#save me long haired yoongi playing the piano. . . save me

[sopekooks]

208/638 days of missing yoongi

[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. <3

[xavigav]

love is not over // namgi

rating: pg

genre: friends to lovers, fluff, mild angst

word count: 8.3k

summary: Kim Namjoon had always been a genius, far surpassing everyone else in school and past it, but somehow he'd never been smart enough to notice the big, fat, enduring crush his best friend Min Yoongi has had on him for years. And so, when he asked Yoongi for his help in asking out his crush he had no idea he's breaking a heart. But Yoongi will do anything to make Namjoon happy, even if it's killing him inside.

But when Namjoon gets heartbroken as well, things change.

author's note: this is the first fic i've ever posted on tumblr, apologies if formatting is a bit wonky!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It was six years ago, when Yoongi was just a quiet loner and Namjoon just an introverted nerd, that the two had first met.

Yoongi remembered it better than he should have - a consequence of the fact that everything he felt for Namjoon was more than he should have felt for someone who was just a friend. Every detail, every word, stuck in his mind for him to recount to himself whenever he thought for long periods of time about Namjoon, which happened to be a lot.

At the time, Yoongi’s only friend other than the stray cat he fed on the route to school was the piano in the music room there. Old, normally covered in dust, scratches covering the wood of its outside, it certainly wasn’t the prettiest piano there was, but to Yoongi, it was everything.

That afternoon was spent like so many others in Yoongi’s life: practicing music on the piano for as long as he could before he inevitably had to bury himself in schoolwork for the rest of the night. Music was his relief, and he was pretty good at it, too, owing to his hours spent working on his skills.

Usually, no one interrupted him by entering the room, and the few times that anyone did, they quickly left upon seeing his cold glare. It wasn’t exactly Yoongi’s intention to be cruel – he simply had no interest in talking to any of them, and clearly none of them wanted to talk to him, either, so why let them disrupt his peace any longer than they had to?

But Yoongi could tell from the moment that Kim Namjoon stepped through the door that he was different. A good sort of different, the sort that made Yoongi interested . 

In his arms was a far-too-high pile of textbooks threatening to fall over at any moment onto the ground next to his shoes whose laces were tied tight and neat, a head of dyed-blonde hair brushed pristinely save for a few loose strands over his forehead. His uniform fit him well, and he was easily at least 5 centimeters taller than Yoongi.

His eyes didn’t hold the normal confusion or even irritation Yoongi normally saw in the students who encountered him here; rather, he seemed curious, intrigued, like he wanted to see more, a light smile on his face. Yoongi let his fingers come to a rest on the keys, staring at Namjoon with a neutral expression, waiting for whatever would happen next.

And Yoongi tried not to make it the first thing he focused on, he really did, but with his tall stature and the dimples at the side of his plump lips, it was impossible to deny that the boy really was handsome.

“I, um…I heard music in here, so I decided to check it out. That was you, right?” Namjoon said, staring right back at Yoongi, as if cautious of the other boy. Yoongi honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he had built up some sort of reputation for being aggressive, but for some reason he didn’t want to drive away the boy standing in front of him.

So, in what was pretty much a historical first for him, Yoongi greeted Namjoon with a smile. “Yep, that’d be me.”

It was only when Namjoon’s body relaxed and his smile became easier that Yoongi realized Namjoon had been tense, his expression a bit hesitant. Now, he looked much more comfortable, and somehow Yoongi felt better knowing that.

“You’re really good at that. The piano, I mean. It sounds…pretty. How long have you played for?” Namjoon asked, taking a few steps closer to Yoongi.

“Hmm…my whole life, I guess. As long as I can remember, at least,” Yoongi shrugged, but internally he felt a sense of pride about it.

“Wow, that’s a while! No wonder you’re so good, then. Probably should have guessed,” Namjoon chuckled, eyes wide. The book at the top of the pile fell from the movement, and quickly Namjoon scrambled to pick it back up, expression turning to panic. Which, of course, only made all the rest of the books fall too. 

As Namjoon tried and failed to balance several books in his grasp while still picking up the others, Yoongi’s body acted on its own, standing up from the stool he had been sitting on and crouching down next to the boy to pick up the last few textbooks.

Yoongi was about to mentally curse himself for acting out of pure instinct, something he intentionally never did, but the way Namjoon smiled at him then shut his mind up completely. 

“Thank you,” Namjoon said, standing back up, wobbling a bit to keep himself from falling over from the weight of his pile. Yoongi just shrugged with a small smile in response. “So, who are you, anyways, piano prodigy boy?”

“Name’s Min Yoongi. I’m 16. How about you, music room invasion boy?”

“I’m Kim Namjoon, 15 years old. Nice to meet you, Yoongi. Though, I thought that you would be younger than me, since, you know…” Namjoon gestured vaguely towards Yoongi’s legs, and immediately Yoongi knew what he was talking about. He smacked Namjoon lightly on the arm with a snort.

“Yah, I'm not short! I’m average height! You’re just really tall,”

“Sorry about that, then, average height Min Yoongi-ssi,” Namjoon smirked playfully.

“Dork. And call me Min Yoongi- hyung ,” Yoongi shook his head, smile wider than ever.

“Alright then, Yoongi-hyung. Want to be friends?”

Yoongi felt his eyes widen. Someone was offering to be his friend…no, not just offering, they actually wanted to be his friend - for the first time in years . He was only half-sure he wasn’t dreaming at the moment. 

“Ah, really, ye- ” Yoongi cleared his throat, stopping himself in the worry that he might be too enthusiastic. “I mean, uhh, sure! That would be nice. I guess.”

Namjoon chuckled. “Well, I have to go about now. ‘Spose I’ll just meet you here again tomorrow, then.”

And meet Yoongi again tomorrow he did. As well as the next day, and the next. 

Yoongi was right about Namjoon. He was different, the good different. He was funny and caring and an absolute genius, spouting random trivia to Yoongi any chance he got, eyes always lighting up whenever Yoongi would sit back and listen to him talk about his passions. Soon enough the piano was barely used whenever Yoongi visited the music room - the primary purpose of him going there now was to meet with Namjoon in a place that was sort of their own. They became each other’s best friends, more confidential with each other than they were with anyone else.

Every day, they got closer. And every day, Namjoon seemed to get more beautiful to him.

As it turned out, piano was Yoongi’s first love, and Namjoon was his second.

•

“Yoongi-hyung, you remembered to get us some popcorn, right?” Namjoon questioned the moment Yoongi walked through the door – this week it was his turn to buy their groceries – to which Yoongi just smiled, pulling out the box of microwavable popcorn he had bought. He could never forget the popcorn. Or, more accurately, Namjoon would never let him forget the popcorn.

“Extra butter?” Namjoon peered at the box closer, trying to answer his own question.

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi slung the box onto the table next to Namjoon. “Decided to get you a treat this time. We can’t always have it, though, it’s seriously unhealthy.”

“I know, hyung. I like it though,” Namjoon threw Yoongi a fake pout that Yoongi just smiled at before the younger man eagerly opened the box, taking out a packet of his favorite movie-time snack and putting it in the microwave.

Six years after they had first met, now the two of them were roommates, had been for a few years now at this point. Yoongi was 22 and Namjoon was 21, and in all the time that’s passed, Yoongi’s feelings for Namjoon had only grown stronger.

The demanding schedule of college left little time for them to spend with each other outside of simply doing their coursework in the same room, but they did all they could with the time they did have. And that was why the two of them were doing what they were doing right now - their weekly Friday movie night. 

This week, like most weeks, they were going to watch some historical-themed movie that Yoongi had already forgotten the name of, since historical movies were Namjoon’s favorites and Yoongi never had the heart to tell him that the genre bored him. He would never want to see that spark in Namjoon’s eyes when Yoongi agreed to his movie picks disappear, so he just went along with it.

The movies themselves were never his favorite part of their movie nights, anyways. Namjoon was.

After ten minutes, seven of which were spent cleaning up the popcorn kernels that spilled on the floor when Namjoon accidentally dropped the hot popcorn packet after opening it and then heating up another bag, the two of them ended up sitting on the couch next to each other, the title sequence beginning to play.

This part was what Yoongi liked. Him and Namjoon, close together, sharing a bowl of popcorn between them. The word domestic had popped into his head once to describe it, the thought immediately putting a smile on his face. Thankfully, Namjoon had just thought he was smiling at one of the jokes in the movie at the time. 

He paid a bit of attention to the movie in case Namjoon wanted to discuss it at some point, which Namjoon usually did, but most of his mind was focused on Namjoon.

Namjoon’s shoulder right next to his. His hand brushing against Yoongi’s. Their legs bumping together occasionally under the blanket they shared since Namjoon often got cold if he sat in one place for too long.

Small things. They were all small things. But to Yoongi, each touch added more fuel to the warmth in his heart, each time Namjoon giggled at a scene next to him sending a rush of dopamine through his brain. 

The little physical contact they made always had Yoongi happy. Content. Hopeful even, sometimes.

Abruptly, he felt the weight of Namjoon’s head drop onto his shoulder, his hair tickling the side of Yoongi’s neck. Dropping his eyes, Yoongi saw a scene that always seemed just as beautiful as the first time he had seen it – Namjoon’s peaceful sleeping face, eyes closed and soft snores escaping a slight pout every few seconds. He allowed himself to smile then, brushing Namjoon’s hair away from his forehead and observing him for a few moments.

He really had no idea how anyone could be so handsome yet so adorable at the same time.

As much as Yoongi was tempted to gaze just a bit longer, it was becoming a difficult task to keep his own eyes open now. It was late, the movie only a few minutes away from its end. With a yawn, Yoongi let his head droop to the left towards Namjoon, holding the boy just a bit closer before he drifted off to sleep as well.

•

Namjoon was hiding something from him.

A few days after their movie night, as they sat down having dinner together, that’s what Yoongi concluded. He wasn’t sure what that something was, but he knew that it existed – the way Namjoon tapped his fingers against the table like he always did when he was nervous and spent more time shoving tteokbokki around his bowl with his chopsticks than he did eating it was enough for Yoongi to know that something was up.

More specifically, from the way Namjoon looked up at Yoongi like he was about to say something but then looked down a total of four times just in this one meal, Yoongi guessed Namjoon wanted to ask him a question, but was hesitant to do so. And Yoongi wasn’t just about to let Namjoon suffer from whatever was going on in silence, so he decided if Namjoon wouldn’t speak up, he would do it for him.

“Something bothering you, Joon?” Yoongi said before shoving another piece of tteokbokki in his mouth, trying to keep it casual. Namjoon looked up at him, blinking, not having expected Yoongi to catch on to the fact that something was off. He never did.

“Ah, um, no, hyung. Everything’s fine. Just sort of tired from my classes today,” Namjoon responded with a nervous laugh. Yoongi raised an eyebrow at him.

Namjoon was an awful liar, unable to control his body language for the life of him. Plus, he was never this fidgety when he was tired, usually acting more like a pile of goop than a functioning human if he was lacking sleep.

Yoongi looked him in the eyes with a sigh, putting down his chopsticks and resting his head on his hand, paying full attention to Namjoon. “Joon-ah, tell me what’s wrong. It’s me. You know I’d never judge you.”

After another moment of eye contact, Namjoon finally took in a deep breath, nodding slightly. “You know Kim Seokjin, right?”

“Yeah, I have a class with him and the two of us were paired for a project together once, so I know him a decent amount, I guess. Why?”

“Well…ah, I’m only asking this because you’re my best friend and I know you won’t make fun of me like you said, okay? I’m serious, don’t tell anybody!” Namjoon exclaimed, his fidgeting ceasing for a moment as he gripped the table, staring at Yoongi intensely.

A solid quarter of Yoongi’s brain was occupied with thoughts of how cute Namjoon looked at the moment, but he smiled at Namjoon, doing his best to focus that attention back towards his friend’s words – he was curious about what he had to say, after all.

“I promise I won’t,” Yoongi said, and some of the nervousness slipped out of Namjoon’s eyes. 

Namjoon’s next words were quick, loud, and completely and utterly devastating. 

“I want to date him and I need your help!”

The wave of shock that crashed over Yoongi then was cold and sudden, no time for his brain to even try to grasp for any explanation other than the truth. Because the realization of what was happening was obvious, painfully so.

Namjoon liked someone. Namjoon wanted to date someone. And it wasn’t him.

His mind couldn’t even begin to process how to feel yet, and he supposed some of that showed on his face, since Namjoon seemed to interpret his expression as one of confusion.

“Since…you know him, you know? Better than I know him so far. So I thought that you’d be the best person to ask,” Namjoon continued, looking at Yoongi pleadingly. Yoongi just nodded in response, both because he didn’t know what to say and even if it did, his mouth wasn’t cooperating with his brain at all right now.

Sadness washed over him in the next few seconds, taking over the puzzlement in his mind. Namjoon, his best friend, the man he had had a crush on for years, didn’t like him back. Not only that, he liked someone else.

He had always tried preparing himself for this scenario, had always known in the back of his mind that it would have to happen someday, but it still hurt. The sting only made it harder to wade through the mountains of thoughts in his head all fighting for the top spot.

But instead of listening to any of them, Yoongi did his best to put a smile on his face and hoped to whatever stupid cursed love deity that might exist that Namjoon wouldn’t be able to tell that it was fake. 

��‘Course I’ll help you, Joon! Anything to make you happy. I bet it’ll be fun to plan everything together!” 

Every word made the hurt more intense, every breath like shoving a knife further and further into his heart. He did mean part of it, though.

Anything to make Namjoon happy.

Because at the end of the day, as much as he craved Namjoon’s touch and his hugs and wanted them to be something more, Yoongi cared for Namjoon more than he cared about himself. And so if what made Namjoon happy made Yoongi suffer, so be it.

Anything to put a smile on his face.

“Really, hyung?” Namjoon’s eyes immediately lit up, the anxiety on his face fading away as he looked up at Yoongi, deep dimples appearing. “Thank you so much! You have no idea how much this means to me, I’ll make it up to you, I swear!”

Yoongi felt like he was dying inside, both from the guilt of feeling so selfish wanting Namjoon all for himself and from the reality he had to face knowing he’d never get that.

“No problem,” he said, forcing the smile on his face to get just a bit wider.

Namjoon continued to insist that he’d pay Yoongi back somehow, and at some point Yoongi stopped arguing. Because it was true, really, that it was a problem. A big problem.

Just not for the reasons Namjoon thought. 

•

Yoongi couldn’t get himself to stop staring at Kim Seokjin for the entirety of the communications class they shared the next day. He had never really paid much attention to the young man before other than when they had worked on that project together, but he did know some things about him. And that made it hurt all the more to know Namjoon liked him.

Because though he hated admitting it, he could understand why Namjoon felt the way he did. Seokjin was clearly handsome with his perfect, symmetrical face and impossibly broad shoulders. He had seemed nice enough when Yoongi interacted with him. He was pretty funny, too, or at least he tried to be, always doing his best to cheer people up. 

He was, essentially, everything Yoongi had always felt he was not.

It made sense, and no matter how hard he tried Yoongi found himself unable to get over that fact.

Why had Namjoon never liked him instead?

Yoongi tapped his pen against his notebook, bringing himself out of his thoughts. He should be focusing on taking notes on the lecture right now. His boy problems could wait for later.

Unfortunately, the logical part of him that wanted to focus on studies wasn’t nearly as strong as the part of him that was having those boy problems. He flicked his eyes between the professor and his notes, willing his gaze not to move towards Kim Seokjin again.

As he scratched his pen onto paper, scrambling to write down all the most important points so he wouldn’t be completely screwed on their next exam (though Namjoon would surely help him study for it anyways), his mind kept going. And going. And going.

Why couldn’t he be so attractive or have such good humor?

Kim Seokjin had no idea how lucky he was.

Yoongi found himself scowling down at his notes, digging a hand into his hair, desperate to dig those thoughts out of his head. He couldn’t focus like this. Shut up, he willed into his brain, hoping that his train of thought gone rogue would listen.

It didn’t.

Why had Namjoon never noticed just how much Yoongi liked him?

A light poke on his left shoulder was what finally freed him from the mental hole he had gotten himself trapped in. Yoongi looked up, blinking slowly, to see another classmate of his he vaguely recognized, a couple years Yoongi’s junior with a shy smile, wide eyes, and a head of fluffy black hair covering the tops of his eyebrows. They had sat near each other a few times. Yoongi had helped him write the introduction to a report once. And that was all the interaction they had ever had. Jungkook, Yoongi was pretty sure his name was.

“You alright?” Jungkook whispered, eyes scrunched up in concern.

Yoongi took a deep breath. He should have realized he probably looked weird to everyone around him. Nodding his head, he muttered back, “Yeah. Just…sorta stressed about some personal matters. That’s all.”

Jungkook nodded back, giving Yoongi a comforting pat on his shoulder again before turning towards the professor, hastily adding to his own notes.

Jungkook helped more than he knew by pulling Yoongi out of his thoughts. He couldn’t be bitter towards Kim Seokjin. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t know. And Yoongi couldn’t change how things were going, so he couldn’t be jealous of Seokjin either.

If Seokjin was going to be the man that made Namjoon happy, Yoongi just had to accept that, no matter how much it tore his heart apart.

•

It was only three days into their plan and Yoongi already wished he had never agreed. He wished he wasn’t such a coward. He wished he had the balls to actually tell Namjoon how he felt instead of concocting some stupid project to get Namjoon with someone else.

Alas, Yoongi did not, in fact, have the balls to do that. So here he was, sitting beside Namjoon at the table, wishing he could burn a hole with his eyes into the section of a notebook the two of them had dedicated to the task they were working on.

That task being one of their brainstorming sessions on how exactly Namjoon was going to ask Seokjin out. With Namjoon’s anxiety over things going well and Yoongi’s undying perfectionism, the two of them had come up with (and subsequently dismissed) well over two dozen ideas at this point, some of them partially-developed and some of them just wisps of a plan. Some of them barely differed from each other, only containing slight improvements to an already-neglected proposal, and some of them were radically different.

The only thing all of them had in common was that talking about them made Yoongi want to hole himself up in his room and cry. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t an option for him.

The closer the two of them got to developing a plan that had a good chance of succeeding, the happier Namjoon got. The more his eyes brightened and his dimples deepened as he smiled. The more he thanked Yoongi for both his help and his company.

And Yoongi wasn’t willing to give any of that up. Which is why when in the middle of their third brainstorming session Namjoon asked him a question that wasn’t related to their current attempt at a strategy, it was a welcome relief to what he had been subjecting himself to.

“Do you like anyone, Yoongi-hyung?” Namjoon looked up at him curiously, resting his chin on one hand, the other laying on the table, loosely clutching the pen he had been using. Yoongi, caught off guard seeing as he had been sipping on a half-cold cup of coffee during the lull in their conversation, spit out a bit of his drink, quickly pulling an arm over his face to keep the rest of it from drenching the paper in front of him and quite literally ruining their plan – not that he would be opposed to that, the part of him which still hadn’t gotten over his jealousy whispered in the back of his mind.

The almost-choking-on-his-drink part wasn’t quite so welcome. Yoongi smiled, though, and decided to give Namjoon an answer. “‘Course I do. We’re friends, aren’t we? You think I’m some sort of demon who hates everyone?”

He had never specified that it would be a serious answer. 

Namjoon rolled his eyes, lightly smacking Yoongi on the shoulder. “You know that’s not what I mean, hyung. Do you like anyone romantically?”

Yoongi’s first instinct, of course, was to say no. There was no way he could tell Namjoon he liked him, especially not right here, right now, perhaps the absolute worst place and time to do so. 

But would there really be any harm in just rolling with it? Making someone up just for the sake of it? Maybe it would even help a bit with the fact that he knew he couldn’t get with the guy he actually liked. 

No, Yoongi decided, there wouldn’t be. 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, before putting a finger against his lips lightly. “Not telling you who they are now, though. It’s my little secret for now. Besides, you’ve never met them.”

“Ah, really? Come on, hyung, tell me what they’re like at least!” Namjoon begged, and Yoongi couldn’t imagine a single world where he’d even attempt to say no to Namjoon’s plump-lipped pout.

“Fine, if you’re really curious,” Yoongi jokingly held his hands up in surrender. Namjoon leaned towards him, eager for information, and Yoongi’s heart pounded just a bit harder in his chest. “He’s the perfect guy, really. Tall, definitely handsome, but he’s still unique in both looks and personality. He’s sweet and adorable but a genius at the same time. He’ll get all passionate about small things like animals and characters but if you let him he’ll talk to you for hours on end about whatever new scientific discoveries he heard about recently, and he gets so excited about it. It’s endearing. He’s endearing.”

For all Namjoon’s smarts, he had always been oblivious, incredibly so. Yoongi had known from the moment he had started talking that Namjoon wouldn’t pick up that he was talking about him, no matter how obvious he was, no matter how much he talked about things that were so inherently Namjoon. Hell, he could start talking about Namjoon’s dimples and the boy probably still wouldn’t realize it was him who Yoongi loved.

But he did hold himself back, because really, he felt he could never truly run out of things he liked about Namjoon. Every day he seemed to discover some new small detail that made him fall ever so slightly deeper. At this point he couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t enamored with him.

He couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to, but the thing was, he didn’t want to. Knowing Namjoon liked someone else brought him pain, but being his friend, being close to him and knowing they were each other’s closest confidants, brought him more joy than he ever felt otherwise.

Namjoon smiled at him, breathtaking and beautiful, and a part of Yoongi wished he was still as oblivious to Namjoon’s feelings as Namjoon was to his. “Ah, he sounds great, hyung! If our plan with Seokjin works I can help you get with him next!”

Yoongi swallowed down his urge to say no. Namjoon was so genuine, so cheerful at the thought of helping Yoongi too.

But why couldn’t he see that Yoongi liked him? 

Yoongi knew it was mostly his fault – he was the one who had these feelings, and he had to be the one to confess them, so Namjoon couldn’t be blamed for Yoongi’s lack of courage. 

So instead he nodded, trying his best to maintain the dreamy smile on his face from talking about Namjoon. “Yeah, that’ll be fun! Another project for the two of us.”

The two of them.  

Yoongi knew he should be happy for Namjoon. He should be excited about his best friend finding someone he loved. He shouldn’t have the bitterness that was currently crawling its way up his throat like bile.

But he wasn’t happy, and that bitterness was still there, and instead of excitement, the only thing in his heart was the desire for it to remain just the two of them.

•

Today was the day.

Not the day Yoongi would actually be honest with Namjoon. The day Namjoon would ask out someone else and Yoongi would lose the opportunity to confess his feelings without being a piece of shit interrupting his best friend’s relationship.

Part of him was fine with that, already having resigned to the fact that Namjoon would never be his. Part of him was screaming at him to finally do what he had been avoiding for years now. Another part of him still wanted to curl up into a crying ball.

He chose to only listen to that first part. 

It had taken one week, a total of seven of those brainstorming sessions that he spent the entirety of anticipating their end, to decide on their plan, and a few more days for them to finally decide they were prepared to enact it. Namjoon had, with Yoongi’s help, made six strawberry-flavored cupcakes, carefully decorating each one to look like a sugar glider, which Yoongi had remembered was Seokjin’s favorite animal. After Seokjin’s last afternoon lecture and before he went to the library where he normally went to study for the next few hours, Namjoon would go up to him with his homemade treats and ask him out.

Namjoon, anxious as he always was, had planned every detail down to the socks he would wear. He was prepared, and Yoongi couldn’t imagine being in Seokjin’s place and rejecting Namjoon, standing there as perfect as always with the smile he had whenever he talked to Yoongi about Seokjin. 

All that would have happened a few hours ago. Now, it was 21:37. Yoongi hadn’t seen Namjoon since he wished him luck before each of their first classes in the morning, and for once in his life he wasn’t looking forward to seeing him.

Yoongi was fully prepared for this to be quite possibly the worst day of his entire life, and the best day of Namjoon’s. Well, not exactly prepared, since he was sure this would be the moment he would finally give in to his urges to smother his face into his pillow and sob, but he knew what to expect. 

Namjoon, sitting on their couch, giddy and earnest to share every detail of what had happened and how happy he was and how happy Seokjin made him. Yoongi, nodding and smiling and faking happiness like he had been doing for a week and a half now. 

Maybe Seokjin would be there, arm wrapped fondly around Namjoon’s waist, smiling and celebrating their new relationship. 

Dear God, Yoongi hoped Seokjin wouldn’t be there. 

Yoongi slipped his key into the lock of the door, fumbling with it a bit as his fingers shook. Wrapping his hand around the door knob, he knew he’d never be ready to see Namjoon with someone else, so he might as well just rip the band-aid off now. 

Resisting the urge to close his eyes and brace himself, he turned the knob and found himself in him and Namjoon’s shared apartment, eyes filled with the sight of-

Darkness.

The lights, usually a bit too bright for Yoongi’s taste, were off. The little bit of light in the room came from the TV off to the right, and Yoongi could make out the familiar dialogue of Namjoon’s favorite K-drama playing. The one he played when he wanted comfort, whether it be for a small issue or something he was practically tearing himself apart over. 

The bright, happy scenes from the show illuminated Namjoon’s figure, curled-up and lying down on the couch, clutching tightly onto a Ryan plushy he only took from the side of his bed if he was miserable. 

Something wasn’t right. Something went wrong with Namjoon’s plan to ask Seokjin out. 

Briefly, a faint sense of victory flowed through Yoongi. Namjoon wasn’t with someone else. It was still just the two of them. Just how he had wanted. 

Immediately afterward, guilt flooded over him and overwhelmed any bit of positive feeling he got from the scene. He couldn’t be the sort of asshole to celebrate something that made someone else devastated. Especially when that someone was Namjoon. He’d never want anything that could hurt the love of his life, at least not willingly. 

His next instinct was to help comfort Namjoon in any way he could, to do for him what the show playing on screen likely wouldn’t. Stepping closer, he realized he had been standing there staring for several moments now. Apparently that was long enough for Namjoon’s brain to have dismissed the bit of noise he made while opening the door.

Namjoon shifted, head turning towards Yoongi as his feet shuffled against the carpet slowly in a failed attempt to not disturb him more than he had to. “Hyung?” he croaked out, and Yoongi moved faster upon hearing the way his voice choked up. 

Kneeling at the side of the couch, beside Namjoon’s head, Yoongi was able to get a closer look and assess his state. The boy had clearly been crying for a while before stopping sometime in the past few minutes or so, but tears were beginning to well up in his eyes again as he met Yoongi’s gaze, sniffling. His eyes were puffy, cheeks covered with trails of dried tears, bottom lip trembling. 

“Joon-ah? What happened?” Yoongi asked gently, doing his best to keep the shake out of his own voice. It was hard to look at Namjoon this way, so anguished and small, the opposite of his natural state. 

“Hyung, he doesn’t like me. At all. I don’t think we could ever even be friends. He looked like he was embarrassed I was talking to him or something and I’m not even sure what I could have done right because I’m pretty sure I did all of it wrong. I made such a fool of myself, there were people nearby and they all saw me being awkward and getting rejected. And then I just ran because I didn’t know what else to do. Stupid. Stupid,” Namjoon’s words broke into sobs as the tears finally rolled down his face again, snot obscuring some of what he said and his frequent sniffles  and stutters interrupting anything that was clearer. “I’m so stupid. I don’t even know why I tried.”

Before Namjoon could deprecate himself further, Yoongi wrapped his arms around his body, engulfing him in a solid hug, the type Namjoon liked best when he was in the mood for affection. Namjoon hesitated for a moment, body stiffening at the touch, and Yoongi was scared that maybe he had taken things too far and Namjoon was overwhelmed. But then he felt Namjoon’s arms on his back, pulling him closer so he could rest his head on Yoongi’s shoulder. 

The position was a bit uncomfortable, Yoongi having to hold his head up in a way that made his neck ache to keep from smothering himself in Namjoon’s chest, but not enough for him to consider breaking it off or pulling away. He considered adjusting himself a bit, but Namjoon seemed happy with the way things were, and he was afraid Namjoon might take any movement as a sign that Yoongi wanted to get away from him, and in his current fragile state Yoongi didn’t want him to get that idea. 

The two of them were silent save for Namjoon’s occasional hiccup and a bit of sniffling as his sobs started to die down. The drama still playing on the TV was the loudest thing in the room now despite its low volume, and Yoongi could clearly hear the sound of the lead couple sharing their first kiss, a sight Yoongi had seen and heard a thousand times from watching it over and over with Namjoon, blissful and inevitable.

It felt ironic to Yoongi.

•

It had been a while since Yoongi had come here. 

Namjoon’s favorite coffee shop was a cozy little place a few blocks from their apartment that the two of them had discovered shortly after moving into their place together when they had decided to explore to see what was around. Namjoon had immediately fallen in love with their well-brewed drinks, and ever since he had made a tradition of coming there any time he needed an extra caffeine boost. Yoongi occasionally accompanied him, but for the most part he made his own coffee at home. 

The pleasant smell washed over him the moment he walked through the door, and Yoongi would have liked to stop here for a bit to appreciate it, but he was here on a mission.

Namjoon, who had cried himself to sleep last night on the couch – Yoongi had carefully moved him to his bed afterwards – was still asleep, so Yoongi had decided to get him an iced coffee and a breakfast sandwich the place sold that he loved to try and cheer him up a bit.

That was why he had woken up at 7 in the morning on a Saturday, which was much too early for his tastes. Namjoon was a morning person, and Yoongi wanted this to be a surprise. 

The only people in there with him were a few early-morning commuters desperate to get their pick-me-ups, and so it wasn’t long before Yoongi walked out with a cup and a small paper bag, both warm in his hands as he returned home. 

Knocking softly on the door to Namjoon’s room earned him a quiet groan and a drowsy call of “You can come in, hyung,” from the other side after a few seconds’ delay. Frowning, a bit worried for Namjoon (never one to get up past 7:30, and right now it was 7:43) and a bit guilty for waking him up from his sleep, Yoongi pushed open the door. The sight of Namjoon’s fluffy bed head and puffy cheeks poking out from under his blanket sent a surge of warmth to his heart. 

“Got you an iced coffee, Joon-ah. And a breakfast sandwich. Egg, ham, and cheese,” Yoongi waved around the bag clutched in his left hand for emphasis. He couldn’t see Namjoon’s mouth, but he could sense his smile by the way his eyes brightened as Yoongi walked closer, putting the goods down on the nightstand next to the bed. Namjoon pushed himself up, his back resting against the headboard now, and Yoongi could finally see the smile on his face.

He had already concluded years ago that Namjoon’s adorable dimpled smile was the most beautiful sight in the world, and he was convinced of that more every time he saw it.

“Ah, hyung, you didn’t have to do all this. Thank you,” Namjoon said, immediately grabbing the sandwich from its bag, taking a large bite into it and letting out a delighted noise. He tried to say something that sounded sort of like another thanks, but it was muffled by the food in his mouth to the point where it was almost completely incomprehensible. Yoongi chuckled, pushing away a few stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of Namjoon’s eyes so the boy could see better as he devoured his food like a starved baby bear. 

“What else am I supposed to do, not take care of my favorite roommate when he needs it?” 

Namjoon turned to him after he finished the sandwich, brushing a few crumbs off his pajama top, a more serious look in his eyes now. “Really, hyung, you don’t have to put yourself through so much effort for me. I’ll be alright,” Namjoon smiled at him, as if to say, hey, look I’m already happy, I’m already okay!

Maybe it would have worked if the smile actually reached his eyes, if it was actually genuine. Which it wasn’t. Yoongi would have been able to know that even if Namjoon was better at faking it, really.

Because Namjoon had always been the type to fake happiness as well as he could if he thought it would make someone else feel better or worry them less. It was just the sort of person he was, more concerned with the wellbeing of other people than of his own. 

It was part of the reason why Yoongi was so hesitant to tell him about his true feelings. Namjoon would probably try to pretend he liked him back just to satisfy him. And that wasn’t something Yoongi wanted to push on him, nor was it the sort of relationship he would want with him.

The sight of a few tears pricking at Namjoon’s eyes as he sniffled lightly, blinking to try and stop them, pulled Yoongi out of his thoughts. Because Namjoon was still upset. Really upset, if he was failing this hard at hiding it. 

He didn’t give himself time to think about it before he had plopped himself down by Namjoon’s side on the bed and wrapped his arms around Namjoon, resting a hand in his soft hair. He left it there for a moment, just appreciating the feeling, before he began caressing it tenderly. Having his hair rubbed, for whatever reason, always calmed Namjoon down.

A few tears fell from Namjoon’s eyes, leaving wet spots on the back of Yoongi’s shirt, but then his stiff body relaxed into Yoongi’s gentle touches. A choked up sob still managed to get its way out of his throat, and he shook for a few moments longer. It takes another minute or so for him to completely calm down. 

“I’m sorry, hyungie. Shouldn’t be such a baby,” Namjoon muttered against his shoulder. 

You’re my baby, is what Yoongi wanted to say then, but didn’t, both because he didn’t really like being so mushy, and because that would be creepy.

“Don’t say that, you’re my best friend,” Yoongi said instead. “You’re sad and that’s okay. Hyung’s here for you.”

Namjoon pulled away from him, sniffling as he wiped away a few remaining tears, a slight smile on his face now. “I don’t deserve a hyung like you. Thank you for always being there for me, Yoongi-hyung. And understanding when I’m…well, like this. I’ll make it up to you one day. I promise.”

“Ah, it’s alright, Namjoon. I like caring for you, don’t worry,” Yoongi said, patting Namjoon on the back. 

“I love you, Yoongi-hyung,”

“Love you too, Joon,”

And it was bizarre that hearing the man he’s loved for years say I love you to him hurt, but it did, because he knew Namjoon didn’t mean it the way he did. 

•

It seemed to come out of nowhere six days later when Namjoon blurted out a question to him one day as they sat together eating some kimchi stew. He was biting his lip lightly like he almost didn’t want to let the words out, and Yoongi could feel the way his right leg shook under the table.

“Hyung? The guy you told me you liked, do you still like him?” Namjoon stared at him, unblinking as he awaited his answer. 

“More than ever,” Yoongi replied, and it was nothing but the truth.

Namjoon frowned slightly from across the table, nodding silently, and Yoongi swore he saw a disappointed look in his eyes. 

•

Yoongi knew that something was off the moment he got Namjoon’s text.

Namjoon, perhaps the most dedicated student he knew, would never take a break from his schoolwork just to text someone if it wasn’t extremely important and urgent. And yet, during a time Yoongi knew he had a class, he had texted Yoongi, merely saying, Hyung, I need to tell you something later today after our classes.

And that was it. That was all that Yoongi had been left with, a vague message Namjoon didn’t elaborate on at all to itch at his brain for the next few hours. He had been eating lunch at the time, but after reading over Namjoon’s text multiple times, he barely had any appetite left.

It had been a bit over three weeks now since Namjoon’s failed attempt to ask out Seokjin, but things still weren’t the same as they were before. And honestly, Yoongi wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it.

Namjoon was acting different. He seemed more clingy with Yoongi, more eager for his usual friendly affections. Hell, he had even caught Namjoon staring at him with an unreadable yet undoubtedly positive expression on his face a few times.

Yoongi didn’t know how to feel about it, but his heart sure as hell did. The part of him who had crushed on Namjoon for years now was absolutely thrilled about this development.

Yoongi had always tried to keep his hopes low when it came to Namjoon. He couldn’t let himself be heartbroken by confusing mere gestures of friendship with something more. It was hard to do that, though, with Namjoon acting this way. He couldn’t stop his heart from leaping into the air whenever Namjoon gave him a hug before they went to sleep or did his best to cook dinner for the two of them even if he wasn’t good at it with the excuse that he “wanted to give Yoongi-hyung a break and take care of him every once in a while”.

But even with all the change, he still couldn’t figure out what Namjoon’s message actually meant. All he knew was that it was unusual.

Later that day, during the early evening when the sun began to sink under the trees, Yoongi finally arrived home. Normally he would have stuck around at the library for a bit longer, but today, he went straight home from his final lecture. And it was only when he finally stepped through the door that he realized just how unusual things actually were. 

Namjoon, normally so calm when he had time to prepare what he had to say, so articulate and pedantic, was an absolute mess, stumbling through his words from the moment Yoongi entered the apartment. His hands clutched his hair as he paced around the apartment in front of Yoongi, and the few sentence fragments Yoongi was able to catch sounded like pure nonsense for the most part. 

He grabbed a few loose pieces of paper with text printed on them from the table where they had been sitting. Yoongi could see various words crossed-out, messy handwriting in the margins. Namjoon shuffled through them frantically, his words a bit clearer now that he was directly facing Yoongi. “I tried- tried writing letters to tell you, I did, but I just didn’t know - what should I say, and writing it down still didn’t help-”

Namjoon’s stuttering his way through an explanation of how he had tried to tell Yoongi, but Yoongi didn’t even have any idea what Namjoon had wanted to tell him, and clearly in this state of mind Namjoon isn’t going to spell it out for him clearly either. He stepped forward, gently yet firmly placing his hands on Namjoon’s shoulders, prompting him to stay still. 

“Namjoonie, Namjoon-ah. Calm down. Take deep breaths,” Yoongi instructed, Namjoon doing his best to follow what he was telling him. “What’s got you so worked up, Joon-ah? What do you want to tell hyung?”

Namjoon took a final deep breath before letting more words spill out of him, a bit less quick and much more comprehensible now. “Hyung, I…” he hesitated for a moment, as if unsure whether he should let himself say more. “I think I like you. As- more than a friend.”

Namjoon’s head drooped down, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore, but he didn’t pause again before continuing. “ Love you. Or maybe it isn’t long enough to say that yet. I’m not sure how long it’s been. I think…it’s been a while now. Months. I just didn’t realize before, I think. I just…I don’t know, hyung. All I know is that I love when you hug me or touch me or play with my hair, and I love talking with you and I just feel…complete. I guess. When I talk to you. It all feels right. And I always want it more. I want us to be more,” Namjoon took another shaky breath, right hand clutching his left arm. “I’m sorry, hyung. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know we can’t. I know you like someone else and obviously you’d want to be with them instead of- well, me. I just wanted to be honest with you. Because we both deserve that, I think.”

Namjoon looked ashamed, a sad expression on his face as he fiddled with the papers still in his hands, curling into himself as if he expected Yoongi to be angry at him, and the sight broke Yoongi’s heart. Stepping even closer so that their chests were practically touching now, Yoongi lifted up Namjoon’s chin with his fingers and leaned in, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. 

Namjoon gasped into his mouth, shocked, but quickly reciprocated, moving his lips against Yoongi’s in an exploratory rhythm. Yoongi felt like he was going to explode with the rush that was going straight to his heart – Namjoon’s lips were just as soft and pillowy as he had always imagined them to be, his small noises just as delicious as they poured out of him. 

After a few blissful seconds longer, Namjoon pulled away, his cheeks flushed as he gasped for breath. “Hyungie-” was all he could manage to get out, and Yoongi realized that at some point during the kiss Namjoon had grabbed his shirt, and now his fingers still gripped it loosely. In that moment, he was staring at Yoongi like he was truly the most wonderful thing in his entire world. His beautiful eyes sparkled, and as a smile took over his face his dimples dug at the sides of his mouth. 

Yoongi wasn’t given a chance to respond before he was pulled forward for another hungry yet loving kiss, and kissing Namjoon was so perfect that he found that he didn’t mind at all.

There would be other times for words, for discussion. 

Right now, all they needed was each other, and Yoongi couldn’t imagine wanting anything more.

[casuallyimagining]

Home (4.5)

Hybrid Min Yoongi x Female Reader; Platonic OT7 x Female Reader; Namseok; Jinkook

Summary: After helping Yoongi get away from his abusive former owner, you’re left to focus on your relationship and how it progresses. That is, until you find six other hybrids who need your help, and their former owner decides he’s going to make your life hell. Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff Word Count: 724 Rating: M Warnings (updated per chapter): stalking, wild animal attack, major character injury, blood

Major thanks to @eatjeanjin for beta-ing this and for listening to me complain almost constantly. You’ve been nothing but helpful and sweet, and I’m so grateful for your opinions and assistance.

banners by @mintkims

Sequel to Fix You. Read it first.

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Hobi sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night, his body deflating more and more against Namjoon’s with each dramatic breath. At first, Namjoon had ignored his boyfriend, his attention focused solely on one of the books he had taken from Yoongi’s bookshelves. But the longer he ignored Hobi, the heavier his sighs became.

“Something bothering you?” Namjoon asked softly, his finger marking his place in his book.

He turned his head to find the snake viper buried in a blanket, his dark hair and golden eyes barely visible in the shadows of the fabric. Hobi shrugged, but Namjoon knew better. He knew when Hobi was thinking about something, knew when he was overthinking something. So he sat patiently, large brown eyes blinking slowly at his boyfriend, as he waited for him to speak.

“I’m nervous,” he finally admitted, long fingers emerging from his blanket cocoon to play with the silken edge. “I want to believe this is a good thing, but what if…”

Hobi trailed off, his sentence going unfinished. But he didn’t need to finish what he was saying. Namjoon knew.

What if Yoongi was wrong? What if she was like Seungri? They had already been through so much. Namjoon wasn’t sure he could survive another Seungri.

The wolf sighed, his eyes falling closed momentarily before he pulled Hobi close. Silently, he rubbed his cheek over the top of Hobi’s head comfortingly.

“It’s tough,” Namjoon agreed. “But we have to believe that Yoongi-hyung knows what he’s doing.”

Hobi nodded, but Namjoon could tell he didn’t believe him. They had suffered greatly at the hands of Seungri--all of them, though some more than others--and it was hard to believe that this human they had met randomly could be so kind. But Yoongi… Namjoon had a great deal of trust in his hyung. Yoongi had saved his ass more times than he could count. Yoongi had taken beatings and weeks of less food and the harsh words and punishment after punishment. All in an effort to protect Namjoon and the younger ones.

The least Namjoon could do was trust him now.

Namjoon’s eyes drifted around the room, his hand finding Hobi’s hair as he fell deep into thought. Yoongi had said that he didn’t use this room much any more, and it was true that it was rather plain. But he was evident in the room. The piano in the corner. The shelves and shelves of books. Skeins of yarn in the corner from the cat’s newfound hobby. A notebook here and there. Photos of Yoongi and… what were you to Yoongi? A friend? More? Namjoon didn’t know. But something was clear enough.

“I know you’re nervous,” Namjoon said softly, pressing a light kiss to the top of Hobi’s head before resting his cheek there. “I am, too. But let’s try.”

“Joon…”

“Look around.” Namjoon gestured at the room. “Yoongi-hyung is loved here. This is his home as much as it is hers.”

Hobi shifted his weight, and Namjoon could tell he was thinking, observing, going through all the possibilities in his mind. It was one of the things he loved about Hobi, strange as it sounded. The viper hybrid was always able to see a situation from multiple angles. It had kept them safe in the forest. It had helped keep them alive with Seungri. And, with any luck, it would help them find a new home now.

“Hyung does like her,” Hobi said finally, his voice soft, lost in thought.

Namjoon nodded, his cheek rubbing against Hobi’s hair. The little ridges in his scalp from Hobi’s horns massaged the wolf’s jaw gently. “He’s been with her for years. He would know if she couldn’t be trusted.”

“I just can’t believe there aren’t any strings.”

Namjoon knew the feeling. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Everything seemed too perfect. Yoongi seemed too happy. You seemed too nice. But…

“Maybe there aren’t any.” He squeezed Hobi tighter to him, the book falling from his lap, totally forgotten. Namjoon’s tail, fluffy and grey, wrapped around the viper’s waist. “Maybe we’re just too used to being on edge.”

“I would like to try it,” Hobi said resolutely, squeezing Namjoon’s knee. “I’d like to stay here for a while, I think.”

“Me too, love.” Namjoon kissed Hobi’s hair once more. “Me too.”

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As always, your feedback is appreciated. Please feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or comments about the series!

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[minisugakoobies]

Prelude | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Genre: angst, fluff, comfort, non-Idol!AU

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of a break-up, mentions of loneliness

Word Count: 1.9k

Disclaimers: None other than obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: You're all alone in your new city, save for the handsome man you keep seeing around your neighborhood, and the mysterious pianist who lives upstairs.

A/N: I wrote this back in November and then just let it sit for a while, thinking I might add more. But now I think I like it as a short one-shot, so here it is, in time for Yoongi's b-day! The inspiration came from this tweet:

Tell me hoooooooooooow I wrote a letter to the pianist upstairs and said how much I love hearing them play and they came downstairs to thank me ONLY TO FIND OUT IT WAS THE CUTE DUDE I KEEP BUMPING INTO?!?!

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

It's your third night in your new apartment when you hear it.

Hushed at first, then gradually growing louder as the song crescendos–someone is playing the piano. The music swirls around you, and you sit up in your bed, the book you were reading resting on your lap as you crane your neck to better hear the enchanting melody drifting down through the ceiling above.

It happens again the next evening. And the one after that. Almost nightly, you find yourself the unwitting audience for a performance from the pianist who lives upstairs. You can't help but wonder if that was the reason the previous tenant was so eager to break their lease, allowing you to move in sooner than you'd originally planned. Most people might not enjoy a near daily private concert.

You aren't most people.

It's never the same song twice. One night, it's a buoyant contemporary piece that you identify as the theme song to a prestigious arthouse film. The next, it's a mournful classical solo that has you nearly weeping into your dinner. Your mystery performer's talent and range astound you, and you feel fortunate to hear every note.

Maybe it's a good omen. A sign that you've made the right decision coming here to the big city, striking a tiny chord of hope within you that there may be more amazing discoveries just waiting to be found.

A month after you've moved in, you are still finding your way around. You've taken to wandering the streets on early morning walks, trying to orient yourself better. Earbuds replace the hustle and bustle of the city with the soothing sounds of classical music, a new interest that you directly link to your unseen neighbor's recitals. Each day, you watch the sun rise over your new hometown to the stirring strings of a symphony, letting the orchestra carry you away.

As much as you like your new place, you're rather lonely. Your coworkers at your new job are nice, but most live outside the city and don't stick around after hours, commuting home to their families as soon as the work day ends. The only person you know here is your boyfriend, but he's so busy that you've only seen him a handful of times. The two of you had been doing the long-distance thing for over a year, and while your job is what lured you here, he is the reason you ultimately decided to accept the position.

A new movement begins, a minuet that has you stepping quickly in time with the music. Humming along under your breath, you round a corner, heading back to your apartment, and promptly collide with something. No, someone. A minty-haired man, not much taller than you, slender, with the loveliest dark eyes you've ever seen.

And the most intimidating scowl that makes you immediately apologize.

"I'm so sorry!" you gasp, as the man releases his tight grip on your arms. One glance at your fretful expression and his face relaxes. He almost looks sleepy now as he peers at you, and you try not to stare, awestruck by how gorgeous he is.

"S'alright," he mumbles, "no worries. Wasn't watching where I was going, sorry." The corner of his mouth twitches as he gives you the tiniest of smiles, but it's enough to ease your mind. "Have a good day, ok?" he calls over his shoulder as he passes by, and you smile too late at his retreating figure before shaking yourself and heading on your way.

You see him again a few weeks later, queuing in line at this little coffee shop you'd discovered a few blocks from your place. It's sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a bank, easily overlooked in a city where the big chains are located on every other corner. He's ahead of you, and when he turns to leave, he spots you and inclines his head, lips curling slightly in recognition. You nod back.

He's at the diner where you eat your lunches on the weekend, sitting in the window, watching the crowds roll by. He's at the basement bookstore where you load your basket with more books than a person could possibly need. You notice him all over your neighborhood, that pretty hair catching your eye like a beacon, reminding you of spring and new beginnings, and every time there is a nod or little smile offered, you accept each one eagerly.

He's technically a stranger, but the gesture still makes you feel seen. A little less alone.

"You're breaking up with me?"

You don't mean to yell the words, but you're caught by surprise. When you'd answered the phone, you’d expected to hear a lame explanation from your boyfriend as to why he was over an hour late to pick you up - traffic was awful (it was always awful in this city), or he had to stay late to close that big sale (he was always working late), or any one of the other million flimsy excuses he seemed to rotate through lately.

But you hadn't expected him to break your heart.

You beg him to reconsider, but he ignores your pleas, telling you that it's been over between you for a long time, that it was so evident to him long before you'd moved here. But it wasn't evident to you. Lying on your bed as you bawl into your phone, you don't notice when the music above you stops, the peppy, upbeat composition breaking off mid-note.

"I just don't understand. I love you! I thought you loved me! But you couldn't even break up with me in person? After all we've been through?" you howl, nearly beside yourself with despair. More words flow from your boyfriend's mouth, but you don't hear any of them as you try and fail to understand. It's several minutes before you realize that he said goodbye one last time.

The room fills with the sound of you sobbing your heart out.

And then the piano begins again. It's not the same bubbly tune from earlier. Softly, tender notes fall like gentle rain, cascading down upon you. Your tears slowly subside, and you inhale a shuddery breath as you focus on the melody. Thanks to your morning walks, you recognize this one. Arabesque No. 1, by Debussy. It's your favorite of his works, even more cherished than the much-loved Clair de Lune.

The pianist upstairs has no way of knowing that it's your favorite, but you can't help but feel like they do. Like they're playing it just for you. Tonight, you're not the audience by default, but by choice. Their choice.

Your breathing begins to even as you lie on top of your blankets, listening intently. You are wrung out, exhausted, but cannot help but lose yourself in rhapsody. The pianist plays so delicately, almost lovingly, and you imagine their fingers dancing lithely over the keys as your eyes flutter shut, the peaceful sonata lulling you to sleep.

Weeks pass. The performances go on. And slowly but surely, you begin to heal.

Hindsight is perfectly clear, of course. Looking back, you see that the distance between you and your ex was more than just physical. And it really was obvious. Just as obvious as the fact that you are now completely alone.

Yet that tiny chord of hope still rings within you, sustained by the music floating from above. Day by day, week by week, you keep moving forward, putting your ex behind you as you truly start anew.

You make friends with another recent hire at work who lives just a subway stop away. A neighbor down the hall introduces herself in the elevator, and by the time you've reached the lobby, you've been invited to her weekly book club. The man with the light green hair is still hanging around your periphery, a few casually exchanged hellos encouraging you enough to ponder asking him to coffee someday-not today, but someday.

The chord swells. It's no longer just a few notes. It becomes a measure, a verse. A song.

And you realize it all started with the first strike of the piano above.

Though you have no idea who lives upstairs, you decide that they should know how much you appreciate them. You need them to know. So, you dig out some old stationery buried deep in your desk, and you write them a letter.

Unsure of what to say at first, you start by thanking them for their captivating performances, stating how lucky you are to have moved in so close to such a talented musician. Before you know it, you've told them how their music has given you hope when you needed it the most. Anonymity emboldens you, allowing you to spill your heart without fear of being too earnest, too vulnerable.

Once it's finished and you've signed it "your neighbor," you trek upstairs and slip it under their door before you can lose your nerve.

The next morning, there is a rap at your door.

You peek through the peephole and draw back in disbelief. It's the handsome minty-haired man from all your favorite neighborhood haunts. Why is he here?

"Can I help you?" you call out.

"Uh, yeah," he replies, his low, rich voice surprising you. "You wrote this letter, right?" He holds up a piece of paper, which you immediately identify as your stationery.

You open the door so quickly, he jumps in alarm.

"You," he breathes, as recognition sweeps over him. "I didn't know you lived here."

"You live upstairs?" you ask timidly. His dark eyes examine you from beneath his shaggy hair. Long fingers clutch your letter, and you can't help but stare at them, thinking about how they must look as they caress the keys of his piano.

"Yeah. Hi. I'm Yoongi," he introduces himself.

You give your name, then pause. "So... how did you know I wrote that?"

"Process of elimination. No one has moved in on my floor in over a year. And little old Ms. Choi above me has told me multiple times that she turns her hearing aids off at night, so she can enjoy some peace and quiet," he informs you, flashing a smile that is all gums and rather endearing. “She says she means that to be encouraging, that I can play as loud as I want.”

Not knowing how to respond, you remain silent.

"I just wanted to thank you," he declares, glancing at the letter. "The things you said about how I play... how it made you feel...." He turns his gaze on you, regarding you carefully before he finishes his thought. "I, uh, don't get a lot of opportunities to perform for any audiences. So to know there's someone listening, and actually enjoying my playing, is amazing." He laughs, a shy chuckle that pleases your ear as much as any sonata he's ever played. "It made me feel seen. Or I guess heard. Damn, I don't know if I'm making any sense. Do you know what I mean?" His expression is so earnest that you feel your heart seize up.

You nod. You absolutely understand.

That gummy smile returns.

"Anyway, I wanted to let you know how much I appreciated it." He rubs the back of his neck, looking down. "Maybe some time, I could play for you? In person, I mean. Not through the walls."

"Okay," you answer, not hesitating, making his head snap up. He grins, and you can't help but do the same. "But do you want to start with coffee first? I know a great little place."

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

[chaoticpuff17]

Suga, We’re Going Down

Part 1

masterlist

Because, my darlings, I have no impulse control and Yoongi demanded to be written. I’m going to see if I can balance between SW and this, alternate releasing chapters for each story, but we’ll see. The title is a working title. don’t know if I’ll stick with it. I’m open to suggestions. Enjoy, my lovlies! It was a blast to write!-- Chaotic puff

here’s a link to the song the MC plays in this chapter!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrKjywjo7Q 

Yoongi didn’t go to events like this. He was a professional, but even professionals got blocks sometimes, and he was having a block. He couldn’t seem to produce anything new. He had spent hours in his studio trying to come up with something, but the muse had abandoned him. He needed to get out of his head, to get out of the studio for a while.

That was how he ended up sitting through a university showcase watching young, aspiring musicians present their skills. It was a far more classical feel than he used in his music. He was a rap god. He didn’t really use Debussy and Mozart in his work. But there was something amusing about watching all the fresh faced youths taking their showcase so seriously. Most of them would never be serious musicians. They would never play for a national symphony, but the way they all looked it was as if they were playing for some great orchestra or symphony instead of a small college showcase was amusing. It was all so serious, all so insignificant.

He was bored with it. Bored with the overly perfect renditions of the same songs that people had been playing for decades. Where was the feeling? Where was the passion? They were all just clinically passing through the motions for a grade. None of them would make serious musicians, not playing the way they did.

He was about to leave when the first strains of the cello caught his attention. It was the first real emotion he had heard from any of them. His eyes snapped to the stage to see a pair of girls. One was seated at the piano while the other was sat on a solitary chair with a cello before her. Both of them were as perfectly put together as every other student that had gone before them had been, black dresses and not a hair out of place.

He ignored the pianist in the favor of the cellist. Her eyes were closed as she played the rest of her face serene. She was completely at peace even though the song she played showed a deep sorrow. The song was just as recognizable as every other piece that had been played that night. The only difference was the musician.

She was lovely, pale and fragile under the stage lights, but there was also something almost unbearably sad about her, and it showed in her playing. The piece itself was already melancholy, but the way she played it was nearly heartbreaking. Her hair was pulled back in a neat updo that left her face clear for his perusal. Even with her eyes closed her face was filled with emotion. The simple string of pearls around her neck highlighted its curve, its swan like quality. Everything about her was simple, classic, graceful as she played.

He looked through the program he had been given when he’d first arrived searching for the song, searching for a name, her name. There is it was. The Swan composed by Camille Saint-Saens played by Kang Y/N and accompanied by Guem Nina. Kang Y/N. The name rang through his head carried by the melody she played. Beautiful. Beautiful and sad just like the song she played, just like her.

The song passed by too quickly for his liking. Before he knew it she was pulling her bow across the strings for the final time. Both musicians bowed to the audience before disappearing backstage and out of his sight. The spell was broken, but Yoongi still wanted to know more. Who was she? Why was she so sad? Why had she chosen that song? Yoongi wanted to know it all. The thought of her sent inspiration running through him. The fire was lit again telling him to create, to compose, for her.

He wanted to know what she would think of his music. Did she listen to rap? More specifically, did she listen to him? Or did she prefer classical music like the kind she had just played? Did she play any other instruments? Did she sing? How would the cello sound intertwined with his own style of music? He wanted to know the answer to all of these questions and so many more, but first he had to find her. Kang Y/N. His new muse.

So he sent out a bodyguard to find out everything about her that he could. Perhaps he should have felt guilty sending out a man to practically stalk the girl and bring him information on her, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about the invasion of her privacy. She consumed him, filling his thoughts. He wanted her near him. He wanted to hear her play, wanted to wipe the sadness from her features, and he was determined to do just that. She was meant to be his, and he wouldn’t rest until she was.  

Y/N was unaware of the thoughts coursing through his head as she was backstage tucked into a broom closet peeling herself out of her dress and the uncomfortable heels in favor of a pair of ripped jeans and a comfy sweater. She let her hair down from its tight confines and secured it in a loose pony tail. She loved playing, but stepping out on stage was always nerve wracking for her. The dresses and the perfectly put together faces never seemed like her. She wasn’t fancy or elegant. She was just… her. She didn’t even own the cello she had just played. She could never afford such a beautiful instrument. It belonged to the school.

She had had the cello on loan so long as she participated in the university orchestra, but that deal could no longer be upheld on her end. Family and financial obligations would no longer allow it. They were barely making ends meet as it was. She didn’t have the time to spend at rehearsals and practices when she needed to be focusing on her studies and working. Even her studies would have to take a back seat if their fortunes didn’t take a turn for the better soon.

It was just her, her grandmother, and her baby nephew, well no longer quite a baby. He was going to be three before she knew it. Her mother had taken off years ago. She flew in and out of their lives whenever it suited her usually when she wanted someone from them. Her father, bless him, couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. He was a dreamer. He sat at home most days contemplating the great questions of life like some sort of great philosopher. Most times he was drunk when he did this. She thanked god that he wasn’t violent drunk. His head was in the clouds more than else when he was drunk. Her sister, well no one really knew where Ha Jin was. She had taken off after the baby was born. She’d left Eun Jae with her and their grandmother, and she’d disappeared into the wind just like their mother had.

Part of her wanted to blame her little sister, to scream to the high heavens that it wasn’t fair that she was too young to be responsible for a child, but so was Ha Jin. She had been a child when she’d gotten pregnant, just seventeen when the baby was born. She was far too young to be a mother. Y/N couldn’t blame her for not being ready to raise a child, but she could blame her for abandoning Eun Jae.

Eun Jae didn’t know his mother. As far as he was concerned Y/N was his mother. She and Halmeoni were his whole world, his whole family. Her father couldn’t be counted as any sort of parental figure. He couldn’t be counted as one for his own daughters much less for his grandson. She’d heard her grandmother curse on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless son.  Y/N had cursed on more than one occasion that the gods had given her such a useless father. But they had to work with what they were given, and this was the hand that fate had played them.

She had been eight when she’d figured out that both of her parents were useless. She’d been sixteen when she’d gotten her first part time job to help support the family. She’d been nineteen when she’d had to become a mother for her nephew. It was a shitty life, but it was hers.

Despite all the chaos Eun Jae had brought into the world, she wouldn’t trade him for anything. She loved that little boy more than life. He was her little angel, her light, the reason she was willing to sacrifice anything, to sacrifice everything. She may not have birthed him, but he was her son. He was the reason that she was sitting in a chicken place late in the evening a few days after the showcase with Nina. The pair of them were huddled over a phone making a profile on an app called sugarbebe.

“Are you sure about this?” Nina asked as they finalized her profile. “Maybe you could get another job.”

“I’m already working two jobs, along with school and practice, and Eun Jae. I can’t take on anything else.” She shook her head tiredly, glaring down at her phone in distaste. “We need the money.”

“What are you going to tell Halmeoni?” Nina questioned brows furrowed worriedly.

“I’m not going to tell Halmeoni anything. She thinks I’m looking for another job to take the place of orchestra.”

“And she’s okay with that?”

“No.” She laughed recalling the look on her grandmother’s face when she had told her that she was quitting orchestra. “She’s pissed at me. Says I’m wasting my God given talent, and that I’ll end up like my mom and my father and my sister if I’m not careful.”

“Harsh.” The other girl cringed knowing full well just how scary Y/N’s grandmother could be. “I still can’t believe it was your last concert.”

“It was only a showcase. Forget orchestra. Halmeoni said all that, and I haven’t even mentioned the possibility of giving up school to help with the bills.”

Nina’s eyes widened almost comically. “She’s going to kill you.”

“Yeah. I know.” She shuddered thinking of what her grandmother would do to her if she did quit school to help. It would not be a pretty picture. “I think she’d beat me black and blue with her favorite soup ladle.”

“Then let’s hope she doesn’t find out, and let’s hope you find yourself a rich sugar daddy.” Nina raised her glass in a mock toast, and Y/N raised hers as well.

“Here’s hoping.”

They pressed the button submitting her profile on the app. It was too late to back out now. If she was lucky whoever chose her wouldn’t be too old or perverted. With any luck he wouldn’t be ugly either, but that was asking a lot and she didn’t hold that much hope.  She’d be lucky if the guy wasn’t too much of a creep.

They both stared down at the phone in shock as it chimed, the banner announcing that she had a match on sugarbebe. Neither of them had expected anything quite that soon.

“Well, open it! What does it say? Who did you match with?” Nina asked excitedly eyes taking up almost the whole of her face with how wide they were.

She tapped on her phone opening the profile. MYG. No picture. Age twenty-seven. A producer. There wasn’t much information, but there was a message from the man asking to meet in person.

Nina looked over her shoulder frowning as she examined the profile as well. “He doesn’t have much information does he?”

“He wants to meet.”

“When?”

“Friday.” She gulped suddenly filled with nerves. It was all becoming so real. “He’s wants to meet on Friday at D-2.”

They both knew D-2. Every young person in the city knew it. It was the hottest club in Seoul at the moment, made even hotter by the fact it was owned by the king of rap himself, Agust D. To get into D-2 you either had to be rich, famous, or willing to wait in atrociously long lines and tipping the bouncer an outrageous amount of money wouldn’t hurt your chances either.

“D-2?” Nina gasped practically ripping the phone out of her hand to read the message herself. “Are you sure?”

“That’s what it says.”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

It was a good question. She really didn’t have anything that could be considered worthy of a place like D-2. Nothing she owned was really sexy. It was mostly comfy sweaters, jeans, and cute skirts. Things she could wear to school and work and were comfortable enough to chase a toddler around in. None of those would be appropriate for the club. Neither would any of the dresses she used for concerts. And the look on her face clearly conveyed that to Nina.

“You can borrow something of mine.” She assured gently patting her friend’s arm. “Maybe he won’t be so bad?”

“Maybe.” She agreed nervously.

“You can borrow that purple dress of mine. I can lend you some earrings too.” Nina offered sending her a reassuring smile. “At least you know if he’s meeting you at D-2 he’s gotta be rich.”

Y/N smiled back nervously. “I’m just hoping he’s not too much of a creep. Eun Jae is supposed to be with me at the apartment on Friday. Do you think you could babysit? If I ask Halmeoni to keep him at the restaurant she’ll ask questions.”

She had a small apartment close to campus that she stayed at normally. Eun Jae would bounce between the apartment and the family home with Halmeoni. It was good for him to be out of the house and away from her father sometimes, and it allowed her to keep Eun Jae close. She saw him often enough as she worked at Halmeoni’s restaurant, but on the weekends he would stay with her at the apartment. She’d take him back to Halmeoni’s on Sunday evening, and they’d both stay the night. Halmeoni would watch him during the week while she had classes, practice, and work, and Halmeoni lived closer to the preschool they were sending him to. She hated being away from him so much, but it was the best they could do for the moment.

“Of course I’ll watch Jae-ah.” Nina smiled. “You know I love the little guy. I’m his favorite auntie.”

“You’re his only auntie.”

“Technically, you’re his aunt.”

“Well unless Ha Jin suddenly shows up with a maternal instinct, I’m all he’s got in the mom department.”

“Poor kid.” Nina cringed teasingly.

“Hey.”  Y/N shoved her shoulder playfully. “I’m a great mom.”

“You’re okay at it.” The other girl dodged another hit. “I mean, he does have a sugar baby for a mom.”

“First of all, rude. Second, it’s only until we get our heads above water again, and then never again. This will all be a bad memory.”

Nina squeezed her arm sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll actually have a good time.”

“I really don’t think so, but how bad could it be?” It wasn’t going to be forever, and she could put up with anything to help her family, for Eun Jae.  

part 2

[bts-ficrecs]

hey!! can you recommend a few series (any member)? thank you very much!

“a few” hAHAHAHA you’re really funny.

Bro, why’d u have you make ur request sooo broad 😂 i tried to reign in the crazy and failed. I decided I’m going to give you a list of series that are sitting impatiently on my to read list! Making this list makes me want to devour them all right now lol.

Feel free to go through my archive to find series that I have read, cause there are plenty of those too :”) So without further ado…

Note: please be aware several of the ongoing series are either on hiatus or discontinued or just haven’t been updated in 17392 years lol. I know some people can’t deal with that so do make sure to check if the writers are still active and/or when the last update was! And don’t pressure the writers about updates kthxbai ❤

 

ONGOING

Aristocrat by @itskimtaehyung

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/4

Summary: In which Namjoon pays you for your *ahem* services.

A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning by @therealredraven

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 4/? (discontinued)

Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia. Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.

Blood Princess by @mintchockookie

Genre: angst

Parts: 9/?

Summary: Choi Y/N is one of the most dangerous and feared members of Papa Choi gang. But she doesn’t want to be. Kim Nam Joon is the leader of the biggest gang in all South Korea and craves revenge for having his godfather being killed by Papa Choi. When their paths cross, nothing can hold them.

Untold Stories by @interludemoonchild

Genre: fluff

Parts: 8/?

Summary: A series of drabbles based on Namjoon owning a bookshop in a small town.

What Am I To You? by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: To Namjoon, she could make the salt taste like sugar on her hands. But in the end, she isn’t as sweet as he believed her to be. 

 

 

COMPLETE

Best Friend!Namjoon by @lamourche

Genre: angst, fluff, smut 

Parts: 3/3

Summary: “I locked the keys in the car.”

Passionfruit by @joonbird

Genre: smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: To you, matters of the heart have always been simple. You’ve always lived by three rules: you don’t do emotions, you don’t do attachment, and you don’t do love. That is, until you meet the enigma that is Kim Namjoon- a man who shakes your entire world upside down.

Piercings by @personawife

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2 + 1 (feat. Yoongi)

Summary: “What’s that sticking through your shirt?”

Rumor Has It by @jjungkookislife

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2 + drabble

Summary: After hearing a rumor about your best friend, it's all you can think about.

Tear by @polaritae

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: Getting the attention of your crush seems impossible. Good thing your best friend is always willing to help out!

 

 

ONGOING

Dame-De-La-Nuit by @cyphahobi

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: First night on the job turns into a week long adventure of business and pleasure. Landing business man, Kim Seokjin as your first client, turns your whole world upside down.

Evanescent by @jinletgo

Genre:angst, smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: You’re a journalist-aspiring secretary to Kim Namjoon, the CEO of Telescope, a leading lifestyle and culture magazine. One night with a handsome and charismatic stranger ignites a passion and excitement that you didn’t know you had. When that stranger turns out to be Kim Seokjin, the print journalist of a rival magazine, the simple life you take for granted and dream career you’d been working towards are left in jeopardy…

King of Hearts by @thecozywhaleshark

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/10

Summary: You are a famous writer who can’t exactly show up to an event alone… so you hire an escort… his name is Jin.

The City Comes Alive by @minflix

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 1/2

Summary: Being a street performer, Kim Seokjin sees many nameless and forgettable faces each and everyday. But there is this one girl that he can’t seem to forget. Maybe it’s because his heart seems to fall in love with her a little more each time she passes him by.

 

 

COMPLETE

Aperitivo by @bangtanbetchfics

Genre: smut, feat Jungkook

Parts: 2/2

Summary: On the heels of a breakup, you fall hopelessly in lust with two pastry chefs on your vacation in Venice.

Burden by @neonlights92

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 8/8

Summary: After the death of his wife during childbirth Kim Seokjin is unable to hold his baby daughter without grief taking control. Just three weeks after the love of his life is taken from him so suddenly, Jin is expected to marry somebody new. You are foolish and have spent your whole life pining after Kim Seokjin from afar, even after he marries your best friend, Seul.  But suddenly Seul is gone and you are expected to marry Jin and raise his child. You know your heart is already in it, but what about his?

Alt. Summary: A marriage to Kim Seokjin was all you ever wanted.  But not at the cost of your best friend’s life.

Don’t Wanna Fall by @9uk

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you, you are in need of company. Strangely enough, you get more company than you had initially wanted.

Alt. summary: His world revolves around wealth, power and most importantly—women. He’d spoil every one of them by his side or on his bed, with limited edition bags and expensive heels. So why is the CEO of kim corporations currently buying you a pet bunny?

In The Bleak Midwinter by @pcyheartgirlx

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 25/25 + 2 different endings

Summary: We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.

Peach Parfait by @jamaisjoons

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: You and Seokjin have always been at odds as the top two chefs at Big Hit Academy of Culinary Arts.

The Devil Wears Armani by @floralseokjin

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 5/5 + drabbles

Summary: You never imagined accidentally attempting to sell your soul to the devil would lead to this…

 

 

ONGOING

Addicted by @yoongiandchiminie

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: Suga, the Stealth and Weapons guy of Bangtan meets his Soulmate with a bang. He’d grown up believing in the idea of finding the person he was destined to be with and won’t let her get away. Even if she’s addicted, he’s determined to help her. He just wants to save his Blue girl.

Choices by @btsiguess

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You didn’t think that when you woke up this morning you were going to go out and buy a hybrid. But really, ending up with this stupid cat might be the best thing that ever happened to you. Much to both you and Yoongi’s chagrin. 

Grey Area by @blushoseoks

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 13/?

Summary: And just like that, your fate was sealed - because min yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. But hell if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

Reputation by @mindayss

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: Min Yoongi’s got quite a reputation. As do you.

 

 

COMPLETE

Di piano e forte by @justoneday-namjoonii

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 6/6

Summary: Piano; A keyboard of cypress, played with soft and loud. Was it the ivory and onyx keys that let you escape from your reality…Or was it the man with sable hair and ivory skin.

Errantes by @cno-inbminor

Genre: fluff

Parts: 2/2 + Epilogue

Summary: Yoongi accidentally gets spiked pumpkin juice, but it’s not by alcohol. More like it was spiked by a Love Potion – Beguiling Bubbles, to be exact – and Sora may or may not have had a hand in this. The point is, she’s hoping Yoongi will never find out and she’ll be alive to take her N.E.W.T.’s.

Fragility by @writtenyoongi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: “There are a lot of fucked up things about me, you know? And there’s a lot of fucked up things that have happened. But when I’m with you all of those things, yeah they still exist but it’s like they’re a lot further away, I don’t feel as if they’re eating me alive.”

Long Time Coming by @an-exotic-writer

Genre: fluff, angst (?)

Parts: 6/6 + drabble

Summary: In which it’s been a long time coming since you’re meeting Min Yoongi once more.

Private Lessons by @baeseoul

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: “I have an idea,” Once he saw how you straightened in your seat, your gaze flaring with aggravation, he continued quickly, “For every question I get right, you tell me something about yourself.”

Skin Deep by @aquaminwrites

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 10/10

Summary: Yoongi has never—and presumably will never—like tattoos.

 

 

ONGOING

Bygones Of The Sun by @scriptaed

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the rises sun has gone into hiding- because perhaps its shadows have out-shines its own radiance.

Euphuistic by @guksthighs

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Hoseok’s delivery of flowers does not go as planned when it starts raining and someone mysertious gives him an umbrella.

Plant A Kiss On These Tulips by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: fluff

Parts: 2/?

Summary: After your boss, Jisu–head wedding planner at Ornate Events–develops a ragweed allergy, you are put in charge of working with the florist company In Bloom. But instead of their top-notch flower arrangements, their incredibly radiant owner Jung Hoseok proves to be what catches your eye over the course of the months that follow.

Salted Caramel by @your-miss-right

Genre: fluff

Parts: 9/?

Summary: She liked him…a lot and she just wanted to get the point across. Too bad the wrong guy got it. Note to self: Check orders before writing little notes to the wrong customer!

Starfire by @readyplayerhobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: The schism that broke the galaxy began, as it usually does, over a disagreement. The resultant civil war has raged for hundreds of years. When a ragtag group of travellers discovers something that could turn the tide of war, for good or for worse, the bonds of friendship and love will be tested.

Note: ok but basically just read all of Tali’s Hoseok series sdjfakjaf

Wall to Wall by @winetae

Genre: smut

Parts: 1/4

Summary: Temporary popularity is the biggest threat to your career right now. Without a solid core fan base you’re doomed to be forgotten. If not now, then in a month or two, and if not then, surely by the end of the year. That’s how quickly the adult film industry cycles through their actors, especially when you’re a woman. Your agent comes forward with a proposition to help put you back on the map.

 

 

COMPLETE

By Its Cover by @crystaljins

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 8/8

Summary: Your annoying little brother Jimin accepts a dare and summons a demon into your living room. There are multiple problems with this. 1) Demons are the most hated species on earth. 2) That demon happens to be Jung Hoseok, the most popular guy on campus 3) The fact that Jung Hoseok is a demon is his biggest secret and 4) Jung Hoseok hates your guts. You’re in for a wild ride.

Life in the Fast Lane by @sugaxjpg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 1/3

Summary: Hoseok was not someone who expected to find love, even less under the conditions he met you—bleeding to death in an alley, unable to go to an hospital without being recognized by the ones who did such thing to him. Though, he would soon learn that the best things in life are the unplanned, kind ones. Especially the kind ones.

The Black Book by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: smut

Parts: 9/-- (discontinued)

Summary: Being personal assistant involves doing a lot of different tasks for your boss Jung Hoseok–including setting up his rendezvous with his black book clientele.

The Gentlemen’s Club by @brookelegend

Genre: smut

Parts: 15/15 + Epilogue + author’s note + drabbles

Summary: You’ve been in a dating drought, more specifically, a sex drought. Your best friend has the perfect remedy for your problem: The Gentlemen’s Club.

 

 

ONGOING

Contraband by @leadermon

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 11/?

Summary: If you had known what you had known now, would you have gone? If you knew who you would meet, the boy with the bright orange hair, and how getting wrapped up in him would tear all your brother had built to the ground, would you have gone?

Crossroads by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You summon Park Jimin, the crossroads demon who rather than taking your soul and granting you wish, wants to become an extremely annoying life companion.

induratize by @hobiwonder

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 5/?

Summary: Prince Jimin had grown up despising people from your empire and vice versa. When your father weds you to the crowned Prince of Haelyra, your kingdom’s sworn enemies, as a form of alliance to fight a greater evil, you struggle to make sense of your new life as the future Queen to be and deal with a husband who cannot stand you.

Jealousy Games by @avveh

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: You decide to play a game of push and pull with your ex Jungkook, bringing Jimin along for the ride.

 

 

COMPLETE

Handyman by @drquinzelharleen

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 5/5

Summary: Jimin is your landlord’s son. After one stressful day he comes to fix your shower for you. You find yourself constantly thinking about him. Could he be the perfect submissive?

I’ll Never Be Her by @anon-luv

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 5/5 + Epilogue + drabbles

Summary: You loved him with all your heart, but he could only give you half of his. Jimin was the love of your life, your night in shining armor when she wasn’t around. She was his ex girlfriend,  his first love, actually she was his many firsts and she kept coming back. He had warned you she was his weakness, but you didn’t listen, because to you having him even if it was only partially was better than not having him at all. At least for now.

Neighbors by @jkeuphoriadreamland

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 7/7 + Epilogue

Summary: Finally achieving your successes in life you never expected the distraction that came with your new hot neighbor. He however, had been trying to get your attention for a much different reason.

Nine One One by @yminie

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: When murder and crime threaten the city of Seoul, there’s a team in place to help keep the public safe, but just what do you do when all your training is to help others, and the one that needs help is actually you?

Limerence by @jiminscenarios

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 14/14 + Epilogue

Summary: He was a coldhearted asshole and the leader of South Korea’s most wanted gang, whereas she was an innocent and kind college student. They were polar opposites, yet he was so infatuated with her. But opposites are supposed to attract after all, aren’t they?

Love Yourself Trilogy by @threeletterslife

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 3/3

Summary: Excelling in every school subject, acing every math test and conquering the academic world is something you do as easily as breathing. As your residential social outcast nerd, you live rather as a recluse, talking to almost no one except for your dear ol’ cousin and that sweet boy in a few of your classes—Jungkook? was that his name? Befriending your ʰᵒᵗ AP stats teacher was the last thing on your high school senior agenda… but when life throws you curveballs, it is what it fucking is.

 

 

ONGOING

Begin Again by @writtenyoongi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: Things had been tough since your divorce from yoongi, you were still heartbroken over losing him whilst trying to balance being a single mother and providing the best you could for your daughter. When Kim Taehyung enters your life you start to learn how to love again, but the beautiful man is not without his own source of heartbreak.

The Client by @jungkookiebus

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Your services applied to many types of people and you were good at what you did, delivering sexual fantasies. This particular client happens to be your personal favorite for more reasons than one.

Van Gogh by @btsjeonjazz

Genre: smut

Parts: 1/?

Summary: Who would have guessed that Kim Taehyung, honorable student and your tutor, had some dark secrets?

V2 by @honeyedhoseok

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/12

Summary: This series is reader-insert revolving around Taehyung and his long-term surreptitious relationship with Y/N. 

When You Least Expect It by @johobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 12/15 + drabble

Summary: You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

 

 

COMPLETE

Change by @junghelioseok

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 9/9 + Epilogue

Summary: A kind, handsome stranger makes you question your deteriorating relationship. 

One Good Purr (Deserves Another) by @jinpire

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 4/4

Summary: Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to visit Taehyung just before your heat. (Or to ask if his best friend was available.)

Summer Love by @analovegirl

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/3

Summary: It was Summer when he lost his whole world, his family and his identity. And it’s summer again when he comes across the girl he swore was his enemy. Join Taehyung, as he tries to find his true identity– as a human and as a merman, along with the mystery of his parent’s demise.

The Chrysanthemum Effect by @rosaetae

Genre: angst

Parts: 10/10 + Epilogue

Summary: Keeping your flowers, keeping your pain— it’s already everything you need to move on. How do you move on from things if you’re not willing to accept them?

Yarn by @dreamhimcloser

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 2/2

Summary: The mere idea that someone will kiss you while you slept made you shiver with disgust, but your educators promised you time and time again that this is exactly how you reach true love.

 

 

ONGOING

Block Party by @minlucent

Genre: smut

Parts: 2/?

Summary: Moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake.

Employee Perks by @chiminiemoans

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 3/?

Summary: Sure, the employee perks at your job were bonuses, life insurance, sick leave, health benefits etc. etc., but the best employee perk of all was working with a man known as Jeon Jungkook.

In Debt by @ichirakukpop

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 2/?

Summary: All your life you’ve been taken care of by your rich father and his money, but when a someone named Jungkook barges into your home demanding for his money back, your life is turned upside down.

Serendipity by @rohobi

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 10/13

Summary: The occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way. After forgetting to click out of his pornhub incognito tab last night, you find yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with Jungkook at 3am watching the rest of it.

 

COMPLETE

Anima Meaology by @arckook

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 4/4 + Epilogue

Summary: Your best friend was never supposed to know that his name was on your wrist.

Falling Skies by @fortunexkookie

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/6 + drabbles + spinoff oneshot

Summary: Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her brother, Jungkook, was something else entirely.

Goldilocks by @perpetually-jungshook

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 10/10 + drabble

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Oath by @bangtan-yeonghon

Genre: angst

Parts: 33/33

Summary: What if one day everything you ever wanted is taken away and your whole world comes crushing down? If you were to forget today, who would you be tomorrow?

Watch Me Babygirl by @lunarimagines

Genre: fluff, smut

Parts: 20/20

Summary: Jungkook is your brother’s annoying best friend. You can’t stand him but he just can’t resist teasing you. How far will he actually go?

Will You? by @jungee

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 2/2

Summary: Jungkook + you = prom dates??

 

 

ONGOING

Bangtan Crossing by @mintedmango

Genre: fluff

Parts: 4/?

Summary: You step off the train in the quiet of dusk with a relieved sigh, just looking at the awakening of some stars and the bottoms of trees of this countryside town in awe. It was so different from the city, so dark at night, not lit up by thousands of street lamps and buildings turned on in the wee hours of the evening.

Lifeline by @forgottenpasta

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: What happens when a witch curses seven vampires to share one fated mate between them?

Lueur De Lune by faery_kth (AO3)

Genre: fluff

Parts: 5/?

Summary: Your recent move has caused a lot of stress and you decide to take a stroll by the little lake behind your house only to find the moon and her fallen star.

Over the Moon by @threeletterslife

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 6/8

Summary: You feel isolated in the vast American country with no one but your older brother and your six rowdy friends to keep you company. But when they disappear without a trace, you’re left with nothing. Nothing until you become dragged into the world of the mob. The mafia world promises glory, fame and big bucks. But that comes with backstabbing, pain, regret and vengeance behind the veils. You’re not ready for that alone. Are you?

Potions, Magic, And Otherworldly Charmers by agentlemanshat (AO3)

Genre: fluff

Parts: 3/7

Summary: Have you ever imagined Namjoon as a high-end witch? Jungkook as a werewolf or Jimin as a merman? And a magical world full of possibilities? Well, look no further! Because here is where it happens.

Twisted Tails by @kmseokjins

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 4/?

Summary: After the death of your older sister, you're suddenly entrusted with her two hybrids. Who knew that following your sister's wishes would eventually turn your life upside down.

Void by @btssavedmylifeblr

Genre: angst, smut

Parts: 6/?

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

 

 

COMPLETE

A Fairy Tale’s End by @bangtan-dreamland

Genre: angst, fluff

Parts: 8/8 + Epilogue

Summary: You wanted, for once, to be someone important, someone needed- to be wanted and appreciated, to love and be loved. Well, you should be careful what you wish for.

College by @btslibrary

Genre: smut

Parts: 7/7

Summary: A 7-part BTS smut series.

Hybrid House by @hollyhomburg

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

Parts: 3/3 + Epilogue

Summary: To Seokjin, Home consists of his human partners Namjoon and Hoseok as well as their Hybrids; the pups- named Taehyung and Jimin, their black cat- called Yoongi, and their foxboy- called Jungkook. Together they have the happiest family possible, everyone loves everyone equally. So what happens when Namjoon finds you? A cat hybrid, beaten close to death left alone in an alleyway on the coldest night of the year? He takes you home, shows you his family, and together they teach you what love can be like.

 

 

  

 congratulations you made it to the end....lol. enjoy all these fics and give the authors lots of love, okay? 🧡

[2seokfan]

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 1

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 3.6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4

summary: 

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year?  So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a rollercoaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

note: Hi! This is my first fic ever! I don’t even know if anyone’s gonna read this but I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile so fuck it.

You kicked off your shoes and threw your purse on the couch.

“God my back hurts!” 

Honestly with the amount of random bodily aches you experience on a daily business you could pass for being 70 years old. But this time you knew where the pain stemmed from. You just had to fall asleep awkwardly after a night on your phone. And of course today was a work day and you slept past all THREE of your alarms. But you know that feeling when you sleep for a suspiciously long amount of time and something doesn’t feel right? That’s the sixth sense that saved your ass this morning because your internal body clock was like sweetie I think you’re late. 

You only had time to slap on some makeup, hoping it looked semi decent, and throw your greasy hair into a messy, but passable bun because no one wants to see an ugly receptionist. You had to skip your morning Starbucks drive-through routine because you’re about to be LATE, late so you grab your keys and start your car, booking it to work.

You work at a private hybrid clinic which pays a little better than most but that means you also have to deal with a lot of attitude from rich “owners” (you hate that word). And you sat weirdly at work today so that did nOThing to help your back pain. Also how come everybody decided to book an appointment today?? It’s Friday for god's sake why does everyone and their mothers decide it’s time to call the clinic and book a checkup. They get so mad at you when you say this whole month is filled. You can’t change the schedule though?? The calendar’s filled lady either get over it and settle for next month or fuck off (of course you don’t say that out loud cause you’ll get fired). Also someone yelled at you today because they didn’t like the magazine choices in the waiting room.

Anyways your day sucked and you couldn’t be happier being back in your tiny apartment to binge watch netflix stand-up comedies until you collapse. Well you say it’s your apartment but you actually have a roommate. She’s nothing like you though, she’s the epitome of responsibility. You agreed to live with her even though you met her through Craigslist because once you met her in person you deemed her genuine enough, and also found out she’s hardly ever at the apartment but she still pays rent on time?! You really hit the jackpot with her honestly. Cause you can be a little bit messy sometimes but even when she is home she never complains. The only negative side of having her as a roommate is that you never really had time to bond with her cause she’s so busy and over your league that even after a year you two still aren’t anything more than friendly acquaintances.

Alright time to get out of your work clothes and into nothing but your favorite oversized t-shirt with no pants on because that is what you deem home-appropriate attire. But before you turn on netflix your tummy is making “feed me” noises so it’s time to check the fridge. Damn no leftovers. Time to crack open one of those Trader Joe’s frozen meals you have stacked in the freezer. You blindly pick a box. Guess you’re having vegan tikka masala tonight. Not gonna lie though those frozen meals are actually not half bad. Or maybe you’ve been away from good home cooking for so long you’ve become desensitized? Who cares, you’re hungry. Also it’s Friday, so no harm in cracking open a bottle of wine right?

When you’re all settled on the couch with your favorite plush blanket on your legs, a random comedian on tv, and a full tummy, your mind drifts away. It’s Saturday tomorrow and you have the weekends off. Maybe you should do something fun for yourself to make up for the crap you had to deal with today. You text your best friend Karli. You know she’s awake since it’s only 10pm.

You: Hey girl wanna go to the beach or smth tmrw?? <3

Karli: Yaaas ok I don’t work!! What time?

You: and we can walk around all the fancy stores and get coffee from that place we love.

You: hmmm how bout meet there @11??

Karli: Sounds good sweetie want me to pick you up?

You: no its ok ill meet u there i need to buy groceries after

Karli: Kk love ya see you then!!!

You: love ya! night bby

Karli knows that when you say “go to the beach” you really mean walk along the beach and the nearby stores because it’s early June and prime tourist season. That means the sand is packed with people and their kids and the water’s probably filled with pee so you’re not really down for that. Also the expensive shops near the beach are so cute and you love walking around window shopping, pretending like you can actually afford any of the items on display.

The wine is now getting to you cause before you know it you find your eyelids getting heavy. You muster up your last ounce of strength to turn off the tv and force yourself out of the couch cause your poor back doesn’t need another excuse to keep hurting. As much as you don’t want to wash your face and brush your teeth, you have to because you don’t want makeup on your pillowcase tonight. And when you finally crawl into bed you knock out instantly.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Oh fuck…”

You forgot that drunk you last night set an alarm today for 9am. Thank you drunk Y/N. 

Why 9am? Because you need to shower and get ready, plus the beach you’re going to is near the north part of the city, which is also the expensive part of the city, meaning it’s a LONG ways from where you live. But the stores are aesthetically pleasing and it contains both you and Karli’s favorite coffee shop so you’re willing to make the 25 minute drive. Karli doesn’t have to worry though because she lives a lot closer than you do. Girl has got her shit together. Honestly you’re just glad she decided to move back after graduate school cause the long distance friend thing sucks balls.

You hop in the shower and rinse yourself awake. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot. Unlike many people who prefer to dress up for a nice outing, you’re just the opposite. You’ve been forced to dress in nice business attire with a full face of makeup all week. Hell no are you dressing up on your days off too. It’s a sweatpants and tank top kinda day so that’s exactly what you wear. Ever since college you’ve spoiled yourself into only wearing comfy clothes whenever you have the chance and it’s become a minor problem in your life. You have some perfectly nice jeans in the closet but you haven’t worn them in forever. And you’re not gonna wear them today either. And makeup? Who needs makeup? You’ll just go barefaced since you have no one to impress. Actually just kidding maybe a little concealer just to cover up a few rough spots but that’s IT. You’re still a little self conscious and you know you have to work on that but not today.

It’s now 10:15. You grab your purse from the couch, slip on your favorite pair of slides and head to your car. You’re the kind of person who absolutely needs music when you drive so you quickly start blasting your favorite playlist. Before you know it, you’re pulling up to the beach area. Parking is hard to find on the weekend but your lucky ass managed to squeeze into a street parking spot right as someone pulls out. You lock your car and make the trek to Cozy Coffeehouse, your favorite coffee shop hands down.

Karli is already here and she’s hopping up and down, waving at you. She looks super cute today in her little black dress and fishnets. She’s had the same taste since high school and you’re glad that even a Master’s degree hasn’t stopped her from dressing all punk on her days off. You jog over and give her a quick hug.

“Hey girl look at you!! You’re so cute!” You take in her makeup and you swear if she didn’t go the corporate route she definitely should have been a makeup artist. Her eyeshadow is amazing and you’ll never ever have the blending talent that she has, nor could you ever get your eyeliner to look that sharp.

“Aw thanks! You look comfy though I’m kinda jealous now maybe I should’ve dressed down.” 

“No I love your outfits! Besides, someone has to look nice in this relationship.”

You link arms and march into the cafe. It’s located near the fancy designer stores on a large hill overlooking the beach. When you step inside the whole atmosphere screams ‘cozy’, fitting its name perfectly. The interior is littered with mismatched sofas and armchairs but it somehow still looks aesthetically pleasing. Soft piano jazz is playing through speakers and when you step inside the delicious scent of freshly ground coffee beans immediately invades your nostrils.

You glance at their pastry display first. Today must be your lucky day because they have tiramisu and you absolutely love tiramisu but it’s usually sold out. No way in hell are you letting this chance slide, fuck breakfast norms you’re definitely getting a bite of that. Unfortunately you’re not a fan of sugary treats on top of sugary drinks so to balance things out you choose to order their house brew.

After you two order, you find a spot in one of the plush armchairs near the window and sit. You really are lucky today since window seats are usually taken. But not this time! You guys get to enjoy the gorgeous scenery displayed before you. The sun is bright, people are laying on the beach tanning, and kids are splashing each other with water. For the first time in awhile, you feel content with life, if only for a bit. 

Before long your orders are called out and you stand up to retrieve them. Once you’re settled, you break into conversation with Karli, eager to catch up on everything that happened since you two last spoke face-to-face. You talk about work, Karli’s boyfriend Sunny, that new pizza place that opened up near your apartment that actually has really shitty pizza.

“Like seriously how do you fuck up pizza that badly?” you exclaim in between generous bites of tiramisu.

“No I get you,” Karli responds, slurping her iced mocha frappuchino, “everybody knows what pizza is supposed to taste like, I mean it’s gotta take talent to actually fuck it up to the level you’re describing girl.”

“Exactly!!” You wave your arms in the air, wanting to physically demonstrate your frustration at the situation and your passion for good pizza.

“Anyways…” Karli gently sets her drink down and takes on a more serious tone. “How are you though, honestly.”

“Hmm, me?” You swallow your last bite of tiramisu, “I’m doing good. Works ok, life’s ok. You know. Everything’s… ok.”

“I get that everything’s ‘ok’ but you know I want you to be more than ok. I want you to be happy”

You see the genuine concern in her eyes. Bless this girl for being so soft-hearted.

She continues, “And when was the last time you dated? Like, what, 2 years ago??”

Of course she has to mention dating. Karli has always been a romantic. You? Not so much. Your brain tended to err on the logical, practical side, which is not always a good idea since it keeps you away from many potential relationships.

“I date!” You scoff, but you’re not convincing anybody, least of all yourself.

“Oh really?” Her eyes widen in mock surprise, “Tinder one night stands don’t count babe. You know what I mean.”

“Well you didn’t specify…” You mumble, trying to come up with any excuse to defend your pride. You know she’s just being a good friend and that she’s asking because she cares about you, so you don’t let her questions irritate you.

“Sweetie I’m not trying to make you feel bad and I’m sorry if it comes across that way. It’s just… you mean a lot to me and you’re my bestie and I just want to see you be happy.” She takes your hand from across the table and looks you in the eyes. “We don’t get to see each other as much as we used to, so when I do I want to check in on how you’re doing.”

Then she averts her eyes, which you find highly suspicious. “Also I may or may not have found someone who I KNOW will be a perfect match for you.”

“AHA I KNEW you were leading up to something!”

“Wait but hear me out. He’s an accountant and at first I was like hmmm is he too boring for Y/N? But then I realized I was judging him by his job and that’s not cool so I talked to him and he’s, like, actually super cute and super sweet and I think you two will get along so well!” She’s speaking very fast at this point, trying to squeeze out as much information as possible before you can interject. Then she finishes with one of her signature Karli smiles, big and wide and all teeth and she knows you can’t say no to that face.

“Dammit. Fine.” You lost this round. “Alright if he wants to meet up I won’t say no. How bout that?”

“Gee that’s so thoughtful of you Y/N.” Her tone is sarcastic but she’s still smiling so you know she means no harm.

After another half hour of conversation, locked in a heated debate about food again (this time she’s defending her stance that pineapple belongs on pizza), Karli’s phone rings. The sound scares the poor girl half to death, and watching her jump a mile from her couch had you snorting into your coffee mid drink.

She looks at the caller ID, muttering under her breath, “It’s Saturday what do they want?” then glances up with a sad little pout, “Sorry Y/N it’s work gimme a sec…”

From what you can hear on her side of the conversation, something has come up and she has to head to the office right away. 

“Ok I’ll be there in fifteen,” she hangs up and gives an exaggerated “Ughhhhh”. She takes one large gulp, finishing the last of her ultra sweet, ultra whipped frappuccino. “It’s like they can’t do anything when I’m not there.” She looks especially apologetic when her eyes land back on you, “I’m so sorry I have to cut this short…”

“Hey it’s ok! Duty calls ya know,” you give her a reassuring grin, hoping it passes for a smile instead of a grimace. You were really hoping to hang out today.

“No it’s not ok. We didn’t even get to walk around today! And I know how much you like to do that.” She stands up, slipping her purse onto her shoulder, “so next time I’ll plan a day where I guarantee I won’t get interrupted. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mk sounds good babe,” you give her a big hug, “Go get ‘em tiger!”

After she exits the cafe you finish the last bit of your coffee and glance out the window, staring at the people on the beach. Wow it’s really crowded down there today. You zone in on two kids attempting to build a sandcastle, but it’s too close to the water so the waves flatten it in two seconds. But it seems they didn’t learn their lesson because they keep rebuilding the castle in the same spot. Just move it further up little dudes.

You find yourself lost in thought again. Just because Karli’s suddenly busy doesn’t mean you don’t still have a whole day to yourself. You can walk around on your own. Also why not treat yourself to another drink? A fun one this time from their specials menu.

Ten minutes later you find yourself wandering around the various shops, hot hazelnut latte in hand, gazing at display after display of designer clothes and bags. Look, you may not be a huge fashion person, or have any expendable cash, but a girl can still appreciate art, especially when it’s laid out so nicely in front of you. 

Speaking of art, there’s an art gallery coming up that you absolutely love. You’ve always been too afraid to go inside because you’re the type of person who feels obligated to buy something if you enter a local store and you DEFinitely can’t afford anything there. So you opt to loiter outside, like some creep, looking a little too long at the featured art through the window. This time it’s an Impressionist style painting of a ship on hazy waters with a sunset in the background. You’re no artist but you can appreciate good quality work when you see it. The piece is mesmerizing and serene, transfixing you to the spot. Before you know it, you’ve been staring for 15 whole minutes.

While admiring the artist’s use of color on the display piece, you overhear a lady raising her voice not too far away, snapping you out of your trance. It sounds like drama, so being the nosy bitch that you are, you’re definitely gonna check it out, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘no’?! You’ll be perfect for each other!! Where’s your owner I bet he’ll listen!” At this point the lady’s voice is sounding downright aggressive.

As you shuffle closer to the scene of the noise, you spot a middle-aged, blonde lady pointing her finger at two hybrid men, almost jabbing one of them in the chest with her sharp, ruby nails. Behind her stands a gorgeous female arctic fox hybrid who clearly belongs to her as she pats her owner’s shoulders, trying to calm her down.

“I’m sorry miss but we just aren’t interested.” The taller of the two hybrids with orange hair speaks up, gently pushing the lady’s hands away. “Please leave us alone.” He’s being surprisingly calm, even after getting yelled at in public.

“Yeah lady get out of our faces,” the other white and grey haired hybrid is definitely more agitated, crossing his arms as he huffs in annoyance. You don’t blame him since the blonde lady is being ridiculously rude.

You can’t really make out the two males’ faces, since they’re turned away from you, but they are obviously hybrids. Both having incredibly bushy, soft-looking tails and tall, pointy ears sticking out of their heads.

Even if you can’t see their expressions, you can tell they’re uncomfortable with the harassment. Since you’re still somewhat unaware of the context, you stay out of the argument but decide to keep an eye on the situation in case the lady steps out of line. You’re just slightly around the corner, able to stay a safe distance away so that no one, especially the lady, can catch you eavesdropping. Pretending to admire the Gucci purses displayed in front of the shop you’re now standing at, and almost choking at the price, you cautiously side-eye blondie as she refuses to back down from the hybrid boys.

“Listen here you rude little pets, I’m not leaving you alone until I see your owner. My Sylvia here,” she gestures to the fox hybrid behind her, “would make a perfect partner for you.” She pokes the orange haired hybrid again, “I’ve been searching so long for her to find a mate and I’m not giving you up! Now where the hell is your owner!”

What the fuck?! How dare this lady talk to them like that? And in public no less! You now know exactly why she’s yelling at them. Working at a private hybrid clinic has opened your eyes to the harsh world of hybrids, and their selfish, rich owners. It’s not uncommon for owners to negotiate with each other and breed their hybrids. If two pretty hybrids mate, their children can be sold for loads of money. It's cruel and disgusting, with many of the children sold off before they can even get to know their parents. You’re all too familiar with this tradition, often catching owners in the waiting room of your clinic discussing in whispers about buying and selling hybrid children as if they’re livestock.

“Hey what the fuck did you call us?!” The white and grey hybrid is now also raising his voice. “Listen you wrinkly bi…!” He is quickly silenced by the orange hybrid, who abruptly clamps his hand over his buddy’s mouth.

Orange hair clears his throat. “What he means is, we don’t appreciate the tone you’re using with us. Please leave us alone ma’am. We’ll be on our way. Goodbye.” They attempt to brush past her.

“Hey hold on a minute! I’m not done with you!!” This lady even has the balls to grab onto orange hair’s arm. “I demand to speak to your owner!” Then some sort of realization dawns upon her because her eyes go wide, then quickly narrow. “And where are your collars? Aren’t owned hybrids supposed to have collars on? You know I just might have to call Hybrid Services.” 

You can see the boys visibly tense at her words as she sports a satisfied smirk. Poor Sylvia is now gently tugging on her shirt. “Please calm down, miss…” she says desperately trying to remedy the situation.

Before you know it, and without any plan of action, you round the corner and march up to the boys, standing defensively in front of them.

“Um…” You gulp, then clear your throat, speaking in what you hope is a more confident tone. “Sorry I took so long guys! You wouldn’t believe the line at the coffee shop!”

Next

[mochiyoonfi]

Call Me Baby (JN)

Warnings:  Complete Soft, but also kinda angry, No cursing

Word Count: 2.5k 

A/N: This was meant to be a oneshot, so above 5k words. However I just felt like this was super easy to put in under 3k. The average 18-21 year old will still take about 10 minutes to read this so I think it’s fine.

-❀-

Honestly, sometimes you hated Jin.

He wasn't like your other friends. Sure, the others could be annoying but they were never straight up standoffish to you. You almost dreaded seeing him. The cold glance that he only saved for you, his other friends receiving his bright, warm smile. But of course, whenever you saw his face you forgot your frustration and your mind skipped up to cloud nine. 

It was as if it was impossible for you to be unhappy when he was around. Like he was a placebo. Which was unfortunate because he wasn't nice to you.

“Y/n! You're finally here!” 

You smiled at the deep voice, running up to tightly hug your best friend. “Taehyung! How long has it been?”

“A week!” He responded happily, no sense of irony in his voice. 

Wrapped warmly in his arms, the two of you entered the building, laughing and making fun of each other as you enjoyed the warmth of your hug. Hoseok burst out into laughter the second he saw you. A fun loving guy at heart, he understood when he was allowed to laugh and when he wasn't. And he knew now was a time when he could. He was always ready to poke fun at the way the two of you didn’t hesitate to tease each other, yet acted like the time you spent apart was unbearable. 

“Y/n! Taehyung! You only saw each other last week and yet you make it look like it's been months!” “It felt like longer.” Taehyung shot back, a grin clear in his boxy smile and scrunched eyes.

“Sheesh you could get out of the doorway.” 

You jumped, instantly recognising the normally light voice, now a pitch lower. You spun, surprised, in Taehyung’s arms to see Seokjin, his eyebrows slanted, lips in a frown. His eyes bore into you. Cold shivers ran down your arms as it felt as though he saw straight through you.

“Can you even hear? Get out of the way.” 

You rolled your eyes at him, not ready to just let him be so rude to you, even though your instinct was to step aside wordlessly. “You could at least ask nicely.”

“I shouldn’t have to.” 

When he saw the burning fire of stubbornness in your eyes, signalling you weren’t going to move, he sighed, frustrated and pushed his way past. 

You turned to Taehyung, who was blinking slowly, slightly confused. You gave him a reassuring smile and he shrugged his suspicions off, grinning and dragging you into the apartment. 

You were met with a quick hug from each of the boys, except for Jin of course, who stood a few metres away and didn’t even acknowledge you past a cold glance.

You sat down in between Jungkook and Taehyung, who hadn’t let go of your hand yet, playing with your fingers as if he were a baby. It was a cute habit of his though, so you didn’t mind. 

Jin however, unnoticed by you was glaring, alternating between glaring at Taehyung and you. 

Yoongi however, noticed almost instantly that something had changed about his only hyung in your friend group. He nudged Seokjin, who turned to him. 

Opting to make sure his friend wouldn’t be embarrassed, Yoongi spoke in a hushed whisper. “Jin why are you being so weird?” 

Jin shrugged. “I’m not?” 

“You’re glaring at Y/n. And Taehyung.” 

Jin once again shrugged this off. “Maybe my eyes got a tick. I’m not glaring.”

Yoongi sighed and rolled his eyes. He hadn’t expected the prideful Jin to actually admit to him what was wrong, so he would just have to settle for surveying his friend. 

“I hate doing school work though.” Jungkook whined. He had only started his University course a few days ago but to anyone without prior knowledge he seemed like a veteran. Always complaining. 

“Doesn’t matter, kook. You gotta do it anyway.” Taehyung stated, pulling his glasses up his nose in a mature fashion that left the rest of you giggling. 

“Taehyung you’ve only been doing University for a couple of months.” You commented. Taehyung frowned and pinched the side of your cheek. 

“Shh. Tae is tryna sound smart.” 

The boys burst into laughter, you rolled your eyes at his typical behaviour. But the normal ear pleasing sound of Jin’s laugh was missing. You turned to him and he looked away. 

Seriously? What was wrong with Jin lately? He wasn’t this bad before… sure he’s always been a little cold but he was never straight up rude before now!

“Y/n you’re no better anyway really. How old are you now?” 

You shuffled at Hoseok’s question. You had really begun to feel old lately, realising just how much younger your friends were. 

“I’m 26…” 

Jimin grinned. “You’re only just younger than Jin and Yoongi. I can't say you’ve got too much to brag about.” 

You shrugged. “I’ve got a college degree under my belt. That’s more than I can say for dear Yoongi.” 

Yoongi laughed, not taking any offence from your teasing. “I’m a musician, Y/n. What use would a degree be?” 

You didn’t respond, knowing Yoongi was correct and instead raised your glass of beer at him, smirking. The others did the same, Jin reluctantly raising his last.

“To me.” Yoongi tried. The others snorted at his attempt for the spotlight to stay solely on him.

“To free will.” You decided. You heard Seokjin snort softly and, grin slightly forced, chose to ignore him. 

-❀-

“It’s getting late.” Hoseok stated. 

You turned your phone on. The bright light instantly lit up the dim room and the others turned towards you, mumbling about shutting the light off. They saw your lock screen was a photo of you and Taehyung, fingers in a peace sign, sipping from the same boba tea cup. 

Taehyung giggled. The others didn’t question it as they already know Taehyung was your best friend. But Seokjin had joined your friend group last. He didn’t know that initially it had just been you two, then Jimin, then Yoongi and Hoseok, Namjoon and Jungkook and Finally Seokjin. Seokjin frowned. 

He was about to ask if you two were dating, but was interrupted. “Baby do you wanna go home now? It’s now 11 pm..” 

You nodded. “I’m not tired, but Yoongi looks tired.”

Yoongi snorted. “Of course. I’m always tired.” 

Hoseok was leaning his head on the table, and turned sideways to face the older male.  

“You don’t look tired when you’re playing the piano.” He slurred the last word and you could tell he was drunk. “You look really happy. At peace… like you’re in heaven.” 

Yoongi’s face flushed red and for once the quick witted man was left speechless. 

The others laughed, even Jin who still didn’t look pleased couldn't help but chuckle. 

“So I guess Yoongi will have to drop Hoseok off tonight. He can’t drive like this.” 

“He can sleep here.” Yoongi suggested. Hoseok mumbled something about how soft Yoongi’s ‘fur’ was, which you assumed meant that his hair. Yoongi nodded slowly and patted the younger's head. 

Jungkook rolled a beer back and forth on the table. “I’ll drive. I didn’t have that much. I’ll take Jimin home with me. Jin is your car here?” 

He nodded. 

Suddenly Taehyung’s phone rang and he picked it up, running from the room. 

He came back a minute late and kissed your cheek. “Cmon baby lets go. I needa do some stuff when I get home.”

“If it’s urgent I can just stay at your place.” You offered. He nodded and began leaving the room, you following behind him, saying goodbyes to each of the boys, except Jin.

You began down the stairs, Taehyung already in his car, once again on his phone. 

The second you heard the door click closed, it was thrown open again. You spun and your arm was caught in a strong grip.

Seokjin.

He was looking at you, a blank look on his face. 

“Y/n why are you like this?”

“Like what?” 

“Do you hate me? Did I do something wrong?” 

You tried to step back, but Jin’s strong grip stopped you. “Me?”

“Yes obviously you!” Jin snapped. 

“You hate me for goodness sake!” 

“No I don’t! It’s because you’re so cold!” 

You frowned, crossing your arms. “I’m not cold to you at all! You’re always ignoring me and you don’t even say hi anymore!” 

“Why does saying hi matter anymore?”

Your eyebrows shot up, confused. “The others say it… It’s not that hard Jin.”

“Why would you need me to say hi? You have Taehyung!” 

“Taehyung? Why is that even relevant!” 

“He calls you baby for god’s sake!” 

Finally, you wrenched your cold arm from Jin’s grip. His eyebrows were still slanted down in anger, eyes on fire.

“Why do you even care?!” You snapped.

“Because I love you!” 

Time slowed down, the light snow around you falling still. After a few seconds you got over the shock and your face went red. 

“L-love?” 

He finally realised what he said and covered his face with both hands. “N-no! I didn’t mean that…” 

You raised an eyebrow, the effort to look sassy slightly tainted by your red face. Still, since he was covering half his face in embarrassment, he wouldn't notice. “So you don’t love me? Pity..” 

“Wh-what? No.. I do love you.” He sighed, rage flowing out from the relief of his confession. It had been weighing on his mind for weeks, maybe months now. “But I didn’t mean to tell you like this.” 

You rushed forward, burying your head into his shirt, taking in his scent. You had always loved the way he smelt, but it felt like so long since you had been anywhere near this close to him. You sniffed into his shirt, trying to suppress the urge to cry. 

All this time you had been worrying that Jin actually hated you. That he didn’t like you at all. 

But it was the opposite. 

You frowned. “Jin?”

“Y-yeah?” His face was completely red, his arms hovering behind you awkwardly, as if he didn’t know where to put them. A gentleman at heart of course, even if sometimes he seemed too cocky for his own good.

“Why were you mean to me?” 

He looked away, flushed. “W-well, Yoongi began realising I liked you and I thought he would tell everyone… and then I thought you were dating Taehyung.”

“Dating Taehyung?” You asked, surprised by this news.”

He nodded. 

“Jin…”

He met your pure eyes, devoid of malice or unkindness.

“Taehyung's my best friend.” 

Before he could respond, you were interrupted. 

“Speaking of best friend Taehyung, he needs to be going.”

You both turned to see Taehyung standing at the bottom of the steps, car keys and phone in hand. Jin went red and slightly pushed you away from him. He looked away, fingers twiddling the others. 

“Jin hyung can you drop your girlfriend off at her house? I’m running really late for something important.” 

Jin went a deeper shade of crimson then he had been. “G-girlfriend..?”

You rolled your eyes at the stuttering man. “Yeah my boyfriend can. See you later Taehyung. I’ll text you when I’m home.”

Tae waved his goodbye, then got in his car and drove off. 

“So you’re my girlfriend, huh?” 

Without someone else there and the faded initial shock of his successful confession, Jin had gone back to his self confident self. 

Which was okay. You loved that side of him as well.

“Well.. yeah. Unless you don’t want to date me?” 

Jin smirked. “Of course I want to date you. I wouldn’t have confessed if I didn’t.” 

You giggled. “Your confession was unintentional.”

“Nothing is unintentional.” Jin said. 

You laughed. “Well I’m glad you did confess.” 

He smiled, bringing his hand under your chin, and the other to your waist, gripping you against his stiff, lean body. You caught your breath, lost in the deep, endless void of his eyes. It began to seem like you couldn’t pull away, like this was all you wanted. Your happy ending. The thing you had been dreaming of, even if you would never admit it.

“I’m glad too.”

His lips met yours in the middle, both of your urges surpassing their limits. Your hands grabbed  at his arms, keeping his hands on your face as he cupped your warm face with strength. 

Being so close to him felt like heaven. Relief washed through your mind. You had been worrying that Jin hated you, that he would never return your feelings. But you were wrong. He had liked you. The perfect guy, liked you. Your eyes fluttered open. His eyes were still closed, his lips pressing harder by the second on yours. You could see slight pores on his skin. You smiled into the kiss. Maybe not perfect. But his tiny flaws made him more realistic, made it easier for you to believe someone as beautiful as him had fallen in love with you.

Of course, you weren’t the only one whose mind was racing. Jin’s mind was racing at almost the same speed as his heart. He was ecstatic that you had responded to his kiss. No, you hadn't just responded. You had tried to kiss him at the same time too. His mind slowly faded from euphoria to worry. Did he look weird? Was he kissing right? It had been too long since he had kissed...

Jin tried not to pull away when he realised he probably still tasted like the beer he had had over an hour ago.

You pulled back first. Soft breaths fell from both of your mouths, unsure of what to say. 

“I’m sorry did I do something wrong or-”

Jin was forced to stop speaking when your lips crashed back onto his. He blinked for a few seconds before you stepped back. “Jin, that was amazing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Y-you’re not just lying to make me feel better?”

“Jin, that was the best kiss I’ve ever had. Not just because you’re amazing at kissing but because it just felt right.” 

He grinned, hands snaking back to grip your waist again. You let him pull your body to his. “That sounds cringy sweetheart.”

You smiled. “Sweetheart? What should I call you?”

“How about ‘handsome’?” Jin tried, ego forever ready to be boosted. 

You shook your head. “As handsome as you are, I’d prefer to call you something that won't make me want to look at you.”

He nodded slowly.

“How about baby?”

His face flushed instantly. “I-I’m older than you. And I’ve heard you call Taehyung that too… I want the name to be just for me.”

“I could stop calling him baby.” When Jin didn't respond, you tried again. “Honey?”

“Reminds me of food.”

“What about babe?”

He looked down at you, your eyes widened in feigned curiosity. He realised you were pulling his leg; leading him on. “Call me baby.”

He leant down, face hovering just above yours so you could see straight into his bright eyes that seemed to control you. 

“Don't say it to anyone else.”

[lovelybunny08]

The Backroom

♡ Pairing- Yoongi X Reader

♡ Genre- Smut, doctor, fingering

♡Description- What happens when one of your fantasy comes true 

♡ Again thank you @artofediting for editing all my story. Seriously love you I dont know what I will do without you.😭😭 

♡ Word Count- 3,058

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your job at the hospital is ER patient registration. It is rather straightforward occupation: register the patient when they come into the emergency room. Nothing more, nothing less. In most circumstances, it would be an easy job…but you’re not in most circumstances considering that the hospital you’re employed at is located downtown, only a few blocks away from a long strip of somewhat questionable bars and nightclubs. The daytime shifts were normally easygoing; the only complications being the odd day here and there where the ER would overflow with patients from minor ailments. Now, that was the daytime shift, but working the overnight shift (especially on weekends) was a different story. You can account for several times in which patients were so incredible intoxicated that you had to repeatedly remind them of their location followed by why they were there. Furthermore, attempting to register drunk patients into the ER was like talking to a toddler: a lot of babbling and no clear answers. Due to this, finishing your charts was next to impossible and the minutes dragged into eternity. You would do anything for a distraction…

…and wow, did your hospital always deliver.

The one piece of excitement to break up the registering monotony was the attending physician on call: Dr. Min. You never spoke a word to him, preferring to ogle him like every other female employee (and more often than not, the patients too). He was strikingly beautiful with slightly mussed blond hair and penetrating eyes softened by his gummy smile. He was physically astonishing, yes, but you also recognized that he was one of the only attendings that treated all the hospital employees equally. Although, there was one particular feature that plagued your mind most nights: his hands. The way his wide palms flooded into his long and firm fingers made arguing with the drunks worthwhile. Only God above knows how often you imagined those hands grasping your neck. As if to entertain your prayers, you have been blessed in that Dr. Min always works the overnight shifts for some unholy reason. At this point you’ve convinced yourself that that ethereal being is the only reason you continue working the overnight sift; otherwise you would have saved yourself countless hours of sleep and frustration.  

Snapping out of your recollection, you shake your head a little and look at the clock in the ER as it strikes 10 a.m. Your back was already aching in the creaky chair with you share a love/hate relationship. You had begun your day shift at 6 a.m., only to take on the night shift as well when one of your co-workers begged you to change with them. Being the ever-so kind and honestly broke soul that you are, you take it without a lot of convincing. Your eyes wondered about the relatively empty waiting room as you calculated how you would spend the five hours between your dayshift and overnight shift. You settle upon going home to take a shower and hopefully a short nap. Before you started drooling over the thought of your bed, the irritating squeak of a soccer mom with her cleated-up son snatched your attention. You huff as you fall into your chair and pull up a new registration form. You plaster the most convincing smile you can as you address her, “Yes ma’am, can I have the patient’s name please?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awake to the blaring of your alarm and nearly throw your phone against the wall. You rub the sleep out of your eyes as you attempt to come out of the coma of a nap you fell into. You dress yourself in black work pants and a nice white shirt, at work you were required to wear business attire. You stumble to the bathroom to make yourself look somewhat presentable. Drunk people were brutally honest, and you had gotten enough rude comments about your tired appearance in the past. You make yourself some coffee and grab an apple as you head off for your overnight shift.  

You clock in at the hospital at 22: 30 sharp and begin to settle in at the desk to get your “day” started. After a few hours, you were surprised with how calm the shift had gone thus far. Granted, it was a weekday and people didn’t tend to drink and go as hard as they would on the weekends. You were currently taking a short break in the back room behind the desk when you hear a knock at the door. Your eyes flip to a computer on the counter expecting to see an alert for a patient needing to be registered. When no such notification appeared, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Another knock on the door drags your feet underneath you as you go to open the door. With widened eyes and a sucked in breath (can’t believe your body betrayed you), you greet the captivating gaze of Dr. Min. Realizing that you were just standing their gawking (good job being subtle), you address him.

“Oh-uh, hi, Dr. Min. Is there a patient I need to register?” You don’t fail to notice his deft fingers gripping a coffee cup in one hand. You mentally wipe your drool when he smiles at you and peers down at you.  

“No, I just came here to bring you some coffee.” He responded, waiting for you to take the steaming black liquid.  

You take the coffee with a grateful smile. You continue to stare at each other awkwardly until you realize that he’s waiting for you to let him into the room. In your haste, your slosh the scalding liquid on your hand as you pull the door open wider. You muffle a small yelp and watch curiously as he looks around the small space. The backroom was better described as a spacious closet with a couple chairs in the corner next to a counter in the back corner and a small bed lining a wall for the employees to rest when they have a break. The only other piece of furniture was a small cabinet next to the door where employees often kept little snacks and such. A computer which monitors patients waiting to be registered sits atop the small counter. There were no windows, only another door at the other end of the room which led to a small supply closet. You both make your way across the room and settle into the two chairs.  

“I haven’t seen you in a while.” His voice startled you when he interrupted the silence.

“Oh, well I’ve been working more of the morning shifts recently. I’m in charge of training new hires to do outpatient registration and insurance verification.” Gah, you sound lame.

“Then congratulations.” Dr. Min responded, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“Thank you, Dr. Mi—"

“—Please call me Yoongi” he interrupted. Fuck, if you could only manage to stop staring at his hands long enough to come up with something decent to add to the conversation. You were pathetic honestly. Too distracted by a simple appendage that you had yourself…oh, but not like his. You felt yourself growing wet just from wandering how good and different his fingers would feel deep inside your p—  

“—So I won’t be able to see that pretty face as often?” Interrupted again damn it.  

You blush fiercely “Huh? Oh, uh, well-no. No, not really, only if they need me to work overtime, or I cover someone’s shift…” This time your eyes lock onto the way he runs his thumb across his lower lip, and you lick your own lips from pure instinct.  

“So, let me ask you this…’ Yoongi starts, with a deeper drawl to his voice. “Why do you keep looking at my hands?” You choke slightly from two things. The first, being that he caught you. The second, to keep yourself from shouting that you are indeed staring because you’d like to try on his hand as a new necklace. You cover up best you can.

“I-uh, have always wondered if you play the piano because you have long fingers?” FUCK, you suck at this. I mean yes, that has been a passing thought, but there was no way he would buy that. He smirks at your flustered state.

“Hmmm, is that truly what you were wondering?” He says with knowing eyes. “The answer is easy then. I’ve played piano since I was young and have kept it up because it—relaxes—me.” He whispers the last words, giving you a pointed stare as he drags your chair closer to his. “Now, I’m no detective, but most people don’t blush and rub their thighs when they think of piano playing. Try again. Tell me what you’re actually thinking.” You can feel his thighs pressing against yours, but you can’t break his stare when your faces are mere inches apart. However, when you feel his hand (HIS HAND) make its journey across his thighs and onto your own, your eyes fly down to the point of contact. At your action, Yoongi moves both his palms onto your knees and slowly begins dragging them upwards. Licking his lips, he leans across until his breath on your ear sends chills down your spine.  

“You can tell me, dear,” he drawls in a low, sexy voice.

At this, you stilled completely. What was even going on? Where was this coming from? Wait, what were you thinking?? The most eligible bachelor in the entire hospital was hitting on you and you’re questioning it? Within seconds, you come to the conclusion that while you may still wake up from this dream at any moment, you didn’t want to waste the opportunity. With a newfound courage, you lock eyes with Yoongi.  

“I want you to choke me with your hands,” his grip on your thighs tighten, “and I want your fingers deep inside me.” You’re blushing fiercely, but your stare doesn’t waver. His lips turn up in a smirk at your juxtaposed reaction. The next few seconds turn into complete chaos.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Yoongi growls.

Next thing you know, one of his hands are tangling into your hair as he pulls you in by your neck to crush your lips against his. You only take a second for shock before you’re kissing him back just as eagerly. The kiss was aggressive but controlled, passionate but dominant as well. You chucked internally because of c o u r s e that’s how he kisses. You soon feel his tongue skimming against your lips, demanding entrance. Without objection, a groan escapes you as his tongue overcomes you, eager to conquer its newfound territory. However, just as you placed one of your hands on his chest, he abruptly pulls away. He steps his way across the room reaching for the door. For a split second you panic, thinking that you had done something wrong that made him want to leave. Just when you’re about to call out to him, his fingers find the doorknob and turn the lock. He turns back around to be faced with your shiny swollen lips and confused expression. He leans back against the door and answers the silent question in your eyes.

“It’s safer to make sure that no one will be able to walk in on us. You wouldn’t want any eyes peering, now would you kitten?” His gives you a small smirk which is quickly replaced by his darkening gaze. “Now get on the bed.”

You’re pretty sure your heart stopped completely at the pet name, but the increasing need for his touch reminded you to follow his demand. You quickly make your way over to sit on the edge of the bed, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. Seemingly pleased with your eager obedience, he strolls to come stand over you. Grabbing your jaw with his hand, he forced you to look up at him. “Are you sure this is what you want, kitten?”

It was obvious he knew the effect that name had on you as he lets out a small chuckle when you start rubbing your thighs together, desperate for any relief. He immediately stops your feeble attempts by slotting his leg in between your thighs.  

“I’ll help you, but I need a definite answer,” Yoongi glowered.

“Yes! Yes, gah please Yoongi,” you whine. You no longer care how desperate you sounded. You needed his hands on you. In response, he leans down to capture your lips with his, tongues intertwining immediately. He then begins to lean you backwards, crawling over you until your back is flat against the bed. With his thigh still between your legs and his mouth moving to suck on your neck, he takes the hand he’s not using for support and slowly begins to trail it until he’s gripping the bottom of your scrub top. He sucks harder at your neck as his hand moves its way back up your body, this time dragging your shirt along with it. Once he finally pulls the shirt off and over your head, he pulls farther away to take in the sight of you in your bra.  

“Just beautiful,” Yoongi whispers.  

While the small break did wonders for your ego, he returns to nibbling on your lips, your neck, your collarbone, anywhere he could bite onto. As soon as he unclasps and does away with your bra, He moves downward to pull a nipple into his mouth. You arch your back and let out a breathy moan as your hands fly to pull at the roots of his hair.  

“Oh my god, please Yoongi. I-I need—” you gasp. He releases your nipple with a pop.  

“Oh, does my kitten want more?” he responds with a sly grin.  

He then descends again to work on your other breast as one of his heavenly hands travels down to undo the buttons of your pants. Without warning or help, he yanks down your pants and continues to drag them off until they are discarded somewhere on the floor. He sucks in a breath at the sight of your white lace panties.  

“Fuck” he nearly moans.  

He rises above you onto his knees to strip himself of his white coat and scrub top. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your skull as you take in the sheer expanse of his flawless skin. Not allowing you much time to appraise him, he slides off your panties as those too join the abyss of discarded clothing. He groans when he sees the glistening on the inside of your thighs and can no longer hold control himself.  

As he crawls back on top of you, he captures both of your wrists with one hand in a tight hold above your head. Sucking on your body, leaving small purple bruises as he whispers sweet words of praise. He once more sucks your tongue into his mouth and kisses you deeply before he descends once more, pushing himself backward down the bed as he pulls your legs apart. His hands massage the inside of your thighs for a few moments before you suddenly feel his lips wrap around your clit. You scream out as one of your hands fly from above your head to pull at his hair. He groans at the response and the vibrations only spur you on further. Moans and encouraging pleas fall from your lips as he continues to ravage you as if he will never have another chance. Before long, he slides two of his long fingers deep inside you, beginning a scissoring motion as he slides them in and out ruthlessly. Unsurprisingly, it only takes seconds before he finds that special spot and has your body arching off the bed and you begging for release.  

“Yoongi, I’m sooo close" you moaned as your hand moves to dig your nails into his shoulder. He releases your clit and crawls upward, tongues clashing as he gives you a sloppy kiss; all while maintaining the merciless pace he had set with his fingers.  

“Fuck, you look so good like this, falling apart on my fingers” Yoongi moaned, impossibly increasing the speed at which he pumped his fingers inside of you. He leans in close to your ear to whisper,

“C’mon kitten, cum for me. Cum all over these hands you love so much.”

His words send you over the edge and your vision goes white as you cum harder than you have in months. He coaxes you through your orgasm, softly kissing you and purring more words of encouragement. Once you began to twitch from oversensitivity, he pulls his fingers out of you only to bring them up to his lips and suck them clean. Both of you come crashing back to reality; however, when his beeper begins to go off. He lets out a huff as he pulls off of you and goes to retrieve the device from his coat. After checking the message, he begins to pick his scrubs off the floor and dress himself.  

“One of my patients is suffering from tachycardia and the nurse wants me to make sure it’s nothing serious” he explains.

“Oh, I understand that. You’re a doctor, there’s always going to be someone who needs your help,” you flash him a cheesy grin in response to his eyeroll. After he finishes dressing, he gathers your clothes off the floor and hands them to you and he grips you and kisses you one more time. He pulls away after nibbling on your bottom lip and walks over to the door. He shoots you once last glance as he unlocks the door.

“Since you say that, you know I’d be more than willing to offer my services to—help—you anytime,” he winks, and before you could respond, he disappears back into the hallway, leaving you dumbfounded but satisfied. You felt like a proud scientist after their hypothesis is proved correct. His hands really were talented for more than just medical purposes. With that lasting thought, you throw your clothes on and return to the desk outside, acting as if you had merely taken a short nap. A short nap that left you with a stupid grin on your face and swollen lips. Yeah, you would definitely be requiring the services of the overnight attending from now on.  

[bangtans-peaceful-piegon]

My Cup of Tea: Prologue

My Cup Of Tea: Prologue | YoongixReader

Warnings for this Chapter: none, just a post-breakup suffering OC who is saved by a whole Min Yoongi

“Coffee is bitter, so people add a little bit of sugar or creamer until it suits their taste. However, once it’s added it can’t be separated. It’s also addictive, it’s your choice to keep it as your poison or to control how much you take. Some people need it, some people don’t...In that case, it really isn’t their cup of tea.”

A/N: im finally deciding to post this after who knows how long sajkdfhd,, tysm for beta reading this for me @jtrbluv !!! again u were a huge help because the tag game you tagged me in gave me the final push to actually post this fic thats been collecting dust in my drafts. ily boo !!! <3 it also took a while because i wanted to do more research for this fic. i dont think ive read about or drank so much tea in my life for the past few months. pls enjoy the prologue everyone!

Word Count: 1,600+

You sat in the worn out leather booth, eyes trained on the steaming mug in front of you.

What just happened?

Something that took five years to grow ended in mere seconds.

Five years of dedication.

Five years of convincing yourself it would work out, that it could be fixed.

Five years spent on a relationship that should’ve ended before it began.

You mindlessly took a sip of your coffee hissing as the hot brew burnt your tongue, mind drifting back to the argument that occurred hours ago...

“You’re never here!”

“Was I not enough for you?”

“Where’s the old Y/N that I knew and loved?”

You weren’t sure about what was said after that except for... “I’m seeing someone else.”

The bruising pain on your tongue began to throb and you couldn’t help the tears that formed.

You never liked coffee, but the café was your favorite place. 

Perhaps it was the enticing aroma that attracted you every time you walked in, or maybe it was the cleverly thought out name that was in the form of childlike puns: Bearly Awake Brew.

Either way, you couldn’t despise coffee any more than you already did in this moment.

“Are you alright?”

You whipped your head up to see a man standing above you.

Through your bleary eyes you could make out a set of kind brown ones shielded by black frames which rested atop a boopable nose. On his head, a black mop of neatly trimmed hair along with soft cheeks paired with a soft jawline.

The man was dressed in a black turtle-neck and long-coat as if returning from a meeting discussing the newest stocks and bonds of business.

After a small, possibly noticeable, ogling of the stranger, you shook your head ‘no.’

He motioned to the seat across from you raising his brows inquisitively, “May I?” 

This time you slowly nodded.

He seemed harmless enough, and even if he tried anything there was pepper spray in your purse.

You sniffled as he took a seat.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No y-you wouldn’t understand.” He leaned forward onto his elbows—a determined furrow in his brow.        

“Try me.”

Who was this guy? He didn’t come off as threatening but somewhat… familiar.

You couldn’t quite place his face or remember his name.

“Not yet, right now I just need a good cry,” you replied sinking further into your seat.

“Alright.” He said, shrugging and not saying much, or really, nothing.

He sat across from you— not making eye contact but quietly observing the café.

Several questions raised in your mind: Where did he come from? Why is he here of all places? Did someone send him with the intention to make you feel even more like a fool than you already did?

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you asked when the silence became a little too long.

“No, not really...” he replied slowly. “Would you like me to leave?”

“No, I mean, it’s just-“ you hesitated, “You’re fine,”

“Ok then.”

Silence.

One look at him and it’d be hard to believe women find him approachable, but the man came up to you.

Much less, while you were on the verge of outright bawling in the middle of a café.

“What’s your name?” you asked, initiating conversation. You might as well since he was there.

“Yoongi. Yours?” You hesitated knowing it wasn’t fair to not give him your name.

“I’ll reassure you I’m not a stalker, at least not the bad kind.”

You let out an amused scoff, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He chuckles and you couldn’t help but enjoy the sound.

Were you really that joy deprived?

“Ok then, I’m Min Yoongi, and I’m a stocker. As in I distribute and track merchandise in stores.” he reaches a hand out to shake and you can’t help but stare at it.

“Well go on I won’t bite,” you huffed a laugh, taking his hand and shaking it.

He smiles and you can’t help but return it.

Who is this guy?

“Why don’t we go for a walk?”

You contemplate his offer.

You had just met him but you hadn’t had casual conversation in a while… or hung out with friends for that matter. So maybe it’d be good for you after-

“Sure let’s go,” You replied immediately while standing up, maybe a little too quickly— your chair scratching the wooden floors and making a startling sound as you headed to the door.

He raised his brows in surprise at the sudden burst of energy before trailing behind you, ignoring the stares of café patrons.

“Hey wait up!”

-

This was another reason why you visited the quaint coffee shop often.

The park outside was always bustling with life and energy.

There was a little pond where ducks would glide across its surface diving from time to time, scavenging for the weeds at the bottom, maybe even getting sustenance from people who were ignorant of the ‘Do not feed the ducks’ sign.

It also had an open field where locals and families would enjoy the hot summer days by setting up little camps with blankets and food or even play small games of football or soccer.

While children played in the vast expanse of green, parents would sit back and converse with strangers forming new friendships. It was a place of change and growth and you loved it.

“So,” Yoongi continued as you both walked down the dirt path, “other than your name, and why you were crying in my café, is there anything about you I have yet to know?” Your cheeks flushed red as you shifted your sight to the ground.

“There’s nothing much really,” you replied with a shrug before backtracking his sentence, “Wait, your café?”

“Don’t change the subject. There’s got to be one thing about you… how about your favorite color?”

You purse your lips at the dodging of the question, albeit a basic one, but it was a start. “I guess Rainbow,”

He nodded with a hum, “Wise choice,”

You let out a huff of amusement, “Alright wise guy, what’s yours?”

He pondered for a moment before affirmatively replying, “Black,”

You hummed. “Kind of... dark, isn’t it?”

He turned around and shrugged, “I’d say the rainbow but you took it already,”

You scoffed, resuming your place beside him.

He continued asking basic questions to which you replied and vice versa.

You liked dogs, but him on the other hand didn’t have a favorite animal, at least until he adopted a poodle which made him keen on the creatures, more specifically one named Holly.

You were allergic to bees and he was allergic to cats.

You both enjoyed a variation of music from rap to classical piano music, but the question also led to a debate on what artist is the most superior to all.

Neither of you won, and concluded neither lost with valid points made during said argument.

It only felt like minutes had gone by but wasn’t until you looked at the time that you realized how late it was.

The crowd at the park had begun to thin out while shops surrounding the area were beginning to close for the day.

The once bright sunlight began to fade behind clouds as it began its descent to the horizon.

“I should probably be heading home,” you cut in politely before he could delve into the topic of what they would do in a post-apocalyptic world.

“Oh,” he replied, obviously disappointed.

He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Well could I ask you one more thing?”

You nodded expecting it to be another ‘get to know you’ question or something along the lines of ‘if you had to would cut your arm or leg off?’ but it was something much more complicated.

“Can I get your number?”

You stiffened, unsure how to respond.

You weren’t sure if he was asking as a friend or a man with an ulterior motive.

Could you really do it?

Especially after you had just-

“I’m sorry that came out wrong,” He quickly mended, fumbling his words, realizing your distress.

“I think you’re really great, and I’d like us to continue talking. Just two people who enjoy each other’s company, you know?”

You looked up at him and saw he was offering to be friends that would be nothing more.

You couldn’t deny: you had fun.

For the first time in a long time.

Maybe it wasn’t a relationship you needed, but a friendship.

You smiled, “I’d like that,”

You reached into your pocket pulling out your phone, “Here.”

You both swapped devices, putting in the respective numbers. Once the contact was added, you returned each device to the rightful owner.

He grinned, holding up his phone, “How about a contact photo?” 

You smiled, nodding as you  stood beside him while  he took a selfie of you side-by-side. Once the picture was taken he slid his phone into his pocket. “Thanks,” he glanced down at the phone, that darn smile growing on his face, “Y/N. I’ll talk to you soon?” 

You nodded and finally split ways.

As you began the trek toward your apartment a dopey smile remained plastered on your face.

Maybe everything would be alright.

[justjeonday]

eternal you┆min yoongi

With you gone, the ground under Yoongi’s feet seems to be crumbling, the color in his life fading as the days without you go by. The only thing left to keep him going are the memories he made with you, sunday mornings, exchanged smiles, fingers skimming over soft skin, lazy kisses, nights spent by Han River. To these moments, he travels to see you again - to exist in the utopia that was you once more.

— song; eight - IU ft. SUGA ( i listened to this piano cover)

— pairing; min yoongi x dead!reader

— WC; 5.9K

— genre; a lot of angst with hints of fluff, idol!au, husband!yoongi, dead!wife!reader

— rating; PG/PG13

— warnings; sad yoongs :(, mentions of death, descriptions of mild depression??, lucid dreaming or something, overall there’s nothing that graphic it’s just sad :((

— notes; this took me so long to finish and at this point i’m not even sure what this was supposed to be but i hope you enjoyyy <33 

— thank you to @tigertaehyunq, dear Penny, for reading this through and helping me along the way <3

gif found here.

(not fully edited)

The sky, once blue and pretty, has become gray and monochrome.

The world around Yoongi has turned cold, dull. All he sees is grey, ashes of what once was happiness, of what once was love. Since you’ve been gone, everything around him has turned somber, days at work filled with insincere empathy and shallow ‘how are you’’s.

The utopia that came with knowing you, being in your presence, that was made up of the memories you two created together - that was made up of you and him - now broken, shattered into thousands of pieces.

Yoongi has tried, more times than he can count, to pick them up one by one and put them together, but the biggest and most significant piece - you - is gone. All he has left are the memories, the times he got to spend with you and the things you did together, the important yet all too small pieces to patch it all back up.

These only make up half of his heart. The rest is hollow - empty because you’re no longer there.

He sighs as he pushes the door to your apartment open, almost expecting to see you on the couch typing away on your laptop, your eyes leaving your screen to look up at him with a smile - arms reaching out for him to come embrace you. But you’re not there.

The space is dark and the couch is cold and empty. It’s quiet, no TV playing on a low volume in the background like it always used to since you hated the silence that surrounded you when you were home alone, no dancing lights flickering across the surfaces in its reach.

You’re gone.

The apartment almost feels foreign to him, nowhere near entire without your presence. Yoongi has never considered his home to be a place - not since he first fell in love with you. The meaning of home changed completely when he first realized he loved you. Ever since then, it’s never been a space - never just walls and a roof.

Home was you.

It was your embrace, the warmth of your body radiating against his own as you held him tight - your fingertips skimming over the skin at the back of his neck, coming up to brush through the hair at his nape. It was your eyes and the way they lit up as you smiled at him. Home was the sweet nothings you whispered into his ear just before you fell asleep, it was your laugh and the feeling of your lips against his; the taste of your favorite lip balm.

He releases a broken chuckle at the thought, the sound shattering the silence around him. Your damn lip balm. It tasted of coconut, pleasantly so - he must admit - and it was a sweet tang lingering on his lips after you kissed him, the trace of you remaining on them in a way that made his heart flutter, but oh how he disliked it sometimes. He didn’t like how it took away from the raw feeling of your lips pressed against his. But it was so incredibly and typically you. You carried that lip balm around wherever you went, saying you wanted your lips to be soft when he kissed you.

He didn’t care about that. He never did.

Yoongi feels his heart break, again - like it did earlier today when he woke up, and yesterday, and multiple times the day before that day. How much is there left to break before it all gets too much, before it’s too broken to continue on beating?

He stands still as the door falls shut with a click behind him, his gaze falling from the couch down to his feet as he lets his head hang low, chin pressed against his sternum, a hand placed on the wall next to him - scared the ground underneath him is gonna crumble. He’s scared, as it all comes crashing down on him, after being able to keep it inside at work, containing the emotions all he could, hiding behind fake smiles. Only by filling his schedule to the point of exhaustion being able to distract himself from a wandering mind, from the truth - the hurt.

As the clock turns four, he looks up from his notepad feeling numb but expects to be able to breathe out and relax after days of hard work - yet he can’t. His breath is shallow as he collects his things in the studio, shallow as he gets into his car and drives home, thinking maybe, just maybe he’ll be able to breathe when he gets home. But still, as he steps inside the door, his breath only reaches his throat.

Because, to him, there is no home anymore. Without you, there is no place for him to breathe out, your arms no longer reaching out to welcome him home. Without you, he’s lost - astray with nowhere to go.

Yoongi feels as if he hasn’t been able to breathe out since he got that call - since he found out you were gone. It feels like the oxygen doesn’t reach his lungs, as though his breaths are empty, as if every time he inhales it's a waste of air.

Now that he’s in the apartment, silence and dark surrounding him, it leaves too much space for roaming thoughts. Too much room for longing and remembering, eyes involuntarily traveling to find everything that reminds him of you. He can’t stand it - the silence is much too loud.

He needs it to stop, yearns for the pain to numb until he can’t feel anything anymore. Hoping things will get better feels like sitting in a car at a broken stoplight - stuck on red.

He feels exhausted, like the weight of the world is pushing down on his shoulders. He finds himself at times, silently praying it’s all a nightmare; a painful dream his mind has created - that he’ll wake up soon enough to feel you snuggling into his chest, warm breath fanning across his bare skin.

It feels surreal, that you’re not here anymore; that you’re simply gone.

He still expects to wake up in the middle of the night, cold and shivering because you stole the covers all for yourself. As his alarm goes off in the morning, he awakes awaiting you to release a groan at the annoying sound before holding him tight, not wanting him to leave for work and let the bed turn cold next to you.

Yoongi sighs, standing up straight before kicking his shoes off. He walks further in, making his way straight towards the bedroom - leaving the rest of the apartment untouched like it has been since you were here last. He keeps his gaze down by his feet, lethargy following his every step.

He can’t bring himself to glance into the kitchen, knowing your favorite coffee cup is gonna be on the counter - left there in your hurry to work like it always was. He doesn’t wanna see the note you had left him on the fridge, the one he was reading with a smile on his lips just minutes before the world came crashing down on him - before the light broke.

He still remembers every word on that piece of paper.

‘Hi, my love~

I’ll be getting off work earlier today, would you perhaps want to take a walk to Han River and watch the sky with me?

Imagine this; you, me, some fried chicken, soju, and a sunset - sounds pretty great right?

I’ll call you as soon as I can.

Sincerely, always yours.‘

He stood by that counter with the note in his hand, the biggest smile on his face as if he was a teenager who got a yes from his crush. He felt so incredibly full of love at that moment, his heart warm and fluttering as he chuckled at your lame way of asking him on a date.

Despite the long day at work, filming for their variety show at multiple locations, producing music, he felt energetic as he read the note - excited to be able to spend some time with you.

But it only lasted a short while. The warmth - the fluttering. His heart skipped a beat in his chest as his phone started ringing, expecting to see your name on the display as he grabbed it from his pocket. He was met with an unknown number, feeling his heart drop for a reason he had yet to know. Something felt wrong.

It’s probably nothing, right?

“Hello?” He answered, eyes wandering as he waited for an answer.

Right?

“Hello, this is a call from Asan Medical Center in Seoul” a woman spoke at the other end of the line, “am I speaking to Min Yoongi?”

His eyebrows knitted together in concern. “Yes?”

“Your wife has been in a terrible traffic accident, we rushed to the scene as quickly as we could but we’re sorry to inform you she didn’t make it.”

His breath hitched in his throat as the woman spoke, his hands trembling and knuckles turning white as he gripped his phone harder.

“No,” he said in disbelief, “no, she can’t be-”

“I’m so so sorry, Sir - we couldn’t save her, she passed away at the scene. Her injuries were far too severe.”

Yoongi wasn’t able to hear the last few words clearly, the woman’s voice becoming distant as his head started spinning, his knees going weak underneath him - causing him to slide down the side of the counter until he was seated against the floor.

“Sir?”

He let his hand fall limp against the floor, his phone falling along with it - eyes staring blankly before him.

That was the moment his world was flipped upside down, when everything fell apart. It was the moment when the paradise that was you, that was constant, broke, and fell to pieces right in front of him.

The painful memory is etched into his mind and trying to forget it has ended up useless - it plays on repeat whenever it gets too quiet, whenever there’s room for losing himself in the intrusive thoughts that roam his mind.

He sometimes wonders how much you were hurting, praying that you didn’t have to suffer for too long.

He trudges in the dark, entering the bedroom and naturally making his way over to the left side of the bed; his side. He falls back against the mattress after shrugging his coat off, a huff of air escaping him as his back hits the surface. It feels too big, too empty; too cold. The smell of you still lingers on the fabric, and he relishes in it - closing his eyes to let his mind picture you laying right there next to him, heat radiating from you and mattress sinking at his side.

That was the last way he saw you, the last way he felt you close, after all. As his alarm sounded through the room that same day his world turned dark, the sun was already up - shining in through open blinds the two of you forgot to pull down the night before. After silencing the sudden sound, he turned to you and saw the way you frowned, stirring from your sleep.

It was like any other day, waking up and looking over at you only to be embraced as you awakened. He saw you like that every day, and you always looked so beautiful. Your hair falling over your pillow, your eyebrows furrowing at the alarm, your lips parted ever so slightly - eyes fluttering as you stirred awake beside him.

The way the sun hit your skin that day took his breath away, he could lay there for hours just admiring your beauty - the way you glowed, your skin golden on top of white sheets.

You must be an angel; his angel.

Closing his eyes to imagine you next to him still, has become a habit he can’t break - only minutes after falling asleep to enter a state, a utopia where hurt no longer exists, in which the word goodbye is no longer known.

A place in which you are eternal.

Yoongi finds himself staring into a void as his subconscious stirs to life, body still numb - limp against the cold bed. Having done this control-your-dream thing a couple of times now, he’s gotten pretty good at having his way with the dream.

He had read about it just days after you passed, the need to see you filling every part of his being. He had read the instructions carefully, but skipped the paragraph about any possible side effects - he couldn’t care less, he just needed to see you.

He needs to see you happy. He needs to make sure you’re okay, and that every time you fade, every time he awakes to reality - there’s a smile on your lips.

He figured the void had become his side effect, the emptiness, the cold - it scared him.

He tries to control his mind, concentrating on imagining a place where you’d feel the happiest. You loved sitting by the Han River with him, watching the sunset flipping through soft pages of your favorite books. Yoongi smiles, mind going back to your letter. Your last written words.

‘You, me, fried chicken. soju, and a sunset - sounds pretty great, right?’

He wants to take you there. He knows how much you looked forward to it, always cherished the time off of work the two of you had together - you made sure it was special, every moment of it.

You loved the sky, he always wondered how you were content just sitting under it and admiring its beauty for hours on end. You were one of those people who believed the theory that ‘looking at the sky seven times a day will make you happier’. Maybe it was true. He could count on two hands all the times you were negative since he met you all those years ago - perhaps the sky made you feel more positive, happier.

Yoongi arises from the void, a groan leaving his lips at the uncomfortable and solid ground underneath him. His eyes flutter open, squinting slightly at the sudden yet soft brightness of the sun shining his way - creating an orange glow in the world around.

The bustling sound of Seoul resonates through the atmosphere, groups of people scattered around the patches of green and on steps of cement along Han river - a soft beat from a nearby cafe playing in the background. He notices the smell of coffee and flowers lingering in the air as he breathes in.

It all feels so real, almost too real.

His hands come up to run over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and attempting to adjust to the light before he opens them again. Looking to his right, he sees you sitting next to him on the picnic blanket placed underneath the both of you. You’re clad in your favorite dress; a loose, white dress with daisies on it.

He’s dreaming again.

You’re here.

He’s finally able to breathe properly, the air feels light rather than heavy in his lungs. You look so beautiful, still unaware he’s admiring you. You stay seated with legs folded in front of you, your skin glowing as you read your book, flipping the pages as a soft and pleasant breeze blows through your locks. The orange sun creates a golden aura that glows around your frame, making his heart skip a beat at the beauty that is you.

It’s the first time he’s seen you here since a week before you passed, it makes him want to shout in happiness and pain all at the same time.

Trying to gain full control of the dream, Yoongi pushes the thoughts of pain away as best he can - but he feels them linger, holding onto him. He focuses on you, relaxing in your presence - feeling that sense of utopia you brought to anyone you held dear to your heart.

You shine - so bright. He swears you’re as bright as the sun. Brighter, even.

The sun. That’s what you were. His sun, his warmth, the light that brightened and lit his path, showed him the way home. With you, winter didn’t feel so cold - night never seemed too dark.

Yoongi was always a little afraid of the dark before he met you. You had laughed at him when he said he slept with a light on. He always had, ever since he was little. But with you, there was no need. You’re his safe haven - his glow in the dark.

A blissful sigh slips past his lips at the sight of you, the feeling of having you in his reach again. He misses you so much.

He can’t help but bring a hand up to lay it over the small of your back, thumb tracing circles over the fabric of your dress. You turn at the touch, looking up from your book to notice he’s awake.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “You fell asleep for a bit.”

He just hums in response, turning to his side and reaching his arms out to you with a pout forming on his lips - beckoning you to fall into his embrace. You chuckle softly at him before putting your book down, making sure not to lose the page you’re on before laying down in his arms.

“I missed you,” you say against his neck, turning the both of you so you end up on top of him.

I missed you.

A phrase he constantly heard from you. Always. Even after a quick trip to the store, no more than twenty minutes, he’d come home to you telling him how much you missed him while reaching your arms out to embrace him. When waking up, you’d turn to him and tell him that same thing - even though he’d been right there next to you in bed all night.

It was something so simple, three words put together into something that made his heart spread with warmth, that were said over and over, to you as important as a hello - yet they meant so much to him. As he time and time again is hit with the realization he’ll never hear those words again, his heart breaks impossibly further.

“You always say that,” Yoongi groans as you shift on top of him. “I’ve been right here all along.”

You chuckle at his words, leaving a kiss by his exposed collarbone just next to the collar of his shirt before laying your head down on his chest. “But still,” you mumble, “I didn’t get to talk to you or kiss you.”

He scoffs before letting out a chuckle, his chest vibrating under you. “You’re weird.”

“No,” you pout, “I’m in love with you.”

The deepest parts of his heart turn pink with love, growing like wildfire until his whole chest is painted.

Oh, he loves you so.

Seoul sounds at a soft volume around you as you breathe each other in. Your eyes are fixed on the orange and pink hues of the sky, following fluffy clouds as you feel yourself relax against your lover’s body - his chest falling up and down slowly as he breathes - lulling you to a state of tranquility.

“I miss you too,” Yoongi says, his voice just above a whisper - the words only for your ears to hear.

You smile and lay your arms over his chest in front of you, propping your chin upon them as you look into his eyes, trying to read him and his reason for the unusually affectionate words told to you.

“You’re just saying that so I don’t feel bad,” you snicker.

“I’m not,” he defends, showing no signs of being anything less than serious, eyes locked with yours as his fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I miss you so much.”

You find his words rather strange, considering the circumstances. Having been by his side for several years, you’ve come to know him inside out - and you know he prefers showing his love and appreciation towards you through actions, whether small or big, rather than using words. That’s just how he is.

Now and then, he’ll take you out on a date, and on those special occasions he’ll tell a few words but that’s it; and that’s enough. He doesn’t have to do more than that for you to know. You’re aware he loves you just as much as you love him, even though he might not voice it as often - and you know that just as thankful you are to have him, he is to have you.

Showing it, he does in the smallest ways. When he reaches for you first thing in the morning, calls you to ask if you want anything from the store when he’s on his way home, mindlessly running his fingers along your skin as you sit close watching the sunset, placing soft kisses on your shoulder as you count stars after the blanket of night is thrown over the world - him, the moon and its stars left your only light in the dark.

He occasionally makes you dinner or buys you a new book, saying ‘it’s nothing’ as you thank him, which you’ve learned is code for ‘I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you’. These actions, yet so simple and small, mean just as much to you as the few times he’s said the words out loud.

To speak them this casually, sitting by Han River with people around, with tired eyes and lazy kisses, is not like him at all.

Yoongi, however, is aware this is temporary - a mare dream in his head. He knows this is far from what his reality has now become without you, that you’ll be gone again when he wakes up in your bedroom, in a bed turned cold.

But he’s willing to take the pain of that realization again if it means he gets to see you - if it means he can feel you next to him again. If it means he gets to show you how much he loves you just once more before he has to wake up to the nightmare that has become his life, then he’ll do it all over again.

He wants to say to you what he didn’t have the chance to, wants to show you how much you mean to him every moment that allows him to.

Yoongi feels a tear escape his eye and roll down his cheek as he’s brought back to the present, looking at you through blurred vision; admiring every beautiful feature. You notice it as it sparkles in the sun, turning golden as though there’s sweet honey running down his skin.

“My love,” you whisper, your heart squeezing at the sight of him sad, “what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head at your question, bottom lip quivering slightly.

“Don’t be sad,” you say softly, fingers brushing through the hair behind his ear.

“I’m not sad, I just-” he inhales a shaky breath, wiping the stray tear away as a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “I’m just happy you’re here with me.”

A slight frown settles across your features, your fingertips running over his face softly, skimming from his cheekbone down to his bottom lip - your eyes following in its trail before looking into his warm brown ones, creating their own sunset as the sky reflects in them.

“I’ll always be here.”

His heart feels heavy as he hears your words, knowing that in reality, it’s not completely true. He knows he’ll wake up in a few hours and turn over to feel the bed is empty, waiting to hear your groan and feel your arm fall over his waist, only to realize you’re gone all over again. He’ll have to go about his day as normal, distracting himself with work. He’ll drive home just to walk straight to the bedroom, waiting to see you in his dreams again.

He feels as if he's stuck in the same space of time, reliving the day just after he found out about your passing, almost like he’s on a constant loop. Stuck on a circling path that’s never-ending - like the earth orbits around the sun, stuck traveling on the path encompassing it.

It’s a constant cycle of euphoria, realization, and reality - a nightmare - and it hurts. Oh, how it hurts. But he’s not sure he’ll ever want to step out of that pattern, ever. If it means he still gets to see you, the pain means nothing to him, he’ll put up with it - no doubt he will.

He’s much aware he can’t live in this false reality forever, but for now, this is how he’ll survive - this is the only way for him to get through this, the only thing that will keep him going.

Yoongi hugs you tightly as he turns, ending up on his side with you next to him - your chest pressed against his. “I know you will,” he says, leaving a quick kiss on your lips.

He hums after pulling away, waiting no more than a few seconds before leaning back in to feel your lips against his again - making you close your eyes and kiss him back. His lips stay pressed against yours for longer this time before he yet again pulls away with another sound of approval coming from his throat.

You smile as your eyes flutter open again, looking at Yoongi as he licks his lips.

“You like it, don’t you?” You say as his eyes open to lock with yours.

He rubs his lips together before answering you, “like what?”

“My lip balm.”

“I don’t.”

He does.

“No?”

“It’s too sticky,” he mutters, “I don’t like it.”

“Yes, you do,” you chuckle, “I saw how you licked your lips just now.”

He looks at you, no response coming from him at your contention.

“Cat got your tongue?” You tease.

He huffs at you, gummy smile stretching across his lips as he turns away from you to lay on his back. “Shut up.”

You laugh, sitting up to look out over the river - the horizon behind skyscrapers and buildings now a deep orange, beautifully fading into the peach hues higher above.

Yoongi follows you up, sitting next to you as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks at you, following your line of gaze to see the sky and all its tones. He must admit it’s beautiful, almost breathtaking, the vibrant colors laying across the sky - but as he looks back to you, he knows nothing’s ever looked more beautiful than you do right at this moment.

As you turn to see Yoongi shamelessly admiring you, he doesn’t bother averting his gaze even as you catch him.

“What’s that look for?”

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles, his head shaking ever so slightly as though he’s in disbelief.

“Ahh, stop.” You reach over to nudge his shoulder, despite the smile on your lips at the compliment.

“You are,” he says, his tone matter-of-factly with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I can’t believe you,” you laugh, “since when did you get so cheesy?”

He doesn’t say anything else, a silence settling over the two of you as you stay eyeing each other.

He’s a soft boy, after all. Under the rapping, dark, deep voice stuttering over beats, the black clothes, the intimidating energy he radiated, he is soft. Sometimes you get random urges to boop his nose or squish his cheeks because he’s so adorable, but maybe that’s just you being weird.

“Thank you,” you say softly after a few seconds, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You cherish and admire him, and with the amount of love that fills your being - you swear there are hearts in your eyes.

Yoongi notices the way your cheeks have been dusted pink, his heart warming at the sight, fluttering in his ribcage as your hand finds his - interlocking your fingers together.

“Come here,” he mumbles, pulling you closer.

You happily oblige and settle in front of him, sitting in between his spread out legs, your back leaning against his chest behind you.

He lays his arms around your waist, placing kisses along your exposed shoulder. You relax against him, head falling to rest on his shoulder - letting your eyes fall close. Your hands find his as they lay across your stomach, your fingers skimming soothingly over the back of his hand.

He leaves a few kisses on top of your head before hugging you closer to his front. You almost melt against him, but a sudden shatter in front of you causes a squeal to escape your mouth, tensing as you press further into Yoongi at the unexpected noise.

You see glass scattered on the cement path in front of where you’re seated, alcohol pungent in the air as it paints the ground dark, liquid spreading. You look over to see a drunk man, who had fallen to the ground after the throw - two police-men now surrounding him.

The bottle lays broken on the ground, once a perfectly intact piece now fragmented into hundreds - impossible to fix.

Yoongi is startled as well, the sudden shatter of glass against the cement causing him to lose control of the moment. Darker thoughts start making their way back into his mind and as his gaze falls upon the pieces scattered across the ground, he can’t help but think of the broken utopia that resides without you.

His grip on the dream feels as if it’s fading slowly, and you feel more distant to Yoongi although still right there with him - until you speak again, bringing him back to present - though he’s not in full control of the dream anymore.

“Was it bad?”

Your words confuse him, and he feels his heart getting heavier. He lost it. He lost the moment.

“What do you mean?”

Your mood has changed, he senses it instantly. You slump against him, looking down at your lap as you run your fingertips over the back of his hand.

“When I passed,” you elaborate, “how bad was it?”

Yoongi’s breath is caught in his throat, now aware of what you’re talking about. He releases a sigh at the topic, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He wanted this to be the perfect dream, but instead, he let you down.

After no answer, you shift and turn so you’re facing him. You look at him, any trace of a smile on his face gone - his eyes dull.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” you whisper, taking both his hands in your own.

Yoongi feels as though the air thins around him, looking down at your intertwined hands as his eyes start stinging with tears. His hands suddenly feel cold on your hold.

He knows you’re right. He knows.

“It’s the only way I get to see you anymore,” he whispers, still avoiding your gaze as he continues, “it’s the only way for me to tell you what I didn’t have the chance to.”

You look at him, heart breaking at the sorrow that resides within him, how dull he seems.

His voice is unsteady as he speaks, his hands fiddling with yours. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“Yoongi-”

“God,” he lets out a chuckle, though it’s broken. “Your note, I read it just before I found out you-” He doesn’t finish his sentence, breath heavy in his lungs - throat closing in.

His hands leave yours to tug at his hair, his head falling forward to rest against his palms - his body suddenly weak, his heart frail.

“You were so excited to go here that day, weren’t you? And then you-”

“Yoongi,” you stop him from going further, “we’re here now, aren’t we? It’s okay.”

You grab his hands again, trying to calm him.

“But we’re not forever,” he says, now looking into your eyes with blurred vision as tears threaten to fall, “This isn’t real, I’ll wake up in a cold bed, and you won’t be there with me.”

“I will, even though you might not see me. I’ll always stay by your side, I’ll always listen when something is weighing you down, I’ll give you all the energy I possibly can when you’re feeling low. My hand is always in yours, even though you might not feel it.”

He exhales an erratic breath, head falling onto your shoulder.

“I’m nothing without you,” he mumbles against the skin of your neck, “you were my everything.”

Your heart breaks as you hear his words. What could you have done to prevent all this? Could you have taken a different turn? These thoughts roam your mind, a sorrow inside you because you caused this - because you left him.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning into him.

“Don’t,” he says, “this wasn’t your fault.”

Seoul fades around you, every person disappearing until it’s just the two of you left; you, Yoongi, and the orange sun.

“Promise me you’ll try to get better.”

He doesn’t say anything, his breath hot against your neck.

“I know it’s gonna be hard, and that it’ll take time - but please find happiness again, enjoy work, laugh with your friends, watch the sunset, meet new people,” you speak, eyes watching the sky as you hold him close. “I’ll be with you every step of the way until we see each other again, I’ll hug you in the morning, I’ll tell you how much I miss you, I’ll kiss you - but only after I’ve applied my lip balm.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, his tears falling onto the skin by your collarbone.

“Promise you’ll never leave.” He sits up straight to look at you.

You cup his face, wiping tears away with your thumbs. “I will never leave you, I promise.”

He leans into your touch, more tears falling as he closes his eyes.

“I’ll be your angel.”

“You always have been,” he whispers as a small smile settles on his lips.

You tear up at his words. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

Yoongi decided the sun would never set that night, and you sat watching the sky for hours - enjoying having each other close for the last time in a long time. At one moment, you had pointed at the sky and said ‘like the clouds, all will pass - you’ll be okay, my love’, and those words comforted him more than he ever thought they would.

You promised each other not to cry as the colors started to fade, as the light slowly turned dark. Instead, you held each other close and made sure to share one last kiss before the moment was gone.

Yoongi woke up that morning, and his bed didn’t feel so cold anymore. You were there, although indiscernible, he knew you were lying right beside him - one arm coming up to hold him close.

Just like you told him, you’d be there when he woke up.

He still missed you, and at times he felt he couldn’t breathe at all - but you let him know everything will be alright, that eventually, everything’s going to be okay. He had a long road ahead of him until that day would arrive, but you’d walk with him - and that was all he needed to keep going.

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled. The blinds that had been down since you’d been gone, he pulled up that day to look at the sky, which was clouded and gray, but it didn’t bother him anymore.

For,

with you

the sky will always be beautiful.

masterlist

© justjeonday | 2020 | all rights reserved | reposts, translations, or modifications of my work in any form is not allowed.

[xxiaotiqinn]

Save Me (OT7)

Requested by michelle on Quotev <3 

a/n: so this is my first time posting something on here; I typically write on Quotev lol. I really hope you’ll enjoy it :)

Pairing: OT7 x hybrid!OC

Genre: mafia!BTS, fluff, hybrid!au

Word Count: 2.5k ish 

Summary: Bangtan Sonyeondan, the toughest mafia in South Korea. Ruthless, skilled, and emotionless. That is, until a hybrid changes their view of life completely.

Bangtan

The seven men were in the shadows, watching, waiting. One on the roof, sniper at the ready. Four on the ground, knives or pistols cleverly concealed within sleeves. One in a tree, fiddling with his earring as he carefully observed, waiting for the signal.

The last stood boldly on the docks, lamplight glistening on his silvery hair. The waves gently lapped against the soaked wood. A small smirk played on his lips as he glanced at his watch.

23:59:55

23:59:56

23:59:57

23:59:58

23:59:59

00:00:00

Another man appeared. The first looked up in mild surprise. “Didn’t think you would show up, Moore.” His tone was smooth and charismatic, and he spoke in English.

The other scoffed, stepping forwards. He eyed the Korean in front of him. “Don’t play nice, Kim. Where’s the package?”

The first—Kim—remained where he stood. “Moore, we made a deal. Give her to us first.”

Sighing, Moore raised three fingers, and two men came out from one of the ships with someone between them. She cried out when they threw her on the ground.

A soft gasp could be heard from the roof, so soft that only the ones on the ground below him could hear it. One of the men in the shadows tightened his grip on his knife, his knuckles turning white. Oh, how he longed to sink his blade into Moore’s throat. But that could wait. Yes. That could wait.

“Now the package.”

Kim sighed heavily and handed Moore the box. “There’s a lot in there. Be careful.” He tapped his ear twice, and the man on the roof lowered his sniper. “Let’s go.”

At the signal of Kim, one man stepped forwards, taking the girl in his arms.

Moore’s men raised their eyebrows or widened their eyes in surprise as five others slithered out of the dark corners, following Kim out.

Min Yoongi didn’t like to show that he cared. He didn’t like to show that he worried. In fact, he didn’t like to show anything at all. So when he returned back to base with two bullet wounds and a young girl protectively clutched in his arms, you could imagine the others’ surprise.

Yoongi was very good at what he did. He was an assassin, and one of the best at that. He could lie for hours on a rooftop, waiting for the perfect shot. His fingers would grow cold around his weapon and his leg would fall asleep, but his victim would always be dead in the end.

His mission was to take out the ‘illegal experiment’ that a scientist had created. But when he finally caught a glimpse of the beautiful girl with black silky ears and tail and dark, sorrowful eyes, his fingers refused to pull the trigger. He had lain there, shaking with internal struggle.

She was his mission.

But she looked so sad.

He had to obey his orders.

But had she ever seen the light of day?

Yoongi had finally thrown down his sniper and slipped through an open window. He ran down the hallway. A guard fired at him, his leg taking the bullet. Yoongi gritted his teeth and dived for the open door, grabbed the protesting girl, and emerged with only another shot on the same leg.

Namjoon hadn’t been very happy at first. While Yoongi’s wounds were tended to by Taehyung, Namjoon had lectured Yoongi for a solid thirty minutes.

Yoongi still didn’t really know why he did what he did. But all he knew was that none of them regretted it in the end.

Aera POV

Three months ago

I cracked my eyelids open, groaning softly. My limbs hurt all over. Where was I?

I looked around. I was in a plain white room, a pair of medical gloves thrown carelessly on the table beside me. My ears pressed against my head as I hissed softly, the strange atmosphere making me distressed.

”Ahh, you’re awake.” A young man walked in, smiling gently at me. “How are you feeling?” Everything about him felt soft and clean, his eyes crinkling pleasantly as he smiled. He smelled like vanilla.

“Who are you?” I asked quietly.

“Jimin. And you are?” He pulled on the gloves and gestured to me. “May I?”

I bit my lip, tensing up but allowing him to carefully examine me. “I-I’m Experiment 309.”

Jimin frowned, looking at me in kind sympathy. “They didn’t give you a name, did they?” When I shook my head, he smiled again. “I’ll call you...Aera. It means love, you know.”

I didn’t feel particularly loving or loved, but I nodded again.

”You seem to be pretty healthy,” Jimin continued, carding his fingers through my hair and peeking into my ears. I hissed when his fingers caught on a tangle. Noticing, he pulled a comb from a drawer and combed my hair until it was smooth.

Despite myself, I began to purr quietly, relaxing and slumping forwards. He giggled from somewhere above me, brushing away my baby hairs from my face.

“I’ll go get the others,” he finally said, breaking the silence. “Stay here, Aera.”

Six other boys filed in behind Jimin ten minutes later, talking amongst themselves. I recognized the scent of the one who had rescued me; the short, pale one in the back with feline features to rival my own.

“So. Experiment 309.” One finally spoke. He was breathtakingly intimidating, tall and unbothered.

“Aera,” Jimin cut in, glaring at his hyung. “Her name is Aera.”

The youngest smiled discreetly at his toes, bright teeth appearing in a cheeky grin.

I eyed all of them carefully. “Yes?”

”You...aren’t supposed to be here. In fact, you should be dead.” The first man glared at my savior, who looked coldly back. “But, now that you’re here, you can’t leave us. Welcome to Bangtan Sonyeondan, Aera.”

A few of them looked at him in surprise. He shook them away. “I’m Kim Namjoon. Seokjin here—“ he motioned to a stunning man with broad shoulders—“will give you the guidelines on how everything works. Break rules and we will not hesitate to kill you. Is that clear?”

Shaking slightly, I nodded silently. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Namjoon clapped Seokjin on the back. “I trust you all will get to know each other soon enough.”

Jungkook POV

Present day

“Noona,” I said softly, peeking into Aera’s room. She looked up, a bright smile gracing her features.

“Hi Kook.” I joined her on the bed and stuck one of her earbuds in my own ear. I grinned when I heard Yoongi’s piano track playing. Aera had been with us for about a month now, and we had all grown much closer.

Although we might be a tough mafia, most of us were gentle and quiet on the inside. Taehyung and I loved photography and art, Namjoon adored nature and museums, and Seokjin loved cooking. Jimin and Hoseok spent a lot of their time dancing, perfecting their moves, while Yoongi’s best friend was his piano.

Aera spent a lot of time with us, practicing in the shooting range with Yoongi or wrestling with me. She had definitely grown stronger both physically and mentally in the past few weeks.

Namjoon had wanted to make sure she could fend for herself, and the others agreed. But all of us liked it most when we cuddled in a heap, playing with Aera’s hair and smoothing her tail.

I had to admit that I was starting to fall in love with the cat hybrid. And perhaps the hyungs were too. I had seen, in a split second as the tv screen flashed across the dark room, the look in Yoongi’s eyes. A moment of longing and tenderness in his dark, stoic face before his eyes clouded with a cranky scowl, batting Tae away.

Aera’s soft purring pulled me from my thoughts. I looked down, smiling fondly as she picked at a thread on my shirt, her head against my shoulder. “Jungkookie,” she said cutely, looking up at me with innocent eyes. “You’re really warm.”

My heart fluttered. “Thanks noona.”

The door opened and Taehyung came in, strapping long knives to his legs and arms. “Come on, Kook. Hyung’s got another shipment in.” He smiled at Aera, his mouth in a big boxy shape.

I sighed heavily, not wanting to leave the safe, happy bubble that was Aera’s room. “I’m coming, hyung.”

Aera watched the both of us, worry swirling in her onyx eyes. “Be careful,” she said, standing up to hug Tae. He patted her head gently, dropping a peck on her cheek.

“We’ll be back in a minute, Aera,” he reassured her.

She nodded, turning to me. I reddened when her lips brushed my cheek for a brief moment. “Don’t be reckless, Jungkook,” she reminded me gently.

Aera followed us downstairs, hugging each of the hyungs tightly. Yoongi grumbled under his breath, his cheeks a rosy pink as Aera kissed his cheek and embraced him. Namjoon and Jin exchanged a teasing smile.

“Don’t lose your temper too easily, Jimin,” Aera told him. He grinned and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Since when have I ever done that?” Jimin teased, but he blew a kiss to the girl on his way out the door.

I lingered for a moment at the door, turning back to look at Aera. She smiled comfortingly and waved. I returned the gesture before finally following the others out the door.

Yoongi POV

We headed back home, talking amongst ourselves. We had successfully delivered the shipment of drugs to our client unscathed, except for Jungkook, who had received a slash from a knife.

“We’re home!” Hoseok called, but there was no Aera waiting by the door. The house suddenly seemed dark and foreboding as we entered.

“Aera?” Jimin yelled, looking around.

“I’ll check upstairs,” I said, glaring at Jungkook. “You stay put.” I bounded up the marble staircase and burst into Aera’s room, expecting a slumbering girl.

I choked, my heart stopping when I saw the rumpled covers, torn curtains, and smashed picture frames. My breath caught in my throat as I bent to pick one of the frames up. It was a photo from the day that we took Aera to the beaches. We were all ruffled by the ocean breeze and dripping with saltwater, but huge smiles were plastered on our faces. Aera was in the middle, with Jin’s and Taehyung’s arms around her waist.

Emotion rarely got the better of me. But I felt a choking, swelling feeling in the back of my throat. My eyes and nose stung with a strange numbness, and a drop of water speckled the broken glass.

I was crying.

The great assassin Min Yoongi, emotionless, quiet, deadly, strong. Crying like his heart would break.

I stood there for a long time, tears streaming down my face in an endless torrent. Aera, sweet Aera, love.

I loved her. Yes. I’d finally come to realize that.

And I’d be damned if I didn’t do everything in my power to get her back.

Three days later

“Hyung!” Taehyung bounded up the stairs and into my room. I looked up from the piano, my fingers halting in their mournful melody. Biting my lip, I shut the piano and let my hands fall to my sides.

“Yes, Tae?”

He frowned, sitting next to me on the piano bench and placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hyung, you-you look terrible.”

He was right, I thought, looking at my reflection on the shiny piano lid. My eyes drooped with exhaustion, I hadn’t brushed my hair in the past three days. An overall look of shabbiness and hopelessness. “I miss her,” I whispered with the tiniest sigh.

Taehyung shook me slightly. “Come on, Yoongi-hyung, Namjoon-hyung has something to show us.”

I reluctantly followed my dongsaeng downstairs to the meeting room. Namjoon and the others were sitting in a circle around the table, Jin’s arms filled with papers. Hoseok was furiously typing away at his laptop.

“There you are, hyung.” Namjoon sent me a smile that I tried to return. “We have a lead on Aera.”

I felt as if I had been dosed with cold water. “W-What?”

“We found her. Another mafia got her. American.” Hoseok spat out the last word as if it was a curse. “We contacted them. They want drugs from us before we can get her back.”

I balled my fists. “Let’s get her then. What are we waiting for?”

“We have to steal some from the dealer in Busan.” Jimin high-fived Jungkook. “That’s where we’re coming in handy. Let’s just say we’re basically locals in that area. We’ll be able to walk in and out with no suspicion.”

“Let’s get it!” Jungkook cheered, springing to his feet.

Jimin POV

“SHIT!!” Jungkook screamed, diving to the ground just seconds before the grenade went off. I cursed under my breath as well, grabbing the younger’s hand and tugging him to his feet.

“Let’s get the hell outta here,” I growled, shoving the package into my large pocket. Jungkook hurled a knife through the air, successfully hitting his target. The man spluttered, clutching his stomach as he fell to his knees.

We had managed to sneak into the shady store, and I had tried my best to distract the female at the counter. I had bent over the counter, biting my lip as I stared at her through hooded eyes. Jungkook had extracted the package from underneath another box, and had just made it out the door when she saw him, slamming an alarm under the counter.

Jungkook and I had to flee, pursued by guards. We had tried our best to shoot them while running, but one of them had thrown a grenade.

Taehyung was waiting with a car at the entrance of the alley, and we leapt in. “Go go go!!” I screamed, opening the window and shooting one more man between the eyes. There was a spray of blood as he fell on his back.

There was silence in the car before we all burst out laughing. “We did it, hyung,” Jungkook said breathlessly, grinning at us.

Two days later

We showered Aera with kisses and hugs the second she was with us. “We were so worried,” I told her, grasping her small, bruised hand in mine. “Yoongi-hyung cried a lot.”

Yoongi’s cheeks turned a bright red as Aera turned to him in surprise. “I-I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but I was just-“ he was cut off when Aera flew at him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him. He responded with passion, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her back.

She finally pulled away, running to Namjoon and kissing him next. Aera embraced each of us, finally coming to me.

“Gonna give me a kiss, baby girl?” I asked. She grinned and reached for me, pressing her soft lips on mine. I smirked, placing my hands on her waist. “I love you.”

“Love you all,” she mumbled, burying her face in my chest.

“My turn,” Taehyung whined, and we all laughed.

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompts.Week19

[Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester.

Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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       May 7th - 13th

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Kim Seokjin: Lost sock

Running around the hotel room Seokjin was panicking. He had a short time to get ready and then he had to leave this wasn’t time to lose his right sock. 

“Jin there is no time we got to go.”

“Jimin I can’t wear one sock!”

“It will be fine hurry up and get in the car before your bride gets there before you do”

Seokjin waited at the end of the aisle nervous but everything disappeared when he saw you walking in. You cheekily lifted a small part of the dress to reveal your pretty heels and on sock clad foot and he felt his heart flutter. 

Min Yoongi: Room

There was an old music room on campus. Where nobody goes, it is said to be haunted, people who go there quickly leave reporting strange noises and some even claim to see a pale ghostly figure. You are running away from the campus’ official creep named Allan. Midst your hasty escape you hadn’t realised that you were heading towards an unused area within the music building. Allan was closing in with the speed of a tornado.

Ducking through the nearest door you found yourself within an old music room. It was cold, dark and there was a small layer of dust covering everything. Which didn’t strike you as odd as the room was full of unused or broken equipment. 

Only a few steps into the room you found yourself feeling uneasy like you were being watched. But you couldn’t turn back now not whilst Allan was on the loose. Taking a seat in front of the small upright piano you found it odd that there was no dust on the wooden cover. 

Lifting the cover, the ebony and ivory keys greeting you, each looking a little worn. 

With a little hesitation for how the piano would sound, you began playing a small tune a familiar one you often heard in the music building but no one ever knew who the artist was. You had transcribed it at home hours of replicating the sound as best as you could.  But the song was never finished so you took it upon yourself to create an ending you so fit. The song itself was melancholy with a hint of desperate longing. So the ending you had written rounded the conveyed emotion into something a little gentle and loving. 

You played happily and pale hands came down over yours and you retracted yours back and tried to turn to see who had scared you so badly but the music these hands created was mesmerizing you could do no more than watch the long fingers dance over the keys. 

Jung Hoseok: Twilight zone  @taesguccibag

Hoseok hates all things scary, he hated fast rides, ghosts, scary movies, loud noises and angry people. So when he woke in a dark forest in the rain he was scared, he heard strange noises and there you were standing in front of him on this strange animal he had never seen. 

You spoke, your voice soft but odd somehow like he wasn’t sure if he really heard you. He looked over you as he heard you speak again and noticed your mouth wasn’t moving he looked around before his eyes landed on you. You smiled at him, your voice filling his head just as gently as the first time. 

“You are not from around here?”

“Where is here?”

“Exactly where you are from. But here and different”

“I can see that”

“Follow me we should head somewhere safe before anyone sees your from the other dimension”

Kim Namjoon: Limerick

There was a legend of a man with a sharp mind and quick wit, he was never married but he was wealthy, it seems that those who met him only spoke negatively about him. You were curious, surely he wasn’t as bad as they said, you were to be wed to an older gentleman you had never met. Already classified as a disgrace because you were so old, but you had heard this gentleman was your age and handsome. 

You went to see him hoping this could be your chance at salvation, your chance to at least choose who you were married too. 

Dressed in your best hanbok, you walked to the edge of town and arrived at the small temple you waited in line you were the last one who would be seen. 

The sun was setting when you finally met him, he was strange looking the more you started the more interested you became with his features each beautiful yet so odd, but you weren’t here for looks, you were here for brains. 

“How can I help you?”

“I would like to persuade you into the idea of marriage”

“You are not the first, what is your reasoning, is it money, it is definitely not for my looks”

“No, I do not wish for fortune and I find your appearance to be quite charming, I hear you are a smart man and I am set to wed a horrible man” You handed him the letter and he read it quickly, frowning as he progressed down the page. 

“I think it is not too dramatic to say I would do anything not to marry this man.”

“Their once was a woman from a small town, who would look much better without a frown, to save herself from his bed, another man she will wed, wearing her best gown” he grinned looking up at you. 

“There once was a man named Namjoon 

With eyes as bright as the moon, he didn’t know of his looks, his head stuck in his books, I wish to marry him this afternoon” the scholar seemed to blush at your words 

Park Jimin: Frog

Jimin was a shy boy, from a wealthy family, he had never stepped foot outside of his family home without an escort and had never spoken to another child his age without it being arranged. He had his scheduled play dates with Taehyung and Jungkook when they were free from their studies. There was a young girl next door that he sometimes heard playing, she was from a rich family as well and she would giggle loudly claiming to be catching her frog prince. Jimin grew older as did she and could still hear her sometimes talking to the frog about how she really wished they were a prince in disguise. 

One day he finished his studies and sat by the stone wall waiting to hear her talk to the frogs and chase them. It amused him to this day that you still couldn’t catch them, that being said you were successful once but you squealed and threw the frog over the fence in panic because you had actually touched it. 

Jimin was in his early twenties and heard you crying, you were talking to the frogs about how you felt alone. 

Climbing swiftly over the fence Jimin grinned when he saw you laying on the small stone bench. “It is I your frog prince” he was in fits of laughter as he saw you flail yourself off the bench. 

Kim Taehyung: Chicken 

You worked with a food delivery service, and it didn’t matter the food, the price or the amount, whenever you started your shift you would receive the same address, every time. Greeted by a handsome young man around your age. Today was an order for fried chicken but it was a different address. Perhaps you wouldn’t meet the handsome young man, the thought actually disappointed you somewhat. 

After all this time had you started enjoying your little moments with the young man? Of course you had he was so soft spoken and shy, you truly loved seeing him, maybe he was sick or hurt or injured. 

The unknown was driving you crazy, there was nothing you could do taking the fried chicken to the new address you were escorted inside. 

“I have a delivery of fried chicken?”

“Ah!” There he was looking absolutely amazing with his long dark hair in a perm. “I was worried I wouldn’t get to see you today”

“So was I, you're my favorite” placing the food in his hands trying to disregard the feeling of his hand brushing yours. 

As you walked away you heard laughter, “he is blushing”

“She said I was her favorite!”

Jeon Jungkook: Dance  @munchyn​

The school dance was coming up and it was ladies' choice, the moment it was announced you watched your best friend Jungkook greet bombarded by almost every girl in school. And he always apologizes declining politely and saying he was waiting for a certain someone to ask him. It must have been the most popular girl in school, who else would he wait for.

So when lunch came around and the school's most prettiest, smartest and most popular girl sauntered over to your table you placed your lunch down no longer hungry. 

“Hey Kookie, I heard you were waiting for a special someone to ask you to the dance?”

“Yes I am” he smiled up at her with his bunny teeth on show. 

“Well I am here so you don’t have to wait any longer”

Standing you went to leave unable to witness this any longer, Jungkook caught your hand in the middle of the lunch hall. “Y/n I know it’s a girl's choice but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to ask me to go to the dance with you?”

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 27

masterlist

“Mr. Tuan.” She breathed out in surprise eyes wide as she took in the sight of the man before her. “I was under the impression that you were no longer allowed inside the estate.” She raised a brow but continued snipping flowers from the bush. She’d taken to helping in the garden in to alleviate the boredom found by her newfound lack of babysitters.

Namjoon had been on cloud nine ever since the wedding. It had been a peaceful few weeks. With Namjoon having everything he wanted he had even eased up on the security directly surrounding her. With his new legal hold over her and the chip in her neck, he found no reason to keep her constantly surrounded. But that was not to say that security around the estate had gotten lax. Security around the wall of the estate had been increased. Even if she had no guard with her, she was well guarded.

“I was supposed to be smoothing things over with RM after Jackson caused a scene at the wedding. Your husband wasn’t happy with us you know.” Mark shrugged flashing her a charming smile as he leaned against the wall of the house.

“I would think that you would try talking to him at his office. He’s not at the house today.” She laughed as she stared him down. “And as far as I’m aware you’re not allowed to be here.”

“I’m not.” He grinned. “But Jackson wanted to know if you were doing alright.”

“I’m fine.” She huffed clipping a flower more aggressively than she needed to. “You can tell him that.”

He shrugged pushing off the wall and taking the shears from her, setting them down on the patio table. “You’re really fine? Because last time I talked to you, you were asking me to sneak you out of here.”

She had to stifle a laugh at that. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d asked the stranger in the garden to help spirit her away. “Haven’t you heard? It’s in your best interest that I stay here.”

“Is it in your best interest?” He asked offering her an arm which she took as he began to lead her into the garden. She was sure the walk wouldn’t last long though. One of the maids would have reported their visitor to Miss In by now, and Miss In would tell security if not Namjoon himself.

“I don’t think I get a say in that anymore.” She sighed staring up at the leaves. They were just beginning to change. “I’m married now. He won.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” He mused. “From what Jackson says, you’re far too tenacious to give up without a fight.”

“Marriage seems a little final, unless you’re telling me to murder my husband.” He made a face as if saying, ‘well are you?’. “He keeps all the weapons locked away, especially after I accidentally stabbed him.”

“Highlight of my year.” He laughed leading up the bridge over the koi pond. “So how long do we have until the cavalry comes to kick me out of here?” He whispered conspiratorially.

“I would think about two minutes.” She nodded laughing as they both settled to lean against the railing looking down at the koi. “You’re crew isn’t very popular around here.”

“What about you?” She looked to him in confusion. “Am I popular with you?” He clarified waggling his eyebrows at her.

“I don’t really know you, but you’re friends with Jackson, and I don’t really like him right now. That being considered, I’m going to have to say no. So sorry.”

“I can’t blame you for that. You know he really did want to get you out of here. JB had other plans though.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that he’s a liar.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” He sighed running a hand through his hair. “I am sorry about it, you know. But you have a pretty sweet set up here.”

“Yes, because the inability to leave the house is every girl’s dream.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically.

“Still not allowed out?” He asked surprise coloring his tone. “I would have thought he’d have eased up on the house arrest after the wedding. Doesn’t he have guards with you all the time?”

“No babysitter anymore, but house arrest is still in full swing.”

“Y/N.” Hoseok called storming over to them his eyes narrowed dangerously and zoned in on Mark.

“Hoseok.” She greeted smile turning strained as the man reached them.

“Tuan.” He growled. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m going.” He backed away raising his hands in surrender though there was a Cheshire grin on his lips. “I’ll see you around, Mrs. Kim.”

Hoseok watched him go remaining stoically at her side watching the other man like a hawk until he disappeared from sight. “Namjoon wants you to join him for dinner tonight.” He told her once he was sure Mark was gone.

“I join him for dinner every night.” She pointed out confused by why tonight it had to be requested.

Hoseok sighed clearly annoyed by her lack of understanding combined with finding her fraternizing with the enemy. “He wants you to join him at a restaurant.”

She froze, her face the picture of shock. Namjoon wanted her to leave the estate to go to dinner? It didn’t seem possible. He never wanted her to leave her gilded cage. “You’re sure we’re talking about the same Namjoon?” She questioned brows furrowed.

“He asked for you to join him. Do you want me to tell him you refuse?” He asked quirking a brow at her.

“Am I allowed to refuse?”

“Not really.” He shrugged unbothered by the obvious lack of choice she had in her marriage. Namjoon was happy, and that was what mattered to Hoseok even if that happiness cost the freedom of someone else.

“Well then I suppose I should get ready then.”

Leaving the estate was slightly surreal. It was the first time she had been somewhere other than on the run or to Namjoon’s headquarters. He was far too paranoid to let her out of the house when she’d proven herself to be a flight risk on more than one occasion. Granted her odds of escape were slim to none when Hoseok was with her. The man wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in her leg if it meant keeping her by Namjoon’s side.  

But it was a relief to be outside the walls of the estate. She had begun to get a little stir crazy especially with no Jungkook to keep her distracted, Yoongi to play piano with, or Jin to play narts with. There were only so many activities to keep her occupied in the estate. She was almost beginning to miss having babysitters, which was worrying on so many more levels than she was willing to analyze at that moment. But she was thrilled to be outside of the estate, and that was what she was choosing to focus on.

Of course Namjoon had thought ahead, and she wasn’t going to be in the presence of anyone she could ask for help. Hoseok had led her directly to a private room when they’d arrived at a restaurant that was much fancier than she was used to going to, but she shouldn’t have expected anything less than excellence when it came to Namjoon.

He was sitting there waiting for her when Hoseok ushered her in.

“Y/N.” He smiled standing from his seat to come greet her placing a light kiss on her lips. “You look lovely, jagi.” He removed her coat handing it to Hoseok before leading her to her seat and pushing her chair in. Always the gentleman.

“What’s the occasion?” She asked unfolding her napkin and placing it across her lap before turning her gaze back to him.

“We’ve been married for a month, jagi.” He grinned happy as a clam. “I thought we should celebrate.”

A month. It had been a month since the wedding, and she hadn’t even realized. “I see.” She gave him a shaky smile trying to keep the peace though her fingers were nervously plucking at the napkin on her lap.

How could a whole month have gone by without her realizing it? Had she become that complacent with her situation? A whole month of mindless married life had gone by, and she hadn’t even noticed. Every day was the same as it had been for months with the exception of now Namjoon had a free pass for affection and sex, and oh was the man insatiable.

It was like someone had opened the floodgates. It sometimes came to the point where she didn’t get any sleep. She didn’t know where he got all the energy between making her life hell and running his criminal empire. The saving grace of it was that Namjoon was an exceptionally good lover. He always had her seeing stars. The worst part was that she couldn’t even pretend that she didn’t enjoy the sex, and his self-satisfied smirk didn’t help quell her fury.

“I honestly didn’t think I would be allowed outside the estate.” She chuckled nervously trying to look anywhere but at his eyes. This all felt far too similar to their first meeting with the exception of this time she was wearing actual clothing instead of being shoeless in a nightgown. But the dinner, the ambiance, it was all so similar to that first night.

“You’re not a prisoner, jagi.” He scolded lightly. “You’re my wife, and I don’t want you to feel trapped.”

“I haven’t left the house in weeks,” She pointed out. “And the last time I did so was for a meeting with GOT7. And before that I hadn’t left the house since you kidnapped me.” She chose to ignore the way that Namjoon’s jaw tensed in annoyance. “There’s not another word for it. It was kidnapping.” 

“When you’ve proven you’re not a flight risk, you’ll be allowed to leave the house, with supervision of course.”

“Of course.” She agreed keeping the brittle smile fixed to her face.

Namjoon sighed pinching the bridge of his nose. While he was pleased she was more like herself again, he had to admit he had not missed her barbs and false smiles. He’d enjoyed the weeks of her softer demeanor. She wasn’t quite as firey as she had been, but she had regained a fair bit of her former self, enough to argue with him again at least.

“I don’t want you to be unhappy, jagi.”

She sighed adjusting her smile so that it was a little brighter. “I never said I was unhappy.”

“But you’re not happy.”

Her smile dropped. “I’m trying.” She whispered shifting her gaze back down to her lap. “I’m trying to make the best of this, but you know this isn’t what I wanted from life. You aren’t what I wanted.” 

“I know you’re trying.” He sighed leaning back in his chair. “I’m sorry, jagi. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t. Forgive me?” He asked eyes softening as he looked at her. “I can make you happy. All you have to do is give me the chance.”  She quirked a brow as if challenging the statement but said nothing else though it did elicit another sigh from Namjoon. “I heard you had a visitor today.” He said changing the subject.

“I did.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to the staff about keeping the riff raff out.”

“He didn’t mean any harm.” She sighed. “And at least it wasn’t Jackson.”

“Jackson will be shot without hesitation the next time he steps within a hundred feet of the estate.” Namjoon growled fingers clenched tightly around the stem of his wine glass.

“What about your alliance?” She asked carefully. Talking business was Namjoon would be moving into dangerous territory. He knew full well she had no loyalty to him, and telling her anything about the business would be a mistake on his part unless he succeeded in brainwashing her or she came down with a case of Stockholm syndrome.

He paused staring at her with distrustful eyes.  He didn’t want her anywhere near his business. He loved her, of course he did, but he didn’t trust her, not with this. “Jaebum is fully aware that if Jackson comes anywhere near you again, I won’t be lenient.” She didn’t need to know that the alliance meant very little to him though. He would get rid of them as soon as he had the opportunity.

“Don’t.” She whispered staring down at her place, her eyebrows scrunched together as though she was contemplating something serious.

“What?” He asked almost disbelieving.

“Don’t shoot him. I may not like him right now, but I don’t want him dead.” She explained. “I owe him a lot.”

Namjoon bit his cheek trying to tamp down his annoyance. Jackson would definitely have to go. He didn’t like the thought of her caring for another man so much, or the fact that she cared for him so much after he betrayed her. The only one she should care for so much should be him, and he had every intention of ensuring that he would be. She was coming around, slowly, but she was coming around.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” He smiled, wiping away his sour look. “I have something for you.” She looked at his cautiously. She very seldom enjoyed his gifts. Namjoon pulled a black velvet box out of his jacket pocket placing it on the table in front of her. It was too big to be earrings and not the right shape to be a bracelet. “It’s not going to bite you.” He encouraged amused by her hesitance.

She opened the box to reveal a necklace, simple but beautiful in design. It was a delicate silver chain that trialed down to a small diamond. From that point two far smaller chains descended to connect the first diamond to a second larger diamond though it to was delicate and understated in nature, and she had to begrudgingly admit that it was beautiful and that she loved it.

“It’s beautiful.” She murmured staring down at the piece of jewelry.

“I thought you might like it. May I?” He asked gesturing towards the box, and she nodded. Namjoon stood moving to stand behind her delicately moving her hair away from her shoulder before reaching for the necklace and clasping it around her neck. “Beautiful.” He whispered into her ear before placing a soft kiss just below it. “Just like you. Happy anniversary, my love.”

part 28

[dinoyoongi]

I’ll Play For You

SYNOPSIS: You’re a new artist who is given the opportunity to perform at the American Music Awards. When your piano player doesn’t show up, Min Yoongi steps up to save your performance. 

PAIRING: Yoongi X You

GENRE: Romance, Fluff

WARNINGS: Language, Anti-Justin Bieber (I would stay away from this if you’re a big fan ...) 

WORD COUNT: 4500

AUTHORS NOTE: There may or may not be a part two to this - it will depend on how much of a plot I can think of for these two going forward. But I did scrap some scenes from Yoongi’s perpsective that I might publish as an outtake so look out for that!

____________________________________

“Wait, where is my piano player right now?” you disbelievingly ask into your phone, heart twitching uncomfortably at the unspoken answer. Please be joking. Please be joking.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, he was arrested a few hours ago for driving under the influence. Apparently it's not his first offense.”

You're suddenly dizzy, your body swaying until you find the stiff comfort of a wall to hold you steady. Your grip on the device is so tight that it feels as if the screen will shatter under the strength of your fingers. “Can't you go bail him out? You can take the money out of my album earnings.”

Your manager sighs loudly. “He's trashed, Y/N. I talked to him on the phone and he's mumbling all kinds of nonsense. He's not fit to play piano for a practice performance let alone an AMA stage. I've already exhausted all of my resources and I'm afraid there's nothing else we can do at this point.”

“So that's it? Everything that I've worked so hard for these past few weeks … all for nothing? You said yourself that it's insanely rare and humbling for somebody as new as me to be asked to perform at the American Music Awards and now I have to give it up?”

You know it's not your manager's fault. If not for him, you wouldn't have been given this incredible opportunity to begin with. Rising to stardom from YouTube covers was something that was admired towards the end of the 2000's, when performers like Justin Bieber and Charlie Puth were plucked straight from the internet and onto the music charts. Rising to stardom from YouTube in 2020 when a vast majority of YouTube's content was contributed by people just like you attempting to make something of themselves? Almost impossible. But you somehow managed to defy the odds. You nabbed the attention of an agent who thought your voice was indistinguishable, one that the music industry hasn't heard before. A voice that can't be compared to anyone else, one that will easily make you a household name. You signed the contracts almost immediately.

“Ask around backstage. Maybe the staff have musicians that can fill in. I'll email you the sheet music just in case.”

With trembling limbs, you push yourself off of the wall and elbow through a crowd of excited, noisy bodies to the offstage entrance. You fumble through your clutch for your artist pass, flashing it at the intimidating security guard who studies it like an exam; probably trying to find any flaw on the laminated plastic that can deny you admittance. You don't blame him. You probably don't look so much like a performer right about now. Your eyes begin scouring the packed area for any sign of show staff the moment you take a step in. If the situation were different and you weren't terrified that your entire career was about to go up in flames, you would have marveled at the amount of celebrities that casually milled about. Taylor Swift is in the corner taking selfies with the Jonas Brothers' wives. Bruno Mars stands in a different corner while somebody attaches microphones to his clothing. BTS are squeezed onto a large sofa, a line of media outlets waiting for their turn to interview them. You should be starstruck. You should be nervous with excitement. You should be anxiously conjuring different ways to coolly ask for autographs and pictures in your head. But all you are is desperate.

Catching a glimpse of a man wearing a headset bustling past you, you touch his arm to grab his attention. “My name is Y/N. I'm scheduled to perform in the 9 o'clock hour. There's been … a mishap, with my piano player and he won't be able to attend. Is there anybody here that can play for me?”

You pray that the look of despair on your face is enough for him to at least ask around but he's shaking his head before you can even finish asking your question. “All artists are responsible for bringing their own band or backing track.”

You're knocked forward into the man when a body rams into your back. Sparing a quick glance over your shoulder, you see that the members of BTS have disbanded from the sofa and are now huddled in a group behind you. The tallest one bows in apology and opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off with a quick nod before turning back to the staff member in front of you.

“Can you please ask around for me? This performance is really important to me and I don't want there to be a gap in the schedule if I can't perform.”

His sigh of annoyance is loud and dramatic. “It's like I said, all artists must bring their own band or backing track. What about a backing track? Do you have anyone that can send it over?”

“No,” you mumble hopelessly, blinking away the moisture in your eyes. “I'm doing a tweaked cover of Sailing by Christopher Cross. It wasn't recorded so there isn't any backing track. It's just supposed to be me and the piano. All I have is sheet music.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly and you feel your heart drop to the ground. “That doesn't help anyone right now. I just have to say – this is seriously unprofessional. What label are you signed under? Why would they allow you to come here so unprepared?”

You open your mouth but find that the words do not come. You've never had a panic attack in your life but you feel as if you're on the brink. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

“Justin!” the man exclaims happily as you feel a body approach you from behind. Whirling around, your eyes widen in surprise when Justin Bieber reaches out and connects hands with the staff, participating in a childish handshake that goes on for far too long. “How are you doing? Ready for the show?”

Justin smirks, raising a glass of amber liquid. “Just keep these coming, alright?”

The staff member nods frantically. The desperation to please this singer drips off of him like sweat on a Texas summer day. It's a drastic jump from the unaccommodating, discouraging way he's been speaking to you. Feeling your eyes, he glances at you for only a second before whipping his attention back to Bieber. You can almost see the light bulb click on above his head.  “I know you're here to enjoy the show but this girl,” he nods in your direction and you pale at the sudden attention, “is singing tonight and she's in desperate need of a piano player for her performance. Would you be interested in helping her out?”

The “Baby” singer looks closely at you. You're aware that he most likely has no idea who you are or where you've come from but you clap your hands in front of your chin, dropping any ounce of dignity you have left to silently beg. Justin Bieber doesn't even take a full ten seconds to consider before he begins laughing loudly. “Yeah, no.”

You stare at his exiting back in disbelief. Every step he takes away from you is like a sucker punch to the gut. The staff member claps a hand around your shoulder, at least managing a semblance of decency when he gives you a pitying grimace. “Sorry, kid. That's show business. Let the scheduling staff know in at least twenty minutes what you plan on doing.”

That's it.

You really weren't performing. You've been practicing for weeks. Months. You've daydreamed about this night daily. You've pinned so much of your hopes and goals on this night. And just like this … poof. Gone.

You don't realize you're crying until the salty liquid drops onto your lips, breaking you out of your misery-filled trance. Looking around, you're startled to see many sets of eyes watching you sympathetically. But nobody approaches you, nobody cares to ask if you're okay. That's show business, he had said.

Show business fucking hurts.

“Excuse me?” a deep voice asks from beside you. Through blurred vision, you can make out colorful clothes and dark hair. Assuming that you're in the way of the BTS members, you hurriedly move from their area, mumbling a quick apology. “No, no. I will do it.”

You sniffle quietly, dabbing at your wet eyes with the pad of your thumb. “Do what?”

“Play the piano. You have sheet music?”

Wait. What? What is going on right now? Is one of the members of BTS offering to completely save your life right now? Okay, maybe you're being a bit dramatic but it feels comparable.

“We overheard,” the tall one with tan skin interrupts. “Your … dilemma. Yoongi can play the piano well and would like to help you out.”

“Yoongi?” you ask, locking eyes with your savior. He smiles softly and you control the urge to shiver. It's a universally acknowledged fact that the boys of BTS – and most k-pop idols, if you're being honest with yourself – are ridiculously gorgeous. Now is not the time to be ogling them though. “I … I can't thank you enough but are you sure? You guys are kind of the guests of honor and well … I'm not much of anybody. I don't want to put you in a rough spot.”

The tan one, who has introduced himself as Namjoon, takes a few seconds to translate your words. Yoongi scoffs and your head whips to Namjoon, suddenly nervous that he has changed his mind.

“I want to help, Y/N,” Yoongi tells you seriously. Don't swoon. Don't swoon. While you're busy trying not to swoon, you wonder how he knows who you are. “Where is the music? I need to get familiar with the composition.”

“Oh!” you blurt, scrambling for your phone. Pulling up the sheet music file from the text that your manager has sent, you awkwardly angle your phone toward him. “I'm not sure how you want to do this. Do you want to borrow my phone?”

“I will send to myself,” he says, stealing the device. He taps a few a buttons before handing it back. You notice a new conversation thread in your texts. Holy meatballs – do you actually have a member of BTS' number saved in your phone?

“I will delete it! Your number, I mean. When the performance is over … I'll delete your number so nobody accidentally, you know -” you cut yourself off, feeling your composure about to crash and burn. Behind him, some of the other members snicker but Yoongi gets right down to business, eyes scanning the file intently. You watch him with a quiet fascination. Whenever he gets to the end of the page, he nods curtly to himself – a gesture you don't think he's aware of – before scrolling to the next. He's clearly confident in what he's doing and it fills you with a warm, comfortable sense of assurance. Although the anxiety that something might still blow up in your face is present as ever, Yoongi has pushed the heaviest weight off of your chest and you don't know how you're ever going to thank him.

_________________________________________

You tried to enjoy the show and performances with the same enthusiasm as the audience but anxiety pokes at you at the slightest hint of your guard slipping. Has Yoongi learned the song well? Does he even like the song? What if he decides that this entire thing isn't a good idea and changes his mind? You're not completely clueless; you've purchased quite a few k-pop songs and you're familiar with the fan culture. Fans seeing Yoongi on stage with you could stir up a mess of rumors. You've asked the stage production staff to push the piano out of the spotlight so that only his silhouette will be visible but you wonder if it's enough. What if he gets in trouble with his company? What if you get in trouble with his company?

Shaking away the bad thoughts, you smooth out any wrinkles in your dress and round the corner to meet Yoongi. You've changed out of your evening gown and into your performance outfit – a long, yellow sundress with chunky, wooden buttons on the chest underneath an oversized, distressed black denim jacket. On your feet, instead of the typical heels, you sport a pair of black Converse high tops. Your manager tried talking you into a different outfit.

“It's your first performance on national television. Don't you want to be a bit more … dolled up?” he had asked, frowning when he saw the mock-up outfit concept you had thrown together. Being signed to a relatively new, smaller company, you knew there wasn't a big budget for stage outfits yet. But you also knew that your manager would convince the label to splurge for a glitzier look if you had agreed. However, you were literally known for singing in front of your camera with Spongebob and Pokemon tee shirts on. It didn't feel authentic to be dolled up.

You had agreed to meet at a quiet area near the stage twenty minutes before your performance. BTS' nominations and performance would be toward the end of the show – to keep those ratings steady, of course – so you weren't interrupting his schedule. He's sitting alone on a sofa in the emptied lounge, air pods in, head nodding as his eyes studies the screen of his phone. He glances up when he senses you approaching and you gulp when you notice his eyes sweep across your figure appreciatively.

“You look pretty,” he says, his smile small but killer. Heat blooms in your cheeks and you're suddenly thankful for the layers of foundation, concealer and powder you have stacked onto your skin that hides what is surely a very, very telling blush. “Are you ready?”

“Am I ready?” you ask incredulously as you take a seat next to him on the couch. “Heck no. I'm terrified. This is my first TV performance.”

“You will do great,” he assures you, eyes moving back to the phone.

“Yoongi?” His head lifts in your direction. “Do you think we can pull this off?”

“I play piano, you sing. What else is there to do?” he asks sarcastically. The first thing you notice is that he's a lot better at English than you were first led to believe. The second is that this man is incredibly sassy. The third is that you find said sass highly attractive.

“What if we're not … you know … in sync? And you haven't even heard me sing before,” you argue. His confidence and optimism is admirable but you want to make sure that his feet are at least a little bit on the ground.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Of course I've heard you sing. Why do you think I'm helping? I'm your fan.”

“My fan?” you ask with wide eyes, jabbing yourself in the chest with your thumb. He laughs, reaching over to grab your wrist away from your chest with a playful, gummy grin. “You're my fan? Do you know who I am?”

“Yes. I watch your YouTube videos. You're very good,” he compliments. The sass has suddenly disappeared and you watch as his cheeks tinge pink. “I like the Eminem songs.”

“Not those ones!” you wail dramatically, lowering your head to your knees. “I was so young and thought I was being so inventive slowing down an Eminem song. That's so embarrassing.”

He's laughing with you when a staff member approaches, headset on and clipboard in hand. “You're on in ten minutes. The crew will come grab you a few moments before to get you set up on stage.”

Any bit of laughter or mirth stuck in your throat is swallowed down immediately. Dread washes over you in goosebumps, a rattling heart and clammy skin. You're startled when Yoongi reaches over to grab your hand. “Stop worrying. You are going to kill it.”

“I am going to kill it,” you repeat, nodding in self-assurance. “Okay, yes, I can do this.”

He taps your hand gently before turning his attention back to the screen of his phone. Your skin tingles at the missing contact.

“Yoongi,” you interrupt him again. He exhales a tiny sigh but his lips are upturned in amusement. “I'm so thankful to you right now. I just … I don't have any way to repay you for this. I could give you the money that my original piano player was going to receive but  it's probably just pocket change to you. I want – I want to just confirm one last time that you're sure about this?”

Your words were stuttered and fast and you're not sure how much of it he understood, but he sets his phone down on his knee and turns his body to face you. This time, you can't suppress the shiver when he fixes his intense gaze on yours.  

“I don't know how much you know BTS,” he begins, taking quick pauses to think about his words. “But we are from a small company. We were … overlooked and not taken seriously too.”

“Fucking Justin Bieber,” you mutter angrily under your breath. Yoongi pauses to laugh heartily before continuing.

“We did rise to the top by our own hard work. But I remember all the times that we asked for help. Producers, fellow idols, music video directors … so many people shot us down because we came from nothing. And … I see that in you. You are going to be so big thanks to your own talent but I want to tell stories and brag that I played piano for Y/N at her first award show performance.”

His accent is thick and he uses the wrong words in some places but you understand everything as if he's speaking perfect English.

“Wow,” you mumble, your awestruck eyes not leaving his for even a moment. “I think I just fell in love with you.”

Wait.

Did you just …

Slapping a hand over your mouth in horror, you watch the pink in Yoongi's cheeks flush darker before he throws his head back in laughter again. Slinking down into the cushion of the couch, you groan at your word vomit.

“I should have gotten drunk too,” you mutter, absolutely humiliated.

“I think you just became my fan,” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and kicking his leg up over his knee like the cocky, attractive little shit that he is.

“Oh, really? I guess I'll have to cover a BTS song on my channel next then,” you attempt to flirt. It's awful, you know, but he grins anyway.

“I will look forward to it.”

“Y/N?” your head shoots up at a neck-break speed. A woman with the same headset stands near the wall. “You're up. You can follow me and we'll get you settled on the stage.”

Like a robot, you shuffle quietly behind her, heart feeling like it's going to rip right through your ribcage. Yoongi notices, taking in the sight of your fingers trembling at your sides. He's not sure what compels him to do it, but he reaches down and snatches your hand in his, entwining your fingers together. Meeting his eyes, you feel the nerves begin to melt away.

“Just pretend you're singing to me, okay? Pretend that you're recording a video that only I will see. You are going to be amazing.”

His words envelope you like a warm hug and you nod, gathering as much confidence as you can before walking onto the stage. Yoongi stays away from the light, quietly sitting down at the piano unnoticed. There's a hushed murmur amongst the crowd when you step up to the microphone and sit down at your stool, various moons and stars dangling from the ceiling above your head like a galactic halo. Scanning the audience, the brightly colored hair and clothing of the remainder of BTS sticks out like a sore thumb, one chair in the middle of their row unoccupied. Upon realizing that they have your attention, their arms raise enthusiastically, clapping and flashing you the silliest thumbs up. You grin down into your microphone before glancing over your shoulder to pass the thumbs up along to Yoongi.

“Our next performer has amassed millions of views with her imaginative and beautiful covers on YouTube. Tonight she makes her TV debut with a cover of one of her favorite songs on it's 40th anniversary. Ladies and gentlemen – Y/N!”

The lights in the arena fade out, your spotlight the only source of brightness. You tense, feeling the weight of a thousand set of eyes trained directly on you. And that's only counting everybody in this room, not the millions of eyes that are watching you from their living rooms across the country. Pressure pushes onto your chest and you inhale sharply.

But then the piano starts playing behind you.

You don't understand. It's the same notes. It's the same melody. It's the same exact song that your original musician had been playing this entire time. So why does it feel different? Why does it sound better? Why is your heart doing somersaults in your chest at the sound of the keys?

Maybe it's because of him.

Yoongi is given a small piano solo in the beginning of the song. It lasts roughly thirty seconds before it's your turn.

You sing.

__________________________________________

The song lasts just barely over four minutes but on the stage it feels like hours. You're in a bleary kind of daze when you stand from the stool, soaking in the loudness of cheering from the audience and the amount of people currently on their feet for a standing ovation. A quick look over at the piano confirms that Yoongi has already left the stage so you do the same, walking as if you're on autopilot.

Since you've come to the event alone, nobody but the staff greets you when you return backstage. They congratulate you and shower you in praises as they remove your wires and microphones but you can't hear them, desperately looking around for Yoongi. Did he already go back to his seat? Was that it – the favor was done so he was done with you? Your chest throbs with two conflicting emotions; complete elation at the successful performance and reception that you've just received and complete devastation at the thought that your time with Yoongi was over. You stand in the middle of the lounge, eyes focusing on the couch where the two of you had sat so closely earlier.

“Y/N.”

You freeze at the sound of his voice. Spinning around, he stands in his original, colored clothing with a smug, proud grin on his face. The other six members bounce on their toes behind him, their hands clapping together as they felicitate you.

“That was incredible!” Namjoon exclaims. “Yoongi-hyung said you were good but -”

You lunge at Yoongi, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him as close to you as you possibly can, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You can feel your tears glide down your cheek and you know he can feel them dropping onto his skin. A man in plain clothes begins sputtering angrily in Korean to Namjoon. This must be their manager and he doesn't seem too pleased that you're manhandling his talent but you can't find it in you to care about manners right now.

If Yoongi had a problem with it, you knew that he would gently push you away. Instead, he cradles your head with the back of one hand, using the other to rub your shoulder soothingly.

“Is she … okay?” one of the members asks hesitantly when you don't come up for air.

You take this as a sign to knock off the waterworks, extracting your body from his and wiping away any traces of mascara from your cheeks before they can see. “I'm fine. Sorry for being so dramatic. I'm just really thankful to Yoongi right now.”

Yoongi's hand doesn't leave your shoulder. You can almost feel the heat of his fingertips through the thick denim of your jacket. “I told you that you would kill it. You were amazing.”

“I don't know how we're supposed to perform after that! You stole the show!” Namjoon exclaims. The rolling of your eyes is contradicted by your abashed smile.

“BTS!” a staff member calls loudly from across the room. “You're needed for a quick rehearsal!”

Yoongi holds a finger up to you, speaking Korean to his members and managers for a few moments. They all turn to leave except Jungkook, who is simultaneously the youngest but largest. He leans in to show you something on his phone. “Noona, I did what Yoongi-hyung said and deleted all of my Justin Bieber albums. See?”

Yoongi shoves him away quickly, muttering in Korean, and you can tell that it's not something you were meant to be told. Yoongi is clearly embarrassed and it's so fucking cute that you can't restrain the hideous, lovesick giggles that force themselves from your belly.

“Don't you have to join them for rehearsal?” you ask curiously, scuffing the toe of your shoes against the shiny, linoleum floors.

“It's rehearsal for announcing best male artist. Namjoon is doing the talking on stage so I'll just catch up with them in a minute.”

You wonder why Namjoon is in charge of doing the speaking when Yoongi is clearly skilled at English but for right now, you don't mind it. It's giving the two of you a few more precious moments.

“So … thank you, Yoongi. A million times – thank you. I won't ever forget what you've done for me tonight,” you tell him sincerely, choking your emotion back down. “I know there's not much I can do for you but I'm in your back pocket if you ever need me, okay?”

“I'll remember that,” he quips, gummy smile making an appearance before he turns solemn. “I'm glad I could help you out. I can't wait to see where you go from here. Starting with that BTS cover, of course.”

You giggle. “Oh, of course.”

“Well, I guess I'll let you go now. I'll be cheering BTS on from my seat later, not that you need any encouragement,” you tease. You gulp down your coyness when he takes a step toward you.

“I don't know,” he drawls in that thick accent of his that is beginning to sound awfully sexy to you. “I'm feeling kind of … terrified.”

Somehow, you know exactly what he's doing. Your grin is stupidly huge as you reach for his fingers to interlace them with yours.

_________________________________

Later that night, when you've come down off of your high and you're tucked into the comfortable sheets of your hotel bed, you get a text message.

By the way … don't delete my number.