Stellar Behavior 💜 Part 4
“Justice just never sleeps.”
PAIRING: Officer!Yoongi x Mafia (f)reader
SUMMARY: Yoongi makes a decision and gives up on the nicotine gum.
WORD COUNT: 6.8k
GENRE: Gangster AU, Law AU, enemies to lovers, smut
RATING: R (explicit)
WARNINGS: corruption, explosions, fire, blood, threats, arguing, handjob, blowjob, riding
A.N. It's so hard to pick a favorite part, but I think this one might be it... Again, infinite thank yous to @moonleeai for helping me around the clock and being an incredible beta! Enjoy 🔥🔥
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Yoongi sighed as he made his way inside his office, dismissing his secretary when she tried to pass him a pile of files waiting for his review. It was the end of another exhausting Friday, and although he appreciated her commitment, she should have long gone home to her family instead of wasting time on this.
Closing the door behind him, he started a sequence of ceremonial steps: he took off his coat and hung it up, loosened his tie, grabbed more nicotine gum from his drawer, and then sat down, chewing it with a long sigh. The wall behind him had his many decorations, including the latest that landed him there.
Working with you was seamless and smooth, and justice was swiftly served. Not only was he able to recover the agent’s body and bring him home with honors, but the dismantling of the whole operation was a huge success. It gave him honors, medals, a ceremony with Seoul’s Mayor, and lastly, a promotion he didn’t even want.
He heaved a deep breath; he couldn’t say he loved being Superintendent General. He preferred to be hands-on with the cases he and his team worked on, but he had moved too far up: he made decisions, but was too high in rank to see any of them carried out. He had more responsibilities and dreadful meetings that were more about competition between police agencies and politics than what actually mattered. And so for months, he’d been tolerating the bullcrap from all ends — from fellow Superintendent Generals and their chiefs from all over the country, including his boss, politicians, and Senior Superintendents complaining about the workload and the lack of resources as if he wasn’t in that position himself just months prior. It was exhausting and slow, and he kept asking himself what was the point.
But just like any other night, his ritual wasn’t complete if he didn’t open his locked drawer and pulled out a file with your name. Despite being frustrated and sometimes disgusted by the people in positions of power with so little consideration for the workforce or the people they served, there was nothing he could do. Instead, every night, he stared at your file and asked himself what he should do.
That night was engraved into his brain: you made a deal, he relapsed and asked you to let him eat you out, then proceeded to get so lost in you, that he didn’t even recognize himself. But then, you left him alone in your office, and that was when he saw those files.
He had managed to take photos of a few of them before leaving and had since printed them and worked on them. So he knew what they contained – details of money laundering. They depicted monumental amounts, to the likes that he was surprised even existed, but maybe he was just too naive. There were mostly coded names on those files, so he knew you were handling it for others and not just for yourself. It probably ran much deeper than a few bars or the drugs you were now distributing, safely, like you promised.
And that was the issue, wasn’t it? He groaned with himself, settling his face inside his hands. He used to see things as black and white, but the more time passed, the more he realized there was no such thing. Politicians, among other officials, ran the show, and he knew things were happening behind closed doors. You were as bad if not worse than the people you had helped him put away, but you kept your word: you gave him evidence to exonerate Officer Jimin, an alternative to bring the Klysa conglomerate down without ruining the lives of thousands of people, and gave him the address where he could find the agent’s body, not to mention crucial names that once picked, dismantled the net of dealers quite nicely.
So why was he after you? Were you the lesser evil? Were those exceptions to your usual criminal and selfish deeds? Or were you just deceiving him by pretending to play nice?
He didn’t know how you knew so much, but now he knew you laundered money, and he had evidence. Evidence he couldn’t use without disclosing how close he had gotten to you and risking discrediting himself. Evidence that could get him a warrant, even under heavy scrutiny. He could try to bring you down, even if it meant letting his career implode. His former self would have, but now he was hesitating, convincing himself every night that he should pursue this. If those documents existed, then his instincts about you were right all along and other evidence was out there, too. It was just business; you would throw him under the bus if it suited you, too. Right?
He heaved a deep breath and closed the file, deciding to bring it home and muse over it there this time around. The office was empty, and it was a lonesome way until he reached his car in the underground parking lot. He hated not seeing the liveliness of a police station anymore, but that was where he was now.
His phone rang through the car speakers as he drove, and he picked it up at the second beep, “What’s wrong?”
Something had to be for Officer Jung to call him at 1 AM.
“Remember the one you wanted me to keep an eye on?”
Yoongi hummed as he maneuvered the car at an intersection; he was lucky with every detective and officer he had had the pleasure of working with.
“Just got the code for an explosion and fire at a restaurant downtown that she owns. First responders are on their way. Apparently, she was in the building.”
“Which one?”
His grip stiffened around the steering wheel and in seconds, he was doing a U-turn under the streetlights. There was little on his mind as he drove way past the speed limit, cutting corners and passing cars to get there as quickly as he could.
He stopped his car next to the police barricade and got out with a shudder down his spine. Una mordidita was famous around those parts; it was the best Mexican restaurant, and it was always booked. The building itself was dedicated to the concept, and he knew the different floors could host multiple types of events.
Yet now, it wasn’t the center of influencer buzz or a ballroom dancing event, but of chaos. Firefighters were trying to get the flames under control as even the red neon sign above the building got charred by the smoke escaping the windows. The white walls were losing their shine, and the wood decorations giving it a more Latin-American vibe had surely seen better days.
The chaos of shouts, siren lights, and people wanting to see what was happening didn’t disturb him; he had worked through similar occurrences, so he understood the professionals’ logic through the disorder. What got him running towards the Firefighter Captain handling the occurrence was something else entirely.
He smacked the Captain’s shoulder and didn’t even let him recover from the shock of seeing Yoongi there. “Is everyone out?”
The Captain regained his bearings swiftly, “Working on it.”
Yoongi knew better than to overstep, but he was unsettled. He turned to the entrance of the restaurant, where people were running down the stairs, accompanied by firefighters. He didn’t recognize a single one, and so he turned to the captain again with a stiffness in his shoulders, “You need to—”
A loud female voice shouted, and he spun to look again. The Captain’s frown was entirely lost on Yoongi when he saw you almost being dragged out of the restaurant and down the stairs by two firefighters. His feet instantly took him to you, finally allowing him to hear what you were saying.
“Un-fucking-believable!! You let it spread to the third floor?! What the fuck are you all doing?! Let me go and do your job!!”
He met you at the bottom of the stairs, noticing your bruises, cuts, and blood dripping down your temple. Your embroidery anglaise white dress fit your curves in what would have been a dreamy view if it wasn’t stained with black and red spots, letting see how you had scrapped your knees too. You were busy trying to get the firefighters to get their hands off, but they couldn’t let you go until you calmed down.
You were frantic, so you only noticed Yoongi when his hands settled on your shoulders and he spun you to face him. Your voice finally vanished as your eyes widened; finally, he could see you were shaken up under all that fierceness.
“Are you hurt?”
His tone was firm, to the point, but you squirmed, “I have to—”
“Are you hurt?” He repeated, not letting you get away.
“I’m fine!”
You tried to turn around, but he didn’t let you. He wrapped an arm around you, signaling the firefighters that he had you, then dragged you away. You squirmed and hit his chest, clawing at his arm and demanding he set you free, but he ignored you.
You thought you’d gouge his eyes out in frustration, but suddenly, he forced you to sit on a street bench across the street. He kneeled before you, but your eyes flew beyond him to the restaurant. The fire, the smoke, the people, the firefighters, and even the wreck at the back that you couldn’t see from there. The explosion had been in the kitchen, surely. You knew before any reports because that’s where you’d do it if you wanted to send a message. Easily passable as an accident, but strong enough to cause all that chaos. You ground your teeth, vexed to your core, and sprang back up. The more those idiots wasted time with—
“Sit down.”
Yoongi’s tone was incontestable as he grabbed your arms and forced you back down, and this time you faced him. He was like an apparition, crouched in front of you with his dark hair, sharp eyes, and composed demeanor that always rattled you so much. He was a sight for sore eyes, and it confused you.
“How are you here?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Did you know about this?!” You asked furiously, your anger fueled by the possibility.
But he was impassive, “Are you hurt?”
“Answer the question!”
“You’re in shock, and I need you to calm down.”
“I am fucking calm!” You roared in his face, almost jumping away. “My restaurant just fucking exploded and is on fire, don’t you fucking talk down to me!”
“I know, so calm down.”
His monotone voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
“I’m fucking calm! I need—”
He gripped your wrist and raised it before your eyes, and you jolted; your fist was shaking.
The anxiety crept up on you, and you sobbed under your breath, instantly looking at him in confusion. You were angry, ready to blow on everyone and everything, but suddenly you wanted to cry. Your fear had stayed at bay, but was ambushing you now.
You gripped his coat as you teared up, mouth opening and closing, but nothing came out. You sucked anxious breaths as you looked around, conflicted between crying and telling him it was all so frightening, and getting up and making everyone work hard to save your business.
Your thoughts must have been clear in your eyes because he held you back, grounding you with enough space to let you breathe and process.
“I know. It’s a lot. I promise everyone is handling it, but you are more important.” He spoke calmly, but not condescendingly, and it only made you shake harder. “Tell me: does anything hurt?”
You pulled in a deep breath and frowned, then shook your head. A small explosion behind him drew your eyes, but he guided your chin gently so you’d face him again.
“I’m going to touch you, and you’re going to tell me if it hurts.”
You were ready to cuss him out, but as soon as he released you, you grabbed onto him desperately. There was nothing in his dark eyes as he looked up again, yet you were so embarrassed you could have died. You didn’t want to hold onto him for dear life like that, but it was stronger than you. Your lips trembled, and you suppressed your cry, unable to explain or control what was happening to you, but he had you.
He leaned into you, tugging you in with his elbows on each side of your legs, “I know, I’m here.”
Your frightened eyes showed him enough to anticipate the moment you let go of him to throw your arms around his neck and squeeze tightly. He could barely breathe, but it was secondary; he embraced you slowly, afraid to hurt you. The adrenaline running through your system changed the way you perceived pain, and he’d never risk harming you. Still, you needed to feel safe, so he held you as hard as he could safely.
You were shaking, maybe even crying, but rightfully in his arms. Despite the chaos behind him, that was all that mattered.
He waited until you pulled away, sniffling and pulling your long hair back, embarrassed to face him. It told him the first part was over, and that now you’d be able to talk.
“We need to get you checked.”
“No,” you dismissed easily. “I only trust my people, anyway.”
He swallowed his exasperation and tried again, “But at a hospital—”
“No, just take me home.” You got up and faced the mess before you with a hard expression, catching him off guard. He got on his feet quickly, ready to try to convince you to go to the hospital anyway, but you looked at him again, “My people can meet me there, and I have calls to make.”
He observed you, clearly not convinced, but you stood your ground. You didn’t want to ask nor admit you needed him right now to feel safe and be able to look that problem in the eye. You’d soon be yourself again, and that moment of weakness was unforgivable, even more so in front of him. But as you faced him and waited for his response, you closed your fists and tried not to wobble on your heels or cry again. You had a reputation to uphold, people to manage, retaliation to prepare, and maybe your knees hurt a little bit.
“Alright.”
He wrapped an arm around your waist and directed you slowly in another direction, away from it all. In other circumstances, you could have thought about the potential danger of going with him, but you dismissed those thoughts. Yoongi was your cop, even if you hadn’t seen him in months. He was there for you, and there was no judgment in his eyes.
You sat on the shotgun seat of his car and looked at your lap. The time it took him to circle the car was enough for you to chastise yourself for being so gullible.
He sat down next to you and got ready to drive, and you didn’t hesitate to ask, “Did you know about this?”
“About what?”
“About their plan.”
He glanced at you, then got the car moving, “I was driving home when I was notified of what happened and drove straight here.”
You closed your trembling hands over your lap again, uncomfortable with how relieved his words made you. Your eyes settled on the rearview mirror, where all the chaos was being left behind, and you sighed. You couldn’t let that shake you; it was just a place, a business, one of countless others. It didn’t matter that you were there, that it happened so close you were deaf from your right ear, that you could have died, that it was way too close for comfort.
He reached to grab your hand, and you looked at him again. You didn’t know what to call this or how to interpret it, but he was there. Yoongi was right there.
His perfume was all around you, and with the lull of the car, the nightly traffic, and his hand in yours, you managed to close your eyes, work through the adrenaline, and doze off.
You opened your eyes when he squeezed your hand, meeting the gate of your private property in Hannam-dong. His window was down, and your housekeeper was asking who he was.
“It’s me, Sooyong,” you raised your voice just enough.
The gate instantly opened, and you stretched lazily. You weren’t shaking anymore, and your judgment wasn’t clouded either. All in all, those thirty minutes had managed to calm you down. Of course, your knees stung, your head fucking hurt, and you would feel your left side for days since you fell on it during the explosion. But fuck, if you weren’t ready to get down to business ASAP.
You told Yoongi where to go so he could park inside your garage, then left the car swiftly before it was even off. You didn’t wait for him to follow you inside, but knew he would; instead, you handed your coat to Sooyong, nodded at your two security guards, and bent down to greet your two lovely Dobermans: Archer and Gunner.
“The medic will be here shortly, and I already asked for a preliminary report of the damage.”
Sooyong was looking at Yoongi with suspicion, but you ignored it, “Get me a phone, I need to contact Hoon Yeong.”
Your butler bowed and obeyed instantly, but Yoongi wasn’t able to think about what he was hearing. The two big goons didn’t follow Sooyong, and your dogs had turned to Yoongi the second you stopped petting them.
In another circumstance, Yoongi could have felt intimidated or at least uncomfortable by the whole situation, but not tonight. You were still bleeding, slept only ten minutes in the car, and were now getting worked up instead of resting.
So he spoke up, “You need to get checked before anything else.”
It didn’t matter that your men looked ready to beat him up or that your dogs were sniffing him too close for comfort. You glanced at him, “I’m fine.”
Then you turned and left, disappearing further inside the house.
He didn’t hesitate to follow after you, ready to insist on you taking this seriously, but he wasn’t able to. You dismissed your guards with a wave before they could grab Yoongi to drag him out, and were already pressing a phone to your ear.
He looked around your big living room, its white couches, carpets, fancy glass chandeliers falling from elevated ceilings, and matching walls adorned with expensive art. You didn’t just live lavishly; you displayed it, too.
You sat on a couch while you spoke with a hand covering your eyes, and Yoongi moved quickly to dim the lights. You were stubborn, but he wouldn’t make things harder for you.
He waited while you talked, disliking the observant butler in the corner of the room. Yes, Yoongi was listening to everything you said, but you could have easily told him to leave. So instead, he kept your two dogs busy with him and quiet while you made one call after another, holding nothing back.
“Secure all locations, increase the bouncers working tonight, and do random checks. Send someone to La Mordidita to account for all our staff, and Thoma to make a sweep before the firefighters start snooping around. I want to know what can be recovered and who the fuck dared to pull this shit off.”
“And? And the product? The insurance? Yes, indeed. Don’t move it, don’t do anything. Keep me posted.”
“Talk to me, Ulan,” you sighed, fatigued from handling multiple people. “I want to know how the fuck does anyone even plan this, and I don’t hear about it.”
You were pacing around with each call; whatever you were learning was not helping you settle. The medic arrived and asked you to sit to work on your wounds, but you were restless. You were trying to figure out who did it, and it was clear to him by the way you started shouting that your people knew and that something had failed.
The medic tried cleaning your temple wound, mentioning a concussion, but in your temper, you slapped her hand away. That was the moment Yoongi decided to intervene; he got up, waved the medic away, and took over.
You were ready to slap his hand away, too, but froze when your eyes met his. His expression was hard, saying without as much as an eyelash bat that you needed to hang up.
You huffed your annoyance and quickly redirected your anger, “If you know, then get me something. Those bastards found out about it somehow. Get me the mole, and something that will hurt them just as badly. Weren’t they importing weapons illegally to sell to both North and South? Get me something!”
You ended the call and threw your phone to the other end of the couch.
“The fucking audacity,” you spit between gritted teeth, glaring at Yoongi. He worked fast on the wound on the side of your head, but it still stung.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes, it fucking hurts!”
You exploded and instantly saw the glint in his eyes. Why did he look so dazzling, taunting you like that? He did not react to your outburst whatsoever, so you rolled your eyes.
He started cleaning the cuts on your palms. “Why would they attack your restaurant?”
You gritted your teeth and waved everyone else out of the room, adding a command that guided your darling puppies to their big pillows in the corner of the room. You were annoyed with absolutely everything, and even more with the answer about to fall from your lips, “Because they knew I would go there to secure important goods.”
“Was this personal?”
You smirked bitterly, “Had to be.”
“What were the goods?”
“The product we got last time. Some of it, anyway.”
“How did they find out?”
“A mole, for certain. I moved everything across multiple locations and only disclosed today that a fraction would go to this restaurant for distribution. So unless they can read my fucking mind, they had to learn it from a fucking mole.”
“They could have just followed you if they knew you’d go personally.”
You paused and then chuckled while he prepared the gauze to clean the wounds on your knees. “But they could have attacked any of the venues I was in before, and they didn’t. They had to know what was in this one was worth destroying.” He nodded quietly, seemingly focused on getting your knees clean of debris. You hated the silence and almost growled, “But they have no fucking idea who they’re messing with.”
“No, they don’t.”
His answer was so serene, that it accentuated the silence that echoed the room. He got rid of the bloodied and dirty gauze, looking you over as though he was evaluating if anything else needed pressing attention, and it hit you. “You’re still here.”
He looked at you, “Do you know who did this?”
There was a shift in his tone that made you shudder, “The Russians.”
“Where would it hurt them?”
“Their warehouse downtown.”
“Their boss?”
“Prokhor Evgeni.”
“Where is he?”
“The Evgeni Sports Center in Heungin-dong.”
Yoongi nodded and got up, leaving the same way he got there, and you were dumbfounded.
“Wait!” You got up, and he stopped to look at you. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
Some could say that was an abuse of power, but it was too easy.
He realized, as he drove under a sky barely blemished by the rising sun, that when the force wanted to, shit got done in a flash. They said, ‘Where there is a will, there is a way’, and he was in the unique position to have both.
He stopped in a no-parking zone in front of the Evgeni Sports Center in Heungin-dong and made his way lazily up the stairs of the entrance. The big thugs outside didn’t phase him as he asked to speak with Prokhor Evgeni. His tone was dry and blasé, and the men’s reactions were to laugh and joke about it being almost 6 AM. The center was closed to people like him.
“Nothing is ever closed to people like me,” he found himself answering, unmoving.
He saw commotion behind the thugs, where he imagined the security booth was, and instantly relaxed. People like him didn’t have to show identification, his face was enough. He glanced at his watch as he waited, ignoring the quips of the two men, who were increasingly dumbfounded by the situation.
He understood; he would have been stupefied as well. After all, even Superintendent Generals would have security if they wanted to confront the head of a mafia at 6 AM. But as it turned out, Yoongi was feeling beside himself. It was time to start using who he was to get shit done, instead of hiding and praying someone like you could give out a hand. Not this time; it was his turn.
One of the bouncers couldn’t read the room and made a move to touch him, and Yoongi’s eyebrow almost twitched. He just needed one touch to arrest him and get a warrant. Would that be an abuse of power as well?
Fortunately for the small fry, someone from the back called out his name and reprimanded him swiftly in Russian. It was enough for Yoongi to assume everyone was on the same page, and follow when said man — a big, wide fellow with small eyeglasses — waved at him to follow.
Yoongi went up the elevator with the guy in silence, evaluating if anything still needed to be done to wrap this up, but it was just that. And a phone call.
He ignored everything he saw as he walked the corridors, from the men passing him to the gambling hastily hidden by the doors continuously closing in his wake. Finally, he arrived at the office of the big boss, judging by the cigars, wide flat screens showing multiple sports simultaneously, and the big foreigner man with much more white hair than he would have guessed, sitting behind a desk.
“I couldn’t believe it when they told me,” Prokhor Evgeni laughed before the amusement dropped from his face. “But here you are. You must be lost,” he bit the cigar in his mouth, unable to hide his discomfort.
Yoongi stretched his shoulders a little bit and, on cue, his phone rang. He picked it up, “Got it.”
He put his phone back inside his pocket, looking at Prokhor as if waiting for him to say something, which only annoyed the old thug further.
Yoongi looked around as if he had all the time in the world, “I’ll wait for you to be put in the loop.”
Prokhor smacked his hands on the desk, getting up with a shout that never came out because his phone rang as well. He sat back down, cursing under his breath, and picked it up. His gaze was venomous as he heard the caller, unable to stop Yoongi when he reached for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter lying on the desk.
The mob boss’ cheeks were getting redder and redder, yet Yoongi was unfazed as he lit a cigarette and took a drag that numbed his senses. He almost groaned then, holding it in for such a long time he lost track. How had he ever stayed away?
Prokhor yelled what were probably obscenities before slamming the phone on the desk, but before he could talk, Yoongi breathed, “Justice just never sleeps.” The smoke exited his parted lips slowly, and the mob boss stilled, starting to understand the situation. “We were lucky too,” he smirked, taking another drag. “Your kids still had the same materials used in the explosives in their car. Otherwise, I don’t know. We might have required a warrant to search for more potentially harmful materials. Say in the warehouse downtown where they were found lounging around smoking weed when they were arrested.”
Yoongi suppressed a smirk as he put the cigarette between his lips, and the mob boss was so red he was about to explode. He knew the kids weren’t found near his warehouse, so the implication was clear.
“Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!”
He hissed, but Yoongi only kept smoking placidly, “Just try to poke your head out again.”
In a flash, pure anger became bewilderment in the giant’s blue eyes, “No way.” Yoongi didn’t even blink, so Prokhor scoffed, “Bitch really has the Superintendent General on a leash?”
Yoongi threw the cigarette on the garish carpet, “I like it quiet.”
He turned to leave, but Prokhor got up in a fury again, “I have people too! People who can bite your head off!”
Yoongi turned but kept walking backward, opening his arms in a momentary invitation, before leaving that place without as much as a hair out of place.
It was interesting to consider that Prokhor’s threats could hold true, but Yoongi didn’t feel minimally affected. He got inside his car to drive home and reevaluated his thought process. He and the Firefighter’s Captain had a long history, the Mayor called him for favors, and the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency still operated under his direct scrutiny. It was why puzzling the evidence from the restaurant fire had been so easy, especially given that Thoma had conveniently left the place ready for them. Yoongi assumed; he saw a man in the shadows, between the mess, and minutes later, a firefighter had found something. Interesting how explosions in rich parts of town were such a priority for the city; the division of arson investigation could take years to build a case, but tonight, a couple of hours sufficed. The Mayor saw to that as soon as Yoongi called. And the media would love that swift action, earning everyone brownie points for reelection.
Yoongi parked as he scoffed to himself; he was playing a dangerous game. He eyed his house, wondering if he should feel wary about anything happening to him, but he brushed it off. And if it did? He did what he had to do, and he’d sleep like a rock, knowing he had taken care of everything so you could finally sleep your concussion off.
He got inside his house with the first rays of morning, thanking the universe it was Saturday. But he sighed and didn’t throw his jacket too far, only on the nearest couch, before making his way to the kitchen. He would probably still work—
Something cut the corner at the same time as him but from the kitchen, and his reflex was to pull out his gun instantly, taking a step back. You were tranquil, despite the gun barrel on your face, and his eyes widened in disbelief, “Jesus fuck!”
He could barely believe it was you, with no bandages on your head and now wearing a black dress instead of white, but he still put the gun down. Or would have, but you shoved it away first, then grabbed his head to kiss him.
Instantly, he put the pistol down on a nearby counter, just in time before you pushed him back. He hit a cabinet glass door with your strength and immediately caught you when you threw yourself in his arms, frantically kissing him as if there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.
His initial shock didn’t last when your taste and perfume assured him it was you, and with you, insanity was to be expected. He had nothing against you being in his house, kissing him, or coming to him in general.
But he still tried to hold you back gently so he could ask, “Shouldn’t you— be in bed— resting?”
He spoke between your hungry lips, whenever you gave him a split second, and you laughed, “Take me to bed, then.”
Your sly smile died in a small yelp when he bent down to pick you up in his arms. You held onto him silently while he carried you upstairs to his bedroom, and his ego couldn’t have been more inflated after that whole crazy night. What got him wasn’t that he managed to calm you down, met your dogs, or solved your problem by showing some mob boss how big his cock was, no. What got him hard in a split second was that little yelp and your silence as he carried you effortlessly. He might have had an office job, but he still took the time to go to the gym every day, and fuck if it wasn’t worth it.
When he put you down over the bed, he thought you’d actually want to sleep after such an exhausting night, but he should have known better. You got on your knees on the bed before he could open his mouth and started unbuttoning his shirt. His expression must have given away his thoughts because you didn’t stop, but you didn’t push him either. You waited for a clear indication that you could touch him, but didn’t hesitate to get him naked, opening every button. Then, when you pulled the shirt back over his shoulders, he grabbed your head to kiss you.
Your reaction was instant, rushing to get rid of the shirt and unbuckle his belt as he consumed your mouth eagerly. It was hard not getting distracted, especially by the way he easily pulled on your hair to keep you on your toes, but it only served to melt you. Even when he did it with a level of gentleness, careful about your injuries; something that could easily trigger you and turn you off, but tonight made you so eager to be with him, that you didn’t recognize yourself.
You moaned inside his mouth when he sucked your tongue, dizzy from the blood rushing everywhere all at once. Fortunately, you had made your way inside his pants and could anchor yourself to his cock.
It only made you groan harder as you pumped him; he couldn’t get harder than that, and your wet core would be the perfect match.
His consuming kiss along with his soft touches could have gotten you to settle and let him decide where to take this, but you knew what you wanted and your limits. You needed Yoongi like air to breathe, but you were on painkillers and exhausted. You shouldn’t have driven there in that condition, but couldn’t stop yourself. So, you pushed through his addictive, wild kisses and pulled his pants and underwear down, hinting at him to strip fully.
He did so in a heartbeat, falling over you so quickly you didn’t see it coming. Accommodating him over you between your parted legs was everything you wanted, so you sighed into his returning mouth, clawing at his back so he’d come closer. His lips soon made a detour to your neck, and you were overrun by shivers, almost pleading his name with how much you were dying to feel him.
But as he made his way down to your chest, you pushed through your cloudy, horny judgment. You pushed him by the shoulders and got on top of him, straddling him easily. His head fell over the pillow, dark hair contrasting with the white as his equally dark eyes observed you. They were glistening, hungry, but the hands on your hips were patient, and controlled. Min Yoongi wanted to ravish you, but for you, he’d give you the lead. You almost teased him about it, but there was no time to waste.
You had never seen him naked, so you weren’t shy about looking; quickly, but still. You touched every scar you could see — on his left shoulder, under his ribs, on the side of his waist, wondering how he had gotten injured and if it had hurt. Your lips followed suit, lingering over his skin while you sniffed his scent on your way to an untamed delicacy.
You only nuzzled him for a second before starting to lick his balls greedily, and he groaned, “You don’t have to.”
You smirked, laughing with yourself — as if you’d miss the opportunity. “I want to.”
It would be wrong to say you drove across town in that state to give head to Min Yoongi, but it was close to the truth. In your plans, you spent more time working him up — kissing him, dry humping, maybe even twisting those pretty nipples — before reaching his balls and preparing him to give you cum all night long.
But the fucking concussion and pain and tiredness or whatever. It irritated you, your knees hurt, and your head was spinning, and not necessarily from his luscious scent or your insane lust. So, unfortunately, you had to cut to the chase.
Just licking the tip of his dick wasn’t enough; not for you, and not for him. You wanted the thick mushroom tip between your lips, and the guttural groan he let out once you sucked broke the dam for you.
You licked and drooled all over him, bobbing your head to get him further and further inside you with greed that bordered on obsession. The more your jaw slacked, and his taste flooded your mouth, the more you needed to feel him pressing, invading, reaching inside you. His groans matched your moans, his fists around the sheets mimicked your hands holding his hips, and the desperation of his hips, moving to match your head falling on him, almost fulfilled your need.
Until you realized that wouldn’t do. Your wet cunt was throbbing slick, desperate with your need, and you were selfish. You wanted him to bust his nut down your throat, but fuck; you wanted to ride him more.
The drool that fell all over his hard, red shaft was almost embarrassing, but you didn’t waste time licking it. You got off him to slide your underwear off, your eyes never abandoning his, and so you didn’t miss him looking at you with a glint of despair in his eyes.
“I think I wouldn’t have lasted five more seconds.”
You grinned at his confession and got back on him, throwing your dress around so you could align him with your slit, “Good.” You felt the tip of his cock, and so did he, because he gripped your hips as if to stop you. “You better hold it.”
His dark eyes showed a hint of torture, but you were not sympathetic. You pressed yourself down on him, rolling your hips to get him coated in you, forcibly stretching you, making you keen so ecstatically, that you threw your head back. If his thick cock tucked inside you wasn’t enough, then the groans out of his mouth, with gritted teeth and a frown, in deep concentration, would take the cake. You rolled your hips further, slowly in wide movements, seeing every line in his face contorting or twitching under your sweet torture, his strength slowly leaving him as he fought tooth and nail not to come so soon.
“Your— Your knees—”
You smirked, oblivious about your bandaged knees at that moment. “Shut up, just let me ride you.”
His nails pierced your skin at the hips around your garter, and you moaned approvingly. Just looking at him, the blood rushed to your cheeks, the temperature rising immediately in a heatwave through your body. Every grunt of his was fuel; you couldn’t stop moving, dragging his thick cock across your walls so it could disappear deep inside you and torture him some more. And you, because the more he resisted, the more you wanted it, and the more it got to you too.
You knew you’d come pathetically quick but didn’t imagine it would be this fast. The pleasure burning through you was so overwhelming and undeniable, that soon you were riding him hungrily, not to torture him, but to come with him. He noticed it somehow because he started helping you, meeting you with short thrusts upwards that set your body on fire. You wanted him so fucking bad that leaning over his chest to kiss him before you came became your final act, and you crashed.
Your mouth pressed to his with a shaky moan from deep inside your chest, and he held the back of your head, keeping you in place. He fucked you through your orgasm, your throbbing so intense around him, it took him seconds to spill inside you; to groan into your mouth as he pressed you down, burying his cock as deep as he could.
Feeling him coming was such a delight, you grinned. The silence was cut by your chuckle seconds later, and even when he bit your cheek, you didn’t come down from cloud nine.
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Im going visceral /pos
What are your thoughts on Floyd? Any kind
But if that's too vague, maybe what kinds of dynamics do you like writing with Floyd? (ex. visceral/toxic yaoi, tall/short, tall/tall, "i can make him worse", "i can fix him", etc)
any kind of thoughts work, tho! ex. I think he'd be killer at jazz (I'm thinking jazz drums, because it's the most "feel" out of all of them, and is the most "rhythm" out of all of them, too)
No need to respond if you don't feel like it, as always!! Have a great day, either way!!!
hi hi icarus!! was so excited to see you in my inbox!! hello!!
any time i want to think floyd thoughts 💭 i just listen to ‘the pillows’; a lot of their songs put me into the headspace i envision when writing floyd!
i’m going to ramble under the cut because i got carried away (it’s even got a table of contents)!!
because of the cake event, i’ve got a couple of requests for floyd … more so than jade which is fine, i’m fine (ʘдʘ╬) …. & i’ve been thinking of a concept of floyd as living armor! i won’t be able to write it because the two medieval AU requests are fluff and the concept is anything but fluffy (well, it is sweet and cute to me but my vision is warped)!
just a preface: whenever i solidify an AU in mind, i always divide into what are both jade and floyd doing. i like narrative foils.
— it’d be fun to get around to what jade is getting up to via mafia AU one day ….
medieval concept:
floyd and jade are both knights in this AU. floyd’s path is actually much sweeter than jade’s, despite how horrific it is.
as young knights, appointed to the front lines, floyd and jade were an invincible force. they slip through the grim reaper’s claws like water, finding themselves persevering no matter what. the grim reaper only catches up to one of them when he stumbles upon a suit of armor left in the ruin of a kingdom they just bested.
floyd is entranced. the material is studier than his own; it is exactly his shape and build; and the visor, shining the brightest silver, is shaped like a set of fangs enclosed. it is the finest piece of blacksmithing and forge work he has ever laid his eyes on — and jade, wiping red rain off his face and content with his kills, does not fight floyd when he declares he will take it for himself.
it is a descent into madness plot.
the more floyd wears the armor, the less he wants to take it off. he is starting to see twisted shadows out the castle’s windows. it only gets to the point of no return when he tries to remove one of the gauntlet and his skin peels off with the removal.
after that, floyd swears to never put it back on, resolute in his decision, as his brother smashes their room apart in a terrible rage over his arranged engagement to the king’s daughter.
however, he does put it back on. it keeps shining in kaleidoscope stars and beckoning him with honeyed whispers.
when he puts back on the helmet, it is last time he sees the sun with his own eyes.
the kingdom goes to ruin. jade has killed the royal family. there is nothing left for floyd, because try as he might, the suit of armor will not come off. he tries to push his own sword through the helmet and shoulder-plate, only to hit his neck and realize it is metal rather than flesh.
floyd rots at the bottom of the castle. alone for a decade. until one day, a scavenger from a neighboring building comes and raids whatever is left from the castle’s innards.
one last time, floyd decides he will serve his dead king one last time and kill this scavenger, hungry and desperate you. it is a wild chase around the hallways, him at 6’2”, face full of carnivore teeth, swinging a claymore that is intent on cutting you clean in half. he has you cowering in a corner, about to add another body to the ghosts that float in his ruined kingdom, his ruined home, only to stop when a loud yip ripples your tattered coat.
you have a puppy. a puppy you were trying to feed with the leftovers.
it is not bigger than a kitten and yet it barks at floyd like it is the size of the bear.
floyd’s sword slowly drops.
it is an unsteady friendship from then on. he still dislikes you roaming around in the castle; you are still afraid of this man in the armor. but, eventually, you do come to a truce.
floyd finds himself becoming more endeared to your company. you bring a light back into the court that has been extinguished by his own brother.
and for the first time in a decade, floyd gets to feel the sun on his armor (his skin will never be the same) as you slowly take his clawed, metal hand and bring him out the catacomb of his home.
“can i finally see your face?” you will ask him one day.
and silent, he will shake his head. no.
that’s okay. the company of each other is enough for the both of you.
tall/tall dynamic:
i really really enjoy the dynamic of tall/tall for floyd!!
like absolutely adore it with my whole heart!!! 🖤they’re slowly morphing into the height and relationship dynamic of okuyusau and josuke for me!!!
picture for reference, mc and floyd are almost always the same height in my head.
i always have chess piece ocs in mind when writing /readers. its subtle but in narc, mc is the same size for shirts as floyd and is around the same height too. there is no part of standing on their tippy-toes for kisses & the eye contact is on equal footing.
i’m workshopping the scene where mc and azul meet in arnolfini portrait again & have to slap myself on the wrist every time i write ‘you glared down at azul’ or any variation of azul moving his neck to look up at mc.
idkw i feel so strongly about tall/tall dynamic with floyd. but i ADORE floyd with a tall shrimpy!!!
drummer! floyd:
from what i’ve seen from reading canon information on floyd, he did in fact play drums in a jazz band w/ azul and jade during middle school!! which i took to incorporating in ‘got you (where i want you)’ bc it’s largely a oneshot revolving around pop music club:
i want to explore a bit of the difference between how kalim plays drums and how floyd plays drum in it. it is going to be a big piece, about three chapters!
i only play piano and drums so we’ll see how i can handle talking about guitars (but like every single guy involved in my life plays guitar — brothers, bf, friends, co workers — so i got people to ask about it)
also was going to have floyd keep knives in his drum sticks during narc but scrapped it.
cake event:
the lineup for floyd that will come out nov 5 is:
royalty AU — jester x princess smut
NRC — viscera part 2 smut, 69 position
Arranged Marriage AU — hurt/comfort (FINALLY some angst from my request list б(>ε< )∂!!!)
royalty AU — mutual pining (no plot outlined yet but i’ll figure out a dynamic)
time loop AU — requester was very specific so the outline is already there!
arnolfini portrait:
HERE, is a snippet from that long Floyd work I’m going to release next year, some fluff (i think idk fluff) in a pool of angst;
Jade looks down at the both of you, a moue on his face. “I told you to watch him; not join him.”
Bleary, tear-soaked eyes blink seven times before you finally can fix all the puzzle pieces of Jade’s visage clearly in your vision. Above you, he stands, tutting in disappointment with a single teacup in hand. Steam curls out of the ceramic, reminding you of the absolute flaming heat on your cheeks. In response to his serene anger, you mumble, “Hmmm what?” into the pillowcase.
“Really, what am I going to do with the two of you?” Jade sets the teacup on Floyd’s desk.
“Leave us alone,” Floyd grumbles, nasally and exhausted. He takes to rub his forehead in your neck, impossibly hot as well.
See, Jade told you to watch over his brother for the afternoon. It is the weekend; you had no classes so you sought Floyd’s company. Said company happens to be suffering from a high fever he developed Friday night. Fretful, Jade told you he would return during his break at Mostro Lounge with tea for Floyd. Which must be now; not that you are keeping track of time. With little convincing, you fell in bed with Floyd due to his clogged and snotty siren call, snuggling up into the tempting warmth and accepting his infectious kisses.
Now contaminated, you wake up from your nap to face off the enemy of Jade’s frowning discontentment. Your attack move is to shimmy yourself down until the comforter is up to your chin. Floyd’s arms wrap around you tighter, thinking you are trying to leave. You cast the verbal spell of, “Yeah, what he said.” and close your eyes to get more sleep.
A subtle, amused laugh is Jade’s counterspell. “I hope you two will accept the responsibility of holding each other’s hair back when this virus wants to make its exit.”
Cheek to cheek, Floyd mumbles back, “Of course, I’d do anythin’ for (Name).”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts. The fluidity of your limbs that were melting into the cuddle hardens into stone. Even Jade seems to stand a bit straighter despite his already perfect posture. Slowly, you pull your upper body out of the hug, bleary eyes wide as saucers.
“Did you just –?”
It is hard to tell: is the blush on Floyd’s face from his ridiculously high fever or is it because of his embarrassment? He looks at you like you are the one who has grown two heads. He has no reason to be looking so shocked when you are one who has whiplash!
“I – um –”
“Oh my God, you just did!” The fact of the matter – Floyd using your real name – has put your world on such an axis that you worry Floyd is going to have to hold your hair back like Jade suggested; you are about ready to throw up from nerves. Nerves exit your mouth through laughter instead. “Oh my God! Hahaha! You – hahaha!”
“Shrimpyyy,” Floyd whines before erupting into a coughing fit.
“It’s cute! I promise, it’s super cute! Hahaha!”
Floyd, who hates being called cute, fixes you with a glare that is lackluster due to the sweat glistening on his forehead and the chagrin that has sunburnt itself on his skin. He pulls his hand off your stomach and pinches your nose. You let out a honking laugh that is more geese than human.
anyways,,, always holding floyd like this. i do enjoy his character (but never more than his brother)!!!!
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