongi is still infuriating, tension explicit warnings: under the cut! drop date: december 9th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 12.3k 😀👍

explicit warnings: i know it’s a slow burn but there’s definitely smut lol, choking, head/hair tugging, penetration, oral (f rec), backshotssss, marking bye, rough sex, ass play, breast play, his hands are a nice necklace😀, taunting cus reader’s an icon, thighs, breath play, spanking, hand job, protected sex, multiple orgasms, restraints (his hands, robe tie), brat!reader but who is honestly shocked🙂‍↔️, brat tamer!yoongi lmao, yoongi is a menace i’m sorryyyy, but reader is…?????, need them both™, teasing, rawdogging HELLO?? (pls wrap it up fr!), commanding yoongi a ha ha, pain kink, cowgirl🙂‍↕️, this is just the calm before a whole damn storm

—

—

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”  

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

Did you go too far? 

Is there a limit to his accommodation? Did you actually think this was gonna be easy? 

When silence swirls between your robes, you start to second guess your demand. 

But Yoongi simply stares before stepping aside, allowing you to enter his room with jellied legs. 

This is madness, but you’re gonna go through with it. Whatever the hell this will be. Because you may not know much, but you figure all men sit up the same when sex is on the table. 

This man, though... 

Quite frankly, you aren’t sure about anything when it comes to him. Unless it’s about him doing something questionable. Then there’s no question about it.

The enigma himself makes no conversation as you step inside, even as your eyes roam around a cleaner, more put-together room than when you left the first time. Did Yoongi clean this much while you made a mess of your dreams? 

The only answer you get is a door shutting, followed by a massive presence at your back. Before you can so much as turn around, the first words on your shoulders burn like embers,

“Was he your first.” 

Fuck. 

This isn’t what you approached him for. He’s supposed to make you forget, not remember. Remember?

You don’t turn around; you don’t respond right away. Instead, you swallow before focusing very hard on the fact that Yoongi sleeps on the bedside nearest the window. At least, judging by the way the covers are flipped. You happen to prefer the side opposite.

The heat from his body proves soft but intense, and you can’t help but close your eyes when you finally answer with a question, 

“Do you remember yours?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever regret it?” 

“No.”

Your vision lowers to the rug lying still under the bed. A splash of light grey amongst a darkened, moonlit sea. 

No matter how quick Yoongi answers. No matter how even his tone. 

He still remembers it, too. 

But this isn’t what you expected when you walked in here. You assumed this man was going to get right to it, save no room for you to second guess yourself. Clearly he gave zero shits about kissing you in that taxi, and he damn near undressed you in the living room. 

So what’s the holdup here? Does he want this for real? Or not? 

Head at a slight angle, you admit with a hint of finality, “I don’t wanna talk about that.” 

“Mm.” A warm, rough hand subtly tugs at your belt, and prominent knuckles nudge through the smooth material of your robe. “So what are you really here for.” 

Your eyes blink thrice. 

Yoongi cannot be serious. Does he really not know? 

No. He knows. With a shift of your jaw, you realize he’s just fucking with you, purposefully not in the way you want. “You’re being difficult.”��

“You woke me up.”

Ah. That’s fair. 

“So tell me.” 

Well. If you’re gonna have to spell things out for him, he’s gonna be waiting for awhile. Because the more you stand here not doing anything, the harder it is to gather a little thing called courage. Courage to meet the beast in his den, and madness to let him devour you whole. Now you have neither. Neither, neither, neither.

Awkwardness sticks to your throat until it’s jammed, and you can barely mush your lips together to form sounds. The courage you speak of flees before you can wrangle it, and what’s left of your answer tumbles out like boulders, “This is.. I don’t.. I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

“It’s,” you huff, noting that you don’t like this horrible mix of hesitation and anger, “It’s… I’m—” 

Your vision jolts as you feel a quick tug shit you’re spinning fuck your back just hit a wall—

“Of all things today,” Yoongi murmurs with slits for eyes, “This is what gets you to shut up?” 

Damn it. 

You don’t even have a rebuttal. Because he’s right. Yoongi’s sharp discernment is millimeters from your face and you have no intention to move nor speak. Only quick breaths. Only shaky exhales. 

But you do swallow.

Which brings out a sound you will never admit you like: a breathy, condescending laugh, as coarse and as soft as his touch. 

“You mean to tell me,” he observes, tilting your chin while his irises blaze dark, “You came all the way in here for nothing?”

“No, I—”

“All that talk, and for what.” 

Defend yourself. Say something. Say just one word two words any words—

Did Yoongi just pat your cheek? ..Twice? 

Why did you kinda like that—

“Makes no sense,” he ponders aloud, lolling his head and staring down your crumpled lips. “Who even are you..” 

Now that's an easy one. You always have the answer to that question. 

“No one,” you whisper. “Sorry to disappoint you.” 

Seems like the people back home aren’t the only ones you’ll let down. If Yoongi keeps that question loaded in the chamber, he’s gonna keep shooting the same target. Over, and over, and over. 

But you don’t have to worry. Because he drops it, caging you in with a hand near your stiff, risen shoulder, “So what are you here for.” 

This is a mistake. Either Yoongi doesn’t want this, or he’s being frustrating on purpose and your fire is both stoked and quelled. “Now I don’t know for sure.” 

“The more you stall the harder it gets,” he goads with a lick of teasing. And for a split, minuscule second, you wonder if that meant more than one thing.

Goddamn, he’s annoying. He’s outright savoring this. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised. You woke him up for god’s sake. If someone did this same thing to you after the day you’ve had, you wouldn’t have even let them in. 

Unfortunately for you, Yoongi’s version of dealing with a midnight inconvenience is whittling them down until they leave�� 

“So you can tell my bellhop off but I get nothing, huh.” 

Oh, shit. 

Oh, shit. 

You’re so taken aback that you can only ask, “What?” 

Mercifully, the dragon gives you air, straightening before leaving your personal space. 

Your focus should be on his words. You know this. But he uses this moment to rake his hair, and words are no match for the sleeve cascading down his inked forearm. 

Even as his hair flows in waves, you still cling to his tattoos as he looks downward in thought. “You think I wouldn’t check who the fuck was coming up here?” 

It takes you a second to process. 

But you realize what this means and you fall silent again.

Yoongi saw that? All of that? You acted without much thought, and if he really did see and hear everything that went down, there’s a chance he thinks a lot differently about you now. No wonder he’s so thrown by this switch in behavior. 

But on the other hand.. The way he touched you in the living room. Was all that because of what he saw? Is that side of you the one that pulled him close? 

You thought his parting would allow you room to breathe. How very wrong you were. 

Shoving all contemplation aside, you decide to coat the room with concern, your assertion making a brief comeback, “He said a lot of shit, Yoongi. What was that about?” 

He languidly approaches the long table at your side—one you faintly noticed while leaving the room the first time. Unbothered, he slides unhurried fingers over a gun, stopping on the barrel before reaching for something less lethal. 

A decanter, it seems. Liquid flows from the container into a smaller glass, and you assume it’s whisky from the deep amber tones and luscious pour.

When you wonder where else Yoongi litters his weapons, he cuts through your surveying, 

“You really wanna know?” 

Looking up, you nod. 

He sets the bottle down with a dull clink. “He took his chances.” 

“His.. What?” 

Now what the hell could this man mean by that? You were clearly being coaxed into leaving the premises, vaguely feeling like something seemed off. How is he being so dismissive about all this? 

Slowly, Yoongi shakes his head, looking out into the night while taking his initial sip. “I don’t come here often. But when I do, I come alone.” Long fingers nestle his cup perfectly as he explains further, “It’s been awhile, so. Had to feel out the staff.” 

The staff. Is that why Yoongi held your hand? To weasel someone out? You really thought he meant it when he said he just wanted to… 

How naive. 

“His plan could’ve been solid.” 

“But what?” You ask, newfound frustration clipping your tone. 

Yoongi slides you a look over the rim of his glass. “He didn’t know who he’d be dealing with.” 

Your eyes roll so far they strain.

But this begs a question. Does he mean dealing with you? Or him? Surely he meant your little show at the elevator but he could very well mean himself. 

Facts are facts. Would Yoongi really trade il-don for you? Absolutely not. So you have to assume he’s mostly talking about the latter. 

Your scoff is pitched to the side, “Of course. You wouldn’t trade il-don for anything.” 

Yoongi pauses, not acknowledging your comment in the slightest as he strolls back your way. “Something I am curious about..” As he leans in, musk and whisky invade both your space and senses. And you hate, hate, hate that you need more of it. “Who was he talking to?” 

“Someone he royally pissed off.” 

“Mm.” 

“You’re not gonna punish him?” 

“Me? Nah.” Leaning on the sideboard, he stares out the windows across the room. Your vision follows suit. “Not until I have to.”

If what happened wasn’t enough to warrant a punishment, you’re morbidly curious about what ticks the box. “I figured he’d be dead by now. At least for trespassing.”

Yoongi only shrugs. “Grey zones aren’t just amnesty for the clans. Anything goes here, too, so a ransom attempt isn’t surprising.” 

This man really doesn’t stand on black or white. Here you are with eggs for brains discovering you were almost taken instead of saved, and he’s chalking it up to, what, just another Tuesday? Or is it still Monday? You don’t even know anymore. 

Your question leaves you a little scuffed. Because you feel exactly like leftover goods. The fruit at the back. “Are you always this heartless?”

“So I’ve been told.” 

Great. 

So much for being… Safe up… here… 

You glance at the touch on your hip, and your eyes traverse up his arm as he toys with your belt again. 

Shouldn’t you feel disgusted? Shouldn’t you be walking away? It’s crystal clear how little this man thinks of you, or anyone for that matter. He probably brought you along just to be a shield for his precious il-don. So why can’t you bring yourself to leave? 

Your knot starts to loosen.

His voice begins to flow.

“But if you’re gonna go for what’s mine, don’t be an idiot.” 

Wait.

No. Nope. Stop thinking about what that could mean. Because if you think too hard, it will only leave you disappointed. 

But there’s something you won’t stop doing. And Yoongi knows you won’t. So as he keeps playing at your waist, your words come out in shudders, 

“Can’t believe you used me.” 

Yoongi hums, and it makes you shiver when his touch leaves you to rest against wood counters. “You’re about to use me, too.” 

Fucking hell, he’s right. 

“Gotta say I didn’t expect it, but..” Damn him and his head tilts. “I’m impressed.” 

You’re too empty-headed that you can’t even process his words as genuine praise. His touches already feel like pops of lights in the night sky.

It’s a given. You aren’t prepared for him in the slightest.

“Come here.” 

Lightly pulling your hand, Yoongi brings you to stand in front of him. And from this point of view, you become even more ensnared. 

His robe flows down his taut build so beautifully, painting him like dark water over rolling hills. At his peak, the hair you’ve come to miss frames his face like artwork. Mesmerizing. Your downfall. 

“You get one more chance. Tell me why I’m awake.” 

Your brow lift is only a front. The rest of you is shaking, trembling, howling. “You clearly know.”

“Tell me anyway.” 

Relentless. Will you shame yourself for wanting to see him use this same strategy on other people? Most likely. But will that stop you from thinking about it anyway? Absolutely, positively not. 

But there’s another side of you that’s being comforted. And it’s the side that realizes how much he’s spoken, how much time you’ve spent without needing to watch behind your back. 

Yoongi talking this much? It’s making things easier. And it’s strangely making you feel a little better, even if the subject matter isn’t the greatest topic in the universe. 

After you steal a glance at the other whisky glass, you look into his eyes. Determined and decisive. Knowing exactly what you want at this very moment, because you just need a little more time. 

“Tell me more. About grey zones.” 

Something in the air freezes. And Yoongi’s brows crease so comically you almost laugh. “That’s it?” 

“Yes.” 

His nod is slow as he sets down his glass.

And you’re quickly hauled back so fast that you don’t have time to react. 

A rush of air. The world topples. Soft sheets. 

Dangerously, a thin chain sways above as Yoongi shrouds your body in silk and lingering smoke. A gasp escapes you as he peers into your eyes, and your senses fire as a commanding hand slides up your thigh. 

“Final answer?”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck you know you want him and you still do but also talking to him isn’t half bad and maybe you’re just tired of being lonely— 

Musk. Alcohol. Breathing hard, you take it all in. Slowly nodding because you can’t function otherwise, which makes a dragon flash teeth. 

But he obliges without moving a muscle, so you’re left underneath a demon—robe dangerously close to opening and exposing everything once again.

A man of conviction, Yoongi does exactly as you ask. Eyes drooped, he continues his explanations, as if he didn’t just shove you into his enormous bed and tangle you under his legs, 

“They started awhile ago, back when all the high-powers got locked in a grudge match. Took half the city with them.” 

Immediately, your shoulders start to sink into his tale. “Half is a lot.” 

“Everything went to shit,” he agrees. “Not even the Politicol could stop it all.” 

“Bullshit.”

His level expression is enough to refute.  

Now that’s a shock to learn. For as long as you can remember, the Politicol have always held more power than any force should ever have. If they weren’t able to keep this under control, the high-powers used to be ungodly. 

Staring at the slippage on Yoongi’s shoulder, you wonder if those ink lines are to immortalize the ones that came before him. The history he must’ve grown up memorizing. 

Still.. Why does he have them all? There’s no way he doesn’t know how disrespectful that is to all three clans. 

But then again. He said he didn’t choose them himself. Which leads you nowhere in this unending maze. 

Head disheveled; robe coming undone. To outsiders, you’d be at Yoongi’s mercy. 

But in reality, you’re laser focused on him and his explanations. Especially when his voice scratches every itch just right. “So…” You watch his gaze slowly slide down your face. “What happened?”

Even now, Yoongi’s hands stay exactly where they are. The only thing that moves is the tinkling swing of his silver above your warming neck. “Deals were made, stripping power from all of them in certain sectors so that none could completely take over.” 

“Why only in certain ones?”��

A corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let’s just say the negotiations went how you think they did.” 

Your eyes roll yet again. But another question pings into your mind as quick as the first one, knitting your brows. “Wait… Deals with the Politicol? Or each other? No way they would’ve let cowards put them all on a leash.” 

At this, something interesting passes over Yoongi’s face.

But it flits away before you can snatch it for further inspection, and the shift of his leg against your thighs resets your brain. 

“Any of the clans could’ve monopolized if they had the right resource, but. They weren’t ever gonna let outsiders get a piece. Called a truce and kept their mouths shut.” 

Makes sense. You know exactly what resource he’s referring to. “The il-don.” 

“That’s part of it.” He shifts again, but this time, your legs have more room to move. “But grey zones have priority infrastructure. The ones that keep the lights on. If you had the money, you had the people. And people are the best resource there is.” 

It’s at this moment that a lot of things click into place. 

And one of those is figuring out that you may have been a little wrong about the man above you. 

Is he heartless? To a high degree. But that comes with being calculating. Patient. Smart. Everything that Yoongi has been this entire time you’ve tagged along. 

He’s not keeping the il-don safe because he treasures it. It’s because the money is a tool. A tool to help him get what he wants whenever he needs. And leverage it for value instead of frivolous decisions and material things. 

Yoongi must have really, really enjoyed your tangerines.

A stray touch finally makes its way inside your thigh. And you flare between your legs. Shivering. Aching. You’re sparkling inside but won’t allow yourself to fully explode. Not when he’s revealing so much without telling. Not when you’re starting to see things from his angle. 

“Keep talking,” you rush out, gripping his robe and squeezing his pelvis. 

Though his fingers still light flares on your skin, Yoongi stops in his daring quest, observing your face without judgment. 

“I like it,” you shakily admit. Because screw it, since you’ll never see him again. “Learning about all this.” 

You sigh at his weight. His beautiful, strangely calming weight. “About you, too.” 

Stopping all movements, Yoongi coats your skin with gravel. “What good will knowing all this do.” 

He’s got a point. And it hammers home exactly what you were just thinking. “Nothing, maybe,” you answer, squeezing his robe a little longer. 

Fuck, you really are this deprived. This lonely. Is bedding a dangerous man—this dangerous man—really better than being alone right now? A mental reset is outstandingly in order throughout the coming abysmal months.

You finish your weak explanation, hoping it’s enough to convince him, 

“But it’s helping.” 

Yoongi lifts his head to watch your eyes. And you observe how dark his are in return. How cold. 

But yet.. Why do you also see…?

With a slight huff, you tack on, “And you aren’t so annoying to talk to right now.” 

There it is. That spark you’ve seen before in dusty, tinkering streets. “Don’t push your luck.” 

“I might.” 

He exhales, shifting himself into a sitting position and facing the door. “The thing about grey zones.. No affiliation, no rules. You can be anyone here.” 

When you lift your upper body to sit, you watch his side profile as you repeat, “Anyone?” 

Yoongi turns to look at your lips. 

You know there’s a question you want to ask. But for some reason, it’s difficult to say. 

But eventually, you can’t help it. Because you’re intrigued. You’re haunted. And you really, really need this. 

“Then who do you want me to be.”

He lets out a cross between a scoff and a laugh. Looking into your eyes, he asks in disbelief, “You?”

“I’m pretty good at pretending.” 

“Sure you are.” He gives you another small grin before resting forearms on his knees. “But you don’t want my answer to that.” 

Swallowing is proving too difficult. What the hell does he mean by that? Is it one big bluff or a real opinion? “You’re just being a pussy.” 

All you get is the side of his cheek rising high.

Yeah. He’s not gonna tell you a damn thing. 

“Forget about me then. Who are you right now?” You wait as his expression falls back to earth. “Agust? Or Yoongi?” 

When you end with silence, you’re met with an approaching shadowed visage. And even in this moment, you sense static in the air, both of you poised and locked in a dangerous, thrilling dance. 

“You tell me.” 

Your breath cuts as he slips a finger inside your robe, and you dare not breathe when he pulls—slow, unhurried, intoxicating. 

You’ve never felt quite like this. 

Are you supposed to do something, too? Is there something that usually happens here? Your experience isn’t zero but it is clearly leagues below where it should be. 

Before you can blink a third time, your garment is ever, ever so slightly off your shoulder.

And you haven’t uttered a damn thing.

So he keeps going, sliding it lower, and lower, until he reveals a part of you that you didn’t mean to reveal so suddenly before. 

This time, it’s deliberate. And that makes it terrifying. 

This is the point of no return. The slope of your chest barely keeps your robe from dipping any farther. It’s happening, and life between you will never be the same when it’s over. 

And yet. 

Your nerves speak up at the worst time.

“Get me a drink,” you whisper, “Then maybe I will.”

Yoongi flicks up an eyebrow before obliging, and you silently mourn the loss of his heated touch. 

He walks over to pour you something neat, taking his time bringing both glasses to the bed. When you sit up properly, you habitually adjust your robe, scoffing at his hum. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, taking the glass and smelling the piercing aroma. “Maybe this is what I needed all along.”

“You ever had sex before?”

The question is so sudden and blunt that you cough up a burning sip. “Ow, fuck..” Wincing, you wipe your mouth before breathing in scratchy inhales. “If you must know, I have.”

“Maybe you are good at pretending then,” Yoongi drawls. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Don’t get me wrong. This situation is new to me.”

His brow raises are definitely talking a lot for him. 

“I’ve just never.. I dunno. Never had just one night.” Taking a more cautious sip, you continue. “Much less with someone like you.”

“Like me?”

“With a.. You know.” You fiddle with your glass. “A customer.” 

When you hear his reaction, you stare at his raised cheek, stomach fluttering when he sighs downward,

“You can’t just say shit like that.” 

“I can say whatever I want,” you counter. “Especially since I…”

You don’t wanna finish that. It helps that Yoongi doesn’t look your way still, taking a sip of his whisky instead. His locks swing forward as he leans, and you almost reach out to feel them. Maybe you’ll get to very soon. When you finally get over this final hurdle of outright shyness. 

Why are you so timid right now? Why can’t you just tell him what you very obviously came in here for and get on with it? You’ve been decisive as fuck the rest of today, so what’s got your tongue pressed this time? Is it really your abysmal level of experience?

Or is it because you’re gravitating to more sides of him with each passing second? 

“Since you what.” 

“Since I don’t like you,” you snip. 

Yoongi flashes teeth in amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

“Oh, shut up.” You take another drink, feeling the burn down your throat. “I don’t have to if it’s true.” 

Both of you keep drinking in silence after that. Which makes things a weird mix of calm and awkward, considering what your original mission was. 

Going over the events of today, it’s a wonder why you aren’t crashing into a dreamless sleep. You’ve been up and having the most exhausting day ever, and yet, you can’t imagine shutting your eyes. 

Think of something else to talk about. Anything. Any topic you could possibly hold a conversation with Yoongi over. 

What did he respond to before? No small talk, since the plantains thing from months ago was a bust. And when you conversed over ramyeon it was more of him angering you on purpose—wait a minute. 

There was something you never circled back to. 

And as soon as you ask him about it, he appears impressed you remembered, 

“Were you bluffing when you said you knew what I was shopping for?” 

“No,” he responds immediately. “And I know I’m right.” 

“Prove it.” 

Mouth curved at an annoying angle, Yoongi shoots you a look before placing his drink down, getting up to walk to a tall armoire. 

Your eyes follow his every movement, even the way his ass moves under that damned robe. But soon, your jaw goes slack not because of his assets. 

But because the motherfucker was right on the money. 

How the… How the fuck did Yoongi know? 

In front of your face lies exactly what you were searching for. Sleek. Minimal. Lightweight and visibly balanced. You don’t even want to keep shopping around because this is the only one you want. 

How did he know you were shopping for daggers based on one single line of questioning? 

“I wasn’t gonna show you until you asked,” he divulges. “Honestly, I was hoping you’d forget. This one was hard as fuck to track down.” 

Eyes flicking up to his, you ask in wonder, “Can I…?” 

He lifts it slightly, signaling that you can indeed hold it yourself. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Wow,” you breathe out, feeling along its edges and hilt. It’s all one continuous line, with metal so black and matted that you almost moan. “I don’t have much on me, but.. I’ll give you whatever you want for this.” 

“Keep it.” 

What? 

“It’s yours.” 

There’s no way he’s just gonna gift this to you. It’s perfectly crafted in material you can’t even find in Crane. And they have almost every class of ore in existence. 

Who even is this man? 

“Yoongi, this is…” You shake your head while extending it back. “I can’t just take this.” 

“You can.” He fiddles with the bracelet on his wrist. “I did.”

Oh. Charming. The weapon you’re being gifted is stolen goods. “Well, in that case, I really can’t accept it.” 

But goddamn, this is more than perfect. You can’t even pluck one finger off the handle. And you can’t change the fact that it was already taken, right? Right?

“At least…” Scowling at your own crumbling morals, you mumble, “Not without good reason.”  

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Do I need a reason?” 

“No,” you reply. “But I’d like one.” 

Yoongi sighs long before moving his fingers. “I lied to you back there in the lobby.” Looking up at a clock instead of you, he works his jaw. “But this time, it really is just that.” 

“You expect me to believe you?” 

Fuck, the veins in his hands are so prominent when he laces them together. “No. But it’s better than those chopsticks you’re saving in the bathroom.”

Oh. So he saw those, too.

“Thank you,” is what you wave in white. Because that’s exactly how you feel and this one gesture does excuse some of his faults. Maybe. Or your standards have plummeted to the gutters. “I, umm. I usually keep one for self-defence. Just in case.” 

Turning it over and back again, you marvel at its light but solid weight. “But I lost mine in the last rough raid before they suddenly stopped.”

“Don’t sweat it.” 

“K.” Placing it on the closest nightstand, you go back to holding your glass between your hands. “One day I’ll pay you back somehow.” 

Yoongi shoots that down on sight. “No need.” 

“But I want to.” 

He glares before picking up his alcohol. “Anyone that owes me shit gets treated a lot different.” The drink rests in his hand like a liquid gem. “So just accept it as a gift, doll.” 

You’d laugh if you knew he was kidding. But you know he’s dead serious, so you only nod. 

It’s quiet again as you both retreat into your minds. 

Yoongi has the mental fortitude of a fortress it seems. Because he really is set on waiting until you tell him what you woke him up for, and it’s been awhile since this all started. 

But being in his presence while the night is quiet is somewhat comforting. You’re finding it easy to think about other things now, especially after he gave you so much to mull over. 

Like grey zones and how they came to be. It’s fascinating how you had no clue even though you should. Even though this whole conflict affected half the city. 

Wanting to gain more insight, you blurt your curiosity, “How long ago were the grey zones fought over? Before everything was decided?” 

“Years. Decades, at this point,” Yoongi answers, his gaze locked as you think about this timeline. “Most people don’t even bother knowing, though.”

“Why? This sounds like a big part of our history.” 

“No one cares if a Crane kills a Dragon.” His tone shifts slightly. And you wouldn’t have caught it if not for his subtle sulk. “They only resent the blood they have to wipe from the street.” 

Your lids lower all the same. Because that resonates deep within your chest, so much so that you feel your heart bend in its aching. “No one cares about us, either.” 

When Yoongi catches your look, you give a sad excuse of a smile. “Being a vendor? Especially where I am? You quickly figure out how little you matter. You as a person, I mean.” 

You slide fingers along the tiny rim of your glass, lost in the fibers of his rug more than anything else. 

Maybe you’re just a loose fiber in the rug of this city. One that will pretend to run only to be swept back into the folds. “The only things that people remember are what you offer. Anything other than that isn’t worth their time.” 

Lifting your chin, you save face. “Can’t say I won’t miss you.” May as well admit it all if you aren’t ever gonna see him again. “You were the only one that ever let me bother them.” 

“You never bothered me.” 

You look up to see him staring. Lip curled upward, you huff. “With all the looks you gave me? I find that hard to believe.” 

Yoongi doesn’t laugh in return. “What would I gain from lying?” 

Mm. That’s an interesting question. But the alcohol starts to talk for you as you have the balls to flirt. “People lie to get laid, for one.” 

“Mm.” He takes a measured sip of his glass, the last dredges of it swaying at the bottom. “Can’t say I’ve ever needed to.” 

“Shocker,” you drawl, sipping to match his pace. And it’s after this drink that you loosely admit, “This is really good, by the way.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” Lifting the glass to peer inside, you swirl it around before divulging a past you don’t talk about—ever. But what are rules of conversation when you want to stall? “My uncle got me into whisky a long time ago. But fruit stands don’t pay for top shelf alcohol.” 

“Where’s he at now?” 

“Uhh.” You look away. “Gone.” 

“Sorry to hear that.” 

He gets up, and you watch in silence as he makes his way to the sideboard. Stuff shifts around before he appears to pour another glass. And he stays there for a bit, black robe blending into all the dark decor. 

“Yoongi?” 

He turns. 

“Can you keep talking?” You keep your drink steady between your robed legs. Buzzed and vulnerable, you offer an explanation, “Turns out there’s a lot I wanna forget right now.”

Like endings. And future endless days without your most frustrating, most dangerous, most favorite customer. 

Yoongi pauses before walking back to the bed. When his thighs settle next to yours, he asks without much heart, “What do you wanna know.”

“You.”

His jaw shifts, and you feel a slight tug in your chest. 

Was that too forward? Probably. But you’ll take what you can get, like a last meal chosen to hit every one of your desires. “Anything you wanna tell me, of course.”

Yoongi remains quiet. Which isn’t unexpected but still a little letdown. 

“Not much to tell.” 

Ah. Just more lies then. Maybe you should stick to the original plan. “Nothing at all?”

He looks at you, planting a hand on the bed to lean a little closer. “Nothing you’d wanna hear.”

You shift between his eyes. Wondering if it’s better not knowing or if you really do wanna give in. 

Perhaps his eyes will speak for him instead. Glowing dark. Hints of ember and smoke. Years and years squeezed into those irises. 

“What if I do,” you quietly question, catching the light on his alcohol-tainted lips. 

Reaching out, you boldly place a thumb over one side, slowly brushing off excess liquid and marveling at how soft he is there. Tender, just like his name. “What if I don’t care.”

Yoongi waits for a moment before holding your wrist, the atmosphere trembling and buzzing around your shoulders. Oxygen depletes as he leans in close, his beautiful features almost touching yours. 

You feel something locking into place. Something beautiful and terrifying. And it holds you down as you feel his hair, his warmth, his—

A noise blares into the room before you can feel yourself rushing upward, your body reacting on survival instinct alone. Glasses spill onto the rug and you don’t know what’s happening but lack of sleep lack of comfort lack of everything has you ready for—

Time stops. 

Sounds muffle. 

And your eyes flash wide as you see the tip of your blade pointed straight at Yoongi’s side. 

Just as he’s poised with a gun pointed towards the door. 

It’s a phone ringing. 

A fucking. Telephone. 

What have you done?

As Yoongi slowly shifts his gaze to your outstretched hand, you tremble in severe regret. Regret that you pulled this on him with the very weapon he gave you. Regret that he knows all there is to know about how you still feel about him. 

But you didn’t mean to… You didn’t even think. And you abhor how you directed your fear at the one person that kept you alive. The one person you fucking saved. 

When Yoongi lowers his gun, he doesn’t acknowledge the guilt on your face. But as he walks away to grab his device, his gaze flicks back to you before he answers across the room. 

Shit. 

You fucked up you fucked up you fucked up. 

You weren’t lying when you said you wouldn’t care. You really weren’t. But who knows what Yoongi will think of you after that shock of a face off. 

Coming into his room was most definitely a mistake. Now you can’t wrangle your emotions for shit, head pounding with feelings and outcomes and adrenaline to the brim. 

Yoongi’s close to the wide bathroom stairs, so you can’t hear what’s being said. He does keep looking at you, though, which keeps your fingers pressed against a hilt. 

Are you in danger? Will Yoongi not want anything to do with you anymore? Is it alarming that you can’t decide which one is worse? 

The call doesn’t last long.

And as soon as he hangs up, you’re sputtering like a broken fountain, dagger still wielded as he stalks forward—phone clunking to the ground. “Who was that.” 

“No one.”

“What’s gonna happen to me.” 

“Nothing.” 

Fuck. You really did fuck everything up. Your brain is so battered that you’re gonna be skittish and paranoid for a long, long time. “Yoongi, I’m so—I didn’t mean to—It just happened—”

Forget it. It’s over. Your last interaction will haunt you forever and the only way you’ll experience what could’ve happened between you will be in your wildest darkest sweetest illest—

Burns flare at your eyes when Yoongi’s chest meets the quivering tip of your blade. 

“Stop,” you wince out, a damning tear pinging to your feet. “Just stop.” 

He starts to walk forward, which alarms you enough to step back because what the fuck is he doing! Why can’t your arms move? Why can’t you lower the fucking dagger? 

“I can’t,” you croak. “I can’t move.”

You’ve been firing on all fronts the whole day. Even in your dreams, you’re in survival mode. You can’t unlock your arms because they fight for the rest of you. Your legs propel you when the rest of you wants to give up. 

But that still doesn’t stop your heart from aching. It burns, it burns, it burns. 

When Yoongi grips your wrist, you choke on a sob. When he calls you smart, you squeeze your eyes shut in shame. And when he whispers to drop the fucking blade or he’ll do it for you, you do so after a maddening pause. 

It clunks to the ground when a gun does, and you’re suddenly spun until the backs of your knees hit something solid. 

Immediately, you’re thrust back onto dark sheets again, tears now rolling into your ears as you instinctively let Yoongi smother you whole. 

His hand slides to your inner thigh, and your mind reels when you start feeling a hardness on your stomach. Breath whooshes out of your mouth before you're covered in silk and muscle, and pleasure bursts from where he quickly devours your neck fuck.

Hands are quick to untie your robe as fire stokes your throat. 

“I won’t ask again,” he vows with a voice that rumbles. “Tell me what you fuckin’ want.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Say it and it’s yours.” 

“Make me forget,” you shove through your teeth. “Just make me fucking forget.” 

“How.” 

Fuck lack of experience. Fuck being shy. You aren’t wasting another damn second and your emotions need all the release they can get. Loose lips, loose tongue, looser inhibitions.

The monster inside of you yanks at its chain, claws and claws at its confines screaming at you to give in. You need this. You want this, especially if Yoongi himself is gonna give it so willingly.

Just say it. Just say it.

“If this really is the last time I’ll see you…” 

Yoongi stills as your eyes lock unblinking. 

Tell him. Four words. 

“Fuck me like it.”

A proverbial chain snaps as Yoongi dives into your neck, ravishing you and sucking hard on your vein. When you yelp, your clenched legs seem to encourage, and he thrusts forward to launch you up the bed with a purpose. With intention.

All to let you know what you just got yourself into.

His fingers light little fires along your skin, burning everything in their paths up your arms, your sides, squeezing into your imperfections and latching down. His lips set your being ablaze as he keeps feasting, causing your breaths to get shorter, and shorter, and shorter. 

“So sensitive..” 

When you feel the warm swipe of a tongue, your eyes scrunch shut as you shudder. Which makes the whole thing worse for you when Yoongi chuckles dark in return. 

“I don’t think you’re ready for this.” 

“Shut up,” you huff out, grasping for his robe and raking at his sleeves. “Of course I am—Fuck.”

His thumb rolls across your exposed nipple, pinching it to make you arch right up into his chest. “You sure?” 

When the hell did he even open your robe? How did he do that so quick without you knowing? 

You bite down on your lip to keep from screaming, nodding in determination while your brows almost kiss. 

Watching your expression, Yoongi pinches again, biting his own lip while slowly spreading that shit grin. Your moan comes out more like a muted hum, which seems to displease. 

“Uh uh,” he orders. “You’re gonna be loud for me.”  

“But what if someone—” 

“They won’t.” 

He continues in his control, sliding a hand under your thigh to hitch it up before shoving it to the side. 

And you know where he’s going. But it still shocks you all the same when his fingers make contact with your slick. 

Your very, very wet slick. 

Many, many things will haunt you for life. Your experiences. Your choices. 

But right now? The only thing that will follow you to your grave is this distinct, biting, staccato batch of laughter. “You shouldn’t’ve ever come in here.” 

Breath ragged, you watch as Yoongi concentrates, exploring your cunt with his long digits and hitting every nerve with perfection. When you rub against him, he growls, lifting shiny fingers to insert right into his mouth. 

Sucking. 

Licking. 

And your eyes mirror his at once—as black and pulsing as fallen stars. 

He swoops down at the same moment you tug on his clothing, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck he hasn’t ravaged. Impatient, his hand yanks the bottom of your robe to the side, fully exposing your legs and leaking folds while you grapple with your own obstacles. 

It’s messy. It’s jilted. It’s exactly what you want. 

As soon as you find the slit in his robe, you take a brave leap and reach for his cock, not knowing what you’re gonna find but having a vague idea based on his—

Oh. What.

Fuck, he’s gonna split you in two. 

You’ve held one before. You know what they feel like. But this cannot be possible and you’re already mentally preparing yourself for your breaking point. 

“You good?” 

You snap your head right up, realizing how stunned you must be if he’s asking. “I… You’re fucking huge.” 

Yoongi doesn’t react, but that somehow makes it more attractive. Like he knows. And he doesn’t deny a thing. “That a problem?” 

“I mean… I think I’ve lived a good enough life.” 

To your surprise, the man above breaks completely as you keep blabbering, shoulders shaking alongside those stupid dimples. Those beautiful, elusive dimples. Too bad this is the last time you’ll ever see them. “Did what I wanted.. Not everything, but most of my list.” 

Yoongi’s still chuckling. And for a brief moment, you’re brought back to the days he was just a patron. Back to when you would think about him before bed, delighted to see him stop by. 

This is him. This is Yoongi with you now. 

Where was he this whole time? Was he really waiting until you answered him for real? 

You went so far into your head that you missed the change in position. So it makes you jump like hell when you realize where his teal mop of hair resides. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing?” 

Between your thighs, Yoongi lifts a brow, locking your legs with tough arms before you can even move. 

“Yoongi, you don’t have to—oh, fuck!” 

The first contact of his tongue on your folds makes your eyes burst, your legs effectively being pinned down in their tensing. Jolts of lust spiral from your core as he licks, sucks, twirls around your clit like it’s second nature, and you feel yourself welcoming his every thrust.

This is happening. This is happening? You’ve never done this before, not that you’ll admit it. Whatever Yoongi’s doing is completely new territory for you and you don’t ever think you’ll leave. Permanent residence. No other land to discover. 

Whines echoes throughout the room before you slap a hand over your mouth. Because the whole world will hear his name if you don’t. Especially when he adds fingers and curls them just right what the fuck! 

He makes you forget. And forget. And forget. You even forget your own name. Only his. Saying it into your palm over and over and clawing his sheets with the other. 

A low growl rumbles between your legs before you hear him purr, “Just like I fucking thought.” 

What’d he say? He didn’t say that. You’re hearing things, you’re sure of it. There’s absolutely no way Yoongi’s imagined anything about you, much less what you taste like. 

And the words keep coming as he whispers how tight you feel. How hot. How perfect you’re gonna fit him. 

While all you can utter in return is gibberish mixed with the syllables of his name. 

Pleasure rolls in waves as he learns every inch of your cunt, fingers drenched in your slick and the curves of his cheeks lathered in your scent. When he reaches beneath you to grope your ass, he gives a rough squeeze. 

“Move your fucking hand.” 

Your eyes fling wide. 

“I wanna hear you.” 

“No, I’m—there could be people—”

He clambers over you, robe wide open and revealing a body that rips your soul clean out. When he seizes your palm to shove it to the side, another monster starts to wake within your chest. 

And this one takes treacherous pleasure in those slitted eyes. 

“You’re gonna scream for me.” 

“Or else what.” 

The dark rumble. The rolling thunder. 

Your other monster is starting to match his glint. “You don’t wanna do that with me, doll.” 

“Do what?” you ask with flitting eyes. 

When all you get is a sharp smirk in return, your stomach flips in desire and excitement. So when he slaps the side of your breast, you hum high with a delighted flinch.

“Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.” 

Yes. This is what you came in here for. Your shyness will have to be comfortable with the unknown, but it’s also helping seeing Yoongi much more relaxed. 

Like a normal person. 

Especially when he leans over to open his bedside drawer, hair swaying as he grabs for what you think are condoms. 

Your hunch is right when he rights himself again, teeth nicking a wrapper before tearing it in one sweep. When you start to clench your legs together in response, he shoves them back open with a thigh, robe parting to show exactly what’s going to splice you in half. 

You’ll gladly take his amusement at your jaw unhinging. Because what you see is heaven sent. 

Yoongi says nothing as he wraps himself fully, and he continues to be silent as you whisper, 

“I wanna see you.” 

It doesn’t take long for him to understand. As his length presses against your core, he slips off his dark robe, letting it slide down equally dark sheets before pouring onto the floor. 

You’re just as quiet as he situates himself above your beating heart. Which is for the best. Your thoughts are better left unsaid. 

All you can do is grip his arm, sliding your hand up until you can finally, finally brush his hair with your own fingers. Exhaling when you discover how soft it feels. How comfort can be found in something as trivial as tendrils.

“This is helping, too,” you murmur to his lips, inhaling what you realize is your own scent. 

When he cradles your chin, your breath cuts. “Things happen when you say what you want.” 

“If only it was always that easy.”

“It is with me.” 

Your heart skips twice before tripping on itself, and you instinctively curl your palm against his head. “Everyone around you must be so lucky.” 

An eyebrow lifts before he huffs. “Not talking about just anyone, love.” 

…Huh? 

What does he mean by that because shit you’re getting tugged forward he’s so strong—

“Now, if you’re gonna be difficult,” Yoongi warns. “Let’s give you enough time to reconsider.” 

Your thighs widen as he positions himself at your entrance, cockhead rubbing along your folds as you tense. 

“Uh uh.” He hums. “This is what you want, yeah?”

“It’s been awhile,” you spat, rolling your eyes when he shoots you a knowing look. “Just… give me a second.” 

Obliging, Yoongi starts slow, making your head roll into the pillow as you accommodate his girth. Holy fuck, he’s big. But he’s sliding in easy after his little feast down there, which you piece together as one big prep for the main course. 

“Fuck,” he groans, resisting every urge to plow straight into you. At least, from what you can decipher in his pinched features. If this feels amazing for you, you can’t even imagine what he must be feeling now. It only gives you butterflies knowing he’s following through with his word. “So fucking tight.” 

“Not my fault you take up… so much space,” you grit through your teeth, neck straining as you blow air to the ceiling. 

Fully sheathed, Yoongi rests inside until your muscles relax. And you only peel your eyes open when you start to slip into more pleasure than anything else. 

Okay. You can do this. You can fit him surprisingly well—maybe too well—and you’re okay to keep going without restraint. 

When you peer down your body, you expect him to look bored or indifferent. Like he’s wasting time dealing with you. 

So it makes you shiver when Yoongi looks ready to ruin. 

Toned arms flex at his sides, hands keeping your thighs held in their place. When a strand of vibrant hair falls, his chains spark in the moonlight streaming in from the windows. A dragon that waits. And waits.

You’re ready. Your demise will be your reward. 

“I’m good,” you assure him. “You can move now—”

A second invisible chain snaps with a clink, and Yoongi launches into a thrust that has you seeing stars. You tumble through the dark as he thrusts again, mouth open with silent yells before you gnaw right into your lip. 

“Relax for me,” he commands. “Just like that.” 

Your cunt hugs him tight as you bounce even harder, his little grunts of praise making you mewl and whimper in bursts. 

Fucking hell, this feels good. 

You cannot wait to find out how it’ll feel when you piss him off. 

His hands grip your hips, hosting you up onto his thighs as he thrusts hard into your cunt. Your body rocks in an arch, limp and at his mercy—which there is very little of. Enchanted, your  lip tightens with the pull of your teeth, eyes squeezing shut as he feels so fucking good and hitting. Just. Right. 

It all carries you so far gone that as soon as you feel a rush of air, the sting on your ass makes you react—piercing moan making both of you freeze.

And Yoongi’s eyes deepen a shade as he slowly grins. “There you go.” 

“Don’t act like you—fuck!” His second swat has you grunting through your teeth, and his thrust forward at the same time he does it again has you whining. Monosyllabic, his name shoves out of your lungs, with each part more chipped than the next. 

“What’s that, love?”

“Yoongi, please—”

“That’s right.” He clutches your sides so damn rough. “Say my fuckin’ name.” 

And his pace pitches you into the sun, rocking so hard you won’t be surprised if the bed frame snaps in half. In thirds. In sevenths. Your legs go completely limp as he drives in, filling you and hitting a spot that pierces your eyes with stars and light and lust. Down down down you spiral, up up up you go. It’s only you and him now, with Yoongi plowing into you like his life ends come morning. 

There’s nothing in the world that feels like this. Burdened by the dangerous weight of a man—this man—while feeling so light you could float? Absolutely nothing can compare. 

Your body finally rests as he stops, but you get no breather as he flips you over with strong arms. Disoriented, you squeak as he tugs you backward, your ass rising in the air as your head is shoved into luxury cotton. 

Sweet pain sears your ass again, and you gasp with wide eyes as you feel his cock at your entrance. “What are you—”

“Lift up. Higher.” He slides his dick up your folds. “You’re gonna like this.” 

“You don’t speak for me—”

He thrusts into you as soon as you get accustomed to his length and size. And the place his thumb presses makes you scream into your pillow. His pillow. A hotel suite pillow that you’re biting to stay afloat. 

How the fuck does that feel so good? How does all of this feel so good? His thumb on your asshole already has you melting, but the smacking of his sack against your clit makes you want to repent.

“So fucking—fuck.”

Drool strings from your mouth as your arms are tugged at the elbows, your whole upper body coming up for air. Precious precious air that’s cut off when Yoongi chokes you from behind.

“Yoo—!”

His strength slams your chest into the headboard, right at the edge of the bed before you feel the force of his palm hit the wall. 

“What did I fucking say.”

“A lot.”

“I’m gonna hear you.”

“But—”

He shoves you flush against dark wood, your cheek smushing hard and your lips curling. “Let them hear you, too.” 

You keep your moans muted until fingers are shoved down your throat. And you gargle until he yanks them out. 

“That’s it. I know you can take it.”

“You’re easier…” Gritting your teeth in a smug grin, you taunt in a bold-faced lie, “Easier to take than I thought.”  

His laughter is not lighthearted. “You’re still gonna go there, huh.” 

“I don’t know what you mean,” you pout, eyes drooping from the euphoric shocks his thrusts provide. Sweat rolls down your arms as you slip on the wall, but it gives your chest a cool surface to rest. “Go where?” 

Suddenly, the grinding stops. And your cunt feels abandoned as he pulls out so fast. When you think to spin around, he spanks your ass with a harsh, “Don’t move.” 

Do you want to disobey? Yes. But you’re more curious than anything, so do as he says.

And your eyes light up when you realize what he comes back with. 

“Now… I could use this,,” he warns, pressing a silky smooth robe tie along your neck. “Since you don’t wanna behave.”

“Do it,” you taunt, wishing like hell that he does. Yes, yes, yes. You’re drunk on lust and volcanic want and you will fight for nothing more. “You won’t.” 

Your neck is rocked back before you feel him slap your ass. “Then stay still.” 

And you obey as you feel your belt—or his, either one—wrap loosely around your column before it’s tied. 

Gently, your chin is turned, and you’re surprised when you’re met with stern eyes. “Can you breathe.” 

Blinking, you nod. “Yeah, I can.” 

“Two taps if you’re out, understand?” 

“Yes.” 

A swift pat to your cheek. “What’d I say.” 

“Two taps,” you repeat, figuring out fast that you’re liking this development a little too much. “If I’m out.” 

Holy fuck the yank you feel is exhilarating, your body bending back as shock overcomes your senses. 

Lidded eyes staring down at yours, he vows, “You better make them count or we never do this again.” 

“I will, I will,” you rasp out, breath still coming to you fine albeit a little more harshly. “I promise.” 

“Good girl.”  

Wait, did he say again? 

As he slips right back inside, you lose all passing trains of thought. Cunt filled while his fingers clog your mouth makes you traverse to another plane. Every part of you, at his mercy—

Then he yanks you backward and all that mercy burns in the flames of heaven. Flocks to the clouds of hell.

The belt is completely taut as you succumb to his thrusts. Hard. Fast. Rough thrusts make you cry out as he toys with you, gravelly hums tumbling down your back as you arch for him. All the sounds you make echo throughout the room, a symphony of mewls and moans as Yoongi controls your every move. 

“Take it.”

“Hmm?”

“You want it,” he repeats. “So take it.”

Oh. Oh, he wants you to—Oh.

You start moving back and forth, doing exactly as he says. Taking what’s yours for the night and shamefully not forever.

But it turns out it’s not enough because he tugs. 

“Like you fucking mean it.”

Fuck.

Groaning, you move with more intention, sliding up and down his cock and feeling full every time. It feels good having control, you muse, and imagining him watching your debauchery turns you on that much more.

Your thrusts turn to rough slams, friction running fast while you chase it with all your strength. The groans you hear sound primal, hissed taunts egging you on.

“Guess you can listen after all.” 

“Fuck you.”

Another hard yank. 

Your laugh only spurns him on. 

Slaps to your ass, grabs to your breasts. Yoongi is worshipping every inch of you and you won’t even notice this until nights later when you’re alone. You’ll remember the way he squeezes just right, the way he fits so well, the places he hits with no hesitation nor guesswork. It’s pure experience strangling you with passion and you don’t even know how to embrace it all.

But then you start to feel it. Your breath tapering. It’s getting harder and harder to suck in air and you’re starting to see stars across your eyes. 

When you reach an alarming point, you quickly slap his leg twice, oxygen gushing into your lungs right as he lets go. 

You almost come on that exhilaration alone. Adrenaline pumps pumps pumps into your veins, eyes blowing black as he spins you around.

Hot, open mouth kisses pepper your burning throat, and you have the nerve to catapult him all the way back onto the bed. 

Yoongi lets you top him with a laugh, and you immediately use this opportunity to pin him down with a chokehold. Wanting him to feel the same way you just did. Knowing deep in your soul that he wants it, too.

“Cute.”

“You asshole.” 

Holy fuck, you can’t even recognize your own voice. It’s hoarse. It’s rugged. 

It’s salacious.

He cocks a brow while peering down his nose. “You done?”

“What?” You blink. Slowly releasing his neck, you admit with a rasp, “No, that’s not what I.. I’m not done with you.” 

Yoongi slides into a smirk, and you attempt to scoff with a burning throat. 

You wanna tell him how good he is. How stupidly attentive he is. But all you settle for is something neutral. Safe. And maybe a little forward. 

“Just felt like calling you that.” 

Yoongi’s smile mellows into a line, and if you weren’t in such an evocative position, you would have thought it was genuine contemplation. But he slides hands up your thighs before slapping the side of your ass. “Get on.” 

Fuck. You don’t really know how. At least, you don’t know how to do it without showing him you aren’t used to it. 

So the confidence will keep getting faked. With a little help of your quick wit and tongue as you grab his length. “Didn’t hear a please.” 

Yoongi huffs out amusement. “I don’t say that.” 

His tip goes in fine. Fuck. Okay. You can do this you can do this. “Why am I not surprised—!” 

He shoves you down as soon as you give him enough leeway, and you groan out as you catch yourself with hands on his chest. 

“This is where you’re gonna live,” he says with confidence, laughing in condescension when you scowl. “Fuckin’ love it.” 

He can’t say stuff like that. 

You ride until you find a rhythm, rolling your body and finding the friction you want. It’s there for the taking. And he’s encouraging you with gravelly words and hums, with hands up your stomach and grasping your chest. 

After a single swirl of your hips, he throws his bed back until his neck strains. “Fuck.”

So you take that cue, rotating between rides and swirls. When he tweaks and rolls thumbs around your nipples, you clench hard around him, and he does it until you moan to the ceiling. 

A slap to your breast makes you whine, and you keep going before leaning forward, placing hands against his shoulders and bouncing your hips on his cock. 

“—a fucking natural,” Yoongi praises, chuckling to himself as he toys with the silk streaming down your neck. 

“Maybe I’ve just practiced.” 

“Show me more then.” 

Quickly, he tugs you down flush against him before grabbing your ass, slamming you down and pistoning up until you scream.

You start biting his shoulder to quell your shouts, which makes him moan loud enough to make you possessive. Wildly possessive. Before long, you feel yourself going limp on him, only for him, solely for his pleasure and yours. 

“Just like that. There you go.” 

You mewl into his skin as he grabs you, holding you down as he slams into you again and again and again. Drunk with power, you begin to mark his throat, devouring and feasting with reckless abandon.

Growling ragged, Yoongi flips your position and pins you face down, shoving up hard into your cunt before plowing. You fully lean into the yells now, saying his name and inching over the goddamn edge of the bed.

It’s there. Your release. It’s potent and it’s visceral and it’s everything you need need need—

“Yoongi, I’m close—”

He penetrates so far that you can taste him, and you come so harshly that you convulse. Squeezing like hell and quivering in a full body fold.

Holy shit, the screams. Is that you? 

The sinister laughs of pride prove you right. “That’s my girl. Fucking scream.”

You can’t stop. All you know is extreme pleasure coursing through your veins, pulsing beautiful colors and making you arch like mad. 

But you have more to handle. Yoongi prolongs your euphoria by yanking you back only to sink into you again, hands rubbing both nipples and tongue speaking deadly sins in your ear.

“You aren’t done,” he growls. “Lemme hear you again.” 

“I can’t—”

“Liar.”

His name rips from your mouth as you surprise yourself, gushing around his length and squeezing in powerful pulses. Nothing exists. Nothing at all. Everything you know is a feeling, as vibrant and shimmering as the sun above your street back home. 

All the heat you’ve ever felt coalesces along your skin, and the words whispered in your ear slide right down with your sweat. You aren’t quite sure what you hear. But judging by your preening, it has to be praise. Dirty, dirty, sinful praise. 

When your limp weight is flipped, you allow your legs to be hoisted up with no resistance. Looking upward, you peel open lids to the equivalent of a king. A god. And your outright awe blocks your ears from catching what your dragon swears. 

“—perfect,” he grits, inserting himself into your squelching folds. “Again.” 

No fucking way you have more left in you. You’re already floating in the ether, buzzing in pleasure and sweat and ecstasy. If you come one more time you’ll be an empty shell. 

“Earn it,” you boldly rasp out, grappling a bit of your spirit and reining it back one last time. “Take it, you bi—”

Your heart leaps up your throat as you’re pitched upward, groan serrated and high as you grin in triumph because it feels so fucking rewarding when he gives gives gives. 

Letting everything go relaxes your folds, causing Yoongi to rock into you with pride and without resistance. His chain smacks against his pecs at the same pace as your bouncing chest, and you’re more than sure you’re gonna feel bruises on your legs where he sinks his claws.

Skin slapping skin. Mewls and gritted curses. Heady scent covers them all in a thick layer and you feel the light grow closer and closer, stronger this time than all the others before it. Why? Why do you know this one will pitch you over the edge for good? 

Both of you may feel the same. 

Because Yoongi suddenly shoves himself so far into you and presses his body flush against your shuddering shaking screaming form.

You pulse frantically around him, throat sore and ragged from your final cry as tears stream down your face. It feels so fucking gorgeous that it hurts, and you enter a plane so mystical it’s completely separate from your earthly vessel. The two of you become closer than one, and you feel Yoongi stutter in his groan before yanking out and ripping the condom off.

Hot spurts paint your skin—a sweaty, spent canvas that dips slow with your labored breaths. His own breathing is rough but not exhausted, and you chalk that up to the mountain of stamina and experience he has on you. 

It’s done. 

Thoroughly spent.

All the pent up emotions dissipate in a slow descent. The chaos of today finally lowers its head, your monsters making their ways back into their cages. Moonlight shines brighter. Fuller. 

Illuminating a man in silver as he slowly heads into the bathroom. 

Holy fuck. You just slept with a gangster. With a Dragon.

With Yoongi.

There’s no way you can forget this. No way you can see yourself moving past this moment, even years and lifetimes from now. It doesn’t matter if Yoongi never thinks about you again, because something transpired in this room that you’ll keep locked away in your soul forever. 

As he brings back a towel to wipe his essence from your skin, you wonder. 

Was it all worth it? 

Or will this torture you in every dream you’ll ever have? 

A palm digs into the mattress before you feel weight and jewelry. The silk around your throat is carefully undone, and lazy, heated lips descend on your neck once more.

Bliss.

Sighing, you utter his name much softer now, telling him please without knowing what for. 

“What do you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit in a wisp. 

Yoongi keeps worshipping your throat, and you mewl when he reaches to rub your breast in a slow squeeze. When you drag your hand down to grip his cock, he tenses with a gritty hum. 

“Careful, love,” he rumbles. “There’s a lot more I can do with you.” 

“Tell me.” Your breath starts shorting in anticipation. “Tell me everything.” 

“Nah.” When he slides forward, the bare tip of him meets your cunt, causing you to flinch with a bitten lip. “You’re just gonna have to wonder. Day, after day, after day.”

Fuck this guy with the spite of a thousand lives. You’re the one holding his cock, so how the fuck is he still being this sure of himself? 

“Put it in,” you blurt, earning his gaze of utter confusion. 

“What?” 

“Just for a second.” You stroke him, feeling slick velvet and wetness coating your fingers. “That’s the last thing I want.” 

His eyes search yours, and for the first time tonight, he’s the one that looks hesitant. “You sure…?” 

“We’ll never do this again,” you whisper. “And I know you want it, too.” 

His gaze holds yours for a moment, searching your eyes for any sense of doubt. 

When he finds none, Yoongi positions himself at your entrance, and you feel his knuckles brush your folds before he sinks in. Slowly, cautiously, extraordinarily. 

And both of you groan so full. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi glowers, teeth sharp as he grounds them hard. His arm veins strain, shifting all his ink in pretty ebbs and flows. All his stomach snaps taut, and you can’t look away from his sheer look of concentration and lust. “Fuck.” 

“Feels so good,” you gasp, enjoying the way he’s slowly grinding against your walls. All the slick from your releases allows smooth strokes, and you already feel close for yet another time. An unbelievable amount of orgasm in such a short span. You’ll never reach this peak. Not with anyone else. “What the fuck, I’m close again—”

“Shit—”

It happens in a snap. But more of a mellowed, drawn-out river flow than a full waterfall. Your eyes slowly roll before closing, and your chest arches slow as you rock back and forth on his cock. The squeezes are harder. The pulses are fuller. You’re milking him for all he’s worth, like your cunt won’t let go until it’s pumped him dry. 

Which makes Yoongi lose his absolute mind, hissing as he pulls out quick before spilling onto you all over again. Again? 

Holy fuck, again? 

As he groans up above, his eyes are wiped dark completely. Which makes you wonder how you can still see stars embedded inside. 

Was it all worth it? 

You’ve never been more achingly sure.

It’s a long shot to know if he feels the same. And an even longer one for that to truly be the case. 

But it’s okay. 

This is the first, the last, the only time you have. And it was more than you could’ve ever asked for. 

As he falls into the sheets next to you, both of you exhale harsh, hearts pounding and pounding into the bed and to the ceiling. 

You can’t even move. Every single limb is sore from base to tip, and the door looks so, so far away. 

When you whisper his name, you get a little acknowledgement at your side. Gathering all the strength you have left, you whisper, 

“I know this is when I’d be kicked out, but.. I can’t move.” 

The small puff of air you get in return sounds like a yes. But you aren’t sure until Yoongi verbally gives you a real answer, 

“S’ok.” 

All you can do is hum, noticing with a sharp pang that you feel soft towel wipes before the smooth slide of sheets up your bare skin. 

“Just stay on your side.” 

Ah. 

Well. At least you aren’t alone for a night. 

“And you.. Stay on yours,” you murmur, darkness seeping into your peripherals. 

“Mm.”

Yoongi can be as cold and heartless and calculating as he wants. But you know he’s more than what he shows. 

Because with a second sharp hit to the chest, you also realize the side you’re on is the side he was on before. He’s not gonna make you move just to keep his preference. 

Don’t think too much about it. Do not. 

“I wish everything was different,” you whisper, drifting into a dreamless sea. “I don’t want to hate you...” 

Your forehead is swept by a warm hand. You cannot lift your lids any longer, but your ears still hang onto their efforts. 

And the last thing you hear before succumbing to the dark is a lighter flick and a fact. A cold, expected, damning fact. 

“You’ll always hate me.” 

When you wake, you’re greeted by the same room you fell asleep in. 

Sunlight cuts through grey skies to shine every surface, and you breathe in a musky, comforting scent as you stretch your limbs. 

Did last night really happen? 

The soreness between your bare legs is more than enough to prove so. 

Slowly turning, you whisper to Yoongi that you’re ready to go when he is. 

Only to find out that you’re talking to no one. 

Shit.

Shooting up, you start to panic. Maybe he’s in the living room already? Getting ready to call someone to bring you back home? 

Glancing at the nightstand on his side, you don’t spot the dagger he gifted you, brain grappling with what that could possibly mean. 

Your ribs crackle when you bite back emotion. It’s all over. 

Shifting back to swing your feet onto cold fibers, you pause with swimming eyes. 

Because the blade rests ready on your nightstand, propped on a set of plain clothes in the perfect position you would need it to be.

Teeth clenched and eyes burning, you swipe it before rushing out of bed, head pulsing and a dull ache between your legs. “Fuck..” 

The shirt and pants you’re given don’t exactly fit, but you’ll take what you can get as you punch limbs through long sleeves and high pants. 

Yoongi isn’t here. 

You feel it in your whole being, and you have no fucking clue why it hurts. 

But if he’s not here…

Who do you start to hear outside the door? 

You freeze, lungs expanding as you hold multiple breaths. 

It sounds like talking. But also a myriad of sounds? 

Heading into the bathroom, you silently glide across the floor before swiping up the chopsticks. Because yes, you’re still gonna save them. For defence. For keepsakes. For a grave reminder. 

Tucking them in a pocket, you ready your dagger under your garment, pressing it flat against your skin like you were trained to do. 

Slipping out into the hallway, you hear the sounds clearer. Movement. Slides of furniture. 

What the hell is going on? 

You’re about to retreat back into the room when a man crosses in front of the hall. 

And his hair is strikingly… 

Orange?

As he catches you in his vision, he stops on a dime, hand outstretched in greeting. “Hello!” 

Your step back makes him laugh. But you’re not laughing in the slightest as you question, 

“Where’s.. Where’s Agust?” 

“Gone.” The smile spreading makes you squint. “Need to see him?” 

Your answer is immediate.

“I’d rather die.”

-

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⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: alright before i say anything else: use the bathroom after sex, and especially after doing it unprotected!! i normally include it so this is a rare exception. but yes. please use the bathroom after, and practice safe sex always! a/n 2: WHO COULD THAT BE AT THE END THERE... ahahah but seriously, i for one am still swirly eyed just thinking about what's coming for these two.. they have no idea what's in store and i'm itching to get the next part done! a/n 3: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ minted masterlist

[taintedjeon]

‘𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞…’ 𝐦𝐲𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬; 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦

✞ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: alternative!yoongi x reader ✞ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k ✞ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: yoongi has tongue pierings, bigdick!yoongi, dirty talk, raw sex, riding, nipple play, nipple biting, minor hair tugging, size kink, using a polaroid during sex, mention of dacryphilia to open

disclaimer: this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. yoongi is used solely as a face and a name for the story. this is not a representation of real-life scenarios.

series masterlist | main masterlist

“Don’t hide your pretty noises. I want you to cry for me.” Yoongi emphasises his requests as he speeds up his pace. His lips bathing your shoulder in kisses as he makes his way up to the sensitive part of your neck, causing you to shiver under his touch.

His name leaves your lips in a sinful prayer for the man in between your thighs. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, all you’re able to do is feel him filling you to the brim with all of him as tears wet your eyes, obscuring your vision.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you hear Yoongi muttering into your chest as you move yourself up and down, impaling yourself on his cock, “treating me well, ni—ah, fuck baby!”

Yoongi’s head is thrown back against the plush grey headrest of the couch, his bottom lip caught in between his teeth as he grunts in pleasure. One of his hands rest on your hips, the warmth of his palm and the coldness of his rings decorating his lithe fingers causes shivers to run over your body.

He is incredible. Insatiable even. Yoongi knows your body better than you know it yourself. He knows just how to fuck you right, every single time.

With your body shaking and eyes screwed shut tight in arousal, you miss Yoongi reaching out beside him. A click, accompanied by a quick bright flash takes you by surprise, causing your eyes to flutter open.

Halting your movements, you peer down at Yoongi who is staring straight into your eyes — blackened, blown out and filled with lust. You clench your pussy around his cock and smile at the polaroid in his hands.

“Want to remember this moment.”

“Well let me help you,” you tell him as you grab at his hand and place it on your tits, guiding him to palm you. Yoongi is more than happy to indulge you and plays with your nipple in between his thumb and pointer finger, tugging at the bud, watching it harden under his touch. You lace your fingers with his and then watch as he snaps a new image of him groping you.

One of your hands comes to rest on the back of his head, fingers gripping into his long strands of raven hair and giving them a soft tug in that way he loves. You lean down and kiss Yoongi with a surge of urgency. It’s wet and messy as your tongues tangle and lips smack against each other. His dual tongue bars give the kiss an added edge as he usages it to his advantage to lick against your lower lip before pulling at the skin in between his teeth. From below, you feel Yoongi lift his hips causing the tip of his cock to press deeper inside of you. A strangled moan slips past your kiss bitten lips at the welcomed pleasure.

Yoongi is thick and heavy inside of you, stretching you loose in ways no man ever has done before. Sex with Yoongi is always exciting and with added kinks to explore with each other, he always leaves you wanting more every time.

“How’s my angel doing?” He whispers as he plays about with the settings on the camera before pointing the lens back in your direction.

“G-good, want to keep going—fuck!” You curse at the end as he moves his hips again and snaps another image of you as your face contorts in unadulterated pleasure.

“G’on, move for me princess, show me how cock drunk you get for me, yeah.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You slid your hands across his chest, tracing the lines of the dragon tattoo that spans across his well built upper body. Through lustful eyes, you watch as Yoongi bites his lip at your touch and you keen, knowing that you’re the one to bring Min Yoongi down to this state with you.

Lifting your hips, you glide your cunt from his base to the tip, managing to feel every vein that wraps around his pretty length.

“Fuck, wait stay there. Let me get a picture of this, holy shit…” Yoongi proclaims and takes the third picture on the polaroid. “Don’t move. Keep yourself hugging my tip, fuck you gotta see how wet you got my cock princess.”

You do as you’re told and you keep your body positioned above him, cockhead nuzzled snuggly in your small hole as you await the polaroid to print the film.

Minutes pass and it doesn’t take long for your legs to start trembling from your muscles being stagnant in this position for a little longer than you’re used to.

“Yoongi, I wanna fuck!” Your protest comes out whiny as you fight the urge to drop yourself down to begin fucking him again.

The sound of the polaroid printing is heard between the both of you and you watch as Yoongi reaches for the film, shaking it in the air for a few seconds before looking at it.

He groans, and you feel arousal build up and leak onto Yoongi’s cock. The sounds that Yoongi creates, every moan, every rumble of his chest pushes you to keep still.

Next thing, Yoongi is twisting the picture around for you to see with your own eyes and what a sight it was. His length looks swollen with use, hard and stunningly decorated in those pretty veins you enjoy giving attention when he allows you. His length glistens under the flash of the camera from the juices he has spilled from your pussy and now it’s your turn to moan.

“Can you see too? The way I barely fit inside you…” he trails off. “Look at you struggling to take my fat cock in your tight cunt, I’ve never seen anything so fucking stunning. This is art.”

Warmth spreads around your body at his words as you look at the image as he speaks to you with so much filth. You flutter around him, utterly brain dead from Yoongi’s cock.

You’re not given enough time to think before Yoongi rocks his hips up, stroking your walls beautifully as he pulls you down to bury himself back in the hilt of his home which is your pussy. Tears gather in your eyes, giving them a sparkle that Yoongi loves to coax from you as he throws the camera back to the side in order for him to guide you up and down his throbbing dick.

The burn in your thighs is present and makes itself apparent as you continue to work your muscles into overdrive as you ride Yoongi like your life depended on it. Yoongi wraps both his hands around your back, palms resting against your clammy skin as he whispers filthy praises and prays of you into your skin, absolutely lost in the lust that is you and your tiny cunt.

You scratch at his chest, digging your nails through the dragon tattoo, breaking the skin and knowing that there will be a trail of red desire marked into his skin for the evening.

“You’re so big!” You hiccup, feeling Yoongi increase the speed of his hips into you, his ego swelling at your words.

“Ah, your pussy is leaking all over me, making such a mess of me angel.” Yoongi punctuates his words with a firm buck into your cunt, Yoongi highlights the loud squelching sounds of your ministrations.

One of his hands finds your wrist and brings it up to his mouth where he places kiss after kiss on each knuckle. He guides your hand further down until it finds the column of his throat and you rest there.

“G’on princess, choke me a little,” Yoongi grunts through gritted teeth and so you do as you’re told, applying a light amount of pressure around Yoongi’s throat. You watch as Yoongi’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens in pleasure, his tongue coming out to lick at the corner of his lips. The glint of his tongue ring makes you whine. Your body manages to fight through the overstimulation of his cock fucking into you over and over again as you take over as much as Yoongi is allowing you.

Now, you’re using each other and it’s never felt so fucking pleasurable. You eye the polaroids that Yoongi had taken early scattered around the sofa around his body and you smirk as the tears are rolling down your cheeks in small rivulets. You are both drowning each other in sex so intense, the pleasure borders on almost painful.

With each drop off your hips, you feel him deep in your stomach. Your body burns in overexertion but you don’t stop until you’ve both reached your ends.

“I’m taking you so well, Yoongi, can you feel me!?” You swivel your hips as you ask.

“Nobody got a pussy like yours… best pussy I’ve ever fucked, princess, swear.” Yoongi rasps through your hold on his throat. At his words, you squeeze your fingers just a little tighter around his throat.

“You gonna come, angel?”

You nod at him. “I’m so close, please. Please, I need to!” You beg him to let you finally reach your climax, your hips working faster.

“Just like that baby, you’re doing so good.” you could hear that his voice is straining as his hips become sloppier in their movements. Your spare hand reaches for the headrest of the sofa behind him.

“Fuck, yes, keep going, keep going, I’m gonna fill you to the fucking brim, gonna watch you bloat with my cum,” Yoongi is loud, not afraid who around you both hears his promise to you. 

The living room fills with moans and skin slapping against skin as the pair of you use each other to reach your climaxes. Finally, yoongi leans forward and takes a nipple in between his teeth and runs both his tongue bars over the hardened bud back and forth. Yoongi bites down hard and in return, your pussy vices him in and your hands release from his neck. All at once, Yoongi’s breath hitches as the air returns to his burning lungs and comes inside of you, filling you with his hot sticky white seed as he paints your body with filthy praises.

Soon after, you meet your orgasm shortly behind his own. Your body stills as you tremble above him as your body releases your arousal all over Yoongi, making a mess of him and probably the couch underneath.

He is quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you as your body twitches through your orgasm. Yoongi can’t help but give tiny shallow thrusts to help aid you through it.

You both bask in the glow of intense sex as you both collapse onto each other. Yoongi is the first to move as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up off of his softening cock. The feeling of him moving through your sensitive cunt causes you to hiss but you pout when he has fully removed himself.

After catching his breath, Yoongi guides you to lie down on the sofa as he reaches once more for the polaroid.

“Yoongi, what’re you—,” you’re cut off with the familiar click of the camera and bright flash momentarily brightening up the living room before bathing it back in it’s natural darkness.

“I can’t fuck you that well and not get the money shot, can I?” You hear the smirk in his voice. You feel a hand wrap around your ankle and then your legs are being pried apart slowly. “C’mon, let me see how messy you are for me, yeah?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh as you indulge Yoongi in his request, giving him the opportunity to get the device up close and personal to your cunt before snapping a new image.

“Yeah, these are definitely going into the wank bank for later.”

© 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

[yooniivrse]

bouquet | myg

summary. every day with you serves as a reminder that you are, in fact, the best thing that has happened to him

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: established relationsip au, fluff

word count: 1.3k

content: oc buys yoongi flowers / my man is whipped

warnings: none <333

notes: u can find the post explaining how i imagine yoongi and oc’s apartment here (in case u wanna visualise it better) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so appreciated!! i hope you guys enjoy <333

────

main masterlist

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The fresh scent of flowers tickles your nose as you hold the bouquet close to your chest. You can't help but pride yourself in your selection as you admire the pale colours that caress each petal; an arrangement of pinks the same shade as the blush you often find creeping across your cheeks, oranges that mimic the morning sky on a winter day, yellows that remind you of the sunshine that warms your eyelids as you lie in bed during summer, and whites that reflect the hue of the moon.

It may not be perfect, but it's just right for your boyfriend — this you're sure of. Because it's Yoongi who causes your blushes and watches the sunrise with you in his arms despite the chilly weather; it's Yoongi who convinces you to stay in bed for "just a bit longer", until the day is almost gone but it doesn't feel wasted because it was spent with him.

Yoongi illuminates the dark skies that often haunt you, lighting up even your dullest days in his own way. And he whispers sweet nothings in your ear at night as if they're words from the moon itself.

Getting Yoongi flowers wasn't something you set out in the morning intending to do. You had come across the bouquets on your way back home from work, catching sight of them in the window of a quaint flower shop tucked in the corner of a street. It still baffles you how you had managed to not see the building for so long despite knowing the street like the back of your hand.

It was hard to miss too, given the amount of intricately put together bouquets wrapped in parchment paper and potted plants that were displayed on wooden stands just outside. They spilt out across the sidewalk, painting the grey town with the pop of colour it desperately needed.

You don't know what it was, but nothing had felt more right for you to do at that moment. So you marched in and paid an outrageous amount of money without a second thought.

And now, here you were — unable to hide the smile on your face despite the burn on your cheeks — watching the elevator ascend to the floor of your apartment. The pixelated numbers seemed to be moving slower than usual today, but you didn't linger on it for too long.

Eventually, the steel doors part to let you out, and you walk down the empty hallway to your apartment. It's a struggle to unlock the door with the flowers in one hand and your tote bag flimsily slung around your other shoulder, but you manage.

The door opens with a familiar creak and you step inside.

The immediate aroma of food that hits you is sudden, but also mouth-watering. You make your way down to the source of the smell — the kitchen — to find Yoongi working away at the stove.

A short towel hands around his neck, catching the droplets of water that fall from the ends of his hair. A loose, black t-shirt hangs on his figure, along with a pair of grey sweatpants. He hums an oddly staccato tune to himself, completely immersed in whatever he's cooking.

"Hi."

Yoongi's gaze immediately moves from the dish in front of him to you, a smile spreading across his face.

"Hello." He meets your eyes for a brief second before moving down to the flowers. He quirks an eyebrow, lifting his gaze again. "Special occasion?"

"No. I got them for you...just because," you reply with a shrug, walking over to him with the bouquet outstretched in your hands.

"Oh. I- Thank you." You don't fail to catch the tint of pink that creeps across his skin, slowly becoming prominent around the tips of his ears as he takes the flowers from your hand.

He stares at the arrangement for a few seconds, and you feel a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. He would like them, right?

"So, whatcha cooking?" you ask, eyeing the pot of noodles. A small pile of thinly cut cucumber rests on a cutting board just beside the stove, but before you can take in everything else displayed across the marble, Yoongi's lips are on yours.

You melt into the kiss almost instantly. Your heart soars in your chest and the nerves in your stomach wash away, only to be replaced by the erratic flutter of butterflies.

Yoongi tastes faintly of mint and love, and the pressure of his kiss is slightly stronger than usual — as if he's reminding you of who his heart belongs to, even though you're already well aware.

The feeling of knowing that you're loved is almost overwhelming, but you bask in it, unable to stop your lips from spreading into a smile against his mouth.

"God, I love you so much," Yoongi mumbles as he pulls back, tenderly moving a few strands of your hair behind your ear, and you giggle at his words.

"I love you too, baby," you reply. His eyes crinkle into soft crescent moons, and he places another peck against your lips.

"Where do you think we should put it?" He does a quick scan of the room and you follow his movements. The coffee table would've been your first option, but it's occupied by the flowers he got you on your most recent date.

"Hmm." Your eyes move down the room. "I think it should look fine in the bedroom."'

Yoongi hums in agreement. "You're right. I'll put them here for now, 'cause I'm fucking starving right now."

"Oh my God, same," you reply as he places the bouquet on the marble island behind him. "What are you making anyway?"

"Just jajangmyeon. You mentioned wanting it last night, so I thought I'd make it for you. Didn't want you to get food poisoning like last time when we went to that sketchy restaurant."

"You're amazing," you say, loudly kissing him on the cheek. "I was literally craving it all day today."

Yoongi lets out a soft chuckle. "I knew you would be. Don't worry, it'll be ready pretty soon."

"I'll go get changed then. Don't burn down the house!"

"That's rich coming from you," he says with a snort.

You feign innocence with a shrug. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't."

As you leave the kitchen, your laughter still echoing in the room, Yoongi lingers by the bouquet. A feeling of warmth blooms across his skin, and he's sure that it has nothing to do with the stove.

Even as he continues to stir the noodles, the only thing he is focused on is the single thought in his head.

You really are the best thing that has happened to him.

[muniimyg]

𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jungkook (22)⋆𐙚₊˚⊹*nsfw*

series m.list // taglist request closed

🏷️ permanent taglist: @joonsjuice @pamzn @defzcl @maryy1300 @whoa-jo @taetaecatboy @jksusawife @un06 @firesighgirl @rrosiitas @butterymin @parkinglot-nights @musicjournalsjdb @kissyfacekoo @jkslvsnella @vampcharxter @bloopkook @somehowukook @bbystarcandykoo

//

"honey?"

with wide eyes, jungkook rushes toward you, a mix of surprise and relief washing over his face. you open your arms, and he crashes into them with a sigh, melting against you like he's finally letting himself breathe.

his familiar scent, a comforting mix of sandalwood and something uniquely him, wraps around you, making your heart race.

it's only been two nights, but it feels like forever.

your arms tighten around him, clinging, needy, because this is your husband after all. the warmth of his body against yours makes you realize just how much you missed this—missed him.

"what are you doing here? where’s zion—" he starts, his voice a little rough, but you cut him off by pulling away slightly, just enough to place the back of your hand on his forehead. your eyes widen as you feel the heat radiating from his skin, a small gasp escaping your lips.

"yoongi and jaehyun told me you were being a complete douche to them," you snicker, trying to hide the concern creeping in. "said you're sick and refusing to rest or go home. what good is it being here when you're sick and being mean, huh?"

jungkook opens his mouth to defend himself but you cut him off to continue.

"so, i dropped zion off at my parents and drove three hours to tell my husband to get his ass home."

jungkook pouts, his lower lip jutting out in that familiar way that always gets to you, but you hold firm.

"i’m not that sick—"

"i packed your bags and took everything from your hotel room," you interrupt, crossing your arms. "let’s go home."

he hesitates, glancing to the side like he’s about to argue, but then you give him a sharp look. your gaze says everything—there’s no way he’s getting out of this one.

he lowers his head in defeat, his voice dropping to a soft murmur, “no, you’re right. my wife is always right.”

when you get home, jungkook heads straight for a hot, steamy shower. the sound of water rushing through the pipes filling the quiet house. while he’s in there, you start on the soup you promised. truth be told, you’ve been feeling unwell, too. nothing too serious, but enough to worry about zion getting sick. that’s why you dropped him off with your parents before making the long drive.

you aren’t exactly sure what’s wrong with you.

food poisoning? flu season? you don’t know.

but today, you’re feeling a little better than yesterday, which is something. after all, you only threw up twice during the three-hour drive to jungkook and—surprisingly—none on the way back. that’s a win in your book.

as you stir the soup, you hear the shower turn off, signaling that jungkook’s done. turning off the stove, you wipe your hands and head back to your room where jungkook is changing into comfier clothes. he’s standing in front of the bed, pulling on a baggy white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. his hair is still damp, clinging to his forehead in little dark strands, and he gives you a tired smile as he crawls into bed.

you walk over, lifting the covers and tucking him in like he’s a child who needs pampering.

“yoongi said you ate before i came,” you say softly, brushing his hair out of his face. “let me know when you get hungry, and i can reheat the soup—”

“i’m all better,” jungkook cuts in, his voice a little congested but determined. “come here, please.”

you shake your head, raising an eyebrow. “if we’re both sick, zion is gonna have to stay away for—”

“no, no,” jungkook interrupts, mimicking your head shake with a frown. “i’ll be better by tomorrow. i promise.”

“you’re literally congested right now,” you tease, pulling the covers up to his chest. “just get some rest, kook. don’t be grumpy with me because you’re sick.”

“i’m not grumpy,” he protests, his brows furrowing. “you just like bossing me around.”

you roll your eyes, smirking. “right. i love playing nurse for my dramatic husband who refuses to admit he’s sick.”

“i’m not dramatic,” jungkook mumbles, though the pout on his lips says otherwise. you try to pull your hand away from his, but he grips it tighter, tugging you toward the bed. “rest with me.”

“jungkook, you need to—”

before you can finish, he tugs harder, and you topple into bed with a soft laugh. he wraps his arms and legs around you, holding you hostage in a cocoon of warmth. his chin rests on top of your head, and you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he holds you close.

“thank you for coming to get me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, the grumpiness fading. “i can’t believe you drove six hours. aren’t you feeling sick, too? how are you feeling today, honey?”

you nuzzle closer, finding comfort in his embrace.

“i feel okay. i threw up twice on the way to you, but nothing on the way back. only felt nauseous… what did we even eat?”

jungkook chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. but then, silence falls between you two, and a sudden thought crosses your mind. it’s almost like the same thought hits both of you at once.

the possibility—no, the likelihood—starts to settle in, making too much sense to ignore.

you haven’t eaten out in a while, and everything he eats, you do too. if it was food poisoning, zion would’ve been sick by now, right? but he’s fine.

jungkook shifts slightly, his hold on you tightening as if he’s bracing himself.

“do you think—”

“maybe,” you whisper. "honestly? probably."

“okay. ___? i think so too.... should we take a test later?”

you blink, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. “yeah,” you breathe, feeling the weight of the moment. “s-should i just take it now?”

jungkook lets out a deep sigh, his thumb brushing gently against your hand. “let’s just... take a minute. lie here for a bit."

when the morning comes, you realize you and jungkook slept the entire time.

as you stretch and are about to get out of bed, jungkook holds onto your shirt. 

“no.”

jungkook’s groggy voice breaks through the stillness of the morning, his arm tightening around you as if to hold you in place. the warmth of the sheets and the weight of his body against yours make it hard to resist staying in bed.

“no?” you yawn, blinking your eyes open as sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. “come on. let’s get something in your stomach so you can take medicine—”

“no,” he groans, pulling you closer. his voice is raspy with sleep, a slight whine in it as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “stay here. too weak to get up. give me kisses.”

you let out a small scoff, still half-asleep but amused by his childishness.

“what do kisses have to do with you being sick and all?” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes.

“they give me strength,” jungkook mumbles into your skin, his breath warm against your neck as he shifts slightly, trying to coax you into staying in bed. “come here. kiss me and find out for yourself—”

you roll your eyes, though you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes your lips. jungkook, even sick and groggy, is relentless.

“seriously? that’s your excuse now?”

he groans again, dramatically this time, as if he’s on the verge of collapse. “please, honey. i'm too weak to move. only your kisses can save me now.”

his hand lazily reaches for yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he gives you that pouty look, half-lidded eyes and all.

despite yourself, you feel your resolve softening.

“you’re ridiculous,” you mutter, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his cheek, watching as his lips curl into a small, satisfied smile.

“see? i’m already feeling stronger,” he murmurs, eyes still closed but his grin widening.

you can’t help but roll your eyes again, though the smile tugging at your own lips betrays you. “fine. one more kiss, then you’re eating, okay?”

he hums contentedly, already shifting to make room for you to snuggle closer, completely ignoring your terms. “oh, right... totally forgot but did you know that morning sex heals me?"

jungkook keeps his shirt on while you’re completely naked on top of him. 

as you straddle yourself on top, he rolls his eyes back at the feeling of you sinking into his cock. 

“s-so tight,” he hisses. “god, i love you.”

you laugh. 

“i can’t believe that even when you’re sick, you’re still horny.”

jungkook shrugs. “can’t help it. my wife is divine.”

you shiver at his words. he hasn’t said that in a while.

divine. 

every time he calls you divine, it feels like the first time. it’s such a simple word, but the way he says it—like it holds all the meaning in the world, like he believes it in the deepest parts of himself—makes your heart race. it’s like the ground slips out from under you, like you’re falling in love with him all over again, and it’s almost too much to handle.

you’ve heard him say your name a thousand times, but divine? it’s different. it feels sacred like he’s seeing something in you that no one else ever could. it’s not just a compliment; it’s a kind of worship. the way he looks at you, like you’re something more—like you’re untouchable. truly, he leaves you breathless.

and each time he says it, you feel that familiar rush of love deepening, like he’s pulling you closer in a way that goes beyond words. it makes your chest tighten and your heart race, as if you’re falling for him all over again, but in this softer, more certain way.

as you lift your hips, you drag out how you ride him. 

jungkook loses his mind every time you ride him but right now—god, is he going insane. 

the way your curves are a perfect fit when he holds you—insatiable. the way your breasts bounce in front of him—is mindblowing. he especially loves watching himself cup and squeeze them. they’re always so full. again, perfect for him. they fit in his hands perfectly. 

you fit in him perfectly. 

picking up the pace, you ride him with soft moans escaping your lips. you murmur his name, leaning every now and then closer to him. you take a handful of his shirt, scrunching and gripping onto it as you throw your head back. jungkook follows the curves of your body with his eyes, tracing the way your stomach winces with every bounce. he notes how you squirm when he thrusts, meeting your high halfway. 

when you let go of his shirt, you hold onto his hair. your fingers get lost in it, and he smirks at every tug you pull. he reaches for you, wanting a kiss. 

“no kissing.”

his heart drops. “you kissed me yesterday—”

“you’re sick.”

jungkook, near tears, whines; “you’re sick! no kissing while you ride me like this—”

lowering your gaze, you look at him with a serious look. “do you want me to get off?”

jungkook freezes. 

“are you sick?” he glares. “why are you so mean to me?”

laughing, you cup his face and squish his cheeks together. 

“do you want to cum?”

he nods, eyes wide. his lips part like he wants to speak but can’t. he looks desperate—unguarded, vulnerable as if he’s silently begging for reassurance, fighting the urge to pull you close. you’ve never seen him like this, and it grips your heart.

should he just kiss you?

“if you love me then you’d be a good boy.”

“i am—”

“then just be thankful you’re in me.” 

jungkook gulps. you let go of his face and tilt your head. 

"honey, i am—"

“are you sure?”

he nods again. 

you blink at him. “use your words, honey.”

“what you say goes, mama.”

with that, you and jungkook continue. 

at one point, your hands are planted on the walls behind him for stability. then, his are glued to your ass. the position doesn’t change—he’s too weak to do more than this. either way, you make him cum twice and he apologies over and over for only making you cum once. you tell him it’s okay, and it’s no big deal. 

he doesn’t have to prove anything to you. 

you know what he’s capable of. 

when you two finish, he asks for a kiss. you tease him, telling him he’ll get one after he takes some medicine. quickly, he gets out of bed, gets ready in the bathroom, and rushes to eat breakfast. the minute he finishes, he swallows a few pills and drinks some water. 

just as you finish getting ready and step into the kitchen to praise him, jungkook pulls you in and kisses you as deep and as long as he can. 

you laugh against his lips. when you pull away, you check his temperate with the back of your hand again. tilting your head in confusion, you say;

“w-wait. wow, your fever went down so much. you’re almost back to normal—”

“see what i mean, mama? morning sex heals me.”

[devotedfem]

«American Psycho»

Synopsis: In the 80's, there's a group of wealthy succesful wall streeter men that are disgustingly greedy. They maintain an appearance of perfection, but they're narcissistic, egomaniacal, competitive and murderers. Unlucky for you, they got infatuated on you, competing with each other to have you.

Hyung line (poly) x f. Reader

4.6K words.

Genre: inspired by American psycho (2000) | yander-ish.

Tags: American psycho au, power imbalance, 80's New York, Period Typical Sexism, murder, rich and powerful hyung line, classic wealthy corporate men, greed for money, college student reader, reader has grey morals, a little bit of gore but just at the beginning, savage capitalism, overworking, yandere hyung line, they're not good people, psychopaths and evil hyung line (but they have a soft spot for reader), end game poly relationship, possessive behavior, dubious consent (because of power imbalance), double penetration (you've been warned lol).

From the series masterlist; Final girl.

Navigation Masterlist.

a/n: this contain very sensitive and triggering topics, like classism and sexism, the movie was inspired by a book that wanted to critize the image of the priviledge american man. I don't agree with any of the triggering topics here, this is fiction, so please read with caution.

Seokjin put off his face mask to apply his expensive cream on his skin. His face was straight and indifferent, bored even. He styled his hair with gel and he put on his luxurious dress suit, ignoring the gagged sounds of the annoying man tied to a chair in his penthouse.

Seokjin stared down at him without lowering his chin, lifting a brow with displeasure. That man looked too dirty for his polished place.

He grabbed his brand-new axe, covering his body with a plastic protective suit.

The tied and gagged man widened his eyes with horror, shaking his head and wailing with fear, getting nothing in return but a bored expression from Seokjin.

“This will teach you to not bother me. You’re not on the same level as me, you thought you could outdo me? Playing your tricks in my company? Don’t you know what I’m capable of?” Something evil and dark gleamed in his eyes, it was the only emotion he showed since the tied man met him. And it was frightening.

The polished porcelain floor got stained by blood, sparking Seokjin’s evil face. The man’s head rolled out of his body to Seokjin’s brand-new dress shoes.

The taller wrinkled his nose with disgust, annoyed because he has to change his favorite shoes.

“What a burden,” he whispered to himself with a deep sigh.

Meanwhile, in the building next door was Yoongi nursing a drink of his expensive whisky. His mahogany office was barely illuminated because of the curtains hiding the view of New York. Some of his employees say between whispers that the CEO acted like a vampire.

“I-I did what you asked me to, sir,” the employee in front of him trembled with anxiety, intimidated by Yoongi’s heavy gaze.

Yoongi lifted a corner of his lips in a disdain way, his eyes darkening with anger.

“And you think that following my orders like a moron means that you did a good job?” He spat furious, throwing his whiskey glass, shattering it next to the employee’s head.

The man shrinks violently, and he did something pitiful even for Yoongi’s taste. The man dropped to his knees, looking at his boss with pleading eyes.

“Please don’t fire me, I need this job to pay my bills or I’ll be on the streets,” he said with desperation and teared eyes.

Flames of satisfaction and power raises to Yoongi’s lungs. He enjoyed watching the kind of power he holds over other people, it was a shame that his employees were so dumb and inefficient, because he did pay very well to them. So, to him it was reasonable to be demanding, after all it was his money at stake.

Yoongi walked slowly towards the knelt man, with a smirk growing on his lips. Then he took out his gun silencer shooting the man to the head, making his body fall to the side silently.

“One less idiot,” he murmured to himself, nursing another glass of whiskey.

And there it was Namjoon and Hoseok, the feared duo of executives. They were ruthless on their work, the definition of competitive successful man. The greedy representation of privileged man who are at the top of the food chain in the patriarchal New York society of the 80’s.

They were at an executive meeting, looking at each other with knowing smirks, making everyone in the room nervous and tense. Because they haven’t said a single word since the proposal of their work partners.

And they still kept quiet at the end of the meeting, glancing at everyone with boredom, getting out of the room without saying goodbye. After all they have better things to do.

“What a bunch of idiots,” Hoseok huffs rolling his eyes with annoyance. Namjoon chuckled nodding his head.

“I already send the order to kill them,” Namjoon said with a grin.

Anyone that dares to do as much as wasting their time, will get erased.

And there it was you.

A New York student that has to deal with college and rent.

This city was expensive, and you were just a middle-class girl with dreams. You worked many parts time jobs to support yourself and prove to your family that you don’t need to marry a man to be happy, you can be an independent woman.

Well, that was easier to say than to do, it was hard to pay your bills and tuition without anyone’s help. You were exhausted and full of debts. You sighed deep, maybe if you marry rich then you wouldn’t have to worry about these things, but you were too proud to admit that out loud. You have to be the change you want to see in the world, don’t you? You say that to yourself to feel better, and to not to be on the verge of mental breakdown.

You feel like crying, until some miracle happened to you.

You founded 3 job offers as an assistant for 4 men. And the best part of it? Is that the four of them gave you the job. And the pay was quite generous.

They don’t have to know that you’ll be the assistant of other people at the same time, you’ll manage. You’d do anything for money at this point, even if that means overworking yourself.

You got ready for your first day, wearing your nicest pencil skirt and doing your hair in a slick bun. You looked pretty decent, ready to be eaten by corporate men.

You divide your schedule in three, you spent all night making the perfect schedule. You were lucky that those men worked in nearby buildings, otherwise your plan would’ve been impossible.

7:00 am to 11:00 am; Kim Seokjin.

You sighed deep, trying to control your nerves. You knew that the rich men of wall street are insufferable and labor exploiters, so you did prepare mentally for any kind of abuse, you need the money.

You knocked once, twice, but you didn’t receive an answer.

You waited 15 minutes in front of Seokjin’s door, you wanted to cry and break down the door. Your time was gold, literally.

And then a tall handsome man greets you, his face was impassive and serious, like if he has a stick up his ass. But you couldn’t help but feel a little bit intimidated by his heavy and cold gaze fixated on you. He stared down at your body without lowering his chin, with square shoulders and a straight posture. He looked composed in a frightening way. You gulped nervous, trying to give him a smile and swallow your insults.

“Good morning Mr. Kim, it’s a pleasure to meet you, i-“

You were interrupted by him rudely turning around and leaving you alone in the hallway, standing with your lips parted like a fish.

What an ass.

He was way worse than you think.

You sighed deep entering his penthouse, you have no choice but to bear with his attitude, the pay was too good unfortunately.

You cleared your throat taking your notebook out of your bag.

“So, Mr. Kim, I need to know more details about your daily routine and schedule, anything will help,” you said clicking your pen and looking at him expectably.

He arched a brow, looking genuinely pissed. You frowned confused, you didn’t know why that man was so annoyed by your existence.

“I didn’t hire you to be this irritating, stop asking questions and figure it out,” he almost snarled the last words, turning around to fix his tie in front of his living room mirror.

You again, parted your lips. You bit your tongue hard, tasting your iron blood. You wanted to punch that rude ass man, but you just couldn’t. You were powerless right now.

So you sighed again, with a fake and tense smile on your face.

“I’m sorry if I bothered you Mr. Kim, I just want to make my job right. If you please could provide me with your valuable information so I can do the best job you definitely deserve.”

Seokjin went rigid at your words, turning around to look at you with fury and disbelief in his eyes, it was the first emotion he showed to you.

“Are you… are you being sarcastic to me? Don’t fucking get smart with me!”

You widened your eyes at his shout, it was such a rare sight to see him this affected. You won’t lie, it was a bit funny to watch how you can get under his skin so easily. But offending him wasn’t your intention, you don’t want to get fire on your first day of work.

“I would never, sir,” you said trying to not sound bitter, but Seokjin’s narrowed eyes told you that he didn’t believe you.

“Watch your mouth.” He barked, and you almost roll your eyes.

“Please, I just need to know some details of your schedule, then you will never hear my annoying voice again, i swear. I just want to do a good job for a man like you,” your eye almost twitch by your own disgusting words, you felt like a bootlicker, but you have no choice.

Your dignity will not pay your bills.

That eased Seokjin’s tensed shoulder, his eyes softening just a little bit.

“Fine,” he said rolling his eyes.

And he did help you with information about his schedule, you made a list of his priorities and things you should do and not do. Your smile was too big to hide, you definitely can handle this! Not even a jerk like Seokjin will stop you from earning that good money.

“Thanks! I’ll be out of your hair Mr. Kim, you won’t even notice I’m here,” you said grinning ear to ear, maybe you looked insane smiling so happily at a man that treated you so poorly, but you didn’t care.

Seokjin blinked a little taken aback, but you watched how a small smile curled up on his lips.

“It’ll be difficult not to,” he teased you before turning around and fixing his tie again. You stand there speechless.

Surprisingly, it was way creepier to watch him tease you and smile instead of insulting you.

The moment that your watch struck 11 in the morning, you literally ran to the next building where your next boss works.

His building was cold and almost empty, the people there were pretty quiet and distant, you felt shivers when you knocked Mr. Yoongi’s door.

“Come in,” a deep voice said at the other side of the door. At least he doesn’t ignore you like Seokjin.

You entered his office, forcing yourself not to drool by the beauty and luxury of this place. Everything looked so expensive.

“Hello Mr. Yoongi. I’m your new assistant, it’s nice to meet you.” You felt a little bit intimidated by the heavy and dark gaze of Yoongi, his pale face and black suit made him look like a vampire.

Until now, he didn’t act rude towards you, but he sure as hell didn’t seem nice.

He was sitting with one leg crossed over the other, not breaking his piercing stare from you. One of his hands was holding a liquor glass, that must have been the first red flag.

“Before we start, you have to know that if you do as much as bother me, or screw up your work, I’m going to finish you. Literally and figurately.” He threatened with a gulp of his drink. His dark gaze piercing you while the liquor went down his throat.

Your chest deflated with disappointment, your hope of working with a decent man crashed immediately.

You weren’t scared at all by his threat. You know these types of man are powerful and dangerous, you couldn’t risk pissing off one of them without consequences, you live in a patriarchal society so you won’t be fooled by the thought that they’ll play fair. You weren’t dumb, and you know how to play your cards right.

“Good to know Mr. Yoongi. I appreciate when my bosses are direct with me, makes my job easier. Could you please tell me more details about your schedule? So I can get to work and not waste more of your time.” Your clicked pen was the only sound in the quiet office.

Yoongi’s eyes widened just for a split second. But he composed himself by clearing his throat and giving you information that would make your work easier.

You get to work in silence in Yoongi’s office, you felt his heavy stare on your body, but you ignored him, focused on your papers.

It was a bit creepy the way his eyes would follow you across the office, but you can bear a creep man if he pays as half as good as Yoongi do.

Unbeknownst to you, the paled man smirked devilish to himself, he liked you. And that was more dangerous than his dislike.

You almost jumped when the clock struck 3 in the afternoon.

Your stomach twisted a little, you gulped your anxiety down. It was time to meet your next bosses, they were two executives. If dealing with one rich man in 4 hours was difficult, imagine dealing with two at the same time. You won’t lie, you feel nervous.

Namjoon and Hoseok building were different from your other bosses, this place was full of people running everywhere, it looked so chaotic. But at least you won’t get bored.

Nobody paid attention to you, and you had to ask to like 10 people for where your bosses at.

They were in a meeting. Great, just great.

You waited patiently for them to finish. And when they got out of the meeting room, you rush to them crossing their paths. They stopped immediately, the taller one has an irritated expression and the shorter looked offended by your presence.

“Hi good evening. Sorry for startle you both, I’m the new assistant y/n, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you said a little bit out of breath but that didn’t stop you from smiling at them.

“Excuse me?” The taller arched a brow.

You frowned not understanding the offense.

“Uhmm, sorry?”

The shorter one rolled his eyes with irritation.

“Are you fucking dumb? Who told you that you have any right to bother us? Know your place and go with the others employees and figured it out.” He dismissed you with narrowed eyes.

You stood there frozen, and they ignored you walking past you.

But you composed yourself quickly, their attitude wasn’t nothing new.

And again, you joined them on their walk to God knows where, you were praying to not pushing it too hard and get fired.

“It wasn’t my intention to bother such busy and important men like you, I just wanted to introduce myself and get information to do a good job and to be out of your hairs for an unlimited time.” This time your voice sounded breathless, you were exhausted.

The shorter one snorted in disbelief, his eyes flamed with something wicked.

“Is this thing being sarcastic to us?” He asked looking at you but not speaking directly to you.

Your chest sting with offense at him calling you a thing, but you swallowed your bitter emotions.

“I’m y/n,” you replied with a tense smile, not biting the bait.

“Y/n, get the fuck out of our sights unless you want to disappear, and not only from this company,” the taller one threatened with a dark glint in his eyes. You shivered slightly, he was wider and bigger than the other, looking way more dangerous.

Men and their big egos.

“I… I’m sorry for being this bold and rude. I don’t want to waste your time really, I just want to make a good job, that’s my only purpose. I promise to be out of your sight if you could spare me some minutes of your time, I will make it worth it.”

Silence. An uncomfortable hush.

“Very well then,” said the shorter one, tilting his head to the side and watching you head to toes. A wicked smile curled his lips, and you chose to ignore the alarm bells ringing at the back of your head.

“Follow us,” the taller ordered with a deep voice.

At the end of the day you were exhausted, you made it, you survived corporate exploiters men.

The following weeks went rather smoothly. Yes, they were rude and annoying, but you got used to them. You can’t say that you like them, but you tolerate them (for the sake of your rent and bills of course).

Seokjin underneath his cold and indifferent behavior was like a spoiled brat, sassy and rude, but a little bit endearing at some times.

“Y/n, fix it,” he almost whine looking down at you with frowned lips.

You chuckled rolling your eyes.

“I’m gonna start to think that you just want me near you,” you teased, a little bit bold yes, but over time you learned that Seokjin liked to tease way worse.

His eyes glinted with mischievousness, the corner of his lips curling like the cheshire cat.

“You sure wish that was true, don’t you?”

“Of course,” you replied laughing.

It was all jokes between you two, you got used to this type of interaction with your boss. Sometimes he did get a little too friendly for your like, but you really didn’t care. This job was temporary anyway.

And there it was Yoongi, the intimidating vampire-like boss that in the inside was like a bratty cat.

His feline eyes liked to be fixated on you, watching your every move like an actual cat for your amusement. You didn’t mind his heavy attention on you, he was wary with his employees like any other rich man from wall street. You got used to him too.

“Here are the papers you asked me for, sir,” you said airily, you had everything perfectly arranged, leaving no room for mistakes.

Yoongi hummed, looking at the papers and then looking at you again with eyes full of mischief.

“Are you sure it’s that all I asked for?” He didn’t break his piercing eyes from you, many people get intimidated by his stare but not you.

“Yes, of course,” you said smiling and he nodded to himself.

“There’s one thing you haven’t done.”

You didn’t say anything back, you were sure you did everything.

“And that would be…?”

“Having a drink with me, you never do that when I ask you to.” He asked nonchalant with his eyes on his drink, but you knew he was being serious.

“That’s not professional,” you said and he chuckled at your response.

You sighed biting your bottom lip, indecisive. Your goal was to be on their good side after all.

You said nothing when you sit in front of him crossing your leg over the other, the same way he does when he’s drinking. You smirked when he startled a little, but he tried to hide his surprise by a cough.

He poured you whiskey and you took a sip of your drink, trying not to wrinkle your face by the bitter taste. But Yoongi noticed and laughed, you widened your eyes at the sound. It was the first time you listened to his laugh and it was contagious because you chuckle with him.

Namjoon and Hoseok despite seeming intimidating the first time you met them, they were pretty chill and funny when the three of you become a little more closer.

They were in a meeting, and you were by their sides writing down the relevant things they say.

“See that guy over there? Look how he’s falling asleep,” Namjoon whispered near your ear, too close for your liking. However, you follow his gaze watching the older man’s head tilting to the side with sleepiness. You bit a laugh, the poor man had his eyes half lidded with boredom.

At your other side was Hoseok, he had his gaze fixated on the guy speaking, but he looked at you when he heard your little chuckle, a mischievous smirk curled on his lips. You said “sorry” quietly, but he only winked at you before turning his attention again to the man, returning to his cold expression.

When the three of you get out of the meeting room, Namjoon and Hoseok started to make fun of the guy’s speech and the older man’s attempt of being awake. You laughed genuinely for the first time around them.

“Those two don’t know what awaits them.” Namjoon’s words made your smile fall slowly, erasing any hint of amusement. You almost forgot the kind of men you work for.

“Are you going to… fire them?” You asked quietly, gripping tightly your notebook.

Namjoon only shrugged his shoulders, but you noticed the evil glint in his eyes.

“Firing them is too soft coming from us,” Hoseok replied instead, not without smiling at you. But this time his smile turned your stomach sick.

You chose not to ask more questions. Sometimes being ignorant it’s a blessing.

You settle into a routine with your bosses for a couple of months.

But as they say… lies has no legs. They started to notice that your attention wasn’t completely on them.

Seokjin was the first to notice.

That morning he was staring down at you with narrow eyes, even when you tried to joke with him while fixing his tie he ignored you without breaking his piercing eyes from you.

“You said the other day that you work only for me, is that correct?” His voice sounded harsh, and he stared down at you with dark eyes. You gulped nervously, your smile trembling a little.

“Yes, it’s the truth.”

He didn’t say anything back and you didn’t meet his eyes.

“Fine.”

You tried not to snap your eyes up at him with surprise. Does he really believe you?

But then, you felt Seokjin coming near your body, gripping your chin up to met his heavy gaze.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

He was standing too close to your body, his chest almost touching yours. The grip on your chin tightens when you didn’t reply right away.

“I… don’t,” you couldn’t help but be confused. It wasn’t his business if you have a boyfriend or not.

He nodded slowly, not breaking his eyes from you.

“Good. As long as you work for me, you can’t have a fiancé, neither another boss. I’m paying for your absolute time and attention. Do I make myself clear?”

Your lips parted and your eyes widened. You were shocked and confused, who does the thinks he is?

“Answer!” he barked furious.

“Yes,” you gritted between teeth.

What a jerk.

And Yoongi was the same.

He was sitting with his heavy gaze fixated on you as usual, but this time he wasn’t holding a glass of whiskey.

“Who else do you see after work?” he asked lifting a brow and tapping his foot.

None of your fucking business, you wanted to bark at him, but instead you bit your tongue.

“No one else, sir,” you couldn’t help but sound bitter.

He snorted with the corner of his lip curling up in a disdain way.

“I hope it’s true, because if not you’ll pay the consequences.”

This time you couldn’t bit your tongue back.

“What consequences? Firing me?”

You regretted opening your big mouth immediately.

Yoongi didn’t react, he simply stood up to walk towards you like a predator ready to pounce its prey.

“I usually don’t say this, but you’re a very valuable employee. If you want to keep a roof over your head, you have to be mine,” he growled the last word near your ear, although he was short, he towered over you, making you feel small with his closeness and strong fragrance.

You gulped, nodding without meeting his eyes. And he grinned wide. You swear you saw sharp teeth.

And Namjoon and Hoseok were even worse.

The both of them corned you against the desk of their office, the back of your knees hitting the corner of the desk. You gulped looking up at them.

“We wanted to ask you something, little bird,” said affectionally Hoseok, but you knew better than to fall for his smile.

“Are you fucking working for other people? Are you dating someone?” Namjoon raised his voice at the last words, staring down at you with narrowed eyes.

You widened your eyes and laughed humorless. They were psychos.

“What the-“

“Watch your mouth,” warned Hoseok, his lips turning a thin line.

“No, I’m not dating neither working for someone else. Happy?” you couldn’t help but sound angry.

The both of them went silent, looking at each other as if they’re having a mental conversation.

And they let you go.

You were on your way to your apartment. Their attitude today was the last straw, you got tired of them. You always noticed the red flags, ignoring the alarm bells and turning an eye blind.

You ignored Seokjin’s stains of blood, Yoongi’s silencer gun, and Namjoon and Hoseok erasing people. You told to yourself, out of sight out of mind. But that was your biggest mistake, you let your greed for money to blind you. For the first time you paid all of your bills without struggling, you ate well and wear the best clothes, and you didn’t worry for the tuition fee. But that doesn’t make you innocent or better than them, you were an accomplice, you were as greedy as them for money. You sold your morals in exchange of money, little money. You weren’t even rich.

Your chest stings painfully, and your eyes teared up. Your trembling lips let out ugly sobs, you were so ashamed of yourself.

You promised to yourself to be an independent woman but not be an accomplice of oppressors and criminals, but what choice did you have? Like people said, it’s eating or being eaten in this world.

It’s a man’s world, and you were simply a woman trying to survive.

You entered your dark apartment and grabbed your home phone, your bottom lip quivered when your mom answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Mom,” you sobbed, sitting on the floor and gripping tightly the phone.

“Y/n? Dear, what’s happening? Why are you crying, is everything okay?” Her worry only made you cry harder, you didn’t deserve it. She raised a better woman and you were a disappointment.

“I-i’m the worst, I want to go home mom… I’m sorry,” you whispered.

You tasted your salty tears, sniffling and hiccupping.

But then the phone was snatched from you.

You were so into your self-pity that you didn’t notice the four figures lurking in the dark.

The lights turn on, and you blinked confused screaming with terror when you saw all of your bosses staring at you.

Seokjin was the one who snatched and hang up the phone.

“Our little princess misses her mommy,” Seokjin coed with a fake pout, he lifted your body making you scream harder.

He took you to the couch where the others were sitting, the tall man sat you on his lap, gripping tightly your waist in a warning when you tried to squirm out of his grip.

“It’s okay princess, I can be your mommy or daddy if you want me to,” Seokjin mouthed your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. He sniffed your hair, hugging you tightly from your back.

You wanted to throw out.

“Let me go you sickos! I quit!” you screamed at the top of your lungs.

The apartment went painfully quiet. The tension can be cut with a knife.

But then Namjoon and Hoseok lips mouthed the skin of your neck, lapping each side of it.

You cried trying to move away, but they didn’t let you.

Yoongi squatted before you, with his lips brushing yours.

Their bodies were attached to every part of your body, not letting you breathe. Your senses full of them.

“Your ours,” whispered Yoongi against your lips.

And with dread you realized he was right.

You can read the +18 continuation on Patreon.

taglist:

@demonshauntingthedoves @pynkgothicka @cutequeen00 @nothingsreal420 @ririkookiemonster-archives @cannotalwaysbenight @loumin908 @devilzliaison @uniquecutie-puffs @polarnightmyg

[helenazbmrskai]

Mating Act (m)

Title [Mating Act]

Pairing [Alien! Yoongi x Human Slave! Reader]

Genre [Alien AU, Sci-fi, Smut, Angst, Fluff]

Summary [You make two choices that change your life entirely. First, you make a choice when you decide to save a family and get kidnapped instead of them, the second you make is when you force imprinting on an alien that takes one wife in his life which you decide will be only you.]

Words [5,2k]

Warnings [General warnings: slavery, bad treatment, dystopia setting, human trafficking, Sexual content: playful neck grabbing, teasing, sexual tension, first-time sex, dirty talk, manhandling, mention of human and wife a lot, alien anatomy (black ink, coldness and a very hard, big and cold dick also magic saliva), fingering, oral (f and m), unprotected sex, belly bulge, size kink, positions (cock riding, doggy, missionary), y/n cries that is how good she feels, overstimulation, buckets of cum, creampie(s), begging, blow job, possessive alien yoongi]

Rating [+18]

A/N: I’m very excited to share this with you guys since I think this would be a great successor to my previous work that many of you liked called “Mating Season” It’s kind of the same but entirely different. This story is in the same universe but it takes place before mating season!

Masterlist //

Your scrunched eyes open slowly, first, you only see a blinding light your ears focus on the cracking sound of neon. It’s cold and you’re not wearing enough clothes for the cool temperature. It takes a few seconds for your senses to return to you and then you can fixate on your surroundings, it’s outdoors and midday as you see the sun going up high in the purplish blue sky.

It seemed that by the time you were unconscious, you arrived at the slave trading planet. The light grey iron bars are cold to the touch and it’s extremely noisy out there. Different species roam the cells it might be hundreds if not thousands of cells lined up for sale, and you’re one of them: a rare find, a human.

Your introduction is displayed for the buyers in numerous languages. There are a few that you speak so you can read it with ease: female human, breedable, young. You hate how the aliens size you up some even get threateningly close until you back up. They openly talk about you thinking that you can’t understand a single thing. Humans are stupid and weak. You’re a race that is almost at extinction. Only a few of you are left and your life expectancy is around eighty years old, it’s short compared to others but all too long for you humans. You managed to survive this long which is a miracle on its own. How pathetic of you to get caught in international body trafficking because you decided to save someone. At least you hope that the family you tried to protect is safe somewhere else you don’t have anything left to protect so you accept your faith.

Deep in your thoughts, you thought you lost all faith in survival. You don’t have anything to go back to but you’re still unable to give up.

You still don’t want to die.

Your defiant gaze meets with a young male. Shorter than his friends he has bland black hair with the same eyes that almost look human. You know that he’s not one of your own though he speaks a different language with his friends and has weird marking on his skin that looks exotic in your eyes.

“Do you like her?” A man next to him stops to read your description. They almost look sorry for you as they see you behind the cell.

“No.” Black hair says without giving it a second. His eyes bore into yours and when he decides to stop looking at you you make a second split decision. You’re going to choose him. Your hands grip the bars as you get as close to him as you can. It’s been a long time since you used that language but you have to try.

“Take me.” They can clearly understand your words, you speak their language. You point at the black-haired man.

“Oh, it seems to like you Yoongi.” A friendly voice slaps him on the shoulders. They talk animatedly among each other finding you intriguing. Books say that the human race is stupid and weak but you look none of those things. His friends encourage Yoongi to get closer to you and for once you don’t step back as he approaches after a little push in your direction. His hands grab onto the bars before he can regain his posture and you use that opportunity to put your hands on his. His hand is cold to the touch the cold blue veins on his hands are in contrast to his pale white skin.

“Yoongi.” You call out the word you heard them say that you think might be his name.

“We’re running out of time. Let’s take her and leave.” A man speaks up his eyes fixated on the holo panel that shows the time and some kind of message. He has some weird-looking glass in his eyes, you think he might be the captain of the ship. You’ve seen that type of accessory somewhere before.

“I didn’t say I will buy it.” Yoongi pulls his hand away like you dirtied him. You rack your brain on how to make him take you with him. Black hair and black eyes, cool skin and vine-like black ink make you think of a race. You loved to read books this is how you taught yourself a few of those languages and you remember reading about his species once. This decision might take you closer to your end but it will be better than rotting in this place so you grab his clothes and smash your lips on his through the tiny gap between the bars.

A race that takes one wife in his lifetime. You’re going to bet on that.

Your tongue forcefully enters his mouth using his surprise against him to successfully imprint your taste on him. After his mind catches up he pushes you away so hard that you land on your butt. His eyes almost look feral as he watches you, he’s very angry but closes his eyes to push the feeling down.

“Get up.” You haul yourself up from the floor getting close to him despite his hard gaze on you. You don’t flinch when he grabs your hair and pulls you close so that your faces are inches away from each other.

“You want to come, then come.” It’s not a calm and collected sentence that he whispers so close to you. It sounds like a threat but you smile and nod. Even if he hates you he has an obligation to you. With that kiss you sealed your fate with his, you’re his. His one and only human wife for all eternity.

Your back collides with the wall behind you as soon as you see your kidnapper his torture that you had to endure is replaying in the forefront of your mind as he fiddles with the cell keys your hostility is not lost on the young men that wait for your release. Yoongi paid for you in digital cash don’t have more time to waste.

He intends to take you with him so he asks for the ownership process to be sped up.

The kidnapper yanks you out of the cell not caring about how you almost land on your face through the force he uses. Yoongi catches you easily lifting you in his arms. You forced him into accepting you but he still does his job of protecting you. His glare is not meant for you this time as he looks displeased by your idle treatment right in front of him. His big hands are curled around you in pretence protection. You must be crazy because you actually relax in his secure hold.

“Hi.” One of his friends gets your attention as he waves. He looks at you with curious eyes he seems like he has a lot of questions for you.

“Hello.” You reply in a hoarse voice. You don’t remember the last time you ate or drank something.

“What’s your name? I’m Hoseok.” He points at you and then at himself. It’s nice of him to talk slowly so you have time to interpret his words. No one else speaks to you as you go. Probably on their way to their ship since one of them implied some important business. Yoongi doesn’t look at you but his hands are firm around you.

“Y/N.”

“Your name is weird.” Hoseok slaps his friend but you don’t take it in the wrong way. Of course, for them, a human name will sound weird.

“You’re being rude Taehyung.” Hoseok scolds the other guy before he turns back to you swaying in Yoongi’s arms. “I think your name is pretty and you speak our language pretty well. How did you learn it? On Earth?”

You shake your head. If you think about your home planet your heart starts aching. “No. I taught myself reading books.”

Now his other friend looks interested in the conversation. The one who has that weird-looking glass.

“Fascinating, to find a smart human like you. I want to run some tests.” Hearing that crazy scientist talk again brings back bad memories as your face becomes uncomfortable and your relaxed figure goes rigid inside Yoongi’s arms. He could feel you tense up in fear and he reacted by holding you more firmly to his chest.

“You’re scaring her. Stop it.” This is the first thing he says after he bought you. Namjoon looks sheepish and apologises and even Hoseok reassures you that he’s just not good with words and you won’t be a lab rat at all.

You accept their apology. You think they mean well and are quite friendly to your utter surprise. They seem like good guys. You feel like it’s a good time to reveal some of your thoughts.

“Just because you read my description doesn’t mean you know anything about me. I wouldn’t reveal anything that would put me at a disadvantage. This is how I could survive until now.” The words taste sour in your mind and you think about all the things you had to do and endure just to be here. Was it worth it? This life. You have thought about it more times than you would have liked to admit.

“It must have been hard for you.” Hoseok shows you empathy and you give him a smile back in silent thanks.

“Why did you choose Yoongi?” A younger male looks at you with curious eyes. They don’t show it but this is the question they all were curious about all along. Even Yoongi perks up when he thinks you’re not looking.

“My instinct told me to trust him.” As for why, you don’t know either. You saw countless men and women walk in front of your cage but you only wanted him to buy you. The moment his eyes unknowingly lingered on you you decided to go with him. He must have felt something too. You saw him before he saw you. He never looked at anyone else but you. If you ask him he will probably deny it but you’re sure of it.

You probably looked desperate. Now that you replay your impulsive behaviour in your mind colour blooms on your cheeks in embarrassment. You learned how to kiss from a book it didn’t occur to you before but what if you were a bad kisser? You started spiralling until your surroundings faded and you locked yourself inside your head. You didn’t register when you arrived on board or when he carried you to his room.

You shiver when he puts you down on his bed. The temperature of his room is colder than you’re used to.

You panic when he tugs your clothes without a word. You grab his cold hands and look into his eyes with widened ones. He looks back at you with predatory. You once read that humans had a ceremony to be pronounced wife and husband. You never experienced it as a human but it sounded romantic.

Thinking back on what you read.

Yoongi is an alien. His species only takes one wife and their ritual is different from yours. The road to becoming his wife is simple enough.

“Look at you being surprised. As if you didn’t know what you did when you kissed me first.” You didn’t know, you just acted impulsively without thinking. You wanted to say that to him but only a gasp left your lips as he pushed you down on his large bed. He won’t listen to any of your pathetic excuses now.

“You forced my hands. Even if you don’t want it anymore you have no other choice but to be mine.” You gulp down the saliva that accumulated in your mouth, his fierce eyes pin you to the spot lying helplessly under him. His hand is so cold as he wraps it around your neck gently he can feel your heartbeat accelerate under his palm. He studies your features taking in every inch of you from head to toe. Committing everything about you to memory. Yoongi curls a few locks of your long hair around his fingers inhaling your scent his nose rubs against your pulse point. Your hands hold onto his waist digging your fingers onto his side but he doesn’t care about it as he kisses the skin on your neck.

You’re dirty and dishevelled in appearance your captor was not kind to his prisoners and you look like a shell of yourself after everything that you’ve been through. Your average beauty doesn’t matter to Yoongi. He’s going to take you regardless of how beautiful you look in other's eyes or not. The kiss already sealed your fate as his bride. Imprinting your taste on him means that he can’t escape you. While Yoongi wants to take you right then and there he realises that you need to be in a better shape to undertake the ritual. He did get a reaction rise out of you. So amusingly innocent.

“Take a shower, you reak.” You awkwardly look to the side unable to meet with his confident smirk. He likes to watch your face turn red. He pulls away from you and you take in a long-needed breath of fresh air. The coldness seeping back into your body makes you sober up and you scurry to his joined bathroom. Yoongi laughs as he sees you hide behind the door he makes sure you can operate the shower before he goes out to get some food for you. You don’t have any clothes to wear but you’re at least clean.

You find a clean cloth to wrap around your body in makeshift clothes it’s better than nothing as you need something to shield you from the cold.

Yoongi comes back before you can organize your thoughts. You could barely calm your heart as your mind kept replaying his soft lips on your neck and his body weight on you not to talk about those alluring black eyes. You could still see your reflection in them as you lock gazes. You look away when he puts the tray down in front of you full of food that you don’t know the name of. It’s not too bad once you take a bite but it’s bland the more you consume. It meets the purpose of filling you up as you no longer feel that gnawing hunger in the pit of your stomach.

You jolt up when you feel his hand pull your wet hair to the other side making his way to your neck. He takes a long whiff of air finally smelling your natural scent that was previously masked by the dirt and sweat. He takes the opportunity to cover you in his scent rubbing his nose up and down your throat.

You can’t concentrate on eating anymore.

“Eat. You will need it.” As if he could read your mind he halts all movements simply deciding on laying his head on your shoulder. You pick up more food and try to ignore how his possessive touch engulfs your body in a backhug. You remember how angry he became once you forcibly kissed him he even pushed you hard enough to lose your footing. The way he accepted you is too sudden.

“Are you going to …” Unable to say the words you stop in the middle.

“Am I going to fuck you? Yes, I will.” You gulp.

“Don’t you hate me for kissing you?” You close your eyes when Yoongi wraps his fingers around your neck again this time with more force but gentle enough that you’re not choking on air he just pulls you against his chest holding you by the neck as his nose rubs against your left cheek.

“I am angry. You selfishly decided this on your own. I bet you don’t realise half of the mess you got yourself into. I don’t hate you though. There’s something about you that caught my eye.”

It’s only a small peck on your cheek but your hands tighten around the tray. You take in a much-needed breath when you realise he doesn’t hate you. It makes you feel better knowing that it’s not entirely your imagination. He did look at you.

“I admit I don’t know much.” You sheepishly reply confirming his words. You read some things about his species but there’s no proof that everything is accurate.

“It doesn’t matter as you will be mine anyway.” His hand pulls you close his fingers splayed over your stomach. You only have a thin cloth over your naked body while Yoongi is fully clothed.

“Put down the tray.” You follow his order bending down slightly to put the tray down onto the floor. You let out a surprised yelp when his hands find your ass under the thin material, your backside is on full display for his hungry eyes. Your fingers have a deadly grip on the edge of the bed as he kneads the soft flesh.

“Your smell comes strongly from here.” His thumb parts your folds some wetness is gathered there that sticks to his finger when he pulls back. “I read a few books about you too, enough to know that this means you like the idea of me fucking you.”

Yoongi hates how he can’t see you acting coy biting your lip so he forcibly pulls you back against his chest and pulls your face to the side. You land on his lap your legs dangling on either side of his thighs. He runs his finger up and down your wetness watching your expression turn hazy and your mouth open to let out a silent moan.

“You like this don’t you? Having your human pussy touched by me.” Yoongi finds your clit quickly finding out how your moans increase in volume when he rubs circles over it. You’re gushing over his fingers.

The black ink on his arms moves to stain your body with blackness until it circles over your thigh in two pretty hoops. Your body is getting overheated as his touches devour your body. Fingers dance around your folds, your hips. The black hoops around your ankles and thighs are a reminder of what you started. You’re going to become Yoongi’s and no one can stop that from happening.

Feeling overwhelmed you reach up to kiss him and he does with a growl. He doesn’t push you away like when you stole his first kiss. No. He pulls you closer turning you around until you’re chest to chest.

Your hand rests against his shoulders your fingernails digging into his skin as you feel one of his fingers enter you without warning. Yoongi swallows your sounds with his mouth pushing his finger in and out of your pussy until your essence is running down his wrist. He adds another one and another one stretching your walls as he devours your mouth your hips moving along without you noticing. Getting into the rhythm of riding his fingers. You need to pull back to get some air in between the kisses. His hungry expression manages to steal your last remaining string of sanity. The cloth around you barely covers you anymore and Yoongi goes to remove it and leave you entirely naked before him.

His attention goes to your perky nipples both hands grabbing a handful and pepper kisses around the mound.

So far he doesn’t look strange. Not that you have any experience of what you should see in a situation like this. You conclude that your newly formed tattoos are one of the few things that are specific to his race.

His tongue is cold it makes you shiver when he sucks on one of your nipples. He’s so cold but his coolness is welcomed by your feverish body.

“Lay down.” You do as he tells you. Eagerly and shamelessly open your legs and welcome him between them. This is really happening you realise when he takes off his clothes. His pale skin is pretty and cool against you. Even his cock lined with cold blue veins is pretty and cold when he rubs it between your folds. It’s big and hard like a rock against you. Yoongi can see how you tense up after seeing his size.

“It won’t hurt if you do as I tell you.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb kissing you surprisingly sweetly.

“O-okay.” You nod. You wanted this. You can’t back down now. This is your only chance to live a life without hardships. You’re going to take everything that he gives you.

“This will make it feel better.” Yoongi licks his finger and when it comes into contact with your clit you feel an overwhelming pleasure bloom inside you. His saliva is heightening your pleasure having some kind of chemical in it that helps you feel kind of high. It blocks the pain when his veiny head pushes through the tight rim of your muscle. You and Yoongi watch how his long cock disappears in you inch by inch. It doesn’t hurt at all as he keeps his thumb on your clit, only making you feel full.

“Too much.” You put your hand on your stomach and feel him sitting inside. He makes way no matter how much your body tries to constrict around the intrusion. He reaches your deepest part shaping you into his size.

“There. All in.” Yoongi chuckles when he sees you struggle. You want to stay still and move at the same time. It feels good and strange but too good. You want him to move but on the other hand, you need time to get accustomed to this fullness. Yoongi can see the outline of his cock bulge out of your tummy and he experimentally pushes against your skin. Your pussy pulse around him and get tighter as he massages your lower belly. “How does it feel my little human? Do you feel good?”

You nod kissing him back with passion as your tongues rub together. He continues his descent down your body kissing your neck and breasts. Filling your body with pretty black ink. You pulse and throb around him as he remains unmoving inside you. Not enough you roll your hips trying to show him you want him to move.

“Answer me. Does my cock make you feel good?” At first, he only pulls out a little before he thrusts back testing the waters before he pulls out more as he uses a steady pace to rock into you.

“Yes. Yes. So good please don’t stop. Fuck me harder.” Yoongi wonders how his wife learned how to say such dirty words in his language but he’s thankful for it as his cock appreciates the compliments. Just like you asked he fucks you harder hitting that spot inside you with more deep thrusts.

“Yoongi. Yoongi.” The way you moan his name spurs him on, grabbing your ankles he sinks the remaining inch inside you.

“Ah. Y/N.” He responds with your own name. Grabbing your hips he pumps his cock in and out of you at a fast pace until you can remember his shape. This is the first time he says your name and your walls constrict around him hearing him moaning it. He’s growing addicted to the feel of you. He can hear and smell and see you. The way your pussy swallows him in your tight and wet heat ruined every expectation he had before.

You feel way better than he imagined.

Your tits bounce with each thrust and your moans never cease to slip from your dry throat as he buries his shaft to the hilt.

“Yoongi, I feel weird.” You grab his hand need something to hold onto as you feel this weird tightness in your belly. Yoongi could sense you were almost there tripping over the edge of bliss you became tighter around him. You’re growing sensitive.

“I know. Hold onto me, my sweet wife.” You hold his hand as he twists it behind your back the position is uncomfortable but the minute his cock slips back inside your heat you forget about it as it reaches new places inside you. Your back is arched one hand is firmly holding you and the other is placed on your hips.

This position allows him to hit even deeper the tip of his cock curves around a spot that has you see stars. You’re panting with your face nearly suffocating against the bed. Unable to move or hold yourself up you’re entirely kept in place by the help of Yoongi. The tightness in your chest explodes as you cream around Yoongi’s cock. He doesn’t stop there he fucks you through overstimulation keeping up with his ruthless pace you tear through the bedsheets. His long fat cock claims your pussy as his with a heavy load of cum. The tattoos on your body all settle down as he finishes with a few sloppy thrusts into your buttered hole.

Once he pulls out you can feel his thick cum pour out and his fingers trace your tattoos painting your body with his whiteness until everything about you is covered in him. He doesn’t stop there, he pries your shaking legs open and latches onto your sensitive bud. Yoongi pushes his cum back with two of his fingers as his tongue flicks over your clit. It’s too much and you try to push his face away but he doesn’t budge. He holds both of your hands in his tight grip on your stomach as he continues to feast on your pussy.

“Yoongi. Oh, uh.” You squirm but you can’t escape his hold. “Please. Stop, i-it’s too much.” Tears start to roll down your cheeks the next orgasm you experience hurts so bad but you can’t deny how it feels incredible at the same time. More intense than the previous one you had you let go with a cry of his name and cum around his fingers.

“No. More.” Yoongi looks up after registering your hiccup and goes up to soothe you. His tongue licks your tears away showering your neck and face with kisses until your crying subsides.

Yoongi looks you over and while he finds you utterly appealing covered in his cum he has a concerned look in his eyes. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” He pulls you close to his chest but after your senses come back one by one you start to feel his sticky cum all over you. Some still gush out of your hole as he hugs you to his body.

“No.” You shake your head reassuring him with a kiss. You don’t want to admit you cried because he felt so good.

This is the first time you experienced something like this. You’re in no way an expert but you know that his dick is not like any human males you’ve encountered in your books. They shouldn’t be so cold and big and the small ridges that kept rubbing your insides felt weird but incredibly good at the same time.

Even when he’s not aroused he’s so big. You want to touch it. “Can I?” Asking for permission you reach for his cock that rests against your leg but you don’t touch it until you get the green light for it.

“Sure.” Yoongi chuckles at your curiosity. It hasn’t been a hot minute that his dick was inside you but you want to touch it.

“It’s cold.” You muse, it’s slick with both of your cum so you could drag it up and down easily. Yoongi’s gasp catches in his throat it’s still sensitive but he lets you pump it until it’s hard again. You grow curious about how it tastes so you lick around the head as your hand moves up and down in slow motion. It doesn’t really taste like anything to you. Easy to swallow. You take your place in between his legs to get comfortable. Yoongi shivers when he feels your hot mouth around his most sensitive cockhead. You dip your tongue into the slit earning a loud groan from Yoongi his hand rests on top of your head only moving to get the hair out of his view of you sucking his cock.

“Do you like it?” You wonder if it feels good for him. This is the first time you’re doing this.

“Y-Yes, keep going.” You take more of him into your mouth encouraged by his hooded eyes that watch you. “Your mouth is very warm. It feels incredible.” You hum around a mouthful of cock he’s too big for you to get even half of him into your mouth. You stroke the skin that you can’t lick and you focus on his head instead of trying to choke on his cock. Even though you don’t think he wouldn’t like to see you choke on his length trying to fit everything. He reassures you that he likes everything you do to him. He doesn’t try to push your head down and you appreciate his thoughtfulness with an enthusiastic bob of your head up and down his length. He fills your mouth so much that it’s hard for you to swallow around it.

He's throbbing between your lips as you kiss the tip. He shows you how much he’s enjoying it with his lewd moans and sweet touches on your face and the back of your head. Contemplating what you should do with yourself you decide to give in to the desire once more. You want to have him again that it outweighs your concern to be able to take him after such a short time but it doesn’t deter you as you climb on his lap.

“Help me?” You ask shyly rubbing on his fully hard cock.

“Of course,” Yoongi replies with a smirk he can see how needy you are and he won’t deny his pretty wife anything. He kisses your lips sucking on your tongue as he guides your hips to hover over his cockhead.

He touches and kisses every mark and tattoo that appears on your skin.

You sink slowly at your own pace feeling full but you overcome the stretch of your body remembering his shape makes it easier for you to bury it fully into you. He’s big and hard as a rock inside you.

You need him to help you move but he’s more than eager to lift you and have you bounce on his cock. He’s wound up from your previous actions he had no idea he would be this turned on by seeing your small hands and mouth wrapped around his dick. You smell delicious he can’t help but kiss every inch he can reach as he guides you through the motions. You bounce on his cock your expression entirely clouded by pleasure as he hits the best spots inside your spongy walls. Yoongi kneads your ass pulling them apart to watch his cock disappear inside your small pussy. Your body might be coated in his cum but his cock is entirely coated in your arousal and cum until he shoots a fresh load inside your spent hole.

The others don’t see you the next couple of days only catch the back of Yoongi as he carries fresh food for you.

[scarluna]

Y/N, a gifted but self-conscious graphic designer, lands a job at Jeon Enterprises, a powerhouse ruled by the sharp and controlling Jeon Jungkook, whose ruthless perfectionism hides behind an enigmatic façade. Though admired and feared, Jungkook targets Y/N’s insecurities, using them as weapons against her.

Beside him stands his best friend, Min Yoongi, a sly and unpredictable force whose hot-and-cold behavior leaves Y/N questioning his motives.

Tangled in a web of cold authority, teasing games, and unspoken desire, Y/N must navigate a dangerous love triangle where ambition and emotion collide, threatening to unravel everything.

Pairing: Jungkook x Fem!Reader x Min Yoongi

Genre/Tags: plus sized reader, enemies to lovers, ceo!jungkook, graphic designer!reader, mafia!yoongi

Link to the other chapters: ACT I / ACT II / ACT IV / ACT V / ACT VI / ACT VII

Chapters: 3 / ?

Chapter Warnings: mature language, bullying, slow burn, enemies to lovers

A/N: Let me know what you think of this chapter ;) Wink wonk.

ACT III.

The office buzzed with energy as the team gathered for an impromptu meeting. At this point, I had gotten used to the sudden meetings with absolutely no head start. Jungkook was not only controlling but impulsive as hell. No one knew what he was thinking, and for some, it was damn scary.

He stood at the head of the long conference table as me, Hoseok and Rya walked in. His expression sharp and focused over the scattered papers on the table. He wore a plain white button up shirt, dark grey jeans and his sleeves as usual were rolled up his sleeves showing off his tattoos. On one of his wrist there was an expensive Graff watch. Damn. Him and his expensiveness.

Next to him was Tina, practically glowing as she leaned just a little too close to him. Ever since I told her my piece of mind, she had been way too careful not to make it obvious because obviously people were whispering and spreading rumors. I guess she hasn't given up and had some hopes that she'd be noticed. As much as I despised her for how she treated me, I was feeling sorry for her at the same time. Her choice of clothing screamed attention too. Well, who was I to judge? I had no right to do that. Maybe someday the luck would be on her side, who knew? 

“Listen up,” Jungkook began once everyone had taken their seats, his voice commanding the room. “MNT Media, one of our main competitors, is hosting a masquerade ball next Saturday. It’s more than just a social event—they’re using it as a chance to attract high-profile clients. Our goal is to ensure they don’t take our edge in the market.”

Tina raised her hand with a smug smile. “And how exactly are we supposed to ‘outshine’ them? Is there, like, a plan for that?”

Jungkook barely glanced her way. “Do your job, Tina. That’s the plan.”

The smirk I tried to suppress threatened to break through. Tina’s face faltered, but she quickly covered it with another fake smile, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her slim pointer finger. Gosh, she was such a cheerleader.

The room hummed with murmurs of curiosity.

“What does this mean for us?” Rya asked from her seat, her brows knit together. I took a glance at her. Unlike Tina, Rya was not showing her "admiration" too obviously and besides, she was way too mature and work-oriented to choose a good session of sex with her boss. I admired her for that.

Jungkook gestured to a slide on the projector, outlining a strategic approach. “It means we’ll attend the ball. Every single one of you is expected to be there.We’re not going to outright sabotage, but we will make sure our clients and prospects see us as the better option. Keep it subtle—this isn’t a smear campaign. It’s about relationships and presence.”And yes,” Jungkook added, his gaze cutting through the room like a knife, “graphic designers too.” His voice held a sharp edge of authority, daring anyone to challenge him.

I blinked, caught off guard by the specificity of his statement. “Graphic designers too? I thought only management should be present there,” I murmured, trying to keep my tone casual. I had never been to a ball. A masquerade ball for that matter.

He turned his head sharply to me, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You think your job is just fonts and colors, don’t you?”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks as his eyes pinned me down, but I refused to back down. “Not exactly, but—”

“But nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, leaning against the table, his tattoos flexing as his forearms rested on the edge. “Visuals sell. A well-designed presentation, a strategically placed logo, or even the subtleties in our event materials can make or break a client’s first impression. We need all hands on deck for this. Even,” he paused, locking eyes with me, “the ones who think they’re just here to doodle.”

The room shifted uncomfortably, a few stifled chuckles breaking the tension. I narrowed my eyes, but there was no mistaking the magnetic pull in the air between us. I hated how his cockiness somehow made my pulse race.

Hoseok, sensing the awkwardness, cleared his throat. “So... we’re all just attending or actively involved?”

“Actively,” Jungkook replied without missing a beat, his attention still on me. “You’ll each have tasks to ensure our brand presence is felt. It’s an opportunity to network, observe, and make sure MNT Media knows we’re not going anywhere.”

Just as I thought he might say something else to push me over the edge, he sighed dramatically, breaking the spell.

“Where the hell is Yoongi?” He raked a hand through his dark hair, his tone shifting to one of pure annoyance. “That idiot is late again.”

The room immediately relaxed but remained silent as everyone looked at each other. It was odd, since we were all caught up in that ball that we didn't notice Yoongi missing. Jungkook might have been a force to be reckoned with, but his annoyance with Yoongi being careless and late was an ongoing office joke.

“Probably got distracted by his latest overpriced gadget,” Hoseok quipped, earning a round of muffled laughs.

Jungkook let out a low groan, shaking his head like he was carrying the weight of the world—and Yoongi’s constant stumbles at work—on his shoulders. “If he weren’t my best friend, I’d have fired him five times by now.”

The mention of Yoongi and the Boss brought a flicker of thought to my mind, one that I quickly buried. But it lingered, uninvited. The rumors about Yoongi being more than just another employee—they never truly left me. Supposedly, he was the son of a conglomerate empire, someone who didn’t have to work here but chose to for reasons no one could quite figure out.

Me? I wasn’t deluded enough to think it was because of me, even though the timing was uncanny. Yoongi had started here just a few days after I did, but the whispers always suggested something else. His arrival was tied to some long-forgotten scandal, one no one had the full details on, and I had long given up trying to separate fact from fiction.

Still, the idea that Yoongi might be playing a role that went far deeper than just my “supervisor” always made me a little uneasy. Not that he ever actually supervised me. His attitude made sure of that.

“Yoongi always shows up just in time to avoid the worst of your wrath.” Tina spoke out in a sweet voice. I almost gagged.

“Lucky for him,” Jungkook muttered, leaning against the table with a long, deep sigh.

His broad shoulders slumped slightly, a rare crack in his polished, sharp-edged demeanor. For a moment, he looked... defeated. Vulnerable. It was enough to stir something deep in my chest, something I wasn’t ready to admit aloud.

But the moment passed quickly. Jungkook straightened, his sharp gaze slicing through the room once again, as if daring Yoongi to make him wait a second longer.

-

As the meeting finally wrapped up, my mind drifted to a new problem. A masquerade ball meant dressing up. And dressing up meant facing my wardrobe—or lack of one. How was I supposed to show up when all I owned were dark jeans, oversized t-shirts, some cardigans and that was it. Most of my clothes were black too. 

After everyone returned to their desks, I cornered Rya and Hoseok by the water cooler.

“So,” I began hesitantly, “about this masquerade ball…”

Rya instantly perked up, her excitement palpable. “Isn’t it exciting? An actual masquerade ball! It’s like something out of a movie!”

“Yeah, except I have nothing to wear,” I admitted, biting my lip. “I don’t even know where to start. The last time I dressed up for anything was... well, never.”

Hoseok grinned, his easy charm shining through. “Relax, Y/N. It’s not about having the most expensive dress. It’s about confidence.”

Rya nodded enthusiastically. “I can help you find something to wear. There are plenty of places to rent gowns, and I bet you’ll look amazing once we get you sorted.”

Their support made my chest feel lighter, though a small part of me still hesitated. “Are you sure? I don’t want to embarrass myself. Or you.”

“Y/N,” Hoseok said firmly, placing a hand on my shoulder. He was taller than Rya and me, and if we didn't know him, we'd be intimidated as hell. He definitely had this cool aura and a resting bitch face people felt threatened by. He was smiling tho, like a sun that shined brightly. “You’re not embarrassing anyone. Especially not us. You’re going to show up, have fun, and remind people why you’re a badass.”

I managed a small smile. “Thanks, guys. I mean it.”

As we headed back to our desks, Tina’s shrill laughter cut through the air. She was perched on the edge of Jungkook’s desk, her hand resting just a little too close to his arm.

“Are you sure you don’t need a date for the ball?” she asked, batting her lashes at him.

I couldn’t resist the temptation to make a snarky comment. “Careful, Tina. You’re about one giggle away from falling off his desk.”

Her head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. “Stay out of it, Y/N. Didn't know fat people had opinions?”

“On the contrary,” I said, folding my arms as I leaned against my chair. “Watching you attempt to flirt is everyone’s business. But it's kinda amusing how pathetic you look. Keep it up, I will be rooting for you.” I gave her a bitter smile as she stared at me with a deep scowl on her face.

I noticed Jungkook’s lips twitch, but he quickly schooled his expression. “Enough, both of you. You are at a corporate setting.” he said, though his tone lacked any real bite.

“Oh, come on, Boss” I teased, unable to resist. “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this little performance.”

His eyes met mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. “You should focus on your own preparations, Y/N,” he said smoothly. “Wouldn’t want you to show up unprepared.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” I shot back, ignoring the slight tremor in my voice. “I’ll be ready. The real question is whether you’ll survive Tina’s advances without filing a harassment complaint.”

I heard Rya and Hoseok chuckle by my side.

Jungkook shot a glare at both of my co-workers and they immediately got silent. I narrowed my eyes, arms crossed against my chest. "Y/N, if I hear one more word coming out of your mouth, I will expect your resignation letter on my desk." he spoke coldly at me. By his expression I could see that he was done with my feistiness. Oh, but I wasn't done. "If you think silencing me will solve the problem, you're underestimating me." I mumbled lowly as I stared at his eyes. He did the same and somehow I felt a tension raise in the air. Before I could continue, Rya tugged my arm toward the office, making our conversation to come to an end. Tina was staring at me in full blown surprise that I was talking to Jungkook like that. "Why don't you fire her?" I heard her ask. And then no answer from my Boss.

As I turned back to my desk, I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s eyes lingered on me, or the strange twist in my stomach that followed. This masquerade ball was shaping up to be more complicated than I’d anticipated.

"Girl," Rya whispered, "you are getting bolder and bolder. I fucking love that." she managed to whisper in my ear and that comment alone made me and Hoseok giggle.

-

The cafeteria was bustling with its usual noise—people chatting over their lunches, trays clattering as they moved through the line. The smell of fresh coffee mixed with the faint scent of freshly baked goods hit my nostrils, yet the familiar knot in my stomach twisting made all the apetite I had disappear. This time, it wasn’t because of my body or my insecurities. It was the looming threat of the masquerade ball.

I wasn’t exactly looking forward to it, but the thought of being surrounded by coworkers in an extravagant setting, feeling out of place in a sea of confident, stylish people... well, it didn’t sit well with me.

I sat with Hoseok, Rya, and a few others, trying to keep the conversation light. It was hard to focus on anything when I could already feel the weight of the ball hanging over me. I was always an anxious person and it took me months to get used to the pace of my work, despite the bullying.

“So, Hoseok,” Regina, one of the other graphic designers, piped up from across the table. She flipped her perfectly styled red hair over her shoulder, a flirty grin spreading across her face. “I was thinking… maybe you could be my date for the masquerade? You know, just the two of us. We’d make a great pair, don’t you think?”

My eyes flicked to Hoseok, and I saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat. He hesitated for a split second before speaking.

“I... I actually promised Rya I’d go with her,” he said quickly, a little too quickly, I noticed.

Regina’s smile faltered, but she quickly recovered, pretending to be completely unfazed. “Oh, really? Well, I guess that’s fine. Rya’s a great choice too.” She gave Rya a bright, fake smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Rya smiled back, but her expression was a bit surprised. “Oh, um, sure, yeah. Thanks for thinking of me, Hoseok.” She looked at him, and for a moment, there was a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but she said nothing more.

Regina’s attention had already moved on, her focus turning elsewhere, but I couldn’t help but notice how Hoseok’s gaze lingered on Rya for a second longer than usual. I wondered if there was something more there—something unspoken.

But before I could process the thought, my mind wandered again. It had only been a few days since I’d overheard that conversation between Jungkook and Yoongi, and I couldn’t shake the way Jungkook’s words had echoed in my mind. The teasing. The lingering tension.

I pulled my thoughts back to the conversation at hand, though I could barely focus.

Regina, in her usual confident manner, turned to the group with a loud dramatic sigh as she took a sip from her pepsi cola. 

“You know,” she began, her voice dripping with fake innocence, “it’s just so tragic when some people can’t even hope for a date. Like, what do you even do in that situation? Just... stay home and stuff yourself with food?”

Her gaze landed on me, lingering just long enough to make her target obvious. My chest tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date,” I shot back, forcing a calm tone I didn’t entirely feel. I mean, I lied, I was obsessed to find a date and also obsessed in looking good enough so people would take me seriously and not embarrass the company I worked for. Wasn't I pathetic too? Regina didn't have to know that.

Regina’s eyes widened in mock surprise, her lips curling into a sly smile. “Oh, of course! Why would you worry about that, right? It’s not like anyone’s lining up to take you out. I mean,” she added, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “you’d probably have better luck on one of those makeover shows first. You know, before they film the big reveal.”

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and humiliating, but I refused to let her see it.

“You done?” I asked, standing abruptly. My chair scraped against the floor with an echoing screech, silencing the room for a moment.

Regina blinked at me, her smile faltering for a split second before returning even sharper. “Oh, sure, sure. Don’t let me keep you from... whatever it is you do.”

I walked away before she could twist the knife any further, my head held high despite the storm raging inside me.

My stomach churned at the underlying judgment. Of course, Regina thought I wasn’t worthy of a "real" date. She probably thought someone like me didn’t belong in that kind of environment to begin with.

Everyone seemed to have someone to go with. Hoseok had Rya. Regina had probably already found someone else from the other teams. And me? I’d be the one standing alone, a face in the crowd with no one to share the night with.

I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to go to the ball at all. What would I even wear? How could I stand in a sea of perfectly put-together people when I didn’t even feel like I belonged in the same room as them?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, interrupting my thoughts. It was a text from Rya:

“Hey, don’t worry about anything. We’re going together. I’ll help you with the outfit too!”

Her message brought a small smile to my face, but the unease still lingered. I typed a quick response as I was walking down the empty long hallway of the offices.

“Thanks, Rya. I just… don’t know if I should go. I feel like I’ll be the odd one out.”

Her reply came almost immediately:

“Don’t even think that way! You’re going to have a blast, I promise. And we’re all going to be together, so who cares what anyone else thinks?”

I stared at the message, the reassurance in her words offering some comfort, but I still wasn’t convinced. 

Still, I couldn’t let my fears stop me. I had to at least try. I wouldn’t let them see how insecure I was.

Lost in thought as I walked down the hallway, I didn’t notice someone coming around the corner until we collided. A sharp thud was followed by a cascade of papers and folders scattering to the ground. I stumbled back, startled, as the other person muttered a low curse.

“Watch where you’re going,” came a smooth, slightly annoyed voice.

Looking up, I realized it was Min Yoongi, arms now empty as he surveyed the mess with a raised eyebrow. He crouched down to gather the papers, his expression unreadable but somehow laced with that signature playful smugness he was known for. I noticed his brown locks of hair were a mess, it was almost as if he had just gotten up and rushed here. Well, probably after a call by Jungkook he had to rush here. He was late after all.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, immediately dropping to my knees to help collect the documents.

“You seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind,” he remarked casually, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye as he snatched up a folder near my hand. “Big plans? Or is brooding your thing now?”

I pressed my lips together, biting back a retort. His tone was teasing, but I couldn’t shake the lingering sting from Regina’s earlier comments.

“Just distracted,” I replied shortly, stacking the papers I’d gathered into a neat pile.

Yoongi’s lips quirked into a faint smirk. “Right. Distracted. Let me guess—you’re working on your master plan to snag a date for the ball? I am guessing you don't have one.” He leaned back on his heels, still crouched, and fixed me with a playful, knowing look.

I froze, his words cutting deeper than I expected, though his tone remained light.

When I didn’t respond, he tilted his head. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re not going. Everyone’s talking about it. Even Tina’s got her claws in Jungkook.” His gaze flicked over me, his smirk sharpening. “Or is it that no one’s brave enough to take you?”

The heat rushed to my face, but I forced myself to look him in the eye. “Not everyone’s obsessed with finding a date, Yoongi,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“True,” he replied with a shrug, standing up and brushing off his hands. “But it’s a shame, you know? All dressed up, standing by yourself in the corner. It’s a picture-perfect Cinderella moment, minus the Prince Charming.”

I glared up at him, my hands gripping the stack of papers a little too tightly. “Thanks for the advice,” I said flatly, shoving the papers into his chest as I stood up and headed down the hall without waiting for him to say anything else. 

-

The hum of the office felt louder than usual as I sat at my desk, trying to get through the endless list of tasks I had to finish before the end of the day. The masquerade ball loomed over me, but today, something about the atmosphere felt different. Maybe it was because I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Rya and Hoseok in my head. Maybe it was because deep down, I still wasn’t sure I belonged in that world? But in that moment, the phone in my hand buzzed, pulling me out of my spiral.

I glanced at the screen: Tae <3

I smiled to myself, swiping on the screen and gluing the phone to my ear. "Hey, Tae," I greeted, my voice a little lighter than it had been all day. Hearing his voice always made all the tiredness, worry and anxiety disappear.

"Hey, Y/N! I was just thinking about you," Taehyung’s warm, melodic voice greeted me through the phone. It was a comfort, like a hug I couldn’t see. "How are you doing?"

"Surviving, as always. Work’s a nightmare right now, and now there’s this whole masquerade ball thing. Honestly, I’m kind of dreading it."

He chuckled softly on the other end. "Yeah, I heard. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Are you going?"

I hesitated, fiddling with a pen on my desk. "Yeah. But I’m not exactly excited about it. Everyone’s got their dates… I don’t know, it feels like I’ll just end up standing awkwardly in the corner all night."

"Y/N," Taehyung said, his voice warm and reassuring, "you could show up wearing a potato sack, and you’d still outshine everyone. Don’t let those kinds of thoughts ruin it for you."

I smiled, the genuine kindness in his words making me feel lighter. "Thanks, Tae. You’re always so good at making me feel better."

There was a pause, and then his tone shifted, becoming more serious. "Actually, that’s kind of why I called. I was wondering if… well, if you’d want to go with me to the ball. As my date."

His words made my heart skip a beat, and I blinked, trying to process what he’d just said. "You’re serious?"

"Of course I am," he said, laughing softly. "I think it could be fun. We’d stick together, and I’ll make sure you have a great time. No pressure, though."

Before I could respond, a shadow fell over my desk, and I looked up to see Jungkook standing there. His arms were crossed, and his expression was calm—too calm.

"Work call?" he asked pointedly, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I replied, keeping my tone even, though I could feel the tension radiating off him. "It’s personal."

"You’re busy, then," he said, his voice almost teasing but carrying a hint of something sharper. "Too bad—I was going to tell you there’s something urgent you need to handle. Guess it can wait."

I narrowed my eyes at him, my grip on the phone tightening. "If it’s so urgent, why don’t you handle it?"

Jungkook’s jaw tensed, but before he could respond, Taehyung’s voice came through the phone, loud enough for Jungkook to hear. "Y/N? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, it’s fine," I said quickly, brushing off Jungkook’s attempt to derail the conversation. "Sorry about that. So, you were saying…?"

"I was asking if you’d go to the ball with me," Taehyung said again, his voice warm but clearer now.

Jungkook’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he took in Taehyung’s words. His gaze darted to my phone, then back to me, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"That sounds great, Tae," I said, my voice bright despite the tension. "I’d love to go with you."

Jungkook’s reaction was immediate—his shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darkened, though he forced a sharp, insincere smile. "Perfect," he said, his tone icy. "I’m sure you and your friend will have a great time."

Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed off, his steps echoing down the hallway.

"Y/N?" Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence, pulling my attention back to the phone. "Are you sure everything’s okay?"

"Yeah," I said, though my heart was racing. "It’s nothing. I'll talk to you later."

As I ended the call, I couldn’t shake the feeling of Jungkook’s reaction lingering in the air, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. I was weirded out from the way he acted. Why was he so stingy for?

-

It was Friday afternoon, a two days after our meeting about that ball was held and the tension in the office seemed to be building, as if everyone was bracing themselves for the masquerade ball that was looming just days away. It was all anyone could talk about. Some of my coworkers were still obsessing over their outfits, while others were already talking about their plans.

I was organizing some documents at my desk, trying to stay focused despite the whirlwind of thoughts running through my mind about the masquerade ball. The idea of going felt daunting, especially when it seemed like everyone already had their perfect plans sorted out.

"Y/N," a low, familiar voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see Yoongi leaning casually against the edge of my desk, his signature smirk playing on his lips. I frowned. He did not approach me unless it was work related. I wondered what was it this time.

"Hey," I said, surprised yet skeptical of his approach. "What’s up?"

He shrugged, glancing down at the papers I was shuffling. "Not much. Just… figured I’d check in."

I arched an eyebrow. "Check in? What for?"

Yoongi’s smirk grew, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation? Nerves? It was so subtle I almost missed it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, his tone suddenly more casual. "You know, about the ball—" 

"Y/N!" Rya’s voice rang out, cutting through Yoongi’s words like a sharp knife. I turned to see her bounding toward us, her excitement practically radiating off her.

Yoongi straightened, his smirk fading slightly as he stepped back, giving Rya room to invade the space.

"Hey, Rya," I said, trying not to sound annoyed at the interruption.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you," Rya said, ignoring Yoongi entirely. "So, I had this amazing idea! We should totally go dress shopping together for the ball tomorrow. I know this great place, and we can make a whole day of it and then me, Hoseok and you can go out clubbing after? I am in a mood for some drinks!" Clubbing? Oh god. It has been what- years since I went there? Too much people, loud music and bodies bodies pressing against each other.

I glanced at Yoongi, who was watching the interaction with a blank expression, though his eyes betrayed his irritation.

"That sounds fun," I said, offering Rya a small smile. "I will think about the clubbing part tho."

Rya grinned, nodding her head, yet she finally noticed Yoongi standing there. "Oh, hey. Didn’t see you. What are you doing here?"

"Just talking to Y/N," he said, his tone clipped. "But I’ll let you two get back to your plans."

With that, he turned and walked away, his usual calm demeanor masking whatever frustration he might have felt.

I watched him leave, a strange pang of guilt tugging at me. Had he been about to ask something important?

"Isn’t it great?" Rya said, pulling me back into the moment. "We’ll find the perfect dress for you. You’re going to look amazing."

"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile, though my mind was still on Yoongi and the words he hadn’t gotten a chance to say.

-

The soft hum of the mall's ambient music barely registered as Rya and I made our way through the racks of dresses. The neon lights overhead cast a warm glow over everything, but my mind was far from the sparkly fabrics hanging in front of me. We’d been at it for what felt like hours, and I was still having trouble settling on anything that felt like me. The ball was a week away and I was a ball of anxiety.

"How about this one?" Rya asked, holding up a shimmering emerald green dress, the fabric catching the light. She seemed determined to find something that would make me stand out—something that would make me feel like I belonged.

I shook my head, glancing over the dress with a hesitant frown. "It’s pretty, but I don't know... I think it’s a bit too much." I sighed, tugging at my sleeve. "I'm just not sure I want to be noticed that much, you know?"

Rya raised an eyebrow, her fingers still gripping the hanger. "You're seriously telling me you're going to let some people in the office make you feel like you don't deserve to be seen?" She shook her head, pushing the dress aside. "No way. You deserve to wear something that makes you feel confident, strong and sexy."

I smiled weakly, appreciating her effort to boost me, but inside, I felt like I was just pretending. None of it mattered when the people at work—especially Jungkook and Yoongi—were still constantly tearing me down.

As I stared at the dresses in the store, Rya’s voice cut through the silence, a casual comment that made my head snap up.

“You know, I have noticed that the Boss and Yoongi act weird lately,” she said, her voice light but with a hint of something else—curiosity?

I turned to face her, my brow furrowing in confusion. "Weird? What do you mean?"

Rya set down a dress she had been holding, turning toward me with a knowing look. “I’m just saying, I’ve seen the way they’ve been acting around you. They’ve both tried to approach you, Y/N, and it seemed like they were going to invite you to the ball.”

I blinked, completely taken aback. "What? Yoongi and Jungkook? Invite me?" I laughed, the sound more disbelieving than amused. "That’s ridiculous. Why would they even do that?"

Rya’s expression didn’t falter, but there was a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. “I don’t know, but it’s not like them. They’ve never been this... friendly with you before. And it’s not just me—other people have noticed it too. It’s like they’re genuinely interested in you.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. The thought of Yoongi and Jungkook—two people who had made a habit of mocking me—suddenly being “interested” in me was too much to process.

“No, Rya. I don’t buy it,” I said, shaking my head. "They’ve always treated me like crap. They’ve made fun of me for months, and now suddenly they want to take me to the ball? No way."

Rya didn’t seem convinced. “But why would they bother trying to invite you if they didn’t care at all? It doesn’t make sense. Maybe they’re actually—"

I cut her off, frustration creeping into my voice. "Rya, this isn’t about attraction. It’s probably some stupid game to them, a way to mess with me. They’re probably seeing who can get the ‘fat girl’ first and have a good laugh at my expense."

Rya looked at me seriously, like she wanted to argue, but she seemed to understand that I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. "I get it. I just wanted to point out that something feels different this time."

I let out a small, bitter laugh. "Yeah, well, if it is different, I don’t want to be part of it. They’ve always been cruel. That’s not going to change just because they want a date for the ball."

Rya sighed, clearly frustrated but still patient. “I understand, Y/N. I just want you to know that you’re worth more than their games, okay?” She gave me a reassuring smile. “I’m here for you. And this dress? It’s perfect for you.”

I took the dress she offered me, holding it against my body as I studied myself in the mirror.The royal blue dress shimmered softly under the light, its rich color catching my eye right away. The off-shoulder neckline framed my shoulders perfectly, while the fabric crossed gently over the bodice, and I knew that it was going to hug the shape of my body in just the right way. The sleeves were long and smooth, giving it an elegant feel, and the skirt flowed down from the waist, simple but beautiful as it brushed the floor. The material was soft and comfortable in my hands, with just enough weight to feel secure but not heavy. As I turned, the dress moved with me, flowing naturally and making me feel like I could wear it anywhere and still feel amazing. It wasn’t just a dress—it felt like it belonged to me.

Rya leaned against the doorframe, watching as I studied myself in the mirror. Her knowing smile made me feel both self-conscious and reassured. “You'd look incredible wearing it,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the haze of doubt clouding my mind. “You’d turn every head at the ball in that.”

I placed the dress down gently, avoiding her gaze. “I am not used to all the attention...”

She straightened, folding her arms as her tone shifted into something more persuasive. “Y/N, when are you going to stop letting their crap define what you do? You’ve always been better than that, and now? You’ve got the chance to show it.”

I sighed, running my hand over the fabric of the dress again. “It’s not that easy, Rya.”

“What is?” she shot back. “Look, if the ball feels too messy, fine. But tonight? Come out with me and Hoseok. No pressure, no expectations. Just a night to breathe, dance, and remind yourself that you’re allowed to take up space without caring what anyone else thinks.”

I hesitated, biting my lip as I looked at her. “I don’t know if I’m really in the mood for clubbing.”

She tilted her head, her smile turning sly. “Oh, please. We both know you need this. Hoseok’s got the energy of ten people, and he already said he’d buy the first round. Plus,” she added, leaning in conspiratorially, “you know you’ve been dying to see what he’s like on the dance floor.” Hoseok had mentioned that before he became a Social Media Specialist, he was owning a dance studio downtown and he was the best of them all. However, he had to shut the studio down due to lack of money. Which was unfortunate. Everyone deserved to follow their dreams.

I laughed despite myself. “Fine, maybe that’s true. But I don’t even know what I’d wear.”

Rya’s eyes lit up, sensing victory. “I’ll help you pick something out. Something killer. And trust me, when you’re out there, laughing with us, and feeling like the badass you are, you’ll be glad you said yes.”

I let out a long breath, shaking my head. “Okay, okay. I’ll come. But if Hoseok tries to drag me into one of his ridiculous dance battles, I’m blaming you.”

Her grin widened as she clapped her hands together. “Deal. Now after we chose a dress for you, let’s get you ready to turn some heads for tonight.”

-

The evening had settled in, and it was finally Saturday night—an evening I had been both anticipating and dreading. A few hours ago, Rya and I had spent what felt like an eternity picking out dresses. After much back-and-forth, I had found the perfect one: the royal blue dress that fit me like a glove. It shimmered softly under the light and made me feel like I was someone else—someone confident and powerful. It was a far cry from the usual clothes I’d wear, but something about it felt right and elegant.

I’d also grabbed a few other things for tonight—something a bit more casual for the club, but still fitting the vibe. Rya had promised me a good time, and I figured I might as well go with it. I hadn’t really done anything fun for myself in a long time, and the club seemed like the perfect way to break out of the monotony.

Sitting in my apartment now, I relaxed into the couch with Hades curled up beside me. I had a few hours before Rya and Hoseok would pick me up—around eleven—but the anticipation of what the night might bring was already starting to settle in my stomach. The drinks were free, the entrance was covered until midnight, and they were headed to one of the most famous clubs called "Devil's Dreads", known for its great music and even better drinks. Hoseok had practically been vibrating with excitement as soon as he heard that I was coming clubbing with him and Rya tonight, and it was hard not to get caught up in his energy.

I was just about to reach for my phone when it buzzed on the coffee table. The caller ID showed “Mom & Dad” and I smiled despite myself. I hadn’t spoken to them in a few days, and I figured it was the right time to check in.

“Hey, Mom! Hey, Dad!” I answered, sitting up and adjusting my position on the couch. Hades stirred but didn’t get up, just snuggling closer to my side.

“Y/N, my love! How are you?” my mom’s familiar voice came through the phone, warm and comforting. “You’ve been so busy lately. Have you been eating enough?”

I laughed softly, rolling my eyes. “I’m fine, Mom. Don’t worry. Just work, you know? It’s been a little hectic.”

“You always say that,” my dad’s voice chimed in, his deep tone carrying an affectionate teasing. “Tell us something fun. What’s been going on with you?”

I smiled, glancing around my small apartment. “Well, actually, there’s a company masquerade a week from now. It’s for work. We’ve been working on a big project, and uh Taehyung called me and invited me to be his date since he is going as well.”

There was a noticeable pause on the other end, followed by the sound of my mom speaking quietly with my dad in their native language.

My dad’s voice came as an answer a few moments later, a little more serious now. “Y/N, we’ve known Taehyung since you were little. He’s a good man. And we’ve seen how much he cares for you.”

The weight of his words hit me unexpectedly. “I—Dad, I don’t think…” I trailed off, not knowing how to respond. I had never thought about Taehyung in that way. He was just my friend, someone who had been there for me when no one else was.

My mom’s voice softened, a tone I knew well from years of gentle guidance. “Sweetheart, sometimes the person who cares for you most is the one who’s been there for you all along. Not the ones who just chase after you when you look good in a dress.”

I let out a soft sigh, sinking deeper into the couch, unsure how to take their words. “Mom, I don’t know. I’m not ready for that kind of thing, especially not with Taehyung. We’ve been friends for so long. I don’t want to mess that up.”

There was a moment of silence, and I could almost picture my mom’s thoughtful expression. “We’re not trying to push you, darling. We just want you to be happy. But don’t close yourself off to the possibility just because you’re scared of what might happen.”

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump in my throat. “I’ll think about it,” I said quietly. “But for now, I’m just focused on work.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” my dad said, his voice reassuring as always. “Just remember to enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”

“I’ll talk to you both soon, okay?”

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” my mom said. “And have fun at the ball. We’ll be waiting to hear all about it!”

“I love you guys, bye.” I said, hanging up the phone, feeling a mix of warmth and confusion. The conversation had been more than I expected, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about what they had said.

As I sat there in the quiet of my apartment, Hades curled up beside me once again, I found myself lost in thought. Taehyung? Could he really have feelings for me? I’d always seen him as a friend, but my parents seemed so sure. It felt like the idea came out of nowhere, and yet... maybe there was something to it.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. I didn’t know if I was ready to confront that possibility, but for tonight, I had a night out with Rya and Hoseok to look forward to. Maybe I just needed to focus on that for now—enjoy myself, let loose, and stop overthinking everything.

Rya and Hoseok were picking me up in just a few hours. The drinks were free, the club was waiting, and I wasn’t going to let any of my doubts ruin the night. For once, I was going to let go and enjoy the ride.

-

It had been ages since I’d stepped foot into a club. The pulsating bass, the kaleidoscope of lights, the hum of people enjoying the night—it all felt foreign yet oddly thrilling. Devil’s Dreads was a sight to behold, unlike any club I’d ever been to. The VIP section on the second floor, where we were seated, offered the perfect balance of exclusivity and immersion. From here, we had a clear view of the stage bathed in fiery orange and violet hues, with sleek, futuristic lighting patterns that pulsed in time with the music. The plush, deep purple couches I sank into were ridiculously comfortable, making it feel less like a club and more like some hidden lounge in a sci-fi movie.

Looking down at the main floor, I could see the crowd moving like waves to the hypnotic beats. But up here, it was quiet enough to hold a conversation without shouting, which was a luxury I didn’t know I needed until now.

Rya was the first to order. She went all out with something bold—a sparkling martini topped with edible glitter. It matched her red short dress perfectly, shimmering under the soft light like it was made just for her. I laughed when she held it up for a dramatic toast, the red matching sequins of her dress making her look like she belonged on the stage herself. Her dirty blonde hair was curled just perfectly, lifted in a messy bun style — Pamela Anderson. And her make up did not disappoint, dark, smoky and sexy, fitting her dark blue eyes perfectly.

Hoseok, being Hoseok, opted for a vodka on ice and an old-fashioned style of outfit. It was simple, strong, and sophisticated, just like him. His black button-down shirt with those subtle gold accents caught the light in just the right way, making him look like he belonged in a magazine ad for luxury watches or cologne. He wore black ripped jeans and his hair was messily styled. He looked like an model.

And then there was me. I scanned the menu nervously, feeling the weight of their expectations. It had been so long since I’d ordered a drink at a club, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. My eyes landed on something fruity and innocent-sounding—a cocktail called Strawberry Dream. The description promised a blend of strawberries, peach, and a “whisper” of vodka. Perfect. I didn’t want to get hammered on the first drink.

But, boy, was it deceiving. Rya had managed to pick the perfect dress for me. Firstly, I never wore something so short, and secondly, I almost never was opting for dresses. Jeans were more comfortable for me, but in this case, I loved how this dress fitted me.

I felt bold and my dress definitely matched the vibe. The black mini-dress I chose hugged my curves perfectly, the structured bodice giving it a corset-like edge that made me feel powerful. The neckline was the real star, though—crisscross straps framing my shoulders and collarbones in a way that was sultry but still sophisticated. The long sleeves balanced the look, keeping it sleek and elegant, while the fabric clung just right, making me feel like the main character.

I paired it with gold hoop earrings for a touch of glam, a natural make up made by myself and my hair was curled in beautiful long curls that framed my features, which gave me this effortless, confident vibe. As I glanced at myself in the reflection of my drink, I couldn’t help but smile—I looked like I belonged in a place like this.

We didn’t waste much time lounging. Once our drinks arrived, the music pulled us in. Rya was already dragging me up to dance, and Hoseok followed close behind. It felt freeing to let go for a while, to sway to the music and laugh until my sides hurt. I sipped my cocktail in between songs, the sweetness of the drink making it go down far too easily. Before I knew it, I was on my third glass, and the room was beginning to tilt—not in a bad way, but in that warm, buzzy, I’m-gonna-regret-this-tomorrow way. -

The music was pounding through my body, the bass so heavy it felt like it was syncing with my heartbeat. Hoseok and Rya were right there with me, the three of us lost in the rhythm, moving to the beat like we didn’t have a care in the world. The alcohol buzzing through me made everything feel lighter, almost dreamlike. The edges of the room seemed to blur as I twirled under the neon lights, laughing at something Hoseok said, though I couldn’t hear a word over the music.

That’s when I felt it—a hand on my waist, warm and unfamiliar.

I turned, a little dazed, to find a man I didn’t recognize standing close. Too close. His smile was charming enough, but the way his hand lingered made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Still, the cocktails had softened my edges, and my better judgment was slow to catch up. He leaned in, his lips moving as he said something I couldn’t hear over the music. Before I knew it, I was swaying with him, letting him guide my movements.

It was harmless, right? Just a little dancing. At least, that’s what my tipsy brain told me as I let myself follow his lead. But then his hand moved lower, settling on my hip, and a quiet alarm bell rang in the back of my mind. I froze for a second, unsure what to do, but before I could even process the situation, Rya and Hoseok were already on it.

“Hey!” Rya’s voice was sharp, cutting through the music like a knife. She stepped forward, placing herself squarely between me and the guy. Her sequin-covered arm reached out, pushing his hand away from me with more force than I expected.

Hoseok wasn’t far behind, his easygoing smile replaced with something steely and firm. “She’s with us,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made it clear he wasn’t asking. “Back off.”

The man raised his hands in mock surrender, a lazy smirk on his face. “Alright, alright,” he said, backing up, but his eyes lingered on me for a second too long before he disappeared into the crowd.

I blinked, feeling the haze of alcohol and adrenaline mix into a confusing swirl. “What just happened?” I muttered, my words slurring slightly.

Rya looped an arm around my shoulders, her expression softening as she guided me back toward our booth. “You were letting some random creep get a little too close,” she said gently but firmly.

“Yeah,” Hoseok added, his tone lighter now that the guy was gone. “You’re lucky you have us to keep an eye on you.”

I let out a weak laugh, grateful but also embarrassed. “I didn’t even realize…”

“It’s the cocktails,” Rya said knowingly, giving me a reassuring smile. “That’s why we’re here, though. To make sure you’re good.”

As we made our way back to the VIP booth, I could still feel the ghost of the guy’s hand on my waist, but it was fading now, replaced by a warm sense of gratitude. Rya and Hoseok weren’t just my friends—they were my safety net. And right now, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.

I leaned back against the balcony railing, catching my breath, when the familiar face in the crowd below stopped me cold. At first, I thought it was just my tipsy brain playing tricks on me. But no. It was him.

Yoongi.

My stomach did a weird flip as I watched him stride through the main entrance like he owned the place. His tailored black blazer and crisp shirt beneath screamed confidence, and his sharp gaze scanned the crowd with ease.

His eyes landed on me—on us—and widened slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was surprise or amusement that crossed his face first, but by the time he started walking toward our booth, his signature smirk had taken over.

“What brings you all here?” he asked casually as he reached us, his voice low enough to compete with the music but still clear. He looked between the three of us, his expression unreadable.

Hoseok, ever the social butterfly, clapped him on the shoulder. “What, are we not allowed to hang out at the best place in town?”

Yoongi raised a brow, clearly entertained. “You have good taste. But from the looks of it…” He motioned toward the now-empty cocktail glasses on our table. “...you’re drinking like tourists.”

I flushed under his gaze. “Excuse me,” I said, my words slightly slurred, “but I’ll have you know this drink was amazing.”

Yoongi’s lips twitched, and he leaned in just enough to make my breath hitch. “Amazing, huh? You might want to pace yourself. Those are just the appetizers.”

It was then that it hit me. The way he carried himself, the way the staff seemed to acknowledge him without a word, the way he spoke like he owned the place…

“Wait,” I blurted out, blinking through the haze of tipsiness. “Do you… own this place?”

The smirk deepened, and he straightened up, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Figured it out, did you?” He looked entirely too smug. “Welcome to Devil’s Dreads. My little slice of chaos.”

[evangelical04]

A Single Daffodil || 1

Summary: Getting arranged to be married to your long-time crush wasn't exactly the fairy tale romance you were hoping for. Nor is the dynamic of the marriage, with your husband treating you like you don't exist. But you're going to make this work, whether he cares about you or not. And he definitely doesn't...right?

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 2.7K

Genre: angst, romance, unrequited love, smut, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, businessman yoongi

Warnings: parental trauma, sibling trauma, toxic parents, unrequited love, explicit language, alcohol usage, yoongi's kind of mean, future smut

Author's Note: hello! i'm Eva and this is my first fic on tumblr ever! I've been a reader for so long and I've always wanted to write my own stories, so I figured I finally would. I know it’s kind of short but I promise the other parts will be longer. Please give me any feedback you have and let me know if you'd like there to be a tag list or anything! I hope you guys like it!! p.s. I'm totally posting this instead of doing my morphology homework that's due in 15 minutes

masterlist / next

The door to your childhood home looked artificially welcoming. There were too many flowers lining the walls encasing the looming wooden door. The grass on the lawn just was a bit too green without a blade out of place and the paved walkway was freshly powerwashed and missing even a speck of dirt. You let out the deep breath you were holding and gently took hold of the overly ornate bronze knocker adorning the painted wood of the door. Two loud thuds rang out as you knocked and the door quickly opened afterwards.

“Hello, Miss Y/N, your parents have been expecting you.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you, Mrs. Oh,” you responded quietly, nodding at the grey-haired woman. She shot you a sympathetic smile before ushering you in, taking your coat and carefully laying it over her arm. After removing your shoes, you followed her past the foyer to the living room where your parents awaited. 

You knew what was coming, you knew that this had been decided long before you were born. Yet, you still felt unprepared. You had grown comfortable, living in your simple apartment in Gangnam and your quiet work routine. Biting your lip, you reprimanded yourself internally, You should’ve brought this shit up in therapy before it happened.

“Here we are, Miss Y/N,” Mrs. Oh said, snapping you out of your self-pity session. You nodded gratefully at her, sending a small smile her way. Her eyebrows wove together in her own pity-ridden expression and she quickly whispered, “Good luck,” while exiting swiftly. You steeled your nerves and forced your chin up high, knowing that you’d most likely cower inwards as soon as you faced your parents anyway.

Stepping into the room, you noted the almost intervention-like setup your parents had arranged themselves in, with your father sitting proudly in his reclining, leather armchair, clad in a dark blue quarter zip and khaki pants. Your mother stood facing the fireplace, arms crossed, in a simple and elegant turquoise dress and hair tied up in a tight and neat bun, with her baby hairs smoothed back to prevent any imperfection. You could almost imagine her pinched mouth, forever encased in a stern and unamused expression. 

“Hello father, mother,” you started, trying to smooth the slight trembling in your voice. Your mother turned around, eyes narrowing at your form, “Sit down.”

You promptly obeyed.

“Your father and I have decided on your marriage. It’ll be to the Min family, to Min Yoongi.”

“What? To him? But,” you began protesting but your mother quickly cut you off with a steely glare. 

“It has already been decided. Your wedding will be in eight months. I’ll forward you the invitation list and you can add three people of your choosing. You’ll be having dinner with us and the Min family on Friday at six. I’ll have Yujin send you an email with further details. Don’t be late.” 

You looked to your father in a desperate plea but were only met with stony silence and a passive face. You turned back to your mother and registered the composed expression painting her face. Your fate had been decided, and it had not worked in your favor at all. Rising slowly, you set your hands by your side and bowed towards your parents, “I understand. I’ll be there.”

Your mother swiftly exited the room, evidently deciding the conversation was over. You could hear her dangling earrings tinkling against each other in what felt like a mocking melody. Your father calmly produced a cigar from the table next to him and lit up, no longer acknowledging you either. You let out another slow breath and walked out. 

Collecting your coat from Mrs. Oh, who tried to give you a comforting shoulder squeeze but it felt more like condolences than anything, and made your way to your car parked in front of the gate closing off your parents’ home. 

That’s it then.

You felt eerily calm yet stressed as you started up your car and carefully reversed out, making sure to avoid hitting the carved statues your parents had in front of the iron gate. As you drove home, your mind started racing with the information you had been relayed. 

Min Yoongi as your soon-to-be-husband? What irony.

Does he even know you exist?

Will you be able to survive this?

Hand gripping the steering wheel hard, you quickly dialed the most recent number in your contact list. She answered after only two rings.

“Y/N! Are you still alive? How’d it go?”

“Hi Joohee, not great. I’m completely and totally fucked.”

Joohee chuckled on the other end of the line, “Want to come over?”

“Yes,” you breathed, “I was hoping you’d offer.”

“I’ll get the booze.”

“Min Yoongi? Now that’s ironic,” Joohee chuckled, seemingly at your expense. You shot a glare her way which she shrugged in response to.

“How long have you been crushing on him? This is, like, practically fate. Maybe this’ll be a good thing.”

You scoffed in response, “A good thing? Joohee, be serious. The last thing I want to do is get with my long-time infatuation, not crush, by forcing him to be my husband.” You took another swig of wine. It was a cheap pink Moscato, perfect for nights like these with Joohee. 

Joohee shoved a pillow in your direction in an effort to gain more room on the couch you had stuffed yourselves onto. The trash reality dating show you had on in the background was showing a rather dramatic fight but you paid it no attention, “It’s just…I haven’t talked to him in the last, what, five years? He probably doesn’t even remember me. And you’ve heard the rumors, I don’t think he’ll be exactly thrilled at giving up his playboy lifestyle just because he has to marry me.”

“What if he doesn’t give that up?”

You stared at Joohee in slight surprise, “What do you mean?”

“Like, what if he says that he doesn’t want to stop hooking up with other people? What will you do?”

Your brows furrowed as you considered the question, “I don’t know, I guess. I mean, I can’t really stop him. I guess I’d just have to live with it.”

Joohee hummed in response before continuing on, “Well, this is happening whether you like it or not. Just try to make it amicable at the least. Maybe it’ll work out, you never know. Just look at Jin oppa.”

Kim Seokjin, Joohee’s older brother and a friend of Min Yoongi’s, was arranged by Joohee’s parents to marry Song Yeonhee, and the two had seemingly fallen in love after a rocky start to their nuptials. You had seen them recently at Yeonhee’s baby shower and she had been glowing, looking unbelievably happy. You recalled the loving gaze that Seokjin had sent her during the party and the pang of envy you felt, knowing that you would likely never get to experience that. 

“Yeah, well,” you responded, “He’s an outlier. Most of these types of marriages don’t work out. I have a feeling I’m going to be a part of that group.”

“You’re too negative, you haven’t even met him for dinner yet. Maybe he’ll surprise you. You just have to give him the chance.”

You mulled over Joohee’s words and nodded, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I’ll see how Friday goes.”

You weren’t technically late. 

While you still had about 5 minutes before the dinner officially started, you weren’t early, and that was unacceptable by your mother’s standards. A mini emergency at your job had left you scrambling to leave on time, only noticing the late hour when one of your coworkers asked if they should order take-out for the team. After profusely apologizing to your team, they encouraged you to go, practically shooing you out the door, claiming they could handle the situation for now. 

Which left you barely on time to park in the lot outside the ridiculously fancy Japanese restaurant your mother’s assistant, Yujin, had sent to your email earlier that week. You quickly stepped out, smoothing out your dress that you had kept in the backseat of your car and had hastily changed into in the parking lot of your office. Tugging down the hem, you took a moment to look at your reflection in your car window and attempt to look more presentable. Your hair was slightly frizzy but nicely combed back, and you had extremely minimal makeup on from only remembering last minute this morning, and your eyes looked tired. 

You felt tired.

Shaking off your nerves, you headed inside the restaurant giving your family name to the hostess who took you back to a private room where your mother and father were waiting. Your father spared you only a cursory glance before returning his gaze to his phone and your mother looked you up and down before uttering a curt, “Hm.” You held in an eye roll and quickly sat next to them, trying to calm your heart rate for the sure-to-be exhilarating dinner ahead. At six on the dot, you spotted the same hostess leading the Min family towards your table. Your mother stood, welcoming them and urging them to sit down. You stood as well, a little less welcoming, a lot more obligated. 

Mrs. Min looked like the epitome of a rich older woman with dark black hair combed back and glittering jewels lining her ears and neck, complementing the midnight blue gown she had on. Mr. Min was dressed quite similarly to your father, in a simple suit, the only difference being his starkly greying hair providing quite the contrast to his dark blazer. Close behind them was the person you were the most anxious about meeting, Min Yoongi. His pitch-black hair complemented his slightly tanned skin nicely and his feline eyes remained straightforward and untelling. He was dressed in a simple black suit as well with an expensive-looking watch adoring his wrist. His mouth was closed tightly and he did not smile at your mother when she greeted him, not at your father when they sat down across from your family, and certainly not at you.

Your hands nervously played with each other in your lap as you took your seat again. You listened quietly as the mothers exchanged pleasantries and the fathers gruffly greeted each other. You were trying to avoid looking at Yoongi as much as possible.

“So, Y/N,” Mrs. Min started, making you startle to attention, “How old are you now?”

“Twenty-nine, ma’am.”

“Ah, so only a bit younger than Yoongi. That’s good then. How is your work?”

You felt your father stiffen next to you and prayed your discomfort didn’t show on your face, “Good. I’m in the middle of producing a new project with my team.”

“How lovely. Although I’m sure you’ll be leaving that soon after the wedding. You won’t need to work then after all,” Mrs. Min smiled at you. It was hard to read her so you couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or not, though if you had to guess, it was likely the latter. Your job was a point of contention with your family. Choosing to work in a video game production company did not go over well, and if your older brother, Kyungsoo, hadn’t been in line to inherit Seo Industries, you would’ve never been able to keep it. 

You smiled awkwardly in response to Mrs. Min and returned your gaze to the empty plate in front of you. 

As the conversation dragged on, you couldn’t help but steal a glance or two at Yoongi, who was periodically checking his phone and looking permanently bored of the conversation. Not that you could blame him. The dull talk of social circle gossip and work was beginning to get grating, and even the introduction of fancy entrees wasn’t enough to stop your stomach from feeling queasy. 

Yoongi had yet to say one word to you. To be fair, you hadn’t said anything to him either, but he had barely looked in your direction since he entered the private dining room. How exactly were you supposed to start a conversation with that? 

Soon after the desserts came out and were finished, with you politely refusing, feeling like you were going to throw up any second, Mrs. Min suddenly pushed her chair back and stood. She looked down at you and Yoongi and announced, “Well. I think we can leave them to talk on their own for a bit. Why don’t you join us for a drink at our home, Eujin-ssi?”

At the sound of her name, your mother stood, nodding, “Yes, that sounds lovely. Let’s let them get to know each other a bit more.” With that, the parents swiftly gathered their belongings and left, before you could even protest, leaving you staring open-mouthed at the exit. 

Slowly, you turned to face Yoongi and were startled, seeing his eyes already boring into yours. 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Yoongi stated, his deep and stable voice wrapping around you for the first time that night, “This marriage means nothing to me. It shouldn’t to you either. I’ll do my thing and you do yours. Most importantly, stay out of my life except when necessary. Just because my parents are forcing my hand doesn’t mean I have to adhere to every little thing. Nothing will be changing except for our living situation and a ring on our fingers.”

A little stunned, you could only stutter a passive agreement and watch as he rose and left without sparing you another glance. 

Letting out a deep breath, you closed your eyes, trying to understand what had just transpired. Your heart raced as you quickly stacked up the dishes to be a bit easier for the busboy and quickly made your way to your car. Sitting down in the driver’s seat, you vaguely registered Min Yoongi’s cold demeanor towards you.

It seems he didn’t remember you after all.

The dress you had on was itchy, but you knew if you complained, you would only end up with a sharp stinging on your cheek and tear-filled eyes. You had escaped the boring party with grown-ups and were sitting outside on a stone bench in the garden, trying to remedy your hurt feelings at the hands of the mean, older boy, Hyunsoo. 

He had confidently poked fun at your appearance, saying the dress was a bit too small on you and that your parents should’ve sprung for a size that could fit an elephant instead. He continued on, saying your parents must’ve forgotten to vaccinate you for measles considering all the red spots on your face that were actually acne. Being a tender twelve years of age and going through the worst bits of puberty, his words hit you hard and you quickly ran from the scene into the garden. 

Unable to contain your tears, they slipped down your face in large droplets and soaked into the front of your dress. 

“Hey, you.”

Startled, you looked up to see a boy a couple of years older than you standing in front of you, black hair shining in the light from the garden lamps. His sharp eyes trailed down your tear-stained face. You quickly turned away in shame, not wanting to undergo any more embarrassment tonight. 

“Hey, snot-face.”

You shot him a glare but softened when you saw his hand extended, holding a handkerchief, his face turned slightly away, “Use this. You look ugly while you’re crying.”

You gingerly took the cloth from his hands and blew your nose, noticing him wince out of the corner of your eye. 

“Thank you,” you managed and he only rolled his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, whatever. I think Joohee’s looking for you,” he grumbled before turning on his heel and stalking off back towards the party. 

Confused, your eyes followed after him, not knowing how he knew that Joohee would be looking for you. You unfolded the handkerchief and noticed an elegant embroidering of three letters in black near the bottom, MYG. 

Oh, you realized, Min Yoongi. Joohee’s older brother was friends with him but you had never seen him before. Joohee had described him as kind of rude and quite closed off, but you disagreed. He certainly didn’t seem that bad.

masterlist / next

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

[colormepurplex2]

Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop | MYG

▻ Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop ↳ ArtProfessor!Yoongi x Artist/CoffeeShopOwner!f.Reader ⤜ Strangers to Lovers, Cozy Romance ⤜ Coffee Shop/Art AU | fluff, smut ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 8,028 ⤜ Summary: It’s like clockwork; you receive the same online order every weekday morning at eight o’clock: large decaf iced Americano, picked up promptly shortly after. His face has become familiar, as a part of your routine as the hiss of the espresso machine. Until, one day, that routine takes an unexpected turn, and you find yourself getting familiar with more than just his face. ⚠️ Very mild language, panic over student/teacher potential date (reader is a student, but she's the same age as Yoongi, just taking classes later in life than most), oral m receiving, fingering, kissing, mild dirty talk, cum swallowing, confessions of the heart

A/N: This is part of my 'Heartbeat Melodies' mini-series, where I write fics that are inspired by songs. If you'd like to hear the song that inspired this, you can find it here! A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi & @moonleeai for their amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

“Large decaf iced Americano,” you call out, barely glancing up from behind the counter.

A deep, familiar drawl pulls your attention, “That would be mine.” It’s only familiar for the fact you’ve heard that voice nearly every day for the last six months.

Your eyes snap up from the tablet, where the next online order has come through, to meet warm brown ones. “I should have known,” you reply before you can think better to bite your tongue. Heat suffuses your cheeks. You pull your lips between your teeth to stifle the groan of embarrassment that begs to be released.

The man chuckles, absently using a knuckle to push up the hornrimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know if I should be offended or honored by that comment. But, I guess I do come here a lot.”

Nearly every day for the last six months, at least. That’s how often he comes here—to your coffee shop. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a handful of small tables and chairs. But it’s yours, and you’re proud of it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to seem…” you trail off. Not sure how to finish that thought because you’re not entirely sure how you meant it or why you said it other than the fact you’re a bit frazzled this morning and apparently forgot your mouth filter at home. It was a late night last night for you. It's not an excuse, but still.

He waves a large hand in the air, dismissing your apology. “Please, it’s quite alright. I’ll take it as flattery; could use a little boost to my confidence anyhow.”

That almost makes you sputter in disbelief. There’s absolutely no way this man needs any flattery. Surely, he comes by it in droves. Because, well, he’s honestly so gorgeous it should be criminal.

His hair is fluffy, somewhere between charcoal grey and black, though the warm lighting of your cafe gives it a golden honey halo effect. The eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses are dark swirls of espresso that match his coffee order—a straight nose sitting above soft, pink lips that have a light glossy sheen to them.

As usual, he’s wearing a pressed slack and jacket combo, a cream-colored collared shirt underneath with a bold print tie. His choice of ties is what drew you to him in the first place, and made you pay a little closer attention to the mysterious man behind the large decaf iced Americano.

You clear your throat, daring to be bold, while it seems you’ve no filter to stop you. “Well, if you ever need further flattery, you know where to find me.” It’s clear that you give him an assessing once over, his eyes locked onto yours as you do so.

“Do you paint?”

The question throws you off, nearly making you drop the tablet in your hands. Your fingers flex against the case, your thumb brushing along the glass screen. Busying yourself with reviewing the next order on the screen, you turn, giving him your back as you decide how to answer his random question. You’ve never actually had a conversation with him; this man that you feel like you know yet is a complete stranger.

“Why do you ask?” you deflect as you go through the motions of scooping grinds and swapping out the portafilter for a freshly filled one. However, you know it’s not always polite to answer a question with a question; you’re just not sure how to decipher his curiosity or where it came from to begin with.

The bell above the door rings, and you wince as the espresso machine gurgles and hisses loudly as you mechanically pop a cup in the machine and hit the brew button. The noise fills the quiet space of the coffee shop. It’s not until the cup is filled, you’ve added two lumps of sugar, and you’re grabbing a lid that the man responds.

“There’s paint under your fingernails. Or, at least, what I would guess is paint.”

Glancing down at the cup in your hand, you take in the colorful myriad of flecks coating your skin. The colors fill the grooves of your knuckles and hug around the bed of your nails.

“Double espresso with two sugars,” you announce, ripping your gaze from your hand to the interior space of your cafe. A woman steps around the man, giving you a hurried smile as she holds out her hand to receive the cup. You hand it off. “Have a good day.”

Giving the cafe's inside a quick glance, you ensure all the customers within are taken care of. A college student is busy pounding away at their laptop keyboard in the corner, utilizing your free wifi. A half-empty cup of hot cocoa sits cold and abandoned beside them. A trio of friends sit at your only table big enough to seat more than two people, laughing softly and sipping hot lattes and teas. No one seems to need your attention; except the man still standing there, large decaf iced Americano in hand.

You lick your lips, a nervous habit you picked up after endless stressful nights pouring your heart, soul, blood, sweat, and tears into opening the small cafe. Most believed it would flop; others rallied to your side and helped your dream come true.

“Look, sorry if I’ve overstepped somehow,” he begins, but you shake your head, letting him know he’s not.

Gesturing at the wall behind the man, you finally answer, “In my spare time.”

He glances over his shoulder, eyes zigzagging across the giant unfinished mural covering the windowless back wall of the cafe.

“That?” he asks. “You’re painting that?”

It’s hard to decipher if that’s disbelief or awe coloring his voice.

“I am,” you answer a bit hesitantly.

“Wow!” he exclaims, a giant grin spreading across his face, crinkling his eyes at the corners. “I’ve been meaning to ask after the artist every time I come in and see something new added, I just uh,” he brings his free hand up and rubs it across the back of his neck, eyes dropping to the floor under his feet, “well, could never bring myself to.” It’s pretty, the way his cheeks take on a flush of color as his eyes cut to you from over the frame of his glasses. “It’s wonderful work.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help your own flush of shyness at his praise.

“So, uh,” he lifts his cup and gives it a swirl, the ice sloshing around inside, before taking a small sip through the straw, “I know you probably see it on the order, but for the sake of propriety, my name’s Yoongi.”

Min Yoongi, to be more precise, you know. It’s a name you’ve read so many times it’s ingrained in your mind. However, it’s still nice for him to offer it to you. Willingly establishing your connection one step further than his coffee order.

You feel so silly tapping the name tag on the front of your apron, but you do it before you can think better of it, mumbling your name as if he can’t read it for himself after you brought direct attention to it. “Sorry, I’m not normally so weird,” you give a shaky laugh, willing yourself to shut up before you chase him off from how awkward you’re being.

Something changes in his demeanor, his eyes taking on a light twinkle that sits somewhere between mischief and wonder. “I like weird,” he offers casually as if that doesn’t make your stomach swoop and your heart beat a little harder. “Maybe we can talk more about your art sometime. Maybe over dinner? Or lunch if dinner is too forward.”

If you were a cartoon, you’re confident your tongue would actually be tied into a jumbled knot right now with you frantically trying to talk around it, a comical scene for sure. Yet, there is no knot, just a thick feeling that you have to swallow past. “Um, yeah, sure. That would be great. Dinner…or uh, lunch. Both. Either one. Though, dinner might be better considering my hours.”

Yoongi glances at the vinyl hours printed on the front window by the door. They’re backward from his vantage point, but you assume he has no issue reading them, considering he turns back to you and asks, “How does seven work for you?”

“Tonight?” The beating of your heart lurches again, and you can barely hear him over the rushing in your ears.

“Yeah, if that’s not too soon. Perhaps next week, if that’s better? I don’t want to come on too strong. Or well, rather, what I mean to say is, don’t feel pressured.” You can tell he’s feeling hesitant now, trying to backtrack and offer you a way to politely decline his offer for dinner tonight. You didn’t mean to come off sounding so put out. You just weren’t expecting his request to be for tonight.

Mentally, you dig through your schedule. You’re not closing today. Marvin comes in at noon to help with the lunch rush, and then you leave at four to make it to your five o’clock class. It would be today of all days that your new art class starts. It’s the beginning of the fall semester at the local university, and you just so happened to decide to take a few art classes they were offering, the first of which starts tonight.

The class should only be around an hour long, with plenty of time to get home and change before the date. Is it a date? Or just strangers getting together to talk about art? Isn’t that what a date is anyway, though?

“Seven. Tonight. That would be great.”

“Okay, perfect. Can I pick you up? Or we can meet here if that works better.”

It’s endearing he’d offer, both picking you up and meeting in a familiar place. Considering you live above the coffee shop, though, it makes no difference. Though, he doesn’t necessarily know that.

“Here is fine.”

“Wonderful. Have you tried that steak house on the corner yet?”

“The new one that opened last week?” He nods. “I haven’t, no.”

“Perfect.” Yoongi smiles. “Here, at seven. Consider it a date.” His smile falters, and his brows pinch, forming a line between them. “Not that I…well, it’s not that…it doesn’t have to be…if you don’t want this to be a date, that’s—”

“It’s a date,” you confirm, giving him what you hope to be a warm smile to ease his mild panic. “I’ll see you then, Yoongi.”

“See you then,” he responds, tacking your name on at the end in his deep drawl. The way it sounds coming from his mouth should be added to one of those spicy erotica audiobooks you may or may not have downloaded on your phone.

Just as Yoongi is leaving, it’s like the world finally takes a breath, and the exhalation that follows brings with it a rush of early morning commuters seeking their morning fix. The everyday bustle and hubbub of the day filter back in, and you’re soon lost to the sway of the shop, coffee, tea, and cocoa. It all comes alive beneath your nimble fingers, much reminiscent of the way holding a brush makes you feel: a thrill of the soul with each pour.

☕☕☕

Yoongi

In all Yoongi’s years of teaching, he’s never been late to a class, especially on the first day of the semester. Yet, he’s nearly fifteen minutes late getting into his classroom this morning. Students are already filled in and scattered around the theatre-style seating. No one says anything. It’s far too early in the morning for smart mouths and snarky remarks about his tardiness. Not that he would expect that from any of the students anyway.

“Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min.” He drops his bag and coffee off on his podium at the front of the classroom. Turning to the large chalkboard behind it, he scrawls his name to the side and then begins to write directions. “We will begin with Chapter 1, ‘Mediums and Forms’, in your textbook. Please read quietly, and I’ll be with you all in a moment.”

The day goes on, class after class, and the familiar monotony of it brings Yoongi a sense of peace. This is familiar territory; he’s in his element, not like this morning in the coffee shop. He felt totally out of control and swept up in the swirl of uncertainties and possibilities.

To say he’s relieved you agreed to go to dinner with him would be an understatement. From the moment he decided to change up his routine to check out the cafe Namjoon wouldn’t shut up about, he’s been hooked not only on the impeccable decaf iced Americano, nor the beautifully decorated and painted interior but on the smiling face behind the counter.

Yoongi feels a bit self-conscious thinking about how much he thinks about you. He’s always been too intimidated by the idea of speaking more than a few passing words to you. It’s like every time he gathered up the courage, it would abandon him at the last moment. Namjoon calls it a crush, Yoongi calls it frustrating.

The whole conversation this morning is a bit of a blur to him. Yoongi swears once he opened his mouth it was nearly impossible to stop the word vomit from gushing out…and the next thing he knew, you were agreeing to a date with him tonight.

The day's last class rolls around, and Yoongi feels much lighter as he steps out of his adjoining office and into the classroom to welcome the new students. A few offer him quiet hello’s, some he’s seen from other art classes he’s monitored across the entire department and fine arts program. 

Turning his back as the last few students filter in, he makes the same spiel he has at the beginning of every class. “Good morning, welcome to Art 320. I’m Professor Min…”

And so it begins, the beautiful dance of teaching and introducing fresh minds to the concept of forms and mediums. Yoongi is sure he could recite the entirety of Chapter 1 from memory now, with as many times as he’s gone over it today.

“What if you decide you don’t like your form or medium halfway through the project?” a student from the front row asks after Yoongi explains the medium and forms requisite for the final project for this class.

“We’re going to spend plenty of time during the first part of the semester testing out different mediums to know which best suits each of your individual tastes and needs. Regarding the form, I recommend choosing something you most likely won’t tire of. Something that means something to you but also isn’t so complex that you frustrate yourself and burn out before you can complete the project. You’re welcome to, at any time, bring me an idea of the form you’re considering, and we can talk about the intricacies and any potential issues that might arise with using it.”

Another question comes from somewhere in the middle, “Can we choose people, too?”

“A form can be anything that inspires you. If that happens to be a person, then of course. However, note that portraiture isn’t covered until Art 322, but I’ll do my best to help if that’s what you choose.” Yoongi glances at the clock, noticing there are only a few minutes left of class. “Let’s take the last few minutes to wind down, pack your things. If you have any further questions concerning your final project forms and mediums, please don’t hesitate to email me. Also, my office hours are open Tuesdays and Thursdays from two to six.”

As Yoongi turns to begin putting his things away from his podium, his eyes slide across the faces of his last class students, trying to cram them into his mind for the sake of remembering. He always likes to be as personable and approachable to his students as possible; knowing names and faces is always a good place to start.

He has to do a double take as his eyes flick over the very top row. The shock is felt throughout his entire body. It’s not that he’s surprised to see a face he already knows. It’s just that he wasn’t expecting it…wasn’t expecting to see you. Mild panic makes him jerk around, hands gripping at the papers on his podium, shuffling them mechanically.

The first thought that crosses his mind is he can’t possibly be going on a date with one of his students. Surely you’re just here to…to what? He turns over one of the papers, quickly scanning his roster that he hadn’t bothered to check yet. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to snag on your name.

Unease settles across his shoulders. He hates to cancel the date, as he was really looking forward to it, but it’s just…not right, right? There’s a line he shouldn’t cross with his students, even one who he is sure is his age and not the typical college freshman. Yoongi knows this because maybe, perhaps, he might have spent his lunch hour googling you and the cafe. You’re in your early thirties, given the birth year that was viewable on one of your social media pages, and own the coffee shop, have for several years now…a full-ass grown adult—the perfect person to date.

Except now you’re his student. There’s some moral code there somewhere, something about the skewed power dynamic. The thought of going on this date should have red flags flashing in his mind. Yet…yet, no matter how much he tells himself to cancel, he honestly doesn’t want to. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt that much, right? A harmless date.

That’s what he’s still telling himself as he dismisses the class a few minutes later. He intentionally avoided looking in your direction, unsure if you’d be comfortable with him acknowledging you as one of his students or not.

Much to his surprise, as the bubble of sound dissipates, a soft voice reaches his ears from a few feet behind him, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Yoongi has been so consumed with his own feelings about going on a date with a student that he hasn’t even thought about how you might feel. Are you about to cancel on him? Does he try to convince you not to?

He slowly turns, the stack of papers clutched in his hands, glasses slipping down his nose, yet he doesn’t want to pry his fingers from the bundle to fix them. “Look, I understand if you’d rather not—”

“I’m fine as long as you are.”

He’s relieved for your interruption, for keeping him from saying those words out loud. “Are you sure? If I had known this morning that you’d be one of my students…” he trails off, because he’s not so sure that would have stopped him after all. Considering he’s wanted to ask you out for at least the last four months.

“I’m glad you asked me. Student or not. I promise not to make it weird if you don’t.” You give him a brilliant smile, coy and full of mirth but light enough to make his heart jerk inside his chest.

“No weirdness, got it,” he agrees, unable to help his own teasing smile.

“So, I’ll see you then?” you ask, hefting your canvas bag on your shoulder. His eyes flick to it, noting the splashes and swirls of fabric paint that cover the outside. Yoongi wonders if you painted it yourself.

He nods, letting his eyes drink you in one last time before you turn to go. You’re still wearing the same jeans and thin cable knit sweater from the coffee shop this morning. Even in such casual clothes, you are stunning. A work of art all your own. He doesn’t stop staring until the door to his classroom shuts behind you.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. It’s not out of irritation or anger, just an acknowledgement of how truly and utterly he’s got it down bad for you.

☕☕☕

Seven can’t come soon enough. It only took you thirty minutes to get ready, putting on a simple black dress and flats. It’s not too fancy, but it makes you feel far more put together than just jeans and a t-shirt.

At five til, you make your way down into the coffee shop from your upstairs apartment. All of the main overhead lights are off, leaving only the warm accent lights that line the menu board and the display case lights on. Even now, the space smells delightedly of coffee.

It’s kind of funny, the fact that you’re not a coffee drinker. Everyone finds it odd that someone who doesn’t drink coffee would aspire to open a coffee shop. What they fail to realize is you love the smell of coffee. The warm, roasted, mildly sweet notes are what you thrive on, better than any shot of espresso in your mind.

There is a street lamp right outside your shop, flooding the sidewalk with a pool of yellow light. Standing just within the glow is Yoongi, his back to the shop door. You watch as his head swivels, looking down both directions of the sidewalk, completely unaware that you’ll be coming from behind him instead.

The sound of the lock turning over startles him. He jerks around and laughs softly, taking a step back, hand to his chest, as you pull the door open. “Can’t say I expected you to come from inside the cafe.”

“I would have been down sooner had I known you would be a bit early,” you say, locking the door behind you. “I probably should have given you my number or something.”

Yoongi eyes you, his gaze sliding up and down your body like he’s drinking you in. You hope he likes what he sees. “I think I was so excited about the date that I forgot even to ask,” he admits, giving you a sheepish smile when his eyes finally land back on yours. “You look,” —he gives you another quick once over, shaking his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip— “gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you preen under his praise. “You look quite handsome, yourself.”

You’re not just saying that to return the compliment, either. Yoongi is wearing the same thing he was this morning, except the tie is loosened, and the top button of his shirt is undone, giving you the slightest peek at his prominent jugular notch.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm.

You slip your hand into the bend of his elbow, falling into step beside him. The walk to the steak house is short, just enough for pleasant exchanges. He asks how your day at the coffee shop went, and you ask after his first day of classes. Neither of you bring up the fact that you were part of one of those classes.

“I’ve been meaning to check this place out. I’ve heard excellent things.”

Yoongi hums, nodding his head at your words. “I’ve also heard good things, though it might perhaps be biased considering all the praise I’ve heard has come from the owner himself.”

“You’ve spoken with the owner?”

“He’s one of my best friends, actually. This will be the first time I try it out. I kept telling him I’d stop by, but it always got away from me.”

You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. “I can’t believe you know Seokjin.”

“Wait, you know Seokjin?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“I’d say know is a relative term. We get deliveries from the same produce truck. He tried to take my apples one time. I had to set him straight.” That makes Yoongi laugh along with you. “We chat sometimes, mostly about the quality of produce and the best places to get ingredients. I had no idea he was your friend.”

“Small world,” Yoongi says. His smile is warm and inviting. You’re sure you could get lost in it if he’d let you. It makes you wonder what his lips taste like. They have a slight sheen to them like they did this morning. Cherry chapstick? Maybe mint? A nice subtle vanilla?

You’re not sure the last time you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes. But Yoongi has your sides in stitches and your cheeks aching from smiling and laughing so much during dinner.

“Oh gosh,” you wheeze between fits of giggling, clutching your stomach. “Ow, ow. Don’t make me laugh again. I can’t take it.” It just makes you laugh even more, the huffs trailing off as Yoongi reaches across the table toward you.

You pry your hands from your abdomen and slide them into his. His fingers are warm against yours, his thumbs rubbing across the backs of your knuckles. It’s a gesture he’s done several times tonight, silently asking for your hands any chance he could.

“Sorry, you just have such a beautiful laugh,” he says. “I could listen to it all day.”

His flattery hasn’t stopped. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two glasses of wine he had with dinner were going to his head. But, he speaks so assuredly and looks in your eyes like you’re truly something special.

Feeling so intimately connected with someone you barely know might be absurd. Yet, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. If you’re being honest, the attraction started long ago, and tonight has just made it blossom into something so much more.

Yoongi has been the perfect gentleman. He’s not tried to railroad the conversation or make decisions for you like other guys you’ve gone on dates with. Whenever a server approached the table, he would defer to you and your needs before his.

“You’ve been so wonderful to me tonight. Please let me repay you with coffee and dessert. If you’re up for it.”

Yoongi squeezes both your hands before letting them go and sitting back in his chair. “There is no need to ‘repay’ me,” he says, emphasizing the word repay. “But, I wouldn’t say no to a date after this date, say in fifteen minutes, coffee and dessert?”

“Fifteen minutes? Coffee and dessert?” You give him a thoughtful look, tapping your fingers against your chin. “Hmm. I think I’m available.” You both break into more fits of soft laughter, contrasting so highly to the high energy from before; it’s intimate, if laughing can be such a thing.

It’s easy being with Yoongi; he’s attentive and curious. “What made you want to open a coffee shop?” he asks as you unlock the door to the cafe.

“I liked the idea of having a space that could cater to people from all walks of life. Businessmen in a hurry? Get it to go. Students needing a place to study? I have a quiet corner for that. College professor looking for his daily decaf Americao fix? Would you look at that? I got that covered, too.” You usher him inside, closing and locking the door behind you. “It also doubles as a great place to have a private coffee and dessert date after a lovely dinner date.”

You watch as Yoongi looks around the cozy space, his attention ending on the mural wall. “What’s your favorite kind of coffee?”

“Would it be weird if I said I don’t like coffee?” you ask.

He glances at you from over his shoulder. “Really?”

You shrug. “I love the way it smells, though.”

“Acrylic?” Yoongi asks, nodding toward the mural.

“Good eye,” you assess, stepping behind the counter to start making the coffee. You grab two pecan cinnamon twirls from the dry storage where you keep extra treats to take up to your apartment at the end of each shift and pop them into the small convection oven along the back wall. “You teach art, but it might be presumptuous of me to assume you also create. So, do you?”

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to. Pastels and charcoal are my favorites to work with. I like the mildly messy, chaotic feel of them. There are few things better than the feeling of taking something so uncontrolled and turning it into a thing of beauty.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Your mind instantly goes to the framed collection of pieces you have in your apartment upstairs. “I can appreciate that.”

“Maybe I can show you sometime.” Yoongi turns from his appreciation of your mural to watch you work behind the counter. He gestures to a few frames hung up on either side of the giant menu on the wall. “Arfé, right?”

You glance up, moving with automated motions to load the portafilter into the espresso machine. “Oh,” you laugh. “Yeah. An experiment. I wanted to try something new and needed some new decor. I thought it was appropriately on theme.”

The half-dozen pieces are all made with swirls of various shades in brown and tan and depict a mix of cups, mugs, bags of grinds, lumps of sugar, and piles of roasted coffee beans.

“Very appropriate. They’re lovely. You’re an exceptional artist.” You’ve lost count of the amount of compliments Yoongi has paid you tonight. You might have been the one flattering him this morning, but it seems he’s making up for that now.

“Thank you. Truly. That means a lot coming from you.” The hiss of the brew machine fills the air, and the soft gurgle of espresso trickling into the small mug follows. “One decaf Americano for one of my best customers,” you say, carefully carrying the steaming cup over to a table beside Yoongi. “Please, sit.”

Yoongi settles at the table, bringing the cup of coffee up to his nose and giving it an appreciative sniff. “Wonderful,” he murmurs before taking a tentative sip. “Thank you, that hits the spot.”

“If you think the Americano is good, wait until you try this,” you say, scooping the twirls out of the oven and onto a plate. They’re perfectly warm and gooey. “You’ve never tried any of our pastries, have you?”

You sit across from him. The table is small enough that you could reach out and cup his cheek if you wanted, and set the plate on the table before Yoongi. He whistles low, “Wow, these do look amazing. Maybe I’ll become a pecan twirl and coffee guy every morning instead.”

Your eyes track his movements, watching as his fingers pinch and slightly sink into the edges of one of the twirls. Some of the warm glaze and cinnamon sugar filling squishes from between the layers.

Yoongi’s lips part and the tip of his tongue peaks over his bottom teeth as he brings the pastry up to take a bite. The moan he lets out surprises you both. His eyes flutter before landing on you and going wide. He chews methodically, his gaze not leaving yours. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips before he swallows.

“Well?” you ask, settling your elbows on the table and leaning into him, expectant.

The smile that tugs at his lips is coy. “Might be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.” There is a heat in his gaze as his eyes search yours. “What other surprises do you have up your proverbial sleeve for me?”

“Now, if I told you, they wouldn’t be surprises anymore, would they?”

That makes him laugh. “Fair point. You know,” he glances around the coffee shop, “I never knew just what it was about this coffee shop I loved so much, but I think I’ve figured it out.”

“Yeah?” you say, feeling positively giddy.

“Mhm. So,” he mirrors your pose across the table, his elbows nearly touching your own, fingers toying with yours where they’re folded in the air in front of your face, “is it too soon to ask you on a second date?”

“I thought this was our second date.” You raise a teasing eyebrow, a smile quirking on your lips.

“A third then,” he offers, eyes hopeful.

Of course, you want to say yes. And in the spirit of trying to be coy and playful, you lean in with the full intent of showing him instead of telling him how much you want to go on another date.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to your lips, watching as you deliberately lick them as you lean in a bit closer. Acceptance lies within their dark depths, a flash of hunger at the impending response that’s only a breath away.

As you advance, your elbows slide on the table, accidentally knocking the coffee cup. Liquid goes everywhere; it floods over the table and pours off the side…right into Yoongi’s lap.

“Oh fuck!” you yell, jumping up from the table and rushing around to his side. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Does it burn?”

Yoongi pushes back from the table, holding his arms up off his lap as he assesses the mess. “No harm done. It was already cooled off. It's just a bit of a mess, that’s all. I’m fine,” he laughs. “Truly, I promise. Do you have any towels or anything?”

“Oh god, your shirt, it’s going to stain,” you lament, staring at the dark splotch soaking through above his trousers. “Towels? Yes. Yes. Okay. And some baking soda. Come on, let’s hurry. Again, I’m so sorry!”

“Should we clean this up first?” he asks, motioning at the coffee-covered floor.

“I can mop in the morning. Please,” you fret, guilt making you a bit frantic and flustered.

Yoongi lets you lead him up the stairs in the back that go to your apartment. “You live here?” he questions. “No wonder you were coming out of the coffee shop earlier. That’s very cool.”

You make a noncommittal sound. “It’s cool if you like the smell of coffee and don’t mind rising early every day to open shop.”

It’s so hard to think right now, your mind solely focused on cleaning up the mess you’ve made of Yoongi’s clothes. That’s what you get for trying to be sly and answer his date question with a kiss. You’ll be lucky if he still wants that date now, surely.

The bathroom is barely big enough for the two of you. You insist Yoongi sit on the lip of the tub while you dig under the sink for the baking soda that you use for cleaning and removing your own coffee stains.

“Hey,” Yoongi says softly, grabbing your attention. You glance at him over your shoulder, bottom lip clamped between your teeth in an effort not to fall apart entirely. “I promise it’s okay, alright? You don’t have to stress over it. It’s just an accident. It's a pretty funny one if you ask me. If I’d have known we were getting wet on the first—I mean, second date, I would have planned accordingly.”

His words hang between you, full of static and charged with intention. He’s trying to lighten the mood…and it’s working. It’s also making you feel a certain kind of way. Words shouldn’t have the power to do that. Yet, here you are, flustered for a whole different reason now.

“Date’s not over yet,” you respond, unsure where the bold attitude came from, but you’ll take it. His eyes flicker with something like surprise mixed with desire, though it’s gone before you can really be sure. “Do you mind?” You gesture to his shirt. “It’ll be easier if I can soak it in the sink.”

Slowly, Yoongi undoes the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and working his way down. Somehow, you weren’t expecting him to be naked underneath, but every open button reveals another swath of flesh. He shrugs out of the shirt, revealing a toned chest and taut belly. His nipples are hard, dark chips, standing out in contrast to his smooth, creamy skin. Yoongi is absolutely breathtaking.

In fact, you have to remind yourself to breathe, taking in a large lungful of air that’s so much it makes your chest ache. He holds the shirt out to you in offering. Your fingers tremble lightly as you take it, quickly turning back to the sink and the distraction of scrubbing at the stain.

Reading over the garment tag quickly, you make sure what you’re about to do is okay. You can feel Yoongi’s eyes on your back, like heated dagger points pricking beneath your skin. You turn on the water, letting the tap run until it’s hot, before quickly swishing the area of the shirt covered in coffee under it. The hot water alone makes a world of difference, the dark liquid swirling away down the drain.

“Do you want my pants, too?” Yoongi asks, startling you.

Your eyes flick up to the mirror, looking at him through the reflection. He’s talking to you, but his attention is zeroed in on your backside. Suddenly, you’re intimately aware that your dress has ridden up dangerously high. You can feel the cool air of the bathroom kissing the crease between your thigh and asscheek.

Turning off the water, you slowly turn to face him. Your chest rises and falls as you try to take deep, even breaths, but with the way your heart is revving inside, it’s impossible to do so. “Let’s see the damage,” you say lightly, raising an eyebrow in question, giving him a chance to call you off.

When he doesn’t comment further, you close the distance to where he’s sitting and ease down onto your knees. You mentally tell yourself it’s so you can get a better look at the coffee that’s saturating the dark fabric, but you know better than that.

Being so close to him, you can feel the heat of his body. His chest rises and falls as rapidly as yours, and when you look up and meet his gaze, there is no mistaking the fire that you see blazing there. “Don’t think I forgot you still haven’t answered my question,” he murmurs, lips barely moving as he watches you.

You lift a hand, hooking your index finger under his chin and using it to angle his face toward yours. “I’d love that,” you respond, your lips brushing over his with every syllable.

He kisses you. Or maybe you kiss him. It’ll be something you tease each other over for many years to come. You open yourself to him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against yours. The kiss tastes mildly of coffee, yet for the first time in your life, you don’t mind the flavor.

“For me to take my pants off, or the date?” he teases, alternating between nipping and consuming kisses. Yoongi’s hands frame your face, holding you to him as he continues to ravage your mouth.

“Mm, both,” you manage to get out. “Definitely both.” Sliding your hands down his torso, you marvel at the softness of his skin and the already very prominent bulge that your fingers dance over as you try to get a grip on the button to his slacks.

Yoongi breaks away from the kiss long enough to help you with his pants, standing up from the edge of the tub and bringing you up with him. He toes off his shoes, leaving his pants puddled on top of them. “Good answer,” he chuckles.

You let out a tiny squeal as he wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and hauls you up, your legs automatically winding around his waist. Thick erection pressed right against your panty-covered pussy, he slowly walks you out of the bathroom and into your adjoining room. You land on the bed with a soft oomph, Yoongi following you down. His weight is a comfort, settled over your body in a warm, hedonistic embrace.

“I’ll change classes,” you pant, flexing your hips against his. “As long as our next date is to an art gallery.”

“Is it weird for that to turn me on?” he responds, groaning as you roll your hips against him again. “The art part, not the dropping classes part. You don’t have to do that if it’s too much trouble. I know your schedule must be pretty set with the cafe.”

You press your hands against his chest, giving him a gentle push until he’s rolling over and you’re hovering over him. “I’ll make it work. I want to make it work. Everything tonight,” you pause and sit back on your heels, dragging your hands along his torso as you do, “I want more. You’re driving me crazy in the best of ways.”

“Says the woman who’s been running through my thoughts for the last several months now.” Yoongi’s lips part in a gasp, turning his last word into a breathly plea as you trace the tips of your fingers over his straining erection. The fabric of his grey boxer briefs is slightly sticky when you brush your thumb over the head.

“It reminds me of making art,” you casually say, curling your fingers over the waistband of his underwear and tugging until he lifts his hips and lets you drag them down. You toss them to the side, marveling at the glory now resting against his belly. Yoongi’s cock is a gentle upward curve, all smooth steel and thick veins. It throbs, bouncing against his stomach, leaving behind a thick smear of precum. “The way you make me feel.”

“Art?” he asks, breathless. His eyes flutter behind his glasses, his chest hollowing as he sucks in ragged breaths.

“Being with you gives me the same feeling as viewing a Duncanson or a Matisse, calm and full of joy. Though, you can also make me feel the chaos of a Kandinsky when you touch me.” To emphasize your words, you wrap your fingers around his girth, angling it up, watching the emotions on his face. The tip of his tongue works at the corner of his mouth, lips parted with every pant and soft moan. “Is this okay?” you ask, leaning down and gently blowing over the leaking tip before tentatively giving it a kitten lick.

“More than,” Yoongi moans. His eye slide closed as you wrap your lips around the head and suck. The flavor of him bursts across your tongue. You can’t help but moan yourself at the idea you’ve made him like this, hard and leaking.

Working as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, you delight in the shuddering convulses you can feel from his body as he loses himself in the sensations you’re bringing him. Yoongi always seems like such a collected individual. He still appeared so well-kept even when he stuttered over his words asking you on the date this morning. Now, though, he’s unraveling into a puddle of debauchery.

It’s a satisfying feeling, similar to when you get into a perfect rhythm when working on a project, bringing him to the edge. You work your mouth and hand in tandem, never leaving an inch of his cock free of your touch.

“Mmm,” you moan, the head of his cock resting in the back of your throat. Yoongi jerks under you, half raising onto his elbows, his eyes zeroing in on where you’re wrapped around him.

His fingers twist into the duvet, bottom lip puffy and flushed as he worries it with his teeth. “I’m going to cum,” he grunts, throwing his head back and moaning his pleasures, deep and throaty.

You quicken your pace, hollowing your cheeks as you suck in earnest. Yoongi cries out a second before liquid warmth floods your mouth. It’s greedy, the way you swallow and continue to lave your tongue over him, eliciting tiny tremors and more moans.

“Just like art,” you whisper, finally letting his cock slip from between your lips. You’re riding your own high, wet and throbbing between your thighs. You can feel the ache in your clit, begging to be touched. All it would take is a few seconds, a few well-placed swirls of your fingers, and you know you’d be floating in orgasmic bliss.

Before you can even think of bringing your hand between your thighs to find relief, Yoongi is sitting up and urging you backward. Your back hits the mattress, and he settles on his side beside you. Somewhere between there and here, he pulled off his glasses. Despite having just found his release, his eyes are still so full of hunger and desire.

“May I?” he asks, pressing a hand against your inner thigh. You nod, eyes locked with his as he slowly trails his hand upward until his fingers brush over the soaked fabric of your panties. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. Your lids flutter closed, consumed as you are by his touch.

Yoongi takes his time, toying with the edge of your panties before tugging them down past your knees. They pool around your ankles as he pushes your thighs apart, exposing your weeping pussy to the air of the bedroom.

“Yoongi.” His name is half moan, half curse as he brings his hand back up and cups your heat. The meat of his palm rests against your clit, right where you need to be touched, but the pressure isn’t enough to satisfy.

“An exquisite work of art.” His lips strum against yours, plucking and teasing just the way his fingers do through your wetness. The tips of his fingers briefly kiss your clit, dancing away before returning; a slow build of decadent pleasure.

It’s not above you to beg. “Please. Yoongi, please!”

“Open your eyes, look at me. Let me watch you fall apart so I can brand it into my memory.”

You snap open your eyes the exact moment he slides two slender fingers into your pussy, thumb finally giving the needed pressure to your clit. You’re so worked up that your body pulses around the intrusion, a tiny fluttering orgasm rippling through you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

Yoongi gives you a wicked, knowing smile. “It’s not over yet, beautiful,” he assures you in a whispered promise.

His fingers are long, able to reach the perfect, special place inside you. As he strokes his fingertips, moving them in an undulating wave, his thumb swirls in a circle around your clit.

The next orgasm is less surprising, building to a heightened peak that has you crying out as you careen over the edge, entirely at Yoongi’s mercy. “Yoongi, fuck!” you babble, your whole body alive with sensations of pleasure.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. “So beautiful.”

Your body shudders around his hand, his fingers slowing down their rhythm until you finally recover. The slide of his fingers along your walls as he withdraws makes you wish he’d put them back in…or maybe something else. The bereft feeling lasts only a moment before Yoongi gathers you into his arms. He’s completely naked, and you’re still wearing your dress, but you feel just as exposed as he is…only, it’s your soul on display for him instead of your body.

You wait for the feeling of vulnerability to filter in, that broken feeling of uncertainty. But, it doesn’t come. The only thing you feel is complete and utter content. It’s not even the post-orgasmic bliss that’s clouding it, either. No, there’s plenty of that, but it feels different; he feels different.

“Yoongi,” you begin, resting your cheek on his chest. You want to confess to him, but the words get choked in your throat. Is it too soon? Are you completely crazy? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Fuck. Here goes nothing. “This feels good, really good. Is it too soon to say…?”

“Too soon to say?” he prompts.

You absently trace haphazard swirls and lines across his chest, trying to think of how to word it. “I, well…”

“Too soon to say that I think possibly, maybe, I’m falling for you?” You look up at him, surprised by his words. Yoongi looks at you with so much warmth and affection in his eyes. “Because that’s exactly how I feel, too.”

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️   2023-12-30 ColorMePurplex2

[hamsterclaw]

Black Ice

Bangtan Christmas drabble 7 - read the rest here.

Min Yoongi only cares about three things. The thrill of drifting, his friends, and cars, in that order. Somehow, you've got under his skin. Part of the Drift Kings AU.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Street racer/mechanic! Yoongi, smut

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Min Yoongi knows loneliness. He knows the unrelenting ache of it, the way it permeates every aspect of one’s psyche.

He knows what it feels like to look for a connection that isn’t there.

When he was ten his father took him into work for the first time, and it was then, amongst the smells of engine oil and new paint and pinewood air freshener, that Yoongi discovered his first true love.

He pored over engine diagrams, admired the easy simplicity of every tool falling into its destined purpose, got used to his clothes being stained from tuning up cars all day long.

He’d loved every minute of it, and the truth is, he still does.

Then his cousin Yijin had given him a lift down Mount Samo one day, and 14 year old Yoongi had learned that there was more than one way to soar.

He learned to drive navigating the hairpin bends of Mount Samo, and although he’s perfected the art of drifting up and down it, could do it blindfolded a hundred times over, the thrill of it has never really faded.

He’s picked up a collection of friends over the years, all of whom love the adrenaline of street racing – not knowing what’s round the corner, trusting your own reflexes and instincts to save you when you can barely see for the blood rushing in your veins. 

Kim Seokjin, his oldest and closest friend, the chaebol prince who can put together a Supra’s turbo-2JZ engine almost as quickly as Yoongi himself. His sister, a corporate princess who makes Yoongi’s heart soften and the opposite happen to his cock. They’re the two people Yoongi would do anything for, not that he’d ever tell them that. 

Jung Hoseok, the gifted mechanic with a heart of gold and the sunniest demeanour Yoongi’s ever been able to tolerate, creature of the night that he is. 

Jeon Jungkook, the baby fuckboi of the group, a man with the looks of a god and the persona of a baby deer. Yoongi finds it hard to be anything but endeared by his earnest good nature and anything but amused by his swaggering. Maybe one day the kid will grow into the bad man he so badly wants to be, but Yoongi hopes not. He’s great the way he is. 

It’s been a while since Yoongi felt lonely, in fact his life’s pretty good right about now. 

And at this exact moment? It’s perfect. 

Yoongi’s senses are on overdrive as he swings into a hairpin bend on Mount Samo, tires gripping tarmac sideways. His foot taps the throttle, his hand on the handbrake just in case but he doesn’t need it, he knows the terrain so well his body’s reacting on instinct. 

Sideways on he can see Seokjin to his right, composed, barely breaking a sweat as his rear wheels scrape the very edge of the path, inches from the steep drop. 

Yoongi catches sight of himself in his own rearview mirror, teeth bared in a feral grin as he shoots out onto the final stretch, so fast there’s nothing to see but black. 

He’d normally stop, celebrate his win with a cigarette, but he’s got somewhere to be tonight. 

Behind him now, Seokjin’s headlamps flicker in lieu of a goodbye. 

Yoongi depresses the horn, a sharp short blast, and then he’s gone. 

***

Kang Yubin’s been supplying Yoongi’s father’s garage for years, and Yoongi’s been going to him for car parts since before he knew a spark plug from a catalytic converter. 

The Kang warehouse has an unassuming front in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Seoul. Yoongi parks outside the familiar glass door, can see the dim lighting filtering through the tinted glass as he approaches. 

He pushes open the door, stops, nonplussed. 

Instead of Kang Yubin’s steel-rimmed glasses and grey hair, he’s greeted by you. 

Half your face is obscured by a black face mask, your hair up under a baseball cap, but you’re definitely not who he expected to see. 

He blinks. 

Your eyebrows rise. 

‘Are you lost?’ you inquire, an edge to your voice that pulls him out of his surprised reaction and reminds him why he’s here. 

‘I was expecting Mr Kang,’ Yoongi replies. 

Coming closer to the counter he picks up on a guardedness to your posture, a weariness that you don’t bother to hide. 

‘I’m his granddaughter,’ you say, brief. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t just come here to stare at me, what do you want?’ 

‘Spark plugs – I have a —’ Yoongi breaks off as you get up. 

‘I know who you are, and I know what car you drive. Stay here and I’ll get you your stuff.’

You disappear behind a door, return in minutes with a cardboard box. 

You pull a box-cutter out of a desk drawer, slit the masking tape, pull the flaps up. 

‘Feel free to take a look,’ you say, looking at him. 

It doesn’t take long for Yoongi to verify that they’re what he needs. 

‘How do you know who I am?’ he asks, as he pays. 

There’s a faint spark in your eyes, a flicker so quick he wonders if he’s mis-read it. 

‘My grandfather said you were due around this time.’ 

You nudge your shoulder vaguely in the direction of the screen to your left, a view from the camera overlooking the front of the warehouse. ‘Not many people drive a car like that.’ 

You take his money, nudge the box in his direction. 

‘Pleasure doing business, Min Yoongi. I’ll give my grandfather your regards.’ 

You’re already looking back down at your phone like you’ve dismissed him. 

Yoongi picks up the box, casts another glance at you, and leaves. 

He’s still thinking about you when he reaches home. 

***

Yoongi’s concentrating so hard on the engine in front of him that he barely hears Seokjin approach. 

‘Dinner?’ asks Seokjin, eyes flicking over the V configuration of the 8 chrome cylinders in the custom Nissan with interest. 

Yoongi leans back, massages the crick in his neck from leaning over. 

‘Yeah. Quick though, the client wants a rush on this.’ 

They exchange a look. 

‘More money than sense,’ Seokjin says, critical. 

‘Pays the bills,’ Yoongi counters. 

They have similar opinions about rich clients who want their supercars tuned up. It’s rare that a client’s got the ability to do justice to the horsepower under the bonnet of the flashy exteriors. 

Yoongi shrugs, goes to wash his hands. 

‘Is your sister coming?’ he asks. 

Seokjin’s still admiring the engine. ‘Not tonight. Jimin’s in town,’ he says. ‘There’s a race later, if you change your mind. I’m meeting Jungkook after dinner.’ 

‘Is he still sulking over Mijin?’ Yoongi asks, falling into step beside Seokjin. 

There’s no need to confirm where they’re going, they always stop at a tiny restaurant run by an elderly woman who seems utterly unimpressed by their good manners but makes the best broth in town. 

Seokjin rolls his eyes, but his tone is sympathetic. ‘You know how it is. People never expect him to be as soft as he really is.’ 

Yoongi nods. ‘Tell him if she can’t appreciate him she’s the one missing out.’ 

Seokjin snorts. ‘Tell him yourself, he’ll love it. Are you coming to Seulgi’s party?’ 

It’s rare that Yoongi goes out at night, he’s busy and he does his best work at night time, both in the workshop and on the streets, but he’d promised Seokjin he’d go. 

‘Next week?’ he asks. 

Seokjin nods, pushes open the door to the restaurant. 

‘Yeah, don’t forget.’ 

***

Seulgi is a friend of Seokjin’s, they’d dated briefly, years back, but it hadn’t worked out. 

She greets Seokjin enthusiastically at the door, the pink flush on her cheeks deepening as Seokjin gives her an affectionate hug. 

She beams at Yoongi, and he smiles back because he’s not proof against her cheerful nature. 

It’s how he became friends with Hoseok, after all. 

‘Drinks, let me get you drinks,’ Seulgi cheers, leading them into her kitchen. 

Seokjin’s swept away by Seulgi and her friends, he’s always been a popular guy. He shoots Yoongi a look as he’s pulled into the lounge, which Yoongi pretends not to see. 

He lifts his cup to his lips, decides to go outside for a bit. 

The deck outside has a few scattered people, mostly couples, some groups. 

Yoongi leans against the wall, looks around idly. The throbbing bass of the music feels like a heartbeat. The night is cold and crisp, the skies clear, but there aren’t any stars visible in Seulgi’s backyard. 

He lets his mind wander to his next project, restoring a classic Toyota for a friend from the circuit. He’ll need parts. 

He wonders if you’ll be behind the counter when he next goes to the Kang warehouse. Then he’s straightening up, unsure if he’s manifested you into reality. 

He’s never seen your full face, but he’d know your eyes anywhere. 

You’re standing across the deck, looking straight at him, coat open over a dress that shows a hell of a lot more than the hoodie and sweats you had on the last time he saw you. 

For the first time tonight, Yoongi feels a prickle of interest. 

He’d known you’d be beautiful, there’d been something about the way you carried yourself.

You’re still looking at him. 

Yoongi walks over. 

‘Who’s manning the warehouse?’ he asks, when he gets close enough. 

You tilt your head. ‘Are you really so concerned about my family business, Min Yoongi?’ 

There’s a mocking note in your voice, Yoongi finds he likes it. 

‘You have the best quality parts,’ he says. 

Your smile blooms over your face, making your eyes bright. ‘I knew there was a reason my grandfather liked you.’ 

Yoongi nods to your dress. ‘You look pretty.’ 

‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘You look pretty too.’

Yoongi can feel his lips curving. Are you flirting with him? Seems like you are.

He’s all for it.

You’re raising your cup now, taking a sip.

In the night time lighting, your lips glisten with moisture and whatever lipstick you’ve got on, making him wonder what they’d look like around his cock.

You eye him like you know exactly what he’s thinking.

Yoongi says, ‘Do you like cars? Want to see mine?’

***

You’ve got your legs either side of his torso, your ass bouncing in his lap, and Yoongi’s front seat’s reclined all the way to make room for you to ride him.

The lines of your beautiful body are reminiscent of a triumph of masters of Italian design. Long smooth thighs, tightening around him with every rhythmic thrust. 

The curves of your breasts, bouncing right in his face.

The long line of your neck, head thrown back, the pulse in your throat fluttering as he holds your hips so he can fuck you back, fuck up into your sweet warmth.

His cock fits inside you like he was made for you, and god fucking damn, you feel so good around him he’s on a hair trigger.

Yoongi cups the back of your head, tugs you down so you’re close. Goosebumps prickle your flesh as he tells you how good you are.

Your eyes close as he kisses your bare neck, flicks his tongue against your skin.

You had been whimpering steadily as your arousal dripped down onto him, soaking his balls, pooling at the base of his cock, and as Yoongi picks up the pace he’s gratified by the hitch in your breathing.

Yoongi’s always been damn good at helping his partners find their pleasure, and he’s sure as hell not going to stop now.

Your breasts are still in his face, half out the low neck of your dress, chest heaving.

Yoongi rubs his thumb over the outline of your hardened nipple, and you cry out, muffled with your mouth against his skin but still loud enough to make his ears ring.

His balls tighten up even more as your walls flutter around him, and Yoongi would know you were coming even if you hadn’t gasped it.

God, you’re so sweet and sexy he’s lost.

He can feel your panting breaths against his neck, the weight of your warm body as it goes lax after your peak, the sweet grip of your cunt taking in everything he has to give you as he releases, a pulse of pleasure so intense it sends shockwaves through his skin.

Yoongi’s floating, and like reaching the summit of Mount Samo, he immediately wants to do it again.

You’re looking at him, lips still so swollen and pretty his spent cock gives a residual throb inside you.

‘Like my car?’ Yoongi asks. It’s stupid, but it makes you laugh and he’ll be as stupid as you like if it makes you sound like that.

Your chin lifts, and you say, ‘It’s all right.’

The flash of merriment in your eyes gives you away.

Yoongi laughs. ‘Maybe next time we can get the car started and I can actually take you somewhere.’

‘I don’t know,’ you tease. ‘Are you a good driver?’

Yoongi reaches out, tucks the lock of hair that’s fallen over your eye behind your ear.

‘Let’s find out,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go?’

***

Yoongi’s thinking about you the next morning when he wakes up. He’d ended up taking you back to your place, where you’d kissed him sweetly at the door and bid him goodbye like a promise to see him again. 

His phone rings and he’s still got you on his mind, so it takes a second for him to regroup. 

‘The maknae needs help,’ Seokjin says, no preamble. ‘I’m going to swing by yours, be there in ten.’ 

Yoongi hangs up, wonders what the hell Jungkook’s got himself into this time. 

By the time Seokjin arrives, Yoongi’s had time to bolt coffee and change, but Seokjin still raises a brow as he swings into the passenger seat. 

As always, Seokjin’s impeccably dressed, dark hair swept back from his forehead like he’s going to his own fucking wedding instead of about to deal with some shit that’s going down. 

Yoongi suppresses a yawn, tugs his beanie down over his brow. 

‘What’s going down with JK?’ he asks. 

Seokjin cuts off another car so smoothly they’re halfway down the intersection before the irritated horn blares. 

‘Remember that race the other day? Jungkook beat Seungho fair and square, I was there.’ 

Yoongi groans. ‘The fuck. I thought we weren’t going to race that fragile asshole anymore.’ 

Seokjin glances in the rearview. ‘The maknae was still hurting over Mijin, I thought an easy win might make him feel better.’ 

‘So what’s Seungho done?’ 

‘Brought in the big guns,’ Seokjin says grimly. ‘Called in some guys from Hongkong. JK’s with them now.’ 

Now Yoongi’s fully awake. ‘Should’ve taken my car instead of this piece of shit,’ he says. 

Seokjin just laughs. ‘Don’t worry about my car, Yoongi. Maybe think of a way to hide that big–ass hickey on your neck.’ 

‘Suck my dick,’ Yoongi says, like they’re 16 again. 

‘Looks like someone already did,’ Seokjin returns. 

***

Yoongi parks up outside the Kang warehouse, pushes open the door. 

You look up from your phone. Your face mask is off, so Yoongi has the privilege of seeing the way your lips curve in a smile. 

‘There’s been a shipment of fuel injectors,’ you say. ‘Want to take a look?’ 

Yoongi stops just in front of the wooden half-panel that separates you from him. 

He tilts his head. 

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘Also, I took my friend’s Honda for a spin today, I’ve got a list.’ 

He smooths out the piece of paper he’s got folded in his pocket, places it on the counter. 

You pick it up, get up. ‘I’ve got you.’ 

Yoongi runs a hand over the hickey over his neck. ‘I’ve been taking shit all day, about this,’ he adds. 

‘Yeah?’ you ask, but you don’t seem the least bit contrite. ‘You did your share of marking, Min Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi asks, ‘What time do you get off?’ 

You’re about to answer when the door opens. 

Yoongi turns and tenses immediately. 

Fucking Shin Seungho. 

‘You following me?’ he asks mildly. 

Seungho scoffs, doesn’t deign to reply. 

‘I’m collecting an order,’ he says to you. 

Your face mask is back on, your face carefully blank. ‘Sure, what’s the name?’ 

When you go into the back to collect it Seungho turns to Yoongi. 

Yoongi concentrates on the silkscreen of a cat on the wall behind the counter. 

He can feel Seungho’s eyes on his face. 

Just try it, fucker. 

The fact was, he’d pushed Seokjin’s Honda to its limits beating Seungho’s friends today, and although the adrenaline’s ebbed, there’s a thin streak still running through his bloodstream, and he’s a spark away from igniting. 

Seungho takes a step closer, and Yoongi turns to face him like he’s got all the time in the world. 

You return just as Seungho opens his filthy mouth. 

‘Looks like you’ve paid,’ you say, passing the box across the counter to Seungho. 

You pull out the box cutter, slit the package, open it up for him to check, but don’t put it down. 

‘Am I going to have trouble here, boys?’ you ask. 

Seungho barely looks your way, Yoongi’s always known the man lacks vision. 

‘Nah,’ Seungho says finally. He picks up the box, sneers at Yoongi. 

Yoongi blanks his expression. There’s no way he’s going to start shit with Seungho in front of you. 

The asshole’s not worth it. 

As soon as the door closes behind Seungho you put down the box cutter. 

The next words out of your mouth surprise him. 

‘Shit, you’re hot when you’re mad, Yoongi.’ 

Yoongi stares at you, flummoxed, then he laughs. 

‘Just when I’m mad?’ he asks. 

You shrug. ‘Take me out on a date and I’ll tell you more.’ 

‘How about right now?’ Yoongi asks. 

‘Yeah,’ you say. ‘Let’s go.’ 

***

As your grip on his hair loosens, Yoongi lifts his mouth from your cunt, swipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Helps you tug your panties back up, smooths your skirt back down over your thighs. 

He notices you’ve still got his cum in the corner of your lips. As he watches, you flick your tongue out, lick delicately. 

His cock stirs with interest, and you act like you know it. 

‘More later?’ you ask. 

‘Yeah. After I win.’ 

Yoongi reaches over to help you with your seatbelt, arranging it across your chest, between your breasts, securing it. 

You lean forward and kiss him as the belt clicks into place. 

Yoongi starts the engine, turns the heating back on because he’s noticed your hands get cold easily. 

‘I can drop you off at home before the race,’ he offers. ‘Come see you after.’ 

‘I want to see you drive,’ you say.

Yoongi wouldn’t say it, but he’s pleased. He knows he’ll keep you safe, it’s a circuit through the city outskirts he’s done a million times, and he’s looking forward to you meeting Seokjin and Hoseok and Jungkook. 

He flicks on the lights, rolls into oncoming traffic. Heads North. 

By the time he pulls up to the starting line there’s the usual crowd gathered. He parks up next to Seokjin and Hoseok.  

In his rearview he can see JK surrounded by people. He’s lost the sad puppy air he had for a few weeks whilst he was pining after Mijin. The kid’s going to be all right, not that Yoongi’s ever had any doubt about that. 

Engines all around him are starting up, a deafening series of rumbles. 

Beside him, Seokjin waves, and Hoseok smiles so brightly it’s blinding. 

The flag waves, and Yoongi accelerates. 

Checks on you in the rearview, and you’re as pretty as he remembers. 

Min Yoongi’s spent a lot of his life looking for connection, and by his reckoning, he’s doing pretty well right about now. 

Lights flash by in a blur. 

Yoongi drives. 

Author note: And that's a wrap! Thank you for reading, hope you've enjoyed, here's to a brighter 2024. This time last year we were saying goodbye to Kim Seokjin, I can't wait to start welcoming the boys back again. Happy holidays to you all!

©hamsterclaw 2023

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (6)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 5.5k

— 🍄 summary: desperate times call for morally grey measures.

— ☕ content warnings: stalking (but it's mutual??), taking photos without consent (also mutual), slight lore dump, mentions of death/decomposition/missing persons

— 🕸️ a/n: thank you so much to everyone who continues to share their thoughts i love y'all so much!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 6: don't stalk, investigate

october 19, 2004

The trees surrounding the university are starting to brown at the edges. Fall has begun its descent.

The click of the camera shutter has become white noise to you. Through the viewfinder, you follow the motion of the mop of black hair.

You've found that that's how he starts almost all of his mornings: messily, sleepily. More often than not, his hair is just-rolled-out-of-bed fluffy, the lower half of his face covered with a black mask so you can only see his cat-like eyes.

He looks good today, wearing a loose white button-up and silver jewelry. He approaches the university with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder, still clearly half-asleep.

Yoongi is not a morning person, you've learned. You know because you've been watching him.

Listen, you never claimed to be a saint. And yes, maybe half the reason that you're a damn good private investigator is because you're willing (and perfectly capable) of doing the things that others would rather not.

So be it. You've witnessed others commit far worse evils than the one you're currently undertaking.

Long story short, your mental blockade with the case (and whatever the fuck happened at the lake) may or may not have caused you to look into some of the strange characters frequenting Farrow's End. Starting with the shy, antisocial botanist.

The fact that he supposedly lived in the Addams house (according to the commentary from the college students) wasn't the thing that made you suspicious, it was the fact that he lied about living in the Addams house. Pretended to know absolutely nothing about it, to boot.

As a human being, you can respect someone keeping their secrets. As a private investigator, your job is to dig up any secrets that prove relevant to your investigation.

Half of you wants to believe that he's nothing but a good guy. You can admit that you like him, that you relate to his aura as the token "weirdo." But the cynical part of you, it whispers in your ear that he shouldn't be trusted.

No one should. Your job has taught you that much.

Therefore, you have to exhaust each point of view until you find out who's guilty, and who's less guilty. Because pure innocence is impractical.

And after what you saw (or think you saw) at the lake, you're going to have to gear your research towards less "scientific" topics. And try to avoid the woods at all costs. For the time being, at least.

On most days, Yoongi begins his days early, and mostly on-campus. It didn't take long to witness him being transported by the same black Mercedes that you saw outside the cafe, the one supposedly belonging to one of the mysterious Jungs.

Though Yoongi never enters the car in heavily populated areas. He usually walks a short distance to a more private spot, and then the car pulls up like clockwork.

You can never get a good look at the driver, thanks to the tinted windows.

So far, the only suspicious thing about the botanist is the fact that he lied about living in the Addams house. He goes to class, goes to his labs, gets coffee, goes home, with very little in-between.

Well, that plus spending a large amount of his time on campus with one specific chemist. And it doesn't take much longer to realize that he lives at the Addams house too.

Jimin, unlike Yoongi, is often late. He gets dropped off by the same sleek car, a short distance away from his destination, then he power walks to wherever he's going, fluffing and preening himself along the way.

Whether it's a hand brushing through his hair, or a knuckle pushing up the bridge of his glasses (which he never leaves the house without), or him adjusting the collar of his shirt, he's almost always fixing himself.

Sometimes, you get the impression that he isn't comfortable in his own skin.

He has a few other signatures: those heeled boots, pants that are almost always too tight for your liking, glasses (either tinted or completely dark), and always a mask covering his mouth. That, or sometimes an oversized scarf pulled up to just under his nose when it's particularly chilly outside, the wind rustling his hair and it's oddly shifting color.

You've taken to wearing one of your smaller cameras around your neck at all times, just in case you run into anything suspicious and need to snap a picture.

The morning mist has deepened into a constant drizzle most mornings, and that leather jacket you bought at Magic Shop has come in particularly handy. The garment is warm and cozy, and it always gives you a feeling of comfort whenever you wear it.

Fine, so maybe following Yoongi and Jimin didn't yield the results you wanted, though you'll admit it was fun. Still, something is telling you that there's something suspicious about that house and those who reside in it.

So you move on to another lead: Kim Taehyung.

He rarely leaves the house, you've found. So you have to conclude that he lives there as well as works there. When he does leave, it's on official business. Either to go to the police station to pick up documents or out of town to examine a body.

He doesn't ride in the Mercedes, though. Rather, he drives a classic black hearse. Again, peak dedication to the aesthetic, which you can appreciate.

And fine, maybe you snapped a few pictures of him on the rare times you caught him out of the house, but it's all for the sake of the investigation.

At first, you were quite hesitant to get too close to the house on the hill, with its looming trees and black birds hovering all about the roof.

But one day, when you creep up the path, the front gate opens on its own to welcome you. You were planning on scraping along the outside of the gate, peering into the yard through the iron bars. You weren't expecting it to actually open for you.

A gust of wind surges through the air, pulling you towards the house. The rustle of the trees practically whispers come closer.

It takes you a little bit aback, but you don't show it. Just in case someone is watching. In fact, you barely react to it, simply sidestepping the gate entrance and continuing along the path as if you were on a morning walk.

You walk along the entire perimeter of the gated yard, which is much, much larger than you anticipated. There are a number of gardens, a small hedge maze, a swamp even, and at the very edge of the property, a graveyard.

The tombstones are dotted throughout the wooded grove, a thick layer of ivy covering the ground like a burial shroud, and an air of calm hangs about the place.

But it isn't until you circle back to the other side of the house that you see something you truly weren't expecting: Jin, your favorite barista, strolling through the garden with a cup and saucer in his hands.

Wearing a turtleneck under a black coat, his hair blowing picturesquely in the chill wind, he meanders past the crumbling stone statues and trickling fountains.

You quickly duck behind a tree, reaching into your jacket to grab the small binoculars that you typically carry when you're in the..."observation" phase of the investigation. No, this isn’t the first time you’ve done this sort of thing.

Jin leisurely walks over the cobblestone pathway, sipping from his cup with a satisfied expression. He'll run a hand through his hair or lean against one of the stone garden walls, looking over his shoulder every once in a while.

And maybe it's just a hunch, but you get the sense that he knows that he's being watched. The weird thing is that he doesn't seem bothered by the fact at all. In fact, it almost looks like he's...posing.

An itch at the back of your neck. A glance back at Jin tells you that he's not looking at you, nor has he realized that you're there. But still, now you feel eyes on you.

You look around but find nothing but white-barked trees. And maybe if you looked a little closer you would've noticed that the knots in said trees look a little too much like eyes, open and alert.

Even if you had noticed such a thing, your conscience would tell you that obviously that's not the case. Trees can't watch people.

You'd be wrong, of course, but how could you have known that then?

october 23, 2004

He only ever works nights. The graveyard shift, to be specific. His shift always starts after the sun has set, and it ends just before it rises again.

Normally, you'd split your time between the cafe and the bookshop, but recently you've dedicated almost the entirety of your days to watching the barista and learning his habits. And in that time, you've hardly seen him eat.

In all the time you've spent watching him combined, the only things you've seen him eat include: a handful of olives, a few slices of bread and cheese, and the occasional spoonful of honey. Coffee and the offhand glass of red wine (which he pours into a teacup with a charming wink when he catches you watching him) is all you ever see him drink.

The only time he leaves the Addams house, besides to go to work, is on Saturday mornings when the Farmer's Market takes up the town square.

Sporting a checkered coat with the collar turned up to shield the lower half of his face, sunglasses (even though it's utterly cloudy), and an umbrella held over his head (even though it's not even drizzling), Jin scours the aisles, scrutinizing each booth's wares to find only the freshest and best quality produce, meats, and bread. He also procures some fancy cheese and preserves, his tastes expensive and well-refined.

The only other time you see him deviate from his routine is to visit the nearest hospital one afternoon. You're expecting him to enter into the waiting room, but he circles around the back, waiting by a STAFF ONLY door.

That same tickle from somewhere in your brain, the one that makes your eyes a little blurry. You take a moment to refocus them, and then you see the door crack open.

The person behind the door hands Jin an object that he quickly conceals in his coat, and the interaction is too quick for you to see what exactly it is.

But not quick enough for you to miss taking a picture. Because you've learned that it's always best to prioritize the camera before your eyes.

You take it to the dark room that same day. And the film reveals that the object appears to be a plain white box. Your guess is that it's a thermal container, the ones used to transport samples or the like.

It's a bit embarrassing to admit that it takes another day to put two and two together.

You're sitting in the cafe, skimming through the files of the five missing persons, when Jin approaches your booth and silently places a pastry on the table.

It's another one of his habits, you've noticed. Whenever you're in the cafe and have gone a long time without ordering any food, he'll subtly bring you something without a word, and you're usually too focused on your research to notice until some time has passed and it's too late to reject the offer.

You've told him several times that though the gesture is appreciated, he doesn't need to provide you with any freebies just because you're in here all the time. But he just brushes you off and claims that he needs a taste tester for his new recipes.

You let it slide after telling yourself that he probably does the same to a number of other customers given his charming nature (though in all the time you've observed him he's never done it for any other patron, but that you conveniently ignore).

This time it's a little cake, topped with a strawberry and absolutely smothered in fresh cream. When you cut into it, red jam spills from the inside of the cake like blood from a wound.

Then it finally clicks.

...Blood.

Like a slideshow in fast motion, all of the little details spring back into the forefront of your mind. The time when you noticed his shirtsleeve riding up, revealing a faded scar distinctly resembling a bite mark on the inside of his wrist. The time you noticed him drinking from a to-go coffee cup, but with a ring of red surrounding the opening in the lid.

And at the hospital, a thermal container used to transport samples such as blood bags, or even human organs.

Fuck.

You push the dessert away at the realization, scrambling to gather your things and leave the cafe as quickly as possible.

Of course, that means you miss the concerned and slightly disappointed look on Jin's face as he watches you go.

october 24, 2004

You don't know what makes you more of an idiot, the fact that you're actually close to believing that Jin is some sort of blood-sucking creature of the night, or the fact that it took you this long to consider the fact based on all the warning signs.

Unfortunately, nothing is impossible. And though none of your investigations so far have pointed to something so overtly "supernatural," you have to entertain the possibility.

Because it's possible that something about it could trace back to one or more of the victims, since clearly this case has proven to be far from normal.

Though the internet is a great resource, currently all you can find is blog posts, and you'd prefer not to cite those when it comes to professional matters. So you turn to local folklore, urban legends, and the security of the written word.

When you enter the bookshop the next day, you realize just how broad of a topic it is. There are hundreds, even thousands of mythical creatures across different cultures. It's going to take a long time to factor out one with the right features and track it's roots.

Then you remember the man behind the counter. Namjoon is currently staring at the mass of papers on his desk, looking confused and frustrated.

"What's all that?" you ask as you approach the counter.

"My accounts. Balancing my checkbook," he replies without looking up from the mess.

"Ah," you say in understanding, in pity.

A pause.

"Want a distraction?" you finally ask, and his head whips up almost instantly.

"Dear God, yes."

You chuckle, moving to lean against the desk.

"You're a writer, right?"

"Yes," he answers with a nod.

"What kind of things do you write?"

"Mostly research papers, some articles here and there, a few field guides."

Hmm, so he's more of a scholar, then. Interesting.

"In what area of study?"

Namjoon's mouth twitches like he's trying to find the right words.

"Folklore," he finally answers, but obviously there's a little more to it.

Perfect. You bite back the urge to rock on your toes with excitement.

"Can I ask you a few questions?"

He smiles at that, dimples and all, like nothing would delight him more.

"Of course, anything you want," he answers, voice curling around the edges.

And you don't know it, but he means it sincerely. He would tell you anything and everything about him and his little family if you would only ask.

Any of them would, really. Technically, none of them have ever lied to you, they just haven't share all the information.

And if Namjoon is being honest, all of them are quite eager for you to get a little more invasive and figure them out for yourself.

"What do you know about mythological creatures that feed on life energy?"

You didn't mean for it to come out so specific, so incriminating. But you're getting a little tired of questions without a ghost of an answer.

His eyebrows raise a bit.

"To be honest with you, my knowledge is limited mainly to the folklore of this region," he admits, sounding apologetic.

Even more perfect. You try not to give away too much of your excitement, despite the fact that every time you encounter him he only seems to get better and better.

"Pray tell," you urge, leaning forward slightly with open ears.

A little bashful expression crosses his face as he settles deeper in his chair, all thoughts of taxes abruptly thrust aside.

"Well, vampiric creatures are quite common across folklore in many cultures. They're usually associated with outbreaks of disease, and vampire hunts are mostly accompanied with epidemics..."

You let him talk for as long as he wants, listening eagerly and only looking away to scribble a few notes from time to time. It's clear that he's passionate about what he studies, speaking about it like a lover would.

He tells you that even the word "vampire" is shrouded in mystery, as linguists do not know the precise etymological origin. Apparently, the folklore of this region is steeped in Slavic roots, so that's what he focuses on to narrow it down for you.

From the Old East Slavic language, the term "vampire" hails from the word "upir," which is speculated to translate as "someone who bites" or "the thing at the feast/sacrifice," though the word has no definite origin.

Namjoon tells you that scholars agree that the term was used as a stand-in, since they were too afraid to say the creature's true name.

"An upir needs to feed on life essence to survive. In literature, this is usually represented by drinking blood, since it represents life," Namjoon explains.

"Usually?"

He shrugs.

"The "opir" in Ukraine consumes large amounts of fish as their source of sustenance, preferences vary across cultures."

"You speak of it like they're real," you say with a chuckle, watching closely for his reaction.

Another shrug, this one more uncomfortable.

"To the Slavs, they were. The universal belief in supernatural beings was common. Unseen entities were part of the way they understood the world," he says.

"Hmm," you mumble, scanning him up and down. You try not to delight in the way he squirms slightly under your scrutiny.

"Most of the traits attributed to vampires these days are based on myths, or downright misunderstandings," Namjoon blurts out. "Like how the outbreak of rabies in Europe led to the belief that the upir are afraid of light, which is ridiculous. Many of the symptoms of rabies, which is spread through biting, coincide with the supposed traits of vampires, like the fear of light and altered sleep patterns."

He says it all like he's slightly annoyed.

"Or how they assumed that the upir are undead because during decomposition, built up pressure can push the blood into a corpse's mouth," he continues.

"So the upir aren't undead at all?" you probe.

"No, it's just a misconception," Namjoon replies like he's in the throes of a heated debate.

He seems to notice, since the next moment he's clearing his throat awkwardly and slumping in his seat.

There's a moment of silence as you jot down some more notes.

"They're not evil," he blurts out like he can't help it, and the look on his face implores you to believe him.

You look up at him.

"Across the centuries, they've always been used as the scapegoat for things humans can't understand," he adds softly.

Hmm, yes that seems to be a recurrent theme in human history.

You close your notebook and straighten up from leaning on the desk.

"Very interesting. Thank you, Namjoon," you say and mean it.

He smiles and nods as if to say of course, but after your back is turned, his face falls a bit, wondering if he let a little too much slip.

"Too much? In my opinion, you didn't tell her enough," Jimin quips.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, but he's mainly focused on Jin. The older man only smiles at him, pressing a comforting hand to Namjoon's cheek.

"Don't worry, love. I don't mind at all," he says. Because yes, he too is eager for you to realize just what they all are.

"I just don't want her to think we're the ones behind all this," Namjoon admits.

"If she's as smart as she appears, then she'll figure that out for herself soon enough," Hoseok replies, slowly circling the room with his arms crossed.

He approaches the elegant leather couch that Namjoon and Jin are occupying.

"Joonie," he says, running a hand down the younger man's neck.

"I don't think it would hurt to drop her a few more hints, hm?" And everyone notices the smirk on Hoseok's face.

"I'm tired of waitiiiiing," Jimin whines.

"She's still a skeptic, Minie," Yoongi supplies from where he's watering the plants against the window. "She needs to be eased in."

Jimin just rolls his eyes.

"We could just kidnap her," he suggests.

"No." The reply comes instantly from Namjoon, Jungkook, and Yoongi simultaneously.

Jimin laughs high and bright.

"Come now, Jimin," Hoseok says with a sharp smile of his own. "Everyone knows it's more fun when they consent to it first."

october 25, 2004

The next time you enter the bookshop, Namjoon immediately mentions that he put together a little collection of texts for you to look over, saying they might be interesting to you. Maybe even aid in the investigation.

You thank him earnestly. And no, your face doesn't heat up at the fact that someone has gone out of their way to make your life easier.

When you slip into your usual nook, you notice that one of the drawers in the desk is adorned with a little pink ribbon around the handle, almost like it's gift-wrapped. And when you open it, you see several books, articles, and newspaper clippings, all of which seem very promising.

Something stirs in your stomach at the sight, but it's quickly set aside as you lock in and dive headfirst into the new research endeavor.

There's the notice for each of the missing persons, all the mentions of them so far in the newspapers, including one article from a publisher you've never heard of.

With the headline simple reading DISAPPEARED, the short snippet describes each missing person and the details of their last eyewitness account. The strange thing is that the article includes far more details than the big-name publishers, making you wonder why you haven't heard of it before.

The Periscope Press. You don't recall seeing it in any of the corner stores around town, but you do recall some of the people you interviewed mentioning details from "the newspaper" that you hadn't heard previously. Maybe this is the publisher they were referring to.

When you ask Namjoon about it though, he is surprisingly unhelpful. He claims that he can't remember where he came across the article, saying that he often picks up stray newspapers for wrapping and packing purposes for the shop.

Well, you suppose you'll have to save it for later then.

Also among the pile of papers in the drawer, there's a short blurb announcing the opening of the Kim Morgue and Crematorium. Taking a closer look at the date tells you that Taehyung's practice has actually been passed down through nearly three generations.

Technically, Taehyung is actually Taehyung III, taking the same name as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather before him.

But it's the photo you stumble upon that really stalls your breath.

A portrait, faded and yellowing, dated almost seventy-five years ago. The subject is a man dressed in a brown suit and tie, his hair dark and curly, except it looks exactly like him. From the Roman slant of his nose, down to the way he positions his shoulders, it looks almost indistinguishable from the Taehyung of today. The family resemblance is apparently very strong.

And again, it's a little embarrassing how long it takes you to reach the conclusion that to others, especially to the supernaturally-inclined, might seem obvious.

But you've already mentioned that you're a bit of a skeptic.

october 28, 2004

You fear that you may be going a bit crazy.

The dreams are getting worse. They've escalated from simple images and sounds to corporeal sensations. You feel the water so sharply, the cold, the current, even the vibrations. You can see hands reaching towards you, and sometimes you are compelled to reach back. Sometimes you swear you wake up smelling of seawater.

And the itchy feeling of being watched has only gotten stronger. You feel as though you're always looking over your shoulder, always listening for following footsteps.

In the past few days, you've used your research as an effective distraction.

You've found that the Kim family has run the morgue out of the Addams house for almost as long as the Jung family has owned it, Taehyung hailing from a long line of coroners and forensic pathologists rooted in Farrow's End.

With a little digging, you discovered that the Jungs have been business tycoons for decades, buying and selling and trading their vast number of industries to generate a near endless stream of income that they then hand down to their children and children's children.

Unfortunately, most of the knowledge on the Jung family is circulated through the townsfolk, so you have to ask around a bit to get a more solid basis.

The current owner of the Addams house is one Jung Hoseok. Young, beautiful, and filthy rich, according to those you spoke with on the streets. But, apparently he spent most of his youth in a mental hospital. Not only a mental hospital, a high-security facility for the criminally insane.

Now, you're not sure how much of that you believe, but you still have to entertain the possibility.

And one day, you even catch sight of him. A small crowd tends to gather whenever the black Mercedes pulls into town, curious eyes prying into the tinted windows.

You're lingering outside the bookshop one afternoon, making sure you didn't leave anything behind after a four-hour-long research session, when the car rolls through the streets like a slinky black cat.

Whispers immediately fill the air, causing you to look up from your bag, which is bursting at the seams these days from all the papers you have to carry around.

The car stops at the curb in front of the cafe, the driver soon killing the engine. Then, the driver's side door opens, and a black-booted foot steps onto the sidewalk.

The man is handsome, you have to admit, with long black hair that curls at the nape of his neck. His face is sharp and angular, with a softly heart-shaped mouth and surprisingly bright eyes.

He's dressed in pressed pants and jacket, thin and elegant. The man walks into the cafe and picks up a to-go order, gets back into his car, and drives away without so much as a glance at all the people who have stopped to stare at him.

You being one of them, but you're fairly certain that you're the only one who takes a few pictures.

But it wasn't until yesterday that you started to really feel like you were losing your marbles.

As you're asking around town, you breach the subject of the town's forensic pathologist. Everyone you speak to has nothing but good things to say about the young coroner, except for the fact that he isn't as young as you thought he was.

You ask a woman you struck up a conversation with outside the grocery store about the Kim family, and she says that Taehyung did a fantastic job taking care of her nephew for his funeral.

You agree, mentioning your admiration for how educated he is for someone so young.

That's when the woman's face turns puzzled. "Young?" she says, raising an eyebrow. She goes on to say that the most recent Kim Taehyung has been running the morgue for the last twenty years.

"Taehyung III?" you ask. "Thin, dark eyes, looks a bit like a Roman statue?"

"Yes, that's the one. Took over the family business after his father died. But no children, I hear he's training a young apprentice that will likely take over when he retires."

You mention that surely Taehyung has time to have children, but that same confused expression crosses her face.

"Isn't he nearly seventy though?"

A squirmy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You awkwardly brush off the woman, apologizing for the confusion.

You ask almost every other passerby you see on the street that evening about the town coroner, and they all say the same thing. A kind man, very good at his job, and most definitely in his late sixties.

They all insist that there hasn't been a young Kim in the business since Taehyung was a trainee nearly thirty years prior.

So you do a little more digging, and turns out it's true. If you'd have looked a little closer at the dates on all of Taehyung's degrees and certificates, you'd find that he acquired them all between fifteen and twenty-five years ago.

You're tailing him the next morning. You got lucky, today being one of the rare days when he leaves the Addams house to go into town.

He steps out of the hearse in leather shoes and a sweater vest under his trenchcoat. You suppose he dresses like he's older, from the way he tucks in his shirt and cuffs his pants, but he also sports a crossbody bag over his shoulder that others would most likely consider feminine, but he pulls it off effortlessly.

The clouds are letting down a light rain, leaving dewdrops on your jacket and making Taehyung's hair appear just a bit fluffier.

There's that same streak of gray from his hairline. The only indicator that he possibly isn't an attractive man in his late twenties/early thirties.

But that's exactly what you're looking at. Not an older man with aged skin and silver hair, rather more like a bronze god with a mop of black curls. And the only sign of age from knowledge or experience is deep in his eyes.

You begin to follow him down the street, sneaking pictures occasionally, curious what would happen if you were to show said pictures to others. Would they still see an old man? Or would they see the young one you've been seeing from the beginning?

You get the odd sensation that you're being watched, but from a source you can't name, since you're fairly certain Taehyung hasn't noticed you.

It's as you're nearing the end of the sidewalk, slipping in-between a cluster of people, that he suddenly stops dead in his tracks.

You stop too, a cold chill latching onto your spine. He stands there for a moment, perfectly still.

Then, he turns over his shoulder and looks right at you.

There haven't been many times in your career where you're genuinely shocked speechless. And even fewer when your target is not only fully aware of the fact that you're trailing them, but apparently isn't bothered in the slightest by it.

Because then a smirk is creeping onto his face. Those tiger eyes turn a shade darker, and he nods his head slightly as if to greet you.

He knew you were watching him, they all did.

The ice under your skin only intensifies when you hear the click of a camera shutter from behind you.

Whipping around, you see Jung Hoseok standing just a few feet away, a camera held up to his face and the brim of his hat tilted down, but you know it's him.

And the lens is pointed at you.

What's strange is that no one else seems to notice him. Every other time you've seen him in town, everyone stops to stare, but now they slide around him like he isn't even there, their eyes looking right through him.

Something weird is definitely going on.

You dissolve back into the crowd like a ghost.

october 29, 2004

A letter appears on your doorstep. The stationary is soft and expensive-looking, with your name scrawled on the front in curling script. With no return address.

It's enclosed with a red wax seal, stamped with the image of a crow.

You debate on whether or not to open it for approximately three minutes.

Dearest _______,

We cordially invite you to the Addams House for dinner, dancing, and drinks on October 30 at 6:00 p.m. sharp. Please bring your case notes for discussion.

Dress code: semi-formal.

Fondly,

Jung Hoseok

The back of the paper reads:

How do you accept this invitation?

➳ With enthusiasm

➳ With excitement

You think about it for about thirty seconds. Circling "with enthusiasm," you slip the paper back into the envelope and set it back outside where you found it.

It's gone the next morning.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would absolutely love to hear any of your thoughts! 👉👈

[soraviie]

being given a hickey.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: fluff, some hints of angst and some suggestive hints

━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ leave behind a comment and reblog or your every drink will always be at the wrong temperature

NAMJOON | The evening crawls by slowly. The setting of the orange sun bathes the apartment in bright, warm light before it’s inevitably replaced by the overhead lights. You shuffle around in your peace, alternating between cooking and cleaning up the dishes and though there is a vague sound of demo song rolling from Namjoon’s home office, you ignore it at first, having been subjected to much of his releases over the years. However, once the TV show you’ve been passively watching becomes too boring to endure any longer, you paddle towards the closed doors. Namjoon sits slunken back into the chair, wearing a deeply etched frown upon his face. 

You poke a head into his makeshift studio, nose wrinkling at the smell of the stale air. 

“Hey, Namu,” you call out, an unassuming lilt to your voice. “You coming to bed?” 

He turns round, appearing a bit dazed as though he’d forgotten there was anything else outside the studio. You don't entirely put it past him. Namjoon takes a gander at you then at the small window facing the darkened outside, grimacing at the fall of the night. 

“Yeah,” he drags out tiredly. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Alright. I cooked some dinner. The leftovers are in the fridge if you want them.” 

Something about the sentence upsets him as the ends of his mouth draw downward and just a second after his hand beckons to come closer. You do so, slightly confused at the sudden request of proximity. Without saying anything, Namjoon wraps a hand around your lower waist, hoisting you up his lap, chair giving out a pitiful squeak underneath the combined weight. 

“It seems that I have neglected you tonight,” he mutters, voice falling dangerously low. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“It’s alright,” you brush off, trying not to stroke his ego too much. Your heart might still be fluttering as his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face but god help he did not need to get any more complacent. 

“It ain’t,” Namjoon shakes his head grimly. “Come here.” 

He leans in with dead set eyes and you close your own, wholly convinced on receiving a kiss on the mouth but instead you feel his plush lips press up against a point just below your jaw and the subsequent teasing scrape of his teeth. 

Your mouth falls open in a shuddery “oh” and Namjoon takes a deep inhale, smile noticeably curving against your slowly bruising skin. 

He pulls away, letting you — a bit dazed, a bit stupid — off his lap where you come to stand shakily on the carpet.

“Run along,” he chuckles somewhat insidiously, clearly taking some amusement in your befuddled state. You huff, flipping him off in the rising frustration but you both know it’s all without bite. 

YOONGI | “Yoongi—”

“Five more minutes.”

Briefly you think of arguing but sensing how despairingly his fingers dig into your sides, you relent with a heavy sigh on the lips and a complicit turn of the head. 

“Good,” you hear him hum appreciatively, vibrations rolling against the blackened column of your throat.

“What’s with you, old man? Mid life crisis?” you grouse but it is graciously ignored. A hefty scent of whiskey wafts from his greedy mouth as it’s pressed time and time again, teeth and all, against your skin. Figures that the grandpa has to be drunk to wrangle you so shamelessly. You sit perched on his lap, confined there by his arms, having nothing to stare at but each individual detail of the living room’s wallpaper. It’s soullessly grey —you’d whined to him about it needing to be changed. Suddenly a sharp pain flares against the muscle in your neck and you let your discontent be known. 

“Ow! Yoongi!”

Sinking your fingers into his hair, you pull harshly on the dark locks, instantly feeling some resistance. 

“Jus’ a bit more,” he mutters lowly, pulling you closer, impossibly closer, as any second now you swear you’d melt into one another. Finally with a wet pop, he unlatches himself away, wiping the remaining saliva with the sleeve of his jumper. Possessing a slight yet somewhat understandable tremor in the knees, you sit back on his calves, feeling the muscle grow taut underneath. 

“May I go now?” you inquire tiredly, recalling the bowl of batter that was forcefully abandoned on the kitchen counter. Yoongi looks up at you with hooded eyes and reflected in them is the whole mass of everything he felt but found too difficult to say out loud. And yet that just made you love him all the more. He seems to be enthralled by some deep passing thought and after a moment of consideration, there comes a clear answer. 

“No, I shouldn’t think so.”

JIN | At most it was ten minutes. What with the recipe being something so crude as "toss the eggs into a pan" one wouldn’t expect more than that but then again one wouldn’t expect the hump attached to your back. 

“You’re hampering with my breakfast,” you give a low hiss of warning but the sack only tightens his grubby hands around your waist. 

“‘s not that important,” he mutters into the crook of your neck, the motions leaving a wet imprint upon your chin. 

“Not that important,” you scoff. “You’re the one who woke me up saying you were hungry.”

“Not for food.”

You halt for a second. 

“Leave.”

“Always so cold-hearted,” Jin whines, voice falling quite offended as he fondles the flesh underneath his warm palm. “You know how many people would kill to be where you are?” 

“Then let them,” carelessly, you try to fight his grasp, having half the mind to just smack him with the spatula. “I want my fucking breakfast!”

“Me too!”

“Not like that!”

And then you feel it — unmistakable, intrusive — the literal biting sensation of his teeth meeting your neck. Your heart jumps in your throat and you hate the fact that even after all this time he has this much power over you. 

The spatula comes soon after. 

“OW!” in trying to evade the hit, Jin unclamps his jaws from your neck with a bothersome sound. Immediately, your hand darts to the sore spot, wiping off the saliva with perhaps too feigned of a disgust marring your features.

“No eggs for you,” you grumble but from the shit-eating grin lighting up his entire face, it’s not hard to guess that Jin didn’t give much of a shit. 

HOSEOK | Drowsily moving the toothbrush along the inside of your mouth through the haze of sleep you examine the hues of purple alongside your lower neck and shoulders. One particular mark piques your curiosity and after spitting out the toothpaste, you lean towards the mirror, poking a nail at the darkest of bruises, marveling at the dent reminiscent of moon’s sickle. 

“Good morning,” Hoseok’s gravelly voice can be heard in the doorway, before he enters the room, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your head. 

“What was with you yesterday?” you ask, hoping that the literal light of the morning will shed some insight on the proverbial dark. 

“What do you mean?” Hoseok furrows his brow but once you point at the formed bruises, the wrinkles in his forehead smoothes out. 

“Oh right,” you hear him whisper to himself before reaching into one of the closed cabinets. He quirks his head to the closed lid of the toilet and with a sigh, you sit down upon it, shivering slightly in the morning cold.

Hoseok misinterprets this and bids a quick though heartfelt apology.

“No, it’s not what I meant,” you rush to shake your head as Hoseok continues to slather the numbing cream onto your battered skin. “You just…I don’t know seemed somehow different yesterday.” 

His lips purse together in a thin line whilst his gaze traces the dark spots with a thoughtful glare. 

“I was in my head,” he finally admits somewhat sourly. “I was scared, you know, of you…forgetting me.”

“Oh, Hoseok…”

“No, don’t pity me,” he interrupts wearing an expression of hidden grief. “Just…don’t forget me.”

You almost laugh at the ridiculousness of such a plea. Like you ever could. 

“I won’t,” you promise, reaching to wrap your hand around his that was still applying some lotion. He gives a gentle smile hearing it, before letting out a demure chuckle. 

“And I promise to use my words instead of teeth.”

JIMIN | Because you so amicably ignored his first over-exaggerated huff of irritation, Jimin doubles down and after leaning up right next to your ear he takes a deep breath and then exhales with a loud noise of pointed discontent. 

“If you’re going to be annoying, why did you want to come along?” you try to pry him off your shoulder with a shrug of the shoulder but Jimin being Jimin remains one obstinate cuddle bug. 

“I thought you’d be quicker with it,” he whines, casting a damning glare towards the pair of joggers held in your hand as though they were the ones at blame. 

“Well, you’re not exactly of help here,” you remark in a hushed tone as a pair of giggling schoolgirls pass too near. “You just say everything looks good to make me leave quicker.”

“You do look good in everything!” he cries out with a pout chockful with objection and though you shush him, glimpsing nervously around if everyone’s watching too near, his voice drops in volume but not in its offended quality. “Even if it’s not your style,” he continues his point. 

“Ugh, you’re impossible,” you hiss, delivering an elbow to his ribs, eyes already scouring something good in the discount pile of the in-between season sales. Your heart goes out to the workers — it was a battlefield. 

“I’m hungry,” a voice whispers in the shell of your ear, prompting long lines of goosebumps despite you wholly knowing who it was.

“Then go eat.”

“How dare you! We eat together, that's a rule!”

“We’re not kindergarteners! I don’t need to hold your hand as you eat.”

“Speak for yourself,” bitterly, Jimin mutters underneath the breath before he gains a curious idea, one that warps his mouth into a sly smile. 

“Let’s go,” Jimin whines, leaning his full weight against your side. His lips come to nip at the side of your neck and you groan feeling the familiar sting of his impatient pecks. “Let’s go, I’ll buy you something tomorrow.”

“Ease up, Park,” you warn him, fruitlessly trying to shoo him away. The top of his hair itches the sides of your cheeks and you stifle the smile threatening to break out.

“Let’s gooooo.”

“Nooooo.”

He leans back, narrowing his eyes in a stormy expression before leaning in one final time - this one grasping a much larger area of the thin skin of your neck before passing it under his teeth. 

“OW!” you cry out, quickly reaching to cradle the sore spot. Right under the side of your jaw. You swat at him lightly, forming a pout yourself but imperiously, Jimin only turns up his nose, though the arc of his smile betrays him in the end. 

TAEHYUNG | “Your hand is sweaty.”

He immediately pulls away with a demure “sorry” under breath. 

“I didn’t mean “let go”,” you grouse.

Peeking at Taehyung from the corner of the eye — it’s unmistakable. The way his gaze flits from one passerby to the next, the rhythmical gnawing of his jaw — a futile way to expel stress — he was nervous. 

“Why are you worried?” you inquire gently, slowly moving through the bustle of the celebrating crowd. A national holiday — it was vain to hope you could get from point A to point B without much trouble. 

He mumbles something as an answer but it's too incoherent to make out. His eyes move with increasing speed, jumping hurriedly across the moving wall of strangers. 

“Let’s move to the side,” you urge and he complies easily with the pull of your hand, honestly appearing too overwhelmed to propose any sort of argument. You press him against the bricked up wall of the nearby cafe, forming a makeshift shield between him and the crowd at large. No one is paying any attention — the flowing bubbles, calls of the nearby vendors, the straying rays of warming sun — all of it is too much for anyone to cast their gaze to the side. You feel Taehyung’s fingers cautiously brush up against yours as if weighing on the thread between good and bad. You grip them back with ardent fervour and it’s not long before he slumps up against your back, head falling down into the crook of the neck.  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he mumbles. “I don’t know why so suddenly—”

“Don’t worry,” you hush him, inspecting the crowd for any straying interest though there is none. “Let’s head home and watch something good, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters miserably, his breath tickling along the side of your ear. “I ruined a good day.”

“It’s still a good day,” you correct him, patting the arm that by now has moved on to tightly gripping your waist. “Don’t worry about it.”

Still he lays an apologetic kiss to your nape and seconds after you feel a somewhat shy nip along your throat — it was a comforting tactic for him and recognizing it, you crane your head to allow more access. If anyone does notice you two lingering in the corner, the sight is too intimate to stare. Once the swarming crowd thins out of the main street, disappearing down the more picturesque river, you scrape gently down Taehyung’s scalp, rousing him from whatever zone of comfort he’d sunken into. The side of your neck aches from the force of his bites but you don’t remark upon it. Blearily, Taehyung blinks down at you, a relieved sigh tumbling from his lips as he looks out and sees the street empty.

“Let’s go home,” you urge him softly.   

JUNGKOOK | “Does it hurt?” he wonders, letting an inquisitive finger poke at the blossoming bruise. The flesh pales only to regain its full dark glory once the pressure grows lax. 

“A little,” you admit quietly, hearing just the end of a vague hum in reply. “Do you feel guilty over it?” 

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, admiring his “work” as his gaze drags ever so slowly upon each individual proof of his love. Or so he called them. 

“Not really.”

He gives a shameless smile and dives in once more. Even now your breath stutters when feeling the scrape of his front teeth against the sore flesh. Inescapably, he meets the seam of your shirt and with a displeased growl, he yanks it away, leaving you practically bare chested. 

You stare hazily into the ceiling of his apartment, listening with the ends of your ears to the soft music swirling the warm air. Jungkook’s curls itch at your nose which is a telltale sign —

“No, don’t,” you protest, giving his bicep a weak squeeze. “I’m tired of wearing turtlenecks.” 

Somewhere underneath the mop of unkempt hair there comes a disagreeing hum but resentfully he abides to your wishes, travelling lower and lower, the curve of his nose tip brushing against your collarbone. The last bite is particularly harsh, reminding either you or himself of who's whose. It is a fleeting moment of possession, one necessary to upkeep the balance thus you don’t mind it so. After a good chunk of an hour, Jungkook finally disconnects, leaning back into the cramped sofa with a grin of pure victory. It is however quickly wiped away as Bam decided to make two into three, propelling all of his adult Doberman weight on top of Jungkook's back.

tagging: @pinkcherrybombs; @sukunabitch; @btsiguess-kpop; @belladaises; @halesandy; @seok-jinnies; @themochiverse; @cuteipat; @ratherbefangirling; @manchuria; @chimchimmarie; @smalliechelle; @koostarcandy; @flitzerj; @royallyjjk; @dreamamubarak; @anti-social-mochi267; @jung-nika-hoseok; @silverliningsandstorms; @ahewlett (I hope you don't mind)

[superrsstaargirrl13]

Pretty Girl-One shot

Genre - Established relationship, yoongi x female reader, smut, little bit of fluff

Word count-2,345

Summary- The one where taking an innocent nap with Yoongi quickly becomes not so innocent.

Warnings- Producer yoongi! Stay at home cute gf! Yoongi is a little mean if you squint, Yoongi calls reader (slut, pretty girl, whore, baby), bit of a size kink, spit kink, Yoongi slaps reader in the face twice I believe, hair pulling kink, multiple orgasms, cum eating, reader has a daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, rough sex, bit of fluff, established relationship.

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It was around 2pm, when Yoongi decided he was tired and needed a nap. Of course I climbed in with him even if I had no sign of exhaust just for the mere fact of wanting to be close to him.

It was now 3:43pm and Yoongi is still dead asleep, pretty lips pouted one hand to his side, the other on my thigh as I keep my leg wrapped around his waist. I feel so bad for having the strongest urge to wake him up. God it’s his fault for wanting to sleep in just boxers. Grey boxers to be exact.

I can clearly see his pretty cock’s outline and I have to admit it’s driving me insane. I can feel my paper thin panties begin to stick to my core.

He won’t be mad If I wake him will he?

He’s always so good to me. Always complying to my needs,he’ll help right ?

Fuck.

I know how tired he is. He’s so hardworking yet I want him so bad i can’t take it.

And so I call out to him.

I run my fingers across his chest painfully slow drawing circles right above his belly button.

I place a kiss on his neck, then drag my bottom lip from his neck to his ear, before placing a kiss on his ear and whispering to him

“baby..” fuck that came out whinier than I wanted it to

he hums

I move my hand from his stomach up to his hair as I rake my fingers across his soft black locs

“daddy..want you” I whisper out as I continue to kiss his neck.

The hand placed on waist moves to my ass giving it squeeze that makes me gasp against his ear

he chuckles at this, as he opens his eyes finding mine immediately

the same hand moves across my ass across my pussy as his middle and ring finger press against my core rubbing up and down painfully slow

“fuck, pussy’s drenched. How long you been horny baby why didn’t you wake me up sooner?”

I pout at him and he kisses the pout away taking his other hand to rub my cheek with his thumb, the rest of his fingers grips my hair

“I’m all yours pretty girl, you can use me whenever you want me” his voice laced with sleep making it drop an octave.

I kiss him at that, his grip on my hair tightens and I moan against his lips rubbing myself against his fingers.

My hands traveled down to his crotch, palming him through his boxers. I feel him twitch against my hands as he moans against my lips

“tell me what you want, daddy’ll give you anything you need”

“want you to touch me, wanna feel your fingers deep inside me” I groan out, lips grazing against his jawline now

He pulls my panties to the side, his fingers immediately pressing on my clit as he rubs me painfully slow

“like this baby? this what you were feigning for?”

“mhmm”

I can’t even focus now, my hands have slowed down to a halt on his member as my nails graze his stomach trying to find a grip on his waist.

his fingers slow their assault on my clit, and he plunges two fingers in me without warning making me choke on a breath

I can feel his wrist press against my asshole with each push of his fingers making me choke out moans from the intense pleasure.

my legs spread even wider across his waist giving him even more access, he uses his other hand to tighten his grip on my hair pulling my head back as his lips latch onto my neck. Kissing, licking, biting, sucking.

my moans are loud now mixed with the wet noises from my core and his heavy breath against me

“fuuuckk, daddy fuck, so goood” my words come out elongated. no thoughts in my head just his fingers plunging in me at the perfect pace, hitting my gspot with every thrust

He suddenly pulls out of me, making me groan out. He just as fast takes those same fingers that were in me seconds ago and shoves them in his mouth, moaning as he tastes my arousal on his fingers.

he uses his other his other to pull my head closer to his, relasing his grip on my scalp to cup my cheeks harshly.

“open your mouth” he demands

I do just that, ready for whatever he’s going to give me

He spits right in my mouth, immediately caging my mouth closed forcing me to take it

“swallow it, slut”

Before I have time to form a thought, he sits his self up, hooks his arm under my thighs bringing me on his lap.

I now sit right on top of his cock, boxers probably drenched with my sex

I immediately take off the oversized shirt I had on, leaving me with just my panties on.

His mouth latches onto my right nipple taking his left hand and pinching my left nipple with this thumb and pointer.

I’m rubbing my dripping pussy against his crotch now, desperate for him to just fuck me in this same instant

“daddy please stop teasing just want your cock in me so bad” i’m moaning out to him

he laughs at this, that dry, evil laugh that makes me drip every time I hear it.

His mouth lets go of my reddened nipple, now just pressed against my chest as he looks up at me with blown out pupils

He takes his hands placing them behind his head as he licks his lips before saying

“Want daddy’s cock so bad pretty girl? Take it baby, use me like a toy, told ya i’m yours”

I don’t waste a second, hands latching onto his boxers as fast I can as his pretty cock springs out. I quickly push them off his legs and onto the floor.

Fuck it’s so pretty, In any other instance i’d play with it first

put him in my mouth, lick and suck on his head, while my hands massage his balls, But i’m so horny just need him in me.

And so i do just that. I don’t even take off my panties too desperate just keep it pushed to the side as I rub my clit on his mushroom head for just a second.

And then i’m grabbing onto it, pushing his thick cock inside of me

He’s so big it always burns just a little when he first goes in, especially when he doesn’t prepare me for it

But fuck the burn is so good, I don’t care. I let him sit in me for a bit let myself adjust to his size before I start rubbing myself against him.

my hands travel up his stomach, and up to his neck using both hands to grip on it.

He raises his eyebrow and smirks at this, not uttering a word letting me use him, like he said I should.

I now press my upper body against his, tits pressing against his chest as I start to bounce up and down slowly moving only my hips.

I can’t help the moans escaping my lips onto his neck as I kiss him there, desperate to feel as close to him as i can

He’s groaning out by now, telling me how good of a girl I am, how tight and warm and I feel. His words spur me on so much I feel myself tightening against his cock.

every time i pull back I feel my pussy tighten around his head pulling him back.

I’m sure he can feel it too because he takes his hands away from his head as he grabs onto my hips and pushing my body back so i’m now tilted backwards.

his large hand is pressing against my stomach, and I swear I can feel his cock all up my stomach his other hand has a tight grip on my hip.

“cmon baby, you’re doing so good using my cock to fuck yourself”

Hips still moving against his skin at a different angle as my hands now grip onto his thighs trying to make myself cum

I can sense his frustration as his hands grab onto my panties, he ripping them off with his bare hands, now grabbing onto my ass as he pulls me up and off his cock

quickly ripping the rest of the panties off and throwing it across the room

His hands hooks onto my back quickly turning me on my stomach, he grips my legs pulling them up so my ass is out in the air, then pressing my back down harshly as he slaps my inner thigh to open for him

He pushes back into me without warning, one hand pressed firmly against my back the other goes and grips my hair pushing my face against the mattress.

The new angle has me whining out.

my hands grip onto the sheets, as my eyes roll behind my head.

pussy so exhausted from all the robbed orgasms, that I feel it coming sooner than expected.

“cu-cuming” I announce with a high pitched moan as my ears start to ring and my legs start to feel like jello

I can hear his groans and him muttering something but I can’t even recall what, so cockdrunk all I can focus is him stretching me to my limit

He’s still thrusting into me with a hard and fast pace even after I cum, making me feel overstimulated I push a hand on his stomach begging him to slow down and that’s it’s too much.

“My girl can take it, Gonna leave this little pussy bruised baby, ain’t that what you wanted?”

“Woke me up all desperate to fuck this cock like a whore. You can take it pretty girl”

His grip on my hair stays just as strong as his other hand reaches under my stomach, toying with my swollen clit. He presses his body against my back.

Groaning against my ear, as my legs shake uncontrollably from the combination of his cock and his fingers

“fuck baby, feel you tightening on my cock, you cumming again already?”

I’m a moaning mess at this point, i don’t even reply

His grip on my hair stops, and he then slaps my face, my cheeks immediately burn at this

His thrusts slow down painfully slow

“You answer, when I talk to you” He says in a mean tone before pushing against me so hard my whole body pushes forward.

“M’sorry, i’m cumming fuck fuuck”

“Good girl..Me too” he smiles against my cheek before placing a kiss

His thrusts quicken as I push my hips back against his chasing my second orgasm.

I feel his cock twitch in me before his warm load starts to spur out into me making my orgasm come harder than the last

My breath hitches and i just suck in a breath as my legs shake and my ears ring once again.

He slows his thrusts completely before coming to a halt.And then slowly pulling out of me.

With my head still groggy from the last two orgasms, I turn myself as I now lay on my back knees pulled up legs spread as I look at Yoongi groggily

Fuck he’s so sexy.

He looks just like sex. Hair messy with pieces sticking to his forehead, milky white skin body glistening with sweat as he sits sprawled out.

He stares at me lovingly running his hands across my stomach drawing circles all around it, like he’s proud i’m his.

He sits up and kisses my lips and then my nose and then my forehead.

“Baby..sit on my face please. Wanna clean you up”

oh fuck

“huh?” is the only thing I can say.

“M’ so tired baby boy”

His hands are now to each side of my face caging me in.

“I know baby, but I promise it’s just to clean you up. Just wanna taste some more baby please”

How can I ever say no to him? I’d give him the moon and the sun if I could.

“okay”

He immediately grabs onto my ass pushing my body against his chest while he situates himself and then pulling me onto his face.

He immediately latches his lips around my clit sucking harshly and I grip onto his hair tightly whimpering out.

His fingers grip harshly on my ass pressing my pussy even tighter against his face essentially choking himself with my sex.

My hips involuntarily starting rubbing again his mouth as he now pushes his tongue inside of me sucking our cum like a starved man.

It’s too much now as I pull onto his hair

“yoon, yoongi baby it’s too muuch”

“no, it’s okay you got it, c’mon baby just cum one more time you got it” he says against my pussy, I have no choice but to do what he says. So i grind myself even harder against his tongue trying my hardest for my third orgasm.

I feel it start to build up, knowing in no time ill get there

“im cumming baby, just like that baby keep going” I praise him as he groans against me.

In no time I feel the pressure once again and my legs start to convulse. This orgasm softer than the previous two

Feeling more like a sense of relief rather than a strong push that knocks the wind out of me.

This time he thanking stops his assault right after I cum. Knowing I really can’t take anymore… For now.

I fall back against the bed onto my back just like before.

He sits up, licks his lips before kissing me softly. Fuck I can smell myself all over him and it’s so hot.

He gets up from the bed, grabbing me bridal style to our shared bathroom

“Okay this time, i’m really gonna clean you up let’s go pretty girl”

Fuck, I am such a lucky girl.