#yoongi survey

[spiro-nagnew]

Mine is RM

[winedarkthoughts]

house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

next chapter

[ki-yomii]

baby, don't go | myg

➥pairing | ex!min yoongi x f!reader, mentioned f!reader x omc ➥word count | 5.1k ➥warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, squirting, hand job, finger fucking, porn w/ plot, angst w/ a happy ending, alcohol, exes to lovers, implied cheating (omc is a fuckboy), implied getting back together (reader & yoongi still low key love each other), idol!yoongi ➥summary | "hii can I request for an exes to lovers trope with yoongi 😭💖 lovee your ficss" you find out your boyfriend is cheating on you. thankfully your ex Yoongi is more than happy to distract you. ➥notes | hope you enjoy this anon 😘💚 omc & ofc are named after characters from one of my favourite k-dramas (personal taste iykyk)

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry.

Standing beside you, your friend Kae-In takes a swig of whatever's in her cup - a sickly sweet concoction of fruity soju and Chilsung, most likely - and coolly surveys the backyard.

Small groups of people dot the manicured lawn, others lounging by the fire as they catch up with one another. It's been far too long since everyone's schedules aligned like this.

Years in fact, and there are several who came in from out of town.

Ordinarily you'd be over the moon, but as it were you can barely drum up enough false excitement for your best friend. Let alone others you haven't seen in forever.

Cocking her hip, Kae-In puckers her mouth. "The alcohol isn't even that good." She sighs, pretty face scrunching in disappointment. "Some party this is turning out to be."

Your hard cider, still more than half-full, hides an awkward, ill-fitting smile.

Having nursed your own drink for the last hour, whatever might've been enjoyable about it is long gone. Any refreshing coolness and bright, punchy taste replaced by amber liquid far past room temperature in your clammy palm.

In fact, the fizzy warmth and tart aftertaste of moldering apples turns your stomach with every half-hearted sip.

"At least there's cute guys here - some of them have really grown up."

Her breath ruffles the fringe of her bangs when she huffs, casting an eye to the glass bottle strangled in your grip.

"Are you sure you don't want something a little stronger?"

You shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine - gotta be the DD just in case, y'know?"

"Girl, you're ALWAYS the DD. C'mon, you gotta live a little sometimes."

The nonchalant scolding stings, even if it's meant almost entirely in jest but it's not Kae-In's fault. She doesn't know. No one does. You couldn't muster up the courage to tell her the truth.

Not yet.

It's still too fresh. The wound too raw to go poking around with clumsy fingers.

"Don't be like that," you say with a faltering smile. "I'm having fun."

LIAR.

In actuality, you're a few frayed threads away from snapping. Stuck clinging to the edge of sanity by the fingernails as you battle back tides of crippling grief and blinding rage.

Have been since the first few messages came rolling in; questions with videos attached. There's a part of you grateful they reached out, while another altogether wishes you hadn't seen.

At least not until morning.

Would one more night spent in ignorant bliss have been too much to ask for?

Now you're riding a corkscrew of emotion, one that roils and chafes as ceaseless images parade past your eyelids with every blink. Each one as crisp and clear as the first time you pressed play.

The swirling lights, the heady thrum of bodies. A darkened corner. Your boyfriend of three years who said he couldn't make it. His hand sneaking beneath the hem of a cheap, glittery skirt. The dip of his head as he tucks into the curve of a neck, mouth open and smiling against bare skin.

You shudder, stomach rebelling. When you swallow, it's like trying to down buckets of sand.

Kae-In, none the wiser, flicks her hair over her shoulder. "Well, that makes one of us. I guess." Shrugging, she turns to you and asks with a furrowed brow, "Are you sure you're okay? You seem... a little off."

Panic grabs you by the throat.

This was supposed to be a night full of fun and laughter. You're not supposed to be suffocating in a crowded backyard. On the brink of tears and trying to act like your life hasn't imploded.

Alone - by your own doing, which is even worse - to deal with the crushing weight of an inevitable breakup. The painful extrication of two lives entwined.

How a relationship three years in the making can be shattered in a minute and forty-five seconds is mind boggling. You had it all, and now...

You thought you were going to marry him.

The whiplash of it all almost makes you laugh but only so you don't break down in great, heaving sobs. A heartbreak you're not sure you'll ever recover from. Not for the loss of him but rather the decimation of your trust.

"I'm okay, promise! No need to worry."

The lie weighs heavy on your tongue. Tastes of ash as the words you really want to say hover in the back of your throat, a breath away. Only they can't make it past your lips, stuck to your teeth like hard candy.

"It's just been one of those days."

Your shoulders shoot towards your ears when she hums in response. Fingernails picking at the corner of the sweating cider label so you don't have to meet Kae-In's piercing gaze. You know she can see right through you, and you hate it.

What started as a fun night of planned mayhem turned into desperate distractions though this party has done very little in terms of brightening your mood.

Instead, watching everyone you know have a good time while you stand on the side lines, a stranger in a sea of people, feels more akin to rubbing salt in an open wound.

Miserable but acting like you’re not; waves of bitter loneliness threatening to pull you under because you don’t want to ruin the night.

“Is this because Chang-ryul couldn’t make it?” Kae-In pats your back sympathetically. “What bullshit excuse did he give you this time? I swear, he always does this. Just wait. I’m gonna hit him next time I see him.”

Oh, you don’t even know, you think. You’ll definitely want to do more than hit him.

Your heart throbs at the sound of his name, and isn’t that funny? Such a simple thing - nothing but syllables and letters strung together - and yet it has the power to unmake you completely.

Your tongue swells as you struggle to swallow. Words burn like bile as you force out a laugh; brittle, scraped up from the depths of your chest

“I’d pay to see that,” you croak. Your knuckles ache from how tightly you’re gripping the bottle. “But - no. C-Chang-ryul has nothing to do with it.”

You hate that you stutter over his name.

And perhaps that’s why you don’t want to tell Kae-In just yet.

She’s always hated him.

Always said he was no good. Just another fuckboy looking for beds to warm and hearts to break. And she’s right.

God, why does she have to be right?

You know she’d never hold it over you, but the thought of admitting it - out loud - makes you want to vomit all over your shoes. You need time to stitch your edges back together. Too raw and ragged.

You only just found out.

Your pride can’t handle any more hits right now.

She thumbs her nose with an inelegant snort. “Whatever you say. I could take him in a fight. That boy ain’t shit.”

Your laugh startles you - the first genuine one of the evening - and you shake your head fondly. A soft smile tugs at your lips.

“Oh, no doubt. But really, I’ve just been in a weird mood.”

The twist of her lips shows she doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, but she’s kind enough not to press. Instead, she spends the next while distracting you with tales of her various escapades of the week.

And it helps for a time, truly.

But then you feel a buzz against your thigh, a ding echoing up from your pocket. Your stomach turns to lead, drops to your feet. Without looking at the screen, you pull the cell out of your pocket with shaky hands and quickly flick the ringer off.

Meanwhile, Kae-In watches silently with sharp eyes, and an even sharper frown though she declines to comment on your behavior.

“Anyway,” she continues once she has your attention, “as I was saying, did you see little Ji-Seok? Dude shot up like a tree! Last time I saw him he was as big as a bean sprout.”

You hum, worlds away.

“You could at least act like you’re paying attention,” she sucks her teeth before a smirk starts to slowly tug at her lips, “How about we talk about something - or someone - I know you’ll be interested in?”

Guilt sparks but slowly gives way to dread. You know that expression. Have gotten into trouble more times than you can count because of it.

Heart tattooing a rhythm against your rib cage, you sputter, “Oh no. No! Do not look at me like that.”

“C’mo-on!” she wheedles. “You’re absolutely right. We should be talking about,” she points at someone across the yard with her cup, “Yoongi instead.”

Currently leaning back against a stone wall making up part of the fence, Yoongi nurses a beer. Sticking out like a sore thumb now that he’s making it big as an idol, no longer as mundane as the rest of them.

Hushed whispers follow his every move, his bleached hair and flashy outfit commanding all sorts of covert attention.

The sharp cut of his shirt flatters his lean frame, the black leather jacket over top emphasizing the width of his shoulders. Dark jeans cling to his legs, as tight as a second skin, and causing your attention to stray where it shouldn’t.

And his eyes - oh, how you ever forgot is beyond you.

Dark, hooded, deep, and hungry; intense as they drag over the planes of your face like the caress of his fingers.

Shit.

You shove Kae-In’s hand down with a loud smack before she makes an even bigger fool out of you in front of another ex.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hiss. “That’s so rude!”

Not to mention embarrassing as fuck.

“Y’know,” she pauses to wiggle her brows and shoot you an impish grin, “I bet Yoongi would be more than happy to remind you of how rude he can be.”

You smother a groan in your hands, heartache temporarily forgotten. “I can’t believe you. Seriously. We’re no longer friends.”

“Bitch, you love me. And anyway, you know what I can’t believe?” She asks. “You!”

She gestures towards him again amid your flailing attempts to stop her. “Look at him. Like goddamn, you had it good.”

You take a sip of cider to give your hands something to do, nearly blanching at the warm liquid. Refusing to respond or look up as the topic of conversation watches like a hawk, gaze heavy.

How can he still make you weak-kneed after all this time?

He wasn’t even touching you and you still feel his presence down to your toes, setting your teeth on edge.

You hear your own heartbeat, your breathing shaky, sparks of awareness dancing along your spine. Heat creeps into the apples of your cheeks.

“Knock it off, I’m serious.”

“No, when are you going to get that Chang-ryul isn’t good for you?”

You swallow roughly, all the moisture leaving your mouth.

“Yoongi was the best boyfriend you ever had and treated you the way you deserve. And you know he’s never been interested in anyone but you. Hell, he’s barely looked away from you since he got here and the break-up was years ago.”

You shift, perspiration breaking out on your brow. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“When will you give it up?” She blows a raspberry, shaking her head. “I know you regret how it went down between you guys. Now that he’s here - when you finally have a chance to make it right you just - just - ugh!”

Shooting her a weak half-smile and a shrug, you turn your attention to the small glowing fire pit.

Other’s are gathered around it, relishing in the glow of warmth that wars against the balmy summer breeze cutting through the air. Focusing on the dance and flicker of the flames is a needed moment of peace in entropy.

Though you know it isn’t going to last - not with a motormouth for a friend.

“So-o, what are you waiting for?”

“Sorry?”

She nods towards Yoongi subtly.

He’s finally busy with his own conversation, his gummy smile a quick flash of brightness. “When are you going to stick it to Chang-ryul and hop on that dick?”

“Oh my god!”

Kae-In shrugs. “What.”

“Don’t 'what' me. Seriously?”

A bony elbow digs between your ribs. You wheeze.

“C’mon,” she says, “You already know it’s good with him, and you deserve someone who’s there for you 110%. Someone who will treat you right. You know I worry about you.”

A wave of emotions threatens to completely drown you in that moment, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Her tender concern - her care - feels altogether too much and not enough.

As overwhelming as a tsunami; your heart a raw, exposed nerve.

All you’ve ever wanted was to be loved.

To feel like someone’s first and only choice.

You used to think Chang-ryul was someone who could provide that. What a fool you’ve been. Men like him don’t fall in love, they only pretend to.

They sneak inside your heart and take what they want from your bed. To him, you’re nothing but a fun little stop; a footnote, read and forgotten.

Your heart squeezes, shuddering from a pain your palm can’t soothe away.

It’s a terrible idea.

But maybe…

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to lick your wounds with someone you know cares about you. Has always cared about you, and probably always will.

Clearing your throat, you consider his profile from beneath your lashes.

Yoongi's always made you feel wanted. Looked after you as though you were something rare and precious.

It’s been a long time since you’ve felt that.

Somehow, some way, he senses you looking because he pauses mid-sentence.

Turns to meet you head-on, tracing your face with what can only be called greed. Stopping short when they catch on the lip trapped between your teeth.

Something akin to hunger cuts across his face.

His brows dip low, a palpable heat flooding the inky depths of his eyes. Shadows deepen the lines of his face, the shifting firelight highlighting the flex of a jawline for days, burning halo gold in his hair.

It’s a look you’re intimately familiar with.

Usually preceding a hand-shaking, mind-numbing fuck session where his cock gets as deep as it can, rutting hard and fast, bringing you over the edge again and again until you’re left a wrecked mess. 

Your heart jumps, gallops headlong into a rapid beat.

You feel the rush of blood in your chest, every breath stuttered, stomach lurching. Shaking. Jittery. Tongue tied in a thousand knots and you haven’t even said a word.

It was much easier to pretend you weren’t so magnetically drawn to Yoongi when you weren’t riding the single’s train. When he was away in Seoul chasing after his dreams.

Now that he’s got downtime and your relationship has hit a brick wall? His mere presence sears you to the bone. Drags you in like a black hole.

And that?

So not good.

Swallowing roughly, you tear your attention away. You’d forgotten how intense and blindly bright he can be.

There’s a throb developing in your temple, sharp little darts of pain lancing through your skull. An impending headache if you don’t get some air that doesn’t taste like wood-smoke and cheap alcohol.

“I think I’m gonna head in for a bit. Need to get away.”

You shake your head and toss your bottle into the bin on the way inside, Kae-In shouting her acknowledgement with a thumbs up. Makes you promise to contact her in case of any change in plans.

Nearly everyone’s outside so it should be less crowded, more quiet. Most importantly, away from Yoongi and that penetrating stare which makes you more flustered than you care to admit.

Alas, the kitchen isn’t empty not for long.

You’re lounging against the counter, elbows bent, head rolled back and stinging eyes closed when the back door creaks open. Biting off a groan, you swivel your head to the side.

When you see it’s Yoongi who follows you in, you almost slip and brain yourself on the tile. Mouth dry, palms sweaty, heart beating out of control; scrambling into a more flattering posture while patting down your hair.

He chuckles, his nose scrunched and smile coy.

Seeing him happy always makes you tender, weak.

It seems that hasn’t changed a bit.

No amount of pictures or videos do it justice. Granted, Yoongi looks good any time, any day. But seeing his whole face light up like that in person? Utterly priceless.

It’s a struggle to breathe properly around the lump forming in your throat.

Of course, it has to be him.

Wiping your palms off on your thighs, you greet him with an awkward wave, “Uhhh, hey - hey there, Yoongi.”

Oh my god. Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission.

“Y’know what,” you say, “I was just about to head back outside…”

As you pass by, he catches your arm.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, callouses dragging across your pulse. Your gut clenches, an unexpected bloom of warmth shooting through your core at the sight of his broad palm holding you captive.

His grip is firm but loose enough that you could pull away.

All it serves to do is remind you of nights spent beneath his body, the slide of sweat-slick skin, the taste of him heavy on your tongue, pussy filled to the brim with cock. His rough voice music to your ears, prideful as he gloats about how well you’re taking him.

"Leaving so soon?” He asks silkily.

A hard tug sends you slamming into the wall of his chest.

Air rushes from your lungs, your hands trapped against his collarbones. Firm muscles contract beneath your palms, his body shoving into your touch.

Twisting your fingers in the soft cotton of his shirt, you look at him from beneath your lashes. Your voice whisper soft when you say, “Yoongi…”

His dark eyes, the colour of a rich espresso, track the path of your tongue as you wet your lips. Fingers drag over the soft line of your neck, tracing your fluttering pulse.

Touch feather light as it stops by the corner of your mouth, pressing down on the swell of your lip.

“I haven’t said hello yet.”

Eyes wide, all you do is watch and wait with baited breath. Stunned into silence at his proximity. It’s been so long since you’ve been this close, the smell of his expensive cologne nostalgic.

Your body recognizes his, responding all the same. The connection between you electric, overwhelmingly so.

His head bows, bleached strands brushing your forehead. The tip of his nose rubs yours. You get lost in counting his eyelashes, tracing the bridge of his nose to the carved slope of his cheeks.

Surrounded by him, the urge to resist what’s happening is nearly non-existent. Though you wish it wasn’t so easy to be caught by him.

“One of the guys said something interesting,” he says, his breath ghosting across your face; mint and beer. “It's about you actually.”

He flashes the smile that sends your heart soaring, your stomach flipping.

The slightest peek of a metal chain resting in the crook of his neck, surrounded by a very tempting patch of skin you want to taste, has you a little dumbfounded, absentminded.

“Oh?”

You really hope you don’t sound as frazzled as you feel but the haughty superiority of his slow appraisal of your body, the cocksure smirk on his lips states otherwise.

You really wish you could knock him down a peg but confidence looks amazing on him.

Always has.

“They said you have a boyfriend now. Is that true?”

You manage the slightest shake of your head in the negative - no, not anymore - your heart thundering in your ears.

Your breath catches in anticipation just before Yoongi closes the remaining inches between you with a hum of approval.

His head tilts to the side as he slots your mouths together in a kiss that’s got your toes curling. A filthy wet slide of lips, his the slightest bit chapped, send you under, liquid warmth filling your belly.

You inhale sharply, a moan vibrating against his lips.

Melting into the cage of his arms as his hands clamp down on your hips possessively, tugging you closer. Pressed stem to stern like this there’s no hiding the evidence of his desire.

He’s already half-hard in his jeans, his erection pressing against the zipper.

His eyes are hooded when he pulls away.

“Wanna take this somewhere a little more private, baby?” Yoongi asks, running his nose up the length of your neck and inhaling.

How is this my life, you think, dazed.

His hips grind forward against you so there’s no mistaking what you’re dealing with. “It’ll be just like old times.”

After an awkward fumble and an elbow to the side, you settle on the downstairs bathroom. He follows, quickly pinning you to the door while struggling to toss his leather jacket over the sink.

With a flick of the lock, you’re finally alone without any possible interruption. The door muffles most of the ruckus outside, leaving you hyper aware of every hurried breath, every low-throated murmur.

For a long while it’s nothing but a mess of lips, his body molding to yours. Easy to fall back into the old rhythms of your relationship as though you never left it.

He holds you down.

His fingers in your hair, on your jaw. His tongue gliding over your lip, sucking it into his mouth and letting it slide back out through his teeth.

You meet him kiss for kiss, your hands finding their way into his back pockets, tugging, groping, loving how he bucks up into the cradle of your hips in response.

A sweet ache settles low and deep.

“Yoongi,” you sigh. “Fuck, I forgot how much you like to tease.”

His thumb circles your nipple through your shirt, teasing it into a sensitive, stiff peak that shows through the thin fabric.

The caresses send soft pulses straight to your clit, the intensity getting stronger and stronger the rougher he is.

Before long, you’re aware of how achingly empty you are.

Yoongi nips the corner of your jaw.

“Never forgot how fun teasing you is,” he murmurs into the silk of your skin. “How wet you get for me.”

“Shit, you can’t just say something like that.”

“Can’t I?” His laugh, genuine and vibrant, sounds through his chest and into yours. “You can bitch all you want, but I know you love it.”

A smile, all teeth.

“Isn’t that right, baby?”

You glare at him weakly through half lidded eyes.

Two can play that game.

“Fuck!” Yoongi bites out, those impossibly dark eyes sliding shut when you reach down to palm him through his jeans.

His breath whooshes from him in a loud exhale, his jaw working back and forth. “That’s cheating.”

You smirk, feeling him throb in your hand.

”What were you saying, Yoongs?” Humming, you rub your chest against his, using a fingertip to trace the outline of his shaft. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Spearing you with a weighted look, Yoongi shoves you back into the door harder than before, the wood creaking under the pressure. Fist resting on the frame next to your head, his body cages you in.

Every shuddered inhale has the planes of his firm chest pressing into yours with the expansion of his lungs. His hips buck up into the softness of your palm with a grunt.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, pretty girl,” he cautions.

Competitiveness is a gift and a curse.

Not one to be outdone, you brush away any lingering reservations - which being honest, there weren’t many left. His relieved groan when you tug out his cock reverberates through you.

Shit, that’s so unfair.

Yoongi already sounds wrecked yet you’ve barely touched him. How the fuck are you going to get through this without completely combusting when he actually cums?

Thinking that maybe focusing on what you’re doing will help, you look down.

Big mistake.

Dark designer jeans circle his thighs, low enough for his cock to spring free.

Flushed, curved towards his belly, the head swollen and sticky with pre-cum. The shaft a decent handful that pulses when your palm skims the side.

Feminine appreciation at the sight has velvet heat pooling between your thighs, pussy clenching at the thought of him inside you.

Sex with him was always stupidly good.

All those veiled lyrics about his skill in the bedroom far too accurate for comfort.

Since you broke up, you haven’t been with anyone that comes close to his ability in getting you off.

He’s ruined you.

His face burrows into the crook of your neck with a low groan. His breath puffs across your skin, shivers racing down your spine.

Low voice full of grit, he says, “Shit, baby, that feels…”

Hot palms anchor themselves to your hips.

“Wait a sec,” he says, body twitching with aborted thrusts, strong fingers kneading. “Wanna do you too.”

Heart jumping, you let go of him long enough to yank your shirt over your head and kick off your pants before returning your hand to his cock.

In the meantime, he rucks his shirt up under his armpits. You can’t help but make a noise in the back of your throat as the length of his torso is exposed.

All that soft, smooth skin stretching over his stomach as he flexes. You have to fight down the urge to run your tongue along the outline of his hip.

Mouth slack, Yoongi pushes up the cups of your bra. Watches laser-focused on the bounce of your tits as they drop free, subtly swaying with every jerk of your wrist.

His hips fuck up into the circle of your hand while one of his own inches down to brush the crease of your thigh. Your hips tilt towards his touch, desperate for friction.

“Oh god.” He moans, calloused fingers dipping between your folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

You wiggle, whining against his lips as you meet in a messy kiss. His touch is light, gentle, barely there as he traces the length of your slit.

You’re trembling, skin too tight, body feverish. “Stop teasing, I want you inside me.”

Those seem to be the magic words because Yoongi gives a rumble of approval, using his thumb to spread slick over your swollen clit in tight circles.

Heat coils in your belly, electricity racing down your spine. Your thighs splay as wide as they can, making room for his hand.

His knuckles brush your skin.

Dipping down to your entrance, Yoongi works on spreading you open with shallow thrusts until you take three fingers comfortably.

Your needy sighs and soft moans bounce off the walls.

His low murmurs right in your ear as the pads stroke your walls, his wrist flexing. He’s hitting all the right spots, still remembering how to get you off years after the fact.

You’re quickly turning weak-kneed and wet eyed.

“Fuck, Yoongs, right there,” you keen, baring down on the digits nudging your g-spot, your grip tightening around his shaft.

You grind your palm over the swollen tip, gathering beads of pre-cum.

He hisses, thrusts off beat.

Fingers nudge up suddenly, pressing deep and holding in retaliation. White lightening crackles behind your eyelids, thighs twitching, mouth dropping open.

“Yeah, just like that, pretty girl.”

Your world narrows down to every filthy slide of his cock in your hand, every gush of slick as he stuffs fingers into you over and over again until you’re a writhing mess against the door.

Your nerve endings are alive with pleasure, the stimulation too much and not enough.

“Please, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, doubling his efforts, wrist working faster.

Dapples of sweat litter his brow, his eyes staring into yours, glazed over and lusting.

Fuck, he’s handsome like this.

It’s a little embarrassing how bad he’s got you but between the blissed-out expression he’s wearing, the weight of him in your hand, and how full you are, you know this orgasm is going to be quick, messy.

The pace of his hips pick up, his breath hitching in his throat, length twitching and thickening in your grip.

He’s getting close, his touch rougher, more force behind the snapping thrusts of his hips, teeth nipping at the side of your neck.

“Come on, baby,” you say, breathless, twisting your hand on the upstroke. He smothers a grunt in your shoulder. “Give it to me.”

It doesn’t take much more to bring him to the edge.

A particular spread of his fingers has you jolting, a sudden, intense spike of pleasure shooting right to your clit.

In turn, you unintentionally massage his cock, knuckles bumping the underside of the swollen head.

He’s a goner.

Cumming with a low, wounded whine and a shuttered thrust, Yoongi smacks the door with his free hand. Thick spurts of jizz make an absolute mess of his stomach and your knuckles.

Sagging forward like a doll with cut strings, all his dead weight bears down on you.

He pants, small tremors wrack his frame. “Baby,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I missed you s’much.”

“Missed you too,” you reply, using nice, languid strokes to wring the last of his orgasm out of him. “More than I thought I did.”

In lieu of a response, Yoongi wiggles his fingers inside you, rebuilding the rhythm he lost. He flutters them, curls up against your walls, peppering kisses along the length of your jaw with a hum.

Slick drips down his wrist, the sloppy sound of him finger fucking your cunt blending with a surge of desperate moans.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Yoongi says against your chin. “So fucking hot, wanna see you cum.”

Your back arches, your fingers digging into the width of his shoulders, head smacking the door with a dull thud.

“Can you do that for me?”

Nodding frantically, you fall apart with a broken gasp. Clamping down so hard he can’t move, the cramps softened by the throbbing heat washing over you. Blood rushes in your ears as your pussy gushes around his fingers.

“Good girl,” he praises, tone heated. “You did so well for me.”

By the time your brain comes back online, you’ve forgotten all about Chang-ryul and the constant vibration of your phone where it’s shoved - forgotten - into your pocket.

The only thing that matters is Yoongi with his tender kisses and greedy hands.

[eoieopda]

darksided (myg)

Min Yoongi adored you. He'd simply never hurt you - unless you asked.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot - SMUT (You must be 18+ to ride this ride.) Sequel to foresight, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 4.4K Content: established relationship au; soft bf yoongi turned mean!dom!yoongi at the request of sub!reader; p in v penetration; unprotected sex/creampie (be safe, y'all); oral sex (m receiving); brief face-fucking; v fingering; squirting; a lil degradation and spit kink, as a treat; harsh language; after-care; also cavity-inducing fluff A/N: This was nine (9) pages in Word - my longest smut ever, all because this man-bun era has got me FUCKED up. Barely proofread (sorry ily). Check out my other fics here. Listen to the playlist here. 12/11/22 A/N: The sequel, blindsided, is finally here! check it out when you're done here :)

“When I signal you, that’s when you press the button, okay?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared down at his recording equipment – a galaxy in its own right, lit up like a Christmas tree. He may as well have asked you to defuse a bomb, except you couldn’t even identify the bomb. “There are approximately three thousand buttons in front of me right now,” you whined. 

He was exhausted and you knew it – you could feel it – but his patience with you was, as always, limitless. His fondness for you still shone through his eyes, overpowering the dark circles looming below, as if he hadn’t made a mistake in inviting you into his office. Then there was his laugh, surprising enough to smack you but so soft that it cradled you. “It’s the only one that says ‘record,’ jagiya.” 

A quick survey of the landscape before you indicated that this was a criminal oversimplification. There was a minimum of four options fitting his description, and all of them looked both breakable and expensive. You blinked down at the sound board, then back up at him, dumbfounded. “I think you made a mistake letting me in here.” 

Again, with the laugh – knocking you prone, nudging you closer to an early grave. Somehow, out of all of time and space, you got to exist in the same lifetime that he did. How lucky you were to have him, and his wind chime laugh all to yourself.  

You were lovesick and it was chronic. 

“Look down at your left hand – no, baby, don’t move it – that knob above your middle finger?” He was standing on tiptoe inside the booth, gesturing as if he was landing a plane. Your eyes darted up to follow the path of his fingers, then back down to the board. “Go diagonally up from that knob for two rows. Do you -” 

Overcome with a sense of unearned pride, you pressed down on the button, beaming. You certainly had not been signaled, but nonetheless, your efforts were rewarded. Importantly, that reward was now recorded for prosperity. Your favorite mixtape, the soundtrack of your racing heart, a lullaby: “I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” 

His wide smile, like his tone, was sweet enough to cause a cavity. You were folded up like a pretzel in his chair, but somehow, your knees still seemed to wobble.  

You were lovesick and it was terminal. 

“Should I shut it off now until you’re ready to start?” You asked with cheeks glowing pink. 

He shook his head, still grinning. “I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though – when I signal you.” He stated the last bit of his sentence slowly, shooting you a pointed look and then a wink. 

You were once lovesick and now you are dead. 

Finger hovering over the ‘play’ button, you watched him wide-eyed, anxious to avoid another mishap. His faith in you may have been unshakeable, but yours wasn’t – and this third mixtape was his magnum opus. You’d rather explode into a cloud of dust than mess up the tireless work he’d put into it so far.  

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. Without looking, he raised his hand and pointed silently to you. Within seconds, your mind was blown. 

Min Yoongi contained multitudes. Despite your years together, it never ceased to amaze you how your beloved introvert – who said more with actions than anyone could communicate with words – could transform the way he did. Moments ago, his voice was a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, but now? Now, his presence electrified you. There was an unapologetic confidence – callousness, even - that you only saw when he rapped. 

Even his body language changed, like he’d evolved right before your eyes. You couldn’t look away because there was nothing else worth looking at – just him, top to bottom. The way he held his head, lips nearly touching the microphone, highlighted the deadly curve of his jaw. Carved from marble, luminescent and sharp. The strain of his neck, vibration visible in the column of his throat as he growled out his bars. Then down, down, down to his hands. His rings caught the light from above him, refracting slivers of white as his fingers moved with the beat.  

Oh, how you wanted them wrapped around your throat. 

Seeing him like this had you spellbound – feral, if you were being honest. As you watched, bottom lip clamped hard between your teeth, a heatwave crashed over you; it burned you from the inside out. Sometimes, you dreamt about this version of him. Your Yoongi adored you. He showered you with affection, respect, and praise. He’d never dream of hurting you. 

But would he, if you asked? 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him finish the take. 

“Aegiya?” There was a hint of concern in his voice that told you he’d called out to you more than once already. 

You swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. “Yes?” 

He slid his wireless headphones down until they rested around his neck. The bright red band leaned against his cheekbone as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Are you alright? You looked like you were in a trance.” 

He wasn’t wrong. You were hypnotized, and it was entirely his fault. 

When you merely hummed in response – too distracted by his features to form a coherent sentence – he opened the door to the booth and stepped out. He pulled the headphones off completely and set them down on the counter before walking straight to you. 

You were vibrating. Could he feel it? 

The trembling only intensified when he reached you. Looking down at you, he ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek. 

“Tell me.” He said, as if that brief touch informed him of the maelstrom spinning circles in your brain. “Something’s got you dizzy.” 

Psychic. 

Suddenly, you were shy. This man knew and loved every single aspect of you, and still you felt embarrassed. If you begged him to fuck you – not just make love to you – would he laugh at you? Even worse, would he be offended? You didn’t want him to think that what you had wasn’t already perfect because it was.  

His eyes scanned your face, narrowing just slightly as he tried to read your mind. The two of you were silent for what felt like hours before you saw it – his pupils dilating, offset by the spark of silent understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched when he cracked the secret code. The hand caressing your cheek lowered slowly until it came to rest on your throat, thumb harshly directing your jaw – and your gaze - upwards. 

“Is it me, baby?” He teased with a voice like velvet, cocking his head to the side with a smirk that left you stupid. “Have I got you dizzy?” 

Involuntarily, you whimpered. So stunned by his stare that you were speechless. Melting into a puddle. Dripping. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose – a cruel, quiet laugh - and his eyes darkened further. “I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.” 

Once again, you shifted in your seat. You were suddenly so painfully aware of every nerve in your body, each one tingling like a live wire. Even your thighs clenched, trying desperately to apply pressure where you needed it most. You craved him so badly that it ached. 

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me,” was your answer, though it sounded more like a question. “I - I know that you -” 

His hand shifted quickly from underneath your jaw. He now had your cheeks pinned between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard to cut off your sentence before you could finish it. There was a microscopic pause as his eyes searched yours for permission. You blinked and nodded to the fullest extent you could within his grasp. 

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.” 

Muffled by his hand, your weak moan was barely audible, but he could feel the way your breathing quickened. The rise and fall of your eager chest. The way your nipples, yet untouched, made themselves known through the fabric of the t-shirt you’d stolen from him. Draped in him but smelling like you.  

Blackcurrant, orange blossoms, vanilla. 

He leaned down, mouth now hovering beside your ear. The heat of his breath on your neck was maddening, but it was the way his lips brushed against your ear that proved fatal. When he spoke, it echoed in every one of your bones. A whisper heavy enough to bruise. “Get up.” 

You followed the lead of his hand over your mouth and rose to your feet. Sharply, he redirected your gaze to the seat you’d just left. It was inexplicable how something so faint could be so blatant. That nearly imperceptible spot, snitching on you; showing him how your body begged for him. 

“Such a messy girl, ruining my chair like that.” He tutted. “I should punish you, shouldn’t I? Should I ruin you, baby?” 

Held so still, your knees still trembled. Without his hand gripping your cheeks, you would’ve crumpled at his feet. Before you could do so yourself, he forced you downward. After all, your knees couldn’t buckle if they were digging into the hardwood. 

He released his grasp and used that same hand to push his hair away from his eyes. Your heart raced as if you were sprinting, and yet you were frozen in place. You didn’t know where to begin because you wanted everything.  

Your indecision prompted him to roll his eyes. “Do I have to do everything for you? Say it. What do you want?” 

“T-to touch you. Please,” you begged, “I want to feel you in my throat.” 

He beckoned you silently with a curl of his finger. You sat up further on your knees and reached out tentatively for the drawstring tied at the waistband of his joggers. 

“Stop.” He ordered, and you did. Looking down at your wide eyes, his smirk deepened. Your hands fidgeted uselessly in your lap as he began untying the drawstring himself – his slow pace was torturous. You'd have ripped them off his body if given the chance. “Open your mouth” 

Again, you did as you were told. 

It took everything you had not to drool when he lowered the waistband of his joggers just enough for his cock to spring out. Already throbbing, beige tip glistening with pre-cum in the half-light. He took himself in his hand and began to pump himself as he took a step towards your waiting mouth.

"Stick out your tongue."

Now, you couldn’t help it – and when he saw the string of saliva spilling from the tip of your tongue, he growled. 

“Fuck,” He breathed, sliding the fingers of his free hand into your hair and tugging. “Look at how badly you want to be used - you're begging without saying a word.” 

You couldn’t speak, but your eyes were screaming at him. Please. 

Teasingly, he tapped the tip of his cock against your tongue, hissing as he felt the wet heat of your mouth. But when you went to close your lips around him, he pulled your hair – and you – away. 

“Spit on it – slowly. Keep your eyes on me.” 

You felt a twinge between your thighs as he delivered his orders. You’d undoubtedly soaked through your little sleep shorts already, but his tone just then made a mess of you. You squirmed as you kneeled, feeling the rivulets of slick begin to trail down the innermost part of your thighs. And he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

Looking up at him from under the curtain of your lashes, you saw the wicked fascination flicker in his eyes. The way his breath hitched as he watched your spit fall from the ledge of your lips until it connected with his shaft. In your peripheral vision, you could see his cock twitch at the contact. 

“Now open.” Finally. 

A low moan broke from the depths of his chest as he slid into your mouth, and you couldn’t recall a more beautiful sound. As you pushed yourself further onto him, you hallowed your cheeks, following the vein running along the underside of his length with your tongue. 

You stared up at him through wet eyes. So full, you pleaded with yourself not to gag, to breathe steadily through your nose. Tip pushing past your soft palate, he grunted as he bottomed out. Without softening his gaze, he watched for your reaction – always so concerned, even when he was pretending not to be. To his surprise, you swallowed, allowing the tightness of your throat to squeeze him.

“You’re fucking filthy.” He muttered with his eyes screwing shut. His jaw fell open when you slid off him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock once you reached it. His eyes followed suit, blown out pupils fixated on the spit dribbling down your chin; darkening at the obscene sound of him sliding through the suction you'd so masterfully generated. 

Pulling your hand from your lap, you reached out slowly for his balls. As your fingers massaged him, his grip on your hair got tighter. Almost imperceptibly, he began to roll his hips against your mouth. 

His panting was interlaced with curses as he fucked himself into your warmth. “Fit so fucking perfectly in your throat,” He grunted, “Like you were made to be my toy.” 

It startled you when he suddenly removed himself from you. Thoughtlessly, you whined – and then, immediately, you froze. Eyes darting back up to him, the anticipation of consequences prevented you from closing your mouth fully. You waited there on your knees, trembling, while your mascara pooled uselessly in the wells beneath your eyes. 

“Somebody feels entitled,” He scoffed as he glowered down at you. “You better be careful what you wish for.” 

Before you could process the speed of his movements, his arms hooked under yours and pulled you from the ground. Your legs ached, but as he loomed over you, you followed his unspoken order, backing yourself into a corner. With your shoulder blades pressed flush against the wall, he stepped forward and used his knee to push your legs apart. 

For a moment, it seemed like his façade was cast aside. He raised his hand slowly to caress your cheek, swirling soft circles into your flushed skin with his thumb. Out of habit, your eyes drifted shut and you leaned further into his touch. And when he leaned in, just as slowly, your slightly parted lips waited for a kiss that never came. 

“You’re just begging to be filled, aren’t you?” He asked in a whisper so sharp it stung. “Not loved but fucked.” 

You nodded shyly. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, “Please.” 

His lips still lingered closely enough to touch yours, to send shockwaves shooting down your spine, but he continued to withhold his affection. This was the first time – ever – that Yoongi had turned down an opportunity to kiss you. Until now, he didn't seem capable of doing so. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me. Please -” You keened as his hand began to drift from your cheek, down your neck. In the blink of an eye, every word you knew disappeared from your vocabulary. The tip of his index finger trailed down over the fabric of your stolen shirt, between the valley of your breasts, and came to rest at the hem.  

He pinched the seam between his fingers and tugged. “Part of me wants to tear this off you,” He mused with his head tilting to one side. His eyes remained locked on yours; the amusement in them was clear, even in the darkness. “But most of me wants to see you fucked out and stupid - in my shirt.” 

Your legs threatened to give out yet again. He was devastatingly handsome under normal circumstances, but this newly unearthed cockiness was ruinous. You bit down hard on your lip as he raised your shirt enough to access the waistband of your shorts. With his help, you shimmied them down until they dropped quietly at your feet. Quickly and clumsily, you stepped out of them and kicked them aside. 

Yoongi’s hand rose again to your face. His middle and ring finger were extended; the others curled down towards his palm. You didn’t need to be asked to open your mouth – it was the only response your eager mind could conjure. His fingers were cool against your tongue as you closed your mouth around them. And when he was satisfied with the lubrication you’d provided, he slid his fingers out from your hollowed cheeks with a lewd pop. 

“How badly do you want to come all over my fingers?”  

It’s a wonder there wasn’t a puddle beneath you, considering how those words made you gush. “I need it,” You pleaded with fluttering eyelids and bated breath, “Please touch me.” 

You whimpered and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers dive into the pool between your thighs. Every nerve lit up like a switchboard as he slipped through your soft folds. He scoffed at how wet you were – so soaked that it was audible in each millimeter of his movement. 

Simultaneous to his middle finger penetrating you, your head rolled back until it rested against the wall. Your mouth fell open, but you were too entranced to do much more than breathe as you acclimated to his presence inside you. He started slowly, curling his finger upwards as he pushed further inwards. Even at this pace, the otherwise dead air was filled with the sound of your sodden cunt. 

“You’re dripping already?" He let the tip of his finger rest against the spongy spot behind your pubic bone; the pressure was incredible, but he stayed torturously still. “And yet you’re so - tight.” Achingly slow, the pad of his finger spiraled against your g-spot. “I’ll have to stretch you out before I can bury my cock in you.” 

As his ring finger plunged inside of you, you cried out, head slumping forward against his shoulder. Sensing that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up for much longer, Yoongi grabbed the back of your right thigh with his left hand and pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. With this new angle, his fingers ventured even deeper until they bottomed out at the knuckle. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to the new sensation.  

As he fucked his fingers into you at a feverish pace, he continued his mind-numbing assault on your g-spot. Over and over, he toyed with you; thrusting, stretching, scissoring, and teasing as your arousal trickled into the palm of his hand. There was an intoxicating – unbearable – warmth burning in the pit of your abdomen. A sensation so all-consuming that your eyes rolled back in your head. 

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and begging for more as your helpless heart raced. “Oh my god,” You wailed, “Holy shit – Please, I’m - Yoongi!” 

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Never in your life had you fallen apart like that – shaking and speaking in tongues. Having sensed the swell of pressure, Yoongi knew exactly where this road headed; and he could tell that you were fighting it. “Don't hold back from me,” He growled.

And then the dam broke.  

A wicked grin danced across his face as the wave of pleasure crashed onto the floor below you. “Fuck. Look at this.” He pointed downward and your bleary gaze followed. Remnants of your orgasm had splashed onto his joggers as well as the hardwood. “Nobody could ever make you come like I can. Say it.” 

The words bubbled out of your chest, half-way between a sob and a moan. “Nobody can make me come like you.”

You were a shivering, spilling mess; and your ears were still ringing from how intensely your every muscle had clenched. Before your knee could buckle, you were abruptly swept up into his arms. With one arm wrapped tightly around your back, his free hand slid over the surface of his desk, sending various papers and cords rocketing towards the floor.

Once the space was cleared, he set you down and laid you out onto the cool surface. You were exhausted and thankful to be horizontal; though you knew he wasn’t yet finished with you. 

After all, he intended on ruining you. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you gazed up at him. The hair he’d so neatly tied into a bun at the top of his head had mutinied; inky tendrils were now splayed out haphazardly in different directions. You were fuck-drunk, but you swore the overhead light behind him encircled his head like a halo. It was all so unholy - the way he stood before the altar of your exposed core, with his face angelic and his throbbing cock in hand.

The hand not pumping his cock slid over your bent knee. It took tremendous effort, but you lifted your arm to place your hand on top of his. One tiny squeeze – a brief, loving check-in – received an echo. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the fleeting moment of tenderness was gone. With each of your legs now trapped in his hold, he pulled you towards the very edge of the table. 

Once he was satisfied with your closeness, his focus switched to his access. He simply wasn’t content to leave your legs bent up at either side of him; so, he rested the backs of your legs against his shoulders and leaned forward until you’d nearly folded in half. 

He didn’t need to use his hand to center himself prior to entering you. His body understood the proportions of yours automatically; like you were puzzle pieces created to fit perfectly together. Though his intention may have been to penetrate you slowly, centimeter by centimeter, your slick was overwhelming. The usual ache you felt upon acclimating to his size was drastically reduced; and he bottomed out quickly, cursing. 

The fullness you felt was euphoric, and it left you mewling hopelessly under the weight of his body. He was buried deep, throbbing as your walls constricted around his width. It shocked your system when he slid out almost completely only to drive himself back into you. 

“Like a fucking vice grip,” Yoongi hissed as he picked up his already brutal pace. Every curve, every vein dragged maddeningly along your walls as he fucked you. “Do you hear how wet you are? Shit – your pussy is begging for me.” 

The only thing louder than the squelch of your cunt was skin hitting skin; close behind was the way your name spilled from his lips in a flurry of expletives. You, on the other hand, were nearly incoherent. With every thrust, he knocked another thought loose until eventually, you had nothing left.  Relentlessly, his cock grinded against your g-spot, leaving you too mesmerized to recall your own name. 

There was a sheen of sweat above his knitted brows; and his bottom lip was now trapped between his gritted teeth. He was close and you knew it. The depth of his thrusts didn’t falter, but his steady pace was getting harder for him to maintain. You felt the rubber band inside you beginning to fray - on the brink of snapping and shooting you into orbit like a sling-shot. 

“Baby,” The soft, shaky voice caught his attention. He opened his eyes and focused hard on you – your flushed cheeks, and trembling lips. As he surveyed you, his resolve began to evaporate; his expression softened immediately. There he was: your Yoongi. “You’re gonna make me come again.” 

As your walls clenched tight around him, the edges of your vision began to blur. You watched his face as he came shortly after you, studying how delicately his eyelashes fluttered as the warmth of his release filled you. In that moment, it was the two of you, toppling in slow-motion off the edge of the universe. Irrevocably in love - heaving chests, shuddered moans, names whispered in the place of prayers. 

He shifted his arms to allow your quivering legs to fall from his shoulders. When the hands on either side of your head could no longer hold up his weight, he collapsed onto you. With his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, you could feel his breathing begin to slow as his cock softened inside you. 

You were nearly delirious when you felt his lips buzz against your skin. You were too far gone to understand what he was too exhausted to communicate. “Hmm?” You hummed, wordlessly asking him to repeat himself.

He groaned with the effort of pulling himself away from your embrace. He only traveled far enough to glance over at you. “I said, I think several of my past lives just flashed before my eyes,” He stated matter-of-factly. Within seconds, his eyes crinkled up at the corners and his grin grew. That soft chuckle wasn’t far behind. 

“I don’t know where I am.” You admitted with a sheepish laugh. After a moment, you amended that thought, “I don’t know who I am.” 

Yoongi placed a gentle kiss below your ear – the only part of you he could reach without sitting up fully. “I have no idea. How did you get in my house?” As you rolled your eyes, he bumped the tip of his nose against your jaw, too tired to tease you much more than that. “But now that we’re both completely spent, I’d like to go back to being soft with you – for now.” 

He tried to wink at you, but both of his lead-lined lids closed in unison.  You hummed thoughtfully as you ran lazy fingers through his hair, like the decision required serious deliberation. You paused, then giggled.  “Permission granted, my love. You may proceed.”

He was quiet for several moments before he stood bolt upright. Startled, you propped yourself up on your elbow and looked to him. He turned towards the booth and then back to you.

His eyes were wide as a blush swept over his cheeks. "Aegiya, did you forget to stop the recording?"

Sequel (posted 12/11/22).

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | Chapter Three

✑ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love

word count: 8.1k+

warnings: This chapter in particular is written from oc's perspective, oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, mentions of unhealthy parental relationships (attempts for arranged marriage), Oc being a total boss at work bc she is amazing at her job, and ofc more cute & meaningful Yoon and OC interactions (I love them 🥹)

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: GUYS, I'm getting better at updating! It only took me a little over a month to get this chapter out vs two months last time. I'm going to keep trying to improve, but TYSM for your patience! I'm really proud of how this series is going so far, and this chapter omg...i just hope you enjoy hehehe. Anyway, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and sorta beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist | next chapter >>

The past week and a half has been a whirlwind. Meetings, studio sessions, and preparations for “Suchwita” have consumed your days and nights. The tight deadlines and intense work pace have kept you on your toes, but there’s a growing excitement within you for the new venture. Today marks the first day of recording "Suchwita," and you find yourself buzzing with anticipation. Determined to ensure everything goes smoothly, you decide to arrive at the studio early to oversee the final preparations.

As you step into the makeshift studio space, you're greeted by a flurry of activity. Camera operators are setting up angles, lighting technicians are adjusting the brightness, and set designers are putting the final touches on the sleek, intimate set that will serve as the backdrop for the show.

The set has a warm, inviting aura with dark wood paneling, a cozy seating area, and a small bar stocked with various bottles of whiskey and soju.

You're impressed by how quickly everything has come together.

“Yoongi-ssi, good morning,” you call out as you approach Yoongi, who is already surveying the room. You notice him glance at you from the corner of his eye as you walk towards him. You have to admit, he looks great. The crew has styled him in denim blue jeans and a navy blue sweater, a casual yet polished outfit that complements the professional yet relaxed atmosphere of the set. It’s clear he arrived before you.

“Good morning __-ssi,” Yoongi replies, giving you a small smile. “Everything ready?”

“We’re almost there. Just a few final touches, and we should be good to go.”

“Great,” he nods, briefly scanning around the set. “The place looks better than I imagined.”

“I’m glad you think so,” you say with a satisfied expression. “We wanted it to reflect your personality and create an atmosphere where you and your guests can have open, honest conversations. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Pretty excited, actually,” he says, folding his arms in a composed manner. “A little nervous, but mostly excited. How are you and the rest of the team holding up with all the new developments?”

“We’re managing,” you say with a chuckle. “It’s been a lot of late nights and early mornings, but everyone’s excited about ‘Suchwita.’ It’s something different and refreshing. I think we’re all equally eager to see it succeed.”

Yoongi nods thoughtfully, taking a moment to soak in the details of the set. “It’s all coming together pretty fast. Do we know for sure who we’ll have on for the next few recordings?”

“We do,” you reply, “We’ve lined up a few other artists for the following episodes, including some from different genres. Your fellow members will also join as soon as their schedules permit. I think it’s going to be a good mix. Also, if there’s anyone in particular you’d like to have as a guest, just let me know. I’m sure we can coordinate it.”

“I’ll consider that,” Yoongi says, genuinely pleased. “I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put into this by the way. I know the timeline has been tight.”

“Well, it’s been a team effort,” you say, smiling warmly. “But thank you. It’s been fun, even if a bit hectic now and then. I have to say, it’s been nice working closely with you, Yoongi-ssi. You’re very dedicated to your craft and I think more often than not, we tend to see eye to eye.”

Yoongi seems to blush slightly at your compliment but maintains his composure. “Good to know you like me after fifteen days,” he says, a playful glint in his eyes. “I was starting to think this partnership might be a bit one-sided, especially after our chat during that smoke break a while ago.”

His lighthearted remark brings you back to that brief smoke break behind the building. It was a simple, candid moment, but it left a lasting impression, making you feel like you and Yoongi were finally starting to become good colleagues. The easy rapport that’s developed between you two since then is a welcome change from the often formal interactions with other team members.

“Well, if I recall correctly,” you counter, “You said you only like me ‘enough.’ That’s not quite the same as actually liking someone and wanting to work with them.”

Amused, Yoongi’s smirk grows. “It was implied, wasn’t it? You know I wouldn’t work with you if I didn’t actually like you.”

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow, your tone teasing.

“I have no reason to lie to you, __-ssi.” Yoongi insists, his voice light but his gaze steady. There’s a moment of playful tension in the air, both of you smiling as you challenge each other with your eyes.

“Interesting,” you reply, tilting your head slightly. Though mutually taunting each other, there’s something about Yoongi’s words and tone that still feels reassuring, grounding even.

Before either of you can exchange another word, you hear footsteps nearing behind you. Turning, you see Kim Namjoon entering the studio with a warm smile on his face. He’s dressed casually yet stylishly, exuding the effortless charisma that has made him a beloved figure among fans.

“Morning,” Namjoon greets, his voice carrying a familiar depth. He adjusts the bottom of his shirt, giving the studio a once-over. “I hope I’m not late or anything.”

Approaching Namjoon, you greet him with an inviting smile and extend your hand for a handshake. His response is equally friendly, and there’s a sense of gentle confidence coming from him, as any good leader should have.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, __-nim,” Namjoon responds, shaking your hand warmly. “I’ve heard a lot about you from Yoongi-hyung.”

Somewhat taken aback by the bit of information, you share a glance with Yoongi, who briefly meets your eyes before averting his gaze back to Namjoon. A faint rosy tint colors his cheeks once again.

“This place looks fantastic. You’ve really outdone yourselves,” Namjoon continues.

“Thank you,” you say, feeling a surge of pride. “We wanted to create a space where our guests feel comfortable and can have open, honest conversations. I think we’ve achieved that.”

Namjoon nods in agreement, taking in the surroundings with a thoughtful expression. “It definitely feels welcoming. I’m looking forward to seeing it all come together in the end.”

“Congratulations on your new album by the way,” you add. “I’m sure Indigo is going to be a success, especially amongst your fans who have been waiting for another solo from you for quite some time.”

“Thanks, it’s been a journey and I’m glad to have such a loyal fanbase who continue to support me for the last nine-plus years. It always lifts my spirits.”

“Absolutely, and you deserve it too,” you reply. “I’ve been a huge supporter of The Last Shadow Puppets for over ten years myself, and I think I’ve officially become their gatekeeper.” As you allow yourself a light chuckle, the two in front of you smile in return. Yoongi looks like he wants to press further but chooses to remain silent.

“Well anyway,” you shift topics due to the minor lull, “we should get started.”

Namjoon nods approvingly. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“We’ve got a brief rundown for you,” you say, motioning towards a table with a few scripts and notes. “We’ll start with a casual chat to set the tone, then delve into some of your recent projects and thoughts on the music industry. We want it to be as natural and spontaneous as possible, so don’t worry about sticking too closely to the script. Also, we know ‘Indigo’ won’t be officially released for two more days, but ‘Suchwita’ is premiering on the 5th. That said, we are filming ahead of time so Yoongi might guide the conversation as if your album’s already been released.”

“Sounds good,” Namjoon says, his relaxed demeanor showing his readiness to go with the flow. “Anything specific you want me to prepare for?”

“No, just be yourself,” you reply with a reassuring smile. “That’s what this show is all about. Authentic conversations, nothing forced. Yoongi-ssi will take the seat on the right of the camera and Namjoon-nim, you’ll be on the left.”

“Got it,” Namjoon says, giving you a thumbs up. He then turns to Yoongi. “Hyung, ready to show off your hosting skills?”

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “We’ll see how it goes. It’s my first time doing something like this, so I’m just hoping not to embarrass myself.”

“You’ll do great,” Namjoon says confidently, giving Yoongi a supportive pat on the back. “Just be your usual, charming self.”

As the crew finishes their preparations and the cameras start rolling, you stand off to the side, monitoring the setup and ensuring everything runs smoothly. The room falls silent as the red recording light flickers on.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair.

“Welcome, everyone, to the first episode of ‘Suchwita…time to drink with Suga.’ I’m your host, Min Yoongi, and today we have a very special guest. Someone who’s not just a fellow artist but a good friend and our BTS band leader, Kim Namjoon.”

“Happy to be here,” Namjoon says with a grin. “And thanks for the drink.” He picks up his glass of whiskey and raises it in a mock toast.

Yoongi chuckles and lifts his own glass. “Cheers, Namjoon-ah. Let’s dive in. I wanted to start by talking about your new album, Indigo. It’s been out for a few days now, and it’s already making waves. How are you feeling about the responses?”

Namjoon takes a sip before answering, his demeanor relaxed. “It’s been amazing. The fans have been so supportive, and it’s really encouraging to see people connecting with the themes and messages in the album. I wanted it to be something that reflects where I am in my life right now, both musically and personally.”

“That’s something I’ve always admired about your work,” Yoongi says, his tone genuine. “You’re not afraid to be vulnerable and share your thoughts and experiences. I think that’s why so many people resonate with your music.”

“It’s something we all strive for, isn’t it?” Namjoon replies, looking thoughtful. “To create art that’s true to ourselves and that speaks to others. I think it’s all about finding that balance between vulnerability and strength that can make music so relatable. Speaking of which, I’m excited to hear more about your upcoming album, D-Day. What can fans expect?”

Yoongi takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “D-Day is a very personal project for me. It’s a reflection of my journey and everything I’ve been through, especially over the past couple of years. There’s a lot of introspection and a lot of different sounds I’ve experimented with. I wanted it to be an honest portrayal of where I am right now.”

“That sounds incredible,” Namjoon says, leaning forward. “I know the fans are going to love it. You’ve always had a way of capturing emotions in your music that’s really powerful.”

As the conversation continues, you observe Namjoon closely, impressed by his ability to articulate his thoughts with clarity and depth. Yoongi’s previous nervousness has also subsided from the way he easily navigates the conversation, speaking with a similar passion and conviction as Namjoon.

The pair have a natural rapport that is captivating to watch, and their insights into the creative process are both fascinating and inspiring.

After about an hour, when the first taping wraps up, the crew applauds as Yoongi and Namjoon stand and share a brief hug.

“Well we did it,” Yoongi says, looking relieved. “Thanks for being my first guest.”

“Anytime,” Namjoon replies, grinning. “You did great, Yoongi I think this show is going to be a hit.”

“Great job, both of you.” You approach the two with a smile, earning their attention. “Fans are going to love seeing you two together once this releases. It’ll set the tone for the rest of the episodes. Thanks again, Namjoon, for being here. Your support means a lot.”

“It was my pleasure,” Namjoon replies, returning your smile. “I can’t wait to see how the show turns out.”

Just as you’re about to head off to the production room, Namjoon briefly checks his phone and then looks at Yoongi. “Hey, how do you feel about grabbing some lunch at the cafeteria? It’s been a while since we had a proper meal together.”

Yoongi’s face lifts at the suggestion. “I’m up for it. I’m starving.”

Namjoon then shifts his gaze at you. “What about you __-nim?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling an obvious pang of hunger. You hadn’t eaten much this morning other than a few strawberries. However, you don’t want to intrude on their time together.

As you debate whether to decline the invitation and catch up on Taehyung’s whereabouts or attend to your next work projects, Yoongi speaks up. “The more the merrier,” he says.

“Yeah, if you don’t have anything pressing we’d love to have you join us,” Namjoon adds, the same warm smile on his face.

Your eyes shift between the two men standing in front of you, sincerity evident in their expressions.

“Okay, sure, I could go for something to eat,” you reply, nodding.

With a collective agreement, the three of you make your way to the cafeteria. Once there, Yoongi opts for a heaping plate of bulgogi, his eyes gleaming at the sight of the colorful vegetables and perfectly marinated beef. Namjoon selects a fresh, savory bowl of stir-fried noodles himself, while you choose a hearty bowl of ramen, steam rising from the rich broth.

Despite the bustling lunch hour, you manage to find a table near the large windows. The sunlight streaming through gives you a much-needed boost of energy.

“Here’s to a successful first episode,” Namjoon says, raising his glass of water in a toast.

“Cheers,” you and Yoongi respond in unison, clinking glasses.

As you start to dig into your meals, Namjoon turns to Yoongi. “So, what’s the lineup gonna look like for the next few episodes?”

Yoongi takes a sip of his drink before answering. “We’re planning on bringing in more artists from other groups, a couple of comedians, and maybe some actors. We want to keep it diverse and not just stick to musicians. But I’d also like to get the rest of our members on the show too at some point.”

“That’s smart,” Namjoon agrees, taking a bite of his noodles. “It’ll keep the conversations dynamic and appeal to a broader audience.”

“You know,” you chime in, “I think one of the strengths of ‘Suchwita’ is going to be its versatility. Yoongi, your ability to connect with people from different backgrounds will be a huge asset.”

Yoongi smiles appreciatively. “Thanks. I just hope I can keep up the energy and bring out the best in each guest.”

“You will,” Namjoon says confidently. “Just be yourself. That’s what people are tuning in for—the real Yoongi, having real conversations. Fans like seeing how well you can hold your whiskey too. It’s all part of the charm.”

Yoongi chuckles at the sheer truth of it all. “It’s nice to be able to do something like this, to be honest. Not just for the fans, but also for our colleagues who we can spotlight and bring further appreciation to.”

“I know what you mean, man.” Namjoon swallows another mouthful of noodles and then directs his attention to you. “I don’t imagine you’ll be a guest on the show will you?”

“Definitely not,” you reply, shaking your head. “I’ll be in the background, like a puppet master.”

“Ah, gotta make sure hyung says the right stuff huh? Trust me, I’d be the first to understand that,” Namjoon chuckles before continuing.“I feel like you’d be a natural on the show though. I, for one, would make sure to watch.” There’s a suggestive undertone in his words but you’re quick to waive it off. It’s probably just your imagination anyway.

“I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to enjoy some old-fashioned whiskey at work,” you reply. “It’s been a long-time favorite of mine.”

“Oh, you like it too?” Namjoon’s eyes widen unexpectedly. “No wonder you and Yoongi work well together.”

Intrigued, Yoongi looks at you, and it’s now that you realize he’s chosen to take the seat next to you instead of Namjoon. If you leaned any further towards him, you’re certain you’d catch the scent of smoked wood and citrus. “I always keep a bottle in my producing room these days,” he admits, and like Namjoon there’s a slight implication behind his words.

Before entertaining any further thoughts about it, however, you playfully snort in reply. “Is that what you’re doing up there at 10 pm? Having your whiskey? Here I’ve been thinking you were busy mixing your tracks.”

Yoongi shrugs, meeting your teasing tone. “I can do both. I’m good at multitasking.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you land a gentle, but firm swat on his arm. The unsuspecting action would have taken you all aback if you weren’t already amused by the conversation. “Yoongi-ssi,” you feign a scold, “no one’s actually good at multitasking.”

“So what are you saying? I’m half-assing it?” He’s grinning ear to ear now, his gummy smile undeniably cute. For a split second, it causes a blooming sensation in the pit of your stomach. But no, stop—you fold your arms, determined to maintain composure.

“I’m just saying that I’ll believe it when I see it.”

As if in a challenge, Yoongi narrows his eyes at you while Namjoon continues watching the scene unfold from across the table, eyes darting between the two of you. “You’ll have to come up to my producing room sometime,” Yoongi says. “It’s the only way I can prove it to you.”

“Mhm, right.” You share a knowing look with Yoongi, his dark eyes dancing with what can only be described as mischief. Being that his music equipment is on the 17th floor, which is reserved for Hybe artists only, you haven’t even considered venturing to the upper halls.

“You really should see his producing room __-nim,” Namjoon chimes after being a spectator for longer than he’d like. “He’s got an insane setup up there.”

“We’ll see,” you reply simply, “Maybe.”

From the remainder of your meal, the conversation shifts to lighter topics as Yoongi recounts a funny story about trying to write lyrics late at night and accidentally sending them to his accountant instead of Taehuyng. Namjoon bursts out laughing, nearly spilling his water, while you shake your head in amused disbelief.

“Did they give you any financial advice on your lyrics?” you prob.

“Surprisingly, no.” Yoongi replies with a chuckle. “But I got a very confusing email the next morning.”

“We should do this more often,” Namjoon interjects once he finishes his noodles, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “It’s good to catch up, and it’s great getting to know you too, __-nim. I’m glad you could join us.”

“Well, thanks for inviting me,” you say with a smile of gratitude. “It’s been nice.”

After lunch concludes, you part ways with Yoongi and Namjoon. They head off to a meeting with the rest of the members, while you return to your office to tackle a pile of reports. If you hadn’t been so focused on making your way back, you might have noticed Yoongi sneaking a final glance at you over his shoulder.

Later that evening, after a long day of preparations and discussions with your team, you finally head home. The events of the day still linger in your mind, but a sense of accomplishment accompanies your fatigue as the first episode of 'Suchwita' is already being edited for release.

How is it that tomorrow is already the first day of December? Time flies.

As you unlock the door to your apartment and step inside, your phone buzzes with a notification. It’s a message from your parents, asking for the second time if you’ll be coming home for the holidays. You recall your mother’s earlier message mentioning someone she wanted to introduce you to—a potential husband. You had seen through her request instantly but had delayed your reply.

A pang of guilt now tugs at your heart as you finally type out your response, carefully explaining that you have a new project to film and won’t have many days off. You promise to try and visit around New Year’s instead, hoping you’ll be better mentally prepared then.

Setting your phone down, you realize you haven’t heard from Taehyung today. Usually, he checks in or shares a quick update about his schedule. You wonder if everything is alright with him but decide not to overthink it, making a mental note to reach out to him tomorrow.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, you settle down on the couch with a cup of tea. The quietness of your apartment is a stark contrast to the lively energy of the production set.

As you sip your tea, you start to relax, but then your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s a message from Taehyung. You quickly open it, relieved to see his name.

Tae 💚: Hey, sorry I didn’t check earlier. It’s been a crazy day. How did the first taping go with Yoongi and Namjoon?

Smiling, you type out a reply.

You: It went really well. We should have everything edited and ready for upload by Monday. How about you? Everything okay?

Tae 💚: Good to hear! Yeah, everything’s okay on my end. Just a full day with shoots and meetings with Bang PD. I’m sorry we didn’t get to have our usual lunch together 🙁

You: Me too. Maybe tomorrow?

Tae 💚: I should be able to. Let me know when you decide to head down. By the way…look [attached an image]

The second you see the image of farm-fresh strawberries in a vibrant green container, you nearly leap from your seat. You and Taehyung love fruit, especially the ones from the local farmers market where they have the best variety. You like to go every other weekend, at the same time, if you could. The only unfortunate part is that to keep down rumors, Taehyung and you often shopped separately as if strangers, then reconvened in a private location to show each other your purchases. Often, he’d come to your place for a meal afterward.

It wasn’t an ideal system since you’d like to be out with Taehyung more freely, but despite the crowds, the public was always quick to recognize him. This coming Saturday is the next time you both planned to go, but the image looks like he’s already been there.

You: What?! 😭 You went to the farmers market without me??

Tae 💚: Oh, no! I wouldn't dream of it! This is the last container I have at my house, so we need to go soon. Saturday can’t come soon enough!

You: Okay good, because I like going together haha. I need more mangos and oranges! I ate my last orange today and got sad about it.

Tae 💚: 🤣 You sound like Yoongi-hyung. He loves oranges too. The two of you have more similarities in food and drinks than I thought. Has he offered you a drink of his whiskey yet?

The question surprises you. Had Yoongi told him what happened between the two of you at lunch?

You: How did you know that?

Tae 💚: Wait, really? I was just asking because he likes to offer it to me whenever I visit him in his studio. He really asked you to have a drink with him? __?

You: Yes. After we filmed, we all decided to grab lunch. Long story short, Yoongi said he had whiskey in his producing room and said I should come up sometime. I haven’t even been to the 17th floor yet.

Tae 💚: You should take him up on the offer! Go see what he’s got going on up there __. His studio is pretty immaculate.

You: Hmm, I don't know. It was a pretty informal invite, to be honest, and I’m not technically allowed up there.

Tae 💚: Don’t think so much about it. It’s clear that you and Yoongi are work partners now, so no one will think twice about you being on the floor. Also, you can always come up and visit me. I’m down the hall from Yoongi’s room.

You: We’ll see.

Tae 💚: What? You don’t want to come up and see me? I always visit you. 😭

You: Fine, fine. I’ll come up to see you one of these days, but only you. I have no business knocking on Yoongi’s door while he’s busy with his album tracks.

Tired, you shut off your phone. Your thoughts drift back to the moments shared with Yoongi and Namjoon during lunch. It was nice getting to know Namjoon for the first time, as you’ve been curious about him since he’s been the leader of BTS for the past nine years. There’s a similarity you both share; leadership experience.

You feel like you got closer to Yoongi as well, with the way you both easily responded to each other’s quips. But where did that playful swat come from? That’s the kind of behavior you reserve for friends only. Was Yoongi starting to become more than a colleague?

The idea sends an unexpected rush through your veins.

With the first of December being tomorrow, it’s coming up on three weeks of working side by side with Yoongi. You meant it when you said working with him has been enjoyable, as you’ve found that his meticulous nature complements your own. His dry humor is one you’ve particularly come to appreciate too.

Yes, finding common ground on some decisions can be tricky. There have been moments where you’ve both stood firm on your perspectives, each believing in the merit of your ideas. However, even amid disagreement, there is always mutual respect extended toward each other. Yoongi listens intently, considering your points before responding, and you do the same for him.

Given the nature of it all, you have a feeling you’ll become better acquainted not only with Yoongi but also with the rest of his members. After all, you’re already best friends with Taehyung, who’s quite the networker. He’s been your anchor in this new environment since day one, to be honest, always ready with a smile or a word of encouragement.

Taking another sip of your tea, you lean your head back against the couch, staring up at the blank ceiling, lost in thought.

You should truly learn to savor the quiet moments because, for the remainder of the week, you don’t get a second to spare. Lunch with Taehyung was abruptly cut short by an unforeseen team emergency, and Yoongi’s packed schedule left little room for more than fleeting glimpses. By the time Saturday morning rolls around, you consider yourself fortunate to have the weekend mostly free of work demands.

The crisp chill of early December invigorates you as you wake up refreshed, eager for the farmers market trip you’ve been looking forward to all week. After a quick breakfast, you bundle up in a cozy scarf and jacket and head to the familiar meeting spot where you and Taehyung always begin your market visits.

When you arrive, Taehyung is already there, a familiar baseball cap perched on his head to help keep a low profile. He looks up and waves when he sees you, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Hey! You made it," Taehyung says as you approach.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss this," you reply, grinning back. "I need my mango and orange fix."

"Well, you're in luck. They have some really good ones today," he says, carefully pointing towards the nearby stalls that overflow with colorful fruits. The market appears to be alive with vibrant colors and enticing scents, and as the crowds grow, vendors enthusiastically call out their specials, adding to the lively atmosphere.

“See you on the other side?” you ask.

He nods, and you both venture into the market, maintaining an appropriate distance but always within sight. You exchange occasional glances and smiles while picking out the ripest mangos, juiciest oranges, and a few baskets of the strawberries he teased you about earlier in the week.

As you weave through the stalls, you soon get lost in the joy of discovering fresh, local products, comforted by the knowledge that Taehyung's just a few stalls away.

After about an hour, you reconvene at a quiet corner of the market, both carrying bags filled with fruits and other goodies.

"Successful haul?" Taehyung asks, eyeing your bags.

"Definitely," you reply, holding up a mango triumphantly. "How about you?"

"Got everything I wanted," he says, showing off his own bags filled with strawberries, grapes, and a few other items. "These will be perfect for a smoothie, or a fruit salad."

"How about we head back to my place and one of those? If you have time."

“Yes, I definitely have time,” he agrees, a genuine excitement in his voice.

Just as you start walking towards your apartment, a sudden movement catches your eye—a rogue orange rolling towards your feet.

Puzzled, you pick it up and look around, thinking it must have come from a nearby vendor or another shopper.

"Looks like you've found your orange," Taehyung remarks with a chuckle.

Just then, you spot a familiar figure sprinting towards you, with another following closely behind.

"Namjoon, seriously? I asked you to hold the bag for not even five seconds!" Yoongi calls out, his tone a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You're going to start a fruit-rolling revolution."

“Hey, it got away from me, man!” Namjoon defends his clumsiness, laughing. “Sorry about that," he adds sheepishly, not yet realizing who he's approaching.

“__-nim!” He abruptly stops in his tracks when he recognizes you and Taehyung in front of him. You offer the orange to him instinctively, feeling a bit startled.

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, taking the orange from your hand. He looks you straight in the eye, then at Taehyung before slowly breaking into a full smile. “I thought I saw the two of you back there, but Yoongi didn't believe me. When did you guys get here? Yoongi and I arrived about twenty minutes ago."

"About an hour ago," Taehyung replies casually.

"Man, you should have let us know. We could have come as a group!”

The remark catches you off guard, as this is the first time the four of you have been in such close proximity, let alone on a group outing.

Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly in response. “I had plans with __.”

Namjoon chuckles, glancing between all of you. “Well hey, I understand. I’m just saying, I’d be fun to hang out outside of work sometime.”

“But, this is our thing,” Taehyung counters, a bit possessively, in a platonic sense, of course.

Beside Namjoon, Yoongi stands with a single bag of oranges in his hand and nothing else. His eyes widen slightly at Taehyung's words, glancing at the bag of oranges nestled among the other fruits you're holding.

"You have a thing?" Yoongi asks, his tone a mix of genuine surprise and a hint of amusement.

"Yeah, we come here often," Taehyung answers, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're both fruit fanatics!"

"Right," Yoongi nods slowly, seeming to process this new information. "Well, it makes sense then. This is the best place to get the freshest fruit.”

“Is that a pineapple, Tae?” Namjoon’s eyes instantly light up when they spot the spiky fruit peeking out of one of Taehyung’s grocery bags.

A grin spreads across Taehyung’s face, like oil on water. “Yeah, it is. I found it at a little hidden stall. It’s easier to show you than to explain. I can take you over if you’d like.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon agrees eagerly, then glances over at you and Yoongi. “You guys coming too?” You both exchange a quick look before shaking your head.

"We'll stay here," you say. "The crowd's a bit much."

"Alright, we’ll be back in a few minutes,” Taehyung nods. He and Namjoon begin weaving their way back into the bustling market, leaving you and Yoongi in the quiet corner.

Yoongi leans against a nearby wall and lets out a contented sigh. “This is nice. It’s been a hell of a week.”

You nod, taking a moment to appreciate the calmness as well. “It has. But look,” you gesture casually to each other’s bags, “at least we scored some amazing fruit from it.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “So we did. I’m tempted to have one of my oranges now, but I think I'll save them for later. How’s the rest of the weekend looking for you by the way?”

Just some editing work for 'Suchwita' and maybe a bit of relaxation. What about you?"

“I might grab a few drinks with Namjoon, but I plan on spending most of my time in the studio. I’ve been fine-tuning my album tracks and recently discovered a new artist who’s been a huge source of inspiration.”

“Really?” You’re beyond intrigued, always open to hearing about new music. “Who are they?”

Yoongi gives you a knowing look. “I think you’re already pretty familiar with them.” A sparkle beams in his eyes as he waits for you to connect the dots. It takes you a few seconds before your entire face lights up with a big smile.

“No way,” you exclaim, “The Last Shadow Puppets?!”

He nods, returning your smile. Yoongi’s admission about The Last Shadow Puppets sends a warm thrill through you.

“I’m glad you gave them a listen,” you say with a pleased grin. “I consider Alex Turner to be one of the best, if not the best, lyricists of all time.”

“Well, I might just have to agree with you there. The depth of his lyrics are pretty damn genius. After you mentioned the band the other day, I got curious and decided to dive into their discography. I’ve listened to everything they’ve put out now, all in one sitting.” He pauses, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

It’s as if he’s proud to share this with you.

“I didn’t realize you had such an impressive ear for music, __-ssi,” he adds, teasing lightly.

“Excuse you? I’ve been known to have impeccable taste, for your information,” you fire back, feigning offense. "I might even have better taste than you."

Yoongi raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Is that so?”

You nod confidently. "Absolutely. I've got a knack for finding hidden gems."

“Alright then, impress me. Recommend me something else. What's the next masterpiece on your list?”

You lean in closer, a mischievous glint in your eye. “Oh, I could do that," you begin, "but then you'd owe me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi's eyes widen slightly, a similar competitiveness reflecting in his gaze. "Bold words. Are you sure you can back them up?"

“There’s no doubt I can, Yoongi-ssi. Have you ever listened to 'Candy' by Paolo Nutini? If you haven't, you're seriously missing out."

"Candy? I don't think I know that one."

"You're in for a treat then,” you reply. "'Candy' is one of those songs that hook you from the first listen. Give it a try, and if you don't fall in love with it, I'll cook you kimchi jigae for lunch on Monday. But if you do love it, you're buying me cigarettes for a week."

Yoongi chuckles, unable to resist the challenge. "Alright, deal. I can't say no, especially with Taehyung showing off the food you make for him nearly every chance he gets. You’re quite the cook, it seems.”

With a satisfied grin, you pull out your phone. "I'll send you the link to the song so it'll be easier for you to find when you get a chance to listen."

Yoongi nods, already unlocking his phone. “Challenge accepted. But if I end up not loving it, I'm holding you to that bowl of kimchi jigae.”

“Sure thing,” you reply, unfazed. “But I’m already looking forward to those cigarettes, Yoongi-ssi. Make sure you get the good ones, okay?”

Yoongi chuckles in reply, shaking his head in amusement.

“I promise. Only the best ones for you, __-ssi.”

Monday arrives sooner than expected with the highly anticipated release of the first episode of 'Suchwita'. You're certain that the new production will be well received by the audience, but you know better than to prematurely declare its success. Even after approving the final edits over the weekend, you remind yourself to remain mindful of unexpected challenges lurking around the corner—roadblocks and last-minute changes that continually test your team's resolve.

Throughout the day, as the clock ticks towards evening, you monitor the episode's reception with bated breath. The first reviews trickle in within minutes, and initial viewer reactions are positive, gradually easing some of your tension.

By just past 7 pm, 'Suchwita' earns over three million views, its popularity evident as it spreads rapidly across the globe.

Amidst this whirlwind of emotions and the constant rush of notifications, a familiar buzz from your phone interrupts your thoughts.

Yoongi: Looks like I owe you some cigarettes

You smile, immediately recalling the recent wager the two of you made about Paolo Nutini's "Candy”. Truth be told, Yoongi’s reaction to the song has kept you on edge for days.

You: So, do you believe I have a good ear for music now? 🙃 I’m pleased you enjoyed the song, by the way.

Yoongi: It appears I do. The cigarettes are in my production room. Come by if you're up for it.

You blink at the screen, taken aback. Yoongi's producing room was his sanctuary, a place so personal and significant that the thought of being in that space felt almost invasive. You recall his casual remark last Wednesday about coming up to take a look, though it was unclear if it was just banter or a genuine invitation.

You: You sure it's okay for me to come up there? I don't want to disturb your creative zone.

Sending the message, you wait, half-expecting him to retract the invitation or reassure you in some way. Instead, his reply comes almost instantly.

Yoongi: It's quiet here, and I wouldn’t mind some good company.

Your mind wrestles with curiosity and caution as you reread the text. After a moment's deliberation, you type your response.

You: Okay, I can come up for a few minutes

Once in front of the 17th floor where Yoongi’s production room is located, you pull out your phone to send him a text, notifying him of your arrival and the need to be let in. Just as you're about to send the message, however, the door suddenly swings open.

Standing before you is a man with soft eyes, gently pushing the door open. It's Park Jimin, looking visibly surprised to find you standing just inches away from the entrance. Behind him, Jungkook nearly bumps into him from the abrupt halt.

"Hey there," Jimin says, his surprise quickly transforming into a welcoming smile. "You must be __-nim, Yoongi's marketing manager, right?"

You nod, slightly unprepared for how quickly they've identified you. "Yes, that's me. Nice to meet you, Jimin, Jungkook," you reply warmly, extending your hand in greeting. Meeting them was inevitable, but you didn’t expect it to happen tonight.

Jungkook grins and nods in acknowledgment. "Nice to meet you too, __-nim. I’m guessing you’re here to see Yoongi-hyung?”

“For a little bit, yes.”

"Come on in then.” Jimin steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. “If Yoongi's expecting you, you're more than welcome. We'd take you straight to him if we weren't rushing off to a last-minute photoshoot. His room's just down the hall on the left. You can’t miss it."

“I completely understand,” you assure them gratefully. “Thank you both. It was nice meeting you.”

With a final smile, the pair exits the floor, leaving you to continue down the hallway.

It doesn't take long before you spot a slightly ajar door on the far left, casting a warm glow into the corridor—undeniably Yoongi’s production room. Without hesitation, you approach and knock gently on the dark oak, but there's no response. Trying again yields the same silence, leaving you uncertain if he can hear you. Deciding it may be better to push the door open, you do so with caution.

Inside Yoongi's production room, the atmosphere is cozy, filled with an array of musical instruments, a decent-sized couch, scattered music sheets, and a softly glowing computer screen displaying complex audio tracks. Taehyung and Namjoon were absolutely right when they said his space is immaculate because as you take in the details around you, you too conclude that it’s one of a kind.

Yoongi himself is at his desk, leaning over with an expression of intense focus. You're prepared to make a playful remark to capture his attention, but as Yoongi looks up, his bloodshot eyes stop you short. They are reddened and slightly glazed, with dark circles underneath—a stark contrast to the usual sharpness and clarity in his gaze. Even his posture seems weighed down by exhaustion, indicating just how hard he's been pushing himself, perhaps too hard.

“I see you found the place alright," he smiles weakly, though he does his best to keep his tone uplifted. "I’m glad you could come."

“Yoongi-ssi, are you okay?” You can’t stop yourself from asking, concern only tightening in your chest as you realize the extent of the strain he must be under.

Yoongi chuckles, rubbing his eyes as if to wipe away the fatigue etched into his face. “I might have overdone it this weekend,” he confesses, his voice heavy with weariness. “I’ve been working on this track nonstop, trying to get it just right. I just don’t think it’s good enough yet, and the minute I think I’ve finally made a break though, I’m back to square one.” Seeing him so drained and filled with self-doubt stirs something protective within you.

“Your work is incredible, Yoongi-ssi,” you say, your voice gentle but firm. “You pour so much of yourself into it, constantly striving for perfection, and that dedication is admirable. But sometimes, it’s important to take a step back, breathe, and allow yourself to be proud of your work. I believe in your talent as both an artist and a producer, and I'm confident that your music will be exactly what it needs to be.”

Yoongi looks at you for a moment, his tired eyes searching yours as if assessing your sincerity. Slowly, a small, appreciative smile forms on his lips. "Thanks," he murmurs, the weariness in his voice tempered by a hint of gratitude. "I think I needed to hear some of that tonight.”

Without another word, he leans back in his chair, letting out a deep sigh. His shoulders visibly relax, and for a brief moment, the weight of exhaustion seems to ease.

"Do you want to talk about what you've been working on?” you ask. “Sometimes bouncing ideas around helps."

Yoongi nods slowly, looking thoughtful. "Maybe that's exactly what I need right now," he admits, his tone more relaxed than before. He gestures to the leather couch near his desk, inviting you to sit.

As you settle into the comfortable leather couch, Yoongi begins to share his thoughts. He speaks about the challenges he's encountered with the track, detailing moments of doubt and frustration.

"I've been wrestling with this melody for weeks," he admits, leaning forward slightly. "It's like I can hear it in my head, but every time I try to put it down, it slips away."

He describes how he struggled to find the right melody, the perfect rhythm, and the lyrics that would convey exactly what he wanted to express.

"I want this track to resonate with people on a deeper level," he says earnestly, his eyes reflecting his determination. “But it's been tough trying to balance the beat with the lyrics."

As he delves deeper into his creative process, you notice a shift in his demeanor. His voice becomes more animated, his gestures more expressive as he shares anecdotes about late-night studio sessions, where ideas flowed freely, and moments of clarity when everything seemed to click into place.

"It's moments like those," he reflects with a smile, "that remind me why I love what I do."

Throughout the conversation, you offer supportive nods and occasional insights, encouraging Yoongi to explore different angles or suggesting ideas that might complement his vision. It becomes clear that bouncing ideas around, as you suggested earlier, is indeed helping him to clarify his thoughts and reignite his creative spark.

"You know," he muses after a thoughtful pause, "it's rare to find someone who gets it—understands the drive, the struggle. Most people just see the end result, not what it takes to get there."

You nod again, silently acknowledging the depth of what he shares. "I'm glad I can be here for you," you reply sincerely. "It means a lot that you trust me with this."

"Would you like a drink? Some whiskey, maybe?" Yoongi pops the question out of nowhere, catching you off guard, yet you don’t decline the offer.

"Sure, but only if you promise to get some rest after," you counter, half-joking, half-serious. He chuckles in response.

Rising from his seat, Yoongi walks to a small cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. As he pours the amber liquid, the room seems to exhale with him, the earlier tension melting away.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asks, handing you a glass of whiskey and gesturing to the space beside you on the couch.

You nod in acceptance and take a sip of your drink, feeling the warmth of the whiskey spread through you.

"Thanks for coming up here," Yoongi says, his voice noticeably more relaxed than before. ”I didn't realize how much I needed a break until tonight.”

You nod, understanding the weight of creative pressures and the relentless pursuit of perfection. "It's important to recharge," you reply gently, raising your glass. "To moments like this—where we can step back and just be."

Yoongi clinks his glass against yours, a faint smile playing on his lips. "To moments like this," he echoes, taking a sip.

As the conversation flows, the evening unfolds into a rhythm of shared stories, musings about life, and occasional quiet moments where the only sound is the soft hum of the room.

“__-ssi,” he starts, swirling the whiskey in his glass, "I should really get you up here more often. This could be a thing. Whiskey breaks in my producing room."

You laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Count me in," you reply, raising your glass once more.

"And before I forget," Yoongi chuckles, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, "I owe you for introducing me to some new, kick-ass music."

"Why, thank you," you reply with a smile. "Much appreciated. You got the good kind too. You spoil me, Yoongi-ssi."

“You’re welcome. Can I be honest for a second though?”

“Sure.”

“Part of me was actually hoping I’d dislike ‘Candy’ because I had a feeling you make a mean kimchi jigae. But the song was too good; I had to pay it respect.”

“I told you you’d fall in love with it, Yoongi-ssi” you say, perhaps a bit cheekier than intended. “Let's start a new wager: I'll make my special homemade kimchi jigae for you.”

"Really?" His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas day.

"Yes, I will," you giggle, "as long as you keep taking my music recommendations."

"Deal," he says firmly, setting down his glass. He extends his hand for you to shake, and you both laugh at his sudden goofiness. “Thanks again for tonight, __-ssi, for everything.”

“Of course,” you reply. “I told you we’re teammates now, didn’t I?”

“After tonight, I think we could be friends too.”

As you both linger in the moment, the studio's door swings open, and a voice calls out, "Hey, Yoongi, are you still here?"

Yoongi glances towards the door and then back at you with a playful smirk. "Looks like I've got more company," he says, nodding towards the doorway.

I’ll let you get back to work," you say, gesturing towards his mixing board. "Can't wait to hear more of these tracks."

"Thanks," he says warmly, appreciating your encouragement. "And about that kimchi jigae…"

"You haven't forgotten?" you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Never,” he replies with a grin, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

With a final wave, you leave Yoongi to his work, wondering if perhaps being friends wasn't so far-fetched after all. Only time would tell.

a/n: Hope you enjoyed it! Lmk what you think 🥰

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Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[sugarwithtea]

bounty (m) | myg [teaser]

bounty (noun) : a sum paid for killing or capturing a person. if there was one person who annoyed you the most, it was min yoongi. but what happens when he calls you after escaping someone hired to end him? a dance, which ends in a surprising way.

pairing ; gang leader!yoongi x thug!reader (f)

rating/genre ; m (18+)//smut, angst (minor), enemies to ???

wc ; for the teaser - 470 // for the fic - 4k+

warnings for the teaser ; guns, swearing. for the fic ; explicit smut in public, knives, mentions of death, gore, murder (main characters) and many more!

note ; tread with caution ⚠️ the teaser is mild but the fic won't be (it will be very dark!) also, happy d-day dropping everyone hehe!! thanks to @cowboylikeyoongi for helping me with smth very major!!!! please let me know if you wanna join the taglist for this!

masterlist | taglist

You stand straighter, putting your hands on your waist and chewing the end of the cigarette in your mouth. You survey the area with squinted eyes, pushing your thin jacket behind to reveal your black tee and the gun, with which your finger toys.

You had heard of this place, and how there was a big bounty on the leader of the gang who ran the place. They were dogs, fiercer than wolves, but still fucking cowards. Your boss had asked you to stay clear of the massacre, something about leaving the lowly on his own. And you obeyed, for Min Yoongi was a man who riled you up so much, that anger always lived on your nose – and the tip of your tongue.

The way you were called into the yard, you assume whoever tried to get the meaningless bounty had failed. You shake your shoulders in amusement, and take another drag from your cigarette, kicking the dust at your feet. One more minute, and if he doesn't show up you are getting the fuck out of here.

It's as if the universe heard your thought and plotted against you returning because as soon as you turn back towards the raging fire, a hand wraps itself around your neck and pulls you behind. You let out a loud snort of amusement around the cigarette as you are pulled into a hard chest, his arm around your neck and breath on top of your ear. You quickly pull your cigarette out with one of your hands and exhale, letting the smoke fog you.

As soon as you register his breath, a hard thing pokes you on the base of your throat, and you look down to see the muzzle of his gun at your throat, pressing into your skin. His arm is right above it, and you see the way his fingers wrap around the trigger guard, away from the actual trigger. You scoff at it – still a coward.

He pushes the muzzle deeper into your skin, and you feel his chest going up and down, as his hand around your neck brings you so near him, that you feel him mold against you. You arch an eyebrow and tilt your head, a laugh leaving your lips.

"Hello to you too, Yoongi.'' He hated it when you, or anyone called him Yoongi, so you did just that. He doesn't want to be related to his family, or have a semblance of their relationship with him. And there was one thing that could erase it – his name. So he changed it to Agust D.

"You came?" His voice is gruff against your ear, and you don't miss how deep it is, just like the ocean. You take a deep breath and exhale, before speaking again with a delayed snort.

"You called?"

if you wanna join the taglist for this specific fic then lmk via comments :)) (permanent taglist peeps will be tagged in the reblogs for this one hehe 😉)

feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated! so please lmk your thoughts :))

© sugarwithtea. do not repost.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Until Death (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor:@baebae-goodnight​ for this unbelievable moodboard truly, like, WHAT

Genre: Green Bone Saga!AU || Organized Crime / Forbidden Romance / Suspense + Action

Author’s Note: This one shot is set in the Green Bone Saga universe, written by Fonda Lee. You do not need to have read this series in order to read this one shot (I explain concepts/terms), but I do HIGHLY encourage you to read this series at some point because it’s absolutely amazing!! Anyways, Yoongi dropped the Haegeum MV and I was like.... did he read Jade City lol. Further disclaimer this is not a retelling of the books, nor does the Kaul family exist in this version of Kekon (although the No Peak clan does)

Pairing: Yoongi / Reader

Synopsis: Jade has always shaped the island of Kekon. Mined from the mountains, it enhances the abilities of Green Bone warriors who wear it and allows them protection from outside harm. No one understands these threats better than you do, second-in-command of the mighty No Peak clan. 

When a new danger appears, seeming to come from within, everything you once took for granted is called into question. Including the bonds you’ve made, some more dangerous than the others. None more so than Min Yoongi, head of No Peak and the only one capable of destroying your heart.    

Rating: 18+

Warnings: graphic violence, fight scenes and mature content (character dies in the story; not main character) 

NSFW Warnings: dirty talk, nipple play, fingering, spanking, oral (female), multiple orgasms, possessiveness, unprotected sex (couple is monogamous), spit, hand job

Word Count: 17,650

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

“There’s a rat in our midst,” Jungkook growls, slamming his fist to the table.

No one in the room flinches, although several glance fleetingly in the direction of the Pillar. The typically mild-mannered head of No Peak frowns, clearly disturbed by the recent attacks. Only a madman wouldn’t be.

Still, his voice remains calm while answering your second Fist. “That remains to be seen,” Yoongi says. As though the current situation could be perceived as anything but a threat.

Subtle, you flick a glance towards him, then away. In the corner of your eye, you see Yoongi’s lips curve before smoothing to nothing. Lowering his palms to rest on the table, the ends of his sleeves rise to reveal solid jade.

Leaning back, you survey the table before you. As the Horn of No Peak, it’s your job to defend the clan’s territory – by force, if necessary. Several levels of Green Bone warriors report into you, including your Fingers (the lowest of soldiers) and Fists, your direct reports.

Jungkook became Second Fist only a month prior but already, he’s created a name for himself. An impulsive, somewhat violent name for himself.

In this case though, you happen to agree with him. Not one, but two Lantern Men – commercial patrons of No Peak – have turned up dead in the past week, tortured beyond recognition. Over a week has passed since the first murder and still, there’s no suspect. Neither man was wealthy nor wore jade beyond a single piercing. Each was killed in a different part of town with no family in common. For a week, you’ve been racking your brain for motive and coming up empty.

Peeved by the thought, your fingertips dig into your leather jacket. Perceiving the shift to your aura, Yoongi starts to turn – catching himself just in time and facing forward.

An assortment of Lantern Men, Fists and Luckbringers (the money-making side of the clan) sit around a worn table. All watch the Pillar warily, as though uncertain how this meeting will end.

Tilting his head, strands of dark hair fall across Yoongi’s forehead. Studs of green line his ears, a single bolt of jade threaded through his right brow. Since the Academy, Yoongi has preferred to wear his jade as piercings – except for the clusters on fingers and wrists. He flexes these now, a visual display of power.

Jade from the island of Kekon is powerful; toxic to all but the Green Bones trained to wear it. To them, it grants unique power in each of the six disciplines: Strength, Steel, Perception, Lightness, Deflection and Channeling. Being from Kekon is no guarantee a person can wear and use jade, though. Individual tolerance varies, with most not able to withstand more than a few pieces.

No one in No Peak wears more jade than the Pillar – no one but you, that is.

This thought brings little comfort in a room such as this. Most of the sycophants seated around the table would turn on Yoongi – and No Peak – in a heartbeat. If it’d enrich their coffers, they would switch sides, honor be damned. You trust your Fists and Fingers but find it hard to extend the same grace to Namjoon’s side of the clan.

Kim Namjoon, known as the Weather Man, heads No Peak’s monetary ventures. Ranking as highly as you, he reports directly to Yoongi. Turning to face Namjoon, you make no attempt to hide your suspicion.

Although he doesn’t meet your gaze, his annoyance flares. Namjoon’s jade aura is weaker, fueled by one or two jade rings on his fingers. More would be unnecessary in his line of work. Namjoon’s lips tighten, able to Perceive your attention.

Perception is one of the more interesting skills of a Green Bone. Wearing jade creates an aura and through it, other Green Bones can sense emotion and intention. For example, you sense that Namjoon is annoyed, but you don’t know why. You can hazard a guess, based on the context.

Although you both graduated from the Academy at the same time, you barely knew Namjoon in your youth. The Kim family is legendary, having fought alongside Yoongi’s grandfather to dispel the Shotarian occupation of Kekon. You, on the other hand, moved to the city of Janloon when you were ten and joined the Academy as an outsider.

Not only were your social circles different, so were your interests. Even as children, Namjoon preferred brains over brawn, while you – well, you don’t enjoy violence, but you understood its necessity in protecting those you love. Ever since your father’s death, what you love has been No Peak.

You suppose Yoongi could’ve picked a worse person for Weather Man. Namjoon is shrewd, if occasionally withholding. He has the best interests of the clan at heart, even if you often disagree about what those interests are.

“Min-jen,” Namjoon says, the respectful title flowing from him like water. “I share your frustration with the current situation. My men are, of course, at your disposal.”

Your gaze narrows on his profile. Namjoon loves to offer help but when push comes to shove, it’s your side of the clan on the front lines.

“And what will your men do?” you inquire, drawing heads your way. “The entirety of their green couldn’t be seen in a desert.”

Someone down the table coughs, although they swiftly fall silent when Yoongi clears his throat. Disappointment radiates from him, turning his head.

“One’s worth to the clan isn’t measured in jade,” he says levelly. “You’d do well to remember that, in the future.”

Sitting back, you school your expression to nothing. Shame swirls in your stomach though because Yoongi is right. His sister is a stone-eye; someone unable to use or wear jade. Yejun feels nothing of jade’s effects – either positive or negative – but serves the clan in her own way. Kekon is superstitious about such things though and, when Yejun was born, rumors ran rampant it boded ill for Yoongi’s leadership. Rumors the Pillar has done his best to stamp out.

“Yes, Min-jen,” you acquiesce, inclining your head.

“My Luckbringers are reviewing financial statements of the victims,” Namjoon says, as though you haven’t spoken. “If there’s any monetary connection between them, we’ll find it.”

“My Fists are also investigating,” you add. “We’ll keep the clan updated.”

A scoff from the lower end of the table. Turning your head, you find Mr. Hu, a wealthy Lantern Man, watching you with a scowl. Middle-aged, with a portly belly from hoji, the man has never accepted you as his Horn. As the first woman bestowed the honor, you expected there to be some resistance.

Not that it endears him to you. Sweetly, you smile and lean forward. “Did you have something to add, Mr. Hu?”

Briefly, his gaze drops to the jade around your throat. Forcing a swallow, he forces his gaze to lift. You must give him credit; the man continues, despite the visual reminder you could kill him in seconds.

“Investigating what?” he asks, puffing out his chest. “I saw the second victim being brought in. There was… well. There was little to see. Tortured,” he adds, addressing the muttering around the table. “The man was mercilessly tortured before he was killed.”

Perceiving the shift in Yoongi’s emotions – edging towards fury – you hasten your response.

“Mr. Hu,” you say, lightly resting your hand on a Talon knife. “I thank you, for having the foresight to raise such an important issue.”

Frowning, he glances left and right, but his fellow Lantern Men avoid him. Likely, they understand this won’t end well. Indeed, Jungkook is already eyeing the man with barely concealed malice, thumb stroking slowly over the hilt of his sword.

“The fact that both victims were tortured,” you continue, conversational. “Almost as though the killer were looking for something.”

“Or someone,” Namjoon adds.

“Or someone,” you agree, focusing on Mr. Hu. “My men are searching the murder sites for more information now. While they do that though, are there any other details of an active murder investigation you’d like to know? Perhaps whether the victims pissed themselves before death, or left money behind?”

Paling, Mr. Hu seems to realize how this sounds. “N-no,” he says. “Thank you for sharing what you have, Horn-jen.”

Ignoring him, you glance in the direction of Yoongi. “We’ll find the traitor. I swear it.”

His aura flares, full of emotion unrelated to the conversation at hand. “Of that, I have no doubt,” Yoongi says lowly.

Heat floods your face, sensing his intent and swiftly, you look away before others can notice.

“While the Horn and Weather Man conduct their investigations, I ask for everyone to remain on high alert,” Yoongi says, surveying the table. “No Peak will increase Green Bone presence in the border districts. If you see anything of interest, contact the clan.”

Several Lantern Men relax at the mention of Green Bones. You know business has been hard as of late, with so many customers shaken by the violence. Hopefully, this will convince the people No Peak has the situation in hand. Otherwise, why would the Lantern Men continue to pay for your protection?

Glancing at the bloody photographs laid out on the table, you can hardly blame them for their skittishness. Whoever killed these two victims was skilled. Their torture tactics are pristine, better than most graduates from the Academy. A skill you also possess, although you choose not to use it outside of last resorts. Even then –

Your fingers cease tapping against your leather jacket. Straightening, you realize the skill displayed is exactly that of the Academy. The cuts, the angle of the blade and depth of the wounds – all of it, textbook. A Green Bone did this, you’re certain.

Sharply, you glance up and allow your distress to show. Voicing your suspicion aloud would only end badly. Above all, the Pillar must appear in control. If a Green Bone – even a disgraced one – is murdering citizens of No Peak, it would be a disaster. Better to discuss your suspicions in private before airing them to the entire group.

Perceiving the shift in your emotions, Yoongi stiffens. “We’ll update you with any new information,” he says, dismissal clear in his tone. “Thank you for coming.”

Chair legs scrape floorboards, patrons filing out as they murmur to one another. Asha, your First Fist, hovers by the door until you give a discreet shake of your head. Nodding, she slips out and you see Jungkook follow.

To one side, Yoongi converses tersely with his Pillarman, Hoseok, until Hoseok exhales and swiftly exits the room. Kim Namjoon stays, drinking a glass of water at the opposite end of the table. Once you three are alone, Yoongi holds up his hand. He waits, utterly still until the last jade aura fades.

Only then does he turn. “Well, Y/N?” he drawls. “What did you realize?”

Not wasting time, you pluck a photograph from the pile and toss it before him. “These cuts,” you explain. “They were made by a moon blade. So precise – so even. Exactly the length taught at the Academy. Which means–”

“Shit,” Namjoon mutters. He sets down his glass. “We’re fucked.”

You give him a look. “Precisely.”

Yoongi frowns, his distaste palpable. “This is the work of a Green Bone.”

“I think so.”

Pushing his chair back to stand, Namjoon grabs a photo and turns it sideways. “Why would a Green Bone go after a Lantern Man, though?” he wonders out loud. “He wasn’t even wearing jade when he died – it’s against aisho.”

Yoongi’s lips press tightly together.

Aisho refers to the strict code of honor governing all who wear jade. There are many tenets, but first and foremost is that those who wear jade don’t harm the jadeless. Aisho also limits retaliation following honorable duels, ensuring the clan lines remain intact.

A Green Bone who follows aisho would never attack a citizen.

Which forces you to draw an unsavory conclusion. “Unless they didn’t care,” you say, voicing the worst possibility. “The killer could have been trained as a Green Bone and left.” Stiffening slightly, you glance at Yoongi. “You don’t think…”

“I do,” Yoongi mutters. His jaw clenches, then unclenches. “Maro.”

Namjoon swears softly.

Maro – known to most as Toh Marosun – is a traitor to No Peak. He grew up in the same circle as Namjoon, Yoongi, and other high-ranking Green Bones. Maro attended the Academy in the same class as Yoongi, and everyone expected him to become the Horn. Brilliant, swift, and vicious in battle – not to mention one of Yoongi’s closest friends.

Despite this fact, you never liked him. Having grown up the only daughter of an unremarkable Lantern Man, you experienced Maro the way most people did. Toh Marosun was cruel. Saccharine, willing to say whatever people in power wanted to hear. Maro knew exactly what to do, what to say to manipulate followers. From the beginning, you saw Maro for who he was – a bully.

He joined No Peak’s ranks as a Finger, but swiftly rose to prominence. By the time you graduated, Maro was the youngest Fist in No Peak’s history. What he lacked in jade tolerance he made up for in cunning. Maro was always more sensitive to jade, but he was also smart. Talented, with the skills he did have.

In Green Bone society, there are two ways to gain jade – gifted or earned. Green Bones win jade through physical duels, taking the green from those they defeat. Recklessly, Maro began to challenge rival clans and often, he won despite not being able to wear his spoils. He displayed his jade often, which you suppose should’ve been the first warning sign.

Maro cared too much for personal glory. In Kekon, glory is achieved through the clan. Even the Horn and the Weather Man only exist to further No Peak’s prowess. The Pillar themselves is the embodiment of the clan, not their own person.

Even now, you recall the day Maro’s crimes were exposed.

Seven years prior, you were a Finger on routine patrol when Sain, your Fist, was commanded to return to the Min property. He brought you along, stationed by the front gate to ensure no one left.

You guarded with another Finger, one whose name you don’t recall. What you do remember is the utter stillness of the day, the unnatural calm which comes before a storm. The sun was bright overhead, a thick bead of sweat sliding down your neck when the door behind you at the main house banged open.

A man tumbled down the steps, landing in a heap in the billowing dirt. Coughing, he struggled to right himself, but both his hands were bound. From your spot at the gate, you couldn’t see clearly but you scented his blood. Heard the bruised rasp of his breath.

Yoongi prowled down the front steps, his famed Da Tanori steel glinting in his right hand. His gaze never wavered from the man bound before him – Toh Marosun, his former friend.

“Do you deny it?” Yoongi asked, his voice soft but deadly. Despite this, you Perceived conflicting emotions within.

Toh Maro stayed silent. Eventually, he exhaled.

“No,” he said sullenly.

Unable to stop it, you turned and saw Maro staring unflinchingly up at the Pillar. Yoongi stood over him, his lips a thin line of displeasure. You didn’t know what had happened but feared the worst from Yoongi’s expression.

In that moment, you didn’t envy the Pillar. Yoongi had become head of No Peak only a year prior; in many ways, he was as untried as you were. He was a silent, intelligent man and many people thought they could take advantage of him.

They were wrong, of course, but it would take time to prove that.

On that day though, you felt the dull grief to his aura. “Then I am sorry,” Yoongi said quietly. “For you leave me with no choice. Toh Marosun, you stand accused of smuggling jade from No Peak – one of the worst crimes a Green Bone can commit.”

The entirety of your blood drained as you turned around.

Spine steeling, you gripped your knives tighter. There were few crimes so awful they couldn’t be forgiven, but stealing from the clan was one of them. Cutting off Maro’s ear would be too light a punishment, especially with Yoongi so untried a Pillar. Death would be acceptable. Expected, even.

It would be the Pillar’s call – the clans weren’t run as a democracy. Straining Perception, you listened closely behind you. Although you’d interacted little with the Pillar, the man behind the mask couldn’t help but intrigue you.

Broken sobs filled the clearing, and you heard the sudden thud of knees hitting the grass. No jade aura accompanied the sound.

“Yoongi, please,” gasped a voice – feminine, young. “Brother, please spare him. Don’t kill him, he –”

“Silence.” Yoongi’s voice echoed over the courtyard. The newcomer obeyed with a lone, stifled sob. “You’ve been found innocent, sister,” he said, sounding weary. “But that does not make you innocent.”

The threat of his words hung overhead and although Yejun continued to sniffle, the sound of it muffled. When you glanced sideways again, you saw her face in her palms.

Yoongi watched dispassionately, although you sensed his inner turmoil. Rumors had reached your ears by then that Maro was dating Yejun. It seemed to be true, based on the way she pleaded.

Returning to face the gate, the yard remained silent until Yoongi exhaled. “Toh Marosun,” he declared, his sword sheathing. “From this day on, you are banished from Kekon. Return your jade to the clan and go. If you return to Janloon, your life is forfeit. Take him,” he said, speaking to someone you couldn’t see.

You didn’t dare turn, but tugged your knives a half-inch from their sheathes. If Maro decided to fight, you’d be expected to protect the Pillar. For whatever reason – disbelief, or respect – Maro didn’t attack, and no violence took place. He left in the waiting car, but you’ll never forget the look on his face when he passed.

Despite your young age, you recognized the glint in his eye. Fury, tempered by disbelief. He’ll be back, you thought grimly. It was only a matter of time before someone like Maro declared vengeance.

Your gaze slid to Yoongi, wondering if he felt the same. He watched Maro leave, his expression carefully neutral before he turned around and entered the house. Yejun had already disappeared, likely leaving upon Maro’s banishment.

The expression on Yoongi’s face now is similar, staring down at the photograph. Another moment passes before you realize something else.

“They knew each other,” you say, glancing between the victims. Reaching out, your hand lightly touches a photo. “Icho Retubin. He worked for the Weather Man after the Academy. And this man here” – you touch the other – “Niru Roluan. A low-ranking Finger who quit after a year.”

“He was friendly with Marosun,” Namjoon recalls.

“Yes.” Eyes wide, you look up. “After Maro’s scheme was uncovered, both of them quit and began working as Lantern Men.”

“Interesting,” Yoongi muses. “So. Toh Marosun returns. He tortures and kills his former friends – why?” he murmurs, speaking more to himself than either of you.

Brow lowering, you search for the easy answer. “He’s torturing them for something,” you say, glancing at the wounds. “Information, maybe.”

Yoongi tilts his head. “Which begs the question – has Maro found what he wants, or is he still looking?”

“Does it matter?”

Namjoon shrugs at your question. “If Maro hasn’t found what he wants, he’ll strike again. If he did find it – well. We might be out of time.”

Yoongi considers. “He didn’t find it,” he says, turning around to stride for the door. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Your gaze narrows on his backside. “Let’s call it more than that.”

Yoongi turns around, lips twitching in a smile only you see. “I can think of two reasons Maro might return. One – jade.” The Pillar lifts a finger. “Or, two – revenge.” His second lifts.

You and Namjoon exchange a look. “Maro could find jade on the Shotarian black market if he wanted,” you say.

“Exactly.” Yoongi drops his hand. “Which is why I’m inclined to call this revenge.”

“Maro could want revenge on anyone, though,” Namjoon points out. “Most likely whoever sold him out in the first place.”

“Well, that makes this easier.” Casual, Yoongi tucks both hands in his pockets. “I sold him out. I discovered details of his jade smuggling in Yejun’s apartment.”

“Yejun?” Sharply, you look at him. “Your sister knew?”

Yoongi’s gaze hardens. “Yes, she knew,” he says. “I’m sure you understand why I kept that piece of information to myself until now. Yejun wasn’t involved with the smuggling, but she knew it was happening… and didn’t tell me,” he adds, his voice grim.

Mind reeling, you attempt to digest this piece of information. Betrayal lodges deep in your gut, although you do your best to dispel it. It’s pointless to expect Yoongi to tell you everything – especially events which occurred before you became the Horn.

Namjoon also looks troubled. “That’s… but that means–”

“Careful what you say, Namjoon.” Although his tone remains soft, Yoongi’s body tenses. “The matter is done. I punished Yejun as I saw fit, within my right as Pillar. Trust me,” he adds, his façade cracking a little. “Her deception was dealt with.”

Silently, you wonder if this is why Yejun studied in Espenia. As a stone-eye, she can’t serve the clan as a Green Bone, but could have taken other paths. She could have become a Luckbringer on Namjoon’s side or begun a career in government. Instead, Yejun left Janloon for a foreign University. It was only recently she returned to start her residency at Jan Royal University.

Curious, your gaze flicks to Yoongi. If what he says is true, then surely, he knows Maro is coming for him. Yejun might not have betrayed him, but Min Yoongi did. It’s only a matter of time before Maro discovers what happened.

Blood simmering, you do your best to hide your frustration. Your role as Horn would be much easier if the Pillar would be honest about all his enemies. Suppressing your scowl, you ignore the heat of Yoongi’s gaze on the side of your face.

“Namjoon,” he says, turning away. “I want a list of potential targets. People Maro has worked with in the past or knew at the Academy. Assuming he doesn’t have the information he wants, Maro will strike again.”

“On it,” Namjoon says, already heading for the door.

Although faint, you can feel the cool brush of his aura passing. You envy the Weather Man’s ability to ingest information and remove partiality. Even after something like Yejun’s betrayal, he remains unflappable. Namjoon simply absorbs and executes, doing what needs to be done.

Left alone with your thinking, you can’t claim the same. Namjoon’s jade aura fades when he exits, footsteps receding to leave you alone with the Pillar.

You refuse to look at him, casting your Perception outward. A Green Bone with as much jade as you have can Perceive a beetle crawling through the tall grass outside. Feel the rumble of cars on the distant streets. Hear Yoongi’s heart beat from across the room.

Wearing jade results in a dizzying expansion of knowledge. You’re used to it by now – years of training and genetics lessen the risk of being overwhelmed. Without either, it’s all too easy to lose control.

It’s one of the reasons jade-smuggling is a serious crime. The other being that jade is the main source of income funding the clans. Selling jade through non-regulated channels increases the risk of it falling into the wrong hands. Hands which could bring negative consequences to other people or themselves.

Aisho outlines a strict Green Bone code of honor. It states Kekon first, clan first, family first. Occasionally, all three are tied and occasionally, one outstrips the other. Maro disobeyed every rule by selling jade to the Shotarians.

Maro knew all this and chose to continue, blinded by greed. He placed his personal glory above that of the clan, something which must be dealt with. To a lesser degree, Yejun chose Maro over No Peak, as well – which is why you’re surprised Yoongi said nothing.

“Y/N.”

Yoongi speaks your name softly, forgoing your title.

Stiffening, you force yourself not to turn. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” he asks, his voice moving closer. “Your name?”

Hand brushing your elbow, Yoongi turns you to face him. Against all better judgement, you obey – and find your first mistake. Meeting his gaze, a ripple of familiarity – of home, a voice whispers – goes through you.

Shutting all this down, you lift your chin. “You lied to me.”

Yoongi’s expression flattens. “I couldn’t explain.”

“You could have. You chose not to.”

“I couldn’t,” he insists. “I’m still not sure I didn’t make a mistake. I showed mercy, Y/N.” Yoongi pauses, then swallows. “I exiled my friend and sent my sister away – and now, look what’s happened. Two men have been killed, and it’s my fault. How could I have told you,” he adds, the words desperate, “when I knew it’d result in that look on your face?”

“I’m looking at you like this because you lied. Not because of a decision you made in the past. Mercy isn’t a weakness, Min Yoongi.”

“Some would say that it is,” he murmurs. Fleeting, his gaze drops to your lips. 

Yoongi drops all restraint so his emotion, so often concealed, smears through his aura. Longing, anger and fear, mixed with worry. 

White-hot electricity jumps over your skin. Seeing the normally reserved Pillar undone in your presence is a heady knowledge. Knowledge that terrifies you, even as everything in you aches to move closer.

“It’s not,” you exhale, meeting his gaze.

Something falters in his expression and Yoongi stares at you, heated. You Perceive his intent – a rough flare to his aura – a moment before Yoongi bends and crushes your mouth to his. His kiss is thorough, intent, his body curving with yours while walking you towards the wall.

You instantly cave, unable to withstand the desperate sweep of his tongue. “Yoongi,” you groan, fingers gripping him tighter. “People will hear.”

“Let them,” he says, his voice undeterred.

Before you can respond, his lips fall upon yours with increasing urgency. Hand slipping beneath your jacket, Yoongi cups your waist to pull you taut against him. Eyes falling shut, you swiftly scan the building for lingering Green Bones. Finding no one, you return your attention to Yoongi and bite down on his lip.

He growls, grip tightening when you tug him towards you. Breaking away, Yoongi lowers his head to suck the curve of your throat. He lingers at your jade, tongue darting out to lick the skin underneath. Your entire body shudders, aroused by the sensation.

Touching another person’s jade is intimate. Most wouldn’t allow their own family the honor, let alone someone they sleep with. Skin contact with jade imbues power, and the swift rise and fall of it can be dangerous. Only Yoongi is brave – or foolish – enough to risk the effects.

Spine on the wall, you inhale at the rush. Yoongi’s length presses against your core, already hard through the confines of his pants. It seems unfathomable that this man, a stranger to you for so long, can inspire such potent emotion.

When you first met him, you were ten, and he was fourteen. You didn’t know who Yoongi was at the time – a fact which now seems unthinkable. Raised in southern Kekon, you came to Janloon after your mother’s death with little understanding of clan politics. Likely, you would have remained so if your high jade tolerance hadn’t pushed your father to enroll you at the Academy.

Walking through the gates that first day, you found nothing but apathy. The best-case scenario was your classmates left you alone. Worst-case, the other children were brutal. You attended school with the sons and daughters of high-ranking clan members. Although your father joined No Peak as a Lantern Man eventually, he could hardly be called successful. The Academy had no patience for a rural girl whose jade tolerance far outstripped their own.

It wore on your classmates’ pride when the teachers praised you. You began to get noticed, and not in a good way. Fed up with your presence, one of the students attacked you at the end of your first year. Even then, you knew how to defend yourself and flipped him on his back. Stunned, he stared up at you before yelling to anyone within earshot that you’d regret this. His father was a powerful Lantern Man of No Peak and he said you’d be banished before graduation.

Fear gripped you, sensing the truth to his words. Based on your own experience, you knew No Peak wouldn’t believe you over one of their own.

Despair filled your thoughts as someone entered the corridor. Your attacker instantly froze, which should have clued you in this was someone important. Still, you refused to look, reticent to turn your back on an opponent.

The newcomer cleared their throat, further stoking your ire. After a moment, you dragged your attention to them.

Min Yoongi stared back, his expression mild. “So,” he said. “Who can tell me what happened?”

Looking him up and down, you chose not to respond. You didn’t trust a stranger – a fourth year at that – to intervene on your behalf. Most likely, Yoongi was a member of No Peak and had only arrived to harass you further.

Seeing your hesitance, your attacker jumped in. He accused you of treachery, saying you jumped him in the corridor and threw him on the ground. Silent, your fingers curled into fists, but you remained quiet, even when Yoongi turned.

“Well?” he asked you. “Is that right?”

Your lips dropped into a scowl. “He deserved what he got.”

Subtle, his brow flicked upward.

To your dismay, you saw people had gathered as whispers broke out. A sinking suspicion occurred to you that something was wrong. Not with your attacker, but whoever this was.

Yoongi stared at you for a long moment before, to your surprise, he chuckled. “I agree.” Turning to face the boy, a dangerous light entered his eye. “I’d suggest not telling your father what happened, Heike. Because then, I might feel honor-bound to confess what I saw. Which was his son ruthlessly attack a first year, lose and then lie about it to his future Pillar.”

Color bled swiftly from Heike’s skin. “Yes, Min-jen,” he whispered, head bowed in shame.

Panic-stricken, you stared as realization sunk in you’d been flippant to the future Pillar. Steeling yourself, you waited for Min Yoongi’s response – likely anger or worse. Based on your experience, most men in power liked this fact to be known.

Instead, Yoongi merely turned and looked you up and down. His gaze traveled you slowly, unreadable in his scrutiny. At last, he glanced up.

“Your father owns the tea shop by the docks, yes?” he said, waiting for you to nod before he continued. “He joined No Peak as a Lantern Man last year.”

“Yes, he did.”

His lips twitched. “Well, then,” Yoongi said as he turned away. “I can’t help but be grateful he chose No Peak to patron. It would’ve been shame to lose you to another clan.”

Stricken, you watched as he strode from the courtyard. Minutes passed, and eventually you realized the crowd had dispersed. Heike skulked off to nurse his wounds and the future Pillar had gone, giving them no reason to stay.

If you weren’t loyal to No Peak before, you certainly were after. Yoongi had that type of effect on people.

After that day though, you rarely interacted. Yoongi was four years your senior and the future Pillar, while you were nobody. Albeit a talented nobody who graduated at the top of their class from the Academy. At your graduation, people whispered you’d make a strong Fist. No one ever imagined you’d rise higher than that.

You joined No Peak as a Finger, starting from the bottom. Yoongi continued to remain out of reach, the newly named Pillar struggling to earn his own title. It didn’t take long though, before you rose in the ranks. You spent two years as a Finger, then two as a Fist – you were twenty-two years old when promoted to Horn. The youngest in history, and a woman to boot.

Yoongi was adamant in the choice, defending you calmly to the entire clan. He said he’d rather have the right person at a young age than the wrong person at the right age. His support was the only reason you didn’t strangle him that first year. It was the beginning of working together and as it turned out, Yoongi drove you mad.

He micromanaged, overseeing all decisions to ensure No Peak ran smoothly. You two bickered often, the fire eventually dissipating to begrudging acceptance. Ultimately, you realized you saw the world the same – No Peak first, followed by everything else.

Back then, Yoongi dated but none of them stuck. No one understood the sacrifice necessary to remain head of No Peak. Couldn’t comprehend the ruthlessness, the dedication it took to lead the clan. Yoongi could never let his guard down, could never relax with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

You understood, though, because you shared this burden. Yoongi could be honest with you in a way he couldn’t be elsewhere. To the rest of the clan, he was the infallible Pillar, but to you, he was only a man.

Proof of said manhood hardens against your thigh, and Yoongi’s lips curve gamely at the base of your throat. Head lifting, his smile is sharp enough to carve the remaining bit of your heart.

“You left early this morning,” he observes, his gaze dimming. “Why?”

Your eyes trace his lips before lifting to his face. “Hian called in sick, so I replaced his watch. My Fists are spread thin, Yoongi.”

A wrinkle forms between his brows. “You should’ve woken me.”

“Why?” you tease, your hand sliding lower to rest above his hip. “To watch me go? You needed your sleep.”

“I needed you more.”

Yoongi’s words still your fingertips, struck by his honesty. Min Yoongi is nothing if not blunt, leaving you often speechless. What began as just sex, mounting frustration between friends, has become something almost too tenuous to name. The idea of having him scares you nearly as much as the prospect of losing him.

“You had me last night,” you murmur.

Yoongi’s fingers drift across your cheek. “And yet,” he says, unwilling to let you off the hook. “I woke up ravenous.”

Multiple meanings layer his words, some of which you purposefully choose not to hear. Instead, you glance past him to search the grounds. Several Green Bones cross the lawn, none of them close enough to overhear. Still, it reminds you of what’s at stake.

Exhaling gently, you pull from his touch. “I should go,” you tell him.

Head tilted, Yoongi’s dark hair conceals the jade in his brow. His brow wrinkles when he Perceives your tumultuous emotions.

“You’re worried,” he says.

“Of course, I am,” you say with a frustrated laugh. “I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my job to protect the clan – to protect you – and right now, it feels like I’m failing.”

His gaze on you sharpens. “First off, I can protect myself. Second – it’s my job as Pillar to protect the clan. How can you protect us from something I can’t see?”

“How many times do I have to say you don’t shoulder that burden alone?”

The lines around his mouth deepen. “In good times, I’m lauded. It only follows that in bad times, I’m the one at fault.”

“Oh, if that’s all,” you say drily. “I, for one, have never lauded you.”

“Oh, really?” Stepping closer, his expression shifts from frustration to carnal. “I seem to recall differently last night.”

Electricity catches each place his gaze lingers, shivering its way down your spine. Refusing to let him notice, you lift your chin higher. “You’d have to remind me. It all blurs together.”

Yoongi bares his teeth, and you can’t help but smile. If there’s one thing the Pillar of No Peak can’t resist, it’s a challenge. The start of your relationship is proof enough of that.

After your promotion to Horn, you spent most waking hours by Yoongi’s side. Working with him was exhausting. Every decision turned into an argument. How many Fists you should have. How many students to admit to the Academy. Whether you should train with the Kekonese military or not.

Yoongi constantly occupied space in your thoughts, and not in a good way. He frustrated you, forcing you to second-guess and slow down your thought process. Maddeningly, he was often correct, which only served to further your irritation.

Eventually, things began to shift. Bickering turned to acceptance and finally, understanding. Yoongi trusted you more often to make the right calls and in turn, you snapped at him less for his input. Your arguments dwindled, then disappeared altogether.

Three years passed as Horn, and soon your frustration gave way to a different kind. You started to notice when Min Yoongi entered the room. At first, you brushed it off as nothing. Yoongi had an undeniable presence, this was true. Soon though, you realized your thoughts breached the border of friendship.

His absence could be felt like a phantom limb. Yoongi’s jade aura comforted you despite its fierceness – so at odds with the calm way he carried himself.

Idly, you wondered what it would take for him to snap. To release his infamous self-control and fully give in. Thoughts of what Yoongi would feel like left your body scorched. On more than one occasion, you awoke with an ache between your legs and a dream of his face slipping away.

Such thoughts though, were dangerous. Yoongi was the Pillar, and you were his Horn – a relationship couldn’t happen and what’s more, he’d shown no interest. You began to withdraw out of self-preservation. Prior, you sparred with Yoongi every morning but soon found yourself making excuses to skip.

What was once daily practice turned into every week and then, once a month. Yoongi was a distraction you could ill-afford, disarming you with his laughter as easily as his sword.

Instead, you forced your attention on training your Fists. Firstday through Fifthday, you met Asha and Jungkook at the gym before dawn. This went on for months, training in secret until one day you exited and saw Yoongi’s car at the curb. Stomach sinking, you watched as he reversed and sped down the street.

Perceiving tumultuous emotion, you knew confrontation was inevitable but hoped Yoongi would give you time to process.

He did not.

Instead, Yoongi pounded on your door the very next morning. When you finally answered, he tossed a practice sword your way and demanded you dress.

Shaking free of your stupor, you glared at Yoongi a moment before slamming the door. Stalking inside, you threw gear in a bag and returned to the hall. Stomping past him, you refused to acknowledge Yoongi, throwing open the door to his Duchesse Priza.

Yoongi sped to his place in silence, tension churning between you like water beneath a ferry. At his gym, you stormed out and ripped the sword from its sheath. Yoongi followed closely behind, barely leashed emotion rolling off him in waves.

You flew at him first, your body Light, and then Strong while swinging towards his head. Moving through the various jade disciplines, you relied on training hammered into your bones. Yoongi caught a blow on his forearm, Steeling his skin to avoid any damage. The two of you entered a familiar rhythm, understanding the other in ways no one else could.

It must’ve been hours before you threw down your sword and declared the match ended. Yoongi simply stared, his chest heaving with a wild spark in his eyes.

You were turning to leave when he dropped his blade, strode across the clearing and crushed your mouth to his.

Five months have passed since. Your relationship has been kept a secret, with you unwilling to place any labels. People would talk if the Horn and Pillar were dating. You don’t want that for yourself. Not when you’ve worked so hard for credibility.

Pressing his thumb to your lower lip, Yoongi drags it lower before he releases. “I’ll have to remind you, then,” he says before stepping away. The heat dissipates from his gaze, leaving you cold. “But you’re right. I should go.”

Somewhat dazed, you feel yourself nod. This is what you wanted, you remind yourself. This is exactly what you asked for, so you have no right to feel abandoned.

“Send me the list Namjoon makes,” you say, forcing lightness to your tone. “I’ll send Green Bones to watch their houses.”

Yoongi opens his mouth, then seems to think better of it and merely nods. He stays silent when you leave, brushing past him to the hall. Outside, you pause on the landing before you continue.

His jade aura fades as you exit, letting you know he remains. You do your best to ignore him, flipping your keys as you stride towards your car – not as nice as Yoongi’s, but serviceable nonetheless. Yanking open the door, you slide onto the sticky-warm gray leather seat.

Exhaling, you stare at the wheel before shifting to drive. Lowering the windows, you allow a slight breeze to drift over your face. As much as you pretend to be happy with the current situation, you’re not. You aren’t stupid – you know your feelings for Yoongi extend beyond those of a Horn to their Pillar.

When you first became Horn, you respected Yoongi. He was a good leader – still is – and you were proud to be the person strengthening No Peak by his side. Now, he’s the closest thing you have to family. Deep down, you understand his pardon of Yejun. If you were in a similar situation, there’s nothing Yoongi could do that you wouldn’t forgive.

Especially now, with your father dead. It happened soon after graduation, a sudden collapse of his heart no one saw coming. Yoongi attended his funeral. It was held on a rain soaked Seventhday after the Autumn Festival. Late in the season for a deluge but fitting for the occasion. It felt like the world was wiped clean, along with your prior life.

For the Pillar to attend was unusual, but not unprecedented. You recall him standing near the back, his Pillarman, Hoseok, at his side. The funeral was short – your father wasn’t garrulous by any means – but rain soaked your dress by the time it had ended. It surprised you when Yoongi came to express his sorrow, even more so when he seemed to mean it. Most people didn’t. Most people came for the spectacle, or to say they were there.

Yoongi though, gripped your hand tightly while meeting your gaze. His calluses were as rough as your own when he said the clan would support you. Oddly enough, you believed him.

With both parents dead, and no siblings, No Peak is the only family you have. Yoongi’s life is similar to yours, apart from Yejun. His father died of cancer when he was twenty-one and his mother soon followed, unable to cope. Yoongi knows what loss means, what it feels like to be alone.

Lips tightening, you imagine what it’d feel like to lose him. Worse than a Horn should feel when they lose a Pillar. Silent, you curse yourself for having poor foresight. There’s a reason the Horn and Pillar don’t date. A reason why such a relationship would be forbidden. It’s your job to protect the clan – not just Yoongi – but if it came down to it, you’d choose him every time.

Weaving through the bustling streets of Janloon, your speed is forced to slow. Janloon, the capital city of Kekon, is full of contractions. The latest car models pass beneath flashing billboards, coupled with street stalls and sprawling temples. Scents of the city mingle with stale AC from your car.

No matter how much time passes, Kekon stubbornly clings to its roots. Portions of the outside world may infiltrate, but they’ll never replace. This is something Green Bones and the clans understand.

Traffic forces you to park a block away from your destination. Striding towards the Twice Lucky, you nod at a few Lantern Men idling outside. Asha and Jungkook wait for you in a private room, lounging in seats around the square table. The second floor of the Twice Lucky has been reserved for Green Bones; a privilege No Peak ensures is well-compensated.

Jungkook sits in his usual spot, arms crossed and feet up. Asha is restless, fingertips drumming against the hilt of her blade. Food and water are laid out, half-eaten as though there were others here before.

Sensing your presence, your first Fist looks up. “Y/N-jen.” Asha straightens. “Any news?”

Crossing the room, you scan the building but Perceive no other Green Bones. Sinking into a chair, you pull a plate closer and pick up red chopsticks.

Jungkook turns towards you. “What’d you discuss with the Pillar? Seemed important.”

Asha gives him a warning look, to which he only shrugs.

Ignoring them both, you stab a dumpling. “We suspect the killings were done by a Green Bone. Do you remember Toh Marosun?”

Asha’s head whips in your direction. Jungkook was at the Academy during Maro’s betrayal, but Asha was there and remembers how it went down. If Maro has returned, it’s only a matter of time before things get worse.

“Of course, we remember.” Her eyes narrow. “So, it’s really him? Maro came back?”

“Maybe.” You hesitate another moment, then finish the dumpling. “It’s only a guess.”

“A pretty good guess, if you’re telling us,” Jungkook muses. “Why come back now, though? Returning to Kekon is a death sentence.”

“Is it?” Asha fights a smirk. “Everyone knew Yejun had a thing for Maro.”

Casual, you retrieve a talon knife from its sheath. You begin cleaning the blade, the weapon a natural extension of your wrist, and feel Asha and Jungkook’s gazes follow.

“I don’t think that’s relevant, do you?” you say calmly. “Not unless you’re questioning the Pillar’s judgement.”

Asha looks away, miffed. “No, jen,” she mutters. “Of course, not.”

“Good.” You pause, allowing your fury to seep into your aura. “The Pillar deserves nothing less than your respect. Which means Jungkook is right – coming back here is a death sentence, begging the question of why.”

Jungkook considers. “Maybe he left something.”

Asha turns back, the moment of tension forgotten. “He could be after his jade,” she offers. “Maro was always thin-blooded, so if it’s jade he wants, this could get bad. He could come down with the Itches.”

Sheathing your knife, you look up. “I agree. Maro might not be in his right mind.”

“What should we do?” 

“Nothing for now,” you tell her. “Namjoon is compiling a list of people Maro knew. If he hasn’t found what he’s after by now, he could strike again.”

Asha nods and accepts this. Pushing aside a twinge of regret, you wish you could explain the rest. If Yoongi is a target though, it’s best to keep that fact quiet. And as much as you’d like to blame the Luckbringers, you have no way of knowing who’s helping Maro – either by will or by force.

A phone rings on the lower level, barely audible over the din. The Twice Lucky restaurant doesn’t have the best food in Janloon, but the quality is good, and its owner is loyal. The same can’t be said for other places.

Footsteps pound on the staircase, and Jungkook springs to his feet. Before you can warn him, the door opens and Mr. Une, the proprietor, freezes in place.

“Put that away,” you demand, waving for Jungkook to lower his knife.

Eyes wide, Mr. Une stares while your Second Fist sheaths his weapon. Seating himself at the table, Jungkook kicks both feet up like nothing has happened. The third-highest amount of jade in the clan lies coiled about his neck, polished stones resting against his tan skin.

Mr. Une continues to stare, wary until you pointedly clear your throat. “Uncle,” you say, adopting the deferential. “What can we do for you?”

Somewhat placated, Mr. Une turns his head. “Phone call for you, Horn-jen. The Weather Man said it’s urgent. You can use the phone in my office if you’d like.”

Smile disappearing, you stand. “Lead the way.”

Mr. Une blinks, and you realize you’ve crossed the room in less time than it took Jungkook to draw his knife. Inwardly, you sigh and attempt to appear harmless. The citizens of Janloon are used to living with Green Bones but sometimes, your power is a reminder of what they are not. Of the inherent danger of living amongst latent gods.

Following Mr. Une, you head towards his office. Asha and Jungkook walk close behind, with Jungkook at the rear and Asha by your side. Mr. Une hovers awkwardly at the door before turning around and pushing into the kitchen.

Once he’s gone, you lift the phone. “Hello?” you say.

Namjoon’s voice barks in your ear. “Get back to the Min property. Now.”

Your stomach drops. “What happened?”

“Maro struck again,” he says tightly. “It’s definitely Maro – and the victim is still alive.”

“Who is it?” you ask, expecting the worst.

“Jio Reubin. He managed to escape and made it here, but he’s injured. This is our best chance to get information.”

“On my way,” you say, and hang up.

Taking a deep breath, you allow the reality of Namjoon’s words to wash over you. Jio is hurt, meaning you need to interrogate soon in case he dies. Nausea curdles your stomach, and you try to dispel it.

Guilt wars with relief from knowing Yoongi is safe. You’ve met Jio several times, having attended the Academy with his now-wife, Lula. She never took to the bloodier side of the clan, deciding to enter the medical profession instead. If you remember correctly, she’s in the same resident program as Yejun.

Leaving the office, you nod for Jungkook to follow. He falls into step beside you. “I need you to do something for me,” you say to Asha. “Head to Jio Reubin’s and search the area for Maro. Call me if you find anything.”

She nods and turns, disappearing out the side door.

You and Jungkook exit the front, squinting when you emerge in the golden hour. “Follow me to the Min property,” you say grimly.

Jungkook nods as he turns, aura pulsing with adrenaline while growing fainter. You should warn him to be cautious but know it’d be hypocritical. Your own car’s speed is nearly twice the limit as you rush through the streets of Janloon, returning to the gates of the Min property.

Screeching to a halt, you yank keys from the ignition and sprint across the courtyard. Namjoon’s aura pulses from the main house, so you follow the trail and shove open the door.

Namjoon doesn’t look up when you enter, and you immediately see why. Jio lies splayed on the sofa, right arm dangling listlessly from a red cushion. At first, you think that’s the color before you notice the blood darkening Jio’s chest.

Kneeling at his side, Namjoon’s jaw clenches while attempting to Channel. Usually, Channeling is used to rend the body apart but in certain circumstances, it can be used to hold it together. Namjoon doesn’t wear much jade though and wasn’t trained as a healer.

“Allow me,” Jungkook says from behind you.

Dropping to his knees, he replaces Namjoon to clasp Jio’s hand in his. Closing his eyes, a thick vein pulses in the side of his neck. Despite Jungkook’s wish to enter the bloodier side of the clan, he would’ve made an excellent healer. His ability to Channel is better than anyone else in No Peak.

Jio’s aura, previously guttering, gradually smooths. Namjoon sits back on his heels, clearly spent from the effort. Wiping sweat from his brow, he turns to see you.

“Close the door,” he says faintly.

Reaching out, you obey and cross to stand by his side. Staring at Jio, you take in his bloodied state. Whoever tortured him was thorough, cutting just deep enough to let him slowly bleed out.

It’s a miracle Jio escaped, no matter how slowly his chest rises and falls. When you cross your arms, he coughs and cracks open one eye. Dazedly, Jio registers your presence.

“Horn-jen,” he rasps.

Briskly, you nod. “You’re going to be fine, Jio.”

Straining Perception, you sweep the ground for Yoongi but find him far away. Good. The further he is from this carnage, the better.

Glancing back, you seek Namjoon. “What happened?”

“Maro was waiting when Jio got home from his night shift. His wife had already left for the hospital. Maro knocked out Jio, tied him up and when he came to, started torturing him for intel. Jio managed to escape but hasn’t said how. Couple of Fingers found him in the Temple District.”

Your gaze moves to Jio. “Maro escaped?”

“Yeah,” he responds.

Stomach tight, you consider the options. Either Maro is still searching for whatever he’s after, or he found out from Jio and –

From across the property comes a surge of fury. No one else seems to notice, but that doesn’t surprise you. You’re more attuned to Yoongi’s aura than anyone present. Keeping your expression neutral, you know you don’t have much time until Yoongi arrives.

“What did he want to know?” you demand. “Did he –”

The door to the room flies open and hits the wall. The Pillar strides in, adjusting his cuffs as he goes. Yoongi’s dark hair is slicked, clothing immaculate as always. Heat curls in your lower belly, and you do your best to stamp it out.

His gaze flicks towards you, sensing your need before his expression shutters. Facing forward, Yoongi surveys the scene.

“What happened?” he asks, low and deadly.

His Pillarman steps inside and shuts the door. Hoseok leans to the wall, jacket falling open to reveal the handle of his Sig Sauer. It’s odd for a Green Bone to carry a gun but Hoseok’s job is to protect Yoongi from all threats. Although Green Bone warriors render bullets obsolete through Steeling, there are other threats best deterred by firepower.

On the couch, Jio coughs and attempts to sit up. Grunting, Jungkook grabs his shoulder and forces him down.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say to Jio. “The doctor is coming, but if you die before they get here, you’ll be no help to anyone.”

“Are you sure it was Maro?” Yoongi asks, tension radiating from every line in his body. Even if you couldn’t Perceive him, you’d know.

Weakly, Jio nods. “It was Maro. Looks different now – leaner and wearing new jade. Scabs up and down his arms. But yeah, it was him.”

You and Namjoon exchange a look. Arm scabs could be a sign of the Itches, an illness caused by jade overexposure. Jade overexposure can happen gradually, or it could be caused by a single instance. For example, if someone were to go without jade for years and then put a lot on.

Green Bones are taught the symptoms from a young age. Severe mood swings, sensory distortion – shaking, sweating, anxiety, paranoia, and heart palpitations. When left untreated, the Itches can lead to madness and eventually, death. Better soldiers than Maro have succumbed to it, the lure of more jade greater than self-control.

The possibility flashes before you – Maro, unable to stomach being cut off from Kekon. He seeks out new jade, expecting to stomach as much as he used to. Instead, Maro breaks, paranoia and fear dragging him under. He starts to blame others, including the clan who took everything from him. A man in such a state might consider revenge his only option.

The hypothesis fits, though it means nothing good for No Peak.

“What did he say?” Yoongi asks. “Tell us, word for word.”

“He…” Jio breaks into a coughing fit. “Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was tied to my kitchen chair. I asked Maro what the fuck he was doing.”

“And?” Namjoon prods. “What did he say?”

“Said he’d been gone for too long. That it was all a mistake – leaving, taking off his jade.”

“Is that why he came back?” you press.

Jio’s head lolls. “He asked who betrayed him. Said he only told a few people about the smuggling, so one of them must’ve done it. I didn’t know,” he rasps, shaking his head. “I wasn’t one of the people Maro told. He didn’t seem to remember – or care.”

Paranoia. Another unmistakable sign of the Itches.

“What else?” Namjoon asks. “How did you escape?”

“I don’t know.” Jio frowns, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. “Maro seemed confused. He kept asking who betrayed him, and then mentioning treasure? He wanted to know where his treasure was. I don’t even know what he meant,” he admits, glancing between you and Namjoon. “His jade? I dunno.”

“It could be,” you say slowly.

“He’d ask about his treasure one minute, then accuse it of betraying him,” Jio says. “He said he went where his treasure was, but it wasn’t there. Or they weren’t there? He kept mixing up tenses. Wasn’t sure he knew where he was, half the time.”

Off to the side, you feel a sudden surge of emotion – there and gone before you can dissect. Startled, you glance in the direction of Yoongi but find him unharmed. Eyes narrowed, you watch a moment longer before you turn back.

“If Maro wants his old jade, maybe he meant his apartment. He could have gone there to search first,” Namjoon offers.

“A waste,” you say with a frown. “Maro forfeited his jade to the clan before leaving.”

Forfeited to the Pillar, more accurately. You glance once more at Yoongi, who doesn’t react. He continues to examine Jio, a slight wrinkle between his brows.

“All roads lead to me, it would seem. How did you escape, Jio?” Yoongi adds, casually changing the subject.

“Didn’t, really.” Jio coughs, the sound wet. “Managed to get an arm free, lunged for Maro and fell on the floor. Maro… didn’t really notice. He swore something fierce, stabbed my fridge with his knife and ran off.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “He stabbed your… fridge?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes no sense.”

“If he has the Itches, it doesn’t have to,” Namjoon murmurs.

“True,” you say.

This feels important though, in a way you can’t pinpoint. Maro didn’t have any trouble killing before – the only reason he’d leave was if he found what he wanted. Frustration gnaws at your thoughts, certain you’re missing something.

Outside, you hear someone enter the driveway. Gravel skitters beneath tires, the car coming to a stop as someone exits.

“That must be the doctor.” Yoongi turns around, seemingly lost in thought. “I’ll go let them in.”

Pulling open the door, he exits with Hoseok. You watch them leave, returning your attention to Jio.

Looking weary, Jungkook sits back on his heels. “I’ve done what I can,” he says. “Stopped most of the internal bleeding. He should live.”

The door behind you opens. “I’ll be the judge of that,” says an unfamiliar woman, striding in. Setting down a black bag, she looks around. “Anyone without medical training should leave. Now.”

Brows raised, you obey and take your leave. In the hallway, Jungkook mutters something about readying the car and disappears. You remain in the house, pacing and waiting for Yoongi’s return.

Namjoon’s eyes follow your tread. “What are you thinking?”

Shaking your head, you stop to examine a portrait of Yoongi’s father. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Something about this feels off. Why would Maro leave so abruptly?”

“He wouldn’t,” Namjoon muses. “Not unless he found what he was looking for.”

“Maybe Jio is lying. Maybe he told Maro it was Yoongi who betrayed him. If that’s so though, why wouldn’t Maro come directly here?”

“Here?” Namjoon scoffs. “It’d be suicide to attack the Pillar in his own compound. No way – Maro is smarter. If I were him, I’d set a trap. Draw the Pillar out.”

A terrible suspicion dawns as you freeze, mid-stride. This is the moment the landline rings and, crossing the hallway, you yank down the phone.

“Hello?” you answer.

Asha’s voice fills your ears. “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say, turning around. “What’s wrong?”

“I have… well, I don’t know what I have.”

“What do you mean?” you press. “What’s wrong?”

Noticing your expression, Namjoon frowns and pushes himself from the wall.

“I went to Jio’s like you asked. There was no sign of Maro, so I went back to the house and… it’s strange. Maro tied Jio up in his kitchen, and there are signs of a struggle, but…”

“But what, Asha?”

She pauses. “Did Jio tell you what happened?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze flicks to Namjoon, who listens to every word. “He said Maro swore, stabbed a fridge and ran off.”

“Oh. Okay.” Asha exhales. “I was worried you’d think I’m crazy. The thing is, Maro didn’t just stab a fridge – he stabbed a photo. A person, to be exact.”

“… Who was the person he stabbed?”

Namjoon goes still, and your grip on the phone tightens. Pieces of the puzzle slide into place, leaving a picture which turns your stomach. Dread fills you, knowing what Asha will say before she says it.

“Yejun,” she says, and a loud ringing fills your ears. “She works at the same hospital as Jio’s wife, and there’s a photo of them at some ceremony. The knife… it’s straight through Yejun’s head.”

Heart pounding, you close your eyes and frantically sweep the grounds. Deep down though, you already know what you’ll find.

Yoongi is gone.

Fury boiling over, you realize this was the epiphany Yoongi had earlier. It must have something to do with the word treasure – likely a nickname between Yejun and Maro. Maro was looking for Yejun, not his jade or revenge. Or maybe it is revenge – stomach sinking, you realize what this must seem like. Maro told Yejun about his operation and soon after, Yoongi found out.

Maro wants Yejun, which is something you should’ve seen from the beginning. Yoongi realized before you and now, he’s run off to play hero.

“Stay here,” you say, turning to Namjoon. Feverish anger burns your blood. “Get Jio to the hospital once he’s stable. Thanks, Asha,” you say before hanging up.

Namjoon’s eyes narrow. “Yoongi went after Yejun, didn’t he?”

“Maybe,” you say, pushing past. “If he did, I’ll find him.”

You don’t remember reaching your car, only that once you do, you drive faster than you ever have through Janloon. The hospital is a logical starting point since that’s what Maro saw from the photo.

Shutting down your thoughts, you continue to weave through traffic. Thinking begets worry, which can lead to mistakes. Tightening your grip, you push the car faster. Roaring down the next street, you recall Yejun is working early shifts this week. She mentioned it the other day, saying how glad she was to be home in time for dinner.

Glancing at the clock, your jaw tightens. After a moment’s hesitation, you make a sharp turn, car skidding a little on the next street. If Yejun is already home, better to first check that she’s safe.

Yoongi’s sister lives near the hospital, an allowance granted with the understanding that your men keep tabs. While it’s unlikely Maro knows her home address, he could have followed her there from the hospital.

Parking swiftly, you leap from the car and sprint inside. Someone on the street protests, all bravado disappearing when they notice your jade. You skid to a stop in the lobby, zeroing in on the doorman.

“Floor ten,” you say flatly.

Open-mouthed, the man stares. When you start to move forward, he snaps to attention. “Elevator is out,” he blurts. “You’ll have to take the stairs, like the rest.”

The rest.

Teeth gritted, you pivot and take the steps three at a time. The climb upward is steep, and you use a burst of Strength to reach the top. Shoving open the door to floor ten, you come to a sudden halt.

Chaos greets you.

The hall before you is narrow, barely two meters in width. Yoongi and Maro face each other midway, moon blades drawn and locked in combat. Lunging, Maro’s blade slices Yoongi’s shoulder and blood splatters the floor. Hissing, Yoongi doubles his Strength to kick Maro in the chest, sending him flying.

Maro slams into a window, glass raining around him. Rolling Light, Maro jumps to face Yoongi, unscathed. Stomach sinking, you notice the amount of jade Maro carries. More than he ever had while part of the clan. Clearly, Maro is past the point of caring about things like the Itches.

His aura feels wrong where it touches yours, jagged and pulsing. Leaping and whirling with unknown motive, withdrawing to expand in nonsensical patterns.

Face contorted, Maro unleashes a series of blows which nearly has Yoongi buckling. Clearly, Maro has continued training in exile. He looks similar and yet different – his hair longer, beard unkempt to hide the scar on his cheek. His body is lean, that of a wild wolf after winter who fights more desperately because of it.

Steeling himself, you feel Yoongi pull his aura inward, readying for the next blow. Maro slips beneath Yoongi’s blade and slashes – and Yoongi releases, Channeling his energy outward in a deadly wave. The invisible strike hits Maro dead-on, making him stumble.

Gaze bright, Maro’s head whips upward. Sensing murderous intent, a growl slips from your throat as you rush in. Swifter than breath, you wrench knives from your belt, thrusting them upward to catch Maro’s blade.

He shudders to a halt, teeth bared in your face.

Yoongi skids to a stop beside you, disbelief warring with his panic.

“GO!” you yell, glancing at Yejun’s door. “Now!”

Yoongi hesitates before nodding, lowering his sword to dart inside. Maro seethes when he escapes, shoving with all his weight to send you backwards. Dropping into a crouch, you brace yourself with one hand and kick outward. Maro leaps to avoid the blow, landing Light with a fierce glint in his eye.

Bright studs of jade – some red and oozing – dot his chest, clearly done in haste. Maro doesn’t seem to feel pain as he walks towards you.

 “You?” he taunts, half-laughing. “You’d barely graduated when I was chosen for Horn. Must be nice,” he muses. “A reward for fucking the boss.”

Biting your lower lip, you hold back your retort. When you do this, Maro smiles, lips pulled from his teeth.

Before he can speak, you lunge forward and Channel. Energy jabs Maro’s chest – enough to stun, but not kill. Grunting, Maro’s smile disappears as he Deflects. Bringing his sword down overhead, he leaves no room to dodge. Swiftly, you Steel and hope for the best.

Maro’s blade slams against skin, though he fails to draw blood. Springing forward, you strike hard enough to rend his shirt’s fabric. Pulling back, Maro seethes.

Your next series of blows are fueled by Strength, fast enough to elude normal vision. You rely on muscle memory and Perception, countering each of Maro’s strokes with your own. He’s not as fast as you are, but his additional jade gives him an edge.

His next Channel is clumsy but strong, enough to leave you winded and miss his next blow. You don’t Steel in time, his blade catching your jacket to cut your torso. Hissing, you stumble and press a hand to the wound.

The cut feels shallow but stings, nonetheless. Fury building, you hone your Perception to a narrow cone. Maro’s aura ebbs and flows, erratically bursting as he walks towards you.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering to fight,” he says, adjusting his grip on his sword. “If anything, you should join me, Y/N – I’m your future.”

Refusing to let him continue, you rush forward and exchange a flurry of blows that end in a stalemate.

Panting, Maro withdraws. “You have to understand I loved her,” he hisses. “I loved her, and she betrayed me. She deserves to die.”

“Who did?” you ask, although you already know.

Behind Maro, you see Yoongi rush from Yejun’s apartment. He holds her, unconscious, Yejun’s aura silent without jade ability. Fervent, you wish you could gauge her vitality. As it is, all you can do is buy them time to get help.

Sinking into a crouch, you draw Maro’s gaze. 

“Yejun?” you prod.

“Yes,” Maro breathes, his gaze bright. “I trusted her, and she turned me in. Do you know what I thought about every day while in Shotar? Her. Do you know what she thought about? The clan,” he spits. “He’ll betray you, too, in the end – you’ll see. Killing them both now would be a mercy.”

“Yejun didn’t betray you,” you say to buy time. “She wasn’t the one who told Yoongi – he found out on his own.”

Maro blinks, his surprise evident for a moment before vanishing under fury. “That’s just as bad,” he snaps, his voice rising. “Yoongi and I were like brothers. Under aisho, doesn’t family come first?”

“Even family is bound by honor,” you say grimly. “Should I ever be disloyal to my brother, may I die by the blade,” you add, reciting the Green Bone oaths. “I won’t join you, Toh Marosun. Take me by force if you must.”

His nostrils flare but before he can act, you rush in. Dimly, you register Yoongi’s retreating aura and hope he’s managed to escape the building. Lightness and Strength blur as you move, Maro’s Deflection flung hastily forward.

You keep your blows unpredictable, swift enough that Maro struggles. Rage cloaks your intention as you whirl and slice in erratic patterns. Sweat beads on Maro’s forehead, Steeling wrongly for your knives to draw blood.

Sensing victory, you push harder. Gathering his energy inward, Maro lashes out suddenly in a Channel you barely Deflect. Energy rips through you, searing your bones in a silent attack. Wincing, you leap back and Channel a blow. Maro stumbles, barely shielding and you recognize a flaw.

There are few Green Bones in Shotar, which must make it difficult for him to practice Deflection. Pressing the advantage, you move forward in a quick flurry of blows. Although Maro’s sword is larger, your knives gain the advantage in the small space. He can’t move when you duck underneath, stabbing upward to pierce his soft underarm.

Howling, Maro whirls and swings at you rashly. Leaning backwards, you Steel and catch the blow on your forearm. Vibrations clang through you, rattling the teeth in your skull. The two of you lock together, Maro’s energy clashing with yours. When he doubles his Strength, you feel your Steel buckle.

Lips split in a grin, Maro keeps his sword steady. Further increasing his Strength, he’s focused on winning he doesn’t notice the shift in your aura.

Dropping your Steel, you draw everything inward and let his sword slice your arm. Maro’s laugh is manic – until you Channel outward. The last of your energy shatters his Deflection, piercing inner organs with deadly precision. You feel the moment Maro’s heart stops, his arteries rupturing from the inside out.

Forgoing any mercy, your knife slashes his throat in a clean line.

Blood mists from the wound, coating the wall behind you in red. With a gurgled gasp, Maro lifts a hand – only to go limp and fall, face-first on the floor.

Silence descends, broken only by your ragged breathing. Not far off, sirens wail, and you sense Green Bone auras closing in on the building. Eyes closed, you force yourself to breathe in and out.

No matter how often you do it, killing another person never gets easier. Even when necessary. Even when said person threatens your life and others. You fortify yourself with the knowledge that Yoongi is safe, and Yejun will live – she has to.

The cost to your soul is too high for anything else.

“Is he dead?” asks someone behind you.

Swiftly, you turn as you open your eyes. You were so focused inward, you failed to notice Yoongi’s aura approach. The Pillar’s gaze snags, stopping on the man before you.

“Yes,” you say, bending to clean your knives. Heart hammering, you wonder what Yoongi feels at seeing his former friend dead. Wonder if he’ll blame you, as Maro said.

Setting your jaw, you sheath both your knives before standing. Immediately, you see you needn’t have worried. Yoongi isn’t looking at Maro, but at you. A lone muscle tics in his jaw, observing the crimson blood staining your clothes.

“The police are on their way. They’ll clean up the scene. You’re hurt,” Yoongi adds, his voice thick.

You glance down at your arm. “It’s nothing.”

Bending again, you begin to gather Maro’s jade. You’ll be expected to wear it the next time you’re in public, but right now, the touch of it is nearly overwhelming. Minor wounds and injuries pulse with each movement, already healing from your current jade.

“I’ll take it.” Yoongi suddenly is beside you, right hand extended. “Let me help.”

Relinquishing some of the jade piercings, you slide the rest in your pockets and push yourself to stand. Turning to face him, you stride down the hall. A roiling ball of emotion settles deep in your gut.

Worry about Yejun. Fury at Yoongi’s lies. Relief, that he’s here and unharmed.

Entering the stairwell, the door hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Yoongi follows closely, wisely choosing to remain silent. Two stories lower, you find the words to speak.

“Is Yejun okay?” you ask.

You feel Yoongi’s gaze on the back of your neck. “She’ll live,” he says, sounding weary. “I left her at the hospital with Namjoon and Jiro. She has a concussion. Maro got here a few minutes before I did and had already roughed her up.”

Something about this snaps the hold on your fragile self-control. Picturing what might have happened had you arrived a few seconds later, you whirl around and grasp Yoongi by his suit jacket.

“Never,” you blurt, yanking him closer. “Never do that to me again.”

Gaze burning, you stare him down and Yoongi watches warily. He doesn’t move an inch, allowing you to manhandle him. “I know that you’re angry,” he says carefully.

With a harsh laugh, you release him. “Of course, I am! You shouldn’t have come here alone.”

“I know that.”

“Well?” you demand after a long moment passes. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

Yoongi lifts a brow. “I’d do it again.”

You stare at him, aghast. “Well, then.” You pause. Shake your head. “If that’s all you have to say, I think this night is over.”

Wiping your palms on your pants, you turn away. You only make it one flight before Yoongi’s hand finds your elbow.

Spinning you towards him, Yoongi pulls you closer. You manage to avoid eye contact until his fingers slip beneath your chin, making you face him.

“I know you want me to apologize, but I won’t,” he says lowly. “I refuse to apologize for trying to keep you from danger.”

Most people would swoon, hearing this from their lover but you aren’t most people. You’re the Horn of No Peak, sworn to protect the clan – and Yoongi – from any threats.

Your gaze narrows on his. “That’s a problem, then. I’m your Horn, Yoongi. It’s my duty to protect No Peak – to protect you. The Pillar is the spine of this clan and, once severed, No Peak can’t survive. It can survive without me, though.”

Yoongi’s nostrils flare. “And what about me?” he asks. “If you don’t survive, how do you expect me to continue?”

You go still. “Yoongi… I…”

“And for that matter,” he adds, his hand on your chin sliding to the back of your neck. “If you’re so intent on following the rules, who are you to give me orders? I’ll fight to protect the clan if I want to, Y/N.”

Fury expands from the spark in your chest. “You didn’t make me your Horn to follow you blindly,” you seethe.

“No.” His gaze softens. “I did not.”

You stare at each other for a long moment, each passing second draining some of your fire. You’re left with smoke on your tongue, a heaviness in your heart and the ever-growing certainty the time for rule-following has passed.

“You… can’t think like that,” you say eventually.

Yoongi’s brow sketches upward. “Like what?”

“Like I’m worth more than the clan. More than you, as it’s Pillar. That’s dangerous precedent.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” you say, frustrated by his nonchalance. “The clan is my blood, and the Pillar is its master,” you add, reciting your oaths again. “You are the Pillar. Your life is that of the clan.”

Yoongi’s lips twist with displeasure. “It seems we’re at an impasse, since I refuse to place my life before yours.”

“Yoongi,” you snap, exasperated. “You can’t just… just –”

“Just what?” His eyes blaze. “Love you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, voice breaking.

Something in his face gentles. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.”

Perceiving this truth, the last bit of fight drains from your body. Sensing it, Yoongi draws you closer and pulls you against him. Eyes shutting, you lean into his chest. Yoongi’s aura swallows you whole, an oasis of calm against the onslaught of night.

His breath warms your ear. “It was my problem to fix,” Yoongi murmurs, sounding reticent. “She… Yejun didn’t betray Maro, but she was going to – that’s how I found out. She was writing a letter to me on her kitchen table. I walked in and saw it.”

Lifting your head, you regard him. “You don’t have to explain to me why you spared your sister. I understand.”

“Thank you. You should know, though,” he adds, his voice fierce, “I will do anything to keep those I love from harm.”

You can’t help but smile, though it quickly fades. “I know you would, Yoongi. That’s a burden you can’t carry alone, though. It makes you weaker, not stronger.”

“This was my fault, though,” he says. “Not yours – nor anyone else from the clan. It was my decision to let Maro go free.”

“You aren’t responsible for Maro’s actions. And it’s not weakness to show mercy.”

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s not,” you press on. “Who’s to say what the right choice was? If you’d killed Maro back then, maybe something worse would’ve happened. Yejun might not have forgiven you. It’s impossible to rewrite the past, and you’ll go mad if you try.”

Yoongi looks away, unconvinced. “What type of Pillar does that make me, though?”

“One who hesitates before killing their friends.”

“One who balks at making tough decisions.”

“Min Yoongi.” Steel layers your voice and you reach up, turning his face to yours. “I would never swear oaths to someone who killed without question. Who made decisions in anger, then regretted them later. You question me when you question yourself.”

His gaze roams your face. “And what if others betray me?” Yoongi murmurs, voice lower. “Would you continue to support me if I was forced to kill Asha? Or Jungkook?”

“I’d trust you did what had to be done.”

“And what if I become corrupt?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking lower. “What if I’m the one being selfish, betraying the clan?”

“Well, that’s easy.” Reaching lower, you wrap a hand around the hilt of his blade. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Not looking away, Yoongi’s hand covers yours. “You could try,” he murmurs, some of his tension dissipated.

“Oh, I think I’d succeed.”

Releasing your hand, Yoongi finds your knee and hitches your leg against him. “If it came to that,” he murmurs, nose skimming your throat, “I’d let you.”

Inhaling softly, you close your eyes. “Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

Perceiving the truth to his words, you open your eyes. Yoongi stares back, letting you see the starkness in his gaze. It’s no small thing for the most powerful man in Kekon to promise you anything.

Similarly, it’s no small thing to admit he holds your heart in both hands. Which is why you need to say what you do next. Without Yoongi’s next promise, this can’t go any further.

“Don’t make these decisions without me,” you whisper. “Let me decide for myself when a job is too dangerous.”

Yoongi’s lips flatten. “You give me an impossible choice, since nothing is too dangerous for my lovely Horn.”

“Trust that I love you, then,” you say, your hand trembling as you rise to cup his face. “And that I’ll do what it takes to come back.”

Yoongi goes still at your declaration. His pupils dilate so far, they seem to swallow the light. Four years, you’ve spent fighting together. Five months of knowing him this way, and never have you uttered those words to his face.

The transformation is quick, his expression shifting to desire in barely a breath. Bending, Yoongi drags your mouth to his. “Say it again,” he growls against your lips. “Tell me you love me.”

“You’ll become greedy,” you say, breathless.

“I’m the Pillar of No Peak.” He gives a half-laugh. “I will always want more.”

“Then, take it.”

Opening your mouth, Yoongi walks you backwards until your spine hits the wall. You lose yourself in his touch, his taste, the fatal heat of his body. Fingers tangling in hair, you’re rewarded by the basest of groans from his lips. Yoongi’s hands find your body, grasping and searching to pull you against him.

Far below, the faint pulse of jade auras brush yours. “Yoongi,” you moan, nipping his lower lip. “We should go.”

Pulling away, his thumbs indent your hips. “Go where?”

“Your place. My place. I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says with a grin. “Want to wake up with you in my bed.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You’re so needy.”

“I am.” His lips curve. “I need many things, Y/N. You in my bed. Eventually, in my house. Your vows exchanged for mine. But first” – his brow lifts – “I need to fuck you. Need to bury myself inside you.”

Lips parting, you attempt to digest this information. Everything Min Yoongi has laid on the line. The last sentence catches your attention though, heat curling in your belly and replacing all sentient thought. The rest can come later – first, you need him inside you.

“Let’s go,” you declare, pushing yourself from the wall.

He chuckles, low in his throat as he follows your lead. Halfway down, Yoongi’s arm finds your waist to pull you against him. His teeth scrape the skin beneath your ear, pausing to nip the highest jade hoop.

“Where will you put your new jade?” he muses, pressing his erection to you from behind. “You’re running out of places on your body.”

“I’ll think of something,” you murmur, Yoongi’s tongue on your neck proving extremely distracting. “Wrist cuffs might be nice.”

“If you wanted to be cuffed” – his voice dips – “all you had to do was ask.”

“That is not what I was referring to,” you say, although a shiver traces your spine.

“Pity.”

A second before exiting the stairwell, Yoongi releases you and takes a step back. You ignore the disappointment this brings, forcing your expression to neutral. Already, police cars are arriving to hold back the crowds.

From across the lobby, you spot Asha and Hoseok in deep conversation with uniformed officers. Moving towards them, you’re surprised when Yoongi takes you by the elbow.

“I ran into Hoseok in the lobby,” he says, steering you sideways. “He and Asha will clean up and meet us back home.”

Hoseok nods when you pass, his jaw tight in a way that implies displeasure. Swallowing laughter, you push open the door and immediately, your smile vanishes. Many people have gathered, huddled in groups around the yellow caution tape.

Catching sight of your reflection, you stifle a groan. You look terrible – sweat and blood mar your forehead, the rips in your jacket showing your wounds. Before anything between you and Yoongi can happen, you need a hot shower.

“The situation’s been handled,” Yoongi says to the crowd, pulling you towards the car. “Green Bones are searching the area for remaining danger – you should be able to enter the building soon. No Peak will compensate for damages.”

With that, he opens the car door and watches you enter. Expressions shift in the crowd, a wave of relief washing over the people. Yoongi joins you in the backseat, leaning forward to instruct the driver to go.

The car rumbles from the curb, its speed slow to avoid the pedestrians in your path. Grateful for the tinted windows, you lean sideways and rest your head against the cool glass.

In the reflection, you watch Yoongi retrieve his car phone. “Namjoon?” he says after a moment. “It’s done – Maro is dead. How’s Yejun?”

Namjoon’s reply is muffled, and your thoughts wander. Once you return, you should find Jungkook and instruct him to search Maro’s former haunts. There’s a chance he wasn’t working alone and if so, you’ll need to catch his supporters.

Tonight has taken a toll though, no matter how much you’d like to pretend otherwise. Exhaustion settles while you stare out the window, watching the lights of Janloon flick past.

Yoongi hangs up the phone. “Yejun is fine,” he says, and you turn your head. “Namjoon said she lost a lot of blood, but nothing that can’t be fixed. She should be awake in a few hours.”

Relief floods your body. “That’s good.”

His hand rests beside yours on the seat, close enough to feel the heat from his palm. Exhaling softly, Yoongi shifts until his hand covers yours.

Going still, you stare at your entwined hands on the leather. The car slows beneath you, coming to a stop before the Min gates. Another moment passes before the gates open, the car rumbling forward as Yoongi speaks up.

“You can take us to my place, Galo,” he says. “No need to stop at the main house.”

Startled, you glance sideways, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. Never mind the driver’s raised eyebrows, or the fact that Yoongi just told him you’re sleeping together. While it’s true, you’ve slept here before, you’ve never been obvious. It feels as though a bridge has been crossed without discussion of what that means.

The moment the car is in park, you exit the vehicle and slam the door. Striding inside the front door, you unzip your jacket to hang on a hook. If Yoongi thinks he can share your relationship with others, you have every right to act at home in his house.

Technically, the Horn has a house on Min property, but you’ve always preferred to keep a separate residence. Your apartment in the city has served you well – except for the nights you stay here and sneak out the next morning.

Removing your boots, you set these aside. “We just discussed this,” you fume as you turn. “Ask me next time before you decide–”

Your words are cut off by Yoongi’s mouth, pushing you back until your spine hits the wall. “Couldn’t wait,” he rasps, shutting the door with his foot. “Need you. Now.”

Exhaling, you melt and arch upward against him. Grasping your thigh, Yoongi yanks your leg higher to wrap around his waist. The thick length of his cock presses to your center and you nearly whimper. Fiery anger dissolves into need – the need to touch him, feel him and wash away tonight’s fear.

“Yoongi,” you moan, turning your head. “I need to shower.”

Grasping your wrists with one hand, he presses them above your head. “Do you?” he murmurs, kissing down your neck.

“I’m covered in blood,” you protest.

Glancing up, Yoongi smirks. “And?”

Stifling laughter, you push at his chest. Obedient, Yoongi releases your hands to take a step backward. “Not to mention,” you say as you move past, “I’d rather not have Toh Marosun’s blood in your bed.”

Yoongi’s next action is quick, happening in the same breath. Catching your wrist in one hand, he pulls you closer. “The next time you say a man’s name in this house,” he rasps. “It had better be mine.”

“We’ll see,” you say loftily. “Now, let me wash up.”

Releasing you, Yoongi lets you pass, and you don’t turn around. If you did, you know you might cave and fuck him right there on the floor.

Entering his bedroom, you flick on the lights. Soft, muted warmth fills a room of concrete. Bulletproof windows overlook dense vegetation, invoking the feel of a post-apocalyptic city. Pausing in the doorway, you inhale his scent.

Although you’d never tell Yoongi – it’d go to his head – this room has swiftly become one of your favorite places. Watching dawn break in his arms has brought you greater peace than any of the gods.

In his bathroom, you help yourself to his fancy products and step under the spray. Securing your hair, you do your best to avoid the strands getting wet. Cranking up the heat to high, steam fills the room as you scrub blood from your skin. The water beneath your feet turns red, and then pink before finally clear.

Once done, you turn off the spray and wrap yourself in a towel. Straining Perception, you find Yoongi showering across the house. You’re momentarily surprised he didn’t try and join, although grateful he didn’t. After five years of knowing one another, Yoongi understands when you need time alone.

You’re washing your face when the bedroom door creaks. Drying your skin, you cross to the closet and withdraw a robe. Securing the tie, you wipe steam from the mirror before opening the door.

Yoongi sits on the edge of his bed, damp hair curling at the base of his neck. He’s freshly washed and changed into a plain shirt and trousers. In one hand, he holds a crystal glass of hoji, swirling it once before taking a sip.

Leisurely, his gaze drags down your body. When Yoongi looks up, his face brims with unsaid desire. Silent, he sets down his glass and pushes himself to stand. Watching him eagerly, you Perceive his intent when Yoongi prowls closer.

Coming to a stop before you, Yoongi lifts his hand to cup the back of your neck. Tilting your face upward, he strokes your damp skin with his fingers.

Silent, he lowers his face until your lips nearly touch. “What was it you said?” he murmurs. “About the clan being your blood and the Pillar, its master?”

Your breath catches in your throat. “You know the oaths as well as I do.”

“Yes.” Bending, Yoongi uses Strength to lift you against him. Gripping you tightly, he carries you to his dresser and deposits you there. “Well,” he says, lowering himself. “Allow me to show you who I get on my knees for.”

You stare at him, mesmerized when he parts your legs. Pulling your hips to the edge, Yoongi grips your thigh with a veined hand. The sight of him like this is downright sinful. Desire courses through you, setting your skin ablaze.

Yoongi leans forward, gaze meeting yours at the first brush of his tongue. You groan with relief, thighs spreading further. Lifting his other hand, Yoongi tugs at the tie of your robe. You inhale when it opens, fully bared while Yoongi’s tongue curls against your dripping sex.

He pulls away, eyes dark and casually spreads your folds. Muttering something that sounds like a swear, he stares at your cunt before lowering his head and sucking your clit. A dark moan escapes, weight shifting to get him even closer. Forcing your thighs open, Yoongi begins to flick his tongue against your swollen mound.

He doesn’t rush this, taking his time while eating you out. Yoongi flicks, and then swirls before sucking your clit. His tongue drags to your cunt, already dripping with arousal. Humming in satisfaction, Yoongi shifts on the floor and slips his tongue inside. Gasping his name, your fingers curl in the dark strands of his hair.

His tongue slowly fucks you, barely a taste of what’s to come. “Yoongi,” you groan, moving against him. “I need more.”

“Anything,” he says, pulling back to spread you with his fingers. Yoongi’s thumb finds your clit, casually stroking until your body quivers. “Take off the robe,” he demands, looking up. “I want to see you.”

Wordless, you push the supple silk from your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at rounded breasts and hard nipples. Lowering his head, he sucks your clit again. Sliding a hand under your ass, he drags you close to the edge.

Gasping out loud, your hand fists his hair to anchor your body. In the mirror behind him, you watch your chest heave, hips undulating while he licks your pussy. Head tipping back, you lose yourself in sensation, each stroke of his tongue further coiling your tension. Yoongi is patient; he knows what you need and takes his time getting there.

Cupping his head, you move your hips while starting to ride his tongue. When Yoongi strokes your entrance and slips a finger inside, you nearly convulse.

“Yoongi,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lifting his head. Curling that finger, he strokes a dangerous place. “Come for me.”

When his tongue resumes motion, you feel your walls convulse. Tighter and tighter until – everything snaps, a wave of pleasure cresting through you. Thighs trembling, you hold Yoongi’s hair while you cry out his name.

The pleasure slowly subsides, leaving you slumped on the dresser. Yoongi pushes himself upward, cock straining eagerly against the seams of his pants. Cupping the back of your neck, he kisses you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself. Parting your lips with his tongue, he dives into you eagerly, one hand slipping to slide into your pussy.

Groaning his name, you fumble with the buttons holding his shirt together. “This,” you demand. “Off.”

Using Strength, you send the buttons flying. Yoongi smirks, withdrawing and pushing his shirt to the ground. Touching his chest, you stare at him, unabashed. The lean lines of his torso, the indent of his v, the jade lining his fingers where he grips you tightly.

His moon blade is absent, likely the first thing he cleaned upon entry. Still, the hum of Yoongi’s jade is a potent weapon – nearly as much as the need in his eyes.

Lowering your hand, you palm the bulge in his pants. Jaw flexing, Yoongi lifts your leg to wrap around him. The roughness of his pants against your sex makes you hiss.

“Yoongi,” you moan. “Want to touch you.”

“I want that, too,” he murmurs, hair falling into his gaze. “More than that, I want to be inside you.”

Breath catching, you remove your hand as he presses forward. You feel his cock through his pants, rock-hard and straining against your needy pussy. Swallowing thickly, you managed to undo the last button and shove his pants down. Stepping free of their confines, Yoongi palms his own cock.

Replacing his hand, you give him a squeeze. Yoongi lowers his head to close his lips around a waiting nipple. A whimper rises when he tugs, switching to the other breast and repeating the motion. Arching upward, you lazily drag your thumb over the tip of his cock.

Eventually, Yoongi looks up and hisses, “Enough.”

Reaching lower, he guides his cock to your entrance. Leaning back on your palms, you lift one knee to allow him better access. Yoongi pauses, gaze traveling your face to your chest, landing on your cunt. Exhaling softly, your head tips back as you widen your legs.

“You’re perfect,” Yoongi rasps, flicking his thumb over your hooded clit.

Inhaling, you tremble from oversensitivity. Bending, Yoongi slowly spits to land moisture on your cunt. It drips down your sex, mixing with arousal while Yoongi pushes the tip of his cock inside. He pauses, watching your face, then adds another inch.

You arch upward, trying and failing to take him in deeper. “Is that all you have?” you challenge, goading.

Yoongi merely smirks. “Do you think,” he murmurs, refusing to move, “you can make me give you what you want?”

When he starts to withdraw, you tilt your hips, and he slides in a bit deeper. Yoongi groans as he fills you, hand tightening on your waist.

“Yes,” you gloat, brushing your breasts to his chest. “I do.”

Yoongi’s gaze flares, and he pushes in a bit more. “I know you, Y/N,” he murmurs, moving one hand to your neck. Thumb brushing your collarbone, he hauls you upright and keeps your thighs spread. “I know you want this pussy filled nice and slow. I know you want me to tease you. I know you want to feel in control but have someone else do the work. And I want – no, need,” Yoongi corrects, aura flaring, “to be the one giving it to you.”

Before you can respond, he thrusts forward and fills you with his cock. A cry leaves you, unable to do anything but take it. With your legs spread, hips tilted, the thickness of his length presses to your g-spot. And when Yoongi withdraws and leaves your body empty, you think you might cry. Think you might beg to have more of his cock.

Luckily, Yoongi doesn’t want this. Thrusting into you fully, he starts to move. Filling you up with his thickness, he goes harder and harder until you can barely think straight. His hips pound yours, filling you to the brim, making you take it. Fingers brushing the jade on your throat, he spikes your arousal and drenches his cock.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, staring at the place he disappears inside you. “You’re amazing.”

“Yoongi,” you groan. “I need… need…”

“Yeah?” His gaze lifts. “Tell me what you need.”

“Deeper,” you plead.

His aura flares briefly before he pulls out. Before you can speak, his hands find your waist, setting you on the floor to turn you around. Spreading your legs, he presses a hand to your back to push you lower.

Gripping his dresser, you look over your shoulder while he positions himself from behind. “What about now?” Yoongi asks, slipping inside with one thrust.

Lips parting, you bend further and stick out your ass. Yoongi starts to move when you spread your legs, fucking you harder. His thrusts become rougher, hips slapping your ass while your breasts bounce.

“That’s it,” he says, leaning forward to lace one hand with yours. His other slides between your thighs, flicking over your clit. “So wet and tight for me. Taking my cock like you own it.”

“Don’t I?” you groan.

“Mm,” he agrees, rubbing circles on your clit. “It’s yours – I’m yours.”

Before you can respond, he pulls out again. Draping you over one shoulder, Yoongi carries you, Light, to his bed. You scowl, hitting his thigh but Yoongi responds with a firm smack to your ass. His fingers slip briefly between your cheeks, wetting himself with your slick. Before you can moan, he deposits you on the bed.

Kneeling between your legs, Yoongi repositions himself at your entrance and pushes in.

“Oh,” you groan, heading tilting back.

You love sex with Yoongi in every position, but this is your favorite. Feeling his callouses slide over our skin, his weight heavy while filling you with his cock. Yoongi’s length slides inside, rocking into you slowly while his hair brushes your forehead.

Reaching up, you push this from his face when he starts to move. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from tonight, it’s that these moments are precious. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hold him tighter.

“Marry me,” Yoongi says.

You go still underneath him. “I… what?”

Sliding his hand under your hips, Yoongi tilts them to get deeper. “Marry me,” he repeats. “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of waking up without you. Living my life without you.”

“You have me,” you say, unsure whether he’s serious.

Slowly, he thrusts in and out of your body. “Not the way I want.” His eyes flash. “As not only my Horn, but my wife. I want to be your husband. I want the entire world to know I belong to you.”

Taking your other hand, Yoongi moves this to the bed while continuing to thrust. You arch against him, chasing his hips and words with your own.

“People will talk,” you say, breathless.

His gaze sparks. “Do you think I care?”

“Maybe I care,” you say. “They’ll call me a distraction. And don’t give me that bullshit about my life being worth more than yours.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi chuckles, teeth scraping your neck. “What I will say is that I’m better with you. And if I’m better, the clan is better. Not that you should marry me because of that,” he adds, almost an afterthought.

You lose your breath when he circles his hips, driving into you deeper. Thighs parting, you lose yourself in the feel of him in you. His body moves as his soul does, completing you fully. In truth, you’ve avoided this conversation because you know how it ends.

It ends with Yoongi. He’s it for you. From the first time you kissed, you knew it would end up here – it was only a matter of when. Your remaining barriers crumble as you meet his gaze.

“Yes,” you exhale, your hips chasing his.

Yoongi’s aura sharpens. “Yes?” he repeats. “Is that… agreement or acceptance?”

“Yes – as in yes, Yoongi, I’ll marry you.”

Yoongi goes completely still, ignoring your protest. A second later, he’s consumed by a wave of emotion. Need – fiery and stark – sweeps through him as he bends, crushing your lips to his. Yoongi’s kiss burns, searing and marking you for one another.

Slipping an arm beneath your knee, Yoongi pushes upward to get even deeper. You gasp with pleasure, his cock hitting a spot that makes you incoherent.

“Soon,” he adds, adding Strength to his thrusts.

Breathless, your fingertips dig into his skin. “Don’t be greedy,” you chide, losing some credibility when a moan leaves your lips.

His upper lip curls. “I am, though,” Yoongi grunts, pushing you close to the edge. “I’ll never have enough of you, Y/N.”

“Good,” you say, holding him tightly. “I’m yours, Yoongi.”

A groan escapes him, burying his face in your neck. The muscles in Yoongi’s shoulders strain, fucking you harder. “I could die hearing those words.”

“Don’t. That’s an order.”

Yoongi looks up to lock gazes. “Whatever you want. I need it, Y/N. Need this – want to feel you come on my cock.”

Already close to the edge, his words leave you trembling. Clutching him harder, you widen your thighs and feel your walls shatter when you come undone. Pleasure consumes you, vision going dark as you throw back your head. Yoongi’s lips brush your throat, continuing to thrust through your orgasm.

Swearing when you tighten, Yoongi goes harder to chase his release. On his last thrust, he breaks, your name on his tongue as hot cum fills your body. Slowly, he lowers himself to the bed beside you. Yoongi slips partway out, your bodies still intertwined.

Lifting a hand, you drag this down his side. Yoongi smiles at you before pulling out, reaching to grab a tissue from his nightstand. He cleans you with care, then rises from bed to throw it away. Slipping beneath the covers, you wait for his return.

Yoongi does so quietly, dimming the light before he joins you in bed. Slowly, your eyes adjust until Yoongi’s moon-limned face becomes visible.

“Did you mean it?” you say, barely more than a whisper.

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he says roughly. “And you? Did you also mean what you said?”

Slowly, you nod.

Joy floods his aura, sharp and bright. “Anything you want,” Yoongi says, determined. “You have only to ask. Cities burnt. Villains vanquished. My own name, forsaken – ask, and it’s yours.”

You can’t help but laugh, your whole body shaking. “Villains vanquished?” you tease, pressing closer. “There are some who might call you the villain of this story.”

His lip twitches. “Then, I’ll defeat myself.”

“Seems like an easy fight.”

Mock growling, he rolls to pin you underneath him. You laugh louder, the sound muffled when Yoongi bends to kiss you. By the time his head lifts, the two of you are breathless.

“I apologize,” you murmur, cupping his face. “Most fearsome Pillar.”

Baring his teeth, he nips your thumb. “That’s better.”

“Truly, though,” you tell him. “There’s no need to get me anything. Whatever I want, I can get for myself.”

Somewhat amused, Yoongi settles beside you. “Oh, I’m aware. My heart, for instance,” he says, placing your hand on his chest.

“That, I’ll accept,” you say softly, staring at your hand on his skin. Your gaze lifts. “As long as mine belongs to you, in turn.”

“A heart for a heart,” Yoongi agrees, moving closer.

Skin pressed to skin, you feel your hearts settle. No Green Bone magic ties two souls together. Instead, that magic lies within the bounds of normal humans. And yet, as you breathe and listen to the blood in his veins, you can’t help but feel something greater is at work.

Something even death could not part – although you’d dare it to try.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Go read Jade City by Fonda Lee. LOL   

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

afterimage, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: Min Yoongi is afraid. Afraid to break down the wall between what I want to say and what I cannot say. How someone answers tells him a lot about he can trust them or not. He wants to trust the smile that breaks rules. He shouldn't, but he wants to.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alcohol consumption; jaded views of the music industry; a layered conversation of worldviews, coping mechanisms, and overwhelming sexual tension; smut (fem reader, ripping stockings, heavy petting, fingering, very minor restraint, m-receiving oral, spit kink, penetrative sex); non-BTS!AU - solo music artist!long-haired!Yoongi x writer!reader; Yoongi’s POV

--

“What is something that you want to say but you cannot say?”

Those careful eyes surveyed him closely. After a moment, she answered with, “Just a game, right?”

He smiled. Tipped his half-full whiskey glass towards her. She didn’t have one. Nothing in front of her but the walls in her eyes to keep him out. Not complete darkness though. There was a door if he really looked deep into that stare. Locked. But a door was a door. Any door could always be unlocked.

She was inviting him to break in.

“Yeah. Play along.”

They sat on the floor, his smoked-glass-topped coffee table in between them. Everyone else was gone. Only them left, somehow. She had lingered for a beat and he had turned it into a melody. Sit down with me. The request was met with measured silence and sharpened obedience. No nervousness in the face of danger. He wondered if she would take his question seriously or if he would be disappointed once more. In hindsight, it was a silly worry. She was not the others.

Her eyes followed his whiskey glass.

Voice calm.

“People only like success when it comes from suffering. When you’re happy and successful, they hate you.”

Her lashes shifted and then she was directly watching him. Piercing. Daring him to back away. Daring him to run. He was not the type to run. The intensity in that gaze tempted him though. He took a sip instead, both to smooth over the shake in his hand and the sudden cold in his throat.

“What about you? What do you want to say, but cannot?”

Min Yoongi kept his smile on.

“I hate them,” he replied.

Her lips parted. Not really from what he said, but the venom and bitterness ravaging his otherwise even, mild tone.

“I fucking hate people.”

There had been so many here. Quite a number, right here in his home. People who called themselves ‘friend’ when they were around him. Oh, he used the word too. He used to avoid it, but no longer. That was the way it was in this industry. Friend. Friends help friends until money became much more important and then ‘friend’ became only a word. Money was always more important. If not money, then ego. If not ego, then…

“People pretend they like you but, if you watch their words, you will see how they love to slip in that one aspect where they think better than you. If they are not trying to make you feel inferior, then they think they can be the one to make you better.”

Those eyes were following him.

No.

Not following.

Already there.

“They think they know you,” she finished for him.

He raised the glass to keep something between him and her.

“Do you think you know me?”

A moment of silence and knowing.

“I thought I didn’t, but now I think I do.”

She must have wondered why she was here tonight. A celebration, but something she was only barely part of. He thought, too, that she shouldn’t be part of the guest list. But there had been some kind of mix up and he wasn’t the type to take back an invite. It was fine. One more person wouldn’t impact the cost that much. She came alone. Didn’t even drink. The reasoning behind this moment mattered little. What mattered was that it was happening.

What mattered was that he was afraid.

People avoided fear, pain, the unknown, but Min Yoongi was not people.

He lowered the glass and placed it on the coaster. “Tell me another thing you want to say. But can’t.”

She looked at the whiskey glass with a lack of whiskey. Lashes shifted and then back to him, half-smiling.

“Alcohol is an excuse to escape.”

He didn’t smile. “Or a way to cover up,” he added.

Half to full. “You don’t need to cover up.”

Yoongi didn’t mind lying a little to be polite. He didn’t mind putting on his best when he wasn’t feeling his best for the sake of not dragging down the mood. Yet, to himself, he did no such thing. He knew his tendency. He knew what he was doing to himself. He wasn’t sure he was going to do it, though, because he was afraid.

Fate implied nice things. The correct word was inevitable.

“Who said anything about me?”

She kept her smile and changed the subject. “Do you think creation only comes from suffering?”

He frowned.

“No.”

She nodded.

“Me neither.”

She leaned back. It was an invitation rather than a retreat.

“But no one ever praises it as the best work you have ever done either.”

Her dress shirt was crushed black velvet. Buttoned all the way up to her slim neck. He knew she wore a fitted miniskirt tonight, one with a silver zipper detail that stopped at the waistband. Sheer black stockings. Velvet heels that matched her top, currently lined up by the door. Small purse and long coat present on his sofa.

She would have to pass by him to retrieve them.

“Even if by technical means, it is the best work you have ever done. Even if it’s the most expansive personal exploration you have ever done. Even if you are proud of how far you have come. Lyrically, melodically, vocally. People don’t like it… as much. Not unless it comes from suffering. Then and only then do they eat it up, finding pleasure in devouring your pain.”

He tracked her with his eyes. “I didn’t say that.”

She didn’t smile. “You didn’t. I did.”

Yoongi was afraid to stand up and pour himself a little more. Not that he couldn’t take it. He could. It was the shimmering nervousness eating away at his limbs that he wasn’t sure if he wanted to reveal.

“I’ve gone on too long. Your turn. What do you want to say?” she asked.

Not yet.

He breathed out and answered.

“I knew from the moment I met you that you knew me.”

Her forearms leaned against the edge of the coffee table. One hand poised over the table, fingertips not quite touching the glass. No fingerprints. She humbly tilted her head. Visible puzzlement. “I only played a very small part in the marketing. Just the written portion. I was a little surprised that they wanted to have a separate position from the marketing director.”

“I made the request.”

His elbow was resting on his raised knee. Fingertips loosely on the rim of the glass. He wore a designer suit as the host and for the celebratory occasion. The honey-mocha-colored blazer was now draped over the back of the sofa, leaving him in the slacks and tan silk shirt. His black hair currently reached past his jaw. He had it half-tied back to look presentable. Now, he was wishing that he had taken out the hair tie to have this conversation. As if on cue, she swept back part of her long hair over her shoulder, exposing her right ear.

His eyes followed the action and then met up with hers.

Vigilant.

He raised his head. Instead of elaborating, he asked again.

“What can’t you say?”

The silence was loud.

“Everyone has an ulterior motive when they speak to me,” she murmured. Not quite looking at him. Lips barely moving. “Everyone plays nice but, in the end, everyone wants something.”

He had to remind himself to breathe. “Don’t you?”

Her gaze flickered back. “Don’t I what?”

“Want something.”

Pause.

“Want someone.”

She hummed softly.

“You don’t think I could have someone if I wanted them?”

There was an edge to her tone. She placed her elbows on the edge of the table and laced her fingers together. Almost rude, if Yoongi had been one to care about etiquette. She had beautiful hands. Hands that could tell stories.

“Or, rather, are you of the opinion that people are might to be kept? That I, as a woman, must desire to keep someone, hold them, and base my worth on whether or not I can keep them in my grasp?”

A faint smile.

Not a kind one.

He really needed that drink. Gripped the top of his glass.

“I want to keep someone,” Yoongi confessed softly. “Someone who knows me.”

He lowered his knee.

He got up, breaking their shared gaze. Walked over to the bar and poured himself a little more. Drank it slowly to savor the burn that always came with whiskey. And yet he continued to drink it. He wondered why she agreed. He wondered why the skittering in his veins wouldn’t go away. He wondered why he let himself be in this position.

He wasn’t one to build sandcastles.

Exhale.

Yoongi left the glass behind and turned back around.

She was still sitting on her side of the coffee table on the pillow he had provided. Relaxed shoulders, elegant legs together, had shifted her weight to her hip to be more comfortable. One of her elbows was still on the edge of his coffee table, hand hanging down. She had sensed that she was in his line of sight and turned her head. Lashes lowered. Lifting.

The faintest tick of her eyebrow.

His hands found their way to his pockets.

“You want to keep playing this game?” she asked him.

He tilted his head, looking down at her frame.

“I don’t think either of us were playing a game.”

Eyes back up.

Standstill.

He smiled. “You’re too blunt and honest to be afraid to say what you want to say.” He let out a sigh from tiredness that wasn’t physical. “Me, I’m restricted by my choice of profession. Expectations. Public image and shit. You never know what someone says behind your back. You never know what harmless thing you said comes back to bite you. You never know when friend become foe.”

She remained seated but there was no question that they were standing on the same playing field.

“Am I considered friend? Or foe?” she asked.

He still had a chance to end the night.

Could have right here.

Yoongi stepped forward. Closed the distance. Squatted down, hiking up his slacks and resting his elbows on his knees to be eye level. In his expensive designer clothes, this casual action was almost laughable. No one was laughing. They both knew the difference between appearance and true self. In his heart, he was still the young kid protecting a dream no one believed in. Now, people saw him as someone who achieved that dream. Someone who made it. Someone who had it all. Money, ego, and loneliness. He hesitated to keep anyone. Everyone wanted something. Couldn’t blame them for it. But.

The air was thin up high.

“You’re right.”

Something flickered in her eyes. He nodded.

Exhale.

“What you said about alcohol. I use it to escape. My thoughts, mostly,” he admitted. Tapped the side of his temple. “It’s a cage in here.” Pointed to the window, to outside. “A cage out there. Good or bad, expectations are a cage that fuck with your head. A cage to keep you in the dark.” He gave her a wan smile. An honest one. “You can still find light in the dark, even if you’re caged. You just have to let go. I learned to let go. People liked that… but not as much.”

She nodded. Didn’t reply. Nothing to reply to. He continued as he watched her eyes.

“But you don’t drink alcohol.”

There was something in there. Even in the shadows of the low lighting, he could see them.

“You are not trying to escape. You actively rebel against the cage of expectations. You don’t look for the light.”

Sparks.

“You are your own light.”

The corner of her lips rose.

“There’s more than one way to escape.”

There was gravity here. Telepathy. Inevitability. He lowered one of his knees, leaning in slightly. Her eyes followed his hands, then back up to his face. Yoongi knew he shouldn’t. He was someone and people were dangerous. Her hand raised, resting on her chest. Her fingers slid across black velvet. Tracing the button placket. Just because they were alone didn’t mean that this moment would stay alone. He knew that. She could hurt the life he had made for himself. He was afraid, yes.

But not intimidated.

She leaned forward. The scent of musky warmth, somewhere between blessed fruit and wicked temptation. He breathed in, keeping his gaze torso up. 

“I don’t let people project their expectations on me,” she finally said. “The world demands. I question it and it seen as resistance. Insolence. People judge you solely on their moral compass that you had no say in. If they find a flaw in you, it is always on their terms.” She shook her head. “No. I will not live by their compass or on their terms. I choose what possesses me. I choose what makes me and what is left behind.”

His eyes followed the shape of her lips.

“I create my afterimage.”

He knew from the moment that they met that her hands could tell stories. He wondered what else they could do.

Wondered if they could make him fall apart too.

“Do you ever lie?” Yoongi asked.

She answered honestly and with a kind smile.

“Everybody lies.”

Lowered her hand from her chest. Placed the other on the floor. The distance between them was respectful but their shared gaze was closer than close. It wasn’t what was said that revealed the most. It was the words unsaid that revealed all. Her eyes tracked his. He followed the path created. He could blame the whiskey but that would be discourteous to the moment, to the feeling, to her. She sat up, to her knees. Stance no longer relaxed.

Now they were both on their knees.

Her whisper set his world on fire.

“Something you want to say, but cannot say?”

He held the tremble of his breath and now he couldn’t breathe.

“I really hope your method of escapism is what I think it is,” he replied.

That spark in her eyes gleamed. She moved her hands from her lap to behind her back. He could see the edges of her fingertips wrapped around her elbows. Yoongi recognized this feeling. It was the same exhilaration he felt when the melody and lyrics hit that sweet spot of the soul, the instant he knew he had gotten it right, the moment of a song becoming more than just sound.

“You can say it,” she urged gently. “I am not ashamed.”

He felt the side of his lips rise.

“I shouldn’t use sex as escapism.”

The tip of her pink tongue traced the edge of her smirk. A soft sigh, and she tipped her head back, exposing her neck. Her hair slipped along the line of her shoulders, framing her face. Downcast gaze. Then, a shift. Sensuality and sharpness.

No obedience.

“Good thing I don’t abide by your rules.”

The door was open.

He let his gaze linger on her face for a moment. Then, down. Down. The silver zipper was to the side of the skirt, along the center of her upper left thigh. Instead of zipping downward, it unzipped upward, towards the waistband. Decorative and functional. Sitting for a period of time had caused the article of clothing to hike up. Previously, Yoongi had never allowed himself to even consider it. Too dangerous to be disrespectful when others’ eyes were watching, and he had no desire to torture himself with impossibilities. But that was the past.

And this was the present.

He looked back up to watch her reaction.

Reached forward.

She kept her hands behind her back and her knees together.

Yoongi gripped the zipper pull and pushed the slider up her thigh.

The sound of metal teeth teasing apart. Then resistance. The delicate evisceration of fragile threads being torn apart. Obvious destruction. He could hear it. She could feel it. He saw himself in the shadows of her eyes as her stockings ripped from being caught in the skirt zipper. He didn’t look down. She didn’t stop him. Up. He had to scoot closer. She did not flinch. He hit the end of the tape.

He let go.

So close that their breath was mixing now.

His fingertip traced the rips, grazing over soft flesh threatening to spill out.

“I apologize. I’ll pay for it,” he murmured.

An open-mouthed smirk.

“For what?”

The zipper ended all the way up past her hip.

“Nothing is happening here.”

Then she raised herself, spreading her knees. Her skirt split apart further. Her hand raised, cradling his jaw for a split second before she leaned in and claimed his lips.

A kiss was evidence to intention. A kiss could reveal when someone wanted to be liked, when someone was trying to impress, when someone was desperate to be loved. A kiss showed Yoongi who meant well and who was selfish. Soft, insistent, angling her head to deepen the taste. She kissed with intent to bed him. With intent to feel him and his heart.

With nothing to hide.

He matched her intent, burning in it.

Hot and low, she whispered into his mouth.

“Rip it.”

He curled his fingers under the thin nylon. Soft, smooth skin under his knuckles. Tension in his grip and in the electrified air between their lidded eyes. Centimeters between them that felt like nothing. Her sweetness and resolve tingled against his lips. He pulled. Her breath stilled in her throat. The tearing sound was violence in the silence. He dug his fingers into the stockings, creating more holes, shredding them. Her fingertips by his ear pressed inward. Breath shallowing. His free hand settled on her other thigh with the stocking still intact. Slid up, stopping at the raised hem of her skirt.

His murmur shaking as he spoke.

“You wanna fuck me.”

He could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. Her touch left trails of goosebumps.

She promised with a question.

“Who doesn’t?”

His fingers danced up, up, tearing holes with his nails. The ghost of pain flitted over her features, but there was no fear. She closed her eyes, shuddering. Her fingers stopped at his hair tie. Lips to lips again, and he felt her other hand rise, steadying against his temple and tugging his hair free as he ripped her stockings apart. Pressure and breath and lust. Tongue against tongue. A curtain of black cascading around their faces, his long hair falling forward, and then they were closer, knees to knees, his hands on her thighs.

Squeezing.

Her hands in his hair, tangled into the darkness.

Every kiss made him want more, more.

Her hands tumbled out of his hair and slid past his shoulders, fanning over his back.

His fingertip outlined the center seam. Pressed down on it. Followed the dip down. She sucked in a breath from his throat, stealing it from him. The heat pooled in his core. A shared throb. His teeth caught the edge of his lips. A nick of pain. Her arms around his neck, and they were eye-to-eye, on their knees, saying nothing and feeling everything, his touch tracing her covered slit and her fingers twisting into his silk shirt, clutching fistfuls. He wondered why she didn’t touch him.

One look into her eyes and Yoongi knew why.

There was dampness. He pressed deeper. She spread her knees more, stretching the rips and making them worse. He hooked a finger along one. Guided the tear. Had a destination in mind. Dug his knuckle into soaked fabric. Her eyes slid shut. Shuddering breath. Hips rolling towards him. The uncomfortable strain traveled up his torso. He pulled his other hand on her thigh back, his jaw clenching as he adjusted himself.

A faint smile lingered on her lips.

No need for words. That was enough of a response.

He placed his palm back on her thigh and grinded circles along the top of her pussy.

Her lips parted, exhaling a lustful breath.

The slinky material of her panties molded to her folds. He ran his fingertips along her covered clit, pressing the thin fabric taut, drenching it with her slick. Heavy sweetness mixed with her decadent perfume and his fresh cologne. He pushed the pantyhose seam out of the way. Rubbed steadily, building the pace, gripping her thigh and feeling his own cock swell with carnal want.

“Take more.”

Her whisper dark and forceful. Two minds on the same one-track wavelength. Her eyes opened ever-so-slightly. Teasing gaze.

“Put your fingers in me.”

His fingernail followed the edge. Pulled back, sucking in a breath as the scent of sex strengthened. He met her stare with his own desire, into her eyes and bathed the light of the open door within them, suddenly feeling unashamed, unafraid, no longer any need to cover up, sliding two fingers into warm, tight heat.

Fuck.

Her eyelids fluttered. Tip of her pink tongue wetting her lower lip. He curled his fingers inward. She shook her head and he straightened them at the wordless instruction. Deeper, all the way to his knuckles. Her inner walls clamped around him. He pressed his thumb at the top of her pussy, using the pad to flare open the folds, finding what he was looking for when she softly moaned, right in his face, feathery breath washing over his lips.

She started the pace, hips rocking, her arms around his neck. She didn’t break eye contact. Neither did he. Slid his fingers out and then pushed back in, answering her want. Answering her force with his force, speed with her speed. Breathing quickening, the haze creeping into her eyes, and he pushed for the edge, tightening his jaw as he felt her pussy shiver around his fingers. Moved his grip from her thigh, finding himself unable to control his strength and instead turning it towards himself.

“Yoongi…”

He pressed his palm against his throbbing erection, wincing as the aching pleasure strummed up his torso. Even this faint stimulation was making him heady. Deeper. No sound but sloppy wet smacks and ragged breathing, stroking himself through his slacks and driving his fingers forward, tension at his fingertips and pulsing from her to him. Skin hot, muscles tense, staring at her parted lips and listening to the melody of her moan.

Yoongi leaned forward and kissed her as she came onto his hand.

Her nails twisted into the beige silk, raking along his shoulder blades, and he needed them on his fucking skin. He could feel her inner walls shiver violently, sweet honey seeping down his palm and sticking to his knuckles, and that shiver traveled through his nerves and up his arm, all the way to his head and scattering his better judgement.

Shouldn’t.

The kiss broke.

He pulled his hand away, breathing hard.

She lowered one hand and took his wrist, raising the mess to his lips.

All societal rules forgotten under the influence of complementing lust.

He curled his tongue around his middle finger. The taste was distinct and spread over his tongue, staining it with lustful memory. He watched her smile as his lips closed around his own fingers. Sweet with a hint of sour, stronger and more impactful than any other. The taste of her cum remained even after he pulled his fingers out and leaned in to kiss her once more.

A shared tension, and yet.

She broke the kiss. Shaking air, layers and heat and the gravity of the situation sinking in. She breathed against his lips, not looking at him.

“I… I can…”

He interrupted.

“Come closer.”

Wound his arm around her waist. Body to body. Her arms shifted, and he caught her left wrist with his left hand, pinning it to her lower back. She glanced up at him, curious. He looked back, strands of black clouding the edges of his vision. A second of connected eyes and his free hand hovering by her hip, debating on whether or not to say what he wanted to say.

“I can’t have you touching me yet,” he finally let himself admit. “Still afraid of your effect on me.”

His fingers danced along the curve. His eyes on her lips, remembering their softness against his.

“Let me give you one more orgasm.”

The edge of her mouth curved upwards. “Can’t refuse that, can I?”

Yoongi lowered his head. Nearly forehead to forehead. More than just give some, get some. Saturated scents, her and him, tension racing, his fingers slipping downward. Held breath, leaning against him. His knees against the hardwood were killing him. He didn’t care. Traced her slit, trembling at the smooth wetness. Pressing, coaxing, his lips to her jaw, following the lines. At first only the ghost of a touch, then harder. Kisses to tongue. Slow strokes to gentle circles. The experiment of teeth in the pocket of her neck and under her ear. Her free hand gripped his shirt, yanking him closer, her head tipping back, giving him more access.

The quiet breathing turned into breathy moans.

He set skin alight with his mouth. He knew how much pressure to apply so it wouldn’t leave a lasting or obvious mark. He noted the flinches of when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and paired it with the movement of his fingers, amplifying the pleasure. Slid two fingers in but didn’t move them. Only to provide fullness and feel her walls constrict and shiver. Built up the pace, kept it consistent.

Tightened his grip on her wrist.

Her hand let go of his silk shirt.

He clenched his jaw as her palm covered his clothed cock, her fingertips pressing into the fabric.

Raised his head. Found her eyes and they were already on him. It was not an easy angle nor convenient, but she didn’t stop and he couldn’t find the words to resist, seeping pleasure snaking through his core and down his thighs, face to face, unavoidable, her juices seeping down his fingers and her throbbing pulse at his fingertips, closer, harder, faster. Her low moan drifting into his open mouth, closing his eyes as the tingling sensations clawed up his back and head, desire aflame.

Her name falling from his lips in a rasp.

He knew she was watching him and he knew she saw all of him in this moment.

Then she came apart in his hands with a sigh, leaning her forehead against him, a smile with a bitten lip, pussy shuddering and thrusting her hips into his hand, taking him down, down with the racing rhythm and overwhelming shivers. Colliding, lips to lips, hunger, her hand gripping his thigh.

Creating a craving.

He shouldn’t have but he had no intention of stopping here.

She unzipped her skirt as she stood up. Pushed it down. It fell to the floor with a clatter. Crushed velvet skirt, ripped stockings, hair messy and tumbling over her left shoulder, pausing as she realized he was taking in all the details. She took him in too. Ceased silk. The thin fabric of his slacks that did nothing to hide his erection. His previously neat black hair now a sweeping mess over his cheeks.

Small smile.

“Still afraid?” she asked, knowing the answer.

He began to unbutton his shirt.

“No.”

Emotions of this caliber made him more attentive. More aware of the moment. Not a source for inaction but a reason for action, the reason to take her hand and hold it tight. There was no reason to hide now. It meant more to be in the present. Out of his head and into the insistence of hands fanning over bodies on the walk to the bedroom and into the hunger in catching lips between breaths. The aftermath was for the future.

Red knees.

Tangled arms.

They fell onto the bed and he let her hands tell a story.

They were warm. Exploring his skin with softness and hardness. Delicate pads across his collarbone. Digging fingernails dragged down his back. Followed his lines and pressed her lips to the inflamed skin, searing it with lustful fire. He sank his fingers into her thighs, then up her ass. Fanned over her back, gasping. Lips down his torso making an invisible path of kisses. The faintest touch on her shoulders and then gliding into her hair, pushing it out of the way as her mouth covered him.

Tongue around his hard length, dripping saliva.

Molded the wet muscle to the underside of his cock and applied varying pressure as he slid in and out of her mouth. Her hands spread over his hips, decorating him, running the sensitive head along the roof of her mouth and then back into the tightness of her throat, relaxing around him to press just a little deeper.

He gripped her hair harder.

Deep. Steady, flaring her tongue along the base of the head and making him twitch from the added burst of pleasure. His chest felt tight, trembling. Her hands pressed him into the mattress, not letting him escape, forcing him to feel it all. Eyelids fluttering from the brutal bliss. Skin prickling, unable to contain the overwhelm. Up and down, her hair spilling over his thighs, wet, constricting, the tips of her fingernails indenting his skin, closer, his lips parting.

A rough groan.

The precise sting of the high shooting through him and his palm pushed down, gasping as he felt the shuddering jerks and seeping release flood her mouth. She swallowed and he bit back the hiss, sensitivity bordering on pain, but that was its own exhilaration in a way. The suction ceased slowly. Her tongue continued, soft and slick, blanketing his tingling nerves with saliva and then licking it off, sending ecstasy in waves, up his chest and down his legs.

He stayed hard with soft stimulation.

She wrapped her hand around his cock and leisurely stroked it, extending the pleasure as she sat up.

Something in those shadowed eyes.

She smiled.

“Something you cannot say?”

Yoongi raised himself to his elbows.

His hair curled over his forehead and part of his jaw. Closed his hand around hers and made her tighten her grip, keeping it slow. Building the pleasure. Shuddering. Looking into her eyes and he knew what he wanted to say.

“Spit in my mouth.”

She raised her eyebrows.

He cocked one.

She leaned forward and he could taste himself in her saliva.

His entire body jolted when she spat in his open mouth. He hooked his other arm around her shoulders, pulling himself up and kissing her fiercely, the electricity of wrongness driving the lust, pumping himself with her hand and surrendering to her tongue. He had never asked for that before. Didn’t know if he was interested but most importantly neve found himself comfortable enough to make such a request. It felt wrong somehow, as a man.

Wrong, but delicious.

“Do you have condoms?”

“Yes.”

Her hands glided over her thighs, spreading them as he rolled down the condom. She knew her body. His skin still burned from where she touched him. A tactile afterimage. He watched her spread her glistening pussy lips open, twitching at the obscene image. He placed a hand on her thigh and thrust in, following the hunger in her gaze and the tension in her knuckles. She exhaled in sensual approval, pinning her own legs to her chest. His palms hit the mattress, gasping at the depth. The wet tightness sucked him in, closing in and massaging his length. An uncontrollable jerk of his cock and they both moaned, heat radiating.

She tapped his arm.

A smirk.

“Don’t hold back, Yoongi.”

He smirked back.

The hard, shocking force of hips to hips. Hers rising, his driven downwards, making them both snap their heads back at the power. Pleasure to borderline pain. Chasing a feeling, a primal appetite, a taste soaked into his tongue, and there was no going back, shallow breath, racing heart, finding each other once more, his head hanging down with a cascade of black strands along his periphery, knowing eyes and a devious smile underneath him. Rougher, hitting that angle, so deep and so tight that it sent a wave of boiling shivers up his spine, gasping as the tip of her pink tongue traced her teeth.

Erratic exhale and hazy gaze.

The ecstasy eating him inside out.

Her hands sliding up his arms, delicate caress in contrast to the harshness, stories behind those fingertips, fuck me with everything you’ve got, hesitancy that belonged to someone who knew and could see right through dishonesty, and he lowered his torso, his palms shifting up higher, using all of his power combined with gravity. Her legs sandwiched between their bodies, the position making breathing more difficult, but she wasn’t asking him to stop.

Not with that fire in those eyes and the way her hips smacked into him.

“Are you close?” he whispered.

A gasp with an edge. “Y… Yeah.”

His fingers twisting in the sheets. Burning. Growling.

“Take it.”

Meant it.

Hard, deliberate smacks, sucking in a sharp breath at the feeling of the head rubbing against her rigid inner walls, heady throb, clenching all around, maintaining the tension to avoid hitting his own high too soon, there, almost there, his eyes screwed shut and only hearing her torn moan, shuddering, and then it hit him, thrusting in and hit with multiple points of contact, her powerful spasms shattering through his nerves and knocking the wind out of his lungs.

He lost his control.

The grimace sliced through his jaw and the orgasm shot up his body, hers combining with his, a match to gasoline that made his spine pull back, helpless moan as it spread through his chest, his head, his thoughts reminding him that it was dangerous to want this, that he shouldn’t want this, that it was not advisable to think this was anything else than what it was.

Equally breathless, clawing for oxygen.

One of his elbows hit the mattress, his fingers curling into her hair.

Shaking eyes to shaking eyes. He kept telling himself not to want more. Her hand drifted to his chest, settling there. His heart was beating so hard that he could feel it in his throat. Under that gaze, in the light of her open door, she held his quivering heart in her hand and invited him to say what he wanted to say.

Even now, Yoongi could taste the vivid mixture of her and him on his tongue.

“I can’t… I can’t say that was by best work.”

She raised an eyebrow, panting hard.

He smirked.

“Haven’t fucked you a second time yet.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I’m going to need that money for my new stockings. In person, along with a formal apology. On your knees preferably.”

She had a smile that broke rules.

He didn’t know it then, but it would become a memory he would always have. A smile he would come to see many times afterwards. In nights, in days, in dreams,  in moments he learned to call just theirs, a constant afterimage that appeared when he searched for a memory to comfort him in times of hardship.

A smile to light the dark and break him out.

“I look forward to it,” Yoongi promised.

--

masterpost

[candywife333]

My Little Saesang (Part 2)

chubby reader x idol jungkook

Summary: Y/N had been a super fan for a while. Some would say bordering on saesang or creep level. She didn't think she was one, till she experienced an incident that made her stop being a fan. She had never thought that Jungkook or any of BTS ever noticed her, as she was part of the masses of obsessive fans. But they had. Especially, one doe eyed idol in particular. He never thought he would miss his fan, or shall we say saesang. Yet, he couldn't help but notice her absence. He took her comforting presence, her kind eyes, hair disheveled in excitement, and wide smile for granted. And he didn't know when her presence started to matter to him so much. When exactly did she become such a constant in his life?

Disclaimer: The Jungkook represented in this fic does not reflect the true actions or thoughts of the real life Jungkook. Please treat this fic as exactly what it is, fiction

Triggers: Critique of fandom culture and kpop as a whole, identity crisis, eventual smut

Note: Not proofread. Slated to be approximately 4 parts or less.

Jungkook POV

It took me about two weeks, but I did start to notice her absence. I never got her real name. But I and all the other members christened her with the moniker of strawberry shortcake, for how tiny and chubby she was, and also how flushed her entire face and neck become as she jumped up and down to our songs. We called her berry or SS for short. The few fans we had from the beginning, we either knew their actual names or had little nicknames to commemorate them.

She was a fan of the entire group, but I knew I was her bias, and so did the other members. It was obvious, the way she left tiny gifts wrapped in gold and red ( as though it were perpetually christmas year round for her) addressed towards me. She even took fancams of me, her eyes furtively moving along my body , gasping when she caught sight of my abs over the years. I wouldn't deny that sometimes I played up my antics for the camera just so I could catch her mouth wide open in an "O" petrified in shock as she bopped her head up and down manically.

Berry was not there. And it was starting to really bother me. It shouldn't in fact. She shouldn't matter that much to me. Yet, I always had her in my corner since debut. I always had her eyes on me, watching over me. It felt comforting even though she had gotten a little too close for comfort twice or thrice by accosting me with gifts on sets of music video shoots or backstage. Her specialty was with desserts. She would always leave me coffee infused brownies and tres leche cake towards the end of the year right in front of the HYBE building, addressed to me specifically with a cheery little note wishing me for christmas and new years.

And now I was staring at the entire crowd at MusicBank, surveying the area to see her familiar face. She was usually in the first row, bopping her light stick in an erratic manner, mouthing the lyrics to the song, staring at me with excited eyes that lit up with glee. The girl really didn't seem to love material things, because she would always wear the same red beanie and pearl earrings I had been seeing for the past 5 years. Her clothes were always a nondescript black or brown shade, pants and a sweater. She never really donned feminine clothes in all the years I had noticed her.

As I looked for her, I could only find her associate, the ARMY who always stuck by her, who we had named Specs. The tall, lithe limbed girl glared at me. It felt like she was piercing daggers through my skull as she squinted though her black thick framed glasses. She had always had a smile on her face, and now she looked so angry. Yoongi always had a tiny crush on her. She had supported him for ages, even paying for his meals many times when he was still a trainee. Why was she so indignant?

Before I could start questioning all of this even further, Yoongi came up to me with a hand on my shoulder, noticing Specs, "How is my baby doing? And why the hell is she glaring at you like you murdered her first born child? Did you do anything to her?", he questioned in a worried tone of voice. I answered back, "Of course not. I don't really interact with fans that personally. You know that hyung".

He continued quizzically, raising one eye brow up, "Where is berry? My baby Specs is alone today? You really must've done something to fuck things up. She isn't even looking at me. Totally ignoring me. The hell, she usually smiles softly at me and today she looks like somebody pissed on her breakfast. What gives"?

I had no idea what was going on. Our loyal fans for years, people who we didn't necessarily consider saesangs, but just sort of obsessive in their devotion, were either not present or ignoring us. What the hell was becoming of this fandom?!!!!

That's when I saw Berry push through the crowd. And I was so shook, that an earthquake could've come through and swallowed me up and I wouldn't have cared. Berry was dressed in a peach colored floral fit and flare dress with her customary pearls in her ears and what looked like heels on. The only way I knew was that she looked taller than usual. She had a floral ribbon in her hair, lip gloss on, eye make up on point. What the hell was she up to all of a sudden?

Her hair was streaming down her back in waves, loosened from the customary ponytail I saw all the time. She hugged Specs and a few other armies who I noticed she always had around with her. She kissed another army in a wheelchair on the cheek, plopping a pastry box in her hands and wrapping her neck with a scarf. With the deadest look in her eyes, lifeless and devoid of the usual pretty sparkle, she stared at me, as though it were some sort of messed up farewell. WTF??!!! Why did this feel like a good bye? She just looked so done.

She didn't smile at me or any of the members. She gave her light stick to another baby Army in 3rd row, she looked back once wistfully, and left the place through the door.

Where the fuck was she going?!!!?!

After the performance, dreading the fact that Berry left right in the beginning (something she had never done even once in the past years) , I walked up to Specs in the front row. The gangly girl looked super shocked to see me right up in front of her. I squeaked out in mild panic, "Where is your friend? She looked all dressed up and cute today. Does she have plans or something?"

The initial shock wore off on Specs face as something akin to irritation filtered through, "She has a date today , with a coworker I believe. That's why she is dressed up. But you don't need to know that. Today was her official last day as active super fan. She is still a fan, but she's decided to convert from offline to online fan. That's it". Specs said all this with a finality that started freaking me out. I stuttered, "SS-S-S-S-he became an online fan. Meaning, she won't show up in person to our events anymore"?

Specs muttered derisively, "Do you not understand anything I just said. Korean is your first language right? I just told you she is done being such an avid fan". She snorted, looking tired with a distant glaze in her eyes , "Maybe even I should stop. I am getting too old for this shit. My mom keeps telling me to get married, and here I am attending all this stuff, obsessing over millionaires who have more money than I ever could in my life. I am becoming an old fucking lady and I don't even have a husband or family of my own. I guess all of us older armies might need to redirect our lives back towards ourselves".

She stomped away after that remark. Yoongi ran up to me as I walked back stage. He inquired , "Is Specs still there? I was going to ask her for her number".

I grumbled out with my hands on my head, "She left hyung. So did berry, a while ago. I think we are losing our OG fans. Berry never left me once in the last few years. Even when we became so famous in the US, she never stopped attending my events, even some of the big ones in the US. What went so wrong that she is quitting?"

Yoongi choked in confusion, "You mean to tell me that both Specs and Berry are quitting. They ain't even that old, maybe late 20s. Oh no, fuck!!! My baby, Specs, I never told her how much she meant to me. What did she say?" Yoongi, shook my arm hard, trying to squeeze answer out at me. "She said that she is becoming too old for this and maybe she should get married soon, because her mother is pressuring her".

Yoongi's eyes popped wide open, panic and fear evident in his eyes, squeaking, "WTFFFFF. Since when did they give up on us like this? I can't let Specs go. She has been with me before I was famous , looking like a homeless dude, and even now. I have to get her back!!!! The fuck, I need to talk to the ARMY fanclub president for her contact". He scurried off in anxiety, leaving me back to stew in sadness. What had I done so wrong for Berry to leave me after so many years? Something must've ticked her off. Shit, the chocolate. It all hit me in a frenzy. It was the Godiva chocolate. That limited edition Christmas chocolate she had left for me that day on set.

It had been one of the hardest days in my schedule, and just seeing her face had made it all better. But the irritation had gotten to me, and in my anger at being hangry on a diet, I had thrown the chocolate in the trash. Oh no. Wait. A dreadful thought entered my head. What if she thought, that it was my rejection of her support and love as a fan? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She probably thought I hated her or something when it was just a bad day.

What bothered me even more, was that she had skipped my event to attend a date. A date with a guy who was not me. This thought filtered through my head, and I froze. Why did it aggravate me so much that she was on a date with another dude? Then I imagined her soft eyes, gleaming with love as she stared at another guy, kissed him on the cheek, sharing a chocolate cake with him and partaking in a chocolate-fililed kiss on the lips.

I felt like literally crying. I don't know why I did. But, I just did. I had to find her no matter what and I had to do it fast, before she gave up on me.

Y/N POV

The date had been fine. Jung-shik had been a cute guy, all brown curls , shy smiles and blushes. He was one of the art managers at KBS who I had met at the bakery. We talked about work, music, and art, eating cheese cake at a cake cafe. He had been a true gentleman, asking me what I wanted to have and opening the door for me, even going so far as to drop me near the bus station.

I sat at the bus station, waiting for my ride back at him when I saw a billboard of the sexy man himself, Jungkook. I could never escape this guy it seemed, even in death. I had felt his stare at me and Kim Hee today. It was odd, he never stared at individual fans like. He did that with particularly beautiful Armys---total models and divas I tell you. But, never with me. Even Yoongi stared at Kim Hee like they had three kids together, like she was coming home with him, like she was married to him---as much as that girl liked to deny it.

I never felt him even acknowledge me, with a glance, till today. I could feel the smoldering presence digging into my skin. Probably cause I dressed up for once today. As I was about to get on the bus that had pulled in, I saw a flash of black fluffy hair.

Before I could get on the bus, a strong sturdy vascular hand encircled my wrist, stopping me from getting on. Looking up at this man's face, I realized who it was. Doe eyes pierced into my face with a cutting glare, a sneer on his face, chewed up lips contorting in anger and ......something that felt like envy, "Who the hell did you go on a date with Berry? You better not be giving my chocolates away to anyone else".

[spiro-nagnew]

Mine is Jimin

[chaoticpuff17]

Amygdala

masterlist

part 17

Yoongi could only follow behind as Margot threw herself into the restaurant and into Tae-il’s waiting arms. A small smile, one that was barely even there, pulled at the corner of his lips as he watched the reunion.

Here Margot was free with her affection. She made no effort to hide how much she loved the old man, and Tae-il made no attempt to hide how relieved he was to see her alive and in one piece, clutching the young woman to him as she threw her arms around him in a heartwarming homecoming. She was happy here in a way that she was not back at the penthouse.

Yoongi felt the briefest twinge of guilt before it was swept away. She’d be just as happy with him in time. She’d been happy with him before, and she would again. It didn’t sit quite so well with him though that she was so happy somewhere that wasn’t with him. He knew the ugly feeling welling up in his chest was jealousy, but he refused to acknowledge that he was jealous of someone who was practically her father.

“Margot, what are you doing here?” Tae-il whispered into her hair as he clutched her tight.

“He offered to bring me here for lunch.” she whispered back. “Don’t mention the call.”

Tae-il nodded, squeezing her tight again before letting her go. “I’ve missed you, Margot.” He held her at arms length scanning her for any injuries. “You look ill.” He noted, quickly taking in the slightly ashen note to her skin after several days wallowing, and the faint circles under her eyes. “Has he not been taking care of you?”

“I’ve been taking very good care of her.” Yoongi piped up with a scoff, walking over with his hands tucked into his pockets. “Your niece is very stubborn though.”

“Then you should have taken better care of her.” Tae-il sniped back, pushing Margot slightly behind him as though that would stop Yoongi from getting to her if he truly wanted to. She was there by his good will, and they would leave when he wanted them to. Everything in between was a gift to Margot.

“I take perfectly good care of her.” He sniped back, before bowing and muttering a respectful greeting. He was here to win points after all not to alienate her family.

Tae-il surveyed the younger man, taking him in with a certain distaste that had not been there in years past but had been all too prevalent since they’d crossed paths again. If he’d had his way, Margot would have been set up with a nice boy like that young detective who regularly came to the restaurant. She would have been safe and happy and settled with someone who wasn’t involved in unsavory business, but that wasn’t what fate had had in store for the young woman, and he could only hope that she would be able to disentangle herself from the young man before it was too late.

“Have you eaten, Margot?” Tae-il asked, tearing his attention away from Yoongi and placing it back on Margot.

“Not yet.” she shook her head, eyeing the two men carefully as though a fist fight was about to break out. “We just finished some errands. I was wearing a hole through his credit card in retaliation for the kidnapping.”

“Did it work?”

Margot sighed dramatically, sinking into the seat of one of the empty tables with Tae-il taking the one across from her. “Unfortunately not. He’s ridiculously okay with me spending all his money.”

“He hasn’t hurt you has he?” Tae-il asked, brows scrunched together in a serious expression.

“I would never hurt her.” Yoongi grumbled, affronted by the question as he took the seat next to Margot. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

“A criminal.” Margot and Tae-il responded in unison much to Yoongi’s chagrin.

Margot did her best to keep conversation light and as unsuspicious as possible as lunch continued. Any mistake on her part could mean the end to her supposed freedom. She still wasn’t sure that Yoongi was completely serious about letting her leave the penthouse whenever she wanted so long as her guard dogs went with her. She had a sneaking suspicion that any major mistakes on her part and Yoongi would take that freedom away as quickly as he had given it. She knew with absolute certainty that her phone call to Tae-il earlier would be one of those mistakes.

Tae-il was doing an admirable job of pretending as though the conversation had never happened, and Yoongi was none the wiser. For the most part he had kept quiet over the course of lunch, content to sit with his arm slung over the back of her chair watching her as she sat and caught up with the only family she had in the country.

His eyes remained glued on her the entire time, transfixed by the way she smiled as she spoke to her ‘uncle’. She was happy here in the restaurant, at ease. Yoongi hadn’t seen her truly at ease since he’d laid eyes on her that first night. Ever since then she’d been holding herself back from him, stiff and wary. He loved seeing her like this though. Like this she was bright and vibrant.

He could take in all of her when she was like this. He could appreciate the way she talked with her hands just like she had when they were in school together. He could see the way the corners of her eyes creased when she laughed, her eyes sparkling. It wasn’t a half-hearted scoff or sardonic chuckle. This was a joyous sound that bubbled up from her and overtook her whole being, her head thrown back causing the little gold bumble bees dangling from her ears to sparkle in the light.

As happy as Yoongi was to see her like this, he couldn’t completely dampen down the burning jealousy that roiled in his gut. Part of him hated that he wasn’t the one who had caused her to laugh like this. He hadn’t been the one to make her this happy. The few times her attention had wavered to him the spark had flickered from her eye replaced by an annoyance that did nothing to sooth his jealous spirit.

It was that jealous spark that encouraged him to try to draw her attention back to him. It was little things. The tips of his fingers would trail across the upper part of her arm, a delicate motion that pulled her attention to him for a moment as if to ask him to stop, all though he didn’t. She was his girl after all,and he had every right to touch her. It grounded him in a way and helped him to keep jealousy at bay when he touched her. It reminded him that she was right there with him even if her attention wasn’t focused on him.

Yoongi didn’t consider himself to be a jealous man, not usually, but there was something about Margot that raised all sorts of demons within him. For her he would commit all sorts of unspeakable crimes. He would do just about anything if she commanded it. If so much as a hair on her precious head was harmed, he would raze the city to the ground. Granted he would never tell her any of this. His Margot was a precious creature who wouldn’t want him to do such things for her sake. She wouldn’t want him to do such things though as was proven by her current disdain for him.

Just as he had gotten his jealousy under control a deep voice called out, pulling all three of their attentions towards the door of the restaurant.

“Margot-ssi!”

Yoongi and Margot both turned to see Kim Namjoon standing in the doorway looking rumpled and harried as though he had rushed over and his eyes fixed on Margot with extreme relief. It was a look that didn’t sit well with Yoongi at all. His eyes narrowed in on the other man as he made his way towards the group his focus on Margot who was sitting and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Margot-ssi,” he started, a little breathless. “Are you alright? Tae-il-ssi said you had been kidnapped, and no one could reach you!”

“Namjoon-ssi.” Margot gave him a smile, a strained brittle expression not at all like the smiles she had displayed up until then. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“Margot-ssi…” Namjoon hesitated, taking stock of the strained atmosphere around Margot and Tae-il and of how Yoongi was staring daggers at him.

Margot glanced between Namjoon and Yoongi very aware of how precarious the situation was. Both men looked like they wanted to knock the other flat on their ass, and she doubted very much that a brawl would do much for her freedom.

“Namjoon-ssi, it’s good to see you. How have you been?” She kept the smile on her face bright as she glanced from Yoongi to Namjoon again trying, to signal that he also needed to keep the situation light- for all their sakes.

“I’ve been well.” He responded, words slow and measured as he tried to puzzle out what Margot was trying to tell him. “No one has heard from you in a few days. We weren’t sure you were alright.”

Yoongi scoffed at that, his derision clear. “Of course she’s alright. I would never let anything happen to my Margot.”

“I’m sure.” Namjoon replied dryly, his own distaste for Yoongi just as clear. “But you can understand the concern when no one could get a hold of her, and no one knew where she was.”

Yoongi smiled, a terrible and sharp expression more reminiscent of a predator baring their teeth than a smile. “As you can see, she’s perfectly fine. No need to worry.”

Namjoon replied with a smile of his own, an expression that was equally as strained and untrue as Yoongi’s. “Of course there was a need to worry. I’m sure you’d be just as worried if she disappeared for a week, and you couldn’t reach her. It’s natural to think that something… unsavory had happened.”

Yoongi moved his arm from the back of her chair to wrap it around her waist, pulling her snuggly into his side. “As you can see, she’s just fine, Detective Kim.”

“I think I’d like to hear that from her, if that’s alright with you?” Namjoon kept up his smile, quirking a brow in an almost challenging expression as he spoke to Yoongi.

“Margot?” Yoongi asked, eyes glittering with something dark and wild as he turned the question over to her.

Margot didn’t need him to say it to know what would happen if she didn’t choose her words very carefully. The look in his eyes was enough to tell her that she wouldn’t like the consequences should this interaction not go his way. She didn’t think he would harm her, but she wouldn’t put it past him to harm Tae-il or Maria. She wouldn’t put it past him to harm Namjoon either if the detective continued to get on his nerves, and that wasn’t something that Margot wanted weighing on her conscience.

“I’m perfectly unharmed.” she replied, keeping her smile fixed in place despite the anxiety churning in her gut. “I’m sorry to have worried everyone though. My phone broke, and I haven’t had a chance to replace it yet.”

“I thought you were heading to the countryside to help out Tae-il-ssi's brother?” Namjoon questioned, not believing her for a moment.

“Plans changed.”

Namjoon nodded, glancing between her and Yoongi and taking note of the way that Yoongi’s arm kept itself possessively curled around her. He noted the stiff way in which she held herself in his embrace and the nervous way in which Tae-il’s eyes kept darting between her, Yoongi, and Namjoon as though waiting for something bad to happen. He noted the pleading look in Margot’s eyes, willing him to leave the situation alone for the moment. He noted the way that Yoongi looked at him as though willing him to make a mistake of some kind.

“You should really get your phone fixed, Margot-ah.” He switched to the informal, taking special notice of the way that Yoongi’s expression turned even more sour. “Text me when you get it fixed. You know I’m always happy to help if you need anything.”

“I have all of Margot’s needs well in hand.” Yoongi interrupted before Margot could say anything else. “That I can promise you.”

He flexed his arm, pulling Margot imperceptibly closer. It was a possessive act meant to send a clear signal to Namjoon that his assistance wasn’t needed or wanted.

“I’ll give you a call when I can.” Margot promised, attempting to break the tension though it did little good.

“I’ll hold you to it.” he nodded, shooting her a charming smile that only served to make Yoongi’s blood boil.

Yoongi stood suddenly, pulling Margot up with him as he gave their bullshit excuses and goodbyes to Namjoon and Tae-il. “Let’s go, Margot.”

“Yoon-Yoongi!” She stuttered out, trying to pull out of his hold as he made a half-hearted goodbye to Tae-il for the sake of politeness and began to drag her towards the entrance of the restaurant. “Yoongi, wait!”

“We’re going home.” He growled, tugging her forward his grip firm but not painful as he forced her onward.

“Yoongi, please!”

The patrons in the restaurant watched on in morbid fascination to what they had to have thought was a domestic dispute. People loved to watch other people’s dramas unfold, and this was certainly a good one given the way everyone was staring.

“You can’t make her go if she doesn’t want to.” Namjoon asserted, striding forward and grabbing her free hand at the wrist. The motion stopped their whole group in its track.

Yoongi’s eyes slowly traveled down to where Namjoon’s hand was clasped around Margot’s wrist, narrowing in displeasure his jaw clenched.

“Remove your hand before I remove it for you.” He hissed, his own grip tightening on Margot’s other arm.

“She doesn’t have to go anywhere she doesn’t want to.”

Her eyes darted between the two, her mind racing as she tried to configure a plan to keep Yoongi from committing a murder in the middle of the day. The look in his eye didn’t promise good things if Namjoon didn’t let go of her wrist soon.

“Yoongi.” she murmured, her voice all soft and pleading. “Yoongi, it’s alright.”

His attention flickered back to her briefly before it returned back to Namjoon his tongue in his cheek.

“Namjoon.” Margot implored, turning to the other man. “Namjoon, I’m fine, but you need to let go now.”

“You can’t seriously want me to let you go with him?” Namjoon asked, incredulous. “Margot, just last week the very thought of him terrified you so much that you wanted to leave the city. You can’t want to go with him now.”

Her eyes flickered to Yoongi’s quickly, taking in the dangerous set of his jaw as he listened. This was going south far too quickly, and she didn’t know how much damage control she could do if any.

“I’ll be just fine, Namjoon. He’s not going to hurt me.” She kept her tone even and calm even though her limbs were shaking. She knew that Namjoon could feel the tremors. “I’ll call and let you know that I’m fine as soon as I can.”

“Mari-ah.” Yoongi called her name sharply.

She turned to him briefly and then back to Namjoon. “Could you do me a favor, Namjoon?”

“Anything.”

“Look after Tae-il for me?”

Gently, Margot tugged her wrist out of his hold, turning her whole attention back to Yoongi who was silently seething next to her.

“Take me home, Yoongi.” she requested, keeping the same soft pleading in her voice as before. Her gaze flitted across his features anxiously, the feeling growing worse and worse the longer that they stood there immobile.

Margot had always been a peacemaker. Perhaps it was due to her own parent’s unhappy marriage the resulting unhappy childhood that had been inflicted on herself and her sister. Perhaps it was a byproduct of the anxiety that she was riddled with. Perhaps it was just her nature, but better for worse she was a peacemaker. If there was a way that she could keep an argument from breaking out or that she could ease tension in a situation, she would do it, ever the people pleaser.

“Take me home.” she repeated, less a request now than an order no matter how softly spoken it was, and much to her relief, it worked.

Yoongi’s expression softened. The tension left his jaw, and his eyes took on less of a glare as he looked at her. He was a hard man, but he would always be soft for her.

“Yoongi.” she tried again, her tone even more firm than before though her voice was still soft as she spoke. “Take me home.”

part 18

[spiceofvy]

BTS Rapline x Reader — Reader never had an orgasm

notes: reader is not a virgin, former partners are mentioned (of both reader and namjoon)

cws: gender neutral reader, mentions of reader being penetrated, mention of oral sex (reader receiving), mention of accidental overstimulation (yoongi), mention of corruption kink (hoseok), namjoon being adorable

Yoongi: He is surprised to hear that but gets that everyone experiences sex differently and has a different amount of experience. Will make you cum with his mouth. He does talk about his tongue technology a lot after all. It will be a slow tease. Secretly he enjoys that no one ever could make you feel this good. That he takes your „Orgasm virginity“, that he gives you something that not even you could give yourself. His mind is playing out all the amazing things he can show you. After you calmed down a bit he asks you if you wanna do it again. Your next orgasm is on his dick. Less slow. Definitely in a position where he can watch how your face moves. See your hazy eyes. This gives him such a rush of power. Will go down on you again after it. Maybe accidentally overstimulates you.

Hoseok: Corruption kink going strong in this one. Even though you're not a virgin, the thought of him giving you your first orgasm (and he knows that he will succeed to make you cum) sends a rush of power through him. Your first orgasm is something most people don‘t really forget, and he will make sure that yours will burn itself into your brain. His mind is running wild with all the things he could do to you. How he could ruin you. Make you addicted to this feeling but he is aware that the full program could be a lot for the first time. So he takes it a bit slower. Makes you cum on his cock. Watches your expression, seeing the exact moment when you get hooked. Feeling just as fuzzy as you do in that moment. Barely lets you come down before he asks if you are ready for your second orgasm with an innocent smile. You awakened a monster. But you can't seem to regret it.

Namjoon: My boy is stressed. He really wants to give you a good experience. Let's you decide how you want to come. Do you want his mouth? His dick? Just his hands on your body? Will probably pull up his former partners' opinions on his skills to help you choose. It‘s not that he is clueless. Actually he is probably the most knowledgeable about the inner workings of an orgasm. But he is a romantic at heart and wants to make your shared firsts as special as possible, and when it's also an overall first for you? His inner perfectionist comes out. He will kiss you every time his mouth isn‘t occupied in any other way. He watches your face closely to make sure you're not uncomfortable. His own pleasure doesn‘t matter, this is all about you. You enjoying this is his priority. Will talk everything through with you afterwards. Wanting your opinion on everything he did. watch him having a whole customer experience survey ready for you to fill out

[redsaurrce]

KINKTOBER 2022

Author's Note : Thrilled to announce that this will be my first ever kinktober series *YuHoO* and all of them will contain elements from my Google survey (tysm angels who filled it out).

P.S: this isn't in order of release, fics will be released in random order. Send in ask/dm me or reply under this post to get tagged. ♡

Taglist ꒱ @babyboo22 @theblueslytherin @yansob @apriljoon @xxxbangtanbabexxx @favfanfictsbts @seokjins-luigi @iffyleafy @effielumiere @getoutofthere @luvv2jade @bri-mal @xicanacorpse @emperatris-rinaka @strawberryjimin13 @eddiegirl-86 @jungkookminthairwhen @tornparts @telepathytae @taeisbae13 @inlovewithallmusic @darkuni63

OUT NOW

𓈈 Muñeca- Once upon a night, a neighbor decides to play with his doll.

◌ Yandere Neighbour Magician!Jimin X fem!reader

𓈈 Can't Leave Ya! - In that one room of your house, you walk backwards in your memories. And your roommate being a rude asshole doesn't help either.

◌ Yandere Roommate!Yoongi X fem!reader

𓈈 Stitch Me Pink - You were obsessed with pink and he was obsessed with you!

◌ Yandere Fashion Designer!Taehyung X Model fem!reader

OUT NOW

𓈈 Your Maid? OUR Maid. - You were the reason they couldn't divorce. But you were also the very reason they wanted a divorce.

◌ Yandere Master!Jungkook X Maid fem!reader X Yandere Mistress!Jungkook's wife (poly)

OUT NOW

𓈈 Red Secret - What happens when you try to discover the only secret your flawless "fake" boyfriend was hiding from you?

◌ Yandere Werewolf!Namjoon X Sceintist fem!reader

OUT NOW

𓈈 Dune Of Danger - Who would get killed between the fight of the good and the evil? No- Who would get killed between the fight of the evil and the more evil?

◌ Yandere Sand artist wizard!Hoseok X Evil fem!reader

𓈈 Wrong Obsession - Just why were you so obsessed with his best friend instead of him?

◌ Yandere Jin X Yandere fem!reader

#♡ see ya!

[bts-0t-7]

So What? | MYG | Chapter 7

Pair: Hybrid Cat Yoongi x F Reader 

Summary: Running from a past that foreshadows him, Yoongi is adamant about ever turning back to his human counterpart form, in hopes that nobody would recognise him and take him away. You worked at a cafe with your best friend. As a more-than-normal day seemed to go by, you discovered something amidst your housing block. Perhaps - just perhaps, the nighttime is where the angels arrive. 

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hybrid, non-idol au

Warnings: Contains explicit language, abuse

Chapter Warnings: Blood, experimenting, abuse. This chapter contains explicit content on how Yoongi was treated back at the facility. Please skip the bolded parts if you feel uncomfortable. 

A/N: Bold is for flashback. 

WC: 4K

Taglist: @bearr02 @svnbangtansworld @vintageoldfashion @rkivemaar @codeinebelle @ldysmfrst

< Prev. Series Masterlist. Next > 

The moment Yoongi heard your bedroom door close, he moved your hair aside as he continuously scented you. He nosed the crook of your neck and you ruffled in your hair, effectively covering you in his scent. Once he deemed that it was enough, he walked around the room to clean up the mess. It would be best that you wake up to a clean, clear environment so that it wouldn’t put extra stress on you. 

Yoongi wasn’t dumb nor was he deaf. He could clearly hear the ongoing conversation about him outside. Sooner or later, he will have to go out there and confront them. It was not a choice.  

Yoongi pulled the curtains back and opened the windows wide, letting the fresh night air into the stuffy room. He had added more ice into the pail beside your bed just as you started fussing. By now, Yoongi could read your body language with ease. You were not tough to read in the first place but now that you are sick and your barriers are down, it was even easier. 

He wrung the cloth and placed it on your forehead as he adjusted the blanket to cover your legs. Yoongi heard footsteps getting closer to your door, stopping just outside. Before whoever was outside could knock and potentially wake you, Yoongi shot up and crossed the distance in an instant. He yanked open the door with teeth gritted and bared. 

An unknown man stood there with a tray of food - a big bowl of fruits, a few scoops of porridge, and a plate of grilled… Is that beef? 

“Hello. I had hoped to meet you under better circumstances but it seems that lives don’t weave that way.” The man with plush lips said. “I’m Seokjin. Y/N told me quite a lot about her troubles with you and the company is swarming with whispers of you as well.”

So this is Seokjinnie. He could see why you liked him. Handsome, plush lips, broad build, and someone who won’t cause you trouble. Yoongi sighed internally, he had no fight with somebody like him. He opened the door wider, letting the man in. 

Seokjin surveyed the room and nodded. “You sure did clean up well. Sorry for the mess earlier. I was too busy trying to get everyone to stop crowding.” 

Yoongi nodded silently, eyes trained on Seokjin as he placed the tray of food on the bedside table. 

“This is dinner for the both of you. Her medications are on the tray as well. The prescriptions are written there too. Come down once you finish and I’ll take over. The boys want to speak to you downstairs.” 

Yoongi nodded. He knew what was coming. 

Yoongi walked down out of your bedroom with the tray of empty plates, save for the bowl of fruits that were unfinished in one hand. Seokjin immediately got up and took the plates from him, pushing him to the loveseat he sat on a few seconds ago. 

Yoongi’s eyes scanned the people in the living room. Other than Seokjin, he seems to have seen everybody before. Dr. Park waved for him to sit, taking the bowl of fruit from him and taking a piece out before putting the bowl on the table. The two doctors’ scents are merged together. His mate smacked his arm, making him flinch and rub the spot. 

Yoongi was surprised to find out that Dr. Park is a hybrid. He didn’t see any traits of one when he was in his care at the hospital. Yoongi tilted his head, confusion swarming his senses. There were two Dr. Parks in this room and Yoongi needed another way to address the second Dr. Park. At this point in time, Yoongi can’t differentiate one from the other. 

“Jimin! That’s not for you. You already had your share!” The other Dr. Park in this room said - Dr. Ji-Hyun would be better. 

Yoongi sighed and curled his legs up to his chest as they started bickering. Hoseok cleared his throat, effectively shutting the couple. 

“So Yoongi,” Hoseok started. “I am aware that Y/N has yet to inform you about her group of friends and what they do so here we are going to give you a slight introduction. As you know, I’m Hoseok and this is Zurie.” Hoseok pointed to his hybrid. Yoongi nodded. “Dr Park Jimin is your doctor and Dr Park Ji-Hyun works as a veterinary.” Yoongi also knew that, coincidentally being treated by both doctors. He should apologise for puking at her workplace soon. “And that is Kim Seokjin. Y/N’s boss and brother.” 

Yoongi’s eyes bulged out. Wait, brother? 

His head whipped to the threshold of the kitchen and back to the closed bedroom door. Hoseok nodded, catching his attention. “Yep, brother. They don’t often go around saying their siblings and they do not look alike at all. Everybody took a while to figure it out anyway. It’s okay.” He continued. “As of who Y/N knows in this room is only me, Zurie, and Jin. She has not met Jimin till the day she brought you in. So now, to address the elephant in the room.” 

Yoongi gulped, this is it then. 

“As you know Jin and both Dr Park’s occupations, I won’t bring that up. I work under the NIS, Korea’s National Intelligence Service. My team and I have been tracking the sales of illegally sold hybrids so as to find out the mainstream line and put a stop to it.” Hoseok placed a folder and a business card on top, pushing it across the table. “It would be the most effective shall you choose to help us in our cause.”

Yoongi’s eyes drifted to the thick folder but never made any plans to grab it. The air turned charged as the Park’s eyes drifted between the both of them. 

“I don’t want to see it. I will tell you what I know and be done.” Yoongi challenged. 

Hoseok held his arms up in a surrender position. “I shall leave this here just in case you want a look.” Hoseok slid it under the table and opened a drawer, slotting it inside. He sat back, holding a pen and paper, motioning for Yoongi to start. 

Yoongi breathed in a deep breath. 

12 years ago

Yoongi didn’t know the first thing about good deeds. Oh, how would he? 

Loud footsteps sounded and his ears twitched as hands shot into his cage, harshly pulling his ears and scruff. He lay limp, letting the scientists do as they wish. He was born within these four walls of white - has never seen the world outside. He couldn’t remember much of his time with his mom, ripped away from her at a young age.

Yoongi grew up in the faculty, soon learning the horrors of the world he unwillingly plunged into. Every night, screams and screams could be heard from rooms and wings away. The scientists would always come back with bloodied hands and grab another one of them. In the morning, these hybrids would then be returned to their respective cages. 

However, the states of these chosen hybrids were not a pretty sight to see. They always came back bloodied and in pain - either crying for help, fighting to rebel, or completely passed out. It was only with time that Yoongi knew he would be chosen. 

He desperately tried to find a way out of it, rebelling against the scientists and disciplinary masters in hopes that they would find him too troublesome and throw him off. Yoongi soon realised that it only got him into more trouble and an early note to being chosen. 

So Yoongi stayed silent, letting them do what they wished. Injected him, touched him, cut him open and then stitched him back - he endured it. He knew he couldn’t get out of there, already submitting to his fate every time they pulled him out of his cage. He didn’t understand why he was born into this horrid truth but he fought and rebelled in the way of living. 

He wouldn’t let them take away his life - even if this was his life. 

3 years ago 

Yoongi truly tried to fight. But after so long, he started to grow tired. Started to grow hopeless. Rebelling was no longer a strong enough motivation for him to live. He was awake before the scientists came to get him. He turned and looked around the room. He was the only one of his batch that survived. All his friends and family…

Yoongi curled back into a ball at the end of his cage, refusing to cry. A few stray tears leaked out the sides of his eyes as he sniffled. He turned quiet the moment noises could be heard from the other side of the room. 

“I swear, Mr Robbinson. He is a fighter - the last living one of his batch. And because of that, all procedures went through. He is only one of our most successful mutated hybrids his age.”

Yoongi didn’t know what was going on. His ears strained to listen in on the conversation. “I promise to you that he is all you will wish to have.”

Yoongi could hear the sickening click of the key and soon after, he was being grabbed out of his cage. This time, he was faced with a man he had never seen before - well-kept hair, a beard nowhere in sight, and an expensive suit. Yoongi could smell the cologne he used but moreover, he scented the malice coming off this man in strong waves. 

Yoongi looked up and made eye contact with the man, instantly cowering back from the death he saw in the man’s eyes. He started to whimper and struggle from the hold of the scientist. Unfortunately, the collar on his neck did not allow him to go far. Injecting hormones into his body, it relaxed against his own will. 

The last thing he heard was, “I’ll take him” before darkness engulfed him. 

“I was the faculty’s favourite experiment and Mr Robbinson’s daughter’s favourite toy. Things were alright for a while until his daughter took an interest in me. But I refused and rejected her. She would whip me as long as I was not obedient. From that day on, nothing I did was good enough and I would constantly be scolded. Soon, she got enough and sold me off to one of Robbinson’s dealers. I ran away after the fourth deal during the transportation to the fifth.” Yoongi curled deeper into the couch, hoping that he could get this over with. He just wanted to go back into your room and curl up beside you. He didn’t want to be talking about this topic. “Back then, there were many hybrids in one truck and they lacked the manpower so a few of us were able to sneak out. But most of us who did end up getting caught halfway through. Some of them were shot and others were left injured. Only a few of us were lucky to escape.”

“This Mr Robbinson,” Jimin suddenly talked, surprising Hoseok into looking up to observe him. “Does he look like this?” Jimin whipped out a photo from his phone. 

Sure, many years passed and everybody changed. However, Yoongi could never forget the malice in his eyes and the way he commanded the world around him. “Where did you get that picture?” Yoongi hissed, shooting up into a leaping position. In the picture, Jimin was smiling widely beside Mr Robbinson and his instincts shot up high. 

Jimin shut off his phone and raised his hands in a surrender position, showing his neck as a form of submission. “It happened during one of the conventions held earlier this year. He was one of the sponsors. The convention was on medication advancements for hybrids. He owns many hospitals and a large amount of the market share as well. His companies are dominant in every firm he enters.”

Hoseok shifted on the sofa, whistling. “Well, shit. We can’t just barge in with a warrant like that then.” He shifted his gaze to Yoongi. “Approximately how many hybrids do you think there were?”

Yoongi kept silent. “I- I honestly don’t know. In the truck, perhaps a hundred over. But we were not all from the same dealer or facility. In the facility I came from, we are ever one kept within our own batch. However, each batch is split apart between males and females and then further split upon their breeds and types.” The males in the room nodded. It was expected as so. “In my room, there were about 150 hybrids in total. We were placed in cages, stacked on top of shelves. There were a total of 15 rows and 10 columns.”

“We were never allowed out of the rooms unless it was for experiments. Even so, we are taken out of our cages and wheeled to our respective rooms. During the rides, there isn’t much to see. Just white walls on white walls.” Yoongi shrugged, slowly getting to his feet. 

“All right, thank you Yoongi. We will update you if anything happens. I hope to see you healthy soon.” Hoseok flashed him a beaming smile, easily lightening the atmosphere. 

“I’ll see you soon for your check-up.” Jimin placed a business card on the table. “If Ms. Y/N is busy or is still feeling unwell, you can call this number and I’ll arrange for an in-house check-up instead.” 

Yoongi nodded, heading to your room. Seokjin had come out a few minutes before the talk had finished. Yoongi closed the door and walked over to you, picking up the thermometer on the way. 

37.4°C.

Yoongi sighed in relief. He was glad that you were getting better. The past few hours talking about his past has drained him. He quickly wiped you down one last time before shifting and snuggling on the other end of your bed, hidden within the tiny pillow fort but enough space to sense you in distress. 

With a small meow, Yoongi allowed your scent to cover his, lulling him to a deep slumber. 

[raplinesmoon]

Burn After Reading (KSJ x F!Reader) - VIII. Epilogue

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Female Reader

Genres: action, heavy angst, smut

AUs: exes-to-lovers, spy!AU

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: ANGST, finally some good freaking fluff, reconciliation, confessions, a proposal, open-ish ending

Ratings: 18+

Summary: The agency made the biggest mistake they ever could by trusting Kim Seokjin one more time. You weren’t going to do the same.

A/N: Hiiiii! She’s back. I guess. Idk what this is - but I was hit with a sudden burst of inspiration to see this story through. I don’t even know what this is, or if it’s even any good or if anyone even cares about them still, but here we are, and I’m happy I could give them some sort of ending. My love for Spy Seokjin remains as strong as ever. I hope you enjoy! Lots of love, Isi 💜

Taglist: @jinpanman @berryjam17 @sandrafe-universe @jiminie-08​

Previous Chapter| Series Masterlist |

It’s been said the sun shines brighter in the Southern hemisphere. Or maybe now you just had time to notice it more. 

A funny thing, time. Before, you’d never had enough of it with Seokjin - your paths always crossing, tangled up in a frantic frenzy of never knowing what would happen to the two of you next. You’d been so sure that this time would be different. But it wasn’t, and now he was gone. And suddenly it all felt like too much.

The days dragged by like lead weights on your feet, the minutes on the clock ticking and ringing in your ears. The artificial sunlight the sealing touch in a cruel prison that left you with the biggest reminders of what you’d lost.

A whine echoes from the next room, and you seal the blinds shut.

Tip-toeing down the hallway, you’re careful not to make a sound, not knowing what you’ll find on the other end of the door to the lone bedroom in the tiny home you’d made your refuge. 

Rounding the corner, your shoulders tense, and then immediately sag in relief when you see a wide pair of brown eyes looking at you. Seokjin’s eyes.

Hana was awake.

Her eyes continue to bore into yours, surveying you with her fist smushed in her mouth, and you have to look away for a moment. Your heart throbs with guilt at the moment of weakness, knowing you needed to be stronger for her. The last piece of Seokjin you had remaining.

“Mmmmm-,” she hums, tiny hands reaching for you, and you make your way over to the crib that stands next to your mattress.

Taking your daughter in your arms, you rock her back and forth, content to hear her giggles and squeals as she wriggles with happiness in your embrace. There’s so much she doesn’t know about the world, so much you have yet to share with her. But you know the time will come eventually. For now, you hold her closer. 

That’s when you hear the knock on the front door.

Kim Namjoon looks older than when you’d seen him last. His glasses have become a near-permanent fixture on his face, highlighting the lines that have taken up permanent residence between his brows. His hair is slick, which alerts you to the fact that the sunshine had moved aside for a storm to roll in.

There’s no look of shock on his face when he realizes you aren’t going to step aside to let him in. You remain at the threshold, shoulders squaring up against his tall figure, the last boundary separating him from the new life you’d created. From Hana.

You wonder why he’s shown up after all this time. The visits and calls from Jungkook you’d come to expect, the doe-eyed young agent turning into somewhat of a friend. At least, on your end of things anyway.

But there was no love lost for Namjoon in your heart. The man before you had once been like Yoongi, a dear friend. You wondered when that had all changed, and whether regret clouded his heart for all the years he’d spent pushing others away, chasing the greater good, destroying countless lives in the process, yours and Seokjin’s included. 

“___,” Namjoon croaks out, taking you by surprise when he doesn’t immediately address you by your code name. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Bile rises up in your throat, hot and angry, and you close the door behind you, stepping out into the rain. You watch Namjoon stagger back, hands up in his defense before you can do anything.

“We caught them. The men who killed Yoongi. They’ve been dealt with.”

It should ease the ache within your heart, knowing that vengeance has won. The world thrives on the game of give and take you’d played for the last however many years. But it was all a lie. There was no such thing as justice, fairness. The balance that you’d sought to achieve, that Seokjin had died for - all it did was create more chaos.

And you were tired of it. Tired because you know that despite what Namjoon said, it was what remained unsaid that lingered with you more - there was no news of Seokjin. He was truly gone. 

“Leave,” you spit out at him, watching him recoil at your venomous command. 

He doesn’t apologize, and you know he never will. But you see the way his eyes flit to the living room window, taking note of the toys that litter the floor of your home, and he raises a nod of acknowledgment.

“Take care of yourself, Rumex,” he whispers into the rain. And then, he disappears. 

The harbour is quiet, almost peaceful today - the tide is gentle, waves swishing softly against the wooden planks of the boardwalk. You pull Hana’s sun hat over her eyes, not wanting her to be irritated by the warm rays, and the two of you resume watching the many boats and sails that litter the vast expanse of sea.

You often wonder about how many people must come on and off those boats - a shudder runs through your spine when you realize how easy it could be to be found by the wrong people. But then you remind yourself that it’s safe here. It has been for months, with no sign of the past in sight. Only a clear blue sky nearly every day. 

Smiling to yourself, you strap Hana into her stroller, the two of you making your way down the boardwalk, passing by the many couples and families that have also chosen to spend the summer day outside.

Coming to a pause, you realize you’ve stopped by an ice cream stand, your tastebuds salivating at the thought of the sugary hit. Hana also seems intrigued by the swirly treat, her lips pursing in wonder at the rainbow-colored sprinkles.

“One twist soft-serve with—”

“Rainbow sprinkles.” The man’s voice speaks at the same time, and you freeze. It takes everything within you not to look to the side, not to have your heart broken again. 

But it’s Seokjin who moves first, reluctantly reaching his arm out, hand quivering as he lays it to rest on your shoulder, and you will yourself not to fall apart.

“Hey,” he whispers, noting how you’re unable to look him in the eye. “I’m here.”

The ice cream is long forgotten as he leads the two of you away to a bench on the side, his eyes trained on Hana’s stroller.

You take a seat, eyes focused on the ground, and all of a sudden it hits you - the feeling of a crushing weight in your chest. And with it, the tears fall. You don’t know how long you cry for - maybe thirty minutes, maybe an hour. But Seokjin remains by your side the entire time. 

When more tears refuse to fall, you finally look at him through bleary eyelids. The same broad shoulders, the same dark hair. Only now the perpetual smirk that once graced his face in your presence has been replaced by something new. Something infinitely more permanent and profound lurks within the depths of his eyes.

“Why’d you come back?” you interrogate him, knowing the words are crude and harsh. Knowing there are other things you should have asked first, like whether he was okay or where he’d been. But none of it seemed to matter at the moment.

“I’m tired of running,” he says wistfully, sadness flooding his eyes. “I’m tired of denying myself everything I’ve ever wanted, with the stupid excuse that the life of a spy is meant to be lonely, that everything is for a cause.”

He pauses, gauging your reaction to find that you’re still listening, that you haven’t run away yet, before continuing. 

“All it did was cause us pain, cause us to lose everybody we ever loved. Yoongi, your parents. And then I almost lost you too. I don’t want to keep playing this game, ___. I don’t want to keep losing and losing. I’m tired of it.”

You can barely stop yourself before your hand reaches out, brushing the stray tear that rolls down his cheek, and Seokjin melts into your touch with another sob.

“It’s okay, Jin, you don’t have to run anymore. You can stay here and rest with me. With us.”

At the mention of Hana, Jin turns to look at the tiny figure in the stroller, his eyes widening and lips parted, on the verge of asking the question he wants so desperately to know the answer to, but nothing comes out. You give him a nod, confirming his suspicions, and watch him let out a sigh of relief.

He reaches into his shirt, clutching the thin chain adorning his neck, and you catch a glimpse of something glinting on the end of it.

The ring gleams under the harsh sunlight, and you find yourself holding your breath at the sight of the precious diamond that had been with Seokjin this entire time - right above his heart.

His grin only grows wider when he sees you eyeing it, slipping the chain off his neck and sliding the precious piece of jewelry off, so that it can finally take its place where it truly belongs.

Seokjin can’t decide what’s more luminous - the gemstone or the sparkle in your eyes as you hand Hana over to him, and he looks into the eyes so much like his own, tiny fists reaching for the hair at the back of his neck.

As you admire the ring, you’re interrupted by a buzzing in your pocket, the old burner coming to life again - you can only imagine what the message will be this time. But you choose to ignore it, taking the phone out and setting it to the side, accepting Seokjin’s hand as he leads you and Hana away from the bench, and towards your new life together.

Burn after reading.

A/N pt 2:  This was the second original story I started, and it feels weird to have it end - like closing the door on a chapter I was so afraid to let go of. These characters are special to me in their own way, and I’m glad to have cherished them for so long and been able to share them with you. As always, any feedback and comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway.

[oddinary4bts]

Request!! Could you do 98 on the smut list with namjoon and reader? Maybe he wants to try getting fingered and is a little embarrassed because he’s normally in charge or something? Wherever your inspiration takes you!❤️❤️❤️

Oof this was so hard to write for some reason but I'm very happy I managed to finish it haha my bad if it took a moment before it was ready!

Can I Ask you a Question | knj

☆pairing: Kim Namjoon x female reader

☆rating: 18+ (this is smut, minors DNI)

☆genre: unedited smut lmao like literally just smut with barely no plot

☆warnings: unedited, alcohol, a game of Never Have I Ever (mentioned more than anything else), cursing, explicit content: ass fingering, oral sex (male receiving), balls fondling/sucking, jerking off, mentions of oral sex (female receiving), big dick!Namjoon, a little bite lmao, let me know if I'm forgetting something!

☆word count: 2.5k

☆prompt 98: "I never thought I'd hear you say that, fuck, that's hot"

☆The smut prompt is from this list!

☆☆☆☆☆

You’ve been drinking with your boyfriend, Kim Namjoon, and some friends for a moment already. You started during happy hour, at a bar near your boyfriend’s job, but you have decided to keep it going into the night, inviting the group over to your shared apartment.

It’s no wonder someone suggested Never Have I Ever. No wonder it got you all a little too tipsy to even think about what you’re asking. So you’re not surprised when a very clearly drunk Jimin asks, “Never Have I Ever been fingered in the ass”, before bursting out laughing because he has in fact done it.

He drinks, quickly followed by most of the females in the room, including you, and to your surprise Yoongi and Jungkook also drink, though you’re not sure if Jungkook is even listening.

He’s been staring at a blank spot on the ceiling for a while, not even blinking, which tells you that he’s probably in his own little world thinking about gaming or working out.

The game keeps going after that, but you notice that Namjoon seems lost in thought. He doesn’t really drink anymore, which for some reason makes you cut your drinking too, and soon enough your friends notice the switch in the atmosphere and decide to head home, as it’s already getting late anyway.

Namjoon doesn’t move from the couch, only surveys you while you let your friends out, and when you move back to him, he looks up at you with questions in his eyes. You cock an eyebrow, sitting next to him as he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Is something wrong?” you ask. “You’ve been silent.”

He chuckles, and there’s a flash of a dimple before it’s gone. He shrugs, saying, “I’ve got a lot on my mind, I guess”.

You purse your lips, tilting your head to the side as you try to catch his gaze. He’s lowered his head though, and your attempt is unsuccessful. “What’s up? You know you can talk to me.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “I know.”

There’s a silence, and you gently grab his hand, putting it in your lap as you cuddle up to his side. He rests his head on top of yours, and there’s a moment of just you and him breathing in sync, until he finally speaks again.

“Can I…” he trails off, and chuckles awkwardly. “Can I ask you something?”

You don’t move, only humming to indicate that, yes, he can.

“Jimin mentioned something earlier,” he starts before pausing for so long you look up at him. Your eyes meet, and you notice the light flush on his cheeks right away. “When we were playing ‘Never Have I Ever’.”

You nod to tell him to keep going. You’re starting to understand where this is going, but you don’t want to push, especially not when Namjoon clearly looks uncomfortable.

“It’s just got me thinking that we haven’t…” He chuckles, looks away as the blush deepens. “We haven’t experienced all that much.”

Now when he falls silent you know he expects an answer, so you say, “Is there something you want to try?”

He runs a hand on his features, before sitting back in the couch. “Feel comfortable to say no. Like it totally is okay if you don’t want to.”

“Joon,” you tell him, interjecting before he can start rambling.

A dimple appears, and you think even his ears are red by now. Whatever it is that he wants to try is clearly making him feel embarrassed. It’s weird – you’ve never seen Namjoon embarrassed in your presence before, except maybe when he accidentally broke a cup at a café on your first date.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I was thinking… and have been thinking for a while, actually?”

He once again falls silent, so you say, “Yeah?”

“You know when you go down on me?”

You nod.

“Do you think you could finger me at the same time?”

Your gaze widens right as his drops to the floor, and you think you can almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. But you knew from the moment this conversation started that he was going to ask that, so you’re not entirely surprised. On the contrary, there’s just something in the way Namjoon - big, dominant Namjoon - is willing to let you touch him in such an intimate way that makes your blood boil in your veins.

“You’d like that?” you ask, teasingly.

Clearly, he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes shoot back to you, and he hesitates before nodding once.

“You want to know what it feels like when I choke on your dick while my fingers are up your ass?”

His gaze widens even more, and his mouth falls open. He gulps once, then says, “I never thought I’d hear you say that, fuck, that’s hot”.

You smirk before leaning closer to him, until your mouth is so close to him he can feel it when you speak. “I just want to make you feel good.”

Whatever restraint he had on himself goes down the drain in that exact instant, and he grabs your face to pull you into a heated kiss. His lips move against yours hungrily, languidly, and his tongue soon darts to lick at your bottom lip. You let him in, let the taste of him fill your mouth before he sucks on your tongue, and a breathy moan escapes you.

“Fuck,” he breathes against you as he presses wet kisses on your jaw.

You run a hand through his jet-black hair, pulling on it just a little so you can guide his mouth back to yours. You haven’t had enough of him yet, and if he wants you to treat him right, then he’s going to have to treat you right first.

You suck on his bottom lip, teeth teasing it gently, before pulling away. His lips are swollen by your ministrations, glassy by the mix of your saliva and yours. They look delicious, but you move to his neck instead, right as you straddle his lap.

You’re not surprised when you already feel the start of an erection pressing against your clit. You grind on it, capturing his mouth in another kiss that leaves no room for air. His large hands find the meat of your ass, squeezing hard as he makes you grind on him again.

“Joon,” you murmur against his lips as one of his hands reach up to tangle in your hair.

He forces you to turn your head to the side so he can kiss you again, deeper, tongue twirling with yours. Namjoon has always been a great kisser, but the way he kisses you tonight is on a whole different level, as if he was holding back before.

And now that you know he wants you to finger him, you think that maybe he was.

You pull away from the kiss, only because you want to see the effect that you have on him. His lips are even more swollen, parted, and his chest is moving up and down in a quick rhythm as he tries to regain his composure. You smirk, tilting your head to the side.

“You look good like this,” you compliment him, and he bites at his bottom lip.

“Fuck, baby.”

“Now, should we get you out of your pants?”

He smirks, dimples flashing as he nods his head. “Want to feel your pretty lips around my cock.”

You lean closer, not kissing him even though he chases your mouth. He seems taken aback, until you say, “And you want to feel my fingers as they fuck you”.

Now he moans softly, breathily, eyes shutting as he rests his head against the couch. You take that as a cue to go down, kneeling between his legs. You run your hands on his thick thighs, mouth watering at the thought of having him wrapped around your finger like this.

Literally.

He helps you undo his belt, and soon enough you’re pulling his pants and underwear down. His big dick springs free, and it’s like you always forget just how big he is. You know your jaw will hurt, but you’re too far gone to care.

You watch where his cock rests on his stomach, and a drop of precum wets the fabric of his shirt. He clearly doesn’t care, and you grab the base of his dick to hold it up.

“So big,” you purr and he cocks his head to the side awaiting your next move.

You decide to start by sucking him off before you dive into fingering his ass too, so you move closer, blowing on the sensitive tip. His dick jerks in your hand, but you hold it in place as you replace the air with a swipe of your tongue, along a thick vein that runs from bottom to top. He groans, and one of his large hands grab your head to keep you close when you try to sit back on your heels.

“A little excited, are you?” you tease him.

His dark gaze finds yours, and you gulp at the lust that shine behind his pupils. “Just suck me off, baby. No teasing.”

“You don’t like when I’m in control, do you?” You’re being a little shit, because you know it’s usually the other way around. It’s usually Namjoon manhandling you, and you like it. You really do.

There’s just something about thinking of him, all helpless under your ministrations, that's making the devilish part of you win.

He remains silent, clenching his jaw, though it immediately loosens as you wrap your lips around the head of his dick, sucking once. Your tongue twirls around him, and you taste his salty precum. You never once look away from his eyes, not even when you start going down, taking as much of him as you can.

Which is not a lot, and you’re reduced to stroking the part that doesn’t fit in your mouth with your hand. Namjoon still moans appreciatively, especially as you pull away to spit in your hand so you can lubricate his dick from bottom to top. As you do so, you suck on one of his balls, teasing the sensitive organ with your teeth. Lightly, not hard enough to hurt at all, but just enough for Namjoon to throw you a warning glance before you pull away, smirking.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he says, and he puts your hair in a makeshift ponytail so he can watch you as you finally start sucking on his dick, properly this time.

You wait until he is a sensitive mess for your free hand to move between his legs. You fondle with his balls for a time, until he pulls you away from his dick, breathing raggedly.

“Fucking do what you’re supposed to do, pretty. I don’t want to have to wait all night.”

You turn your head to kiss his thigh, before biting into it, hard. “You have to learn how to be patient, baby. I just want to make you feel good.”

He wets his lips, dragon eyes boring into yours, before nodding once. “Then do it. Fuck.”

The power trip that this is giving you is enough for you to be soaking through your panties, and at this point you’re pretty sure you’re soaking through your pants too.

You make a good show of spitting on your fingers, watching as it rolls along the digits. Namjoon watches too, even though you’re still stroking his dick slowly.

“You think you’re ready?”

He goes completely silent as your hand goes back between his legs, this time heading lower than his balls. He instinctively spreads his legs wider. You rub circles on his perineum for a few seconds, lips wrapping around his cock again, and he moans when you take him all the way in, choking around his fat tip.

“Baby,” he grunts.

You watch him with his head thrown back, sharp jaw on display, and that’s when you finally reach lower to find the tight circle of muscles around his asshole. He groans, and it makes you moan around his dick. You pull away enough to breathe, and then you suck on his tip, tongue playing with his slit as you finally push a finger in his ass.

It’s foreign. You’ve never done that before in your entire life, but when Namjoon moans again, a higher-pitched sound than usual, you figure this will work. You push all the way in before pulling all the way out. You play with the muscle ring again, bobbing your head up and down before you finally push in again, arching your finger to rub what you hope is his prostate.

Namjoon’s dick goes infinitely hard in your mouth, and he starts cursing as you time your head and your finger. You take that as a cue that he likes it. Wickedly, you push another finger in, and Namjoon moans your name, before adding so many curses you think he might actually not be doing okay.

You make to pull out, and that’s when he starts begging, “Baby, please don’t stop. I’m gonna –“ a moan interrupts – “I’m gonna come. So fucking hard. Please.”

So you keep going, sucking on his dick harder, fucking your fingers into him relentlessly until his hips snap up, right as his dick twitches in your mouth as he releases his load. He grunts and curses, holding your head into place.

You’re surprised he came so fast. He rarely comes when you suck his dick – not because you aren’t good, but because he’s so big it’s hard to please him with your mouth. You still swallow everything, ever so the good girl when it comes to him, and you milk his orgasm out of him, making sure to carry him throughout his entire high.

You only stop when his dick starts going soft in your mouth, sitting back on your heels as you still finger him lazily. You shortly stop that too, watching him breathe in and out as he tries to calm down, but you’re not sure it’s working.

Especially not when he says, “Holy shit, what the fuck was that?”

You chuckle, licking your lips clean. “That felt good.”

He nods, and he finally looks down at you, flashing a dimpled smile at you. “Baby, that was so fucking good. We’re going to have to do it again.”

You bite your lip, holding in a smile as you tilt your head to the side.

“Tonight?”

He smirks, but shakes his head no. “Nah, for now I just want to treat my girl good.”

Needless to say, you don’t hesitate before lying down on the couch so he can eat you out.