#he had been punished for his behaviour and send to help somewhere else and stumbled upon this strange connection

[zhivchik]

[sunsbled-archive]

NEW MUSE :     you know for who ( @aestuavis​ ) .

NAME :    matsuoka jin . ALIAS :    ira . AGE :    estimated twenty - three . STATUS :    active . OCCUPATION :    information broker ,    unknown .

LOCATION :    unknown . WEAPON :    sword ,  ???  MOTIVATION :    unknown .

HEIGHT :    187 centimeters ,   6′2 WEIGHT :    unknown . NOTABLE FEATURES :  golden ,   reptilian eyes .

beware this whole thing is a BIG WIP.

hina, if you’re reading this, i’m begging on my knees: please give input on things i could or should change because i literally didn’t know what to do my brain gave out after one sentence.

BACKGROUND : there aren’t many memories jin hasn’t locked away; only essential ones. 

he was born into a clan of servants, meant to work under those who would end up choosing him. he was a spectacle in his family, the first male born directly into their bloodline in over a century. during their first leaders reign he was not allowed to leave their premises because of that, not until he learnt to be the perfect representation of their history. but disguised as one of his cousins he had a tendency to sneak out anyway. he never interacted with people in disguise, but he watched from afar, felt a longing to be one of them. to live normally.

when the head died and his mother took over as the direct heir things changed; out of pity for her son she allowed him enough freedom to go outside. to interact with people, as long as he remained respectful and perfectly embodied a born servant. but he was a child, and children tend to forget respect every now and then no matter how hard they try. so when he made his first real friend, someone who could have potentially ended up as his direct boss later in life he ended up acting like exactly that: a friend. a child.

he was often punished for his lack of proper behaviour, for being childish but when his mother first-hand witnessed him addressing the twins by their first names rather than the proper way someone of his standing should go about things he was dragged off, locked into his room for a month as punishment. the second he was allowed to leave his room he meant to send a warning; he’d leave for a few days just to ensure his mother knew he had no qualms abandoning their family name for his freedom.

but things change within a short time and within the month he hadn’t talked to anyone, and right after he was allowed outside again he didn’t bother talking to anyone firsthand, of informing anyone of his plans. and a few days later, upon his return, all he would find were ashes. he is not fully aware of the circumstances but the pain of losing his family without knowing whether they simply left and abandoned him or if they died without him ever having a chance of making amends with his mother hurt beyond belief.

he left after that, sought information about his friends whereabouts; if he didn’t have his family perhaps he could turn to someone else. but he had changed. he no longer was carefree and a child and from the day he returned all he did was live in the shadows, getting by on scraps while trying to be a friend yet also an embodiment of everything his family had stood for. truth be told, the time after that day were memories he had locked away the moment he had a chance, so he can’t fully recall them, even if he tried.

all he knows is that something happened, his friend left for the mortal realm and once again standing in front of nothing jin found himself desperate to do something. he was no longer a person anyways, left with neither a family nor a friend he began to travel until one day finding his own way into the mortal realm. his magic isn’t strong, but it is enough to help him get by at first until one day he stumbles upon an abandoned little library somewhere in the human world. dark magic, something he had been warned about as a child. but he is desperate and in a moment of weakness he turns to the book bound in leather.

it starts of small, he practices and practices until he finally gains enough a foothold to use it on himself. he wants to be free, and the only thing holding him back from that are his memories and regrets. so in a desperate moment he seals part of his memories and emotions inside himself in the form of cursed tattoos that would feed on all the negativity in his life until they consumed him. such is the price: relieve yourself of what hurts you and end up devoured by it should you let it control you. but that’s fine, he will simply not feel bad for doing all that he does. 

it is thanks to his newfound knowledge that he manages to gather information no normal person should possess; he doesn’t use it, usually. doesn’t sell the important ones. all he does is use it as a guide, to try and find something to do. and then he remembers; if he is to cause enough chaos in the human world, perhaps he could find at least one person from the past again. or rather, perhaps they would find him. he won’t be drastic, every time he stops himself in the last second before someone can actually get hurt - he does have enough consciousness for that. feels enough compassion to not entirely lose himself to his ambition.

PERSONALITY :     at first glance jin seems like a cold, untrusting and downright rude individual. something that could not be farther from the truth; where to some he might seem rude, he simply says what he thinks without regard for consequences. where he might appear cold he simply hides away the compassion he harbors for others out of fear of getting hurt, again. and where he might seem untrusting it is simply a defensive habit of his to not let people get close. everyone he has ever trusted in the past left or died or vanished; he doesn’t think he can handle losing another person.

where he used to be a friendly child that loved making people laugh and smile, albeit being a tad shy in front of others, he now is a almost cynical person who takes pleasure in annoying people and teasing them. he won’t say it, however, but should someone grow uncomfortable with his ways he will simply resolve the issue with stoic silence on his part as he shuts up. he might not care as much as he used to, but he is not entirely a monster; he won’t force people into discomfort around him.

as a child he was called a chatterbox with no filter he now refuses to talk to others until approached first; it seems he believes he simply has nothing worthwhile to say so unless someone willingly wastes their time on him he simply won’t talk.

it seems the only time he truly reverts partially back to old habits is around the select few people he trusts and holds dear; he’ll be warmer, softer around the edges and less blunt. he will give compliments, try to be a good friend even when he doesn’t remember ever being one. but that is reserved for only very, very select few individuals.

[atinytokki]

The Windy Road

ix. The Ghost Friend 

The fish were thinning.

Some accident must have befallen them on their northern migration for the summer — pollution or overfishing due to the new military activity near the archipelago perhaps— and it was to the loss of the Song business.

The dry summer followed a dreary spring, which followed a dreary winter, which followed a dreary autumn.

Mingi had often seen Dahye and Bosung out in town on their way to and from school and various other outings.

He couldn’t tell whether Dahye truly had feelings for Bosung or not, but the backstabbing neighbour seemed to think she did and followed her around like a lost puppy.

It was sickening to watch.

When they both finished their courses of study, Mingi had some reprieve, but it was only until the day he woke up to see Dahye packing her trunks into a carriage and setting out for the capital. Her parents were sending her to start work there and as much as Mingi wanted to follow— to run away together and have a wild adventure in the city— his own family needed him. Badly.

With his mother’s occupation exposed, there had been a period where hardly anyone would buy from the Song fish stall at all.

In time it passed, and Mingi was thankful for the work but it was the type of work that felt like digging their own graves as they tried to save themselves from falling on hard times.

His father needed help with the business and his mother needed protection from slanderers. And Minseok was never coming back, so that meant Mingi was for all intents and purposes, the eldest. The responsible son. The adult.

A fire had been started and Mingi was fighting to keep up with it.

“I asked around at the market and there are hardly any in the usual places,” Father told him over the dinner table while the pair sat with the map in front of them.

“Bluefish, tuna, monkfish… I don’t know why, but they haven’t appeared and they’re long overdue.”

Mingi nodded and continued picking at the small scratch in the wood surface. “What did the other fishers find?”

“There were plenty of shellfish and carp,” Father sighed, and they both knew that wouldn’t last them the season unless they jacked up the price.

Mingi was tired of shellfish.

“You want to try eel?” He suggested, and Father looked affronted so he went on to explain. “Look inland for it, freshwater rivers and such. You’ll be able to sell at a higher price without question because it’s a delicacy.”

Father sat back and watched him for a moment, considering it.

“Alright, I’ll go to Ineo and see if I can find any at the end of the week, but it may be a long trip. I don’t want to end up wasting my time.”

Mingi nodded with something akin to excitement inside. It was fulfilling to be heard every once in awhile. He’d be eighteen next month, so it was about time he was treated as an adult.

The sound of the first few raindrops drumming on the wooden roof crescendoed into a torrential downpour while they looked out the window at the ocean.

Finally some miserable weather to match his mood.

It was the time of year when it could be deadly out there and Mingi was at least relieved Father would be safe inland and far away from the typhoons that plagued Panhang.

A fog began to cover the sea with the growing intensity of the warm rain meeting cool ocean water, and it created a spooky atmosphere that made Mingi remember an old story from his childhood.

“Hongjoong said it happened once with the gourami,” Mingi whispered as he lit a fire in the lantern on the table. “They just disappeared one season and came back like nothing happened the next. No one knew why, but some of the locals blamed it on a sea monster.”

Father turned to observe his reaction to mentioning Hongjoong when he stumbled over the name. It still hurt to think about him sometimes, dead at the bottom of the sea after being caught up in a pirate’s affairs. Mingi had been checking over his shoulder every day since for his ghost, haunting him as punishment for his idiotic behaviour.

They were his childhood— Hongjoong, Dahye, and Bosung. Without them, Mingi felt like he’d lost part of his own identity.

“You are more than your circumstances,” another voice shook him out of it, and there was Mother to encourage him. “That’s a truth I know well.”

“You’ll take care of your mother while I’m gone?” Father instructed, more of a command than a question, standing to wrap her in his arms before she ventured out into the night.

“Of course,” Mingi answered, joining the hug and relishing it while he could.

Everything else may have changed, but the three of them were still together.

It was difficult to say goodbye when Father set out with his smaller nets stuffed into the bag on his back, hiking southwest to meet the Chigu river. Mother refused to let Mingi walk her to town each night when she went to work, knowing her employer would be angry with her for doing so, but it made him feel useless to sit by the window and watch her walk away, keeping her head down and away from those who would mock her. Usually the angry townspeople dispersed after she left the house, but the whole affair made him uneasy every evening.

The rains continued into the next week, and Mingi began to understand how it might’ve been that night that Hongjoong’s parents died.

He wanted to cover as much area as possible but gave the rocks a wide berth while he could see them, adjusting the sails quickly to reach his traps and collect them before he lost the sunlight.

Rain poured into his eyes and the nagging voice in the back of his head berated him for not bringing a hat.

“I’ll have to buy one in town when I sell these,” he muttered to himself, hauling the last crate over the side and setting it down with the others.

He was cold, sore, and soaked to the bones but nevertheless took his time returning to shore, peering through the grey sheets of rain to make sure the rocks were still a good distance from him.

Father would be perturbed that he went out on the ocean alone, but they couldn’t afford to miss a day’s catch— even a poor one. They still had Minseok’s debts to pay.

While he stood at the stall, accompanied only by fish buried in ice, doing an adequate job selling his wares by emulating his father’s booming merchant voice, he wished more than ever that Hongjoong was still there.

They could have had the entire load done in half the time and maybe even gone searching for places where the sea was rich with catches with the extra hours.

Instead Mingi was left to pack his things and trudge home when the market closed to sit, shivering, by the fire with a book in his lap that he was only half paying attention to.

For a summer evening, the wind carried a strange chill and somewhere the sea goddess must have heard him, because a miracle came that night.

A knock at the door startled Mingi out of his reading. It was well past midnight, and highly unlikely either of his parents had returned, so he approached with caution, peering through the window.

Whoever had knocked was now slumped on the doorstep, having slipped in the rain. It looked like someone who needed help, not someone who wanted to kill him.

Mingi threw the door open and knelt by the huddled form, placing a hand on the bony shoulder gently.

A head shot up and even through the rain streaking down his cheeks, Mingi knew who it was.

He recognised all the angles of his face, the way he carried himself, even that nervous look in his eyes.

“Hongjoong?”

Slowly Hongjoong got to his feet, still staring at him with hesitation, like he wasn’t sure whether he would be accepted or not.

“Hongjoong—” Mingi’s voice broke and suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a hug, clinging on and crying like he was afraid to lose him again. Tears mixed with rain dripped down his face, and his sobs were muffled in the cloak Hongjoong was wearing.

“It’s me,” Hongjoong whispered, rocking gently from side to side and reaching up to stroke the back of his head. “I’m here.”

A shiver from Hongjoong broke the spell, and Mingi pulled him inside, closing the door behind him. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners, you must be freezing...”

He ran to the linen closet to pull out some towels while Hongjoong attempted to explain what he was doing here all of a sudden.

“I tried docking all along the archipelago and even further south, but there was too much navy presence at every other port and I didn’t know where I...” he said, accepting the towel and wrapping it around himself. “I didn’t want to intrude but I needed shelter.”

“You could never intrude,” Mingi rushed you reassure him. “We... I thought you were dead.”

Hongjoong froze and stared at him for a moment before blinking it away and wandering into the living room.

As he looked around, a strange expression came over his face. It suddenly occurred to Mingi that he hadn’t been in here since the Song family moved in, years ago.

But the weight of that fact was buried under a lot more unspoken pain Mingi didn’t know about.

Once they were settled in chairs and Hongjoong was adequately dried off, Mingi played host.

“Father’s on a trip and Mother’s out... working. Minseok’s bed is always free. So you can stay the night if you need to.”

Hongjoong sighed and smiled gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Or you can stay here as long as you like,” Mingi shrugged with a withering smile, still too embarrassed to ask him to stay forever outright. “I take it you aren’t returning to Jangwon.”

Hongjoong stiffened and nodded quickly.

After a moment more of sitting around awkwardly, Mingi just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Hongjoong, where have you been? What happened?”

His appearance now was a third outcome Mingi hadn’t considered, and it was eating him up inside the more he wondered what had taken place.

There was a tense silence that followed the question before Hongjoong met his gaze.

Tears swam in his eyes but they didn’t fall. He was shaking his head slightly as if he wasn’t even sure where to begin. He pursed his lips and it occurred to Mingi that he probably didn’t even want to.

“Well, that’s alright,” Mingi coughed uncomfortably, heading towards the stairs and listening to the quiet sound of Hongjoong following. “You can tell me tomorrow. You look like you need the sleep.”

This Hongjoong had been to hell and back. He was a ghost, a shadow of Hongjoong.

Not until he was asleep did the darkness lift for awhile.

Mingi watched him from his own bed, trying not to stare at the scars decorating his bare collarbone, or the way his ribcage jutted out from beneath flimsy fabric. Whatever he had been eating, it wasn’t enough. If he wasn’t swimming in his clothes, Mingi would offer his own. From how small he looked lying there it was obvious Mingi towered over him even more now.

When drowsiness came over him, a small voice in the back of his head allowed itself to celebrate.

After an agonising year of merely surviving in this stale town while his life slipped out of his control, Hongjoong came back to him. He was really back.

Perhaps Mingi wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

On waking to an otherwise empty room the next morning, Mingi wondered in a panic if he’d simply dreamed the encounter.

But there Hongjoong was, downstairs in the kitchen, cooking him a humble breakfast and clutching a cup of tea like a lifeline.

“You’re already up?” Mingi questioned softly, concern seeping into his voice. “You seemed exhausted last night...”

“I’m not really able to sleep much more than a couple hours at a time,” Hongjoong confessed, laying a plate on the table in front of his host. He continued to explain, seeing the clear curiosity in Mingi’s eyes. “Sailing solo against the currents and amongst all the trade route traffic will do that to you.”

“Let me get this straight,” Mingi pressed, swallowing a gulp of his own tea and pulling Hongjoong into the chair across from him. “You survived the naval ambush reported in all the papers and bulletins a year ago, and sailed here all by yourself without sleeping properly on what ship, exactly?”

Hongjoong bit his lip like he was having second thoughts before sighing and getting to his feet, motioning Mingi to follow him.

“I left her at our old spot on the beach,” he told him, following the familiar path down the cliffside. “She’s not much, but I think I’ve grown attached.”

By the time they reached the water, Mingi was bursting with curiosity. Hongjoong let him take a good look at the little boat sitting there, tied to the dock just north of them before he said anything.

It wasn’t the most impressive vessel Mingi had ever seen, a bit smaller than the Song fishing boat and composed of mismatched wood and sheets, but as Hongjoong went on, its appearance began to make sense.

“The bulletins were correct about the Stardust going down,” he told him through a strained throat. “This is all that is left of her.”

“You built this,” Mingi breathed, astounded. “Out of what, the wreckage? You must not have been on the open ocean when it was sunk, then. Unless you’ve gained the ability to dive hundreds of feet while carrying soaked lumber…”

Hongjoong snorted and shook his head, loving eyes on the little bobbing boat he had made. That thing was probably as close a companion as Mingi had been once, and it prompted him to ask what he’d been meaning to since yesterday.

“I guess the only question I have left is... where were you in the meantime?” He kept his voice low, afraid to startle Hongjoong out of his daze while he continued to stare at the boat. “I mean, a whole year has passed since word of the sinking of the Stardust. I always assumed you had-had, you know... drowned.”

There was a restrained silence for a few moments, and Mingi had quietly decided to try again later when his guest had been given more time to recover from the experience, but to his great surprise he suddenly received his answer.

“I don’t know what happened to Eden but his body wasn’t with the shipwreck when I returned to it. We were separated and I drifted ashore,” Hongjoong nearly whispered, digging his bare foot into the sand absently. It was probably too soon to be talking about it but Mingi couldn’t help himself. “I survived on an uninhabited island day by day through...” he trailed off again like he wasn’t sure he wanted to go into detail. “Through so many scrapes with death that I needed to find a way off. No one was coming to get me and I’d been there 292 days.”

Mingi followed his gaze past the boat and out to the ocean. It was cruel and unpredictable, even from his pleasant view here on the shore. He couldn’t imagine traversing it on his own, dead to the world and surviving a nightmare.

And to think it was his own loose lips that had caused all this...

“I’m so sorry,” Mingi choked, lowering his head. “About Eden and- and everything that happened to you. And being abandoned in the wild for that long? I can’t even imagine it. I probably wouldn’t have lasted a day,” he brushed Hongjoong in the shoulder lightly with a teary smile to lift the mood.

“You’re more resourceful than you think,” Hongjoong reminded him as he took his hand and squeezed it. “I was.”

Together they climbed the hill back to the house and watched the sunrise through the windows. The skies promised sunshine for once, and it was a welcome guest.

Mingi watched Hongjoong clean up the dishes then root around for more to fill his empty stomach with and considered how they’d both come full circle.

His first friend, the one he should have stuck with through everything, back to being a ghost boy and floating through this shell of a house as if he was haunting it.

Now hopefully he’d lead a quiet life, recovering from everything that had clearly already traumatised him, settling down with a trade he liked, maybe a family of his own.

And Mingi would be right there to support him. He’d never make the mistake of leaving his side again.

Although, he would have to explain things to his mother when she came home.

Speaking of Mother…

Mingi busied himself by hurrying around the cottage, cleaning up after Hongjoong. He’d tracked wet sand all over the place with his bare feet, there was a spot of dirt on the sofa where he’d been sitting, and the sheets on Minseok’s bed probably needed changing.

Generally, Mingi didn’t take much notice of the state of cleanliness the house was in, but as resident caretaker of it and an almost-adult, he felt the need to make the place presentable and also take good care of his guest.

“Hyung, do you happen to have a change of clothes?” Mingi called from the sitting room, glancing over to see Hongjoong turn sharply from where he was stuffing his face with toast and blink in surprise a few times.

“Everything I own is at Jangwon or the bottom of the sea,” he informed him, speaking with his mouth still full. “So, no.”

Mingi muffled his laugh at Hongjoong’s loss of manners and went to draw water for him to bathe in. He’d been alone in the wild for so long that it was hardly surprising to have banished all thought and memory of high society, but the fact that he also had untreated wounds and tattered rags hanging off him was a little more urgent in Mingi’s eyes.

“Let’s wash off some of that dirt first,” Mingi instructed, leading Hongjoong from the kitchen and into the bathroom, not prepared to have to drag him away and throw him in the tub, but unrelenting when that was the case.

It was a good thing he spent so much time hauling the squirming catches in his fishnets around, considering Hongjoong was as untamed as the ocean and of no mind to be scrubbed like a child, though that was what Mingi decided to do anyway.

“You’re shaking,” he frowned when Hongjoong finally stilled, fingers clutching the lip of the tub until he had a chance to grab the cleaning rag from him and scrub himself. “Is the water cold?”

Hongjoong shook his head, refusing to look at him, and snatched up the towel when Mingi offered it with a successful smile.

Now he was all clean and smooth again.

Eventually the new roughness around the edges would weather away too.

“Though we should most definitely get you something... else... to wear,” Mingi laughed when Hongjoong discovered a new hole in the shirt he’d been forcibly removed from.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” he started to say, but Mingi cut him off by handing him an outfit of his own for the meantime.

“No, I meant to take a trip to the market this morning anyway. Let’s just be sure to return before Mother does.”

For Hongjoong’s sake, Mingi decided he could miss a day’s fishing after all.

The first stop was the clothing booth, where they’d bought fabrics on Hongjoong’s birthday almost three years ago. It felt like much longer when a burning wave of nostalgia washed over him, but Mingi busied himself by looking for a hat like he’d meant to yesterday and didn’t dwell on it. He had a lot of regrets about that year.

Hongjoong wasn’t exactly shopping, mostly just standing around and watching the goings-on with a shrewd eye.

“Stop staring at people, you don’t want to end up back at Jangwon,” Mingi admonished nervously before steering him to another section of the booth. “Here, get yourself some shoes.”

It took over an hour to get him into a pair of boots he wouldn’t complain about and Mingi threw in a shirt, jacket, and pair of breeches for good measure when he went to buy them along with his hat.

“I know you like jewellery,” Mingi suggested as they returned to the main road, steering Hongjoong out of the way of some rowdy women in the middle of the road. “Let me introduce you to the latest styles in fashion.”

“I’m not a child,” Hongjoong groaned, brushing his hands off and striding ahead a few paces in rebellion.

“I know you aren’t,” Mingi explained, taking a couple steps to keep up with him. “I’m just… trying to make up for not spending more time with you when we were children.”

Hongjoong didn’t reply but slowed down and glanced up at his host with a nod that told him he was forgiven. “Yes, I do like jewellery.”

He fumbled with the chain of a necklace he already wore, a crystal swinging from it that Mingi didn’t recognise, and made a turn onto the street where the store was.

Deciding not to press Hongjoong about anything else, Mingi settled for following him around and paying for the items he chose. It was the least he could do.

They ended up eating lunch in the corner of a pub, and Mingi struggled to keep up with Hongjoong’s drinking pace but was glad to get him talking again with some alcoholic lubrication.

“So where is this island?”

Hongjoong frowned in thought before pulling a wanted sign off the wall and sketching on it with a quill from the nearby table.

“Here,” he finally passed him a map with the coastline, archipelago, and colonies plotted on it, as well as some smaller islands to the south that Mingi hadn’t known about. “This one is where I was, to the best of my knowledge. Admiral Kim’s fire ships ambushed us here, and this was where the Stardust went down.”

Mingi scoffed and finally looked back up at him. “You memorised all that well enough to recreate it?”

“Well, it’s more or less accurate to a couple of coordinates—”

“Kim Hongjoong, I’m amazed at you,” Mingi laughed and sat back, taking a swig of his drink. He was suddenly very glad he had suggested the pub and not one of the tea houses.

“I’m happy to see you smile again,” Hongjoong told him warmly as he folded up the paper and pushed it to the side, suddenly deep in thought.

“All I wanted on that island was not to be alone anymore. Somehow despite that, being in the marketplace is too suffocating. It’s much better in here tucked into a corner with just the two of us.”

Another reason Mingi was glad to have chosen the pub. Everything was in the open and capable of being scrutinised at the tea house. It would have been total disaster if anyone from Jangwon was there.

“You know, I thought about you a lot while I was gone,” Hongjoong suddenly said and Mingi tilted his head in disbelief.

“Truly?”

“Yes, I agree with what you said earlier about regretting not spending more time together,” Hongjoong explained with a shallow sigh. “There were things I couldn’t have told you, but I feel I ought to have done better, and those words I said that night when I ran away…”

“I deserved them. I should have done better, too,” Mingi confessed softly. “And I will. This is a second chance, hyung. We can live our lives side-by-side from now on.”

They clinked their glasses together and downed them to seal the deal, and as they stood to leave Mingi noticed Hongjoong barefoot again and sat him down to lace up his boots.

“But not if you won’t keep your shoes on, for heaven’s sake…”

He laughed it off with Hongjoong as they walked back into the street, but behind closed doors, he knew what it was. Between the way he ate that oyster soup like it was his last meal, how easily disquieted he was, and his aversion to being touched without warning, Hongjoong was struggling to turn off his survival instincts. If it was as bad as Mingi thought, he might not be able to return to society. Not in any meaningful way.

For a while longer, they wandered the stalls and Mingi tried not to let it bother him. It was one of those days where the sun transitioned between blazing hot and being hidden behind the moving clouds, and a headache was growing behind his eyes as a result.

“What do you think of this one?” Hongjoong had to ask twice when Mingi couldn’t keep his eyes open and pay attention.

He was standing in between two anchors of different sizes and materials and Mingi couldn’t help but snort as he imagined Hongjoong trying to figure out how to move them down to the waterfront.

“An anchor? Why would you need an anchor?”

He was becoming irritable and Hongjoong knew it.

“You head back, I’ll look around for some other things to buy for the ATEEZ,” Hongjoong finally suggested instead of explaining himself.

“ATEEZ?” Mingi mumbled, putting up a hand to shade his eyes as the sun came out again.

“That’s what I’ve decided to call her,” came the response and Mingi gave an approving nod, dropped his money bag into Hongjoong’s hands, and trudged home to get in a nap.

Mother was there mending some clothes in the sitting room and Mingi provided her with a short explanation before escaping to his bed and evading all the following questions.

Sleep came over him gradually and wasn’t the most peaceful, not with the worry that Hongjoong was alone in the market gnawing at the back of his mind. He might get into a fight or steal something from a shop owner for all he knew, and as host Mingi would feel responsible for whatever harm might come to the stranger.

Perhaps he was treating Hongjoong too much like a child.

Thankfully, Mingi woke to the smell of dinner wafting through the house and the sight of his mother and guest sitting and eating peacefully. Hongjoong had brought back a canola flower bunch to decorate the table and upon seeing it, Mingi remembered the way he gave Dahye flowers once and became overly excited. It was as if the old Hongjoong was back.

The feeling didn’t last as supper went on when conversation fizzled out and Hongjoong, already finished with his meagre fish, would stare at nothing, reliving a horror he didn’t share.

He did an excellent job of hiding his fragile state when a dark memory overtook him, but Mingi was better at seeing it than Hongjoong was at pretending.

Mingi had noticed it before in the old sailors who fought in wars once. Hongjoong carried a type of pain with him that never faded, it only changed form.

“What do you intend to do with the ATEEZ?” Mingi asked to break the silence when the two of them sat outside under the stars, watching Mingi’s mother head to town for work.

“I’m not sure where I’ll go yet, but I want to sail,” Hongjoong answered, fiddling with his hands. “I have a feeling Eden is still out there…”

He trailed off quietly and neither of them spoke for a long time. If there was something he wanted to add, he was having trouble expressing it, so Mingi let the silence stretch on and considered whether Eden could be alive.

Hongjoong had survived, and Eden was much more experienced a pirate to begin with which certainly put it in the realm of possibilities.

But to hunt him down and join him would make Hongjoong a true pirate as well, and Mingi knew if he went down that road it would mean being pursued by enemies across the ocean for the rest of his days.

Not the quiet seaside life they’d envisioned earlier.

When the moon came out, the pair retired to bed. Questions of the future could wait at least a day longer, and the exhaustion of their outing had finally caught up with them.

Mingi should have anticipated the night terrors.

Muttering from the other bed awoke him sometime in the night and at first he ignored it, rolling over and pressing a pillow over his ears, but the sound of Hongjoong suddenly yelling had him sit up and rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Now he was breathing heavily and his thrashing grew in force until Mingi was genuinely worried and decided to wake him up.

“It’s just a dream, hyung, open your—”

Before he could finish, Hongjoong’s eyes flashed open and a hand shot out to switch their positions, choking Mingi fiercely before he realised who he was.

When had he gotten so strong?

“It’s me,” Mingi tried to say, mouth working with only a breathless grunt coming out of his sore throat, but it seemed to do the trick.

Hongjoong released him with a gasp and slowly moved away, shrinking into a ball and struggling to regain control of himself while Mingi recovered his breath.

“Are you alright?” He whispered, as if being quiet now could atone for the violent episode he’d just had.

Mingi expected him to be crying, releasing that tumultuous emotion somehow, but he simply stared at nothing again, knuckles white as he curled his fingers tightly in the blanket and waited for a reply.

No, I’m terrified, Mingi wanted to say. I could’ve died just now, you could have killed me…

“Just startled is all, it wasn’t your fault.” The rasp in his voice made him pause to swallow carefully. “Are… are you?”

“We don’t… keep secrets from each other,” he answered so quietly that Mingi could barely hear, but he knew what Hongjoong was admitting.

He wasn’t alright. He wouldn’t be for a long time, maybe not ever.

This wasn’t the same Hongjoong who left Mingi alone in the cold, weather-beaten town that had turned against the both of them. This was someone else, someone who was part wild beast himself now.

Mingi didn’t know how to help him, and it made him feel useless.

“You’re soaked,” he mentioned absently as he laid a careful hand on his shoulder and noticed the shirt he wore was doused in sweat. “Let’s get this off…”

He should have known what a mistake that was before pulling the cloth off for him and being greeted with a frightening collection of jagged scars running down Hongjoong’s back, but instead he opened his mouth to ask, stunned, “What happened?”

Mingi hadn’t noticed the marks during the bath, probably because of the way his guest had been pressed against the tub, hiding it from him.

Hongjoong scooted as far away as possible with the speed of a cornered animal and pulled the blankets up to his chin. “Please,” he insisted through his teeth, and he didn’t need to finish the sentence. Mingi knew what he was asking.

Don’t make me lie to you.

He looked like he’d nearly been clawed to death by something, but apparently it wasn’t worth telling Mingi, who may not have experienced anything remotely similar but was doing everything in his power to aid his recovery from it.

He couldn’t help the annoyance from seeping into his voice. “I’m just trying to help—”

“You should go back to bed,” Hongjoong cut him off, voice hoarse and eyes shining with something akin to regret. “You need to sleep.”

Instead Mingi tossed the shirt to the floor and marched outside, upset.

He knew it was his frustration at more than Hongjoong coming through, but despite his friend’s return, life still felt unfair.

He was alive, but in a strange state of limbo, where for long periods of time he might as well not be. He was with Mingi but deep down wanted to go somewhere else, wherever Eden was.

Mingi swallowed his tears before they presented themselves and tried to formulate a plan.

Hongjoong’s suffering wasn’t his alone. It might take time but if he could let Mingi in, they’d both be better equipped to handle it.

Mingi just needed to be patient.

He started by going back inside and crawling into bed. Hongjoong was either asleep or pretending to be, facing the opposite wall to avoid another confrontation.

The two didn’t argue until the following morning, when Mingi found his guest outside again, watching the ATEEZ bob up and down on the water below.

“Why do you expect me to be the same as I was before I left?” Hongjoong asked tiredly without looking at him. Mingi wasn’t sure how he even knew he had approached. “Haven’t you noticed that you changed as well?”

Mingi furrowed his brows and tried to understand. “Me? What on earth are you referring to?”

Hongjoong faced him with his jaw set and a cold look in his eyes. “You’re always trailing behind like you can’t let me out of your sight. I told you before, I’m not a child… or a mangy dog for that matter.”

Mingi bristled but kept his clenched fist by his side.

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t be as aloof and insensitive as your pirate friends,” he scoffed bitterly, and regretted it as soon as it left his mouth.

Hongjoong got to his feet slowly and let his eyes rake over the little cottage he’d loved so dearly once.

“I think it’s best that I stay somewhere else.”

There was no emotion in his voice and it terrified Mingi.

“No, please, hyung! Don’t do this to me, don’t leave me again. I’ll do anything—”

Hongjoong sighed and raised a hand to stop him from going on. There was concern in his eyes that didn’t reach his voice as he explained, “Mingi, I could have killed you last night. I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

Mingi was partially relieved this suggestion had nothing to do with his sarcastic comment, but still got to his feet and blocked Hongjoong’s route to the sea.

“What does it matter if you do? I deserve it!”

“Don’t say that,” Hongjoong snapped immediately. “You didn’t do this. I know you want to help but—”

“Nothing can be done?” Mingi finished for him. “Are you completely certain of that fact? Let me at least try. Give me another chance, hyung, I’m begging you.”

Hongjoong pursed his lips and glanced away. For a moment he said nothing and simply let the wind ruffle his hair, deciding whether to part on such terms or relent and let Mingi redeem himself.

“I’ll make you a deal— and you know I’m not the gambling type,” Mingi broke the silence breathlessly, for once in his life taking the first step himself. “Work on your ship all you want, but do it here. I won’t interfere, and if you ultimately decide to leave on it, I won’t stop you. But please just try for me. Wear your boots and join society if you can. Promise you’ll do your best… because I can’t bear the thought of being separated from you again.”

Hongjoong’s eyes swam before meeting his and he let out a wet chuckle before scratching the back of his head. “You really want me here?”

“We won’t even make you help with the fishing,” Mingi promised with a growing smile. He knew he’d managed to convince him by the way Hongjoong let out that little amused snort and offered his hand to be shaken.

“Alright,” he sighed, resigned, before setting his eyes on the town. “I have other means of earning my keep.”

Mingi overlooked the dark undertone of that statement, relieved he’d managed to win back Hongjoong’s company.

“I’ll return for supper,” Hongjoong bade him farewell as he slung a bag over his shoulder. “The ATEEZ needs some work.”

He had his word, and that held good for Mingi. His heart was lighter as he returned to the kitchen and looked around for something to cook breakfast with.

Not fish this time, Hongjoong was probably sick of them.

Mingi looked out the window that pointed toward the road inland, with still no sign of Father. When he returned with his eels, it was likely he would try to enlist Hongjoong’s help in finding the elusive catches, and that would be a breach of the verbal contract Mingi had just made.

But even then, no fish for breakfast. If it was the only food available on a remote tropical island, Mingi could do better.

There weren’t many new fish in Panhang in the first place.

...

A/N: With only a few chapters left, we’ve reached a turning point both in the story and Mingi’s character! Let me know if you managed to connect past and present by leaving a comment, and have a great week <3

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[kurogxmi]

On The Rocks (Yoongi Oneshot)

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi finds his muse in the last place he ever wanted to look.

Warnings: Angst, post-breakup sadness, fingering, minor degradation (not really), cockwarming, I’m a whore for Min Yoongi I guess

Min Yoongi was many things.

A producer, rapper, composer, member of the biggest band on earth…

But he wasn’t this.

Sitting at the bar in a dark club, music blaring to the point where it just sounded like noise, nursing a glass that was just never fucking full enough.

This wasn’t him.

He should be in his studio, working on their new album and tweaking his own, not sitting in this hellhole. Yoongi couldn’t even remember how he’d gotten here. Someone had said it. Your name. Someone had said your name right outside his studio and the walls began closing in on him and he needed out. He’d left home, ice in his chest having felt claustrophobic in his studio for the first time and the possible explanation fucking terrified him. The staff had freaked out, sending bodyguards out after him and constantly blowing up his phone.

He ignored all of it, hoodie up, hands in his pockets, and just walked.

And then he was here. Pushing through the writhing mass of bodies pulsing on the dancefloor, reeking of alcohol and sweat, so desperate to feel something they’d subject themselves to this.

Yoongi knocked back the rest of his drink, ice cubes brushing his top lip, and clinked the glass against the bartop to get the bartender’s attention. She smiled and quickly made her way over, leaning too far forward and giving him a generous glimpse of her cleavage. He didn’t care. He just wanted to stop feeling.

“Tequila,” he ordered, eyes focused somewhere over her left shoulder. “On the rocks.” 

“Coming right up,” she purred, busying herself with his drink. He fought the grimace threatening to contort his face. She was pretty enough, and if he wanted he could have her on her knees with just a look.

But, as she set his drink in front of him with a wink, he accepted that he just didn’t want that. Not her. Not anyone.

He swore and tipped the tequila into his mouth, jaw clenched as it seared his mouth and throat, and threw a wad of cash onto the bartop, more than enough for his drinks and a tip to apologise for his cold behaviour. He got to his feet unsteadily and made for the exit, hands coming up to pull his hood over his head.

This little adventure was a failure; he could have stayed home and gotten drunk if that’s what he really wanted. But it wasn’t.

None of this was what he wanted.

What he wanted was you.

~

“C’mon, honey, it’ll be fun.”

You shrugged in response, not really believing your best friend because what on earth was fun about a club when your heart yearned to be elsewhere?

You let her drag you along anyway, because what else did you have planned? Bingewatching your favourite shows on the couch? Again? Taking one look at the chaos inside the club, you realised you’d rather be doing just that. You stopped at the door, pulling your friend to a halt who looked back at you questioningly.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. You couldn’t go along with your friend’s maddening attempts to break you out of the black hole of depression you’d fallen into since you’d last seen him.

She sighed, arms curling around you.

“You have to,” she said firmly. “This was your decision, remember?” 

You remembered it like it was yesterday. The fight that had broken out still tore at your heart. He was barely home, always busy with work, and when he was home he slept and slept. And when he wasn’t sleeping, he took his stress out on you. You didn’t blame him for it, you knew how much pressure he was constantly under. But it got worse as time went on, the screaming never ending, and the last straw had been him walking out on you during that fight.

The sound of the door slamming behind him still echoed in your ears. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, letting her lead the way.

It was so noisy, the deafening bass gave you an instant headache and you longed for the tingly numbness that being tipsy brought you. You dodged a few drunks, having to swing around completely to miss a couple sloppily making out and fumbling toward the bathrooms. You frowned, turning to ask your friend if you could just go somewhere else when you froze.

Because there he was, dressed head to toe in black, dragging his feet toward you. Your heart lodged itself in your throat, beating a mile a minute. You could escape; he hadn’t seen you, his eyes focused on the ground, and the anxiety beginning to settle in your chest would soon be a full blown panic attack if he got any closer. You reached out to grab your friend but she’d slipped into the crowd and you were utterly alone as you watched him lift his head and lock eyes with you.

~

His lips parted, eyes wide as he stared at you, standing there in that black dress you wore only for him, like Satan himself had decided to climb straight out of hell to torture him. You were so beautiful it hurt, even in his inebriated state. He decided you weren’t real. He’d had so much to drink that his subconscious had crafted this hallucination of you to punish himself for every shout, every hour spent away, every time he chose work over you.

You weren’t real, but he was still drunk, and he stumbled forward, hungrily taking in this mirage of what he could have had, relishing in the bloom of pain in his chest. He stopped inches from you, afraid that if he reached out to touch you, you’d vanish.

He didn’t think he could watch you leave a second time.

Possessed by some drunken urge, his tongue once so accustomed to the word, he couldn’t help it as it fell from his lips.

“Baby.” 

~

Though the music was too loud to hear him, you saw his lips frame it, that one word that lanced through your heart, breaking you out of your stupor. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying and turned on your heel and walked out.

Your lungs fought to take in air, hand pressed to your chest to somehow slow your racing heart as you scanned for a taxi, an Uber, something to take you far, far away. Heels clacking on the sidewalk, you paced, too afraid to look back. He looked so drunk, the worst you’d ever seen him, purple bruises beneath his dark eyes, puffy from what you assumed was a lack of sleep. His now-blond hair was too messy to be intentional, and his hoodie had seen better days. Guilt seared your throat. You never meant for this to happen…

A strong hand closed around your upper arm, making you jump and pull away instinctively but he held on tighter. You never were able to overpower him, not that you’d tried very often. He turned you around to face him, taking a step into your personal space.

“Baby,” he breathed again. His breath reeked of alcohol, and you briefly wondered how much he’d really had. But you needed to get away.

“Not anymore, Yoongi,” you whispered, your heart breaking; this had to be the final nail in the coffin. His dark brows furrowed in confusion. Was he too drunk to remember that you’d ended things with him months ago? You tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go. His grip only tightened, becoming uncomfortable as he pulled you into his chest, his lips hovering inches from yours.

“Always,” he corrected. God, how you’d missed him. How you wanted to drop to your knees and beg him to forgive you. How you wanted to tell him you still loved him so much it hurt, how you probably wouldn’t love anyone else ever again. 

But you couldn’t. You made a promise to yourself, long before now that you’d never make him choose between you and his work. He had so many people counting on him, and you were nothing compared to the millions of fans that relied on his music every day. You’d been one of them, you still were. And you’d known he’d choose his music in a heartbeat, so why put yourself through the extra heartache?

No, this was better.

As much as it killed you.

“Yoongi, please let me go,” you pleaded, tears threatening to fall. His lower lip trembled and he bit down it, the haze in his eyes clearing like he was waking up. He scanned the street behind you, frowning before he wordlessly pulled you along. You tugged at the sleeve of his hoodie, but it was useless.

“Yoongi,” you cried, digging your heels in. He said nothing as the door of a huge black SUV opened.

“Get in.” Low and gruff, his voice sparked recognition in you and you didn’t disobey. The sob that clawed at your throat slipped through your lips in a broken sigh as you slid along the expensive leather.

The ride back to the dorm was the quietest you’d ever endured.

Yoongi was still silent when the car finally stopped, and he practically dragged you up the stairs, ignoring everyone along the way until he locked his studio door behind you.

He walked over to his desk, his palms resting and head hanging. The sight of him bowed over like that, like he could barely stand…

“Yoongi-”

“You will always,” he interrupted, not turning to face you. “Always be mine.”

“Yoongi, that hasn’t been true for months,” you whispered. You’d never seen him like this. You’d seen him be the happy, clingy Yoongi, you’d seen him angry and stressed out. But this was… he was so defeated.

“You never gave me a chance,” he bit out, shoulders tensing. “I know I fucked up; I should have been there, I should never have chosen some stupid award show over our anniversary, I never should have walked out. I should have put you first. But I would have done better for you.”

He pushed off the desk and turned to you, and he knew you couldn’t tell that he could finally breathe again. He knew you had no idea that seeing you made him feel like he’d woken up again. Even now, seeing you standing there, heels in hand and tears on your beautiful face, you were as stunning as the day you’d left.

“Please let me do better,” Yoongi said, his voice cracking with the weight of his words. 

“I don’t-”

“Please, baby. My music is nothing without you. Everything is so out of tune, nothing sounds right, nothing feels right.”

Why was he begging you to take him back like this? You’d thought the roles would have been reversed, if it ever came down to it. Your aching heart had slowly begun a normal rhythm since you’d seen him, your body humming with life since he’d brought you close. Where was your resolve? Why did he manage to unravel everything inside you?

Yoongi’s hands cupped your face, his palms scorching against your cheeks. 

“I can’t-,” he paused, the words seeming to cause him physical pain. “I can’t give up music, but I can walk out. I just need you back.”

“Yoongi, I never wanted you to give up anything for me,” you murmured, your voice small under his soothing caresses. “I never wanted to be the reason you walked away from what you love, I’d never be worth it. I just missed you so much. All we ever did was fight…”

“I was an idiot,” he said. “I was so blind, using you to work out my frustrations. I know I don’t deserve it, but please.”

“Yoongi!” you sobbed suddenly, needing him to stop so you could catch up. Your shaking fingers circled is wrists, stripped bare of the usual bracelets he wore; save for the silver bracelet you’d given him on your last anniversary. The anniversary he’d gone to that award show without you.

He simply looked at you, waiting. His thumbs drew tiny circles over your cheeks, and you hated that your heart settled under his touch. But your stomach twisted. Maybe you were being paranoid or overdramatic, but his words replayed in your head.

I can walk out.

Why couldn’t he see that that wasn’t what you wanted? 

“Do you really think that low of me?” you whispered, fingers still clutching his wrists. His brow furrowed but you cut him off before he could speak. “That I’d make you choose me over your music?”

Yoongi was stunned, his lips parted in confusion. His thumbs stilled on your cheeks.

“Do you really think you’re less important than my music?”

Dropping your gaze, you knew you couldn’t lie.

“I know I am,” you admitted.

Four words. Four innocuous little words, uttered with such conviction. Like you believed every single one. 

It crushed Yoongi’s heart.

“Baby,” he breathed. “You are more important than the oxygen in my lungs.”

You snorted at him, his cheesy one-liners always lightening any mood; even this one. He shushed you, his thumbs pressing into your bottom lip.

“Is that why…?” he trailed off, unable to say the words even after months. You nodded sadly, and those doubts that had chased you from sleep countless nights crept to the surface. He was right. You should have spoken to him instead of making a decision on your own. 

“Please can I kiss you, baby girl?” he murmured, eyes searching yours for the smallest hint of rejection. You knew he’d back off immediately if you told him to. But you didn’t want him to back off. Seeing him again, even through all the panic and fear, had you breathing easier than you had since the day you’d left.

You answered by pressing your lips to his, a gentle apology for not giving him a say. He groaned into your mouth, his hands slipping from your face to clutch at your hips. His kisses were just as you remembered; soft and sweet like honey. His tongue slid out along your lips, almost begging for permission. It was the softest he’d ever kissed you, and when you allowed his tongue to slip into your mouth, relief shuddered through his body. 

“Fuck, I miss you,” Yoongi mumbled, his bottom lip caught between your teeth. His fingers worked into your hips, sending tingles down to the tips of your toes. “Don’t leave.”

The command sounded more pleading than he’d intended, but your tongue in his mouth had his cock hardening instantly. It’d been so fucking long…

“If you’ll have me,” you promised, fingers inching beneath his hoodie. That was all it took for him to slide his hands down to the curve of your ass, squeezing while he hoisted you up, your legs at home around his slim waist.

“I’ll have all of you,” he growled, sinking his teeth into the soft skin at the base of your throat. He walked over to his desk and set you down on the edge, his hand pushing whatever was in his way to the ground with a crash. He ground his hips into yours, the friction of his jeans against the flimsy lace covering your pussy making you shiver. He was the only one, the only person who had ever turned you into a sobbing mess just by grinding into you.

His mouth found yours again, more urgent, his chapped lips snagging on yours as he desperately tried to make you a part of his soul. You sighed into his kisses, his presence filling every one of your senses until he was all you could think about. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs, blunt nails leaving small crescents behind before pushing your dress up and over your ass. 

The cold glass of his desk was ice against your flushed skin, making you hiss and squirm away. His hands fisted in the material of your dress bunched around your hips and held you down, forcing you to stay in place.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, trailing hickeys across your shoulder, his index finger tracing featherlight figure 8s on your soaked slit. Every sweep of his finger spread your arousal to your throbbing clit, your breaths coming shorter and shallow.

Yoongi pulled away from your neck to watch you, watch how your eyes squeezed shut when his thumb brushed your clit, how your teeth worried your bottom lip when the callouses on his fingers smoothed across your sensitive skin. Your flushed face the most beautiful thing he’d ever get to see. His other hand settled around the base of your throat, his thumb stroking up and down the column of unmarked skin, so bare and ready for him to claim.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low and gruff. You obeyed, slipping into this role so easily for him. Your breath caught in your throat, cut off by his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, lazily drinking you in like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. 

“Months,” he ground out.

You blinked up at him, unsure where he was headed. You shivered as his hand trailed up your throat and his calloused thumb slipped between your kiss-swollen lips. The pad of his thumb pinned your tongue and he pulled your jaw down, forcing your mouth open.

“Months of nothing but you on my mind,” he sneered, his fingers flexing around your chin. He leaned forward, his tongue shoving into your mouth and licking a slow stripe along the roof of your mouth, earning a long whine from you. “Your hands, your mouth, these lips,” he said, kissing your top lip gently. His free hand tugged your bodycon dress off, his thumb sliding along your tongue.

You looked so fucking sexy sitting on his desk, naked and needy, your thighs trying to squeeze shut in search of friction, your lips around his thumb. He hissed, pulling your face closer, his breath ghosting across your tongue. Your hands circled his wrist, grasping for any kind of anchor to keep you from falling into bliss.

“How you tasted, how you felt, how you screamed my name,” he whispered, his free hand cupping your pussy, middle finger teasing at your entrance. Your hips bucked, desperate to have him inside you, any part of him. You whimpered around his thumb, squirming forward until he smacked your pussy to silence you.

“I couldn’t write music without thinking about you begging for my cock,” he teased, finger circling your clit so softly you barely felt him. You swallowed the whine, knowing what’d happen if you made a sound while he was talking. “Couldn’t compose without hearing your pathetic whimpers when I finally gave it to you.”

He removed his thumb from your mouth, still connected by the thread of your spit. He smirked, your lips still parted in anticipation. He replaced his thumb with his index and middle fingers, fucking deep into your mouth until you gagged around his knuckles. He chuckled and slid the index and middle fingers of his other hand into your drenched pussy, grunting at how tight you were, how you clenched around him. He’d never forget this, how your walls fluttered around him, how you could milk him dry despite his self-control.

“Fuck, baby girl,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to your ear, knowing exactly how riled his voice made you. “You’re so wet, so fucking hot.”

He curled his fingers inside you, tapping that spot before pulling out and repeating. His hand was slick, his palm creating enough friction on your clit as his fingers caressed your g-spot and sent burning shivers down your spine. The coil in your stomach tightened, aided by the way he used his fingers to fuck your mouth, the wet, gagging sounds echoing in his silent studio.

“I love how you sound, baby girl,” he mused, breathing hard in your ear. You knew, you knew he could talk you into cumming, and he was going to do that right now. “Choking on my fingers like the greedy slut you are, do you hear how soaked you are?”

You could; you could hear how his fingers squelched inside you, felt how your thighs began to slip on the wet glass beneath you. His thumb pressed into your clit had your spine locking as a bolt of pleasure sang through your body, your hands fisting around his wrist.

“Only you could make me forget the music in my veins, only your body could teach me what it’s supposed to feel like when I play the piano.”

Your knees tensed around his hips, your toes curling as he sent you over the edge.

He talked you through your high, voice barely audible over your moans, letting you ride it out on his dripping fingers.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed, placing kisses below your ear. “Cum for me, only me. You’re so beautiful when you cry my name.”

He slipped his fingers out of your mouth, winding them through your hair and pulling your lips to his, his other hand still massaging your swollen pussy. “You good?”

You nodded, delirious and sated, legs feeling like jelly. He smiled and kissed you once more before helping you stand and leading you to his chair. He stopped only to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans, pulling them down enough to free his engorged cock before he sat down and pulled you toward him.

You were about to kneel when his hands caught your shoulders, turning you instead and lowering you onto his lap, his thick cock catching your entrance and pushing inside you. You cried out, your body oversensitive, your walls so swollen as you squeezed his cock. Yoongi grunted, his hands pulling you all the way down, burying himself in you and it felt like coming home.

He breathed deep, noting the way your fingers clutched the arms of his chair, and smoothed his own over your hips and waist. He tried not to move under you, knowing that the second you clenched, he’d spill into you. He reached around you, chin resting on your shoulder while he booted up his PC.

“What are you doing?” you asked, breathless and so ready for him to fuck you until you cried. He hummed, lifting his chin away to nip at your shoulder.

“I have deadlines for this mixtape, baby girl,” he said, sounding like he was only half paying attention. “You’re going to sit right here until I’m done.”